“We’ll have water for tonight, horse,” Don said, “and we may have time to see what’s ahead for tomorrow.”
Don rode southwest, following the trail, and soon came upon a river flowing south.*
“Tarnation,” said Don aloud, “the trail follows this river from the north.”
It was enough, for one day, and Don rode back to tell the outfit of their good fortune.
“That is good news,” Bob said. “Water for today, as well as tomorrow.”
“Once we leave this river,” said Don, “I figure it’s maybe twelve or thirteen miles to the point where we reach the one flowing in from the north.”
“But you don’t know how far the trail follows that one,” Mike said.
“No,” said Don. “I figured water for two days was enough. Once we reach that river flowing from the north, I’ll ride from there. Tonight, before supper, we’ll have another look at that trail map.”
The drive moved on, and when they reached the southerly bend in the trail where they must leave the river, they bedded down the herd. When the horses were unsaddled, the pack mules unloaded, and supper underway, Don spread out the trail map. He found the river that flowed in from the north.
“According to the map, the trail bends away from it some,” Don said, “but not enough to get us off course.”
“Looks like we’ll be followin’ it for a pretty good distance,” said Bob. “Maybe we can get a second day’s watering before we have to leave it.”
“Maybe two days beyond that, we’ll be gettin’ into Paiute country,” Charlie said. “That is, if this map’s for real.”
“No reason why it shouldn’t be,” said Red. “It said there was Utes, and they was there for real.”
“We’d better count on it,” Don said. “Dominique?”
The Mexican left the supper fire and leaned over Don’s shoulder, as he pointed to the word on the map. For a moment, Dominique said nothing.
“Indios,” said Don. “Paiute.”
“Si,” Dominique said, comprehending. “Indios. Malo.”
“I reckon that answers our question,” said Don.
“Maybe we can drive north of the old trail and miss them entirely,” Jim Roussel said.
“Not without getting into Nevada’s Great Basin,” said Don, “and God only knows what the water situation is there. The old timers—probably the Spanish—who blazed this trail knew what they were doing. We can’t afford to pioneer a new route, with five thousand thirsty cows dependin’ on us.”
The Colorado River. June 3, 1862.
Griff and his renegade outfit had no trouble finding the place where the longhorns had crossed the river.
“One of us ought to ride ahead and see where they are,” Doolin said.
“One of us will, when the time comes,” said Griff, “and I’ll be the one to decide when the time comes. Get too close, stir up some dust, and they’ll spot us on the back-trail.”
“Hell, there’s more of us than there is of them,” Bullard said.
“That means nothing, if we’re bushwhacked,” said Griff. “Now damn it, all of you just settle down and let me do the thinking.”
“That’s what bothers me,” Ben Pickford said quietly. “All we want is to avenge Wiley, and we got to ride with this bunch all the way to California.”
“It was that or have them ventilate us,” said Curt, “and we still don’t know that they won’t. It ain’t gonna help Wiley none if both of us gets gut-shot.”
“No use whinin’ now,” Ben said. “We drawed the cards and we got to play ’em to the finish.”
“I reckon,” said Curt, “but this has all the earmarks of a busted flush.”
“You Pickfords cut out the whisperin’,” Griff shouted. “This is my outfit, and you got anything to say, you say it loud enough for ever’body to hear.”
The outfit settled down along the Colorado, waiting.
Southwestern Utah. June 4, 1862.
“There’s a storm buildin’,” Felton Juneau said.
Nobody could argue with that, for there were dirty smudges of gray along the western horizon. The evening sun set behind a bank of gray clouds, reaching mile-high fingers of crimson into the blue of the sky. When darkness fell, the wind rose, coming out of the northwest, bringing the smell of rain. Golden shards of lightning danced nervously through the darkness, while distant rumbles of thunder seemed more imagined than real. The outfit had reached the point where the trail swung south along the Sevier River, and while there was plenty of water and decent graze, the longhorns were restless. Two or three started bawling and others joined until there was a bizarre chorus.
“My God,” said Rose, “what’s wrong with them? It sounds like the end of the world.”
“They believe it is, every time a storm comes,” Don said. “And if it’s anything like the last one, we may all be sharing their feelings. Jim, I have a job for you, Les, and me. We’re goin’ to cross-hobble the pack mules and the horse remuda. Dominique and Roberto would do it, but I’ve told them to get supper ready as quickly as they can. Spooky as the herd is, we may have to begin circling them before dark.”
It proved to be a wise decision, for the riders barely had time to eat. Some of the longhorns were on their feet, refusing to graze or lie down, bawling their frustration. Red, Charlie, Bob, and Mike finished eating first. Saddling their horses, they began circling the restless herd as the threatening storm moved ever closer. Quickly the rest of the outfit joined their comrades, seeking to calm the herd. Dominique and Roberto were with the pack mules and the horse remuda, which Don had ordered moved across the river. All the horses taken from the Utes had been cross-hobbled and were with the remuda horses. As the riders circled the bawling herd, Sarah got near enough to Bob’s horse for him to see her in the gathering darkness.
“If I can be of any help, I’ll get my horse,” she said. “I’m sure the others will too.”
“No,” said Bob. “Bless you for offering, but it’s too dangerous. All of you should be across the river, with the hobbled horses and mules.”
“Please be careful,” she cried.
He leaned from the saddle, tilted her chin and kissed her. Then he was gone.
“Get ready,” Don shouted against the rising wind. “They’re gonna run.”
Thunder had become a continuous rumble, and while the lightning wasn’t striking, it lit up the darkened sky with an eerie glow. Before one flash faded, another flickered to life. The riders continued circling the herd, nervously pondering the direction the herd might stampede, knowing it would be influenced by the thunder and lightning. The thunder grew louder until it seemed to come from everywhere, literally shaking the earth. The longhorns were suddenly on their feet, and with a bawling, thundering commotion that threatened to drown the fury of the storm, they stampeded south, along the river. The riders tried to head them. A horn raked the flank of Don Webb’s horse, and he was thrown into the path of the stampeding herd. Risking his own life, Red Bohannon galloped his horse into the path of the rampaging longhorns. With only seconds to spare, Webb leaped up behind Red and they escaped being trampled. All their efforts were futile, and by the time a drenching rain began, the sound of the stampede had been swallowed by the rumble of thunder. Les Brown rode in, leading Don’s horse. A flash of lightning revealed a wicked gash along the animal’s left flank.
“Sing out,” Don shouted.
One by one, they called out their names, proof that they were alive. As suddenly as the storm had arisen, it was gone. The rain became a drizzle before ending entirely. Even as the thunder rumbled away, there were breaks in the clouds and a few timid stars were visible in the purple sky. A half-moon crept out from behind the clouds as the dejected cowboys led their horses back to where their supper fire had been.
“Were any of you hurt?” came Sarah’s anxious inquiry from the darkness.
“No,” said Bob, “but we lost the herd again.”
“Damn near lost Don,” Charlie said, “i
f Red hadn’t been close enough to go after him.”
Neither Don or Red said anything, for men who often faced death every day seldom spoke of the near misses. Suddenly there were flames from one of the fire pits where Dominique and Roberto had prepared supper. They had covered the coals with enough dirt to protect them from the rain, and now they had resurrected the fire and had hung one of the coffee pots over it.
“Coffee,” said Roberto cheerfully.
“Bless you,” Don said. “We’re all wet and cold.”
There soon were flames from the second fire pit, and Dominique hung the second pot on to boil.
“Where in tarnation did they find dry wood in the dark, after a rain?” Les wondered.
“Some of us rounded it up while they were cooking supper,” said Rose, “and they put it under the canvas, with the supplies.”
Don Webb laughed. “Even without a herd, this is a muy bueno outfit.”
*The Sevier River
8
“The herd stampeded south, and at least for a while, that’s the direction we’ll be taking,” Don said, as the outfit finished breakfast. “We’ll load the pack mules, take the horse remuda, and go after them.”
“Bueno,” said Bob. “Accordin’ to the map, the trail don’t exactly follow this river, but it’s close. If the herd sticks to this river, we should be able to round ’em up, and then by turning slightly southwest, hit the trail again.”
“The map says this river runs south almost to the Grand Canyon,” Charlie said. “That means we’ll soon be in northern Arizona Territory, and Paiute country.”
“So be it,” said Don. “Like the Utes, they’re just another problem we’ll have to overcome.”
With only the pack mules and horse remuda, their progress was rapid as they followed the stampeded herd. As they had hoped, the longhorns had continued running south along the river. Even though the trail soon veered away from the river, the map indicated that by driving west, they would soon be on the trail again a few miles farther south.
“It’ll be worth drivin’ west a few extra miles to get back on the trail,” Red observed. “The varmints ain’t likely to stray too far from water, and it’ll make our gather easier.”
“Makes you wonder why the Spanish didn’t blaze this trail alongside the river as far south as they could,” said Mike Horton.
“I have an idea why they didn’t,” Don replied. “Followin’ this river due south should take us right into Paiute territory considerably quicker than if we followed the old trail.”
“If the Paiutes are ornery enough to come after us,” said Eli Mills, “we’ll have to face them sooner or later. What’s the use of puttin’ it off?”
“Eli has a point,” Bob said. “If something’s got to be done, delayin’ it won’t make it any easier.”
“With that in mind,” said Don, “we’ll ride until we first begin finding cows. There we’ll leave the pack mules and the horse remuda. From there, I aim to scout ahead, looking for any sign of Indians. If the Paiutes are of a mind to make trouble, the stampede will have told them we’re coming.”
“Then let’s just go ahead gathering cows,” Jim Roussel said, “and fight the Paiutes if and when we have to.”
“No,” said Don. “If they’re gonna be ornery, we need to know so some of us can be handy with our rifles, when they come to take our pack mules and horse remuda.”
“It worked out pretty well when Jim and me was wounded,” Arch said. “Mike and Red stayed in camp, and with four repeating Henrys, we could have raised considerable hell if the Utes had bothered us. But I reckon it was harder on the rest of you, gatherin’ the herd.”
“Not near as hard as having the Utes attack an unprotected camp,” said Don.
Well after they had left the Old Spanish Trail to follow the stampeded herd along the river, they began seeing bunches of grazing cattle. Don waved his hat and they all reined up.
“Here’s where we’ll make camp,” Don said. “I know it’s still early in the day, and we’ll likely have time to round up some of the cows, but I aim to ride ahead a ways, lookin’ for Indians. The rest of you stay right here until I do some scouting.”
“There’ll be more than enough guns to protect the camp,” said Charlie. “Suppose I ride with you?”
“Come on then,” Don said.
They saddled fresh horses and continued riding south, following the river. There were more and more grazing longhorns, but after several miles there was only an occasional animal.
“That ain’t near all of ’em,” said Charlie.
“No,” Don agreed, “and it makes no sense that most of them stopped running while the others kept going. There must be a reason.”
There was. Tracks of a large number of longhorns led off to the southeast. Don and Charlie dismounted, and leading their horses, they studied the ground.
“They was bein’ driven,” Charlie said. “Horse tracks. Unshod horses.”
“I reckon that answers our questions about the Paiutes,” said Don. “Let’s trail them a ways and see if we can learn how many there were.”
Leading their horses so as not to disturb the existing tracks, they began studying the ground.
“Fresh tracks,” Charlie said. “Maybe a dozen horses. and lots more cows than we can afford to lose. Do we keep followin’ ’em?”
“Not in daylight,” said Don. “They’ll be expecting us. In fact, I suspect that’s why they took the cows. If we go looking for them, they can bushwhack us, or while our forces are divided, they can take our pack mules and the horse remuda. We’ll gather as many cows as we can, and after dark we’ll find their camp.”
Don and Charlie returned to their horses and rode back upriver, pushing ahead of them the cows that grazed along the river. As they neared their camp, there were more and more longhorns, until there were finally too many for just two riders. They rode on, and reaching camp, quickly told the rest of the outfit what they had discovered.
“Red, Mike, Arch, and Jim will stay here to defend the camp,” Don said. “The rest of us will ride downriver and gather all the cattle grazing there. We’ll drive them as near as we can, and tonight we’ll go looking for that Paiute camp.”
The cattle were easily gathered before sundown. After driving them as near the camp as possible, the riders ran tallies. The shortest—and the accepted one—was 4,200 head.
“Damn,” said Felton Juneau, “they knew what they was doin’. Ain’t no way we’ll take a loss like that.”
“Hell no,” Red Bohannon agreed. “Not if there’s five hundred of the varmints.”
“I expect there’ll be a bunch,” said Don, “and it won’t be easy getting our cows back. Once we find their camp, maybe we can figure a way of doing it without getting ourselves shot full of arrows and scalped.”
“My God,” Sarah said, “is there no end to Indians in these mountains?”
“We shouldn’t have any more Indian trouble if we can get past the Paiutes,” said Bob, “but they’re a tribe we don’t know anything about.”
“We’ll have supper early and put out the fires,” Don said.
“How many of us are ridin’ after the Paiutes?” Jim Roussel asked.
“Not more than two of us,” said Don. “We don’t dare leave the camp unprotected, and until we know how many Paiutes we’re facing and where they are, there isn’t much we can do. Charlie and me will find the camp. Then we’ll ride back, and we’ll make some plans. I want all of you to keep your weapons handy while we’re gone. They may be counting on us doing exactly what we’re about to do.”
While none of them complained, all the women seemed fearful of what might lie ahead. Charlie spent some time with Wendy Oldham, obviously attempting to reassure her. Supper was ready well before sundown, and the fires were put out.
“There’ll be a moon later tonight,” Charlie said.
“We’ll be going well before then,” said Don. “Soon as it’s dusky dark, we’ll saddle our horses and ride.�
�
“How will you follow them in the dark?” Bonita asked.
“We know the general direction they were riding,” said Don, “and they’ll have a fire.”
That ended the conversation. The riders said nothing more, lest the women become even more frightened, and when it was dark enough, Don and Charlie saddled their horses. Wendy was nearby, and before mounting, Charlie took her hand. Don led out and Charlie followed.
“That young lady thinks highly of you, Charlie,” Don said.
“I aim to ask her an important question once we reach California,” Charlie said.
Back in camp, Ellie Andrews had a serious question for Jim Roussel.
“Is it true that you shot a man in Santa Fe?”
“Yes,” said Roussel. “It was him or me. He claimed I cheated him at poker and drew on me. Who told you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Ellie said. “Were you cheating?”
“No,” said Roussel angrily.
He said no more, and when the silence grew painful, Ellie spoke quietly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m hoping it will be, when we reach California,” he said, more kindly.
“What . . . do you mean?”
“I mean I’ll give up the saloons, gambling, and hell-raising,” he said. “That is, if you’ll have me.”
“And if I won’t?” said Ellie, in a devilish tone.
“Then I reckon I’ll have to spend all my time in saloons, at the poker table, gunning down any hombre that’ll draw on me. Without somebody to care, I’ll likely just go plumb to hell,” Jim replied.
The Old Spanish Trail Page 12
