“Yeah,” said Red, “but I’m still bleedin’ bad. Let’s go.”
“Rein up and identify yourselves,” a voice said, as they neared their camp.
“Red and Charlie, and Red’s hurt,” Charlie said.
“Come on,” said Don.
Red was clutching the saddle horn with both hands, and would have fallen if Don and Charlie hadn’t helped him to dismount.
“Two of ’em jumped us with knives,” Charlie said. “Red’s been cut, and he’s bleedin’ bad.”
“Bob, Jim, Les, Mike, Arch, and Felton, take your rifles and stand watch. Charlie, take a pot or pan, go to the river and mix a batch of mud while I get the shirt off him,” said Don.
“I’m here,” Molly cried. “What can I do?”
“Fill a pot with water and get it on to boil just as soon as Dominique and Roberto can stir up one of the fires,” said Don.
Don removed Red’s shirt. It had been slashed across the front from one side to the other, and was heavy with blood. Rose Delano had spread a blanket near one of the fires, and Don stretched Red out on it. Even in the starlight, they could see blood oozing from the wound. Charlie returned with a skillet of mud. Don knelt beside Red, and dipping his hands into the mud, began covering the bloody slash.
“The water’s not hot,” Molly protested.
“No matter,” said Don. “There’ll be time enough for that, after we’ve stopped the bleeding.”
But stopping the bleeding proved difficult. Fresh blood crept out around the edges of the mud, and there was little to be done except use more mud. Nobody spoke, for they all knew the bleeding must be stopped if Red was to live.
“Let me have the skillet,” Charlie said, “and I’ll bring some more mud pronto.”
“This may be enough,” said Don. “There’s no fresh blood.”
There was enough light from the fire for them to see the truth of Don’s words, and all of them breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you hurting, Red?” Don asked.
“Some,” said Red, “but not so much I can’t handle it. Do what needs doing.”
“Charlie, bring a bottle of whiskey from my saddlebag,” Don said.
Charlie did so, and Don pulled the cork with his teeth.
“Here, Red,” said Don. “We’ll have to give that mud some time, to be sure the bleeding’s stopped. Drink enough of this to knock you out, until we get you disinfected and a bandage around you.”
Red drank a slug of the whiskey, shuddering as he did so. Nobody spoke until Red was snoring.
“I don’t suppose you got close enough to the Paiute camp to learn anything,” Don said.
“No,” said Charlie, “and we didn’t hear a sound. A pair of Paiutes dropped out of a tree with their knives ready, and we had to fight for our lives. They were expecting us.”
“We didn’t play our hand too well, or we would have been expecting them,” Don said. “They know their bows and arrows are no match for our rifles, and they purely set us up in a situation where they had the advantage.”
“I reckon you’re right,” said Mike. “They’ve come out second-best every time until now. They may have some more surprises in mind before we’re out of their reach. Until that wound heals, Red will be so sore he can’t move.”
“So we’ll be short-handed gathering the herd,” Charlie said. “We can’t leave the camp undefended. The varmints might attack in daylight.”
“We’ll leave two men in camp, and the rest of us will make the gather,” said Don, “and I think we’ll avoid those Paiutes if we can.”
“I feel like less of a Texan for sayin’ it,” Charlie said, “but I think you’re right. With our long guns, we have an edge, but that’s no help when they can come at us with knives in close quarters.”
After several hours, the mud dried and flaked off, allowing them to better examine Red’s wound.
“Not too deep,” Don said, “but he lost a lot of blood. Molly, is that water still hot?”
“Yes,” said Molly. “I’ll bring it.”
“I’ll tend the wound, if you’d like,” Rose said. “Molly can help.”
“Go ahead,” said Don. “You know where the medicine kit and bandages are.”
Taking their rifles, Don and Charlie joined the rest of the outfit on watch.
“Red doin’ all right?” Jim Roussel asked.
“The bleeding’s stopped,” said Don. “Rose and Molly are taking care of the wound.”
“God,” Felton Juneau said, “I’d as soon a man come after me with a double-barrel scattergun as a knife. It ain’t the natural way for a man to fight.”
“I reckon we can’t much blame the Indians,” said Mike. “We got an advantage with our repeating rifles. They have only knives or bows and arrows, so they got to get in close, or they don’t stand a chance.”
“Don’t look for no sympathy from me where these Paiutes is concerned,” Charlie said. “I’ve never had a tougher fight, and I don’t expect Red has either. They was out to gut both of us.”
“You and Red did well just escaping,” said Don. “The same thing would have happened to any of the rest of us. Up to now, we’ve managed to outmaneuver the Paiutes, but they turned the tables on us. We’ll try leaving them alone, and maybe they’ll do the same for us. But just for the sake of our hair, we won’t let down our guard.”
“They won’t leave us alone,” Les Brown said, “or they wouldn’t have been waitin’ for us when we went to gather the herd. That attack didn’t hurt us, but it did make us mad enough for Red and Charlie to go lookin’ for that Paiute camp.”
“Maybe they’re not done with us,” said Don, “but they’ll have to come lookin’ for us from now on. They won’t get another chance to gut some of us in the dark.”
Rose and Molly cleansed Red’s wound, disinfected it, and tied a clean white bandage about his middle.
“I’ll sit with him awhile, Rose,” Molly said.
“We’ll have to watch him the rest of the night,” said Rose. “There may be fever.”
Eventually, Wendy Oldham joined Molly.
“That might have easily been Charlie instead of Red,” Wendy said.
“I know,” said Molly, “but they insisted on going. Cowboys are well-named, I suppose. They’re as stubborn as the cows.”
The night passed without any sign of the Paiutes, and by dawn, Red had a fever. Rose and Molly began dosing him with whiskey. Molly washed his shirt, removing the blood as best she could.
“There’s needle and thread in the medicine kit,” Rose said. “Why don’t you get it and sew up that gash in Red’s shirt? I doubt he has another.”
“I’ll do that,” said Molly.
After breakfast, Don called the outfit together. It was time to begin the gather.
“Arch, I want you and Felton to remain in camp,” Don said. “The rest of us will look for the herd.”
No further instruction was needed, for all of them were well aware of the Paiutes and what had happened the night before. They mounted their horses and Don led out, the six of them bound for the area where they had found part of their herd the day before.
“This river goes on and on,” said Charlie, “and you can’t depend on a cow ever goin’ in a straight line, even toward water. That bunch may have wandered back, but they might be ten miles downstream.”
“We’ll consider that,” Don said, “but wherever they went, there’ll be tracks. If they’ve doubled back toward this river, we’ll know. We’ll just have to trail them until we know for sure where they’re headed.”
They rode cautiously, avoiding any brush or arroyos that might have provided cover for attacking Paiutes. They reined up on the ridge above the meadow, where Mike Horton had sprung the Paiute trap the day before. There were no cows in sight.
“It’s odd that some of them stopped here, while the rest wandered on,” Charlie said. “It purely ain’t like one of the critters to have a mind of its own.”
“The Paiutes may hav
e headed some of them to get our attention,” said Bob Vines.
“Maybe,” Mike conceded, “but I don’t aim to ride across that ridge again. They know we’ll be back, and they could be waiting for us.”
“All of you wait here,” said Don. “I’ll ride down and look for tracks. The rest of them may have drifted south.”
Don trotted his horse down the slope. He rode part way up the farthest slope, looking for tracks. Except for those left by Mike’s horse the day before, there were none. Turning south, Don rode slowly, and as he progressed, he found the tracks he expected. When he was again in the open, there was a wide swath of tracks, and virtually no graze. He rode back within sight of his comrades, waving his hat.
“The rest of them have drifted south,” Don said, when they had caught up to him.
“That accounts for us not finding them along the river,” said Bob. “If they’ve drifted back to it, they’re much farther downstream than we expected.”
“It looks that way,” Don said, “but we won’t take any shortcuts. This time, we’ll just follow the tracks.”
They rode almost ten miles before the tracks of the herd began to turn slowly west.
“The strides of them steers is gettin’ longer by the minute,” said Charlie. “That wind’s brought ’em the smell of water.”
“They should all be there,” Mike said. “There’s enough tracks.”
Nearing the river, they began seeing grazing cattle. At first there were small lots of four or five, and then groups of a dozen or more. Finally they were close enough to see the river. With no brush to obstruct their view, they could see grazing cattle on both banks, strung out for a great distance.
“I have a feeling that’s the rest of them,” Don said. “Let’s move them upriver.”
They rode downstream until there were no more grazing cattle. Don, Bob and Jim crossed the river, and with three riders on each bank, they began driving the cattle north. The longhorns were easily driven, having grazed and watered, and the gather was going well, when suddenly there was a distant shot. Seconds later, there were two more.
“Leave ’em where they are!” Don shouted. “There’s trouble in camp.”
He kicked his horse into a gallop, his comrades following. There were more shots and then only silence . . .
13
Arch Felton, Dominique, and Roberto were waiting, their rifles ready, when the rest of the outfit rode in.
“We got here as fast as we could,” Don said. “Anybody hurt?”
“No,” said Arch. “A bunch of Paiutes slipped in as close as they could, along the far bank of the river. We cut down on them, and they didn’t come back.”
“They expected us to come lookin’ for them, after they jumped Red and Charlie last night,” Don said. “They’re still trying to draw us into a fight.”
“For that reason, I think we should leave them alone,” said Charlie. “I’ve never favored fighting when there’s nothing to be gained.”
“I don’t look at it that way,” Mike Horton said. “If they keep hounding us, we ought to kill enough of them to make believers of the others.”
“We should be able to finish the gather today,” said Don. “We’ll only be here until Red and Bonita can ride.”
“I can ride now,” Bonita said, “and when the Paiutes were here, Red wanted to get up and get his rifle.”
“I’ll be ready to ride tomorrow,” said Red, who was sitting with his back to a tree.
“When the gather’s finished, we’ll take a look at that wound,” Don replied. “We had a time getting the bleeding stopped. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“We can stand off the Paiutes in daylight,” said Felton Juneau. “The rest of you go on back and get the balance of the herd.”
The six of them mounted and rode downriver. The longhorns were grazing along the river where they had been left, and there was no problem getting them moving again. By midafternoon, they were ready for a tally. The low count was 5,150.
“We’re still shy fifty head, but we may find them along the river, before we get away from it,” Don said. “If we don’t, we can live with what we have.”
By sundown, there had been no further trouble from the Paiutes.
“We’ll go with our usual watch,” said Don. “Since Red’s laid up, Les, I want you to go on the first watch with Charlie, Arch, and Felton. Be extra watchful, because we don’t know for sure that those Paiutes have given up on us. The pack mules and all the horses not being ridden will be cross-hobbled.”
After supper, when the first watch had begun circling the herd, Molly Rivers sat down beside Red.
“I’m almighty tired of settin’ here on this blanket,” Red grumbled. “I ought to be out there on watch.”
“You were cut deep,” said Molly. “I saw it, and I think Don’s right. You don’t want to risk having it start bleeding again.”
“Damn Indians,” Red said. “Why can’t they wound a man decent, without cuttin’ him from one side of his belly to the other?”
“Red Bohannon, can’t you ever be serious? If that wound had been just a little deeper, you’d be dead. For heaven’s sake, let’s talk about something else.”
“Then let’s talk about Texas,” said Red. “I want to go back someday, but I’m thinking of stayin’ in California until the war’s over.”
“What war?”
“The War Between the States,” Red replied. “The North’s fightin’ the South.”
“What are they fighting about?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” said Red. “That’s why I ain’t goin’ back until it’s over. Texas is sure to be dragged into it, and if I was there, I’d have to fight.”
“Why would you have to fight in a war when you don’t even know what it’s about?”
“Texans stick together,” Red said. “We don’t always agree with one another, and we sometimes fight amongst ourselves, but let some varmint from the outside jump on us, and we’re all of one mind.”
Molly laughed. “I like that. It’s like one big family.”
“I kind of like it myself, but not where this war’s concerned,” said Red.
“I wouldn’t want you going off to war. How long do you think it will last?”
“I don’t know,” Red said. “There’s some that says it’ll be over in three months, but I don’t think so. That’s why we’re ridin’ this God-awful trail to California. All the cattle trails to the north was closed, and Texas is broke. We had nothin’ to sell but cattle, and it was our last chance to get our hands on some money.”
“What do you intend to do in California?”
“I ain’t thought much about it,” said Red. “Between now and the time we get there, I’ll talk to the rest of the outfit. We’ll have enough money so that we don’t starve. Maybe we can all stick together somehow. What would you like to do?”
“I haven’t thought about anything, except being with you,” Molly said. “What do you want me to do?”
Red laughed. “Just be with me, I reckon. I want to get you all dandied up, so that I can show you off when we get back to Texas. I want everybody that knows me—most of all, them that never expected me to amount to nothin’—to stand up on their hind legs and look. I want ’em layin’ awake nights, just wonderin’ how a ugly bastard like Red Bohannon ever got his brand on such a pretty girl.”
“Hush,” said Molly. “I don’t think you’re ugly.”
“Depends on what you’re comparin’ me to,” Red replied. “I’m a mite bowlegged, and when I ain’t wearin my boots and hat, I’m not even six feet. Once you skin me down and get in bed with me, I may be uglier than you think.”
“Then I suppose we’ll have to get in bed after dark and get up before daylight. Once you get me skinned down, I may not be all you expect.”
“Huh,” said Red, “you got everything in the right place, don’t you?”
“I suppose, but I can’t be sure. I’ve never spent any time with a man, except
for Pa, and I was awful young, when he dumped me at the mission school. What does a woman do, when she . . . they . . .”
“I don’t know,” said Red. “I thought females was born knowin’ what to do and when to do it. You mean they ain’t?”
Molly laughed. “They ain’t. At least, not this one. There’s an awful lot you’ll have to teach me.”
“Then I reckon I’d better get busy learnin’ it myself,” Red said.
On the second watch, Les Brown finally found the courage to speak to Don Webb of what had been on his mind since the death of Eli Mills.
“It was me that brought Eli in,” said Les, “and I feel responsible for what happened to him. It’s me that’ll have to tell his kin how he died and where we laid him. I know he had only a few more than a hundred cows in the herd, and now he’s not here to . . . to do his part in drivin’ ’em to market. With the war and all, his ma and pa are havin’ a hard time, and I’d like to take ’em at least some of the money from Eli’s cows.”
“If, by the grace of God, we’re able to deliver and sell this herd, you’ll take it all to them,” Don said. “Eli joined us in good faith, doing his share, and it’s no fault of his that he’s not ridin’ to the end of the trail with us.”
“I’m obliged,” said Les. “With the war going on, what do you reckon will happen to us when we go back to Texas?”
“I don’t know,” Don said, “but before we reach California, I think all of us should do some thinking and some talking. I might just stay in California until the war’s over.”
“But you have a woman in Texas,” said Les.
“I can send for her,” Don said, “unless Mr. Lincoln blockades Texas ports and the sailing ships can’t get in. Felton Juneau has a woman in Texas too. We’ll have to see what can be done once we reach California.”
“Maybe if Texas hasn’t been closed to the ships,” said Les, “I can send Eli’s money to his kin, and some of mine to my kin. I want to go back to Texas, but I don’t aim to ride this trail by myself.”
“We’ll have time enough to think about that before we reach California,” Don said.
Dawn broke clear, but there was a band of gray along the western horizon.
The Old Spanish Trail Page 19
