The California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Gil picked that particular time to ride back to the drag, supposedly to talk to Long John, but his eyes were on Van and Rosa. Without a word to either of them, he turned his horse and rode back to join Juan Padillo and Ramon.

  15

  May 13, 1850. Four days east of Tucson, Arizona Territory

  Mariposa and Estanzio had ridden about fifteen miles when they found the second spring. It was larger than the one the trail drive had just left. While there was no Indian sign near the spring, the duo had not forgotten the surprise attack by the Apaches at the last camp. In a widening circle, they rode south, then west, and returned to the spring from the north. When they were satisfied the area was safe, they rode back to meet the drive.

  “Fifteen-mile drive,” said Juan Padillo. “I think we make it.”

  “We’ll have to,” said Gil, “because we have another one tomorrow. That’s how far we are from this next spring to the San Pedro River. From there, we’ll be forty miles from Tucson, Cienega Creek bein’ the only sure water in between. That means two twenty-mile days, back to back.”

  “Make horse, cow run,” said Mariposa.

  “Better that than dry camp,” said Ramon.

  Nobody argued with that. Twelve miles was considered a good day’s drive. Fifteen was possible, but anything beyond that was so rare as to be unheard of. Yet Gil and his outfit had done the impossible a time or two, and not a man doubted they could do it again. It meant driving the longhorns at a faster than normal pace, and constant vigilance on the part of every rider to avoid straggling and bunch quitting. It was hard on the horses, hard on the riders, and hard on the longhorns, but when the alternative was a dry camp, it was worth any sacrifice. The weather had been mostly dry and hot, but that was about to change. By afternoon the western sky had become a smoky gray, darkening as the day wore on. Two hours before the sun would say good night to the prairie, it hid its face behind rising thunderheads and painted the western sky with shades of pale rose to vivid crimson.

  There was no wind, and even with the sun behind a cloud bank, it seemed oppressively hot. When they had a chance, the riders fanned themselves with their hats. Sweat dripped off their chins and noses, burned their eyes, and dust became instant mud as it touched bare skin and sweat-soaked shirts. The longhorns had been run hard, and as they grew tired and thirsty, they became cantankerous. There wasn’t a moment’s respite for any rider, as they fought to keep the herd bunched and moving.

  “Don’t let ’em slack off,” Gil shouted. “Don’t let the brutes see daylight between themselves and the backside of the steer ahead!”

  It was good advice. The ranks must be closed and kept closed, so that no matter where a steer looked, he saw only the rumps and horns of his companions. Thirst, a memory of yesterday’s water, and “daylight” within the ranks made any steer a potential bunch quitter. And there were always some followers. To a lesser degree it was a stampede, one steer bolting and others attempting to follow. Gil rode ahead and caught up with the horses. Since the herd had been greatly increased, Juan Padillo had joined Mariposa and Estanzio, but the horses hadn’t yet become unruly. Estanzio pointed toward the red glow of the westering sun.

  “Mebbe hail,” he said.

  Gil wasn’t sure whether the Indian had predicted “hail” or “hell,” and with the run of dry weather they’d been having, he wouldn’t be surprised at a devastating combination of the two. If they could reach water in time, at least the herd wouldn’t stampede at the first hint of rain. While there was some open plain, there was some sheltering forest, with stands of aspen, oak, maple, fir, and pine. If they did not reach water, and the storm came roaring out of the west, it might send an already thirsty herd running hell-for-leather back the way it had come. Less than an hour had passed when Mariposa rode back to confirm Estanzio’s prediction.

  “Storm come,” said Mariposa. “Stones of water. Bring cow pronto. We wait.”

  Gil galloped his horse along the flank and back to drag, warning the riders. With doubled lariats they swatted dusty flanks, and the longhorns bawled their weariness and frustration. Estanzio, Mariposa, and Juan Padillo had already secured the horse herd in a stand of oaks. Gil and Ramon led the longhorns for another quarter of a mile, taking shelter in a covering of oak and aspen. Gil wished the horses had been taken west of the longhorns, so if the steers stampeded, they might not take the horses with them, but it was too late for hindsight. Some of the longhorns stubbornly refused to be confined beneath the sheltering oaks and broke loose. They lit out west and ran headlong into a barrage of hailstones, some of them as large as eggs. The steers changed their minds and bolted back to the shelter of the trees. The hailstorm hit hard, littering the ground with leaves and small limbs. Some of the horses, some of the longhorns, and most of the riders were struck by the hailstones. Horses nickered and steers bawled, but they were confused. There was no thunder and no lightning, and there seemed no escape from the onslaught. While the longhorns milled and bawled, there was no spark to ignite a stampede. The hail gradually diminished, giving way to the rain. It became a steady downpour, and while there eventually was thunder, it was subdued. Finally the rain fell faster than the thirsty earth could swallow it, and there was water for the horses and longhorns.

  “No matter if we reach spring now,” said Vicente.

  “It does matter,” said Gil. “We have to make twenty miles tomorrow, and twenty more the day after, so that means we finish our fifteen today. Let’s move ’em out!”

  The rain remained steady, cooling the land, and Rosa shivered in her sodden clothes. The wind had risen, and with the rain, there was an almost uncomfortable chill. When they finally reached the spring, there was a pleasant surprise. While water pooled at the foot of a ridge, it came from higher up, tumbling down over rocks. There was a substantial runoff for the watering of the stock, and it ran deep, supplemented by the rain. Along the base of the ridge down which the water cascaded was a rock overhang a dozen feet high and forty feet long. With the wind and the rain out of the west, there would be a dry place to cook, eat, and spread blankets.

  “Come on, Bo,” said Van, “and let’s find some pine knots and some dead fir and get a fire going. I got a wild hankering for some hot coffee.”

  Ramon, Gil, Juan Padillo, Long John, Vicente Gomez, and Juan Alamonte began unloading the packhorses. Rosa got the iron spider ready, and filled the two-gallon coffeepot with water. She filled a soft leather bag with coffee beans, crushing them with a stone. Van and Bo returned with some fir and some oak and the resinous heart of a long dead pine, with the knots still attached. They soon had a fire going, and the savory aroma of coffee lifted their spirits.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ agin beans an’ bacon,” Long John said, “but oncet we git t’ this Cienega Creek, mebbe me an’ Bo can git us a mess o’ fish.”

  The rain let up just before midnight. Gil, Rosa, Pedro Fagano, Juan Padillo, Vicente Gomez, and Manuel Armijo had the second watch. Rosa had taken to riding the Indian pony on which she and Van had returned to camp, following their escape from the Apaches. The horse had scars on its face, evidence that it had seen little kindness in its life. Rosa had made friends with the animal partly out of sympathy and partly because her affection for it seemed to irk Gil. Estanzio had patiently trimmed the horse’s hooves and had shod it for her. Gil didn’t waste any time or pass up any opportunity to rag her about the horse. This night on watch, even after a hard day on the trail, was no exception.

  “Don’t we have enough decent horses without you ridin’ that scrubby, ugly Apache nag?”

  “He is no scrubbier or uglier than the rest of them,” said Rosa shortly. “Since you find them so undesirable, why do we take them with us? Once we were far from the Apache camp, you should have set them free.”

  “Ugly and scrubby or not,” Gil said, “I reckon they’ll bring a few dollars in Tucson, and I don’t need any advice on how to handle Apaches.”

  “Or on anything else,” said Rosa.

&
nbsp; “You never back off, do you?”

  “Without cause, you spoke unkindly of my horse. He is an honest horse, and he trusts me, which is more than can be said for you.”

  “All right, damn it,” he growled, “maybe I was a mite hasty, when I . . . when I thought you and Van—”

  “Is that your Tejano asno way of admitting you were wrong?” she broke in.

  “Hell, no,” he snapped, losing his temper. “I don’t know that I was wrong, but I’m willin’ to put that behind us and just forget it. But you can’t seem to; you’re hellbent on keepin’ it a burr under your tail forever.”

  “Madre de Dios.” Rosa laughed. “You will forget, but you will not forgive. I do not believe you will do either. When I am old and dying, you will come to me and ask, ‘Rosa, what did you and Van do while you were naked in the woods?’”

  “I try to make amends,” he snarled, “and you laugh at me. By God, I won’t get down on my knees.”

  “I laugh so that I do not cry,” said Rosa, “and I couldn’t believe you if you were on your knees. As I have told you, a woman sees first with her heart, and what I see, I do not like.”

  “Well, just put the rest of the cards on the table,” he said, “and tell me what it is you see that you don’t like.”

  “I see a man who is not satisfied with his life,” said Rosa. “Your brother has a wife and child. All you have—or had—was me, and your uncle Stephen’s law books. You found no comfort in the books, and you have used my young years as an excuse for turning from me. You wanted me, but only as you might want any woman to satisfy your needs. That is why you left me in Texas. Foolishly, perhaps, I followed, and again you want me, but not in the way that I wish you to. While you need a market for cattle, that is not the real reason for this trail drive. What you seek is within yourself, and if you could not find it in Texas, neither will you find it at the end of this California Trail.”

  “You’re dead right about one thing,” he said grudgingly. “I wanted you, and I still do, but not in the way that you wish. You’ve tempted me, and when you left Bandera Range and joined the drive, you spoiled all my good intentions. I needed to be away from you for a while, to know if I felt more for you than just a need for what you were tempting me with.”

  “That’s why you have been so ugly and cruel to Van and me,” said Rosa. “Had you been in Van’s place after the two of us had been stripped by the Apaches, our night in the woods would have been different. You would have done the very thing you have accused Van of doing, wouldn’t you?”

  He was silent for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, and when he finally spoke, she barely heard him.

  “Like Uncle Stephen used to say, a thief thinks we are all thieves, that everybody steals. Go ahead and laugh. I reckon I got it coming.”

  “There is nothing to laugh about,” said Rosa. “No more will I tempt you, and no longer will you be forced to ponder your feelings for me. When we have reached the end of this California Trail, if you do not want me, than I will not return to Texas with you. I will know your feelings in my heart, and when it is time for a decision, it will not be yours, but my own.”

  Gil had the herd on the trail when it was barely first light. While there would be no difficulty in finding Cienega Creek, it must be scouted for Indian sign. There were now so many horses, Gil left Mariposa and Estanzio with the horse herd and attended to the scouting himself. He left Ramon in charge of the cattle, with specific instructions.

  “Push them hard, Ramon, just like we did yesterday. We have to make a twenty-mile drive today, and we must make it all the way.”

  Gil rode out, and while his eyes searched the country ahead, his mind was on Rosa and the line she’d drawn last night. He felt better, in a way, having cleared his conscience of the foolish things he’d said and done, but he was uneasy. The girl understood him better than he understood himself. Back at the Bandera ranch, he believed he could have proven himself by taking her to bed. But the days and weeks on the trail had changed her, matured her, and her stern, unbending attitude last night had reminded him of Granny Austin. In his mind’s eye he could see her yet, pausing in her Scripture reading to look at him sternly over the tops of her spectacles. While she could not have known his every thought, she had convinced him that she did. He was thirty-eight years old, he thought ruefully, and still having to answer to Granny Austin. As she had bent the twig, so had the tree grown. While he didn’t even want to think of returning to Texas without Rosa, she would make the decision, and there seemed no way he could influence her. He made up his mind not to speak unkindly to her, or to force his thoughts or opinions on her. While that might not help his cause, it was a start.

  Van, Rosa, Bo, and Long John rode drag. After last night’s rain, it was still too early in the day for dust to be a problem, and the herd was still fresh enough that the longhorns were trailing well. Van rode his horse next to Rosa’s, and she smiled at him.

  “Not a bad horse for an Injun mount, is he?”

  “He is a fine horse,” said Rosa. “Even if we hadn’t needed him so badly, I am glad we found him. One who has been mistreated, when you have won his trust, he will die for you.”

  “Your talks with Gil have done some good. He was almost friendly this morning.”

  “I have told him I may not be returning to Texas with him, and that if I do, the decision will be mine alone. I have begun to believe that my coming on this trail drive was a mistake, but it is too late to change that.”

  “For Gil’s sake,” Van said, “I hope he measures up, and that you’ll be goin’ back with us. I don’t know how old you are in years, but you’re the kind of woman the frontier needs. If I didn’t already have a wife, old Gil wouldn’t stand a chance. I’d grab you for myself.”

  “Thank you,” said Rosa, touched by his sincerity.

  Gil kept his horse at a slow gallop, and in a little more than two hours reached Cienega Creek. He found, while the map called it a creek, it was more a river. The previous night’s rain had swelled the stream until it ran bank full. Gil rode upstream two or three miles. From there he rode west, in a half circle. When he again reached the fast flowing creek half a dozen miles south, he followed it north to the place where he had first approached it. While he saw no Indian sign, it told him nothing prior to last night’s heavy rain. Before the trail drive approached the creek, it must again be scouted for recent Indian sign. For now, it would do. When he had rested his horse and allowed it to drink, he mounted and rode back to meet the oncoming trail herd. By the time the sun was two hours high, there wasn’t a hint of last night’s rain. The “wet weather” streams and water holes were only mud, and another day’s sun would see them dried stone-hard, spiderwebbed with cracks.

  Much to his satisfaction, Gil found that Mariposa, Estanzio, and Juan Padillo had the horses moving at the kind of gait it would take to reach Cienega Creek in a one-day drive. Gil regarded his outfit as superior to most, because his men had originally been riders for the famous Mendoza horse ranch, in Durango, Mexico. They understood and respected horses, but they also knew the limits of an animal’s endurance. It was better to drive them hard all day than to have them suffer a night in dry camp. The same held true for the long-horns, but unlike horses, they knew no loyalty that inspired them to greater effort. They trailed best at a steady, comfortable walk, and when forced to exceed that, they became rebellious and mean. That was the state in which Gil found them on this day when their choice was a killing twenty-mile drive, or dry camp. While the flank riders were having their problems with bunch quitters, it would be far worse at the drag, and that was where Gil headed. With the greatly increased horse herd, Juan Padillo was working with Mariposa and Estanzio. Ramon rode the point, and Gil had shifted everybody he could spare to the drag. There was Long John, Bo, Rosa, Pedro Fagano, and Juan Alamonte. On a normal day that would have been enough, but one look at the cantankerous herd told Gil this was anything but a normal day. Rosa headed a big brindle just in time
to ride madly after another that had just broken away. The rest of the riders were equally busy. Long John’s horse had a bloody gash along its left flank, having been raked by a horn.

  “Swap horses, Long John,” Gil said, “and smear that gash with sulfur salve before the blowflies get to it.”

  Long John nodded and rode away. While he understood what had to be done, he wasn’t neglectful. The herd had been so unruly, he couldn’t be spared. Gil quickly got a taste of the kind of day they had in store. The same old stubborn brindle that Rosa had just sent bawling back to the herd again decided to back-trail. Gil tried to head him, failed, and finally was forced to rope the brute. He came up fighting, and his mad rush for Gil was cut short when Rosa caught him by the hind legs with a second loop and sent him crashing down in a bawling heap. With both cow horses holding him helpless, Gil bound his front and hind legs with piggin string.

  “Three times he has run away,” said Rosa.

  “We’ll leave him lay here awhile and fight the rawhide,” Gil said. “If he still won’t trail with the rest of the herd, I’ll shoot the bastard. One ornery steer can be more trouble than he’s worth, and he sets a bad example for the others.”

  An hour down the trail, Gil rode back and cut the brindle loose. Meekly the steer trotted ahead of him until they caught up with the tag end of the drive.

  “I reckon he’s yer pet,” said Long John with a grin.

  “Yeah,” said Gil. “He runs one more time today, and we’ll have fresh steak for supper.”

  “We ain’t took enough vinegar out’n ’em,” said Long John. “Why don’t we bust ther’ backsides an’ make ’em lope faster?”

  “They’d just get more ornery than they are already,” Gil said. “Let’s see if we can’t keep ’em bunched so tight they can’t break loose and run. If we keep ’em moving, we’ll make our twenty miles. It’s the bunch quitting that’s costing us. Let’s close the ranks and keep ’em closed. I want them bunched so tight, none of the brutes can see anything but the ugly backside of another longhorn.”