Gil reined up at the foot of the slope, not daring to ride closer. If there were men at the spring—white or Indian—they would be mounted, and the nickering of a horse could betray him. Gil half-hitched his reins to some greasewood and began his cautious advance toward the spring on foot. Such was the undergrowth, he could see only a few feet ahead. He avoided approaching the spring directly, and when he reached the runoff, he found it a substantial stream, shaded by pinion, willow, and oak. Staying within the shadow of the trees, Gil followed the runoff until he was within sight of the spring. While it was shaded by trees, it flowed out of rock and there was little underbrush. Stone outcroppings provided a natural clearing, and within it was the remains of a fire that had been left to burn itself out. Only an ember remained, and the smoke was becoming less and less. Leaving an unattended fire was wanton carelessness, certainly not the act of a frontiersman or Indian.
Gil drew his Colt and moved closer. Birds chattered in the trees, and a pair of jays dipped down to the spring. Whoever had been there was gone. Holstering his Colt, Gil went on to the spring. The jays escaped to the safety of an overhead limb and, in a language of their own, swore at him for his intrusion. Gil didn’t pause at the spring, but continued beyond it, until he found where the horses had been picketed. It took him only a few minutes to find where the riders had approached the spring from the south, and he accounted for fourteen horses. Where the men had dismounted there were some boot prints, and Gil found several where the heel had gone deep. There was a distinct imprint of big roweled spurs. Cartwheel spurs, the kind favored by Mexican riders.
In a widening circle Gil moved away from the spring until he found where the riders had departed. Westward. He had no time to trail them. It was a task better suited to Mariposa or Estanzio, once they had brought the horses to the spring ahead of the longhorns. Gil rode back, and when he met the horse herd, he spent a few minutes with the Indian riders. From there he went on to meet Ramon and the herd.
“Mostly good news, Ramon. Looks like we’ll end another day without a stampede. Mariposa and Estanzio are takin’ the horses ahead, as usual. One of them will be ridin’ west, trailing some hombres who left the spring sometime this morning. May not mean anything to us, but we can’t risk it.”
Reaching the drag, Gil found that most of the other riders shared his caution. Things had been going entirely too well.
“Mex outlaws,” Van declared, “and up to no good. You can bet your last pair of good socks they’re not here among the cactus and rattlesnakes just to visit their kin.”
“Ye purely got the straight o’ it, son,” said Long John. “I reckon we gon’ be payin’ fer them peaceful nights we had.”
“They have left their fire and ridden away,” said Rosa. “Perhaps they do not know of us.”
“Perhaps they do,” said Bo, “and they are waiting until we reach Papago Wells. Is it not very close to Mexico?”
“Within hollerin’ distance,” Gil said, “and your thinkin’ is running neck and neck with mine. If this bunch figures we’re trailwise enough that they can’t hide from us, leavin’ the fire and a plain trail makes sense. Obviously they have no interest in us, and it purely fans the fires of my suspicions. If they know we’re headed for dripping springs, they’ll also know our next sure water will be at Papago Wells. If they’re up to devilment that involves us, it’ll happen at Papago Wells. Once we leave there, we move north, following San Cristobal Wash to the Gila River.”
“So we’ll sleep with one eye open at Papago Wells,” said Van.
“Don’t plan on sleeping at all,” Gil replied.
They topped the Ajo mountain range an hour before sundown, and the longhorns were allowed to take their time on the descent. The riders reined up, awed by the mystic beauty of what seemed literally thousands of organ pipe cactus.
“Madre de Dies!” Rosa cried. “I could stand here on this mountain and enjoy them forever. Perhaps instead of returning to Texas, I will live here.”
Bo laughed. “One could do worse.”
Gil started to say something, saw Rosa looking at him, and kept silent. They followed the longhorns down the slope, falling behind as the brutes became aware of the water ahead. Following Gil’s orders, Ramon had taken the herd over the slope at a point that would lead them not directly to the spring, but to the runoff.
“You aim to keep some distance between the horses and the longhorns tonight, I reckon,” Van said.
“Tonight, and especially tomorrow night,” said Gil. “If those Mex outlaws have any ideas about stampedin’ our stock, they’ll have to choose horses or cows. I don’t aim for them to get both.”
Estanzio waited at the spring with the packhorses. Mariposa had not returned from trailing the mysterious riders. Gil, Van, Long John, Ramon, Bo, and Juan Armijo began unloading the packhorses. Rosa quickly got the supper started. The fire had to be doused before dark. Mariposa returned, and his report was brief.
“No could trail more,” said the Indian. “Sun go, them no stop.”
“We’ll pick up the trail tomorrow,” said Gil. “I just wanted to be sure they didn’t double back and hit us tonight.”
“Still might,” said Long John. “They could of doubled back after the Injun quit the trail.”
Mariposa cast Long John a black look. He might or might not have understood the words, but he had caught the doubt in the Cajun’s voice.
“Even you couldn’t follow their trail in the dark,” said Gil. “We’ll be on watch tonight, and we’ll scout ahead tomorrow. We don’t dare drive on to Papago Wells without scouting it first, and if they aim to hit us, I still think that’s where it’ll happen. We won’t be more than four or five miles from the Mexican border, and if they manage to run our stock into Mexico, they’ll steal us blind.”
“Ye kin count on ’em comin’ fer the hosses,” Long John said. “Tomorrer night, if’n we all stakes out the hoss herd, we kin blast ’em outta their saddles.”
“No,” said Gil, “that’s a gamble. We’ll do what we’ve been doing. We’ll leave Estanzio and Mariposa with the horses, and the rest of us will be with the longhorns. We’ll move the horses to the north of our camp, and the longhorns to the south. You could be right, Long John, and if they do come after the horses, they’ll have to run them past us if they aim to cross the border. But they’ll have a fight on their hands, because we’ll have enough distance between horses and longhorns so’s we can head the horses before they get to the steers and stampede them.”
Van laughed. “Not bad, big brother. On the other hand, if they decide on the longhorns, they’ll be up against a dozen of us, and we’ll be expectin’ a stampede to the south.”
“Dead right,” said Gil. “We don’t know if they’ll try for horses, steers, or both. But we’ll be prepared to defend either herd, and in either case, we’ll be between them and the border.”
“Por Dios,” Rosa said, “in Mexico it is the soldados; here it is the Indios and banditos. Is there no place in the world where one’s life, cows, and horses are safe?”
“I have seen some of the world,” said Bo, “and no man’s possessions are any safer than his willingness to defend them. Nor is his life. Governments, laws, and politics are tools men employ to steal what others have earned.”
“The Good Book says the world is goin’ t’ hell.” Long John chuckled. “An’ Bo says it’s done gone.”
“Quoting the Good Book,” said Bo, “men love darkness because their deeds are evil. Words of the ancients tell us Diogenes went looking for an honest man, carrying a lamp to light his way. His search was in vain. I suspect he said to hell with it, after someone stole his lamp.”
It was a humorous remark that none of them fully understood except Gil. He remembered it as a nugget he had laboriously dug from one of Stephen Austin’s books. He looked at the little cowboy with new respect and some envy, and was troubled by his own thoughts. How many months and years had he known Bo, without really knowing him? He felt a sense of l
oss, and silently vowed to spend some time with the Argentine. But with each passing day, time was running out. . . .
* Now Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, in southwestern Arizona
19
Despite Long John’s misgivings; there was no trouble at the dripping springs. Vento Henneagar’s directions said the distance to Papago Wells was twenty-two miles, and it would be their longest drive since leaving Tucson. Gil had the herds on the trail at first light. The riders were grimly determined, each resigned to a hard day with little or no sleep at the conclusion of it. Strong on their minds was the possibility of an outlaw attack at Papago Wells. But Gil intended to take every precaution, and once the trail drive was moving, he rode west. He took the trail that Mariposa had followed until darkness had overtaken him. While the Indian hadn’t had time to trail the bunch as far as Papago Wells, Gil faced no such limitation. After leaving the spring, he fully expected the band to continue west, but how far? If his suspicions were justified, once they were well beyond Papago Wells, the riders would double back, either north or south. Soon afterward they would swing back to the east until they were close enough to Papago Wells to lay in wait. He believed they would ride north, attacking from that direction with intentions of stampeding the horses and the longhorns across the border. It made sense, and if such an attack came, Gil hoped it was from the north. That meant they would have to hit the horse herd first, with Mariposa and Estanzio waiting for them. Even if they successfully stampeded the horses, Gil and the rest of the outfit would be riding in from the south. Not only could he and his riders head the horses before they reached the longhorns, they could, and would, empty some outlaw saddles.
Unsure as to how far he might have to ride, Gil had kept his horse at a slow gallop, a mile-eating gait that was easiest on the animal. When he had been in the saddle about two hours and was nearing Papago Wells, he slowed the horse to a walk. While he didn’t expect to find the riders at the spring, he dared not risk riding too close. He would have to picket his horse and approach on foot. Once he had left his horse, he paused every few yards, looking and listening. Around him he could hear the twitter of birds, and that was a good sign. The spring, when he sighted it, was surrounded by the usual greenery. Surprisingly, much of the small valley’s growth was devoted to yucca, greasewood, and buffalo grass. Given a choice, horses and cows usually bedded down near water. Tonight they would have no choice, for the spring wasn’t large, and the runoff was correspondingly small. The horses, when they had been watered, would be driven considerably north of the spring, while the longhorns would graze to the south.
Near the spring, Gil found the ashes of last night’s fire and other evidence the band of riders had spent the night here. He quickly found where they had ridden away, leaving a clear trail heading west. Sweating in the mid-morning sun, Gil trudged back to his horse and again took up the trail. Five miles west of Papago Wells he had his suspicions vindicated and verified. The trail took an abrupt turn to the north.
The bunch wouldn’t work their way too near the spring, lest they be discovered, so Gil doubted he had been seen. Still, he would take no chances. He rode south several miles before he turned back to meet the herd, bypassing the spring. His relief was tempered by his anxiety. While they had an edge, knowing what to expect, there was always a chance that some of his riders would die in the attack. Could he keep Rosa out of it, even with a direct order? As if that weren’t enough of a dilemma, he found himself facing yet another. Should he send Mariposa and Estanzio ahead with the horses, knowing more than a dozen bandits lay in wait somewhere north of Papago Wells? They might simply gun down the Indian riders and take the horse herd. Once across the border, they could lose themselves in the wilds of Mexico, or set up a deadly ambush. By the time Gil had reached the oncoming horse herd, he had made up his mind what he must do. Quickly he explained the situation to Mariposa and Estanzio.
“There’s fourteen of them,” said Gil, “and I won’t risk having the two of you ride in there with the horses an hour or two ahead of the rest of us. Once the long-horns get close to water, we can’t hold them; you know that. This time, with those outlaws layin’ for us, we’ll have to take the longhorns to water first. That’ll mean holdin’ the horses back, not allowin’ them to break for water when the longhorns run. Can you hold the horses back until the steers have watered and been put out to graze?”
“Hoss herd wait,” said Estanzio. “Let cow go.”
Gil had considered leaving at least one other rider with the horses, but thought better of it. This pair of Indian riders had more than their share of pride. He rode on, taking the word to Ramon and the rest of the riders, knowing they weren’t going to like what lay ahead.
“From here on to the water, Ramon, we’ll have to run ’em harder than we ever have. It’ll take longer to water the steers, and we’ll have to get them out of the way while there’s still enough daylight to water the horses.”
“It be some hell of the day,” said Ramon doubtfully. “Already we run them hard, and they do not like it. Now we must drive them still harder.”
“That’s it,” said Gil, unrelenting. “They’re already givin’ us hell, I know, but it’s gonna get worse. Once we’re past Papago Wells, we can ease up.”
“That is how it must be, then,” said Ramon. “Cows give us hell, we give it back.”
Not unexpectedly, Gil found the rest of the outfit less agreeable to his plan, especially the drag riders.
“Wal, hell,” growled Long John, “if’n this bunch o’ Mex bastards is wantin’ t’ fight, how come we got to faunch aroun’ an’ wait fer ’em t’ jump us? Why cain’t we jus’ leave the herd, shoot ’em dead, an’ git it over?”
“Because,” said Gil, his patience wearing thin, “they’d shoot some of us dead. Let them think they have an edge, that they’re takin’ us by surprise. One on one, in daylight, some of us will die. I don’t want that; do you?”
Long John couldn’t answer that, and didn’t try. Bo took up the slack, easing the burden off the lanky Cajun.
“Long John wishes this to be finished,” said Bo, “and so do we all, but our impatience could be the death of some of us. A good general chooses his own ground, and fights on his terms. Let us first get the horses and steers to water, and then give these bandits our undivided attention when they come for us.”
Gil could only admire the little rider’s diplomacy. His words had been conciliatory, while Gil had been tempted to respond by flaying Long John with the Austin temper.
“Wal,” Long John sighed, “if n we got it t’ do, ain’t no use talkin’. I say we doubles our ropes an’ busts some longhorn behinds.”
Even Gil laughed at that, and they set about doing the impossible. Some of the herd, already driven hard, responded by hooking at their companions, or trying to break away. Gil shouted until he was hoarse and swung his lariat until his arm and shoulders were numb from exertion, and finally their efforts began to take effect. The longhorns eventually discovered it was easier to remain with the herd than to bear the punishment bestowed upon bunch quitters.
Mariposa and Estanzio had driven the horse herd out of the path of the longhorns, bringing the horses back into line once the steers were well past. The hardest day the outfit had endured since leaving Bandera Range couldn’t equal this one. The longhorns lagged constantly, and any gap within the ranks inspired a new wave of bunch quitting. Clouds of dust painted the blue of the sky a murky yellow, and bandannas offered scant protection for a rider’s nose and mouth. Hats had been secured with piggin string, lest the fury of movement tear them loose and send them flying. Every weary mile became a hard won victory, and the riders had but one consolation: the longhorns had begun to tire, becoming victims of their own cussedness. Only a time or two was Gil able to look down the back trail, and he saw nothing of the oncoming horse herd. He was thankful for the wisdom of his Indian riders. They well knew that once the longhorns reached the water, getting them to drink and move on might become t
he worst part of an already wretched day. Exhausted as the steers had become, the leaders were still capable of a shambling run once they smelled water. With a groan, Rosa spoke for them all.
“I do not know which I hate the most—Tejano cows or Mejicano outlaws.”
“One’s ’bout as lovable as t’other,” said Long John.
“Keep that mad on a slow fire,” Gil said, “and save it for the outlaws. Let’s go finish what we started, and get those troublesome brutes out on that buffalo grass to the south. Let the water clear up a mite before the horses get here. Then we’ll get our supper and lay our plans for tonight.”
Their task was far from finished. The longhorns reaching the water first were in no hurry to leave, and had to be driven away so their thirsty companions could drink. Some of the stubborn brutes were still muddying the water when the horse remuda arrived. Estanzio and Mariposa joined the rest of the outfit in driving the longhorns almost a mile south, where there was abundant buffalo grass. When the horse remuda had been watered, Mariposa and Estanzio drove the animals north, leaving them to graze. Despite the long drive, supper was over and the fire doused before dark.
“Them boneheaded bastards is comin’ fer more water,” said Long John.
Though the longhorns had been watered and taken to graze, some of them had begun wandering back toward the spring.
“Those of you on the first watch can drive them back,” Gil said. “It’ll be dark in a few minutes, so we might as well get started.”
Long John, Van, Bo, Manuel Armijo, Pedro Fagano, and Vicente Gomez took the first watch. Gil was surprised and relieved, knowing that Rosa would be near him. When danger threatened, she turned to him, and he found that gratifying. Immediately after supper Mariposa and Estanzio had ridden north to take their position with the horses.
“If they’re comin’,” Gil said, “I don’t look for ’em until after midnight, but I want every one of us ready to hit the saddle and ride. That means we saddle and picket our horses, and even if your watch is done, take off nothin’ but your hat. I look for them to ride in from the north, and that means they will hit the horses first. Mariposa and Estanzio will cut down as many as they can, but they’ve been told not to pursue, even if these owlhoots manage to stampede the horses. That throws it all on us, but I can’t gamble on our riders shooting some of us, or us shooting one of them. That means any rider comin’ at you in the dark is one of the outlaws. Make every shot count. If you shoot first, the return fire will be at your muzzle flash, so don’t fire until you can empty a saddle. Remember, our first priority is to gun down as many of these rustlers as we can, and our second is to head the horses before they reach the longhorns. If we burn enough powder, put enough lead into these outlaws, we ought to raise enough hell to turn the horses.”
The California Trail Page 25
