The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “You’ve seen my young’uns?”

  “Yes, they can come along.”

  “What do you pay?”

  “Twenty a month and food for all of you.”

  “How will I get there?”

  “I’ll have Hack Smith come by with his freight wagon and deliver you.”

  “I know Hack.”

  “Here’s ten dollars to defray your expenses.”

  “That come out of my first month’s pay?” Her eyes hooded with suspicions, she waited for his answer.

  “No, it’s a bonus.”

  “What else?”

  “I want you to meet me at Hazelgood’s Store in an hour. You can pick out what you’ll need to feed us, and Hack can haul that, too, unless you have lots of furniture.” He leaned forward in the saddle and peered in the door.

  She laughed aloud. “He can haul it and all the supplies. I’ll be at the store in one hour.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McCarty.” He touched his hat and eased Rob around.

  “Whatcha call him?” the smallest boy asked with a bold look on his freckled face.

  “Rob.”

  “Hiram,” his mother said sternly.

  “Boys got to ask questions, ma’am. I’d judge that he has lots more.”

  “Maybe ten thousand,” she said and looked at the sky for help.

  Hazelgood’s Store was where a person went for everything: farm machinery, harnesses, tools, seed, potash fertilizer, feed, clothing, material, lace, thread, shoes, guns, ammo, pots, pans, lamps, dishes and food.

  Gustoff Hazelgood was a walking dynamo. He employed several young men who were not only pleasant but resourceful. At the sight of Sam entering the front door, Hazelgood left his huge desk and came off the platform to meet him.

  A burly man who looked more like a lumberjack than a storekeeper, he wore a smile plastered on his face and shot out his hand to shake. His hair was the color of wheat and his complexion bore a tint of pink.

  “How have you been?” Gus asked. “I was saddened to hear about Earl. And I heard his wife left right quickly.”

  “Don’t worry. If she owes you anything, she’ll pay you. Until this feud simmers down, she needs to be in San Anton. Same for Tom’s wife and kids.”

  “I knew that you’d see her debt was taken care of. It was why she left that bothered me. But I can see what you mean. What do you need today?”

  “My new cook is coming to select supplies and I’m to meet her here.”

  “And who may that be?”

  “Kathy McCarty.”

  “Ah, the young widow.”

  Sam nodded.

  “That should liven up the ranch. She has four children.”

  “Might not hurt a thing. The boy I’ve hired and I are so tired of our own cooking, I figured we needed a cook.”

  “Don’t blame you. How about a small drink?”

  Sam, looking around the store, saw no sign of Kathy, so he agreed. “How’s business?” he asked.

  “That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about.” Gus took a wheel-back chair that squeaked when he turned in it to reach down in the drawer for a bottle of bonded whiskey. He set the bottle and two glasses on the counter.

  “Oh?”

  “Several small ranchers have accounts with me. If they sold their steers, they wouldn’t get nothing for them. But if they could be included in a drive and they got a good price for ’em, they could wipe their slate clean.”

  Gus poured the glasses three-fourths full. “Now they pay me, but they never get completely out of debt. You know what that would mean to small ranchers?”

  Sam nodded woodenly. Most folks considered what they owed as their inability to succeed. To be out of debt was worth bragging over. “And we don’t owe a soul.” He’d heard many a rancher’s wife say that to others at gatherings. Glass in hand, Sam knew what would come next.

  “You’re the man to deliver them,” Gus said.

  “Big gamble. Their stock could drown in the rivers or die in a freak snowstorm. There could be a stampede and the whole herd would be lost for ever.”

  “And they could find a good market and bring forty dollars a head.”

  “Or get there and the market be two dollars.” Sam shook his head. “There’re lots of risks in sending cattle up the trail.”

  “Lord, Sam, lightning could strike, too, and kill them all. But a man like you could get the herd through and not rob these men.”

  Sam clinked his glass to Gus’. “You and the colonel’s wife been talking?”

  The storekeeper nodded. His brown eyes did not leave Sam’s. “We’ve talked, but so have my customers. Have you even considered heading a drive?”

  “Not seriously.”

  “I know what happened on the last trip you made, but that was just fate.”

  Sam rose when Mrs. McCarty swept inside. “My new cook has arrived. I better get started.”

  “Sam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think real hard on it.”

  “I hear ya.” Sam finished his whiskey and set the glass down. Then he met Mrs. McCarty at the counter.

  “What do you have out there?”

  “Some frijoles and chili peppers is about all that’s left.”

  She made a pained face. “What would you like to eat?”

  “We don’t care so long as we don’t have to cook it.”

  “Do you have a cow? Chickens?”

  “No, but I can get some. You want a cow?”

  “It would help.”

  “I ain’t sure that Billy would milk her for you.”

  She nodded. “I can do that if you get one. Besides, that brood of mine likes milk and I like butter, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Kathy. Call me that, Mr. Ketchem.”

  “I’m Sam.” He removed his hat. “Nice to know you, Kathy.”

  “What can I get for you today?” asked a tall young man with glasses. Arthur Martin was one of the more knowledgeable salesmen.

  “Mrs. McCarty is my new cook. Get her what she needs.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Ketchem. I mean, Sam.”

  “A barrel of flour,” Kathy began. “Two pails of lard—”

  Sam stepped back and braced his butt on a counter with high-top shoes. Arms folded, he heard Kathy call out, “Raisins, dried apples, canned peaches, tomatoes, baking powder, sugar—”

  She turned and looked at Sam from top to bottom as if she’d not seen all of him before. “Do I need to cut back?”

  He shook his head and motioned her on.

  “I didn’t want you to be in the poorhouse over my ordering all this.”

  “Not a problem today.”

  “Good.” She turned back and continued her list.

  “You have cooking pots and pans?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “You see something you need, put it in this order.”

  “A Dutch oven and a large cast-iron skillet too much?”

  “No.” He could use them if he ever went north again anyway. He’d sold his cooking gear, chuck wagon and all in Dodge after the two boys’ funeral. That drive was meant to be his last and final drive.

  “My heavens,” Kathy said, turning while Arthur went after some thread for her. “This will cost a fortune.”

  “Get a big jar of hard candy to hand out as rewards for them young’uns.”

  “I can see you want to spoil my children.”

  “I doubt I can do that. But get them each a pair of shoes, an everyday outfit and a Sunday outfit. There’s dances and social things, and school will start this fall.”

  “Do you know what that will cost?”

  “Kathy, they won’t need to hide at the social gatherings ’cause they’re ashamed of what they have to wear.”

  “Still—”

  He put his finger to his lips. “They can earn it doing chores.”

  “I should hope so. But it will cost—”

  With a head shake, he dismissed the con
cern written in her look.

  “Hack will be by later and haul my order to the ranch,” he told the clerk. “I’ll be outside when you get through, Kathy.”

  “Better send the kids in, so we’re sure this all fits,” she said.

  “I will.” Sam pushed outside, and there on the bench, with their legs swinging, were four McCarty children.

  “I know you,” he said to the freckled-faced youngest. “You’re Hiram.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hiram beamed.

  “And you are?” he asked a girl with pigtails.

  “Rowann’s my name.” She was perhaps eight or nine.

  “Nice to meet you.” Sam looked at the oldest boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Darby, Mr. Ketchem, sir.”

  Sam guessed the boy might be twelve. He turned to the second boy. “What’s your name?”

  “His name is Sloan, but he can’t talk,” Rowann said. “He can’t hear you either. He’s my twin.”

  The youth nodded and swallowed hard when she gave him an elbow and motioned toward Sam.

  “But he’s no trouble and he’s a good worker, Mr. Ketchem,” Darby put in quickly, as if Sam might reject them over the boy’s handicap.

  “That’s fine. He can’t help it. Your mother wants all of you inside,” Sam said.

  Their eyes wide with amazement, the children looked at one another and scrambled off the bench. Rowann took Sloan by the hand.

  Hiram stopped and looked up at Sam. “I guess us being Gawdamn Irish don’t bother you none?”

  Rowann put her hand over her mouth in shock at his words. “Hiram! Mother will whip you.” Her fingers shot out and she jerked him after the others.

  “Don’t bother me a bit, Hiram,” Sam said with a grin.

  “Good!” the boy shouted over his shoulder as his furious sister propelled him inside.

  Suddenly a man shouted, “You no-good bastard!”

  Sam saw the man come wading out of a saloon across the street. In reaction, Sam’s hand went for his six-gun, and he used his thumbnail to flick the rawhide thong off the hammer that held it in place.

  “You backshooting trash!”

  Ken Wagner wasn’t as big as his late brother, but Sam had no intention of taking another beating. The rage on Wagner’s bearded face as he started across the near-empty street would have matched Harry’s the day he tore into the Tiger Hole. Wagner must have been drinking firewater for a while.

  Sam looked back and hoped that the children stayed inside long enough for him to solve this matter. Then he stepped into the street. Folks on the sidewalk began to run for cover. One man driving along saw the confrontation coming and lashed his buggy horse into a frenzy. The rig went swaying from side to side as it tore out of town.

  “You shot my brother! Get ready to die!” Ken’s hand went to his gun.

  “I never killed your brother—” Sam’s draw was faster and the cocked Colt in his hand belched fire, smoke and death.

  Wagner shot his own gun into the dust. Half spun around by the bullet in his chest, he fell in the dust. Sam went over and kicked the weapon from the other man’s grasp in case he tried anything. But the man’s eyes already looked glassy, and his life was evaporating.

  “Hold it right there,” Stuart shouted.

  Sam holstered his gun. “Got here five minutes too late, didn’t you?”

  “I ain’t having your feud in my town.”

  “Tell it to the Wagners. That’s the second or third time they’ve jumped me.”

  “You ain’t welcome in Frio, Ketchem.”

  Sam wanted to laugh at the man with his big silver star. “Tell Gus that and you’ll be unemployed in a minute. This sumbitch came out of that saloon on the prowl. I bet he’s been in there all day, drinking and bragging how he was going to take me.”

  “I said—”

  “You want to call a coroner’s hearing, do it.” Sam had had enough. None of the customers that came out of the saloon to stand on the porch and gawk acted hostile. Satisfied that they were no threat, he turned on his heel and headed for Rob.

  “Listen to me, Ketchem. I don’t want your feud in my town.”

  Filled with pent-up anger, Sam jerked the cinch tight. He was upset enough over the shooting, and he didn’t want any more words with Stuart. “Then mind your business. That dead drunk should have been locked up or run off over an hour ago.” He took the reins and stuck his toe in the stirrup. “Stuart, you’re on the wrong side.”

  In the saddle, Sam checked Rob and looked at the furious marshal standing in the center of the street, clenching his fists. Words would only fuel the flames. Sam reined Rob aside and booted him out to leave. This feud would never end. Sam’s life would never return to normal either. Damn that Wagner bunch anyway.

  Chapter 11

  Past sundown, Sam dropped heavy out of the saddle and undid the girth. He led Rob over to the tack room, where Billy lit a lamp and joined him.

  “You find a cook?” Billy asked.

  Saddle and pads in his hands, Sam stopped. “You know a Kathy McCarty?”

  “No. Who’s she?”

  “Widow woman. Four kids. Says she can cook.” Sam put the saddle on the rack in the new room. “Guess you and I are bunking in here.”

  “You taste her cooking?”

  “No.” A smile on his lips and about to laugh, Sam said, “But she ain’t bad to look at.”

  “Look at? Four kids? We’re sleeping in the bunkhouse?”

  “For now.”

  “Aw, hell, Sam, why didn’t you hire some trail-drive cook?”

  “There wasn’t one to hire. Besides, you ain’t seen her nor ate her food.”

  “You ain’t either.”

  “I seen her. What’s to eat?”

  “Frijoles. Remember? That’s why you went to town.”

  Sam shook his head. “Her and them four kids were the highlight of my day. Ken Wagner jumped me before I left town.” He looked at the stars and wondered how many more Wagners wanted to die.

  “Sorry. What happened?”

  “They’re having his funeral.”

  “Oh, damn, I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “Never mind. Hack’s bringing Kathy, her kids and all her things out tomorrow, along with plenty of food. Who’s got a cow?”

  “I ain’t milking no damn cow.”

  “Didn’t ask you to. Marty will know where one is and we’ve got to build a chicken house.”

  “Chicken house? Next you’ll want a pig pen, too.”

  Sam stopped in the lighted doorway and laughed. “Going to be different around here.”

  “What’s Etta Faye think about you hiring a widow woman for a cook?”

  “Hell, I never asked her.”

  “You’ll hear about it.”

  Sam reflected on Billy’s words. Etta might object, but he did so few things that pleased that woman, he didn’t care.

  Hiram was standing in the back of the freight wagon, on top of a barrel, waving his felt hat over his head and shouting, “We made it! We finally made it!”

  Hack Smith had a mild smile and a handshake for Sam before he helped Kathy off the spring seat. She straightened her calico dress and nodded in gratitude at Sam.

  “That’s Billy Ford. Billy, this is Kathy McCarty.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, let me assure you. That’s the house?” she asked, and they headed for it.

  “Yes. Billy and I moved all our junk and beds out to the barn this morning.

  “Oh, you have a real stove,” Kathy said when she walked into the kitchen.

  “We’re close to civilized here,” Sam said.

  She smiled at the three men, who were standing with their hats in their hands. “I think it can sparkle. A few curtains and some of my things, and this can be a cheery place.”

  “Ma’am, can you make pancakes?” Billy asked.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “We tried that a few times and they never quite wor
ked out,” Billy said.

  “We can have them in the morning.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Let’s get the wagon unloaded first,” Sam said, getting back to reality. “There’s a lot of stuff out there that needs to come inside.”

  Two hours later, Kathy was making bread dough. Soon she had baked five golden loaves. Rowann was peeling potatoes while the boys helped bring in their furniture.

  “Sure hope we don’t move again soon,” Hiram told Billy as they went back for more.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Too much damn work.”

  “Hiram McCarty, watch your foul mouth unless you want your tongue polished with lye soap again,” his mother said.

  A wooden box full of canned peaches in his hands, Sam smothered his amusement as he came inside. He watched Kathy shake her head in disapproval at him for even thinking about laughing. “He’s not funny, Sam Ketchem.”

  Later, seated at the table, eating a slap of fresh bread, Sam watched Kathy fix supper: ham and potato casserole. Billy and the boys had gone to the creek for a swim.

  “I’m going to find a cow tomorrow,” Sam said.

  “Wonderful,” she said, pushing a wisp of her black hair from her face with the back of her hand. “I sure hope we please you, Sam Ketchem.”

  “You will.”

  She looked around to be certain that Rowann was outside at the moment. “The man you shot in the street yesterday was a Wagner?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I wanted to know. I heard something about a feud?”

  Sam nodded and looked into her blue eyes. “I never started it. But yes, I guess they want one.”

  “Two men are dead?”

  “Three counting my brother.”

  “Bad things, feuds. Not much can be done about them either.”

  “I’ll try to be certain nothing happens to you and your children.”

  “Thank you.” She chewed on her lip. “And all this food and this house. I may have to cry.”

  “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “No, Sam. I feared the whole lot of us might starve this winter before you rode up.” She blew her nose in a rag from her apron pocket. “Now I can see lots of pain in your eyes, too. Maybe we both can find a new way.”

  “I’m ready, Kathy.”

  “So am I.”