The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Sunup didn’t warm the air very fast. The cowboys’ horses had bucking fits, and Tommy Jacks had to catch and rope Webber’s pony after he unceremoniously dumped his rider. Brushing off his pants and coming to his horse, Webber laughed. “Least he didn’t throw me in a patch of pear cactus.”

  “He’s saving that,” Billy said and rode out on his mission.

  “Sure beats shucking corn,” Lacy shouted. Standing in the stirrups, he rode at a trot with the others toward the herd.

  They’d all survived the first night with little sleep, but they had not been challenged yet. Stampedes, storms, even rustlers could all be up the trail as they went. One thing Sam felt confident about was he would know when this was over if his outfit had the salt to make it to Ogallala.

  The men headed the herd up and moved it out. With wing riders in place, the cattle acted better. In another day, they would be in unfamiliar country and the cattle wouldn’t feel so anxious to “bust out”—especially the foxy old brush cows who’d learned how to hide back in the live oaks and let roundup crews ride by them in the past. There were plenty of them in this long river of horns and continuous bawling.

  At midday, Sam sat on a high point and could see Billy coming back. A wave of relief settled in. Billy must have Sancho set and a place for them to light. Sam booted his horse off the hillside to meet his man.

  “How is it up there?”

  “Fine, ’cept the guy wants ten cents a head for grazing.”

  “What?”

  “Some guy named Schade, says he owns all that country.”

  “Is it fenced?”

  “No.”

  “No way I can pay ten cents a head every night for cattle to graze from here to Buffalo Gap. Does he have any backing?”

  “I don’t know. He was by his self. He’s kind of a tough-acting guy in his forties, I’d say.” Billy looked concerned.

  “Guess we’ll meet this Schade later.” Sam looked toward the horizon over the rolling cedar-clad hills. He didn’t need any trouble, but he wasn’t standing for “fee grazing” on unfenced range when he was only passing through with a herd.

  By late afternoon he would know all about this man and his demands. “You picked out Sancho a place and all?”

  “Right and I told him where it was.”

  “Good. He ain’t going to make a fancy cook, but he will have to do until we get through this drive.”

  “Next spring?”

  Sam smiled. “We definitely ain’t taking him to Nebraska, but don’t let him know that or the food might get even worse.”

  “I’ll go spell the boys some. See you this afternoon. We’re headed pretty well right for that place.”

  “Keep us on course.”

  “I will. I told Tommy Jacks about it coming in.”

  Later, they watered the herd strung out on a creek, then drove them up on the flat and let them graze.

  A rider came burning the ground and reined up a ewe-necked Morgan that looked like a stud. Unshaven, the man had eyes like coal chunks, and he spat tobacco to the side, trying to settle his hard-breathing horse.

  “You Sam Ketchem?” he demanded.

  “You must be Schade?”

  “Yeah, and I own all this land.” Schade made a sweep with his hand in a wide arc.

  “Nice spread.”

  “I want ten cents a head for you trespassing on my land.”

  “Guess you’re new to Texas.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you don’t have this land fenced, and I can drive my herd through here and not damage you.”

  “You a damn lawyer?”

  Sam shook his head. “In the morning we’ll be up the road. You can sue me, but it won’t do any damn good. No Texas court will give you any relief—and if you reach for that gun butt, consider yourself dead. Am I clear?”

  “You think you can come in here—”

  Sam shook his head warily. “It ain’t worth dying over, mister.”

  “I can stampede them cattle off my place.”

  “You better have a box and a new suit picked out if you try it.”

  “You ain’t getting by with this.” Schade spat again.

  “Mister, tomorrow I’ll be gone. Ride out of here and forget this ever happened.”

  “I won’t, by Gawd!” Schade went to whipping his horse around and left in a huff.

  For a long moment, Sam watched the man’s back as he rode away. Fortified with liquor, Schade could be a real problem. Sam would be wise to keep an eye out for the next few days.

  “He back down?” Billy asked, riding over to join Sam.

  “For now,” Sam said. “Keep your eye peeled for him. He said he might stampede the herd.”

  Billy shook his head in disgust. “You figure he owns all this country?”

  “Might, might not. Be a good bluff any way to collect ten cents per head per night.”

  “I can’t count that high.”

  “I couldn’t pay it either.”

  “I figured your brother would have caught up with us by now.”

  Sam looked around. “So did I.”

  They moved on without a stampede, the herd becoming more of one flow rather than individuals jammed into a group. Still, settling the order caused head butting and fights between the cows. Some had so much gusto that they almost broke up the herd’s northward motion. Cowboys waded in on horse back with lariats and bullwhips to separate the lusty fighters. Their mouths open, bawling mad, the cattle hooked and fought to see who was over the other in social standings.

  The Colorado River proved shallow; the water came up only to their horses’ knees. Sam wondered how the Brazos would be. Forced to detour west to avoid farms, they camped for the night on a muddy creek stirred up by the herd getting water.

  Sancho burned the beans and the smoked ham bought from a local farmer. Out of words for the man’s lack of concern for his job, Sam forced the food down, knowing he would need his strength for the long hours in the saddle the next day.

  “This the right place or am I lost?” Tom shouted out in the night.

  “Get in here, you devil. Where’ve you been?” Sam was grateful for some good news.

  “Hell, bro, you know everything takes time.” Tom dropped out of the saddle, and they hugged and clapped each other on the back.

  “How’s Karen and the kids?”

  “Fine. They’re at her folks’, and they’re ready to move out there.”

  “Good. Get some food. We can talk later.”

  “Man, you guys’ve been making tracks with this bunch.”

  “We’ve tried,” Sam said, grateful to at last have his brother along.

  With food on a plate, and seated on the ground next to Sam, Tom explained about all the trouble he’d run into while buying the new place.

  “Get most of the cattle?” Tom asked between bites. Then he stopped and looked around with a frown. “This sure ain’t good grub.”

  Sam shook his head. “You want to cook?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do none of them. So shut up and eat it.”

  “Boy, I savvy.”

  “We got most of your cow and calves. We lost a few but here’s the tally book.” He handed the small pad to Tom.

  “No, you keep it. I trust you.”

  “Good since I been taking care of your business for two months now, it seems.”

  “Didn’t say I didn’t appreciate it. Oh, yeah, I’ve got two letters for you from the women in your life.”

  “Women in my life?”

  “Yes, from Etta Faye Ralston and that nice Kathy McCarty.”

  Both envelopes in his hand, Sam headed for some lantern light to read them.

  Dear Samuel,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am concerned about your welfare. Sleeping on the ground during the recent frosts we experienced down here must be hard. Exposure to such conditions is not good for one’s body.

  School proceeds well.
I know it runs smoother than you ever expected it to go for me. We will have the final program the night before Christmas Eve. I do hope you will be able to attend it. That will, of course, end my contract, too, and the school session. I have not heard any word about the school board’s plans for a winter session or if they would hire me for that term.

  Rowann told me when I wrote you to tell you that Sloan can write his whole name. A wonderful achievement for someone afflicted like he is. He has been aided by the efforts of his determined sister.

  I shall pray each day for your safe return. God bless you, Samuel,

  Etta Faye Ralston

  He opened the second letter. It was in Kathy’s daughter’s handwriting.

  Dear Sam,

  I collected the money for Tom’s corn, except from Joe Leonard. The pigs the German brought are fat and will be fatter by the time you return to butcher them. No problems here. Jason said that the Wagners are going to be ready for your return, they claim. So be careful when you come home. Sloan wrote his name this week. We had a party. Darby is checking on the cattle, and they all seem fine. See you about Christmas, I hope.

  Kathy

  “Good news or bad news?”

  Sam tucked the two letters away inside his vest and shook his head at his brother. “Good news. My fighting roosters all survived the frost.”

  “You got fighting roosters, boss?” Tommy Jacks asked, coming by to dunk his plate and silver ware in the tub of soapy water.

  “No, just joking. Brother, we better talk about the directions we need to take to get to your new place.”

  “Why, you’re doing fine,” Tom said.

  Sam shook his head. Like he thought would happen, Tom was going to let him do all the work. That’s how it had been all their lives—why change now on a cattle drive?

  Chapter 23

  Billy was on the scout for the night camp. Tom was there to ramrod the drive for the day, though the boys knew how. Sam decided to drop over to Lynnville and pick up a few things for grouchy Sancho, and he’d be happy to get the never-ceasing bawl of cattle out of his head for a few hours.

  According to a handwritten sign and arrow nailed to a tree, the town was five miles to the east. Sam had been through there before and knew that there were several stores and saloons in the village, so he set out on Rob for some shopping and relaxation from the pressures of the drive.

  He found the place by midmorning—a cluster of buildings and stores on a small creek. Several women in proper attire went about on the boardwalks, visiting and gossiping as they made their purchases in the various businesses. On the opposite side of the street from where Sam stood, two horses waited at a hitch rack in front of the two-story Gunderson’s Saloon. A dove waved to him from the second-story window and he nodded, uninterested in her wants and wishes.

  He stopped Rob before Gurley’s Store and dismounted heavily. With care, he pried the wet latigos apart and loosened the girth. Two men in dusters rode up and dismounted stiffly across the street. Their keen interest in something on Sam’s side of the street forced Sam to look to the right of the store, where he spied the First National Bank of Lynnville.

  The notion struck Sam hard that the men were bank robbers. He needed to do something and quick. He entered the store. Once inside, he stopped two ladies. “Don’t go out there.”

  “What’s wrong?” one lady asked.

  “Bank robbers, I think. Give me that shotgun and a box of shells,” he said to the clerk.

  “How can you stop them?” The clerk handed over the scattergun, then ducked down for a box of shells, which he slammed on the counter.

  “There’s more of them now.” One of the ladies pointed over the stack of brogans. Sam’s heart quickened as he saw through the front window three more riders in dusters rein up outside.

  “I’ll help,” a fresh-faced boy in an apron said, poking brass cartridges in a Winchester’s receiver.

  “Be careful who you shoot,” Sam warned him, headed for the front door.

  “Where’s Marshal Greiby?” the storekeeper asked.

  “Hold up there!” came an order from outside.

  “That’s him,” the woman, who was now on her hands and knees, said as Sam rushed by her for the doorway, jamming shells in the two chambers. The scattergun snapped shut with a tight newness when he came out the door and heard a hail of gunshots aimed away from him.

  “Drop ’em!” Sam shouted.

  A rider on a dun whirled with his smoking pistol, but buckshot from Sam’s left barrel took him off his horse. A second rider tried to shoot at Sam, but he, too, met his fate when Sam shot him. Sam broke the gun open and reloaded. The fresh-faced boy was on his knees, using the doorframe for a brace. He fired his Winchester at two men across the street. Beside him, the store’s left-hand front window crashed into pieces. Sam raised the shotgun, but too late, a third rider was already boiling out of town.

  Sam, the storekeeper and the boy rushed to where they saw Marshal Greiby lying on his back in the street. The young woman from the store, her skirts in her hands, hurried to keep up, moaning, “Dear God, make him be all right.”

  The lawman forced a smile for her. He had plenty of blood on his white shirt. “I’m fine, Audrey darling.”

  “We better get him to Doc’s,” the storekeeper said.

  Sam agreed and raised the man by grabbing under his arms. The storekeeper and the boy took the lawman’s feet.

  “Oh, be careful,” Audrey said and trailed along.

  “Who stopped the robbery?” asked a red-faced man in a fine suit.

  “The boy and this lawman did,” Sam said.

  “Ain’t so. This man saw it minutes before it went down,” the storekeeper said, indicating Sam.

  The boy agreed. “He saved us all.”

  “I owe all of you,” the red-faced man said.

  “Biggest ones are this marshal and that large plate-glass window,” Sam said as they hurried along.

  “Doc’s home. Good,” the storekeeper said, directing Sam to a small white house.

  “Bring him in,” the physician said. “Are there any more?”

  “All outlaws we think. Don’t worry about them,” said the red-faced man.

  “Put him there on the table,” Doc said. “Then everyone clear out.”

  The young woman went around the lawman and placed a kiss on the mans’ cheek.

  “You can wash up,” the doc said to Sam. “How many wounds?”

  “Three that I could tell,” Sam said, then excused himself to join the others.

  “Alex Peabody. I run the bank.” The red-faced man stuck out his hand.

  “Sam Ketchem. I came to town for some supplies. I have a herd west of here on the trail.”

  “What did you need?”

  “Some raisins and some vanilla.”

  Everyone laughed.

  A big burley man in a soiled apron came up the street. No doubt he worked in a saloon. “We got them, ’cept the one run off. Two’s still alive. They say they’re the Tanner Gang. Bruce Tanner’s dead, but his brother, Coil, got away.”

  “There’s rewards on them guys,” the boy said, looking impressed about the deal.

  “Miss Moberly, I’m sure the doc can patch the marshal up,” the storekeeper said to the girl, who was sniffling in her kerchief.

  “He looks plumb tough to me,” Sam said. “I figure he’ll make it.”

  “You gents want to come to the saloon. The drinks are on me,” Peabody said.

  “It wasn’t easy shooting them two,” the boy said to Sam.

  “It ain’t ever easy to shoot anyone, but when it’s do or die, sometimes you have to do it.”

  The boy nodded, “Mr. Gurley, do I have time to drink a beer with you all?”

  “Yes, you do, Sherman. Your mother may whip both of us, but one beer won’t hurt a boy who just became a man.”

  A barefoot youth of perhaps ten brought back Rob, who had been spooked off by the shooting. Sam paid the kid a quarter and hitch
ed Rob with a lariat, taking the bridle and reins into the saloon to repair them while he had a drink.

  Later, Sam left his name and address with the banker, who promised to divide any rewards among them. Then Gurley wouldn’t let Sam pay for the raisins and vanilla.

  At supper that night, Tom asked, “Anything happen in town today?”

  Sam shook his head. “They had a little ruckus. The Tanner Gang tried to hold up the bank. But the townsfolk stopped them.”

  “You get in on it?” Billy asked.

  “Naw.”

  “Must’ve been lots of shooting,” Tom said.

  Sam looked off into the night. “You’d been surprised how quick it was over.”

  Chapter 24

  Days stretched into weeks, and the crew crossed into the shorter grass country with few farms. The weather held, save for some light rain. They reached Tom’s place and Sam could see some cottonwoods the previous owner had planted and watered. The property had corrals, sheds and a nice frame house that had probably replaced an adobe jacal. A few hills off toward the town showed where the migrating buffalo were once forced to funnel through the cut.

  Tom’s cattle spread out. All the men ate their fill of beef, potatoes and onions.

  “You know that lazy Sancho slept all day. Toddle cooked this,” Tommy Jacks said, going after another plate. “But he didn’t want you to know ’cause he wants to move up to drover on the big drive.”

  “Tasted better than most of our meals,” Sam said.

  “He could cook for us going home.”

  “You boys help him, and we might make it home eating good.” Sam set the plate aside and went over to Tom. “Give me fifty bucks.”

  “Sure what for?” He dug in his pockets.

  “I’m going to find that damn Sancho and fire him.”

  “He won’t be hard to find. He’s sleeping in the tack room.” Tom gave Sam the money.

  Sam walked over to the tack room, opened the door and shouted, “Here’s your damn money. You’re fired!”

  “Huh? How do I get back?” The man sat up on his cot.

  “I don’t care if you crawl. Stay out of my line of sight.” Sam tossed the money down on Sancho’s lap and went back to eat.