The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “I don’t think there are many banks out there.”

  “Knowing you, you’d find one being robbed.”

  Sam chuckled and shook his head. Then, using his teeth, he pulled off the first glove, then the second one.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “This is my last cattle drive.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know I said that before, but this one will do it.”

  “And?” Etta Faye asked.

  “If I survive it and get back here, I’m going to ask you a big question.”

  “And?” She hurried to finish the papers, then glanced at him.

  “I’m going to come back and ask you to marry me. I don’t want to know the answer now. But when I come back this fall, you be prepared to answer me. You’ll have all summer to think about it.”

  “Where do you plan to live after this drive?”

  “Etta Faye, I’m not sure. Probably not here. Those Wagners won’t ever get over their feud with me, I’m afraid.”

  “I thought you would go off with Mrs. McCarty.”

  “Kathy?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Two great cowboys are courting her.”

  “She’s lovely, and a good cook, I understand.”

  “I hired her to do that.”

  “I know and I about died over it.”

  “Now you know her. She’s not some lowlife. She’s a proud woman. Her and her kids were on the edge of starvation when I hired her to cook for us.”

  “Go. Go drive your cattle north.” Etta Faye waved at him with the backs of her hands, as if shooing him away.

  “I can bring around your horse. I see they have her hitched.”

  “No.” She pursed her lips and wouldn’t look at Sam. “Just leave. Go! Please! I don’t want to cry.”

  Sam wanted to step over to hug her, but some unseen hand held him back. He wanted to comfort her, to swallow the knot big as an apple in his throat. Instead, he slammed on his hat, went out the door into the fresh wind and rode off.

  Chapter 28

  The slender sprigs of new grass were whipped by the cold March wind. Time to head ’em up and move out! Kathy on the seat of the chuck wagon was sawing on the mules’ mouths. Darby with the load of his family’s things and his team of horses equally ready. Hiram and Sloan rode ponies. Rowann, behind the tailgate, held up Bob for Sam to see, and they left the ranch, headed north in the purple-orange light. Yates Grossinger, the wrangler, took the cavvy out with them.

  Sam gave the command and the herd began to move. Mostly they bawled, knowing that something was a stir, as if they had anticipated the drive.

  First-day pains with break-back cattle proved to take lots of effort. The cows were the worst. They wanted nothing to do with the herd. Sam didn’t regret the extra hands he’d hired; he could have used more. But by midafternoon, when he could see the new white canvas top of the chuck wagon, and the cattle were full of water, he felt even easier watching the cattle graze in the short grass. He met Billy and Tommy Jacks at the campground.

  “We have a good place for tomorrow night. We’re going wide of Schade up here. We’ll just stay on the road and we won’t get in any crops,” Billy said.

  “Sounds good,” Sam said.

  “Been so dry, the rivers won’t be up,” Tommy Jacks said.

  “But we don’t know what it’s doing a thousand miles away either,” Sam answered.

  “Yeah, I get you.”

  “Don’t take nothing for granted.”

  “Hey, I’ll learn this business.”

  Sam agreed and went for some fresh coffee. Over by her cooking fire, his cook held up the pot to tell him it was ready.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  “I guess all right. Won’t no one have to rock me to sleep tonight.”

  “Sleep will be the last thing we’ll get the next few months.”

  “I have gathered that. Those poor boys don’t get six hours a night with riding herd and all,” Kathy said.

  “They’re tough and experienced from the drive to Tom’s, except for the new hands, and they did good today.”

  “It will be a long way up there, won’t it?”

  “You have any regrets about coming along?”

  “No.”

  “Good ’cause these drovers will be spoiled rotten from your great cooking by the time they get to Nebraska.”

  “Get out of here.” Kathy gave Sam a shove with both hands.

  He looked up to see Darby and the others carrying armloads of fresh-cut wood. He nodded in appreciation to them.

  “We’ve got more down there,” Darby said to his mother.

  “Good. We will need it down the road, if not here.”

  “Saw down there?” Billy asked, followed by Tommy Jacks. At Darby’s nod, he headed for the wood supply.

  “I wonder why they never did that for Sancho.” Sam blew on his coffee, which was too hot to drink. He smiled at her, and she shook her head at him, then busied herself with food cooking over the fire.

  Sam found a place to sit on the ground and watched Sloan hurry after the boys for more wood. Was the boy upset about the ponies Sam had found for the other two boys? Was it a big letdown from the stud horse?

  “Rowann, how is the bread?” Kathy called, lifting lids on the Dutch ovens with a hook and replacing them.

  “Good.”

  “She’s a big help,” Kathy said to Sam.

  “I can see that. How’s Darby doing?”

  “With that pony to ride, why him and Hiram are real cowboys.”

  “What about Sloan?”

  “Oh, he’s excited as he gets.”

  “Good. I figure in a month we’ll be at the Red River. That will be our biggest crossing. But we can ferry the wagons, ponies and boys across there. On some of these smaller rivers, we’ll have to watch them.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. I get busy sometimes. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “We’re a pretty tight-knit family.”

  “You pull hard together.”

  “Would it have been easier if you’d had Earl and Tom along?”

  “No, they’d make me do all the work.”

  Kathy laughed and mopped her face on a towel. “I bet you’ve always done it.”

  “Mostly.”

  At the two-week mark, the crew had become a team. There had been a fistfight or two between cranky boys, but Sam had swiftly settled. Crossing the Colorado went smooth. The Leon was hardly over knee-deep, and they faced the Brazos in five days. Sam watched clouds develop all day. A spring storm could mean anything, including snow, though by the first of April, such weather was rare south of Fort Worth.

  “Boys, we may have to spend the night in the saddle. Keep your horse handy.”

  “You mean those clouds?” Christian Webber asked, looking at the ominous bank building in the northwest.

  “There’s a squall in them. You can see it.”

  “Sam, I’ve never been in a stampede,” Webber said.

  “You just ride and try to head them into a circle so they don’t run clear out of the country.”

  Sam halted the drive short of their usual ten- to twelve-mile push. The cattle filled up on the mixture of old and new grass. Many had dropped down to chew their cud. Cows were never as bad as steer to look for an excuse to run. The infusion of the English breeds had also tempered them from the pure Longhorns who’d lived in the Texas brush so long without mankind that they were more like deer than cattle. But sipping on his coffee, with the changing wind in his face, Sam knew that given any excuse at all, this herd would explode.

  Billy came by, but didn’t dismount. “She’s coming, ain’t she?”

  Sam nodded. “Tell them boys to be careful.”

  “I will, boss. Guess we better keep trying to hold ’em?”

  “Right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Fine.” Billy left at a short lope.


  “Damn,” Sam swore to himself, dreading the inevitable and listening hard for the first roll of thunder. At times like that one, he would have traded the job for a sheepherder’s position.

  “Buckle it down,” he said to Kathy as Darby and Hiram took down the fly. “Sorry I don’t have any shelter. Best place is in a low spot. We’ll huddle up and hope it blows over.”

  “We’ll be all right,” she said, above the rising cold wind. “Go help the boys.”

  Sam nodded. His guts wrenched. Weather like the approaching storm was one reason why he hadn’t wanted her and the kids to go along.

  Sam rode Rob out to join the men. They had two hours of daylight left, by his calculations. The thunder in the distance sounded like the thump of Indian drums. A low rumble rolled across the open country, and lightning danced on the face of the huge clouds bearing down on the crew.

  Cattle began to get up. Sam indicated to the drover that he should keep riding around the perimeter, talking and singing to the cattle. Everyone had slickers on. The severity of the situation was evident from the first great blast of wind out of the mouth of the storm. It threatened hats and flattened the grass.

  Then all hell broke loose over them. Lightning came like lances thrown by Comanches, and thunder made the ground tremble. Rain struck in hard drops that felt more solid than liquid. The sky opened up, and it was impossible for the men to see farther than a few feet in front of them. The bawling of the cattle rose to panic. Cowboys shouted loud in the downpour. Sam had to count on his horse to get him around. Then Rob collided with a cow, and she turned back into the herd.

  Time and again, Sam ducked as the lightning struck so close he wondered if it had hit anyone. He kept talking to Rob, who danced a jig after each such blast. The cattle were holding so far, but the rain grew even heavier. Near Sam, a cowboy cursed and drove a calf back to the herd, using the chest of his horse as a bumper.

  Wind tore at the men, and Sam wondered if there was a tornado rising. Minutes passed like hours. Rob stumbled in a hole and almost went down. Sam lifted his head and the pony, in a scramble, recovered. The moment Sam was on firm ground, his heart stopped beating heavily.

  More thunder, more lightning and more heavy rain came on. Then the north wind struck Sam’s face in a wet slap, and he could see holes of light. The deluge was going to pass. The curtain of water began to lift, and Sam could soon see the entire wet herd. He began to count faces in the drizzle.

  “Everyone’s all right here,” Tommy Jacks said, coming up at a short lope, riding double behind Har vey Core. “Lightning got my horse. Good thing Harve saw it happen or I’d been afoot.”

  “You all right?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, I’ll live, but that old pony’s gone.”

  “Glad that you’re all right. We can always get more horses. I’ll go check on Kathy and the kids.”

  “Tell her we’re fine.”

  “I will.”

  Sam short loped for the camp, which had been deliberately set aside on a point that the scouts thought would not be in the line of any stampede.

  Hiram was up on a ladder, tying the canvas fly back up. He had a big grin on his face. “We made her, Mr. Sam.”

  “Good. Bad as that wind was, I was worried it took you back home.”

  “Aw, shucks, we never had a moment’s trouble, did we, Darby?”

  “Nope.”

  When Sam dismounted and helped Kathy hold up a pole, she asked, “Everyone else fine?”

  “Yes. Lightning got Tommy Jacks’ horse, but he managed to escape unscathed.”

  “Good,” she said, looking relieved by the news. “We’ll have food ready in a little while.”

  Sam nodded. Providence had been on their side this time, but they certainly would face countless more hardships and dangers before they finished the drive.

  Chapter 29

  They were a week out from skirting around Fort Worth. Sam was at the chuck wagon busy repairing Thirston Cones’ saddle. The youth was riding Sam’s rig that afternoon. A horse wreck earlier in the day had torn off the boy’s D ring. Thirsten came out bruised all over, but all right. The horse—not as lucky—had to be destroyed.

  Sam sat on a small log beside the creek and pounded in new copper rivets with a small anvil and hammer. Not a pretty repair, but it would do.

  “Here’s some coffee.” Kathy brought him a tin cup of the steaming brew.

  He pushed the hat back on his head and looked up at her. “Thanks. You getting worn-out?”

  “No more than I would be at the ranch.”

  “Good, ’cause we’re still a long ways from Ogallala.”

  “I think I’ve kind of gotten into the swing of things.”

  “Oh, I never meant anything was wrong. Mercy sakes, you’ve spoiled this crew so bad, their mother’s cooking won’t satisfy them after this drive.”

  “You are a prize, Sam Ketchem. You can make me feel like a queen at times.”

  “That poor boy needs a new one.” He set the saddle on the ground. “Well, Kathy, you are the queen of this drive, and don’t you ever doubt it.”

  She tried to dismiss his words with a head shake. “You never said and I guess it isn’t any of my business, but what about you and Etta Faye?”

  He slapped both of his chap-clad legs and quickly nodded. “Now ain’t that a deal? I have chased after that girl for ten years. And I told her before we left, she’d need to make up her mind to marry me or not when I got back this fall.”

  “She will, of course.”

  “Kathy, you don’t know her. She switches sides more than any woman alive.”

  She took a place on the log beside him, tucking her dress tail underneath her legs to sit down. “Why, Sam, she’d be a damn fool not to marry you.”

  He glanced over at her. “I’m not any more certain about that than whether one of my horses will or won’t buck in the morning.”

  “Getting late. I better get supper going. Wonder why Billy’s not back.”

  “He should be,” Sam said and picked up the saddle. He finished his coffee and gave her the cup. “Thanks.”

  Suppertime came, and eating his meal, Sam wondered more why Billy had not returned. The scattered dark clouds moving in overhead looked like rain, but no big storm front showed on the horizon.

  “Billy say anything to you?” he asked Tommy Jacks on his way to drowning his plate in the washtub.

  “No, sir, but I can go look for him.”

  “Naw,” Sam said, turning over his foreman’s absence in his mind. “You keep the guard up. We’ll get rain in the next few hours. I’ll go see if I can find him. It’s not like Billy not to be back.”

  Tommy Jacks rose and brushed off the seat of his pants out of habit. He fell in walking with Sam. “I’ll keep the horses saddled and everyone on alert in case the weather gets bad.”

  “Good. And if we get a chance, we need to find Thirston a different saddle up the road. That one I worked on could fall apart any day.”

  “Fort Worth?”

  “I’ll sure be worried about him in that old one.”

  “We can find him one. Billy mentioned Lode Eye this morning. Place north of here.”

  “Never said a word to me. I’ve never heard of the place.”

  “Think he lived there once as a kid.”

  Sam nodded, knowing the sun would be down in an hour.

  Thirsten had resaddled Sam’s horse for him when he came in. Ready to go look for his long overdue foreman, Sam tightened the cinch on his rig and with a wave to Kathy rode Soapy out of camp. He short loped the fresh pony through the rolling grass country, following some wagon tracks headed north.

  A few miles out, the dying sun glowed on a handmade sign: LODE 1.5 MILES. He took the tracks and trotted Soapy. In the twilight, he spotted the shadowy building forms in the bottoms. A few lamps showed in windows; he shut Soapy down to a walk and went off the hillside for the village.

  At the first drops of rain, he shucked off his slicker and rod
e on. Light from the saloon’s bat-wing doors shone on the small puddles being struck by the drops. He dismounted and tied Soapy at the rack. Not knowing what was in store, he left the girth tight and climbed the steps. On the porch, he unbuttoned the slicker and took the tie down off his Colt. A man never knew what lurked behind some doors.

  The coat over his left arm, he entered the smoky den. He could feel some hard looks following him as he went to the half-filled bar and ordered a beer from the bald barkeep.

  “Here you go. New around here, ain’t you?” the barkeep asked.

  “Yeah, I’m looking for my foreman. About five-nine, brown hair, early twenties. Wears a high-crowned brown hat.”

  “You must be looking for that guy that got shot up today.”

  “Shot up?”

  “Yeah, got into a gun fight with the Stafford brothers.”

  “He at the doc’s? Where is he?”

  The man made a pained face. “We ain’t got a doc. They sent for one, but they took him over to Mol ly’s place.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Whorehouse across the street.”

  “Who’re the Stafford boys?”

  The bartender leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Don’t look now, but the big guy with the beard in the card game. That’s Clare. Blair ain’t here right now.”

  “What—”

  “Mister”—the bartender gripped Sam’s forearm tight and drew closer—“those two are killers, and they’ll damn sure kill you, too.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said and paid for his beer.

  As he turned to leave, he noticed the big man the bartender had mentioned. First things first. He needed to see what he could do for Billy.

  Slinging the coat over his shoulders, he sloshed across the street to the small porch and knocked. Stomping the mud off his boots, he waited, hearing a piano inside tinkling away.

  A young woman dressed only in a corset answered the door.

  Sam removed his hat. “Ma’am, I understand you have my foreman in here. He was shot today.”

  “Oh, yes, Billy. Come in. The poor boy’s alive, but—”

  “But?”

  “But Doc Mangam said he didn’t even want to try and get the bullets out of him.”