A Man Called Scar

by Jim Cox

  Rowdy was starting supper when Boss and Scar rode into camp four miles north of Omaha. The cattle were grazing while the wranglers rode about making sure the stock was becoming adjusted to the area.

  “I can tell by your faces we’re going to Chicago,” Rowdy said as he busied himself preparing supper. Boss only nodded.

  “We’ll stay around here for five or six days to rest up and let the cows graze. I’ll tell the men of our plan during their break.”

  Scar started helping Rowdy by putting a pot of cooked beans on the fire to heat up, and then he scooped five pounds of uncooked beans from the bean sack into a bucket of water to soak. He was putting a cup of coffee grounds into a pot of boiling water when the first group of trail riders came in for their meal. “Are we going to Chicago?” one asked, obviously in hopes the answer would be no.

  Boss explained the need to continue the drive but finished by outlining his plan to delay their start for several days. The prospect of a few days off helped offset the men’s disappointment of the drive continuing. “Can we go to town, Boss?” an eager man asked.

  “Not tonight. We all need to stay around while the herd’s getting settled, but after tonight, we only need four men to stay with the herd. You men can figure out who goes and who stays.”

  Each night when the cowhands headed for town they tried to convince Scar to go with them, but he always declined. Even Rowdy suggested he join the men for a little fun. But Scar’s memory went back to what his Pa had told him. “Son, if you don’t want to get into trouble, don’t put yourself in a place where trouble’s likely to happen.” And Scar knew an evening of drinking and talking with women in the town’s saloon would likely qualify as an environment familiar with trouble.

  For four nights, Scar stayed around camp reading his Blackstone book while the men went to town, but tonight was different. He was in no mood to lay around camp, so he offered to take a night watchman’s job. When Scar swung into the saddle, things didn’t feel right; the stirrups needed to be lengthened. After making the needed adjustments, he settled back in his saddle with a smile. He was now approaching six feet tall and still growing. He had broad, muscular shoulders tapering down to a slim waistline and weighed close to two hundred pounds.

  The sun was setting when Scar rode past a Henry James watchman and headed north toward a tree-lined creek. He was in a lackadaisical mood, entertaining himself with memories of the Double D—especially memories of Liz. He was about to turn west when he saw a flicker of fire among the trees. Scar became suspicious and cued Maude to amble closer. As he approached the fire he heard voices, so he dismounted and slipped forward for a better look. There were fourteen head of cattle with the Henry James brand and three with fresh alterations to the brand, standing across the stream. Three crusty looking men with guns hanging at their sides were busy with branding irons. “Howdy,” Scar said as he came from the trees. The three rustlers jerked around and took a long look at the single intruder. When it was clear he was alone, the men smiled, but not in a welcoming way. They bared yellow teeth, except for one man whose front teeth were missing. Scar observed their every action as he said, “I’m thankful you men found our cows, they must have wandered off. I’ll be taking them off your hands now and drive them back to our herd.”

  “Like hell you will,” remarked the oldest of the rustlers. “We’re keeping these critters and you ain’t going do nothing about it. We’ll just tie you up and go on about our business. We’ve already sold these steers for five dollars a head.” The man motioned with his hand and called the two other fellows over. “You men, tie this youngun to that there tree and be sure to tie him good. We don’t want him getting loose before we get our money.”

  Scar let one of the men bully him over to the tree while the second man retrieved a rope. The man holding him pushed him in place. When Scar felt the pressure relax a little, he stomped on the toe of the man holding him, who yelled out in pain and then started for his gun, but Scar grabbed his arm and threw him in a hip roll. When the man who went for the rope came back, Scar threw a straight right that flattened his nose and knocked him unconscious. Their leader was raising his gun to shoot, but Scar threw himself to the ground, and with a swift body roll, knocked the man’s legs from under him. The rustlers tried a few more tactics, but none were successful.

  The saloon’s piano player was hitting the keys hard when Scar rode by on his way to the sheriff’s office. A few people were still sitting along the boardwalk enjoying the coolness of the evening when they witnessed a strange sight. Seventeen head of cattle and three beat-up men with their wrists tied to their saddle horns were passing by. In the rear, riding a long-eared mule, was a young man who seemed to be in charge of the whole shebang.

  At midmorning the next day, several of the Henry James cowhands were sitting around enjoying their morning coffee when the sheriff rode up. “Howdy, Sheriff, what brings you out?” asked Boss, as he handed the sheriff a cup of coffee.

  The sheriff was surprised at the question and looked at Scar. “Didn’t you tell them about last night?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t.”

  The men continued drinking their coffee, but their ears were wide open. “What’s this all about?” Boss asked, stepping forward.

  The sheriff recited the story, asking Scar to elaborate on a few of the details every now and then. As it turned out, the rustlers he’d caught red-handed had been active in the area for some time. They’d stolen several hundred head of cattle and a few horses.

  “Did you find out who was buying the stolen cattle, Sheriff?” Scar asked.

  “It was a fancy dressed man who smokes oversized cigars. I don’t know his name.” Boss looked at Scar with a smile. “What happened to the cows?” asked Rowdy.

  “I drove’em back to the herd last night,” Scar said.

  “Even the three with the altered brand?” Boss asked.

  “Yes, sir, but I have an affidavit, approved by the Branding Board, saying they belong to Henry James.” He handed Boss a carefully folded paper.

  The sheriff stepped toward Scar with an envelope and said, “The reason I came out is to deliver the reward money.” Everyone looked at one another in surprise.

  “The local Cattlemen’s Association had a five-hundred-dollar reward for the capture of the thieves. They’re happy to get this matter settled.” Scar accepted the money.

  The sheriff finished his coffee and was about to mount his horse when Scar spoke up. “Tell the Cattlemen’s Association I appreciate the reward money. I’ll put it to good use.”

  As the sheriff rode away, one of the trail riders asked in an excited tone, “You walked up on three armed men who had stolen seventeen head of our cattle and within minutes had them all bound and tied to their saddle horns?”

  “Yeah,” Scar said, without much boast. “I took’em by surprise, they weren’t very tough.” The men standing around shook their heads and looked at each other in wonderment. The cowhands finished their coffee and went back to work.

  The next night, when the men went to town, Scar found a large tree and sat there holding coffee. It was a peaceful night with a light breeze and a sky full of stars. The moon seemed close enough to touch. Occasionally a cow mooed or a horse stamped its hoof. Normally, Scar would be reading one of the Blackstone books Thomas had given him, but tonight, his mind was on other things. He was lonely and wanted to see the people he considered family. He sat thinking about all the great things that had taken place over the last two years with the Douglases.

  “Wonder what they’re doing now?” he mumbled to himself. “Wonder what’s been going on at the Double D?” His mind turned to Liz, remembering the soft kiss she had given him at the waterfalls. The days were long. It was a lonely time.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two days later, the drive crossed the Iowa state line on its way to Chicago. Rowdy continued to lead the way in spite of his limited knowledge of the area. He had been on this trail only once before. The men hated to
leave Omaha’s nightlife but were rejuvenated and ready to start the last leg of the drive. The cows balked a little at first but soon fell into the same pattern they were in before their seven-day rest. It remained hot and dry with very little wind to cool things off; several days ended with a dry camp, causing the herd to be both fatigued and jittery.

  August passed into September as they traveled through the flat land of central Iowa. Only a month remained if everything went as planned. The fall weather was changing as the days passed. The nights were becoming cooler, and afternoon temperatures only rose to the low-eighties; rain showers were more frequent.

  It was a hot and muggy afternoon when black clouds started accumulating behind them. The cooks had stopped to wipe out the oxen’s nostrils when Boss rode up. “There’s weather brewing in the west, and it’s coming our way,” he said. “The herd is nervous like they’re sensing a storm.”

  “The conditions are perfect for a thunderstorm,” reflected Rowdy. “Animals can tell when a storm’s on its way.”

  “I agree. Why don’t you find a stopping place with grass and water?” Boss suggested. “Let’s get the herd situated before it hits.”

  Thirty minutes later, a suitable location presented itself to the cooks, but before the herd arrived the wind had picked up and raindrops had started to fall. Black clouds were rolling toward them, and most likely the storm would be over the herd within the hour.

  Boss rode to each man, giving explicit instructions. “Let’s get ready for the storm. Tighten the circle, but stay on the extreme outside of the cows. If we have lightning and thunder, they might stampede. If they do start running, ride as fast as you can away from the herd, don’t take any chances. We can gather the herd after the storm passes.”

  The cows came to the stopping place with frightened eyes and their heads held high. None were grazing or going for water, even though they had not drunk for nearly a day and the stream was only a short distance away. The herd riders sang sweet songs, hoping to settle the animals, but it seemed to have little effect.

  Knowing that running cows will usually avoid a wooded area, Rowdy pulled the wagon into a cluster of trees and tied the oxen securely. Turning to Scar, he gave firm orders. “Don’t take any chances. Stay here among the trees even though you might see trouble coming. I’ll be out helping the men, but you stay here.” Scar nodded.

  Lightning bolts flashed, and thunder echoed in the near west, but the cattle didn’t panic.

  Within minutes, black clouds moved directly over the herd, bringing strong winds and heavy, sideways rain. Flashes of lightning brightened the landscape. The storm caused the cows to gather more compactly and circle about, pushing against one another. Occasionally, a cow would be pushed down on the slippery mud and get trampled.

  Then it happened. Two quick flashes of lightning were followed by two loud claps of thunder, causing a long-horned cow to swing her head in fright and jab her horn into the neck of a cow standing by. The injured animal let out a loud bellowing sound, and the cows started.

  A cowhand shouted, “We have a stampede. The cows are running.”

  Shortly after the cows started running, Scar climbed to the wagon seat for a better view and noticed a change taking place in the shape of the running herd. The cows in the rear were swinging to the east and then racing to the front, creating a closing circle of cows that would soon encompass two riders. Scar knew the men would be trampled if the herd tightened and the circle closed completely.

  Without hesitation, he ran for Maude. By the time he was riding parallel with the endangered riders, the herd had already closed the circle around the men. Scar remained riding outside the herd and had to make a quick decision. Should he keep safe or should he try to save the men? Knowing Maude, unlike most horses, would likely keep a calm head, he started for the closest rider. Maude kept pace with the running cows and was making slow progress toward the man. She was constantly being battered by the rushing cows, and on two occasions, stumbled but regained her footing and moved onward with caution. One of the long, sharp horns that was swinging about penetrated Maude’s right shoulder, carving a four-inch tear in her skin. Scar was looking for other possible injuries to Maude when a horn found his right thigh, causing excruciating pain. His blood-soaked pant leg turned black.

  From the corner of his vision, Scar saw the second rider’s horse stumble and fall under the pounding cow hooves, followed by a scream. He looked in the direction of the scream, trying to locate the second rider, but the man and his horse had disappeared.

  Maude was within ten yards of the pursuing cowhand when Scar saw the rider turn his horse across the path of the running herd, causing the horse to lose its footing and be quickly pushed down. For a few brief seconds, the cows ran wide of the fallen horse and its rider, giving Maude enough time to reach the horseless cowhand. Scar grabbed the man’s outreached hand and pulled him onto Maude as the cows rushed by. Maude kept her head and worked her way from the running animals into safety.

  Minutes later, cowhands stood on a small knoll with Scar, watching the last of the herd run by. Scar looked intently for the fallen rider’s body but couldn’t see it. He did see several dead cows scattered about. In spite of his throbbing leg and the blood dripping from his soaked pant leg onto his boot, he mounted Maude and rode in search of the cowhand’s remains.

  The storm had passed, but the rain was still coming down when Scar led Maude into camp with a mangled body draped over her. Several men came forward to identify the body and take it down from Maude when Boss and Rowdy rode up. All the men had gathered around the fallen man, except for the rider Scar had saved. He sat some distance away with his head lowered, shaking like a leaf. Boss was walking toward the corpse when he saw blood on the wet, trampled grass.

  “Who’s been hurt?” he called out.

  Scar hesitated but answered, “I’ve got a cut, Boss. A cow horned me.”

  Boss walked over to assess Scar’s wound. There was a deep gash in his leg still oozing blood. “Rowdy,” he called, “Scar’s injured—take care of him while I get the boys organized.” He gave subdued orders, and some men went out to scout the herd; others started for the shovels.

  When Rowdy fetched his doctoring bag from the wagon, Scar spoke up. “I’m fine. Let’s tend to Maude’s injuries.”

  “We’ll tend to your leg first. The bleeding has to be stopped. Maude will be fine till we’re finished with you.” Rowdy readied ointment, bandages, and a curved needle with thread. “Take off your pants and pull down your drawers. No need to cut up perfectly good garments.” Scar hesitated but followed orders.

  Rowdy took a look at the gash and said, “You’ve got a bad wound, Scar. I’ve got to clean it and pour whiskey in it to keep it from going bad. It’ll burn for a minute or two. When the burning stops, I’ll have to put in eight to ten stitches. It won’t hurt much while I’m doing the sewin’.”

  After Rowdy finished sewing up the wound, he wrapped the damaged area with a clean cloth, and Scar put his clothes back on.

  He was in pain, but he attended the cowhand’s burial. He watched the body being lowered and covered as Boss spoke words. It was emotional, but at the same time sobering. Each man knew he could have been the departed one.

  Supper was eaten in silence that evening. Afterward, when cups were filled, Boss spoke up. “Men, we’ve experienced a terrible tragedy, one we won’t forget, but we must continue our work. We all made a commitment to Henry James when we signed on, to drive these cattle to market, and as difficult as it might be, we must honor our obligation. I’m not asking you to have a jolly attitude, but I am telling you to collect yourselves and get on with your jobs.” Boss continued by outlining his plans to round up the herd, starting around noon the following day. He explained that giving the cows this much time to settle themselves and graze with plenty of water would help the drive go easier.

  Scar sat with the men during supper, but then excused himself and placed his bedroll several yards from the campfire
. No matter which way he lay, he couldn’t get comfortable. And even with the additional blankets Rowdy placed on him, he couldn’t get warm. Rowdy had been observing his patient’s entire ordeal and knew he was having a chill, so he brought him a cup of coffee to warm his insides. It tasted good. What Scar didn’t know was Rowdy had laced the drink with two fingers of whiskey. After two cups, he became comfortable and fell sound asleep.

  Scar hobbled around for the next three days while his wound healed. During a noon break on the fourth day after the storm, Boss filled his cup and took a seat beside him. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “How’s your leg?”

  “I’m doing a lot better,” Scar responded. “I’ll be getting back to work tomorrow.”

  “That’s good to hear, but I have another job for you. That is if you’re agreeable?”

  “I’m agreeable to anything that’ll help the drive, Boss. Just tell me what I’m to do.”

  “We only have twelve men to drive the herd, and that’s not enough. We need you to be a trail rider.”

  “How about Rowdy? Can he get by without my help?”

  “He came up with the idea, says it’s time you were becoming a trail hand.”

  Scar responded, “Then, I’ll be ready in the morning at first light.”

  Boss had taken a few steps when he turned with a question. “Do you own a handgun, Scar?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “Have you ever shot a handgun?”

  “No, sir, I haven’t.”

  “You’ll need one. You can have Joe’s.”

  “Shouldn’t we send his gun back to his family, Boss?”

  “He doesn’t have any living relatives I know of,” was the response.

  Boss paused before leaving. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to use a handgun.” As Boss was walking away, a big smile came to Scar. I’m going to be a trail rider. But then a nervous thought came. I’ll be wearing a handgun.

  As a trail rider starting out, Scar knew he would have the most undesirable jobs on the drive. He would have to ride in the dust and contend with the weak and lazy cows. But he didn’t care—he was a trail rider now and proud of it.