After the Indian Nations came Kansas and the Kansans were natural enemies of the Texans. They had fought on opposite sides during the war and that war hadn’t been long over. The old bitterness still burned. Will had heard talk about the lawless men who rode north of the Nations. They had been freebooters on the side of the North during the war and had never gone back to a settled life. A trail-herd driven by a handful of men was a sitting target. A shot from a gun, a yell, even a cough or an unusual sound at night could set the whole shebang running and once a herd was scattered the Kansas men could just gather them up as they willed.
If Will had been anxious during the cow-hunt, what he had been through so far was nothing to what lay ahead of him. And he had allowed Martha and the girls to come along. He should ought to have his head examined. He went to sleep that night a worried man. But exhaustion saw that he slept clean through to dawn.
Chapter Six
The following morning, he sat up in bed an hour before light and thought: This is it. Kansas, here we come. He reckoned he couldn’t wait for breakfast, not even a cup of coffee. He woke Martha and the girls and went straight out and saddled Jim, his old saddler. He rode for the herd with Martha calling after him that he was crazy to go without breakfast and he’d never get to Kansas if he didn’t eat. He just waved a hand to her and kept on going.
When he got to camp, all the crew were up and ready. He drank a cup of coffee as he looked over the herd. The cows were on their feet and starting to graze. They looked good, by God how good they looked.
“Boys,” he said, “drift ‘em slow now. I want ‘em to get to Kansas without even knowing how they got there.”
The boys doused the fire and got into the saddle. They rode down to the herd and took up their positions with Mart and Joe riding point. Jody and George rode drag and they grumbled. Anybody riding drag grumbled. Will reckoned they’d stay there till he made real trail drivers of them. Every man there felt what Will felt and he knew it. It seemed it was the first time he’d felt really alive in years.
He rode with them for thirty minutes, then he rode back to see how Martha and the girls were making out. He met the wagon a short way from the house. Kate was riding alongside it.
He told her: “You git up and take over the remuda from that boy. It’s yours to Kansas, girl.”
He gave her a little grin and she smiled back. As she rode forward, he watched her. Capable as a boy. Pretty too. Maybe she’d find a good man soon. He’d best be good or Will would want to know why not.
When he turned to the wagon, Martha smiled at him.
“You know, husband,” she said, “I thought I’d come over all wet-eyed leavin’ that ol’ house. But I didn’t have a single regret.”
“Me neither,” he said. “But we had some good times in it.”
“That we did,” she replied. “An’ some bad.”
“Will we get to Kansas tomorrow?” Melissa asked.
Will laughed.
“Day after,” he said. “Martha, you rustle this ol’ wagon along now, overtake the herd and catch me. I’m goin’ ahead to mark us a trail. We won’t cover much distance today.”
“Go ahead,” she said.
He gave her a good look. The prospect of the trip had taken years off her. He saw again the young girl he had sparked back long before the war. She still had the same fine eyes.
As he rode forward, he heard her whooping at the wagon-mules to get some pace out of them.
He passed the herd and Mart lifted a hand to him. He pulled up alongside.
Mart said: “I wouldn’t of believed it, hermano. They’re a herd already.”
“All we have to do,” Will said, “is keep ‘em that way.”
Old Blue, the roan steer, was there in front with his bell. He seemed to give Will a look that said: “Don’t you fret none. I’m here.” He was a reassuring sight. He’d brought a number of the outlaws in and he had helped hold them together. Will turned in the saddle and eyed the ribbon of longhorns drifting slowly north. He reckoned they made the finest sight in the world.
He rode on an hour ahead of the others, heading for the Nueces, so that the animals would have plenty of water for the first leg of the journey. He calculated that they would reach the banks of the Nueces that night without hurry. Good. He rode back and told Mart and Joe which way to head them. Martha started past the herd and he told which way to head and where to make camp. She’d have first-class chow ready for everybody when they pulled in. He noted that she kept well clear of the herd and approved. He checked Kate with the remuda riding off to the east. She had somewhere around eighty horses to drive and she had her work cut out. He wondered if she would make out. A remudero’s job was considered the most junior on the trail, but Will always reckoned that it was the most arduous. A wrangler never had a minute he could call his own. Even at night he had to be prepared to catch up horses when they were wanted and he had to know each mount of each rider and each horse of the mount. Maybe he was asking too much of Kate.
He asked her as much as he rode up.
She just grinned and said: “Just try me, pa.”
The sight of the girl and her grin brought a lump to his throat and he cursed himself for being sentimental. He’d brought his kids up hard and they were hard. Just the same, this didn’t seem right for a girl.
They drifted along through the day, the men dozing now and then when they could in the saddle. Everybody was still short on sleep and not yet used to the rigors of the trail. The two boys in the drag didn’t get any chance to sleep — the drag never did. Joe said the drag was the awkward squad looking after the awkward squad and he was just about right. When they reached the river, Jody and George were exhausted and Will took pity on them. He ordered them in at once to eat and sleep. Enough was enough, he reckoned. The rest watered the cows and then got them onto the bedding ground. They were full of water and grass, which was the best condition for cows to be in when dark came down. After he’d set his watches and eaten, Will rode around the slumbering animals, noting a muley here and there hesitating to get down till the whole herd was settled, and listened to the grunting of the contented animals. They’d be quiet till dawn so long as nobody . . . hell, there were a thousand little things a fool could do to set ‘em off running. He’d done all any man could. He’d given the riders their instructions, none of them were fools. He hoped. He’d detailed the watches so that there were no two very green men on together.
When he rode back to the wagon, several of the men were playing cards on a blanket. He told them to stop. Hit the blankets. He didn’t want anybody sleeping when they were on night-herd. They stared at him a little and one or two of those who didn’t know him looked like they might have something to say about it, but they didn’t. He checked that everybody had a night horse ready for emergency. On the trail nobody had free time. Every second belonged to the outfit. They got into their blankets and he sat around smoking and thinking, listening to the herd, the riders singing tunelessly to them. Prettiest sound in all the world—the steady plod-plod of the horses as they made the rounds, the crooning voices, the grunts of the cows. He checked Kate and found her at the foot of a tree near the rope corral, rolled in her blankets, booted and ready. She was asleep.
He checked on Martha and Melissa under the wagon. The little girl was asleep. Martha reached out for his hand and he kneeled there wordlessly holding it for a while.
“We’ll make it,” she said. “Now you get your sleep.”
He patted her cheek and walked through the recumbent figures to his own bed-roll nearest the herd. Ol’ Brown, his night-horse, was dozing on his feet. Will sat down, went to ease off his boots and changed his mind. Just this first night, he wouldn’t take any chances.
He lay down and looked up at the stars. He reckoned he was as near to being happy as he’d ever been.
They made their slow way along the Nueces the following day and the herd behaved itself admirably. The monotony of the drive started to edge in on the young
er members and it was only the thoughts of Kansas and the great wide world ahead that kept their spirits up.
“Pa,” said George, “this what it’s goin’ to be like all the way to Kansas? Ain’t nothin’ ever goin’ to happen?”
Will said: “You pray it don’t, boy. If it’ll console you any, just look ahead to crossing swollen rivers, Indians, cow thieves and Jayhawkers. Throw in a coupla storms and maybe a stampede or two for good measure.”
Jody said: “Riders up ahead.”
Will looked to where Jody was pointing and saw three men coming in to the north-east of the herd, angling down on it. The dust was too thick for him to see them distinctly. He rode forward and as he approached them, thought one of the figures looked familiar. When he got close, he saw that he was right. The center man on the sorrel horse was Mark Ingram, the county sheriff. At the sight of him, Will thought of Mart riding point and his heart turned over a couple of times.
“Mornin’, Mark,” he said.
“Mornin’, Will.”
Will nodded to the other two men and knew they were deputies.
Ingram eased himself in the saddle and stretched his legs. He’d come a long way. He admired the herd Will had thrown together and reckoned, yessir, it sure was a big thing to be driving a herd this size all the way to Kansas. A very wonderful thing to know that Texas beef was wanted up North.
“You have the family along, Will?”
“Surely,” Will said.
“The hull family?”
“I reckon.”
“Your brother Mart?”
Will looked the sheriff right in the eye.
“Hell, I wasn’t to know you meant Mart, man.”
“Is he along?”
“Why, I haven’t seen Mart in a coon’s age.”
“I don’t like to call a man a liar, but I reckon anybody’d tell a lie to save a brother, wouldn’t he, Will?”
“I reckon so.”
“So you won’t mind if I look your crew over.”
Will didn’t glance toward the point. He said: “Why should I mind?”
The sheriff thanked him and rode off along the herd. Will rode with him and found one of the Quintin boys riding in Mart’s place. He was pretty relieved.
After a while the sheriff seemed satisfied that Mart wasn’t there. He reined up beside Will and said: “Had a report that Mart’d been seen riding with you, Will. But I reckon you wouldn’t be that foolish. If I catch Mart with you, Will, I’ll take you in, too.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Will said. The sheriff said his farewells and the three lawmen rode away.
That night after most of the crew were asleep, Mart came quietly into camp. He looked pretty serious. Will was talking with Martha by the wagon when the tall man slid from the saddle and walked over.
“I reckon it’s goodbye,” Mart said. “You sure tried the both of you. Thanks, anyway. I’m pullin’ out.”
Martha said: “Now you’re talkin’ nonsense, Mart.”
“I’m talkin’ sense an’ you know it,” he retorted. “I stay with the herd and I put the whole family in jeopardy.”
Will prodded his brother in the chest with a bony forefinger. “You listen to me, boy,” he said, “an’ you listen real good. We’re gettin’ the hull family to Kansas and that includes you. This is the way I see it—you put some chow in your wallet, catch up a fresh horse and go ahead. We’ll meet you north of San Antone on the Chisholm.”
Mart argued some. He was pretty heated, but Will thought that he and Martha together convinced him that what they suggested was for the best. But the way he shook hands with them both made Will think that his brother meant to cut loose of them. He caught up a fresh horse and rode out. Martha was upset at his going. She too had the feeling that they wouldn’t see him again.
The following day, they pushed along the shore of the Nueces until they hit the tributary of San Felipe. This would give them another three-four days of good water and then they were on the two-day march to the Chisholm Trail. The cattle continued to behave themselves, but the better they were, the more nervous Will grew. It was all too good to be true. The routine ran like clock-work; each night they found good bedding-grounds, each night the cows settled down with full bellies and spent a peaceful night. Slowly, they by-passed San Antonio and crept north-east to the Chisholm and it was now that everybody there felt that the drive had really begun. Now they could believe that they were really on the way to Kansas and their fortunes.
Twenty miles north of San Antone when the camp was quiet and Will was smoking a last pipe propped against the wagon wheel, he heard a horse walking slowly into camp. It came from the north. He eased his old 1851 Navy Colt from its battered holster and slid back out of the firelight. The horse halted beyond the edge of the light, saddle-leather creaked and a man walked forward.
It was Mart.
Will put away his gun and went forward. He and his brother shook hands.
Will felt a little overcome, but he said casually: “Didn’t think we’d see you, Mart.”
Mart grinned and said: “I’d a mind to head for California, but the pull of Martha’s cookin’ was too strong.”
Martha awoke and came out from under the wagon. She was so pleased to see her brother-in-law that she kissed him and the Storms weren’t really kissing folk. Mart was so moved that he mumbled incoherently. The only way he could express his real pleasure at being back with them was to eat the food that Martha dished him up with extra relish. Then they all turned in.
It was after Mart rejoined them that things started to go wrong. The first thing happened three days after Mart had returned. Will put it all down to the weather. For a couple of days, the weather had been drawing in. The ceiling of the clouds seemed to fall lower and lower by the hour and the atmosphere started to be oppressing. Sounds altered and the cows grew uneasy. More and more of them were taking time off from grazing and would halt in their tracks to stare into the north, sniffing at the motionless air. Will didn’t like the look of things, any more than did Joe.
“Boy,” he said, “they’re gettin’ set to run.” Will thought the same. Even old Blue would halt in his tracks and head up sniff with suspicion. By the third night, when Will was setting double watches and had given his instructions for what the boys were to do if the animals ran, the cows were showing an increasing reluctance to settle down on the bedding ground. They had found a good spot and the cows were well-watered, but, just the same, they were refusing in large numbers to settle. Will gave orders that every man was to sleep with his boots on and be ready to ride at the first shout. When the run came, it would most likely come without warning. Those that were lying down would just up and run and God help anybody or anything that got in their way.
Around dark it started to thunder a little and that added to the cows’ uneasiness. The tone of the singing guards seemed to take on a slightly desperate note. Each rider tended to walk his horse a little faster than was usual. Half the cows were standing around and the usual contented grunts were absent. In their place was a low moaning note that was eerie in the extreme. Lightning came and lit the scene up in a ghostly fashion. The muley cows fidgeted on the outskirts of the herd, permanently alarmed. Will couldn’t stay in camp and mounted his night-horse to join the guards. The hours dragged by. By midnight, he was a little more assured. Some of the leaders started to settle down and others followed their example. Old Blue settled and started to grunt. Maybe, Will thought, they were going to get away with it. He returned to camp and poured himself a cup of coffee. Martha was awake and she sat with him.
Then with a suddenness that turned a man’s heart over, it happened.
There was a great flash of lightning. Will’s eyes were on the herd. Every animal there was on its feet in the same second and they were running as though triggered by the same mechanism.
They were headed for the wagon.
Will yelled at the top of his voice—
“Stampede!”
Men
were flinging their blankets off them, startled. The standing horses shied, suddenly terror-stricken.
Will shouted to Martha: “Git behind the wagon. Kate, behind the wagon.”
Another flash of lightning showed Martha and the girls on the move. He legged it for his horse and piled into the saddle, turning the animal to get ahead of the herd. The earth shook beneath him. All around him, men were getting into the saddle, suddenly the noise was deafening. Men yelled and he couldn’t hear them. He saw over his shoulder the dim mass of the cows heading toward him, heads up, eyes rolling, horns tossing. It looked like a living avalanche.
His horse jumped, taking him through the camp and to the rear of the wagon and the tree by which it stood. In that moment, he could think of nothing but the fate of his women. He should never have brought them along.
A rider went through the camp at a flat run, ahead of the cows. He thought it was Joe.
The avalanche roared up the slight incline and the forefront of it hit the wagon with a crash. He felt rather than heard the remuda take off like startled birds. The wagon heaved up and seemed to teeter sickeningly on two wheels. A lightning flash and he saw Martha’s white face. In his mind he saw the wagon crash down on top of her and the girls. It was a terrible sickening moment. His horse tried to bolt, but he held it in with an iron hand. There were maddened cows streaming by on either side of the wagon. The vehicle crashed back onto its four wheels. Martha had her arms around Melissa. Yet he knew that he couldn’t leave them. He couldn’t desert them till the herd had passed.
It seemed to take an eternity to pass, a deafening noise of bellows, horn-clashing and thundering hoofs. Suddenly, he was stifling, sitting stunned in the saddle of his jittering horse.
Then they were past, roaring off into the night, going east. He jumped his horse toward Martha.
Stampede! Page 5
