California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  They rode what Gil judged to be three or four miles, eventually coming to a willow-lined creek. Their long-horn herd and horse remuda had strung out, grazing. Before attempting to round up the scattered herd, they roped fresh horses, freeing their tired mounts.

  "We'll nighthawk in two watches," said Gil.

  Nothing disturbed the silence of the night except the occasional yip of a coyote. They were up at first light. It was Van's day to cook, and he got a fire going, reheating leftover beans in a big iron pot. When there were enough coals, he raked aside a bed of them for the coffeepot. When the pot of beans began to steam, he moved the iron spider away and balanced a big iron skillet on a trio of stones. He then hacked thick bacon slabs into the skillet.

  "Wish Stump come with us," said Juan Armijo.

  "Any more ungrateful palaver," said Van, "and the hombre spoutin' off will be cookin' his own grub."

  There was some laughter, but not much. Gil reckoned they were still irritable as a result of their first abysmal day on the trail. But he was in no mood for daily bickering over who did or didn't do the cooking.

  "Enough of that," he said. "There's thirteen of us, and that means we all have to cook just once every two weeks. Now, if there's one hombre here that thinks my cookin' is so god-awful bad he can't stand it every thirteen days, then he's welcome to take my turn as well as his own. I don't have many rules, but that's one."

  They finished their breakfast in silence, loaded the packhorses, roped their mounts for the day, and got the herd moving. But the second day was only a little better than the first, and long before they reached water, every horse and rider was worn-out. While winter was seldom harsh in South Texas, this February day seemed unusually humid. The setting sun flared red behind a cloud bank, and there were faraway rumblings of thunder.

  "Six men on the first watch," said Gil, "and seven— includin' me—on the second. Picket your horses and leave them saddled. When it's your turn to sleep, don't shuck anything but your hats. This bunch is so skittish, they may light out with the first clap of thunder."

  Rosa watched the departing trail drive until it was swallowed by distance and the dust of its own passing. Dorinda had mounted and then reached for little Van, and Rosa handed him up to her. Rosa then mounted her own horse, following Dorinda back to the house.

  Rosa was silent, speaking only when Dorinda spoke to her. Although Rosa appeared serene, her mind was in a turmoil. Having secretly listened to Dorinda and Angelina talk, and having drawn her own conclusions from watching Gil, Rosa feared for him. Might he go to the faraway California and do some foolish thing that would change his life—and hers—forever? Fearful of Gil's wrath, but more fearful that she might be separated from him for all time, Rosa silently vowed to follow the trail drive. But she dared not move hastily. First, she must convince Dorinda, Angelina, and Clay that she intended to keep her promise to Gil by remaining at the ranch. Second, she must wait until the trail drive had traveled far enough thai Gil couldn't bring her back.

  Rosa knew the riders would have their hands full with bunch quitters for the first few days. The drive might not cover more than fifty miles the first week, and she must bridle her impatience, allowing two weeks to elapse before she caught up to them. There would be some risk. She had listened to the Texas Rangers speak of the Comanches who lurked along the Pecos River, ravaging West Texas. But she had a pistol. Once the riders had received the new Colt Dragoons, it had been no problem for her to sneak Ramon's old five-shot Colt out of the bunkhouse, along with some of the ammunition.

  Rosa planned to ride at night, for several reasons. First, she wished to avoid the danger of discovery by the Comanches, and second, she must not be seen by Gil or the riders. With the Indian threat, Mariposa and Estanzio would be as concerned with the back trail as with what lay ahead. Their eagle eyes would not miss the dust of even one horse. But when she rode away, would Clay Duval come after her, or perhaps send one of the Lipan Apaches? It was just another chance she would have to take…

  * * *

  "Be storm," said Ramon.

  "I think so," Gil replied.

  It was unseasonably warm for the time of year, and it was anybody's guess as to what the elements might conjure up to surprise them. They might get hailstones the size of horse apples, or spheres of ground lightning as big as wagon wheels.

  "Reckon we'd better get supper behind us," said Van. "It'll be dark early, and we'll have a long night ahead of us."

  "Who cook tomorrow?" Pedro Fagano wondered.

  "Long John," Van replied with a grin.

  There was a chorus of exaggerated groans, and Long John cackled wildly. The Cajun was fond of mixing a variety of ingredients in a huge iron pot, adding other things as he went along, until he had stew thick enough to eat with a fork. So far, it hadn't been all that bad, Gil thought.

  "Jes' wait'll we git't' Californy," said Long John, "t' the big water. Lemme git the right stuff, an' I'll fix us a mess o' crab laig gumbo an' catfish eyeball stew."

  Van got the supper ready, and they finished it in record time. Clouds to the west had wholly swallowed the sun, fading the sky from a brilliant rose to dusty gray. The wind was out of the northwest, beginning to rise. The riders began tying down their hats with piggin string. A steer bawled nervously, and some of his companions echoed his unease. Thunder rumbled, closer now, and far to the west lightning flickered gold behind the dirty gray of the clouds. Mariposa and Estanzio were already with the horses.

  "She's gonna blow," said Gil. "Hold the herd if you can, but don't do anything foolish. I'd rather spend a week roundin' 'em up than a day buryin' some of you. Let's ride!'"

  They split up, riding clockwise and counterclockwise, circling the horse remuda and the herd of restless long-horns. Lightning—blue, green, and gold—swept from one horizon to the other. Then, bounding out of the northwest, came the fearsome spheres of ground lightning. They seemed borne on the wind, like giant tumbleweeds, glowing eerily in the gloom, throwing sparks as they came. Immediately there was a drumroll of thunder that seemed endless, shaking the very earth. The scenario couldn't have been more complete if Hell itself had opened up, spewing fire and brimstone. As one, the longhorns surged to their feet, creating a thunder of their own as they pounded away to the east. Unable to hold the longhorns, the riders rode like madmen, trying to head the horse remuda. The mane of Gil's horse became green fire, and the animal reared, nickering wildly.

  Mariposa and Estanzio, anticipating the stampede, had gotten ahead of the lead horses, slowing them enough for the rest of the outfit to catch up. The wind had died to a cooling breeze, and the thunder had rumbled away, and through it all not a drop of rain had fallen. Mariposa and Estanzio moved swiftly through the nervous remuda, calming the animals with "horse talk."

  "Bueno, amigos," said Gil. "No way we could have held the longhorns. You're a bueno bunch of Texas cowboys, savin' the horse remuda."

  "By the Almighty," said Long John, "all that, an' not a drap o' rain."

  "Two watches tonight," said Gil. "Keep the horses bunched, and at first light we'll go after the longhorns."

  Gil sighed. Two days on the trail, and the herd, stampeding back the way they had come, had cost them one of those days. Now, if experience was worth anything, they would lose two more days gathering the scattered longhorns.

  * * *

  March 2, 1850. Bandera Range

  For several days Rosa had been preparing for her escape. In her saddlebag was a change of clothes, extra moccasins, enough jerked beef for fifteen days, and the five-shot Colt revolver with its ammunition. Around her neck, on its thin chain, she wore the little golden locket that had belonged to her mother. Waiting until she was sure Dorinda was asleep, Rosa crept out of the house. Pausing on the back porch, she listened. Hearing nothing, she rounded the house and made her way to the barn. Swiftly she saddled her horse—one of the Mendoza blacks—and led the animal out into the night. Later there would be a moon, but now there was only dim starlight.
Rosa led the horse until she was almost a mile from the house. She then swung into the saddle, kicked the horse into a slow gallop and headed west. She rested the horse at hourly intervals, and with the first light of the approaching dawn, concealed herself and her mount in an arroyo lined with young cotton-woods.

  * * *

  Dorinda was up, as usual, at first light. Discovering Rosa's horse was gone, Dorinda saddled her own, and taking little Van, rode to the Winged M ranch. She found Clay and Angelina at the breakfast table.

  "Damn it." said Clay, "I was afraid of this."

  "But she waited so long," said Dorinda, "I had hoped—"

  "She knows exactly what she's doing," said Clay. "She waited for the drive to go far enough that Gil can't bring her back."

  "I feel responsible for her," said Dorinda. "Should you—or one of the riders—go after her?"

  "No," Clay replied. "She's sixty or seventy miles away by now. I could ride a good horse to death and still not catch up to her. Even if I did, and dragged her back, we'd have to hogtie her, or she'd be gone again. Do you want to spend every day and night watching Rosa?"

  "No," she said slowly, "you are right. I suppose this is Gil's problem, and I don't envy him."

  "Stay for breakfast," said Angelina.

  * * *

  Rosa slept in snatches, often dreaming that she heard horses. In the early afternoon she stood looking along her back trail. If Clay—or anyone—was coming after her, there ought to be some telltale dust soon. But there was none, and she rode out at sundown, elated that she was not being pursued.

  * * *

  Gil and the outfit arose before first light. Breakfast was a hurried affair, and leaving Estanzio and Mariposa with the horse remuda, the rest of them rode out in search of the scattered longhorns.

  "Storm not last long," said Juan Alamonte. "They not run far."

  That proved to be the case, and Gil sighed with relief. By the time they had ridden half a dozen miles, it seemed they might gather the scattered herd in a single day. Despite the initial unruliness of the brutes, they seemed to have acquired some sense of belonging to the trail drive. The riders got them bunched and headed west in time to bed them down along the creek from which they'd stampeded the night before.

  "Is luck," said Ramon, "they run from storm. They thirst, run to water, it be hell."

  "That's gospel," said Gil. "Give 'em a scare, and they'll tire quick. Let 'em be thirsty, smell water, and they'll run till they reach it, if it's twenty miles."

  After their good fortune in gathering the herd, there was enough daylight for Gil to study the government map Big Foot Wallace had provided. It was the only complete map of the United States that included New Mexico and California, for not until February 1848 had Mexico ceded the two new territories.

  "We owe Wallace a big one for this map," said Van. "It even shows the desert that reaches to Horsehead Crossing."

  "Llano Estacado," said Gil, "but we'll pass to the south of it."

  ''Damn," said Long John, in mock despair, "had m' heart set on seem' the Staked Plains."

  "You can ride across it on the way back," said Gil. "While we'll miss the Llano, we're swappin' it for maybe two hundred fifty miles of Comanche country. We'll be near enough to the border to be in danger from Mexican bandits too."

  "By this map," said Van, "they claim El Paso is five hundred miles from San Antone. When we cross the Pecos, we'll still be three hundred miles east of El Paso. When we finally reach El Paso, we'll still be less than a third of the way to the goldfields. If we don't make better time, we won't get these brutes there until the middle of next year."

  "The herd's settlin' down," said Gil, "and we ought to make better time. With this map, we know where the water is. We'll start early and emit late. I want these longhorn brutes so tired at night, they won't run from anything less than a prairie fire."

  * * *

  Rosa always concealed herself and her horse near water, but she knew better than to remain too near it. So foolish a habit invited discovery by anyone seeking the water. Once she and the horse drank, Rosa moved well away from the water, before settling down for the day. For days on end she had seen nobody. She believed it would take the trail drive three days, if not longer, to travel as far as she was riding in a single night. Surely she would catch them in another day. Rosa and her horse had spent the day some three hundred yards from a small creek. Near sundown, when it was time for them to be on their way, she led the horse to the creek so it could drink. When the animal had drunk its fill, she led it away, half-hitching the reins to a convenient limb.

  Rosa then lay belly down, her head hung over the low bank, and satisfied her own thirst. Suddenly her horse nickered and she froze, her heart pounding. Behind her, reflected in the clear water of the creek, was a half circle of painted, grinning Indians!

  Chapter 3

  Slowly Rosa got to her trembling knees, but she didn't have a chance. One of the Indians caught her by the hair and dragged her to her feet. He was a leathery old man who stank of grease and sweat, ancient enough to have been her grandfather, if she'd had one. There were seven of them, but the old one seemed to be the leader, the chief. He silenced the jabbering of the others with a wave of his hand. Rosa said nothing, trying not to seem afraid. The chief grabbed a fistful of her shirt front and ripped it open, popping off the buttons, and Rosa stood there naked to the waist. The old Indian was drooling, while his companions shouted their approval. Again he silenced them, and pointed to Rosa's horse. When it was led to him, he took the reins and nodded to Rosa to mount.

  * * *

  At the end of their tenth day on the trail, Gil signaled a halt near what their map called a river.

  "God," said Long John, "after the hosses an' cows drink, they won't be 'nough fer us't' make coffee."

  While it wasn't quite that bad, the water was low. It was Bola's day to cook, and while Gil waited for supper, he looked at the map again.

  "If I'm readin' this map right," he said, "we have maybe a hundred miles behind us."

  "Ten mile." said Vicente Gomez. "Bad day."

  "Nothin' to get excited about," said Van. "If we can't beat that, we're still forty days out of El Paso, and God knows how many months away from California."

  "I reckon I get the blame for our slow progress," said Gil. "While I'm glad we have this map, I've been dependin' on it too much. We've bedded down the herd accordin' to the water on the map. I've cut some days short, when we could have put in another two or three hours on the trail and still reached water. Startin' tomorrow, I aim to scout twenty miles ahead of the drive, like I did when we brought the herd from Mexico, back in 'forty-three."

  "Is good," said Ramon, and the other riders nodded their agreement.

  "We help," said Estanzio.

  "I'm countin' on you and Mariposa," said Gil, "especially when we get into southern New Mexico and Arizona."

  * * *

  Rosa rode ahead, the old man holding the reins of her horse, while the rest of the Indians brought up the rear. It was soon dark, and she had no idea where they were, or where they were going. But they hadn't ridden far when she heard the barking of dogs. The Indian village was well-hidden, and even in the dim starlight Rosa counted at least ten tepees. The dogs broke into an excited frenzy, and it seemed there must be a hundred. Other Indians stood outside their tepees, and some of them managed to silence the dogs. Finally Rosa's captor reined up her horse and his before one of the tepees, which proved to be his own.

  The old man dismounted and began shouting orders. Rosa slid out of her saddle and found that the other six Indians were no longer with them. The old one looped the reins of his horse and Rosa's to a lodge pole. He then drew open the flap and shoved her into the dark interior of the tepee. Hands seized her, tore at her hair and clawed at her face. Her assailants were screeching like magpies, and the old chief had to bellow like a bull to make himself heard above the din. Then he was inside, shoving them through the open flap of the tepee. Rosa cou
ld still hear them outside, but her captor closed the flap, and she was alone. She didn't have to wonder who the two furious women were, or why they had attacked her. Even in her inexperience, she recognized them as jealous wives who well knew why they were being run out. This old fool had plans for her, and he didn't want an audience!

  The tepee smelled of wood smoke, sweat, and roasted meat. Rosa began feeling around for something that might serve as a weapon, and her moccasined foot touched a stone. Kneeling, she found a circle of them, still warm. It was a fire ring, and feeling the stones, she selected a large one. Prying it loose, she hefted it in both hands. It was a poor weapon, but better than nothing. There was a sliver of light where the tepee flap hadn't been fully closed, and when she put one eye to it, she could see her horse in the light of a rising moon. Her pistol was in the saddlebag! She had her hand on the tepee flap when an Indian spoke and a companion answered. While she couldn't see them, they were watching the tepee until her captor returned. With a sigh, she again took up the heavy stone.

  The next voice Rosa heard was that of the old one in whose lodge she waited. She hoped he was dismissing the guards. He came in, closing the flap behind him, and Rosa heard the distinctive sound of leather against leather. He was getting undressed! In spite of herself, she jumped when she felt his rough hands on her bare skin. She waited until his fingers reached the waist of the breeches she wore, and then she brought up her right knee in a savage thrust, where it would get the most attention. His breath exploded in an agonized groan, and she felt his sagging head against her bare belly. Stepping back just enough to lift the heavy stone, she brought it crashing down on the back of his head…

  Gil rode out at first light the following morning. While he couldn't be sure, he felt the government map noted only the larger streams and rivers. While it was a help, and he was thankful for it, they needed the in-between streams and water holes too. Once the drive passed El Paso and was into the badlands and desert beyond, the map's river locations would be invaluable. But until then there would be lesser streams that didn't appear on the map, and these were essential. The herd had begun to settle down, and a day's drive could be stretched to fifteen miles or more, as long as there was water at the end of it. He had ridden well over ten miles when he came upon a substantial runoff that definitely wasn't on the government map. It would extend their day's drive, and if he could find another such water source for the following day, they might make up some lost time. The mountainous regions of southwest Texas would have lesser streams that, while not qualifying as rivers, would provide water enough to suit their purpose. Gil had ridden at least thirty miles before he found the second such source, again not evident on the government map. Elated, he rode back to meet the trail drive, bearing good news.