California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  * * *

  It was time to ride, and time to choose the four riders who would remain with the herd.

  "I want Rosa, Juan Padillo, Bola, and Vicente to stay with the longhorns and the horse remuda," said Gil. "That's every bit as important as what the rest of us are about to do. Actually, I'm leaving you short-handed, because I don't know how many men we may find at this outlaw cabin. So I'm asking the four of you to take some risk, so that I can take a larger force with me. Are there any questions before we move out?"

  Gil had half expected some protest from Rosa, but there was none. She could hold her own with the trail drive itself, but this planned man-killing was something else, where hesitation went hand in hand with death. Had it not been for Rosa, Gil might have simply left the horse remuda and the herd unattended, taking the entire outfit. Perhaps Rosa and the riders left behind suspected this, but there had been no protest. They had respected Gil's wishes. Gil led out. Van followed, with Morgan Pinder's horse on a lead rope. Pinder's hands were securely bound behind his back, and he was bare to the middle.

  * * *

  Phin Clanton, never very pleasant, was in an especially vile mood. With ten men he had ridden all the way from Apache Creek, to join forces with the men far to the south. The large horse remuda and the huge herd of longhorns would have been motivation enough for what the gang was about to do, but there was another, stronger reason. Verd Connor had been one of old man Clanton's most trusted lieutenants, and now Verd was dead. According to the one-sided story Morgan Pinder had told, Verd Connor had been needlessly gunned down by some Texas bastard who was trail-bossing a herd of Texas longhorns. Phin's bloodthirsty daddy, N. H. Clanton, lived by his own perverted concept of Old Testament law, and this Texas outfit was going to pay for Verd's death. Phin Clanton and his men had ridden in after dark, to find that Morgan Pinder, the damn fool, had gone gunning for the Texan who had killed Verd Connor. There were fifteen men in the small cabin, drinking and playing cards. Phin Clanton stood on the porch, leaning against an upright that supported the shake roof. Trig Rudolph, one of the men who had ridden in with Clanton, stepped out on the porch.

  "Why are you standin' out here?" Rudolph asked.

  "Maybe I just like to breathe," said Clanton, who didn't smoke. "This damn shack could be afire, and there not be that much smoke."

  "It's near midnight," said Rudolph. "Suppose Pinder don't come back; you still aim to hit that trail herd at first light?"

  "What else can we do? Give Pinder another two hours; if he ain't here, that'll mean they got him. Without aimin' to, he's made it easier for us. Once they get Pinder and find out he's alone, it'll look like just what it is. Pinder's pard was gunned down, so he went after the hombre that done it. If we was plannin' anything else, why would we of let Pinder go stompin' in and get the whole damn outfit on the prod?"

  Rudolph chuckled. "Smart. With Pinder out of the way, they won't be lookin' for nobody else. We're ridin' at two?"

  "Yeah," said Clanton, "not quite two hours."

  "What if Pinder shows up between now and then?"

  "That'll mean he's shot somebody, and the rest of the bunch will come foggin' after him, and the fight will come to us. But Pinder won't be here, so get ready to ride."

  * * *

  Gil called a halt to rest the horses. He judged it was three o'clock, and that they had ridden not quite half the distance to the outlaw cabin. As they mounted their horses and rode on, Gil became uneasy. There had been little wind. Now it had risen, turned treacherous, and was at their backs. Small sounds, even the creaking of a saddle, carried far in the still of the night. A sentry ahead, only half listening, might become aware of the riders well in advance of their arrival. Gil reined up, halting the column. He couldn't ignore that premonition of danger that had served him so well in the past. Turning in his saddle, he spoke to Van, almost in a whisper.

  "Estanzio and Mariposa. Pass the word." He would use the Indian riders as advance scouts. It was a smart move, but it came too late. Gil's horse nickered, and it was all the warning they had. Every rider rolled out of the saddle, as the night erupted into a Hell of gunfire and a hail of lead. There was no time to even think of restraining the horses, and they galloped madly back the way they had come. Morgan Pinder's horse was among them, Pinder hunched low in the saddle. Following the first deadly volley, but for the diminishing sound of the running horses, there was only silence. Not a man moved. The wind was against them, and the slightest sound might invite swift and certain death. The moon was down, and it was the kind of standoff that might continue until dawn, with neither side gaining an advantage. But the Texas outfit had an edge of which the outlaws were unaware. While Mariposa and Estanzio were unable to make Gil aware of their intentions, it didn't hinder them doing what they knew must be done. Quietly, swiftly, Estanzio slipped to the south, while Mariposa crept northward, flanking the outlaws. While lead was unable to find its mark in the darkness, a deadly Bowie in the sure hand of an Indian had no such limitation.

  Suddenly, somewhere beyond Gil's position, there was a scream of mortal terror, and then silence. Within seconds there was another scream, from yet another position. There was a chilling finality, a supernatural aura, about it all. Estanzio and Mariposa were perfectly capable of silent killing, but there was a time when fear itself became a weapon, and this was such a time. This was a tactic calculated to strike fear into the hearts of the outlaws, and it had the desired effect. The Clanton men began firing, not at the Texans. but at shadows. There was a yowl of pain as at least one of the outlaws was shot by a comrade. Gil and his riders held their fire, lest they hit Estanzio or Mariposa.

  "Damn it," bawled Phin Clanton, "hold your fire!"

  No sooner had the frantic firing ceased, when Mariposa or Estanzio took another victim. Again the man was allowed a single terrified shriek before he was silenced forever. That was enough. The rest of the outlaws lit out for their horses, throwing caution to the winds. Gil and his riders didn't move until Mariposa and Estanzio stepped out of the shadows.

  "Coyotes run," said Estanzio. "We hunt?"

  "No," said Gil, "we'd never catch them in the dark. Besides, you hombres handled it just right. They had us outnumbered, and were shooting from cover probably. Did anybody get hit when they cut down on us?"

  When nobody responded, Gil again spoke.

  "We'll ride on back to the herd, then, granted that we can find and catch our horses."

  "Morgan Finder's out there somewhere," said Van, "unless he's managed to get loose. I didn't consider him important enough to get myself shot."

  "I doubt he'll be a problem to us," Gil replied. "I'm wondering if maybe he didn't come after us—or me— on his own. If he did, he won't be on good terms with the rest of the gang. By the time we reach the camp, it'll be time to eat and get the herd on the trail. Mariposa, I want you and Estanzio to trail that bunch of owlhoots, at least far enough to be sure we're rid of them. I doubt they'll still be at the cabin, but if they are, get the word to us pronto. If they rode out, trail them far enough to be sure they don't circle and double back. The whole thieving bunch could be laying for us somewhere farther west."

  This was the darkest hour before dawn, when the stars seemed anxious to recede to that faraway realm where they spent their daylight hours. It was a poor time for Texas cowboys to be afoot in search of their horses.

  "Damnation," Long John groaned wearily, "I hope them hosses don't run all the way back't' camp."

  "They won't," said Gil. "Not with loose reins. Most western horses are trained to ground-tie. You didn't take the time to loop your reins around the horn, did you?"

  "Reckon I did," said Long John sarcastically. "I allus see that m' hoss is took care of proper. 'Specially when a bunch o' owlhoot bastards is busy throwin' lead at me."

  "Long John don't ride Mendoza horse." said Juan Alamonte. "Sorrel Long John ride, he be on his way to camp."

  "That's right," said Van, with a laugh. "Long John's ridin' that stray wit
h a pitchfork brand that nearly got us hung in El Paso. That cayuse may not stop runnin' till he hits the Pecos."

  Despite their predicament, they laughed, but Long John had the last laugh. Before it was light enough to see more than a few feet, they heard a horse cropping grass. It was the sorrel with the pitchfork brand.

  "Wal," chuckled Long John, as he mounted, "be seein' ya'll in camp."

  The rest of the riders hunkered wearily where they were and waited for Long John. When he returned leading three horses, Mariposa, Estanzio, and. Pedro Fagano had mounts. The four men rode out, and within a few minutes had returned with the rest of the horses. Long John had found the twisted rawhide thong that had bound Morgan Pinders hands. The Cajun dismounted, dropped the rawhide at Estanzio's feet and grinned at the Indian.

  "Somebody," said Long John, "dint tie that jaybird none too tight."

  "Mebbe you no like?" Estanzio's tone was mild, but his eyes had narrowed to slits. He was border-shifting his Bowie from one hand to the other.

  Long John whipped out his own Bowie, matching Estanzio's movements and grinning at the Indian.

  Enough of that, Gil snapped. Have your run some other time. Mount up and let's ride. Unless you fine something we need to know, Mariposa. you and Es-tanzio wait for us at the outlaw cabin."

  * * *

  They reached camp to find that Rosa had breakfast waiting. When they had eaten, Gil spoke to them.

  "It's twenty-five miles to the next water, and that's where the outlaw cabin is, I know it's another long drive, but there's no help for it. We'll be in the dark a good part of the way, because we're gettin' a late start. We don't know where that bunch of outlaws went. We don't know if they've given up on us, or if we'll have tc fight at some other time and place. On the frontier, when there's any doubt, be ready to fight. Estanzio and Mariposa are following the owlhoots, so that we don't ride into an ambush. Unless the outlaws have returned to that cabin, I don't look for any trouble out of them. Ramon, I'll help you with the horse remuda. Let's ride!"

  Gil pushed the herd as hard as he could, and although they had taken the trail three hours late, by two o'clock in the afternoon the drive had traveled more than ten miles. But the outfit was thirty-four hours without sleep, and it began to tell. Rosa dozed in the saddle, and other riders had taken to slapping themselves in the face with their hats. At the present pace, it would be midnight before they reached the creek where the outlaw cabin was. Without Mariposa and Estanzio, Gil and Ramon had their hands full with the packhorses and remuda.

  "Outlaws be gone," said Ramon. "Mariposa and Estanzio not return."

  "Yeah," said Gil, "and so far, that's the only good news. That, and the fact the herd ain't havin' one of its ornery days."

  "Maybe we push 'em harder," said Ramon.

  "Maybe," said Gil, "and maybe they'd just get cantankerous and take up their old bunch-quitting habits. Let's leave well enough alone."

  "Soon be rain," said Ramon. "Longhorns trail better without so much sun."

  It was true. Clouds had begun rolling in at mid-morning, and the sky was overcast. There were signs that the rain might come without the thunder and lightning that raised hell with a trail drive. They were moving due west, and it was from the west that most of their storms came. Longhorns tried to run away from thunder and lightning. A stampede would cost them as much as two days gathering the scattered herd, and a third day making up the wasted miles the spooked longhorns had run in the opposite direction.

  "Rain's comin','' said Van, who had ridden up from the flank. "Bad news for Mariposa and Estanzio. Even they can't follow that outlaw trail after a good gully washer."

  "Maybe they won't have to follow it any farther," said Gil. "All I want is that those owlhoots are going to keep riding. I'm hoping our hombres will know for sure before the trail's rained out."

  "We got one thing in our favor," Van said, "that makes me think that outlaw bunch will leave us alone. Thanks to our Injun riders, they iost four men, while none of us got a scratch. Clanton—or whoever was the boss—lost control of them, and they started shootin' at one another in the dark. We could of burnt powder and throwed lead until daylight and not even touched those coyotes. Their own fear and superstition did what we couldn't have done in the dark, or even in daylight."

  Gil laughed. "Can't fault them for running. Wouldn't you, if your pards were dying all around you, and there was nothin' for you to shoot at?"

  "Damn right," said Van. "I wouldn't of stayed as long as they did. We purely got ourselves a pair of thinkin' Injuns. Every outlaw they cut, they let him squall just enough to scare hell out of the others."

  With an overcast sky, darkness came early. When it became obvious the trail drive was going to continue without water or graze, the longhorns again expressed their discontent, bawling disconsolately as they plodded on.

  "Cows not dry enough to run," said Juan Padillo.

  "Hope you be right," said Vicente Gomez. "Wind come before rain."

  Soon there was a light breeze out of the west, heavy with the smell of rain, but the longhorns kept on. They were tired, maybe hungry, but not yet stampede-thirsty.

  "Thank God," Gil said, "the rain will solve our water problem until we're able to reach the creek."

  "Ye sure?" asked the ever pessimistic Long John. "Texas longhorns is got't' be standin' in water up to their noses 'fore they knows it's there, an' I don't look fer it't' rain that deep."

  The rain came, slow and steady for a change, rather than in windswept torrents. To the dusty, weary riders it was a welcome relief. Rosa rode with her hat under her arm, allowing the cooling rain to wash over her head and face. The longhorns ceased their restless bawling, and the drive continued through the darkness.

  "If this wasn't open plains," Van said, "we'd be in trouble, with no moon and no stars."

  "We'll be in trouble later on." said Gil. "because there's hill country the last four or five miles. We'll all be ridin' headlong into trees."

  "Then we won't make the creek tonight," Van said, "unless it clears up."

  "I doubt it'll clear up in time to help us," said Gil. "We'll soon be forced to call it a day, and wait for first light. But the grass is wet, and there's some water on the ground. That'll satisfy the cattle and horses until we reach the creek in the morning."

  The rain continued, and as the open plain gave way to wooded hills and valleys, Gil halted the drive.

  "We're all dead tired," Gil said, "but we'll have to keep watch. I'll be the first, but I'll need volunteers to join me."

  "Wal, hell," said Long John, "I'll stick wi' ye. Who can sleep in all this rain?"

  "I can," said Rosa.

  "When we reach water in the morning," said Gil, "we'll take a day of rest."

  They spent the rest of the long night in the saddle, most of the riders preferring to nighthawk instead of attempting to sleep. They would wait for the morning. The rain ceased before first light, and the sun announced its arrival with a rosy glow across the eastern sky. Soon as it was light enough to see, Gil and the riders were pushing the herd toward the creek ahead. Even with the rain, they had spent the night in dry camp, and there was no water. They couldn't eat or rest until they reached the creek and the outlaw cabin. When they finally topped a ridge overlooking their destination, the outfit had been in the saddle more than fifty hours. There was no sign of life at the cabin below, but as they watched, Estanzio came out of the barn. Raising his hand, he beckoned them on.

  "All right," shouted Gil, "let's take 'em down to the creek!"

  The sun had quickly erased all evidence of last night's rain. Longhorns and horse remuda trotted gladly toward the deep-running creek, while Gil and the riders reined up at the barn. The Indian riders were waiting, and Estanzio gave their report in a few words.

  "Coyotes run," said Estanzio. "Ride nort'. Rain come, trail go to hell."

  Gil nodded his thanks. It was about as he had expected. Rain had wiped out the trail, but Mariposa and Estanzio had gotten an earl
y start. They'd had time to observe some pattern to the outlaws' flight.

  "One more thing, Estanzio," said Gil. "What about Morgan Pinder? After he got loose, did he join the rest of the gang?"

  "Him ride 'lone," said Estanzio, pointing west.

  It confirmed Gil's suspicion that Pinder was acting on his own, likely seeking revenge for Verd Connor's death.

  Pinder wouldn't be eager to get back with the Clanton gang.

  "We'll lay over here for the rest of the day and tonight," said Gil. "We all need rest and sleep. Mariposa, you and Estanzio are rested. Ride on ahead and look for water, and for any sign of trouble."

  Chapter 8

  The riders took turns sleeping. Gil was up and about after two hours, looking westward for some sign of Estanzio and Mariposa. The longer they were gone, the farther the herd would have to go in search of the next water. Rosa had slept little, spending her time in the abandoned cabin, searching through the debris the outlaws had left behind. The door was open, and when Gil stepped into the cabin, the stink almost floored him. Overriding everything else was the distinctive smell of a cigar. Rosa knelt at the hearth, picking at the stones with a horseshoe nail. She stood up when Gil came in.

  "My God," he said, holding his nose, "how can you stand it in here?"

  "I left the door open," she said.

  "You're wasting your time," said Gil. "That bunch wouldn't leave anything of any use to us."

  "I did not expect them to," said Rosa, "but this was not their cabin. It was built by someone else, a man who took pride in his work. See how carefully the stones in the hearth and the fireplace have been laid? See how the logs have been fitted to one another? There is almost no chinking. It is a house that was not built by outlaws, I think."

  "I think you're right," said Gil. "They likely rode in and murdered the man who built the place. What are you doing?"

  Rosa again knelt at the stone hearth. "There is a stone loose," she said, "and I am wondering why."

  "You'll never find out with that nail," said Gil. "Let me try it with the Bowie."