by Gary Church
Johnny said, “Jace, you mentioned you’d been on a trail drive. How did it suit you?”
Smiling, Jace said, “Well, sir, being on a trail drive makes a man appreciate not being on one.”
Johnny laughed, and Jace continued. “Frankly, it’s a hard way to earn a dollar, but there are things about it that appeal.”
“I’ve never been on one,” said Johnny, “but I’ve seen some passing by.”
“Part of the allure, I guess, is not knowing what’s going to happen,” said Jace. “I mean, there’s so many things can go wrong, you’re just wondering what it’ll be next.”
Changing the subject, Johnny said, “How’s the cards been treating you?”
Jace looked reflective, then said, “Sir, I reckon I can’t complain, but to be frank, I shouldn’t be playing. I play to take my mind off something, but that something makes me lose my concentration, if you catch my meaning.”
Johnny sipped his whiskey and nodded.
“Well, I reckon everybody knows but you. It’s a girl.” Johnny didn’t respond, and after a moment, Jace continued. “You’re the first person not to jump in offering me advice. Everybody says forget her, move on, and that. But it’s hard. I keep seeing her in my mind. It’s painful.”
Nodding his understanding, Johnny smoked and listened.
“She said my prospects ain’t good enough. She aims to marry someone who’ll be rich someday. Right now, she’s stepping out with a lawyer’s son.”
This triggered Johnny’s memory of the girl at José’s. He wondered if it was the same girl. Seemed likely. “It’s an old story,” said Johnny, shaking his head in sympathy.
“She’s like some horses,” said Jace, “beautiful, but temperamental.”
“Would you be interested in signing on to another trail drive?” asked Johnny.
Jace looked at him, surprised. “I hadn’t thought of it, but that might be just the thing for me right now.”
A lawyer who sometimes played cards arrived, and the poker game got underway. As the evening progressed, Johnny and Jace discussed trail drives, and at the end of the evening, a plan was in place. Jace would ask a friend who worked with him if he was interested, but either way, Jace would draw his wages and meet Johnny on Monday morning to ride out to the Christie spread.
The next morning after breakfast, Johnny stopped at the general store and purchased the items on Rosalinda’s list. To his surprise, the proprietor set a book, wrapped in paper, on the counter without Johnny asking.
“I believe you’d best remember this,” said the man, smiling. “All the way from New York City.” He tapped the book. “I’ll buy it back when the missus is done with it,” he continued. “Books are in demand out here.”
“Thank you,” said Johnny.
Arriving back at the homestead, Johnny unsaddled Loco, hung the saddle and halter in the tack room, and began to brush down Loco. All three dogs appeared from somewhere and moved in close to Johnny so he could pet them. He was happy to see that Princesa was healing well and filling out. The smell of hay, leather, and animals filled Johnny with a sense of calm. He realized, as he brushed Loco, that his mind was the best it had been since the war. I don’t want to leave, even for a day, but he knew he had a responsibility to provide for his growing family, and he would do what needed doing.
SEVEN
Monday, Johnny arrived in San Antonio, having left his spread well before dawn. Stopping at his favorite café for breakfast, he tossed Loco’s reins over the post out front, clambered up on the wood plank porch, and entered. The cook was by himself at this early hour and came out bearing a coffee pot and a cup. After taking Johnny’s order, he disappeared into the back. There were four or five others in the café, either getting an early start or finishing up a late night. Johnny didn’t pay them any mind. He had said his goodbyes to Rosalinda, the dogs, and horses last night, and he and Rosalinda had retired early. His mind switched back and forth from the task ahead to his concern over being away from his wife.
As Johnny ate his breakfast of eggs, ham, and biscuits, he took little notice of the two men sitting in the corner, watching him furtively, but intently.
The men, their boots run-down, clothing dusty and stained, were both in need of a haircut and shave. A battered and soiled hat was pulled down low over the tallest man’s eyes.
The shorter man, wearing a sweat-stained hat with a small hole in the side of the crown, pushed away his plate and pulled a bag of chew from his pocket. Pulling a plug from the bag and pushing into his mouth, he spoke in almost a whisper to his partner. “That’s Captain Black, or I ain’t a white man.”
“Yep, that’s the bastard,” said the taller man. “Eat up. Let’s get outside. We’ll see if we can see where he goes and tell Briggs—see if he wants to do something.”
The shorter man chuckled. “I imagine he’s gonna wanna do something. All he’s talked about since the war is how he was gonna square things with Black, if they ever crossed paths.”
Smiling, the tall man said, “Afore he kills him, we need to figure out how to get some money out of the man—make up for what he done.”
“Damn right,” said the short man. “I’m good. Let’s go.”
As Johnny rode out of town, the two men from the café followed at a distance. A half-dozen miles from the center of San Antonio, Johnny rode up a trail onto a mesa and found Jace and another man standing on a large rock, smoking and looking out over the countryside. Two saddled horses stood in a little grove of trees, grazing. Johnny was a little early, so he was pleased to see Jace and his friend were already there. It spoke well.
“Mornin’” said the two men, each holding up a hand in greeting.
“Good morning,” responded Johnny, walking Loco up close and dismounting. The men shook hands, and Jace introduced his friend as Billy Ray.
“Folks call me B.R.,” said the young cowboy, who had a short haircut and a clean-shaven face.
Johnny unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarillo and a match. Lighting his cigar, Johnny said, “According to the map, once you reach this mesa, Christie’s place is another five miles, due east.”
One of the men walked over to his saddlebags and returned with a spyglass. After looking through it for a minute, he said, “Lordy, you can see hundreds of longhorns.”
He passed the telescope to Jace, who looked and said, “I reckon we’re on the right trail, for sure.”
Johnny looked and said, “That’s a lot of trouble in one place,” causing Jace and B.R. to laugh.
Following the trail, the three rode up a small rise and found a short stone wall, some three feet in height. A board attached to the wall read Christie. There was a brand burned into the wood. It was a circle with a C in the center.
“Well, he ain’t much for wasting words, don’t look like,” said Jace, laughing.
As the three continued, two men—one tall, one short—hiding in the trees beside the trail, turned their horses and headed back to town.
Johnny, Jace, and B.R. found Christie at a desk in his study. He looked up and greeted the three. After introductions, Jace and B.R. were added to the company books and sent off to help with the final roundup of strays and branding. John pulled out a map and spread it out on his desk. He motioned for Johnny to join him, and the two men leaned over to study it.
Tall man and short man, who called themselves Pete and Lyle, arrived at the run-down cabin hidden in the hills east of San Antonio. Briggs was drinking coffee at the battered table made from old wagon boards and sitting on one of the five-gallon, empty gunpowder barrels they had found at the abandoned farm. The three men were all that remained from a loose-knit gang of former soldiers who had decided that stealing was easier than working. Briggs was hung over and in a bad mood. Pete and Lyle rinsed out some dirty cups and poured themselves coffee before sitting at the table.
“We got some news,” said Pete.
Briggs looked at him but didn’t say anything.
“Gues
s who we run into?” asked Lyle.
“I ain’t in the mood for games,” snarled Briggs. “Spit it out.”
Pete and Lyle looked at each other, smiling. Then Pete said, “Captain Johnny Black, in the flesh.”
“The hell you say!” exclaimed Briggs.
“Saw him at the café. He paid with a gold dollar. We followed him. Looks like he’s joining that cattle drive the Circle C is putting together.”
“Is that a fact?” said Briggs, smiling. “This could work out. Not only do I finally get to kill Black, we come into some money at the same time.”
Pete and Lyle were both nodding their heads in agreement.
Continuing, Briggs said, “We’ll catch ’em up the trail a piece. Not too far. Maybe after they cross the river where those Germans are—what’s the name of that place?”
“New Braunfels?” asked Pete.
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Briggs. “No matter what position he rides, we should be able to catch him alone on night duty at some point. Now, I wanna rope him and let him see me when I cut his throat. If there’s trouble, hell, we’ll fire a few shots, start a stampede.” He grinned.
Pete and Lyle laughed.
EIGHT
Two days later, the month of April only days old, John Christie’s men and the chuckwagon headed north. As they headed out, the two point men cut out a few bulls and got them moving. After a bit, one of the older, larger bulls took the lead, and soon the herd began to move, following the bull. In a matter of hours, the Circle C ranch herd was spread out over several miles and was on the move. Because Jace and B.R. were the new men, Johnny had assigned them to the drag. It was the worst position, as it meant bringing up the rear of the herd and enduring the dust, while constantly running down stragglers.
Johnny rode circles around the herd, checking on the cowboys and occasionally helping corral a wayward longhorn. It was quite a spectacular sight. Over three thousand longhorns moving as one, bellowing, snorting, and grunting. Three hundred fifty of them were Johnny’s, and two hundred belonged to his father-in-law, Lupe.
He was both excited and apprehensive. If all went well, in sixty days or so, they would deliver the beeves to the stockyards in Abilene, Kansas, some seven hundred miles away. Christie had made him trail boss as agreed, and when he was introduced to the cowboys, they were all polite and respectful. He had discovered that John Christie had a reputation of being a man who didn’t tolerate incompetence, disrespect, or questioning his authority. However, Johnny, who had spent years perfecting his ability to read faces and body language, noticed that one of the cowboys (he couldn’t remember his name) had smiled, but his eyes were cold. The man, in Johnny’s opinion, was hiding something. He made a mental note to ask Christie about him in a casual manner so as not to cast a shadow on the man. It was, after all, just a judgement—a feeling.
The cook’s name was Herbert, but as doctors were often called “Doc,” cooks were referred to as “Cookie,” and this was what the men called Herbert, except when they called him “Old Lady,” another favorite nickname for cooks.
The first day was a long one, and that first evening, the cowhands bedded down the herd on a good patch of grass and straggled in to sit close to the fire, eat supper, light smokes, and discuss the day.
As evening fell, Johnny had a few words with Christie, ate his supper, and posted the night watch schedule on the chuckwagon.
Johnny sat back from the fire and noticed Christie had set up his own campsite, consisting of a small fire not far from his tent. Johnny had finished his plate of beans, beef, and biscuits and was enjoying a cigarillo. He looked up as Jace and B.R. stepped up, plates and coffee cups in hand.
“Mind if we sit with you, boss?” asked Jace.
“Have a seat,” said Johnny.
The two cowboys made themselves comfortable and began to eat. Johnny watched them. Jace still had a pained, sad look on his face, and Johnny related. He had felt devastated when he returned from a trip, only to find the girl he loved had married another.
“We’re off to a fair start,” offered Jace. “I reckon we’ll hit New Braunfels and the Guadalupe River tomorrow.”
“Yep. The plan is to cross the river just east of the New Braunfels settlement, move on north a way, and set in for the night,” explained Johnny.
Jace looked up from his plate to see Johnny looking at him. He grinned. “No, I ain’t got her off my mind yet. I keep wondering what she’s doing. I love her, you know? Her name is Elizabeth, and she’s pretty as a peach. Somehow, I just know I’ll win her back.”
Johnny nodded, and finishing his smoke, he got up and walked over to the fire to find one of the boys who handled the remuda of horses. When he found the boy, he asked him to fetch him a horse so he could check on the night watch. Loco was grazing nearby on his own, but Johnny wanted to rest him.
Christie watched with approval as Johnny, atop a feisty dun, its dorsal stripe running from its mane to its tail visible in the moonlight, rode out into the night to circle the herd and check on the men posted to the night watch.
Johnny could hear coyotes as he rode. The night was cool, but not cold. The sky was clear, and the longhorns were settling well. He saw the light from the first cowboy’s cigarette before he could make out the man and horse in the dark. Johnny called to him quietly. He didn’t want to alarm the man or the herd.
“Evening, boss,” responded the man. “All’s quiet.”
Johnny and the cowboy visited a bit before Johnny moved on. His military experience as both an enlisted man and an officer served him well. When he told the group he would always take a shift at night, the men had looked at each other in disbelief. He knew from experience that it was important to maintain some distance from the men he was responsible for, but also that he needed to get to know them and share their discomforts.
NINE
Johnny sent two men to scout the Guadalupe River for the crossing site the drives normally used. They reported back only ten minutes apart, finding Johnny on the west side of the herd, huddled with one of the riders. They were examining a cow that had a wound on her side. It looked like one of the other beasts had caught her with its horns.
The scouts told Johnny that much of the river had steep banks, but they had found two possible sites, and although both had gentle sloping banks, the water would be at least belly-high. Johnny made a decision and rode with the two scouts up front to report to Christie and check the map, so the point riders could drive the lead bulls toward the crossing.
It was dark when the last of the herd was across the river. Some longhorns had turned away from the water, others stumbled and had to be roped and pulled up. Most of the cowboys couldn’t swim, and after crossing the river, they wanted to move away from it. Johnny stayed at the crossing all day, encouraging, shouting, roping, and charging Loco into the water to move reluctant longhorns across. He was glad to see Jace and B.R. as they drove the last thirty or so head into the water.
It was well after dark when Johnny had the chance to get supper. He had unsaddled and brushed Loco and turned him loose. He walked into the campsite carrying his rifle, saddle, and saddlebags.
Christie had ended up with sixteen cowboys, including Johnny, plus the cook and two young boys to act as wranglers, who handled the remuda and helped the cook. Christie had hired so many men that he had added a second wagon, called the hoodlum wagon— or just “the hood”—to haul bedrolls and supplies. It followed the chuckwagon and the cowboys.
Johnny had set the night watches, so everyone knew when and where to go without prompting. Daylight lasted about eleven hours in April in this part of Texas, and it lengthened as the month progressed to reach about twelve hours. The cowboys, including Johnny, were pulling two-hour watches, two at a time. This meant six teams of two men were needed each night, so they were able to rotate and have some nights off.
The cowhands were all sitting around the campfire, eating and talking. After filling a plate with beans, beef, and potatoes, and g
rabbing two biscuits, Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee and moved just outside the ring of light to eat alone.
Jace and B.R. appeared a few minutes later. “We ain’t trying to curry no favor,” said Jace, “just thought we’d sit and visit a minute, if it’s all right.”
“Have a seat,” said Johnny. “Any problems there at the back?” he asked.
“No,” said B.R. “It’s been right pleasant, riding through all the cow dropping, mud, and dust. Not to mention we get to deal with the mavericks.”
“I’ve noticed some of them old longhorns can be a bit ornery,” said Johnny.
“Ornery might not be the word for it,” said Jace. “Mean might be closer to the fact.”
As the three sat talking, two hundred yards away, Briggs, Pete, and Lyle sat on their horses in a stand of trees watching Loco graze.
“You weren’t joking. You said it was a big horse,” said Briggs, awe in his voice. “That’s the tallest horse I ever seen.”
“We could get good money for that horse,” said Pete.
“Yes, we can,” said Briggs, still staring at Loco.
The three had been watching the drive from a distance all day, and they had seen Johnny riding Loco as he passed close to them.
“Pete,” said Briggs, “you’re the best of us with a rope. Go rope that horse and lead him back to our campsite. Hobble him there.”
“All right, but what are y’all gonna do?”
Briggs turned to look at Pete. “We’re gonna watch for Black. If he comes riding by on a horse from the remuda tonight, I’ll take him. If not, you can bet your last dollar he’ll be out looking for his horse in the morning, and I’ll take him then. You just keep the fire going.”
