Trail to Cottonwood Falls

by Ralph Compton

  Rosa handed him the articles with a sad look of pity for him.

  “Gracias,” he said and headed out.

  In the starlight he washed and dried, shivering in the cold morning air as he got back in his clothing and headed for the house across the dark yard again.

  Inside the back door he held out his hands to the tall cooking range and absorbed the heat. His body still shaking, he glanced up when Unita poured steaming water in an enamel basin and then swung out a chair.

  “Let’s shed some whiskers,” she said, and began to strop the razor on a strap.

  He went and sat on the chair. Soon she had his face hot lathered with a shaving brush. Then she deftly peeled off the week’s growth and gave him a towel to wipe off the extra soap. His face smooth, he ran an index finger over his smooth upper lip, wadded up the cloth, and softly said, “Thanks.”

  “So we have point riders? What is next?”

  “Line up ten punchers, a cook helper—”

  “And?”

  “If Blondie works out, I’d make him horse wrangler.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Takes a certain sort to do that job.”

  She nodded, swishing off the razor and then drying it. “What about a cook?”

  “You got a notion? Probably the most important job we have to fill.”

  She shook her head, then went and threw out the water. When she came back from the back door, she set the pan down and took the other chair across to the dry sink. “You have anyone in mind?”

  “No, but he needs to be good at cooking, patient with them boys, and a half doctor too.”

  She frowned. “Where we going to find him?”

  “Cooking in some big outfit’s cow camp. A busted-up older hand or, Lord, Charlie Hawks had a French-man he found in Houston, could make crepes.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Fancy little things like fried pancakes in cobweb fashion.” Ed laughed and shook his head. “Baked these long loaves of French bread in a sheet-iron oven and served ’em hot with olive oil and spices instead of butter. Lord, them boys loved him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Oh, Frenchy got killed in a knife scrape over a dove in Abilene.”

  “So he’s not available?”

  “Right, but I’ll keep my eye and ear open. One will come along. We’ve got months to find him.”

  “Rusty and the boys been driving the mules. They’re a little spooky.” She looked warily at him about them.

  “Then we’ll have lots of it out of them by March.”

  She rose and fetched her first pan of biscuits from the oven with pot holders, and popped another one in to bake. Next she delivered a table knife and a bowl of new butter, and nodded to the pan. “They’ll be hot as hades.”

  Rosa poured him some coffee in a mug and smiled at him. “Good to have you back, Senor Ed.”

  “You don’t know how good it is to be here.” Then, shuffling the first hot biscuit from hand to hand, he laughed. Whew, it was good to be back.

  He ate breakfast with the crew, though he was full of biscuits and butter to start.

  “Unita said that you were going to help her,” Rusty said, looking up from his breakfast.

  Ed nodded.

  “Sure good news. She’s been fretting about it, especially after McGregor skinned her so bad last year.”

  “It ain’t a free card—folks lose all they’ve got on a drive gone bad.”

  “But it’s a lot better with someone’s been there.”

  All the hands stopped eating and looked at him for his answer.

  “Yes, it can help.”

  “Thanks,” Rusty said, and the rest added theirs.

  More people depending on him. Why didn’t they depend on someone else? All he could do was get young men killed. And their faces at the table haunted him.

  Chapter 12

  Ed figured the Bar U came up with eight hundred steers that were solid enough to ship. Jorge and his two hands gathered three hundred three- and four-year-olds wearing his IW brand. That, by Ed’s calculation, left room for eight hundred more they could contract to move north with theirs. Word had spread quickly about Unita’s drive but few showed up to see her. In fact, no one came by and even asked about sending theirs with them.

  When she asked for his help to find others, Ed held up his hands in surrender. “This is your drive. I figure we can take about eight hundred more steers—no junk, no limpers, no bad ones to fight or break ’cause I’ll shoot them.”

  “Fine, but we need those cattle to help share our expenses, right?”

  “Sure, but I can’t make them join us.”

  “Ed Wright, all these guys know you.”

  “All right, I’ll ask some of them. Remember I’m the scout. You’re the boss.”

  “Thanks, we can use them. I’ve already decided this boss business won’t be easy.”

  “I could have told you that months ago.”

  She shook her head, tossing her shoulder-length curls. “You’re impossible at times.”

  “I have to ride over and see Jorge tomorrow. Anything else you’ll need?”

  “No, but that was nice of you to ask me.”

  “I try to be that ever so often.” Then he smiled at her. “I owe you something for all the food I eat here.”

  “You’re Rosa’s pet. You plan to come back, don’t you? I’ll have lots of questions to ask.”

  “In a couple of days. I’m still thinking about those back shooters cut down Dave Ivy. Maybe I can get a line on them.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  He nodded and swallowed a knot. They’d made a team. Ivy could do the business thing and cattle buying, and Ed drove them to market. After their first year Ivy left the trail drive to him and took a steamboat upriver and met them at Abilene. No doubt easier on the older man than the drive. It was on a steamboat that the Brady brothers robbed and murdered him.

  “You be careful,” she said and followed him to the front door.

  He stopped on the porch, rubbed his palms on the front of his pants, and looked hard at her. If it had been the decent thing to do, he’d have hugged her—might even kiss her. But it wasn’t and he wasn’t making any sort of commitment to her, so he’d only be toying with her favors. He considered himself more of a gentleman than that toward an honest woman, so he nodded and headed for the corral to saddle his horse.

  Damned if she didn’t traipse along.

  “You regretting agreeing to be my guide?”

  He looked off at the clouds—it might rain. They could use it. “I’ll do what I said I would do.”

  “You know I appreciate it.”

  He nodded.

  “Men are all the same,” she said, shaking her head. “Sam was like that. You could ask him and get a short answer, and know good and well he had a thousand things churning over in his head.”

  “I reckon we’re all alike,” he said. “I don’t reckon I can change much.”

  “You ever get in the mood of mind to talk, I’d be all ears.”

  “I’ll recall that one day,” he promised her.

  “Ed, I know you feel pressured by me and the others. Maybe one drive will be enough—”

  “And maybe the new calves’ll have wings to fly up there.”

  “Take the roan. He’s closer to the ground.”

  “My ribs ain’t that sore now.”

  “I just wanted it to be easier on you.”

  If he didn’t catch a horse and get the Sam Hill out of there, he’d sure enough be trying to kiss her. Lord, she’d really got to him, and why? No telling about a man’s brain. He grabbed the lariat on the fence and waded into the corral letting out rope. The loop whistled over his head and it fell on the shaggy-looking roan’s head. Be another reason to come back—he had one of her horses. This place felt like some kind of magnet to him.

  He worked on one side of the roan, she on the other, with currycomb and brush to get the dirt off his b
ack and make him ready to saddle. The job complete, he led the horse to the leather oil-scented shed and got down his own saddle. They must have put the bay and his gear up. He hadn’t felt all that drunk till it hit him, sitting on the damn ground.

  When he turned with the saddle she was facing him down. She reached across it, took his face in both hands, and kissed him hard on the lips. The saddle tumbled from his hands and he stepped over it. All right—you started it. He gathered her in his arms and their hungry mouths closed on each other. Her ripe form pressed hard to his body, he savored the sugar of her mouth and the heady feeling of drowning. Things swirled like a dust devil in his mind as he bent her over to reach the deepest pleasure.

  When they finally came up for air her face looked pale in the shadowy room and her eyes were wide open in shock. She swallowed hard and said, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me all that.”

  He pushed his hat higher with his thumb and looked down at her. “Some things words can’t always explain.”

  “I understand,” she said with a great sigh and moved against him, burying her face in his shoulder. “Sorry if you think I’m too forward to consider, but—”

  “Too forward?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Lord, I’d have done that to you on the porch but figured I had no right to do it.”

  She raised up and forced a grin at him. “Consider it as all right.”

  “Whew. I won’t miss the chance ever again.”

  “Well—” She bent over and swept up his saddle blankets. “I guess we do have to act decent in public.”

  “I guess we do,” he said, and threw the saddle on his shoulder by the horn to follow her outside.

  The saddle on the roan and cinched down, he made sure no one was in sight and kissed her good-bye. “I’ll be back in two days.”

  She nodded in his arms and stepped back. “I’ll be looking for you.”

  Ed rode out singing a cowboy ditty about a lanky girl from Boston that he’d heard night herding. From the gate, he could barely see her on the porch. He waved and then put spurs to the roan. He had miles to cover, but they’d all be long ones going away from her.

  Chapter 13

  The letter was wrinkled, mud-stained, and worn like it had been through hell to get there. It was date stamped two weeks earlier in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and addressed to Ed Wright, General Delivery, Banty, Texas. Ed stood in the noon sun on the post office stoop and opened it.

  Dear Mr. Wright,

  In regards to the two men you sought a few months ago in Fort Smith, Mr. Marsh and Corley Brady, two brothers. I have on good authority that the two men are in the northern part of the Cherokee Nation. The two have a gang and reportedly are preying on and robbing returning drovers. However that is hearsay, for no one has reported such theft and robbery to any authority. It is highly suspected at the U.S. Marshal office here in Fort Smith the reason such crimes have gone unreported is the fact that all their victims are dead and buried.

  If you would like assistance in bringing these men to justice, for the standard salary and expenses of a deputy marshal I would be glad to accompany you in your search. That’s one dollar a day salary, one dollar a day expenses, ten cents a mile, and a reward of ten dollars a man upon their capture.

  Please wire me at the U.S. Federal Courthouse, Fort Smith, Arkansas, if and when you are coming.

  Sincerely yours,

  Bruce Conway, U.S. Deputy Marshal

  How far was Fort Smith? A damn long hoss ride. He’d have to take a stage from San Antone to Fort Worth, then another from there up through the Nation. That would take several days. Chances were he might not find them when they got up there. Still, Conway might know that area well enough. He’d better go by and tell Jorge where he was headed, then the widow Nance. If he got back by Christmas, they’d still have plenty of time to gather the rest of the crew and road brand the cattle. Besides, there was no way they could put all those cattle together until just before they were ready to leave anyway. There wasn’t enough feed on anyone’s place for that many head. Those two killers needed to be brought to justice or sent to hell; Dave Ivy’d been one swell guy and a hell of a partner.

  It was dark when he reached the IW and Jorge came out to greet him. “Ah, Senor Ed. Did the senora run you off?”

  “No, but she’d like to.” Ed grinned at his chiding and dismounted heavily. He’d been all over hell that day, getting things set. In the morning he’d go tell her—a thing he really dreaded, but she’d understand what he had to do.

  The roan put away in the corral, he threw his arm over the shorter man’s shoulder and they went to the house with him explaining the letter and what he must do. “You can handle this place, right?”

  “Si, we can watch the ranch. We can’t make it rain, or the oats to grow.”

  “I didn’t expect that, mi amigo. You watch things, don’t let them rustle the stock, and we’ll make some money out of this drive and there’ll be a bonus for you and the boys.”

  “You are generous man. We like to work here.”

  “Good, I count on you and those boys.” He threw his arms open and hugged Tina. “Tina darling, you ever get tired of that grinning husband of yours, I’ll take you.”

  “Oh, Senor Ed, where is your lady?”

  “Home running her ranch.”

  “Oh, I think maybe—maybe you would marry her.”

  “She needs a guide, not a husband.”

  “Oh, I am not so sure.”

  “I am, and I can smell your good cooking.”

  “You must really be hungry.” She led him in the lighted jacal and Jorge shut out the night chill.

  “Starved for some of your good food.”

  She tapped him on the chest. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

  “Naw, just you.”

  She shook her head in disbelief and rushed off to get the meal ready.

  “Where are the boys?” he asked, not seeing the pair of ranch hands.

  “They are drifting some cattle back to our land. They will spend the night up at the shack.”

  “Good. When I get back we need to start bunching those big steers. I thought we could get close to four hundred head.”

  “I think so,” Jorge said. “We only counted three hundred ninety.”

  “I know that. Mrs. Nance’s got around nine hundred, plus ours, so we can fill in some of the others need to make a sale.”

  “Tina’s uncle, Benito Salador, has maybe fifty head—”

  “They good big steers?” Ed asked.

  “Ah, si, but Senor McGregor offered him only eight dollars a head for them.”

  Tina had stopped to listen to their conversation.

  “That old crook won’t pay nothing for them,” Ed said, shaking his head. “But they could die on the way, going with me.”

  “He knows that. Can we say you will take them?” Tina asked, anxiously wiping her hands on a towel.

  “Sure,” he said, lowering himself into a chair. He couldn’t save every small Mexican rancher, but he could help some close to him.

  Tina ran over and clutched his head to her small breasts, rocked him back and forth, then kissed his forehead. “Gracias.”

  Ed smiled at Jorge. “You got any more kinfolk need cattle took north? I liked that.” They both laughed at the embarrassed Tina’s expense.

  “Laugh,” she said, sneering at them. “I don’t care. Benito and Marie will celebrate when they get the news their cattle are going to market.”

  “All them steers die and they may cry, too.”

  “One steer in Kansas would bring more than fifty here.”

  Ed filled his first flour tortilla with brown beans, fried onions, and browned meat. “No, but it would take five or six to do that if he sold them here.”

  “But he has ten times that many.”

  “I ain’t defending Jim Bob. Everyone knows he’ll skin you if he gets a chance.”

  Tina shook a finger at him. “Especially Mejicanos.”

  Ed wink
ed at her. He loved to see fire in her dark eyes. They sizzled when she was mad.

  In the morning he drew out three hundred dollars from the bank and shook the banker’s hand, promising to be back in a short while and that he had business to settle up north. Then he swung by Unita’s place.

  She came out on the porch frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  He looked around behind himself like there might be the devil trailing him and, hat in hand, approached the porch. “I got word those killers are up in the Nation.”

  “From who?” she asked, opening the door and showing him inside.

  “A U.S. marshal in Fort Smith.”

  “How far away is that?” She indicated that he take a seat, and Rosa smiled at him from the kitchen.

  He acknowledged her with a nod as he sat down opposite Unita. “Maybe five days by stagecoach from San Antone.”

  “You’re going up there?”

  He nodded, waiting for her reply.

  “You must think it’s the thing to do?”

  “It is. I figure I’ll be back by Christmas. Ain’t much we can do about your drive before late winter. Oh, I agreed to take fifty head of Tina’s uncle’s steers north. Jim Bob wants to rob him.”

  “He knows how—” She stared across the room as if in deep thought. “Going by yourself?”

  “Yes. This marshal said he’d go along for a fee.”

  “These men are killers.”

  “Yes, they killed my best friend, Dave Ivy.”

  Rosa brought them a tray of food. “You two better eat. You both look like your best friend died.”

  “Thanks,” Unita said absently.

  He added his.

  She frowned at him hard. “Don’t fall in the damn bottle up there.”

  He never answered her. Instead he reached over the table and clutched her hands. “I’ll be back by Christmas.”

  Her blue eyes showed the concern in her. “If you’re still breathing.”

  “I’m a hard-shelled old buzzard.”