Ralph Compton Comanche Trail

by Carlton Stowers

  “Being honest,” Taylor said, “I wish we’d never left Kansas.”

  “A bit late for that,” Barclay said.

  A short time later they saw smoke, lazily drifting from the chimney of a cabin in the distance. Near the railroad tracks was a water tower mounted on log stilts. There was a small barn nearby. A man in a wagon filled with wooden barrels urged a team of mules in the direction of a small lake.

  The middle-aged man in the wagon didn’t see the two riders until they were alongside him. Tipping a straw hat back, he smiled. “Howdy. You fellas ain’t outlaws here to rob the train, are you?”

  Taylor smiled back at him. “No, sir, we ain’t. Just traveling through. What is this place?”

  “A watering stop. It’s here that the train stops to take on water before he continues on. You’ll be hearing the engine’s whistle soon enough. It’s my job to see that water’s ready when it arrives. Name’s Donovan. Jeb Donovan. This ain’t exactly a town—just me, my wife, and the two boys—but we’ve given it a name. Make yourselves welcome to Patricia.”

  With that he popped the reins and urged his mules on toward the bank of the lake. “If you boys would be willing to lend a hand,” he said, “I reckon there might be coffee and biscuits up to the house when we’re finished.”

  Taylor dismounted. “My partner’s a bit stove up,” he said, “but I reckon I’m able-bodied enough.”

  As they dipped buckets tied to the end of ropes into the lake and began to fill the barrels, Donovan continued to talk. “The property’s owned by the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad. Back in my younger days, I was a gandy dancer, helping lay rails. ’Fore that I worked for the Waco Bridge Company, which built that fine structure that crosses the Brazos. But I finally got a bit weary of the labor, so when I was asked if I’d consider manning this here watering station, I seen it as a new opportunity.

  “The train conductor sees to it that our supplies are delivered regularly from Waco. This time of the year the engineer sees to it that a good amount of coal is left off for our heating needs. Got about everything we need right here, including our privacy.”

  “You ain’t worried about Indians?”

  “Nothing here they’d likely be interested in ’cept them two mules and to watch a cabin burn. Fact is, we’ve not seen renegades in these parts since the treaty.”

  An hour later they were seated in the kitchen. Barclay and Taylor were introduced to Donovan’s wife as she poured coffee and brought a plate of biscuits and corn bread from the stove. Outside, the children were unhooking the mules.

  “So,” Donovan said as he drained the last sip from his cup, “what is it that brings you fellas this way?”

  Taylor glanced in Barclay’s direction before he replied.

  Tater nodded. “Might as well tell ’em what our business is,” he said.

  “I’m the marshal of Dawson’s Ridge up in the northern part of the state,” Taylor said. “We’ve been on the trail of some folks that have broke the law. A few days back we got ourselves into a confrontation that didn’t turn out in the manner we would have liked. My partner here has some ribs that are paining him and I ain’t feeling all that spry myself. For a time I feared my jaw was broke.”

  “I see no badge,” Donovan said.

  “Dawson’s Ridge ain’t much bigger’n your watering station,” Taylor said. “It couldn’t afford to provide me one.”

  Barclay said, “We got a bit of money in our pockets. We’re wonderin’ if we might pay you to allow us to make camp down by your lake for a few days. We’d also like to purchase feed for our horses if you can spare it. You can trust that we’ll be no bother.”

  Donovan looked toward the stove where his wife was standing. “It’s a bit of an unusual request,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping outside and seeing that them boys are tending the mules proper, my wife and I will discuss your proposition.”

  A few minutes later he joined them on the front porch. “My wife don’t take too kindly to the sidearms you’re wearing but says you seem honest and in need of our help. She says she’s got salve you’re welcome to apply to your ailments. And she’ll provide meals during your stay, long as it’s only for a short while. You can board your horses in the barn, and being as how nights are getting cold, you can bunk there if it suits you. Does two dollars each seem fair payment?”

  “Indeed it does,” Taylor said.

  • • •

  It was the most carefree time they had spent since leaving Kansas. For three days they rested, watched the train as it stopped each afternoon for water, fished in the lake with the Donovan youngsters, and later enjoyed meals of fried catfish and cornmeal. Mrs. Donovan’s salve sped their healing process. In time, Barclay was feeling well enough to help with filling the water barrels and even spent a few moments skipping rocks across the lake’s smooth surface.

  Sitting near the barn on a bench made of worn railroad ties as the cold night air approached, they could see their breath as they talked. The cloudless sky was filled with stars, and the moon was so bright that it cast shadows.

  “Seems these folks have made themselves a pretty nice life,” Taylor said. “Can’t say I’ve ever been in a more peaceful place.”

  “It ain’t a place that gives a man peace. It’s family,” Barclay said. “Not that I’m no expert on the subject, but seems to me if you’ve got a wife and young’uns and everybody loves everybody, life can be spent with a good amount of pleasure.”

  “I reckon that’s how it once was for your brother and his family, before . . .”

  Barclay took his time before he replied, “There was as much love there as you could ever hope to find. It was a joy for me just to witness it. And then it was suddenly taken by those devil Indians who never knew for a day of their lives what such feelings were all about.”

  Taylor had never seen Barclay in such a somber mood.

  “Ain’t my business to be tellin’ another how to tend his business,” Tater said, “but I’m of an age where I can speak my piece whenever I want. Seems to me once we get ourselves back home it would be a proper time for you to consider settlin’ down. Maybe find yourself a wife and begin raisin’ a family. You could do a lot worse than that pretty preacher’s daughter back in Dawson’s Ridge. She’s clearly got an interest in you, though I don’t for the life of me rightly know why.”

  Barclay rose and limped toward the barn. “What it is I’m tryin’ to say is you don’t want to end up like me.”

  • • •

  The following morning, Barclay’s familiar gruff demeanor had returned. He glowered and muttered to himself until midmorning.

  “Good to see you in such fine spirits,” Taylor said as he sat beside him in back of Donovan’s wagon.

  “Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” Tater said, using a branch to draw a map in the dirt. “The only chance we got to get near the Bender woman is to create some manner of distraction that will cause Guinn’s men to be away from the house for a time.”

  Taylor studied the fence line that Barclay had drawn from memory and the X that indicated the location of the house.

  “What I’ve been thinkin’ on ain’t the perfect plan, and if you can come up with something better, I’d admire to hear it. But, for now, this is what I propose. In the barn, Donovan’s got some shears he uses for cuttin’ metal. I figure we’ll borrow ’em without botherin’ to ask and speak to him about sellin’ us some of his coal oil.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “One of the things I was waiting on was for the weather to clear and the grassland on the back side of Guinn’s place to dry out. That and the moon to disappear. If we can get to the ranch and cut away some of the wire fencing in the night, then set a few grass fires, I figure the cattle will stampede. Might need to fire a few shots to get ’em movin’. The commotion should cause Guinn and his ranch hands to come se
e what the ruckus is about.”

  “What are our chances of getting caught?”

  “That’s something we’d best not think too hard on right now. As soon as we set the fires and get the cattle movin’, we ride far enough to be out of sight and see how fast we can get to the main house and pay our visit.”

  Taylor thought on it a while. “I think it’s a good plan,” he said. “Risky, but good. I say let’s do it.”

  “We done overstayed our welcome, so after we help Mr. Donovan tote the water, we should be on our way.”

  • • •

  As they filled the barrels, Donovan’s boys sat astride the mules watching. Having been told that the visitors would soon be leaving, they wanted to spend as much time in their company as possible.

  Taylor’s thoughts were not so much on the plan his partner had outlined as they were on what he’d not mentioned. If they were successful in luring the ranch hands away and finding Kate Two, what was to happen next? Since their travels began it had been mentioned only once. He recalled Barclay’s observation when he’d first told him of his desire to find her and Jakey’s mother. “I take it you’re plannin’ to save one and kill the other,” Tater had said.

  During their months on the trail, the bloodlust that had once driven him had faded. Or at least had changed to something else. Perhaps his feelings about justice had taken on a new definition. While he still strongly believed that the world would be better off without the presence of Kate Two Bender, he pondered the manner in which it should be done. The murder of his father was not her only crime. There were others who had lost family; others who had suffered mightily because of her evil deeds.

  He found himself daydreaming of a scenario in which he and Barclay would rush into the house, take her hostage, and deliver her back to Thayer, leaving her final punishment to Marshal Thorntree.

  It was a consideration he would not share with Barclay. “We’ll just see what comes,” he muttered to himself as the last barrel was filled.

  • • •

  “You boys have been right good company,” Donovan said as they prepared to leave. “We enjoyed your stay and hope you’ll come again if your travels bring you back this way.” He lifted two jars of coal oil up to Taylor. “There’ll be no charge,” he said, “nor will I ask what it is you intend doing with it. I’ll only wish that you take care and keep yourselves safe.”

  His wife stepped onto the front porch and handed one of the children a bandanna filled with biscuits she’d just taken from the stove. He hurried toward Barclay and lifted it up to him. Tater put it in his saddlebag alongside the shears he’d taken from the barn.

  • • •

  Dawg’s tail wagged as he followed July Barstow toward the Dawson’s Ridge Social Center. A shawl draped over her shoulders to ward off the cold, she felt invigorated by the crispness in the air. There was a new spring in her steps. For reasons she could not fully understand, her spirits had improved as her health returned. Her cough had all but disappeared, and she’d grown strong enough to involve herself in the daily activities of the community. On occasion, she had even gathered the children to teach them simple arithmetic and spelling.

  “That ol’ friend of yours seems to have a need to know your whereabouts every minute,” Mayor Dawson said, pointing to the dog as he greeted her.

  “I hope he’s causing no trouble,” July said.

  “No trouble a’tall. It’s good to see you feeling better.” He tipped his hat.

  The mayor, like all the residents, had made her feel welcome. The compassion they had shown when she first arrived had gradually evolved into friendship as she recovered and was able to move about. None asked that she recount her days being held captive by the Comanches, nor was there ever mention of her son.

  She entered the Social Center to join the women gathering to make pies for the upcoming Thanksgiving celebration. She smiled when she found Joy Chadway seated at a table, shelling pecans. The preacher’s daughter had become her best friend.

  “It’s nice to see a smile on your face,” Joy said.

  “I’m not able to fully explain it,” July said, “but the truth is, I am feeling quite good. I had the most wonderful dream last night.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You’ll likely think it strange,” July said before launching into her story.

  It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long shadows, as she walked alone by the creek. She was wearing her best dress, and a soft wind blew through her freshly washed hair. She felt a strange sense that her body was weightless as she walked along the creek’s edge, as if she could step out onto the water without so much as getting wet. She was humming a hymn Joy had been teaching the children, feeling a peace she thought was lost forever.

  Across the water she saw a blurred image of men on horseback. Then she heard someone calling her name. “We’re back,” she heard, “and we’ve brought a surprise.” Staring toward the voice, she saw that it was Thad Taylor who first came into focus. He was smiling as his horse pranced toward the creek to drink. Next to him stood Mr. Barclay wearing the first smile she could remember seeing on his face. He was nodding, as if to tell her all was well.

  From behind a nearby bush appeared a third form, smaller than the men but also smiling. “It’s me, Ma. Jakey.”

  As if weightless, she floated across the creek, over the water, hurrying to welcome them.

  “What it means, I can’t say,” July said, “but I choose to view it as a sign that good things are to come.”

  “As I think you should,” Joy said as she stood and hugged her friend. “Perhaps it is the Almighty whispering in your sleep to tell you that you can cease your worry, that He has a plan for a happy ending to all your troubles.”

  July nodded, suddenly embarrassed by the enthusiasm with which she’d shared her fantasy. “Best we get to baking,” she said.

  It was later in the day, after the pies were cooked and lined on tables to cool, when Joy called her away from the other women. “In your dream,” she asked, “was there no sign of my father?”

  • • •

  To avoid being seen in Waco, Barclay and Taylor chose a slow, looping route that took them across the Brazos and onto flat farmland where cotton would soon be planted. They saw a few cabins and farmhouses in the distance but quickly passed them by until they had reached the bend in the river where they’d earlier camped.

  “I think we can best get our bearings if we start out from here,” Barclay said.

  Taylor looked across the water toward the overhang where they’d hidden out, where they’d found Huaco Joe dead. “Fine with me,” he said, “but I’d prefer not to return to our old campsite.”

  “Nor would I,” Barclay grunted. “We’ll find us a place to pass some time. Then after nightfall we’ll head toward the ranch. We’ll wait till daybreak to set the fires. That way Guinn’s men will be able to see the smoke and we can make our escape without our mounts steppin’ into a prairie dog hole or runnin’ into one of them wire fences.”

  Soon the horses were taking drinks from the river while their riders sat beneath a willow, sharing the biscuits Mrs. Donovan had prepared. Barclay’s ribs no long pained him as he drew deep breaths, and Taylor was pleased that the swelling in his jaw was gone. “I’m proud to say I can almost chew right again,” he said.

  “And I consider bein’ able to breathe properly my latest blessing,” Barclay said.

  There was nothing more than small talk left to share as both men contemplated the dangers of what lay ahead.

  Chapter 26

  Kole Guinn moved from his chair to place another log in the fireplace, a portion of his drink spilling onto the rug. He was pleasantly drunk. Seated nearby was Kate Two, watching silently as sparks flew up the chimney. She twisted one of the stolen rings on her finger while she compared the massive room to the dirt
floor of her Comanche teepee. As she considered her new situation, she smiled.

  “It’ll be Thanksgiving soon,” Guinn said. “I hope you’ll still be here to share it with us.” That Kate had given no hint of how long she would stay before continuing her journey to reunite with her family had frustrated the rancher. “I generally invite some folks out for the day and Juanita cooks up a big meal. Turkey, dressing, bread pudding. It’s always a good time.”

  When she failed to respond he continued. “Down in that thicket by the creek,” he said, “there’re turkeys so big they ought to be branded. I always ride down there and shoot a few for Juanita. Sometimes I bring back a deer as well. Maybe you’d like to accompany me.”

  “I’m afraid I know very little about guns and shooting,” she said.

  “I’d be pleased to teach you.” He reached for the whiskey bottle that sat on the floor next to him.

  She had no intention of leaving. Men were searching for her; she needed the safety and protection she could depend on Guinn and his ranch hands to provide. Too, the luxury of living on the ranch was something she’d never dreamed of. Though she didn’t particularly like the drunken old man seated across from her, he had been gentlemanly and generous. Beneath all the fascination he clearly had for her, however, was a ruthless man to whom the comfort of wealth was his only true love. That was the part of Kole Guinn she admired.

  “I’d be pleased to spend Thanksgiving here if you like,” she said. “Winter traveling isn’t something I’d really care to do.”

  More whiskey sloshed from Guinn’s glass as he raised it in a salute. “We’ll need to buy you a new dress for the occasion.”

  “That would be nice,” she said. “Perhaps Juanita can find one on her next trip into town.”

  “You wouldn’t prefer shopping for one yourself?”

  “No, I’d rather stay here. Now I think I’ll retire if you don’t mind.” She left Guinn staring into the fireplace, still smiling long after she had made her way up the stairs.