The Dodge City Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Into Indian Territory. Monday, November 14, 1870.

  While the wagons had to be floated across the Red, it was a natural crossing and there was no difficulty. The herd was kept bunched, and when the leaders hit the water, they swam readily to the opposite bank. Despite Adeline’s pleading and Dan’s warnings, Lenore remained in the Bowdre wagon with the wounded Indian. By the time the wagons had crossed the Red, Lenore needed help in getting some whiskey down her feverish companion. Out of his head, he spoke in a language none of them could understand.

  Riding drag, the other women took turns trotting their horses alongside Adeline DeVoe, hoping to learn something about the mysterious Indian in the Bowdre wagon. What had really piqued their curiosity was Le-nore’s obvious interest. The girl had seemed so backward, so withdrawn, she had rarely spoken to the women, and now she was alone with an Indian. A wounded Indian, they conceded, but he was still a man. It bordered on the scandalous, and as well-liked as Adeline was, her companions couldn’t resist the temptation.

  “Dear God,” Amy Wilder said, “if she was my daughter, I’d be scared to death.”

  “Of what?” Adeline asked. “The boy’s been shot and he’s flat on his back with a fever.”

  “Well, you know … ” Amy’s voice trailed off.

  “Yes, I know,” Adeline said wearily. “I also know the Indian’s so sick and weak he’s fouling his blankets, and likely will be for another week. I’m thinking of the possibility that the Indian might come to his senses and attack Fanny Bowdre while she’s driving the wagon, which is another reason for Lenore being there. This is a trail drive, ladies. We can’t spare a man.”

  She said no more, and the others drifted away, all too aware that they had been raising questions that were none of their business.

  “I’d say we’ve come about fifteen miles,” Dan said as they bedded down the herd along a nameless creek. “From what Clay Allison told me, we’re about a hundred and seventy miles south of Camp Supply. Fifty miles from here, we cross the North Fork of the Red. We’re eighty miles from the Washita, and something over a hundred from the Canadian.”

  “That ain’t all of ‘em neither,” Silas said. “From what I know, there’s still the North Canadian and the Cimarron ‘fore we leave Indian Territory.”

  The weather held, with cold nights and mild days, and there were numerous creeks. The drive was three days —about forty miles—into Indian Territory, when trouble struck, and then indirectly. Just before breakfast Palo Elfego brought a message to Dan, and it wasn’t good news.

  “Chato,” Palo said. “Lucha soldados ayer. Todo soldados muerto.”*

  “God Almighty,” Dan said. “How many soldiers?”

  Palo shrugged his shoulders. Chato hadn’t said how many, or whether he had attacked or been attacked. Not that it mattered, Dan thought gloomily. The soldiers had likely been marching south, from Camp Supply, on the North Canadian River. Dan had no choice but to reveal to the rest of the outfit the macabre information Palo had delivered. He held nothing back, and there was a prolonged silence. Aubin Chambers broke it.

  “Damn fool thing to do,” Chambers said. “Are you sayin’ we could be held responsible?”

  “I’m saying nothing of the kind,” Dan replied. “I’ve told you what was told to me, and that’s all I know. This we do know. Chato and his band are Indians. Mexican Indians. The soldiers could have fired on them first, and

  if the attack was unprovoked, they asked for what they got. I think we could be likely held responsible only if the military became aware of our arrangement with Chato.”

  “No way they could know,” Cash Connolly said. “We’ll just go on the way we’re headed, and truthfully say we’ve seen no soldiers.”

  “It’s about all we can do,” Dan said.

  “We didn’t even have to know about this,” Rux Carper said. “What’s the point in this damn renegade tellin’ us after the damage has been done?”

  “If he and his men were under fire,” Dan said coldly, ‘there was no time to get permission from us before shooting back. We’re Texans, with no love for the blue bellies, and Chato knows this might put us in an uncomfortable position. Give the man credit. He’s likely had to shoot himself out of a bad situation, and he’s warning us as best he can.”

  “This is Indian Territory,” Duncan Kilgore said. ‘From what I hear, it’s full of renegades from both sides of the war. Why should the military try to lay these killings on us?”

  “Because we’re Rebs,” Garret Haddock said, “and that may be reason enough, if they can’t come up with anybody else.”

  “I doubt it,” Dan said. “I’ve told you this not because there’s anything we can do about it, but because I thought you had a right to know. We should have considered this possibility when we struck our deal with Chato, but we didn’t. Now we have no choice but to play out our hand, and speculation is getting us nowhere. Let’s move ‘em out.”

  As the wagons led out, Dan realized he hadn’t remembered to see about the wounded Indian, thanks to the disturbing news from Chato. Dan caught up to the Bowdre wagon.

  “How is he, Fanny?” he asked.

  “Fever’s gone,” Fanny said, “and he’s asleep. Sweating something terrible, and I think he has a very, very bad hangover.”

  Dan dropped back to the herd, not looking forward to the days to come. The Indian would likely play possum until he recovered enough strength to make his move. True, he’d been stripped down to the hide and had no weapon, and Fanny Bowdre had a Colt revolver. Lenore was armed with nothing but her compassion and good intentions, and Dan doubted that would mean anything to an Indian whose last conscious recollection had been seeing his people gunned down by cruel white men.

  The North Fork of Red River. Friday, November 18, 1870.

  The Texas outfit crossed the North Fork of the Red, thirty miles south of the Washita. A cold rain had begun to fall just before dawn, but the herd took the trail as usual. If the rain worsened, joining forces with a storm-driven wind, the longhorns would balk, but until that became a problem, Dan kept the herd moving.

  Within the jolting wagon, Lenore sat nodding, half asleep. The wagon’s interior was dim enough, but today the canvas puckers had been drawn at front and back, because of the rain. Suddenly, Lenore was startled wide awake by a guttural sound, and she realized the Indian’s eyes were open, staring into her own. He had freed his right arm from the blankets, and when the girl leaned close, his fist slammed into her left ear. She was thrown against an enormous barrel of flour, her head striking the heavy rim. The Indian tried to rise, found himself weak, and lay back. When Lenore regained her senses, the Indian lay there with his eyes closed, apparently asleep. The girl felt the cut on her head and wondered if the blow to her face would leave a visible swelling. Again she seemed to hear Dan’s warning, and realized that her danger was very real. She had no business being alone with this young savage who might kill her for no reason other than that she was white. Suppose she told Dan of this incident? She knew he regarded her as his own daughter, and while he had readily saved the young Indian’s life, Dan would tolerate no savagery from him. She couldn’t tell Dan, at least not yet. But she didn’t have to.

  In the rainswept night that followed, the Indian would make his move.

  Far to the south Santos Miguel Montoya and his band of Mejicanos crossed the Red, followed by Burton Le-doux and his companions. Montoya had paused at the common grave Dan Ember and Wolf Bowdre had dug, and was there when Ledoux and his men crossed the river.

  “What do you make of that?” Ledoux asked.

  “I think per’ap somebody die,” the Mexican said. With that, he rode on to join his men, leaving Ledoux to reach his own conclusions.

  “I don’ like that mouthy Mejicano bastard,” Black Bill said.

  “You’ve said that ever’ damn day for the last two and a half months,” Loe Hagerman said.

  “And I say it ever’ damn day for the nex’ two and a half months, if I want
to,” Black Bill snarled.

  “Both of you just shut the hell up,” Ledoux said. He mounted his horse and rode away, not caring whether they followed or not.

  Dan estimated they were fifty-five miles into Indian Territory. When the herd and the horse remuda had been bedded down for the night, he spoke to Wolf Bowdre. “Looks like the rain will be with us all night, Wolf. I’m a mite uneasy about this Indian Lenore’s watchin’ over. I think he’s playing possum, and I look for him to slip away, maybe tonight. Frankly, I’d stake him to a good horse, if he’d ride and keep riding. I just want to be sure he doesn’t hurt Lenore when he decides to leave. I’d like for you to swap with somebody and take the second watch, so you can stay close to the wagon when I’m gone.”

  “I’ll do it,” Bowdre said. “That’s straight thinking. I’ve been about to say something about him ridin’ in that wagon with two women. I figure us savin’ his bacon won’t be near as strong on his mind as the memory of those white men shootin’ him and his people.”

  “That’s how I see it,” Dan said. “While he’s not being held captive, I have trouble believin’ he won’t try to take revenge on some of us because we’re white. Listen for anything that might mean trouble for Lenore.”

  Dan had taken the canvas shelter he shared with Adeline DeVoe and set it up near the Bowdre wagon. Adeline’s worried eyes met his, as though she felt he knew or suspected something she did not. Dan said nothing, for he knew she was already concerned enough. When his watch ended, he spoke briefly to Wolf Bowdre.

  “Not a sound,” Wolf said, “but was I you, I’d take that muchacha out of there in the morning and keep her out.”

  Dan found Adeline awake, and he doubted she had slept at all. She wasted no time in sharing her fears for Lenore.

  “This damn Indian may be a little weak yet,” Dan said, “but I think it’s time he was making tracks. Come daylight, I’m for putting him on a horse and letting him ride. We have problems enough without harboring another right under our noses.”

  “I was sorry for him,” Adeline said, “but I’m afraid of him. I’m afraid of what he’s already done to Lenore. After her father came home and slapped me around, after that indecent proposal by Burton Ledoux, she’s been scared to death of men. Finally, when she turned to you, I thought she was coming out of it. Now, I don’t know. She’s become foolish, possessive, like this young savage … belongs to her.”

  “Not after tonight,” Dan said. “She may end up not liking me, but—”

  There was a scream, cut short, and then only the sound of the rain on the canvas. Having removed nothing but his hat, Dan was on his feet, his Colt in his hand. Adeline headed for the wagon while Dan went after the dim shadow that had emerged from it. There was a patter of hoofs as some of the men riding watch came on the run. While the rest of the riders converged on the wagon, Dan pursued the elusive shadow that ran toward the horse remuda. Horses nickered in fear and there were shouts as the horse. wranglers became aware of the intruder. There was a confusion of arms and legs, and then the Indian launched himself at Dan like a cougar. Dan felt strong hands encircle his throat. He seized the Indian’s long hair with his left hand, and with his right smashed his Colt against the attacker’s head. In the darkness, one of the horse wranglers leaped on Dan.

  “Damn it,” he growled, “he’s down. Get off me.”

  Dan fumbled around until he found the Indian’s bare feet, and slung the unconscious man over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him,” he told the wranglers. “Calm the horses.”

  When Dan returned to the Bowdre wagon, he found the tailgate down and a lantern lighted. He dropped the naked Indian on the ground, on his back.

  “You’ve killed him,” Lenore bawled, fighting to get out of the wagon.

  “Not quite,” Dan growled, “but it was a temptation. “What’s he done to you?”

  “N-Nothing,” the girl sobbed, bowing her head.

  Dan hunkered down so that he could see her face, and even in the dim light of the lantern, he saw the livid bruise that extended from her chin to her right ear.

  “Take her with you, Adeline,” Dan said. “Wolf, Silas, one of you bring me some rope. I reckon we’ll have to hog-tie this young catamount until we decide what to do with him.”

  By the time Dan had the Indian’s back to a wagon wheel, his wrists bound behind him, every man and woman in the outfit had gathered around.

  “Somebody get a blanket for the naked varmint,” Boyce Trevino said.

  Fanny Bowdre brought one, and as Dan knelt to cover the Indian, he got a bare foot in his face.

  “Blanco perro,” the Indian spat.*

  “The little varmint speaks Spanish,” Wolf Bowdre said. “Palo, come here. You talk Espanol. Tell this loco Indio we mean him no harm.”

  Palo Elfego hunkered down before the Indian, speaking in rapid Spanish.

  For a long moment the Indian said nothing, but the hard lines of his face softened. “Nombre Aguila,” he said.

  Palo continued in Spanish, and the response came so rapidly, only Palo understood. When the Indian became silent, Palo spoke.

  “He is Eagle,” Palo said. “Cheyenne. His people wanted only peace with the white man, yet they have been betrayed and murdered.”

  “I can’t deny that,” Dan said. “Tell him we wish him no harm, that we found him near death. He is not a captive, and when he wishes to leave, he will be given a horse.”

  Again Palo spoke, and when he had finished, the young Cheyenne turned to Dan and spoke quietly.

  “Ninguno lucha, “ the Indian said.

  “He no fight,” Palo said. “He want loose.”

  Dan loosed the rope. The Cheyenne rubbed one wrist

  and then the other, and then reached for the blanket, covering himself. That reminded Fanny Bowdre of something. She went to the wagon and returned with the Indian’s buckskin trousers and his moccasins.

  “The war’s over,” Dan said. “Back to your blankets, while this hombre makes himself decent.”

  The rest of the outfit drifted away, some to a second watch, others to get what sleep they could. Since they now had coffee, a pot was kept on the coals all night for the benefit of the riders on watch, and it was Adeline DeVoe who brought a hot cup of the brew, offering it to the Indian. He took it without a word, holding the tin cup with both hands, enjoying its warmth. There was movement from the shadows, and when Lenore realized Dan had seen her, she backed swiftly away. Dan pretended he hadn’t noticed, speaking to Adeline.

  “His name is Eagle, and he’s Cheyenne. He knows we’re friends.”

  “Thank God,” Adeline said. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan said. “He was hostile to us because his people have been betrayed by the whites. Wolf recognized part of his words as Spanish, and Palo convinced him we meant no harm. He’ll be peaceful enough, I think, and I’ve promised him a horse if he wants to leave.”

  “Suppose he doesn’t?”

  “He won’t harm any of us. But I reckon you’re thinking of Lenore.”

  “I am,” Adeline said, “and I don’t mean physical harm. She didn’t want him sent away, even when there was a possibility he might kill her.”

  “By frontier standards, Lenore’s a woman,” Dan said. “She’ll have to make her own mistakes, and while this Indian may be one of them, can we fault him? I could put him on a horse and drive him away, but he’s young, and I doubt he has anywhere to go. Do you want me to make it easy on all of us and just shoot him?”

  “My God, no. I’ve felt sorry for him from the first, and I still do. I … it’s just … ”

  “You don’t want grandchildren that look like him,” Dan said.

  She said no more, burying her face in her hands. Fanny Bowdre had left a pair of blankets on the wagon’s tailgate: Dan took the blankets, handed them to the Indian, and pointed to the underside of the Bowdre wagon. The Cheyenne nodded. Adeline had recovered her composure, and Eagle handed her the empty
tin cup. “Gracias,”he said.

  By the time Dan and Lenore returned to their shelter, the rain had let up. The sky had begun to clear, and in the starlight they could see Lenore sitting cross-legged, awake.

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Adeline said. “You should be asleep.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “The Indian’s name is Eagle,” Adeline said. “He’s Cheyenne, and we’re in no danger from him. He’s been given blankets, and he’ll be sleeping beneath the Bowdre wagon. He no longer suffers from his wound, and you are not to go near him at night.”

  The girl said nothing, but she didn’t need to. She had begun building a wall of hostility that would not be breached. Dan Ember had done battle with fists, guns, and knives, but never with emotions. He had quickly won Denny’s trust and respect. Now, just when it seemed Lenore had begun to draw closer to him, he had lost her without striking a blow. He lay awake until first light, half expecting the girl to defy her mother and slip away to join the homeless Indian. Nor did Adeline sleep. Only Lenore did.

  First light found the Cheyenne, Eagle, with his back to a wagon wheel, his blankets folded neatly on the tailgate of the Bowdre wagon. He seemed unconcerned, waiting for someone to tell him what was expected of him. There was standing water as a result of the rain, most of it iced over. Besides a new coat, Dan had left Fort Griffin with three flannel shirts. One of these he brought to the Indian, and Eagle accepted it without question. He readily accepted a tin plate of ham, beans, and biscuit, and a tin cup of steaming hot coffee. Lenore seemed to ignore him, and he never once looked at her, and that was enough to strike a new note of fear in Adeline DeVoe’s heart. After breakfast, Dan roped and bridled a big roan horse, which he presented to the Cheyenne. He said nothing to the Indian about where he should ride, but when the herd moved out, Eagle took up a flank position behind Wolf Bowdre. Despite his early hostility, he not only sought to make a place for himself, but did a passable job of it.