The Dodge City Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “We can’t be more than twelve miles from Camp Supply,” Dan said.

  It was sundown, the day after Christmas, and the herd had been bedded down for the night. Theirs was a good camp in the bend in the river. The wounded men had almost fully recovered, and there was excitement in the camp as they neared what seemed a milestone in their journey. The night passed quietly, and only at breakfast the next morning was Dan told there had been a visitor.

  “Chato come,” Palo Elfego said.

  “It’s about time,” Dan replied. “What did he have to say?”

  “Stay one day, one night at soldado fort. No more.”

  “I hadn’t aimed for us to linger,” Dan said, “but why just one day and one night?”

  Palo shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

  Miles to the west of Camp Supply, Chato and his band had just crossed the North Canadian and were scouting the broken country beyond.

  “Canon, “ Sugato said. “Emboscada.”*

  Chato nodded. “Si.”

  This day, the Tejanos and their herd would reach the soldado fort, and tomorrow they would move on. Senor Santos Miguel Montoya and his Mejicanos were two days behind. Once they reached this desolate canyon, they would be many miles from the soldado fort. Here Montoya and his Mejicano perras would die.

  Far to the south, Montoya sought to raise the spirits of his impatient men.

  “Madre de Dios,” he growled, “I have tell you why the cursed Indios must be far from the soldado fort when we kill them. Bastante.”†

  The grumbling ceased as they hunkered around a fire, eating beans from a common pot. A few hundred yards to the south of them, Burton Ledoux and his restless companions shared an equally dismal camp.

  “Four damn months,” Black Bill groused. “Never wanta see another bean long as I live.”

  “I never wanta see you as long as I live,” Hagerman said.

  Burton Ledoux ignored them both. Camp Supply was behind them, and it was time for Montoya and his men to eliminate the Texans and the troublesome Mejicano Indios protecting them. Ledoux had seen a map of all the Federal forts while in San Antonio, and had some idea as to where Camp Supply was in relation to Fort Dodge. As he recalled, the two were about a hundred miles apart. Now Chato and his band were somewhere in between, waiting for the Texans to pass Camp Supply and catch up. Chato and his band would be as unwelcome north of the Rio Grande as were Montoya and his bunch, neither daring to go near the fort. The killing Ledoux had in mind—and that which Montoya and his men planned to do—would take on the proportions of a small war, and must not happen near enough to the fort for the shooting to be heard. Ledoux’s cruel lips smiled in anticipation. Soon the killing would begin, and five days out of Dodge, the herd would be his… .

  Camp Supply, Indian Territory. Tuesday, December 27, 1870.

  The military installation was much nearer than expected, and two hours before noon, Dan and the riders could see the log palisades of the fort on the north bank of the river. The wagons had drawn up and the wranglers had the horses strung out to graze. Dan, Wolf, Palo, and Chad headed the lead steers, doubling the herd back to the south, and the animals took to grazing. With the horse remuda and the longhorns settled down, the riders gathered across the river from the fort’s massive gates. Soldiers walked the parapets, watching curiously, but the gates remained closed.

  “Well stay here tonight,” Dan said, “but we’ll be moving out tomorrow at first light. We’ve been told this is one of the poorer posts and not to expect much here. I aim to talk to the post commander and the sutler. We can spare some more cows, if there’s anything to trade them for. If nothing else, we need some grain for the horses. I favor swapping some beef for a little credit at the store, if they’re well-stocked enough to be of any help to us. Does anybody object to that?”

  “I don’t object,” Garret Haddock said, “but I’d like to suggest another possibility. Even if the sutler’s got nothin’ we can take in trade, these soldiers will be needin’ beef. Why not just sell them a hundred head of our extra cows for gold? We’ll be reachin’ Dodge considerably ahead of the new railroad, and we may be needin’ grub long before we sell any part of this herd.”

  Dan said nothing. They all had heard the proposal, and they shouted their approval in almost a single voice.

  “Wolf, I’ll want you with me,” Dan said. “Does anybody think more than two of us ought to go?”

  “Not if you do as well by us as you did at Fort Griffin,” Aubin Chamber replied. “You aim to ask thirty dollars a head for the cows?”

  Chambers drew some disgusted stares, and there was a shocked silence. Finally, when Dan trusted himself to speak, he did.

  “Chambers, we’ve been told this is a poorly stocked post. You can see it’s maybe half the size of Fort Griffin. Every man has two prices. The one he wants and the one he’ll take. To answer your question, I want thirty dollars a head, but I’d take twenty-five, if it was up to me, if that’s all the market will bear. Why don’t we just head off any later misunderstandings and put it to a vote? Where do we draw the line?”

  “Hell,” Skull Kimbrough bawled, “take twenty-four, if that’s all we can get. We’re only talkin’ maybe a hundred head, and that’s extra stock.”

  There were shouts of assent, and some less than tolerant words directed at Chambers. Dan and Wolf mounted their horses and rode upriver until they found a place shallow enough to cross. The sergeant of the guard had been told of their presence and was waiting for them when they reached the fort’s massive gates. They were opened just enough for Dan and Wolf to speak to the soldier. Dan spoke.

  “I’m Daniel Ember, and this is Wolf Bowdre. We’d like to speak to the post commander.”

  The sergeant said nothing, the granting of permission evident by his stepping aside and allowing them and their horses to enter. Once they were inside the garrison, a private closed the gates behind them. As Dan and Wolf followed the sergeant, the overall seediness and decay of the outpost became evident. The buildings were all log huts, every one a loser in an unending battle with the elements. Entire sections of logs had rotted away and had not been replaced. Mud chinking had fallen from between logs and from mud and stone chimneys, leaving loose stones scattered about. When they reached the cabin that housed the orderly room and the post commander’s office, there was a floorless stoop, but no steps. Protected by the overhang, growing out of the rotting logs nearest the ground, was an impressive stand of mushrooms and toadstools. The end of the cabin that served as an orderly room had only the crudest of furniture, and the floor was dirt. The sergeant knocked on a door, and when a voice granted entry, he opened the door on creaky hinges. He saluted, and the captain who sat behind a battered desk returned it. At least his office had a crude wooden floor.

  “At ease, Sergeant,” the officer said, getting to his feet.

  “Sir,” said the sergeant, “these men have a herd of cattle across the river, and they’ve asked to speak to you.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re excused.”

  When the door had closed behind the sergeant, the officer turned his attention to Dan and Wolf. “I’m Captain Chanute,” he said.

  “This is Wolf Bowdre,” Dan said, “and I’m Dan Ember. We’re taking a trail drive to Dodge City, to the railroad.”

  “You’re only a hundred miles from Dodge,” Chanute said, “and the rails are considerably farther.”

  “We know that,” Dan said. “When it comes, we aim to be ready. We’re in need of some grain for our horses, and we’re hoping to find some here.”

  “I suppose the sutler will have some, but perhaps not enough to meet your needs. This is not a well-provisioned post. Everything has to be wagoned in from Leavenworth or Santa Fe. In West Texas and eastern New Mexico Territory, Quanah Parker and the Coman-ches have been killing our teamsters, our soldier escorts, and robbing us blind. Closer to home, here in Indian Territory, it’s the Kiowa and bands of white renegades.”

  “We
had trouble with some of your white renegades,” Wolf said. “Varmint name of Rowden, and eleven others of the same stripe. They killed one of our riders, wounded five more, and rustled our horse remuda. We had to kill ten of them, and the other two got discouraged and rode out.”

  “By God,” the captain said, “that’s the best news I’ve had in a month of Sundays. I hope Rowden was one of the ten you cashed in. There’s a price on his head in Missouri and Kansas.”

  “No,” Dan said, “Rowden and one other of the coyotes hightailed it.”

  Suddenly, a large bug dropped from the ceiling, landing on its back on Captain Chanute’s desk. The little creature struggled to its feet and began a slow trek across the desk. Fascinated, Dan and Wolf followed its progress with unbelieving eyes. Chanute laughed.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “when you’re sleeping, they’ll drop on your face in the middle of the night. That takes some getting used to.”

  “I reckon it would,” Dan said. “I’d take my blankets and move outside.”

  “Some of the men do, when the weather permits. We’ve been promised a permanent installation, with massive improvements. The hell of it is, all this is coming from Washington, and nobody’s saying when.”

  “We can spare maybe a hundred cows,” Dan said. “Is there a chance we might sell them here, either to the sutler or your quartermaster? We’d be glad to take some of it in trade, if supplies permit.”

  “I doubt that Stiverton, the sutler, can take more than a few head. Not in trade anyway, because our last supply train was ambushed. Again. Our quartermaster, Sergeant Harkness, buys beef when he can get it. But that —like all other appropriations—is limited. What’s your asking price?”

  “It was thirty at Fort Griffin,” Dan said, “but we can make allowances here, I think. We really need some grain for our horses.”

  “I’ll see that you get as much as we can spare,” Chanute said, “if you’ll work with us on the beef. God knows, we can use it.”

  “We’ll drop our price to twenty-five dollars,” Dan said.

  “Go ahead and talk to Stiverton, then,” the captain said. “I doubt he will take more than fifty head, if that many. When you’re done with him, come back and see me. I’ll talk to Sergeant Harkness.”

  “We’re obliged,” Dan said.

  “We’ll be obliged to you,” Captain Chanute said. “Have you ever eaten the tinned stuff Washington calls beef, what they expect us to swallow?”

  “No,” Dan said.

  “Then don’t. And by the way, Stiverton’s a civilian, so you’re in no way bound by the price you’ve quoted me. Thirty dollars a head is a fair price for a man who’s not strangled by military regulations.”

  Dan and Wolf departed, leaving Captain Chanute to watch the slow progress of the bug as it continued its journey across the scarred expanse of his old desk.

  *Ghostly

  *Ambush

  †Enough

  19

  Dan and Wolf found the sutler’s store poorly provisioned, and Isaac Stiverton unwilling to trade for beef.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Stiverton said. “I could use the beef, but I can’t afford to dicker away my goods when I don’t know how far away we are from the next supply train. The quartermaster buys beef. Have you talked to Sergeant Harkness?”

  “Not yet,” Dan replied, “but we aim to. He’s limited by regulations as to how much he can buy. Since you’re in no position to trade, why not make it an outright sale? Then we can buy from you things we need. The sutler at Fort Griffin took a hundred head at twenty-eight fifty, and we’ll make you the same offer.”

  “My God, no,” Stiverton said. “I’d consider fifty head if the price was, ah … twenty-three dollars.”

  “Twenty-eight,” Dan said.

  “Twenty-three fifty,” Stiverton countered.

  “Twenty-seven fifty,” Dan said.

  “Twenty-four,” Stiverton said.

  “Twenty-seven,” Dan said.

  “I have my limit,” Stiverton sighed, “and so have you. If we can deal, let’s deal. If we can’t, let’s not continue wasting your time and mine. I will go twenty-five fifty. Do we have a deal?”

  “We got a deal,” Dan said. “We’ll have the cows across the river and a bill of sale in your hands before noon. I know you’re short on supplies, but we’re in need of some grain for our horses. Hopefully some rye. Do you have any?”

  “No,” Stiverton said. “Not much demand for it. Army buys for their own use. Some of the officers’ wives have horses, and the little grain I order goes mostly to them.”

  Dan and Wolf returned to Captain Chanute’s dreary office to find Sergeant Harkness there. After introductions, Harkness got down to business.

  “I’d like fifty head,” Harkness said, “but you’re still a few dollars over my limit. Can we negotiate?”

  “We’ll bend as much as we can,” Dan said. “We’ll sell to you at twenty-four dollars a head. Now here’s some-thin’ else that ought to make it a mite easier on you, and it’ll be a help to us. We’re needin’ some grain for our horses, and Stiverton has none to sell. Throw in a sack of rye, and we’ll take another fifty dollars off the price of your beef.”

  “That’ll just about make the difference,” Harkness said. “I never know when we’ll be shorted, so I always ask for extra grain. The horses eat lots better than we do.”

  “Have some men ready for the cows,” Dan said, “and we’ll have them here before noon. Your bill of sale will be for twelve hundred dollars. We won’t mention the grain.”

  “Thanks,” Harkness said with a grin. “I suspect this is a breach of military ethics. If we was caught, the captain and me could be reassigned to some God-awful post. Here, all we got to bother us is the Kiowas, the renegades from Kansas and Missouri, the bugs, and the blizzards blowin’ in from the Rockies.”

  Dan and Wolf returned to the outfit. Dan sent Kirby

  Wilkerson, Boyce Trevino, and Rufe Keeler to cut out a hundred steers to be driven across the river. Dan found that Adeline had gotten the women to prepare a list of the supplies needed, if the store had them.

  “We’ll do the best we can,” Dan said. “Whatever’s lacking here, we’ll have the money to buy when we reach Dodge. It’s only a hundred more miles, and we should be there in another week.”

  Having delivered the cows and collected the money, Dan and his four companions walked the aisles of the poorly provisioned store. Most of the items on the list given Dan were to replenish their dwindling supply of food, and strangely enough, these were the things Stiverton seemed to have in quantity. There were no guns, no ammunition, no saddles, no boots, no hats.

  “He’s got them two gallon coffeepots,” Boyce Trevino said. “We could use two more. The Indian needs one of his own.”

  “Get them,” Dan said, “and speaking of Eagle, I’m going to buy him some kind of coat.”

  “Get him a couple of wool shirts too,” Kirby said. “Them buckskin britches of his may last forever, but that one shirt won’t. It’s already out at both elbows.”

  “We’re gettin’ too anxious,” Wolf said. “We got no way to tote all this stuff back to camp. I’d better ride back and bring a wagon.”

  “Do that,” Dan said, “and while you’re there, see how we’re fixed for dried apples. Here’s a barrel three-quarters full.”

  When Bowdre returned with the wagon, Dan, Kirby, Boyce, and Rufe had all their purchases on the loading dock behind the store. There was a barrel of flour, fifty pounds of brown sugar, forty pounds of coffee beans sacked in burlap, hams, sides of bacon, and a hundred pound sack of beans.

  “Fanny says bring all the dried apples you can get. Sugar too,” Bowdre said.

  “Got all the sugar and coffee Stiverton would sell us,” Dan said. “I’ll see how much of this barrel of dried apples I can buy. Why don’t you go to the quartermaster’s and get our sack of grain?”

  When Dan and the riders returned to camp, the outfit gathered around as s
upplies were unloaded from the Bowdre wagon and distributed among the other four. Fanny Bowdre climbed into the wagon to rearrange what was left, and shouted when she saw the almost full barrel of dried apples. There would be dried apple pie for supper. Dan took the wool shirts and the heavy mackinaw he had bought for Eagle and presented them to the Indian. Eagle wasted no time donning the coat, and everybody grinned at him except Rux Carper and Aubin Chambers.

  “What the hell’s the idea?” Carper demanded. “This ain’t Christmas.”

  “Carper,” Dan said, “you have an almighty short memory.”

  “That’s partly my money you’re blowin’ on the Indian,” Carper said, “and I don’t like it.”

  “Carper,” Wolf Bowdre said, “Eagle deserves that and more. If it bothers you that much, the little we spent on him can come out of my share.”

  There was an immediate clamor as the rest of the outfit sided with Bowdre. Elanora, Carper’s wife, seemed mortally embarrassed over her husband’s string-iness. Dan waited until the angry uproar died, and then he spoke.

  “After what we bought at the store, we have twenty-two hundred dollars. I thought we had agreed this would be money for grub, money to last us until we sell the herd in Dodge. Well, I’m damned tired of having to account for every dime, like I’m stealing from some of you. Now I’m going to make an offer to Mr. Carper and anybody else of like mind. Equally divided, each of you is entitled to a hundred and ten dollars, and I’ll give it to you right now, if that’s what you want. But there’s some strings attached. If you take your share and back out, you’re on your own when we reach Dodge. That means you’ll take your share of the herd and do as you like, and you won’t be welcome at our cook fire. Either you want to be part of this outfit or you don’t, and I don’t aim to go through this again. Now, any man of you that’s wantin’ out, come on, and let’s be done with it.”

  It was more than Elanora, Carper’s long-suffering wife could take. She stalked over to stand before Carper, her hands on her hips, and spat out every angry word loud enough for everybody to hear.