Nobody said anything until Yeager had ridden away. Lenore stood there, white-faced, big silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Well,” Hattie Kuykendall said, “we’re rid of the Indian, and it’s just as well. We’ve no business harboring a murderer.”
“It was all right when he killed for us,” Lenore said bitterly, “but when he kills to avenge his people, he’s a murderer.”
“Lenore, hush,” Adeline said.
“No,” Lenore bawled, “I won’t hush. I’d have gone with him, if I could.”
She stomped off down to the river and stood there looking westward. It was Wolf Bowdre who finally spoke.
“One thing in our favor. Yeager never saw Eagle, so at least we don’t have to aceount for where he is. He served us well, and I don’t fault him for what he’s done. The law wouldn’t have helped him, because it would have been his word against that of four whites, so he done it the only way he could. One thing for sure, them hombres bein’ drunk had nothing to do with it. He could have taken then stone cold sober. I’d welcome him back, when and if he’s of a mind to come.”
“So would I,” Rux Carper said. “He never hurt any of us.”
So rarely had Carper agreed on anything, that drew more attention than Eagle’s questionable deed.
“Mount up,” Dan said. “We’re moving out.”
The herd moved west, along the south bank of the Arkansas, and when they passed Dodge City, all activity ceased. Men lined the north bank, watching the long-horns trail past. Some of the observers shouted and waved, and the riders waved their hats. Darkness caught up to them eight miles west of Dodge. Come sundown, the wind always turned chill, but this time it had a familiar, ominous feel. Far to the west, a mass of dirty gray clouds swallowed the sun an hour early.
“We’re in for another bad one,” Skull Kimbrough said. “That wind tells me that anything comin’ at us is gonna be trouble.”
“That means we’ll have to find a valley, a canyon, someplace where we can bunch this herd,” Dan said. “Otherwise, they’ll drift all the way to Wichita.”
The temperature dropped drastically during the night, and the outfit hurried through breakfast. Great gray clouds rolled in from the west.
“We’ll leave the herd where it is,” Dan said, “and scout ahead for some shelter. Wolf, you ride the south bank and I’ll ride the north. We’ll stay as near the river as we can, for the sake of water, but shelter comes first. We’ll limit our search to five miles, because that’s about as far as we can take the herd before the storm breaks. We’ll compare our findings and take the best of the lot.”
Dan and Wolf rode west, Wolf along the south bank, Dan along the north. Dan rode a mile north and then west, paralleling the Arkansas. He could see the land becoming rougher, laced with ravines, but nothing that suited their needs. They needed a valley running north to south, offering them a lee slope that blunted the fury of the storm. What bothered Dan was the possibility that neither he or Wolf would find a suitable sanctuary before the storm was upon them. He rode on, his hat tied down with piggin string, his head bowed against the rising wind. First drops of rain fell, and they were cold. He rode on, finding nothing but shallow gorges and arroyos. Suddenly, somewhere to the south, there was a shot. Dan reined up, listening for a second and a third. But there was no more, and he rode south at a fast gallop. One shot was intended to get his attention. Three would have meant trouble. Probably Wolf had found something promising enough to end the search, and he knew their time was short. Dan reined up at the Arkansas as Wolf came riding along the south bank from the west.
“Valley to the south,” Wolf shouted. “Spill-off from the Arkansas, and there’s graze.”
“Bueno,” Dan responded. “Nothin’ over here. Let’s ride.”
The cold rain had begun in earnest by the time they reached the herd, and the longhorns wanted to mill, with their backs to it. The riders shouted, fired their Colts and swung doubled lariats until finally the cantankerous brutes lurched into a trot.
“Keep the varmints bunched,” Dan shouted. “At least we don’t have to cross the river.”
The rain became mixed with hail, and stones as big as double eagles made it hell for animals and riders. The longhorns bawled their misery and tried all the harder to turn their backs on this added discomfort. But somehow the riders kept them moving, knowing that when things changed, it would be for the worse. Hail usually was a sign that the rain was done, and on the heels of the hail there would be snow. While rain and hail was troublesome, the snow was the killer. It hid the grass, robbing the longhorns of their graze, and it set them adrift. Unchecked, they would simply wander, seeking to escape the storm, until they literally froze to death. This storm was the worst of all, for it roared out of the west and the herd was being forced into the very teeth of it. The one advantage the riders had was that the Arkansas was a barrier, allowing the outfit to concentrate all its efforts along the other flank of the herd. At one point the south bank of the Arkansas leveled off enough for some of the steers to seek the river as a means of escape. But the water was ice cold and the brutes were forced back into the herd.
Dan had fallen back to the drag, allowing Wolf Bow-dre to take the point. Before reaching the canyon, the herd had to be turned south for entry, and it would depend on Wolf and the swing riders. Once the long-horns were turned away from the river, the riders would again be fighting both flanks against bunch quitters. In this particular instance, Dan had reversed the order of things. The longhorns must be sheltered from the storm in all possible haste, so the herd had taken the trail first. Behind it came the diminished horse remuda, followed by the five wagons. It proved a blessing to the drag riders, as steers of a mind to hit the back trail found it full of horses.
Dan left the drag, getting between the moving herd and the river, as ever so slightly the longhorns veered to the southwest. They were approaching the valley Bow-dre had found. It was far more than Dan had expected, long enough that the runoff from the Arkansas became a trickle before reaching the end. Dan sighed with relief when the last of the herd was driven in. The horse remuda and wagons followed. The valley broadened as they traveled north toward the Arkansas, and the runoff from the river became a decent stream. The grass was good, but there was little other vegetation except sage and mesquite.
“We’re going to have to scramble for some firewood,” Dan said when all the riders had come together. “Let’s all take our ropes and snake in all we can find.”
They needed windblown and lightning-struck timber, and they had been in Kansas long enough to know that was expecting a lot. Mostly it was just flat plain, with little or nothing to become windblown or lightning struck. They foraged four or five miles before finding anything substantial enough for firewood. By the time they returned to camp, they were half frozen, and when the fire finally took hold, they hunkered around it, warming their hands.
“By God,” Monte Walsh said, “I never seen territory that just didn’t have no trees at all. It must drive dogs plumb crazy.”
“We ain’t seen no dogs neither,” Denny DeVoe said.
The storm grew in intensity, and during the night, the outfit heard a sound more bone-chilling than any of them had ever experienced. It was the distant mournful cry of prairie wolves. Dan heard them during the first watch, and again after midnight, when he was awakened by them.
“Dear God,” Adeline said, “they’re coming closer.”
“They’re hungry,” Dan said. “Before this storm’s done, we’ll likely be shootin’ the varmints to keep them away from the cattle.”
“Eagle’s out there somewhere,” Lenore said wistfully.
“He’ll survive,” Dan said. “He’s one hard Indian to kill.”
“I wish there’d been a preacher in Dodge,” Adeline said. “We could just bundle up together and stay warm.”
“Just as well there wasn’t,” Lenore said. “I think I’d refuse to take a walk tonight.”
“Give the p
lace another month or two,” Dan said, “and I think it’ll be some kind of town, railroad or not.”
West of Dodge, on the Arkansas. Saturday, February 4, 1871.
The storm continued, becoming a veritable blizzard. The second day, it became necessary for the riders to seek more firewood, for the cold became more intense, and each night it seemed the wolves came closer. Even the runoff from the Arkansas froze over, and ice had to be broken for the cattle and horses to drink.
“God Almighty,” Hiram Beard said, “why would a man start up a ranch in the flatlands, where the wind cuts you in half and there ain’t enough wood to pick your teeth? Me, I want me a place in Colorado, where there’s trees and mountains.”
As the wolves drew nearer, Dan called the outfit together. With the overcast sky and swirling snow, a night watch was no longer sufficient.
“We’ll have to ride the valley day and night,” Dan told them. “There’s too many cows, too strung out. We’ll leave our first and second watch as is. You’ll be on watch six hours and off six until the storm blows itself out and we’re rid of these wolves.”
After midnight the third night, the wolves invaded the valley, killing a steer. The predators were unable to enjoy their kill, but only one was shot. Three others escaped, and from somewhere to the west their quavering howls mingled with the scream of the wind. When more wood was needed, only a few riders could be spared to seek it. Most of the outfit had to ride the valley, lest the wolves again come after the cattle.
“The wolves won’t make no difference if this storm don’t let up soon,” Duncan Kilgore said. “This graze won’t last much longer, and if these brutes has been kilt by wolves or starved to death won’t make no difference.”
Sometime before dawn the storm abated, with only fine flurries of snow. But the wolves became more persistent, more bold, and the continual howling began to wear on everybody’s nerves.
“Damn it,” Monte Walsh said, “them of us that ain’t on watch, why don’t we saddle up, take our rifles and shoot us some wolves?”
“I’m game,” Skull said. “This howlin’ is givin’ me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Might rid us of some of the varmints,” Sloan Kuy-kendall said. “Dan, what do you think?”
“I think we’ll be wasting our time,” Dan replied, “but I’ll admit it might be better than another day of their infernal howling. After breakfast we’ll ride out and try our luck.”
Dan took Monte, Palo, Skull, Chad, Hiram, and Walt, promising the others they could ride out at other times if the tactic worked. The seven riders were forced to ride all the way to the south end of the valley because of the drifted snow. It was hard going until they reached the plains along the bank of the Arkansas. While the snow had drifted deep in protected areas, the incessant prairie wind had blown it far and wide. The going was difficult, but not impossible.
“By God,” Hiram said, “it’s like the varmints know we’re lookin’ for ‘em. They ain’t howled once since we saddled up.”
“In a way, they’re smarter than people,” Skull said. “They know when to keep their mouths shut.”
“I doubt we’ll even see one of them,” Dan said. “The drifts will be bad, and this kind of riding won’t be easy on our horses. Let’s give it maybe two hours, and then we’ll ride in. Fire three shots if you get in trouble.”
Dan had his doubts about the wolf hunt, but the animals had begun to get on everybody’s nerves. After being snowbound for three days, captives to the continual howling, it felt good to be doing something, however futile the result. Dan found a shallow place, forded the river, and rode along the west bank. Suddenly he reined up. Wolf tracks! Two wolves had swung in from the northeast, and heading west, paralleled the river. Dan followed. He hadn’t expected to sight any of the animals, and now it looked as though he might actually get a shot at a pair of them. To his dismay, the snow started again, big, wet flakes blowing into his face. But the excitement of the hunt overcame his alarm, and he rode on. He would at least follow the tracks until they were snowed out. Then he would be forced to turn back. Somewhere ahead of him a wolf howled. Dan un-shucked his rifle, kicking his horse into as fast a lope as it could achieve in the snow. Suddenly, Dan’s horse screamed and the earth seemed to fall away before them. He was flung over the animal’s head into a snow-filled arroyo. He went facedown in the snow, the ponderous weight of the horse on top of him, and knew no more. ...
22
Dan wasn’t out more than a few minutes, belly down in the snow. The depth of it had saved him as he was trapped under the body of his horse. The animal was dead, having broken its neck in the fall. Dan found only his left hand, arm, and head free. He wriggled, trying mightily to free his right arm, to reach his Colt. On the back of his hand, the back of his neck, he could feel new snow. Already the snow would be covering the tracks of his horse. How long before it covered him and the horse as well? With or without a warning shot, the outfit would come looking for him, but his mind was a ticking clock. There was no feeling in his hands or his feet, and his face felt wooden. Involuntarily, his eyes closed, and he awoke terrified, unsure as to how long he had slept. He wanted only to drift back into the comfortable sleep, knowing if he did, it might be his last. He began shouting, trying to keep himself awake, to attract the attention of those who would come looking for him. The wind whipped his voice away, and the only sound he heard was the cry of the elusive wolves.
Skull and Palo were the first riders to reach the camp in the valley, and dismayed to learn that none of the others had returned, they rode out again. They reached the bank of the Arkansas and, straining their eyes into the blowing snow, could see four shadowy riders coming. The four reined up, their heads bowed. Skull and Palo rode close enough to be heard against the shriek of the wind.
“Dan,” Skull shouted. “Dan ain’t rode in.”
“We’ll have to find him,” Hiram said. “His horse may be down, and he’s afoot, or he could be hurt. Won’t be no tracks. We’ll have to fan out in a circle.”
“Make that a half circle toward, the west,” Monte shouted. “That’s the way he rode out. We ain’t got that much time.”
They rode west, Skull, Palo, and Hiram crossing to the north bank when the river became shallow enough. They rode in a race with death, knowing the deepening snow could conceal a fallen horse and rider in a matter of minutes. The expanse ahead of them seemed unbroken. Palo reined up, listening.
“What is it?” Skull shouted. “You hear something?”
“Think it be voice cry for help,” Palo replied. “Per’ap it be only the wind.”
Dan’s throat had grown dry and his voice had become weaker. He managed to get a mouthful of snow. Again he tried to free his right hand and arm, to reach his Colt, but he could not. Again a wolf howled, and it seemed a lot closer. That suggested a new possibility far more terrifying than freezing to death. There was a ray of hope that the howling of the big predators might bring his friends to him, but a disturbing possibility that the wolves might arrive first. He doubted that the wolves would ignore him and tear into the carcass of the dead horse. The human scent would be too strong. They would kill him first. While he was mostly covered by the body of the horse, they could get at his throat, and that would be enough.
A few miles to the west a horse plodded eastward along the Arkansas, its rider slumped low. Four days Eagle had been without food, for after the storm had struck, he hadn’t been able to raise even a jackrabbit. He had no idea where the herd was, only that he must find it. He felt some shame, realizing that he needed the white man’s grub. But there was something else that drew him. Black Kettle and the old ones were long dead, and he had no people, nobody to whom he could turn. Nobody but the Tejanos who had found him while a spark of life remained, and had tried to make him one of them. But did he wish to become one of them? These lonely nights and hungry days he had pondered the question. When he had claimed his horse from the white man, he kept the saddle. He intended to discard it after
leaving the camp of the Tejanos, but for some reason he had not. There was a lariat, a boot for his rifle, and once he had gotten used to it, the contraption seemed surprisingly comfortable. The Tejanos had given him a knife, a revolver, and a rifle, with ammunition. True, there were several of the Tejanos who didn’t like him, but they weren’t that well-liked themselves. Finally he thought of the young squaw. She had seen to his hurts after he was shot, had fed him more than his share, and had learned another language so she might talk to him. These Tejanos knew and respected fine horses, and they made their living driving the vaca to market. The buffalo would soon be gone, if they were not already, and what was the Indian to do? Eagle had seen his people turn from the white man’s ways, and now they, like the buffalo, were gone. Was it wrong for a Cheyenne to become part of a Tejano outfit, driving and roping the white man’s buffalo? He had nowhere to go, no people except the Tejanos who had welcomed him. He would return to them, claim the young squaw, and take his place among the Tejano riders.
Suddenly he reined up, listening. The wolves had set up a clamor that Eagle recognized as a hunting or feeding cry. He kicked his tired horse into a lope, drawing the Winchester from its boot.
Dan heard the snarling of the wolves and realized the moment he’d been dreading had arrived. Being facedown, he had no idea what the animals were doing. The little of him that wasn’t covered by the carcass of the horse was likely covered by snow, and there was a small possibility that the wolves were not yet aware of him. He lay still, hardly daring to breathe. There was more growling, and he wondered if the animals were about to fight for possession of the horse. He wondered how many there were. Judging from the growling, he thought there must be at least three or four.
The Dodge City Trail Page 30
