The Amarillo Trail

by Ralph Compton

  The rain invigorated Miles, who was still blearyeyed from lack of sleep. But he had enjoyed riding around the herd and helping out when Jules got the cattle up and headed north.

  “Better send Dale back out to scout,” Miles said.

  “Dale is ridin’ flank. I sent Randy on up ahead. I figger we won’t run into any farms for another five or six miles.”

  “We must have covered five mile already,” Miles said.

  “Yep, at least. Cattle are runnin’ away from that storm. They don’t know no better.”

  “You tell that to Ralph, Jules.”

  Jules laughed and turned his horse. He rode to the head of the herd while Miles rode to the rear.

  Roy was riding back and forth, urging the cattle in the rear to keep forging forward.

  “Hell of a storm,” Roy said.

  “If it moves fast, it won’t bother us much. We’ll know more when it gets light.”

  “When’s that gonna be?” Roy cracked, and Miles laughed as he managed the right rear flank.

  It did get light.

  But it was a peculiar light, yellowish and gray in the east, purple and gray to the west. The light kept shifting, wallowing through shredded clouds, changing colors. Some of the black clouds were high, but the lower clouds dripped gray tendrils that were rain, and the wind swirled around them, circling like some sniffing wolf.

  “I don’t like this none,” Roy said. “Look at that sky back there, Miles.”

  Miles looked back. The sky was almost colorless under the clouds, but it had a deathly pall to it and some of the clouds kept dipping down like probing fingers, only to pull back up as if testing the land or pushed by the fickle winds.

  Randy rode up three hours later, out of breath, his face shiny with rain, his hat dripping water from its brim.

  “Miles, you better come up,” he gasped. “Jules is haltin’ the herd.”

  “What’s up?” Miles asked.

  “I run into that farm and they’s a man and woman standin’ out there under a parasol like they was a-goin’ to Sunday meetin’.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Miles said.

  “Want me to go with you?” Roy asked.

  “Yeah. Randy, you stay here. Rest yourself.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Randy said. And as Roy and Miles started to ride off, he said: “Oh, I think that farmer and his wife are totin’ firearms.”

  Jules was waiting for them. He had the herd stopped in front of the posts with warning signs on them, and the skulls of dead cattle. It was an eerie scene in the rain and wind. On the small road that dissected the farm, Miles saw a man and woman, both wearing dark slickers, standing with an open umbrella over their heads.

  Both of them held on to the umbrella’s handle, but it was like holding on to a tiger’s tail. The wind whipped at them and the umbrella rose and fell with every gust.

  “They were just standin’ there,” Jules told Miles. “They ain’t said a word, nor been threatenin’. But I think the farmer’s got him a Greener under his coat, and the woman, I think she’s got a pistol in that black bag she’s totin’.”

  “I’ll go over and talk to them. You keep the men back. I don’t want to start a gunfight here.”

  “No, sir. Me neither. But we can’t just run our cattle up that road with them two a-standin’ there.”

  “No, Jules, we can’t,” Miles said in a calm voice.

  “Want me to go with you, Miles?” Roy asked.

  “No, you stay here with Jules. I’m going to walk over.”

  Miles reached under his slicker and began to unbuckle his gun belt.

  “You ain’t gonna walk over there unarmed, are you?” Roy asked.

  “Yeah, I am.” He buckled the belt and handed it to Jules. “Keep it dry if you can,” he said. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Roy.

  “Wish me luck,” he said to both men.

  Miles walked toward the Ruggleses. He tried to avoid puddles, mainly to prove that he wasn’t hostile, that he came in peace. He did not look at the two people as he walked toward them. He didn’t want to appear threatening in any way.

  “Good morning,” Miles said as he stopped up to the couple. “Ma’am. Sir. I’m Miles Blaine from Dumas, Texas.”

  “We know you’re from Texas,” Clarence said. “And them cows ain’t goin’ to tramp down my crops.”

  “And what is your name, sir?” Miles asked.

  “Clarence. Clarence Ruggles.”

  “And you, ma’am? You’re Mrs. Ruggles?”

  “I’m Floybel Ruggles,” she said. “Clarence is my husband. We own this farm you’re aimin’ to cross.”

  “Well, there just isn’t any other place we can go,” Miles said. “You got a road there. We can drive the cattle in small thin bunches right up that road and we won’t tromp down any of your crops.”

  “That’s what you say,” Clarence said.

  “That’s what I mean, Clarence. We don’t aim to cause any damage to your farm. We only have less’n three thousand head and my hands are real experienced. If that road goes plumb across your land, we’ll stay on it and get out of your hair as quick as possible.”

  Clarence and Floybel looked at each other. She shook her head.

  “Nope,” Clarence said, “it’s just too risky.”

  Then Miles saw both people stand up straight and stare at the sky behind him. He turned and saw what they had just seen.

  At the same time, he heard his men yelling. And the cattle were kicking up a rumpus as well.

  A huge black cloud had dropped low over the land and a large funnel was just touching the ground.

  Miles gasped. His mouth gaped open.

  “That’s a twister, by God,” Clarence yelled. “And it’s comin’ right at us.”

  The tornado bellowed like a hundred trains and roamed the land in a crooked walk with that pointed finger dredging up grass and earth and flinging pieces of wood brush.

  The umbrella flew out of Clarence’s and Floybel’s hands and sailed toward the house and barn.

  “Clarence,” Floybel screamed. “It’s headin’ right for our house.”

  “God A’mighty,” Clarence said.

  Miles saw that the twister was going to cut a wide swath on the other side of the river and probably smash the farmer’s house and barns to smithereens. He acted fast, grabbing Clarence by his collar and reaching for Floybel. His shotgun dropped to the ground. Floybel hung on to her purse with both hands.

  “Come with me,” he yelled above the terrible din of the tornado.

  Blindly, they followed him. He pushed them both toward the river, then hurled them down to the ground, flat on their faces. He fell on them both and pinned them down.

  The roar of the twister drowned out all other sound. It swept across the land in a fury, whirling like some gyrating machine. As they watched, it smashed into the two-story home and lifted it into the air. Pieces of lumber flew in all directions. Then the tornado continued its path of destruction and flailed into one barn, then another. Horses, the mule, and two Guernsey milk cows flew through the air and landed hard. Floybel screamed. Clarence began to sob.

  It was over in mere minutes.

  The twister weaved on and then its funnel lifted from the ground and disappeared in the folds of the cloud that had spawned it.

  Miles helped Clarence and Floybel to their feet.

  They both looked at him with sad eyes.

  “Mister, I think you done saved our lives,” Clarence said. “Let me shake your hand.”

  “Oh, Clarence,” Floybel said, “look what happened. There ain’t nothin’ left. Our home is gone.”

  Clarence put his arms around his wife and drew her close.

  “We ain’t lost everything,” he said. “We got ourselves and . . .”

  She looked at Miles and nodded.

  “You saved us,” she said. “If you hadn’t run us over here, we’d have been blown plumb away.”

  Miles looked at the road. All of
the posts and the signs and the skulls were no longer there.

  “Mr. Miles,” Clarence said. “You take your cattle up that road and get on to where you’re goin’.”

  “Thanks, Clarence. We’ll take it slow and my cattle won’t eat your corn or tear up your fields, if there’s anything left.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Clarence said, and offered his hand.

  Miles shook it, then turned to where Jules and Roy were hunkered down under their horses’ bellies.

  “A few head at a time,” Miles called out. “Keep’em on that road.”

  Both men grinned.

  There were no more twisters that day, and by the time Miles reached the end of the Ruggles farm road, there was nothing but open prairie ahead.

  And the cattle sogged over rain-saturated ground, looking like a bunch of oversized hamsters, soaked to their pink Hereford skins.

  Chapter 23

  Miles kept the herd to the east of the Arkansas River after he and his men turned the herd north. He knew, from his map, that he still had to cross the Little Arkansas. They had left the Cimarron four days ago. The cattle had plenty of grass and good drinking water, so he knew they were faring well.

  “If we can keep the herd going at this pace,” Miles said to Tad Rankin, “we’ll beat that deadline by a country mile.”

  “I figger we can cross the fork at Great Bend,” Rankin said. “Then we’ll have a clear shot to Salina.”

  “So far, so good.”

  “Except I think we got a man follerin’ us. He was just a dot when I first caught sight of him, but he’s gainin’ on us.”

  Miles turned around in the saddle. The sky was blue and the land was green as far as he could see. Some prairie swifts hurtled past him and his gaze followed them until they disappeared.

  “I don’t see nothin’,” Miles said.

  “He ain’t close to the riverbank, Miles,” Tad said. “Look yonder about ten degrees left and you’ll see him.”

  “Is he close or far?” Miles strained to see where Tad pointed with his outstretched arm and hand, but the heat waves shimmered off the prairie grass and he only saw watery blurs.

  “You got to look down low, then let him ride into your eyesight. An old trick I learned scoutin’ for Custer.”

  Miles did what Tad had told him and held his gaze steady as the herd moved on away from them, the cows snatching grass every few yards as they lumbered in a long, wide phalanx behind the leaders far up ahead.

  He heard the drumming boom of a prairie chicken in the distance, and doves flew along the river like winged gray darts, their wings whistling as they carved the air in their flight path.

  “I see a tiny dot,” Miles said, shielding his eyes under the brim of his hat. “Wait, yes, it’s moving. I can’t tell if it’s a man on horseback or a buffalo.”

  “It ain’t no buffalo,” Tad said with a grin. “Just keep lookin’. The longer we sit here, the closer he’s going to get.”

  “All right.”

  “I been watchin’ him. He’ll walk his horse for a stretch, then gallop, then slow down. He looks like a man who’s in a mighty hurry to catch up with us.”

  “Oh yeah. He’s got the horse in a dead run now. I can see the man. Hard to make out his horse, though.”

  “You want to wait here for him, see what he wants, or just keep ridin’ drag till he catches up with us?”

  Miles looked at the rear end of the herd. The cattle were now at least two or three hundred yards away and some of those in the rear were stopping to eat grass and a few were straying from the pack.

  “I reckon we’ll have to chase down strays if we don’t get back on drag,” Miles said.

  “If you can handle it, I’ll stay here and ride out to meet him.”

  “You think he’s chasin’ after us, Tad?”

  “That rider. He’s got him a purpose or he wouldn’t be pushin’ his horse that hard in this heat.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” Miles said.

  “I’ll linger here awhile longer. We got all day. When he gets close enough, I’ll wave to him.”

  “Wave to him?” Miles looked puzzled.

  “If he waves back, I’ll know he’s wantin’ to catch up with us.”

  “Who in hell could it be? I wonder.”

  “It’s either a farmer who’s got a sick cow or a cowhand lookin’ for work.”

  “Or a rancher wantin’ us to get off his land,” Miles said, and turned his horse. “Let me know what you find out.”

  “Sure thing, Miles. That one cow at the rear wants to stay in one spot and eat. You better show her who’s boss.”

  Both men laughed as Miles rode off to catch up with the herd, which was looking like a bunch of droopy-drawered kids walking home from school.

  Tad dug out the makings from his pocket and rolled a quirly. He lit it and drew the blue smoke into his lungs. He blew out a plume of smoke and watched it float away and become cobwebs as the river breeze snatched its curls and scissored them to shreds.

  The rider drew closer, but was still more than two miles away, perhaps less. It was difficult to judge distances with the pools of mirages forming on the bare spots near the horizon. At times, it seemed that the rider was wading through a small lake or a pond, and the legs of the horse quivered in the gauzy light. They were into May and Kansas was already hot with summer more than a month away. There were no trees for protection. The land was flat as far as he could see in any direction, and the sun high overhead blazed down on man and beast without a cloud to block its searing rays.

  When the rider was close enough, less than a mile away, Tad put out his cigarette and looked closely at the horse. There was something familiar about it. The man was bobbing up and down and it was difficult to see what he was wearing. But the shape of his hat looked somewhat familiar as well.

  Another quarter mile closer and Tad raised a hand in greeting. He gave a slow wig-wag with his arm, as if he were communicating in semaphore. The man raised his hand and waved.

  Tad rode out to meet him. When he looked over his shoulder, he could longer see the herd. There was only a thin scrim of dust to mark its progress, so faint he could barely see it.

  “Tad, is that you?” the man called.

  Tad squinted. “Norm? Norm Collins?”

  Norm rode up and the two men slapped open palms.

  “You come a fur piece, Norm,” Tad said. “I reckon you got a good reason.”

  “You were easy to track,” Norm said, his face cracking open in a wide grin.

  “Well, you’re a tracker, I know.”

  “I been burnin’ daylight and moonlight both, Tad. I got to see Miles.”

  “Well, he’s ridin’ drag. Somethin’ important?”

  “Real important.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d better just tell Miles what I come to tell him. No offense. It’s personal.”

  “All right.”

  The two men rode at a steady walk. There was some lather on the chest of Norm’s horse, a few streaks where flies supped. The horse’s chest jiggled to shake them off, but the winged feeders persisted.

  “I can tell you one thing, though, that might interest you, Tad.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Miles too will be mighty interested.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Tad said.

  “You got another herd on your tail. Better’n a thousand head, about three days back. And the drovers are pushin’ it pretty hard.”

  “Another herd? Following our track?”

  “Just a-steppin’ into your same tracks.”

  “Hmm. Wonder where they come from.”

  “I know where they come from. It’s Miles’s brother, Jared.”

  “Jared Blaine?”

  “You catch on real quick, Tad. Yep, Jared’s runnin’ not only Lazy J stock, but, mixed in, I saw some Slash B cattle.”

  “Jumpin’ Jehosephat.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I ain
’t seen Doc, but I knowed he was up to Perryton ’cause Ethyl told me where he’d gone.”

  “What was you doin’ at Ethyl’s?”

  “I’ll say no more, Tad, until I talk to Miles.”

  “Well, shoot, Norm. I could die of curiosity any dadgummed minute.”

  Norm smiled, but went silent.

  The two men caught up with Miles, who turned and saw them. He, like Tad, was surprised to see Norm.

  “You think I need another hand, Norm?” Miles said when he got close.

  “Nope, but I got to talk to you, Miles. Can you let Tad ride drag for a few minutes? It’s important.”

  “Sure, Tad’s going to go to the head of the line pretty quick. What brings you all the way up to Kansas?”

  Tad rode away and Norm waited until he was out of earshot.

  “Miles, I got bad news for you. Reason I rode like hell to catch up to you.”

  “Is Ethyl all right?”

  “It ain’t Ethyl. It’s your wife, Caroline.”

  “Caroline? What’s wrong with her.”

  Norm told him the entire story. While he was talking, he knew that Miles was getting sick. By the time he was finished telling him about Rawson and how he had nearly killed Caroline, Miles had leaned over and vomited what was left of his breakfast and most of his lunch. When he recovered, his face was drenched with sweat and all the blood had fled from his visage.

  “Is she going to live?” Miles asked as the two started riding toward the herd.

  “I reckon, but she’s plumb addled, Miles. She can’t put two words together and I don’t think she knows who Ethyl is anymore. You look at her eyes and there ain’t nothin’ in ’em.”

  “I’ll kill that little son of a bitch,” Miles said.

  “By now, Doc must be back from Perryton and him and Ethyl will do what they can for your wife.”

  “What was my pa doin’ up in Perryton?”

  “You might as well hear the rest of it, Miles. I think Doc’s got more’n one ace up his sleeve.”

  “You’d better put that in plain English, Norm.”

  Norm told him about Jared’s herd, hot on their heels. Heading for the same railhead, he figured.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Miles said. “You got any good news, Norm?”

  “You got yourself an extry hand.”