With the exception of Bud McDaniels, the others quickly agreed. The passing of the storm had done much to restore their good humor. But during the night, when McDaniels was on watch, he got himself in trouble with the outfit in general, and Quickenpaugh in particular. It began with an angry shout from Curley.
“Leave me alone,” the girl cried.
Cal and Quickenpaugh reached her first. Her Levi’s were down around her ankles, and she tried vainly to hold her shirt together, for the buttons had been ripped off. McDaniels was crouched in the moonlight, looking for all the world like an animal at bay.
“I’m just takin’ what’s mine,” McDaniels snarled.
“I told you I don’t want you,” said Curley. “Not now, not ever.”
Before Cal could respond, Jasmine was there. She slapped Bud so hard, he rocked back on his heels. He responded with a vicious right that might have broken the girl’s neck, but it never landed, for Quickenpaugh was there. He caught McDaniels’s arm and flung him half a dozen feet into a patch of thorn bushes.
“You heathen bastard,” McDaniels said, “you’ll never get to Deadwood alive.”
“You fool,” said Jasmine. “Quickenpaugh’s more civilized than you’ll ever be. He’ll be there when we reach Deadwood, but I doubt you will be.”
With that, she turned away, Tom going with her. Realizing that Cal still had something to say, the rest of the outfit quickly left him alone with Bud McDaniels.
“McDaniels, you’ve done a lot of things that turned my stomach, but this ranks among the worst.”
“Don’t you go talkin’ down to me,” said McDaniels. “You wouldn’t be so damned high and mighty, if you was in double-harness with a female that won’t let you get close.”
“It’s a woman’s right to choose,” Cal said, “and I think she’d prefer no man at all to the hairy-legged coyote you’ve turned out to be. You were on first watch, and that don’t include romancin’ Curley, even if she’ll have you. Go after her again, and you’ll answer to me. Taunt Quickenpaugh into a fight, and I’ll let him just beat the hell out of you.”
“I got five hundred cows in this damn herd,” said McDaniels, “and that means I got some rights.”
“You have the right to drive your part of the herd to Deadwood and collect the money for them,” Cal said. “You have no right to cause trouble among the rest of the outfit, and Jasmine being your sister won’t matter from now on. Now get up and take your place on the first watch.”
Without a word, McDaniels got to his feet and was quickly swallowed by the darkness. Tom Allen, who would be on the second watch, tried to calm Jasmine.
“There shouldn’t be a law against gut-shootin’ your brother-in-law, when he’s a dyed-in-the-wool skunk,” said Tom. “After he swung at you, he’s lucky Quickenpaugh got to him before I did.”
“I don’t suppose I have the right to ask,” Jasmine said, “but try to avoid him until we reach Deadwood. Perhaps something will happen that will change him.”
“It all depends on whether or not he avoids you,” said Tom. “If I’m any judge, I look for him to go after Quickenpaugh, and that’ll be the biggest mistake he’s ever made.”
Curley got another shirt from the chuck wagon, and there was no further disturbance the rest of the night.
The day dawned clear and unseasonably warm. Well before noon, the riders and their horses were sweating. Curley drove the chuck wagon. Bill Petty, Bud McDaniels, Jasmine and Lorna rode drag. They all pointedly ignored McDaniels, and he began whistling, as though he couldn’t care less. The cattle had begun to settle down, allowing the drag riders some freedom. Jasmine purposely rode near enough so she and Lorna could talk.
“Bud’s watching you,” said Lorna.
“Let him,” Jasmine replied. “If he ever takes another swing at me, he’ll have more to reckon with than Quickenpaugh. Tom will stomp a mud hole in his carcass and walk it dry. I’d hoped, once he married Curley, that he’d settle down and think of someone other than himself.”
“I think we all had hopes of that,” said Lorna, “and now I’m feeling guilty, like maybe I had something to do with her getting together with Bud. Poor Curley must be feeling betrayed.”
“I couldn’t blame her, and I suppose we’ll all have to share the blame for that,” said Jasmine, “but I think some of the blame rests with Curley herself. Remember, on the drive from Texas to Virginia City, Curley was shot. Until then, none of us realized she was female. I don’t think she’s comfortable being a woman yet, and from that day, Bud’s been after her.”*
Lorna laughed. “I remember when we stripped Curley, not knowing she was a girl. Did you see Bud’s face? His eyes got as big as wagon wheels. Do you suppose he’d never seen a naked woman before?”
“It’s possible,” said Jasmine, blushing. “I never let him get close to me when I was indisposed.”
“Tonight,” Lorna said, “I think we need to spend some time with Curley. I don’t want her thinking she’s wrong in her refusal to accept Bud as he is.”
*The Virginia City Trail (Trail Drive #7)
2
SOUTH-CENTRAL WYOMING TERRITORY.
MARCH 10, 1876
THE FRIGHTENED CATTLE HAD drifted with the storm, and following the stampede the night before, McCaleb and his riders wasted no time in starting the gather. But for some isolated patches, the snow had melted and the sun had gone a long way toward drying up the mud.
“Move ’em out,” McCaleb shouted, after the gather was completed.
Rebecca drove the chuck wagon, while Rosalie, Susannah and Penelope rode drag. The herd had become more trail wise and less bothersome. Only once was the drive halted to rescue the bogged-down chuck wagon.
“I figure we made fifteen miles today,” McCaleb said, as they gathered around the fire for supper. “If we can do as well tomorrow, we should reach the south fork of the Powder River. We’ll follow the Powder for maybe eighty-five miles. There, we’ll have to travel a little more to the northeast, and we should be not more than a hundred and seventy miles out of Deadwood.”
“The snow cost us some time,” said Brazos, “but it’s a trade-off. All the temporary water holes and dry creeks should be bank-full.”
“We may be needing them,” McCaleb said. “When we leave the Powder, this map that I have shows no rivers except those flowing south through western Dakota Territory.”
“We can always drive east, pick up one of those rivers, and follow it to Deadwood,” said Will. “We’d always be sure of water.”
“We could,” McCaleb said, “but we’re not going to. When we leave the Powder, we’ll take the shortest run to Deadwood, water or not. By tomorrow, we’ll be right in the heart of the old Sioux hunting grounds. The government’s closed all the forts along the Bozeman Trail, but we don’t know that all the Sioux are raising hell in the Black Hills.”
“With the forts gone and the Bozeman Trail closed, the government may fault us for taking a cattle drive through the old Sioux hunting grounds,” said Rebecca.
“You bet they will,” McCaleb said. “In fact, they’ve forbidden it. I saw one of their orders posted in Cheyenne.”
“So you went ahead with this drive, without telling any of us,” said Monte Nance. “It don’t make a damn to you what the rest of us think, does it?”
“With the exception of you, I knew where the outfit stood,” McCaleb replied. “You’re a hell of a long ways from a majority.”
“We don’t need any yellow coyotes on this drive, anyway,” said Penelope.
“If you was anything but a shirttail of a girl, still wet behind the ears, I’d make you sorry for sayin’ that,” Monte snarled.
“Don’t let that stop you,” said Penelope. “I can take care of myself.”
“Penelope,” Rosalie said, “that’s enough. I’ll have no daughter of mine brawling, for any reason.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Penelope. But her eyes were still on Monte Nance, and there wasn’t a hint of repentance
in them.
A painful silence followed, and it was Will Elliot who finally broke it.
“With any luck at all, we’ll have the herd in Deadwood before the government knows anything about it.”
“It’s the only way, as I see it,” said Pen Rhodes. “By the time the federals make peace with the Sioux, there may be ranches in Dakota Territory. They’ll be raising cattle of their own. This may be the last boomtown market, as far as we’re concerned.”
“I think so,” McCaleb said. “To the south of us—in Kansas, especially—the land has been fenced with barbed wire. There’ll be no more trail drives north out of Texas. I figure after this drive, we’ll be trailin’ all our herds to Cheyenne, to be taken east on the Union Pacific.”
“To a very predictable market,” said Brazos. “The railroad’s a fast and easy way of gettin’ ’em to market, but when everybody jumps in, it’ll kick all the props from under the beef prices.”
“Suppose we’re caught crossing the Sioux hunting grounds in violation of a government order?” Susannah asked.
“We can always plead ignorance,” said McCaleb, “but I’m counting on the federals being far too busy with the Sioux to bother us. The Indian situation being what it is, I’d say the very last thing Washington will suspect is that somebody will take a trail drive directly across old Sioux hunting grounds.”
“The Sioux won’t expect it either,” Brazos said, “and that’s in our favor. I look for the entire Sioux nation to rendezvous somewhere. Then there’s goin’ to be hell to pay.”
Seeking to avoid trouble, McCaleb assigned Monte Nance to the first watch. He tried to leave Penelope out of it altogether, but the girl wouldn’t have it.
“I’ll ride with the first watch,” said Penelope.
Rosalie looked helplessly at Brazos, and he shrugged his shoulders. They would have to trust Penelope’s judgment. But the girl wasted no time in catching Monte Nance engaged in the very thing of which the outfit was most suspicious. Distancing himself from the rest of the first watch, he dismounted and took a bottle from his saddlebag. Twisting the cork out with his teeth, he drank long and deep.
“You skunk,” said Penelope from the shadows, “you know it’s against the rules, drinking on a trail drive.”
“You damn little snoop, you ain’t running this trail drive,” Monte said.
“I know,” said Penelope, “but my Pa has a share of it.”
Monte laughed. “Brazos Gifford ain’t your Pa, and he’s a fool. He took you and your Ma away from an outlaw she was sleepin’ with.”*
“Brazos adopted me,” Penelope said, her voice choking with fury. “He’s all I’ve ever wanted, and anything I think he should know, I’ll tell him. Maybe I’ll just tell Rebecca too. She ought to know what a sneaking coyote her little brother really is.”
“That’s low-down,” said Monte. “What do I have to do to stop you from spilling your guts about this?”
“Pour out the rest of what’s in that bottle,” Penelope said, “and do it so I can watch you. I can see you in the moonlight.”
“Oh,” said Monte, “is that all?”
He drew the cork from the bottle. Upending it, he allowed the amber liquid to spill on the ground, comforted by the thought there were several more full bottles in his saddlebag. What the little fool didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her . . .
GALLATIN RIVER, MONTANA TERRITORY.
MARCH 10, 1876
“I reckon we’ll be here a day or two,” said Cal, his eyes on the swollen river. “There’s no way to get the chuck wagon across.”
“We might cut some logs and float it,” Tom Allen said.
“Too risky,” said Cal. “She’s bank-full, and the current’s too swift. Fact is, we might have some trouble getting the herd and the horses across.”
“There’s still melting snow at higher elevations,” Bill Petty said, “and that accounts for the high water. We may have even more trouble crossing the Yellowstone.”
“We’ll cross the Yellowstone when we get to it,” said Cal.
They bedded down the cattle and the horses, and it was nearing dusk when Quickenpaugh pointed across the river. There were eight mounted Indians.
“Dear God,” Jasmine cried, “I hope they’re not Sioux.”
“Crow,” said Quickenpaugh.
“They don’t seem concerned with the high water,” Bill Petty said. “They’re crossing.”
“Don’t feed the varmints,” said Bud McDaniels. “I ain’t forgot that bunch that moved in on us durin’ that drive from Texas. They’ll clean us out.”*
“We’ll stop short of allowing them to clean us out,” Cal said, “but if they’re hungry, we’ll feed them.”
“We certainly will,” said Jasmine. “They’re human beings.”
“Hoss Indians,” Quickenpaugh said. “Steal.”
“I know,” said Cal, “and I don’t doubt they’ve spotted Mr. Story’s horse herd. They may ride in asking for food, just to take our measure. Every one of us may be in the saddle all night, protecting the horses.”
“Si,” Quickenpaugh said. He pointed to himself, and then to the distant Crows.
“Go ahead and talk to them, Quickenpaugh,” said Cal, “but don’t promise them more than a meal or two.”
Quickenpaugh nodded. Already, the Crows had begun swimming their horses across the swollen river. Afoot, Quickenpaugh went to meet them.
“There’s a method to their madness,” Tom Allen said. “Ridin’ in late, they know we’ll offer them supper, and it’s only natural they’ll stay the night, and that means breakfast.”
“I can live with that, as long as they don’t take some horses durin’ the night,” said Cal. “They don’t see anything wrong in stealing from us, after we’ve fed them.”
“If I see one slinking around after dark,” Bud McDaniels said, “he won’t do it again. He’ll be one dead Indian.”
“There’ll be no shooting,” Cal said. “Get reckless with your weapons, and I’ll take them away from you.”
“You can try,” said McDaniels. “Sucking up to Story don’t make you bulletproof.”
“If you pull a gun on anybody in this outfit,” Jasmine said, “you’d better shoot me first. If you don’t, I’ll finish you. There are worse things than having you dead, such as you being the fool that you are now.”
Cal said nothing, for Quickenpaugh was approaching after having spoken to the newly arrived Crows.
“They hungry,” said Quickenpaugh.
“Tell them to dismount, and we’ll feed them,” Cal said, “but they’ll have to wait.”
Quickenpaugh nodded, proud that he had learned much of the Crow tongue. The eight Indians dismounted, remaining near their horses.
“Well, we’d better get their supper started,” said Jasmine. “Lorna and Curley, are you up to it?”
“I am,” Lorna said. “Anything’s better than Indian trouble.”
“I’m ready,” said Curley. “One of those Indians was in that bunch we fed on the way from Texas.”
“Si,” Quickenpaugh said. “Him Beaver Tail.”
“Tell Beaver Tail and his men they’re welcome to a feed, soon as it’s ready,” said Cal.
“I don’t like Indians of any kind,” Bud McDaniels said, “and I want that understood. Whatever the no-account varmints do, nobody can blame me.”
Nobody responded; but the look Quickenpaugh bestowed on Bud McDaniels said it all. The Comanche returned to the Crows, taking them Cal’s message. When he returned, Beaver Tail came with him, making the peace sign. Cal returned the sign and offered his hand. The Crow took it, nodding to Quickenpaugh.
“Bluecoats,” said Quickenpaugh. “They don’t let us through.”
“Where?” Cal asked.
“Powder River,” said Quickenpaugh, after conversing with Beaver Tail.
“How many soldiers?” Cal asked.
Quickenpaugh conveyed the question to Beaver Tail, and the Crow made signs that Cal couldn’t unders
tand. Finally, Quickenpaugh spoke.
“Much soldiers. Beaver Tail not sure how many. Them carry long stick with this sign.” Quickenpaugh nodded to Beaver Tail. The Crow knelt and drew a symbol in the dirt.
“That’s the Seventh Cavalry, Custer’s outfit,” said Bill Petty. “I hated seeing him get a general’s star. Now he thinks he’s on equal footing with God.”
“He don’t stand near as tall as he thinks he does,” Tom Allen said, “but he’s the kind to cause us trouble, if he can.”
“Maybe he won’t get the chance,” said Cal. “I think, starting tomorrow, we’ll allow Quickenpaugh to scout well ahead of the drive. We’ll turn north and follow the Yellowstone to Miles City, if Custer and his soldiers get in our way. We’ll pass far enough to the north of them that they won’t know we’re there.”
“I don’t favor that,” Bud McDaniels said. “We’ll be on this drive a lot longer, because you ain’t got the guts to face a few soldiers.”
“I’m trail boss, by order of Nelson Story,” said Cal, “and if I say we’ll take this drive to Deadwood through Canada, that’s the way we’ll be going. Anytime you’re ready, tuck your tail and head for home. We have three savvy ladies here, and any one of them can take your place without half trying.”
The women had ceased their cooking chores for the moment, listening to Cal’s blunt words. Curley laughed, and despite all their efforts to the contrary, Jasmine and Lorna joined in. It had a devastating effect on McDaniels, and he turned on Cal with a snarl.
“By God, before this drive is done, all of you will be sorry you ever laid eyes on me.”
“Some of us are sorry already,” Tom Allen said quietly.
“It’s time for the first watch,” said Cal. “Arch, Hitch, Mac, Quickenpaugh and Bud. The rest of us, whether we’re on watch or not, will be ready to grab our guns, if need be. The weather’s fair, and the cattle shouldn’t be any trouble, so I want to keep an especially watchful eye on the horse herd.”
When the meal was ready, Beaver Tail and his companions drank scalding hot coffee from tin cups, quickly draining both coffeepots.
The Deadwood Trail Page 4