Ralph Compton The Cheyenne Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “You got an infection,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So, it don’t look good, Jimmy John. If I can’t bring your fever down and heal up that infection, well, it’s goin’ to get worse.”

  “How much worse?” Jimmy John asked.

  “I don’t know. An infection in that wound might spread.”

  “Spread where?”

  “All through your body.”

  “Meanin’?” Jimmy John’s eyes widened and looked slightly bloodshot.

  “Meaning you might not make it,” Checkers said.

  Louella gasped at his words.

  “You mean I might cash in?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. But it don’t look good. I don’t have medicine to bring down your fever or heal that infection. I guess you just have to ride it out.”

  “How do I ride it out?” Jimmy John asked, and there was a pleading tone in his voice.

  “Unless that fever breaks and you start to heal inside, it’s just going to get worse, Jimmy John. The infection will spread and you’ll get real sick.”

  “I’m sick now,” Jimmy John said.

  “You’ll likely get a lot sicker, son.”

  Jimmy John closed his eyes. His breathing was thready. There was a slight rasp in his throat every time he took in a breath.

  Checkers climbed out of the wagon and back onto the seat. Louella looked into the wagon. Jimmy John looked as if he were asleep.

  Checkers picked up the reins and took off the brake. He rattled the reins, and the horses stepped out. He steered them back to the trail and pulled out his compass. The needle spun and settled on a direction.

  “Now we drive to the sunset,” Checkers said.

  The horses picked up speed and Louella was rocked back and forth on her seat. She held on to a side panel and looked at the horses. They strained against the leather harness but pulled the wagon along at a brisk pace.

  “Is he going to make it?” she asked Checkers after he had slowed the horses.

  He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” she asked.

  “That infection looks pretty bad. It’ll spread like all get out. I don’t think he’ll last the day.”

  “It’s so sad. A fine young man like that.”

  “Way before his time, Louella, way before his time.”

  A feeling of sadness came over her. She looked back into the wagon. Jimmy John’s eyes were closed. His face was pale. With no bandage, she could see his swollen stomach, the redness surrounding the wound. A few tears fled down her face. She wiped them away with a swipe of her arm.

  “It’s getting cold,” she said as the wagon rumbled over the wide buffalo trail.

  “Yep. Be some weather catch up to us by and by.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Storm comin’,” he said. “Can’t you feel it? Just take a look at that sky.”

  She looked up. The sky was leaden, with clouds stacked up like rolls of cotton batting. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her breasts and back.

  The wind blew at their backs and the temperature began to drop.

  There was a freshness to the chilly air. But when Louella looked at Jimmy John, there were flies swarming over the wound in his belly. The wagon was filled with the zizz-zizz of their wings. Flies crawled over the wounded man’s clothes and face.

  “There’s a jacket of mine in the back,” Checkers said. “A couple of them. You get too cold, you put one of them on and hand me the other one.”

  “I’m cold now,” she said.

  “Right up against the backboard,” he said.

  She reached in and felt a pile of cloth. She lifted one, a fleece-lined jacket that looked too large for her. The other one was heavier and also was lined with wool.

  “I usually put on the lighter one, but you can use that one,” he said.

  “It is getting cold,” she said.

  She handed the heavier jacket to Checkers and slipped into the lighter one. The jacket was warm. She wrapped it around her as Checkers put on the other jacket.

  “It’s such a shame that Jimmy John has to endure so much pain,” she said as the wagon rolled along over dirt and grass. “Only to die so young.”

  “That’s the way it is, ma’am,” Checkers said. “I’ve seen a lot of good men die young out here in the West. It’s something you never get over if you knew ’em. It seems like they leave a big hole in your life when they go like that.”

  “Yes. That was how I felt when my pa died. He left a big hole in my world.”

  “Your ma still alive?”

  “She’s alive, I think. But just barely. Poor thing lost her mind after Pa died and she just seemed to walk around in a daze. Her sister is taking care of her back in Ohio. But I haven’t heard from Aunt Nellie since last Christmas.”

  “Jimmy John’s folks booted him out of the house when he was still wet behind the ears. They were both drunks and didn’t give a damn about their kid. He’s been on his own since he was thirteen years old.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said.

  “Everybody’s got a story like that. The West is where they come. Some come out to die. Some come out to live.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” she said. “Reese came out west to live, but the Cheyenne were a problem.”

  “He should’ve left well enough alone,” Checkers said. “He’s made lasting enemies. And people forget that the Injuns was here first. It’s their land we’re on right now. We took it from ’em, but it wasn’t right. Not the way we did it.”

  “You know, don’t you, Checkers?”

  “I know,” he said.

  They rode in silence for a long while. Checkers had started to look for a likely spot to make camp as they neared the sunset hour.

  Louella looked in on Jimmy John every so often, but he didn’t seem to be making any progress. When she touched his cheek, it was like touching a hot stove. He was burning up inside and often cried out in pain. Each time, his cries grew weaker, his voice softer.

  The clouds thickened and thunderheads bloomed in the north. The breeze stiffened and grew colder. Louella looked up at the sky and wrapped Checkers’s jacket around her more tightly.

  As the sun dropped lower in the sky over the western horizon, Checkers sat up straight, his eyes fixed on a distant shimmer.

  “There it is,” he said. “Right where I expected it to be.”

  “What’s that?” Louella asked.

  “Our evening stop. That’s a lake you see out there.”

  She looked in the direction Checkers pointed his arm and hand.

  “Is that a lake?” she asked.

  “Sure is. Spring fed. An oasis, you might say.”

  He veered the wagon in the direction of the lake, which was off to the right of the trail. It was not a large lake, and its surface was ruffled by the wind. Whitecaps rimmed the wavelets as they approached.

  Checkers wheeled the chuck wagon onto a grassy spot near the water, and the wagon chugged to a stop. The horses whickered and cocked their heads toward the lake. They blew air through their noses in blustery equine snorts and pawed the ground with their front hooves.

  “Well, here we are. Good place to bed down the cattle. Plenty of grass and water.”

  “It’s ideal,” she said.

  “Jump down and stretch your legs, little lady. We’re here for the night.”

  “My legs don’t stretch much,” she said, and Checkers suddenly remembered that she was a cripple.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just a figure of speech.”

  “No need to apologize, Checkers. I’ll stretch what I can.”

  She looked into the wagon at Jimmy John. He was not moving. His eyes were closed and he looked at peace.

  “Check
ers,” she said. “I think Jimmy John is . . .”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes. He’s . . . he’s . . .”

  Checkers turned around and put a hand on Jimmy John’s cheek. It was ice-cold. He climbed inside and put an ear to Jimmy John’s mouth. He was not breathing. He shook him, but his body was already starting to stiffen.

  “He’s gone, Louella.”

  “Oh no,” she cried, and covered her face with both hands.

  “Nothing to do but bury him someplace out here,” Checkers said. “I’ll get a shovel.”

  She watched as Checkers dug a grave on the south side of the lake. Watched as he carried the young man’s body over to the hole he had dug and placed him in the depression. She walked over and stood there as he folded Jimmy John’s arms over his chest.

  “He looks right peaceful, don’t he?” Checkers said as he picked up the shovel.

  “I’ll pray for his soul,” she said.

  “If he has a soul, it’s plumb gone,” Checkers said. He began to shovel dirt over Jimmy John’s corpse. Louella turned away, unable to witness the burial.

  It began to mist over the lake. Then it began to rain.

  Checkers finished piling dirt over Jimmy John’s body and tamped the dirt down with the back of the shovel.

  Louella had walked back to the wagon and was waiting for him.

  “Best you get inside, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll try and get a fire goin’. This rain gets much heavier, the hands will have a cold supper.”

  “Yes, thanks, Checkers,” she said as she pulled herself up over the tailgate and climbed into the wagon. She listened to the soft patter of rain and saw the prairie become veiled in the twilight with curtains of mist and rainfall.

  She heard Checkers as he gathered dry brush and twigs to start a fire. She heard the clank of rocks as he built a pit.

  Soon she felt the warmth of a fire and when she looked out, she saw the flames fight the rain, lashing up into the mist and sputtering as drops fell into the fire and onto the rocks.

  She looked back at the trail from under the canvas and wondered how soon the herd would hove into sight. It was gloomy and wet as the rain increased. She heard the fire sputter and gasp as the rain fell faster and harder.

  A few moments later, Checkers appeared at the tailgate. He was soaked. His hat dripped water from its brim.

  “Fire’s goin’ out,” he said. “And that rain is turnin’ to sleet.”

  The point man, Calvin Forbes, rode into view, his head down, his slicker gleaming yellow in the dim light of dusk.

  “Herd’s comin’,” Checkers said.

  Louella looked out and saw Calvin. Behind him, starting to run, was the herd.

  She did not see Reese.

  And the rain turned to sleet as the first cattle lined up at the lake to drink. More and more cattle arrived and took up stations on the banks until the lake was surrounded by the curly brown bodies of cattle.

  Reese came riding up. Relieved, Louella waved to him from inside the shelter of the wagon. The rattling sound of sleet was scratching at the canvas of the wagon.

  “A hell of a night,” Reese said. “And it’s going to snow.”

  As he spoke, the sleet went silent and the first white flakes of snow began to fall. The fire went out and the shadowy land began to turn black as the night came on like a thief, stealing all the light.

  Chapter 19

  Silver Bear held up one of the Winchester rifles. He sighted down the barrel, swung it from right to left.

  Yellow Horse examined the other rifle, turning it over in his hands, looking at the stock in admiration.

  Silver Bear pulled on the lever and a cartridge ejected from the receiver. Another one, from the magazine, slid into place. He picked up the bullet and held it up to the sun. Its brass gleamed as he turned it over in his hand.

  One of the Cheyenne women, Morning Doe, looked at the brass cartridge and made a sign to Silver Bear. She smiled. The sign she made was of a necklace.

  Silver Bear shook his head.

  “No, this is not for a necklace,” he said. “It is for the fire stick. It makes a loud noise and kills from far away.”

  “I have many of those,” she said. “What do you call it?”

  “The white man calls it a bullet. It is a death stone. It can tear a man open, tear his heart to pieces.”

  “Oh, I thought it would make a pretty necklace,” she said.

  “You have more of these, Morning Doe?”

  “Yes. They were in an iron box. It was very heavy, but I carried it to camp. The fire did not burn inside the box.”

  “Bring me the box,” he said, a flicker of delight on his copper face.

  Morning Doe arose and walked away from the lean-to. She returned in a few moments with a strongbox in her arms. She set it down in front of Silver Bear.

  The box was oblong and made of a strong metal. He lifted the lid and looked inside. There were boxes of .44-caliber cartridges and Colt .45 cartridges. There were some loose shells lying on the cartridge boxes.

  “You did well to get this box,” Silver Bear told Morning Doe.

  “I was going to make a necklace out of those pretty metal things,” she said.

  “There is a black powder inside that would kill you like the thunder that comes from the sky,” he said. “It would make a very loud noise and tear you to pieces.”

  “Oh. There is another box of those things. Little Turtle has it. She wants to make a bracelet from some of them. They shine like the yellow stones in the river.”

  The other women were roasting beef over the cook fire, and the smell of food was strong. The wind blew harder and the skies were covered in gray clouds that bulged like snake bellies.

  “Bring me the other box,” Silver Bear said.

  “I will do this,” she replied, and rose from the blanket inside the lean-to.

  The creek was whipped to a frenzy by the wind, and the women who were there to get water turned away from the water and carried their vessels back to camp.

  The sun dipped low in the sky as Morning Doe carried another strongbox to Silver Bear. He opened it and saw the boxes of .44 cartridges. He could not read the words, but he knew what they meant. He picked up one box and shook it. It was full and did not rattle.

  “This is good,” he said to Morning Doe. “Now we have the fire stones to kill many white men.”

  “I am glad that we found these boxes,” she said.

  Silver Bear felt rich. His people had cattle and food. He had two rifles and plenty of ammunition. He knew how the white man’s rifle worked and he was anxious to shoot them with it. He called for Yellow Horse and Black Feather to come to his shelter.

  The two braves came to the lean-to and sat down.

  “What do you have, Silver Bear?” Yellow Horse asked as he pointed to the two strongboxes.

  Silver Bear held up a cartridge.

  “There are many of these,” he said. “They are the fire stones that kill from far away.”

  “Yes,” Black Feather said. “I have seen these in the white man’s camps. They are like the thunder and they kill from a long way.”

  “Now we can get as many cattle as we want,” Silver Bear said. “We can kill the white men so that they will not come back to our land.”

  Yellow Horse and Black Feather both grunted in approval.

  The cooking fire hissed in the gathering mist and when the sun fell off the edge of the earth, the first snowflakes began to fall from the gray sky.

  Silver Bear went to the fire and held out both hands as the snow fell.

  “This is a good sign,” he said to all who were there. “This will stop the cattle and the white men from running away. We can catch up to them again and take what we want. We can shoot the white men like we would shoot blind buffalo. Then they will
not return to our land.”

  They all tore off pieces of meat that was cooked and began to eat.

  The snow continued to fall and stick to the ground like a blanket of ermine fur. The women and the braves all dressed in warm animal clothing.

  The fire kept them all warm for a long time. Then the snowfall smothered it and the darkness settled on the camp.

  And the white snow seemed to shine in the dark.

  To Silver Bear, it was a good sign.

  Chapter 20

  Reese was worried.

  He hugged Louella after he dismounted while Checkers stood by the fire.

  “You might not have that fire going long,” Reese said.

  “I know. At least I can boil us some coffee. Be cold sandwiches for supper, I’m thinkin’,” Checkers said.

  “Reese, I’m so glad to see you. All day I had to watch a man die,” Louella said.

  “Jimmy John?”

  Checkers nodded and added more brush to his fire.

  “It was horrible, Reese,” Louella said.

  The snow began to fall thicker and faster as the herd streamed to the small lake and drank.

  Checkers had told him where he had buried Jimmy John. Reese looked at the grave, which was visible from the chuck wagon.

  One less man to make the drive, Reese thought.

  Snow blew across the prairie. Flakes melted as they struck the lake. But some stuck on the hides of the cattle. These were slower to melt.

  “It looks real bad, Checkers,” Reese said to the cook.

  “Sleet made the ground cold, so this snow’s goin’ to stick.”

  “How much snow do you think we’ll get?”

  “Couple inches,” Checkers said. “Maybe more.”

  “Be hell drivin’ cattle in this mess,” Reese said.

  “Well, you don’t have to drive none tonight anyways. Maybe it’ll stop snowing and melt off tomorrow.”

  “I hope so.”

  But it did not stop snowing. Nighthawks circled the restless herd as the wind blew snow into their eyes and swept over the horses, leaving a dusty patina on their coats. The horses blinked as snowflakes stung their eyes.