Ralph Compton The Cheyenne Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “It’s a wonder they didn’t stampede,” Lonnie said.

  “Yeah. Like I said,” Reese said, “we were lucky.”

  “This time,” Lonnie said, and his words hung in the air like an omen.

  Reese stared off at the snowy land. He wondered if the Cheyenne were out there somewhere. Just waiting for a chance to steal more cattle and exact revenge for what he’d done to them.

  For now, the land appeared empty, deserted.

  And the cattle were moving down the trail, the snow-covered trail.

  Chapter 36

  Silver Bear and Yellow Horse halted their ponies when they heard the pistol shots. They looked at each other wordlessly and waited.

  Yellow Horse signed that the white men must be fighting.

  They waited until it was quiet again. Then they rode up on the bodies of the two dead white men, Jasper Mullins and Earl Kelso.

  “The White Eyes feed on one another like wolves,” Yellow Horse said.

  “And they take all the fire sticks,” Silver Bear said.

  “And the horses.”

  “They leave the boots and the clothes.”

  “Do you want to wear the white man’s clothes or his boots, Yellow Horse?”

  “No, I do not want to wear the clothes of the dead men.”

  “Do you want their scalps?”

  “I did not strike coup, so I do not wish to take their hair.”

  “That is good,” Silver Bear said.

  “It is good that these White Eyes are dead. Now we have only those who drive the cattle.”

  “They are few and are scattered like the leaves in the mountains.”

  “They will fight if we take more of their cattle,” Yellow Horse said.

  “We must be like the owl or the puma,” Silver Bear said. “We must sneak up on those who ride at the sides of the cattle and use our knives so that we make no noise.”

  “Yes, that is the best way, I think,” Yellow Horse said.

  “The night will be our friend. Our ally.”

  “Yes. We can see the White Eyes, but they will not see us.”

  “One by one, we cut them with our knives. They will bleed onto the snow and their spirits will be gone from their bodies.”

  “It is a good way. Then we can take the cows from them and go back to our people.”

  “Let us find them now and wait far away,” Silver Bear said.

  They rode away from the dead men. They followed the tracks of the cows and the horses.

  “Do not forget that the half-blood called Avery is with the White Eyes,” Silver Bear said as they rode slowly over the snow and mud.

  “If we see him, we will make the sign for him to join us?” Yellow bear asked.

  “I do not know. If we do not get the cows, Avery will be the enemy under the coat. He can cut with his knife and make us strong in our small numbers.”

  “Yes,” Yellow Bear said. “The half-breed is good to have in the camp of the White Eyes.”

  “Let us try to talk to him,” Silver Bear said.

  “Our hands will speak to him,” Yellow Horse said.

  They rode on until they heard the lowing of the cattle on the trail. Then they reined in their ponies until the sounds of the herd faded.

  They started riding again when it was dead quiet. And that was the way they followed the herd of cattle and dreamed of killing white men.

  They were patient, and there was no hurry. They would perform their deeds at night, in the dark. They would take more cattle from the white men and go back to their camp.

  They were only two, but they both felt strong.

  They would be panthers in the darkness.

  Chapter 37

  By prearrangement, the herd began to angle to the west, toward Montana.

  Reese knew that Checkers would follow the prearranged route, and so would the wranglers with the feed wagon and the remuda.

  In fact, the wagon tracks through the snow had veered off to the south-southwest. A check of his compass showed him that Checkers and Ernie Norcross were right on target for Montana.

  Reese rode left flank with Ben Macklin, who was beginning to show signs of extreme weariness. He was the oldest of Reese’s hands, but Reese knew he was as tough as a boot.

  “Tired?” he asked Ben.

  “I’ve seen better days, Reese,” Ben replied. “It’s the damn cold. It kicks up my rheumatiz. My old bones are like a dadgum weather vane. Any change, hot or cold, and my knees feel like they got the mumps.”

  Reese chuckled. “I’m feelin’ a twinge or two myself, Ben.”

  “Oh, you got years before you feel it like I do. My knees are sore as a boil. Dang the snow anyway.”

  “Well, we’re heading for new prairie. Down in Montana. Likely the snow didn’t spread that far to the southwest.”

  “I’ll be glad to see grass again,” Ben said.

  “Me too,” Reese said.

  “Okay if I ride drag for a while?” Ben asked. “I ain’t much for chasin’ cows what want to leave the herd.”

  The two of them had been keeping the herd together, despite the fact that some cattle were trying to run off from behind the leader. Reese thought they must have snow blindness and were seeing green pastures instead of snow. The herd was restless and skittery, though.

  “Sure. Tell Lonnie to ride up here,” Reese said.

  “Sure will,” Ben said. He turned his horse and started the long ride to the tail end of the herd.

  Reese moved his horse in close when he saw a couple of cows edging away from the herd. The cows filed back in line and he began to breathe easier.

  Presently Lonnie rode up and joined him on the flank.

  “All quiet back there,” he said. “Didn’t see anybody follerin’ us.”

  “Good. Can old Ben handle the drag, you think?”

  “Yeah. The herd’s movin’ slow, but none are tryin’ to turn back. Leastwise when I was back there.”

  “The cattle up here are jumpy as Mexican beans. Some of ’em want to run off. Ben and I have had a time with ’em.”

  “They get that way sometimes,” Lonnie said.

  There was less snow on the ground now that they had altered their passage along the trail. Gradually, the snow shrank so that they reached a point where it had not snowed. The ground was firm and the herd moved more quickly than before.

  By late afternoon, near dusk, the herd reached the Little Missouri River. There, the chuck wagon was parked on the other side of the small stream. So too was the remuda and the feed wagon. The herd moved onto the river and drank.

  “Do we bed down on this side of the Little Missouri?” Johnny asked Reese.

  “No. That’ll only hold us up in the morning. When the cattle have drunk enough water, let’s get ’em across and bed ’em down a mile or so from the river.”

  “It’s still mighty cold, but I’m glad we’re out of the snow,” Johnny said.

  “You and me too,” Reese said. He watched as the cattle spread out and populated the riverbank, slaking their thirst. It was still very cold, near freezing, Reese figured, and he had a plan for that night.

  As dusk fell, the herders drove the cattle across two or three fording places, then continued on for another mile.

  “Make places for the wood you’ve gathered,” Reese told Johnny.

  “What do you aim to do, Reese?” he asked.

  “Light fires to keep the cattle warm,” Reese said. “I don’t want to lose any more cows to the cold.”

  “Might be a good idea,” Lonnie said. He had a bundle tied behind his cantle. So did all the other hands, including Tommy.

  Reese watched as the men placed their bundles at strategic places among the herd.

  “We’ll light those fires after supper,” Reese said. “Now, let’s
some of us go and get grub so you can spell those who stay with the herd.”

  Johnny divided up the men. Some rode back to the chuck wagon where they warmed themselves at Checkers’s cook fire and filled their plates with beans and beef, turnips, and canned pears.

  “Been savin’ them pears for an evenin’ like this, with no snow,” Checkers said. “They’re mighty tasty.”

  “Delicious,” Louella said.

  She and Reese sat together on kegs that Checkers had set out. They were filled with rice and flour in separate barrels.

  “I’m glad we left the snow behind us,” Louella said. “And this is a pretty spot.”

  “Yes. It’ll still be below freezing tonight, though,” Reese said.

  “Will you keep me warm?” she asked. “Or will you be up all night?”

  “I’ll try to get back for some shut-eye,” he said.

  She squeezed his arm at the elbow.

  “Is that all?” she asked coyly. “Just some shut-eye?”

  “That depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “On how many ears and eyes are around us when we take to our bedrolls.”

  “Oh. Maybe we can get off by ourselves.”

  “Not a good idea,” he said.

  She looked startled. “Why?”

  Reese looked back down the trail. “We may have visitors tonight,” he said.

  “Visitors?”

  “Injuns, darling.”

  “Oh, they wouldn’t follow us this far,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Lou. Silver Bear has a grudge against me and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “Seems to me there’s been enough bloodshed on this awful trail.” Firelight painted her face, shifted shadows from her fair skin, brightened her eyes.

  Reese scraped his plate with his fork, stabbed a last chunk of beef, and put it in his mouth. The second round of cowhands came up to eat. Tommy, Ben, and Calvin all got in line and filled their plates as Checkers doled out the grub.

  “Well, I hope you’re wrong, Reese,” she said. “I hope the killing is over and the Indians have given up trying to steal more of our cattle.”

  “I hope so too,” he said, but just knowing that Silver Bear was alive made him apprehensive. He could not forget the look in the Cheyenne’s eyes when Reese had refused to give him any of his cattle.

  It was a look of pure hatred.

  And hate could carry a man a good long way.

  Chapter 38

  Reese rode through the milling herd. He barked orders to every cowhand there.

  “Bunch ’em up,” he shouted, just loud enough for the intended listener to hear. “Bunch ’em up tight.”

  Vernon Avery hid his dark look by lowering his head so that his hat brim covered part of his face. His hatred of white men in general, and Reese in particular, had grown like a poisonous mushroom since the drive began. They were on Indian lands, stolen lands, his people’s lands. He thought of his mother in Canada and all the other Lakotas who had been driven from their land, their food supply, the buffalo, slaughtered for money, not hunger, and his blood ran hot.

  He watched as Reese rode up to the other men and showed them where to drop their bundles of firewood. Reese rode through the herd and pointed to various places. Avery waited for him to approach and tell him where he should put the firewood he had collected.

  The man was plumb crazy, he thought. There was no snow on the ground. It was cold, yes, and the ground was frozen hard as a rock. But a few fires weren’t going to do much good. Even though he was a half-breed, he did not understand the white man. He hated that part of him that was like Reese, or the others. His own father had been no better than these men. They were all greedy and heartless.

  He longed for the simple life he had once known, among the bronze-skinned men and women and children of the Lakota, the Minneconjou. There, his childhood had been a learning experience. He had learned to hunt and fish and to survive on plants and animals with nothing but a bow and a quiver of arrows.

  Life had been simpler back then. There was harmony among the tribe members, and his mother’s love had kept him warm at night. They lived in teepees, and their lodges went with them when they traveled. They followed the great buffalo herds and there was always plenty of meat and good clothing to wear.

  And then the white men had come. They trapped the streams in the mountains for beaver, marten, mink, anything that had fur. They had cleaned out the beaver dams and shot the buffalo just for their hides, leaving the meat to rot.

  He had seen all these things and heard the men and women talk of the changes. He had seen his mother weep at night, and he grew to hate the white interlopers who were destroying not only the land and the game but his own people.

  “The white man wants to own the land. The land that the Great Spirit gave to us, his people.” That was what his mother told him, and he believed her.

  “Avery, you take your firewood over yonder and drop it. Gather as much more as you can.”

  Reese jarred him out of his hateful and sorrowful reverie. Avery nodded but did not reply. He rode to the spot that Reese had indicated. He untied the thongs around his bundle of firewood and threw the assortment of sticks and twigs to the ground.

  Reese rode off to talk to another cowhand, weaving his way through the herd. The cattle seemed to be wondering what they were supposed to do. They eyed Reese as he passed through them, and some moved out of his way.

  Vernon dismounted and began to look for more firewood. He pulled a sage from the ground and added it the pile that he had dropped. He found several twigs and picked those up. Even with the added firewood, the fire would not be big enough to warm the cattle, he thought.

  Reese was crazy. All white men were crazy. And thoughtless.

  “Vernon, you’re going to need more firewood,” Lonnie called out to him as he rode by. “You may have to look harder.”

  “It’s gettin’ dark, Lonnie. Hard to see,” Avery said.

  “Go look for cow pies,” Lonnie cracked. “You don’t have to see ’em. You can smell ’em.”

  “Go to hell,” Vernon said.

  “Be a lot warmer there, I bet,” Lonnie said, and rode on.

  Avery continued to look for anything that would burn, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  It was growing darker and the cattle were still nervous. They were not bedding down, because they were still grazing on drying grass, tearing off tufts of gama and munching on them as they roamed around.

  He added more twigs to his pile, then led his horse away from the herd. He stood at the edge and watched the other men, now no more than dark shadows, gather firewood.

  “Do we light ’em?” Calvin called out to Reese.

  “Not yet,” Reese answered. “More toward midnight when it’s coldest.”

  “Okay,” Calvin shouted.

  “Be a chore,” Lonnie said to Reese. “A dark, dark night.”

  “Just remember where those piles are. When they’re lit you’ll have light.”

  “Sure enough,” Lonnie said, and rode out of the herd to make his rounds.

  “I want all you nighthawks to sing to these cattle,” Reese said in a loud voice. “Sing ’em to sleep like they were your babies.”

  Some of the men laughed. Others snorted in derision.

  Avery climbed into his saddle. He did not feel like singing. He would ride nighthawk, but he wasn’t going to sing. He did not know any of the cowboy songs. He only knew the songs of the Minneconjou the Lakota. And he wasn’t about to sing any lullabies to a herd of cattle.

  As he rode around the edge of the herd, he heard something. A hissing sound from some distance. He knew the sound and he stiffened. He turned slowly and peered into the darkness.

  There it was again. A soft hissing sound.

&nbs
p; He rode toward it.

  His senses were on full alert.

  “Who’s there?” he asked in English.

  Then he saw a shape arise from the ground just a few yards from him.

  “Come close, brother,” Silver Bear said, his voice barely audible.

  Avery rode close and saw that it was Silver Bear. He held a bow in his hand.

  A moment later, Yellow Horse rose from the ground and walked up to stand beside Silver Bear.

  “What do you do here, Silver Bear?” Avery asked in sign.

  “We come to steal the cattle,” Yellow Horse said. “Will you help us?”

  Avery read the sign. There was just enough light to see the hands of both men.

  “What do you wish me to do?” Avery asked, his hands like flying birds in the darkness.

  “Show us where we might run off some cows and keep the white men away,” Silver Bear said.

  “I know where some of the cattle are bunched,” Avery signed. “It would be a good place.”

  “Show us,” Silver Bear said.

  “Follow me,” Avery said. He turned his horse and rode slowly to where the tail end of the herd was gathered. He stopped and pointed.

  “There,” he signed.

  There was no rider there at the moment, but out of the corner of his eye, Avery saw the first nighthawk start on his rounds. He was some distance away.

  When he turned his head back to Sliver Bear and Yellow Horse, they were gone. The two Cheyenne had melted into the night as soundlessly as a pair of panthers.

  They would be back, he knew. The next time he would see them, they would be on their ponies.

  And maybe, he thought, he would have to kill his first white man that night. He would kill to protect his brothers, Silver Bear and Yellow Horse.

  He touched the handle of the knife on his belt. He loosened his pistol in its holster.

  He waited in the shadows, nearly invisible to the nighthawks, who were not looking in his direction.

  Then he heard one of the men, Ben, he thought, begin to croon to the cattle.

  The cattle began to crumple and bed down.

  “Oh, I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee,” sang Ben.