Ralph Compton The Cheyenne Trail

by Ralph Compton

  And it was the loneliest sound in the world that night.

  Chapter 39

  Well before midnight, Reese woke up Checkers with a gentle hand on his forehead.

  “Checkers,” Reese said, “I need some paper to start those fires.”

  Checkers rubbed his eyes and sat up.

  “Gawd, it’s cold,” he said.

  “You got on your long johns, don’t you?” Reese asked.

  “Yeah, and they itch like hell.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you up long. I just need paper to start those fires so the cattle won’t freeze to death.”

  “I’ve got what you need,” Checkers said. He crawled out of his bedroll and went to the wagon. He rummaged around inside as Reese waited, shivering, outside. Reese knew the temperature had to be below freezing. He knew the cattle had to be feeling it. They were all close together in clusters, their bodies touching, to keep warm.

  There was a rattle of papers and Checkers emerged from the wagon with a handful of old newspapers.

  “Been savin’ these,” Checkers said. “Use ’em sometimes to start my fires. They’re dry and if you twist ’em up, touch them with a match, they will make miniature torches.”

  “That’s just the thing,” Reese said. He took the papers. All except one.

  “I’ll show you what I mean,” Checkers said. He rolled up the sheet of newspaper he had kept and twisted it. Twisted it to a tight spiral. One end sprouted the thin paper.

  “You light it where the flaps are thin. Torch will last a few minutes twisted up like this,” he said.

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “You’ll have fun twistin’ up all them newspapers. Got ’em in Bismarck.”

  “I’ve done this before, Checkers,” Reese said. “At home. When I started fires in the fireplace.”

  “Twist ’em tight,” Checkers said.

  “I ought to make you come with me and twist all these up,” Reese said.

  “If I did go with you, I’d burn you with the first torch I made.”

  Reese laughed.

  He heard Louella, under the wagon, stir. He thought she was turning over, but he couldn’t see her in the darkness.

  “Go back to sleep, Checkers,” Reese said. “And thanks.”

  “You’re mighty welcome, Reese. Just don’t wake me no more tonight.”

  Reese mounted his horse and rode toward the bedded-down herd. He began to twist his first newspaper page. The other ones he tucked under his crotch so that they wouldn’t blow away.

  He found Ben first. Ben was circling the herd at a slow pace, still singing Stephen Foster songs in his gravelly voice.

  “What you got there, Reese?” Ben asked as Reese handed him a twisted news page.

  “Fire starter. You light the thin end and touch it to the firewood. Should catch pretty quick.”

  Ben took the twist, held it close to his eyes so that he could see it. “Yeah, this should work. Goin’ to be hard to find one of them woodpiles, though. Cows have probably trampled all over ’em.”

  “Well, do the best you can, Ben. I’ll look for your fire.”

  “Sure enough. I know where I put my brush. It’s just so damn dark I don’t know if I can find it.”

  “You’ll find it.”

  “I gotta wade through a lot of slumberin’ cattle before I can even look,” Ben said.

  “I’m counting on you. So is the herd.”

  Reese rode off to the next man and twisted another sheet of newspaper before he reached him. It was Johnny.

  Johnny griped about the dark and the difficulty in finding a woodpile in the middle of such a big herd.

  “You’ll do fine, Johnny,” Reese said, and rode off to encounter Lonnie.

  He did the same thing with each man, finally coming upon Tommy.

  “Think you can light one of these twists and set fire to a pile of brush?” Reese asked.

  “Sure.”

  “The dark doesn’t bother you, Tommy?”

  “No, sir. I got eyes like a owl’s. I can sure see a brush pile.”

  “Even with that herd here? Some of the cattle may have bedded down right on top of the brush.”

  “I’ll find one,” he said.

  They both looked at the first fire. The one Ben had set at long last.

  “Golly,” Tommy said. “It’s a-workin’.”

  Then they saw another fire blazing. And then another.

  Where the fires had been set, the cattle rose from their beds, bellowing and lowing. But they did not run off or stampede, because the hands were still talking to them and singing to them as they rode through the herd to circle them on horseback.

  “Good luck, Tommy,” Reese said. “Stay warm.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tommy said. He rode into the packed herd and started looking for a brush pile.

  Reese saw him disappear among the hulks of cattle still sprawled on the cold grass. He rode back to the chuck wagon and dismounted. He tied his reins to a wagon post. He looked out at the cattle and saw several fires blazing. The fires would keep them warm if they wanted to stay close to the blazes. The fires would not last all night, but maybe they would provide warmth for the coldest part.

  “That you, Reese?” Louella said from underneath the wagon.

  “Yeah. I’m back.”

  “Get your fires lit?”

  “I reckon we got enough lit to do some good.”

  “I feel sorry for the cattle,” she said as he crawled beneath the chuck wagon and found his bedroll. “Poor things.”

  “Our cattle are pretty hardy,” he said.

  “But it’s so cold, Reese.”

  “That’s why I wanted the fires lit.”

  He crawled into his bedroll, took off his hat, and set it beside him. He unstrapped his gun belt, rolled it up, and laid it close by, within reach.

  “Good night,” she said.

  “Good night, Lou.” He closed his eyes.

  An hour later, he was jolted out of sleep by the unmistakable sound of a rifle shot. It sounded fairly close and was loud enough to awaken Louella. She reached over and grabbed his arm.

  “Was that a shot?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I think so.” Before he could get out from under his blanket, he heard more shots. And he heard men shouting in alarm.

  He grabbed his hat and gun belt and crawled from under the wagon.

  The cattle were making loud noises and there was a flurry of gunfire from the tail end of the herd.

  He unwrapped his reins and climbed into the saddle. He saw flashes of light as pistols and guns boomed and crackled at the far end of the herd.

  The fires had burned low, but he could see their glowing embers as the herd milled around, back and forth, up from their beds, startled by the sounds of gunshots.

  Reese rode toward the last flash he had seen. His throat was constricted. Not from fear, but from apprehension.

  Somebody was after his cattle.

  And he had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

  “Damn Cheyenne,” he muttered as he saw riders, like galloping shadows, silhouetted by the faint firelight.

  His biggest worry was that the cattle might stampede. It would be hell rounding them all back up again.

  He prayed that the cattle would just mill around in confusion and not dash off in all directions. But his mouth went bone dry, and the worry was a ball of nettles in his brain.

  And how many of his men would die that night? That cold, cold night on the Montana prairie.

  Chapter 40

  Vernon Avery rode to the back of the herd that was bedded down.

  Calvin was watching the tail end of the herd. He rode near a fire that was outside the bedded-down herd.

  That was a surprise to Avery.

  “You make
your own fire?” Avery asked.

  “Yeah. There’s a dry wash I stumbled over. Looks like some flash floods cut through it. Lots of dry driftwood in there. So I started my own little fire. Keeps me and my horse warm.”

  “Calvin,” he said, “you can go on. I’ll take over guarding this end of the herd.”

  “I lit a fire, like Reese said, but I don’t think it will do much good.”

  “No matter, Calvin. You get some shut-eye or make yourself useful somewhere else,” Avery said.

  “Yeah, some shut-eye would be good about now,” Calvin said. “Reese tell you to spell me?”

  “Yeah, he sent me back here,” Avery lied.

  “He’s a decent man.”

  “Yeah,” Avery said.

  The fire crackled and spewed orange sparks into the air.

  Avery watched until Calvin was out of sight. Then he rode his horse until he was on the far side of the fire. He made sign with his hands and waited.

  He did not wait long. They came on foot. Their moccasins made no sound as they emerged into the firelight. Yellow Horse carried a rifle. Silver Bear carried his bow. They looked like woolly bears in their buffalo coats.

  Silver Bear spoke a greeting to Avery.

  “We see you, my brother,” Silver Bear said.

  “Where are your ponies?” Avery asked.

  “They are near,” Silver Bear said.

  “Good. Here are the cattle,” Avery said. “Yours for the taking.”

  “We will count twenty cows and drive them away. You hold them until we get our ponies. Then we will drive them out of this place to our camp.”

  Avery understood the sign language Silver Bear used. He nodded in agreement.

  “You go there,” Silver Bear said. He pointed to a place where the herd was bunched.

  Avery rode into the herd.

  “Awaken them,” Silver Bear commanded.

  Avery prodded the cattle to rise from the ground.

  Yellow Horse and Silver Bear began to drive several head away from the others. They picked the largest and heaviest. They chased them out of the herd.

  Silver Bear counted them. When he and Yellow Horse had rounded up twenty head, Silver Bear beckoned to Avery.

  Avery rode out to await further orders from Silver Bear.

  “Hold the cattle here,” Silver Bear said. “Yellow Horse and I will catch up our ponies and meet you.”

  “I will do this,” Avery said.

  The cattle the Cheyenne had separated tried to head back into the herd. Avery rode back and forth to keep them at bay. His horse performed well, prancing and pawing the ground as he chased the cows back into the isolated bunch.

  Soon Silver Bear and Yellow Horse appeared out of the darkness and rode into the firelight.

  “You have done well, half-breed,” Silver Bear said. “Now Yellow Horse and I will take the cattle away from this place.”

  Silver Bear dropped his hands and signed farewell as he did so.

  Avery watched the two warriors drive the stolen cattle away from the firelight. Just then he heard hoofbeats. He turned to see Calvin gallop up.

  “I forgot and left my sougan in that wash,” Calvin said. He halted his horse and turned it to ride to the dry wash. That’s when he saw the paint ponies and two Indians with part of the herd.

  “What in hell’s goin’ on here?” he asked.

  “None of your business, Calvin,” Avery said.

  “The hell it isn’t. Them redskins is stealing our cattle.”

  “Just you forget about it, Calvin,” Avery said.

  “Like hell.”

  Calvin drew his pistol. A split second later, Avery drew his pistol.

  Calvin fired first.

  A second later, Avery fired his pistol.

  Yellow Horse turned and saw the two white men shooting at each other.

  “I will help the half-breed,” he said. He turned his pony and rode back to the fire. He cocked his rifle with the lever action.

  Avery felt a raw pain in his arm. He knew he had been hit by a bullet from Calvin’s pistol.

  Calvin fired again.

  So did Avery, blood in his eye, hatred in his veins.

  Yellow Horse rode up, took aim at Calvin after he put his rifle to his shoulder. He squeezed the trigger and saw sparks and smoke spew from the rifle’s snout.

  Calvin felt the hammer blow of the bullet as it smashed into his belly. Pain shot through him as he felt part of his back tear away from the exit wound.

  He grunted and held on. He tried to focus on Yellow Horse. His pistol waved as he brought it up. When he thought he had the Indian in his gun sight, he squeezed the trigger.

  His brain grew cloudy. He felt a dizziness assail him. Blood gushed from his stomach and spilled onto the leather of his saddle.

  He could not tell if he had hit the Cheyenne brave or not.

  His eyesight blurred. Darkness crept into his brain.

  Avery rode in close and shot Calvin in the chest.

  The bullet smashed through a lung and ripped into Calvin’s heart. He had only a tiny fraction of a second to know that he was a dead man.

  He fell from the saddle, and his pistol struck the ground at the same time as his body hit. Calvin was dead before he reached the dirt.

  Other riders appeared out of the darkness. They started shooting at Yellow Horse.

  Avery shot at them.

  Johnny and Tommy saw in an instant what was happening. Tommy fired his rifle and the bullet smashed into Avery’s chest just below his neck. Blood spurted from his mouth. He reached up and gurgled as blood bubbled from the wound.

  Johnny ducked as Yellow Horse fired off a round from his rifle. The bullet whistled over Johnny’s head. He took aim at Yellow Horse and squeezed the trigger.

  Yellow Horse jerked into a rigid paralysis as the bullet from Johnny’s rifle smacked into his right lung, ripping through tissue and air sacs before blowing a cup-sized hole out through his back.

  Yellow Horse fell from his pony.

  Just as Silver Bear rode up to join the fray.

  Tommy saw the bow in Silver Bear’s hands. He fired off his rifle at the approaching Cheyenne.

  Missed.

  Silver Bear nocked an arrow to his bowstring and aimed at Johnny. He loosed his arrow within ten yards of the cowhand.

  Johnny swung his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The shot missed Silver Bear. But Johnny felt something sharp enter his body and felt a force like a hammering fist just below his breastplate. He reached down and felt the shaft of the arrow that was sticking out of his body.

  Tommy saw Silver Bear nocking a second arrow to his bow. He took aim and pulled the trigger.

  Silver Bear was lit by the firelight. He stood out like a sore thumb, Tommy thought.

  He fired again at close range.

  Silver Bear’s bow dropped from his hands as he clutched his side.

  Tommy fired again, this time from less than ten feet from the Cheyenne warrior.

  Silver Bear flew from his saddle as if jerked by a rope. The bullet from Tommy’s rifle had blasted through his side, knocking him from his pony’s back.

  Tommy rode up close and aimed his rifle down at Silver Bear.

  “Die, you damn redskin,” Tommy muttered, and he fired another round.

  The bullet smacked into Silver Bear’s forehead and turned his brain to mush. The body twitched once and then was still.

  Johnny’s rifle went off again, but he wasn’t aiming it at anyone. He was groggy with pain and his innards were on fire.

  Other hands rode up and saw the carnage. They also saw the separated cattle, which were streaming back to rejoin the main herd.

  Ben rode up first, rifle in hand. He saw the dead Cheyenne and the cattle. Then he looked at Johnny, whose han
d gripped the arrow sticking out of his belly.

  Ben swore.

  Reese rode up a few seconds later, along with Lonnie. He swore too.

  Johnny turned sideways and opened his mouth to speak. He fell from his saddle and they all heard the arrow crack as it broke in two.

  “My God,” Ben said.

  Reese dismounted and knelt over Johnny. He bent down to put an ear to the man’s mouth. There was no air coming in or going out.

  Reese stood up. “Johnny’s dead,” he said to Lonnie and Ben. “Damn it all.”

  “Looks like he took a couple of them redskins with him,” Lonnie said.

  “I shot the one with the bow,” Tommy said.

  The other men looked at him in astonishment.

  “Looks like you finally growed up, kid,” Ben said.

  Reese and the others drove the twenty head back into the herd. They did not speak. But they all looked at the body of Johnny on the ground.

  Reese felt a wave of sadness wash over and engulf him. He had liked Johnny. Johnny was about to be named foreman of the outfit. Now he was gone. Gone with all his hopes and dreams.

  Reese looked at the bodies of Yellow Horse and Silver Bear. There was bitterness in his heart. He shook his head at the madness of it all.

  Silver Bear had not given up. Now he was dead too. Was that the end of it, then?

  Reese didn’t know, but as he turned to ride back to the chuck wagon, he hoped he had seen the last of the Cheyenne.

  “Give him a good burial, men,” Reese said as he pointed to Johnny. “I’ll say a few words over him.”

  “Mighty sad,” Ben said.

  Tommy drew a deep breath and tears stung his eyes.

  Lonnie’s jaw hardened.

  The fire dwindled to ash. But it had thawed the ground so that when Ben and Tommy returned with shovels, they dug a grave with comparative ease.

  In the morning, Reese said a final farewell to Johnny over a mound of fresh earth where wranglers, Checkers, and Louella were gathered.

  “Rest in peace, Johnny,” he intoned. But he felt his words were hollow. A good man lay under that mound of earth.

  And there was no bringing him back.

  Chapter 41

  Tommy approached Reese after Johnny’s burial.