A River of Horns

by Peter Grant

  “I don’t know. It was my father’s before me. He started with his land grant from the Republic of Texas after fightin’ Santa Anna durin’ the War of Independence. I’ve bought more land to expand it. With that family history, I may keep it. I’ll have to think on that.”

  “Uh-huh. If you rent it out, I’m interested. I’d like to try my hand at doin’ what you’ve been doin’ for the past few years, trailin’ drives for other ranches. I’ll use the TR for a base, like you did. That’ll help me save money towards my own place. You’ll already have a segundo out at the Circle CAR, this man that your partner is sendin’, so you won’t need me.”

  Tyler frowned. “I’ll hate to see you go. We’ve worked together for four years now.”

  “Sure, but we’ll stay friends, and I reckon the chance may come to work together again sometime. How about it?”

  “I’ll give you first refusal if I sell, and the same if I decide to rent out the TR after next year.”

  “Thanks, boss.” They shook hands on it. “What’s our next move?”

  “We’ll relax here for a few days, an’ give everyone a chance to tie one on afore we head back to Texas. When we get home, I’ll pay off the ranchers for the herd, then we’ll spend a month or two tyin’ up loose ends and gettin’ ready for a helluva lot of hard work. This drive’ll be one o’ the biggest so far. It’s gonna be an adventure for sure.”

  Jess grinned. “Biggest trail drive I ever heard of was fifteen thousand head, from Texas to California back in ’69. We’ll be as big as that, although we won’t go as far.”

  “Yeah. They had two hundred hands an’ over a thousand horses, and traveled in four herds. There’s bigger drives comin’. I talked to a King Ranch trail boss earlier this summer. He reckons they’re thinkin’ about drivin’ up to thirty thousand head from south Texas all the way to Nebraska, to the new railhead at Ogalalla, next year or the year after. They’ll do it in smaller herds, too, travelin’ close together.”

  The segundo whistled. “That’s a lot more cows, goin’ a lot further’n we will.”

  “Yeah, but the King Ranch is the biggest there is. It’s over a million acres, with more’n fifty thousand cattle. That’s a whole lot bigger than the Circle CAR is likely to get!”

  A couple of weeks later, Walt turned his horse into the old Ames Transport depot site. He dismounted outside the former administration building and tied the horse to the hitching rail.

  The day watchman came out as he stepped onto the porch. “G’mornin, Mistuh Walt. What brings you here?”

  “I’ve come to check the old wagons, Zeke.”

  Ezekiel, a former slave, grinned. His hair and beard were iron-gray, and his face lined. He’d been badly hurt as a teamster, as had Matthias, his night watchman co-worker. Walt had given them their present jobs as a lower-paid, but easy sinecure to help them in their enforced retirement, just as he had Jeremiah at the stable behind their home. They lived in the old bunkhouse across the yard.

  “They’s all in good shape, Mr. Walt. We-uns look after ’em, just like you said to do.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Fetch my horse some water, would you? I’ll be a couple of hours.”

  Walt slid open the big double doors of the first warehouse, letting in more light, showing serried ranks of ox-drawn prairie wagons. Before the railroad, they’d been the primary means of freight carriage over the Santa Fe and Smoky Hill Trails. Now that trains had taken over much of that market, they were no longer needed. Too big and heavy for steep, tight Rocky Mountain passes, and too slow behind teams of oxen for faster horse- and mule-drawn wagon trains, they languished unused. However, Walt hadn’t left them to rot. After he’d bought a new freight yard near the Denver and Rio Grande station in South Pueblo, the town the railroad had founded when it arrived, he’d used Ames Transport’s original location in the old town as a repair depot and a place to store older equipment, in case of future need.

  Walt went from wagon to wagon, carefully examining wheels, axles, brakes, and the harness, yokes and canopies stored inside their load beds. Mice had nested in some of the canvas covers, and he grimaced as he mentally calculated the cost of replacements. Still, more than half were intact. He checked the manufacturers’ plates as he worked. All the wagons were from top-of-the-line makers like Murphy of St. Louis, Missouri; Studebaker of South Bend, Indiana; and Schuttler of Chicago, Illinois. Thanks to being stored out of the wind and weather, they were mostly still in sound condition, albeit heavily used over the years, and showing it.

  The teams of oxen from the wagons had been sent to the Rafter A, where some had hauled logs for the sawmill, dirt from the deepening of the dam, and poles for fencing, as well as hay wagons. Since oxen ate only grass and hay, not needing grain to keep up their strength, and the Rafter A had plenty of unused open range around it, it cost almost nothing to keep them there. Those too old to work had been converted into beef. Stewing could make even the toughest ox edible, given enough time. Walt made a mental note to count the surviving oxen, and buy more if need be. New stock could be trained in only a month or two. They’d be ready in good time to head south with the wagons, after they’d been serviced and given a fresh coat of paint.

  Satisfied, he returned to Ames Transport’s main freight yard. There he found more telegraphed answers to his inquiries about bulk purchases of supplies. He spent an hour going through them, adding to his growing file of notes.

  That night, over supper, Colleen noticed he was far away in thought. “What’s bothering you, darling?” she asked, leaning forward and putting her hand over his.

  He smiled at her. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to supply our cattle venture next year. There’s a lot to think about.”

  “Would you like to tell me about it after supper?” She patted her swollen belly. “If it wasn’t for Junior here holding me back, I’d come to the office with you, and help there.”

  “I reckon you would at that. Only a few weeks to go, then you’ll be able to. You’re helpin’ me anyway, runnin’ the Rafter A with Jaime’s help. That takes a big load off my back.” They smiled at each other. “Sure, let’s put our heads together. You’ve got as good a head for business as I have. Two heads will be better than one to deal with something like this.”

  After they settled down in the study with cups of coffee, he described Tyler’s latest letter. “He’s got a real problem on his hands. He’ll have to spend close to ten thousand dollars just to get good hands to New Mexico, and pay them while he buys the cattle. We also need to find chuckwagons for each drive, which will cost several hundred apiece to buy and equip, including their horse or mule teams – call it another three thousand dollars. A remuda of ten horses per cowhand means at least a thousand head. Tyler will contribute three hundred from his trail driving business when he shuts it down, but we’ll still have to buy seven hundred. At about ten dollars per horse at Texas prices, that’s another seven thousand dollars. We have to find ways to economize on early expenses, or we may not have enough money to finish the job.”

  She frowned. “Didn’t you foresee these costs when you agreed to do this?”

  “We did, but their timing is working out badly for us. It means spending a lot more at the start, rather than spreading it out.”

  “How will you cope?”

  “There are a few things we can do. First off, Tyler’s going to look for unbranded cattle on his way to New Mexico. If they’re there, he’s got a good chance of finding them, with so many cowhands. Every one he finds is one less we’ve got to buy, which means more money can be used for expenses. I’m going to suggest that he buys a smaller remuda, perhaps only eight hosses per man instead of ten, and that he hires fewer cowhands if possible; but he’s the boss on the trail. Whatever he says he really needs, he gets. I’ll also ask Pablo whether he can find cheaper horses for us in Mexico. If he can, Tyler can collect them when he goes through El Paso. Lastly, I’m told hands aren’t usually paid while they’re on t
he trail, but when the herd is sold. I think Tyler will have to pay ours something every now and then, because they’ll be out for a year; but if we can hold back most of their wages until the railhead, that’ll be a big saving on expenses. We’ll probably have to promise them a bonus for accepting that, but if they do, it’ll be worthwhile. All those things together will stretch our money much further.”

  Colleen nodded. “A bonus should help to persuade them. It’s not as if they’ll need their money earlier, anyway. There won’t be any saloons or stores on the trail.”

  “No, although Tyler may give them a couple of days off in turn when they pass near an Army fort, to let down their hair. I’ve also decided against setting up a supply base halfway to the Panhandle. We’d have to rent or build a warehouse, arrange parking for wagons and stabling, grazing and fodder for their teams, and board, lodging and wages for a work crew to transship freight and guard against thieves. It’d cost a few thousand dollars to do all that.”

  “Is there another, cheaper way?”

  “Yes, there is, although it’s a gamble. I’ll send down food an’ supplies for all the rest of next year, right at the start. Each o’ Tyler’s herds will start out with several ox-drawn freight wagons, plus a chuckwagon. They won’t have a wagon for bedrolls; instead, the hands can load their personal gear into the freight wagons, on top o’ the cargo. I won’t send spare oxen along, in case of wastage. I’ll save money by having the teamsters train cattle to the yoke as they move. It’s been done before with longhorns. The wagons will travel all the way to our ranch site, and we’ll send more ox-wagons there, late next year or early in ’76. They’ll carry enough supplies to finish the drive to Dodge City, plus planks, tools and other needs to set up the ranch an’ get the buildings started. Some of the empty wagons can go with Tyler to Dodge City, and bring back more supplies that he’ll buy there. The rest can come back here to collect another load.”

  Colleen frowned, puzzled. “Why is that a gamble?”

  “Wagons can break down or have accidents. Over a year on the trail, workin’ every day without letup, I expect to lose at least one in twenty; more’n that over bad ground, or if we hit trouble. We may lose their cargoes, too. We’re gambling that we won’t lose too many, so there’ll still be enough supplies to get the herd to the ranch. We’re also gambling that Tyler can choose a ranch site, and tell us where it is, in time for us to get more wagons to him before he runs out of supplies. We may have to do that in mid-winter, which could be difficult. If it’s a bad one, snow an’ storms might shut down travel for days or weeks at a time.”

  “Oh, I see. You may have to send more wagons with him at the start, to provide a reserve against problems like that.”

  “I might do that, if I can free up enough wagons, oxen and teamsters. A transport outfit at La Junta went bust last month. They used ox-drawn wagons on the Santa Fe Trail. I reckon I’ll bid on ’em at the bankruptcy auction. If I can get ’em cheap, with their teams, that’ll help; and I bet their teamsters already know the route south.”

  “When will you bring all the wagons back here from the Circle CAR?”

  “I won’t. We’ll be among the first ranchers in the Panhandle, but others will pour in after us. I’ll set up a branch of Ames Transport on the Circle CAR, and another at the nearest railhead – prob’ly Dodge City to start – with regular service between them. Once a town is founded near the ranch, we’ll move our depot to it. We’ll be the first transport outfit in the eastern half o’ the Panhandle, and corner the market there before anyone else can set up shop. In time, we may serve the nearest Army forts and the western Indian Nations, too.”

  She laughed delightedly. “Trust you to never let an opportunity go to waste!”

  “I think we’ll do well there, at least until the railroad arrives. Anyway, let’s get back to the supplies. If I ship everything from here, without usin’ a halfway station, it’ll also mean we can buy almost all we need right away. We’ll use the old depot to load all the wagons, and store some there until they’re needed. We’ll load each wagon with something of everything, so if we lose one, we’ll still have more of everything left over. We’ll save a lot, buyin’ wholesale and bringing it all in by rail. It’ll cost half as much as buyin’ everything over time, in smaller lots, from local stores.”

  “So you’ll save money by not having to set up a supply base, and save more money by using old ox-drawn freight wagons instead of buying new horse or mule wagons, and save even more by buying supplies wholesale. Will that be enough to offset Tyler’s initial expenses?”

  Walt shook his head. “Not altogether, but with the other measures, it’ll go a long way.” He sighed. “There are more problems, though. Tyler wants horse- or mule-drawn chuckwagons. He says they’re needed for their speed, to move ahead of the herd each day, set up camp, and have food ready for the hands when they arrive. He says oxen will be too slow for that.”

  She shook her head. “If our herds are going to move more slowly than usual, to let the cattle feed, surely that won’t be an issue?”

  Walt’s eyes lit up. “Good point! I’ll wire and ask him. That wasn’t the only thing he mentioned. Cowhands are used to eatin’ what they call the ‘four B’s’ on a cattle drive; beef, beans, bacon an’ biscuits, plus coffee. They don’t often get fresh vegetables, fruit, eggs or regular bread. They’re usually on the trail for just a few months, but our herds will be out for a year or more. I told Tyler we need to give our hands better food. Rose used to buy dried vegetables an’ other things to add to our meals on the Smoky Hill Trail across Kansas in ’66. Nowadays there’s canned fruit and vegetables too, and even luxuries like oysters and fish balls. They won’t need canned meat, o’ course; they’ll kill that fresh. Still, Tyler reckons some hands may turn up their noses at the thought, ’cause they might think it’s not manly to eat fancy fixin’s on the trail. He said cowhands can be odd like that.”

  “Oh, nonsense! We ate far better than the four B’s when we traveled here from Mexico.”

  “Sure we did, honey, but we were a mixed crew, not just cowhands, and we could buy food every few weeks. Tyler’s cattle drives won’t be able to do that. Besides, we had family cooks who knew what to do with better food. A lot of trail drive cooks don’t know much more than the four B’s.”

  She frowned. “I see. Still, better food – even a few luxuries – will help keep the crews happy. How about this? Let me get together thirty or forty simple but tasty receipts, and tell you what foods they’ll require. While you order them, let’s hire cooks and their assistants, and make sure they’re willing to learn new ideas. I’ll teach them how to prepare those receipts, as well as the Four B’s. Some of my estancia families can help. After that, the cooks can prove themselves by cooking for our people at the Rafter A. If they pass that test, they’ll be hired for the full year-long drive, using ox-drawn chuckwagons. You can rent them to the Circle CAR on the same terms as the freight wagons, and use them for freight again when the drive is over. We can work out weekly or monthly menus, and quantities needed for, say, thirty people, so the cooks will know what food to prepare each day. You can pack the freight wagons to that plan.”

  Walt looked at her with respect. “My hat’s off to you. That’s a great idea! It’ll save us a few thousand dollars, too, through not buyin’ new chuckwagons.” His face broke into a grin. “We’ll run it as a contest. We’ll have the cooks and their assistants feed the teamsters and workers livin’ in the bunkhouse at Ames Transport, while they learn the new tricks you’ll teach them. After that, we’ll have them take their chuckwagons out to the Rafter A and cook for our people there, just as if they were on a trail drive. The hands will vote for the best meals, and we’ll award cash prizes. That’ll give them something to work towards.”

  “Will the cooks be able to handle teams of oxen, if they’re used to horses or mules?”

  “Good point. I’ll assign a teamster to each chuckwagon.” He hesitated. “You said you wanted to help orphaned
kids. D’you think your Bishop Machebeuf has some in their mid teens, needin’ to find their first job? If he does, I’ll hire ’em as trainee teamsters. I’ll be sendin’ a lot of ours on the trail drive, so I’ll need men to take their places here. I’ll pay them half a wage for six months while they learn; then, if they do well, I’ll put them on full wage. If they don’t have good, hard-wearin’ work clothes, I’ll buy them and take the cost out of their pay over time. They’ll have to get here fast, so we can teach them the basics of wagon work before our people leave. It’s too dangerous to try to learn that on the trail, where a mistake can kill you.”

  “I’ll write to the Bishop tomorrow morning, to ask him.”

  “Thanks, honey. There’s another thing. Cooks usually act as doctors on a trail drive – not that most of them know much about it, except what they’ve learned the hard way. They pull teeth, set broken bones, and extract arrows or bullets if they can. I’ll ask our doctor to talk to them about keeping their hands clean, and using antiseptic and disinfectant on wounds.”

  Colleen looked at him curiously. “I know you wanted me to use him because he follows Semmelweiss’s and Lister’s ideas, which are important for our baby; but will he be able to persuade trail cooks to follow them?”

  “They will, if I have anything to say about it! Rose followed them on our way through Kansas. She saved lives like that, prob’ly includin’ mine.”

  Walt’s left hand almost instinctively rubbed his upper right arm, where a Cheyenne war arrow had hit him in 1866. He half-winced at the memory of the agony as it had been shoved the rest of the way through his arm, the head cut off, and the shaft pulled out. Disinfecting the wound, first with whiskey, then with carbolic acid, had proved very painful, but effective. Rose had also warned the teamsters on their drive not to eat food prepared in the Army kitchen at Pond Creek station, after finding it filthy and unhygienic, with many of the soldiers suffering from food-related ailments.