The Ellsworth Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “So, what’s the story?” Torgerson asked.

  “Plenty, boss. But you ain’t going to believe none of it. Becker’s done hired Jock Kane as trail boss. Don’t that beat all?”

  Torgerson reared back in his saddle, stunned. “Jock Kane? Are you sure?”

  “Yep,” Dub said. “And Kane’s going to head out tomorrow at first light.”

  Rafe swore under his breath. Torgerson just sucked in air, as if he had been dealt a fist-blow to the gut.

  “Well, maybe that ain’t so bad,” Dub said. “Don’t ya know? Some is grumbling that Kane is a Jonah, pure bad luck on a cattle drive. Him and Quist got into it when Kane first rode in. Kane owes everybody and his brother for that last drive when he lost all three thousand head up in Kansas.”

  “That’s true,” Torgerson said. “Hiring Kane on might work to our advantage.”

  “Sure, boss,” Rafe said. “Hell, I know men as would like to put his lights out over that drive. Not only Quist, but a dozen others.”

  “I wonder what Chad was thinking,” Torgerson said. “I can’t figure out why he’d hire someone like Jock Kane as a drover, much less a trail boss.”

  “They was friends,” Dub said. “Fought together in the war. Second Texas, I think. They ranched together some before the war.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Torgerson said. “Still, I think Becker’s a fool to hire Kane on as trail boss.”

  “Maybe not,” Rafe said. “Kane’s a pretty tough old boy. How’d he do with Quist, Dub?”

  “He put Quist down,” Dub said.

  Torgerson snorted. He didn’t like any of it, and he was thinking. Thinking hard.

  “Rafe, we might have us a problem here. We got Jock’s brother hired on.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Rafe said.

  “You better go fetch him, Rafe. I got to talk to that boy. Get something straight.”

  “Sure, boss. I know just where Abel be.”

  Rafe turned his horse and rode off toward the tail end of the herd. The herd was moving slowly, grazing, snatching at grass, grumbling with loud bawling when the drovers made them move.

  “You better get on back, Dub. Before someone misses you.”

  “Oh, I took care of that, boss. I told my nighthawk partner I was chasing strays. He was half asleep in the saddle. I think he got into the barleycorn.”

  “Drinking’s not good on a drive,” Torgerson said.

  “Tell you the truth, I think Becker’s been tippling.”

  “Becker? I never knew him to be fond of the bottle.”

  “Well, he’s pulling on something that ain’t water. From a little brown bottle. I seen him pull it out of his pocket a time or two when he thought nobody was looking. And a couple of times I seen him heaving after his supper and he don’t eat breakfast. He just sucks on that bottle neck and then goes off by himself like he’s got himself in a stupor.”

  “Be damned,” Torgerson said.

  “Almost forgot to tell you, boss. Some of the boys seen an Apache this evening.”

  “One Apache?”

  “Just one.”

  Torgerson snorted. “What was he doing, this Apache?”

  “Boys figure he was a scout. He run off and that was that.”

  “Where to? Where’d he run, Dub?”

  “Off north. Toward where you was, I reckon.”

  “We didn’t see nary.”

  “Well, where’s they’s one . . .” Dub said.

  Torgerson thought about that part of Dub’s report. Could be nothing. Or, could be they were in for trouble later on. Not at night. Never at night. But maybe, when they least expected it, some skulking Apaches would sneak up and cut out some of the herd—a few head, maybe—and run them off to their camp, or sell them for a few pennies a head, get enough to buy whiskey or bullets for their rifles. There were still Apaches round and about, he knew. Kiowas, too. And, Comanches. He’d see one or two every so often, way off in the distance, like coyotes, just skulking and watching and then disappearing into the haze of sun and dust, like ghosts or stray dogs.

  He had never had any trouble with any of them. Not up close. Though some ranchers had. Mainly, the Apaches just looked and sometimes rustled a cow or two, then would not be seen again for long periods of time.

  But now, Becker taking to the bottle—that was something to keep in mind. Maybe that’s why he hired on Jock Kane. Chad was losing his grip on the old plow handle, slipping into the arms of John Barleycorn. Maybe his old lady had cut him off. Maybe that daughter of his was slipping the apron strings and taking some of the hands into the hayloft. All kinds of things could drive a man to drink, even a man like Chad Becker. It was something to think about all right. But it was Jock Kane who was the puzzle piece. Why would Becker hire on a man like that? As trail boss, no less? Yah, it was a big puzzle piece, that Kane, and might just work in his favor. A drunk rancher and a washed-up rancher with empty pockets. Yah, it just might work in his favor, Torgerson mused.

  Rafe rode up then, another man following behind him—Abel Kane.

  “Here he is, boss,” Rafe said.

  “Mr. Torgerson,” Abel said. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, I did, Kane. You doing all right with my cows?”

  “Yes, sir. I like it just fine. Kind of strange running herd at night, though, what with the rattlers and the old prairie dog holes.” Abel laughed self-consciously.

  “I wanted to ask you a question, Kane. Did you know your brother was hired on by Chad Becker to drive his herd up to Ellsworth?”

  Abel went quiet for a long moment. “No, sir, I reckon I didn’t. I ain’t seen Jock since I left Del Rio.”

  Abel was a pudgy man, taller, bigger, and younger than his brother. He had sloping shoulders and peevish twitches at the corners of his small, feral eyes. His lips were as pudgy as he was, continually wet and pouting, like a baby’s, or a woman’s.

  “I got to ask you something, Abel,” Torgerson said. “And you think real hard before you answer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Abel said.

  “There could be trouble on this drive. We got two big herds competing for the same trail, heading for the same railhead. Your brother is heading one of them.”

  “Yes, sir, I reckon.”

  “If push came to shove and we got into a brouhaha with Becker’s bunch, whose side would you be on?”

  Abel didn’t hesitate. “I ride for the brand, sir. I’d fight on the Cross J side.”

  “And, if your brother threw down on you, what would you do?”

  “Why, I’d blow him to hell, boss.”

  Torgerson smiled. Even in the starlight, the men there could all see it.

  “That’s all I wanted to know, Abel. You can go on back now.”

  “Good night, boss,” Abel said, a lilt to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

  “Good night, Abel,” Torgerson said.

  He watched Kane ride away and let out a long sigh. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Rafe. But I had to know. You keep an eye on him, hear?”

  “Sure, boss. And them other two who came with him.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Let’s see if birds of a feather really do flock together.”

  A few moments later, Dub rode back south, his job finished for the evening. Rafe and Torgerson caught up with the herd and breathed in the dust and the cattle smells, the stars overhead quivering in the dust cloud, shimmering like tiny candles at the bottom of a well.

  Chapter 9

  Long before dawn, the X8 herds, three separate bunches, set up a lowing that grew to a crescendo as the eastern sky turned ashen and a pale cream light seeped through the opening seam in the fabric of night. The night before, Jock had sent orders to the nighthawks to keep the herds bunched up so that by morning, their bellies rumbling with hunger, they would be ready to move on to new grass when the drovers headed them north.

  He had also instructed the drovers to slip away from the herds at first light and gather at th
e chuck wagons. A second wagon had rumbled in during the night, loaded with supplies until its springs groaned under the strain.

  Now Jock stood there by the fire, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the men stream into camp from all directions. Their faces were gaunt and drawn from sleepiness and weariness, their tempers seething just beneath the surface, their nerves jangling like the spurs they wore, knowing they would soon be moving the great herd into a single mass, heading toward the faint pole star—into the great unknown.

  Chad sat nearby, holding his coffee cup close to his face, the steam rising to his nostrils in smoky tendrils, his eyes half closed and still gritty from the sandman’s visit during the night. He, too, was drawn tight as a wet cinch, his stomach fluttering with a thousand wings.

  Most of the men seemed tense, edgy, uneasy. That was the way it was before a drive, Jock knew. Especially a drive this big, with this many cattle. They all knew what could go wrong, or should know. But it wouldn’t hurt to remind them a little before they started out.

  Jubilee and Mac were making sandwiches for the boys to pack with them. There would be no breakfast this morning. Jock wanted them lean as whippets when they started out, hungry as hunters, so they’d be sharp, alert, this first day. But they would all have hardtack and jerky to fill their roiling stomachs, something to chew on besides dust if they felt the hunger pangs begin to gnaw at their empty bellies.

  The coffee would run right through them and they would all have a second good piss before they started out.

  And still the men streamed in, out of the rising mists and fog of morning as the rent in the eastern sky widened and the cream spread, bringing light to things unseen and unidentifiable in the dark. The last star faded and the remnant of the moon was just a thin etching on frosted glass, a ghost left over from the night.

  “Let me know when all the hands are in, Chad, will you?” Jock whispered to Becker.

  “They’re just about all here, I think. One or two more.”

  Chad didn’t look well, Jock thought. He had seen him take a swallow of coffee, then walk away from the fire and the chuck wagon and heave his guts. When Chad returned he seemed all right, and sipped his coffee without losing it. Jock chalked it up to nerves. A man’s stomach could quiver like a facial tic just before a big drive. Especially a man with Chad’s responsibility. Some of the hands seemed pretty relaxed, probably because they didn’t understand the full import of what they were to engage in sometime very soon.

  Two more men rode in and Jubilee saw to it that they were given sandwiches wrapped in a thick, oily kind of brown paper. Jock didn’t know that the cook smeared bacon fat on the paper before using it. It was one of Jubilee’s many secrets.

  “All here, Jocko,” Chad said.

  Jock finished his coffee and spit out some grounds that had passed his lips. He set his tin cup down and walked to the other side of the fire so that it blazed behind his back.

  “Men,” he began, “I’m Jock Kane and I’ve been hired as trail boss for this outfit. We’ve got a long, hard drive ahead of us, clear up to Ellsworth, Kansas. I can guarantee you’ll want to quit more than once. But, if you make the whole drive, you’ll know you’ve done something and nobody can ever take that away from you.

  “Now,” Jock continued, “some of those times will be during or after a stampede. And with this many cattle in a herd, there’s a strong likelihood that something will spook one cow, or half a dozen, and set the whole bunch to running. Usually this happens in the first few days of a drive, and some say it’s better to push the herd hard off of home ground so they don’t get that notion in their heads.”

  Some of the men laughed, and Jock paused.

  “But I hold that we start out slow, get the herd used to being driven, let you boys make friends with some of the cows.”

  More laughter from the group.

  “So, we’ll take it slow. Now, a lot of cows will want to turn back. Your job is to keep them moving north, no matter what.”

  Jock paused, waiting for his words to sink in.

  “Stampedes aren’t the only thing we have to face. There might be Indians. In fact, I can almost guarantee that, too. And it’s not only the hostiles we have to watch out for, but the friendlies, too. They’ll want to steal our horses. So, I hope you wranglers will be well armed and on the lookout. As for the cows, friendlies will steal them and try to sell them back to you the next day. Hostiles will run them off and you won’t ever see them again.

  “Don’t rile the farmers and ranchers we encounter along the way. If you get in trouble crossing a man’s land, come and get me and I’ll try and throw some oil on the troubled waters. Up in Kansas, it’s a different story. The farmers there are downright mean and devilish.”

  An uneasy murmur rose up from the assemblage.

  “Up in Kansas,” Jock continued, “they just flat don’t like cattle mowing down their corn and gobbling up their wheat.”

  Laughter, again.

  “The farmers up there will rag you and shoot at you and try to drive you off. I’ll try and take care of those situations. Some of them will plow around their soddies and the law in Kansas says that’s a fence. If you drive cattle across that plowed furrow, you can be arrested for trespassing. I had to bail out a hand or two when we ran into that kind of trouble.”

  Jock heard some of the men begin to grumble.

  “All right,” he said. “Don’t look for trouble. I just want you to know some of the things that might happen on this drive. Let’s get along with each other. Those of you who think I owe you money, I promise you this. When we get the herd up to the railhead and Chad pays us all off, I’ll clean up those debts. I swear on it. Now, for this morning’s work.”

  The men went silent, waiting for their immediate orders.

  “We’ll separate into three groups since we have three herds we’re going to make into one. I’ll ride up ahead of the main herd and scout ahead for both our noon stop and where we’ll spend the night. I need a man in charge of each group.”

  The men all looked at each other and began talking about which should be in charge. Finally, one stepped out, then another, and still another. Jock nodded his approval.

  The men were Earl Foster, who would drive the last herd into the main bunch; Burt Stubbins, who would take the second group; and Dewey Ringler, who would ride drag on the first herd. Fred Naylor would ride point. Jock knew him and picked him out of the crowd.

  “Who’s the head wrangler here?” Jock asked.

  A man stepped forward.

  “What’s your name?” Jock asked.

  “Jesus. Jesus Quintana.”

  “ ’Sus,” someone in the crowd said. The others all laughed.

  “ ’Sus, you’ll bring the horses up after the last bunch is drove in.”

  “They call him Suzy Q,” Chad said.

  Jock smiled. “All right, Suzy Q. You got enough hands to help you?”

  “Yes,” Quintana said.

  Jock then turned to Daggett, the cook.

  “Jubilee, you bring the chuck wagons up to the head of the main herd with me. I’ll give you some lead time to set up for supper. That all right with you?”

  “That’s fine,” Daggett said.

  “All right, then, head out. The rest of you,” Jock said, “will come to the head of the herd for supper when we stop for the night. We won’t stop at noon today. Let’s try to get ten miles, but I’ll settle for less, just so’s we keep these cows heading north. So long and good luck.”

  Quist threw Jock a dirty look, but Jock ignored it. He saw that Lou went with the men heading out to bring in the last bunch.

  “Well, we’re ready, I guess,” Chad said. “I think the men will work for you, Jocko.”

  “They’ll work for themselves, I hope. I don’t care if they like me or not. I want them to fall in love with these cows.”

  Chad laughed. Then he grimaced briefly as a spasm stiffened him, causing him to bend
over slightly.

  “Anything wrong?” Jock asked.

  “Nope, just a twinge. The coffee maybe.”

  “Well, let’s ride up to the head of this herd and see if that lead cow I picked out last night is ready to take us up to Kansas.”

  Chad’s face drained of color, but he recovered quickly and walked to his horse, which was already saddled. Jock followed him, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  They hadn’t even started work yet and already he knew he had a problem. He was wondering if Chad was well enough to make the long drive to Ellsworth. He wouldn’t make an issue of it now, but it was the beginning of a worry. He hoped that worry didn’t get any bigger. He was not reassured when he saw Chad reach into his pocket and pull out a small bottle, uncork it and take a swallow.

  Jock wondered what kind of medicine Chad was taking, and why. By the time he mounted up, Chad looked a lot better, with the color returned to his cheeks. They followed the two chuck wagons at a distance as the morning brightened, the sun already warming the land and burning off the dew and mist.

  Jock breathed deeply of the fresh air and then dug in his pocket for his makings. He waved to the men he passed and some of them waved back. Jock hoped the day would be as good at the end as it was now, at the beginning.

  Chapter 10

  The day went to hell for Jock Kane.

  And it didn’t take long.

  The drovers driving in the second large herd fought for every inch of ground. The lead steer kept turning back, while others bolted back to the home range. Finally, the herd scattered in all directions, breaking up like a covey of quail flushed from cover. The men chased, roped, bulldogged and hogtied the wilder ones, dragged them back into the gather until their horses, and they, were worn down to nubs.

  Jock had to ride back to help sort it all out, and he designated a few hands to start milling the main body of the herd, then sent out drovers to round up the strays. He ordered some men to make a wide circle and drive back any cattle they encountered. It was a big job and it took hours to swell the herd back to something resembling its original size.