North to the Salt Fork

by Ralph Compton

“If—if you’d be my best man, we’d get it all set up real shortly,” Craig stammered.

  “I’d be honored. Let me know when it is.”

  “I will, Captain. I will—” But Jack already had Mac headed for the bare-headed woman in the familiar blue dress who had just climbed off a wagon in the rig-choked road.

  Just short of her, Jack put Mac on his heels in a sliding stop, dismounted on the fly and caught Lucille around the waist. My God, what a lovely woman, he thought. He swung her in circles, staring into her brown eyes and grinning big as the whole state. When he finally kissed her, the rangers emptied their pistols into the sky. Leave it to them to do somethin’ like that, Jack thought with a smile.

  Chapter 5

  Before Jack and Lucille left, the locals planned a large dance for the following Saturday to celebrate the capture of the killers and the recovery of the Holmeses’ horses. While Lucille took part in the arrangements, Jack squatted on his boot heels to watch Hiram Sawyer’s men take over the stolen horses and stud. Damn convenient, the rangers returning his collateral for him. Hiram had already taken possession of the ranch. The place wasn’t a bad setup either. It was a full section of deeded land, which meant it went west a mile and north a mile from where the burned-out cabin and sheds stood in the southeast corner of the land. And the big talker hadn’t offered the rangers a dime in reward; in fact, Jack hadn’t even seen him there.

  Was Sawyer concerned they might’ve learned something about his involvement in the deal? If Jack had any proof that old skinflint had any part in those good folks’ demise, he’d personally send him to his reward—feetfirst. But he had only his instincts and suspicions to go on.

  As Jack surveyed the scene, a bowlegged man in his thirties came toward him, dressed in bull-hide chaps, run-over boots, Mexican spurs, a leather vest and gauntlets. He wore a ratty denim jacket that indicated to Jack that he frequented the brush; it looked like a cat had clawed at his sleeves.

  “My name’s Red Larson. I’m a maverick man, so if you ain’t interested in associatin’ with my kind, I’ll scoot.”

  Under the wide brim of the man’s Mexican straw hat Jack saw a sly smile and green eyes that didn’t give a damn about much except for having a good time. “Sit tight, neighbor. I ain’t got a critter to lose so I ain’t opposed to maverick work.”

  “Good to hear. You ever been north of the Red River Crossing?”

  “I’ve been to Abilene,” Jack said, wondering what Larson was getting at.

  The man bobbed his head. “Well, they’ve cut a good amount of miles off that trip. Rustlers only have to drive cattle to the Salt Fork on the Arkansas this year.”

  Jack nodded thoughtfully. “So they’ve finally got the tracks down to Wichita?” He hadn’t heard until now.

  Red nodded. “You got any plans for next year?”

  Jack shrugged, looking off at the cedar-covered hillsides. “What’cha need?”

  “You probably don’t know much about it, but folks round here been having real trouble getting their cattle to the railhead. I know all about stampedes and storms. I been there—it ain’t no picnic. But our losses have been too high and that means the cost is up per head. Lots of us are looking for a new man to take our stock north next year.”

  Jack leaned back on his heels and let out a low whistle. “I’d have to sleep on that a long time, Larson.”

  “Well, you sleep on it for a while. I figure you’ll still be here when grass breaks in the spring.”

  Jack smiled at the man. “Or that I’ll be smart enough to say no to the offer.”

  Red shook his head. “You sleep on it. A man could earn enough to buy himself a real fine place on the proceeds of a well-run cattle drive.”

  “Or get buried under the prairie sod. I won’t lose any sleep over it. But thanks for thinking of me. Good to meet’cha.”

  Red stood and hitched up his chaps. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” He started to head off, then turned back to face Jack. “By the way, we’ll be down at Peters this Sunday afternoon. We’ll have some broncs to peel. You should come on down. I figure you’d be a real hand at bronc stomping.”

  “I’ll see about it,” Jack called back.

  Red grinned and strolled off. Jack saw Lucille coming toward him, her brow arched at the sight of Red.

  “What did Larson want?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

  “Just wanted to shoot the breeze, I guess.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Jack was taken aback by Lucille’s obvious displeasure. “You dislike him?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I think he’s on the wild side.”

  “Folks think that about me.”

  “I don’t.” She reached out and laced her fingers through his.

  He glanced down at their hands as they headed for her wagon. “You’ll have folks talking.”

  “I don’t care. A man comes busting home with a herd of stolen horses, near runs me over with his horse and kisses me in public. People can’t say too much more.”

  Jack laughed. “I think it was that four-gun salute we got that really set tongues waggin’.”

  She shook her head, chuckling. “Wait till the kids hear all about it.”

  “You think they’ll be ashamed of us?”

  “No.” She squeezed his fingers. “And even if they are, it was . . . fun.”

  Jack hitched Mac to the tailgate and helped Lucille up onto the spring seat, climbed in, took the reins and eased the team in a U-turn for home. Once they were on the road and moving, he settled down on the spring seat beside her, turned, caught her chin and kissed her again.

  “Whew,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ve missed you not being here the past four days.”

  “I did too.” He clucked his tongue to keep the team trotting and slapped them lightly with the reins.

  Lucille sat quietly in thought for most of the trip home, then suddenly said, “Tell me, Jack, why didn’t you ever marry?”

  Jack’s face flushed a bit, but he decided he owed Lucille an answer. “Cholera took my first bride-to-be on a train out of Arkansas. We were only seventeen. I grew up fast that year.”

  Lucille rubbed his back in slow, circular motions, a look of genuine sympathy on her face. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “There was another lady in my life a few years later, but she married someone else while I was off rangering. Guess I stayed away too long.”

  “How long were you gone?”

  He shrugged. “Over a year.”

  “I guess she couldn’t wait for you,” Lucille said.

  He nodded, then flicked the horses with the reins. “She must have thought I was dead.”

  “She probably did. Anyhow, I’m sorry for asking you such a personal question, but I had to know.”

  “Aw, Lucy, I’m like every other man; I’ve got some things I don’t like to talk much about, but I will if it means that much to you.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Well, I’m sure glad you feel that way.”

  He studied the fading day with the low sun in his eyes. It sure felt natural as anything he could ever remember, sitting up close next to her. Maybe their newfound love would work out. He sure hoped so.

  He’d had casual affairs with other women, but no one had ever fit him like an old pair of craftsmen-made boots—Lucille did.

  Chapter 6

  On Sunday, Jack took Luke with him in the wagon to Peters’ roping and riding. He could tell Luke was excited about the venture, so once they were past the D-T front gate, he let the boy drive.

  Luke glanced back over his shoulder as he took the reins. “I wasn’t sure if Maw’d let me go with you today.”

  Jack nodded. “She didn’t want your other leg to go too.”

  “Naw, that ain’t it. I guess she never told you, but some of the crowd that attends these events don’t have the best reputation, and she’d never let me go ’cause of that. ’Cou
rse I’ve been to them, but she never knew and I never told her.”

  “You mean they had some fights down there?”

  Luke chuckled. “Sure. Women don’t understand that fighting’s kind of a regular thing in this world, do they?”

  Jack nodded in agreement. “There were two boys that got into it at the schoolhouse dance the other night.”

  Luke grinned big. “I heard you threw them outside.”

  “Aw, they shouldn’t have been fighting inside. It was a dance and all.”

  “Jody Bledsoe thinks he’s real tough and Thad Simmons does the same. But I bet they won’t do it again if you’re around.”

  Jack dismissed the compliment. “You ever been cross with them?”

  “Yeah, Bledsoe once at a pie supper.”

  “Were you tryin’ to buy pie from the same gal?” Jack thought about some of his past fights—usually over his pride or some girl—in amusement.

  Luke shot him a glance. “You guessed it. I was sweet on Lorna May and had my money saved to buy her pie. Bledsoe ran her pie up past what I had, and then he wouldn’t pay for it. Well, he kinda ran over the people holding the auction and said he’d pay them later, but he never did. It made me mad as hell. He cheated and got to eat with my girl. I knew he’d never pay them, so when it was over I challenged him to a fight—called him a damn liar.

  “We fought for a while. He gave me a black eye and I busted his pretty nose, so he claimed. But it came out a draw. Some older folks finally made us quit. When I got home with my knuckles all skinned up, a black eye and a big bruise on my left cheek, Maw was mad as a wet hen.”

  Jack nodded sympathetically. “My mother would always react the same way.”

  “Women just don’t understand you’ve got to settle things once and for all.”

  “That’s why they call them the gentler sex.” Jack clapped the boy on the shoulder. “That the place we’re going to?”

  Luke looked over at the horses, tarps strung up for shade, and parked wagons and nodded in affirmation. There were little kids chasing after each other, women cooking in pots and men talking horses and trying to make trades.

  They parked and Jack hitched the team. He helped Luke down and got him on his crutches, and Luke hobbled away to find his friends. After Luke left, Jack saw two men—one tall and gangly, the other short and squat—in suits coming over to greet him.

  Joe Kimes, the taller man, stuck his hand out to Jack and introduced himself and the shorter man, Israel Kimes, his brother. Jack shook hands warmly and they squatted down to visit. He knew they had something on their minds and they weren’t long getting to the matter.

  “You ever been to Kansas?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, twice,” Jack answered. “I was in Abilene with cattle herds.”

  “You ever ramrodded a herd up there?” Israel asked.

  “Sure did; delivered ninety-five percent of them too out of the Rio Grande valley country.”

  “That’s big numbers,” Joe said, impressed.

  Jack shook his head to dismiss the man’s words. “Got lucky.”

  Israel appreciated the humility. “Well, I guess Red Larson told you we need a ramrod for next year. Said he’d spoke to you about it.”

  Jack nodded. “He tell you what I told him?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said, “but we figured if you heard our story, we might reverse your thoughts on the matter.”

  Although he had set his mind against it, Jack decided it wouldn’t hurt to hear them out. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “We never sent no cattle north this year,” Israel said, shaking his head as if he regretted it. “Figured if we saved them up to build a big enough herd, we could find us a real ramrod. Truth is, we haven’t found one yet, and we’re losin’ out.”

  “You’ll probably be able to find a dozen good ones at Fort Worth this winter,” Jack said, unswayed.

  “Some of us are thinking you’d make a good one,” Joe chimed in.

  “Why? Cause I threw two boys out of a schoolhouse dance for fighting? Wranglin’ boys ain’t the same as herdin’ cattle.”

  “That and you brought back them horses with three boys who were more than a little wet behind the ears,” Israel said, clearly impressed with Jack’s work.

  Jack shifted his weight to his other leg. “Craig was in on it too.”

  “He’s a good man,” Israel said. “But he couldn’t’ve took a posse and got them ponies back.” Joe quickly agreed with his brother.

  Jack shook his head. “I’m sorry, boys, but I don’t know where I’ll be next year.”

  “We’re sorry to hear that, but you think on it and let us know if you can’t find a way to make it work,” Joe said. “We’d be mighty pleased to have you.”

  “You boys get a chance to hire a good one, you better sign him on.” Jack stood, ready to excuse himself.

  “Captain, Captain,” Luke called, hobbling toward Jack on his sticks and nearly falling over in excitement. “They’ve got a broom-tail mare here they say no one can ride. Offering thirty bucks to the man who can.”

  “What’s the fee to try?”

  “Ten bucks. You want to try her?” Luke was out of breath, leaning on his sticks, his face flushed with excitement.

  “Excuse me, gents,” Jack said to Joe and Israel, who tipped their hats to him as he headed off with Luke. “You ever tried to ride her?”

  “Once.” Luke said. “I couldn’t hold on. But I got a feeling you could do it.” Luke looked at him eagerly.

  Jack shrugged. “Aw, why not? Let’s try her.”

  Luke whooped and pulled Jack toward the waiting bronc.

  They walked slowly toward the gathered crowd to allow Luke to catch his breath on the crutches. The day’s temperature was climbing and a good rain wouldn’t hurt anything, for his money. Jack wanted to put the cattle-drive business out of his mind, and a real challenging bronc ride might do just that.

  “What do they call her?” he asked Luke as the boy worked to keep pace.

  “Black Widow.”

  Jack let out a low whistle. “I bet she’s a real one too.”

  “She’s the worst bucking horse I’ve ever seen or been on,” Luke confirmed.

  When they found her, they noticed the onlookers were standing a safe distance back from her heels and teeth. The mare had a black broom tail, coated in dust, which she gently swished from side to side. Her head down as far as her binds would allow, she stood hip shot between two posts, practically unmoving. Her face and eyes were hidden behind a long double mane that hung way down on both sides of her neck. Unfortunately, the mane couldn’t hide her ragged right ear, which looked like it had been bitten off. Hardly taller than twelve hands, she looked more like a kid’s buggy horse, but neither her small size nor her seemingly calm disposition fooled Jack. He knew that blasting powder came in small, tight packages.

  A tall Indian came toward him. The hot afternoon wind rattled the eagle feather tied on his unblocked hat. “You want to ride her?” he asked.

  Everyone stopped talking to hear Jack’s answer.

  “She looks pretty tough,” Jack said.

  “Naw, just a pony,” the Indian said, concealing his real thoughts behind a smug smile.

  “I suppose your squaw rides her to church every Sunday.”

  The Indian laughed, as did the onlookers.

  “How many men has she stomped?”

  “A few,” the Indian said cryptically.

  “I’ll take ten dollars of her, but first I need a shorter girth. Mine’s too long to screw down a saddle on her.”

  “I’ll get you one,” a cowboy offered.

  Jack thanked him, then beckoned to a boy of about ten who was standing nearby.

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said, sweeping the red hair back from his freckled face.

  “There’s a D-T wagon down there.” He pointed to the branded one. “There’s a saddle in the back. Bring my rigging up here and there’s a dime in the deal for you.”

  “Y
es, sir!” The barefoot boy tore off to get Jack’s gear while everyone laughed at his eagerness.

  “How did you figure out the girth deal?” Luke asked under his breath.

  “Part of the game. They get you-all ready. Toss the usual saddle on, draw up both sides—but it just won’t come all the way. ‘Oh, the saddle is on tight, but not tight enough,’ they’ll say, and you’ll say, ‘Aw hell, let’s go.’ ”

  Luke laughed and shook his head at this newfound knowledge. “Damn. I won’t forget that for next time. That’s what happened with that miserable horse at home that broke my leg. I thought it was tight enough. Only lacked a little notch, but the girth was all the way up.”

  Jack smiled. “I’ve been suckered in like that before too.”

  The redheaded boy delivered the saddle and they stripped off the longer girth and replaced it with one Jack borrowed from Hoy, a local cowboy. Hoy was a tough man with steel blue eyes, which pierced the Indian as he straightened the double girth, making certain that the Indian wasn’t trying to pull one over on Jack.

  “She’s a stem-winding sumbitch,” Hoy said under his breath.

  “I figured she must be. How does she break?” Jack asked quietly.

  “She’ll tear out furious in crow hops, then she’ll plant all four. And if she ain’t thrown you, she’ll turn her old belly up to the sun. A sun-fishing son of a gun. And the longer you ride her, the madder she gets.”

  Jack straightened. “Guess you tried her, huh?”

  “Twice. I never lasted very long.”

  “Well, let’s see what she can do today.”

  A crowd was beginning to circle around them. Kids climbed on wagons for a better view. Money started to change hands. As he sat on the ground, Jack used some leather thongs to better tie down his spurs. He caught parts of conversations around him as he busied himself with the straps.

  “The new guy. . . the one that brought the stolen horses back . . . Lucille Thornton’s new man . . . a captain in the war, they say . . . Cap’n Jack they call him . . . How should I know if he can ride?”

  Amused, he rose and brushed off the seat of his pants. Luke rested on his crutches, watching the mare stomp impatiently at the flies buzzing around her.