The Bozeman Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “What are you carrying in this wagon?” Duke asked.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Revelation replied.

  “The hell you don’t. What are you carrying in this wagon besides vittles?”

  “What is it, Duke?” James asked.

  “Look how much space there is between the floor of the wagon and the bottom of the wagon. It has a false bottom.”

  “Glory be,” James said, looking at the disparity Duke had pointed out. “You’re right.” He looked at Revelation. “All right, so what’s going on here?” he asked. “What’s under the false bottom?”

  “Look, this is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. I don’t know what you are talking about,” Revelation insisted.

  “Let’s get the wagon unloaded and check it out,” James said.

  When Matthew and Mark Scattergood arrived on the scene a few minutes later, they saw all the supplies spread out on the ground. Duke and Bob were up in the now-empty wagon, working on the floor with a crowbar. As he pulled a nail loose, it made a terrible screeching sound.

  “Here, what are you adoin’ tearin’ up our wagon like that?” Matthew asked, challengingly.

  “We’re repairing it,” James explained.

  “Repairing it? What do you mean, repairing it? It’s purt’ near new. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with it.”

  “The floor is too high,” James said, innocently. “We figured if we could lower it a bit, we might be able to get all our stuff loaded.”

  Matthew and Mark looked at each other, their faces reflecting some concern.

  “There’s no need to do that. The floor’s fine just the way it is,” Mark said.

  There was another screeching sound as a nail was removed, then the sound of a board being pulled up, followed by a shout of triumph.

  “Well, now, what do we have here?” Duke asked from inside the wagon. He held up a jug.

  “What is that?” James asked.

  “It looks like it might be a little moonshine whiskey,” Duke replied. He pulled the cork. “Smells like it, too.” He turned it up and took a drink “Well now, fancy that, it is moonshine whiskey,” Duke concluded. “Not all that good a whiskey, but whiskey, nonetheless.”

  “What do you mean it ain’t all that good?” Mark asked in an angry spurt. “I’ll have you know that’s the best whiskey in the county.”

  “Whether it’s good whiskey or bad, it has no business here,” James said, pointing to the wagon.

  “We thought maybe we would take some along to use for snakebite,” Matthew suggested.

  “Snakebite my ass,” Bob said. “You were plannin’ on sellin’ it.”

  “So what if we are?” Mark responded. “There’s no law against an honest man making a living, is there?”

  Bob laughed. “Honest? That’s not a word you often hear in the same sentence as the name Scattergood.”

  Mark glared at Bob.

  “How many jugs of whiskey do you have in there?” James asked.

  “They’re gallon jugs, we have forty-eight.”

  “Get it off, now.”

  “What will we do with it?”

  “James, we don’t have to get rid of all of it,” Duke said. “There will be room for some. Say, eight gallons or so.”

  “All right,” James said. “You can take eight gallons. The rest of it stays.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Matthew said. “What do we do with the whiskey that stays?”

  “Drink it, burn it, pour it out on the ground,” James said impatiently. “I don’t care what you do with it. Just get it off that wagon.”

  There was a hollow sound as Duke pulled the cork on another jug, then a gurgling sound as he began to pour the whiskey out.

  “Wait, no sense in pourin’ it all out,” Matthew said, climbing up onto the wagon. He picked up another jug and pulled the cork. “We may as well drink what we can.”

  Chapter Ten

  First day of trail drive

  Thursday, June 19, 1862:

  When dawn broke the next morning, Matthew and Mark Scattergood were passed out drunk. Angrily, James ordered Luke and John to get their brothers on their horses, even if they had to be tied bellydown across their saddles. They weren’t tied down, but they were tied to their saddles, their hands crossed in front of them and secured to the saddle horn.

  Everyone but Revelation had drunk a little the night before, but no one drank as much as Matthew and Mark. In fact, James didn’t think he had ever seen anyone drink as much as they did.

  “Herd’s on the move,” Bob said, coming up to him then. “Luke is riding drag, Billy and Duke are flank and swing on the other side, I’ve got John riding swing on this side and I’ll ride up front as flank.”

  “Thanks,” James said. “I’ll take point.”

  “Say, James, have you thought of a name for our outfit yet?”

  “A name?”

  “Yes. We have to call it something. What shall we call it?”

  “How about the Ferguson, Faglier, Swan, Scattergood, Cason Cattle Company?” James suggested.

  “No, that’s no good. Too long. How about the Cason Cattle Company?”

  James shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. We all have a stake in the drive.”

  “Well, we have to call it something.”

  At that moment, James Cason saw a calf, hurrying quickly to catch up with its mother. The early morning sun cast a golden halo around the calf. He laughed, and pointed. “There’s our name,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Golden Calf. The Golden Calf Cattle Company.”

  “Yes!” Bob replied. “Yes, that’s a great name.”

  “Think we ought to check with the others?”

  “Why? I’m the one who decided we should have a name, and you are the one who came up with it. Far as I’m concerned, that’s good enough.”

  “Then the Golden Calf Cattle Company it is,” James said. He twisted around in his saddle. “By the way, have you seen Matthew and Mark this morning? Are they able to sit their saddle?”

  “Barely. They’re riding alongside the wagon.”

  “Will they be any use to us anytime soon? What do they look like?”

  Bob chuckled. “Their eyes look like two pee holes in a snowbank,” he said. “I guess they’ll come around by noon. But right now the poor bastards don’t have an idea of what’s going on around them, except they’re feeling pretty sick.”

  “I’ve never seen anyone drink that much,” James said. “I thought they were taking all that whiskey to sell. I’m beginning to think now that if we had kept it, they would’ve drunk it all.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Bob said.

  “How are you doing?” James asked.

  “What do you mean, how am I doing?”

  James laughed. “I admit you didn’t drink much last night, but for you, it doesn’t take much. As long as I’ve known you, you haven’t been able to hold your liquor. The smell of a cork could make you drunk. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure you’d answer the call this morning.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to be worryin’ any about me, James Cason,” Bob replied. “When the tocsin sounds, I will respond.”

  James laughed. “You are full of it,” he said. He pointed to the head of the herd. “All right, the tocsin is sounding now. Go.”

  Bob slapped his legs against the side of his horse and urged it into a gallop, dashing alongside the slowly moving herd until he was in the flank position, which was near the front, on the right-hand side. James rode up the side of a small hill, then looked back down on the Golden Calf Cattle Company. It made an impressive sight, over three thousand head of longhorns, five abreast and over a mile long, moving slowly but inexorably across the South Texas plain. From his position he could see the entire herd. Billy Swan was the flank rider on the left side, near the front, and Duke Faglier was on the same side, riding in the swing position, or near the rear. John was riding s
wing on the right and Luke was riding drag, bringing up the rear. The wagon was already a mile ahead of the herd, with Revelation sitting straight in the driver’s seat. Alongside the wagon, with their horses tethered to the vehicle, the two older Scattergoods, Matthew and Mark, sat weaving in their saddles.

  James had read once that any journey of a thousand miles must start with a single step. This was that step.

  San Antonio, Texas Tuesday, July 1, 1862:

  It was two weeks after James and the others left San Antonio when the Butrum brothers arrived. They didn’t even have to ask around to find Duke Faglier. They overheard his name when they were unsaddling their horses at the livery.

  “Pardon me,” Angus said to the two men who were talking. “Did I just hear you say the name Faglier?”

  “My name is Thornton,” the liveryman said. “I own this place.”

  “The name I’m interested in is Faglier. Duke Faglier,” Angus said. “Didn’t I just hear one of you just say that name?”

  “What’s it to you, mister?” Thornton asked.

  “We’re the Goodsons, from Missouri,” Angus lied. “Duke Faglier is our cousin and we been alookin’ for ’im.”

  Thornton smiled broadly. “Cousins, eh? Well, why didn’t you say you was kin? I knew Duke was from Missouri, but that’s about all I knew. Duke never talked much ’bout his past. Truth is, don’t nobody around here know too much about him. But he was a good worker while he was here, and never give anybody any trouble.”

  “While he was here? You mean he ain’t here no more?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “What happened to him? Did he go off to fight in the war?”

  “No, he didn’t go off with the regiment. Him and some other fellas who didn’t go are takin’ a herd of cows up to Dakota.”

  By now, both Chance and Percy had joined their older brother, and when they heard Thornton say that Faglier was taking a herd to Dakota they looked at each other is surprise.

  “Now what would he do a dumb-fool thing like that for?” Angus asked. He could barely conceal the frustration he felt at having almost found Faglier, only to miss him by a couple of weeks.

  “Well, sir, that’s the same question lots of us have been askin’,” Thornton replied. “But when you look at it close, you see that it ain’t such a dumb-fool thing after all. That is, if they can do it. They’re takin’ a herd of over three thousand cows up to Dakota to sell ’em to the gold miners. They figure to get fifty dollars a head for them cows.”

  “Gold miners? What gold miners?” Angus asked.

  Thornton chuckled. “My, where have you fellas been that you ain’t heard the news. They’ve found gold up in Dakota.”

  “Where?”

  “According to what I’ve read they found it first at a place called Grassphopper Creek, but I reckon they’re findin’ it all over now. Why, from what I’ve heard, there are picking up nuggets as big as your thumb just clinging to the roots of the grass. Bigger, even, than the California find was, here a few years back.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Angus said.

  “Will you be boardin’ your horses for long?”

  “What?” Angus asked, distractedly.

  “Your horses,” Thornton repeated. “How long will you be leaving them with me?”

  “Three, four days at least,” Percy said. “Maybe more.”

  “Uh, no,” Angus said, overriding Percy’s response. “We’ll be takin’ ’em out first thing in the mornin’.”

  “If you’re goin’ to take ’em out in the mornin’, that’ll be twenty-five cents apiece, in advance. If you leave ’em past noon tomorrow, it’ll cost you another twenty-five cents.”

  “All right,” Angus said. He gave Thornton the money, then started out of the livery. Percy and Chance watched him for a moment, then put their own quarters in Thornton’s outstretched hand before they hurried after him.

  “What are we going to do now?” Percy asked as he and Chance caught up with Angus.

  “Right now, I aim to get me a little supper, and maybe somethin’ to drink,” Angus said.

  “I mean, in the morning,” Percy said. “I thought we was goin’ to rest here for a few days.”

  “That was before we heard about Faglier,” Angus replied.

  “Listen, Angus, it ain’t goin’ to do none of us any good if we go out after him right away. We been ridin’ hard for a long time, we need a little rest,” Chance said. “Besides, if he’s trailing a herd all the way up to Dakota, he ain’t goin’ nowhere. We can catch up with him anytime we want.”

  “Wait a minute,” Percy said. He smiled. “Wait a minute, I know what you’re doin’. I’ll be damned. You’re aimin’ to steal them cows, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Angus replied.

  “What? Why not? Didn’t you hear what that liveryman said? Them cows will be bringing fifty dollars a head up in Dakota. Why wouldn’t we steal ’em?”

  “Yeah,” Chance said. “I’m with Percy on this, Angus. I mean, why, who knows how much money them cows would make?”

  “ ’Bout a hunnert and fifty thousand dollars,” Angus said easily.

  “A hunnert and fifty thousand dollars?” Percy gasped. “Lord, I didn’t know there was that much money in the whole world.”

  “Wait a minute You’re sayin’ them cows is worth a hunnert and fifty thousand dollars, but we ain’t goin’ to steal them?”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’.”

  “Damn, Angus, what’s got into you? You used to be the one with all the ideas,” Chance said.

  Just as they reached the front of the saloon, Angus turned to his two brothers. “You want to herd those cows all the way up to Dakota? Just the three of us?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Angus smiled. “I say, let them do all the work, drive the cows to Dakota, find the buyer, then sell them. That’s when we’ll hit them. It’s going to be a lot easier to steal the money than it would be to steal the cows.”

  Percy laughed out loud. “Damn, that’s right,” he said. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “It’s going to take them three or four months to push a herd all the way to Dakota,” Percy said. “But if we ride back to Kansas City and catch a riverboat going up the Missouri, we can be there less than three weeks from now.”

  “So, we’re going to wait on them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, Angus, while we’re waiting, you think we could look for some of that gold?” Chance asked.

  “Why bother to look?” Angus asked. “Why not just take our gold off the people who have already found it?”

  With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, mile 300, Friday, July 11:

  Although no one had driven a herd as far as they intended to take this herd, everyone in the outfit had previous experience except Duke. Ironically, the Scattergoods had the most experience in longer drives, since they had brought most of their stock up from Mexico.

  Duke’s normally taciturn habit proved to be an asset to him. He talked little, listened a lot, observed, and learned. He was prepared for work, so the fact that the drive required the cowboys to be in the saddle for fifteen hours each day didn’t bother him.

  He found the makeup of the drive interesting. The wagon Revelation drove was the chuck wagon, which carried the food, bedding, and tents. Revelation prepared the breakfast and supper meals, and served them from the tail-board of the wagon. The food was cooked over an open fire. Lunch was generally taken in the saddle, often consisting of a cold biscuit and bacon left over from breakfast, or perhaps a piece of jerky.

  The herd moved across the country, not in one large mass, but in a long plodding column, generally no more than four or five abreast. An average day was twelve to fifteen miles, and while on the move, one of the cowboys would be riding as point man, ahead of the herd scouting for water and graze. Flankers rode on either side of the herd, keeping them moving, while one man rode drag, meaning the rear. This was the least desirable position because t
he cowboy who rode drag had to swallow all the dust. In many outfits, Duke, being the least experienced, would have been selected to ride drag every day. But James, who had been elected trail boss, was fair about it, and he rotated the position, even taking drag himself, when it was his turn.

  Billy Swan was about five miles ahead of the herd, looking for water, when he crested a small hill and saw the military encampment. It wasn’t a large group as army units were measured back East, but there were at least one hundred men there on the banks of a swiftly flowing stream. A puff of red, white, and blue hung from the top of a makeshift flagpole. However, because it was a windless day, the flag hung straight down so it was impossible to determine whether it was the Stars and Stripes of the Union, or the Stars and Bars of the Confederacy. Turning his horse around, he rode quickly back to the herd.

  “Is there any way to avoid them?” James asked, when Billy reported on his find.

  Billy shook his head. “I don’t see how,” he answered. “Not if we want to water the herd.”

  “We’ve got to water the herd,” Bob said.

  “And you don’t know if them soldier-boys be theirs or our’n?” Mark Scattergood asked.

  “Like us, you chose not to go to war,” James said. “Therefore, for us, there is no theirs or ours,” James said.

  “What do you mean there ain’t no theirs or our’n?” Mark asked. “They got to be either Yankees or Southerners.”

  “Listen to what I am saying. There is no theirs or ours,” James repeated, saying the words slowly and distinctly. “Not if we are going to make it through over a thousand miles. All of us chose to avoid this war. That means we are neutral.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess we are neutral in a way,” Mark said. “But we are Southerners. I mean, we do come from the South.”

  “We come from the West,” James insisted.

  “You can’t just tell a fella to deny who he is,” Mark insisted.

  “James is right, Mark,” Bob said. “That kind of thinking has no place now. We made a conscious decision to avoid the war. That means we are neutral.”