The Chisholm Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “I’m Bill Longley,” said the stranger, “and wherever this herd’s bound, I’d like to go with it. Who’s trail boss?”

  “I am,” said Ten. “I’m Tenatse Chisholm. Can you handle longhorns?”

  “I can handle this,” he said, going for his gun.

  He found himself looking into the muzzle of Ten’s Colt, cocked and rock-steady. He released the butt of his own weapon, allowing it to slip back into the holster. He met Ten’s eyes with no emotion in his own.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I can punch cows.”

  “Forty a month and found,” said Ten, “from here to Indian Territory.”

  Longley nodded, and began unsaddling the dun. The rest of the outfit watched him lead the horse away, to picket it with the others.

  “I ain’t sure we need help that bad,” said Wes.

  “Me neither,” said Marty. “That boy fancies himself a real gun thrower. Ten’s chain lightning with a Colt, but that ain’t worth a damn unless it’s an even break. We’d best keep our eyes on this coyote.”

  Bill Longley seemed aware of their distrust, and did nothing to further aggravate it. He kept to himself, speaking only when spoken to. They night-hawked in pairs, Ten riding with Longley. But when trouble came, Tenatse Chisholm wasn’t the cause of it.

  While Longley said little or nothing, his eyes were constantly on Lou. He was doing nothing wrong, yet he began to haunt her, until she became frightened enough to talk to Wes.

  “If he lays a hand on you,” said Wes, “or even looks like he wants to, I’ll kill him.”

  In the evening, after the herd was bedded down, Longley had taken to riding away for a while. Nobody knew where, or for what reason, until Marty trailed him. He returned in a somber mood.

  “He’s workin’ with that Colt,” said Marty. “Not firing it, just pullin’ it fast as he can, time after time.”

  Sometimes Longley didn’t return until after dark. They’d bedded down the herd a day’s drive south of Fort Towson, and Longley had taken his usual evening ride. He would be gone at least an hour, and Lou had waited for him to ride out. Then, for obvious reasons, she had slipped into a scrub oak thicket. It was Wes who decided she had been gone too long.

  “I’m goin’ to see about Lou,” he said.

  Nobody laughed or ragged him. They understood his concern. Ten let him take the lead, then followed. They had scarcely entered the brush when they heard a scuffle, a half sob, and a savage blow. Lou was stripped to the waist and seemed in a faint. Longley flung the girl aside and went for his gun. But Wes was on him, twisting his arm, forcing him to drop the Colt. Wes brought up a knee, smashing the gunman in the groin. When his head came down, Wes again used the knee, catching Longley under the chin. He was thrown backward, and slammed head first into an oak. He tried to rise, but couldn’t. Wes was on him in a fury, smashing his head against the tree when Ten dragged him off. Lou, covering herself with her ruined shirt, watched in horrified fascination. Wes was fighting and struggling to get back to the fallen Longley.

  “Wes,” said Ten, “that’s enough. Take Lou back to camp. He’ll be ridin’ out if I have to tie him belly down across his saddle.”

  Wes still wasn’t of a mind to go, but Lou saw the need and managed to get his attention. Longley finally sat up, his eyes glazed, fumbling at the empty holster for his Colt.

  “When you’re ready to ride out,” said Ten, “I’ll give you the gun. Now get up and get to your horse.”

  Longley stumbled to his feet, and Ten followed him to the dun horse. On his third attempt, Longley managed to get into the saddle. Ten handed him the empty Colt and two gold double eagles.

  “A month’s wages,” said Ten. “Now ride, and don’t come back. I just saved your worthless hide. I won’t do it again.”

  Bill Longley rode away without a word. Ten had never seen such hate in a man’s eyes. Longley had the instinct and temperament of a killer. He only needed a fast draw, and in time he would have that.

  March 1, 1866, they forded the Red, bedding down the herd near Fort Towson. It was still early afternoon, and they had time to cut out the two hundred head Towson’s quartermaster had agreed to take. Captain Mitchell greeted them, invited them to supper, and handed Ten a telegram. It was brief.

  Priscilla is well and looking for you May first.

  It was signed “Jess.” He passed it around for the others to read.

  “Sounds like it’s all been settled,” said Marty. “Maybe Jason Brawn roped an anvil to old LeBeau and dropped him in the Gulf.”

  Ten sighed. Chisholm was telling him he’d been to New Orleans and had met Priscilla. But why was she expecting him nearly three months before she would be able to leave? By some miracle, had LeBeau agreed to her leaving sooner?

  “Oh, this is so exciting,” said Lou. “The handsome prince rescues the beautiful girl from the terrible dragon.”

  “We’ll have to do better than last time, then,” said Marty. “There was six dragons, all with repeatin’ rifles, and they near ’bout shot our tail feathers off.”

  They left Fort Towson at dawn, moving the longhorns west, following the Red River to the Washita.

  “It’s about seventy-five miles to Fort Washita,” said Ten. “From there we follow the Washita north. We can reach Fort Arbuckle the same day, if nothing goes wrong, and then Fort Cobb a day later. That will reduce our herd by eight hundred head. Before we start for New Orleans, we’ll spend a few days with Jess. I aim to cut out two hundred and fifty cows, which we’ll leave at the trading post. That’ll leave us two hundred head for Fort Gibson and two hundred head for Fort Smith. We’ll trail to Gibson first, then follow the Arkansas to Fort Smith. There, we’ll board the steamboat for New Orleans.”

  In the evening, after supper, Ten told them of the plan he had already mentioned to Chris and Lou Ward. Marty and Wes were excited.

  “If we got cash money to buy longhorns,” said Marty, “then let’s buy big steers, two years old and up. Draggin’ ’em out of the brush one at a time, you got to take what you can get. I’m bettin’ if we ride to Texas with a sackful of gold coin, we can buy longhorn steers for four or five dollars apiece. Suppose we get us a herd—maybe four thousand head—and have ’em waitin’ when the rails reach Kansas?”

  “You’re looking at a hundred and twenty thousand dollars on the hoof,” said Ten. “Maybe more.”

  “Dear God,” cried Chris, “I don’t believe there’s that much money in the whole world.”

  March 15, 1866, they reached Jesse Chisholm’s trading post on the Canadian River. By Marty’s tally they still had 654 longhorns. They’d lost only the troublesome bull Ten had shot.

  “It’s a miracle,” said Marty. “We’ll catch hell on the next drive.”

  Jesse Chisholm hadn’t expected them for another month. It was a feat worthy of a much older, much more experienced trail boss than young Tenatse Chisholm. Jesse made them all welcome and then, in private, told Ten of his meeting with Priscilla.

  “She’s dead right,” said Ten. “LeBeau has something in mind, and it’s got nothing to do with what’s best for Priscilla and me. I’ll listen to anything he’s got to say, if only for Priscilla’s sake.”

  “I thought you would,” said Chisholm. “She’s afraid for you, but I think you’ll know, after talking to her father, if there’s any danger. I’m sure he’s learned that I’m not a poor man, and that I have considerable influence in Washington. Perhaps he’s taken that into consideration.”

  Ten was sure of only one thing, insofar as LeBeau was concerned. He needed money, probably to buy his freedom from Jason Brawn. Since Priscilla wouldn’t have Jason Brawn, how was André LeBeau going to cover his gambling debts? Tenatse Chisholm thought he knew.

  19

  Two days after Ten’s outfit reached Chisholm’s trading post, a rider returned from Fort Smith with the mail. He also brought newspapers from New Orleans and St. Louis. Ten read the New Orleans paper without finding a word about the LeBeaus or Jason Br
awn. It was Marty, reading the St. Louis paper, who discovered something that drew their immediate attention.

  “Ten,” said Marty, “look at this.”

  The headline read: CATTLE PENS BEING BUILT AT ABILENE.

  Marty had just spread the paper out on Chisholm’s huge dining room table when Wes came in. The three of them were gathered around the newspaper when Jesse Chisholm entered. Without a word he moved in close enough to read with them. When the Cherokee cook began setting the table for supper, Ten, Wes, and Marty took their places. Chisholm folded the paper, seated himself, and finished reading the story. Nobody said anything, awaiting Chisholm’s reaction.

  “This is the start of something big,” he said. “I’ve heard of this Joe McCoy. He’s a businessman from Illinois. Some people call him a dreamer, and maybe he has been, but not this time. The railroad’s still months away, but we know it’s coming. McCoy’s gettin’ the jump on everybody, building cattle pens and calling for trail drives to Abilene. Filling those pens with Texas steers means an eastern market for Texas beef.”

  “There’ll be a pile of gold for the first cattlemen filling those pens,” said Ten. “Why can’t that be us?”

  “It could be,” said Chisholm. “There’s a ready-made trail from the Red River all the way to Wichita, and Wichita’s less than a day’s drive south of Abilene.”

  “The Chisholm Trail,” said Wes.

  “Exactly,” said Chisholm. “A smart outfit could trail a big herd of Texas longhorns into eastern Kansas, graze them along the Arkansas until McCoy’s pens at Abilene are ready, and be first in line for shipment to the eastern markets.”

  “You control most of the land along the Arkansas,” said Ten, “as part of your ranch. All the way to where the Wichita camp used to be. Any outfit grazing a herd along the Arkansas would need your permission.”

  “You have it,” said Chisholm, “on two conditions. First, I want this herd to include twenty-five hundred steers for me, for which I’ll pay you sixteen dollars a head. Second, I want you to take enough riders from here to make the drive. Take Charlie Two Hats and a dozen Cherokees. With the outfit you have, that’ll give you nineteen riders.”

  “Jess,” said Ten, “I don’t need nineteen riders. Except for the thousand dollars I owe you, we’ll put all we have into another herd, but I doubt that will be more than thirty-five hundred steers. That’s all we can afford to buy. Besides, like I told you, I don’t want you standin’ behind me, proppin’ me up.”

  “I’m not propping you up,” said Chisholm, irritated. “I’m advancing you half the money for the twenty-five hundred steers you’ll bring me. That will allow you enough, with what you already have, to buy another four thousand steers. All told, you’ll be trailing ten thousand head. Now are you sure nineteen riders will be enough?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ten. “Who’s payin’ Two Hats and the Cherokees?”

  “You are,” said Chisholm. “They can’t work for me if they’re somewhere between here and Texas. I’m only paying you to bring me twenty-five hundred steers. All the trials, tribulations, and expense of getting them here belongs to you.”

  Marty hid a grin. Chris and Lou had arrived in time to learn that the discussion involved another trail drive from Texas.

  “I reckon that kills our trip to New Orleans,” said Lou. “But what about Priscilla?”

  “I’m still going to see Priscilla,” said Ten, “and talk to her daddy, but I won’t be there for long. I’m comin’ right back, and we’re headin’ for Texas. Not only are the rest of you giving up your trip to New Orleans, I need you to take care of things here while I’m gone. We still owe two hundred steers to Fort Gibson and two hundred to Fort Smith. I’ve written bills of sale to both quartermasters, and I want you to trail this last four hundred longhorns to the two forts. Jess says you can have a couple of Injun riders if you need them. When you’ve done that, get with Jess and begin gathering supplies from the store. Marty, get with Charlie Two Hats, find out who the riders are that we’re taking and how they’re fixed for horses. Figure on three good mounts for each of us, and at least three pack mules. The sooner I get started to New Orleans, the sooner I’ll be back. When I return, we’ll leave for Texas.”

  Preparing to leave for Fort Smith, Ten spent a few minutes with his outfit. They were concerned that he was going to New Orleans alone.

  “I won’t be alone while I’m there,” he reassured them. “I’ll be staying with Harvey Roberts, and I’ll be meeting Priscilla at his office.”

  “I just wish you could bring Priscilla back with you,” said Chris, “and be done with this.”

  “So do I,” said Ten, “but I don’t see how I can. I’d like to square things with old LeBeau, so I can take her away peacefully.”

  “I doubt you can,” said Wes. “We all should be goin’ with you.”

  “I aim to try,” said Ten. “If I fail, I may need all of you next time.”

  Before Ten could ride away, Jesse Chisholm came out of the house. Ten trotted his horse over to the porch.

  “When you get to Fort Smith,” said Chisholm, “you ought to telegraph Harvey Roberts. You’ll be arriving a month sooner than Priscilla’s expecting you, and you’d ought to give Harvey some time to get a message to her. Having thought about it, I’m not sure we’re being fair to Priscilla, planning this new drive to Texas so soon. You’ll have to hustle, buying and branding that many longhorns, to get them to Abilene by September or early October. You may be until Christmas gettin’ back to New Orleans. I believe you should tell Priscilla; don’t leave her with false hopes.”

  Ten rode away without responding. They all watched him go, some of them with misgivings.

  “It still bothers me,” said Chris, “him going alone, since they’ve already tried to kill him.”

  “That’s one Injun that’ll take some killin’,” said Marty.

  “I’m not all that sure about this new drive either,” said Wes. “I reckon Mr. Chisholm means well, but this bunch of smart-mouth Cherokees purely rub me the wrong way. They look at us and talk down to us like we’re a bunch of tenderfeet.”

  “We’ll change that,” said Lou grimly, “once we’re on the trail. We’ll outrope and outride the lot of ’em.”

  After all Ten’s haste in reaching Fort Smith, he had to wait a day and a night for the steamboat. He ignored Chisholm’s advice, not bothering to telegraph Roberts. With or without Roberts’s help, he intended to see the girl, even if he had to climb that magnolia tree and break into Priscilla’s room after dark.

  Ten waited impatiently while The New Orleans whistled for the landing at New Orleans. He was first ashore once the gangplank was down. Nobody expected him, yet he took his time, lest he be followed. He reached the Roberts and Company offices, only to find that Harvey Roberts was out. He waited more than an hour until the big man returned.

  “You’re more than a month early,” said Roberts. “I’ll have to send someone to the house with a message. If she isn’t there, you may have a long wait.”

  “Where else would she be?”

  “I don’t know,” said Roberts. “She said I could send her a message, but not to leave it if she wasn’t there. I’ll send a carriage and have it bring her here if she’s at home.”

  Roberts had business in the warehouse, and returned there, leaving Ten alone in the office. He’d spent most of the day waiting, first for Roberts, and now for Priscilla. Just when he was convinced she wasn’t coming, the door opened and there she was!

  She was the same, yet different. She seemed even more beautiful than he remembered, yet older. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her shoulders seemed to sag under a great burden. But her eyes lighted at the sight of him and the years fell away. With a glad cry she came to him, and he met her halfway. For a long time she clung to him in silence, her tears soaking his shirt, her slender body trembling. Before she uttered a word, he was sure of one thing: if he had to steal her away in the dead of night and shoot his way o
ut, he wasn’t going to leave her at the mercy of André LeBeau.

  “The newspaper,” she sobbed. “It said you’d been killed. Daddy sent me what they printed. He knew I’d come back, and he was right. I had to know. I couldn’t stay in Louisville. I just couldn’t. I talked to the wives of the men who had hunted you, and I went to the customs office. Then I came here, and Mr. Roberts was so kind. He—”

  Her tears took control again, and he waited until she could continue.

  “It’s been hell at home,” she said. “Mother swears she’s leaving once I’m out and gone. She acts like she’s a prisoner in the house and that it’s all my fault. The newspaper prints a gossip column, and they’ve been hinting that Jason Brawn is courting me, that I’m secretly planning to marry him before the end of the year. People I don’t even know are laughing at me, calling me ‘Miss Moneybags.’ One of the preachers preached a sermon about ‘the greedy young girl taking advantage of an older man for his money.’ I wasn’t called by name, but everybody knew.”

  “Your daddy’s been a busy man, hasn’t he?”

  “He swears it’s not his doing,” said Priscilla, “that it’s Jason Brawn.”

  “But he gave Brawn the idea,” said Ten, “so it’s still his doing. You tell him I want to talk to him in the morning, and if he won’t meet me here, then I’ll come to the house.”

  “One word to Brawn,” said Priscilla fearfully, “and they’ll be after you again.”