The Chisholm Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Vaca,” he said, “cow.”

  Holding a thumb outward on each side of his head, he made the buffalo sign, the horn sign. The buffalo had short horns, and he swept his hands away to either side, indicating long, curving horns.

  “Cow,” said the Lipan. “Malo vaca.”

  Ten took a double eagle from his pocket and, on the palm of his hand, offered it to the Indian. He held up his other hand, open.

  “Vaca,” he said, indicating himself with the thumb of his open hand.

  The Lipan looked puzzled. Ten knelt, and with his finger made five single marks in the dust. He pointed from the marks to the previous drawing of the longhorn. He then placed the twenty-dollar gold coin on the five marks. The Indian’s eyes sparked with understanding. He held up his open hand, showing five fingers. With his other hand he pointed to the double eagle, then to Ten, then to himself. Ten nodded. The Indian spoke rapidly to a brave. A horse was brought and the chief made as if to mount. Ten was to follow him. He found Priscilla trying to make friends with a small, naked Indian boy. When the child saw Ten looking at him, he disappeared into the brush. Ten helped Priscilla into her saddle, then mounted his own horse, and they followed the Lipan along the riverbank.

  They rode what Ten judged was five miles to the point where another river had once emptied into the Medina. The old riverbed, now dry, was deep enough, its walls steep enough, to prevent the escape of horse or cow. The mouth of the enormous ditch had been closed with a cottonwood rail and cedar post fence. By time or by hand, the earth had been taken away so that the water of the Medina River extended a few feet up the old riverbed. Their Lipan guide jogged his horse away from the Medina, following the old riverbed. It grew deeper, wider, leading to a grassy box canyon whose other end they couldn’t see. There were longhorns by the hundreds. The Indian pointed to the grazing cattle and lifted one hand, his fingers spread. He thought they only wanted five cows! Ten raised both hands, spreading his fingers. He closed his hands into fists and opened them. He repeated the procedure many times. He then took all the double eagles he had in his pocket and made sign like he was removing still more.

  “Mucho vaca,” he said. “Mucho, mucho vaca. Much cow.”

  The Indian extended both his hands, opening and closing them many times. Then he pointed to Ten. He understood. Ten held up one finger, then two, then three, then four, and then five. He repeated the procedure and pointed to the grazing longhorns. How many of them? The Lipan nodded his understanding, and pointing to the sun, raised two fingers. He would have a tally in two days. Ten put five double eagles in his hand. The Indian lifted his eyebrows in question, pointing to the grazing longhorns. Ten shook his head, pointed to himself and then to the Lipan. It was a gift. He put out his hand and the Indian took it.

  Priscilla didn’t say anything until they were well away from the Indian camp. When she spoke, it was with some amusement.

  “He remembered your father. Are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ten. “Just when I’m about convinced I’m my own man, I end up leanin’ on something Jess has said or done.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I think he’d be proud of the way you handled yourself. I was.”

  He looked at her, and the grim set of his lips softened.

  “Maybe I am touchy,” he said. “Trouble was, I didn’t want to go away to St. Louis to school. I felt like I was just a troublesome little bastard that Jess wanted rid of. I didn’t think he really cared a damn whether I got educated or not, so I didn’t care either.”

  “So now you know he did care, and you feel guilty for letting him down. You feel even more guilty when you benefit from being his son, like you’ve taken something you haven’t earned.”

  “That’s it,” he said. “That’s how I feel.” He looked at her wonderingly, relieved, yet a little afraid of having her understand him so well.

  “Ten,” she said, “tell him what you’ve told me. Tell him that you’re proud of him. The time will come when you’ll be glad you did.”

  Her eyes were on her saddle horn, and he looked at her with compassion. She envied him, and he knew why. She was right; he should be proud of Jesse. He never forgot her words, and the time would come when he’d bless her for saying them.

  Ten and Priscilla reached San Antone and found a rooming house that had hot baths. Ten paid two dollars for a room, and another two dollars for hot water, towels, and lye soap.

  “We ought to have learned where Marty, Wes, and the girls took rooms,” said Ten. “We could go over there and rattle the doors, throw gravel at the windows and give ’em a real shivaree.”

  “I wouldn’t let you,” said Priscilla. “Let the poor girls have a day and a night of peace and quiet. They’ve been nice to me, considering. I just hope Marty and Wes appreciate them. What do you know about Marty and Wes?”

  “They’re men with the bark on,” said Ten. “What you really want to know is, have they been goin’ to whorehouses.”

  “I’d never have asked you that. How would you know, unless you’d been going with them?”

  “I can’t say what they’ve done before they threw in with me,” said Ten, “but as cowboys go, from what I’ve seen of ’em, they could go to church with a clear conscience. So could I, but for a deck of cards.”

  Marty, Wes, Chris, and Lou returned the following morning and were hoorawed by everybody except Priscilla. Ten told them of the large herd of longhorns in the box canyon and the willingness of the Lipans to sell them.

  “There won’t be ten thousand,” though,” said Marty. “That means we’ll still be huntin’ cows. Once we know how many’s there, maybe we can just leave ’em in this canyon while we scout around for some more.”

  “I believe we can,” said Ten. “I offered four dollars a head, and it was accepted. Even if there’s only two or three thousand, that’ll be a pile of money for a tribe of Indians.”

  The Lipan Apaches had 4400 longhorns in the box canyon. They also had an eye for beef; 3500 of the brutes were big Texas steers.

  “No way out of it,” said Marty. “We’re goin’ to end up trailin’ a bunch of cows. They’ll slow down the drive, but we’ll need ’em if we’re shootin’ for ten thousand head.”

  “I promised Jess twenty-five hundred,” said Ten. “We have the money to buy another seventy-five hundred, but that’s no good if we can’t find the cows. With what we’ve found between here and Fort Worth, we have only a little more than six thousand. Tomorrow will be May fifteenth, and I aim to have these brutes grazin’ along the Arkansas, just south of Abilene, by September first.”

  For three more weeks they visited every outlying ranch within a day’s ride of their camp. For all their riding, and paying in gold, they found only another 3100 head. That, with the herd bought from the Indians, plus what they would pick up near Fort Worth, would push their total to 9300 head, 3300 of them cows. The Lipan Apaches drove their 4400 longhorns as far north as Ten’s camp near Bandera. This herd was left with Charlie Two Hats and the Cherokee riders. Ten took the rest of the outfit south, beyond San Antone, for the remainder of their last buy. With this 1600 head, they could begin the drive north. They were between San Antone and Bandera, Ten and Priscilla riding drag, when Ten spotted trouble ahead.

  “Something’s wrong at Bandera,” said Ten. “Look at that dust.”

  “Dust?” cried Priscilla. “How can you see anything, with all the dust our own herd’s stirring up?”

  “Not a cloud in the sky,” said Ten, “but look at that dirty gray against the blue, way up yonder on the horizon.”

  The cloud on the horizon came closer, and within minutes they could see a ragged line of longhorns half a mile wide, on a collision course with the herd they were driving north. Ten saw Marty dropping back, Wes, Chris, and Lou following. Their only hope was to push their own herd headlong into the oncoming longhorns and start the entire mass to milling. Failing in that, half the brutes might swing east, while the others went west, res
ulting in two stampedes.

  “Push ’em hard,” shouted Ten. “Keep ’em bunched!”

  With the wind from the north, the dust cloud raised by the oncoming herd preceeded them. It blinded Ten’s northbound herd until the southbound bunch was almost upon them. There was a bawling, horn-clacking panic as the lead steers from both herds collided. Ten drew his Colt and began firing until the weapon was empty. Even amid the dust, he could see steers from the southbound stampede going around both flanks of his own herd. At least they had only one stampede to contend with, he thought, and his own herd seemed to have slowed the panic-stricken rush of the other. Riders began appearing at right and left flank of the bawling, milling longhorns. Charlie Two Hats and his boys had arrived. Once they had the mixed herds under control, Two Hats trotted his lathered horse over to where Ten sat, reloading his Colt.

  “Cow run like hell,” said Two Hats. “Injun ride like hell, then ever’t’ing jus’ go to hell.” Embarrassed, he expected a reprimand.

  Ten surprised him. “We’ll hold this bunch,” he said. “Get your riders together and try to head that bunch that divided and flanked us.”

  Priscilla wiped her sweaty, dusty face on the sleeve of her shirt. Lou, Chris, Marty, and Wes had already begun to circle the newly formed remnants of the two herds.

  “Is a stampede always this bad?” Priscilla asked wearily.

  “Most of the time, it’s worse,” said Ten. “They run at night too.”

  22

  Even with Charlie Two Hats and his riders striving to redeem themselves, Ten’s outfit lost three days gathering the stampeded longhorns. They lost fifteen head, all a result of the herds colliding head-on. Three of the animals had broken necks. The rest had been gored, or had broken legs, and had to be shot. Rather than have the meat go to waste, Ten rode to the Indian village and offered the beef to the Lipan Apaches. The offer was accepted, and in return the Lipan chief sent a dozen mounted braves to help gather the stampeded longhorns.

  “We learned one thing,” said Priscilla. “All the Indians in Texas aren’t bloodthirsty killers.”

  “The Lipan Apaches save all their hate for the Comanches,” said Marty.

  “If I understood their language,” said Ten, “I’d be tempted to hire some Lipans for this drive and send Two Hats and his bunch home. They don’t even know what started that stampede.”

  “Kinda unusual, in broad daylight,” said Marty, “but with wild cows, you never know. I remember once, two old bulls got to hookin’ at one another. They got bloodied up some, and the smell of the blood, as best we could figure, was what spooked the herd. Scattered ’em from hell to breakfast, with the sun not even noon high.”

  “That herd was fresh out of a box canyon,” said Lou. “They’re like our first herd was, there on the Trinity, except there’s lots more of them.”

  “Until they become trailwise and settle down,” said Ten, “we’ll night-hawk in three watches, six riders at a time. There’s no such thing as a good stampede, but if there’s a choice, I’ll take daylight over dark.”

  “Let’s just hope this bunch settles down,” said Chris, “before we add those cows waiting for us near Fort Worth. How many more do we have there?”

  “I figure seventeen hundred and fifty between here and Fort Worth,” said Ten. “Even with our loss, we’ll still have 9375 head. Not quite the ten thousand we came after, but a blessed plenty, I think.”

  June 25, 1866, the first of the herd reached Fort Worth. The longhorns were strung out for nearly three miles, and everybody from the fort came out to watch the drive approach. Ten had Charlie Two Hats move up to point. Ten rode ahead to meet with Captain Fanning.

  “Impressive,” said the captain. “How many do you have?”

  “At last tally,” said Ten, “9375 head.”

  “Have any Indian trouble?”

  “Not from the Comanches,” said Ten.

  “There’s been some killing north of here,” said Captain Fanning. “Along the Red. Had a pair of Rangers through here yesterday. Six of them were attacked in daylight by what they estimated was a hundred Comanches. Four Rangers died. The two who escaped had to ride for their lives.”

  It was disturbing news. Such a band of Comanches would outnumber Ten’s riders more than five to one. He rode back to the outfit and passed the word to them. Everybody looked grim except Charlie Two Hats’s Cherokee. They were practically jubilant over the possibility of a fight with the Comanches.

  “Damn fools,” snorted Marty. “I wish I could get that excited over the possibility of gettin’ my carcass shot full of Comanche arrows and my hair lifted.”

  “That many Comanches,” said Ten, “and they could hit us in the daytime, when we’re strung out for miles. They’ll know we’re expecting them at night. What better way to cut us down a few at a time than to attack us on the trail?”

  They bedded down the huge herd a few miles north of the fort, and Ten called every rider to the supper fire to plan for a possible daytime attack.

  “I’ll be scouting far ahead of the herd,” said Ten, “but not so far that you can’t hear a rifle shot. I’ll be looking for Indian sign. I look for them to stampede the herd, and in the confusion try to kill as many of us as they can. I doubt they’ll come at us from the south, but I want five of you at drag. If they do circle around and hit us from behind, then one of you drag riders pull your rifle and fire a quick three shots. The rest of you keep your ears perked. If you hear three warning shots from the south, you’ll know that’s where you’re needed. Pull your rifles and ride.”

  Nobody said anything, and he continued.

  “Now, Charlie, this is for you, since you’ll be at point. If they come at us from the north, I’ll see them long before you do. If there’s a hundred of ’em, like we’ve been told, here’s what we’re goin’ to do. I’ll fire three quick shots. Pull your own rifle, Charlie, and repeat my signal, so the rest of the outfit is sure to hear it. When you’ve done that, get out of the path of the herd. That’s important, and here’s why: this is where you drag riders figure in. When you hear those three warning shots somewhere ahead of you, I want you to pull your own guns and make all the noise you can. If we’re goin’ to have a stampede, then we’ll start it ourselves, so we can control it. We’ll see how scalp-hungry these Comanches are when they’re out in front of nine thousand wild-runnin’ Texas longhorns.”

  “Make cow run like hell,” said Charlie Two Hats.

  “That’s it,” said Ten, “and then you ride like hell alongside the herd. Keep them moving north, and if you get close enough to the Comanches, shoot to kill. Just don’t get sucked into the stampede and get yourself trampled, or your horse gored.”

  Ten still had the night divided into three watches, using six riders at a time. Ten, Marty, Wes, Priscilla, Chris, and Lou took the first watch, and Ten took that opportunity to talk to them.

  “I want the five of you at drag,” he said, “until this Comanche threat is past. I want Two Hats and his riders covering the flank and point positions, and I want them devoting all their attention to what’s ahead of us. But those of you at drag will have to be twice as watchful. If I’m wrong, and Comanches hit the herd from behind, it will be up to you to warn the rest of us. But if an attack comes from the north, it’ll be up to you to hear the warning shots and start the herd running.”

  The nights continued peaceful, leading Ten more and more to expect a daytime attack while they were on the trail. They were a few miles south of the Red River crossing when the Comanches struck. Ten was half a dozen miles ahead of the herd, and with the wind from the northwest, the dust warned him of approaching riders long before he saw them. He first sighted the Comanches as they emerged from a brushy draw. They rode in a column of twos, trotting their horses. Ten watched as long as he dared, not wishing to stampede the herd unless the odds were otherwise insurmountable. Clear of the draw, the mounted Comanches bunched, and Ten had his answer. He kicked his horse into a gallop, riding south toward the o
ncoming herd. He pulled his Henry and fired three quick shots. Even with the wind against them, the Comanches were close enough to hear his warning shots. They would be after him within seconds, but there was no help for it. It would take time for the drag riders to get the herd running. Against the wind, he heard Charlie Two Hats repeat his three shots. Almost immediately there was the distant thunder of rifles, and the drag riders began forcing the herd to run.

  Ten slowed his horse, looking back. He must bait the trap, allowing the pursuing Comanches to see him. He rode one of the blacks they’d gotten from Maynard Herndon, and from here on his very life would depend on the valiant horse. He must lure the attackers into the very teeth of the stampede if the maneuver was to be successful. But he also must avoid being caught in the stampede himself. Once the herd began to run, they might overrun the flank riders, bearing down on him like a living avalanche of destruction. However they ran, his only chance lay in riding around the thundering herd at right or left flank.

  When he saw the charging herd coming, it was even more massed, presenting an even wider front than he’d feared. Some of the longhorns from the middle and tag end of the herd had broken ranks, had swerved around, and were following the leaders. Coming at him on the run was an unbroken line of wild Texas longhorns a mile wide! It was time to get out of their path, if he could. He wheeled the black to the east, riding hard. But without warning the earth seemed to give away beneath them. The running horse screamed, stumbled, and Ten left the saddle. He rolled and barely escaped being crushed by the falling horse. Dazed, he got to his knees. The black had staggered to its feet just in time for a Comanche arrow to graze its flank. Nickering in fear, the black galloped away. Ten eyed the oncoming herd, and he saw no escape. Then, far to his left, from among the charging longhorns, came a buckskin-clad Indian rider. The task he had chosen was impossible, but on he came! Soon he was ahead of the herd, and he wheeled his horse directly across its path. But the attacking Comanches, seeking to escape the oncoming herd, had followed Ten. Now they found themselves within range of this oncoming rider, and loosed a barrage of arrows at him. Ten’s would-be rescuer rode all the harder, and in response to the Comanche arrows, pulled his Henry and began firing. But the arrows were many, and one of them found its mark. Ten saw the rider flinch as the arrow caught him in the right side. But still he rode, and now he was close enough for Ten to recognize the grinning face of Sashavado!