The Cherokee circled Ten, wheeled his horse and gave Ten his hand. Ten pulled himself up behind Sashavado, and the Indian kicked the weary horse into a run. The animal’s flanks were wet, and Ten could hear it blowing. There were no more arrows. Ten looked back, and the Comanches had given up everything except getting out of the path of the herd. Despite Sashavado’s hard riding and the supreme efforts of his horse, they were caught up in part of the stampede. But they were near the outer edge, on the left flank, and Sashavado allowed the horse to lope along with the slowing longhorns. The stampede had lost its momentum.
Once free of the herd, Ten dropped off the weary horse. Sashavado reined up, but when he tried to dismount, he fell. Ten caught the Indian, easing him to the ground. The arrow had gone in just above his waistband, and he looked hard hit. Charlie Two Hats, Marty, and Priscilla reined up and quit their saddles on the run. Priscilla’s face went white as she saw the arrow in Sashavado’s side. Charlie Two Hats said nothing.
“Marty,” said Ten, “bring me a horse, and a fresh one for Sashavado. You and me are takin’ him back to Fort Worth. There’ll be a doc at the fort, and they’ll have medicine.”
“Dear God,” cried Priscilla, “he’s hurt. How can he ride?”
“Sashavado ride,” gritted the Indian.
Marty returned with a horse for Ten and a fresh one for Sashavado. Ten spoke to Charlie Two Hats.
“Charlie, the rest of you begin rounding up the herd. Move them to the nearest water and graze, and bed them down. Keep everybody on watch, just in case those Comanches have another go at us. Me and Marty will be back when Sashavado’s been taken care of, and after I’ve reported this attack to Captain Fanning.”
“There’s nobody left with the herd,” said Priscilla, “except Wes, Chris, and Lou. The Cherokees have gone after the Comanches.”
Ten looked at Two Hats, and the Indian shrugged.
“Cow no run,” said Two Hats. “Comanche run. Kill Comanche, catch cow.”
It was Indian logic. Ten nodded. The herd was moving north and had slowed to barely a walk. Many of the longhorns had stopped to graze. Two Hats’s riders wouldn’t pursue the Comanches too far. The Cherokees were far outnumbered, and smart enough not to ride into an ambush. Ten turned to Priscilla.
“Find Wes, Chris, and Lou,” he said, “and stay with them until I return.”
Ten and Marty rode slowly, making it as easy on Sashavado as they could. The Indian rode between them, saying nothing. It was well past noon when they reached the fort. A sentry was sent, on the double, for Captain Fanning.
“Captain,” said Ten, “we need a doctor for this man. When we’ve seen to him, I’ll have some information for you about the attack.”
Sashavado didn’t trust the white “medicine man,” and it was all Ten could do to convince the Indian he should allow the doctor to operate. They wasted half a bottle of laudanum before Sashavado finally swallowed enough for it to take effect.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said the doctor. “The barb hit a rib, and while it’s cut deep, it spared his vitals. If you can keep him still for a couple of days, until the danger of infection has passed, he’ll be all right.”
Ten and Marty returned to Captain Fanning’s office.
“Not much to report, Captain,” said Ten, “except that what those Rangers told you was gospel. I’d say there’s a good hundred Comanches in that bunch.”
“But you didn’t lose a man,” said Fanning, “and had only one wounded. If I may ask, how did you accomplish that, against so superior a force?”
“We let ’em come after us,” said Ten, “and when they got close enough, we sent nine thousand wild Texas longhorns to meet ’em. That evened the odds some. Even Comanches can’t fight a stampede.”
Despite the doctor’s warnings, Sashavado refused to remain at the fort. The Cherokee insisted on returning to the herd with Ten and Marty, so the doctor supplied them with alcohol, iodine, and fresh bandages for dressing the wound. It was near dark when they reached their camp, and Ten noted with approval that Two Hats had everybody with the herd except Priscilla. The cooking had been done, and the fire had been put out well before dark.
“I saved supper for you,” said Priscilla, “although I didn’t know when you’d be back. Sashavado, I’m so glad you’re all right. How do you feel?”
“Sore lak hell,” said Sashavado. “Much hungry.”
Charlie Two Hats rode in, appearing unsurprised that Sashavado was there, eating as though he’d never seen food before in his life.
“No lose cow.” Two Hats grinned. “Kill Comanche.” He raised one hand, all his fingers extended.
Ten sighed with relief. Even with the stampede, they’d lost none of the herd. The Cherokees had managed to kill five of their attackers, and although Sashavado had been wounded, he would recover.
They spent part of the next day rounding up the rest of the herd.
“First stampede I ever seen,” said Marty, “where the herd runs the way the drive’s headed. Give ’em a choice, and they go skalleyhootin’ down the backtrail fifteen or twenty miles.”
“Mr. Chisholm,” said Lou, trotting her horse alongside Ten’s, “I owe you an apology. When we first throwed in with you, I wasn’t sure you was a big enough Injun to boss a trail drive, but that trick with the stampede convinced me. Those Comanches would have had us for breakfast.”
“Wes,” said Ten, “I ain’t never heard a woman admit she was wrong before. Are you almighty sure this here person is a girl?”
“I’d swear to it on a stack of Bibles,” said Wes.
“So could Marty,” said Chris.
Marty winked at Lou, and the girl actually blushed. Ten only looked confused. Priscilla laughed. Someday she’d have to tell him what Marty and Wes never had.
Ten turned the drive slightly to the east, and they crossed the Red River just south of Fort Washita. It was July 10, 1866.
“This is one time the Red didn’t live up to its reputation,” said Marty.
“There’s still the Canadian, the North Canadian, and the Arkansas,” said Ten, “and any one of them could drown some of us.”
“This has been kind of a dry year,” said Wes. “Not that much rain.”
“When it comes to river crossin’,” said Marty, “high water ain’t the only problem. Once you get the lead steers in the water, they got to head for the other bank. Let ’em get spooked, and they’re just likely to take a notion to go back to the riverbank they’ve just left. Next thing you know, the herd’s doubled back on itself, and you end up with steers drowned or gored. Been many a rider lost like that too.”
But as it turned out, river crossings would be the least of their worries. Indian Territory was a haven for renegades and deserters, the dregs of the Union and Confederate armies. A day’s drive north of the Red, they came upon a creek whose banks offered excellent graze for several miles, even for their large herd.
“We’ll take a couple of days to rest,” said Ten. “This is a good time and place to wash clothes and blankets.”
“We can’t be more’n five days’ drive from the Canadian,” said Marty. “You aim to stop at the trading post and leave the twenty-five hundred steers your pa wants?”
“We’ll stop there,” said Ten, “but I reckon he’ll want us to trail his herd with ours and graze ’em on the Arkansas until McCoy’s stock pens are ready.”
“We won’t actually be going to Abilene, then,” said Priscilla.
“Not for a while,” said Ten. “We’ll spend a day or two with Jess, and after we leave his trading post, it’s about 225 miles to his ranch on the Arkansas River. That’s where we’ll graze our herd. Abilene’s maybe seventy-five miles north of there.”
“It may be weeks before McCoy’s cattle pens are ready,” said Wes. “Who’s goin’ to stay with the herd? Us?”
“No,” said Ten. “That’s what I want to talk to Jess about. If it’s all right with him, I aim to leave Charlie Two Hats and his rider
s there until we’re ready to move the herd on to Abilene. Then I thought I’d take Priscilla to St. Louis for a few days. Marty, you and Wes are welcome to bring Chris and Lou. I have to track down Drago Herndon. I still owe him money, and I have to tell him about Hern.”
“I wouldn’t miss a trip to St. Louis,” said Lou, “but what comes after that? Another trail drive?”
“Not immediately,” said Ten. “I have some unfinished business in New Orleans.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. As much as they wished to know the nature of his “business,” they dared not ask. If he had wanted them to know, he’d have told them. Chris and Lou eyed Priscilla, and it was she who broke the prolonged silence.
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” she said, “but they’re like family, and they might as well know.”
With that, she turned to Chris and Lou.
“He promised my daddy some money,” she said. “That’s how he was able to get me away from there. Now he has to deliver the money.”
“Why?” Wes wanted to know. “Ten’s got you, you’re past eighteen, and you’re a married woman.”
“Because I gave my word,” said Ten, “and I aim to keep it.”
“Even if he tries again to kill you,” said Priscilla bitterly.
“He ain’t goin’ alone,” said Marty.
“Alone,” said Ten grimly. “I made the debt, and I’ll pay it.”
23
Three days into Indian Territory, Ten’s outfit had just finished supper when their “visitors” rode in. There were twelve of them, a hardcase lot if Ten had ever seen one. The apparent leader wore a Confederate officer’s coat and dirty Levi’s pants. He was bearded, and his shaggy dark hair poked out through a hole in the crown of his old gray hat. He hooked one leg around his saddle horn, and with his left hand rolled a quirly. He popped a sulfur match with his thumbnail and lit the smoke. His companions reined up next to and behind him. They made no move to dismount, and Ten extended no invitation.
“Mighty big herd,” said Black Hat. “Where you bound?”
“Mister,” said Ten, “I don’t consider that any of your business.”
“Well, now,” said the renegade leader, “I reckon it is our business. We’re here to offer you our services. For, say, ten cents a head, we’ll git you through th’ territory. Otherwise, without our pertection, them cows might git stampeded, an’ it’d take a right smart amount of work, roundin’ ’em up.”
Marty and Wes had moved up beside Ten, thumbs hooked in their pistol belts. Charlie Two Hats’s riders had moved in, every man armed with a rifle or a Colt, some with both.
“I reckon,” said the renegade, “you ain’t int’rested.”
The half-smoked quirly disappeared from his lips before any of them heard the sound of the shot. Ten holstered his Colt.
“You’re right,” he said. “We ain’t interested. Now back out of here, the lot of you, and ride.”
Without a word they turned and rode away, none of them looking back.
“They’ll likely be back sometime tonight,” said Marty.
“I doubt it,” said Ten. “They rode in to take our measure, and didn’t like what they saw. If their kind is goin’ to be a problem, they usually just go ahead and stampede the herd. Then they’ll round up as many as they can and demand payment for returning them. We’ll be on our guard, but I don’t think they liked the look of us.”
But that wasn’t the end of it. When a summer storm struck two nights later, so did the renegades. They waited until thunder and lightning became intense enough to stampede the herd. With the longhorns running toward the south, and the riders trying to head them, the band of outlaws rode in from the north. Slipping in behind the hard-riding cowboys, they began shooting. When Ten first heard the shots, he thought it was his own riders trying to head the herd. He changed his mind when a slug burned its way across his thigh and another ripped off his hat, which had been thonged down with rawhide. Ten reined up, drew his Henry and began firing at muzzle flashes. Some of his other riders had become aware of the danger, had abandoned the stampeding herd and were returning the fire. The longhorns could be rounded up later. The thunder and lightning diminished, along with the thunder of the running herd. The element of surprise gone, and their fire being returned, the attackers backed off. Slowly, Ten’s outfit came together.
Of the Cherokee riders, only four were present. There was Buscadero, Sashavado, Hoss, and Jingle Bob. Ten could only hope the others were still in pursuit of the running longhorns, and not injured or dead. But his worst fears were realized when Wes, Chris, and Lou rode in. Wes led two horses. One of them had been ridden by Charlie Two Hats, the other by Priscilla.
“What about Marty?” Ten asked.
“Ain’t seen him or his horse,” said Wes. “We found these two trottin’ along behind the herd.”
As suddenly as the sky had clouded, it began to clear. By moon and starlight they backtrailed the stampede. They found Priscilla first, and Ten sighed with relief.
“They started shooting,” she said, “and a bullet must have stung my horse. He just went crazy and threw me.”
Ten gave her a hand up behind him, and they rode on. When they found Charlie Two Hats, he was afoot, the left sleeve of his shirt soaked with blood.
“Shoot Injun off hoss,” said Charlie. “Mad like hell.”
Using his good hand, Charlie hoisted himself up behind Buscadero. There was the thud of hooves from the south, and when the rest of the outfit reined up, Marty Brand wasn’t with them. Chris was already far ahead, searching for Marty, and it was she who found him lying facedown in the mud. Hearing her frantic cry, the rest of the outfit went on the run. Even in the moonlight they could see the back of his shirt was bloody. But before any of them could make a move to help him, Marty rolled over and sat up, groaning. Ten could see the shine of blood as it oozed from a nasty wound above Marty’s right ear.
“They nailed me in the shoulder,” said Marty, “and the next one like to of took my head off. I feel like I been hit with a nine-pound sledge.”
They got him mounted behind Chris and set off for their camp. There wasn’t much of it left. Their pack mules were gone, their supplies had been ransacked, and a dozen horses were missing from their remuda.
“Maybe the horses and mules got caught up in the stampede,” said Lou.
“The stampede wouldn’t have taken twelve picketed horses and left the rest,” said Ten. “Come daylight, we’re goin’ after that bunch and show ’em the evil of their ways.”
It was a miserable four hours until dawn. Without their supplies and medicines, they couldn’t even see to their wounded. Ten was ready to ride as soon as it was light enough to see. He would take Wes and all of the Cherokee riders except Charlie Two Hats.
“Priscilla,” said Ten, “you, Chris, and Lou get a fire going. Heat some water and do what you can for Charlie and Marty until we get back.”
The worst of the storm had been over when the renegades had ridden out, so their trail leading north was plain. Too plain. The outlaws didn’t have that much of a lead. Somewhere ahead they’d have to double back and lay an ambush. Ten reined up and waited for the Cherokee riders to gather around him.
“Hombres,” he said, “I reckon this bunch is goin’ to double back and lay for us. Buscadero, you take five men, ride a couple of miles east, and then turn north. Sashavado, you take five men, ride a ways to the west, and then ride north. When you find where this bunch is holed up, move in from east and west and get ’em in a cross fire. Wes and me will ride on, like we’re followin’ their trail. When we hear you shootin’, we’ll ride in from the south. Comprender?”
Sashavado grinned. “Shoot lak hell. Kill all.”
“Every one,” said Ten. “Just don’t get yourself shot in the process.”
They rode out, every man with his rifle cocked and ready.
“We’re givin’ ’em the tough part,” said Wes. “I feel kind of guilty.”
“Don’t,” said Ten. “When Buscadero and Sashavado close the jaws of this trap, those coyotes are goin’ to run. Since they can only ride north or south, there’s a fifty-fifty chance it’ll be just the two of us against any who escape.”
The fight, when it came, was short. When Ten and Wes heard the crash of gunfire, they kicked their horses into a run, drawing their Henrys as they rode. But it was over before they reached the scene. The Cherokees had indeed caught the renegades in a cross fire. Eleven of the outlaws had been killed. It looked like a battlefield. Ten and Wes reined up. Sashavado and Buscadero rode out to report.
Sashavado grinned. “Boss coyote run lak hell.”
“Take gun, take shell, take hoss,” said Buscadero.
The rest of the Cherokees were doing exactly that. Not only had they recovered Ten’s stolen horses, pack mules, and supplies, they had taken the eleven renegades’ horses and a loaded packhorse. Outlaw pistol belts hung from saddle horns, and the Indians were stripping the bodies of anything else of value, including fancy boots.
“My God,” said Wes, “I know they were outlaws, but it’s kind of gruesome, stripping the dead.”
“Maybe,” said Ten, “but they won’t take anything the dead can use.”
They spent the best part of three days rounding up the scattered herd, but Ten didn’t begrudge the delay. While their wounds wouldn’t have kept Marty and Charlie Two Hats from riding, a couple of days’ rest might lessen the chance of infection. One night after supper, wanting some time to themselves, Ten and Priscilla walked down the creek a ways.
The Chisholm Trail Page 25