by Lou Bradshaw
Finally, I said, “While we were waitin to meet up with Crazy Jim, the girl remembered Coleman talking about Denver City and a place called Cherry Creek. Coleman and his partner were going to ‘pick off’ anything they could get their hands on. There is supposed to be gold coming out of there, and my guess is they were gonna pick off some careless miners.” Andy sat without saying anything. “I think Frazier will probably head that way even without his partner simply because that was the plan. Chances are he knows others he can team up with – he’s been around a while.”
“How far is it to this Denver City?” Andy asked.
“Jim says it’s about five hundred miles give or take. It’s northwest at the edge of the mountains. He says when we get to the mountains we’re gonna either go north or south, but we’re gonna find it.”
“As I see it,” I went on, “cold weather is coming on in a month or so, and we need to get ready for it. Let’s head for Colorado and see if we can find a place to hole up along the way. We may be able to find jobs somewhere for the winter months. Then come spring we can move on. We can keep checking for signs of Frazier along the way.”
“We got any money?” he asked, meaning did I have any money.
I told him we could travel, and we wouldn’t starve if we didn’t spend too much time with the ladies. I also told him that I had all the paperwork to claim the reward on Coleman, which I had planned to send to Ft. Smith. But on second thought maybe we should go through Dodge City and claim it there. There would be enough to keep us through the winter if we couldn’t find work. Andy thought that was a right fine idea. We had always shared and shared alike, but I made up my mind right then to be the banker of our outfit.
“We can leave the day after tomorrow.” I told him, “That’ll give my horse a little time to rest up, and we can lay in supplies for the trail.” I asked if we had a place to stay, and he told me about a boarding house where he had us a room. I went on to the boarding house and he stayed at the saloon. As I went out the door, I saw a different young lady take over my empty chair. It occurred to me as I rode down the street that he hadn’t even asked about how things had gone with me or if the girl was in good hands. I guess Andy doesn’t think much about things that are outside of what concerns him.
At the boarding house I told the lady that I was Ben Blue, and I was supposed be rooming with Andy Moore. She told me that she didn’t have any Andy anybody there. She had a Jack Moore, who was waitin’ for his little brother, but that was the only Moore she had. I told her that Andy was Jack’s first name and I was the one he was expecting.
“No sir, I don’t reckon you are,” she said, “Mr. Moore said his brother was a red headed boy, and Mister, you ain’t been a boy for a while.”
“I can see how this all gets mixed up.” I told her, “You see, Andy’s…Jack’s folks raised me from a pup, and we always thought like we was brothers, even though we ain’t. And you’re right, I ain’t a boy no longer, but he still thinks of me that way.” She still wasn’t convinced.
I said, “Ma’am, has he paid you yet?”
“Not yet, he said his brother would take care of it when he got here.”
“Well, how about if I go ahead and pay you off through tomorrow night, and if Jack Moore don’t like it I’ll just throw him out.”
She said that would be just grand and accepted my money and told me which room was ours. Just as I turned to go down the hall, she caught at my sleeve and whispered, “Be careful Mr. Blue. I hear that Mr. Moore is really Hickory Jack Moore.”
“I know,” I whispered back, “he’s my brother.” And walked on down the hall.
After checking out the room and throwing my saddlebags on the bed, I went to the washstand to get a couple of days of dust and grit off my face and neck. I shoved that beat up sombrero back and buried my face in that basin. When I came up and pulled the towel away I was looking into a good-sized unbroken mirror on the wall. I wasn’t sure who I was looking at for a moment. It had been quite a while since I had really seen myself in anything larger than a little piece of mirror.
No wonder folks got a little confused… I was. The broad, blunt face was brown instead of pink and freckled. Where it had been soft and round, it was square and flat. The only things that were the same were the color of my eyes and hair. It had only been a little over four months since we left Missouri, but it seemed like a century.
The next morning I went shopping. I bought up the food we’d need for the trail, some new shirts that were a little larger than I needed, and new sombrero. I figured that I’d stay with moccasins until my feet quit growing. We’d need some winter duds, but that would have to wait till we got a little farther north. Sheepskin or buffalo would be ideal for the cold weather. After I stowed my purchases in our room, I checked on the horses to make sure they were in good traveling shape and all shoes were firmly in place. I gave them a little extra grain figuring they’d need it.
When I said we had some good horses, I meant it. Those were outlaw horses. Any outlaw who was poorly mounted was an outlaw who stood a good chance of decorating a tree or breaking rocks for no reason other than “The Man” told him to. According to Jasper Stewart, an outlaw’s first thoughts are of his horse and his guns. He wants to be sure he can get away, and if he can’t run, he wants to be able to shoot his way out.
I went to a saddle shop and found a holster for a dragoon pistol that would, with some minor modifications, work for my shotgun. I figured if I was going to carry that thing I had at least better make it more convenient. It was fitted on my left side for a cross draw, not so much for speed, but to keep it out of the way because I did most stuff with my right hand.
That express gun was a heavy load to pack around, but I agreed with what Jasper had said. It was an intimidator and I would probably never be any good with a handgun. The only real question was, would I be willing to use it when it was needed. “Needed” was the word – not wanted. Thinking of what might be some possible needs, I decided that I would.
My next stop was at the gunsmith’s where I swapped my old rifle for a Henry repeater like the one Andy had. It was smaller and I could afford a missed shot because I’d have another one ready to go. I was thinking more about game than men, but I guess the same logic applied to both.
I spent the rest of the day just hanging around town looking things over. It was a bit more settled than River Town, but it still had the raw frontier look to it. I’m sure that none of the buildings had stood for more than ten years, and most of them not more than four or five years.
Information about what the trail was like between Borger and Dodge was what I wanted then, and I found it sketchy. Most folks just said go north and a little to the west. One fella said, ”Foller any trail that you come to as long as it’s headin’ north and west. When you get to the Arkansas River, it’s gonna be to the left or right. Ya cain’t miss it.” There was only one thing everyone agreed on and that was, there was about two hundred miles of nothing between here and there. We felt good about getting to the Kansas line, but we were a little shaky beyond that.
Well, we’d been on the trail in open and wild country before; the big difference now was we were traveling light. We had plenty of coffee, flour, salt, and a lot of jerky. If there was anything else we hoped to put in our mouths, we were going to have to catch it or shoot it.
Chapter 17
We left Borger the next morning about an hour after sunup. I wanted to leave earlier, but Andy was late getting to bed. Actually, I was late getting him out of bed. First, I had to find out whose bed he was in. After some door banging, and a lot of cussing from the other side of the door and some from the rooms next door I got him started. He was none too happy, but she was furious. I wasn’t aware that women knew those words.
Happy, mad, grumpy, or hung over didn’t matter to me because I felt fine. It was a cool early autumn morning and we were on the trail. I figured he’d come around sooner or later, after all this was what he wanted. I was just tagging
along. I stuck a piece of jerky in his mouth to make up for the breakfast he didn’t want at breakfast time. He didn’t even say thank you.
About four days up the trail, we crossed paths with a cattle drive. They were only a day at the most ahead of us. It was a small herd – not more than three hundred critters from the looks of their trail. We caught up with them the following day. They were stopped at a stream and the cattle were watering. We located the boss and asked if we might tag along with him. He was short handed and happy for the extra riders. He said he couldn’t pay us, but he could feed us, and maybe our combined firepower might keep the boogers away.
Jenkins, the boss, said he’d had a tough season and had to thin his herd or lose a lot of them through the upcoming winter. Drought had dried up much of his water and graze. He wasn’t too worried; he said it just happened like that sometimes in this country. Some isolated little area just goes dry for no reason. A couple of years and it would change back or he’d move on.
He’d heard that the rails had reached as far west as Wichita, Kansas, and that was where he was intending to sell. We’d tag along with them until they crossed the Cimarron, where the herd would turn more to the east, and we’d point our noses north and west.
There were only six of us handling the cattle, which was plenty as long as everything went smoothly. Things don’t always go the way they are planned. We hadn’t much experience handling cattle, Andy and me, but we were quick learners. We had to be because those were longhorn steers; they were tall, rangy, quick, and ornery. Plus, each one was equipped with a set of needle sharp horns that could reach an eight-foot spread. There was always one trying to take off for what he thought would be greener pastures, and we had to be just as quick and ornery as he was. We wore out a lot of horseflesh, and fortunately, Jenkins had plenty.
Crossing the strip of land between Texas and Kansas we found some boogers. It was only about fifty miles of emptiness, and generally referred to as “No Man’s Land”. It was Federal land and I guess it was part of the Indian Nations, but in reality, it was a hangout for all sorts of low life losers.
We were passing through a draw and out into a small valley when the herd started to bunch and stop. I had been riding drag and being the curious type just had to find out what was going on, so I moved up the right flank toward the point. I picked up Andy on the flank and we both moved to the front. When we got there, we saw Jenkins and Baldy, one of the other hands, facing four ratty looking mongrels. The mongrels each had a weapon in hand, but only one was aimed in anyone’s direction, and that one was aimed at Jenkins.
Jenkins said when we rode up, “Boys, these here riff-raff seem to think we picked up some of their cattle on the way through, and they want to take ‘em back. Red, you seen any other brands but mine?”
“No sir, Mr. Jenkins,” I said, “I ain’t seen nothin but your Bar over J.”
“Well, there you are fellas.” Jenkins told the herd cutters, “The rest of my crew would lie through any teeth they might have, but this boy don’t lie.”
In a very polite voice, which surprised me Andy said, “Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind we’ll be leaving. I’ve got business up the line that can’t wait.”
That caught the leader funny, and when he reared back to laugh Andy shot him through the breastbone. In that second of reaction time, I had the sawed off out and both hammers eared back. They were flat footed even if they weren’t on the ground. In less than a heartbeat, Jenkins and Baldy were covering them as well. The cattle startled, but didn’t move more that a few yards. There was no place for them to go in that draw, and there were too many behind them.
I told the three rustlers to dump all their weapons right there on the ground. Saddle guns, belt guns, knives, and tomyhawks too, which they did.
One of the other riders came up. Jenkins told him to take the point, and move them out into the open and bunch them. Then he turned his attention to the three mongrels still sitting their horses. “Now, you fellas got some choosin to do.” he said. “You can stay on those horses and we’ll just lead you down to the nearest tree. Or, you can climb down and we’ll figure out what to do with you.” They didn’t waste any time getting out of those saddles.
When they were firmly on the ground and standing together, Baldy expertly tossed a loop over them and backed his horse slightly, which took all three to the ground.
Jenkins thought for a moment and said, “You fellas are bein real cooperative, so we’re gonna go easy on you. You shuck them boots and hats. Red, you toss ‘em here in a pile.” They struggled to get their boots off and I took their hats off. Then he said, “Red, would you unsaddle those critters? Just dump the saddles.
About that time, the herd was finishing coming through the draw and the chuck wagon was right behind it. Jenkins had me put the boots, hats, and artillery in the wagon. Then he had me tie the four horses to it.
He turned to the mongrels and said. “I don’t care what you do with him,” pointing to the dead man, “you can bury him or leave him. But you skunks are gonna get to do some walkin.” I’m gonna leave your boots, hats, and one gun about two miles up the trail. We’ll cut three of the horses’ loose about five miles up. The rest of the artillery and that other horse will go toward payin for our delay and aggravation.”
While they were mullin their good fortune over, I walked over to where they sat sprawled and tangled in Baldy’s rope. I hunkered down on my heels a few yards back and told them, “Now I’ve got another option for you. You can take what Mr. Jenkins gives you or you can take a walk to Dodge with me and my partner. I figure there’s posters out on you, and we can use the money. We’re following a fella named Bill Frazier – know him?” they looked at each other and muttered.
One of them said, “But, the old man already gave us a choice – we liked his better.”
“We don’t work for him.” I told them, “We’re just helpin out. We can come and go, as we like. And if we want to stay here with you fellas after he leaves, that’s up to us. Besides, we kinda have a claim on you since my partner shot your boss man.”
They muttered some more and the one that had spoken before said, “Frazier came through a couple of days ago, wantin’ us to go up to Colorado with him. Said he was headin’ for Dodge to get some men. Frank went with him. We shoulda gone with him too.”
“It’s lucky for you that you didn’t. I think his time is about up… one way or another.” I told them.
I moved back, and told Baldy to ease up. He did, and they got out of that loop. We left them sitting hatless and bootless, in the dirt as we moved up the trail.
When I caught up with Jenkins he was snickering and chuckling to himself, when I asked him to share the joke he said, “Them boys ain’t about to leave them saddles layin there. They’re gonna tote ‘em up the trail lookin for their horses. Those things weigh thirty to forty pounds apiece.” Then he started chuckling again.
“The wages of sin.” I said, which broke out more snorts and snickers.
He thanked us for what we had done. “I never seen anybody react so quick and smooth. You both seemed to know just what to do. When your partner shot that feller I nearly wet myself.”
“We’ve been together since we were practically yearlin’s.” I told him. “We’ve had to deal with their kind before. We kinda know what the other one’ll do.”
That night, I told Andy what I had learned from those rustlers, and how I had done it. We were only a couple of days behind Frazier, and we would probably find him in Dodge. But now there were at least two of them.
He laughed and asked, “Would you really have made those boys walk all the way to Dodge City?”
I grinned and told him, “If they hadn’t talked, I’d have tied ‘em to their horse’s tails and drug ‘em all the way if need be.”
We left Jenkins and the herd when we crossed the Cimarron two days later. Mr. Jenkins was so grateful for what we had done for him and his herd that he loaded us up with coffee, extra flour, and some ba
con. He also, gave us one of his tough little mustangs from his string of spares for a packhorse. We figured we’d need one if we had to go on to Colorado.
Without the herd, we were able to make better time; we were hoping to catch up to Frazier before we reached Dodge. We rode late and started early only stopping to give the horses a break. I was sure we were close. My thoughts went back to Crazy Jim and his talk about following trails – I wish I had paid more attention. Of course, we didn’t know what Frazier was riding or if he was even on this same trail, so it wouldn’t have done any good.
At the second crossing of the Crooked River, which lived up to its name we decided to make camp a little early and rest the horses a bit. We were about thirty or so miles from the Cimarron. From what Jenkins had told us, another twenty miles northeast would get us into Dodge. We were figuring on two days or three at the most.
We had the horses picketed in some grass a little ways from camp. We’d bring them in closer before nightfall. Andy was busy building a fire while I was skinning the jackrabbits I had shot earlier in the day. There were three of them, which meant there was enough for the two of us, if neither of us was overly hungry. Andy had tried his luck at the creek and he was lucky for a change. A little fresh fish and some frying pan bread would round out the meal. We were so busy we hadn’t noticed the sound of horses approaching until we heard someone yell, “Halloo – the camp.”
We were both startled and looked in the direction of the call. Andy scooped up his rifle, and I touched the butt of my express gun to make sure it was in place. I called out, “Come on in. Ride slow and friendly.” They came through the brush with their hands in plain sight and smiling.
“We’re plenty friendly.” the lead rider said, “And to prove it we got some venison to add to the fire.”
“Well then, light and set.” I said, and they did.
I heard the second man say to the first, “It’s just a couple of youngsters, Bill.” The first man shot a look at him like he should shut up.