“Yes,” said Pitkin, “that would be proper, but it strikes me this is hardly the time or place. Couldn’t this have waited until we reach Santa Fe?”
“Yes, sir,” Gavin said. “It could, but Miss Naomi wants your permission now.”
“Very well,” said Pitkin, “you have it. However—and I am addressing this as much to Naomi as I am to you—I am not granting approval for anything less than proper conduct until this relationship has been legalized in Santa Fe.”
“Father,” Naomi wailed, “what a perfectly horrid thing to say!”
Until then, only Pitkin, Gavin, and Naomi had been involved, but her outburst quickly alerted the rest of the outfit.
“What did Father say?” Nell demanded.
“He says I’m not to sleep with Gavin until we reach Santa Fe and find a preacher,” said Naomi.
“Then I suppose he’s going to tell me the same thing, where Woody’s concerned,” Nell said.
“I say,” Pitkin bawled, “what is going on here?”
“Yeeeehaaaa!” shouted Rusty, Vic, Ash, and Nip.
“Oh, damn,” Woody groaned.
Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory. June 16, 1869.
Tobe Hankins was the last to enter the room in the rear of the saloon he owned. The six men who waited for him sprawled in chairs, their glasses full, savoring the whiskey Hankins had provided. There was Deuce Rowden, York Eagan, Watt Grimes, Grady Beard, Haynes Wooten, and Jude Epps. They were a disreputable lot, several with prices on their heads, and they would kill for money. Taking the chair behind his desk, Hankins grunted in satisfaction, poured himself a drink, and then he spoke.
“There’s seven men I want dead. One of them is Gladstone Pitkin. The rest are gun-throwing cowboys that’s bringin’ a herd of Texas cattle from Independence.”
“When will they be gettin’ here?” Deuce Rowden asked.
“They won’t be getting here,” said Hankins. “I want them dead somewhere along the Santa Fe, so if there’s ever any questions, it can be blamed on Indians or renegades.”
“It’ll cost you,” Rowden said. “We want sixty-five hundred dollars. Five hundred for expenses, and a thousand for each of us.”
“Too much,” said Hankins.
“Not enough,” York Eagan countered. “Not when we got to ride two or three hunnert miles up the Santa Fe.”
“Yeah,” said Watt Grimes. “It’ll be hotter than hades, and we’re likely to end up with the damn Indians after us.”
“Fifteen hundred for each of us,” Haynes Wooten said.
“A thousand for each of you,” said Hankins, “and you keep the cattle.”
“What’n hell are we goin’ to do with a herd of cows?” Grady Beard asked.
“Yeah,” said Jude Epps. “I ain’t hirin’ on as no cow nurse.”
“Take it or leave it,” Hankins said, “and don’t waste any more of my time makin’ up your minds.”
The six men looked at one another. They had done Hankins’ dirty work before, and they understood him only too well. They had pushed him to the limit, and he was about to dismiss them, penniless.
“We’ll take it,” Rowden said. “Half in advance?”
“Five hundred for each of you, in advance,” said Hankins. “The rest when I’m sure the job’s been done.”
“What about our expenses?” Eagan asked.
“You’re gettin’ a herd of cows for free,” said Hankins. “Pay your own damn expenses. Now take your advance and get the hell out of here.”
Casting him dirty looks, they took the money and left, the last one out closing the door. Tobe Hankins leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and lighted a cigar. From his desk drawer he took a report that included the proposed right-of-way for the railroad to be built into Santa Fe. Silently he cursed the fate and blind luck that had made it possible for Gladstone Pitkin to buy literally thousands of acres of land for a few cents an acre. Land that would be worth millions, once the railroad came. Hankins dared not contest Pitkin’s ownership, for the Englishman had money. So much, in fact, that Hankins was intimidated. He had but one chance, and that was to see that Pitkin and his riders did not reach Santa Fe alive.
Eastern Kansas. June 17, 1869.
After Naomi revealed her relationship with Gavin, and Nell had further shocked everybody with news about herself and Woody, breakfast was a silent affair. The rest of the riders covertly eyed Gavin and Woody, tempted to hooraw them, but aware that Gladstone Pitkin had become decidedly cool to them all. After breakfast, when it was time to move out, Nell and Naomi approached Pitkin.
“Father,” Naomi said, “we have something to say to you.”
“I believe the two of you have said quite enough for one day,” said Pitkin.
“No we haven’t,” Naomi insisted. “Perhaps you have a right to be furious with us, but it’s unconscionable of you to be so cold to everyone else. None of the men have said or done anything to you. Not even Gavin and Woody. They have been perfect gentlemen, and it was Nell and me who pushed them to speak to you.”
“I can believe that,” said Pitkin, “and I am not faulting Woody and Gavin for having been captivated by you. When we reach Santa Fe, if they still want you, they shall have you, with my blessing. Or perhaps with my apology. While we’re on the trail—however difficult it may be—you will conduct yourselves in a manner so as not to embarrass me further. Otherwise, I shall take a strap to one or both of you, as the occasion demands. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Father,” they said meekly.
Woody and Gavin had crept close enough to hear Pitkin’s ultimatum, and they grinned at one another.
“Head ’em up,” Woody shouted. “Move ’em out!”
In the Stubbs camp, the teams had been harnessed and the wagons readied for the trail well before the Pitkin outfit was ready to depart. Bonita, Jania, and Laketa exchanged hopeful looks, for it seemed Levi Stubbs intended to remain close to the Pitkin outfit. The Pitkin wagons fell in behind the drag, and the three Stubbs wagons followed.
After they left Cottonwood Creek, the vegetation changed. There were cottonwood, elm, box-elder, and willow trees. There was some wild plum, and goldenrod abounded. While there was plenty of buffalo grass, there was seldom any tallgrass, except in the bottoms. Occasionally they saw crumbling buffalo bones, and wallows long since grown up in weeds and grass. But to everybody’s surprise, the trees began to thin out, and there were none that had been struck by lightning or windblown. Gavin McCord rode with Nell and Naomi at drag.
“There are fewer and fewer trees,” Naomi observed. “If they disappear entirely, what will we use for firewood?”
7
“We filled the possum bellies on both wagons last night, before the rain,” Gavin said. “We’ll be all right for a day or two. After that, we may all be gathering buffalo chips.”
“Buffalo chips? What are those?” Nell asked.
“Dried buffalo droppings,” said Gavin.
Nell wrinkled her nose, and Naomi looked as though she doubted the truth of it.
“You’d put your hands on that?” Nell asked.
“I would,” said Gavin, “and so will you, if there’s nothin’ else to burn.”
“More important,” Naomi said, “will Gonzales wash his hands after adding to the fire, before he prepares our food?”
“I doubt it,” said Gavin, with a straight face. “Most range cooks have learned to save water, when they can. When a frontier woman settles down, roundin’ up buffalo chips is one of her duties.”
“Gavin McCord,” Naomi said, “you’d just better hope there’s plenty of wood where we are going. I won’t gather buffalo chips for any man. Or for myself, for that matter.”
Once the herd was moving, Woody rode ahead, seeking water. Long stretches on the map Pitkin had bought showed little or no water. Twenty-five miles west of Cottonwood Creek, Woody reached another creek whose name he didn’t know. There was good water and abundant graze, but not a stick of
wood!*
“There’d better be some buffalo chips,” said Woody aloud, “for there’s nothin’ else.”
Suddenly there was a sharp pain at the back of his neck, and Woody swatted at what proved to be an enormous mosquito. Woody rode along the creek a ways, finding there were three forks. The banks were bright with scarlet flowers he didn’t recognize, and in the clear water of one of the forks, he could see fish. But there was danger too. There was the ominous whirring of a rattlesnake, and Woody’s horse backstepped. He wheeled the animal and rode back the way he had come. It was time to return to the herd and tell the outfit they were an impossible distance from the next decent water. He rode back in a slightly different direction and began seeing more and more of the bleaching bones of long-dead buffalo. There were numerous buffalo wallows, grassed over and knee-high in weeds, that could prove troublesome for wagons. When Woody met the herd, he rode on around. He would first report to Pitkin, and then inform the riders they were facing a dry camp for the night. Despite the fact there had been plentiful water, Pitkin had wisely taken the precaution of filling the extra barrels he had bought to help them across the desert. While the herd would be dry, the barrels would hold enough water for drinking and cooking, as well as a small ration for the horses and mules. The wagons were traveling side-by-side, and Woody, after passing them, turned his horse and rode back between them.
“Dry camp tonight, amigos,” Woody said. “It’s a good twenty-five miles to the next creek.”
“Malo,” said Gonzales.
“We have enough water in the barrels to see us through tonight,” Pitkin said.
“That was a smart move, filling those barrels,” said Woody. “Since that map has long stretches with no water showing, we can’t count on there being any. When we reach this next water, we’ll want to refill those barrels.”
“I shall see to it,” Pitkin said, obviously pleased that his foresight was appreciated.
Woody, starting with the drag riders, told the others of the impending dry camp. He caught Gavin’s eye, and winking at him, Gavin followed it with a question.
“How about firewood? Is there plenty ahead of us?”
“Funny you should mention that,” said Woody. “There’s not a stick of wood between here and that creek. But there’s plenty of buffalo bones. We can gather buffalo chips, if we have to.”
Nell and Naomi turned up their noses, and Gavin laughed. Woody quickly caught on and played along.
“Should be plenty of buffalo chips. Since we’re in dry camp tonight, we can stop well before sundown. That’ll give Nell and Naomi enough time to gather a pretty good load of that prairie firewood.”
“Woodrow Miles,” Nell said, “if you’re expecting us to put our hands on those horrid things, then you’re as…as full of it as the buffalos were.”
Woody and Gavin slapped their thighs with their hats and laughed until they cried. It was Gavin who recovered first, and when he spoke, he seemed dead serious.
“I reckon we’ll have to tell Pit we’ve changed our minds about these ladies. When a woman won’t do the little things, how can you depend on her for important stuff?”
“I dunno,” said Woody with a straight face. “It gets cold as all get-out in northern New Mexico. When a blizzard blows in across the Sangre de Cristos, we’ll likely freeze to death for want of a fire.”
“I think we’ll just call your bluff,” Naomi said, getting wise. “Father’s barely speaking to us, as it is. He has virtually no sense of humor. Irritate him further, and he may just forbid us to have anything more to do with either of you.”
“I reckon they got us, Woody,” said Gavin. “We’ll have to gather our own buffalo chips. Pit’s a hundred years away from understandin’ cowboy humor. If he ever does.”
“I’d better talk to the rest of the riders,” Woody said. “They’ll wonder what’s goin’ on back here.”
Woody passed the word to the rest of the riders and then took his place ahead of the herd, at point. As he rode along, the Stubbs outfit came to mind. How were they going to survive a night in a dry camp? He grudgingly concluded he would probably share some of their water with Stubbs, but only if the old varmint kept a civil tongue.
Once the herd had traveled what Woody believed was half the distance to the next water, he chose a level plain with good graze and waved his hat. The riders began heading the leaders, starting them milling. As the herd settled down, Pitkin and Gonzales reined up their teams and began unharnessing. Within a few minutes, Levi Stubbs reined up his sweating mules. His other two wagons were close behind.
“Where is the water?” Stubbs demanded.
“Twelve miles ahead,” said Woody calmly.
“We can’t spend the night here,” Stubbs all but shouted. “We got no water, not even for cookin’.”
“Mister Stubbs,” said Woody as calmly as he could, “on the frontier, there is never any assurance there’ll be water within a day’s drive. You generally carry a water barrel on the outside of each wagon box. That will see you through a dry camp, with enough water for drinking and cooking. Your teams will have to go without, and you’ll have to rest them more often on the next day’s drive. Where are your water barrels?”
Stubbs looked uncomfortable, and when he didn’t say anything, Wiley answered for him.
“Paw left the barrels behind. He said haulin’ water was foolish, that it would just be extry weight, cuttin’ down on our payload.”
There was a prolonged silence, and every eye was on Levi Stubbs. The man had fallen victim to his own ignorance and greed, and nobody had any sympathy for him. However, there were others to consider, and the worry in the eyes of the three Stubbs daughters got to the Pitkin outfit. Even Pitkin looked to Woody for an answer to the dilemma.
“Stubbs,” said Woody, “there’s no gettin’ around the fact that you’re a damn fool for havin’ left your water barrels behind. If it was just you, I’d let you do without, but your sons and daughters shouldn’t have to suffer for your ignorance. We’ll share our water with you, allowin’ you enough for cookin’ your meals and drinkin’.”
“Why, damn you,” Stubbs bellowed, “I wouldn’t…”
“But we would,” Wiley interrupted, “and we’d be obliged.”
“You are most kind,” said Bonita, “and we’re all thanking you.”
“Well, by God, I ain’t,” Stubbs said. “Our mules is thirsty too.”
“Sorry,” said Woody, “we don’t have enough for your mules. You’ll take what we can spare, or leave it alone.”
“You didn’t act like you cared all that much for them mules, Paw,” Whit said. “Way you was whippin’ ’em while we was crossin’ them creeks, I thought you was beatin’ them to death. There’s sores from the whippin’.”
It was a telling argument. On the frontier, even outlaws and killers didn’t abuse their animals, and it prompted the cowboys to take a closer look at Stubbs’ teams. There was no mistaking the marks of the lash, and the men looked at Levi Stubbs in a manner that sent chills up his spine.
“Stubbs,” said Woody through clenched teeth, “if you don’t doctor those wounds and keep the blowflies away, those mules are goin’ to die.”
“Hell,” Stubbs said, “it ain’t that bad.”
“Bad enough,” said Nip Kelly, “and it may get worse. If we find you’ve been beating those animals again, it’s you that’ll die. I believe I speak for every cowboy here.”
There were shouts of agreement from everybody, including all the Pitkins, and even Gonzales, the cook.
“I don’t have to take that kind of talk,” Stubbs bawled.
He stalked back to his wagon, climbed to the box, and slapped the rumps of his mules with the reins. He finally reined up a hundred yards beyond the Pitkin camp. Wiley and Whit didn’t follow him. Instead, Whit approached Woody.
“Do you have any medicine we could buy that will heal them lashes on the mules?”
“Nothing you can buy,” said Woody, “but we’l
l share our sulfur salve with you, if we can count on you making use of it.”
“You can,” Whit replied. “Me an’ Wiley will see to it.”
“Gonzales,” said Woody, “get them one of those tins of salve from the medicine chest in the chuck wagon.”
While the Mexican was fetching the salve, the three Stubbs daughters came closer. It was Bonita who spoke.
“Please let us have a little water for drinking and cooking. Whatever we can do to pay you, we’ll gladly do.”
“There’s no pay wanted or expected for the sharin’ of water,” Woody said. “At least, not for them that’s deservin’ of it. Rusty, you and Vic take one of those small barrels of water from Pit’s wagon, and carry it where these ladies tell you.”
Rusty and Vic hastened to obey, and when they were well away from the Pitkin camp, Bonita spoke.
“You all have been so kind to us, after Paw treated you so shamefully.”
“Yes,” Jania said, “I’m so sick, I could just die.”
“Don’t be feelin’ like that,” said Vic. “None of us has got much choice, when it comes to our kin. We’re stuck with ’em.”
“Oh, God,” Laketa said, “why did we have to get stuck with him?”
“After midnight,” said Rusty, “Ash, Vic, and me will be on watch, and there’ll be hot coffee. Why don’t the three of you slip away and join us for a while?”
“Yeah,” Vic said. “All we’ll do is just talk,” he added hastily.
“We will if we can,” said Bonita.
“If Wiley or Whit’s on watch, we can,” Jania said. “It’s him we got to worry about.”
Rusty and Vic left the keg of water a few yards behind Stubbs’ wagon. He ignored them and continued unharnessing his team. As the cowboys returned to their own camp, they met Wiley and Whit with the other two wagons.
“They’re a decent enough bunch,” said Vic, “except for old Stubbs. That old bastard oughta be gut-shot and fed to the coyotes.”
“The girls must have taken after their mama,” Rusty said. “I’d near about tolerate the scruffy old varmint from here to Santa Fe, just to get to know the girls better. I believe the three of ’em would leave old Stubbs and go with us, was they asked proper.”
The Santa Fe Trail Page 11