“Because it’s comin’ with the wind,” said Woody. “By the time it reaches us, the front may be ten miles wide. We must reach the Little Arkansas and cross it. With the wind behind the flames, they’ll jump this creek like it wasn’t here. Get the herd moving, while I go and warn the Stubbs outfit.”
The riders wasted no time getting the herd moving. Gonzales and Pitkin pulled both wagors in behind the drag. Woody reined up before the Stubbs wagons. Levi Stubbs said nothing, and there was no welcome in his hard eyes.
“There’s a prairie fire comin’ this way,” Woody said, pointing to the distant smoke. “We must reach the next water—the Little Arkansas—and cross ahead of the fire.”
“We don’t know that’s a prairie fire,” said Stubbs, “an’ we don’t know it’ll be of any trouble to us. All we got is your word, cow stink, an’ that ain’t enough fer me.”
“It’s enough fer me an’ Whit,” Wiley said. “Paw, these men has got experience that we ain’t got. You kin piddle around an’ take your chances with that fire, if’n you want to, but we’re makin’ a run fer that river. Ain’t we, Whit?”
“Damn right,” said Whit. “Even if the fire ain’t a danger, we still got to make it to that river, so what we got to lose?”
He climbed to his wagon box and gave Jania a hand up. Wiley mounted the box and Laketa followed.
“Make room for me,” Bonita cried. “I won’t ride with him.”
Laketa gave her a hand up, and when Whit’s wagon moved out, Wiley’s was right behind him. Without a backward glance, Woody rode away. He could hear Stubbs cursing, but he could also hear the rattle of the wagon.
“I’m ridin’ ahead to the Little Arkansas,” said Woody, as he rode alongside Pitkin’s wagon. “Then I’ll try and get some idea as to how close that fire is, and how wide a front the flames are coverin’.”
Pitkin waved his understanding, and Woody rode on. The rest of the riders knew the danger and the necessity of knowing how far they were from the Little Arkansas. Each of them lifted a hand as Woody rode past, He kicked his horse into a slow gallop, and soon was lost to the riders driving the herd.
“Have you ever been through a prairie fire, Gonzales?” Pitkin asked, as his wagon rattled along beside the chuck wagon.
“Si,” said Gonzales. “Lose chuck wagon, grub, and much cows.”
Pitkin bit his lip and pushed his teams all the harder. He was rapidly learning that his resourceful outfit did not exaggerate.
Woody rode on, ever aware of the billowing smoke on the horizon. While there was a slim possibility the blazing front might burn itself out without extending all the way to the Little Arkansas, he couldn’t be sure of that. If the fire’s front stretched all the way to the river, the herd would have to reach and cross the Little Arkansas ahead of the flames. Only one thing could Woody see in their favor, and that was the total lack of any timber. A truly terrifying fire could race up resinous trees, turning them into towering torches. With a treacherous wind at its heels, such a fire could leap from one tree to another, often crossing creeks and rivers as though they didn’t exist.
Sparing his horse, Woody rode at a slow gallop. Reaching the Little Arkansas, he estimated that it was an alarming fifteen miles from where he had left the herd. Now he was better able to judge the progress and potential danger of the prairie fire. Studying the smoke, it appeared the flames might already have reached the river. While that might halt the advance of the fire, it still would be necessary for the Pitkin outfit to cross the Little Arkansas before the flaming front reached them.
“Before we start back, we might as well get us a drink, horse,” said Woody.
Woody found a shallow place and watered his horse. He was about to belly-down and satisfy his own thirst, when a movement on the opposite bank caught his eye. An Indian arrow whipped so close to his cheek, he felt the passing of it.
“My God,” Woody said, under his breath.
The Comanche who had loosed the arrow shouted, and a dozen mounted comrades rode whooping toward the river. In an instant, Woody was in the saddle, kicking his horse into a fast gallop. But there was absolutely no cover, and Woody knew they would soon flank him, leaving him but two choices, one as unappealing as the other. He could force them to shoot him out of the saddle in a deadly crossfire, or he could take refuge in the tallgrass, killing as many of them as he could, before their arrows found him. Woody rode his tiring horse as fast as he dared, aware that every yard took him a little closer to the oncoming herd. Were they near enough to hear his desperate plea for help? Having nothing to lose, Woody drew his Colt and fired three times, spacing the shots so there would be no mistaking their purpose. Over the bawling of the herd, the riders were able to hear the distant shots.
“Woody’s in trouble,” Gavin shouted.
It was a situation the outfit had been up against more than once, and experience told them it was Indians or outlaws. They were unable to desert the herd because of the advancing prairie fire, so their decision was quick and unanimous. They would take the herd with them, a thundering hooved avalanche, to counter whatever danger threatened Woody. But their decision went beyond Woody’s plight, for there was no other way of getting the herd to the Little Arkansas ahead of the prairie fire. Gavin began firing his Colt, and the rest of the riders joined in. Gonzales shouted his teams into a gallop, and on the very heels of the drag, began firing his Winchester. The herd, already cantankerous and testy from being driven hard and fast, lurched into a run.
Gladstone Pitkin reined up his teams and sat there swearing, watching the galloping longhorns disappear in a cloud of dust. Nell and Naomi, while not understanding the underlying purpose of the stampede, fell into the spirit of it. They rode hell-for-leather after the herd, shouting for all they were worth.
“Glory to God,” Woody shouted, when he heard the thunder of hooves and saw the advancing dust cloud.
The herd galloped on, fanned out in a line half a mile wide. Dust obscured the farthest ranks, presenting a formidable sight to the Comanches pursuing Woody. Wheeling their horses, they fled before the fast-moving stampede. Woody rode for his life, and when he was out of the path of the running longhorns, he slid out of the saddle. He flung his arm around the neck of his horse, for the gallant animal was lathered and heaving for air.
“Nice of you to bring us company,” Gavin said, as the riders reined up. “Comanches, I reckon?”
“Yeah,” said Woody, “and I’m obliged for the welcomin’ committee. I had that prairie fire on my mind, and got a mite careless. They jumped me at the river. A dozen of them.”
“I ain’t playin’ down the Comanches,” Vic said, “but how serious is the fire? How wide is the front?”
“Looked like it might extend all the way to the Little Arkansas,” said Woody. “While I don’t relish the idea of explainin’ it to Pitkin, that stampede serves two good purposes. It got rid of the Comanches—at least for now—and maybe it’ll get the herd across the Little Arkansas ahead of the fire.”
“Hell,” Nip Kelly said, “tell it to Pitkin straight. Even if there was no Comanches and no prairie fire, without a stampede, that bunch of longhorned catamounts wouldn’t get to the Little Arkansas until sometime tomorrow.”
“Maybe not even then,” said Rusty. “We’ve pushed ’em hard all day, and a dry camp would’ve been hell with the lid off. A breath of air with the smell of water could’ve sent ’em skalley-hootin’ in exactly the wrong direction. At least they’re fifteen miles farther on the trail they got to travel.”
“Howsomever,” Gavin said, “we’ll have to do some fast talkin’. Yonder comes old Gladstone, and all the smoke ain’t from the prairie fire. He’s spoutin’ of it.”
Pitkin reined up his teams, and after glaring at them all, fixed his gaze on Woody. He spoke, making no effort to conceal his anger.
“All the way from Independence, I have been warned of the many dire consequences of stampedes. I have seen you gentlemen go to great lengths to avoid them, and now, before m
y very eyes, you create one. Perhaps you’d like to justify what I have witnessed?”
“I reckon I can do that,” said Woody, “but this is not the time or the place. If you don’t get your wagon and teams across the river, the prairie fire’s goin’ to cut you off.”
Pitkin could now see the advancing flames, as they fed on the tallgrass. He also could see the chuck wagon far ahead, as Gonzales raced for the safety of the river. Shouting at his teams, Pitkin urged them on. The riders fell in behind, and crossed the Little Arkansas at the same shallows Gonzales had used just moments before.
“Here comes the Stubbs wagons,” Rusty shouted.
Despite the heavy loads, the wagons rattled along at a frantic pace, for the wind was blowing great billows of smoke, and the Stubbs mules were terrified. Wiley and Whit got to the river and crossed ahead of Stubbs, for he had remained behind until the very last minute. His teams were ready to drop, and once across the river, he had the good sense to rein up. Wiley and Whit regarded him with some amusement, while everybody else just ignored him. Woody wasted no time settling his score with Gladstone Pitkin.
“Pit, under normal conditions, a stampede is bad news. Other times, it can serve some useful purposes. This is one of those times. If we hadn’t got those brutes to water, they’d have run during the night, and not necessarily toward the Little Arkansas. There was no way to get them across the river before dark, even if there had been no prairie fire. When I reached the Little Arkansas, a pack of Comanches jumped me. The outfit heard my warning shots and stampeded the herd. The cows discouraged the Comanches, saved my hide, and got themselves across the river ahead of the fire. You got a problem understandin’ the stampede?”
“Father,” said Nell, “it was a perfectly marvelous thing. How could you not see it?”
“I didn’t know about the Indian attack,” Pitkin said. “I can see the need for saving ourselves and the herd from that.”
“That, as well as the fire,” said Naomi. “It’s burning its way right up to the water.”
“The fire might have been a lot worse,” Rusty said. “If there were trees, with help from the wind, it could jump from tree to tree.”
“The fire wasn’t the danger it might have been,” said Woody, “but that won’t be the case with the Comanches. They’ll be back.”
“I ain’t seen no Comanches,” Levi Stubbs growled. “I think cow stink, here, just come up with that as an excuse fer them longhorn varmints gittin’ spooked an’ runnin’ off.”
“Stubbs,” said Woody grimly, “by the time you see the Comanches, you’ll have your hair lifted, your throat slit, and arrows in your belly. When you sleep—if you do—you’d better have a gun in your hand.”
Levi Stubbs said nothing, but Wiley and Whit swallowed hard. The duo had seen the truth. Too often had the Texas trail boss been right, proving their stubborn old father dead wrong.
“While Gonzales is gettin’ supper,” said Woody, “there’ll be just about enough time to bunch the herd. We’ll need to talk before first watch.”
What Pitkin only vaguely suspected, Woody’s Texas companions knew very well. The Comanches had been taken by surprise and put on the defensive, but it wouldn’t last. Just as soon as supper was ready, Gonzales doused the supper fire.
“Obviously the Indians know we’re here,” Pitkin observed. “What’s the purpose in extinguishing the fire so quickly?”
“I want them to know we realize they’re not finished with us,” said Woody. “They’ll be less likely to ambush us. There’s no good time for a visit from the Comanches, but it’s always better if we see them first.”
After supper, before the first watch took its position, Woody spoke.
“The usual watch, but when it’s your turn to sleep, don’t remove anything but your hat, and keep your Winchesters handy. We’ll keep the remuda bunched with the herd for the next few nights.”
The Stubbs wagons were much nearer the Pitkin camp than usual, and it appeared that Wiley and Whit had been responsible for that. Following Woody’s instructions to his outfit, Wiley and Whit approached.
“When Paw was havin’ his doubts about the Indians,” said Whit, “he wasn’t talkin’ for us. We’d like to help, if there’s anything we kin do.”
“Yeah,” Wiley said. “They just ain’t enough of us, and we’re scairt they’ll run off our mules.”
“If they aim to stampede your mules,” said Woody, “a hundred men can’t stop them. But if it’ll make you feel any better, you can bunch your teams near the herd and take your turns standin’ watch with us.”
“That’ll make us feel some better,” Wiley said. “You know the ways of these Indians, an’ we don’t. They could slip up on us in the dark, an’ we’d be dead ’fore we knowed they was there.”
“Woody,” said Vic, “we ought to invite the Stubbs women into our camp.”
“I have no objection to that,” Woody replied. “It’s up to them.”
The Stubbs wagons were near enough for Stubbs and his daughters to have heard, and the most immediate response came from Stubbs himself.
“They ain’t a-goin’ nowhere. They got rifles, an’ they kin shoot.”
“We can’t see in the dark, Paw,” said Bonita.
“No,” Laketa said, “and we’re goin’ with them.”
The three did exactly that, ignoring Stubbs. Taking his Winchester, he seated himself defiantly on the box of his wagon.
“Stubborn old pelican,” said Nip Kelly. “He’ll be a prime target.”
Woody, Gavin, and Nip took the first watch. Wiley and Whit Stubbs insisted on joining them.
“Just one of you,” Woody said. “Whit, get some sleep and join the second watch.”
Wiley took his place with the first watch, but Nell and Naomi Pitkin weren’t quick to welcome the Stubbs girls.
“Where should we spread our blankets?” Bonita asked.
“Anywhere you like,” said Nell shortly. “It’s a big country.”
Naomi said nothing, and the Stubbs girls said no more. The spot they chose happened to be near to where Rusty, Vic, and Ash would sleep until they assumed the second watch.
“Don’t let it bother you, Bonita,” said Vic, for he had heard Nell’s snobbish response to the girl’s question.
“Yeah,” Rusty said. “They’re English, and there’s times when they still suffer from touches of it.”
Both cowboys had spoken loudly enough for Nell and Naomi to hear, had they been listening, and they had been.
“Listen to them,” Nell hissed. “They’re making up to those…those range riff-raff.”
Naomi said nothing. Vic had called Bonita by her name, with a familiarity that said he had more than a neighborly interest in her. That left Jania and Laketa for Ash and Rusty. Suppose these three females, bound for Santa Fe, were spoken for by the three cowboys from the Pitkin outfit? Whatever Nell and Naomi thought of the Stubbs girls, any hostility toward them might cause a rift within the outfit, reason enough to further antagonize their father, Gladstone Pitkin. Perhaps it was time for Nell and Naomi to bridle their tongues, for Pitkin had become increasingly irritable, less inclined to forgive foolish blunders.
“They ain’t no moon,” said Wiley Stubbs. “How we goin’ to know if they’re sneakin’ up on us?”
“We may not know,” Nip Kelly said. “That’s about all we got in our favor. The same dark that keeps us from seein’ them pretty well keeps them from seein’ us. When they come skulkin’ around in the dark, it’s generally with the idea of runnin’ off the stock. Then while we’re scattered all over hell roundin’ ’em up, the Comanches will try to pick us off, one or two at a time.”
“Then all we kin do is wait fer ’em to make their move,” said Wiley.
“That’s pretty much the way it is,” Woody replied. “I’ve seen them shoot flaming arrows into a herd, shielding the flame with a blanket until the arrow’s ready to be fired.”
“One thing in our favor,” said Gavin. “The h
erd, the mules, and the horse remuda’s all lined out along the river. It’s unlikely they’ll come after us from that direction. All we got to worry about is the other three.”
There was grim laughter from his companions, as they settled down to wait for whatever tactic the resourceful Comanches might employ. It came just a few minutes before midnight, when the second watch was about to take over. From downriver came a patter of hooves and the nervous nickering of a horse.
“What the hell?” Nip muttered. “One rider?”
But when the horse appeared, galloping along the river in the dim starlight, there was no rider. In a second, Woody was in the saddle, galloping after the riderless horse, but the damage had been done. The horses and mules lit out first, and the panicky longhorns followed, all of them running southwest. Woody caught the frightened horse, as the animal fought the rope secured to a bloody wolf carcass.
“I have seen or heard no Indians, and no sound of a fight,” said Gladstone Pitkin. “I have, however, heard and seen every animal we have—or had—galloping wildly away to the southwest. Will one of you enlighten me as to what has happened?”
“The Comanches roped a bloody wolf carcass to a horse and ran it through camp,” Woody said. “The wolf smell and the smell of blood did the rest.”
“I suppose there was nothing you could do to stop it?” Pitkin said.
“Nothing,” said Woody. “It’s a trick as old as time, and it almost never fails. There’s nothing that will stampede horses, mules, or cows quicker than wolf or cougar smell.”
It was a poor time for Levi Stubbs to show up, complaining, but he did.
“My mules is gone, by God, an’ all because they was bunched in with your fool cows. What do you aim to do about ’em?”
Any man in the outfit might have responded in similar fashion, but Woody was first. His fist thudded into Stubbs’ chin and sent him tumbling down the bank and into the river.
9
Stubbs crawled out of the river on hands and knees, cursing.
“I’ll kill you fer that,” he bawled.
The Santa Fe Trail Page 13