“Wrong,” said Vic. “We’re all the more anxious to help you. Now will you tell Jania and Laketa we all know about the possible trouble at Fort Dodge, and that we’ll stand by the three of you?”
“Yes,” said Bonita, “I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them tonight.”
“Do it,” Vic said. “Rusty and Ash will likely be here sometime before dawn, and they want to be sure the girls know where they stand, before they say anything.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Laketa asked.
“Oh, God,” said Bonita, “they’ve been listening to every word we said.”
“We heard you whispering,” Jania complained, “but we couldn’t understand the words. The least you could have done was whisper a little louder.”
“Come on over here, both of you,” said Bonita. “Vic’s brought messages for you from Rusty and Ash. And be quiet.”
“I got to get back to the herd,” Vic said.
It was a while before he was able to convey the message to Rusty and Ash, and after he had, they resolved to talk to Jania and Laketa at the end of their watch.
“Head ’em up, move ’em out,” Woody shouted.
The herd moved on, trailed by the horse remuda and the two wagons. Behind them rattled the three Stubbs wagons. Woody rode far ahead, not to search for water, but to look for Indian sign. Cow Creek, according to Pitkin’s map, was twenty miles distant, and just beyond that, they would reach the Grand Arkansas. The land became more verdant, and buffalo wallows—some thirty feet across—stood full of water. Woody rode on, finding level plain except for occasional drop-offs into the unused buffalo wallows. Obviously, some of the lightning they had witnessed had been accompanied by rain a few miles ahead of them. When Woody reached Cow Creek, he found it running bank-full. He rode downstream a mile and upstream two miles, without finding a place the wagons might cross without considerable work. He found no tracks except those of animals. Almost under the hooves of his horse, a covey of quail whirred into the air. According to what Woody had learned at Council Grove, once they reached the valley of the Arkansas, they would be two hundred and sixty-five miles from Independence. The Santa Fe Trail would then follow the Grand Arkansas one hundred and twenty-two miles, to the Cimarron Crossing. There they must leave the river, where the treacherous Desert Route would lead them in a more southwesterly direction. Woody watered his horse and rode back to meet the oncoming herd. He had nothing unusual to report, but he trotted his horse aside until the drag had passed. He then fell in alongside Pitkin’s wagon. Nell smiled at him from the wagon box, for she had taken his advice and stayed out of the saddle. Her horse trotted behind the wagon on a lead rope. Naomi and Gavin rode drag.
“The trail ahead looks good,” Woody reported, “but there’s lots of buffalo wallows, some of ’em deep enough to topple a wagon. We’ll have to cross Cow Creek, and it’s got mostly high banks. There’s been recent rain ahead of us, and the creek’s running bank-full. We may have to use shovels and dig down the banks for a crossing for the stock as well as the wagons.”
“If that’s what we must do, then so be it,” said Pitkin. “Are we moving at a gait that is rapid enough for us to reach Cow Creek today?”
“I think so,” Woody replied, “but if we can’t, we can make do. Most buffalo wallows are standing full of water, and we can use what’s in our barrels for drinking and cooking.”
Woody rode on ahead of the herd and took up the point position. There was almost no dust, the herd was behaving well, and riding drag was pleasant enough for Gavin and Naomi. They rode their horses close enough that they might talk, and Gavin found Naomi much different. It seemed Nell’s being wounded had been a sobering experience for both girls, and Gavin asked Naomi about it.
“I won’t say it was a good thing, Nell being wounded,” said Naomi, “but I think both of us learned from the experience. In England, women tend to lead passive lives, while the men go to sea, fight wars, duels, and the like. While Nell and I were firing at all those circling, shouting Indians, I felt what might have been my soul rise to new heights, and I wanted to shout. I have never felt more vibrant, more alive. Does that make sense?”
“It does to me,” Gavin said. “You don’t really appreciate life until you’re living it on the very edge, until there’s a very real chance it may be taken from you.”
“Yes,” said Naomi excitedly, “that’s exactly how I felt. From what Nell’s told me, she had the same feeling, even after she’d been hurt.”
“Without danger, without risk,” Gavin said, “we sometimes lose sight of our own mortality. Gettin’ shot generally brings the reality of it all back to us, pronto.”
“I believe it was all coming home to me while I watched Woody removing the arrow from Nell’s leg,” said Naomi. “I have never seen so much compassion in a man’s eyes, but there was fear too. But he knew he could remove the arrow. What was he afraid of?”
“Infection,” Gavin said. “I’ve never known anybody to die from it when there was plenty of whiskey, but there’s some that can’t keep the whiskey down. When you’re hurt on the Western frontier, far from a doctor, death is always near. Whether or not he goes away empty-handed often depends on the circumstances, maybe even luck. If that had been you with an arrow in you, and I had been in Woody’s place, I’d have been afraid, just as he was. Nobody ever takes a hand against death without considering that, on the final, fatal draw, he may lose.”
“Dear God, Gavin McCord, you’re a philosopher. You have looked into my very soul and described my feelings.”
Gavin laughed. “I’m just a Texas cowboy that’s done a lot of livin’ and seen my share of dying. I hope I never have to remove an arrow or piece of lead from you.”
“Not even if you were allowed to strip me naked?”
Gavin didn’t respond, and for a long moment, he didn’t look at her. When he did, what she saw in his eyes shocked her. She was immediately ashamed of herself, and tried to make amends.
“Gavin, I’m sorry. That was a foolish, insensitive thing for me to have said.”
“It was,” said Gavin. “If you were lying wounded, maybe dying, that…what you just said…would be the last thing to ever cross my mind.”
“I know that,” she said, her voice trembling. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
Tears ran down her cheeks. Finally he tilted his hat back on his head and looked at her, and her heart leaped.
“Consider yourself forgiven, ma’am. In Texas, it ain’t the way of a man to strip his woman until he’s got his brand on her. Diggin’ out lead and Comanche arrows is the only exception.”
She laughed, he laughed with her, and the unpleasant moment ended.
“I’m almost afraid to open my mouth, after that,” said Naomi. “Tell me about gathering the herd, after the stampede. I heard Woody tell Father there was some trouble.”
“We were still missing eight hundred,” Gavin said, “and when we found them, there were eight men claiming them. They wanted to sell them to us at ten dollars a head, and we had to change their minds.”
“How did you manage that?”
“You don’t want to know,” Gavin said.
“Of course I do,” said Naomi. “If we’re going to New Mexico Territory and I’m going to live on a cattle ranch, shouldn’t. I know as much about it as I can?”
“There are some things unfit for a woman’s ears,” Gavin replied.
“Not this woman’s ears,” said Naomi. “In England maybe, but this isn’t England, thank God.”
“Woody demanded that they give up the cows,” Gavin said, “and they refused. When the leader of the pack went for his gun, Woody shot him. Rusty, Vic, Ash, Nip, and me had to shoot five more, when they drew on us. Two of them ran for their lives, and we let them go. Now are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” she said, in a small voice. “You tried to spare me, and I wouldn’t let you. Am I rebelling too much against an old English custom that so often has a woman s
een, but seldom heard?”
Gavin shrugged. “It all depends on how much you can take. I’ll make a deal with you. Any time you resent not being exposed to the cold, hard facts—to the naked truth—just tell me. I’ll lay it on you, no matter how raw it gets. Comprender?”
“I…I…yes,” she replied.
Gavin said no more, and when Naomi looked at him, his eyes seemed fixed on something only he could see. The drive moved on.
“We ain’t gonna make it at this pace,” said Nip Kelly, his eyes on the westering sun.
“I’ll have to agree with you,” Woody said. “I’ll get the word to the rest of the outfit, and we’ll push ’em harder.”
Woody spoke to the flank and swing riders, and finally the drag riders. He then rode alongside Pitkin’s wagon.
“We’re steppin’ up the pace, Pit,” said Woody. “It’s our only chance of makin’ it to Cow Creek before dark.”
Pitkin nodded, and Woody rode back to his point position. He could hear the bawling of the herd, as some of them protested the faster gait. The Stubbs wagons began falling behind.
“Damn ’em,” Levi Stubbs shouted, “they’re tryin’ to kill our mules.”
“They’re tryin’ to git to water before dark,” Wiley said.
Wiley and Whit already had their teams neck-and-neck with Levi’s, passing him when he refused to try and keep up with the Pitkin outfit. Only when he fell seriously behind did Stubbs call on his teams for more effort.
“Keep ’em moving,” Woody shouted.
Their determination was rewarded when they reached the creek just as the sun had begun to paint the western sky with towering strokes of crimson. It was near dark when the three Stubbs wagons arrived. Supper was a jovial affair, for they had avoided another dry camp. Pitkin had studied the map while it was still light enough to see, and had found a definite camp they could logically reach the following day.
“Pawnee Rock,” Pitkin said. “Where Walnut Creek flows into the Grand Arkansas. I am unable to understand the logic of the parties who drew this map. Cow Creek is a vital stop between the Little Arkansas and the Grand Arkansas, yet it does not appear on this map. However, Walnut Creek, which isn’t all that necessary, is included.”
“That’s exactly why I believe in scouting ahead,” said Woody, “even when the map says there’s water. The only thing that looks fairly certain is the trail following the Arkansas, after we reach Pawnee Rock. Any idea how far it is from there to Fort Dodge?”
“There’s no mileage figures on the map,” Pitkin said, “but I got some estimates from the storekeeper at Council Grove. Once we pick up the Grand Arkansas at Pawnee Rock, we’ll be about a hundred miles from Fort Dodge. We’ll reach Cimarron Crossing twenty-two miles beyond Fort Dodge. That’s where we’ll leave the Grand Arkansas and begin crossing the desert.”
“We’ll be maybe two weeks following the Arkansas, then,” Gavin said. “That is, if we don’t have any more Indian or outlaw trouble, and no more stampedes. Do you aim to lay over a day or two at Fort Dodge, Pit?”
“I haven’t decided,” said Pitkin. “Woody, what do you think?”
“I think we should lay over an extra day, and meet with the post commander,” said Woody. “They’ll have the telegraph, and maybe we can get some word as to conditions on the trail between Fort Dodge and Santa Fe.”
“So be it,” Pitkin replied.
He didn’t notice the looks of consternation on the faces of Rusty, Vic, and Ash. The three of them shared a single premonition. They recalled the disturbing things Bonita had told Vic about old Levi’s past. An hour before the trio would begin the second watch, the three of them quietly approached the Stubbs wagon beneath which the three girls slept.
“Bonita?” Vic said quietly.
“Here,” said Bonita. “We’re still awake.”
The trio crept out from beneath the wagon so that the cowboys might kneel beside them. Rusty and Ash said nothing, allowing Vic to tell them of the proposed delay at Fort Dodge.
“If nothin’ goes wrong,” Vic concluded, “we’ll be there in maybe two more weeks. Has anything changed, after what you told me?”
“No,” said Bonita. “We still don’t have any proof of…what…we’re most afraid of, and we still suspect that it may be true.”
“We’re fearful that if the army searches these wagons and finds…anything, they’ll be angry enough to arrest all of us, along with Paw,” Jania said.
“That don’t make any sense to me,” said Ash. “How can they hold a man’s whole family responsible for somethin’ he’s done?”
“We don’t know that such a thing is possible,” Laketa said, “but we fear the worst. A few of the men who rode with Quantrill were captured. When they couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal any information about the stolen payrolls, their families suffered.”
“Whatever your paw’s done,” said Rusty, “we won’t stand by and see any of you mistreated. And I’m includin’ Wiley and Whit.”
“It’s wonderful, knowing the three of you care enough to stand up for us,” Bonita said. “That’s one thing that’s hurting us, the possibility that we may all be kept at Fort Dodge until the military chooses to let us go. Then we wouldn’t be able to go on to Santa Fe with you. Now do you understand our feelings?”
“Yeah,” said Vic, “and like I told you before, I’ll quit Pitkin before I’ll leave you at Fort Dodge.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Rusty said.
“So will I,” said Ash. “We’ll camp right there at Fort Dodge until they let all of you go, and we’ll be raisin’ hell all the while.”
Despite their anxiety, the three women laughed at the deadly serious cowboys, and for the next few minutes, each man paired off with the girl of his choice for a short interval of privacy before the start of the second watch.
Pitkin had thoughtfully brought half a dozen long-handled spades. To avoid a possible lengthy search for low banks where the wagons might cross Cow Creek, the cowboys set out to lower the banks and create a crossing.
“Find a shallows with a solid bottom,” Woody said. “Then we’ll lower the banks.”
Cow Creek wasn’t wide, and there were places where it flowed shallow over stones. It was in just such a place that the men took turns manning the shovels, creating a decent slope down one bank and up the next. Wiley and Whit were there, taking their turns with the shovels.
“When we’re done,” Woody said, “we’ll cross the herd and the horse remuda first, so they can pack down those banks hard enough that the wagons won’t bog down.”
It proved to be excellent strategy, and even the heavily loaded Stubbs wagons crossed without double-teaming. As had become his custom, Woody rode ahead, uncertain as to the distance to Pawnee Rock and the next water.
Pawnee Rock. June 25, 1869.
While at Council Grove, Woody had heard talk about Pawnee Rock. It had become the most famous landmark along the Santa Fe. Literally hundreds of travelers had carved their names into it. But he rode past Pawnee Rock almost without looking at it, for something more he had heard at Council Grove bothered him. The entire outfit had relished the idea that, once they passed Pawnee Rock and reached the Grand Arkansas, they would then be able to follow the river for some one hundred and twenty-two miles. There would be unlimited water all the way to the Cimarron Cutoff. But the old storekeeper at Council Grove had said something that had bothered Woody. He had said that the hundred and twenty-two-mile route along the Grand Arkansas to the Cimarron Cutoff didn’t actually follow the river. Instead, while it paralleled the Arkansas, it was sometimes as far as ten miles from the river, following less hazardous terrain.
When Woody reached the point where Walnut Creek flowed into the Arkansas, he rode on along the river until he came to what obviously was a fork in the trail. Wagon tracks veered away from the river, while others followed it. Woody rode along the river, looking for some reason why the trail had split. Why had some wagons chosen to travel parallel to the Grand
Arkansas, while too far away to avail themselves of the ready water? Following the Arkansas half a dozen miles, Woody saw no difficulty that might have convinced teamsters to leave the river for a distant trail where water was in short supply.
Wheeling his horse, he rode back to meet the oncoming herd. They would reach Pawnee Rock, where Walnut Creek joined the Arkansas, before dark, and it would be a good time to study Gladstone Pitkin’s map. He had an uneasy feeling there was much the map wasn’t telling them.
When he eventually met the herd, he took over the point position. There was no need to convey his doubts about the accuracy of the map to Pitkin until they were able to study it. Once the herd had been bedded down and Pitkin had unharnessed his teams, he wasted no time in seeking out Woody.
“I have become accustomed to you reporting back to me, after scouting ahead. Today, however, you did not. May I ask why?”
“I wanted to wait until we stopped for the night, so that I can study that map again. I learned something that the storekeeper at Council Grove only hinted at. After reaching Pawnee Rock, and the point where Walnut Creek flows into the Grand Arkansas, it appears there are two trails. One follows the river, while the other leads away from it. Probably far from it. I think this hundred and twenty-two miles we’re looking at is the distance to Cimarron Crossing if we follow this second trail. I also think, while it’s probably shorter, there may be a problem of little or no water.”
“Why, confound it,” Pitkin shouted, “the map shows the trail following the Arkansas from its confluence with Walnut Creek all the way to the Cimarron Cutoff, well beyond Fort Dodge. I will not leave the river and its readily available water for some unknown and uncharted trail that isn’t even recorded on the map.”
Pitkin’s outburst had drawn the attention of the rest of the outfit, including Gonzales, and there seemed a good possibility the Stubbs outfit had heard him, as well. Woody did his best to silence Pitkin until they had studied the map further.
The Santa Fe Trail Page 17