The Goodnight Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “I believe her,” said McCaleb. “I saw the fear in her eyes. That’s why I’m having her come here later this evening. I’ll let her tell you about the violent quarrels Nance is having with the Comanches.”

  “I reckon she’s got a right to be afraid,” said Will. “Sooner or later, a white man dealin’ with Indians is goin’ to lose his hair; even when he’s honest. I heard my daddy tell about an old trader from Missouri that first come west with Becknell in ’twenty-one, when they first opened a Santa Fe trade route. This ol’ trader—feller named Crandon—set up a post on the Colorado, north of San Antone. He liked the territory; give away lots of stuff to the Comanches, and thought they was his friends. One Sunday morning, before daylight, his ‘friends’ rode in and murdered him, his wife and kids. I’d say this Nance girl knows what she’s talkin’ about. Her ol’ daddy’s a fool.”

  “Fool or not,” said Brazos, “he still may hold enough sway to bring this band of Comanche war whoops down on us; especially when he finds out his own daughter’s throwed in with us.”

  “As far as Nance’s foolish deals with the Indians are concerned,” said McCaleb, “her working with us won’t make any difference. The girl’s had enough of Nance’s vagabond existence. Jake was right when he referred to them as vagabundos. When it comes to do or die, she’ll break with Nance. I believe the most immediate problem we have is keeping those red devils from snatching our horses. Starting tonight, we’ll stand watch in four-hour shifts, dusk to dawn.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” said Brazos, “before we chase any cows, let’s burn our 3-R connected brand on every horse we got. If they end up missing, I expect we’ll know where to find ’em. If we find our mounts in Nance’s corral and we string the old bastard up for horse stealin’, I reckon the girl ain’t goin’ to like it.”

  “You can warn her about that yourself,” said McCaleb. “A little later. Like I said, starting tonight, we’ll make it risky—and almighty expensive—for any Comanche coming after our horses.”

  Rebecca Nance rode up to their evening fire dressed exactly as she had been earlier. Her curly black hair had been brushed until it seemed to sparkle. As she swung out of the saddle in her divided riding skirt, she had the undivided attention of the three ex-Rangers. If that hadn’t been enough, she carried a cloth-wrapped pan in which she had baked a blackberry pie. In a flour sack looped to her saddle horn there was a batch of fresh, Dutch oven biscuits.

  “My peace offering,” she said as the riders gathered around.

  “Ma’am,” said Brazos, doffing his hat and bowing, “you just feel free to slug McCaleb anytime you like.”

  “My God,” said Will, “I ain’t seen blackberry cobbler since before the war. Where in tarnation did you get the sugar?”

  “Sorghum molasses,” said the girl. “We were too poor to have sugar, even when it could be had.”

  McCaleb said little, allowing Will and Brazos to direct their questions at the girl. He found himself admiring the way she conducted herself. She was in no way coy or deceptive; she established eye contact and held it. He could see her winning them over, but while she answered their questions in a direct and honest way, she didn’t volunteer anything. He realized that he’d seen a vulnerable side of her that she wasn’t going to reveal to Will and Brazos. He felt an elation, a quickening of the heart, that he could not have explained. So caught up was he in this new emotion, he wasn’t immediately aware that she was speaking to him.

  “What about it, McCaleb? Have I passed the test, or do you have some more questions?”

  “Just one,” said McCaleb. “Where are you going to stand when Nance learns you’re gathering a herd with intentions of pulling out?”

  She got up, walked over to where he sat, and stood looking down at him.

  “I’m a woman, McCaleb, but despite the fact my daddy’s a shiftless old scoundrel and a bad influence, my mama came from a good family. I grew up around men whose word meant something; they’d make a commitment and stick to it till Hell froze over. I can ride, I can rope, and I can shoot. When I throw in with you, I’ll side you against anything or anybody, including my father and every damn Comanche in Texas!”

  Her eyes flashed with the green fire he’d come to know. Will and Brazos chuckled delightedly. Woman though she was, she thought and spoke as directly as a man would have. She had gotten through to them.

  “You’ll do, Rebecca Nance,” said McCaleb. He got up and put out his hand. She took it, and woman though she was, hers was the callused hand of a cowboy.

  “One thing more,” she said. “I can’t leave my brother here. I want to take him with us. After he…Is that going to be a problem?”

  “I’ll let you answer that,” said McCaleb. “Despite what you think of me, I’ve never gunned anybody who didn’t draw first.”

  “I believe you,” she said, “and I can promise you Monte won’t be laying down any more challenges. You scared hell out of him, and it was exactly what he needed. A less considerate man would have shot him dead and would have been within his rights. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand any of that until I’d already made a fool of myself. Monte’s young, but he’ll work, and so will I. This is the first opportunity we’ve had to get away from here.”

  She shook hands with them all. Will and Brazos watched in admiration as she mounted and rode out.

  “My God,” said Brazos reverently, “I’d give her part of the gather just to have her around to do the cooking.”

  “Brazos don’t care what they look like,” said Will, “just so they can cook. He’s in love with his belly. Me, I’d grab a handsome filly like her if she didn’t know corn bread from cow pie. You sure can pick ’em, McCaleb.”

  McCaleb said nothing, but in an odd sort of way, he was pleased.

  They stood watch from dusk to dawn, Brazos taking the last one. He had a fire going and coffee boiling when Will and McCaleb rolled out.

  “They come by and scouted us,” said Brazos. “Comanche sounds more like a coyote than a coyote does, if they could get rid of the echo.”

  “I heard ’em,” said McCaleb. “We’ll get as much of that breastwork done as we can and unroll our blankets behind it tonight. We’ll picket all the horses near enough to keep an eye on them from our cover. Tomorrow we’ll start on the fence. When it’s done, one of us will have to be here all the time, for the sake of the fence and our extra horses.”

  They were branding their horses when Monte and Rebecca Nance rode into their camp. The girl stepped down immediately, but Monte remained in his saddle. He slumped awkwardly, apparently unarmed. McCaleb wondered if that had been his idea or Rebecca’s. Finally he dismounted and slowly, reluctantly, almost painfully, lifted his eyes. Clenching his teeth in grim determination, he gripped McCaleb’s extended hand.

  “I done a fool thing,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”

  Each of them was acutely aware of the boy’s embarrassment, but nobody quite knew what to say. Rebecca broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “McCaleb, since we’re joining your gather, we’ll take orders from you. What do you want us to do first?”

  Brazos caught McCaleb’s eye, nudging a branding iron with the toe of his boot. McCaleb turned to the girl.

  “I want both of you to take a good look at the 3-R connected brand on the left flank of these horses. We had Comanche coyotes yipping around here last night. They may come after our scalps later, but for now, I expect they’re after our horses. How you manage it is up to you, but I’m asking the two of you to convince York Nance it’ll be damn unhealthy for him if any of these horses show up in his corral. Do you still want to ride with us, after I’ve strung up your daddy for horse stealing?”

  Before Rebecca could speak, Monte stepped forward, his hand out.

  “I’ll ride with you to Hell and back. By God, McCaleb, you’re a man! I’ll take him the word myself. Rebecca’s wanted to break out of here, but I’ve been no help to her. I couldn’t see any way, but now I can. I’m goin’
to stand up on my hind legs and fight!”

  Again McCaleb shook the boy’s hand. Will and Brazos chuckled while a silent Rebecca stared at her brother as though seeing him for the first time.

  McCaleb spoke to her. “As for the gather, do what you’ve been doing; work as a team. How many cows have you marked with the Box N brand?”

  “Maybe a hundred. We got discouraged and quit.”

  “No sense in it,” said Monte, “after the old man started making whiskey and gettin’ friendly with the Comanches. There was no way, no hope, of the two of us ever gettin’ a herd to market, and they’re worthless here.”

  “They won’t be worthless in Denver,” said McCaleb. “We’ll be trailing with Charles Goodnight, and we’ll drive all the way to Cheyenne, if we have to. When we rope one of your Box N cows, we’ll trade it to you for one of your unbrandeds. Keep a tally of how many unbranded cows you bring in. We’ll take a day at the end of the week and brand that week’s gather. I’ve ridden downriver another ten miles without finding anything we might use for another holding pen. We’ve started a shelter here; I reckon we’ll make the best of this box canyon.”

  “You didn’t ride far enough,” said Monte. “The Trinity does a horseshoe with the loop to the east and the whole loop is a canyon. Walls are sixty feet high in places. The whole thing is maybe five miles long. Some stretches there’s not much grass, just water and sand. Some wild hosses in there, and we’d have to fence it at both ends.”

  “My God,” squawked Brazos. “Fence the Trinity? Twice?”

  “Twice,” said Monte, enjoying Brazos’s incredulity.

  “Sounds like a great place for an Indian ambush,” said Will.

  “It is,” agreed Monte cheerfully. “I found some human bones and rusted Spanish armor. If I could spend maybe a month in there, I’d come out with some Spanish gold.”

  “You’d come out facedown on a travois,” growled Brazos, “with your hair gone and your butt shot full of Comanche arrows.”

  Embarrassed by his slip of the tongue, Brazos cut his eyes to Rebecca. To his total dismay, the girl smiled at him and winked.

  “I think we’ll leave this bone-littered, gold-studded canyon alone,” said McCaleb. “Even if the Comanches weren’t a threat and we had the time to fence the Trinity twice, we’d be fools to try it. Sand, Monte. The bed of the Trinity is nearly all sand, and you’d never set the posts deep enough. Even if you did, the first high water would tear them loose. We’ll start on our fence this morning, but we’re a mite short on tools. We have an ax, a pick, and a shovel.”

  “I can bring a second set,” said Monte, “and be back with ’em before dark. I got to go back to the house anyhow, and tell the old man to keep his hands off your hosses.”

  “Go get whatever you aim to take,” said McCaleb, “and come prepared to stay. How about extra horses?”

  “That’s where we’re lacking,” said Rebecca. “We have to fight to keep a saddle horse apiece. Daddy sells them as fast as he gets his hands on them.”

  “We’ll manage, then,” said McCaleb. “Bring whatever weapons you have.”

  “All I had was a rifle,” said Rebecca. “You ruined that.”

  “Then you can use mine,” said McCaleb.

  “Look!” cried Rebecca.

  On the east wall of the canyon overlooking their shelter, half a dozen Indians sat their paint ponies in silence. One of them carried a lance.

  “That’s Blue Feather,” said Rebecca. “The one with the lance. It’s him I’m most afraid of. When he comes to the house, he looks at me like he’s…got plans for me.” She shuddered.

  “Well,” said Brazos, “why don’t I just cancel all his plans with some slugs in the gut?”

  “Not yet,” said McCaleb. “There’s five of us, but we’ve got weapons, ammunition, and grub for only three. As Captain Jack says, ’Don’t worry about the Indians you can see; it’s the ones you can’t see who are going to cause all the trouble.’ There may be another hundred of them waiting to see which way we’ll jump.”

  “I doubt I’ll have to say anything to the old man,” said Monte. “Old Blue Feather hates my guts. That’s likely why he’s here; he saw me and Rebecca ride out, and he’s followed. I won’t feel safe as long as that Indian’s alive.”

  “There they go,” said McCaleb.

  The Indians vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

  “We’d better get back to the house,” said Rebecca, “and get our things together. Like Monte says, Blue Feather looks for ways to pick a fight with Daddy. I won’t be surprised if he forbids us to gather cows with you. I suppose we’d better get ready to move out with what little we have that’s worth the trouble.”

  “Come on,” said Monte impatiently. “Let’s get it over and done.”

  “That bunch may have just pulled back out of sight, waiting for you to ride out,” said McCaleb. “Want one of us to ride with you?”

  “I doubt he’ll bother us as long as the old man’s alive,” said Monte, “but once they have their last big fight, I don’t expect to live until sundown. I’m glad Rebecca made me see this was our only chance of getting out of here alive. I just hope our bein’ here won’t bring the Comanches down on the three of you.”

  “I reckon we’ll tangle with them whether you’re along or not,” said McCaleb. “If this Blue Feather’s got a big mad on for you, then don’t disappoint him. Go get your pistol and ammunition.”

  When they rode away, Brazos was the first to speak. “I hate to see them riding alone, with old Blue Feather lurking around. That girl deserves better than bein’ a squaw to some heathen Comanche.”

  “I kind of like the kid too,” said Will. “A mite impetuous, but he’s got sand in his craw. That pair must have a lot of their mama in them, and they’d ought to thank God every day they ain’t like their daddy.”

  “Let’s try to finish the shelter and breastwork while they’re gone,” said McCaleb. “We’ll need the tools they’re bringing to dig post holes, and with another ax, two of us can cut posts and rails for the fence. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to snake down some dead pine and cedar for firewood.”

  Along the open front of their shelter they built a double wall of cottonwood logs lashed to cedar posts. Each wall was head high, and the two were four feet apart, back to back. They filled the space between with dirt, and heaped more dirt against the outside wall that faced the stream. There was just room at each end of the log abutment to get into and out of the shelter. Brazos snaked dead pines into the canyon while Will and McCaleb took turns with the ax, reducing them to firewood. Their horses were all picketed within sight of their open-faced shelter, and by sundown it was as secure as they could make it. The fence would have to wait until tomorrow. It was dark when Rebecca and Monte rode in. They brought a Dutch oven, an ax, a shovel, two gallons of sorghum molasses, a bag of coffee beans, a sack of flour, half a sack of salt, a tin of baking soda, and a lidded gallon pail of sourdough. Monte wore his Colt, and they each had bedrolls tied behind their saddles. Both were in a somber mood.

  “Brought as much as we could,” said Monte, “because I doubt we’ll be going back. Something’s bad wrong. I told the old man what you said, that you’d make it hot for him if any of your hosses showed up in his corral. He didn’t say a word; it was like he didn’t even hear me. Then I told him that me and Rebecca was goin’ into the brakes to rope wild cattle, and he acted like he didn’t care where we went, what we did, or if we ever came back.”

  “I’m afraid to go back to that house,” said Rebecca. “I don’t believe he’d lift a hand to save me, the way he is now, if that Indian took me.”

  “You didn’t see the Indians after you left here?” inquired McCaleb.

  “No,” said Monte.

  “That bothers me,” said Rebecca, “them just showing up here and riding away. Whatever they have in mind seems to involve us all, because I don’t know that they’ve ever trailed me or Monte, until we came to your camp.”

 
They were done with breakfast by first light, ready to start building their fence.

  “I’ll start digging post holes,” said McCaleb. “Brazos, you and Will begin cuttin’ the posts. Monte, you drag them down. Remember, eight cedar posts ten feet long and a dozen rails fifteen feet long. Rebecca, you stay here; I have some more questions about that troublesome Indian.”

  Brazos and Will kept straight faces, but the twinkle in their eyes made him just a little uncomfortable. Brazos and Will each took an ax while Monte loosed his lariat and began uncoiling it. McCaleb took the pick and shovel to the point where they had decided to build the fence to close off the open end of the box canyon. Once the three riders were out of sight, he turned to Rebecca. Fledgling tears in the corners of her green eyes told him she was about to confirm his suspicions.

  “You haven’t told me the worst of it, have you?”

  “No,” she sobbed, burying her pale face in her hands. The trickle of tears became a flash flood. He said nothing more, waiting.

  “Dear God, McCaleb, I’m as bad as my daddy, shifting my troubles to your shoulders because I’m too weak to stand up to them myself. I had no right to ask your help without you knowing what he…what I’m so afraid he’s…done to me.”

  “Is that why this Comanche—Blue Feather—is trailing you? Has York Nance promised you—sold you—to him?”

  She only cried the harder. Exasperated, McCaleb took her by the shoulders and shook her. Angrily, she tore herself from his grasp and dried her tears.

  “I don’t know for sure, McCaleb. I just don’t know. That Indian acts like he has some…claim on me. When he’d come to the house, I…I had the horrible, creepy feeling that he knew something I didn’t know…that he was just waiting, savoring what lay ahead. Daddy’s made some kind of deal with that…that savage, and it involves me!”

  “My God, girl, would your own daddy sink low enough to sell you to a thieving, bloodthirsty Comanche?”

  “He’s a weak, whiskey-drinking, compulsive gambler, McCaleb. He’d sell his soul to the devil if he got the chance. He gambled away my mama’s wedding ring. It was all I had left that was hers, and he lost it on the turn of a card. He has no conscience; nothing is sacred to him.”