The Goodnight Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “He has to,” said McCaleb. “If Indians and outlaws could just walk in, he wouldn’t last a week. He sells to folks he knows. Been a spell since I was here; might take Goodnight’s or Loving’s name to get us in.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Finally, after McCaleb’s incessant pounding, a head-high peephole slid open in the massive oak door. Although the April sun was bright, they could see nothing, and when the man spoke, his voice sounded muffled.

  “Stand away from the door so’s I can see you.”

  McCaleb and Rebecca stepped back.

  “Who are you and whatcha want?”

  “I’m Benton McCaleb and we need supplies. Charlie Goodnight told us to come here. We’re trailing our herd with his.”

  “You any kin to them McCalebs over t’ Mineral Wells?”

  “That’s my mama and daddy,” said McCaleb.

  The big door swung open and they entered. Silas Moon was a thin little man with a fringe of gray hair above his ears and an equally gray goatee. His store seemed surprisingly well-stocked; boxes and crates were stacked almost to the ceiling. There was a mingled aroma of coal oil, molasses, roasted coffee beans, and smoked meat. Behind and above the counter a huge cedar beam reached from one wall to the other. On meat hooks suspended from the beam hung sides of bacon and hams. McCaleb noticed they were leaving faint boot tracks in a thin film of flour that covered the wooden floor. That was a surprise; flour had been as scarce as gold during the war years. Silas Moon said nothing, waiting for McCaleb to speak. Eventually he did.

  “Silas, this is Rebecca Nance. She’s part owner of the herd and is our best cook, so we’ll let her decide on the grub. I’m concerned with grain for our horses and shells for our Colt revolvers and our Spencer and Henry rifles.”

  “I’m tellin’ you the same as I told Goodnight and Loving,” said Silas. “I got my first full shipment of goods since before the war, and I got t’ get enough cash money t’ restock. I ain’t sellin’ out t’ th’ bare walls on credit; not t’ nobody!”

  “We’re not asking for credit,” said McCaleb. “If the price is right, we can pay in gold.”

  Silas regarded them with new respect, licking his thin lips before he spoke. His watery blue eyes seemed warmer and the frown that had puckered his brow vanished.

  “You always git a better price, payin’ as you go. Take as much as you need of anything I got. How ’bout a barr’l of flour, t’ start?”

  “Too much,” said McCaleb. “Make it a couple of fifty-pound sacks. We don’t have a wagon.”

  “Might he’p you find a wagon,” said Silas.

  “No,” said McCaleb, “we’ll stick to packhorses. Our money might be better spent on shells, grub for ourselves, and grain for the horses.”

  “Smart thinkin’,” said Silas cautiously. “Can’t beat a sure-footed pack animal in rough country. Matter of fact, I got a pack saddle I’ll give you, just to git it out of my way. Had it since b’fore th’ war. Consider it a bonus for payin’ cash.”

  Of course Silas offered the saddle! Money spent for mules and a wagon would leave McCaleb’s outfit with less to spend in Moon’s store.

  “Thanks.” McCaleb grinned, wise to the old man’s motives.

  McCaleb bought a thousand rounds for every rifle and for every Colt except Rebecca’s .31-caliber pocket pistol. There was little demand for that caliber, and Silas had no shells. McCaleb bought six hundred pounds of shelled corn. It was far more than they could pack, but he wanted to buy while it was available.

  “Silas,” said McCaleb, “we’ll have to come back for some of this; we have only two packhorses.”

  “I’ll stash it away,” said Silas. “It’ll be here when you come for it.”

  Left to herself, Rebecca came up with things McCaleb wouldn’t have thought of. She found bottles of iodine, alcohol, laudanum, and part of a bolt of white ticking that could be used for many things, especially to dress wounds. She came up with a small scissors, a thimble, spools of thread, cotton socks for all the men except Goose, and some quick-silvered glasses—mirrors, small enough to fit into the palm of the hand. She had bought only one thing for herself: an ample supply of soap.

  Once opened, condensed milk wouldn’t keep, so it came in understandably small tins. McCaleb took four dozen of them. With Brazos in mind, they took ten pounds of coffee beans. Silas opened a hundred-pound sack of brown sugar and weighed out ten pounds of that. They completed their purchases with fifty pounds of beans, two sides of bacon, a ham, two gallons of sorghum molasses, and a half gallon of moonshine.

  “Not much ’shine for a whole crew,” said Silas.

  “It’s not for the whole crew,” said McCaleb. “Handy for sweatin’ fever out of a man after he’s had an arrow drove through him or lead cut out of him. We don’t aim for everybody to get in that condition at the same time.”

  “Don’t forget Brazos’s tobacco,” warned Rebecca.

  “Half a dozen sacks of Durham, Silas,” said McCaleb.

  The pack saddle Silas had given them was old but serviceable, needing only to have its leather oiled. It was double-rigged, and except for half the ammunition and half the corn, their two horses, each with a pack saddle, carried their loads handily.

  Silas Moon watched them out of sight. He had four gold double eagles in his hand, a satisfied smile on his face, and the assurance that they—and their gold—would return.

  They had made good time. The west wind was balmy, the Texas sky the bluest McCaleb had ever seen it, and the sun was just noon high. Rebecca had the soap in a sack of its own, looped to her saddle horn. McCaleb had powerful misgivings about the pair of them stripping off jaybird naked, however secluded the area. Modesty had nothing to do with his reluctance; God knew, they were past that. Their four horses—two of them bountifully loaded—would make a band of Comanches rich. Besides that, a white man’s scalp and a beautiful female captive would have them dancing for joy.

  “That’s a nice creek just ahead,” said Rebecca. “Willows are right down to the water. Nobody could see us until they got within ten feet.”

  “And we can’t see them,” said McCaleb, “until they’re within ten feet. Make that five feet, if they happen to be Comanches.”

  “Dear God, McCaleb,” she shouted, exasperated, “can’t we ever do anything without the damn Indians being in the way?”

  “Not as long as we’re in their territory and there’s more of them than there is of us. If you’re hell-bent on havin’ a bath with that new soap, then have one. I’ll have one eye on you, one eye on the prairie, and both hands on my Henry rifle.”

  She knew him well enough and the Comanches well enough that she didn’t argue. They found a break in the willows, rode down the low creek bank and splashed their horses across to the other side. Rebecca took the lead, turning her mount and the packhorse upstream where the water wouldn’t be muddy from their crossing. McCaleb followed, reining up behind her when she had found the spot she sought. She dismounted, tying the reins of her horse and those of the packhorse to a nearby willow. The animals immediately took to nipping the freshly greened young leaves. McCaleb dismounted, half-hitching the reins of his animals to another willow. Rebecca loosed the thong on the neck of the sack and took out a piece of the soap.

  “You will…stay close, won’t you?”

  McCaleb grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I aim to see that you don’t end up on an Indian pony with me tryin’ to get there before some Comanche’s done some things to you that can’t be undone.”

  She sat on the new grass, held up her feet and he dragged off her boots. She stepped out of her faded Levi’s and slipped off the shirt. She wore no undergarments. Her face and neck had been tanned by the sun and wind, as had her slender arms to the elbow, but the rest of her was milk-white. He gave her a low whistle of appreciation and promptly forgot his resolve to keep one eye on the prairie. She splashed into the creek, stumbled or put her foot into a hole, and fell facedown. The resulting commotion sta
rtled her horse and the animal jerked its head. McCaleb calmed it and scanned the prairie as far as he could see. Reassured, he turned his attention back to the girl. She had found a place where the water was waist deep, and was soaping her upper body. She shook herself like a dog, jiggling her breasts at him. He’d never been more conscious of her beauty, and he decided that if he were in there with her, the very least of their danger would be the Comanches. Finally she climbed out, leaving the shade of the willows and moving into the warm sun. She stretched, turning this way and that, more for his benefit than anything else, he decided. He grinned appreciatively, keeping his distance.

  “It’s your turn now,” she said, laughing.

  “No,” he said. “Get ready and let’s ride.”

  “You’re ashamed, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re ashamed of me, because I…”

  She turned her back to him, and he was at a loss as to what was bothering her. He put his hand on her bare shoulder and she jumped like he’d touched her with a hot iron.

  He sighed. “Give me the soap,” he said, “and then get your clothes on. I’m not about to get in that water until you’ve got yourself together and you’re up here with this Henry. And promise me you’ll look at the prairie once in a while.”

  She turned to face him with a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes and not a trace of a tear on her cheeks. She had bluffed him into doing exactly what she had wanted. Despite his anxiety for their situation, he regretfully watched her button the faded shirt and stuff the tails into her Levi’s. When she had tugged on her boots, he handed her the Henry and dragged off his own boots. There were enormous holes in the heels of his socks and each of his big toes poked out grotesquely. The girl laughed.

  “That’s the reason I didn’t want to do this,” he said gravely.

  He removed his shirt first and then stepped out of his Levi’s. If he turned his back she would see the seat was out of his drawers, so he took the bull by the horns and got out of them, facing her. She did a fair job of repeating the whistle he had directed at her. He stretched both arms toward the heavens like a sun-worshiping Indian.

  “Now,” he said, “are you satisifed?”

  “No. Get in the water and use the rest of the soap. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve smelled like horses and cows with your own sweat on top of that. Just once I’d like to know what you’re like underneath.”

  He waded into the creek until the water reached his middle. He ducked his head, soaped his hair and dunked it again. He had ridden and slept in his clothes for so long, he thoroughly enjoyed the soap and the cold water. He spent a pleasurable ten minutes in the water and climbed out, shivering, making his way into the sun. Rebecca went to her horse, untied the sack in which she carried the soap, and took out a new pair of socks.

  “Shucks, ma’am,” he drawled, “Ah jus’ got them others broke in.”

  She laughed, dropped the socks and put her hands on his bare shoulders. Slowly, she slid her hands around his neck, moved up against him, and their lips met. When she drew away, it was only enough that she could speak.

  “I like you so much better this way,” she said.

  “The smell or the view?”

  “Both. You know what comes next, don’t you?”

  He pulled away, shook his dusty shirt and shrugged himself into it. He methodically fastened each button, got into his faded Levi’s and stuffed the tail of his shirt into them. Then he sat down and pulled on one of the new socks. He reached for the second one when she caught his hand.

  “You knew what I wanted, didn’t you?”

  “I reckon I did,” he said.

  “So it wasn’t just the Comanches that bothered you, was it?”

  “No.”

  “You wanted me, didn’t you? Like I…wanted you?”

  “I reckon I did…do.”

  “Then why not, Benton McCaleb, why not?”

  “A trail drive…it’s not the time…not the place.”

  “I’m twenty-seven years old, McCaleb. I’ve been pawed and propositioned since I was twelve. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, and you don’t want me. When is the time and where is the place?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  The rest of their ride to Elm Creek range was as silent as it was miserable. Why hadn’t he taken her like she wanted him to do, like he had wanted to? He had no answers for her. Worse, he had none for himself.

  “I ain’t going to lie around and do nothin’ until June,” said Brazos. “Why don’t I just ride downriver and tell Charlie we’re goin’ ahead?”

  “Because we’d be taking unfair advantage of him and Loving,” said McCaleb. “Charlie’s told us about the government agent at Fort Sumner and of the possibility that we might sell our herd there. It wouldn’t be right for us to jump the gun, getting our herd there first. Besides, we might have some trouble dealing with the government on our own.”

  “While you were gone,” said Will, “I did a tally on the herd. We’re short at least thirty head. Charlie’s camp is nearly a hundred miles south. Since we’ve got nothing better to do, why don’t we start beatin’ the bushes and add some more cows to our herd?”

  “I expect Charlie pretty well cleaned out these brakes before he moved on,” said McCaleb, “but it won’t hurt for us to ride out and see if he missed a few. Two riders at a time, though.”

  “Let me and Goose take the first turn,” said Monte.

  “Go ahead,” said McCaleb. “Where is Goose? I haven’t seen him since we returned from Weatherford.”

  “Goose ain’t been worth a damn for nothin’,” said Brazos, “since he got his hands on that lookin’ glass. Wherever he is, he’s settin’ there admirin’ his ugly mug.”

  “I didn’t know he was going to be like this,” said Rebecca defensively. “It only cost a nickel; I felt guilty, bringing everybody something except him.”

  Rebecca slipped down to the river and found Goose. So engrossed was the Indian in what he was doing, he failed to hear her approach. She was downwind from him, and as she drew closer, she heard a low guttural sound. She pondered a moment before she realized the Indian was laughing to himself. He tilted the small mirror this way and that, using the sun to cast a bright patch of light on the water, nearby trees, and a distant boulder at a bend in the river. Under the girl’s boot a dry twig snapped, and with the swiftness of a panther the Indian flung himself to the side, rolled and came up with the bowie in his hand.

  “It’s me, Goose!” she cried.

  Slowly the Indian relaxed. He was no longer interested in her. She followed his gaze to the hard ground on which he had been kneeling. The small mirror was shattered, its tiny fragments winking like diamonds in the April sun. Slowly the bowie rose to thrust position and Goose lifted his dark eyes to meet hers. She saw no recognition, only death. She tried to cry out to him but could not. He took a step toward her and then another. Chill after terrified chill rippled through her body. Forcing herself to move, she slowly lifted her hand to the pocket of the shirt she wore. Her trembling fingers brought out her own little mirror and it caught the sun. Goose halted and slowly lowered the bowie. Death left his eyes and again they became impassive, revealing nothing. Slowly, on knees that trembled, she knelt, placing the little mirror on the ground. She almost didn’t make it to her feet, stumbling backward into an oak. Goose, taken with the magic of the glass, ignored her. He knelt, testing the new mirror in the sun. Her heart pounding in her throat, Rebecca Nance turned and ran.

  Halting in a thicket, she caught her breath. She must compose herself, she must think. What was she going to do? She had no doubt that the Indian had been about to kill her over a shattered five-cent trinket. Had any of the four men in camp witnessed her danger, they’d have shot Goose without hesitation. She didn’t want that, but having seen this savage side of him, how far could she trust him? Up till now, his ruthlessness and brutality had been directed at their common enemy, the Comanches. Slowly sh
e got herself under control, stilling her trembling hands and wobbly knees. How could she warn the others so that they might be prepared to defend themselves should they unintentionally arouse the Indian’s savage temper, as she had? Monte had taken a genuine liking to Goose, standing watch with him, riding into the brakes after wild cows. There was no denying the Apache had turned the stampede, but suppose at some point and in some manner Monte offended Goose? She shuddered. Even tomorrow the two of them would be riding into the brakes together!

  To everybody’s surprise, they actually found a few cows in the brakes along the Brazos River to the south.

  “Charlie wouldn’t have missed this many,” said McCaleb. “We’re roundin’ up a few of his bunch the Comanches stampeded last fall.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” said Will, “but without brands, they’re just good old Texas mavericks, as much ours as his.”

  They stood watch in pairs every night, not daring to relax their vigilance, but there was no more Comanche trouble. While there were several spring storms, there was no thunder or lightning of serious enough proportions to provoke a stampede. By the end of the second week in May, they were riding as far as ten miles without sighting a single cow.

  “We got a thousand and five,” said Will, “according to my count.”

  “That’s it, then,” said McCaleb.

  Charles Goodnight rode into their camp on May 21.

  “Got my thousand head,” he said, “and a few more.”

  “So did we,” said McCaleb. “Found some of your old stampeded herd. Finest bunch of mavericks I ever laid an iron to.”

  “Better you than the Comanches,” he said. “They really cleaned us out.”

  “When are you going to Weatherford for your supplies?” McCaleb asked.

  “Tomorrow,” said Goodnight. “We’re out of coffee and mighty low on most everything else.”

  “We can spare you some coffee,” said McCaleb, “and likely anything else you’re hurtin’ for. We’ve been to Weatherford once and need to go again before we start the drive.”