The Goodnight Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Allison extended his big hand to Will, to Brazos, and Rebecca. Then he turned to Monte.

  “Kid, next time you buy into a game, check the odds a little more careful. Mucho gracias, amigo.” Finally he turned to Goose, speaking in careful Spanish.

  “Hombre de bien, Ganos. Malo, malo cuchillo! Hasta luego.”

  While their return trip to Fort Sumner and the herd was uneventful and quiet, there was a feeling, a spark, that seemed to ignite their enthusiasm anew. Come hell or high water, they were an outfit, Texans all!

  They stopped at Fort Sumner just long enough to rest and water their horses. McCaleb had something on his mind, and before they moved out, he spoke.

  “What happened in Santa Fe is our problem and we’ll handle it in our own time and in our own way. I’d as soon nothing be said of it to Goodnight, Loving, or any of their riders.”

  They were silent, content with the knowledge that their case in Santa Fe hadn’t been closed. When they had mounted up and ridden out, Rebecca jogged her horse alongside McCaleb’s.

  “He’s some kind of man, isn’t he?”

  “Allison? I reckon he’ll do. One more reason to send you to Colorado.”

  “Are you jealous of him?”

  “I don’t know,” said McCaleb. “Should I be?”

  “Not unless he’d stop drinking and gambling. I hate that!”

  “Then I’m not jealous of him. He’s the kind who’ll be bushwhacked when he’s drunk and careless, or gut-shot across a card table.”

  “I liked the way he warned Monte, about avoiding trouble in Santa Fe, but there’s something about him…”

  “I reckon he’s not one to take his own advice,” said McCaleb. “He kept his mouth shut and left town with his tail between his legs, but that’s not his style. He’ll be riding back, getting even.”

  “Like you plan to do,” she said.

  He said nothing, allowing her to draw her own conclusions.

  CHAPTER 19

  Goodnight was pleased to learn McCaleb had made arrangements to sell the herd at Fort Union. Oliver Loving offered his congratulations and asked that they pass on to him anything—even rumors—they might hear at Fort Union regarding the letting of beef contracts.

  With almost two months of good graze, the big steers were fat and lazy. McCaleb’s outfit cut out two hundred head and headed them northwest on November 3. They reached Fort Sumner on the second day and drove almost to Las Vegas on the third. They reached Fort Union on November 9, only to learn that Hodge Belton wouldn’t be there until the next day. They pitched camp in some willows near a creek and were up long before dawn. The sun was three hours high when Hodge Belton drove up in his buckboard. Scanning the herd appreciatively, he turned to McCaleb.

  “Exceptional animals,” he said. “Rest of ’em the equal of these?”

  “As good or better,” said McCaleb. “Where are your riders?”

  “Coming,” said Belton. “Can you hold the herd for me until they arrive?”

  “I’ll leave you three riders,” said McCaleb. “The rest of us are riding into town to swap your check for gold.”

  McCaleb, Brazos, and Will mounted up and trotted their horses toward Santa Fe. McCaleb had planned to leave Monte and Goose at Fort Union, but Belton’s request had allowed him to leave Rebecca behind as well. Without Monte and Goose, he was uncertain as to their reception in town. Tolliver, the gambler, exited the bank just as they reined up. He wore a cast on his right arm that covered most of his hand. He appeared not to recognize them.

  “He won’t bottom-deal with that hand for a while,” Will said, chuckling.

  “Whether he knows it or not,” said Brazos, “he’s the luckiest gambler in the territory. Goose could’ve spread his guts all over that saloon floor.”

  “Thank God he didn’t,” said McCaleb. “Not that he didn’t deserve it, but they’d have hung Goose. He’s got to learn there are ways of getting your revenge without getting your neck stretched.”

  The three of them entered the bank and exchanged the check for gold without a hitch. Will had brought his saddlebags, and into them the money went.

  “There’s a saddle maker up the street,” said McCaleb. “Since we’re ridin’ that way, let’s stop for a few minutes. I miss my saddlebags.”

  The place smelled of oil and leather. There were bridles, pieces of bridles, unfinished saddles, used saddles, and new saddles. There was no ceiling, and across the overhead beams there were whole tanned cowhides tied down with leather thongs. Before an almost-finished fancy saddle with silver trappings sat a little man in leather apron and wire-rimmed glasses.

  “I need some saddlebags,” said McCaleb.

  “Check that rail along th’ back wall,” said the saddle maker.

  Will and Brazos continued to look at the saddles. In a surprisingly short time McCaleb dropped the worn leather saddlebags on the bench before the old saddle maker. He looked up and spoke.

  “Two dollars, if’n ye think it ain’t too much.”

  “They’re worth it,” said McCaleb. “Where’d you get them?”

  “Old Pete Donner brought ’em in, needin’ some beer money. Said he found ’em in th’ alley behind Condor’s saloon. He’s th’ swamper there.”

  Unmolested, they rode out. So long had they ridden together and so much in harmony was their thinking, each seemed to know the thoughts of his comrades. The town was well behind them when Brazos spoke.

  “That’s evidence enough for me.”

  “More than enough for me,” said Will. “When?”

  “In March,” said McCaleb, “when we’ve sold the rest of the herd and our business in Santa Fe is finished. I aim to talk to Clay Allison again.”

  To Rebecca’s surprise and disgust, McCaleb began taking a real interest in the nightly poker games. Where Monte and Goose were concerned, he was especially watchful, often chuckling at the Indian’s growing perception and skill. The players used the cartridges from their shell belts for chips, and there were nights when Goose was the only man in the game with any shells. Of all the Indian had to learn, the most difficult was the fact that—when he left the game—he must return his “winnings” to those who had lost them. He was as unpredictable as he was impassive. McCaleb watched him draw the worst of all hands and win on a bluff. When his comrades, sure he was bluffing again, called him, he was likely to lay down a straight flush.

  “If somebody don’t kill him,” said Brazos, “that Indian’s goin’ to be the damnedest poker player in the history of the world. He keeps raisin’ his bets like he knows the cards still to be drawed.”

  Will chuckled. “He pretty well does. He has a talent I’ve seen only a time or two. He remembers the cards that have been played. Knowin’ that, he can calculate his odds on the draw, especially when there’s fewer and fewer cards to draw from.”

  The first week in December, they delivered their two hundred beeves to Fort Union and again converted Belton’s check to gold. McCaleb took a pair of pack mules and they bought supplies to last them through January. He bought tins of fruit, tins of condensed milk, a hoop of cheese, and other luxuries to endjoy during Christmas. In mid-December a three-day blizzard howled out of the west, but they were dug in and ready. The cattle sought shelter in the brakes along the Pecos, and while the snow fell, the poker game in the river-bank shelter never ceased.

  In the first week of January 1867, they delivered another two hundred head of cattle to Fort Union and found Clay Allison there. He seemed genuinely glad to see them, and it was a while before McCaleb was able to talk to him in private. He listened while McCaleb told him of the humiliating loss they had suffered in Santa Fe in addition to what had been done to Monte and Goose. He nodded grimly when McCaleb told him where the stolen saddlebags had been found.

  Finally he spoke. “You ain’t the kind of man to take that; what do you aim to do?”

  McCaleb told him, and even before Allison had heard it all, he was wringing his hands in delight.

&nb
sp; “Benton McCaleb, you’re truly a man after my own heart!”

  “Are you sure you want a piece of this fight? You could end up being outlawed in New Mexico Territory.”

  “I’ve already raised enough hell to get myself outlawed in New Mexico, and none of it for any good reason. I wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China. When we take Condor off their backs, the good people of Santa Fe will likely pin medals on us.”

  “Mr. Condor is a respectable citizen,” said McCaleb.

  “Respectable, hell! He’s everything his name says. Folks in Santa Fe are scared to death he’ll run for mayor. He has wealth and power; he can buy or steal enough votes to win. I could name you some people he’s got in his pocket.”

  “Like Sheriff Parker. What about Judge Wolfe?”

  “Not him,” said Allison. “He’s a crusty old bastard, but he’s square. He hates Condor because Condor’s started a land grab, taking it legal if he can, stealing it if he has to. When the railroad comes through Santa Fe, he aims to bleed the company dry for right-of-way. There’s disturbing talk the railroad might build around Santa Fe, if Condor tries to rob them.”

  “The gent that blows out Condor’s lamp won’t be all that unpopular, then,” said McCaleb, “and nothing less is going to stop him.”

  “Long as a rattler’s alive, it’s goin’ to bite anybody that gets close enough. My God, what you’ve got in mind is dynamite! It’ll be risky as hell because Condor’s got fifteen gamblers and gunnies that I know of, and he’s just hired the Hogue brothers. Brady and Burke are as nasty a pair of pistoleros as I’ve ever seen. We’ll have to cut them both down before we can even get close to the big buzzard himself.”

  “When Belton takes the last of our herd in March,” said McCaleb, “we’ll be ready to return to Texas. But before we leave, we’re going on a buzzard hunt. I reckon about March fifth.”

  “Deal me in,” said Allison. “I’ll be here.”

  On their return trip they camped just north of Fort Sumner and right after supper, McCaleb told his group of the plan he had outlined to Clay Allison. While he explained the part each of them would play, the growing excitement in Monte Nance’s eyes matched the grimness in Rebecca’s. When he finished, there was a long silence. Brazos was the first to speak.

  “Suppose they won’t let Goose into the game?”

  “I’ll give you odds,” said McCaleb, “the devil himself could buy in, if he’s got gold. What concerns me the most is that Goose must understand his part in this scheme and hold his temper. I’m countin’ on you to help educate him.”

  “It’ll take me a while; the Vasquez boys could do it quicker.”

  “You try it first,” said McCaleb. “I don’t want Goodnight and Loving or their outfits involved in this if it can be avoided.”

  McCaleb left the fire, walking through the starlit night toward where the horses were picketed. Suddenly he stopped, turned and waited. Rebecca had been only a few steps behind.

  “I have business in the bushes,” he said.

  “It’s dark,” said the girl, “and I won’t interfere. I just want to talk to you where the others can’t hear.”

  “You mean where Monte can’t hear.”

  “I don’t understand you, McCaleb. Monte’s just a kid long on courage and short on common sense. Goose is an ignorant Indian. They were lucky to escape Condor’s saloon with their lives, and now you’re sending them back into it. Why can’t we just take our money from the sale of this herd and ride back to Texas?”

  “Two reasons. First, I reckon there’s enough lawman left in me that I purely can’t abide Condor’s den of thieves. Second, after the beating they took, Monte and Goose—as well as Clay Allison—deserve satisfaction. I admire your concern for Monte and Goose, but if they’re going to survive on the frontier, it’s time they reared up on their hind legs and showed everybody they’ve got sand. Besides, they won’t be alone; Allison will side them, and so will I.”

  “Then I’ll be there too; I’m part of this outfit.”

  “Condor’s saloon is no place for a woman.”

  “I won’t be a woman. I’ll wear one of your shirts; it’ll be big enough and baggy enough to hide my front. And when we take the rest of the herd to Fort Union, buy me a new hat in Santa Fe. I’ll cut some of my hair and stuff the rest of it into the hat.”

  “They’ve seen you in Santa Fe,” said McCaleb.

  “Only once, and not in Condor’s saloon.”

  “I don’t want you in Condor’s saloon.”

  He expected her to become angry and swear at him, but she didn’t. She resorted instead to the most persuasive argument a woman can use. Throwing her arms around his neck, she clung to him until he began to respond…

  McCaleb’s outfit made the February drive to Fort Union and returned. Brazos took to sitting in on the poker games, watching Goose. Carefully he began explaining to the Indian what they planned to do. When he first mentioned Condor’s saloon, Goose seemed to lose all concentration, a look of madness veiling his obsidian eyes. Slowly, Brazos conquered even that, and McCaleb breathed easier.

  February 27, Oliver Loving and four riders headed out all that remained of the Goodnight-Loving herd. Goodnight trotted his big black across the Pecos and up the west bank until he reached McCaleb’s camp.

  “Well,” sighed Goodnight, “that’s the end of it. When do you aim to deliver the rest of your herd to Fort Union?”

  “We’ll move ’em out the day after tomorrow,” said McCaleb. “Allowing five days for the drive, we should be able to turn them over to Belton and return here by March eighth. You chompin’ at the bit to head for Texas?”

  Goodnight chuckled. “Not me, but Mr. Loving is. He wants to rush back and have an even larger herd on the trail by the end of May. He’s determined to reach Sumner in time to bid on those beef contracts to be let in August.”

  “He’s welcome to them,” said McCaleb, “far as we’re concerned. We aim to drive our next herd on to Colorado and maybe beyond. If he’s in all that much of a hurry, I expect he’ll have a galloping case of the fidgits long before we get back. Don’t keep him waiting; go ahead and pull out. You’ll be slowed down enough with the chuck wagon for us to catch up. But if you do pull out ahead of us, take our extra mules and horse remuda with you.”

  They bedded down the herd outside Fort Union late in the afternoon of March 5. Rebecca Nance wore a too-large blue flannel shirt and a hat pulled low to further conceal her newly shortened hair. Burned Mex-brown by the relentless sun and wind, she seemed just another dusty young cowboy. The Colt she carried, butt visible above the waist of her Levi’s, further added to the illusion. Much to their disgust, they found Hodge Belton wouldn’t arrive until sometime the next day. But Clay Allison was there waiting for them.

  “It’d be a mite too much coincidence, us all ridin’ into Santa Fe in a bunch,” said Allison. “I’ll start early in the morning, giving me time to visit some other saloons. I need to seem good and drunk, time I get to Condor’s place.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time,” said McCaleb. “We’ll have to wait for Belton. I want to cash his check before we indulge in the questionable pleasures of Mr. Condor’s establishment. We might not be welcome in town after that, at the bank or anywhere else.”

  It was midday when they finally concluded their business with Belton and rode to town. They first went to the bank, and from there to the little eatery across from the courthouse. They had steak and onions, fried potatoes, apple pie, and coffee. Nobody’s appetite seemed affected except Rebecca’s. She kept her silence, but her eyes had the look of one who’s been condemned and is struggling with a final meal. It was Wednesday afternoon, still early, and the town was quiet. Ominously quiet. It seemed to be just waiting. They were finishing their steaks when Judge Jeremiah Wolfe came in, taking a seat at a nearby table. He nodded to them, saying nothing. Minutes later, almost as though he’d been following the judge, Sheriff Parker entered. Instead of seating himself with or near Judg
e Wolfe, he took the table next to McCaleb’s outfit. He said nothing until they had finished their meal and were about to leave.

  “You Texas hellions ain’t welcome here. I’m warnin’ you not to start anything.”

  McCaleb walked over to where the lawman sat, placed his hands flat on the table and leaned across it, looking the arrogant sheriff in the eye.

  “I promise you we won’t start anything we can’t finish. If you buy into the game, when the finish comes, you just be sure you’re on the right side.”

  They walked out, ignoring the scowl on Parker’s face and without seeing the trace of a smile hiding behind Judge Wolfe’s coffee mug.

  They paused on the boardwalk outside the hotel. McCaleb passed the saddlebags with their gold to Will, along with final instructions.

  “You and Brazos stay out of Condor’s place. Give us a couple of hours and then split up, one of you covering the front and the other the rear. If there’s gun trouble, don’t let any of Condor’s coyotes swarm in on us from outside.”

  He then turned to Monte and Goose. “Remember the signals, Monte. If Goose is allowed to play, they’ll be watching him close. Keep your bets low or stay out of the game altogether if they’re playing draw poker. When you’ve drawn your first five cards, draw three more, whether you need them or not. Get as much of the deck in play as you can. Follow Allison’s lead; raise occasionally, whether you’ve got the cards or not. We know they’re a bunch of cheating coyotes, but we’ll have to spend some money to catch them at it. Remember, we don’t want Goose getting in too deep, too soon. Five-card stud, six or more players, and the odds are with him.”

  Monte and Goose drifted leisurely away toward Condor’s saloon, half a block down the street. Will and Brazos were nowhere in sight.

  “Oh, I want this to be over and done!” cried Rebecca. “How long do we have to wait before going to Condor’s?”

  “Couple of hours,” said McCaleb. “They’ll be all right, I reckon. That’s why I wanted Allison with us. I don’t look for any serious poker until late. That’s why Monte and Goose have been told to avoid any kind of ruckus until I get there. If we’re going to fight over a pot, let’s wait until it’s big enough to justify the fight.”