He and Zack had seen enough homes burned by Comanches during their years with the Texas Rangers to know what to expect. Boards and timbers burn differently than firewood. The smoke is often darker. Johnny was hoping to be wrong, but he didn’t figure he would be.
When he and Zack topped a low rocky ridge that rimmed a small basin where Bingum had built his ranch house, Johnny found what he had expected. The house and barn and stable had all been reduced to a tumble of blackened boards. Smoke was still pouring out of the barn, but was only drifting from the house and stable.
Bodies were scattered about the ranch yard. A couple of horses, too.
Johnny started down the ridge with Zack following. He doubted whoever had done this would still be nearby, but he hadn’t lived this long by being careless so he held his rifle in his right hand, finger on the trigger and ready to shoot.
He pulled his horse to a stop at the edge of the ranch yard and didn’t have to pull the rein too hard. The horse was more than willing to stop. Most horses Johnny had known weren’t fond of fire.
He swung out of the saddle and held his rifle with both hands, ready to fire from the hip. Zack did the same, jacking a round into the chamber.
A man was face-down in the dirt. Johnny knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder and rolled him over. It was Bingum. Not overly tall, with the weathered face that comes with a life of facing into the wind and sun. Johnny had figured him to be somewhere between fifty-five and sixty.
There was a bullet hole in his chest and it was ringed with blood. Dead men don’t bleed, which meant he had lived a few minutes after being shot.
The top section of his scalp had been cut away and tossed to the dirt a few yards away.
Zack was checking the other bodies. “They’re all dead. Scalped.”
Johnny rose to his feet. “I doubt it was Indians. They take a scalp as a war trophy. They don’t toss it aside.”
Zack shook his head. “This was done for pure mean-spirited fun.”
They looked about. Bingum had stacked three cord of firewood, and all of it was burning. There was little left to salvage. The horses had been driven off.
They scouted about for tracks and found a trail of two horses that had approached the basin from the southwest.
“They rode in here,” Zack said. “About sun-up, I would reckon.”
Johnny nodded. He walked up to the front of what had been the ranch house. “Hard to tell the details of what happened next. Tracks are all scattered. But Bingum fell here. Took a bullet to the chest and crawled a few yards off to the side.”
Zack said, “The other men came running at the sound of the gunshot and were shot down.”
“Josh and I met these men. They were cowhands, not gunfighters. They didn’t stand a chance.”
“Senseless slaughter,” Zack said.
“They wanted to make sure we couldn’t use the firewood, and they drove off any horses so we couldn’t replenish the remuda if we needed to. They killed the men just for the sake of doing it.”
“There’s still the water.”
“I wonder. Is there?”
Off to the side of the ranch yard was a well house. An iron pump was mounted on a long wooden trough. It was designed to water a dozen horses or head of cattle at a time. Johnny cranked the handle and water gushed. A tin ladle was resting at the side of the trough, so Johnny grabbed it and dipped some of the water.
He spit it out. “It’s been salted. Someone likely dropped a bag of salt down the well.”
Zack nodded. “They thought of everything.”
They found the tracks of two horses that led the basin, heading northeast.
Zack said, “Wanna trail ‘em? Let ‘em know we ain’t very pleased about what they did?”
Johnny shook his head. “They did this because of us. Trying to make life harder for us. I don’t know who sent ‘em or why they’re doing it, but I think we’d best get directly back to the herd. If they’re capable of this kind of killing, there’s nothing to stop them from attacking our men.”
They mounted up.
26
Johnny and Zack found the herd was making good time, moving along at a fast walk. The beeves were acclimating to life on the trail well.
Johnny and Zack headed for the chuck wagon and Josh rode over to meet them. They told Josh what they had found.
Ches said, “What’ll we do for water?”
“There’s a small stream maybe ten miles south of the ranch,” Josh said. “Not a very big one, but maybe enough for the herd to get a little drink.”
“Maybe I should take a man or two and head to that ridge over yonder and cut us some firewood.”
Johnny shook his head. “It looks like someone is trying to stop us. I don’t want anyone riding out alone like that. Even you, Zack. I want a man with you when you’re scouting. Take Dusty. Joe or Matt will have to work with Ramon.”
Johnny knew Ches had two shovels in the wagon. He said, “We’ll make early camp near the ranch. Those men deserve to be buried proper.”
It was mid-morning when Johnny gave the signal to stop. Josh turned Old Blue, and the steers behind him followed suit. This caused a chain reaction where other animals behind them began to stop.
Ahead of them was the gravely ridge that rimmed the Bingum ranch headquarters.
“Without water,” Johnny said to Josh, “we’re not going to be able to push the herd as hard.”
Josh said, “How far do you reckon we are from that big stream?”
When they had scouted the area, they found a stream that fed into a pond.
“Fifteen, maybe eighteen miles.”
“That pool should be too big for anyone to salt. Eighteen miles, we’ll be there in two days.”
Zack and Dusty came riding out. Dusty had taken a Winchester from the chuck wagon and was riding with it across the saddle in front of him.
Dusty said, “We haven’t seen a sign of anyone. Doesn’t mean they’re not out there, though.”
The herd milled restlessly for a bit. The ground got gravelly near the ridge, but the grass was good this far away. It was common for a rancher to build his headquarters on the worst section of land he claimed and to keep the best grass open available for grazing. After a few minutes, the herd settled down to grazing.
“Well,” Ches said, “there’s a job to do.”
He took Patterson and Palmer and Taggart with him and they headed for what was left of the Bingum ranch buildings. They had both shovels. Zack and Dusty went along too, to stand guard.
Jenkins and Lawson stood knee-deep in the grass. It was nearly dark, and the first stars were starting to come to life. Jenkins reached into his vest and pulled out the makings, and started rolling a cigarette. Their horses were picketed a short ways behind them.
The wind was blowing from the west and was strong at their backs.
Jenkins said, “I figure we’re maybe two miles off from the herd.”
“We approach ‘em from this direction, they’ll smell us long a’fore we’re there.”
“What do you figure we ought to do once we’re there?”
Lawson shrugged. “Cause some trouble. Maybe flap a blanket and see if we can start a stampede.”
“Trouble is, they ain’t ordinary cowpunchers. Not like that ranch we torched this morning. These boys is gunfighters. At least, most of ‘em are. We ride in and we’re taking a risk of catching some lead.”
Lawson shrugged again. “Goes with the job.”
“Now, there you go, not thinkin’ like a businessman. See, that’s your trouble. You gotta minimize yer cost of doin’ business. And cost can be measured in a lot of ways. One of ‘em is risk.”
He struck a match and brought his cigarette to life, and then shook the match out and tossed it away.
He said, “They got some mighty fine dance hall girls down in Dodge City. We’re gettin’ paid real good for this job, and I’d kind’a like to live long enough to get to Dodge and spend some of that money.�
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“What do you have in mind?”
Jenkins struck another match. He said, “This wind is blowin’ straight at the herd. And it looks like it’s gonna be a mighty windy night.”
“You do like fire, don’t you?”
“I like whatever gets the job done the easiest, with the least amount of risk to myself.”
Jenkins tossed the match to the grass.
The grass wasn’t as dry as it would be come August, but it was dry enough to burn. One blade caught fire, and then the flame spread to three more. Within thirty seconds, a section maybe a foot in diameter was burning. The wind was already catching it and stretching the flames toward more grass in front of it.
Jenkins said, “Ever see a herd run from a grass fire? It ain’t like no ordinary stampede.”
Johnny had just filled his belly with a can of cold beans. He had told Ches to use the firewood only to boil coffee. The men could eat their beans cold.
He asked Ramon to fetch him a mount. He was going to ride out and check the night riders himself. He was also going to visit the guards. He didn’t think he would be getting a lot of sleep tonight, now that he knew there was trouble out there somewhere in the dark.
He had experienced cattle thieves taking a steer or two on previous cattle drives, and more than once Indians had stolen a few animals. But what he had seen at the Bingum ranch went beyond just cattle thievery. It takes a certain level of cold-heartedness to just ride up to a man and gun him down and then burn his house. He had seen this kind of thing in Texas when the Rangers were fighting the Comanche, and he had heard of it being done in Missouri and Kansas during the late War Betwixt the States.
He supposed what bothered him the most was he couldn’t figure the motivation. Generally when there is a killing, you can figure why. The why of it at the Bingum ranch was apparently because someone was investing time and probably money in holding up this trail drive. But who could gain from it?
Johnny had no further time to think about it, because as he swung into the saddle he saw an orange glow off to the west. He knew immediately what it was.
“Fire!” he called out.
Ches came running. Josh was there, and Dusty and Taggart.
There was little that could be done. The wind was strong and the fire was coming right at them.
There was a sudden snorting and bawling from the herd, and Johnny knew they were on their feet. He knew what was coming even before it started.
The ground began to rumble. The beeves were running and they would be running wildly.
Ches had positioned the chuck wagon a little to the south of the herd and the cows would be running directly away from the fire, which meant they would be going east. The wagon should be safe.
Men were leaping into the saddles.
“Stay with the herd!” Johnny shouted, but he doubted they could hear him over the roar of the stampede.
The ground was shaking and black shapes were charging toward him. His horse reared. The last thing he wanted was to be thrown because to be afoot in the middle of a stampede was to invite death. Johnny had seen a man survive once when he was thrown and the beeves ran around and past him. But he had seen more than one man trampled to death. He held to the saddle and got control of the horse and spun him around and spurred him into a gallop.
In a stampede, sometimes you could turn the lead steers and the rest of the herd would follow and you could sort of coil them up and they would stop running. But with a grass fire coming at them, such a plan couldn’t even be considered. He hoped to just stay with the herd.
Then it happened. What Johnny dreaded. His horse’s right front hoof stepped into a hole. The horse and Johnny went down hard.
Johnny threw himself away from the horse, and the animal hit the ground and rolled and Johnny tumbled in the grass. His hat was gone and he didn’t have time to even check to see if his gun was still in his holster. He scrambled to his feet and began to run.
He headed directly south. He hoped to avoid the steers. He had been riding at the periphery of the herd and he hoped they wouldn’t be spreading out, but would instead be running directly east to get away from the fire.
His smooth boot soles slipped in the grass and he almost went down, but he managed to keep his footing and continued on.
The ground was uneven and he almost tripped twice more. A dark mass of pounding hooves came charging and shot past, behind him. Another ran by ahead of him.
Most of the rumbling was now behind him as the herd was pulling away, so he stopped to catch his breath. The fire was now a large orange glow and he could smell the smoke. It was coming on fast.
He realized he was not even a quarter mile from the gravely ridge that was just beyond the Bingum ranch house. The question he had was, how fast could he cover a quarter mile?
27
The night sky had been clear and dotted with stars when Johnny had first seen the grass fire. As he stood on the ridge looking off in the direction from which the fire had approached, he noticed there were no more stars. At first he had thought it was because of the smoke. A grass fire throws off more smoke than you might realize. After a while, he realized it wasn’t the smoke, but a cloud cover that had developed as the night wore on.
The fire dissipated somehow off toward the east. He didn’t really know why, but it just seemed to have stopped. By midnight, the air was be filled with the smell of burning grass, but the fire was gone and the stampede had long since stopped.
Johnny had left his horse behind. When the horse stepped in the hole and took a tumble, Johnny had scrambled free and run for this ledge. He had only the clothes he was wearing, including the gun at his hip.
He waited out the night. He found a place by the ashen remains of the barn, where part of a blackened wall was still standing. The wind was strong and cold, but the wall provided shelter from it.
He dozed, but he didn’t fall into a deep sleep. Whoever had started the fire was out there, and he wanted to be ready should they happen upon him.
He was awake before first light, and as the eastern sky began to lighten and push back the darkness, he found the land beyond the basin to be a blackened ruin of the grassland it had been. Smoke still rose from sections of it.
He checked the water trough by the well house, and it still had a little water from the last time Bingum had worked the hand pump, before the well had been salted. Johnny cupped his hands and dipped them in and brought the water to his mouth. The water had been sitting there a day and was a little harsh tasting, but it was wet.
Then he started out in the direction where the chuck wagon had been.
He walked along. The sun was hot as he walked along the blackened remains of the grass, little puffs of smoke rising as he stepped down.
He saw movement ahead of him. His hat was gone so he held his hand over his brow like a visor and he thought he saw what looked like the chuck wagon.
He walked on and after maybe half a mile, he found he was right. It was indeed the chuck wagon. The land behind the wagon was blackened in places, but there were sections of green.
Ches had a small fire going and a pot of coffee was almost to a boil. Dusty was there also.
They looked up as Johnny came walking in. Soot had blackened his face and clothes.
“Pa,” Dusty said, and ran to him.
Johnny pulled his son in for a hug.
Johnny said, “This has to be the worst stampede I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know who I would find alive, if anyone. Not just from the stampede, but the fire.”
Dusty said, “Kennedy was here with us. He lit out on foot maybe an hour ago to look for survivors. So far, it’s just Ches, Kennedy and me. No horses. Ches cut the wagon team loose when the fire approached.”
Ches said, “They would have bolted and taken the wagon with ‘em.”
The coffee was ready so Ches took the kettle away from the flames. But what Johnny wanted was water, so Ches filled him a tin cup from the barrel.
“Not
much water left,” Ches said. “We gotta go easy on it.”
Johnny said, “How’d you all survive?”
“I called Dusty and Kennedy over, and we burned a fire break. We were south of the herd, and the fire was burning straight across from west to east. It started somewhere west of the herd, from what I figure. It was working its way in this direction, but it didn’t have the wind in its favor so it was moving slower. Gave us time to burn that break.”
Dusty was looking off at the blackened countryside north of them. He said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. All we had is gone. The men. The cattle. The horses.”
He turned to his father. “What’ll this do to the ranch? How will we pay expenses? And Zack’s ranch, too. We were all counting on this trail drive.”
Johnny had just drained the tin cup. Walking in the soot with small wisps of smoke drifting up at him had dried his throat. He really wanted another cupful but he was mindful of what Ches had said. They were low on water, and he knew they could no longer count on the Bingum well.
Johnny said, “I’m more concerned about the men right now. I want to find out if any are still alive. We’ll assess the financial damage later.”
“Josh is still out there somewhere. And Zack.”
Johnny went to the kettle and filled his cup with coffee. Not exactly what he wanted at the moment, but it was wet.
He said, “Dusty, I want you to stay here with Ches and the wagon. Keep a rifle within reach. This fire wasn’t started by accident. The same men who butchered Bingum and his cowhands are probably the ones behind it. For whatever reason they did this, they’re still out there. You see anyone you don’t know approaching this wagon, don’t worry about being courteous.”
Dusty nodded. “Understood.”
Ches said, “We’re low on water, but you can’t go out there without a canteen. There’s miles to cover and that’s a lot to do on foot. And breathing the smoke can dry you out.”
Ches filled a canteen and handed it to him. He also gave Johnny a couple strips of jerky.
Trail Drive (The McCabes Book 5) Page 12