Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  At breakfast Dundee was more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for the day.

  “I appreciate the extra rest you fellas gave me,” he said to Jake and Chance. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Chance said sullenly. “It ain’t gonna happen again.”

  “Yeah, well,” Dundee said, “I’ll be okay after this.”

  “Since you’re feelin’ so much better,” Jake said, “you take drag today.”

  Riding drag was usually more of a punishment on the trail than anything else. But Dundee said, “Sure, okay.”

  “I’ll get the horses ready,” Curly said, after he finished his breakfast.

  “I will help,” Desi said. The two men seemed to be getting along pretty good.

  Taco quietly had a second helping of bacon and coffee.

  “Carlito,” Jake said, “how are supplies?”

  “We can use some more bacon and beans, señor,” he said, “but we could get by if we had to.”

  “Chance and me were thinkin’ about stoppin’ near Three Rivers tomorrow night. Then we could go in the next mornin’ and pick up some things.”

  “Sí, señor,” Carlito said, “I will make a list.”

  “You could come in with us,” Chance suggested.

  “Sí, señor, I will do that,” the cook said, “but I will still make a list.”

  “Fine,” Jake said.

  Taco finished his breakfast and helped Carlito load the chuckwagon. By then Curly came over, leading the horses, and they all mounted up. Carlito climbed up onto the seat of the wagon and snapped his reins at his mules to get them started. Curly followed with the remuda.

  Jake, Chance, Taco, Desi, and Dundee rode out to the herd, took up their positions, and got the cows moving.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next two days proved a little more difficult.

  For one thing they came to a rather wide stream. It didn’t help that it had started to rain, with loud claps of thunder and blinding bursts of lightning.

  The cattle got skittish with the thunder and lightning, and the men had to do what they could to keep them from panicking. Jake still felt he had enough men to drive this herd, but if a stampede occurred there would be a problem.

  With all the rain, the stream was deeper than usual, with water that was flowing fairly quickly. Some of the cattle didn’t seem to want to cross, and even the horses showed some resistance. In the end they had to drive the herd into the water, where they had no choice but to continue on to the other side or drown. The men had to swim across, holding on to their horses’ reins at the same time, almost towing the animals behind them. Everybody needed a rest by the time they got the entire herd across, but Jake decided to keep them moving. Once they camped for the night the men could all dry off by a fire and get some coffee into them. The herd could huddle together for warmth from the cool night air, until their coats dried.

  * * *

  * * *

  By the second night, with all the rain and reluctance, they were not as close to Three Rivers as they would have liked to be.

  “So we cannot ride in for supplies?” Carlito asked, during supper.

  “We should keep the herd movin’,” Jake said. “By midday we might be close enough.”

  “We could keep them moving while the two of you go into town, jefe,” Taco offered. “When you are finished you can catch up to us.”

  “That won’t work,” Jake said. “There’ll only be four of you, and one of you would have to drive Carlito’s chuckwagon.”

  “I thought he’d take the wagon into town with you,” Dundee commented.

  “That would slow us down,” Jake said. “We just wanna ride in quick and pick up some supplies, then get back on the trail.”

  “Señores,” Carlito said, “I could give you my list, then I can continue to drive the wagon while the others drive the herd.”

  “Yeah,” Curly said, “the four of us can handle it. I can pitch in and hitch the remuda to the back of the wagon for a few miles.”

  Chance looked at the sky.

  “Looks like the storm’s passed, Jake,” he said. “They could probably handle it.”

  “I tell you what, Chance,” Jake said. “Why don’t you stay with them? I’ll take Dundee with me. Together we could carry the supplies back on our horses, and you could make sure there’s no trouble while I’m gone.”

  Chance frowned, but said, “Yeah, okay, I could do that.”

  “Good,” Jake said. “Dundee and me, we’ll stick with the herd until we’re close enough to Three Rivers to ride in easy.”

  “Fine,” Chance said, and they all went back to eating.

  * * *

  * * *

  After Desi and Taco rode out to watch the herd, Carlito cleaned up and turned in along with Curly and Dundee. Jake and Chance sat at the fire as they had been doing, drinking some coffee before retiring.

  “So, you don’t want me to ride into town ’cause you’re afraid I’ll drink?” Chance asked sullenly.

  “What?” Jake asked. “Where’d you get that idea, Chance?”

  “Then why are you takin’ Dundee instead of me?” Chance asked.

  “I told you,” Jake said. “I’d feel better if you were with the herd. I think they can handle it with you directin’ them. Dundee and me, we’ll be back quick.”

  “After a few drinks?”

  “I’m not havin’ any drinks, Chance,” Jake said. “Remember, we said not till after the herd’s delivered.”

  “But you’ll let the kid have a drink, won’t ya?” Chance demanded.

  “I toldja from the beginning,” Jake said. “I don’t want anybody gettin’ liquored up. What’s bringin’ this up?” he asked.

  “Nothin’,” Chance said. “Nothin’ at all. Let’s just ferget I said anythin’.” He dumped the remnants of his coffee into the fire. “I’m turnin’ in.”

  Jake watched his friend go, wondering if Chance was having more trouble staying off the whiskey than he had first thought. Maybe it was a good idea, after all, not to take him into town, where there would be temptation.

  * * *

  * * *

  After Jake and Dundee left, Chance McCandless decided this was his opportunity to show his friend Big Jake that he was as reliable as ever.

  The night before, the thirst for whiskey had crept up on him, just when he thought it was all gone. Then, when Jake decided to take Dundee to town with him and not Chance, he had almost exploded. But he slept good and woke feeling refreshed. The coffee and breakfast had gone down well, and he was looking forward to Jake leaving for a while.

  Once they were gone he called the others around him.

  “Jake’s gotta feel that this ain’t all on him, boys,” he said. “So we gotta show him that drivin’ this herd ain’t a hardship.”

  “Sí, Señor Chance,” Taco said. “We can do that.”

  “Desi, you take drag,” Chance said. “I’ll take point. That leaves flank to you guys.” Taco and Curly both nodded. “I’ll help out when I have to.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Curly said.

  “Tie the remuda to the back of Carlito’s wagon, Curly,” Chance said. “Carlito, if you start draggin’, don’t worry about it and don’t fight it. We’ll make up the time when Jake gets back.”

  “Sí, patrón,” Carlito said. Chance felt good about the “patrón” since they’d been calling Jake “jefe” all along. It showed that he had some authority.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s get it done!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jake was worried about Chance.

  For two weeks now he seemed to be doing okay, but last night had come as a surprise. He had the feeling that the urge for whiskey had snuck back up on his friend, which almost pushed him over the edg
e. Then, when Jake told him to stay with the herd and not come to town, that almost did it.

  But this morning seemed different. Chance seemed renewed somehow, and Jake was happy for this opportunity to leave him in charge, and show that he trusted him. During past trail drives, even though the herds had belonged to Big Jake, he had always felt that he and Chance were equals.

  He wanted that feeling back again.

  * * *

  * * *

  They reined their horses in just outside of Three Rivers.

  “Have you ever been here before?” Dundee asked.

  “No,” Jake said. “You?”

  “No,” Dundee said. “It looks . . . peaceful.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “How many people did that sign say there was?”

  They had passed a signpost a few miles back that stated Three Rivers, pop. 255.

  “Two hundred and fifty-five,” Jake said.

  “Not bad,” Dundee said. “Not big, but not bad.”

  “You could fit ten of these towns in Brownsville,” Jake pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, there still wasn’t very much to do in Brownsville, which is why me and Curly are on this drive in the first place.”

  “Well,” Jake said, “they’re bound to have a general store of some kind, which is all we really need. Let’s go and get this done.”

  They rode on.

  * * *

  * * *

  The street was quiet, just a few people walking or sweeping. The buildings looked old and weathered, but solid. They spotted a barbershop and bathhouse, a couple of saloons, a hardware store, and, finally, what they wanted, a mercantile.

  “There we go,” Jake said.

  They reined to a stop right in front and dismounted.

  “You got Carlito’s list?” Dundee asked while tying off his horse.

  “Right here,” Jake said, patting his shirt pocket. He looped his horse’s reins around the hitching rail and stepped up onto the boardwalk with his saddlebags. He left his rifle on his saddle. Now that they were in a town, he wished he had brought his pistol, but it was back at camp.

  Dundee tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder, grabbed his rifle, and followed.

  As they walked in they found the store small, and empty but for a clerk behind a counter, wearing a white apron and a worried look on his young face.

  “We need a few things,” Jake said.

  “S-sorry,” the clerk said, “we’re all out.”

  “Out of what?” Dundee asked.

  “Everythin’!” the clerk said.

  Jake and Dundee exchanged a glance, then looked around at the supplies on shelves around them.

  “I’ve got a list,” Jake said, taking it from his pocket and putting it down on the counter. “I’d like it filled.”

  “I c-can’t, mister,” the clerk said. “I’d really like to, but—”

  “I can see some of the items I need,” Jake said.

  “S-sorry, but—”

  “You know what?” Jake said. “We’ll just grab ’em ourselves.”

  He and Dundee began to take things off the shelves, mostly canned goods, and some spices Carlito had written down.

  “Please, sirs,” the clerk said, “you don’t understand—”

  Jake turned on the young man angrily.

  “What don’t we understand?”

  “These supplies,” the clerk said, “they’re . . . spoken for.”

  “Spoken for?” Dundee asked. “The whole store?”

  “The whole town.”

  Jake put some more cans on the countertop.

  “Okay, so somebody owns the town,” he said. “They’re not gonna miss a few cans of peaches. Tally this up.”

  Dundee came over, stood next to Jake, and put his armload down.

  “Bacon,” he said.

  “Right,” Jake said. “We need twenty pounds of bacon. And put it in gunnysacks with the rest of this stuff.”

  “Mister—”

  “Do it now, son!” Jake said. “I got a herd to get back to.”

  As the clerk tallied things up and stuffed them into sacks, Jake and Dundee also filled their saddlebags. The last thing the clerk stuck in one of the sacks was the bacon.

  “How much?” Jake asked.

  The clerk showed Jake the total for all the supplies he had written down. His handwriting was shaky at best.

  “Here,” Jake said, dropping some money on the counter, “this should cover it.”

  “When they find out you took their stuff—”

  “I don’t have time to hear about some gunslicks who think they own a town,” Jake snapped. “If they wanna know who took their supplies, you tell ’em Big Jake Motley was here. You got that?”

  “I g-got it.”

  “Come on!” Jake said to Dundee.

  At the last minute, before going out the door, Dundee stuck his hand in a glass jar and took out a few pieces of licorice. He tossed a coin onto the counter so they couldn’t be accused of stealing anything.

  With their saddlebags bulging, and two burlap sacks, they left the store and went to their horses. They tossed their saddlebags over their mounts and tied the sacks to the saddle horns, then mounted up.

  “You think we’re askin’ for trouble?” Dundee asked.

  “Probably,” Jake said.

  “Then why didn’t we just leave?”

  “Because this is what bein’ old and crotchety gets ya,” Jake told the younger man. “You might wanna work on this not happening to you.”

  “I will,” Dundee said, “if we live through this.”

  They turned their mounts and rode out of town.

  * * *

  * * *

  Outside of town, they stopped by the signpost.

  “You think there was really two hundred and fifty-five people in that town?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Jake sad. “It just seemed like nobody wanted to be on the street.”

  “They must’ve been hidin’ from us,” Dundee said, with a shrug.

  “From us?”

  “Or from trouble,” Dundee said. “Who do you think that clerk was talkin’ about?”

  “Probably some rich rancher in the area,” Jake said. “Or like I said, some cheap gunnies that think it’s fun to control a town.”

  “You sound like you don’t like rich ranchers.”

  “I hate em!”

  “But . . . weren’t you a rich rancher, once?”

  Jake ignored the comment. He was too busy noticing how smooth and unpitted the main street was.

  “Whoever it is claims to own this town,” he observed, “keeps a neat, tidy street.”

  “I noticed that when we rode in,” Dundee said. “It must not have rained here.”

  “Maybe,” Jake said, “the same people who own the supplies and the town won’t allow it to.”

  Dundee gave Jake a sideways look, to make sure he was kidding.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Seaforth Bailey enjoyed calling his men “raiders.”

  But he didn’t like the sound of “Bailey’s Raiders,” so he went with “Seaforth’s Raiders.”

  The raiders were born during the Civil War, fashioned after both Mosby’s Raiders (sometimes called “Rangers”) and Quantrill’s Raiders. In point of fact, Seaforth Bailey had not been accepted into Quantrill’s band, and so decided to start his own. Only his did not have the desired effect on the war effort that the more infamous Mosby and Quantrill groups had. The war ended without anyone paying the least bit of attention to Seaforth’s Raiders.

  But Seaforth didn’t give up. Over the ensuing years he tried to keep his raiders together, dropping those men who did not fit, adding men who did, and trying to find an area where they could virtu
ally rule.

  At forty-five, after years of trying and failing, Seaforth and his raiders found the little town of Three Rivers, and that became their bailiwick. They were literally big fish in a little pond.

  This was the situation Jake and Dundee rode into . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  SEAFORTH—WHO HAD promoted himself from sergeant to major after the war—led his raiders into Three Rivers hours after Big Jake Motley and Dundee had left. The group of twelve reined in their horses in front of the mercantile, and Seaforth went inside. Because he had laid claim to everything in the store, he immediately noticed the things that were missing.

  “Edgar,” he said to the clerk, and that was all he had to say.

  “I’m sorry, Major Bailey,” Edgar said, “there was nothin’ I could do. They just took the stuff.”

  “My stuff?” Seaforth demanded. “My peaches, my beans?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Then Seaforth’s gaze fell on the licorice jar.

  “My licorice!” he exploded.

  “Yes, s-sir,” Edgar said, “a-and . . . b-bacon.”

  Seaforth, a large man, reached across the counter, grabbed Edgar by the shirtfront, and pulled him halfway over.

  “Who were they?”

  “I—I don’t know, sir,” Edgar blabbered. “I dunno, honest. One of ’em, he said his name was, uh, B-Big Jake Motley.”

  “Big Jake, huh?” Seaforth repeated. “And what were they doin’?”

  “They, uh, they said somethin’ about a trail drive.”

  “You must be hard of hearin’, Edgar,” Seaforth said, “there ain’t no more trail drives.”

  “Well, most of the things they bought was for a ch-ch-chuckwagon,” he stammered.