Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Another plan?” Garfield asked. “I hope it involves getting more men.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Seaforth said.

  “Then what do you have in mind?”

  “An ambush.”

  “What?” Garfield asked. “We don’t ambush people.”

  “We do now.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They managed to track down the herd after they had run about ten miles, slowing down when they were exhausted. For the most part, the cattle had stayed together. Some had wandered off, and the men had to take time to track them down and bring them back. The animals were too winded to resist.

  By the time they thought they had the herd back together—having lost maybe another dozen head—Carlito caught up to them in the chuckwagon.

  “Is everyone all right?” he asked, dropping down from the seat.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Jake said. “They’re out gatherin’ the herd back in.”

  “The herd is all right?”

  “Tuckered out,” Jake said. “We lost a few head. Some were shot, some ran off.”

  “And no one is hurt? My cousins?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “And Señor Big Ears?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine, too.”

  “And you, jefe?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “we got through it without anybody gettin’ shot, except for a few cattle.”

  “And the other men?”

  “Most of them are dead,” Jake said. “A few got away, and Seaforth stayed out of it. He sent his men in to do his dirty work, like a real major.”

  “Not even a scratch?” Carlito asked.

  Jake grinned.

  “Not even a scratch.”

  * * *

  * * *

  You sure you want to do this, Sea?” Garfield asked.

  They managed to find the herd again, and had taken cover behind an outcropping of rocks.

  “Yes, I want to do it,” Seaforth said. “And I’d do it myself, but you’re a better shot.”

  “He won’t forget this, you know.”

  “He’ll still have to take his herd to market,” Seaforth said. “We don’t have enough men to take them now. But we can do this.”

  “Why not do it to him, then?” Garfield asked.

  “No,” Seaforth said, “the other old-timer. I want him to feel it.”

  “Sequoia can get closer—”

  “No,” Seaforth said, “you’re my right hand, Gar. If you do it, it’s like me doin’ it.”

  “They are camping,” Sequoia said.

  “Good,” Seaforth said. “We’ll have to get this done before dark.”

  Garfield leaned on a rock and sighted down the barrel of his rifle.

  “Don’t rush,” Seaforth said. “Take the shot when you know you have it.”

  “Right.”

  Garfield took a deep breath and waited.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake decided they might as well camp right there. He would rather have kept moving for another hour or two, but the herd was too winded for that. They’d have to keep a sharp eye out for survivors of the raiders.

  He didn’t like that they now found themselves near outcroppings of rocks on either side. He wondered, if Seaforth had seen them, if he and his remaining raiders would have waited here to ambush them. But the raiders probably hadn’t ridden this far, and didn’t know it was a much likelier place for an attack later.

  Or an attack now.

  Carlito had started a fire, but Jake was thinking this might be a mistake. They should probably move on a little farther, toward a more flat area, with no rocks for anyone to hide behind.

  At that moment Chance came riding in, with Desi and Taco.

  “Dundee and Curly are stayin’ with the herd,” he said.

  “Chance, I’m thinkin’ maybe we should keep movin’—”

  “The cattle are worn out,” Chance argued.

  “I don’t think Seaforth is gonna give up,” Jake said, “and this place is too accessible—”

  Desi and Taco walked to the fire and started talking with their cousin while he started cooking.

  “Well,” Jake said, “at least dismount—”

  Jake saw the blood blossom on his friend’s chest even before the sound of the shot came to him from a distance.

  Chance McCandless fell from the saddle, dead before he hit the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jake rushed to his fallen friend while the others scanned the horizon in every direction for a shooter.

  “Chance, dammit!” Jake said.

  He turned and looked at his men.

  “Anybody see where that shot came from?”

  “Could’ve been those rocks,” Dundee said.

  “Or those,” Curly said, pointing.

  “We did not see, jefe,” Desi said.

  “Is Señor Chance . . . ?” Taco asked.

  “Yes, Taco,” Jake said. “He’s dead.”

  Then they heard the sound of horses, but they quickly began to fade away.

  “Seaforth,” Jake said. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

  Jake stared out into the distance as the pounding of hooves receded.

  “Should we go after them?” Dundee asked.

  Jake turned and looked down at Chance.

  “No,” he said, “we have to bury Chance and then move on.”

  “But, boss—” Dundee said.

  “Chance would want us to deliver this herd,” Jake said. “Once we do that, I’ll be back here to find Seaforth.”

  “We will all come back, señor,” Taco said.

  “No, Taco,” Jake said, “this was my doin’. I convinced Chance to come on this drive, I went into Three Rivers to that store, and I refused to give anythin’ back to Seaforth. I’m sure he wanted one last shot before he and his remainin’ men left. And who knows, they might hit us again before we leave Texas.”

  Jake walked to where Chance was lying, stared down at his friend.

  “I guess I should’ve left you sleepin’ in the back room of that cantina, amigo.”

  “Oh no, señor,” Taco said, “Mr. Chance, he was very happy to be out here on a drive again, with you. He told me so.”

  “Did he?” Jake asked. “Thanks for tellin’ me that, Taco. Now let’s get him buried good and proper. I’ll say a few words, and then we’ll be on our way to Dodge City tomorrow.”

  “Sí, señor,” Taco said.

  “I have two shovels in my wagon, jefe,” Carlito said.

  “Good, Carlito,” Jake said, and then to Taco, “Let’s get them, Taco. You and me, we’ll dig.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  * * *

  * * *

  As it turned out, Jake got winded and needed somebody to take over, so the others all took turns. When they had a hole about six feet deep they wrapped Chance in a blanket and lowered him down.

  “Do you think it was Seaforth himself who took the shot?” Dundee asked Jake while Desi and Curly filled in the grave.

  “It was probably his segundo, or that breed scout, but it don’t matter. I’ll have them all for this, no matter how long it takes me to track them down.”

  Jake said a few awkward words over his friend’s grave, broke a couple of planks of wood off the chuckwagon—with Carlito’s permission—to form a cross that he could actually scratch Chance’s name into.

  They sat around the fire that night in glum silence, until Carlito and Desi turned in. Curly and Dundee rode out to sit on the herd.

  That left the two men who had actually known Chance a long time, sitting together.

  “It was deliberate,” Jake said.

  “Señor?” Taco said.<
br />
  “They deliberately waited until they had a clear shot at Chance,” Jake continued.

  “Why did the Major not just kill you, señor?” Taco asked.

  “Seaforth wanted to punish me by killin’ Chance,” Jake said. “Killin’ me woulda made it too quick.”

  “And will he stop there?”

  “I doubt he’ll follow us all the way to Kansas,” Jake said. “And he probably won’t even trail us into the territories. So if he doesn’t hit us again in Texas, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him.”

  “Would you like to take a watch, then, Señor Jake?” Taco asked.

  “Yeah, Taco, I would. I’ll turn in and you wake me in four hours.”

  “Sí, jefe,” Taco said.

  Jake walked, shoulders slumped, to his bedroll, lay awake for a long time playing back memories of Chance in his mind, until exhaustion finally overcame him.

  * * *

  * * *

  So you’re going to let them go?” Garfield asked.

  “We’ll let them go for now,” Seaforth said, “but Big Jake Motley is going to come after me, once he delivers his herd.”

  “Because we killed that one man?” Garfield asked.

  “They were two of a kind,” Seaforth said. “Those old-timers had been riding together a long time. He’s not just going to forget that we killed him.”

  “He’s a cowpoke,” Garfield said, “and probably a sodbuster. Why worry about him coming after you?”

  “I’m not worried about it, Gar,” Seaforth said, “I’m counting on it.”

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” Garfield said. “We’re down to four men.”

  They looked over to where Gus Walker was sitting at the second fire with Sequoia.

  “We rebuild,” Seaforth said. “We have months before Big Jake comes after us. By then we’ll be at full force again.”

  “Do you think he’s going to come alone?” Garfield asked.

  “I don’t think even that old fool would be that stupid,” Seaforth said.

  “So will he bring the law?”

  “Oh, no,” Seaforth said, “he won’t be looking for justice, he’ll be looking for vengeance.”

  “You’re giving this old cowboy a lot of credit,” Garfield observed.

  “You saw the way he faced us,” Seaforth said. “And you don’t get a name like Big Jake for no reason. At one time he was an influential man. Now he’s at the end of his life, and he doesn’t give up easily. No, he’ll be coming, I’m sure of that.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They made it through Texas without seeing any sign of Seaforth, his men, or his scout, the breed. Once they crossed the border into the Indian Territory, they were more on the lookout for Indians off the reservations, or comancheros, who were like human buzzards.

  They did encounter one band of Indians, who looked as if the group was made up of braves from the Apache, Comanche, Quapaw, Kiowa, and Osage tribes. They weren’t looking to steal anything, they just wanted a few cows for some meals, and Jake decided to give in, without even asking for anything in trade.

  They encountered some rain, had to cross running streams, but nothing as bad as they had faced in Texas. They finally crossed the border into Kansas at a town called Liberal. Jake figured by that time they had lost maybe fifty head.

  He and Carlito rode into the town, which was sleepy and small, but had a general store. They picked up some supplies without encountering any resistance, and found out from the clerk that they were about seventy miles from Dodge.

  When they got back to camp they told the others they had about s week left to get to their destination.

  Carlito’s supper that night was his SOB stew, which was prepared from calf parts. The death of Chance still hung over them heavily, like ever-present storm clouds, especially for Jake, whose attitude on the trip since the shooting could only be described as morose.

  The other men talked at the fire, but Jake usually just sat eating and didn’t partake in any of the conversations. For one thing, he was now the sole old-timer in the group, didn’t really fit in with the other, younger men. And he didn’t let on to anyone, but his muscles were aching even more than they had been the first week of the drive. He was just hoping he had the strength to make it through the last week.

  They kept two men on the herd each night, but didn’t keep any other kind of watch. They no longer feared an attack from Seaforth’s Raiders, Texas wolves, Indians, or comancheros. With a week left they were feeling home free. But the two men babysitting the herd made sure they kept a sharp eye out for anything untoward that might come along.

  Jake was getting a full night’s sleep now, but it didn’t seem to help. Each morning he rolled out with a groan, tried to keep the others from realizing he was wearing down. Without Chance to buck him up with a sharp word or a sly look, he was dragging.

  The closest to his age was Taco, who was in his forties, but the Mexican seemed to be holding up quite well. Unbeknownst to Jake, all the men were feeling the strain of the drive, and of Chance’s death.

  When they left their camp outside of Liberal, everyone was looking forward to the end of the trail.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Barbed wire.

  One of the biggest reasons the trail drives from Texas to Kansas were dying out was barbed wire. Ranchers decided to fence off their property, which kept herds from being driven across their land during a trail drive. Having to push a herd around these fenced areas made the trail drives just too time-consuming and difficult. In addition, it cut down on places where the herds could graze. If the cattle couldn’t eat during a drive, they arrived at their destination emaciated.

  Jake had expected to encounter some fenced-off areas, and was surprised that they had not—until they reached Kansas. The ranchers in Kansas not only wanted to protect their grazing grounds, but also wanted to keep their own cattle from any diseases the Texas cattle might be carrying.

  The first time they encountered a barbed-wire fence and had to redirect the herd, Jake realized they were not going to make Dodge City in a week.

  “We can cut the wire,” Dundee said, “drive the herd through, and then put the wire back up.”

  “And start a war,” Jake said. “No, we’ll go around.”

  Apparently, word had gotten out about a herd being driven through Kansas, for the next time they encountered the wire, they also had to deal with armed ranch hands. Jake tried to explain his cattle weren’t diseased, but the rancher they were dealing with was having none of it.

  “Go around,” he ordered Jake.

  It took two weeks to make the one-week trip to Dodge from Liberal, but they finally drove the herd into the Dodge City stockyards. It was only after the cattle were closely examined that they were accepted, and driven into the stock corrals.

  Jake had no doubt that barbed wire was going to further divide the range, and would even cut down on the need for large crews of cowhands to keep the cows from overgrazing certain areas. He was actually glad he was never going to have to try to drive a herd through Texas again. Avoiding barbed wire in the near future would be next to impossible.

  “You boys are free to eat or drink all you want,” Jake told his men. “Put your horses up at a livery, and get yourselves situated in hotel rooms, and after I’ve sold the cattle, we’ll settle up. And don’t get into trouble.”

  “Sí, jefe,” Taco said, “we will be waiting.”

  Taco and the others turned their horses and rode away from the stockyards.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake had hoped to get eight to ten dollars a head for his cattle. He was therefore very disappointed when the best offer he got was five. Unfortunately, there was only one man making the offer and setting the price, which left Jake with no choice but to accept.

&nb
sp; The count on the herd when it arrived in Dodge City showed that Jake had accurately surmised that he’d lost about fifty head on the trip. He collected his better than two thousand seven hundred dollars and went looking for his men to settle up with them.

  * * *

  * * *

  Because he had promised Chance a percentage and his dead friend had no family to give it to, he decided to divide that money up among the rest of the men. So they all got paid more than they had been expecting. By the time they were all sharing end-of-the-trail drinks in the Long Branch Saloon, Jake had half of his money left.

  He had one drink with the men and then went to the Dodge House to get himself a room. Once he was behind the locked door, he collapsed onto the bed and gave in to the pain he felt in his old joints and bones.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake woke hours later, with hunger and depression fighting for supremacy. Pain was bringing up a poor third. The pain would fade away eventually. The hunger could be taken care of by a meal. But only one thing was going to ease the depression, and that was tracking down and killing Seaforth Bailey and however many raiders he had left.

  At that moment, the hunger was the easiest thing to handle. He left the hotel in search of a meal, found himself standing in front of Delmonico’s steak house, and went in.

  Dodge City was once the queen of the cow towns, a wild and woolly place where men like Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson made their bones. It was no longer as popular, or as open, as it once was, but the steak house was still a busy place at suppertime.

  Jake managed to get a table in the middle of the crowded dining room, drew some looks from diners who made a habit of eating there and so were able to recognize a stranger in their midst.

  He ignored everyone and ordered a chicken dinner, because after two months of driving cattle, he was tired of looking at beef. He washed it down with a big mug of ice-cold beer, then chased it all with a piece of rhubarb pie and a cup of coffee.