“Hold back the horses and mules,” Don shouted.
The riders joined forces with Dominique and Roberto, heading the horse remuda and the pack mules, allowing the longhorns to make their way to the water ahead.
“Les, you and Felton stay here and help Dominique and Roberto hold the horses and mules,” said Don. “The rest of you come with me. As soon as a cow’s had a drink, drag her out of there and make room for another. We’ve got to get them moving again, while they still have the strength. If we can keep them on their feet, sometime before dawn they’ll have graze and water.”
Nobody mentioned supper, for there wasn’t time. Swiftly the cattle were driven to the water, and after drinking, were dragged away. Finally it was time to water the mules and horses. Half the outfit kept the herd bunched, while the others watered the pack mules and the horses. The sun was down, and there was only a memory of its vengeance in the heat the sand had absorbed. Finally they were ready to again take the trail.
“Head ’em up, move ’em out,” Don shouted.
The longhorns balked, for the day had ended. They had watered, now it was time to graze, to rest. But there was no graze and no rest. The riders swung their knotted lariats, swatting bovine hides, forcing the animals to move. Gradually, although unwillingly, they did. Darkness crept over the land, silver stars winked from their vast panorama of purple, and a cooling breeze swept in from the west. Riders shrugged off their weariness, further closing the ranks and urging the longhorns westward. There were few bunch-quitters, and the drag riders had only to keep the drag animals moving. Bob Vines was taking his turn at drag, and he rode his horse alongside Don’s.
“Once we reach these foothills, how far do you reckon we’ll be from Los Angeles?” Bob asked.
“I have no idea,” said Don. “I made it clear to Roberto that we must have graze for the stock. I suspect we’re not taking the shortest way to Los Angeles. I think, instead of crossing the Mojave in a straight line, we’re only crossing a corner of it. That means we may be a considerable distance north of Los Angeles when we leave the Mojave.”
“I don’t care how much farther it is,” Bob said, “as long as there’s water and graze.”
“I reached that same conclusion,” said Don, “when Roberto and me arrived at that last waterhole. We’ll need a week or so to fatten up the herd, and to get our pack mules and horses well-fed, so what does it matter if we spend that time on the trail?”
The water and the cool of the night seemed to make a difference. While the longhorns refused to be hurried, they maintained a steady gait. They were three-quarters of the way through their ordeal, when the herd smelled water. Despite their weariness and their gaunt condition, they stampeded.
“Let them go,” Don shouted. “Let’s hold the horses and the mules!”
The riders headed the horse remuda and the mules. They would be led to water and allowed to drink after they had rested. The outfit reached the ridge just a few minutes before moonset, and they could see the silver of the stream and the green of the grass as it stretched away to the foothills beyond.
“Dear God,” said Sarah, “even if we didn’t need water and graze, it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Don agreed.
“We ought to start our breakfast fire with that map, and double what we promised to pay Dominique and Roberto,” said Mike Horton.
“Are we anywhere close to the Old Spanish Trail as it’s drawn on that map?” Charlie wondered.
“I doubt it,” said Don. “Dominique and Roberto took us some distance south of the old trail, getting us to water. I think if we’d followed the old trail all the way, we’d have gone through more of the desert. We must be somewhere north of Los Angeles.”
“Wherever we are, it’ll be worth the extra miles, gettin’ us out of that desert,” Red said. “All we got to do is start each day with the sun at our backs, and end it with the sun in our eyes.”
Reaching the stream, they found most of the herd had already watered, and had begun grazing. Quickly they removed the packs from the mules and unsaddled their horses. The remuda horses had rolled and already were drinking.
“Comida?” Roberto asked.
“Food?” said Jim Roussel. “Roberto’s askin’ if we want food.”
There was a thunderous shout from the outfit. Dominique and Roberto took the rest of the wood they had packed across the desert and started two fires. They immediately filled both coffeepots with water and put them on to boil.
“What about the herd?” Les asked. “They’re strung out for a mile. Do we bunch them and keep watch as usual?”
“I don’t think so,” said Don. “They’re not goin’ anywhere. We’ll hobble all the horses and mules, keep our rifles handy, and get some rest. I think we’ve earned it. Besides, it’s only a couple of hours till first light.”
The meal—their first in twenty-two hours—was a gala affair. Tired as they were, after they had eaten, they finished the coffee and waited until more was brewed.
“Will we stay here a little while?” Rose asked. “If I don’t wash myself, I feel like I’ll just crumble away into the dirt.”
“I think we’ll remain here for three or four days,” said Don. “The horses, mules, and cows need the graze. I can use the time to scout ahead and maybe learn how far we are from Los Angeles.”
It was near dawn before they finally settled down to rest. There were trees along the stream that would provide welcome shade. Despite their ordeal in the desert, Don was up and about well before midmorning. Dominique and Roberto looked at him questioningly.
“I know we usually eat only twice a day,” Don said, “but we had breakfast mighty early this morning. I believe we could all stand another feed about noon.”
Long before the meal was ready, the rest of the outfit had been awakened by the welcome aroma of boiling coffee.
“I don’t know if this is breakfast or supper,” said Charlie, “but I’m ready for it.”
After they had eaten, Don had something to say.
“There’s no reason for us to wander all over the countryside with this herd, looking for Los Angeles. While the horses, mules, and cows are putting some meat on their bones, I aim to ride to Los Angeles to meet with the folks that’s promised to buy our herd. And while I’m there, I’ll have a talk with the law and maybe find out what we’re supposed to do with the money we took from the saddlebags belonging to Beavers and Dent. I’ll take Red with me, unless somebody objects.”
“If we have money enough,” said Bob Vines, “I think you should buy some decent clothes for the ladies, until they’re able to go in and choose for themselves.”
“It’s a good idea,” Red agreed, “but what do we know about choosin’ female clothes?”
“I realize that,” said Bob, “but who said anything about female clothes? I mean Levi’s, shirts, and boots, like the rest of us are wearing. They don’t need finery on the trail.”
“Good idea,” Don said. “You’re in charge of making note of their boot sizes. Red and me can pretty well figure out the Levi’s and shirt sizes. But don’t waste any time. I aim for us to ride out pronto.”
“Since you’re goin’ on into town, you’d better check out our supplies,” said Mike. “We may be on the trail another week or two, dependin’ on how far we are from Los Angeles.”
“Good thinking,” Don said. “While Bob’s making his list, have a talk with Dominique and Roberto. Anything we’re likely to need, write it down.”
Mike soon had some interesting things to report.
“Three more days, and we’ll be out of coffee, bacon, beans, and biscuits.”
“Tarnation,” said Red, “what’s left?”
“Nothing,” Don said. “We’d better take two pack mules with us.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie, “and you’d better get going. I get cranky and mean as hell when I don’t have coffee.”
“That’s the gospel truth,” Felton Juneau said, “but what’s your excuse the rest
of the time?”
It was noon when Don and Red rode out, each of them leading a mule.
“I hope there’s money enough for all this,” said Red.
“There should be,” Don said, “thanks to Winkler buying those two hundred cows, back in Santa Fe. There won’t be much money left, but we need grub to keep us going until we sell the herd.”
“We’re almighty lucky our grub held out as long as it did,” said Red. “After we rode out of Santa Fe, we almost doubled the size of our outfit.”
Don laughed. “You owe the Utes a debt of gratitude. If we hadn’t rescued those seven women, you wouldn’t have that perky Molly Rivers wearin’ nothing but a blanket and of a mind that you’re the grandest galoot that ever rode out of Texas.”
“You got somethin’ there,” said Red. “Us redheaded, freckle-faced Bohannons usually end up with females ugly enough to stop an eight-day clock. When I’m finally able to take Molly back to Texas, there’ll likely be a stampede of Bohannon men, hell-bent for Santa Fe or California.”
They rode on, resting the horses often, and come sundown, Don estimated they had traveled almost fifty miles. To their relief and delight, the graze seemed plentiful, and there was no shortage of water.
“I’ve been hoping we might come upon a ranch where we could get directions and some supper,” Don said, “but it seems unlikely. It’ll be dark pretty soon.”
“Then we’ll just have to bed down wherever the night finds us,” said Red. “I’ve never liked to ride into a strange place after dark. Good way to get a dose of buckshot in your brisket.”
Eventually they reined up, listening. There was the distant barking of a dog.
“Last time we heard a barking dog, there was two hundred hostile Indians just about within hollerin’ distance,” Red observed.
“I doubt that will be the case this time,” said Don. “Let’s ride closer.”
They reined up again, within a fringe of trees. From there, they could see the dim glow of a light in the distance. Again the dog began barking, and there came the distinctive bleating of sheep.
“Damn sheep,” Red said, in disgust. “Locusts with hooves.”
“We’re not movin’ in with ’em,” said Don. “All we want is directions and maybe some grub. Come on.”
The dog began yipping furiously as they approached the cabin. The door opened, and a bearded man in a sombrero stepped out on the porch. Don and Red reined up a dozen yards away.
“We come in peace, señor,” Don said. “We ask only the way to Los Angeles and perhaps a little food.”
“You are welcome to both,” said the stranger. “You may step down.”
Don and Red dismounted.
“I’m Don Webb and this is Red Bohannon. We are from Santa Fe, and we have a herd of cattle north of here. We wish to know the way to Los Angeles.”
“I am Rafael Otero,” said the sheepman. “Los Angeles is perhaps forty miles slightly to the southwest. I have meat, bread, and goat’s milk, to which you are welcome.”
“We’re obliged,” Don replied, “but Los Angeles is nearer than we expected. I believe we’ll just ride on.”
“Buenas noches,” said Otero.
He remained on the porch until Don and Red mounted their horses and rode back the way they had come.
“You don’t like goat’s milk and mutton?” Red asked innocently.
“I can stomach it,” said Don, “but I wasn’t sure you could.”
“Gracias,” Red replied. “Was you serious about ridin’ on to Los Angeles?”
“Yes,” said Don. “Resting the horses, we can be there in four hours. Do you reckon you can handle some town grub, a cold beer, and a soft bed?”
“I ain’t sure,” Red said, “but I’d like to have a go at it. Let’s ride.”
They were facing the wind, and after riding only a few miles, they were able to smell the ocean.
“That’s got to be the Pacific,” said Don.
“I aim to see it, sometime before goin’ back to Texas,” Red said. “Biggest pond I ever seen was the Gulf of Mexico, and I reckon the Pacific’s considerably bigger.”
“I reckon,” said Don. “It reaches to the other side of the world.”
Two hours shy of midnight, they reined up. Ahead of them was a scattering of lights.
“Sure don’t look like much of a town from here,” Red observed. “Santa Fe was bigger than this.”
“We’re seein’ just the outlying part of it,” said Don. “I was in St. Louis once, and the town itself didn’t seem all that big, but there was little towns huddled all around it. That’s likely the way it is here. With the ocean on one side, it’ll be like an Indian camp strung out alongside a creek.”
Saugus, California. June 24, 1862.
The village, when they reached it, consisted of a general store, a blacksmith shop, two saloons, a cafe, and a rooming house.
“Let’s go to the cafe first,” Don said. “I’m surprised it’s open this late.”
“Maybe it’s Saturday night,” said Red.
They tied their horses and mules to the hitching rail and entered the cafe. Even at the late hour, it seemed crowded. There was just one available table, and they took it. It was awhile before the waiter got around to them.
“Pard,” Red said, “what day of the week is it, and what town are we in?”
“It’s Saturday night, and you’re in Saugus, California,” said the waiter. “If that’s all you’re here for, we can’t spare the table.”
“We’re here for more than that,” Don said. “Bring us a pair of the biggest steaks you have, well-done. Surround ’em with any other fixings you have, includin’ plenty of black coffee.”
While waiting for their food, Don and Red studied their surroundings. Hanging lamps lit the place up like day. The patrons were almost all men, and they appeared to have come from all walks of life. Some were miners, some—from their dress—were seagoing men, while others might have been sheepmen. Still others seemed strangers to hard work, for their complexions were pale and their hands soft. Almost without exception, their belts sagged under the weight of revolvers. Some had knives sheathed to their belts, while the others had shoved the blades of the formidable weapons beneath the waistbands of their Levi’s or homespun trousers. Sweating Chinese gathered dirty dishes from the tables, and as quickly as men left the cafe, others came in to replace them.
“It ain’t this busy in San Antone on the Fourth of July,” said Red. “You’d think they ain’t another eatin’ place for a hundred miles.”
“Settin’ right on the Pacific, there must be ships comin’ from all over the world,” Don said. “I’ve been wondering how the war between North and South might affect everybody else. From here, it looks like everybody else aims to mind their own business while the rest of us kill one another.”
“Damn yankee politicians,” said Red. “Texas never would’ve become a state if old Sam Houston hadn’t had some aces up his sleeve. Them varmints in Washington never has liked us, and I reckon if they needed an excuse to come down on us, slavery was good as any.”
Their food was brought to their table, and it was much like that to which they were accustomed. Their steaks were smothered in onions. Fried potatoes, biscuits, gravy, apple pie and coffee arrived, but that wasn’t all. The waiter returned with a basket of fruit, some of which the Texans had never seen.
“I feel a mite guilty, settin’ down to this, while the others are settin’ on the ground, eatin’ beans and bacon,” Don said.
“I don’t,” said Red. “They’ll get their chance.”
Their appetites satisfied, Don and Red left the cafe. Mounting their horses and taking the lead ropes of the mules, they rode along the dirt street to the rooming house. There was a lighted lantern hanging from a pole over the entrance. The clerk had been leaning back in his chair, dozing. The opening of the door awakened, him, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Room for the night,” Don said. “Do you have a stab
le for our horses and mules?”
“Stable out back,” said the clerk. “Dollar for each of you and for each animal. That includes hay and grain.”
Don paid. Then he and Red took the horses and mules to the stable, such as it was. They unsaddled and rubbed down their horses, putting them in one stall, and the mules in another. After feeding the animals, they returned to the rooming house. Their room was on the first floor.
“Don’t look like much of a bed,” Don said, “but I reckon it’ll be softer than most of the ground we’ve been sleepin’ on.”
They piled their saddlebags and Henry rifles in a corner, and sitting on the bed, drew off their boots. Their gunbelts and hats were hung on the bedposts. Red blew out the lamp, and just moments after stretching out on the bed, the two of them were snoring.
In the Sierra Nevada foothills, almost a hundred miles away, the rest of the outfit had settled down to await the return of Don and Red. It was a time to wash long-ignored clothing and blankets, and they all availed themselves to the opportunity.
“Do you suppose Don and Red will reach Los Angeles today?” Sarah asked.
“They should,” said Bob Vines. “They’ll need at least a day in town before they start back. We should be seeing them again in three days. Not more than four.”
“Oh, I hope nothing goes wrong,” Sarah said.
“I don’t know what else could,” said Bob.
For lack of anything better to do, the riders decided to run a tally on the herd. When the seven of them had finished, they compared results.
“Amazing,” Bob said. “Every one of us is within a dozen head of tallying the same.”
“That’s because they’re all settled down, grazing,” said Mike. “Who got the low tally?”
“Felton,” Bob said. “Five thousand, two hundred and ten.”
The Old Spanish Trail Page 24