The California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  The old man dismounted and began shouting orders. Rosa slid out of her saddle and found that the other six Indians were no longer with them. The old one looped the reins of his horse and Rosa’s to a lodge pole. He then drew open the flap and shoved her into the dark interior of the tepee. Hands seized her, tore at her hair and clawed at her face. Her assailants were screeching like magpies, and the old chief had to bellow like a bull to make himself heard above the din. Then he was inside, shoving them through the open flap of the tepee. Rosa could still hear them outside, but her captor closed the flap, and she was alone. She didn’t have to wonder who the two furious women were, or why they had attacked her. Even in her inexperience, she recognized them as jealous wives who well knew why they were being run out. This old fool had plans for her, and he didn’t want an audience!

  The tepee smelled of wood smoke, sweat, and roasted meat. Rosa began feeling around for something that might serve as a weapon, and her moccasined foot touched a stone. Kneeling, she found a circle of them, still warm. It was a fire ring, and feeling the stones, she selected a large one. Prying it loose, she hefted it in both hands. It was a poor weapon, but better than nothing. There was a sliver of light where the tepee flap hadn’t been fully closed, and when she put one eye to it, she could see her horse in the light of a rising moon. Her pistol was in the saddlebag! She had her hand on the tepee flap when an Indian spoke and a companion answered. While she couldn’t see them, they were watching the tepee until her captor returned. With a sigh, she again took up the heavy stone.

  The next voice Rosa heard was that of the old one in whose lodge she waited. She hoped he was dismissing the guards. He came in, closing the flap behind him, and Rosa heard the distinctive sound of leather against leather. He was getting undressed! In spite of herself, she jumped when she felt his rough hands on her bare skin. She waited until his fingers reached the waist of the breeches she wore, and then she brought up her right knee in a savage thrust, where it would get the most attention. His breath exploded in an agonized groan, and she felt his sagging head against her bare belly. Stepping back just enough to lift the heavy stone, she brought it crashing down on the back of his head. . . .

  Gil rode out at first light the following morning. While he couldn’t be sure, he felt the government map noted only the larger streams and rivers. While it was a help, and he was thankful for it, they needed the in-between streams and water holes too. Once the drive passed El Paso and was into the badlands and desert beyond, the map’s river locations would be invaluable. But until then there would be lesser streams that didn’t appear on the map, and these were essential. The herd had begun to settle down, and a day’s drive could be stretched to fifteen miles or more, as long as there was water at the end of it. He had ridden well over ten miles when he came upon a substantial runoff that definitely wasn’t on the government map. It would extend their day’s drive, and if he could find another such water source for the following day, they might make up some lost time. The mountainous regions of southwest Texas would have lesser streams that, while not qualifying as rivers, would provide water enough to suit their purpose. Gil had ridden at least thirty miles before he found the second such source, again not evident on the government map. Elated, he rode back to meet the trail drive, bearing good news.

  Her knees weak, sick to her stomach, Rosa dropped the stone. However justifiable the deed, it sickened her, and she wanted only to escape. She stepped over the inert old man and moved the tepee flap enough to see outside. Her horse was still there, and she sighed with relief. Quickly she stepped out, closing the tepee flap behind her. Apparently the rest of the camp respected the chief’s privacy, for she saw or heard nobody. Loosing the reins of her horse, she crept away from the tepee. She had to pass two others, and held her breath.

  But for the dogs, she might have made it. One of them discovered her, and the others lent their voices, not knowing or caring if there was justification for the clamor. The need for stealth was gone, and Rosa sprang into her saddle, kicking the horse into a fast gallop. This time there would be no capture. When they discovered what she had done, if they caught her, death would be swift and certain. She found herself on the open plains, in the light of a full moon, with no cover in sight. Taking her direction from the stars, she rode west as hard as the horse could run. They must not catch her on the plains! She was momentarily annoyed with herself because she hadn’t taken the time to get the Colt from her saddlebag, but common sense prevailed. Effective shooting from the back of a running horse, even in good light, was difficult. At night it would be impossible, and she had fired a pistol only once in her life. It would all depend on the valiant black horse with the Winged M on its left flank. On she rode, but even in the cool of the night, she dared not gallop the horse for more than a few minutes. Fearfully she looked back, and saw a mass of moving shadows emerge from the trees. They were coming!

  Gil met the oncoming trail drive in the afternoon. They had already come far enough that they would reach water before sundown. On the trail by first light tomorrow, even with a long day’s drive, they would reach the next water before dark. The riders shouted their approval when they were told of the longer drives and the assurance of water.

  “If we can average fifteen miles a day,” said Van, “that cuts our trail time by a third.”

  “Can’t look at it that way,” said Gil. “The fifteen-mile days will make up for the bad days when we don’t quite make ten. Or the even worse days, following a stampede, when we work from daylight till dark, roundin’ up the scattered herd.”

  “Well, hell,” grumbled Van, “you can’t fault a man for dreaming.”

  “No,” Gil grinned, “long as he don’t forget that’s exactly what it is.”

  The herd was becoming trailwise. The rest of the day passed without incident, and the night proved equally peaceful. Gil’s premonition began to claw at him, reminding him this was the calm before the storm, that when everything seemed right, all hell was about to break loose. But he fought down his misgivings and rode out at dawn, seeking water for this day and the next. When he found water, he found trouble. There were the tracks of twenty-four unshod horses. Tracks only hours old, and they led to the northeast . . .

  Rosa could see the welcome shadow of trees ahead. She must lose her pursuers, and she must do it quickly. While they hadn’t gained on her, neither had she gained on them. The woods she sought proved to be a scrub oak thicket, and the farther into it she went, the more dense it became. She dared not continue straight ahead. Dismounting, she led the tired horse and veered away to the north, deeper and deeper into the brush. If they searched for her, it would have to be on foot, and she moved as silently as possible. If they weren’t sure which direction she had taken, they would have to split their forces so thin, they might overlook her entirely. Just by accident, Rosa found excellent cover for herself and her horse, simply by falling headlong into a tree-shrouded depression in the earth. The horse made a more graceful descent, and although Rosa didn’t know its origin, they had taken cover in what had once been a buffalo wallow. Indian voices came close, and the girl held her hands over the muzzle of her horse. Finally there was only silence. But she must not linger. Having lost her in darkness, she had no assurance they wouldn’t come looking for her again at first light. Removing her buttonless shirt, she replaced it with the one from her saddlebag. Then she climbed out of the depression in which she’d been hiding and stood there listening. But there was only the sleepy chirp of birds and the cry of a distant coyote. Unsure of her direction, she led her horse until the thicket thinned out enough for her to see the starry sky. Taking her direction, she mounted, kicking her horse into a slow gallop. Scarred by her experience, but the stronger for it, she again rode west.

  Gil only took the time to rest his horse before starting back the way he had come. Unshod horses were bad news, and if the riders continued in the direction they’d ridden out, there was no way they could be unaware of the trail drive. They almost ha
d to be Comanches, he thought grimly, and they could easily circle around and come at the drag riders from behind. He had traveled less than half the distance back to the drive when he heard the ominous rattle of gunfire. He soon began meeting remnants of the horse remuda and still-trotting longhorn steers. The Comanches had stampeded the herd, and whether or not they took any scalps, they would round up the scattered horses at their leisure. The firing ceased, adding to Gil’s suspicion that the purpose of the daylight attack had been to stampede the herd and steal the horses. His immediate fear was that his drag riders—Vicente Gomez, Bo, and Juan Padillo—might have been hurt or killed.

  The first riders Gil saw were Estanzio and Mariposa, coming hard. He didn’t stop them, and they rode on. They had the right idea. Without swift action, they would lose their horse remuda. Van had the same idea. Following him came Long John, Ramon, Juan Alamonte, Manuel Armijo, Domingo Chavez, Pedro Fagano, and Bo. Vicente Gomez and Juan Padillo were missing.

  “Vicente and Juan were wounded,” said Van, “but they’ll live. They can still shoot, but there’s nothin’ to shoot at. The attack’s over, and if we don’t do some fast ridin’, we won’t have a horse remuda.”

  “Ride, then,” said Gil. “I’ll be along.”

  He wanted to be sure his wounded men were able to ride. He found them shirtless, seeing to their wounds. Juan Padillo had a bloody left arm, while Vicente Gomez had a nasty wound beneath his right arm, along his side.

  “The others are goin’ ahead,” said Gil, “hopin’ to save the horses. If you can ride, we’ll see to your wounds at the next camp.”

  “Stop blood,” said Padillo, “then we ride.”

  The three of them rode out, and within three or four miles they found most of the longhorns grazing.

  “They want horse,” said Vicente, “not cow.”

  “I reckon that’s goin’ to be a problem,” said Gil. “They’ll kill us and stampede the longhorns just to get the horses, but we’ll have to watch for Comancheros and border outlaws too. They’ll take the horses and the cattle.”

  Rosa rode until the eastern horizon paled with the first light of dawn. She had no idea how far she’d ridden; she only hoped it was far enough to discourage further pursuit. Reaching a small stream, she watered her horse and then found a secluded place for them to spend the day. No sooner had she settled down to doze than her horse nickered, jolting her awake. She was on her feet in an instant, dragging the Colt from her waistband. But the horse was riderless, and on its left hip was the familiar Winged M brand. She recognized it as one of the animals she had ridden on the ranch, and the horse came to her readily. Something was wrong; Estanzio and Mariposa would never allow even one of the horse remuda to simply wander away. Using her lariat, she picketed the stray horse, and, moving farther up the creek, was elated to discover where the herd had been bedded down. The horse and cow droppings were fresh, and she believed the drive had spent a night here within the past two days. If she rode hard, she might catch up to them today! She returned to the horses on the run. While her own horse was tired, it could travel on a lead rope, so she saddled the stray. The rising sun at her back, she rode out.

  As they rode, Gil, Vicente, and Juan found two of the packhorses, and when they reached the creek where Gil had first seen the unshod tracks, they found the other three packhorses and two dozen of their horse remuda. Bo and Manual Armijo were there.

  “Bo, you and Manuel help me,” said Gil, “and let’s unload the packs. I need to get at the medicine to patch up Vicente and Juan. We’ll set up camp here. When the rest of the riders return, we’ll see where we stand on the horses.”

  When the rest of the outfit showed up, they had only sixteen of the missing horses. They simply couldn’t afford to lose a third of their horse remuda, and Mariposa and Estanzio didn’t intend to.

  “Our Injuns took to the trail like a pair of bloodhounds,” said Van, “and I let ’em go. We can leave four men here, and the rest of us can join Mariposa and Estanzio. They’ll outnumber us nearly three to one, but we can surprise the bastards like they surprised us.”

  “Git ’em after dark,” said Long John.

  “Bo, you and Manuel stay here,” said Gil, “and Vicente, since you and Juan have been hurt, I want you to remain here too. The rest of us will go after our horses. No fire tonight in camp. Those of you goin’ with me, grab a handful of jerked beef and let’s ride.”

  An hour west of the creek, Rosa found where the Indians had attacked and where the herd had stampeded. While she was new to the frontier, the signs were obvious, including several Indian arrows. Nor did it take a trailwise frontiersman to know the difference between the tracks of a running cow and a walking cow. There was a bloody bandanna where Vicente and Juan had tended their wounds. She rode on, hoping nobody had been seriously wounded or killed, until vegetation ahead warned her she was approaching water. Ahead, a horse nickered; the one she rode and the one she led responded. She reined up, waiting, her hand on the pistol in her waistband. The first man she saw was Juan Padillo, minus his shirt, a bloody bandage around his upper left arm.

  “Juan,” she shouted, kicking her horse into a gallop. “Juan, it’s Rosa!”

  Juan Padillo relaxed and holstered his Colt. He caught Rosa as she all but fell out of the saddle. She hadn’t fully realized how great had been her emotional strain, until she saw Juan Padillo’s friendly face. Her eyes swiftly took in the four riders returning to the wounded Juan and Vicente.

  “Oh,” she cried, “you’ve been hurt. Is it . . . bad?”

  “We not hurt bad.” Juan grinned. “Reckon you be hurt more worse. Senor Gil, he be mad lak hell.”

  “I reckon he will,” said Rosa, “but he’ll get over it. Where is he, and the other riders?”

  “Go after horse remuda,” said Juan. “Injuns take ’em.”

  “Not all of them,” said Rosa. “I brought one of them with me.”

  Juan grinned. “Senor Gil still be mad lak hell.”

  “Then maybe I be mad lak hell right along with him,” Rosa replied.

  Swift pursuit by Mariposa and Estanzio gave the cowboys a valuable edge. Knowing Gil and the outfit would follow, the Indian riders strove only to keep the quarry in sight. The night would come, and darkness would become the equalizer. Strangely enough, the Indians were driving the stolen horses in almost exactly the same direction the trail drive had been headed.

  “They’re on their way to Pecos River country,” said Gil. “Accordin’ to the map, it’s maybe ninety miles to where we’ll cross the Pecos.”

  “They stop with the night,” said Ramon.

  “I hope they do,” Gil replied, “so we can end this chase.”

  “Be jus’ like the red devils t’ run all night,” said Long John.

  “I don’t think so,” said Van. “I doubt this bunch can teach Mariposa and Estanzio anything. All we got to do is stay back until our Injuns tell us where these Comanches are hunkered down for the night.”

  “They reckon we jus’ a bunch o’ dumb Tejano cow-punchers that can’t foller a hoss if we got aholt of its tail,” said Long John.

  “That’s exactly what we want them to think,” Gil replied.

  Sundown came and they still hadn’t caught up to Mariposa and Estanzio.

  “We’d as well settle down and wait for them to get back to us,” said Gil. “If we go stumbling around in the dark, in unfamiliar country, we may lose ourselves until they can’t find us. Where we are now, they can find us by following their back trail.”

  They drank creek water and chewed on jerked beef, and the full moon had been up for an hour when Mariposa found them.

  “Them stop, watch hoss,” said Mariposa. “Come.”

  They rode for almost two hours before the Indian reined up. Following his lead, they dismounted, half-hitching their reins to whatever limb or bush was convenient. They didn’t know when Estanzio would join them, but suddenly he did. They covered the last mile or two on foot, and when they were near enou
gh to hear the movement of the horses, Mariposa and Estanzio halted. It was time to silence the Indians who were watching the horses, and they waited as Mariposa and Estanzio faded into the shadows. There was not a sound, and when the Indians returned, they drove the blades of their Bowies into the soft earth. Then Estanzio drew his Colt from his waistband, raised it high for them to see, and pointed to himself. Once they were in position, he would fire first.

  Gil was elated to discover the horses were well away from the Indian camp. Perhaps it was a forlorn hope, but they might be able to end this without stampeding the herd. Mariposa and Estanzio guided them well beyond the horses, and they came at the Indian camp from the other side. All the blanketed forms were strung out along the far bank of a small stream, and overhanging trees and vegetation left them in shadow. Mariposa took his position at one end of the camp, while Estanzio placed the rest of the riders. When Estanzio touched his arm, Gil remained where he was, while the Indian placed the next man, and the next. Estanzio then took the last position down the creek. While they were outnumbered, they had every one of the Indian horse thieves within range of a Colt six-shooter. It was strategy worthy of a military field commander. Gil had his Colt out and ready. When Estanzio fired, the rest of them followed, and the roar was deafening. Justified as they were, Gil felt a little guilty. It went against the grain, shooting a sleeping man, even a horse-thieving Indian. Once the firing had begun, Gil thought he had seen some movement, but it seemed the slaughter had been complete. Mariposa and Estanzio left nothing to chance. After waiting a few minutes, they waded the creek. When they returned, Mariposa held up two fingers.