“We were already in trouble with that bunch,” said Gil, “before I shot Connor. Van and Long John had already had words with Morgan Pinder.”
It was a poor excuse for an apology, and Gil felt like a skunk. There was dried blood in her hair, above her left ear, where she had been slugged with a pistol barrel, and he hadn’t even noticed. Worse, he hadn’t even asked how she felt. All he had done was criticize her for her inadequate defense against a brute with a pistol.
“Then you are not angry with me?” she asked.
“No,” he said, and he touched the bruise above her ear. “I’m sorry that I didn’t notice that you’d been hurt. Most of all, I’m sorry about what I . . . what I said. This Verd Connor was big as a mountain, and looked bull-strong. With his fists, he might have beaten me, so I had no right to criticize you. Has your head stopped hurting?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it is very sore.”
Despite the fact that he felt like an insensitive brute, inadequate in all he said and did, he made up his mind to be honest with her about something he had discovered about himself. Gathering his courage, he spoke.
“Rosa, bad as this thing was—him taking you—it forced me to admit somethin’ I just couldn’t seem to accept before. When I saw this Verd Connor forcing himself on you, I knew that I wanted you. I wanted you for myself. Right or wrong, however damn old I am, or however young you are . . .”
Her smile was worth all his painful admission had cost him.
“When you are ready,” said Rosa, “you will not have to hit me with a gun.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He grinned. “But for now, we’re up to our ears in this trail drive, with all those horses and cows needin’ water. Let’s ride.”
It was well they had waited until the next morning to resume the trail drive. Gil and Rosa rode at least thirty miles to the Potrillo Mountains before they found water.
“This will be the first test,” he said. “We’ll have to drive straight through to water, even if it takes all night. We’ll water and graze the herd in daylight and drive them at night, if that’s what it takes to avoid dry camps.”
By the time they had returned to their camp on the Rio Grande, the sun was only a rosy memory on the horizon, and purple shadows were awaiting their opportunity to swallow the plains in the coming night.
“Long as you’ve been gone,” said Van, “I reckon we’ll have one hell of a drive gettin’ to the next water.”
“Thirty miles or more,” said Gil, “and we don’t stop until we get there.”
“Is good,” said Ramon, and the other riders agreed. Anything was better than trying to hold thirsty, bawling, stampede-prone longhorns in a dry camp.
After supper Gil gathered his dirty clothes. There was just about enough time before dark to do his wash, but it would likely still be damp at first light, when he had to pack it in. Rosa followed, bringing a folded blanket, and they headed upstream.
“Rosa,” he said, grinning at her, “you purely are a caution. You aim to strip, wash your clothes, and spend the night with nothing but a blanket? Suppose the herd stampedes, and we all have to hit the saddle and ride?”
“You are the trail boss,” she said. “Do you wish me to ride that way?”
“Tarnation, I don’t even want you naked in this river, with the rest of the riders too close. We’ll go upstream a pretty good ways, and I’ll watch, while you wash.”
“Will you watch me, or the plains?”
“I’ll sneak a look at the plains once in a while,” said Gil.
Gil had the trail drive moving at first light, the horse remuda leading out.
“We’ll use the same precautions for outlaws that we use for Indians,” he told them. “You drag riders keep a sharp eye to the back trail. This Clanton bunch will be after the horses and the longhorns, so a stampede will be their style. But remember, they’re killers too, so once they’re in range, we’ll be dodgin’ lead.”
Gil had considered remaining with the drive until it reached the water he and Rosa had already found, and then riding from there. But he rejected the idea. If he rode out today, he must cover thirty miles and then ride the length of a day’s drive beyond. Suppose there was no water for another thirty miles? It was a risk he had to take, because he remembered what El Paso’s sheriff Weatherford had told him. Old man Clanton had a hardcase outfit claiming land in New Mexico and Arizona. A man didn’t have to be too bright to figure the possibilities of such an arrangement. Eventually the trail drive would have to cross the land on which the outlaws squatted. That, or the drive must turn north, with plans to continue west somewhere beyond the outlaw holdings. But if this bunch could claim any land on which they chose to squat, their “boundary” could extend as far north as they needed to take it. Gil quickly decided that boundary would be extended far enough that the trail drive couldn’t get around it.
So he decided he must stay two days ahead of the drive, when it came to seeking water. If the Clanton bunch of owlhoots were as resourceful as they seemed, they would be claiming water rights at some point where their own water became essential. It was Gil’s intention of finding this trouble before the absolute necessity of water made his position intolerable. If such an unconscionable shakedown had been planned, Gil looked for it at least four days’ drive west of El Paso. That would lessen the possibility of word leaking back to warn the unwary.
Once he reached the Potrillo Mountains, he rested and watered his horse before riding on. While the government map showed little water, it faithfully accounted for the various mountains. The new map had taught him one thing: the chain of mountains he and Van had once seen from Mexico—mountains west of the Sierra Madres—were part of the continental divide. Once across the divide, streams and rivers ran from east to west, flowing toward the Pacific Ocean. They would see the great water once they reached California.
Many of the mountains on Gil’s map were not named. They were marked with lines of inverted V’s, like Indian tepees, but that was all. It was in the foothills of some unnamed mountains that he found a second day’s water. It began with a spring, flowed down a rock face in a waterfall, then formed a large pool with a runoff. Here, Gil found tracks of horses. Shod horses. There had been five riders, and they had ridden in from the north before turning west. It was time to return to the trail drive. The spring, Gil figured, was a little more than twenty miles west of where they would bed down the herd tonight.
He decided this would be his last time to ride out alone. Somewhere west of this spring, he would be looking for a confrontation with the Clanton outlaws, and he had no intention of stumbling on them unexpectedly. The skills of Mariposa and Estanzio were too valuable to go unused, and from now on he would have one of the Indians riding with him. Mariposa and Estanzio could stalk and silence Comanches in the darkest of night, and Gil thought there might be some unpleasant surprises in store for the Clanton thieves and killers. He rode back and met the trail drive.
“It’s gonna be almighty late when we get these brutes to water,” said Van, his eyes on the sun.
“We’ll keep them moving till they get there,” Gil replied, “if it takes all night. The next day’s drive will be short; only twenty miles.”
Long John, Ramon, and the other riders laughed at that.
Come sundown, the longhorns began bawling their discontent. It was time to water, to graze, to rest. But none of these comforts were in sight, and the drive went on. . . .
“By God,” growled Long John, “it’s jist our luck t’ git a bunch o’ longhorns what knows the diff’rence betwixt day an’ night. I never knowed they was that smart.”
“Might as well get used to the bawling and bunch quitting,” said Gil. “We’re still a good fifteen miles from water, but there’ll be a moon, and it’s just flat prairie till we reach the foothills. That’s where the water is.”
Without the moonlight, their cause would have been lost. Every steer in the bunch remembered the water they had left behind, and w
ith no assurance of any ahead, every one of the troublesome brutes tried to take to the back trail. Even in the cool of the night, Gil felt the sweat soaking the back of his shirt, and he sleeved it out of his eyes. His bandanna over his nose and mouth did little good, and his tongue felt like he’d been licking the dusty prairie.
“Why do these cows never become tired?” Rosa asked.
“They are tired,” said Gil. “That’s why they’re so damn cantankerous, but they’re never too tired to light out along the back trail, toward the last water they remember. They want to drink, to graze, to rest.”
“But without water,” Van said, “they won’t graze or rest. Why can’t they at least be smart enough to know we’re takin’ ’em to water?”
“You expect a powerful lot from a cow,” said Long John.
The riders wearily pursued one bunch quitter after another, until the longhorns finally saw the futility of it and gave up. They plodded on, bawling in protest as they went, but they kept moving ahead. Finally the riders and their horses got some relief, and the choking clouds of dust diminished. When Gil next looked at the stars, the Big Dipper said it was past midnight. The herd had been on the trail eighteen hours.
“I figure another two hours,” said Gil.
“Let’s whop their flanks,” Van said, “and cut that to an hour.”
“No,” said Gil, “we’ll leave well enough alone. They’re tired. Try to push ’em any harder, and they’ll just get ornery again. Then we’ll be fighting them another four hours instead of just two.”
In just a little more than twenty hours, they had covered thirty miles. When every horse and cow had drunk its fill, first light was little more than two hours away. The horse remuda and the longhorns settled down gladly, not even attempting to graze.
“Now,” said Gil, “I need six volunteers to join me until first light. A short watch, but it would be a good time for somebody to hit us, while we’re all ready to fall on our faces.”
Exhausted as they were, every rider—including Rosa—offered to join the short watch. Gil chose Long John, Ramon, Van, Juan Padillo, Vicente, and Bola.
“Come first light,” said Gil, “the rest of you can take over, and we’ll sleep a couple of hours before we move out again. We’ll have a fifteen-hour day ahead of us, but it won’t be anything like the one we’ve just had.”
Nobody complained. This was a trail drive, and the long, hard hours went with the territory. Rosa slept less than an hour, getting breakfast started so they could all eat together. By the time the sun was three hours high, they were again ready for the trail. Before they moved out, Gil told them of his suspicions, insofar as the Clanton gang was concerned, and then stressed the need for Mariposa or Estanzio to accompany him as he rode ahead in search of water.
“When Mariposa or Estanzio is with me,” said Gil, “that’ll leave just one rider with the horse remuda. Ramon, during these times, you’ll need to help with the horses. The next closest riders will be Van and Juan Padillo. Call for them if you need them. I’ll take Mariposa with me today, and Estanzio, you’ll go tomorrow.”
Gil and Mariposa rode out well ahead of the herd. To the north Gil could see mountains, and for a change his map had a name for them. They were the Guadalupes, towering over a wilderness through which there would someday be a trail to Colorado.*
Gil immediately found the tracks he had seen the day before; tracks of the five riders who had ridden in from the north and then turned westward. Mariposa dismounted and followed the tracks a few yards, studying them.
“Two day,” said Mariposa.
That meant the riders had arrived at the spring the day before Gil had gotten there. As Gil saw it, there had been plenty of time for Morgan Pinder to ride back and alert his owlhoot companions to the trail drive. The very afternoon the trail drive had bedded down on the Rio Grande, north of El Paso, two riders had come in from the west, apparently on their way to the border town. The men had paused, too far away to be identified, and had ridden on. This pair fitted Gil’s suspicions as Morgan Pinder and Verd Connor. Why else would Pinder have provoked trouble by hurling an impossible-to-prove charge of horse stealing at Long John and Van? These five riders, whose tracks Gil and Mariposa were following, could have been following up Pinder’s report, spying on the trail drive. They had returned by a northerly direction to avoid leaving an obvious trail back to their camp. Watering their horses at the spring, they had then ridden west. Gil had little doubt these tracks would lead him and Mariposa to where this faction of the Clanton gang was holed up. Gil decided if he reached water before these tracks played out or changed direction, he and Mariposa would follow this trail to its end. The sooner he had some idea where the gang planned to jump the trail drive, the sooner an offensive could be planned.
“Water close by,” said Mariposa, pointing skyward.
The honeybees were tiny specks in the morning sun, but Gil could see them, returning the way he and Mariposa had just come. Gil and Mariposa rode on, traveling less than a mile to reach a shallow creek. The water didn’t seem substantial enough for a permanent camp, or for what the Clanton bunch likely had in mind, but it would temporarily serve the needs of the oncoming trail drive. The tracks of the five riders crossed the creek and continued westward.
“We’ll stay with this trail, Mariposa,” said Gil.
Gil suspected the next water would be claimed by the outlaws, and that it might be a good thirty miles distant. Beyond that, the next water would be so far away, the trail drive couldn’t possibly reach it without water in between. If that were the case, it would put them at the mercy of the outlaws. When Mariposa reined up, Gil estimated they had ridden twenty-five miles west of the shallow creek. Gil moved up beside him. While the Indian said nothing, he didn’t need to. Gil smelled the smoke too. Mariposa dismounted, Gil following, and they half-hitched their reins to a low-hanging limb. Mariposa leading, they climbed to the crest of the hill, where they could see without being seen. A crude log cabin stood in the bend of a wide, deep-running creek. There was a barn, crude as the cabin, with an adjoining corral. Gil counted two dozen horses in the corral, and there was room for many more. Was there a man for every horse, or were most of these animals stolen, awaiting delivery to new owners?
“Mariposa,” said Gil, “I’ll go back and hold our horses so they don’t break loose and run. When I’ve had time to get to them, do your cougar cry. That ought to empty the cabin pronto, and when the coyotes come runnin’ out, count them. Then get back here as quick as you can, and we’ll ride.”
Mariposa nodded, and Gil hurried back to the horses. He loosed the reins and took a firm grip. Mariposa sounded so much like a cougar, Gil’s hair wanted to stand on end, even when he knew it was only the Indian creating the fearful sound. Sure enough, when Mariposa cut loose with his cougar song, both horses reared, and Gil had a time calming them. Almost before the cry faded, Mariposa was there, swinging into the saddle. Gil mounted and they galloped away. Mariposa turned to Gil, raising five fingers and then one more. That told Gil there had been six men in the cabin, but he had no assurance there wouldn’t be more.
When Gil and Mariposa met the trail drive, it had covered less than half the fifteen miles to the creek where they would spend the night. Gil told them only that there was water ahead. It would be soon enough, once this hard day was done, for them to learn that tomorrow they would be within a day’s drive of the outlaw camp. Gil had suspicions as to what lay ahead, and in his mind a plan was taking shape. It would depend heavily on Mariposa and Estanzio.
The last two hours of the day’s drive, they were in the dark. They had traveled forty-five miles in two days, and as exhausted as they were, every rider was jubilant. They deserved a good meal, and Gil found a stump hole they used for a fire pit. There was no wind to carry the smoke, to reveal their presence. Riders who would take the second watch relieved those who were already on watch, so they could eat. Gil had intended to wait until the morning before he said anything about the ne
arness of the outlaw cabin, but Rosa was on the second watch with him, and full of curiosity.
“You have discovered something you haven’t told us,” she said.
He laughed. “If you’re that smart, what have I discovered?”
“You have discovered where the outlaws are.”
“Then where are they?” he asked.
“Just ahead of us,” said Rosa, “and they have stolen all the water in New Mexico. Each time we water the herd, we will have to shoot outlaws.”
“It ain’t quite that bad,” Gil said, “but you’re close.”
She had always listened patiently, rarely critical of his plans, so he had become more comfortable with her. But for now he told her only that there were six men in the cabin, and that there would be only tomorrow night’s camp between them and where he expected trouble.
“What are we to do?” she asked. “If they claim the land we must cross, what can we do?”
“Their claim to it is only as strong as their gun muscle,” Gil said, “and they’ve been watching us. They might demand money for us crossing their land, but I doubt it. I think they’ll just take the horses and the herd, if they can. Tonight or tomorrow night, I look for one or more of them to come here to take our measure. Mariposa and Estanzio will be staked out to welcome them, and once we have our hands on one of the bastards, he’ll tell us what they have in mind. Then we’ll make some plans of our own.”
The night passed without incident. Mariposa and Estanzio had seen or heard nothing out of the ordinary. If the Clanton outlaws lived up to Gil’s suspicions, it would have to be tonight. After their bone-breaking drives of the past several days, the comparatively short drive—about twelve miles, to the next water—seemed short indeed. They reached the little creek well before sundown. Gil had ridden ahead, but found no new tracks.
“Tonight,” said Gil, “I want Mariposa and Estanzio out in the night again, circling the camp. I look for this Clanton bunch to scout us out one more time before they come after us. If Mariposa and Estanzio can grab one of the coyotes, we’ll drag him up to the fire, have a look at him, and then he can tell us everything he knows.”
The California Trail Page 9