The California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “How far are we from San Francisco?” Kate Donnegan asked.

  “Maybe a hundred eighty miles,” Gil said.

  “We’re not going to San Francisco,” said Van.

  “But we are,” Kate said.

  “So Gil and the trail drive will be going there as well,” Rosa said.

  “Gil’s a big boy and can speak for himself,” said Kate maliciously. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Rosa turned to Gil, and while she said nothing, she didn’t need to. He hadn’t intended to announce the delay in San Francisco in this way, but now he could only admit to the truth of it. As calmly as he could, he explained his reason for going to San Francisco, without mentioning Judge Donnegan’s money. He dwelt on the preparation of the joint venture he and the judge would undertake in San Antonio. Nobody said anything. Rosa and Van seemed struck dumb, incapable of speaking, while the rest of the outfit didn’t feel justified in interfering. Gil finally broke the silence.

  “It’s time to get with the herd. Who wants the first watch?”

  The riders had their eyes on Van and Rosa, and when neither of them volunteered for first watch, Gil quickly had the first watch covered. Van and Rosa had held out for midnight to dawn, and everybody knew why. Gil was in for it.

  Supper was eaten in silence, and Gil pondered the strange events that had him at odds not only with Rosa, but with his brother as well. He believed they were judging the Donnegans unjustly, Rosa because of Kate’s interest in Gil, and Van because he favored Rosa over the flamboyant Kate. But damn it, Rosa had dealt him nothing but misery all the way from Texas, and he was tired of it. He told himself Kate Donnegan was a beautiful woman, near his own age, and obviously interested in him. Besides, there was Judge Donnegan’s proposal to honor Stephen Austin, and he, Gil Austin, had been asked to participate. Van had a wife, a child, and a life of his own, while Rosa didn’t seem to know what the hell she wanted. Who were they to insist on living Gil’s life for him? He would ride his own trail, and if they didn’t like it, then that was just too damn bad.

  * This area is now Los Padres National Forest; the unfamiliar trees are redwoods.

  23

  Pedro and Vicente joined Gil, Van, and Rosa on the second watch. Pedro and Vicente quickly distanced themselves from their three comrades, lest they become involved in the controversy that was almost sure to follow. Gil just wanted it over and done with, so he made the first move.

  “I reckon the two of you are pawin’ the ground to get at me, so go on and work off your mad. Let’s be done with it.”

  “I ain’t so much mad as just purely disgusted,” Van said. “Now if you aimed to haul fancy-dressed lumber from Shreveport and build yourself some kind of mansion, or if you went lookin’ to buy a stable of racehorses, I could maybe understand that.”

  “I haven’t told you this,” said Gil, “because I didn’t want to say it before everybody else, so I’ll tell you now. I’m not being asked to put up any money. What I also haven’t told you is that we’re going to San Francisco so that I can pick up Judge Donnegan’s funds. I’ll be taking fifty thousand dollars back to Texas for him. Now how in tarnation can you find fault with that?”

  “Because it makes no sense,” Van said. “You’ve known this so-called judge less than two weeks, and not only is he asking no money from you, he’s trusting you with fifty thousand dollars of his. Somehow, somewhere, he aims to cash in, and when he does, it’ll be your chips, not his.”

  “You don’t know that!” Gil shouted. “But what if he does expect me to put up some money? Once we’ve sold the herd, some of the money will be mine. Then, by God, if I decide to build a monument to Santa Anna, who’s going to stop me?”

  “Not me,” Van said. “That would make about as much sense as what you’ve got in mind.”

  “Come on,” Gil said, turning to Rosa. “It’s your turn to get your claws into me.”

  “It is none of my affair,” she said. “It is your money and your life.”

  Her indifference hurt him more than her anger would have. In all his frustration, he turned back to Van.

  “Where is it written that a man who starts out as a cow wrassler can’t be something more?”

  “Cowboying is honest work,” Van said, “and it was good enough for you for seventeen years. We come to Bandera Range in ’thirty-three, strugglin’ and starvin’ until now. Finally, with a decent stake comin’, the best you can do is hunker in some dingy office, feedin’ off folks’ misery in the name of the law.”

  “This is gettin’ us nowhere,” Gil snapped. “Are you finished?”

  “No,” said Van, “but you are. I don’t aim to say another word. I’m just goin’ to watch this Judge Donnegan get you where he wants you, and then give you a knee where it hurts the most. When he’s picked you clean, if you ain’t too proud to be a cowboy, I’ll pay forty a month and found.”

  Gil mounted and rode to the far side of the herd, leaving Van and Rosa alone.

  “What are we going to do?” Rosa asked.

  “Nothing,” Van said, “except keep our eyes and ears open. It’s a long ride back to Texas, and I’d bet my share of the herd that before we leave San Francisco, this Judge Donnegan makes a believer out of a dumb cow-puncher.”

  By first light the herd was again on the trail, following the Salinas River northwest. They would follow the river eighty miles, to Soledad. Van and Rosa were outwardly calm, and the apparent rift within the outfit seemed healed. But Gil knew better, uneasily recalling Van’s doubts, and wondering what lay ahead. For the next six days it looked like an easy trail, simply following the Salinas River. There had been virtually no bad weather since they’d reached California, but their second day on the Salinas, that changed. The sun set red behind dirty gray clouds, and a brisk wind from the west had the taste of salt.

  “Storm be coming,” said Juan Padillo.

  “Yeah,” said Gil, “and it may be a storm unlike any we’ve ever seen. I’ve heard of these storms that spring up out over the ocean, and I reckon we’d better get ready. Tonight it’s everybody in the saddle until this storm passes.”

  The riders tied down their hats with piggin string, loosed their lariats, and after supper they all took to their saddles. The wind grew stronger, plucking at hats and clothing like unseen hands, moaning through the brush and chaparral along the river. Mariposa and Estanzio had moved the horses well away from the long-horns, so if one herd ran, the other didn’t have to follow. One old steer faced the rising lonesome wind, bawling long and mournfully. Three others joined in, forming an eerie quartet.

  “It’s gettin’ to them,” Van shouted. “They’re just waitin’ for something to light the fuse.”

  If the longhorns ran, it would almost certainly be to the east, away from the storm. With that in mind, Gil had positioned his riders five to the north and five to the south of the herd. When the rain came, it hit with such force, the riders were almost swept from their saddles. Like the longhorns, they turned their backs to the fury of the storm. There had been no thunder or lightning, and just when the riders had begun to hope there would be only wind and rain, there came a clap of thunder of such proportions it seemed to shake the very earth. Before the echo faded, the herd was off and running. The riders charged after them, trying to get ahead of the lead steers. Suddenly the sodden ground gave way beneath the front hooves of Gil’s horse, and he was barely able to free himself from the saddle before the animal went down. Gil rolled with the fall, praying he wasn’t throwing himself into the path of the stampede. He stumbled to his feet, and in the glare of the lightning that followed the thunder, he could see his downed horse struggling to arise. It got up, limping, and Gil caught the trailing reins. He was out of it, and since the herd hadn’t slowed, he doubted the other riders had been able to head it. While it was small consolation, the river from which the longhorns had stampeded was the only convenient water. The herd would eventually return to the river, once the sun sucked up the excess water left by the sto
rm.

  The thunder had faded to an occasional rumble, and the lightning to an infrequent illumination of the rainswept world around them. The wind had died, and the rain become only a soft patter. Leading his horse, Gil started back toward the river. He wondered how the Donnegans had weathered the storm. They had remained in camp, on the lee side of some rocks that might have offered some protection.

  “Tejanos,” Van shouted, “where are you?”

  “Here,” Gil replied. “My horse fell and I’m afoot.”

  “Me here,” Ramon cried. “Me and Pedro.”

  “Injun here,” said Estanzio from somewhere in the darkness. “Horse no run.”

  Whatever the circumstances, the Indian riders never raised their voices, especially at night. Nobody else responded, and that might mean they were still in pursuit of the herd. But there was always the terrible possibility that a horse had fallen and one of the riders had been trampled in the stampede. Gil tried not to think of that. The rest of the riders would have to find their way back to camp on their own, and if somebody didn’t make it, there was nothing to be done until first light. The sky had begun to clear, and while there was no moon, there was starlight. Slowly, to Gil’s relief, the rest of the outfit returned. Rosa was the last to arrive, and Gil wondered if she had purposely done that, just to worry him. If she had, he dared not let her know how well she had succeeded. Once Rosa was sure there would be a storm, she had found a rock overhang and concealed enough dry wood for a fire. They soon had hot coffee, and that helped. To everybody’s satisfaction except possibly Gil’s, the Donnegans hadn’t escaped the fury of the storm, and were properly drenched and bedraggled.

  Dawn found many of the longhorns within two or three miles of the point from which they had stampeded. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun was hot.

  “We’ll bring the closest ones in first,” Gil said. “The sun will soon dry up the water from last night’s rain, and the wet-weather water holes will be mud. Then the rest of the herd will come back to the river.”

  The river ran bank full of muddy water. Along the narrow stretch beyond the east bank where the backfires had been set, the water had flooded past the burned-off area. By noon the riders had half the scattered long-horns back along the river.

  “We’ll be here at least another day,” Gil predicted. “Once they get dry they’ll come back to the river, but not necessarily to this point. We’ll have to ride up- and downstream a ways. If that fails to get the rest of them, I reckon we’ll have to run them out of the chaparral one at a time.”

  By the end of the day following the storm, most of the temporary water holes were only mud, and by sundown Gil and the outfit had gathered all but three hundred of their original herd of longhorns.

  “We can’t afford to lose that many,” Van said.

  “I don’t aim to,” Gil replied. “We’ll ride the river again, first thing in the morning. Then, if we’re still missing a bunch, we’ll spread out to the east and look for them.”

  At first light more of the steers had returned to the river, but a quick tally left them still missing 150 head.

  “I’ll take four riders upstream,” Gil said, “and Van, you take four downstream. We’ll each cover about five miles, and if we’re still short, it’s into the chaparral.”

  Their search produced another 110 head, leaving them forty short.

  “After bringin’ ’em this far,” Van said, “I purely don’t like losin’ any. We’ve already lost part of a day here; let’s use the rest of it out in the chaparral.”

  Near sundown they returned to the river with nothing to show for their efforts.

  “Damn it,” Gil said, “that’s it. I don’t aim to kill another day here.”

  Just before dark, Mariposa rode downriver, driving twenty-five steers.

  “Them come to water,” said the Indian. “We round up.”

  “That leaves only fifteen,” Van said. “The others might show up before we leave tomorrow.”

  “Maybe,” Gil said, “but if they do or don’t, we’re movin’ out.”

  At dawn Gil again had the trail drive moving, following the Salinas River northwest. In the late afternoon, ten miles north of their old camp, they found the fifteen missing longhorns grazing beside the river.

  “I don’t believe this,” Gil said. “We didn’t lose a one.”

  After supper there was some daylight left, and Rosa took clean clothes from her saddlebag. She hadn’t spoken to Gil since the night he and Van had argued, and Gil had made no attempt to speak to her. Surprisingly, she turned to Van with a request she once would have asked of Gil.

  “Van, I am going down the river to take a bath. Please see that no one comes that way.”

  Mariposa and Estanzio had the horse herd half a mile upriver, and while Rosa’s request was simple, Gil thought it unnecessary. This was her way of further antagonizing him. He said nothing, but the furious look he directed at the girl wasn’t lost on Kate Donnegan.

  “I have nothing better to do,” said Kate. “I’ll go with you.”

  All eyes were on Rosa, but she said nothing. Van started to speak, found Gil watching him, and kept his silence. Van had no idea what might take place between these two, but he believed Rosa could and would stand up to her. Once the two had disappeared into the chaparral, the rest of the outfit sat looking after them. Judge Donnegan cleared his throat but did not speak.

  Rosa followed the river until she came to a place where the bank was clear enough for her to reach the water. There was a flat, mossed-over rock shelf that offered a place to sit, but Rosa remained standing. Kate laughed.

  “Go ahead and strip, chili pepper. Or do you think your parts are different from mine?”

  “I know they are,” said Rosa, turning to face her. “Mine have not been used.”

  It was a direct insult, and so intended, but Kate only laughed. Then she threw a taunt of her own.

  “Sure they’ve been used, you little smartmouth, and they’ll be used again. I’m used to hooking what I want, and my bait’s better than yours.”

  “We shall see,” said Rosa. “I have no interest in anything you have to say. Please go away. I wish to be alone, to take my bath.”

  “Maybe I want a bath myself.”

  “There is plenty of river,” said Rosa. “Please find your own place and leave me alone.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said the arrogant Kate. “I like it here.”

  “Then you may have it all to yourself,” said Rosa.

  Cat-quick, she backed away from the river, giving Kate a violent shove. With a shriek like a gut-shot panther, the redheaded woman hit the water flat on her back. Rosa took the clothes she had brought with her and walked back upriver. Kate’s scream had them all on their feet, and Gil looked murderous.

  “Quick bath,” Van said, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “There was none,” Rosa said calmly. “Kate fell in and muddied the water.”

  June 28, 1850. Northwest, along the Salinas River

  Gil estimated they’d traveled only a little more than twenty miles, after five days on the Salinas. The outfit was up well before first light, and by the time it was light enough to see, they were pushing the herd toward what he hoped would be a better day than the last five. Kate kept well behind the drag riders, and didn’t smile as often, but the judge spent more and more time in quiet conversation with Gil.

  July 2, 1850. Soledad

  Soledad proved to be a sleepy little village with nothing of prominence except the standing walls of an old Spanish mission.*

  “In the morning,” Gil told them, “we travel due north fifteen miles, to the San Benito River. We’ll follow it for about thirty miles, and when we leave it, we’ll be less than twenty miles from Coyote Lake.”

  “Some lakes have names, and some do not,” said Pedro, looking at the map Gil had spread out.

  “I reckon the government surveyors who drew this map wrote down names when they could,” Gil said, “and when they
couldn’t, they just put a lake there without a name. There’s one, unnamed, maybe fifty miles north of Coyote lake, and I’m thinking it’ll be a good place to settle down the herd while we visit San Francisco.”

  “How far is that from San Francisco?” Judge Donnegan asked, taking interest.

  “Six or seven miles from the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay,” Gil replied. “According to this map, there’s little villages scattered all along the bay. Once we reach this lake, I can’t see moving the herd again until we’re ready to leave for the goldfields.”

  “Of course not,” Judge Donnegan hastily agreed. “That should be convenient to any part of the city.”

  July 3, 1850. San Benito River

  Once they left the Salinas River at Soledad, it was dry country all the way to the San Benito. East of the river there was a mountain range that stretched as far south as they could see. On these and other mountains, as they traveled farther north, there was more and more yellow pine. Their first night on the San Benito was peaceful enough, but the second night, a few minutes into the second watch, Mariposa and Estanzio became uneasy. Mariposa greeted Gil quietly before approaching in the darkness.

  “Trouble?” Gil asked.

  “Mebbe so,” said Mariposa. “Hombres come. Back trail. Mebbe dawn.”

  How the Indian knew, Gil had no idea, but not for a moment did he doubt Mariposa’s judgment. When one or both his Indian riders sensed danger, he prepared for it, as he did now.

  “Before dawn,” said Gil, “spread your blankets where they can be seen at first light. Then take some limbs and brush and elevate them enough so it’ll look like you’re sleeping. It won’t fool them in daylight, but I’m not lookin’ for them to wait for that. I’ll warn the rest of the outfit.”

  Actually, he had only to talk to the five riders who had nighthawked the first watch. The second watch would be with the herd, mounted and ready.