The California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “That sounds like the bunch that was after Murrietta,” Van said. “What bothers me is, maybe they are the law. You give any thought to what might be the penalty for gunnin’ down a sheriff’s posse?”

  “No,” said Gil, “and when a bunch comes after me with guns in their hands, killing on their minds, and without cause, then I purely don’t give a damn who they are. It was you that said I should have asked them jaybirds where they was from, so we could avoid them. A lawman will identify himself. I have no respect for men who travel in packs, like cur dogs.”

  “All we have done,” said Ramon, “is stop them from killing this young hombre we did not know.”

  “It’s just built up to a hell of a misunderstanding,” Van said, “and on the frontier, that can get a man’s neck stretched. But I’m with the outfit; if they come in shootin’, I’ll shoot back.”

  “If they’re the kind I think they are,” said Gil, “you won’t have anything to shoot at. They’ll likely bring more men, and they’ll be shooting from cover. We’ll all have the herd between us and the river, and with the chaparral and poor light, we’ll let them open the ball.”

  “You’re almighty certain they’re goin’ to cut down on us from across the river,” Van said. “They could come at us from the west, and catch us totally off guard.”

  “No chance of that,” Gil said. “Mariposa and Estanzio heard them as they came down our back trail. They’re ahead of us. Those of you from the first watch, unroll your blankets near the river. Using grass, leaves, and brush, rig those blankets so that in poor light they look like sleeping men.”

  Satisfied they understood and agreed, Gil went to awaken the Donnegans. He would send them well into the chaparral, beyond the grazing herd. Then he would return to the herd and prepare the nighthawks on the second watch.

  Not a sound broke the stillness of the night except the occasional cry of a coyote. Once, as though in answer to the coyotes, a steer bawled, but except for that, the herd was quiet. Since time immemorial, the most trying time for men was not the battle itself, but waiting for it to begin. When the sky finally began to gray to the east, Gil’s eyes were on the far side of the river. The western slope of the foothills beyond the river would be out of range for the attackers. Gil didn’t know how many men they might be facing, so he dared not split his force. Otherwise, he thought, he could have circled some men into those foothills and set up a cross fire. He hoped they could end this foolish running fight. Life on the trail was difficult enough without having to be forever anticipating an ambush. He longed for the day when there would be a repeating rifle, providing a man the firepower he now enjoyed with the Colt six-shooter. Finally, from across the river, the rifles cut loose, and in the wake of the thunder, there was a shout in a familiar voice.

  “Told you we’d meet again. Now, send out that coyote, Joaquin Murrietta, an’ maybe we’ll call it even.”

  “Joaquin Murrietta is behind you,” shouted a voice from the ridge beyond the attackers, “and this time, you cowardly dogs, he is not alone!”

  It was all the warning the attackers had. Behind them more than a dozen rifles roared, and the silence that followed seemed all the more profound. Gil’s eyes searched the terrain from the farthest bank of the river to the foothills beyond, and saw no movement.

  “Madre de Dios!” Rosa cried. “They are all dead!”

  “Nobody move,” said Gil. “We’ll give it a few more minutes.”

  The silence remained unbroken until the Donnegans arrived.

  “So much noise,” said Kate, “we couldn’t sleep.”

  “We are so sorry,” said Rosa.

  “We’re movin’ out,” said Gil. “Let’s get with it.”

  “Must we go without breakfast?” Kate asked.

  “The rest of us aren’t hungry,” Van said. “There’s a bunch of dead men in the brush across the river.”

  “How . . . who . . . killed them?”

  “Not us,” Gil said, “but they may have friends who won’t know that. I want us as far from here as we can get, before the buzzards gather.”

  July 5, 1850. Twenty miles south of Coyote lake

  At the end of that day, following the shooting at dawn, the drive had reached the point where it had to leave the San Benito River. There, Gil had them bed down the herd, and at first light the following morning they set out for Coyote lake.

  “The map shows no water nearer than Coyote lake,” Gil said, “but there might be a spring or water hole. Once we reach the lake, we’ll be just three days from the stop I aim to make near San Francisco.”

  “Ride ahead, then,” Van said, “and let’s try and make that twenty miles before dark. Not that I’m all that anxious to get to Coyote lake. I just want to be as far away as possible when somebody discovers that buzzard bait south of here.”

  So Gil rode out, hoping for a decent terrain the last few miles before they reached Coyote lake. He had a gloomy premonition that if the longhorns had water by sundown, they were going to have to rattle their hocks and run for it.

  * Soledad Mission was built by the Spanish in 1791.

  24

  Gil reached Coyote lake without difficulty, and saw nobody along the way. He judged the distance at more than the expected twenty miles, but saw no reason the cattle couldn’t run, if that’s what it took to get them to water before dark. With that assurance, he watered his horse and rode back to meet his companions. It was still early in the day, and the herd was trailing well. Their orneriness and bunch quitting would increase as their thirst intensified. Gil had only waved to Mariposa and Estanzio, but he paused as Ramon rode to meet him.

  “Good trail?” the point rider asked.

  “All the way,” Gil assured him. “We’ll continue to trail them as hard as we can, but if they have to run to reach water before dark, there’s no problem I can see.”

  Gil rode back and joined the drag riders, and was not at all surprised to find Kate Donnegan lagging as far behind as she safely could. She had distanced herself from them all, since that evening she’d left the camp with Rosa, only to return sopping wet from a dunking in the river. At this point, having no choice, both women had to bide their time. But something had to happen, and Gil could see just two possible conclusions. If Judge Donnegan and Kate did go to Texas, Rosa would make good her threat to remain in California. On the other hand, Rosa would demand a commitment from him that would destroy any possible relationship with the Donnegans. However he viewed the volatile situation, he could be sure of only one thing: they were building up to a showdown, and it would come in San Francisco. Van was riding alongside him, and interrupted his gloomy meditation with a question.

  “How does it look from here to Coyote lake?”

  “No canyons or other pitfalls,” Gil said. “We can run them if we have to. I’ll send the horses on ahead, a couple of hours before sundown.”

  It was a strategy that had worked well before, and it did this time. The wind changed direction in the late afternoon, bringing the thirsty herd the scent of water, and all the riders had to do was get out of the way. Once they had settled down for the night and supper was done, Gil studied the map and announced their position.

  “We’re fifty miles from this unnamed lake, which is as near to San Francisco as we’ll be takin’ the herd. I figure three more days. There’s no water marked on this map, but as near as we are to the coast, I figure there’ll be creeks and springs along the way. I’ll scout ahead for water.”

  July 9, 1850. San Francisco

  As Gil had expected, there had been springs and creeks, and the three days’ journey from Coyote lake had been without incident. At sundown of the 144th day on the trail, they bedded down the herd near the unnamed lake that appeared to be only six or seven miles from San Francisco Bay.*

  “We’ll be here long enough for everybody to have a turn in town,” Gil said, “but let’s wait until morning.”

  The night before, Gil had spent several hours in conversation with Judge
Donnegan, so his announcement the following morning came as no surprise.

  “I have some business to take care of, and until that’s done, I’d like for most of you to remain with the herd. A couple of you can go with me, and when we return, some more of you can ride in.”

  “I wish to go,” said Rosa.

  “So do I,” Van said.

  The rest of the riders remained silent. They all knew Gil was about to undertake something that would change his life, and perhaps, in ways unknown to them, their own. But this strange obsession of Gil’s was hurting Van and Rosa the most, and it was their right to keep whatever rein on the situation they could.

  As expected, the eastern shore of San Francisco Bay was but a short ride from the area where the longhorns had been bedded down. The Donnegans and Gil rode ahead, while Van and Rosa followed. Their first look at this widespread town spawned by the discovery of gold took their breath away. There seemed an unending array of stores, shops, theaters, saloons, and bawdy houses strung out along the shores of the bay. Eventually they came to an enormous hotel, three stories high, and it was before this magnificent structure that Gil and the Donnegans reined up. The hotel had balconies on the second and third floors, and above the third-floor balcony was its name: THE PALACE HOTEL. The letters were black, outlined in gold, and three feet high. The hotel even had its own adjoining saloon and café, either of which could be entered from the hotel lobby. To the left was the Mother Lode saloon, and to the right, the Nugget Café. Gil and the Donnegans dismounted. Gil looked at Van and Rosa as though he expected them to wait outside, but they didn’t. The five of them entered the hotel, walking on plush red carpet, Judge Donnegan approaching the registration desk like he owned the place.

  “We shall be needing rooms for several days, sir,” said the judge in his most pompous manner. “I am Judge Lionel Donnegan, recently retired from the New York bench, and this is my daughter Kate. A two-bedroom suite for us, and a single for Gil Austin, my associate. Mr. Austin has a herd of Texas steers bound for the goldfields.”

  “Twenty-five dollars a day for the suite,” said the clerk, unimpressed, “and ten dollars for the single. In advance.”

  “We will settle when we depart,” said the judge.

  The desk clerk looked as though he’d heard all this before, and before he could refuse, Gil spoke.

  “I’ll stand good for the rooms,” he said shortly. “I have four thousand steers, and I won’t be leaving in the middle of the night.”

  That got them a little respect and the keys to their rooms, and as Judge Donnegan and Gil signed the register, Van took Rosa’s arm and guided her to the desk.

  “A room for the lady,” Van said. “She’s with the Austin herd. I’m Van Austin.”

  Gil just glared at them while Rosa signed the hotel register. Van took the key to her room. It was on the second floor, and he and Rosa followed Gil and the Donnegans up the fancy carpeted stairs. The Donnegan suite was across the hall from Gil’s room, while Rosa’s room was two doors away. Van gave Rosa the key and they remained in the hall while Gil and the Donnegans entered their rooms.

  “Gil does not like this,” Rosa said.

  “There may be a hell of a lot of things he won’t like before we’re out of this town,” Van replied. “One of us needs to be close by all the time. I can’t, but you can.”

  It was a brilliant move, and before the ordeal ended, Rosa would fully appreciate Van’s fast thinking. Gil came out, locked his door, and without a word knocked on the Donnegans’ door.

  “Judge,” Gil said when Donnegan opened the door, “I’m ready when you are.”

  Donnegan closed the door and they waited. Gil was impatient and nervous, well aware that Van and Rosa watched him. Finally the door opened again and the judge came out. Kate wasn’t with him. The four of them left the hotel, mounted their horses and rode toward the bay. The judge seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, and eventually they reined up before a squat flat-roofed building that proved to be the Bank of San Francisco Bay. Its name, in black, had been lettered in fancy old English on the glass door through which they entered. An elderly woman arose from her desk to greet them.

  “I am Judge Lionel Donnegan, formerly of New York,” said Donnegan smoothly. “We wish to meet for a few minutes with your president or head cashier.”

  “Our president, Mr. Rawlins, is out at the moment, but he should be returning soon. However, there’s someone waiting for him in his office . . .”

  “We won’t need privacy,” said the judge. “What I have in mind won’t take a minute. We’ll be doing some business with him, but not today. I just want him to know who we are. I can introduce myself when he comes in, and be on my way. Won’t take a minute.”

  So they sat on hard-bottomed oak chairs and waited. When Rawlins came in, the secretary spoke to him first. He was a short, fat man in a neat blue suit, a flaming red tie over his boiled white shirt. He turned to meet Donnegan, who was already on his feet.

  “I am Augustus Rawlins.”

  “Judge Lionel Donnegan, recently retired from the New York bench. I am receiving funds from New York, once my holdings there are liquidated. Also, we have a substantial herd of Texas steers to be sold in the gold-fields. We will soon be doing business with you, and I wanted you to be expecting us.”

  “Delighted,” said Rawlins. “Come in when you’re ready.”

  He went on into his office. Donnegan thanked the secretary and they left the bank.

  “Now,” said the judge, “I must go to the docks area, find the mail facility, and see if my funds have arrived. You need not accompany me unless you wish to.”

  “I’ll ride along,” Gil said. “I’ve never seen the ocean up close.”

  “Rosa and me are goin’ too,” Van said.

  Judge Donnegan said nothing, but Van thought the judge would have very much liked to be rid of his companions. Reaching the waterfront, they rode along the docks until they found the warehouse in which there was an office that handled incoming and outgoing mail. Gil, Van, and Rosa remained on the dock while the judge entered the building.

  “Madre de Dios,” Rosa cried, “so much water! It goes on and on, until the blue of it meets the blue of the sky!”

  Gil laughed, and for a moment he was the Gil whom Rosa used to know. Ships lined the docks, most of them flying flags of lands unknown to the Texans. Only two or three flew the stars and stripes of the United States. When Judge Donnegan returned, he was empty-handed.

  “Nothing yet,” he said.

  The four of them rode back the way they had come. Nobody spoke, but the same question was strong in the minds of Gil, Van, and Rosa. How long must they remain here, awaiting this mysterious letter Donnegan expected? When they reached the hotel, Kate was waiting in the lobby. Plainly, she didn’t want Gil to escape.

  “Gil, you simply must take me to the theater tonight,” she cried. “It’s Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and Nicholas Bonner’s playing the lead.”

  “I have to get back to the herd,” Gil replied. “I promised the others a trip to town.”

  “The play doesn’t start until eight o’clock tonight,” she said, pouting. “You have a room here, don’t you?”

  “I reckon,” Gil said, and seemed embarrassed. “I’ll spend the rest of the day with the herd, and ride in after supper.”

  Gil reached the door before he seemed to remember Van. When he turned, it was to Van he spoke.

  “You goin’ with me?”

  “I’ll be along,” Van said. “I know the way.”

  Without another word, Gil left the hotel and rode away. Rosa walked with Van to his horse. She could see the anxiety in his eyes, and when he spoke, it was in his voice.

  “Rosa, we’re building up to somethin’, and I’m not sure just what it is. I can see Gil’s goin’ to be in town more than he’s with the herd. I don’t want our riders to think we’re taking advantage of them, so I’ll stay with the herd as much as I can. It’ll be up to you to keep an ey
e on these Donnegans. I purely can’t figure what this so-called judge is up to. Gil won’t have any money until we sell the herd, and we can’t do that as long as Donnegan keeps us sittin’ here.”

  “I do not believe anything is coming from New York,” Rosa said.

  “Neither do I,” Van replied, “and that means he’s countin’ on some slick dealing here. I’ll try to see you tomorrow.”

  Rosa watched him ride away, feeling alone, uncertain as to what the future might hold. Not wishing to spend the rest of the day in her room, she began to walk along the bay. Even in her moccasins, man’s shirt and trousers, and flop hat, she didn’t seem out of place. San Francisco had become the melting pot of the new world, as men from South America, Europe, and even China were drawn to California with the discovery of gold. Rosa walked on, eventually coming to the theater of which Kate Donnegan had spoken. It stood out like a longhorn bull in a flock of sheep, painted a brilliant blue, with playbills pasted to its outer walls. Among the remnants of old bills and past attractions were new ones announcing the presentation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. While Rosa had read some of Shakespeare’s works that Gil had inherited from his uncle, she hadn’t understood them all that well, and she had never thought of them as plays involving live people. Now, here was this young man, Nicholas Bonner, who was going to recite the lines of Hamlet. Rosa had little doubt that Kate Donnegan would have her way, and that she and Gil would attend this theater. Rosa quickly decided that she, too, would be there. Never had she been to such a place in her life, and it would be a welcome diversion from Gil’s foolish obsession with the Donnegans.

  Rosa walked only a little farther before returning to the hotel. The lobby was deserted. From the saloon there was the clink of glasses, and from the café, the rattle of dishes. There came the sound of voices, of laughter, and her loneliness seemed all the more profound. She climbed the stairs to her room, let herself in, and locked the door behind her. The room was large and elaborate enough. There was a high-backed bed piled high with comforters, a magnificent oak dresser with filigreed mirror, and an overstuffed parlor chair. The carpet was a deep maroon plush. In one corner stood a solid oak commode and upon it sat a white porcelain pitcher with matching wash basin. Curiously Rosa opened the door in the lower part of the commode and smiled, for there was a white porcelain chamber pot. She hung her hat on the commode’s harp, next to a set of fine linen towels. She then stretched out on the bed, fully dressed.* Her window was open, facing the west, and a gentle breeze brought her the salt smell of the Pacific. Never in her life had she felt so lost and lonely. She recalled the happy times on Bandera Range in Texas, which now seemed so long ago and far away. She thought of the lonely grave on the hill above the Rio Colorado, where they had left Bo. Finally she thought of the critically wounded Long John. Did he now rest beside Bo, or would he be waiting at Fort Yuma? More and more it seemed she would not be with the outfit to greet him, as they returned to Texas.