Follow The Wind

by Janelle Taylor

  From past trips to the town near Fort Stockton, Jessie knew that only one more stop in two hours or so was needed, then it would be another two hours’ ride into town. If they encountered no problems, they should be there by five.

  Jessie was right. Shortly after five, they made camp beyond town on the Comanche River. This area was known for Comanche Springs, a main stop in the parched Trans-Pecos region for the San Antonio-Chihuahua Trail, both upper and lower San Antonio-El Paso roads, the old Butterfield Overland stage, and the Great Comanche War Trail. Fort Stockton had been constructed in ‘58 to protect the vital route and its travelers against Indian hostilities, one of a chain of posts and camps built and manned for that task. During the war between the North and South, it had been occupied briefly by Confederate troops before the embittered Apaches almost destroyed it. In ‘67, it was rebuilt and heavily garrisoned, mostly by black “Buffalo Soldiers.” Afterward, the small town of St. Gall nearby had flourished. With Pecos County officially organized last year and with St. Gall made the county seat, Jessie had no doubts the town name would soon be changed to Fort Stockton, as most already used that name.

  Weary, but stimulated to be on the trail, Jessie ate little and slept little. By dawn, they were traveling again. They had avoided town, in case Wilbur Fletcher or any of his men were present. Jessie did not want her plan unmasked to the villain, who might follow them to discover the reason for such a journey.

  The mesas and hills in all directions on the desert terrain would have slowed them if not for the rugged road. With luck, they would encounter little traffic this time of year: Butterfield had ceased its route in ‘61, any wagon trains from back East had not made it this far west yet, freighters usually passed earlier in the week and most used the lower road, and soldiers from Forts Stockton and Concho had little trouble with Indians to keep them on the move.

  Because of the scarcity of water in this arid region, they could not head directly toward San Angelo. It was necessary to ride northeastward to Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos River, then along the upper road toward their destination. To avoid contact with possible trouble, as soon as they reached the middle Concho River, they would follow its bank into town rather than remain on the road.

  They followed the same schedule of yesterday: ride two hours, rest, ride two hours, eat and rest longer in the heat of the day, ride another two hours, rest, then a last two hours before camping. That way, they would not overtire the horses or themselves.

  Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos River was made easily in three hours. After watering their horses and refilling their canteens, they forded the shallow river and continued past mesas, hillocks, and an area where more yuccas and green amaranths—future tumbleweeds—grew in abundance.

  The landscape rapidly drifted into a drier terrain that was sliced by intermittent arroyos that warned of flash floods to the unwary traveler who ventured into them at the wrong time. Except for the dirt road, this area was covered densely with mesquites, rocks of all sizes, and prickly pear cactus. In olden days, such obstacles would have made travel slow and difficult. The land was flat and the vegetation short, giving them a view of the harsh region surrounding them. At times, they could see in any direction for twenty miles or more. Winds gusted on occasion and stirred up dust that coated them and tickled their throats. What grass there was grew in bunches in the sand-colored earth. No clouds could be found in the azure sky, and the day was the hottest they had experienced so far.

  Five hours later, they camped on the Concho River. In two days, by Sunday night, March twelfth, they would reach San Angelo. They were tired, and Big Ed wasn’t much of a talker with women, so they ate and turned in for the night.

  Up at dawn and after a hot meal, Jessie and Big Ed broke camp and mounted. They followed the winding bank for hours. Jessie was glad they were near the river where plenty of water was available for them and the horses. It was hot and dry beneath the sun, and perspiration formed quickly. It dried rapidly on their exposed flesh, but their garments were damp. She had not had a bath since leaving home, and was more than ready for one. She wished she could strip off her clothes and boots and take a swim, but knew that was unwise.

  They made their last camp on Saturday night, thirty-six miles from their destination. Big Ed whistled and grinned while he tended the horses and Jessie cooked their meal. The redhead guessed how eager her partner was to reach town. She had given him five dollars for being such a good companion and guard; she knew where and how he would spend the money. She would pretend not to notice when he left her at the hotel to visit the local saloon and brothel to indulge in masculine pleasures. While he was doing so, she would finally take a long bath, enjoy a delicious meal, and get rested for her task on Monday.

  The following morning, they rode through the area near the river. It was so dense with bushes, oaks, cottonwoods, and willows that they were forced to slip back into the rugged terrain nearby. The mesquite was thick, prickly pear cactus was more than abundant, and rocks of varying sizes and shapes were everywhere. At times, they lost sight, but not sound, of each other as they rode single file.

  Big Ed was leading the way, and it was time for their first rest stop. Suddenly Jessie heard his sorrel whinny in terror. She heard hooves clashing against rocks. A loud thud reached her alerted ears, followed by a yell from her companion.

  Jessie had been around broncbusting long enough to know when a man had been thrown. She called Big Ed’s name, but received no answer. Evidently the wind had been knocked from his lungs and he couldn’t respond yet—or he had been rendered unconscious. She urged her splotched mount forward as rapidly as possible. When her line of vision was clear, she saw the nervous sorrel backing away between mesquites from a cluster of rocks. The sound that caught her attention didn’t need explaining: rattlesnake. Jessie drew her rifle and fired twice, striking the viper both times and nearly decapitating him. His body thrashed wildly as his life ended, but his muscles continued to work involuntarily.

  Jessie sheathed her Winchester, then dismounted. She rushed to Big Ed’s body. When she turned him, she saw the bloody wound on his temple. She couldn’t awaken him. She bent forward to check for signs of life, finding none. The redhead settled on her haunches, resting them on her boot bottoms. She stared at the dead man. Although Ed had not been a close friend of hers, he was a good hand. She had chosen him because he was big and strong and dependable, and because she had known he wouldn’t give her any problems on this job by trying to help her with the selection of a gunman. She had also wanted as much peace and quiet as possible for thinking, something none of her good friends would have allowed.

  If only they had stuck to the road or she had come alone or they had taken a rest stop sooner, he would still be alive. What to do? she wondered. There was no point turning back, as she was too close to San Angelo and her crucial mission and Big Ed was beyond help. Should she carry him into town for burial? Would that bring too much attention to her, something she needed to avoid, especially now that she was a woman alone? She could not carry the body back to the ranch, a four-day ride that would attract buzzards and coyotes. Neither did she want to camp with a dead body each night. Big Ed had no family to notify. Wasn’t burial here as good as in a strange town?

  The sorrel’s anxious prancing and erratic breathing seized Jessie’s attention. The smell of blood and death made the beast nervous. Quickly she went to him to soothe his fears. When he was calmed, Jessie checked his legs for bites. She was relieved to find none. After tying his reins to a mesquite, she began the grim burial task.

  Jessie took Big Ed’s bedroll from his saddle. After removing his gunbelt, she rolled him inside the roll and bound it securely with Ed’s rope. Locating an indentation in the earth, she struggled with the heavy burden until she had dragged the body there. For over an hour, the redhead gathered rocks and piled them atop the body until the mound was thick enough to keep animals away. Binding sticks together to form a cross, Jessie maneuvered it between rocks at one end
of the stony grave, then placed Big Ed’s hat upon the highest point. She said a brief prayer for him while trying not to feel blame for this fatal accident.

  Jessie was exhausted and sweaty after her labors. She grasped the reins of the sorrel and her paint, then headed for the river. Locating a spot where they could make it to the water, she let the animals drink. Afterward, as the creatures grazed on grass nearby, Jessie knelt and splashed water on her face and arms, cleansing away the dirt and sweat and dried blood. She drank from the cool river, then filled her canteens.

  She had seen men die before. One broncbuster had broken his neck during a fall. Another hand had been gored by an enraged longhorn. Her grandfather had died when she was young. She had been at her mother’s side when Alice had left this world. Since then, she had worked hard to prove herself, to be the “son” her father needed. She knew Jed was leaving the ranch to her, as Tom couldn’t handle it and Mary Louise hated it. She had to learn all she could, as her responsibilities were great. Now, a good man had been killed while helping her carry out her plan. She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes, feeling the need to have a good and cleansing cry for the first time since her mother’s death.

  By dusk, Jessie entered the town of San Angelo and saw a small hotel. First, she went to the livery stable to have the two horses tended. If the man was overly curious about her, he didn’t show it. Taking her saddlebags, she walked a short distance to the hotel. This time, the clerk was very nosy about her reason for being there and for being alone. To silence him, she claimed she was visiting her brother, an Army officer at Fort Concho across the river.

  The post had been built in ‘67, and Santa Angela had sprouted nearby, to be renamed San Angelo years ago. The area was lush and green because the three branches of the Concho River fused there. According to what the men on the ranch had told her, Concho Street was noted for rendering services and pleasure to off-duty soldiers. The men had also told her the town was famed for its near-lawlessness, making it the perfect place to locate a gunslinger, which surprised Jessie since it was so near a symbol of law and order. There were other reasons for the town’s development, since it was on the route of the upper road and several forts were, or had been, nearby.

  Jessie glanced around the room she had rented for a few days. It was furnished sparsely, but was clean. She had wanted to relax in a long bath in her room, but the clerk informed her she had to use the bathing closet at the end of the hall, one shared by the other guests on that floor. As the eating area had closed, he permitted the cook to warm leftovers and bring them to her room for an extra fifty cents.

  As soon as she finished the meal, Jessie gathered her things and took a short, rushed bath. Fortunately, no one disturbed her. She brushed and rebraided her long hair, in her room, then, exhausted, the redhead went to bed, shutting out thoughts of Big Ed’s death and the noise from down the street.

  Jessie waited until late afternoon before venturing out to complete her goal. She had studied the town from her window. Some areas were rowdy, while others were less so. She didn’t notice a church or a school nearby, and hoped that didn’t mean these people were as bad as the boys had warned her.

  She took several precautions. After banding her small bosom to her chest with a strip of snug cloth, Jessie attired herself in loose jeans, a roomy cotton shirt, and a brown vest that concealed her feminine figure. She used scissors to clip wisps of hair atop her head and alongside her face, hair that curled almost mischievously against her flesh. After positioning her hat, she fluffed the shorter strands around her face so it wouldn’t be obvious that she was a girl with long locks stuffed out of sight. She unfolded the dirty bandanna and made smudges here and there on her face to detract attention from her clear, rosy complexion. Lastly, she strapped on her gunbelt, pushing it lower on her right hip.

  Jessie eyed herself in the small mirror, and was pleased with her disguise. She inhaled and exhaled several times to slow her breathing and pounding heart. She didn’t know if intimidation or panic or excitement ruled her senses.

  Everything was ready. She closed her door and left the hotel.

  Jessie slowly walked down the planked sidewalk, making certain she moved and carried herself like a male. She noted every wooden and adobe structure surrounding her. A few people passed her, mainly merchants and cowboys and soldiers. At the far end of the dusty street was a raucous saloon and brothel. Music and laughter wafted out the open door. Men entered and departed. A scantily clad female leaned over the second-floor railing to speak with a customer in the street. Gunshots rang out, then loud laughter.

  Halfway down the street was another saloon, a quieter and cleaner-looking one. Jessie saw only three men enter it and none depart. Horses’ reins were secured to hitching posts, most being at the end of the street. The nervous redhead didn’t have to ask herself twice which saloon she would try first.

  Jessie parted double doors—too high for someone five feet four to see over, and looked inside. Freshly washed lanterns—suspended from the ceiling—were aglow. A long wooden bar stretched nearly the length of one side, with an aproned bartender leaning negligently upon the shiny surface. Behind it were shelves containing numerous bottles of assorted liquors. Before it were tables and chairs, some occupied and many not. Two soldiers were drinking at the bar and chatting in low voices. Two girls swept down the steps, giggling and motioning to the uniformed officers, and joined them. Soon, the clinging couples vanished upstairs. At several round tables, men sat gambling, drinking, and talking. The smell of tobacco smoke filled the air, as did the odors of sweat, leather, the furniture oil that was used to replenish ever-thirsty wood in this arid region, and that particular smell that only western dust has.

  The bartender glanced her way, then returned his gaze to the room. Jessie moved inside and sat at a table away from those occupied ones. She did not remove her hat, as cowboys rarely did so except in church or at home. Most just shoved them back on their heads, keeping them on as if the hats were part of their bodies. Even while sleeping in a bedroll, most covered their eyes with them.

  Jessie tried not to appear nervous, but she felt herself quivering. She hoped no one would approach her as she only wanted to observe every man with a gun strapped to his waist. One man had to be a professional gambler, she decided, from his fancy white shirt, black silk vest, and black trousers. He fingered the cigar in his mouth as he studied his cards before placing his next bet.

  An old man wearing a blue cotton shirt, baggy trousers, and red suspenders entered from a back room. He took a seat at the piano and began to send out playful tunes. The conversations became more difficult to hear over the music. Glass clinked against glass as more drinks were poured.

  The bartender finally came to her table and asked what she wanted. “I’m waiting for someone,” Jessie told him, “if that’s all right.”

  He looked her over before asking if she wanted a drink. When she shook her head, he shrugged and returned to his former position.

  A man arrived who must have just left the other saloon, as he walked none too steadily. He made his way around the room, speaking to almost everyone. From the customers’ reluctant responses, Jessie assumed he wasn’t well liked.

  Time passed. The sated soldiers reappeared, had a final drink, and departed. The inebriated man was talking and laughing loudly in one corner with another cowboy. Snatches of boastful claims reached Jessie’s ears. Or perhaps they weren’t all boast, considering the cautious way he had been greeted earlier. The men present hadn’t been rude to the obnoxious drunk, and an aura of tension had been in the air since his arrival. Yet, even if he were as good with his guns as he claimed, he wasn’t the kind of man she was searching for. A man who loved drinking that much couldn’t be trusted to remain sober at vital times.

  Two men wore their gunbelts strapped snugly to their thighs, the usual sign of a gunslinger. One had a knife scar down his left cheek, telling her someone had bested him at one time and could probably do so again. The
other appeared too nervous over the card hand he was holding, a good indication he couldn’t bluff easily. The gambler with his sly grin and flashing dark eyes looked too deceitful to be trusted. There wasn’t a good choice here. Perhaps she should visit the other saloon, Jessie reasoned uncomfortably.

  The “soiled doves” returned and moved around the tables to obtain more business. They had approached the crude man first, but he had sent them scurrying away with insults and shoves. Jessie watched the females for a.time, wondering what had driven them into such a degrading life, though a woman alone in the rugged west had little hopes of supporting herself respectably without a family.

  A third woman came down the stairs. She halted at the bottom and studied the room of men, frowning in distaste as she noticed the intoxicated ruffian. Like the other girls, she was dressed in a satin-and-black-lace dress that reached halfway between her knees and ankles, but hers was a sapphire blue while the others wore fiery red. The woman in blue circulated through the area, stopping here and there to speak to customers she knew. She teased her fingers over the gambler’s cheek, then bent forward to whisper something in his ear. The man looked up, patted her buttocks, and grinned broadly.

  Jessie tensed when she headed her way. The woman smiled seductively as she took a seat facing the disguised redhead. Feathers in her blond hair fluttered as she leaned forward and propped her elbow on the table, then rested her chin on a balled fist. She licked ruby-red lips and spoke in a husky voice.