The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  The next day he set out for a cow. At the Brooks’ place, Sam dropped out of the saddle and spoke to a collie dog that was barking at him.

  “That you, Sam Ketchem?” Matty Brooks asked, coming out of the wood frame house, drying her hands on a sack towel.

  “Ain’t no one else. How have you been?” he asked as she ran out for a hug.

  “Fine, just fine. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a cow.”

  Taking him to the house, she looked up vexed at him. “What on earth for?”

  “I have a cook and she needs a cow.”

  “You have cook and she—oh.”

  “Her name’s Kathy McCarty. She’s a widow woman with four young children.”

  “She does need a cow. Now who has a fresh one that they’d sell?” She directed Sam to a chair and soon brought him coffee and apple pastry while she went over all the possible cow sellers in the neighborhood.

  “Stokes. Armand Stokes would be the best one to try.”

  “Thanks. He lives on Dogget Creek, right?”

  “Yes, and he has some good cows.”

  “I’ll have pens built in a few weeks and need a half dozen nice shoats.”

  “My. my, nothing like the hand of a woman to turn a ranch into a farm.” She threw her head back and laughed out loud.

  “I’ve got Billy Ford on the payroll and intend to hire a few more hands, so I need a cook.”

  “Why not a trail cook?”

  “Weren’t any around here,” Sam said.

  “Good reason. My boys got a sow with six pigs. Would you pay two bucks apiece for them shoats when they’re weaned.”

  “If they’d deliver them.”

  “Oh, they will. What else do you need, farmer?”

  “Chickens.”

  “Laying hens, huh?”

  Sam used the side of his fork to cut the delicious strudel. Waiting for her reply before forking in the next bite, he considered the prospects of all the things he would need for the additions.

  “I’ll get busy looking for some.”

  “Thanks. I better go see Armand about that cow.” He finished his coffee and prepared to leave.

  “I guess they asked you already?”

  He paused ready to put his hat on and looked at her for the answer.

  “About taking the cattle north next spring,” Matty said.

  He shook his head mildly. “They’re looking for a man to do it. But I won’t.”

  “You told them no?”

  “I’ve been up there, and I don’t want to go again.”

  “You still blaming yourself for them boys’ deaths?”

  “Probably always will.”

  “Why?”

  “They were my responsibility. I let them down.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Matty, I have to live with my own ghosts.”

  “Let’s change the subject. You have any intentions toward this woman you hired as your cook?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Why ask that?”

  “Just wanted to know where you stood. I have more of that apple dessert.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to run.” He kissed her on the forehead and went out the door.

  “And think about the cattle drive!” she shouted after him as he rode off.

  The cow he purchased was a dish-faced Jersey. With the cow and her small heifer calf, he arrived back at the ranch after dark. Holding a lantern high, Kathy came to pass approval on his purchase.

  “The baby’s a wee one,” Rowann announced as it suckled its mother.

  “She looks like a real cow,” Kathy said, sounding impressed.

  “She’s real enough. A little tired from the long walk but she’s young and healthy.”

  “I’ll milk her early in the morning,” Kathy said. “We best put that calf up when she gets through.”

  “One of the horse stalls will work.”

  “So you found a butter machine,” Billy said.

  “She’s not a butter machine,” Hiram said. “There’s lots more work than that to get butter.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “How did your day go?” Sam asked Billy.

  “Fine. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

  “Supper is still warm. You should come and eat,” Kathy said and gathered all the curious children to leave the cow and calf alone. “And thanks for the cow. You won’t regret it.”

  After supper, Sam, picking his teeth, walked to the bunkhouse with Billy. “What went wrong today?”

  “Nothing, but they’re spying on us—on me, anyway.”

  “Who?”

  “A Wagner, I guess. I seen him twice in the live oaks while I was working.”

  “Man or boy?”

  “Boy.”

  “I’ll ride out tomorrow and circle back. You go to work like normal.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “He can’t be fifteen.”

  “A spy is a spy and he can shoot, too, I bet. You want out?”

  “No, but I want a gun.”

  Sam rubbed the stubble around his mouth. “I have a small thirty caliber Colt.”

  “I’d feel a lot better with it than no gun at all.”

  “We can load it tonight. Just be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Sam listened to the night insects; it would be fall in a few weeks. The Wagners had spies out. Sam had hoped that the feud was over when Ken had died in the street. Sam decided to show Kathy the shotgun and how to use it.

  When he got to the house before dawn, Kathy was already back with a pail of milk. Actually the ring of her efforts on the side of the pail had awoken him.

  “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes,” she promised, slinging things around.

  “Slow down. No rush,” he said.

  At last, she dropped in the chair opposite him and pushed wisps of hair back from her face. “You don’t have to be so nice to me, Sam. I work for you.”

  “I hope you enjoy the work. I think you fit our life style well.”

  “Good.” Kathy looked relieved.

  “Six shoats enough to feed out?”

  “You bought some pigs already? Oh, yes. That means a smokehouse.”

  “I may need another section to put the farm on.”

  They both laughed.

  Sleepy eyed, Billy joined them. “What’s so funny?”

  “A chicken house, a smokehouse and a pig house—that’s what we’ve got to build.”

  “Don’t sound like ranching to me.” The cowboy made a sour face.

  “Armand told me about a Mexican who has a whole herd of goats he needs to sell. We could butcher one, and it would last this crew two days. So till it’s cold enough for meat to keep, I’ll have him bring by a few head each week.”

  “That sounds great. You like goat, Kathy?” Billy asked her.

  “I cooked one that stunk bad once.”

  “Aw, that was an old billy goat. Kids are good eating.”

  “Really,” Sam said. “They’re good barbecued.”

  “If they don’t stink when I cook them, we’ll eat goat,” Kathy said.

  “I better get ready to ride out of here,” Sam said.

  “Not till you have your breakfast,” she said, looking shocked at the notion.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said and settled back down with a wink at Billy.

  His plans to try to catch the spy were made. What he would do with the spy was something else: a mere boy involved in a plot to harm him or his man or even anyone. This feud was madness unleashed.

  Chapter 12

  Sam left Sorely on top of the canyon in some brush and could see the second oat field from the heights through the trees. Using a brass telescope, he detected some movement in the bordering brush. First he thought it was deer, but the sight of something blue like pants convinced him the spy was down there. With all day to observe him, Sam moved along the rim, looking for the horse the boy m
ust have ridden over there and had hidden. At last, he found the tracks and a cow pony hobbled in a small glen. It wore the WC brand they used on their horses.

  Squatting on the ground, Sam watched the animal snatch mouthfuls of grass, then look his way. He wondered how to make the animal unavailable for the spy’s escape. His decision was to move him the half mile to where Sorely was hitched.

  At last, the horse was hobbled with his own and Sam went back to the rim to keep an eye on the spy. The boy had a gun. No telling the caliber, though it looked like a .22. Still he came armed and not for hunting game. When Sam noticed Billy taking a lunchbreak, the spy moved around toward him. The motion worried Sam about Billy’s safety, so he set out to capture the spy.

  With stealth, Sam made the bottom, eased himself through the thick live oaks at the field’s perimeter and at last saw the boy trying to work his way closer to Billy. In a few steps, he had the boy by the shoulder and jerked the rifle out of his hand.

  “What?” said the boy.

  “That’s what I want to know?”

  “I was hunting. Ain’t no law against that.”

  “There is when it’s humans. What’s your name?”

  “That you, Sam?” Billy shouted.

  “Yeah, and I’ve got the bushwhacker.”

  “I ain’t no bushwhacker.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Delmore Wagner.”

  “About ten years in Texas prison and you’ll think you was hunting.”

  “I ain’t going to no damn prison.” Delmore tried to kick at Sam, but Sam jerked the boy to his toes.

  “You’re going to rot in prison. Now why were you spying on us?”

  “I ain’t saying.”

  “Let me have him,” Billy demanded. “I’ll teach him to spy on me.”

  “Were you supposed to shoot Billy?”

  “I don’t have to—” the boy started.

  Sam strung him up by the collar. “Were you?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam shook his head. The kid didn’t have the nerve—that was all that had stopped him. He was fixing to get his courage up that day; and he’d crept around to be close enough to Billy so that the shots would count.

  “Let me have the little bastard. I’ll fix him so he don’t ever have a family,” Billy ranted.

  “Let the law send him off for ten years,” Sam said.

  “You taking him to town?”

  “Yeah, and swearing out a warrant for his arrest. You sit there on the ground.” Sam made sure Delmore was seated.

  “Want a sandwich. Kathy sent an extra.” Bill held up the gallon-size lard bucket.

  “No, I’ll get him in jail and be back late.”

  Billy stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll have this one disked by tonight. Plant tomorrow.”

  “Sure. You get everything ready for in the morning and we’ll start early.”

  Billy agreed, then looked at Sam. “That oldest boy of Kathy’s, Darby, wants to come help seed this field.”

  “Be fine with me. I need to hike up on the hill and get the horses. You watch this kid till I get back. Don’t mistreat him or shoot him unless he tries to run away.”

  “He’s safe with me.”

  Sam nodded and set out for the horses. He wondered if Stuart would hold the kid for a while in his jail. The deputy wasn’t prone to do much for Sam. Still Sam needed to have Delmore held long enough to make an impression on him. If those Wagners got word he was in jail, they might storm it. At least then they could all be arrested for jail busting. Sam was thinking too far ahead as he scrambled over the rocks to reach the ridge. Riding Sorely, he let the smaller horse trail behind.

  “Get on that horse,” Sam ordered and then he tied the boy’s hands to the saddle horn. Billy made a lead, and in minutes, Sam was headed for Frio in a short lope. The sooner this business was over, the happier he would be. Besides, all this would make him late for supper.

  “You with them when they shot Earl?” Sam asked as they walked their horses for a breather.

  “Who shot who?”

  “You want your tongue cut out?”

  “No!”

  “Then talk and talk fast.”

  “I swear I wasn’t there. Honest, mister, I wasn’t there.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Harry and them came back and said they got one, is all I know.”

  “How did he say it?”

  “ ‘We got one of them Ketchem bastards tonight.’ ”

  “You tell everything to the law, they might only give you ten years.”

  “Ten years?”

  “Be better than hanging.”

  By midafternoon, Sam reined up in front of the marshal’s office. Stuart came out, putting his suit coat on.

  “What did you bring him in for?” Stuart made a disgusted face at Sam and Delmore.

  “Trespassing, attempted murder and a witness to Earl’s murder. I’ll swear out the warrant.”

  “You know who killed his brother?” Stuart asked the youth.

  “Yes—sir.”

  “Who?”

  “My uncles Harry and Ken.”

  “Who else was with them?”

  “Farley.”

  “Who else?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Who set you up to kill Sam here?”

  “My aunt Josie, Ken’s wife.”

  “Are all you Wagners crazy?”

  The boy dropped his head and wouldn’t answer.

  “Get him off the horse and inside.” Stuart looked up and down the quiet street. “Folks heard what they’ve done, they’re liable to lynch him.”

  “Want me to sign the warrants?”

  “Yes, you better. Damn it, Sam, this is serious.”

  “So was Earl’s death.”

  Warrants signed, he swung by the Ralston house and Etta Faye came out on the wide veranda to talk to him. He told her about capturing the boy.

  Etta Faye had the maid bring out tea, and she arranged the area where she planned to serve it to him. “Samuel, do you think that the feud is over then?”

  “I wish it was. But there’s no way to know. I hope his testimony will end it, but if the women are in it, maybe not.”

  “Sounds so barbaric.”

  “I agree.”

  The maid served the tea and some cookies on a tray. “Will that be all?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Etta Faye said and poured Sam a cup of tea, then one for herself. “One or two lumps of sugar?”

  “One’s fine.”

  “Very well,” she said and dropped the cube in his cup. “I shall have two.”

  He stirred his tea with a very small spoon. He figured if he ever had to eat with such fancy silverware, he would starve to death before he could ever shovel enough inside.

  “The cookies are from Scotland,” Etta Faye said and he tried one, which was a little dry and flat tasting, but he nodded in approval at her.

  “Will you be at the dance this Saturday?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, I had not thought about the event. I better plan to stay at the Fanchers then.”

  “Save me a dance.”

  “Save you a dance? Why every woman in that region dances with you. I suspect I need to be on your card.”

  “How many dances do you want?”

  “A half dozen would be a good round number.”

  He pursed his lips and agreed with a nod. “So be it.”

  “Good, that’s settled. Samuel, have you ever considered going into politics?”

  “Etta Faye, I am so busy farming, ranching and looking out for backshooters, I don’t have time. Besides, Tom has been staying in Fort Worth with his in-laws and I need to check on his cattle and his place, too.”

  She put a hand on his forearm. “You can’t be a small rancher all your life.”

  “I’ll think on that,” he said and finished his tea. “Due back and I’m late. See you Saturday.”

  “Six dances. I want all of them.” She bou
nced up and skipped along beside him, across the veranda and to his horse. When he finished checking the girth, he turned and kissed her on the mouth.

  Acting dazed, she threw her other hand up to her lips and looked out of her blue eyes in total shock.

  “You—you kissed me—”

  “That happens, they tell me, when two people of opposite genders hang around together.”

  “But I am not some cheap harlot—”

  “I only kissed you.”

  “I’m not engaged to you—”

  Sam shut his eyes. Then he threw his arms around her and drew her tightly against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her eyes opened so wide, he thought they might pop out.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for ten years.” With a final squeeze, he released her.

  “Oh—you—” She brushed off the front of her dress, as if he had soiled it.

  “Aren’t you going to run and hide?”

  She drew her shoulders back, as if she had been involved in something revolting, and then trembled all over. “I don’t know what to say, but you are not the gentleman I thought you were.”

  “It don’t matter. You still don’t understand, do you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you really are a woman behind that facade.”

  “Why did you do this to me?”

  “To show you what it was like when two people are in love—well, one maybe.”

  Etta Faye closed her eyes as if to regain her composure.

  Sam stepped up into the saddle. “Saturday at the schoolhouse.” He sent Sorely dancing off for town. After one check of the low sun, he knew he’d miss supper.

  Chapter 13

  Tom came back on Friday and agreed to stay with Sam and Billy at the Bar K, since Sam had hired a cook and he wasn’t much of one himself. With the oats planted, all Sam needed was a good soft rain on the seed to keep the doves away. Clouds came in, but no rain had fallen before they saddled up for the ride over to the dance at the Lone Deer schoolhouse.

  “You sure you don’t want to go?” Sam asked Kathy for the fifth time.

  “No, we’ll be fine. I have some sewing to do, and I’m really happy as a lark to have an evening just to rest.”

  “Can’t tell if some cowboy might take a fancy to you,” he teased.

  “Oh, Sam, I’m not ready for that. In time maybe, but my loss still runs too deep in me.”