The Ogallala Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Dear Samuel,

  Why are we always so brusque with each other? We can’t wait to see each other, and then we snarl like angry dogs fighting over a pile of bones when we finally are together. What is this love-hate relationship we seem to drown ourselves in? There are nights I could scream at the moon and stars wondering if you are safe or dead. Oh, yes, Mrs. McCarty’s children tell me that you are working hard. They said they weren’t leaving your place. Before you go on the drive, please come by either the school or the Fanchers’ place and see me.

  Sincerely yours,

  Etta Faye Ralston

  Sam closed his eyelids tight, but he couldn’t drown out the cattle and shouting around him. The wind had shifted while he stood there, and his eyes were full of smoke. He blew his nose in his handkerchief. He stepped in the stirrup and swung a chap-clad leg over Soapy’s rump, then headed him for the Lone Deer schoolhouse.

  Chapter 21

  Sam hitched Soapy to the rack out in front of the schoolhouse at the base of the slope and used his hat to brush off some road flour. He had no time for a bath or cleaning up with all he had left to do. Etta Faye would have to take him like he was. Besides, she had written he should drop by.

  “Oh, Samuel, you did get my message,” Etta Faye said from the doorway. Then she turned and told her pupils to behave and do their lessons.

  He turned the hat in his hands. “I have lots to do. We leave in the morning with Tom’s cattle.”

  “Tom here yet?”

  “No. I guess he’ll find us on the road.”

  “He’s put all this work off on you?” She looked upset over the matter.

  “I guess. I’m the oldest. Maw said the oldest do the work.”

  “You are”—she raised her chin—“generous to a degree that exceeds one’s own welfare.”

  “I see. Well, I’m not sure why you wrote to me. I thought you mailed Stuart a letter saying you would marry him.”

  “Marry him?” She looked aghast. “I severed my relations with him in that letter. I’ve come to realize he was not what I wanted in a man.”

  “Shame I didn’t deliver it myself,” Sam mumbled.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll be back in a month, before Christmas, and we can talk more then.”

  She nodded and looked sad. He couldn’t stand it any longer. His spurs jingling, he ran up the four steps, took her in his arms and kissed her. When he moved a little back from his deed, her eyes flew open and her jaw dropped.

  “Samuel,” she gasped. “You be careful.” She closed her eyes as if the cool afternoon wind was telling her something.

  “I will.” He clunked down the stairs on his bootheels and turned back to see her in the doorway. This time she waved at him. He grinned big as any fool could, then spurred Soapy for the ranch.

  Kathy came to meet him at the corral when he dismounted. “You have any sleep the past few days?”

  “No, ma’am, not much.”

  “And you’re leaving tomorrow. Billy sent word that the cook arrived.”

  “A day late.”

  “I guess the boys will eat down there then tonight?” she asked.

  “Yes. Sorry I’m so late getting here.” He set the saddle on its horn and went to the horse tank to soak his face. A stallion in the pen acted spooked, grunted and ran around the pen at the sight of him. His actions drew a scowl from Sam, who considered the stud worthless. On the far side of the pen, the big horse threw his head back, snorted and pawed the dust.

  “What about him?” Kathy asked.

  “I can’t take him up there with the cattle. We’ll have enough trouble taking a mixed herd.” He swept off his hat and dunked his face in the water.

  Her hand on his shoulder, she drew him up. “For goodness’ sake, come to the house. I’ll heat you some water and you can clean up. You’re a mess, and dunking in this tank isn’t going to help.”

  Cool water ran down his face, shirt and vest. He rubbed his week-old whiskers and laughed. “I accept your hospitality.”

  Later, bathed, shaved, dressed in clean clothes and fully fed, he sat in the kitchen drinking fresh coffee and eating a second piece of apple pie.

  “I have all the people on this list who owe Tom for the corn that you delivered to them,” she said, handing Sam a piece of paper.

  “Good. They’ll be by to pay sooner or later.”

  “Fine. What else?”

  “If anyone else comes by about adding their cattle to the drive to Ogallala next spring, tell them I’m near full up, but get their names, in case someone cancels.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “I bought two fat hogs from Schlousinger for us to butcher when I get back. He’s trading me them for some corn. He may bring them over and get his corn.”

  “Darby and I can handle that.”

  “Good boy, but everyone pulls their load around here. I don’t know what I’d do without all of you.”

  “I need to run and get the kids. I’m sure they’ve started for home, but that’s a long walk.” She stood up, then reached across the table and kissed Sam on the cheek. “You’re the nicest guy, Sam Ketchem. We’ll have supper at six. Will you eat with us?”

  “I guess.”

  “Go take a nap. You look too tired to start on such a long journey.”

  “Fine, I will,” he said and followed her out.

  Kathy led the harnessed team out of the barn and he hitched them for her. Minutes later, she had the horses trotting off to get the kids, and he went to get some sleep, but restful slumber never came to him. Stampedes trampled through his brain. Bad hail-storms beat down on him. Graves dug in the prairie ground haunted him. The ring of a shovel pounding down a handmade cross echoed through his night-mares. When Kathy awoke him with a shake, he bolted up in the bed.

  “Sorry to jolt you so, but I have supper ready.”

  He swallowed hard, feeling depleted and shaken by his dreams. Were they the future or was he only borrowing more trouble?

  “I’ll be there soon as I get my boots on.”

  “You all right?”

  “Sure, I’m fine.” He bent over and pulled on his right boot. He watched Kathy reluctantly go to the doorway. He waved her on to assure her that he was fine.

  The children asked lots of questions during the meal.

  “Where do you get water to drink?” Darby asked.

  “Strain it from a river, a creek or lake, if you can find one,” Sam answered.

  “Ooh,” Rowann said, “can you drink it?”

  “When it’s all you’ve got, you drink it.”

  “I don’t think I’d like it on a cattle drive,” Rowann said.

  “I would,” Darby said about to fork in a bite of food. “What’re you looking at me for, Rowann? Beats the heck out of milking cows and slopping pigs.”

  “Yes, Darby,” Sam said. “But night herding and little sleep can get old, too. Rain, even sleet, without a roof over you can get real old in a hurry.”

  “I’d go along in a minute if you needed me,” Darby said.

  “There will be time for all of that when you’re older,” his mother said crossly.

  “How old were you when you went up the trail, Mr. Sam?” Darby asked.

  “Sixteen,” he lied.

  “Been lots of guys fourteen went up there.”

  “Darby, let Sam eat, please,” Kathy said. “He has enough to fret over without all your talk about something that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Several of the neighbors will be coming by to check on you,” Sam said, taking a second helping of potatoes and creamy gravy. Sanchos came to his mind. He hoped the man was as good as he said he was. Cowboys traveled best on full bellies. And his crew was spoiled by Kathy’s cooking.

  After supper, Sam told Kathy he was going to turn in. He asked her to get him up by three so he could be over there when the crew got up for breakfast in camp.

  “I’ll set the
alarm clock.”

  He told the children good night, then went to the bunkhouse. As Sam walked by the corral, the stallion blew hard and squealed at him. Then he snorted out of his nose like Sam was a spook. For the moment, Sam thought nothing of the horse’s behavior.

  But hours later, Sam sat up in bed, wondering what that worthless stud horse had been all upset about. He could hear the horse galloping around. Something was amiss. Sam reached for his Colt in the dark room. A sliver of moonlight shone in the open double doors when he slipped into the alleyway. Dressed in his underwear, he walked in the chill of the night to the barn door, listening to the rhythmic drum of hooves.

  His shoulder close to the board and bats of the siding, he worked around to the corner until he could see the horse going in a short lope around the pen. Something—no, someone, was riding him. Sam’s heart stopped.

  Sloan, in his nightshirt, sat on the stud’s back, holding a hank of his mane. The boy was straight-spined as some army cavalry sergeant.

  Sam stood back and out of view. It wouldn’t do to try to get the boy off. Anything he might try would only get the boy hurt. This drama had to play itself out. All Sam could do was observe.

  His heart in his throat, he watched the boy bring the big horse to a halt, then jerk on its mane until the stallion was beside the fence. Sloan reached out and looped his arm around the tall corral post; then he quickly climbed onto the fence. After a pat on the forehead from the boy, the stallion gave a deep snort and bobbed his head.

  Like a squirrel, Sloan eased down the rails. Standing on the ground in his knee-length nightshirt, he peered around to be sure the coast was clear. Then his bare feet churned up dust as he ran and disappeared inside the house.

  How long had Sloan been riding the horse? Sam wondered, as he headed back to his bunk.

  Chapter 22

  Lacy Mayberry and Tommy Jacks were the point riders. Sam put Pacho, who he figured was the toughest roper in the outfit, on the right flank because an occasional critter needed to be roped and busted. By hook or crook they were going up the trail. Jammer on the left. Thirsten and Webber on the drag. Toddle was the wrangler in charge of the horses and helping Sancho.

  “You boys on drag will have your hands full today,” Sam warned them in the predawn coolness. “Some of these foxy old cows will want to break out for their old country. They’ll lay back and try you all day. In fact we may have several days of that.”

  “I’ll be back here, too, to help you boys,” Billy said.

  “Everyone shake hands,” Sam said. “It’s one for all and all for one in this business.”

  “Never heard it said that way before, boss, but that fits it,” Tommy Jacks said.

  “Something a schoolteacher said to me once,” Sam said. “And please, guys, be careful. Let’s pray.

  “Dear Lord, guide and protect us on our way. We’re grateful for your guidance, Father. Help these boys as they ride to make a safe journey and return home in one piece. Amen.”

  “Amen.” They all nodded and went for their horses.

  Riders in place, Sam swung his hat over his head. “Move ’em out, boys!” Something grabbed Sam’s guts and squeezed. He hoped it was Providence and not the devil, who had ridden with him last time.

  Bawling so loud they hurt Sam’s ears, the herd began to line out. The lead bell steer, a tall red roan with antlers six feet wide, headed north. The cows began to fall in, as the riders coaxed them with shouts and Pacho’s bullwhip cracking the air. Two hundred twelve cows, a hundred seventy big calves, a hundred-forty yearlings and a hundred-twenty two year olds, plus fifteen bulls from mature to long yearlings—Tom’s herd was bound for Buffalo Gap.

  Despite the coolness, the horses quickly worked up a sweat. The contrary nature of the cattle on the first day kept the riders pressing hard to force them to stay in the herd. One mostly longhorn cow and her three-hundred-pound red roan calf threw their tails over their backs and lit a shuck. Jammer and Billy, swinging lariats, soon disappeared in the brush after them.

  The cowboys rode back empty-handed in a short while, and Billy turned up his hands to show that they had gotten away. Fighting with another crazy cow that wanted to get away from the pack, Sam nodded.

  By midafternoon, they let the cattle spread out and graze for a couple of hours. Sam felt grateful for the fall rain, which provided some feed. He hoped that Sancho had made camp on Woolie Creek all right. It would be a good place to bed the herd down.

  With no noon meal, the drovers would be starved. A good cook would have sent along bread or fried pies for them to snack on. Sam had to talk to the man about that when the boys got to camp. The cattle were hard enough to line out without eating all day.

  Sam heard the two bulls bellowing. A big fight was about to break out, and that could send the cattle running. He rose and Pacho headed for his horse.

  “I will separate them, patron.”

  The Mexican boy on a fast bay loped off to handle the bull matter. Sam decided to trail along to be sure Pacho’s plan worked. He caught Soapy and set spurs to him. He could see from the dust being pawed up that two or more studs at war were in the center of the herd. He short loped into sight and reined Soapy up.

  A thick-necked Hereford bull coated in dust over his hump charged at the challenger, a short-horned red bull of Durham ancestry who held his ground despite the fast rushes by the bigger bull. Poncho’s whip began to crack. Many of the onlookers moved aside and some younger bulls ran off. When the two challengers acted unfazed by his whip, Pacho looked back at Sam.

  “Bust ’em. They need to be separated. Let them fight another day.”

  Pacho nodded and drove the cowpony in close. The Hereford bull ran sideways, but showed no intention of leaving the scene. Then the sharpness of the whip changed his mind, and he soon fled with Pacho on his heels.

  His lariat unstrung, Sam rode in, standing in the stirrups and sent the Durham bull the other way. After receiving a few welts on his back from the hemp rope, he doubled his speed to get away. Sam reined Soapy down to a trot. The cattle looked unvexed by the whole thing and chewed grass in reply.

  A day or so and the drive would be well on its way. Sam rested on his horse at the edge of the herd. Where was Tom? What was keeping him? Then he remembered Etta Faye waving from the schoolhouse doorway, and he felt warm despite the sharp edge to the wind. It would be a cold night to sleep on the ground.

  They found Sancho on the banks of Woolie Creek. After watering the cattle, the men bedded them down as the sun spread a bloody light over the open country around them.

  Billy drew up the night guard. Sancho acted like a bulldog with sore teeth. He grunted and grumbled as the cowboys came to fill their plates in the twilight. Sam came last and frowned when he fetched a cold biscuit left over from that morning out of the tub. He laddled up the beans on his tin plate and looked for anything else to eat in the growing darkness.

  Seated on the ground, he knew the hands were awfully quiet. He shrugged it off. They were all tired from the first day. Then he took his first bite of the cold beans. He spat them out.

  “Gawdamn it, Sancho, did you even cook these fart berries?” Snickers rose up from the cowboys sitting around in the darkness.

  “Sure, why?”

  “You try to eat them?”

  “They wasn’t bad.”

  “The hell they aren’t. Jammer, you and Pacho go out in that herd and find a fat calf. Don’t let him bawl. We’re having beef for breakfast and supper tomorrow. And, Sancho, you can cook it decent or you can walk back to San Antone on foot. You hear me?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “That’s your worry. You can’t cook beans and make fresh biscuits for the meals, load up now.”

  “All right, but it’s dark. How in the hell am I going to see to butcher?”

  “Use some one of those coal-oil lamps in the wagon.”

  “I guess they work.” Sancho scratched his head.

  “They’ll work. We’ll all pitch i
n and have the calf skinned and butchered in thirty minutes.”

  “Right,” Webber said, taking a round wet stone to his knife. “Thanks, boss.”

  “And another thing. When this crew rides out, they need some food to go in their saddlebags.”

  “Hell, they’re babies?”

  Sam had to hold back his temper. His first thought was to take his fists to the man. “No, but they’re working damn hard in the saddle and need the food.”

  “All right, but I never—”

  “This is my outfit. We do things my way. Is that clear?”

  “Clear enough—bunch of snotty-nosed kids is all you’ve got.”

  Sam held up his hand to stop Tommy Jacks from plowing past him. “Easy, boys. We’ve all got a job to do. We will get it right.”

  Dawn brought a crystal glaze to the land. Sam’s gritty eyes fought the darkness; his cook had used the lanterns to cook by. They hung under the fly, where he worked. Maybe the cook would serve decent food. A shiver went up Sam’s spine—it was freezing cold. He wrapped up in a blanket and, full of dread, went to see the cook.

  At breakfast, Sam named Billy Ford chief scout. Sam wanted to be close to the herd until they were lined out better. Shaping a herd usually took several days, and mixed herds were even worse than all steers. Cows and calves were hard to manage when some stubborn old cow came back through the entire herd on the prod, hooking and fighting to find her offspring.

  “I think there will be plenty of grass up on the Cedars,” Billy said, sitting on his haunches under a wool blanket and eating his beef and beans.

  “Find us a place, get Sancho some water and wood if you can and we’ll be along. Meet the herd about midafternoon.” The food on Sam’s plate was palatable—not wonderful, but probably as good as it would get.

  The cattle were on the move at daybreak. With ten-hour days, light for travel was precious, and not much was left for grazing time. It would make the drive a long one. The only good thing would be the river crossings. The rivers should be shallow at that time of year. But a winter storm could change everything.