Sam let her close the door. “The doc still here?”
With a serious hurt look in her eyes, she shook her head. “No, he had two babies to deliver.”
“He coming back?”
“Maybe in the morning. Follow me.”
Sam tried not to look at all the exposed flesh ahead of him. The shapely woman in high heels led him through the front room. Some of the doves lounging around waved at him. Then he followed the woman’s bare legs up the flight of stairs. She showed Sam to an open door. There was a lamp burning in the room.
“Sam?” came a soft, dry voice.
“It’s me, Billy. I’m here.”
“I prayed you’d come, boss.”
Sam knelt beside the bed and waved away the woman’s offer of a chair. Looking at the ashen face of the boy made his heart melt. “I’m here.”
“They was kicking this guy. I didn’t know his name. Big guys—they’d’ve sure killed him.”
“Joe Graves,” the woman said in a soft voice behind Sam.
“Why?” Sam looked back at her. “Why were they beating him?”
“Them two don’t need a reason. They hold this whole town in fear.”
“Any law here?”
“No, and the sheriff won’t even come over here.”
“Boss, I know what you’re thinking. Go back was and get the boys—” Billy held his side and made a face at the pain.
“I’m getting you to a real doctor.”
Billy shook his head, as if he needed to hurry and tell Sam something. “Give my wages and things to Kath—tell her—tell her—Tommy Jacks—lucky . . .”
Billy Ford was dead. Sam dropped his face onto the perfume-smelling blanket. His fingers held the cold forearm of the boy he had loved like a son.
“Oh, no—” the woman said behind him. “Those backshooting bastards.”
“Get some canvas and wrap him up in it so I can take him back to the herd.”
“I can do that—” She waved away his offer of money. “Who’s Kathy? He spoke of her a lot today.”
“The woman he wanted to marry. She’s my camp cook.”
“Well, he sure worried a lot about getting word to her, you and the cowboys at the herd.”
Sam nodded. From the nightstand, he picked up the small Colt Billy had carried and jammed it in his waistband.
“Mister, you can’t go across the street, shoot them Staffords and live to walk out of that place. Been tougher men than you have tried and ended up dead.”
“Will anyone help them?”
“No. Everyone fears and hates ’em.”
“How much does Blair look like the other one?”
“They could be twins.”
“Billy have a chance today?”
She shook her head.
“I won’t give them one.”
She closed her eyes in pain. “How far out is the herd?”
“West and south maybe seven miles. Tommy Jacks Riddle is the man in charge.”
“You got any last wishes?”
He shook his head.
“God help you.”
“Send someone after his horse. In a half hour, I’ll be taking him back.”
“Mister, I ain’t much on prayers, but I’m going to get on my knees and pray to God that you live through this.”
“That won’t hurt,” he said and hugged the dove.
“Be careful,” she whispered when he released her.
He nodded and went out the door. Going down the stairs, he saw four other women standing, watching him with their pale faces. No one said a word, but he knew by their looks that they feared for him.
It occurred to him at the front door that his slicker was upstairs, but he went out on the porch anyway. Light rain still fell. He crossed the muddy street and reset the Colt on his hip as he went. Under the saloon’s porch, he let his eyes adjust to the brighter light coming out the bat-wing doors.
He could see the hat Stafford wore. Clare Stafford was still playing cards in the smoke that clouded the room. Sam had to be accurate with his first shot. He dried his gun hand on his vest, then pushed through the doors.
“Clare Stafford?”
“Yeah?” He looked up from his cards like Sam was only a minor inconvenience. The man’s back was to the wall, so Sam knew his shots would not endanger any others in the saloon.
“You killed my man this afternoon.”
Everyone at the card game, except for Clare Stafford, dove for cover. The Colt in Sam’s fist blasted and the bullet struck Clare Stafford in the chest. Hit hard, Stafford fired his own gun through the partially overturned table into the floor. Sam’s second shot struck Stafford in the heart.
The wounded man fell with a loud groan. “Ya got me.”
“Stay put,” Sam ordered and rushed behind the bar. Somewhere under there was a sawed-off shotgun. Every bar had one.
“Here.” The bartender delivered it to Sam, then fled to the back.
Sam laid the shotgun on the bar and reloaded his Colt. In the barroom, everyone could hear the rumble of bootheels coming that direction on the boardwalk. They backed away.
“What the hell’s happened in the saloon?” a loud voice, out of wind, demanded in the distance.
“I heard shots.”
“So did I.”
The bootheels grew closer. Someone’s hard breathing on the porch rasped loud in the still saloon with the crowd huddled down low at the sides of the room. Using both arms to bust through the bat-wing doors, a large man charged like a bull into the room.
“You Blair Stafford?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, who the—”
“Welcome to hell.” Sam used both barrels on him and blew him out the doors. The boiling black powder smoke filled the room.
Sam handed the shotgun back to the bartender. “Thanks. I owe you for two shells.”
“Mister, you don’t owe me a Gawdamn thing.”
“Hey, mister, I want to buy you a drink. Name’s Dennis. You done this town the biggest favor it ever could have.”
“No, Dennis. The drinks are on me,” the bartender said. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Sam. Sam Ketchem. Live at Frio Springs. Taking a herd north.”
Damn, he didn’t want to bury that boy. Those oats Billy planted would be up waving in the wind, with all the rain and good weather. They’d have a barn full of good hay for next winter.
Sam downed a double shot of whiskey and waved aside the townsfolks’ offers of more. Once outside, he saw Billy’s body draped over the horse at the rack beside Soapy. The dove from across the street stood on the porch, wrapped in a blanket against the night chill.
She handed him his slicker to put on. “Guess praying helps, huh? I ought to do it more often.”
“Yes. Do I owe the doc, you, anyone?”
She shook her head to dismiss Sam’s concern. “See that bastard in the mud?” Sam nodded at the still form on the ground at the base of the stairs. “Him and his brother ain’t ever again going to beat up another woman, an innocent man, or rob anyone of what they have.
“Mister, bend down here. I want to kiss you.”
Sam leaned over, and the woman’s arms went around his neck. Then she really kissed him. When he stepped back, she closed the blanket over her corset and left him for the house across the muddy street.
At the hitch rail, Sam undid the lead and Soapy’s reins. In the saddle, he saluted the crowd on the porch of the saloon, then booted the horse into a trot. The other pony came along. Sam’s tears mixed with the light rain and ran down his face.
Chapter 30
No one was ever good at funerals. Sam decided the more times that he ended up in charge of them, the more they hurt, especially with young folks. Webber had carved Billy’s name in a board and they used a cedar post to nail it to like a cross.
Red-eyed from crying, Kathy stood surrounded by her wet-faced children and only added to Sam’s misery. His crew looked like whipped pups. All of them were sad-eyed.
Sam looked up about the time he was ready to start reading. A buggy with six women riding in it drove up.
“Who are they?” Tommy Jacks asked with a frown.
“The angels that stayed with Billy in his last hours. You boys, mind your manners and go bring them over here.”
The drovers about fell over themselves to escort the sisters across the space of grass between them and the grave. When Sam looked up again, he saw several other rigs were coming. He closed the Bible. “More of Billy’s friends, I guess,” he said.
“We brung food and wanted you all to know that we really cared,” the man from the saloon said.
“Is there a preacher among you?” Sam asked, looking over the crowd.
“Mr. Ketchem, we all feel you’re the man to say words over this boy.”
Sam’s eyes closed to shut out the bright sun. He shook his bare head. “Lord, we’re sending you our best friend and my foreman, Billy Ford. He grew up kinda on his own, Lord. Probably never was inside your house—much. But, Lord, that cowboy loved all your handiwork: the sun, the rain, growing things. He hated having to do away with newborn calves on this drive. It went against his grain. But, Lord, he never asked any of the rest to do his job.
“There wasn’t a better man ever rode this grassland. Yesterday, some bullies were beating up on a man in a town nearby here, and Billy went to his rescue. Lord, those heathens shot him—but even as his life slipped away, he worried more about his comrades with the herd than about himself.”
A loud amen came for the crowd.
“Take Billy Ford to your ranch in the sky, Lord. We know he’ll have a good campsite and plenty of firewood up there for us when we get there. I—we can’t wait to see his shining face again. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others said.
Sam handed Tommy Jacks the Bible. Without another word, he walked away from his sorrows.
“Mr. Sam! Mr. Sam!”
He stopped, turned and looked down at the wet lashes of Rowann. She’d been trying to get him to stop.
“What?” he asked.
“Will we really see Billy up there?”
“Rowann, he’ll have the best spot in heaven picked out—why, there will be clear running water and all of it.”
She nodded her head and wiped her eyes. “Then I won’t cry any more for him.”
He squeezed his mouth and agreed. “I won’t either then—”
“Now we’ve got to go and tell Momma so she don’t cry anymore.”
“Lead the way, my little friend.” He took her small hand and went back toward the crowd of strangers and his crew.
“Good, ’cause she needs to know, Mr. Sam,” Rowann said.
Chapter 31
Civilization, fences and farms forced Sam far to the west of the Doane’s Store crossing in the middle of April. They looked for a good ford for two days. At the spot they found on the Red River, it was a quarter mile wide—and except for a short ways in the main channel, not deep enough to have to swim a horse.
They snaked enough logs out on the river to float the wagons across. Finally they found the place used by other herds in the past. The drovers, with several lariats tied together and secured to the tongue, started across on horseback. They were beyond the deep portion when Sam on the spring seat sent the mules in.
Kathy stood behind him and the rest of the kids were with them in the wagon. He could look aside and see her ashen fingers clutching the backboard. The mules acted spooked by the water. They floundered for a moment when the wagon began to float aside on them. Then they began to swim. Riders were beating their horses to pull, and the attached taut ropes popped in and out of the water.
Sam screamed at the mules, using the lines to encourage them to hurry as the chuck wagon swung farther downstream every second. Then the first team struck the shallow water and they jerked the others after them.
By then, the wagon was at a ninety-degree angle to the course. The riders were still pulling, and the mules with some traction were also hauling on it. Sam began to worry that when the wagon wheels on the right struck the bottom, the whole thing might tip over from the force of the current.
He held the reins to a helpless ending. The cowboys shouted and their horses strained all they could. Mules began jumping forward like they were on fire. The right wheels struck something solid and the wagon tipped toward the right side. Kathy screamed and the kids did, too.
“Get on the upper side!” he shouted.
But there was no way. Then it went back down. The effort of mules and riders began to tell. Soon the wheels were turning. Sam slumped down in the seat.
Smiling, Kathy pounded him on the shoulders. “We’ve done it!”
Now all he needed was to get the cattle across. He told Tommy Jacks to take Kathy and the kids over the ridge to set up. She didn’t need to hear all the cursing. Besides, most of the boys would get naked to cross.
“We’ll bring Darby’s wagon over later,” Sam shouted and waved her on after the boys cut off the logs that floated hers across.
“We can keep their gear and clothes dry that way.” Jammer laughed as he shivered in his wet clothes. “Too damn cold to go swimming—that’s for sure.”
“You guys did good. Let’s get back over and bring that herd across.”
“Boss, there ain’t no need in you getting wet,” Jammer said. “We can bring them.”
“Good. Send the horses over first.”
“Who—hoo!” Jammer shouted and reined his muddy horse for the Red. “Get them ponies down here, boys!”
Yates and his horses came across in minutes. That left the herd.
The lead steer headed in the water, and his bell ringing, the column followed him. Punchers shouted and waved lariats. Bullwhips cracking, the steer swam across and shook themselves off on the north bank, flinging water all over.
“Keep them coming!” Sam went to help them chouse the first ones up with one eye on the river. Stalled back in the line, they might swim off or go in circles and he’d lose cattle.
A half hour later, the herd was across and they were getting ready to float Darby’s wagon over. The youth was there looking anxious at his rig on the far side.
“They’ll get it over,” Sam said, dropping out of the saddle and squatting down on his boot heels.
“I’d liked to’ve done it.”
“You’ll have plenty of chances to prove yourself. You’ve done right well.”
“It ain’t like being a drover.”
“I think these boys accept you as one of them.”
“Yes, sir, they do.”
“Keep driving the wagon. I can’t spare a hand.”
“Thanks.” He smiled.
Sam watched Tommy Jacks drive the horses into the water. Sam wondered if the young man needed ropes. The wagon was lots lighter than the chuck wagon, and the horses much larger than its mules. When they reached the deep water, the horse acted calm and began to swim. They soon were on higher ground headed for the bank.
“Better go and get your team from Riddle. He’ll be worn-out.”
“I doubt it. Tommy Jacks is tough as nails.”
Jammer rode by leading his new foreman’s horse to him. “Maybe tougher than that.”
“Time will tell.” Sam turned Rob toward camp. They were north of the Red River.
Sam rode up the sandy slope. On his own horse, Tommy Jacks caught up with him on the ridge. “Guess from here on we look out for Injuns.”
“Anyone comes along begging for food, cut them out a limper.”
“I can savvy them.”
“It’s their grass we’re crossing, so we can spare them some.”
“I’ll do it that way, if you ain’t here.”
Sam looked off at the low sun. “T
hat’s the plan. Be dark soon. We better get them bedded.”
“Boys are doing it.”
“Good, let’s go see about some of Kathy’s coffee.”
“Hold up. I got a few questions to ask you about women,” his foreman asked.
“Land sakes, I’d be the last one to ask.” Sam brought Rob down to a walk.
“You knew me and Billy—well, we competed for Kathy’s favor.”
“I knew that.”
“Well, she lost her husband six or seven months ago, and now Billy—”
“Give her a little room. I think it’ll work out. Six weeks, we should be at the Colorado line, headed north. That means we’re ten weeks away from Ogallala.”
“Okay, boss. Any of these Injuns dangerous?”
“Only ones I’d worry about are the Comanche or the Kiowa. But hell, there may be others. I haven’t heard much else and most of the real renegades are way out on the cap rock. We get up on the Canadian River, we may miss them.”
“Suits me. I told the boys they should hold their fire, but be ready.”
“It’ll do to be careful.”
Sam could see the canvas top of the chuck wagon. He set Rob into a trot. He needed some coffee. He didn’t want any trouble with Injuns.
Chapter 32
Over the next two weeks, a few thunderstorms had taught the crew that even mixed herds stampeded. Stopped on a rise, Sam hailed the sight of the green cast from cottonwoods in the bottoms. He could see the canvas top and fly stretched out over Kathy’s worktable. The Canadian was one of those rivers that was too thick to drink and too thin to plow. The river’s water needed to be strained to drink or used in coffee. It also had a fishy taste. But paralleling its course took them northwest without seeking water sources.
The cattle were beginning to pick up weight on the way. If Sam could keep them gaining, he could command a better price for them.
He short loped across the bottoms and saw something from the corner of his eye. A rider? A buck? Someone had been spying on the chuck wagon from the small buttes across the river. Sam decided to send one of the men to check it out.
When Sam dismounted, Darby took his horse. “Thanks.”
The boy gave him a smile.
Sam crossed the distance to the chuck wagon. “Well, how’s the boss?” he asked Kathy and pulled up a folding canvas stool.
The Ogallala Trail Page 18