“So-so.”
“Been a buck watching you, until I rode up.”
“Oh, where was he?”
“Up on that red butte. He just wanted to know all about you.”
“Means I keep the shotgun closer, huh?”
“You better. I’m sending Tommy Jacks up there for a look around.”
“What about Jammer? He’s supposed to be back from scouting, ain’t he?”
Sam took a cup of coffee and blew on the steam. “It’s strange he isn’t back. Darby, throw that saddle of mine on Sorely. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam hurried toward the herd and waved Tommy Jacks over. The cowboy came on the run and slid his gray up short.
“What’s wrong?” Tommy Jacks asked.
“Jammer ain’t back from scouting. Be dark in another hour. Want you to go look at the signs on that butte up there. I think I spooked an Injun spying on our camp when I rode in.”
“What about Jammer?”
“He may be on his way. I’m going to go look. If I don’t get back, you keep them going. Two more days, you’ll need to cut over to the North Canadian to hit the Fort Supply Road. I ain’t there, you wait ten days at Fort Supply. Then they’re yours to take to Ogallala.”
“I ain’t never been there.” Tommy Jacks looked serious.
“You can make it. You’ll have to if I don’t come back.”
“Yeah.” Tommy Jacks swallowed hard and looked over at Sam. “God be with you, and come back with that Jammer.”
“I aim to come back. You keep your wits about you. Kathy and the kids are lots of responsibility. But you know that. Keep that nighthawk Yates awake at night. They might want our horses.”
Tommy Jacks nodded. “I understand. Boy, being a cowhand wasn’t near this bad.”
Sam hurried back to camp. He had Kathy get him a handful of jerky, and he mounted Sorely. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.” He put the jerky in his saddlebags.
“Sam Ketchem, don’t be no fool out there.”
“Keep that scattergun close.”
“I will. Damn, I worry every time you ride out like this.”
“Maybe this will turn out better.”
“I’ll pray it does.”
Sam set off short loping the big horse. He had no idea where the boy might be. By sundown, he’d chewed on enough of the hard jerky to take the edge off his appetite. A whiff of smoke floated by on the evening wind, and he wondered if he was about to ride up on an Indian camp. He set Sorely down and headed for high ground for a look.
In the fading sunlight, he saw a shack and some corrals. It was no Indian camp, but there were worse things than Indians out in this land. Some wanted men hid out in the wilderness hundreds of miles from Judge Parker’s court and any law. Breeds and mulat tos made up roving gangs that robbed and stole for their living. So chances the camp held some law-abiding settlers were less than one out of a hundred.
Sam took Billy’s .30 caliber Colt out of the saddlebags. After reloading the pistol, he put it in his waistband and sent Sorely down the hillside. There was no time like the present to see if they knew anything about Jammer.
Sam crossed through the shadow bottoms and a horse nickered at his. Sorely answered. Sam’s heart stopped. A knot grew to boulder size in his stomach. His horse knew the one in the corral.
“Who’s out there?”
“A friend.”
“What you doing riding up on my camp?” The figure held a rifle, but in the growing darkness, Sam figured he couldn’t hit a barn at the distance.
“Just passing through. I been to Fort Supply headed south.”
“Well, get your hands up.”
“There’s been a mistake. I was only riding through. Wanted to buy some grub.”
“Got money, huh?”
“Some.”
“Get off that horse.” The man came around so he was behind Sam. “Hold still.”
Sam jerked the .30 caliber out of his belt and smashed the man in the face as he sought to free Sam’s other gun. The blow sent the man spinning. He lost the rifle, but like a wounded cat, he came back in leap. Sam drove the muzzle of the barrel into his gut.
The man’s fingers sought Sam’s face. The small gun fired in a muffled sound. Instantly, the outlaw grabbed for his gut and fell down on his sides, moaning. Sam put his boot in the man’s neck and held him down while he threw away knives and an old bulldog pistol into the brush.
“Where’s my man?” Sam demanded.
“He’s inside the shack.”
“Alive?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Sam jerked the man up to his feet and shoved him toward the doorway. “Anyone else here?”
“No.”
“He all right?”
“Yeah.”
“He better be.” Sam propelled him through the doorway. Then he struck a match. He could see the gagged Jammer tied to a chair. He lit a candle on the table and moved cautiously behind his man to release him.
“Who the hell is he?” Sam asked.
“Chicken Charlie,” Jammer gasped when the gag came off. “Boss, I figured he’d get you, too.”
“Stupid sumbitch. Why did he tie you up?”
“Said when his gang got back, they planned on stealing the herd. They needed to know all about it and said I would tell them when they got through with me.”
“What’s the name of his gang?” Sam frowned at the wounded man, who was holding his guts and moaning.
“Chicken Charlie’s, I guess.”
“I’m dying,” the wounded man said.
“Better you than me,” Jammer said, strapping on his holster.
“When’s his gang due back?”
Jammer shook his head and flipped his hair up to put on his hat. “When’s your gang coming back?”
“Couple of days.” The man groaned again.
“You want me to step on your neck some more?” Sam made a false start toward Chicken Charlie.
“No, Gawdamn. I’m—I’m dying—”
“Now tell me or I’ll stomp you.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Whew,” Jammer said. “That was close.”
“How many’re coming, Charlie?”
“Four, maybe five. I swear—” Then a deep cough cut off his talking as he balled up on the floor.
“Go get two of the tough hands,” Sam said. “All of you get rifles and ammo. Then the three of you get back up here tonight.”
Rubbing his wrists, Jammer started out.
“Take Sorely. He’s saddled.”
“I will, boss. And I’ll be back real quick.”
“Be careful in the night and don’t fall in any holes.”
“Oh, yeah. Whew, I figured my goose was cooked.” Jammer ran out the doorway.
Sam listened to the boy lope away. Then he tied Charlie’s feet and hands. The wounded outlaw cursed and moaned about dying.
“Go ahead—better you than me or Jammer.”
Sam found coffee and made some. The beans had been scorched and the coffee was bitter, but he drank it and tried to ignore his prisoner. He found a wanted poster for a Charles Conklin alias Chicken Charlie. One was for robbery of a post office.
“What the hell can you get from robbing a post office?” Sam asked, setting the paper on the table.
“Thirteen dollars, seventeen cents and all the stamps you ever need.”
Sam shut his eyes in disbelief over the stupidity of such a thing—to risk a jail sentence for that little gain. Besides, he was willing to bet this guy had never mailed a letter to anyone. Anxious for Jammer and the boys’ return, Sam got up and went to the door and listened to the coyotes. Their plaintive howling carried across the bottoms.
Past midnight, Jammer, Webber and one of the new hands named Frank joined him. The men took their horses down to the bottoms and hobbled them so they wouldn’t be in sight when Charlie’s crew arrived.
Daylight came and Jammer walked in from guar
d duty. “No sign of them yet.”
Frank drew the next round with orders not to shoot or be seen. Sam and Jammer made some biscuits with jerky and they washed them down with more burned coffee.
“They damn sure ain’t like Kathy’s,” Jammer said and shook his head.
“That’s why she’s the cook.” Sam laughed aloud.
“Hey,” Webber said scooping up his rifle, “Frank’s coming on the double.”
“You and Jammer go up in that shed and keep down till we can get them in a cross fire if they try anything. What is it, Frank?”
“They’re drunk, from the sounds of their singing. They’re coming in from the north, like you said they would.”
“Hit the shed,” Sam told the other two. “Frank, you and I are going to hide inside here.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy, who was hardly older than sixteen, swallowed hard.
“It’ll be all right. They want to fight, we’ll shoot them.”
“Sure, Mr. Sam, but I ain’t never shot no one.”
“Hope we don’t need to today.” Sam could see the other two hands were concealed in the shed.
From the sounds of the outlaws’ singing, at least one of them was sure drunk.
“Charlie, you old sumbitch, where are ya?”
Sam stepped in the doorway with his rifle leveled on them. “Charlie ain’t feeling good this morning. Hands high. One move and you’re dead,” he told the three shocked riders.
Jammer and Webber came out of the shed holding rifles on the outlaws.
“Get their guns and knives,” Sam said to Frank.
“Yes, sir.”
“You the damn law from Fort Smith?” a bearded man asked.
“No. I’m the drover that Charlie planned to take the herd from.”
“Hey, we wasn’t in on that. We been to Fort Supply getting us some food and whisky.”
“Keep you hands up. I can’t help it. Charlie said you were going to help him.”
“Aw, mister, we wasn’t going to steal no herd of cattle.”
“In Texas, we hang rustlers.”
“Not us, please—” The outlaw looked around at his partners. “Speak up. Tell him we ain’t rustlers.”
“Get off your horses and don’t try anything,” Sam ordered. “Now shuck your boots.”
“Shuck our boots?” the bearded outlaw said.
Jammer made a point with the complainer by jabbing him with the barrel of a rifle. “Do as he says.”
“Boys, tie them boots and put them over the saddle horn. Frank, sack up the guns and knives.”
“Where’s Charlie?” one of the stocking-footed rustlers asked.
“Gut-shot inside. Now back up to that corral. Tie their hands behind their backs to the posts,” Sam said. “Frank, go get our horses.”
“Mister, what plans you got for us?”
“I really should lynch each one of you. But I’m going to give you a chance you don’t deserve. I’m leaving you here tied up, barefooted. I’m taking your horses and saddles and guns as payment for this inconvenience. And if I ever see you again, I’ll shoot your ears off.”
The bearded outlaw nodded that he understood the terms. “What if we can’t get loose?”
“Guess them coyotes and buzzards will have a feast.”
“That ain’t the Christian way,” the youngest of the gang said.
“Should’ve thought about that before you joined this bunch.”
When Sam went inside, Charlie moaned and raised his head off the dirt floor. “Shoot me.”
Sam shook his head.
“Then by Gawd, leave me a damn gun, so I can shoot myself. You know this wound’s going to kill me.”
For a long moment, Sam considered the notion; then he drew out the .30-caliber pistol from his waistband and laid it on the table. Billy Ford didn’t need it. Sam walked out into the daylight. The hands had the outlaws’ horses on leads and were ready to ride. Sam stepped in the saddle.
“What’s your name? I never heard it,” the bearded outlaw asked.
“Sam Ketchem. Frio Springs, Texas.”
“I’ll stay wide of there, Sam Ketchem.”
“You do that, ’cause I will shoot you.”
They were on the ridge when Jammer reined up his horse. “I heard a shot back there.”
Sam nodded. “Ain’t our affair. Tommy Jacks is moving the herd shorthanded. Let’s ride, boys.”
Chapter 33
Dust boiled up in the sky from the herd. Riding drag meant the hands in the back came in looking like a sand pile. The North Canadian River provided thicker water than downstream, and fewer springs. Daytime temperatures began to climb.
Sam rode in and dismounted. Darby took his horse.
“How was fishing?” Sam asked Hiram, knowing the boys had had some luck downstream.
“Ain’t deep enough even for a fish up here.”
“I was thinking catfish for dinner again.”
Hiram shook his head. “We may have to eat cow chips soon, too.”
“Hiram McCarty, what did I tell you?” his mother demanded.
“Quit bitc—I mean, don’t complain.”
Sam laughed and tousled the boy’s hair. “How was your day, Kathy?”
“Fine.” She handed him a tin cup full of coffee. “Except that’s the reason they aren’t off scouting. Three Injuns rode up in camp. I ran them off with the shotgun and told the kids to stay close.”
“What did they look like?”
Kathy pushed her hair back, then bent over the fire to tend to her cooking. “They was near naked and had war paint on their faces. I didn’t like their looks at all.”
“They say anything?”
“I didn’t give them a chance. It was kinda scary.”
“Were they armed?” Sam blew on the coffee.
“Yeah, two had rifles. One had a long spear.”
“Sorry. Another few days and we’ll be at Fort Supply. Once we get there, I suspect we’ll find less trouble.”
“I’ll keep the kids closer in.”
“Good idea.”
Next morning, Sam told Jammer to stay by the camp. “We can find our way. Those renegades might try to raid the wagon.”
“I didn’t see them. Saw some others on the move—going looking for buffalo, I figured.”
“Probably. There were still buffalo in Kansas when I came up the trail the first few times.” Sam had never forgotten the big herds. “They wasn’t bad eating either. ’Course we just cut the loins out in them days.”
“I only seen one or two that they caught. Like to see a herd of them.”
“Better hurry. Hunters are killing them fast.”
Jammer nodded. “I’ll watch out for them.”
Fort Supply sat on the creek by the same name; the creek’s springs were fresh and clear. A small company of soldiers marched around the parade ground when Sam rode up.
A guard saluted him. “Good day, sir.”
Sam returned the greeting. “I guess there’s a store around here.”
“Beck Wolf’s is over there.”
“Fine,” Sam said. He rode over to the sod-roofed building the soldier indicated.
The man he found inside had a bushy beard streaked with gray. His hoarse, gravelly voice barked at Sam. “Whatcha need?”
“Sugar, raisins, a good barrel of flour, and some hard candy.”
“Got a new shipment in this week. Where do you need it?”
“I’ll send a wagon in for it.”
“No trouble. This cash or credit?” Beck asked.
Sam laughed at the man. “You’d offer me credit?”
The man nodded. His brown eyes shone hard under the bushy brows. “Only had one dover never paid me in my life. I figure he got killed was why he didn’t.”
“No, I can pay for this.”
“Where you headed?”
“Ogallala.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Beck said.
“Anything in particular?”
“Some Comanche renegades roaming around in small bands. They’ve killed a few cowboys who worked for the big outfits leasing this country.”
“Two days back, three of them showed up at my camp, and my cook ran them off. Two had rifles and one had a lance.”
“Lucky for him. That’s Glass Eyes, the one with the spear. Only Injun I ever saw had clear blue eyes.”
“What’s his story?”
“Bullets can’t hurt him.”
Sam nodded. Then he paid his bill and thanked the storekeeper. He left the store and rode back to the camp. Darby and Jammer hitched up the horses to go after the supplies. Sam found Kathy and Rowann down at the creek, washing clothes. Sloan sat on a rock and his half-grown pup thumped his tail at the sight of Sam, but remained beside the silent boy. Sam nodded to the boy.
“Hi, Kathy. Sent the boys off to get what you ordered from the store,” Sam said.
“Good. We should make another five to six weeks on the rest.”
“That ought to put us there.”
The woman bent back over and doused the dress in her hands. Then she smiled at her daughter. “How we coming?”
“Slow,” Rowann said sulkily.
“Aw, Rowann, a woman’s work is never done.”
“I sure know that. You see Sloan and Bob?” the girl said to Sam.”
“Yes. He’s trained him to sit there, I guess.”
“You’re right. Can’t see how he does that with no words.”
“Sloan could get a chicken to dance.” Kathy laughed.
The two females began wringing out the wet clothes. At last, Kathy excused her daughter and began to gather the clothes to dry them on bushes and large rocks.
“That Indian with the lance have blue eyes?” Sam asked, climbing down to where she worked.
Kathy stopped spreading out a shirt on a rock. “That’s what was so different about him.”
“I found out his name’s Glass Eyes. He’s Comanche.”
“Oh. What else?”
“Seems him and the others have been ambushing lone cowboys.”
“They nearly went to Indian heaven or wherever.”
“Keep your guard up.”
“I will. Any women up there at the fort?”
“Sorry. The trader has a young squaw and I didn’t see any officers’ ladies.”
The Ogallala Trail Page 19