The herd had been on the trail three hours when Long John and Bo caught up. When they had stopped to rest their horses, they'd taken the time to bleed and gut the deer. The carcass had then been covered with a piece of canvas they'd taken for that purpose. Expecting them, Gil had ridden back to drag, and was there when Long John and Bo caught up. Gil raised his hand in greeting, grinning at them. It. was an apology of sorts, for his sour response the day before.
"No trouble, I reckon." said Gil.
"None't' speak of," said Long John. "We went fer a deer, an' we got one."
Bo said nothing, matching Long John's good nature.
"The herd's behavin' itself and movin' at a good lope," said Gil. "Me and Ramon's got things under control up front. Bo, 1 expect you'd best keep that ied horse back here. We can't risk havin' that deer carcass spook the horse remuda. Long John, you stay with the drag too. That'll make us a mite heavy at this end, but we'll need more riders here. With these longer drives to water, we'll be pushing 'em harder. When they begin to tire, don't let 'em lag. Keep 'em bunched, the ranks tight, so they don't slow down."
Gil rode ahead to the horse remuda, and Rosa trotted her horse alongside Long John's. Her eyes were on the three-inch slash in Long John's trousers and the dried blood on his thigh..
"You have been cut," she said
"It do look like it," said Long John, "but they's thorn bushes in these parts what can rip a man like a knife."
Rosa dropped back until she was riding next to Bo, and when she didn't speak, neither did he. He rode with his eyes straight ahead, apparently fascinated by the ears of his horse. His face told her nothing.
Chapter 9
May 2, 1850. Southwestern New Mexico Territory
From El Paso west to the continental divide, southern New Mexico had been much like the Texas plains. In fact, the eastern two-thirds of the territory had once been part of Texas, until Mexico had ceded the western portion to the United States in 1848. As the trail drive moved farther west, the air became clear and dry, and as Gil had expected, the plains gave way to wooded, mountainous terrain. The ionghorns, driven hard since first light, had begun to tire. By the sun, it was near noon.
"They're startin' to lag on us, Rarnon," said Gil. "I'm goin' to ride back and talk to the riders. From now to sundown we'll have to fight the herd for every mile."
Gil found the drag riders doing their best, swinging doubled lariats against dusty flanks. The longhorns bawled their discontent, but they kept bunched and kept moving.
"That's the way," Gil said. "We're pushin' 'em harder than they're used to, and they're tired. But not near as tired as they're going to be. We'll have to do as well from now to sundown as we've done so far. If we don't, it's dry camp."
Gil rode ahead to the horse remuda to find that Mari-posa and Estanzio had returned.
"Find water," said Mariposa. "Fi'teen mile, mebbe."
Ramon and Gil dropped back, allowing Mariposa and Estanzio to again take control of the horse remuda and the packhorses.
"Ramon," said Gil, "you take the left flank and I'll take the right. The herd's so strung out, the flank riders have more than they can handle. We'll ride the length of the herd and back again, taking up the slack. It's the cows in the middle ranks that are draggin' their feet. Let's get in there and burn some backsides."
Lower and lower the sun slipped toward the western horizon, until finally, in a burst of crimson, it was gone. Bats and swallows flashed across a graying sky, and the cry of a night bird was melancholy in the twilight. Blue shadows crept over the land, and awakening stars blinked sleepily from far away. One of the horses in the remuda nickered. Tired as they were, the lead steers lurched into a trot, and the rest of the herd followed. There were triumphant cowboy yells from some of the riders. There was water ahead!
"It ain't as plentiful as yesterday," said Van, "but by the Eternal, it's enough."
"Gon' be dark 'fore we kin git supper," said Long John. "We still goin''t' have them venison steaks?"
"Damn right," said Gil, "even if we have to dig a fire pit. My hat's off to every one of you, for proving we can drive twenty miles in a day, and to Bo and Long John for gettin' the deer. Let's unload the packhorses and get on with the grub."
It became the most memorable day they'd had on the trail. Their camp was in a secluded valley, and at some time in the distant past, a rock slide had created an enormous fire pit that shielded their supper tire. They roasted and ate huge amounts of the venison, and Rosa vowed to cook the rest of it before it spoiled. By the light of the fire, over cups of hot, black coffee, they studied the government map.
"If this map's even close to beirr right," Gü said, "we'll soon be in Arizona. I figure it at no more than fifty miles."
"There be more water in Arizona?" Ramon asked.
"More rivers," said Gil. "The San Simon flows almost along the border between New Mexico and Arizona. West of there, maybe fifty miles, well cross the San Pedro, and beyond that, I'd say twenty-five miles, is Cienega Creek."
"How'd a creek git in there?" Long John asked. "Thought they wasn't countin' nothin' but rivers."
"I don't know," said Gil, "but it's on here as a creek. Just a few miles east of Tucson."
"There is a town?" Rosa asked.
"Mining town, I expect," said Gil. "There's been some silver strikes in that part of the territory. If we continue the way we're headed, we'll go within hollerin' distance of Tucson."
"If it's a mining town," said Van. "they should have money. Why don't we sell 'em a few steers? We still have forty-one hundred."
"We'll stop there," Gil said, "and ask about the country ahead. I'd not object to selling them some beef, if they don't want too much. Our best market is still the goldfields, but it might be to our advantage not to reach California broke. We'll be mighty low on grub by then, and I don't aim to be pushed into selling the herd until we've made our best deal. It just might be worth our while to sell a few head in Tucson, if the price is right."
"Many horse need shoe," said Estanzio. "Need stop, fix."
"Good Lord, yes," Van said. "All our horses are overdue, and we have only enough, shoes to reshoe them all once. We purely can't make it from Tucson to the gold-fields without extra shoes. That's reason enough to sell some beef. We'll almost have to."
"Mebbe there be no shoes to buy," said Vicente Gomez.
"It be mining town," said Juan Padillo, "there be horses."
"Mules," said Long John. "Hosses ain't wuth a damn in a minin' camp, 'cept fer ridin'. Silver minm', that's mule work."
"We're wasting time talking about it," said Gil. "We'll just have to see what we can or can't do, once we get there. Right now, we need a first and second watch for the night."
Gil and Rosa were on the second watch, and for a change they weren't at odds with one another.
"If there is no sale of beef at Tucson," said Rosa, "I have the gold. It is almost for certain the horses will have to be shod again before we reach the goldfields."
"I know that," said Gil. "But for the extra weight, I'd have brought more shoes."
"Why did you not bring a wagon?"
"Two good reasons," said Gil. "First, we had plenty of horses, no money, and the wagon yard don't sell on credit. Second, I didn't know how rough the country would be, or if a wagon could even make the journey. You've ridden the trail all the way from Bandera; how would you have gotten a wagon over some of the rough country we've had to cross?"
"I suppose it would have been difficult."
"Difficult, hell," said Gil. "Impossible."
"I have the gold, then, if you need it."
"Keep it," said Gil, "and keep quiet about it. Bern' a mining town, you can count on Tucson havin' outlaws. The very last thing you want to do is go flashing a fifty-dollar gold piece."
* * *
Mariposa and Estanzio rode out at first light, again seeking water.
"If that map's right," said Van, "and we're fifty miles out of Arizona, we may have to g
o all the way to the San Simon tomorrow, before we reach water."
"We'll make our fifteen miles today," said Gil, "and see what Mariposa and Estanzio come up with for tomorrow."
Gil had the herd moving at first light, and again the riders pushed the longhorns hard. When Mariposa and Estanzio had not returned at noon, it looked like bad news for the next day. The longer the Indian riders were gone, the farther they'd had to ride for water. It was well into the afternoon when Mariposa and Estanzio returned.
"Find river," said Estanzio. "It be far, much miles."
There it was. The San Simon was thirty, perhaps thirty-five, miles west, a near impossible one-day drive. But what choice did they have? After their twenty miles the day before, the fifteen they must travel this day seemed short. They pushed on, reaching the small stream before sundown. They had barely finished supper when Mariposa pointed to the west.
"Riders come," said the Indian.
There were two of them, and their horses were heaving, totally spent. The men wore range clothes and sweat-stained flop hats. They were Mexican, and so much alike that Gil immediately suspected they were brothers. But what set this pair apart was their bus-cadera gun rigs. On a frontier where most men were armed with one pistol and maybe an extra cylinder, these hombres wore a tied-down pistol on each hip. The lead rider had a lawman's star pinned to the left pocket of his shirt, and it was he who spoke.
"I am Neomo Zouave," he said, "and this is Alfredo, my deputy. We are in pursuit of robbers who murdered a man in Tucson, and we are in need of fresh horses."
While the man wore a badge, nothing he had said rang true. No frontiersman—especially a lawman—rode his horse to death. Not only had these horses been ridden to exhaustion, they had been stolen and mounted hurriedly, for the stirrups needed letting down. Gil cut his eyes to Estanzio, and while the Indian said nothing, his expression said much. He and Mariposa had just returned from a thirty-mile westward ride, and they had seen no riders and no tracks. If anybody was running from the law, it was this pair of Mexican gun throwers. Gil had his thumb hooked in his belt, just above the butt of his Colt. Coldly, deliberately, he spoke to the Mexican wearing the star.
"Whatever these robbers did in Tucson," he said, "I think they also bushwhacked a sheriff and his deputy along the trail. Now, just usin' a thumb and finger, you coyotes lift your pistols free and let 'em drop."
Both men went for their guns. Gil shot Neomo twice before he cleared leather. Three other riders cut down Alfredo. The pair sprawled backward over the rumps of their horses and slid to the ground. Disregarding the fallen riders, Ramon and Van began unsaddling the exhausted horses. They would be given a little water when they were able to handle it.
"Drag this pair of rattlers away from camp," said Gil, "and take them far enough so the smell can't spook our horses or the longhorns. I won't be much surprised if we find some real lawmen—dead ones—between here and Tucson. Once we get there, we can let the town know these coyotes didn't escape."
While the sun lost none of the splendor of its departure, it set red beyond a massive bank of gray clouds.
"Rain come," said Mariposa. "Mariana."
* * *
First light came with a haze of clouds lessening the usual bite of the sun, and Gil viewed that as a mixed blessing. Without the sun burning down, they could push the herd harder, longer. On the other hand, a wind from the west, with a cooling breath of rain, could drive the longhorns crazy. They would run till hell wouldn't have it, without regard for canyon rims or other dangers.
"Rain come late," said Ramon. "We push lak hell all day."
Gil, expecting a hard day, had kept Mariposa and Es-tanzio with the herd. Once they reached the San Simon, the map accounted for water for the next several days. They'd been on the trail about four hours when they saw the buzzards. They circled lazily in the gray western sky, harbingers of death.
"Come on, Mariposa," said Gil. "I reckon I know what they're after."
The two men had been shot down from ambush, and it was a grisly scene. Going through their pockets, Gil identified them as the sheriff and a deputy. He took their wallets and a few other personal belongings, which he would take to Tucson. There was no sign of the outlaws' horses. Apparently they had recovered sufficiently to wander away, perhaps back to Tucson. Having no tools for digging, Gil did the best he could. He and Mariposa carried the bodies to a small coulee and managed to cover them by caving in the sandy banks. It wasn't much of a grave, but it would protect the remains from the buzzards and coyotes. On the brutal frontier, many a man's mortal remains were left at the mercy of predators and the elements. Having done their duty as best they could, Gil and Mariposa returned to the trail drive.
"They're trailin' great," said Van. "Without the sun, they'll trot. Like Ramon says, we got to just run the hell out of them, and get as far as we can before the rain comes."
By late afternoon they knew there was going to be more than rain. While the sun withheld its fury, there was no wind. The flanks of the horses and longhorns were dark with sweat, and every rider's shirt was soaked. With no wind to carry it away, dust hung in the air like smoke, seeping through their bandannas to nose and mouth, becoming instant mud when it touched a rider's bare skin. Lightning danced across the western horizon, and thunder grumbled its accompaniment. The long-horns began bawling, as if sensing the coming of the storm. That was a bad sign. It seemed they were preparing themselves, and at the peak of some unknown but anticipated fury, they would run. They could stampede toward water, or they could flee from thunder and lightning, running back the way they had come. While there were no deep canyons between here and the San Simon, Mariposa and Estanzio had reported rough, broken land. If they were going to run, a stampede toward water would favor the riders. Gil rode back to the drag, taking Ramon with him. Rosa, Vicente, Juan Padillo, Bo, and Long John were already there.
"If they run toward water," said Gil, "we'll come out of this all right. But if they run from the storm, it's goin' to be hell with the lid off. If we can, we'll head them, but if you see they're goin' to overrun us, ride for your lives. Don't risk yourself or your horse."
"This bunch ain't thirsty enough't' run fer water," said Long John.
"You'd better hope they are," said Gil. "We've got a good twenty miles behind us. If they get spooked and backtrack, we'll have to make that twenty miles all over again."
"Mebbe they be too tired," said Juan Padillo.
"Maybe," said Gil, "but if they are, it'll be the first time in the history of the world. Shake the ground with enough thunder, blind 'em with lots of lightning, and they'd run with four busted legs."
It soon became obvious that although they would eventually get some rain, the thunder and lightning would reach them first. The thunder escalated into an almost continuous roll, and while the lightning flamed blue, green, and gold, it wasn't striking. But when it finally did, it came at the worst possible time and place. A hundred yards ahead of the horse remuda and the lead steers stood an old dead pine. Lightning struck, traveling the length of the tree, turning its resinous corpse into a flaming, sixty-foot torch. The horse remuda was nearest this fiery apparition, and the best efforts of Mariposa and Estanzio were in vain. The horses wheeled, nickering their fear, and broke into a fast gallop. The horses, running headlong toward the lead steers, would have been enough, but the leaders could see the flaming pine for themselves. The herd being bunched, the longhorns couldn't just turn and run, so they did the next worst thing. The herd split. Roughly half the lead steers took a horseshoe turn to the left, while the rest of the leaders took a similar turn to the right. The rest of the herd split behind the leaders, and the horse remuda, running hell-for-leather, split in the same manner. The flank riders didn't stand a chance, and had to run for their lives. Gil and the drag riders were safe enough. The longhorns were running away toward the west, and by the time they doubled back to the east, they had separated into two columns. Gil had never seen anything quite like it. While the hor
se remuda and longhorns all thundered back toward the east. it was actually two stampedes. Ironically, before the sound of the stampedes had died, the thunder and lightning began to diminish. The wind rose, coming out of the southwest, bringing with it a cooling rain.
"Wal," said Long John, "they's one thing fer shore. We ain't goin' f make camp on the San Simon't'night."
"Mebbe not tomorrow night also," Juan Padillo added.
"Perhaps we will just remain here forever," said Rosa, "hunting stampeded cows and horses."
"Anybody wantin' to say the hell with it and ride back to Texas, light out," said Gil. "Me, I'm ridin' after the herd."
Gil's sense of humor had slipped again. He rode oui, and the others followed, grinning at one another. They soon began finding bunches of longhorns and horses. Soon as they had turned away from the flaming, lightning-struck tree, the herd had slowed, stopped, and begun to graze.
"Well," said Van, "we didn't make it to the river, but when we take the trail tomorrow, it won't be with a thirsty herd. That is, if this bunch is smart enough to drink from puddles."
"We've got a while before dark," said Gil. "Let's start gettin' these brutes back together. Once the rain lets up, these puddles won't last. Then we'll still be stuck with a thirsty herd, fifteen miles from water."
But some of the stubborn longhorns chose to remain where they were, and no sooner had they been driven in with the slowly growing gather, when they became bunch quitters. It was during a mad chase after one of these brutes that Ramon's horse threw a left rear shoe. Within minutes Gil's horse threw a right front shoe, and threw Gil. He came down flat on his back in a depression half full of muddy water.
"I went't' the circus oncet," said Long John, "an" I never seen nothin" half as good as that."
The other riders had tried not to laugh, but Long John spoiled their act. Everybody howled. Gil got up, killing mad at first, but forced to see the humor in the situation.
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