California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  "Many horse need shoe," said Mariposa.

  "Tomorrow, then," said Gil, "we'll replace the shoes of those most in need of it, and we'll see to all the others once we reach Tucson. A thrown shoe can cripple a horse, as well as the rider."

  * * *

  By the time it was light enough to see, Gil had every rider in the saddle, rounding up the horse remuda and the scattered longhorns. Once the horses had been gathered, he withdrew Mariposa and Estanzio from the roundup.

  "Check out every horse.;" said Gil, "and those in dan-ger of throwing a shoe, see that they're reshod before we leave here. But unless they're just about barefooted and in real need, let's try to held off until we reach Tucson."

  * * *

  The sun rose in a clear sky, determined to compensate for its absence the day before. Every drop of standing water was swallowed up, and the last night's rain might never have fallen. Mariposa and Estanzio found ail of the horses needing new shoes, but only nine seemed in immediate danger of throwing a shoe. Those and the horses Ramon and Gil had ridden the day before, would be reshod. The others could wait until they reached Tucson, or at least a camp where there was water. The gather was going far better than Gil expected, and he was elated.

  "Better when cows run from storm than run to water," said Ramon.

  "That's gospel," said Van. "When they're dry and smell water, they'll run till they find it, if it's twenty miles. When the storm lets up, a storm scare wears off quick. This storm caused 'em to run, but it done us a favor. Thanks to the rain, there was water most of the night."

  "Reckon I'd be ongrateful," said Long John, "was I't' say that won't do us no good't'night."

  "Ungrateful," said Gil, "but truthful."

  "There be moon," said Pedro Fagana. "Mebbe go at night."

  "Rough lak hell," said Estanzio, shaking his head.

  "I've been over this with Mariposa and Estanzio," said Gil, "and I'm convinced we don't want to take a herd through such country at night. There is broken land, drop-offs, and rock slides. Cow or horse could break a leg in the dark. From here to the San Simon, and probably through all of Arizona, I think we'll need a point rider far enough ahead of the herd to warn us as to change of direction. There may be some deep canyons ahead of us, and one good, hell-for-leather stampede could ruin us. Not only are we unable to travel at night, we'll have to be especially watchful in the daylight."

  Try as they might, the horses and longhorns could not be gathered in time to salvage any of the daylight hours, and they were stuck in a dry camp for the night. Mariposa and Estanzio had replaced one or more shoes on eleven horses. As usual, Gil split the outfit into two watches for the night. After a day in the hot sun, thirst had caught up with the longhorns. Restless, they milled aimlessly about, bawling and hooking at one another in their frustration. When Gil and the second watch took over at midnight, the brutes still hadn't settled down.

  "If they wander around all night," said Rosa, "tomorrow they will be too tired to run."

  "Haw, haw," Long John cackled, "the cow ain't been borned that was too tired't' run."

  "I'd have to agree," said Gil, "but there's one thing in our favor. Sometime before dawn there'll be dew fall, and it'll wet the grass enough to take the edge off their thirst. But give 'em two hours in the morning sun, and they'll be thirsty as ever, and cantankerous as sore-tailed grizzlies."

  "Meanin' they ain't goin''t' take kindly't' bein' drove hard," said Long John.

  "They won't like it," said Gil, "but they'll take it. I promise you, we'll reach the San Simon tomorrow, if every cow in this bunch ends up with a black-and-blue backside. Now let's get out there and swing those lariats, and show 'em what hard driving really is."

  * * *

  There was no water for coffee, so the outfit made do with a breakfast of jerked beef. Before it was good daylight, Gil had the herd on the trail, pushing them hard. The dew-wet grass had settled the ionghorns down, and Gil thought they'd travel well for maybe two hours. By then the sun would be well on its way to sucking the last drop of moisture out of man and beast. The next water —the San Simon River—was more than fifteen miles away. Gil wanted to see for himself what the broken country was like, since there was a possibility they'd be facing it most of the way across Arizona. Mariposa and Estanzio would remain with the herd until they reached the San Simon. That would be soon enough to scout ahead for the next water. Gil soon understood the caution of his Indian riders. There were gullies whose banks weren't steep but were shale, shifting beneath his horse's hooves. Gil had to find a way around such obstacles and then get back to the herd in time to turn them. He had to grin at Rosa's suggestion that he should have brought a wagon. He doubted a man would live enough years to get a wagon through such desolate, broken country as this.

  By the time the sun was noon high the longhorns had given a whole new meaning to the term "ornery." While they had no assurance there was water ahead, their bovine memories reminded them of water they had left behind. How far it was didn't matter. They knew it was there, and every steer in the bunch was hell-bent on returning to it. Bunch quitters became so numerous that riders were forced to desert the main herd entirely, chasing those who had broken away and hightailed it down the back trail. Rosa had pursued one big steer who had decided to simply gore her and her horse. In a dangerous move that would have made Gil furious, Rosa swung her doubled lariat hard, laying it full force across the steer's tender muzzle. Only then did he wheel and run bawling back to the herd.

  Gil found Mariposa and Estanzio had distanced the horse remuda considerably ahead of the longhorns. It was a smart move, preventing the horses from picking up on the skittishness of the longhorns. While the big Texas steers were unruly, they could be handled. The test would come in late afternoon. For now, there was no wind, but later there might be. A treacherous wind out of the west, bringing with it the maddening promise of water…

  Chapter 10

  The graze in southern New Mexico had been exceptionally good, consisting of blue grama or buffalo grass, and sometimes a mix of the two. There was juniper, pinion pine, and an occasional ponderosa. Gil continued to push the herd as hard as he dared. Theirs was a race with the westering sun, and for all their efforts, the sun was winning. It was Van who mentioned something Gil had thought of a time or two.

  "Sometimes." Van said, "I wonder if we didn't lean too heavy on the map Big Foot Wallace got for us. We could have crossed the Rio south of E! Paso, and kind of straddled the line between the United States and Mexico all the way to southern California."

  "I thought you'd had a bellyful of Mexico," said Gil.

  "I have," said Van, "but I can't help wonderin' if that would have made any difference in the water situation."

  "Except for springs and occasional water holes, how could it? Mexico's rivers and creeks flow into the Gulf of Mexico to the east, or into the Gulf of California to the west. I think if we were too near or below the border, we'd only increase our chances of being ambushed by Mexican bandits."

  In the late afternoon, riding ahead of the horse re-muda., Fstanzi8o and Marinpsa flushed some javelina.

  They shot two of the wild pigs, wrapped them in a piece of tarp, and lashed them to one of the extra horses.

  While the thirsty longhorns plodded on, they slowed continually, bawling their objections when prodded to a faster pace. There was an interval, between sundown and dark, when nature made her own decision. Would there or would there not be wind, and if there was, from which of the four corners would it come? In the western territories it often came from the west or the southwest, and this day was no exception. It was a west wind so gentle, it might have gone unnoticed had it not been for a hint of moisture.

  "This is it," shouted Gil. "They're gonna run!" And run they did! Estanzio and Mariposa fought to control the horse remuda, but it had no effect on the longhorns. The herd split, running on both sides of the remuda, taking some of the horses with them. Gil, Van, Ramon, and Long John tried in vain to get ahead of th
e longhorns. As it became a lost cause, the riders fell back, helping Mariposa and Estanzio hold the rest of the remuda.

  "Now," shouted Gil, "let's move 'em ahead!" It began orderly enough, but the horses had scented water and were in no mood to lag. They charged ahead and soon were in a mad gallop, defying all attempts to slow them. Mariposa and Estanzio, followed by the rest of the riders, went after the packhorses. At least they would avoid having their grub and supplies scattered from hell to breakfast. Before the riders reached the scene, the frantic bawling of longhorns told them there was trouble ahead. Three of the brutes had lost their footing in a shale slide and had tumbled into a gulley. One had died with a broken neck, while the others suffered broken legs. Gil shot the two injured animals, and they rode on, every man silently hoping they wouldn't find any of the horses in a similar condition. Miraculously, they reached the river without finding any more injured or dead animals. "We're lucky to have lost only three steers." said Gil.

  Had we been any farther from the river, we might have lost a lot more, and some of the horses too."

  Having watered, the rest of the horses and longhorns began to graze.

  "Still a little while before dark," said Van. "Some of us ought to ride back and save some of that beef. I can't see lettin' the coyotes and buzzards have it all."

  "Good thinking," said Gil. "Take a couple of men and save what you can."

  Van rode out, taking Vicente and Pedro with him. The others unloaded the packhorses and went about setting up the camp.

  "Kin we have a cook fire't'night?" Long John asked. "We got them two wild pigs an' all that beef, an' I'm hongry enough't' eat the lot of it."

  "Yes," said Gil, "I think we'll risk a fire, but conceal it as best you can. I'd as soon not have any visitors."

  It was a celebration of sorts, the trail drive reaching the San Simon. Exhausted as they all were, they stuffed themselves with fresh beef and pork, washing it down with plenty of strong, black coffee. As usual, Gil divided the night into two watches, but they were not disturbed. There was nothing more sinister than the yipping of coyotes. They had discovered the remains of the three steers and were spreading the news.

  "It purely gripes me," said Van, "to bring 'em this far and then end up feedin' 'em to coyotes."

  "Do not dwell on what you have lost," said Rosa, "but on all that you have left. And did you not have fresh steak for supper?"

  "The most expensive damn steak a man ever laid tongue to," said Van.

  "Ye git tired of steak," said Long John, "me an' Bo can always git us another deer."

  "I'm satisfied," said Gil. "Like Rosa put it, let's not complain about the three we lost, but be thankful for the many we didn't lose. Remember how hopeless it all seemed, us racing with the sun, trying to reach water before dark? Well, we lost in one respect, but won big in another. The ground we covered in the daylight was ground that was behind us, when the herd stampeded, We were close enough to the river that the run was short. In a way, a trail drive is like a high stakes pokei game, and sometimes the only way you can win is to cut your losses."

  As though in applause, the coyote chorus chimed in. and they all had to laugh at the irony. Later, when they were into the second watch, Gil had a surprise awaiting him.

  "Tonight," Rosa told him, "I was proud of what you said. You spoke like a man."

  "It's not a thing I customarily do, then," he said.

  "No," she replied. "In the ways you most needed to, you are growing up."

  She was less than half his age, telling him he needed to grow up! He laughed, and the suddenness of it startled his horse. When he spoke, it was with none of the anger she had half expected.

  "Maybe I took your advice," said Gil, "and done some thinkin' on the little we lost, compared to all that we might have lost. I reckon it ain't the nature of a cattleman to think that way."

  "Remember that day in Mexico, after my madre and padre were murdered? When you found me, I was stark naked. Have you ever wondered why?"

  "No," he said. "You were doin' your damnedest to shove a pitchfork into my gut, and that kind of took my mind off everything else."

  "My madre had washed the only dress I owned, and it had not had time to dry. So when it comes to being thankful for what I have, instead of crying for what I do not have, or have lost, it is a lesson I learned early. You have not been so fortunate."

  She was young in years, but in the ways that mattered, older than time. So profound were her words, he could think of nothing to say, and they rode on in silence.

  * * *

  May 7, 1850. San Simon River, Arizona Territory

  Gil spoke to the outfit before breakfast.

  "I think we'll take a day of rest here. Accordin' to this government map, the next river is the San Pedro, and it's a good fifty miles. There has to be water between here and there, even if it's only a spring, but I don't aim to go chargin' out of here until I know how far it is to the next water. So we'll spend today cookin' and preserving some of this extra meat, while Mariposa and Estanzio ride ahead. From here on, we'll have to concern ourselves with more than just water. I want to know where the potential danger lies—the drop-offs, the canyons, and how we are to get around them."

  Mariposa and Estanzio were less than an hour out of camp when they reined up in a stand of pinion. Six riders passed, and there was no way they could miss the trail drive on the San Simon. Mariposa looked at his companion, and Estanzio shook his head.

  "Town hombres," said Estanzio. "Hunt lawmen."

  It would not be necessary for them to warn the camp, and when the party was out of sight, Estanzio and Mariposa rode west. This land—Arizona—seemed as strange to them as anything they had seen since leaving Mexico. Amid creosote bushes and greasewood, there was mesquite, pinion, and oak. Except for scattered sagebrush, one entire slope was dominated by giant cacti. These were multiarmed saguaros, most of them standing taller than a man on a horse. The Indians rode on in silent wonder. Cacti they had seen before, but nothing like these.

  * * *

  When the six riders reined up, Gil was waiting to greet them. But he wasn't alone. Van, Ramon, Bo, Long John, and some of the other riders were ready if they were needed.

  "Step down," said Gil, "if you're of a mind to."

  All the men wore Colts, and several carried rifles in saddle boots. But they didn't have the look or the sweat of working cowboys, and from their dress, Gil decided they were town men. A tall, thin-faced man, apparently the leader, spoke.

  "I'm Vento Henneagar," he said, "and we're from Tucson. Our sheriff and his deputy lit out after a pair of greaser killers. One way or't'other, it's time our boys was comin' back, if they're comin'."

  "They won't be comin'," said Gil. "We buried them. I have some of their personal things in my saddlebag."

  He removed from his saddlebag a pair of small leather pokes, which he passed to Henneagar. The tall man opened each, looked at the contents, and passed them to the other men. He then turned his attention back to Gil.

  "This pair of Mex gun throwers rode in at sundown," said Gil. "Two-gun men. Neomo Zouave and a gent called Alfredo, which I'd guess was his brother. These coyotes had rode their horses to death, and tried to use a lawman's star to wrangle fresh horses from us. When I challenged them, they drew on me, and we salted 'em down. Next morning we found your men and buried them. They'd been ambushed, shot in the back."

  "We're obliged," said Henneagar. "I'd pin a medal or. you, if I had one. It's a pleasure to meet up with an outfit that knows what to do with thievin', back-shootirr killers, Texans?"

  "Texans," said Gil. "While you gents see to your horses, we'll put the coffeepot on the fire. We have fresh beef, and wild pig too."

  Despite the grim news Gil had for the men from Tucson, they remained for a meal and passed on some valuable information about the trail ahead, and about the town of Tucson. Henneagar's brother owned the livery. He also sold horses, mules, and when he could get them, cattle. There was a smithy who could su
pply horseshoes, and a pair of general stores to see to their other needs.

  "You're maybe seventy miles from Cienega Creek." said Henneagar, "and from there, maybe twenty miles from Tucson. True, you'll have a fifty-mile run to the San Pedro, but there's springs in between. Just come on, and I'll spread the word there's beef on the way."

  Two hours after the riders from Tucson had departed, Mariposa and Estanzio returned.

  "Did you see the men from Tucson?" Gil asked.

  "We see them, they no see us," said Estanzio.

  "They say we'll find water twice between here and the San Pedro River."

  "Find spring," said Mariposa. "Mebbe not twenty mile."

  "That's good news," said Gil, "For the next four days, the very worst we can expect is twenty miles."

  "I wish we'd asked those gents from Tucson about the Indian situation," said Van. "This is Apache country."

  Gil turned to Mariposa and Estanzio.

  "No Injun sign," said Mariposa. "No Injun pony track."

  "All Apaches ain't bloodthirsty killers," said Long John. "Find ye a tribe what ain't a fanatical bunch o' war whoops, an' they ain't any better scouts in the world. Apaches is notorious fer not gettin' along wi' one another. Tribes has been knowed to join whites, fightin' other tribes."

  "You know all about Apaches, Long John?" Ramon asked.

  "Wal, not all," said Long John, "but I know they's some good'uns an' some bad'uns. Me'n some other jaybirds was trapped by Apaches oncet. We was total surrounded, down't' our las' two er three loads."

  "And they spared you?" Ramon asked.

  "Wal, no," said Long John, with a straight face and a twinkle in his eyes. "Turned out't' be a bad bunch, an' they scalped ever' damn one o' us."

  Everybody laughed, including Ramon. The vaqueros still didn't fully understand Long John's macabre sense of humor, and still fell victim to it. In the afternoon, Bo and Long John rode off up the San Simon a ways to try their luck fishing. To their own delight, and everybody else's surprise, they came back with enough trout for supper. After they had eaten, Gil got out his logbook.