California Trail

by Ralph Compton

  "Have you told him that?"

  "No," said Rosa, "but I will, and knowing him, I will do it before the sunrise tomorrow."

  * * *

  The outfit was into their third day with virtually no sleep, so Gil made no demands on them for the rest of the day. After some jerked beef to satisfy their hunger, Van and Rosa slept for a while. Long John was awake, sweating and hung over. Mariposa and Estanzio spent the afternoon making moccasins for Van and Rosa from a deer hide. Two hours before sundown, Van and Rosa were up and about.

  "If you will start the fire," said Rosa, "I will begin the supper."

  "I ain't et since ye left," Long John joked. "Cain't nobody else in the outfit cook wuth a damn."

  Van got the fire going, and they finished supper well before dark. Gil had said little, speaking only when he had to. When it came time to assign the watches for the night, he would have to. Whatever mood Gil was in, he never ceased to be cautious, nor did he underestimate an enemy. Even with the Apaches thirty miles away and afoot, the outfit would stand watch as usual. Gil asked for first-watch volunteers, and those who were left were considered the second watch. Van usually took the first watch, and he did tonight. Rosa said nothing, and Gil's eyes paused briefly on her. Was he expecting her to take the first watch, to avoid him? Now he knew she had no intention of avoiding him; and they both knew a storm was building, and that before the morning lightning would strike.

  They were well into the second watch before Gil said anything, and his first overture was milder than Rosa had expected. "You didn't have to stand watch tonight," he said. "We could have managed without you."

  "It was I who insisted on being part of this drive," said Rosa, "and I will do my share."

  "Today," said Gil, "I… I…"

  "Today you were jealous," said Rosa, "and you made an asno of yourself."

  "Well, what the hell did you expect?"

  "No more than I got." said Rosa shortly.

  "But you told me nothing about—"

  "Nor will I," said Rosa, "because you are expecting me to prove myself, to confirm my innocence. I have but one thing to say to you. Your brother has grown up in ways that you have not. Dorinda is a fortunate woman."

  "Thanks," said Gil, with all the sarcasm he could muster. "Did you make those decisions before or after you looked at his naked carcass?"

  "Only a man judges other men by what his eyes can see," said Rosa. "A woman sees with her heart first, and then with her eyes. Van is a man on the inside, as weli as the outside."

  "I reckon that means I ain't, then."

  "I reckon it does," said Rosa. "After you returned with the horses and came stomping after Van and me, did you ask how we were, or if we had been hurt? No, you spoke down to us, like we were a sinful Adam and Eve, and you the Almighty. You are not the man I knew on Handera Range, who looked at me with compassion and read his Bible. You have come to treat me as one of your possessions, like your horses, your cows, and your land."

  "Are you workin' your way around to tellin' me I should have said to hell with the horse remuda and come lookin' for you?"

  "No," said Rosa, "I understood the need for the horses, and I did not fault you for going after them. I fault you for treating Van as though he took your toy when you weren't looking, and for you looking at me as though I already had my ears cropped and your brand burnt on my backside."

  "Are you done preaching?"

  "No," said Rosa.

  "Well, that's just too damn bad," Gil shouted, "because I aim to have my say. I know the pair of you didn't aim to get captured and stripped by the Apaches just so you could spend the night jaybird naked. But the two of you seemed mighty familiar with one another when I found you below the spring, and it's askin' an almighty lot of a man to believe that nothin' serious went on durin' the night. All I'm askin' is that you tell me nothin7 did."

  "I don't intend to tell you any such thing," said Rosa bitterly. "You may think what you wish, and I will not speak to you again tonight."

  That's how they left it, each knowing it was far from finished.

  * * *

  Come first light, the first thing Gil did was talk to Long John, and the Cajun vowed he could and would ride. Gil took him at his word, and his wound was bound securely. Besides recovering their own horses, the outfit had acquired about fifty Indian horses. Gil seemed in a surly mood, so Rosa asked Ramon about the Indian mounts.

  "We take them to Tucson, I think," said Ramon.

  "I wish Gil wouid just turn them loose," Rosa said.

  "The Apaches have had most of yesterday and all night last night, and they know the direction we are going. Even afoot, they could be somewhere ahead of us."

  "Gil think of that," Ramon said. "Mariposa and Estanzio scout ahead for water. They watch for Injuns too."

  Rosa, Long John, and Bo rode drag. Juan Padillo had joined Gil and Ramon to help handle the increase in the horse remuda. The horses were kept at a faster than usual gait, and the longhorns had to be pushed to keep up. When the herd was moving, and there seemed to be no bunch quitters, Van rode from the flank back to drag, where he could talk to Rosa.

  "We all heard him pawin' the ground last night," said Van. "If the wind had been right, I expect the Apaches could have heard him too. He thinkin' we got ourselves captured and stripped so we could spend the night naked in the woods?"

  "He knows it was not something we planned," said Rosa, "but he is not sure we did not yield to temptation after our escape. He only wants me to assure him that what he fears might have happened did not."

  "So you didn't tell him what he wanted to hear."

  "No, and I will not. He is a selfish asno who is never wrong, who must have everything his way. He is too stubborn to admit he is at fault, even when he knows better. I am tempted to confirm the lie he is trying to force me to deny, to tell him we spent the night doing that of which he accuses us. But then there would be trouble between you and him, and I cannot become the cause of that."

  "Leave him be," said Van, "and when he can think of some way to back off without seemin' to, he'll leave us alone. It's still a long ways to the goldfields."

  "If there is no change in him, Van, if he still does not trust me out of his sight, I will not be returning to Bandera Range. I will remain there in California, and if there is nothing else for me, I will take in washing."

  Gil picked that particular time to ride back to the drag, supposedly to talk to Long John, but his eyes were on Van and Rosa. Without a word to either of them, he turned his horse and rode back to join Juan Padillo and Ramon.

  Chapter 15

  May 13, 1850. Four days east of Tucson, Arizona Territory

  Mariposa and Estanzio had ridden about fifteen miles when they found the second spring. It was larger than the one the trail drive had just left. While there was no Indian sign near the spring, the duo had not forgotten the surprise attack by the Apaches at the last camp. In a widening circle, they rode south, then west, and returned to the spring from the north. When they were satisfied the area was safe, they rode back to meet the drive.

  "Fifteen-mile drive." said Juan Padillo. "I think we make it."

  "We'll have to," said Gil, "because we have another one tomorrow. That's how far we are from this next spring to the San Pedro River. From there, we'll be forty miles from Tucson, Cienega Creek bein' the only sure water in between. That means two twenty-mile days, back to back."

  "Make horse, cow run," said Mariposa.

  "Better that than dry camp," said Ramon.

  Nobody argued with that. Twelve miles was considered a good day's drive. Fifteen was possible, but anything beyond that was so rare as to be unheard of. Yet

  Gil and his outfit had done the impossible a time or two, and not a man doubted they could do it again. It meant driving the longhorns at a faster than normal pace, and constant vigilance on the part of every rider to avoid straggling and bunch quitting. It was hard on the horses, hard on the riders, and hard on the longhorns, but when the
alternative was a dry camp, it was worth any sacrifice. The weather had been mostly dry and hot, but that was about to change. By afternoon the western sky had become a smoky gray, darkening as the day wore on. Two hours before the sun would say good night to the prairie, it hid its face behind rising thunderheads and painted the western sky with shades of pale rose to vivid crimson.

  There was no wind, and even with the sun behind a cloud bank, it seemed oppressively hot. When they had a chance, the riders fanned themselves with their hats. Sweat dripped off their chins and noses, burned their eyes, and dust became instant mud as it touched bare skin and sweat-soaked shirts. The longhorns had been run hard, and as they grew tired and thirsty, they became cantankerous. There wasn't a moment's respite for any rider, as they fought to keep the herd bunched and moving.

  "Don't let 'em slack off," Gil shouted. "Don't let the brutes see daylight between themselves and the backside of the steer ahead!"

  It was good advice. The ranks must be closed and kept closed, so that no matter where a steer looked, he saw only the rumps and horns of his companions. Thirst, a memory of yesterday's water, and "daylight" within the ranks made any steer a potential bunch quitter. And there were always some followers. To a lesser degree it was a stampede, one steer bolting and others attempting to follow. Gil rode ahead and caught up with the horses. Since the herd had been greatly increased, Juan Padillo had joined Mariposa and Estanzio, but the horses hadn't yet become unruly. Estanzio pointed toward the red glow of the westering sun.

  "Mebbe hail," he said,

  Gil wasn't sure whether the Indian had predicted "hail" or "hell," and with the run of dry weather they'd been having, he wouldn't be surprised at a devastating combination of the two. If they could reach water in time, at least the herd wouldn't stampede at the first hint of rain. While there was some open plain, there was some sheltering forest, with stands of aspen, oak, maple, fir, and pine. If they did not reach water, and the storm came roaring out of the west, it might send an already thirsty herd running hell-for-leather back the way it had come. Less than an hour had passed when Mariposa rode back to confirm Estanzio's prediction.

  "Storm come," said Mariposa. '"Stones of water. Bring cow pronto. We wait."

  Gil galloped his horse along the flank and back to drag, warning the riders. With doubled lariats they swatted dusty flanks, and the longhorns bawled their weariness and frustration. Estanzio, Mariposa, and Juan Padillo had already secured the horse herd in a stand of oaks. Gil and Ramon led the longhorns for another quarter of a mile, taking shelter in a covering of oak and aspen. Gil wished the horses had been taken west of the longhorns, so if the steers stampeded, they might not take the horses with them, but it was too late for hindsight. Some of the longhorns stubbornly refused to be confined beneath the sheltering oaks and broke loose. They lit out west and ran headlong into a barrage of hailstones, some of them as large as eggs. The steers changed their minds and bolted back to the shelter of the trees. The hailstorm hit hard, littering the ground with leaves and small limbs. Some of the horses, some of the longhorns, and most of the riders were struck by the hailstones. Horses nickered and steers bawled, but they were confused. There was no thunder and no lightning, and there seemed no escape from the onslaught. While the longhorns milled and bawled, there was no spark to ignite a stampede. The hail gradually diminished, giving way to the rain. It became a steady down-pour, and while there eventually was thunder, it was subdued. Finally the rain fell faster than the thirst)1 earth could swallow it, and there was water for the horses and longhorns.

  "No matter if we reach spring now,' said Vicente.

  "It does matter," said Gil. "We have to make twenty miles tomorrow, and twenty more the day after, so that means we finish our fifteen today. Let's move 'em cut!"

  The rain remained steady, cooling the land, and Rosa shivered in her sodden clothes. The wind had risen, and with the rain, there was an almost uncomfortable chill. When they finally reached the spring, there was a pleasant surprise. While water pooled at the foot of a ridge, it came from higher up, tumbling down over rocks. There was a substantial runoff for the watering of the stock, and it ran deep, supplemented by the rain. Along the bast of the ridge down which the water cascaded was a rock overhang a dozen feet high and forty feet long. With the wind and the rain out of the west, there would be a dry place to cook, eat, and spread blankets.

  "Come on, Bo," said Van, "and let's find some pine knots and some dead fir and get a fire going. I got a wild hankering for some hot coffee."

  Ramon, Gil, Juan Fadillo, Long John, Vicente Gomez, and Juan Alamonte began unloading the packhorses. Rosa got the iron spider ready, and filled the two-gallon coffeepot with water. She filled a soft leather bag with coffee beans, crushing them with a stone. Van and Bo returned with some fir and some oak and the resinous heart of a long dead pine, with the knots still attached. They soon had a fire going, and the savory aroma of coffee Sifted their spirits.

  "I ain't got nothin' agin beans an' bacon," Long John said, "but oncet we git't' this Cienega Creek, mebbe me an' Bo can git us a mess o' fish."

  The rain let up just before midnight. Gil, Rosa, Pedro Fagano, Juan Padillo, Vicente Gomez, and Manuel Armijo had the second watch. Rosa had taken to riding the Indian pony on which she and Van had returned to camp, following their escape from the Apaches. The horse had scars on its face, evidence that it had seen little kindness in its life. Rosa had made friends with the animal partly out of sympathy and partly because her affection for it seemed to irk Gil. Estanzio had patiently trimmed the horse's hooves and had shod it for her. Gil didn't waste any time or pass up any opportunity to rag her about the horse. This night on watch, even after a hard day on the trail, was no exception.

  "Don't we have enough decent horses without you ridin' that scrubby, ugly Apache nag?"

  "He is no scrubbier or uglier than the rest of them," said Rosa shortly. "Since you find them so undesirable, why do we take them with us? Once we were far from the Apache camp, you should have set them free."

  "Ugly and scrubby or not," Gil said, "I reckon they'll bring a few dollars in Tucson, and I don't need any advice on how to handle Apaches."

  "Or on anything else," said Rosa.

  "You never back off, do you?"

  "Without cause, you spoke unkindly of my horse. He is an honest horse, and he trusts me, which is more than can be said for you."

  "All right, damn it," he growled, "maybe I was a mite hasty, when I… when I thought you and Van—"

  "Is that your Tejano asno way of admitting you were wrong?" she broke in.

  "Hell, no," he snapped, losing his temper. "I don't know that I was wrong, but I'm willin' to put that behind us and just forget it. But you can't seem to; you're hellbent on keepin' it a burr under your tail forever."

  "Madre de Dios." Rosa laughed. "You will forget, but you will not forgive. I do not believe you will do either. When I am old and dying, you will come to me and ask, 'Rosa, what did you and Van do while you were naked in the woods?' "

  "I try to make amends," he snarled, "and you laugh at me. By God, I won't get down on my knees."

  "I laugh so that I do not cry," said Rosa, "and I couldn't believe you if you were on your knees. As I have told you, a woman sees first with her heart, and what I see, I do not like."

  "Well, just put the rest of the cards on the table," he said, "and tell me what it is you see that you don't like."

  "I see a man who is not satisfied with his life," said Rosa. "Your brother has a wife and child. All you have —or had—was me, and your uncle Stephen's law books. You found no comfort in the books, and you have used my young years as an excuse for turning from me. You wanted me, but only as you might want any woman to satisfy your needs. That is why you left me in Texas. Foolishly, perhaps, I followed, and again you want me, but not in the way that I wish you to. While you need a market for cattle, that is not the real reason for this trail drive. What you seek is within yourself, and if you could not find it in Texas
, neither will you find it at the end of this California Trail."

  "You're dead right about one thing," he said grudgingly. "I wanted you, and I still do, but not in the way that you wish. You've tempted me, and when you left Bandera Range and joined the drive, you spoiled all my good intentions. I needed to be away from you for a while, to know if I felt more for you than just a need for what you were tempting me with."

  "That's why you have been so ugly and cruel to Van and me," said Rosa. "Had you been in Van's place after the two of us had been stripped by the Apaches, our night in the woods would have been different. You would have done the very thing you have accused Van of doing, wouldn't you?"

  He was silent for so long, she thought he wasn't going to answer, and when he finally spoke, she barely heard him.

  "Like Uncle Stephen used to say, a thief thinks we are all thieves, that everybody steals. Go ahead and laugh. I reckon I got it coming."

  "There is nothing to laugh about," said Rosa. "No more will I tempt you, and no longer will you be forced to ponder your feelings for me. When we have reached the end of this California Trail, if you do not want me, than I will not return to Texas with you. I will know your feelings in my heart, and when it is time for a decision, it will not be yours, but my own."

  * * *

  Gil had the herd on the trail when it was barely first light. While there would be no difficulty in finding Cienega Creek, it must be scouted for Indian sign. There were now so many horses, Gil left Mariposa and Estanzio with the horse herd and attended to the scouting himself. He left Ramon in charge of the cattle, with specific instructions.

  "Push them hard, Ramon, just like we did yesterday. We have to make a twenty-mile drive today, and we must make it all the way."

  Gil rode out, and while his eyes searched the country ahead, his mind was on Rosa and the line she'd drawn last night. He felt better, in a way, having cleared his conscience of the foolish things he'd said and done, but he was uneasy. The girl understood him better than he understood himself. Back at the Handera ranch, he believed he could have proven himself by taking her to bed. But the days and weeks on the trail had changed her, matured her, and her stern, unbending attitude last night had reminded him of Granny Austin. In his mind's eye he could see her yet, pausing in her Scripture reading to look at him sternly over the tops of her spectacles. While she could not have known his every thought, she had convinced him that she did. He was thirty-eight years old, he thought ruefully, and still having to answer to Granny Austin. As she had bent the twig, so had the tree grown. While he didn't even want to think of returning to Texas without Rosa, she would make the decision, and there seemed no way he could influence her. He made up his mind not to speak unkindly to her, or to force his thoughts or opinions on her. While that might not help his cause, it was a start.