by Gary Church
Jace rode out toward the wagon, trotting the horse. When he slowed it to a walk in some high grass, the horse reached back and tried to bite him. He slapped it on the nose with the end of the reins.
As he got within a hundred feet of the wagon, he saw Ruth, as always, in her sack-like dress and bonnet. She waved. He waved back, and as he approached the wagon, he eased the horse to a walk. Immediately, the horse began to whirl and buck. Caught completely off-guard, Jace went flying and hit the ground with a thump. He jumped up quickly, walked (or rather limped) a few feet, picked up his hat, and began to dust it off with his hand.
“If this ain’t embarrassing, I don’t know what is,” Jace said to himself. He looked up to see Ruth walking up to the horse, which stood not far away. “Careful, Ruth,” he warned, “he bites.”
Ignoring him, Ruth, talking softly to the horse, reached it and began to stroke its muzzle and neck. Jace watched, fearful the horse would bite her. Ruth, with a slow, smooth motion, took the reins in one hand, pulled up her skirts in the other, and before Jace could utter a word, mounted the Appaloosa.
Still talking to the horse, she walked it away from the wagon, and then Jace watched in total shock as she urged the horse into a gallop. A hundred yards out, she turned the horse and ran it back, stopping close to Jace, who stood transfixed. She slid off the horse and stroked its flanks and neck, still talking to it.
“It’s a beautiful horse. I hope you don’t mind my riding it. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden.”
“Sure thing. I think he enjoyed it,” said Jace, his voice filled with irritation. Either Ruth didn’t notice, or she chose to ignore him. “Anyways, I brought some venison.”
“We’ve started supper, but it will be great for tomorrow night. Can you stay for supper tonight? And you must come back tomorrow to share the venison.”
“I dunno,” said Jace grumpily. He was irritated at the horse, irritated with himself for getting thrown, and irritated at Ruth, although he wasn’t sure why.
Jace stayed for supper, and as they joined hands, Mrs. Covington offered a prayer. It occurred to Jace how different Ruth’s hand was from Elizabeth’s. Ruth’s seemed harder, but warmer, than Elizabeth’s, which he remembered clearly as being so very soft. A flood of memories almost made him cry. Oh, Elizabeth. Will I ever win you back?
He felt a tug and turned to see Ruth, staring at him, as she tried to free her hand.
“Sorry,” said Jace. “I was lost, uh, in prayer.”
As they ate, Jace remained uncharacteristically quiet. He had been perfectly comfortable with his sadness and longing for Elizabeth, and now he had been embarrassed twice by this round-faced, big-eyed woman in a sack dress and bonnet. She had seen the big bearded fellow punch him, sending him flying out of the wagon and out of action. Johnny hadn’t uttered a word about what happened in the wagon, until Jace pressed him, only to tell him how Ruth had taken out the big fellow with a skillet. Now that dang horse had made a fool of him right in front of her. The horse throwed him, and this, this girl had the audacity to mount the horse and ride it. He fumed. A huge knot, bigger than the one he had gotten on the back of his head, was protruding from his lower forehead.
Once again, supper finished, Mrs. Covington and the boys had retired to the wagon, leaving Jace and Ruth sitting alone.
Ruth asked, “Does your head hurt much?”
“No, it don’t,” said Jace. Then he asked, “Do you always wear that bonnet?”
Her eyes narrowing dangerously, Ruth said, “Do you always wear that hat?”
Jace didn’t know how to respond to that, so he pulled out the makings and began to build a cigarette. Finally, as the silence began to become uncomfortable, he asked, “What was you reading the other day?”
“The Scarlett Letter,” replied Ruth. “Can you read?”
“Why, of course I can read,” said Jace indignantly.
“So, what are you reading now?” asked Ruth.
“I ain’t got time to read—I’m on a trail drive,” Jace retorted.
“So, what was the last book you did read?” asked Ruth, refusing to be deterred.
“Uh, I guess that was probably, Bill Biddon, Trapper,” replied Jace.
“Is that one of those dime novels?” asked Ruth.
“Yeah, but I read other stuff,” said Jace, fearing another embarrassment.
Ruth leaned close to him. “I love dime novels, but Mama said they aren’t polite reading.”
Jace smiled from sheer relief.
TWENTY-FIVE
The drive moved every day as though it had a mind of its own. The days and nights ran together for the crew as they pressed north. It rained, and the trail turned into mud, and the wagons got stuck. Some days were downright hot, then at night, a blanket did little to keep a man warm, making for a long night. The food, always beans of one manner or another, along with bread, and beef or salt pork, and potatoes, was filling, but the cowboys yearned for some eggs or fish. Everybody wanted a drink, even a beer. The work was boring; the work was terrifying; but above all, the work was exhausting.
The only relief was found around the campfire at night when the weather was clear. Stories and singing, along with smokes and chew, were enjoyed by all, as they sipped Arbuckle’s. There was a camaraderie born of the shared misery. Those in the war were familiar with the feelings that came from shared hardships, but there was no talk of the war or any man’s part in it.
One day, as the herd approached the Cleburne settlement and the Brazos River, B.R., whose stomach had been giving him fits, rode into the bush. He was squatting there when a longhorn, startled by something, broke away and ran right over him. He was bruised from head to toe, but he didn’t miss a day of work.
Bee Mountain, such as mountains are in Texas, stood as a marker to keep the drive on the trail, or at least in the general area of what was considered the trail, and they pushed on toward Fort Worth.
Jace had appeared better for a while, but B.R. and Johnny could tell the melancholy had come back to him. Jace continued to check on the Covingtons every three or four days and helped move their wagon across rivers and out of mud holes, but he no longer accepted the supper invitations. Finally, Ruth and Mrs. Covington quit asking him, and he was glad.
He did give Ruth a dime novel. One of the cowboys had been reading it, and when Jace saw him finish, he asked to borrow it. The cowboy told him he could have it. He read it in two days and then gave it to Ruth, who gave him a conspiratorial wink with one of her big brown eyes. He didn’t return the wink. The woman was, he had decided, becoming fond of him, and he certainly didn’t need any female trying to make no claim on him.
One day, as they approached Fort Worth, he rode out to talk to Mrs. Covington and Ruth. He explained they would need to break off soon and head west toward Weatherford. Mrs. Covington thanked him for all he had done and told him, “God Bless.”
He wished her and the boys well and tipped his hat to Ruth. She looked at him and asked, “Are you going to win back your girl when you get back to San Antonio?”
“I sure am,” said Jace. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Well, good luck,” said Ruth, but there was no grimacing smile this time. “Thank you, Jace, for everything.” She reached up and squeezed his arm. He felt as though lightning had hit his arm, and it jolted him.
Jace touched his hat brim, turned his horse, and rode away, thinking how glad he was to be shut of this big-eyed, mouthy girl. There was no doubt she was taking to him. He thought of her squeezing his arm and the feeling it gave him. It was the shock of it, he told himself.
Three weeks to the day the lead rider had gotten the big old bull moving and started the drive, the same old bull could smell the Trinity River. Not far north, the Clear Fork and the West Fork merged and continued through Fort Worth.
Initially established as an army post in 1849, and abandoned by the army in 1853, civilians had taken over Fort Worth, but the effects of the Civil War and its aftermath
had resulted in a decline in the settlement. Christie instructed Johnny to push on through and settle the herd north of the small settlement.
The usual issues arose, but experience paid off, and late evening found the herd settled, the coffee hot, and supper ready. Christie and Johnny ate in Christie’s tent and discussed their situation and their plans going forward. The drive was in good condition. The beeves had been fattening on the trail, one man who had suffered a broken leg had drawn his wages, and the Mexican who had been gored was working only on the night watch, due to his wound. They had no other serious injuries. Four beeves had been slaughtered for meat. They had killed one who had gone lame. The other three were chosen because they had been skittish and more likely to overreact to stimuli and start a stampede. River crossings and injuries had claimed some, and a few had disappeared into the countryside. All told, Christie estimated they had lost fewer than fifty. They decided that with some good fortune, they could be in Abilene, Kansas in thirty-nine days, meeting their original, best-case estimate of sixty days. They celebrated with cups of coffee and smokes.
Later, Johnny rode the perimeter, checking on the night watch. He came upon Jace. “Evening, Jace,” said Johnny.
“Good evening, boss,” said Jace. “All’s quiet.”
Johnny studied the young man, moonlight reflecting off his somber face. The boy seemed to be more and more irritable and melancholy. “I heard you and Brooks had a dust-up,” said Johnny casually. “Anything to it?”
“No, sir,” said Jace. “We’re good.”
“Make sure you are.” Johnny turned his horse and walked it into the night.
As Johnny disappeared into the dark, Jace sighed. He didn’t know what was eating him. Brooks had just been ribbing him, and he had taken offense. He just needed to get back to San Antonio and see Elizabeth. That was all there was to it. But he needed the money he was going to make. He would buy some new clothes and take her to one of the fancy restaurants she favored. For just a moment, he thought of the cost, but quickly dismissed it. She was worth it.
TWENTY-SIX
The following morning, the herd moved north, heading for the crossing into the Indian Territories at Red River Station. The Red River was the dividing line between the Territories and Texas. A hotel and a few buildings made up the town, which sat close to where the Salt Creek and Red River met. A natural crossing point lay a mile south of the convergence, where the Red River turned sharply north.
The sky was clear, but in mid-afternoon, dark, ominous clouds began to form in the northwestern sky. Most of the herd had crossed the river. It had been a wide crossing, some three hundred yards, but they had caught it at a good time. The cattle and horses were able to walk most of the way, swimming only at the deepest points. The cowboys were hard at work, keeping the herd moving away from the river. Rain was something the cowboys were accustomed to, but thunderstorms were deeply feared on trail drives. Several of the hands, including Jace, had been on drives before, and they had all seen the results when thunder and lightning frightened the beeves into a stampede.
Johnny rode up to the point to find Christie. They sat atop their horses, looking at the building clouds. “I’m not superstitious,” said Christie, referring to the fact that most, if not all, cowboys swore by one superstition or another. “I’m a practical man, and I knew sooner or later we’d catch our share of bad fortune. It’s just life.” He was quiet for a minute, then he said, “We’d better try to settle ’em in as soon as we get away from the river. Tell Herbert we need to feed early. It looks to be a long night ahead of us.”
Johnny and Loco rode miles as they circled around and around the herd, signaling cowboys, helping with mavericks. Slowly, the cowhands were able to drive the longhorns into a smaller group as they grazed on the thick grass. Finally, the word was passed to hold the herd where they were until morning. Late afternoon now, the dark clouds continued to build.
Eating in shifts, the hands went back to their stations when they finished. Missing was the normal chatter and horseplay. No one spoke of the ominous clouds. Johnny moved the uninjured Mexican cowboy and one of the black cowboys to the front of the herd. These two were the most skilled at herding the longhorns, and no one complained. Besides that, the front was the most dangerous place to be if the herd stampeded. The hurt Mexican cowhand and B.R., who was still stiff and sore from his up-close encounter with one of the longhorns, were moved to the drag. The chuck and hoodlum wagons took up positions behind the drag, dropping a half-mile back on Johnny’s order. The clouds were a solid dark force in the northwest, and although it was still light, lightning had begun to streak in the skies.
It grew dark early. Half of the herd was lying down, some were grazing, others were up, but not eating. Christie rode up beside Johnny and nodded. “We’ve been lucky so far, I just don’t know if it’ll hold,” he said. “If they run, are you going to try to turn them or let them run?”
Johnny said, “If we can turn them, I think we’d be more likely to cut our losses.”
“Yeah,” said Christie. “Don’t forget to work them to their right. I don’t know why, but the beasts don’t favor turning left.”
Johnny nodded. It began to rain—slowly at first and then harder. Johnny and Christie pulled out their slickers and pulled them on. The rain continued, intensifying and then letting up. Just when it seemed it might pass, it would become heavy again.
There was some distant thunder, but the herd didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Johnny stopped by the chuckwagon where Herbert had kept coffee going, a tarp rigged over the campfire. Herbert appeared, nodded, and said, “Johnny.”
Johnny replied, “Herbert.”
Ten minutes later, back at the front of the herd, Johnny sat on Loco, sipping his coffee. Lightning flashed, and he saw a sea of black, which seemed to rise in a wave, like the ocean. Fear swept through him and every man watching, as the longhorns rose as one. A distant crack of thunder, followed instantly by a loud crack of thunder that sounded as though it was just overhead, and the herd was running.
Johnny’s world became very focused. He didn’t think about home or anything other than staying alive and stopping the stampede. He pulled out his pistol and fired it in the air, as he and Loco ran with the herd and began to force the leaders to the right. He saw James, the black cowboy, riding hard, pressing several bunched beeves, trying to avoid the horns. It became mass confusion in the dark, the rain, and the roar of the stampede. Luis, the Mexican cowboy, rode up in front of Johnny and also began to force some of the beeves to turn right, firing his revolver into the ground in front of their pounding hooves. Johnny and Loco turned left and out and then circled back, again blocking the leaders.
As Johnny and Loco got some of the cattle turned, they turned with them, and Johnny realized that the flankers on the right had dropped back, just as the experienced hands had explained should happen. Looking over his shoulder as lightning flashed, Johnny saw, with satisfaction, the cowhands riding hard, as the herd turned. Finally, the beeves began to mill. The cowboys sang, and some called out for buddies. Throughout the night, everybody stayed in the saddle, circling, singing to the cattle. The thunder and lightning had stopped, but it continued to rain.
A cowboy appeared beside Johnny, his face streaked with rain and mud spatters. “Boss,” he said, “I don’t see Noah anywhere. He was with me on the left flank.”
“I’ll pass the word, you do the same. He might be down somewhere, or he might be chasing some beeves,” said Johnny.
As dawn broke, chaos and the battle for control of the herd had broken down into small, personal situations. Noah’s friend was trying to control his emotions as he lifted Noah’s broken body onto his own horse. He had found his friend and his horse, dead. It was evident that somehow the horse and rider had gone down during the stampede and had been trampled by the charging mass of longhorns.
A half-dozen cowboys were out on the plains, trying to recover the scattered beeves.
Two men helped
a third, who had dislocated his shoulder when his horse fell after stepping in a hole at a full run. Miraculously, the horse was fine. Herbert had coffee going and was busy preparing breakfast. Leo and Jack, the two waddies, were rounding up horses. Christie was assessing the damage. Johnny was checking on men and horses, directing the recovery.
At noon, all hands met at Noah’s gravesite. Johnny said some words, and Noah was laid to rest. Afterwards, Mr. Christie said a few words to the hands about the mysteries of life and death, and how Noah had lived the life of a cowboy, and according to his closest friend, it was a life he loved. Then Christie turned to business—the living had to live, and they had to get on with finishing the drive.
The mood of the drive had changed. The camaraderie of living rough and working hard as a group still prevailed, but now that feeling was shared with the realization of how very close they had all come to dying. They shared the understanding as a group, but it meant something different to each man. Some had faced danger and the possibility of death before, but it didn’t help. Johnny had been convinced he would die during the Civil War, and he had come close, but had survived. The difference this time, for him, was being married and expecting his first child.
However, it wasn’t a depressed mood that prevailed. To be sure, there was no horseplay now, but there was a giddiness and a lust for life. Each man had a new appreciation for the simple fact that he was alive to enjoy another day.
Johnny rode the perimeter, greeting and checking on the men. He praised the good work during the storm and stampede and told them that in two weeks or so and they should cross into Kansas.
TWENTY-SEVEN
A few days later, in mid-afternoon, a shot rang out. Johnny was on the left flank, walking a palomino gelding counter-clockwise around the herd, which was very spread out. Johnny urged the horse into a gallop, listening for another shot, but there was only the one. Nearing the rear of the drive, he saw a small dust cloud and activity. As he got closer, the man riding drag, a younger cowboy named Peck, was riding hard toward Johnny. Peck pulled up his horse and told Johnny a group of Indians had appeared and cut out eight or ten head, driving them off to the west. He had fired into the air to alert Johnny.