The Bandera Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Damn it,” said Gil, leaning across the table, glaring at her, “that’s not the problem, and you know it. The problem is, we can’t explain the wagon, when we’re only supposed to be driving horses and cows to Matamoros.”

  “Damn it,” she said, leaning across the table, glaring back at him, “once we’re past Matamoros, Clay’s plan is useless, and the presence of the wagon will make no difference. The soldiers are marched out of Mexico City, and north along the coast. Not until they reach Saltillo or Monterrey are they marched west to Matamoros. I may have all the weaknesses of a woman, but I am not so foolish I cannot read a map. We will be traveling cross-country, and we can pass to the south of Matamoros, avoiding it entirely. The real danger, with or without the wagon, lies north of Matamoros, Coahuila, before we reach the border.”

  It was a standoff. Her argument made sense, and the weakness in Clay’s plan—if it was his plan—was evident. Once they were beyond Matamoros, they still lacked three hundred miles to the Rio Grande. With a herd of longhorns—if there were no stampedes, and if they were lucky—they’d need a good three weeks. But she was right—the wagon wouldn’t matter.

  “How many longhorns have been gathered?” Van asked.

  “Something over 2500,” said Victoria calmly. “I stopped my vaqueros gathering them when…after Clay…”

  “Starting tomorrow,” said Gil, “let’s continue the hunt. How many men do you have?”

  “Eleven,” said Victoria.

  “In the morning,” said Gil, “I want you to introduce us to them. If they’re going with us on this drive, then I want to know them. Provide us horses and saddles, and me and Van will work the gather with them.”

  With the Texans obviously planning to trail the drive Clay had proposed, and with the taking of the wagon settled, the tension diminished. Well-fed but exhausted, Clay and Van returned to the room Victoria had prepared for them.

  “You didn’t mention looking for Clay’s killer,” said Van.

  “No, and I don’t aim to. You don’t look for a solution from them that may be the cause of the problem. If there’s anything to be learned here, I expect it to come from Victoria’s riders. After tonight, I aim for us to move into the bunkhouse. By the end of this gather, if we still don’t have anything to sink our teeth into, we’ll have to accept the fact Clay’s dead. Then we’ll head for home. North, to the Rio Grande. The Bandera Trail.”

  Gil and Van rose well before breakfast, and were in the dining room having coffee when Victoria joined them.

  “Before we meet the rest of the riders,” said Gil, “I have a question. Are they aware of the purpose of this gather, that they’re to be part of a trail drive to Texas? A drive that could, and likely will, put them at odds with the Mexican army?”

  “I told them before we began the first gather of the longhorns,” said Victoria. “Clay said they must be told. But now…”

  “Now,” said Gil, “they must be told that we aim to finish what Clay began. I want to know that we can depend on them.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” said Victoria, “and see that they understand you and Van are Clay’s friends, and are taking up where he left off. Is there anything else you wish me to do?”

  “Tell them we’ll be bunking with them,” said Van.

  “Yes,” said Gil. “That’s important. In Texas, we don’t assume the role of patron. We don’t distance ourselves from our riders.”

  “Very well,” said Victoria, “but you are making a mistake. These men are unfamiliar with customs in your country. They will still regard you as the patrono, and your obvious efforts to become one of them may distance you from them all the more.”

  “Maybe,” said Gil, “but we’ll risk it.”

  It was impossible not to be impressed with the Mendoza ranch. Near the bunkhouse was a cook shack, with an adjoining room. It was crude, with benches and rough-hewn tables, but well-constructed. The cook was an ancient old Mexican with a gimp leg, introduced only as Ghia. He nodded but said nothing. Gil and Van followed Victoria into the rustic dining room just as the riders were finishing their breakfast. The men hastened to their feet when Victoria came in, resuming their seats when she nodded. Silently, expectantly, they waited. The cook listened from the kitchen. Victoria began by introducing Gil and Van. She then told of their plans to continue the gathering of longhorns, and of the eventual trail drive. She paused, inviting them to speak, but they remained silent. The three Indian riders and the Argentine sat at one table, and the seven Mexican vaqueros at the other.

  “You’ve met Estanzio, Mariposa, Solano, and Bo,” said Victoria, and she turned to the second table. “The four hombres on the bench nearest the wall are Ramon Al caraz, Juan Alamonte, Manuel Armijo, and Domingo Chavez. Their companeros on the other side of the table are Pedro Fagano, Vicente Gomez, and Juan Padillo.”

  Again the men rose to their feet. Gil and Van stepped forward, offering their hands. At first nobody moved, and when they did, it was with some reluctance. They were unaccustomed to such familiarity with the patrono. Bo, the Argentine, was the first to take Gil’s hand, and then Van’s. Slowly the others followed, not because they found the custom acceptable, but felt it was expected of them. Last, and most reluctant of all, were the Indian riders. Solano came first, and then Estanzio and Mariposa. Finally Gil spoke to them all in careful Spanish, striving to be as friendly as he knew how. But there seemed a wall of reserve, perhaps insurmountable, and Victoria’s thin, “I told you so” smile wasn’t lost on him.

  “Now,” said Victoria, when they faced the first rays of the rising sun, “we come to a more pleasant task. You must have horses, and you are welcome to any of those stalled in the barn. There are six that I know of, each of them Indian-gentled. It will be up to you to accustom them to the saddle, and finally to your weight. There are extra saddles in the tack room, serviceable, but without the ornamentation so dear to the heart of the vaquero. Before you begin the gather, you will need chaparrejos. I will see that you have them by the time your mounts are ready for the saddle.”

  “You say they’re Indian-gentled,” said Van. “Who’s responsible for that?”

  “Estanzio and Mariposa, in part, but mostly Solano.”

  Victoria seemed tired, out of sorts, and returned to the house. Gil and Van continued on to the barn, anxious to see the famous blooded Mendoza horses. They were not disappointed. There were four blacks and two grays, all fourteen to sixteen hands, none of them under twelve hundred pounds.

  “I thought Clay Duval was a fool to risk coming here,” said Van, “but seein’ these horses, I feel like a fool for not comin’ with him. My God, what won’t these beauties be worth back in Texas!”

  “Maybe our lives, gettin’ ’em there,” said Gil. “The more I see of this ranch, especially these horses, the more I want the answer to a question Victoria purely ain’t going to like. With a ranch like this—these horses, and longhorn cattle for the taking—what kind of damn fool would give it up?”

  “Once we know the answer to that,” said Van, “I reckon we’ll know why Senor Mendoza was ambushed, and probably what happened to Clay. But I don’t look for any help from Victoria. Somethin’ ain’t right between her and Angelina, and I’m bettin’ that little filly could tell us plenty.”

  “However we go at this situation,” said Gil, “we always come back to these females. There’s one thing that’s botherin’ me more than the trail drive past the Mex army, back to Bandera range. Granted we get back to Texas alive, what’n hell will we do with these women? If Clay actually married Victoria, then he had a reason for takin’ her, without Angelina bein’ a threat. What reason do we have for taking either of them, except to finish what Clay started?”

  Van sighed. “It’s like grasping a porcupine. Where do you start, when coming to grips with such a problem? We purely don’t have the edge Clay had. If he was married to this woman, then he had a claim to the horses and longhorns. We don’t have that claim, brother, unless you’re willin’ to
take old Clay’s place with Victoria.”

  “Me? Why not you?”

  “She’s too old for me,” said Van with a grin. “She must be pushin’ thirty.”

  “Well, hell,” said Gil, “you’ll be twenty-eight in June.”

  “But you’ll be twenty-nine in April; that gives you first claim. The firstborn has the birthright.”

  “I’m touched,” said Gil, “but don’t do me any favors. We know Mendoza’s dead, and suspect Clay is, and they may have shared a common problem. They got too close to Victoria. Remember, Granny Austin always said disasters come in threes. I’m startin’ to believe that.”

  “Then let’s talk ourselves a deal with Victoria before we start this cow hunt. She finds out we want the horses and cows, but not her, she’ll likely say to hell with this drive. We’ll end up takin’ the Bandera Trail afoot.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Gil. “Like I said, she’s got some reason for leavin’ here, and I don’t look for her to share it with us. Remember what the padre at San Luis Obispo told us? This is a horse ranch. Mendoza never bothered with longhorns, but once he was dead, and Clay stepped in, Victoria sets about gatherin’ a herd of longhorns. Why?”

  “She wants the hell out of Mexico,” said Van, “and she played up Clay’s crazy idea of driving a herd of Spanish longhorns to Texas.”

  “She still wants out of Mexico,” said Gil, “and for the same reason. I can’t shake my gut feeling that it was Clay’s planning to take her away that may have got him ambushed.”

  “Then if Clay’s dead, we can’t tie that back to Mendoza’s ambush,” said Van. “Mendoza wasn’t planning to take Victoria away. If Mendoza’s ambush ain’t somehow related to Clay’s disappearing, then we could spend the rest of our lives in Mexico, barking up one wrong tree after another.”

  “Like I’ve already said, if we can’t reach some sensible conclusion, where Clay’s concerned, then we’ll just have to fold and back out of the game. But if we’re taking Victoria Mendoza-Duval to Texas, then we’ll make it worth our while.”

  “Then let’s settle the price before we get in over our heads,” said Van. “But we can’t take her horses. What do you aim to ask for?”

  “Clay came here looking for breeding stock, so I think we’re entitled to that. That, and the longhorns.”

  “I reckon that might satisfy Victoria,” said Van, “but where does little sister figure into this? Does Angelina share Victoria’s reason for wantin’ out of Mexico?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Gil. “She’s too young for me. You can fight with her, while I argue with Victoria. You saw the two of them clawing at one another tonight. Let’s just let the situation fester awhile. It may come to a head long before we take the trail.”

  Their discussion of their dilemma ended when Solano came into the barn. The slatted sides of the stalls went only head high, and one of the blacks nickered a welcome as the Indian came near. Solano touseled the horse’s mane and nodded to Gil and Van. Gil pointed to the black and then to the Indian.

  “Him Solano caballo,” said the Indian.

  “Solano’s?” Gil asked. He pointed to the horse, then to the Indian.

  But Solano shook his head, pointed to Gil, then to the black horse.

  “He gentled the black,” said Van, “and wants you to have him.”

  Van pointed to the horse, then to Gil, and nodded understanding. Then he pointed to himself, and gestured in the general direction of the other horses. Was there another animal that Solano had gentled? There was. The Indian went to the third stall, and received an eager nicker from another of the blacks. He pointed to the horse and then to Van. Then, without a word, he left them with their new mounts.

  “We’ve reached Solano,” said Gil, “and through him, we’ll win the others.”

  “Maybe this trail drive ain’t so impossible, after all,” said Van. “Clay might have known somethin’ that’s just gettin’ through to us. That Indian knows his horses. He’ll make a damn good Texan.”

  4

  March 2, 1843. Durango County, Mexico.

  Gil and Van found the bunkhouse more to their liking than the Mendoza ranch house. The riders slept on thin, straw-filled ticks spread over two-inch-wide rawhide strips, latticed to a cedar pole frame. While the Austins moving into the bunkhouse had surprised the riders, there was yet another surprise in store for them. Although Ramon Alcaraz had been segundo, it was expected that Gil or Van would assume that position. But the Texans took a first step toward winning the trust of the Mendoza riders.

  “Ramon,” said Gil, in Spanish, “you will continue as segundo. Go ahead with the gather of longhorns. We will join you when our horses are ready.”

  Gil and Van spent nine days getting to know their new mounts, allowing the animals to become accustomed to their weight and to the saddles. Ramon had begun to warm to the Texans, speaking briefly to them at the end of each day’s gather. While Solano rarely spoke, he seemed to approve of the manner in which the Texans treated the horses he had gentled. Once the blacks had accepted their saddles, Gil and Van took to riding the plains, familiarizing themselves with the range.

  “There are thousands of wild cows in the matorral of Coahuila, Chihuahua, and Durango,” Victoria had told them. “The beasts hide in the lagoons and marshes of the Bolson de Mapini.”

  To the west, paralleling one another, Gil and Van could see separate chains of mountains. The farthest they identified as the majestic Sierra Madres. But the nearest, into whose foothills the Texans rode, were not familiar. The peaks seemed to go on forever, wandering north, toward Chihuahua.*

  The first day Gil and Van rode out to the gather, the outfit was working the Mendoza range to the west, toward Sinaloa. The longhorns sought the marshes and the brushy banks of the stream, where it was impossible for a rider to swing a lariat. Thus half the outfit rode the thickets, flushing the longhorns into the open, where other riders could rope the brutes. At noon they swapped. Those fighting the brush became the ropers, while the ropers took their turn riding the thickets. Ramon saw the Texans coming and lifted his hand in greeting. Gil and Van trotted their horses to meet him. Silently the vaquero pointed toward a pair of riders waiting for a quarry to be flushed from a thicket. The lead rider would drop a loop over the cow’s horns, while his backup man would rope the animal’s hind legs. The cow would be thrown to the ground, held helpless as the trained cow horses kept the ropes taut. With piggin string the lead rider would quickly bind the cow’s front legs, while the backup rider bound the animal’s hind legs in the same fashion. The cowboys then removed their lariats, leaving the furious longhorn to exhaust itself to the extent it could be led. Suddenly a longhorn burst from the chaparral, and the Texans witnessed what Ramon had wished them to see.

  The cowboys lit out in pursuit of the fleeing longhorn, and the backup rider was Bo. While the lead rider prepared his throw for a horn loop, what the Argentine swung above his head was definitely not a lariat. Victoria had told them the gaucho possessed an unusual talent, and as they saw it come into play, the Texans could only agree. It was timed to perfection. As the lead rider’s loop settled over the cow’s horns, the gaucho device Bo had loosed snared the longhorn’s hind legs, and the animal was slammed to the ground in a cloud of dust. Bo’s talent was a daring alternative to a rope. But while his bola effectively caught the cow’s hind legs and threw the brute to the ground, Bo lacked the safety of a taut lariat dallied about his saddle horn. While the bola entangled the longhorn’s hind legs, they could still flail dangerously about, capable of crushing a rider’s skull or breaking his bones. But with startling swiftness, Bo was out of the saddle. With piggin string in his teeth, he caught up the longhorn’s tangled hind legs and bound them with the rawhide thong. Again their timing was amazing, as the lead rider bound the cow’s front legs, finishing at precisely the moment Bo did. They allowed the longhorn to thrash around for a few moments, until the bola could safely be removed from the animal’s hind leg
s. The gaucho waited, bola in his hand, as Ramon, Gil, and Van rode up. Ramon pointed to the bola, then to Gil and Van. Bo grinned, holding the contraption up for Gil and Van to see.

  It consisted of three lengths of braided rawhide, each perhaps half a dozen feet in length, and joined at one end. At each of the three loose ends was a heavy leather pouch, each containing what appeared to be a smooth, round stone, or iron ball. Swung above a rider’s head, loosed at just the right moment, it could hopelessly entangle a cow’s hind legs. Gil held out his hand, and the gaucho passed him the bola. The Texan took hold of it where the lengths of rawhide joined, and almost dropped it. It was heavier than it looked, and he returned it to Bo, grinning his appreciation for the gaucho’s unusual skill. Some of the other vaqueros had ridden up in time to see Gil almost drop the bola, and they seemed amused at the Texan’s look of surprise. It was unexpected, unplanned, but yet another opportunity for the Mendoza riders to become more at ease with Gil and Van Austin. Ramon and the outfit returned to the gather, while Gil and Van continued their northerly ride. They reined up at a fast-flowing stream, allowing their horses to drink.

  “If we’re not off Mendoza range,” said Van, “we will be soon. If we’re to believe what Victoria says, everything north of her spread is part of the Valverde grant, and Valverde ain’t the friendly, neighborly kind.”

  “Yeah,” said Gil, “she seemed almighty anxious for us to know that this Valverde ain’t one of her favorite people, and that the late Senor Mendoza was gunned down on Valverde land.”

  “So we’re supposed to shy away from Valverde,” said Van. “Why? Is she afraid Valverde will have us gunned down before we can get the Senora Victoria Mendoza-Duval safely out of Mexico? Or does she fear we’re likely to learn somethin’ from Valverde we’re not supposed to know?”

  “Maybe some of both,” said Gil.

  So suddenly did the Indian rider appear, the Texans were caught off guard. But Solano held up his hand, and they relaxed. The Indian nodded, trotting his horse ahead of them, looking back to see that they followed. They had ridden no more than a mile or two when Solano reined up and dismounted. There was something he wanted the Texans to see, and they swung out of their saddles. They were in a shaded valley, and the ground was soft from recent rain. The tracks were only hours old, and the single horseman had ridden south, toward the Mendoza ranch. Solano pointed south, and Gil spoke.