Trail to Cottonwood Falls

by Ralph Compton

  He’d slept some in the night, and bought some crackers and cheese at a small store about dawn. He also fed the horses some grain he bought there. The storekeeper had frowned at his load.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “U.S. Marshal Conway and the heads of five outlaws.”

  “Oh!” The man’s thin shoulders shuddered in revulsion.

  “I thought the same thing, but the rewards go to his deputy’s widow and the other posse man.”

  The horses were through eating and he needed to get on. He moved to the stirrup to check the cinch and mounted. “Guess I’ve done worse things. I simply can’t recall when.” A nod to the speechless man on the porch and he left.

  A ferryman looked hard at him as he stood on the deck, recrossing the muddy-looking Arkansas, holding his horses to steady them, though he doubted, as tired as they were, they’d spook at much. It was long past dark before he reached Ellie’s place. Lights were still on in the windows. He dropped out of the saddle like a dead man, caught himself, and got his numb legs under him while grasping the saddle horn. At last he bent over, hands on his knees, and tried to recover, ignoring the barking dogs.

  Adam came out with a lamp. “Could I help you—oh, Mr. Wright.”

  “Evening, Adam.”

  He held the lamp up high. “You bring what I’s think you brung?”

  Mouth grim set, Ed nodded. “I figured she’d want to know.”

  “Oh, mercy—she be sure upset.”

  Ed agreed with a grim bob of his head. “She up—”

  “Adam, what is wrong?” Ellie called out from the doorway. Then she saw Ed and gasped. “Ed, tell me nothing is wrong.”

  He hurried up to the porch and removed his hat. “There is, ma’am. Conway was killed by those men he was after.”

  “Conway—Bruce is dead?” Her hand went to her forehead and he could see her knees had buckled. He swept her up in his arms to save her a fall.

  “You’s got her?”

  “Yes. I’ll carry her inside. This has been a big shock.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Have the boys feed and water the horses. They been rode hard to get here. They don’t need to unload them.”

  “How’s she?”

  “She’ll be fine. In time.”

  “I have the horses cared for.”

  “Good,” he said, giving her limp body a boost in his arms.

  She stirred and blinked at him as he entered the open doorway.

  “Ed, I’m so sorry. You can put me down.”

  “I will when you can sit. You still look very pale to me.”

  “Oh, dear—” She put her arms around him and began to cry. “Why poor Bruce?”

  “I reckon God needed him worse than we did.” Easing her onto the couch, he started to straighten.

  She patted the cushion beside her and looked up at him with teary eyes. “Oh, please sit beside me. I’m sorry I am such a baby, but I hardly know what to do.”

  “It is a helpless feeling,” he agreed, and sat down. His arm curled around her and he put his cheek on the top of her head as she sobbed.

  Words fell off her trembling lips as she spoke of things between Conway and her.

  “He’d hoped we could be married.”

  “I guess you could have,” Ed said, unsure what would have prevented it.

  “I couldn’t risk losing my land. My husband owned it because his first wife was Cherokee. I was his heir, but . . .”

  “They might decide that if you had a white husband you didn’t have a claim?”

  She sniffed and nodded. “This land is very good. Lots of the other land is stony and won’t grow crops. People get jealous and do bad things.”

  He agreed, and found her arms around him and her sobbing on his shirt inside the open jacket. Gentle as he could he rocked her, and thought about the fact that seven more men were dead and he still didn’t have the Brady brothers.

  His eyes closed at Adam’s words. “You wish me to take your hat and coat, sir?” He started, agreed, and gently shrugged the canvas jacket off. Adam took it and his hat.

  “I’ll see about some food. I figures you ain’t ate good on the road.”

  Ed smiled at his concern. “Thanks. I could eat some later.”

  “No,” Ellie said, raising up and pushing her hair back. “Have them fix him some food. I’m so sorry; I never thought about you.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll see about it.” Adam nodded and went off with Ed’s coat and hat.

  “Oh, Ed, what will I do?”

  He hugged her again and shook his head. “Life ain’t easy.”

  “But I lost my first husband to bandits and now I’ve—lost Bruce to others.” She looked up at him for the answer.

  “Maybe we need a drink?”

  “Sure,” she agreed and sat up, pushing locks of hair back. “I can see this has not been easy on you.”

  “I’ve got big shoulders.”

  “Did you get the men you went after?”

  “Only part of them.”

  “What will you do next?” She rose and went after the decanter and two crystal glasses.

  “I guess go back to Texas. I couldn’t find out much about where the others went.”

  “Folks close ranks,” she said, handing him a glass and pouring a drink.

  He nodded. The entire ride down there, he’d thought about having a drink, but he knew too much depended on him. The smell tickled the inside of his nose when he lifted the glass. His first sip went down as smooth as a fire raced through dry grass. He closed his eyes to savor the whole thing. Damn, he’d sure become dependent on the stuff to deliver him from reality.

  Two drinks more and, with her tucked under his arm, they went to the kitchen, toasting all the good things that had happened in their lives.

  “I was so happy to be coming to the Indian Territory and marrying a man I’d heard about all my life.”

  “Things were better here than in Georgia?”

  “You heard of General Sherman?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “He burned my family’s plantation to the ground.”

  He stopped in the dining room doorway and held her from going in. “We were talking about good things.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she hugged him familiarly. “I promise only good things.”

  The whiskey on his long-empty stomach had taken a toll. He realized he was drunk. He was holding an attractive woman less than casually. Where would all this lead? He didn’t give a damn—not then or ever. Poor Conway’s body out there in the cold—stiff, and him long departed—and he was having an affair with his woman. He must not have any conscience, any code of ethics.

  He released her and made a crude, gentlemanly attempt to seat her. That done he sat down and looked around. Things took time to settle down, and the smell of food about gagged him. He knew he needed some—maybe chicken soup and goat’s milk. Lordy, he did feel drunk.

  The food stayed down and he awoke hung over. Sunlight streaming into the room, he could see a ruffled white tent overhead. Under fine sheets and down comforters, he was buck naked. Where in the hell was he at, anyway? He realized he was under a bed canopy, and sat up to rub his gritty eyes. When he glanced to the side, he saw Ellie’s curly, reddish-brown hair, spilling on her bare shoulders. She was lying in the bed beside him.

  What had he done? He had no intention of becoming involved with her. Had she misunderstood his intentions? Looked like a damn mess to him. He turned to throw his legs off and a hand caught him.

  “Don’t leave me. It’s cold out there. I want to snuggle while it’s still warm in here.”

  He closed his eyes. Where were the words to deny her? They weren’t on his list.

  “I—I need to take them in.”

  Hugging the sheet to her, she sat up and tossed aside her hair. “You sound mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m embarrassed. Guess I got drunk as a skunk last night. I never intended to.”

  “It was
my fault.”

  He swept his clothes off the floor, hugged them tight to his belly as cover, and headed for the screen with his face growing more heated by the minute. Behind the blind at last, he began to put on his longhandles.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  When he looked over the screen, she was wrapping herself in a robe. Something about the determination in how she looked made him wary.

  “Are you mad?” she asked.

  “No—” He pulled on his pants and stood straddle-legged while he put on his shirt. With it buttoned, he used the webs of his hands to hook both suspenders over his shoulders. His fly buttoned, he felt at ease. “I stopped off to inform you about Bruce’s—Conway’s death. I’m sorry if I took advantage of your sorrow.”

  Armed with a hairbrush, she’d attacked her thick hair. “No one took advantage of me.”

  He came out to sit on the bed and put on his socks and boots. “It sure seemed that way to me.”

  “Who did we hurt?” Busy rolling the hair out of the brush, she looked up at him. “I know I can’t have you. Poor Bruce and I’d realized the same thing. There are five families here that rely on me. They were my husband’s property. Now they are my responsibility. They have no urge to move away. Maybe we can hold this place together.”

  “I’ll have that in my thoughts.”

  “Do. Because, like you I have . . . I pledged to them I would hold it, and make a home and work for them. So I stole something from you. Do you hate me?”

  He shook his head in defeat. “No, disappointed in myself. You won’t understand—”

  “I might. Let’s go find some breakfast.” She pocketed the brush, put her arm in the crook of his, and they went downstairs. “You know they never had a ball in this house?”

  “Really?”

  “Shame isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Carl built it when the war started. Then he lost his family. We were married by a justice of the peace, and he died before we could even plan one.”

  “Maybe one day you can have one here.”

  She shook her head, taking him across the polished floor. “Who could I invite? Rich Cherokees? They dislike me. The former slaves? No, I will have this big hall, and keep it warm with the fireplaces, as long as my people will stay here and marshals stop over.”

  She showed him to a seat, then went to the kitchen and talked to her help. A young black girl carried in a tray with cups and coffee to serve him.

  “Breakfast is coming,” Ellie said, and took her chair. “Tell me about this woman in Texas?”

  “I woke up in her shed. She had her mind made up that she needed a guide to get to Kansas.”

  “Her husband?”

  “Killed in the war.”

  “She runs this ranch.”

  “Has since he left for the war.”

  “Then we have much in common.”

  He blew the steam off the coffee in his hands. “Yes, you do.”

  “Why are men so close-mouthed?”

  He frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I mean you give me little, short sentences and I want—” She spread her arms out. “A wagonload of answers.”

  “If I had ’em, guess I’d tell you.”

  “Oh, Ed Wright, you have answers for many things, but you’ll ride off keeping them under that Texas hat.”

  “For you, for Unita, for my personal problems living with the ghosts from my past—those don’t come easy.”

  She nodded as if she understood. “It’s ’cause you care, darling. All those men you’ve buried trailing cattle, in the war, and as a ranger, are your personal ghosts.”

  The girl put a heaping plate of eggs, ham, and grits before him. He nodded to Ellie and waited until she put Ellie’s dish in place and had departed before he spoke. “They’re the ones that haunt me.”

  She nodded that she understood. “I will dress and we can take a wagon to Fort Smith. Your horses must still be very tired from the long trip.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t do lots of things, I am sure. But I want to see that Bruce is put away well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She wiped her mouth and rose, dropping the napkin on the table. “They will have it all loaded by then.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Damn it, Ed Wright—” She shook her head and rushed out to the kitchen, giving orders.

  When she returned, he cradled another hot cup of coffee in his hands. “I’m giving you those two horses.”

  She turned and smiled. “You won’t need them?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take the stage back to San Antone.”

  “I like that bald-faced one.”

  “He’s a good horse. Never bucked a time with me.”

  She nodded and left to dress.

  He sat blowing on the coffee and readying himself for the authorities in Fort Smith. There’d be lots of questions to answer. All he could do was tell them how it happened so that they believed him.

  The farm wagon was out in front. Adam came by to tell him all his things were loaded for when he was ready. He told him to keep Bruce Conway’s saddle and bedroll, and the man thanked him.

  “He was divorced. So his wife has no claim on it.”

  “Are you speaking about Bruce?”

  He turned. Ellie stood in the foyer, dressed in black and putting on a long driving coat. “He was divorced?”

  “The decree wasn’t final.”

  “I thought he said she had married a lawyer?”

  “More complicated than that. But her divorce was arranged and might not have been legal.”

  “Well, it won’t matter now. You still keep his things.” Damn, what kind of a mess was Conway in anyway?

  “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll be a long, cold ride,” he said.

  “I know. But someone needs to be at his funeral.”

  They arrived in Fort Smith via the ferry near midnight. He went by the federal court building, left her wrapped in a blanket on the spring seat and went inside. The shift captain of the guards, Emile Darby, was the person of authority on duty. After Ed explained the matter, Darby sent a swamper out to get the two gunnysacks of heads.

  “They smell bad?” he asked Ed, looking wary about the deal after his man went for them. “Have a seat.”

  With a shake of his head, Ed refused the offer, knowing Ellie was out there on the seat in the cold night. “They ain’t fresh apples, but the posse man said you’d need proof who they were.”

  “Goddamn, I hate dead heads.”

  “I don’t like them myself. But I want those rewards for those two, the posse man’s widow and the other man who helped get them.”

  Darby frowned at him. “What’s your part in this?”

  “I went looking for killers who murdered my partner. They weren’t there.”

  “I hate worse that they killed Bruce Conway.”

  Ed agreed. “I’m taking his body to the funeral home.”

  “Chief Marshal Wade will want a full report. Man, Judge Parker sure hates any of them deputies getting killed. He’ll be at the funeral.”

  “Fine, I’ll be back in the morning. I’m tired.”

  “Sure. Wade’ll want that report.”

  “I’ll get him one.” Ed left, passing the old man carrying the sacks over his shoulder and laboring down the hall.

  They delivered Conway’s body to Fall and Son’s Funeral Home, and put the team and wagon up at the stables. Both of them walked the two blocks to the hotel under the stars in exhausted silence. At the Grand he took two rooms and carried her bag up to hers. Weary and looking to sleep, he stood outside her room’s door. She appeared ready for her knees to buckle as she patted him on the chest. “You’re a tough man, Ed Wright. I see why you can get cattle to Kansas.”

  “I know why I hate it so,” he said, and smiled.

  She looked up and down the hall to be certain they were alone, save f
or the loud snoring coming from the occupants of the various rooms. On her toes she pursed her lips and closed her eyes. He kissed her quick like and spun her around.

  “Morning will come too soon.”

  “Oh, it will,” she said cheerily, but he heard the disappointment in her tone.

  When the funeral was over, he planned to head for Texas. Where he belonged. And perhaps with the woman he belonged to. He unlocked his own door, and waved at her as she disappeared into her room. For a man who’d been sleeping in his own bedroll and not had a woman around to even consider for several years, he’d suddenly gained two—if he wanted them. He was still upset by the entire turn of events, including Conway’s and Brown’s deaths, when he fell asleep under the covers.

  The next morning he knocked on Ellie’s door. To his surprise she was already dressed and ready to go when she opened the door. They had breakfast with the Chinaman; then he hailed a hansom cab for the drive over to the courthouse.

  She went inside to wait while he spoke to Chief Marshal Wade about the incident. A short man with a mustache, he wore a nice tailored suit. He acted polite enough when Ed explained his purpose, and the man showed him a chair.

  “Is the lady with you comfortable out there?” Wade asked.

  “Mrs. Schaffer. She was a friend of Conway’s. I think she’ll be fine.”

  “All right.” Wade leaned back in his screechy-sounding swivel chair and tented his hands before his nose. “What happened up there? Conway told me he was going with you after the Bradys.”

  “They weren’t home, but the rest of the gang was.”

  “I’ll get my secretary to take notes.” Wade rose and went to the open door. “Clyde, come in here and take this down.”

  He returned and nodded. “She is very nice-looking. Conway spoke of her.”

  Ed nodded. “I think they were very serious.”

  “Shame, too. He was a good man. Now this is Clyde Butler. Mr. Wright was with Conway when he was murdered.”

  The fresh-faced young man wore the anxious look of someone eager. After he set down the paper, pen, and ink he had brought for the transcription, he and Ed shook hands.

  Everything explained, Ed began his side of the story and the young man wrote it down.

  Another deputy stuck his head in and told them Conway’s funeral would be at two.