Trail to Cottonwood Falls

by Ralph Compton

  “Oh, I’d hoped you had some real good news.” Her hand in the crook of his arm, he headed for the house and listened to her promise of the food she’d saved for him.

  After washing up and drying his hands on the porch, he leaned over and kissed her in the dying sunset that reflected off the clapboard siding. His affection brought a smile to her face and she opened the door. “Thanks anyway, for trying.”

  “It ain’t over yet.”

  “Sure. Sure. Come and eat before it’s all cold.”

  The next morning, breakfast came and went. He left the house and chopped stove wood. He had a large stack completed when she came out.

  “You aren’t going out to see any more of your old buddies today?” she asked, looking around.

  “Well, no.”

  “You don’t think any of the others will join us?”

  He set the next block up and busted off a small sliver. “We’ll have to see.”

  “Maybe I should go see them?”

  “Aw, give it time.”

  “Time? In less than two weeks we’ll only have three months before we head out.”

  He split off another small slab. “Yes, I understand that.”

  The reality of leaving on another drive kicked him hard in the guts. All this time he’d avoided facing the reality of actually going back to Kansas again, by chasing after the Bradys and doing anything to distract himself and ignore the truth. Why did he ever agree to go again? That he’d go back one more time and cross those blame rivers—stampedes and the rest. Sweet Jesus, why did he ever promise her he’d do it?

  “There’s someone coming in a buckboard. You expecting anyone?” she asked, moving aside to try to see who it was. “I don’t know them. They must be coming to see you.”

  With the hatchet, he cleaved off another stick of stove wood from the block and shook his head. “Naw, they must be here to see you.”

  She frowned at him and then gathered her skirts and went to greet them. He had to hide a grin. She’d be liable to hit him with a stick of wood up beside the head when she learned the truth. The hatchet driven into the chopping block, he brushed himself off and started around the house to join the conversation.

  “Miller’s my name, Billie. I was in the army with Ed. This here’s my wife, Ida Mae, Mrs. Nance.” With a look of relief on his red, clean-shaven face, Billie said, “There’s my old sarge now.”

  “Come in and we’ll have some coffee,” Unita said, cutting a suspicious glance at Ed.

  “Sure good to see you two,” Ed said, acting like he hadn’t expected to see them there.

  “Mrs. Nance—”

  “Unita, Billie.”

  “Yes, ma’am. What we came over about was seeing if’n we could put our cattle in with yours and send them to Kansas.”

  “I think we still have room. How many?” She motioned to the table and Ida Mae nodded, sliding into the bench quickly.

  “Two-fifty I figure I can gather up that’s big enough. Ed—he’s hard on grading them. I guess you will be too?” Billie swallowed hard, taking his place by his wife and handing Unita his beat-up hat.

  “Three and four years old is what the market wants.”

  “Oh, I know about that. Now, we always done business before with Ed. Never had no papers to sign—”

  Rosa brought coffee and a tray with cups, sugar, and cream. She privately smiled at Ed, who remained on his feet behind Unita.

  “Here, let’s have coffee,” Unita said, and became the hostess while Rosa went back for the pot. “I don’t think we need any papers, Mr. Miller.”

  He stuck his hand across toward her. Ed noticed his short, stubby fingers and how Unita never hesitated as most women did over a handshake, but grasped it and looked him in the eye. “We’ll do our level best to get them there.”

  “Ida Mae and I are counting on it. But we know all you can do is all you can do.”

  “Mrs. Nance, I mean Unita,” Ida Mae said. “I sure do like your house. Don’t look like I thought it would none. But it’s sure nice.”

  “You thinking it might be full of stuffed chairs and doilies?”

  Ida Mae grinned with her toothless mouth and nodded.

  “Aw, I’m not high on that stuff. Besides my hands eat and lounge in here. This isn’t some fancy tea parlor.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I like about it.”

  The Millers left after lunch, and Lou Carter arrived to consign his two hundred steers. When he rode out it was suppertime, and Ed had avoided Unita enough that they’d never had a chance to talk privately. But he could see it coming. It was written all over her face—she planned to get back at him over this surprise business. He’d sure better hide his amusement, too.

  Chapter 19

  “We’re going to have to turn down any more cattle,” she said in his ear. They were sitting in the dark in the front room on a bench, alone at last. The fireplace crackled with live oak wood, and a glow of orange lit the room. Her arms draped around his neck and her cheek was on his shoulder. It felt relaxing and reassuring to him to have her so close. He couldn’t recall ever having the cozy feeling he felt all over when he was close to her and they were by themselves.

  He put his arm around her waist and drew her closer. He never got her close enough to him, but it helped to squeeze her. “Yes, we’ll have to turn ’em down after all the sign-ons we’ve had the past week. However, at the moment, I’m not really thinking about steers.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m thinking it would be nice if there wasn’t any. Wasn’t another soul but you and me.”

  “I don’t think there is anyone but you and me in here.”

  “Oh, there is always reality. I’d just like for it to be you and me.”

  “Coming from you I’m flattered.”

  He took his arm from around her and rubbed his palms on his pants legs. “I guess I aimed it to be. If I was real good at words I’d think of something flowery to say right now.”

  “Why, Ed Wright, whatever for? You’re about as nice-talking a feller as I know when you get down to it.”

  “Aw, shoot, Unita. I’ve got words I’d like to say to you that are so far back in my head I can’t grasp ’em.”

  She laughed and caused him to grin. Then she hugged him tight. “You suit me fine without them.”

  He looked off at the fireplace and watched the blue flames consuming the logs. He was a lucky man to have her. No one else would have dragged him out of the Shamrock Saloon and put up with him. No one else as good-looking or intelligent would have done that for him. He wanted her—Lord he wanted her—but something held him back.

  “It’s going to be four o’clock before you know it,” she said.

  “I know.” He lifted her chin and kissed her. It was getting harder and harder to let go of her, but at last he stood up and helped her to her feet. “In the morning.”

  “Yes. You know you sleep by yourself because you want it that way?”

  He nodded. Her words sobered him, but he wasn’t that sure of himself—not enough to make that large a commitment, even to her.

  The morning bell rolled him out, and he dressed and joined the ranch hands on the way to the house in the predawn chill, causing them to breathe clouds of vapor. He’d sure be glad when spring got there—or would he? Washing his hands in the cold water on the porch, he wasn’t convinced that spring would be all that great. Among the chiding and teasing cowhands, the usual bantering went on as Ed dried his hands and face. Then he ducked inside the warm front room, joining Rusty, who was holding his outstretched hands toward the fireplace.

  “Trail branding comes next?” Rusty asked.

  “Yes. We better contact Rip Meadors, the brand inspector.”

  “He needs to be here?”

  “I usually invite him to watch it. Saves any hard feeling in case someone thinks we took their cattle in the deal. Some folks do that—gather as they go.”

  Rusty gave him a serious nod. He understood about “gatherers.”
>
  “Food’s here,” someone announced.

  Rusty agreed. “I’ll get hold of Meadors when the time comes.”

  Ed nodded and they joined the crew at the table.

  After breakfast, he saddled the roan and Unita kept him company in the process. The boys had left earlier with a wagonload of posts and were taking the stuff down on Scully Creek, in the bottoms, to set up a squeeze chute operation for the branding.

  “I’m going over and check on Jorge,” Ed told Unita. “He’s going home for Christmas in Mexico. But I’ll be back Friday evening and go to the ball with you Saturday night.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  He hugged and kissed her, then mounted up. It was getting harder and harder to leave her. He winked and set out for his own ranch.

  He heard her “Be careful” over his shoulder as he set the roan in a running walk and nodded that he would.

  Jorge had a wagon, loaded and tarped down, parked by the main house. His two small children were busy rushing around, obviously excited about the prospects of going somewhere. Tina came to the door, smiled, and waved. It was warmer than it had been for several days, but harbingers of precipitation streaked the sky in a frothy high cloud layer. Also, on the way over, some rain crows in the brush had called to him. It would rain in three days.

  “Where are they working?” he asked Tina after tousling some of the children’s hair in passing them.

  “They are building a bridge over the wash this week. Jorge said you’d thought that would be a good project for some time.”

  “Yes, it would be better to have a crossing. I’ll ride up there and see them. When do you plan to leave?”

  She shrugged. “He said he must talk to you about that.”

  “Why not plan to leave in the morning?”

  She smiled as if pleased. “I will get ready.”

  He mounted up and headed for the bridge project.

  The deep wash made it difficult to move stock. The over-twelve-foot cut ran most of the length of the canyon, and a span would help get riders on the far side or cross stock over short of driving them the half mile to the base.

  When he found the crew, they were setting support posts in the bottom and notching in cross supports to hold against a flash flood. Jorge climbed up the ladder and shook his hand.

  “Good idea,” Ed said. “We’ve needed this for years. But I want you to go to Mexico. We can finish it.”

  “Too late today to leave. I will go mañana, and that will be all right?”

  “Yes, fine. We might get some rain in the next few days. I just wanted you to have a dry trip.”

  “I’ll leave early then.”

  “Good. What can I do?”

  “We will soon have the supports built, and then we can lay on the beams and nail the floor down.”

  The beams looked straight and the decking boards were over two inches thick. He loosened the girth and hobbled the roan to let him graze. Then he took a homemade ladder down into the gulch and observed their workmanship. Jorge never did anything that wasn’t hell for stout, and the bridge support looked the role. Raphael was driving spikes into the boards that made the cross bracing.

  “We didn’t miss the wedding?” he asked, smiling hugely.

  “No wedding,” Ed said, and shook his head to dismiss the notion.

  The rap of Raphael’s hammer driving the spike echoed down the gorge. “Oh. Ramon said you were sweet on her.”

  “Hush,” his cousin said, bringing over another board and looking embarrassed at his words.

  “Hell, boys, if I ever get married you all will have new suits to wear to it. How’s that?”

  “Mucho bueno!” Raphael shouted.

  That’s what it would be too. Very good—he just wasn’t ready . . . yet.

  He and the boys floored the bridge the next day, and it began to rain late in the afternoon. They headed back huddled in their slickers. Ramon drove the wagon and they rode ahead. Rivulets ran off the brim of Ed’s old hat as the cold sought inside the long-tailed canvas coat. Both of the hands had Boston rubber slickers, which Ed was convinced were colder than an icehouse in this case.

  The wagon pulled into the barn alleyway, and the tools put up, he held a meeting as they squatted on the hay-strewn floor. Rain pecked at the cedar shingle roof, and in a place or two dripped.

  “You boys can check on the cattle and the horses when the rain lets up. Then get some firewood cut when you get that done.”

  They nodded, looking intently at him.

  “Guess you boys’d like to go down to Juan’s and do a little Christmas celebrating?”

  They both grinned and bobbed their heads in approval.

  “I’ll give you each a ten-dollar bonus. That ought to make for a good celebration.”

  “Ah, si.”

  “Don’t get in no trouble.”

  “Ah, no, Senor. But we will have a grand time.” Ramon beamed at his cousin, who shared his look of pleasure.

  “I’ll be at the Bar U if you need me.”

  “Give the senora our best wishes for a grande Christmas,” Ramon said.

  “I will.”

  He climbed on the roan, reset the gun in the holster on his hip, buttoned up his duster, gave them a wave, and ducked his head riding out in the drizzle. Besides being tired of his own cooking, he was anxious to get back to her company. Those two boys would have them a time in the small Mexican settlement. There was a cantina down there, several fiestas would be hosted, and there would be enough putas to solve their needs, as well as a church to attend mass. They’d come back hung over and worn out, but they’d have a good time.

  He set the roan to a long trot. It would be dark before he reached the Bar U.

  They came out of the cedars on horseback. Both riders wore masks. They were armed with pistols, but he didn’t wait for them to shoot. He put heels to the roan and bent low. As he fumbled with his coat buttons to get to his .44 and urged the roan to go faster, a cold chill of fear swept over him. Expecting one of their wild shots to strike him at any moment, he reined the roan off into the tall cedars. At last, with the gun butt in his right hand, he reined to a halt, looking back for sight of any pursuit. Nothing.

  Damn. Where in the hell had they gone? He turned the roan back. All he could hear was the rain on his hat and wind in the cedar tops. His heart still thumped hard under his breastbone and he breathed hard to get enough air. Who were they and why were they on this road? Worse, why did they want him? Were they headed for his place to get him?

  He’d not recognized them or their wet horses in his haste to get away. Daylight was fading fast. Already over halfway to her place, he holstered the pistol and swung eastward. Who wanted him dead?

  Grateful they’d been bad shots in the downpour, he put the Colt in the duster’s side pocket and rode on. The notion of the attack still on his mind, he rode up to the house. She opened the front door and spoke to the barking dogs.

  “Get in out of the rain, stranger.”

  “I’ll put the roan up. Just wanted to be sure I was welcome.”

  She laughed and waved him on.

  He hardly had the latigos undone before she joined him in the rain. Wrapped in a yellow slicker, she hugged and kissed him.

  “Lordy, girl, you’re going to get all wet.”

  “I’m fine. You’re here.”

  “May catch pneumonia—” He swung the saddle and pads off and she opened the shed door for him. Once inside the room that reeked of harness oil he put his pack on the first open rack.

  When he turned she tackled him, and their hungry mouths met in fury. At last they parted, out of breath, and he swept the wet curls back from her forehead in the dim light. “Damn, I sure missed you.”

  “Me too. You had supper?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts. We’ll go fix you some.”

  He nodded and fished the six-gun out of his side coat pocket to holster it.

  “Why have it there?”

&n
bsp; “Strange thing happened. Over on Scully Mountain, two masked men rode out of the brush like they were going to rob me. I gouged the roan and we broke and run under their fire. Course, by the time I got my gun out they were gone and it was almost dark.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Damned if I know, but they couldn’t hit a bull in the ass.”

  “Well, thank God.”

  “I’ve been thanking him all the way over here.”

  “What can we do?”

  “I guess when it lets up raining I can go back and look around.” He didn’t expect to find much, with the rain and all. Gun in his holster, he buttoned up his coat to go out to put the roan up and then, like two kids, hand in hand, they ran for the house.

  On the porch he stopped to wash up, and she took his hat and coat inside. Drying his hand, he ducked inside. The crew sharing a huge bowl of popcorn in front of the fireplace nodded and chided him about being out in the annual drenching rain. He agreed, and decided a real rain made everyone happier.

  Who were those two masked men? Robbers? Vigilantes? Troublemakers? He needed to get to the bottom of it, and soon.

  Unita brought him a cup of steaming coffee and he nodded in approval. One sip and he knew it beat any he’d made at his place since Tina and Jorge left.

  Rusty came over and motioned him aside. Making sure Unita was not in the room, he spoke softly. “Word’s out, Crabtree ain’t happy about us taking them cattle he planned to drive up there.”

  “When was Crabtree ever happy?”

  “I wasn’t worried none. Just wanted you to know—” Rusty cut his words off when Unita returned with a huge plate of food for Ed and set it on the far end of the table.

  “We’ll talk more later.”

  Rusty agreed with a nod. “You better eat.”

  “I better.”

  He better find out all he could about Crabtree, and if there was any relationship to those masked men. “Looks like too much food for one man.”

  With a smile for her, he slid onto the bench.

  “You look hungry.”

  He was hungry looking at her, but it wasn’t for food.