The Dodge City Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “One,” Rufe Keeler said.

  “Three,” said Spence Wilder.

  “Two,” Ward McNelly said.

  “Two,” said Rux Carper.

  “Three,” Duncan Kilgore said.

  “One,” said Skull Kilgore.

  “Cuatro,” Palo Elfego said.*

  “Two,” said Monte Walsh.

  “Three,” Aubin Chambers said.

  “There’s just me,” Silas said, “and I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

  “Including myself, I can account for four,” Dan said, “and that’s thirty-two. I reckon we’re countin’ everybody over twelve, includin’ womenfolk, and we’re coming up short on riders. We could use thirty men, hombres who can and will fight, but we can’t pay them until the end of the drive, when we’ve sold the cattle.”

  “That’s one hell of a tall order,” Wolf Bowdre said. “Might be easier just to cut back on the size of the herd.”

  “If we come up with a dozen more ranchers willing to join us, and cut back to five hundred head for each of us, that’s still twelve thousand head,” Dan said. “The other ranchers will be contributing some riders to the drive too, and that might make up the difference.”

  “If we’re goin’ to do this at all,” Rux Carper said, “then let’s make it worth the gamble. I say let’s set a limit of a thousand head for each of us.”

  “Amen to that,” Ward McNelly said. There were shouts of approval from the rest of them.

  “We’re in agreement, then,” Dan said. “We could have an eventual herd of twenty-four thousand head. That’s one hell of a bunch of cows, amigos, and we’ve just raised our number of riders to sixty or more. I have a feeling that, even after these other ranchers join our drive, we’re still going to be short on riders.”

  * Four

  “But we don’t know that,” Spence Wilder said. “Why don’t we wait until our next meeting, see how many more riders we can account for, and go from there?”

  “I’ll agree to that,” Dan replied. “When you speak to these neighbors of the drive, remind them of the need for secrecy. If Ledoux learns of this before we can come together as an outfit, his bunch of killers can shoot us down one at a time. For those of you who can, it wouldn’t hurt to begin branding your trail herd right now, and try to separate them from the rest of your stock, in case some of Ledoux’s dogs come sniffing around.”

  One by one they rode out, and when only Dan remained, Silas turned to him with a grin.

  “By God, you done it. I got to admit I had my doubts, but I ain’t got no more. I just hope these jaspers is strong enough to bring us a new bunch for the next meeting.”

  “I believe they will be,” Dan said, “because I’m living proof of what’s going to happen to them if they don’t stand up on their hind legs and fight.”

  Time had flown, and Dan found all the DeVoes on the front porch waiting for him.

  “We were afraid something had happened to you,” Adeline said. “Tell us what took place at the meeting.”

  “The dozen men Silas talked to were at the meeting,” Dan said, “and they’re going to each tell a neighbor of the drive, men who stand to lose everything. Everybody’s running scared, and I don’t think we’ll have any trouble getting these men to join our drive. We’ve agreed on a thousand head from each ranch, and that means we could have an eventual herd of at least twenty-four thousand head. These ranchers have no hired help. They’ve depended on wives, sons, and daughters, and after our meeting next Saturday night, I think we’re going to be hurting for riders.”

  “Lenore and me can ride,” Adeline said, “and you’ve already made Denny a cowboy.”

  “I’m counting on all of you,” Dan said, “but besides being short on riders, we’re short on good cow horses as well.”

  “There’s Chato and his Injun pards,” Denny said. “They got good horses.”

  “I’ve been thinking of them,” said Dan. “We need riders with cow savvy who can and will fight.”

  “Dear God,” Adeline said, “this Chato and his band are thieves and killers. They rustle horses on both sides of the border, and it sickens me having Denny look up to them.”

  “They ain’t killed nobody but Mex soldiers along the river,” Denny said. “I met Chato once when I was hunting, and he was nice to me. He gave me a piece of Mexican silver.”

  “I’d like to meet Chato and his Indian pards,” Dan said.

  Adeline frowned. “You’re not serious,” she said.

  “Dead serious,” Dan replied. “They can ride, they can shoot, and if they’re not too proud to do some cowboying, they may be exactly the kind of men we’ll need.”

  “Some night in the dark of the moon,” Adeline said, “they’ll rustle all the horses and head for the border.”

  “Ma,” Denny cried, “you don’t know that.”

  “I know it’s very late,” Adeline said, “and well past your bedtime. And that goes for you, Lenore.”

  “I reckon I’m a bad influence on him,” Dan said when the two had gone unwillingly into the cabin.

  “Not where this Chato’s concerned,” Adeline replied. “That incident took place long before you came. Of course, your considering hiring him and his bunch for the trail drive hasn’t helped.”

  “Sorry,” Dan said, “but I believe in fighting fire with fire, and I doubt Chato and his bunch are any more cold-blooded in their killing than the Ledoux varmints that gunned me down.”

  “Damn you, Daniel Ember, why must you always have good reasons for every blessed thing you want to do?”

  “Swear at me, woman, and I’ll give you a dose of what you promised Denny. I’ll haul down your britches and take a switch to your bare backside.”

  “There’s no moon. You’d never find a switch in the dark.”

  “Then I’ll use the flat of my hand,” he said.

  She whispered something in his ear, and he carried out his threat. In the dark, in his bunk, Denny grinned.

  The new cow horse made all the difference, and Denny DeVoe quickly became an excellent backup rider. When Dan dropped his loop over a cow’s horns, Denny swiftly rode in and caught the animal’s hind legs in his own loop. The cow was quickly thrown, and with the two horses holding the brute helpless, the riders tied the front and hind legs with piggin string. They then rode on to rope another cow. Later, when the longhorns secured with piggin string had worn themselves out, it was a simple matter to lead them with a horn loop to a holding pen. On Saturday the week’s gather would be thrown, hog-tied, and branded with a circled star.

  “We caught and branded twenty-five of them this week,” Denny said proudly. “Next week, we’ll get even more.”

  “Maybe you’re not such a bad influence after all,” Adeline told Dan. “I’ve never seen him so excited. But how are you going to get the unbranded cows from your range without Ledoux discovering you’re alive?”

  “Maybe I’ll send Chato and his bunch after them,” Dan replied.

  Eagle Pass, Texas. April 9, 1870.

  When Dan rode in to Silas Hamby’s ranch, he found only seven of the expected ranchers had shown up. Wolf Bowdre, Rufe Keeler, Ward McNelly, Duncan Kilgore, and Palo Elfego met him outside. Wolf Bowdre spoke for the five of them.

  “We done our best,” Bowdre said, “but some of these damn fools think they can reason with Ledoux. We reckoned it was better to talk to you out here, so’s not to hurt our chances with them seven that had the sand to come.”

  “Smart thinking,” Dan said.

  “I got a bad feelin’ about them that ain’t joinin’ us,” Rufe Keeler said. “Sure as hell, somebody’s gonna spill his guts to Ledoux, hopin’ to gain favor with the varmint.”

  “Maybe,” Dan replied, “but we didn’t know who would join us until we talked to them. Even if Ledoux gets word of the drive, we won’t make it easy for him. I’ll tell all of you what I have in mind after I’ve met and talked to these new men. Let’s go in and get started.”

  Silas w
asted no time introducing Dan to the new arrivals. “Gents, this is Dan Ember. You been told some-thin’ about what he aims to do, and tonight he’ll be tellin’ you the rest of it. Stand up when I say your name, so’s Dan will know who he’s talkin’ to. Dan, startin’ on your left, these seven hombres is Chad Grimes, Hiram Beard, Garret Haddock, Kirby Wilkerson, Sloan Kuy-kendall, Walt Crump, and Cash Connolly.”

  Silas called their names slowly enough for each man to stand, and when he had finished, Dan began his talk. He touched on all the points he’d covered the previous Saturday, without interruption. When he had finished, there was a prolonged silence. Finally, Cash Connolly got to his feet.

  “Ever’thing you’ve said is gospel. We’re about to be skint like coyotes caught in a trap. The seven of us that come in tonight, we been talkin’, and we’re addin’ eighteen riders to what you already got. But that’s includin’ our women and the kids that’s old enough. Now, we ain’t got a prayer of gatherin’ such a herd as this and takin’ it north to the railroad without a fight, and the riders we’re countin’ on is more’n half of ‘em women and kids. We need hard-ridin’, fightin’ men, Ember, and I’d like to know where you aim to find ‘em.”

  “I don’t believe we’ll find them in Texas,” Dan said. “I’ve been hearing talk of a man called Chato, a Mexican or Spanish hombre with a band of Mexican Indian followers. They seem to have a bad name in Texas as well as Mexico, but they’re whang-leather tough, and they’re not afraid to fight.”

  “They sure as hell ain’t,” Sloan Kuykendall said. “They’ll gut-shoot you at the drop of a hat, and one of them will drop the hat. Then, before you’ve breathed your last, they’ll be across the border with your hosses. By God, I’d draw the line at takin’ on that bunch, even if they was willin’.”

  “That’s somethin’ else we got agin us,” Hiram Beard said. “We ain’t got that many good cow horses, and this drive is goin’ to need one hell of a hoss remuda.”

  “One thing at a time,” Dan said. “We won’t need a horse remuda unless we can hire some hard-riding, hard-fighting men, as Cash here put it. I realize Chato and his bunch aren’t the kind you’d invite to Sunday dinner, and I don’t know that we could hire them, but what other choice do we have?”

  “Hell,” Kirby Wilkerson said, “they’re outlawed.”

  “So am I,” Dan said, “the minute Burton Ledoux discovers I’m alive. I gunned down a pair of his killers.”

  “Ain’t no law agin killin’ some varmint that’s pulled his iron and is aimin’ to kill you,” Garret Haddock said.

  “Texas is occupied by the Federals,” Dan said, “and the law’s what they say it is. We’re not here to discuss written and unwritten Texas law. I want to know how many of you—if any—are opposed to us hiring Chato and his riders. That is, if we can find him, and if he’s willing. If you don’t want him, then we’ll have to come up with somebody else, and I’m open to any suggestions.”

  “I know how to reach him,” Silas said. “Whether he’ll join us or not, that’s another question.”

  “Damn it,” Chad Grimes said, “this is a hard way to go. We got to beg the varmints that’s been rustlin’ our horses to save our bacon.”

  “Wrong,” Dan said. “We’re not begging them for anything. We’re offering to pay them fifty dollars per month per man, with a hundred dollar bonus for each of them at the end of the trail. Payable, of course, when the herd is sold. I’m allowing for four months on the trail, so that would leave us owing each of them three hundred dollars.”

  “God A’mighty,” Cash Connolly said, “I ain’t seen that kind of money all at once, in ten years, and we’re aimin’ to hand it out to a bunch of thieves that’s been stealin’ us blind.”

  “Hell, they ain’t gettin’ it for nothin’,” Silas said. “We’re payin’ for a chance to sell our cows, forty dollars an’ more a head.”

  “That’s what it amounts to,” Dan said. “Besides, maybe we can buy some horses and pay for them at the end of the drive.”

  “Hell’s fire,” Rux Carper said, “we’re likely to end up buyin’ back the very hosses they stole from us.”

  “Yeah,” Skull Kimbrough said, “or hosses they stole in Mexico.”

  “Damn it,” Dan said, “we need horses and we need fighting men. Now I reckon we’re all agreed that Chato and his bunch are outlaws, guilty of horse stealing, and God knows what else. The question is, are you going to let their wrongs stand in the way of your right to save yourselves and your families from being destroyed by Burton Ledoux?”

  “You’ve just brought it home and dropped it on my doorstep,” Wolf Bowdre said. “I’d say we swallow our pride and hire this Chato and his bunch, if we can.”

  Agreement was unanimous. Not because they approved of Chato and his band, but because there seemed to be no suitable alternative. It was bad means to a good end. Dan nodded to Silas, and Silas looked at Palo Elfego. Elfego nodded, but he looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “I told you I know how to reach Chato,” Silas said, “but that’s just partly true. What it amounts to, I know somebody that knows how to reach him. You all know Palo Elfego. He’s one of us, and I’ll personally gut-shoot any man that lifts a finger against him because of what I’m about to tell you. Chato Guiterrez is the brother of Palo’s wife. It’s a real sacrifice Palo’s makin’, allowin’ me to tell you this, and you can understand why he ain’t exactly proud of it. Now I’m askin’ the lot of you to authorize Palo to get the word to Chato, promisin’ him and his bunch what we’ve agreed to pay and offerin’ to buy some horses. All payable at the end of the drive, of course.”

  “I say let Palo set it up, if he can,” Ward McNelly said. “We ain’t thinkin’ hard of you, Palo. A man ain’t accountable for the things his kin does. God knows, I’d hate to be.”

  “Well, hell,” Sloan Kuykendall said, “Chato and his bunch lives across the river. They won’t be outlaws in Texas.”

  “Ah,” Palo sighed, “I only wish it was so. Chato and his companeros are rebels, Indios stolen at birth from Texas by Mejicano dogs. Chato and his kind are hated in Mexico because they band together and take what they want. There is a powerful man, Santos Miguel Montoya, who has put a price on the head of Chato and his men. They are wanted on both sides of the border.”

  “Sounds like their enemies are all south of the border,” Dan said. “In Texas they’ll be earning honest money. We don’t even know if they’ll be interested until Palo makes contact.”

  “It’s all up to you, Palo,” Silas said. “When do you reckon you’ll be knowin’ something?”

  “Per’ap in a week,” Palo said.

  “Let’s make it two weeks,” Dan said, “and give Palo enough time.”

  4

  Eagle Pass, Texas. April 23, 1870.

  “Tonight,” Dan said, “we’ll know whether or not we’ll be making the drive.”

  “Everything depends on those Mexican outlaws, then,” Adeline said. “If Chato turns you down, we’re finished.”

  “The big drive is,” Dan said. “I’m not. One way or another, I still aim to destroy Burton Ledoux. But there’s no way I can take more than twenty thousand head of Texas longhorns to Dodge City without some fighting men and a decent horse remuda.”

  “Chato will help us,” Denny said.

  When Dan again rode to Silas Hamby’s ranch, he didn’t share Denny’s confidence in Chato Guiterrez and his gang. The money was generous enough, but only if the Mejicanos were willing to trust a gringo outfit all the way to Kansas. Of course, Palo Elfego might have some influence on his infamous brother-in-law, but they couldn’t depend on that. When Dan reached the Hamby ranch, he found everybody there except Palo Elfego, and his absence had done little to reassure the rest of the men. Nobody said anything, but doubt was running high, and Dan could sense it. He even found himself suspecting Chato had refused their offer and that Palo was ashamed to show his face. Palo was as aware as any of them that theirs was a long shot, and that withou
t fighting men and more horses, their cause was all but lost. Suddenly there was the sound of approaching horses. Two riders. But when the door opened, only Palo Elfego entered. He knew every man in the room was awaiting some word from him, but he took his time. Finally he spoke.

  “Your request has been delivered to Chato,” Palo said, “and he wishes to speak to you. He comes in peace.”

  “Have him come in,” Dan said. “Whether he accepts our offer or not, he won’t be harmed. I’ll shoot the first man that pulls a gun.”

  Palo stepped out the door, and when he returned, the eyes of every man in the room were on the rider who accompanied him. Chato Guiterrez was all one would have expected of him. He was dressed entirely in black, from his polished riding boots to an expensive Stetson with silver conchos worked into the band. His short black jacket was embroidered in red, and instep chains on his big roweled silver spurs chinged when he walked. But it wasn’t all show. He wore not one pistol belt, but two, with a tied-down Colt on each hip. Every loop on both belts held a cartridge, and a leather thong around his neck suggested a Bowie knife down the back of his shirt. He didn’t get too close to the waiting men, remaining near the door with his back to the wall. Palo Elfego nodded to Dan, and Chato turned to him.

  “You are the segundo?”

  “I’ll do,” Dan replied. “Say what you wish.”

  “Senor,” Chato said in careful English, “I have been told of your need and of your offer. For the danger, senor, it is inadequate. Could we, as you Tejanos say, sweeten the pot?”

  “Maybe,” Dan said. “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars each month for each of us, as long as we are on the trail, senor. We will wait until you have sold the cows. But we do not tend the cows. We are fighting men, senor.”

  “That’s twice what we expected to pay,” Dan said. “We’ll have to talk among ourselves before I can give you an answer. Now what of the horses? Can you sell us some mounts and collect for them at the end of the drive?”

  “You will need a large remuda, senor, and you could not pay what they are worth. Per’ap Chato sweeten the pot for you, eh? You will be allowed the use of one hundred fine caballos. They will become your remuda until we reach the soldado fort and the railroad. Then you will sell them for us.”