“Fanny,” he shouted, “there’s a canyon ahead, a spill-off from the river. We’ll take the wagons in there, but you’ll have to circle to the south until the walls flatten out enough to get in. Drive straight on. I’ll be back in time to guide you in.”
Dan wheeled his horse and rode on. The rest of the wagons would follow the first. “Canyon ahead,” he shouted to the horse wranglers. “Follow the wagons.” Dan rode on, and the first rider he met was Wolf Bow-dre.
“We can’t hold ‘em, Dan,” Bowdre shouted against the wind. “The varmints are breakin’ away and holin’ up in the brush along the river.”
“We’ll have to drive the rest of them in there,” Dan shouted, riding closer. “There’s a canyon ahead for the wagons and the horse remuda, but not one-tenth big enough for the herd. Ride back to the drag and take word to the flank and swing riders as you go. Run the herd into the brakes along the river, and then be sure all the riders make it to the canyon ahead.”
Dan rode ahead, catching up to the wagon Fanny Bowdre drove. Riding past it, he shouted to Fanny and then began a swing to the south. Reaching the canyon rim, he found it still too high for the wagons to descend. He had to wait until the Bowdre wagon caught up. He then rode south for more than a mile before the canyon played out. From there he rode north, enjoying the blessed relief as the canyon deepened enough to hold the storm at bay. When he looked back, he was able to see the wagons coming. He waited until the first one caught up.
“Fanny, go on until you’re near where this spill-off breaks away from the river. There’s a bend where it snakes off toward the southwest for a ways, and that’s where we’ll have the most protection.”
Dan rode back along the canyon, passing the rest of the wagons. When he saw the first of the horses coming, he sighed with relief. Now he had only to guide the rest of his half-frozen outfit in out of the storm. He doubted the riders would have too much trouble driving the longhorns into the river brakes, since that was where they obviously wanted to go, but he rode north along the canyon rim until he reached the south bank of the river. Here the storm struck him with all its fury. The rain had ceased, and the snow blew so thick and fast he was unable to see more than a few feet downriver. From the stormy gloom a rider appeared. It was Eagle, and he rode slowly, allowing others to follow him. Lacking a coat, the Cheyenne had cut a hole in the center of a blanket, allowing it to flow around him like a tent. Behind him rode the women from the drag, slumped in their saddles, their heads down to keep the wind-driven snow from their faces. Words were unnecessary. Dan just pointed south, and Eagle turned his horse, leading his companions along the canyon rim.
Dan rode downriver, concerned for the riders who had been stuck with getting the troublesome longhorns settled in along the river. While there was nowhere else for the brutes to take shelter from the storm, they had a cantankerous habit of doing exactly the opposite of whatever was for their own good. Dan rode almost two miles before he saw the first of the weary riders plodding toward him. They had their heads down, and he couldn’t recognize even one of the four.
“Canyon to the south,” he shouted. “Follow it until it levels out, then ride north to our camp.” There was no sign they had heard him, and he rode on. He hoped Eagle had accounted for all the drag riders. That would leave only the men, and four of them were on their way to shelter. He must find fourteen more, and they appeared in twos and threes, plodding like specters from an almost invisible wall of snow. Wolf Bowdre was the last, and Dan was able to recognize him when he shouted above the roar of the wind. Dan reined up, turned his horse, and the two men rode side by side. Reaching the canyon, Dan led the way south until their horses could safely descend the rim.
“God,” Bowdre said when they had escaped the storm, “I thought we’d never get the varmints into the brakes. Hated like hell to do it. We’ll be a week chasin’ ‘em out of there.”
“No help for it,” Dan replied. “If we’d left them on the plain, they’d have turned their backs to the storm and drifted to God knows where. Besides, with them dug in along the river, we won’t have to worry about Rowden and his bunch delivering that stampede they threatened.”
“You’re dead right,” Bowdre said. “We done the only damn thing we could do, and when the storm’s done, we’ll have to undo it. Until then, let’s cozy up to a warm fire and get ourselves on the outside of some good grub and some hot coffee.”
The hot coffee was ready, and although it wasn’t quite midday, a hot meal was being prepared.
“Everybody’s had a hard time of it,” Fanny Bowdre said as Dan and Wolf dismounted. “We thought hot food and coffee would help ease the pain.”
“You thought exactly right,” Wolf replied. “It’ll help get us through till supper. Soon as we’ve thawed out some, some of us can ride down canyon and snake in some more wood. I reckon we’re gonna be needing it.”
“We wouldn’t have lasted another mile in this storm,” Chad Grimes said, “so I ain’t findin’ fault, but by tomorrow this bunch of hosses will have et every blade of grass in this canyon.”
“We’ll have to hope this storm blows itself out,” Dan said. “When it does, we can graze the horses somewhere else. Thank God horses and mules have sense enough to dig through snow to get at the grass.”
The riders were forced out of the shelter of the canyon to find enough windblown and lightning-struck trees to feed their fires, but the temporary fury of the storm was bearable. Out of the wind and snow, with plenty of firewood, food, and hot coffee, they counted their blessings. The storm swept on, and they scarcely knew when day ended and night began. When they judged it was suppertime, they ate. Afterward, fortified with much hot coffee, Eagle took the whetstone Dan offered and spent the next several hours sharpening his newly acquired Bowie knife. While he seemed to appreciate the belt, the holster, and the Colt, the Bowie held a particular fascination for him. He swapped the big knife from one hand to the other in a border shift.
“By God,” Rux Carper said, “I ain’t sure it was such a good idea, him havin’ that knife. He’s startin’ to give me the willies.”
Eagle drove the Bowie into the ground and fixed hard eyes on Carper. He had mastered enough English to understand most of Carper’s criticism, and he didn’t like it. Carper flushed under the cold scrutiny, and Kirby Wilkerson laughed, enjoying Carper’s discomfiture.
“The Indian don’t like you, Carper,” Monte Walsh said. “God only knows why.” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on the others, and Elanora, Carper’s long-suffering wife, got up and slipped away in the darkness. While Dan was as fed up as the others with Carper’s continual grousing, this was no time for such bickering among themselves.
“Being snowed in like this,” Dan said, “I reckon we all get a mite cramped with one another’s company. All of you are entitled to your personal gripes and aggravations. Just don’t be so damn quick to air them at a time when you might rub somebody else the wrong way. I’ve given Eagle a Bowie and a Colt at no expense to any of us, and as part of this outfit, he deserves to be armed. None of you have been harmed as a result of that, and if you are, then you can blame me. Once we reach Dodge, those of you who don’t like me or my decisions can go your separate ways. Until then, we’re an outfit, and the will of the majority rules. Comprender?”
“Dan’s right,” Wolf Bowdre said. “Eagle’s a bueno hombre, and he has as much right to his weapons as any of you.”
Most of the others were quick to agree. Dan suspected that some—if not all—had seized upon this as much a means of showing their dislike for Carper as support for the Indian, but it didn’t matter. The incident passed, and a better mood prevailed. Lenore refilled Eagle’s tin cup with hot coffee, and produced grins and some crude jokes. Playing on the levity of the moment, the Indian winked at Lenore, and she became flustered. The laughter was at her expense, and everybody’s good humor seemed restored. The storm roared on, the cold grew more intense, and there was nothing to do but wait.
In a simi
lar camp a dozen miles downriver, Mitch Rowden and his ten men waited for the storm to let up. They played poker, using cartridges for chips, and cursed the storm. The clamor awoke Rowden, who had been trying to sleep.
“Damn it,” Rowden shouted, “you’re drowning out the storm.”
“You ain’t told us what you aim to do when the storm’s done,” growled one of his companions. “One of them cow nurses cashed in Gillis. You aim to let that pass?”
“Why not?” Rowden said angrily. “Gillis was a damn fool, pullin’ his iron with all that bunch expectin’ it. When this storm dies, we’ll be stalking that outfit, but not to avenge Gillis. We’re goin’ after that horse re-muda.”
“I’m fer that!” one of the renegades shouted “I didn’t see a one of them cayuses that was branded. What you reckon’s the reason fer that?”
“Who knows?” Rowden said. “We can trail them broncs to Fort Leavenworth and sell ‘em to the army. Saddle-broke, they’ll bring a hundred dollars a head. It’ll be the easiest money we ever made. Near legal too, without brands.”
It was something they all could appreciate, and they laughed, their good humor restored.
On the North Canadian. Friday, December 9, 1870.
By dawn of the third day after the storm began, it was over, but the wait wasn’t. From the snowdrifts within the canyon, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what they were like elsewhere. But the graze was gone, and the horse re-muda picked wistfully along the barren floor of the canyon. There was water, and that had helped, but the animals were gaunt.
“We have to get them out of here where they can find some graze,” Dan said, “and we have to do it today. The mules too.”
“Let us do it,” Denny DeVoe begged. “That’s a job for the horse wranglers.”
“That’s a job for the wranglers and about five more good men,” Dan replied. “We’re talking about every horse and mule in the outfit.”
“I don’t think we ought to take ‘em all at the same time,” Tobe Barnfield said. “I don’t like being left total afoot.”
“Me neither,” Ward McNelly agreed.
“I have no intention of taking them all at the same time,” Dan said. “I aim to take everybody’s favorite mount first. We’ll bring them in at midday, replacing them with Chato’s herd and the mules. For as long as we’re snowed in, we’ll swap them out every day, so that each animal gets some graze.”
“That’ll help,” Wolf Bowdre said, “but they’ll still look half starved until they’re back on good grass full-time. Soon as the drifts are down, we got to get out of here.”
“We will,” Dan said, “but for now, we’ll have to make do. Wranglers, you’ll need some help. Palo, take Rufe, Monte, Kirby, and Walt. Ride with the wranglers and take the first of the horses to graze. I doubt they’ll have their fill, but bring them in at midday so the others can have their turn. Don’t take them any farther than you have to, and if there’s trouble, fire three warning shots.”
“All them damn cows got to be chased out of the brush,” Aubin Chambers said. “When do we start?”
“When enough snow melts for them to see the grass,” Dan replied. “It’ll take that long to get the horses into any decent shape.”
Three hours into the day an anemic sun crept out, but did nothing toward melting the snow. The bitter cold continued. A mile south of where the canyon played out, there was sufficient graze for the horses. At noon the first bunch was brought back to the canyon, then the first of the remuda. The rest of the horses and mules were then taken to graze. In the afternoon a new bunch of gray clouds marched across the western horizon, swallowing the sun two hours early. It was going to be a short graze for the horse remuda and the mules. As the gray of the sky deepened, Dan became anxious. He knew his riders were allowing the animals to graze as long as possible, but his unease got the best of him. Darkness was less than an hour away when he saddled his horse.
“I’m ridin’ down there,” he said. “They’ve been out too long.”
“Eagle go,” the Cheyenne said.
“Come on, then,” Dan said.
But they were too late. The three warning shots shattered the stillness, and before the echo had died away, there was a rattle of distant gunfire.
“Come on,” Dan shouted. His horse was off and running, Eagle’s roan right behind him. Other riders were saddling their horses. The gunfire died away long before Dan and Eagle were near enough to join the fight. Dan feared the worst, and found his fears justified. The horse remuda and the mules were gone, leaving only the mounts belonging to the riders. Six of them knelt around the three who lay in the snow. Dan hit the ground running, and he saw the tragedy in their faces before anybody said a word.
“Dan,” Tobe Barnfield said, “Gus Wilder’s dead. Monte and Kirby are hurt bad. They hit us while we was split up, gettin’ the string gathered.”
Gus, Spence Wilder’s only son, was just fifteen. He had been shot through the chest, and his dead hands still clutched the unfired Winchester. There was the thud of hooves as the rest of the outfit arrived, and they all sat their saddles in shocked silence as Spence Wilder fell on his knees beside his dead son. All of them—even Dan—had been shocked into silence. But not the Indian.
“Find,” Eagle said. “Kill.”
Without a word, Spence Wilder seized the Winchester that had belonged to Gus. He tossed it to Eagle, and the mounted Cheyenne caught it. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he followed the tracks of the stampeded horses. His act shocked the rest of the riders into action.
‘Tobe,” Dan said, “help Spence with Gus. Boyce, Rufe, Duncan, and Ward, rig some blanket slings and get Monte and Kirby back to camp. Gid, Pablo, and Denny, back to camp. The rest of you come with me. We have some debts to pay.”
Already it was dark, but a rising wind had swept the clouds away. The starlight against the white of the snow left a trail anyone could have followed. They rode hard but never caught up to the Indian. Dan and his riders reined up. It was time to rest the horses. The moon was on the rise, and combined with the starlight, Dan could see clearly the grim faces of the eleven men who rode with him. There was Wolf Bowdre, Rux Carper, Skull Kimbrough, Chad Grimes, Hiram Beard, Garret Haddock, Sloan Kuykendall, Walt Crump, Palo Elfego, Aubin Chambers, and Cash Connolly.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Bowdre said. “We’re beggin’ for an ambush.”
“I don’t think so,” Dan said. “We have an ace in the hole. Eagle’s out there, somewhere ahead of us. But you’re right, Wolf. This bunch won’t run too far. We’ve ridden about as far as we safely can without finding and disarming their ambush. We’ll just stand pat for a few minutes.”
He offered no explanation, and for a change nobody questioned his judgment. To a man, they knew the rustlers couldn’t allow the pursuit to continue, and that meant an ambush. Suddenly, from somewhere ahead, there came a scream so agonized it might have emerged straight from the pits of hell. Just as suddenly it was choked off, its absence leaving the silence all the more intense.
“God Almighty,” Skull Kimbrough said. “What was that!”
“Eagle’s found the ambush,” Dan said, “and I’d say he’s just cut out the gizzard of one of the thieving varmints who was waitin’ for us.”
“Thoughtful of him to let the coyote sing for the others,” Wolf said.
“That’s the idea,” Dan said. “Fear can be a more powerful weapon than a loaded gun. That should force the rest of them to run, and we’ll ride the bastards down. But we’ll wait a little longer. Eagle may not be finished.”
There was a second screech as terrifying as the first, and again it was cut short.
“We can advance now,” Dan said. “Hold your fire until somebody fires at us.”
By moon and starlight, across the white of the snow, they could see the horseman coming long before they could identify him. He gripped the Winchester in both hands, holding it over his head. Dan and his companions reined up, waiting. Eagle didn’t waste words.<
br />
“Two coyote die, two run,” the Cheyenne said.
“Let’s ride,” Dan said. “We won’t give ‘em a chance to lay for us again.”
Eagle led out, Dan and the rest of the outfit following without hesitation. They soon found tracks where two rustlers had fled the scene of the intended ambush. They were riding hard to join their companions, and when the Texans topped a hill, they could see the stampeded horses being driven up a rise a few hundred yards ahead. There was a shout as the rustlers sighted their pursuers.
“After them,” Dan shouted, kicking his horse into a fast gallop. “Ride them down and shoot to kill.”
The rustlers realized the gravity of their situation, for they abandoned the horses they’d stolen and rode for their lives. Would the Texans give up the chase, settling for the recovery of their horses? They would not. The horses could be recovered later. Led by Eagle, the Texans rode hard. Aubin Chambers cut loose with his Winchester long before he was within range.
“Damn it,” Dan shouted, “hold your fire and ride.”
To hit a moving target while firing from the back of a running horse was virtually impossible under the best of conditions, and all the more so at night. Dan could see the shadowy mouth of a canyon to the south, and it soon became obvious the outlaws hoped to reach this sanctuary. It was reason enough for Chambers becoming impatient with his Winchester, for once the rustlers reached the canyon, it would become a close-quarters fight. Dan and Eagle were well ahead of the rest of the outfit, and the Indian set the stage for the fight when he caught up to the last of the fleeing thieves. Eagle threw himself at the other rider, wrestling the man to the ground. The Cheyenne was on his feet, cat-quick, his Bowie flashing in the starlight. Dan drew his Colt and shot a rustler out of the saddle, only to have a third drop back and leap at him. Dan’s left foot was caught in the stirrup, and he had to contend with his horse dragging him a few yards while he and his adversary fought for possession of Dan’s Colt. The startled horse finally drew up, watching with interest as the two men wrestled and fought in the snow. The Colt roared, and Dan struggled to his feet, leaving his adversary dying. He managed to reach the trailing reins before the horse spooked and ran. Eagle hadn’t been so fortunate. While he had slain his opponent in the hand-to-hand fight, the horse had run from the smell of blood, leaving the Indian afoot. Dan could see him running across the frozen snow toward two struggling men. One of the pair had a death-dealing advantage. Astride his opponent, Dan could see the flash of the Bowie’s blade as it was drawn high for the fatal thrust. But the hand froze, losing its grip, as Eagle’s thrown Bowie slammed into the man’s chest. He toppled sideways and fell on his back. Eagle paused for only as long as it took to retrieve his Bowie, then went on, seeking one of the horses that ran loose. When Dan reached the fallen man, he found Rux Carper sitting there looking dazed.
The Dodge City Trail Page 24