Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories

by Will C. Barnes

  THE TRINIDAD KID

  There's a girl I'd love to see, She's a waiting there for me, 'Way down yonder in the southwest land.

  She has eyes of dreamy blue, And her heart is always true, 'Way down yonder on the Rio Grande.

  The singer was riding slowly around a herd of steers "bedded down" on anopen flat about a quarter of a mile from the western, or Mexican bank ofthe river of which he sang.

  It was the first guard, from eight to ten, and the steers, having had afine day's grazing, were all lying down chewing their cuds ascomfortably as a bunch of milk cows in a dairy barn.

  Across the herd his "side partner" on the guard was riding toward him,so that twice in each circle of the herd they met for an instant andthen each jogged on into the darkness.

  As they met this time the singer finished the verse, and his ponyacknowledged the slight shifting of his rider's body in the saddle bycoming to a stop.

  "Gimme a match," demanded the singer as he felt in his vest pocket forthe "makings." "Here 'tis," replied the other, "and I reckon I'll justbuild a smoke myself."

  "Let's jog along together," suggested the second man, "and you sing, forif we stand here and strike a match this herd of oxen will just aboutget up and quit the flats."

  Down along the river bank the dim spark of the cook's fire showed wherethe outfit was camped, while a short distance beyond it the Rio Grandeat full flood roared like a sullen yellow monster.

  The fringe of cottonwoods and _Tornillos_ along its bank were outlinedagainst the background of the sky like shadow pictures, while anoccasional dull crash told of the loss of another slice of the Republicof Mexico where, undermined by the swift flood, a piece of the bank haddropped into the river and was on its way to the gulf.

  "Do you reckon we'll have much trouble swimmin' these steers tomorrow?"asked the singer, as, contrary to the rules of night-herding of all cowoutfits, they rode along together.

  "No, I don't believe we will," was the reply. "Uncle John savvys thisriver like a native, an' if he looks at it tomorrow an' says 'Cross'em,' they'll make it all right."

  "Well, she's sure high, and 'tain't the water I'm afraid of half so muchas the infernal quicksand. I never did like the water, nohow." He shookhis head: "Once I got into the quicksand in the Little Colorado over inArizony and like to ended up in the _Campo Santo_ fer sure."

  "Say" and his companion handed him a flaming match--"you smoke up alittle an' fergit all that. We got troubles aplenty without huntin' upimaginary things to git skeered of. Did you hear the yarn that stray manwas a-tellin' in camp tonight?" he remarked, with the evident intentionof drawing his friend from so gloomy an outlook.

  "Never a word; I was shoeing my horse when he was talkin' an' didn'thear what he was sayin'. What was he talkin' about?" the singer queried.

  "Well," said the other, "it 'pears like he was workin' fer the TurkeyTrack outfit in Arizony and him an' another Turkey Track screw comesover the line to git a little touch of high life among the _paisanos_ onthis side. Well, they gits it all right, for between half a dozenMexican women, two or three _hombres_, an' a kaig of mescal, 'tain'thard to start something; an' when the dust settled down this stray gentfinds hisself with a dead man on his hands an' him over here where it'sthe eagle an' the snake instead of the Stars an' Stripes a-flyin'overhead. I was busy makin' down my bed an' never heerd how he come out'ceptin' he says there was some fool law these Mexicans has which don'tallow the body of any one what dies on Mexican soil to be taken out ofthe country for five years. So he had to leave his friend there insteadof gittin' him acrost an' plantin' him up in the Pan Handle where hisfolks lived."

  "What for don't they let any dead body be taken out of this herecountry?" And the boy turned uneasily in his saddle.

  "Damfino," replied the other; "reckon it's just some cranky notion theseGreasers got; maybeso they likes your sassiety an' hates to part withyou, but, anyhow, that's the law all right, all right, an' if you dieshere, you stays here, for five years, if no longer."

  "Say, Jim," the kid's voice was full of awe; "My old mammy's up yonderin Trinidad, an' by hooky, if I was to die down here an' she couldn'tgit hold of me to bury me up there where she laid the old man an' mysister, she's like to go plum loco, fer sure."

  "Well, you better make your plans to die on 'tother side the line orelse so close to it that somebody can haze you across without any ofthem there _Rurales_ gittin' on to your game," was Jim's reply, as hereturned from chasing a steer back into the herd. "So far as I'mconcerned," he continued, "I don't reckon it makes much difference whereI'm stuck away, for I'm a drifter an' ain't got no kin that I knows of,an' I guess when a feller's dead he kin hear ole Gabe blow his horn onthis side the Rio Grande jist as easy as on 'tother."

  The next morning the sun was just peeping over the sand hills away tothe east when Uncle John, who had been down along the river since thefirst gray streak in the sky announced the coming of day, rode into campas the boys were catching out their horses. As the wagon boss glanced athim, he nodded and said, "All right, George, we'll try it this morning;the river has fallen a lot since last night."

  "Which means that I turns this here mule loose an' gits me a horse,"remarked one of the riders who had just roped a little black saddlemule, "fer a mule ain't no earthly good in water. If they gits theirears wet, they jist lays down on you, an' quits right there."

  "On her hand I placed a ring, When I left her in the spring, 'Way down yonder in the southwest land."

  The singer's voice rose above the shouts of the other boys as theypushed the cattle along toward the river.

  "An' she said she'd not forget me, Oh, she'll be there to meet me, 'Way down yonder on the Rio Grande."

  "That's right, Kid, sing to 'em. Time you've got through with this heremuddy water job she won't know you if she is there to meet you," laughedthe horse-wrangler.

  As the herd swung down to the river, the horse-wrangler had his entire_remuda_ at the water's edge, and with two men to help him he slowlyforced the horses out into the stream, with old Bennie, the crack"cutting horse" of the outfit, in the lead. The old rascal had been usedfor this work for ten years and well knew that there was a nose bag fullof oats waiting for him on the further bank of the river.

  As the steers on the O. T. ranch had always been handled by placing thehorse herd ahead of them when corraling or taking a narrow trail downsome canyon, they followed the horses with little delay.

  On the upper side of the lead cattle rode the Trinidad Kid on his besthorse.

  "Oh I know a shady spot, Where we'll build a little cot, 'Way down yonder in the southwest land.

  "And the mocking birds will sing, And the wedding bells will ring, 'Way down yonder on the Rio Grande,"

  he sang loudly as his pony plowed through the muddy water.

  "Say Dick," shouted the man behind him, "ain't you going to ask us toall the doings when them wedding bells cut loose?"

  "I reckon so," was the answer, "and what's more, if I gets me onto theyonderly side of this streak of mud, I'm a going to stay there. I'veseen all I want to of this 'manana land.'"

  Just at the critical time, when everything seemed to be working out allright, a great wave of water swept down the stream and broke with acrash right in front of the leading steers. They hesitated for a moment,then another wave broke, and still another, and in an instant theleaders were swinging back on to each other in their senseless panic. Inless than a minute a hundred of them were swimming round and round inthe muddy waters, a whirling, struggling mass of horns and bodies. Theyjumped upon one another, bearing the under ones down into the water,until it was boiling with the fighting, maddened animals.

  The kid did not wait for orders. Well he knew that it was up to him tobreak up that milling mighty quick or the whole day's work was lost.Heading his pony toward the struggling mass of animals, he drove at themwithout an instant's hesitation.

  "Oh the mocking birds will sing, And the
wedding bells will ring, 'Way down yonder on the Rio Grande."

  Singing at the top of his voice and swinging his slicker over his head,he swept down on the outside steers, being crowded on to them by theswift current against which his plucky pony struggled hard. Had heabandoned the effort and turned the animal up stream, facing thecurrent, he might have breasted it and held his own, but the kidresolutely kept his place as well as he could.

  "'Way down yonder on the Rio Grande, 'Way down yonder in that southwest land,"

  he sang valiantly as he thrashed the steers with his yellow slicker,trying to turn them from their course. He was rapidly accomplishing hispurpose, and a few of the leaders were already turned and about tostring out for the shore, when one broad-horned fellow right behind himraised in the water like some huge sea monster, and lunged upon hishorse's hips with both front feet.

  The weight of the steer drove the horse down into the water, the swiftcurrent swept him on to his side, and in a second he was under the massof steers, his rider hanging to him.

  A few minutes later the horse came into view from below the cattle butthe boy was missing. Uncle John, at the first sign of trouble had dashedtoward the spot, and as the horse came into sight leaned from hissaddle, grabbed the bridle rein and pulled the half-drowned animal onto his feet in the shallower water. Spurring into the deep water again,he and the men with him swung up and down the line of cattle, watchingwith eager, anxious eyes for the slightest sign of a human form, butthey could see nothing.

  Meantime the steers were rapidly crossing, and the leaders had alreadyclimbed out on to the opposite bank and were working back from theriver, coughing and shaking their dripping bodies.

  Two other men joined Uncle John in the search for the lost singer, butthough they watched every spot, riding up and down the stream for amile, they were unable to discover any sign of the boy.

  Leaving Jim and another man to watch the river, the rest of the outfitpushed the steers out on to the open range to graze.

  Up and down the bank all that day the two men rode, reinforced by allthe others who could be spared from the herd. Across the seat of thesaddle on the horse ridden by the boy was a deep scar where the rowelsof his spur had cut the leather, done probably as he slipped from thehorse as he went under.

  The steers could not be held there long, so the next morning Uncle John,with a heavy heart, started the outfit at daybreak for the railroadloading pens, thirty miles away, leaving Jim, who had asked for the job,behind to keep a lookout for the body of the drowned cowboy. All daylong he rode the banks of the river. Every eddy as well as the greatrafts of driftwood, was carefully searched. Just a short time beforesunset he noticed a couple of buzzards a little lower down on the riverslowly circling overhead. He knew their keen eyes saw something, andboth hoping and dreading that it was what he sought, he worked his waydown towards the point over which the great birds were hovering. Herethe river had cut into the sandy bank and a thicket of willows hung overthe yellow water. Getting down onto one knee, Jim peered under them.

  Yes, there was "something" there. His heart came into his mouth, hegasped for breath, and the cold sweat stood on his face in great drops.A long, lance like pole from a nearby pile of drift wood, furnished himwith a tool to sound the depth of water along the bank. It was not overwaist deep, the bottom was firm, and, dropping off the bank, he wadeddown under the overhanging brush. There, floating in the stream, was thebody of the Kid. A bough had caught in the belt of his leather "chaps"and held it firmly. It was the work of a moment for Jim to attach oneend of his saddle rope to the belt and carry the other back with him tothe open spot above the willows. His first intention was to tow the bodyup to a place where it could be taken out and then go for help.

  Wading up the stream, he climbed out on the bank and sat down to restfor a moment. It was second nature for him to get out his pipe andtobacco, and as he sat there the talk between himself and the singeraround the herd the night before the crossing came to his mind. Whatcould he do? The body was found on Mexican soil. About a hundred yardsfrom the bank behind his was a little Mexican _jacal_, or hut, where hehad noticed half a dozen children--even now he could hear their shoutsas they played. To get it away from there was seemingly impossible.

  The twilight was nearly over and in the east the sky was glowing withthe light of the moon, which almost at the full would soon rise. Forhalf an hour he sat there thinking, the pipe smoked out and dead betweenhis teeth. Then he rose, knocked the ashes out on his boot heel, slippedthe pipe into his pocket, and worked his way carefully up to the top ofthe bank behind him. Peering through the fringe of trees, he saw in themoonlight the mud daubed _jacal_. A dog barked, in the distance a coyoteanswered with its shrill "yip, yip," and from the limbs of amesquite--the family chicken coop--a rooster saluted the rising of themoon with a cheerful crow. In front of the _jacal_ a bright spark glowedwhere the fire of mesquite limbs over which the evening supper had beencooked, was dying away, and he could dimly make out the forms of thefamily asleep on the ground near the hut.

  Then, satisfied with the condition of things, he carefully worked hisway back to the edge of the river, and, having looked to the rope, whichhe had fastened to a sharp piece of drift driven into the sand, lay downby it and in ten seconds was fast asleep.

  About three o'clock the next morning, just as the moon dropped behindthe cottonwoods along the river, throwing deep shadows over its sullentide, four steers, probably lost from the herd the day before, came downto the river to drink. As they reached the edge of the water one raisedhis head quickly and snuffed the air. The others also threw up theirheads and tested the air with their keen noses, their great ears cockedforward to catch the slightest sound. High headed and suspicious, theyall stood for an instant, and then as if with one impulse ran back a fewsteps and stopped to look again.

  Out there in the deep shadow something moved slowly and heavily. Now andthen a splash came from the object as the water struck against it.

  The steers snuffed and licked their lips as do such animals where fearand curiosity is struggling in them for the mastery. Then as thesomething moved more distinctly, with terror in their eyes they allturned and burst into the darkness behind them, crashing through theyoung cottonwoods and over piles of loose driftwood in their mad hasteto escape--they knew not what. Still, the "something" came on; slowly itmoved through the muddy waters until the form of a man could bedistinguished in the uncertain light, carrying some heavy load.

  At the edge of the river the man placed his burden on the soft sand anddropped down, panting for breath.

  * * * * *

  At noon that day, a single horseman rode a tired, sweat-covered animalinto a little town on the railroad some thirty miles from the river. Twohours later, away to the north, under the snow-capped Rockies, where thecity of Trinidad nestles below the Raton Pass, a lone woman receivedthis brief message:

  "Dick was accidentally drowned yesterday crossing the river. Wagon will be here tomorrow with body, Please wire instructions.

  "JAMES SCOTT."