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  STANTON HORSELEY LIFTED THE hoof of his lamed mount, apparently to examine it. But next to his horse, Penelope was saddling her own. Horseley suddenly rolled under his mount and, lightning-quick, came to his feet and seized the startled Penelope.

  “Now,” said Horseley, a Colt in his hand, “I reckon I’m in a position to bargain for a horse.”

  “You’re in a position to get yourself shot dead,” McCaleb said. “Let her go, and maybe we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  Horseley laughed. “It doesn’t pay to be too trusting, McCaleb. This little filly’s goin’ to ride with me a ways. Maybe a long ways, if any of you follow.”

  But Penelope had other ideas. While Horseley had a brawny arm about her waist, the girl had full control of her feet. She stomped on her captor’s toes, and involuntarily his grip loosened just enough. Penelope went limp and slipped to the ground. It was just the break McCaleb was waiting for. His Colt roared an instant ahead of Horseley’s . . .

  St Martin’s Paperbacks Titles

  by Ralph Compton

  THE TRAIL DRIVE SERIES

  THE GOODNIGHT TRAIL

  THE WESTERN TRAIL

  THE CHISHOLM TRAIL

  THE BANDERA TRAIL

  THE CALIFORNIA TRAIL

  THE SHAWNEE TRAIL

  THE VIRGINIA CITY TRAIL

  THE DODGE CITY TRAIL

  THE OREGON TRAIL

  THE SANTA FE TRAIL

  THE OLD SPANISH TRAIL

  THE GREEN RIVER TRAIL

  THE DEADWOOD TRAIL

  THE SUNDOWN RIDERS SERIES

  NORTH TO THE BITTERROOT

  ACROSS THE RIO COLORADO

  THE WINCHESTER RUN

  THE

  DEADWOOD TRAIL

  RALPH COMPTON

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction, based on actual trail drives of the Old West. Many of the characters appearing in the Trail Drive Series were very real, and some of the trail drives actually took place. But the reader should be aware that, in the developing of characters and events, some fictional literary license has been employed. While some of the characters and events herein are purely the creation of the author, every effort has been made to portray them with accuracy. However, the inherent dangers of the trail are real, sufficient unto themselves, and seldom has it been necessary to enhance their reality.

  THE DEADWOOD TRAIL

  Copyright © 1999 by Ralph Compton.

  Trail map design by L. A. Hensley.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-96816-7

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / January 1999

  10 9 8 7 6

  AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

  Upon completion of the Union Pacific Railroad, the United States government closed all the forts along the Bozeman Trail in a vain effort to keep peace with the Sioux. But there would be no peace with the Sioux. In 1874, Lieutenant-General Philip Sheridan ordered a reconnaissance and survey of the Black Hills. While Sheridan intended to send George A. Custer and ten troops from the Seventh Cavalry for a quick scout, official Washington had other ideas. When the expedition got under way, it moved slowly, clumsily, for there was a large number of covered wagons. On August 13, 1874, a New York newspaper printed a story that rocked the nation. Gold had been discovered in the Black Hills!

  Despite the treaty with Red Cloud’s Sioux, miners came from near and far. Attempting to preserve the peace with the Sioux, General Sheridan ordered Custer and his men to force the miners out of the hills and back to the settlements. Violators would be arrested, their wagons and outfits burned. But all Sheridan’s efforts were for naught, for lobbyists in Washington were demanding that the Black Hills be settled and developed.

  Would-be miners arrived by the hundreds, and early settlements—such as Custer City and Deadwood—sprang up overnight. Custer City’s population had grown to eleven thousand by the end of the year. A second government expedition confirmed Custer’s report of the discovery of gold a year previous. In the summer of 1875, Senator William Allison of Iowa was put in charge of a thirteen-man commission that would attempt to purchase the Black Hills from the Sioux. But the Allison commission failed and their offer of six million dollars was rejected. Tough old Sitting Bull sent them word, “I have no land to sell.”

  After a terrifying confrontation with the angry, armed Sioux, the Allison Commission recommended that the government offer a fair price for the Black Hills and then force the Sioux to accept. November 9, 1875, E. T. Watkins, special investigator for the Department of the Interior, agreed with the Allison Commission. Going a step further, Watkins urged that soldiers be sent. Indian Commissioner E. P. Smith agreed.

  The Bureau of Indian Affairs made one final effort to keep the peace. Nonagency Sioux must return to the reservation on or before January 31, 1876. All failing to do so would be considered “hostiles,” subject to discipline by soldiers. Although it was the dead of winter, some of the Sioux registered at the Red Cloud Agency, only to learn that the Bureau of Indian Affairs had no accommodations or food for them. Nothing could be done without approval from Congress, and official Washington had recessed until after Christmas. General John Gibbon charged the Bureau of Indian Affairs with criminal negligence, but the Bureau of Indian Affairs would not back down. General Phil Sheridan was ordered to proceed against the “hostile” Sioux as quickly as possible after the expiration of the deadline. But while the soldiers were in the field—March 1876—a New York newspaper broke a scandal that shocked the nation and shook the Bureau of Indian Affairs to its foundation. It was a kickback scheme in which sutlers and post traders were given government licenses. In return, they kicked back a percentage of their income. The leader of what became known as the “Indian Ring Scandal” turned out to be General William Belknap, President Grant’s Secretary of War. As the scheme unfolded, Orvil, the President’s brother, was found to be one of the middlemen.

  On July 22, 1876, Congress reacted to the panic that followed Custer’s defeat at Little Big Horn. A bill was passed forcing the Sioux to surrender their rights to the Black Hills and the Powder River country. The thievery was justified by claiming the Sioux were guilty of violating the Treaty of 1868. The chiefs were forced to sign the agreement, and it was over. Chief Red Cloud—who would live another thirty years—summed it up:

  “The white man made us many promises, more than I can remember. But they never kept but one. They promised to take our land, and they took it.”

  Judged by the passing of time and a recording of their deeds in the pages of American history, these high-level thieves and scoundrels of more than a century ago are not looked upon with high regard. Nor should they be.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  THE LONE STAR OUTFIT FROM WYOMING

  Benton McCaleb, trail boss, and his wife, Rebecca.

  Monte Nance, Rebecca’s brother. A two-gun ladies’ man.

  Brazos Gifford and his wife, Rosalie. Penelope, their headstrong daughter, had all it took to get herself in big trouble.

  Will Elliot and his wife, Susannah.

  Goose, a semi-civilized Lipan Apache who is not opposed to scalping his enemies.

  Pendleton “Pen” Rhodes, Jed and Stoney Vandiver. Texas cowboys who brought a
herd of Texas longhorns to the High Plains and remained there.

  THE NELSON STORY OUTFIT FROM VIRGINIA CITY,

  MONTANA

  Calvin Snider, trail boss, and his wife Lorna.

  Tom Allen and his wife, Jasmine.

  Bud McDaniels, Jasmine’s troublesome brother. He made one mistake too many.

  Curley, Bud’s long-suffering wife.

  Quickenpaugh, an east Texas Comanche who once rode with John Wesley Hardin. The Indian’s interest in Curley is returned, and Bud intends to kill Quickenpaugh.

  Arch Rainey, Hitch Gould, Mac Withers and Smokey Ellison are former Texans.

  Oscar Fentress is a black man from Texas, and he has many talents. He can patch up gunshot and knife wounds, punch cows, and pull a gun.

  Bill Petty is a Montana cowboy who’s more than earned his spurs.

  Quanah Taylor is a young Texan with a ready smile and a fast gun. When he found the girl he wanted, he’d kill for her, if he had to.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Afterword

  PROLOGUE

  VIRGINIA CITY, MONTANA TERRITORY.

  DECEMBER 28, 1875

  NELSON STORY, A TWO-GUN giant of a man, had defied all odds, driving a massive herd of longhorn cattle from Texas to Virginia City in 1866. Now Story was a wealthy man, with hundreds of acres of land on which fed a prosperous new breed of cattle and large herds of horses. Reaching the cabin where his segundo—Cal Snider—lived with his wife Lorna, Story knocked on the door. He was genuinely fond of all the Texans who had come north and had remained with him.*

  “Come on in,” Cal invited.

  “Something smells almighty good,” said Story. “Cal, I knew you were doing the right thing when you stole this young lady from Texas. Lorna, you’re prettier than ever.”

  “Men are all alike,” Lorna said, in a pretended huff. “One whiff of a fresh-baked pie, and they’ll tell you anything.”

  Cal and Story laughed, for it was a ritual they had enjoyed many times. Lorna cut one of the apple pies in quarters. Both men were served a huge slice of pie and a steaming cup of hot coffee. Not until they had finished their pie and were sipping their coffee did Story get to the purpose of his visit.

  “You’re aware that we’ve promised delivery of two hundred horses to the army outpost in Dakota Territory by mid-June?”

  “I am,” said Cal, “and I’m also aware that the Sioux have been pushed just about as far as they intend to go. When they bust loose, it’ll be hell with all the fires lit.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t given it some thought,” Story said. “We won’t need many riders for the horses, but we’ll likely need as many as we can get, to fight the Sioux.”

  “You talk like you aim to ramrod this drive yourself,” said Cal.

  “I do,” Story said, “unless something or somebody changes my mind. It’s a dangerous undertaking, the Sioux on the prod. I’ll ask no man to take a risk that I won’t.”

  “I know that, Mr. Story,” said Cal, “and so does the rest of the outfit. I bossed the drive into Nebraska two years ago. Let me choose my riders, and I can handle this one.”

  From the corner of his eye, Cal caught a glimpse of Lorna. Her face was pale, her lips tight, and there was a gathering storm in her eyes. Story spoke quickly.

  “While the Sioux threat is bad news, there’s good news too. The discovery of gold in the Black Hills has brought literally thousands of miners into the area, and there’s a need for beef. Through the army, I’ve been sent word there’s a speculator who will buy all the beef he can get, at boomtown prices. Milo Reems has quoted me fifty dollars a head.”

  “Driving horses and cows, we’ll need a bigger outfit,” said Cal. “That might counter the Sioux threat. How many cows you got in mind?”

  “Five thousand, maybe fifty-five hundred,” Story said, his eyes on Lorna.

  “Cal Snider,” said Lorna, “I have something to say.”

  “You can have your say,” Story said, “but let me finish. All of you know of my holdings in Montana. If I never sell another horse or drive another steer to market, I won’t be hurting. As you know, most of you Texans who stayed with me have been taking your pay in cattle. According to my figures, you, Tom Allen, Arch Rainey, Hitch Gould, Mac Withers, Oscar Fentress, Smokey Ellison, Quanah Taylor, Bill Petty and Bud McDaniels own enough cattle that you’ll each be able to sell off five hundred head without touching your breeding stock.”

  “You’d let us drive our cows to market?” Cal asked unbelievingly.

  “As long as you deliver my two hundred horses to the army outpost,” said Story.

  “You’re a white man, Mr. Story,” Cal said. “Have you talked to the others?”

  “No,” said Story. “I felt I should talk to you first. It’ll be a hard trail, and I believe the others will base their decisions on yours.”

  “I’ll do it, and bless you for the opportunity,” Cal said.

  “Then I’ll supply a chuck wagon and grub,” said Story, “but that’s the best I can do. I spoke to Sandy Bill, and he says he’s rode his last trail as a biscuit-shooter. I reckon all of you will have to take turns doing your own cooking.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lorna said. “I can cook, and I’m going.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Cal. “I forbid it.”

  “Just wait until Mr. Story talks to the others,” Lorna said. “Then we’ll see.”

  When Story had gone, Cal wasted no time in renewing the argument.

  “Damn it, Lorna, I won’t put you in danger of being scalped by the Sioux, drowned in a river crossing or subjected to naked cowboys.”*

  Lorna laughed. “I’ve been subjected to all that, and before you try changing my mind, you’d better wait until Story’s talked to the others. I can tell you right off, Jasmine won’t stay behind while Tom Allen goes off to be shot and

  scalped, and I doubt that Curley will feel any different when it comes to Bud going.”

  VIRGINIA CITY, MONTANA TERRITORY.

  DECEMBER 31, 1875

  “If Cal’s trail-bossing, count me in, Mr. Story,” Tom Allen said.

  “If my brother Bud’s going,” said Jasmine, “count me in. I have more at stake than he does.”

  “You can’t do anything that Bud can’t do,” Tom argued.

  Jasmine laughed. “When you’re not shooting or being shot at, I can strip down and see that your blankets are warm.”

  Refusing to look at her, Tom Allen turned a brilliant red. Nelson Story laughed, and it came as no surprise when, having laid out the proposal before Bud and Curley McDaniels, Curley announced her decision to accompany the drive.

  “No,” Bud said, “you can’t go.”

  “Bud McDaniels,” said Curley, “the first time you saw me, and for a long time after, I rode, fought and swore like a man. I can still out-cowboy any damn rider in this outfit.”

  “I ain’t arguin’ that,” Bud said. “I just don’t want you riskin’ your neck when you don’t have to.”

  “Mr. Story,” said Curley, “have Lorna and Jasmine agreed to stay behind?”

  Story laughed. “I wish you hadn’t asked me that. They’ve both vowed they’re going all the way. Sandy Bill claims he’s too stove-up to cook for another trail drive, and Lorna has vowed she’ll be the cook.”

  “Then she’ll need help,” Curley said. “Besides, I can rope, ride and shoot, if I have to.”

  “If Jasmine’s goin’, then I ain’t,” said Bud. “I’ve spent half my life in her shadow, and she can do everything better than I can.”

  “From what I’ve heard, she can’t drink rotgut whiskey nearly as g
ood as you used to,” Curley said. “She’s your sister, and she could have left you in Texas to drink yourself to death. Don’t you think it’s time you considered somebody other than yourself?”

  “Listen,” said Story, “as far as I’m concerned, both of you proved yourselves on the drive from Texas nine years ago. I must talk to the others, and if you’re not going, Bud, then speak up. We’ll have to work around you. Jasmine can be responsible for your herd.”

  It had the desired effect. Curley’s eyes twinkled as Bud McDaniels stormed to his feet.

  “I’ll be responsible for my own herd. I don’t need some female lookin’ out for me.”

  “You’ll go with the drive, then,” said Story.

  “I’ll go, if we have to fight every damn Indian in the Sioux nation,” Bud gritted.

  When Story had gone, Bud McDaniels went to a cabinet, taking from it a full bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He sat down cross-legged before the fire, uncorked the bottle and poured the shot glass full. He sat there a long time, aware that Curley was watching him. But the girl said nothing. Finally, without touching the whiskey, Bud got to his feet and emptied the shot glass into the fire. He followed it with what remained in the bottle.

  “Quickenpaugh,” said Story to the Comanche horse wrangler, “I want you to take the responsibility for getting two hundred head of horses to the army, in Dakota Territory. Will you do it?”

  “Si,” Quickenpaugh said.

  “Good,” said Story. “All the others have agreed, and there’ll be fourteen of you going. You’ve been around these hombres for a good ten years. Choose the men you’ll need as horse wranglers.”

  “Arch Rainey, Hitch Gould and Mac Withers,” Quickenpaugh said.

  Nelson Story nodded. Quickenpaugh was as good as any man in the outfit when it came to riding and roping, and few were his equal with a Bowie or Colt. It was to his credit he had made a place for himself—a hated Comanche—among hard-riding Texans.