The Green River Trail Page 12

  “There’s almost no graze here,” Gus Wilder said. “We got to move on.”

  “Mud don’t slow pack mules down,” said Sandy Orr needlessly.

  “Enough of that,” Elliot Graves said. “We all agreed on the wagon. If we’d stuck with pack mules, we’d already be eatin’ jerked beef and drinking branch water.”

  “It’s my day on the wagon,” said Mindy. “Unless it rains all day, I can try.”

  “That’s about all we can do,” Lonnie said. “The wagon’s well loaded, and if the ground gets enough water, the wagon will bog down.”

  The outfit had breakfast as best they could, some of them hunkering down under the canvas stretched behind the wagon, while others got under the wagon.

  “She’s clearin’ up over yonder to the west,” said Benjamin Raines.

  “We’ll give it a little time,” Lonnie said. “If the rain slacks pretty soon, we still might be able to go on. But there’s no use harnessing the mules, saddling our horses, and taking the trail with the herd until we’re sure the wagon can make it.”

  The skies continued to clear, until the sun came forth and began sucking up the excess water. Wet clothing dried quickly, and the heat was such that the rain might never have fallen. Lonnie and Dallas began harnessing the mules to the wagon.

  “Mindy,” said Dallas, when the teams had been harnessed, “take them a ways and then bring ’em back. If you don’t bog down, then we can probably make it.”

  Mindy flicked the reins. While the wagon wheels mired a little, the mules had no real trouble drawing the wagon. Several hundred yards away, Mindy turned the team, brining the wagon back.

  “Let’s try it,” Lonnie said. “I don’t believe there was enough rain to hurt us.”

  Quickly the riders saddled their horses. Justin Irwin spoke to Lonnie.

  “Wovoka and me will ride on ahead, almost to Del Rio. If we don’t see any signs of those Mejicanos, I think we’ll just hole up somewhere ahead and wait for the rest of you to catch up to us. Otherwise, it’s possible they’ll arrive and set up an ambush after we’ve turned back to meet the herd. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s wise,” said Lonnie. “Just be careful as you ride west, and don’t leave any obvious tracks. The rain will have wiped the trails clean, and if that bunch is headed this way, we don’t want them knowing you and Wovoka are riding ahead looking for them.”

  “They won’t know,” Justin said. “Wovoka and me will split up, one of us to the north and the other to the south of the trail.”

  “Bueno,” said Lonnie. “If you reach the river without seeing any of them, both of you move as near that crossing as you can. When they reach the crossing and it appears they are riding toward us follow as close as you can. Then you might learn where they aim to lay their ambush, and riding wide, you can come back and warn us. Just be damn sure they don’t discover you, and don’t do anything foolish, such as attacking them.”

  “Kill,” Wovoka said.

  “No, Wovoka,” said Lonnie. “You’ll get your chance at them once we know for sure they’re after us. Don’t let him forget that, Justin.”

  “Don’t worry,” Justin said. “Fourteen of them against two of us is terrible odds. We’ll lay low until we see them coming, and once they hole up somewhere, we’ll be riding back to tell you.”

  “Bueno,” said Lonnie. “Get going.”

  Justin and Wovoka rode out. They had gone not more than a mile when Justin reined up. He pointed to Wovoka and then to the south. The Indian had heard and understood Justin’s conversation with Lonnie. He nodded and rode south. Justin rode almost two miles north. Justin would reach the river several miles north of the Del Rio crossing, while Wovoka would emerge an equal distance to the south. Unless the outlaws did some careful scouting, they wouldn’t know the trail drive had expected and prepared for their arrival.

  Old Mexico. July 25, 1853.

  The fourteen weary outlaws had walked twenty long miles into old Mexico before they reached the blind canyon where they had taken stolen horses and cattle. Mostly, during the long journey afoot, they suffered in silence. Now their ordeal was over, and again they had horses. Except for Chavez, all of them collapsed in the welcome shade the canyon rim afforded.

  “On your feet,” bawled Chavez. “It will be dark before we reach the crossing.”

  “Madre mía,” one of the outlaws complained, “we have no saddles or rifles.”

  “We will when we take them back from the Americanos” said Chavez.

  “Let us eat before we go,” one of the outlaws begged. “We have eaten nothing since yesterday morning, and then only jerked beef.”

  “You will have jerked beef again this day,” said Chavez, “if any remains.”

  Chavez mounted his horse bareback, and with a sigh of resignation, his followers all mounted and rode with him. North, toward the crossing at Del Rio.

  Del Rio, Texas. July 25, 1853.

  “The crossing can’t be too far ahead,” said Lonnie. “Here I think we’d better take the trail west, until we reach the Pecos. Sometime soon—maybe tonight—we should be hearing from Justin and Wovoka.”

  Darkness had fallen when the fourteen outlaws again reached the crossing. Less than a mile south of the crossing, Wovoka had heard the horses coming. So had Justin, to the north, and when the Mejicanos rode on past the saloon, Justin and Wovoka came together behind them.

  “We’ll follow them a ways,” Justin said. “Our outfit may have already gone west and reached the Pecos.”

  Less than two miles from the crossing, the outlaws rode west. Wovoka leaned over and by starlight, studied the ground. Finally, he spoke.

  “Cow go that way.” He pointed toward the west. “Mejicanos follow.”

  “That means we’ll have to circle wide enough to get back to the herd, without those no-account varmints knowin’ we’re coming,” said Justin. “If they’re armed only with six-guns, they may try to sneak up on us tonight after moonset.”

  That was exactly the tactic Chavez was considering when he and his companions reined up to rest the horses. He was waiting for just the right moment, and one of the outlaws gave him cause.

  “I do not believe we can ambush so many Americanos with only the pistola” said one of the outlaws.

  “Nor do I,” Chavez replied. “I think we wait for some of them to sleep. Then we creep close and kill all of those who are on watch, withdrawing before the living can retaliate. If we rid ourselves of half of them tonight, can we not eliminate the others tomorrow night?”

  There was mumbled assent from the rest of the outlaws. It seemed far more practical than attempting an ambush with only handguns.

  “Come, then,” said Chavez. “We shall ride as near them as we dare, attacking during the small hours of the morning, when they least expect it.”

  But Justin and Wovoka, aware that the trail drive had gone west toward the Pecos, rode wide to the north, going around the outlaws. Reaching the Pecos somewhere north of the herd, they rode south along the east bank.

  “Rein up,” said Waco Talley, “and identify yourselves.”

  “Justin and Wovoka,” Justin replied.

  The two of them rode in and dismounted. Justin noted with approval that there was no fire. Quickly he related what he and Wovoka had learned.

  “Tarnation,” said Dallas,” that means they don’t have long guns. They aim to attack us sometime tonight.”

  “It looks that way,” Lonnie said. “Taking us by surprise, they could gun down half of us tonight and the rest tomorrow night. I think, for tonight and tomorrow night, there’ll be no first and second watch. We’ll all be on watch from dusk to dawn, until this bunch has made their move. Those of you normally on the second watch, mount up. We’ll take a position just south of the herd. The rest of you be prepared to join us on either flank if we’re attacked. See that every shot counts. Your muzzle flashes will be excellent targets.”

  Dallas, Benjamin Raines, Elliot Graves, Justin Irwin, a
nd Wovoka followed Lonnie to the south. A hundred yards beyond the camp, they fanned out in a half-circle, waiting. A pale moon rose, and when it eventually set, the world seemed all the darker for its going. Lonnie looked at the stars and found it was nearly midnight. If there was to be an attack, he didn’t expect it until the small hours of the morning. The sound, when he heard it, was slight, and it didn’t come again. Lonnie drew and cocked his Colt, its action sounding loud in the stillness.

  “It’s me,” Becky whispered.

  “Go back,” said Lonnie, irritated. “I don’t want you here during the attack.”

  “But I am here,” Becky whispered back, “and Mindy’s with Dallas. Both of us have our guns. We have as much right to risk our necks as you have to risk yours.”

  Lonnie sighed and kept his silence. It was neither the time nor the place for an argument. If the outlaws were close, even a breath of resignation might sound loud in the stillness of the night.

  “Madre de Dios,” came a whispered exclamation, “they do not watch the herd.”

  It was evidence enough that the outlaws had intended to gun down the riders on watch. They could then come after the others on another night, having an edge after the outfit had been reduced by half. It was time to issue a challenge, and Lonnie did.

  “You men are covered. Drop your guns and come out, your hands over your heads.”

  Nobody expected the outlaws to surrender, and they didn’t. There was a muzzle flash, as one of them fired in the direction of Lonnie’s voice. Lonnie returned the fire, and there was a groan of pain. The rest of the outlaws opened fire, their muzzle flashes providing excellent targets. The men from the first watch had circled the outlaws and were firing from a flank position. The outlaws had nowhere to go, except into the river or back the way they had come.

  “Retire,” Chavez shouted. “Retiro.”

  But his command to retreat had come too late. The Texans sent a storm of lead into the thicket where the outlaws were hidden. One of them nearest Chavez got to his feet to run and was quickly cut down. Chavez heard his body fall in the brush. Not daring to get to his feet, Chavez crawled on his belly until the scattered gunfire was well behind him. He reached the horses and discover they all were there. Under his breath, he cursed all gringos in general, and these in particular. Quickly he caught one of the horses, mounted, and kicked the animal into a run, headed south. But he was in a clearing now, under a cloudless sky, and was jolted forward as a slug slammed into his shoulder. On he rode, his only hope being to cross the border before the Americano devils caught up to him.

  “Hold your fire,” Lonnie shouted. “Any of you men who are still alive, it’s time to get your hands in the air and give it up. If you don’t, we’ll salt that thicket with enough lead to finish you. Now what’s it goin’ to be?”

  “Lonnie,” said Dallas, “one of them rode away, but we wounded him. I don’t think the others are alive.”

  “We’ll keep watch until dawn, just in case,” Lonnie said. “If there’s no more activity, we’ll take a body count.”

  Chavez crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico, where he reined up, waiting to see if any of the others had escaped. But there was no sound except the whisper of the wind among the trees. Chavez cursed bitterly. The numbness had begun to wear off, and his shoulder hurt. Looking back once more, he kicked his horse into a lope and was soon lost within the shadows.

  The Pecos River. July 26, 1853.

  “Lonnie,” said Dallas, “while we’re waiting for breakfast, let’s have a look at the bunch that jumped us last night.”

  “I’ll join you,” Justin Irwin said. “I can’t believe we took them all on and none of us even got a scratch.”

  “We have you and Wovoka to thank for that,” said Lonnie. “We knew they were after us, and they had to come in close enough to use their six-guns.”

  “We owe Wovoka for taking their horses,” Dallas said. “Otherwise they would have had their rifles. It was a fatal mistake, them coming after us with pistols.”

  Entering the thicket, they froze, for they were confronted by a grisly sight. Some of the outlaws had been hit more than once. In all, there were thirteen dead men.

  “That means one of them escaped,” said Lonnie, “and I think he was hit.”

  “Then there must be some horses along the Pecos south of here,” Justin said. “We’re goin’ to have a decent remuda yet.”

  “Like those horses Wovoka took, they’ll likely all have Texas brands,” said Lonnie.

  “Maybe,” Dallas said. “If I thought they’d wander back to their Texas owners, I’d say turn them loose. But more than likely they’d drift back across the river. We’re as entitled to them as anybody.”

  “Let’s get breakfast, if we still have the stomach for it,” said Lonnie. “Then we’ll look for those horses.”

  Returning to camp, Lonnie told them of the gruesome results of the gunfight the night before. All were in a somber mood, except Wovoka.

  “Maybe we ought to search them,” Dirk McNelly said. “It’s the same thing as with the horses. If they have money, they can’t use it.”

  “Dirk,” said April, “that’s a terrible thing, searching dead men.”

  “No more than they’d have done, if it was us layin’ there dead,” Dirk replied.

  “I know it sounds cruel,” said Lonnie, “but it’s the truth. While we’re about it, we’ll take a look at their weapons. Any of them with a Colt, take it, along with any ammunition that’s left.”

  “Why only Colts?” Mindy asked.

  “Because there’s lots of foreign makes on the frontier,” said Lonnie, “and it’s difficult finding ammunition for them.”

  “I go,” Wovoka said, pointing toward the fateful thicket.

  “Go,” said Lonnie, “but breakfast is almost ready. Why don’t you eat first?”

  Wovoka might not have heard. When one killed another in battle, the dead man’s gun, knife, and horse belonged to the victor. The Indian disappeared into the thicket.

  “My God,” Kirby Lowe said, “I hope he won’t scalp them.”

  “Lonnie,” said Becky, “Can’t you … ?”

  “No,” Lonnie said. “I can’t tell him to ignore his tribal traditions. He’s Shoshone, and I don’t know how they feel about scalping.”

  “Maybe he was with Bridger long enough to put some of his tribal traditions behind him,” said Dallas.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Becky said. “We’ll save some for Wovoka.”

  When Wovoka finally emerged from the thicket, he looked like a walking arsenal. He had ten shell belts, each with a holstered Colt. Proudly he placed them on the ground near the cook fire.

  “All Colt,” said Wovoka.

  “Bueno, Wovoka,” Lonnie said. “What about their pockets?”

  The Indian had a blank look on his face, as though he didn’t fully understand what had been expected of him. Lonnie reached into his Levi’s pocket, took a handful of double eagles, and held them out to Wovoka.

  “Take gun, take horse,” said Wovoka. He then went to the wagon’s tailgate, where Becky had left his breakfast. He sat down on the wagon tongue and began to eat

  Dallas looked as though he were about to laugh, but Lonnie shook his head. Nothing was more devastating to an Indian than having someone laugh at him.

  “Gus and me will take a quick look,” Waco Talley said.

  “Go ahead,” said Lonnie.

  “Oh, I hate this,” Becky said. “It’s so uncivilized.”

  “Sorry,” said Lonnie. “We’re doing nothing to them that they wouldn’t have done to us. At least Wovoka didn’t scalp them.”

  Gus and Waco weren’t gone very long. When they returned, Gus carried his hat. When he dumped its contents on a blanket, there was the dull shine of many gold eagles, as well as double eagles.

  “Looks to be maybe a thousand dollars or more,” Waco said.

  “Becky,” said Lonnie, “find a place for it near the front of the wagon. Later on, w
e’ll divide it among the outfit. Now let’s saddle our horses and find those the Mejicanos left behind. Then it’s on to the Green River range.”

  *After two weeks or more in the same place, a horse generally considered it home.”

  8

  Lonnie, Dallas, Elliot Graves, and Justin Irwin started down-river in search of the horses the outlaws had ridden. The animals had been picketed where there was virtually no graze, and it was impossible for them to get to the river.

  “No telling how long it’s been since they were watered,” Lonnie said. “We’ll lead them all to water first.”

  While the horses drank their fill, the riders looked for familiar brands on them.

  “They’re all branded, and except for that bay, they look like Texas brands,” said Gus Wilder.

  “There may be some risk, but we’ll take them with us,” Lonnie said. “I can’t see turning them loose, only to have them cross the river back into old Mexico.”

  “With the fourteen Wovoka took, we’ve picked up twenty-seven horses,” said Dallas. “I think we should begin saddling them and see if they have the makings of some good cow horses.”

  “Good idea,” Lonnie said. “Being from Texas, I’d gamble that all of them have plenty of cow savvy.”

  When the horses had drunk their fill, the riders led them back to camp, loosing them among their own remuda.

  “Not a horse for sale anywhere in Texas,” said Dirk McNelly, “and now we got all this bunch without layin’ down a peso.”

  “Don’t crow too long and loud,” Lonnie said. “If we meet up with a ranger or a U.S. marshal, we’ll have some explaining to do. If my memory serves me right, the law can and might hold us responsible for taking horses we know are stolen.”

  “Well, hell,” said Dallas, “we disposed of a gang of horse thieves. That ought to be worth something to Texas lawmen.”

  “We’ll concern ourselves with that if and when the time comes.” Lonnie said. “Saddle your horses, hitch the teams to the wagon, and let’s get the herd moving.”