The Chisholm Trail Read online

  Once Marty and Wes had ridden away, Lou collapsed on the ground in a fit of giggles.

  “Why, you little hypocrite,” said Chris. “All that fuss was just an act.”

  “And wasn’t it a good one?” cackled Lou. “Did you see their eyes? They got big as pie tins when they saw us standing in the creek.”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Chris. “They didn’t mean for that to happen, and now they think we’re mad at them.”

  “Come on, Christabel,” said Lou, drying her eyes. “Act your age. You let me down, going all meek and mealy-mouthed. After they’d seen us naked as a pair of plucked pullets, they expected us to raise hell. Now they’ll respect us, and want to see more of us.”

  “How can they possibly see more of us than they have already?”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Lou. “You know what I mean. I like the youngest one, the one with freckles and brown hair. He talks like he’s from somewhere south of the Sewanee River. You can have the other one; he can’t be much older than you. I reckon he can’t be anything but a fiddle-foot Texan with ragged drawers and holes in his socks.”

  Returning to their proposed camp, Marty and Wes rode for a while in silence. It was Wes who finally spoke.

  “You reckon they’re tellin’ us the truth?”

  “I believe they are,” said Marty. “What would they gain by lying? Lou—Louise—didn’t have to tell us all that. Besides, when I was here back in the summer, after Lee surrendered, I heard that Quantrill and some of his bunch was in East Texas somewhere.”

  “I reckon Brady Ward’s in a mess of trouble,” said Wes, “between them Quantrill renegades and that high-handed saloon woman.”

  “So much that I look for it to spill over on us,” said Marty. “If Ward’s woman aims to take the cows Lou and Chris are gatherin’, what’s to stop her and them Quantrill riders from comin’ after our herd?”

  Priscilla LeBeau opened the big door to the U.S. Customs office and stepped inside. From behind her desk, the elderly secretary looked at her inquiringly.

  “I’m Priscilla LeBeau, and I…I need some help.”

  “I’m Emma Muldaur,” said the secretary. “What kind of help?”

  Priscilla told her as much as she knew about Tenatse Chisholm’s visit to the office, which was actually no more than the newspaper had printed.

  “I know him,” said Priscilla, “and I don’t believe he came here to do what he’s been accused of. Were you here? Can you tell me anything about why he would have come here?”

  “My dear,” said the kindly secretary, “I can’t tell you the nature of his business with Mr. Mathewson. However, I can tell you that he was here the first time—in July, I believe—at Mr. Mathewson’s request. The second and last time he was here—when all the shooting started—he had a letter asking him to come. It had John Mathewson’s name signed to it, but it wasn’t his signature, nor had it been written by him. I didn’t read it, but I remember the last line, above the signature, ‘It concerns Priscilla.’ Your young man seemed shocked when I told him of Mr. Mathewson’s death. Our conversation ended there, when the shooting started. But you’re right; he was here only because he thought Mr. Mathewson had asked him to come.”

  Priscilla controlled herself until she was out of the office. With her heart pounding and her knees trembling, she leaned against the big oval door. Now she knew why Ten had come back to New Orleans, despite her pleas. Whatever his business with Mathewson had been, it had somehow concerned her.

  Ten and Herndon listened in amazement as Marty and Wes explained that the Wards were females and that Brady Ward was harboring a band of thieves and killers.

  “Tarnation,” said Ten, when Marty and Wes had recounted what they had learned. “All we need now is the damn Comanches on our trail. We got everybody else.”

  “It ain’t the fault of the Ward girls,” said Marty.

  “You got a powerful lot of confidence in them females,” said Ten.

  “He’s seen more of ’em than you have,” said Herndon.

  His chuckle died when he saw the anger in Marty’s eyes.

  “Sorry, Marty,” Ten said. “You’re right. The Ward girls are caught in a trap that’s not of their making. If we’re sucked into it, at least we’ve been warned. We’re obliged to them for that.”

  “They’re ridin’ down here in a few days,” said Wes.

  “Good,” said Ten, “because I need to talk to them. I want them to continue what they’re doing. Brady Ward and that bunch of renegades will find out we’re here, but they don’t have to know the Ward girls are planning to join our drive. We won’t get out of here without a showdown, but maybe we can delay it until we finish our gather. We can’t hunt longhorns if we’re spending all our time fighting for our lives.”

  For the next two days, Ten, Herndon, Wes, and Marty worked from first light until dark, digging post holes, cutting posts and rails. Two of the posts at each end of the canyon were placed in the riverbed. While the water was shallow, the bed was sandy, offering little or no support.

  “This ain’t gonna work,” said Marty. “Them posts will be so weak, Ma Satterly could push ’em down with one hand.”

  “No they won’t,” Ten said, “because we’re goin’ to fill the holes around the posts with stones, and pack ’em tight with the pick handle.”

  They set up their camp in the canyon against the west wall, under a slight overhang. It offered protection against rain, but little else.

  “It won’t help us against the Comanches,” said Marty. “If we had the time, we could dig into the back wall, fort up, and stand off an army.”

  “The Comanches may be more interested in our horses than our scalps,” said Herndon, “but I reckon we can’t afford to gamble on that. Fact is, we don’t have anything we can afford to lose.”

  “Amen to that,” said Ten. “We’ll picket the horses close by and take turns standing watch. There’s four of us, the Ward girls seem handy with rifles, and there’s the remnant of Quantrill’s bunch. That might be enough to give the Comanches second thoughts. Marty, did the Wards say anything about the Comanches being a threat?”

  “No,” said Marty, “let’s remember to ask them when they get here.”

  The first several days of their hunt for longhorns was a learning experience for both horses and riders. Maynard Herndon summed it up.

  “Ropin’ a cow is one thing, but ropin’ a wild Texas longhorn is somethin’ else. There ain’t nothin’ else in the world like it.”

  The horses they’d brought with them from Natchez were fast on their feet, but they too had to learn. Riders worked in pairs, and it required coordinated efforts to safely rope, throw, and hog-tie a wild longhorn. The first rider got his loop over the animal’s horns, while his partner roped the hind legs. Once the longhorn was down, the safety of both horse and rider depended upon the horse. A good cow horse kept the rope taut, while the rider scrambled from the saddle, piggin’ string in his teeth, to bind the longhorn’s legs. The first rider tied the front legs, while the second rider secured the hind legs. They then removed their catch ropes and began beating the brush for another longhorn. Several hours later, when a hog-tied animal was exhausted from thrashing about, they loosed its feet and led it to their fenced canyon. Herndon worked with Ten, and Wes with Marty. After three days they had exactly six longhorns in their canyon holding pen.

  “At this rate,” said Wes tiredly, “we’ll be two years gatherin’ this herd. Them Ward girls will laugh at us.”

  “We’ve had to take it slow,” said Ten, “because we couldn’t be sure our horses had the hang of it. Give us a week, and we’ll double or triple what we’re doin’ now. Once our horses learn it’s their duty to keep these wild cows on the ground, we’ll move faster. The Cherokees taught me to rope and ride. I always thought I throwed a pretty good loop, but I’m having to do some learnin’ myself. Like Hern says, this is entirely different. Nothin’ you’ve ever done in your life prepares you for
the roping, throwing, and hog-tying of these wild Texas longhorns.”

  “I’ve never been on a trail drive,” said Wes, “so maybe this is a fool question. After we’ve trapped these longhorns and bunched ’em in this canyon for a while, will that make ’em any easier to handle on the drive?”

  “No,” said Ten. “They’ve been caught, not tamed.”

  “You can’t teach a cow nothin’,” said Marty. “Pen up these brutes for ten years, and they’d still be wild as Texas jacks once they hit the trail. When we start the drive, it’ll take a week of swattin’ their behinds with doubled lariats before they finally get the notion they’re a herd.”

  The fifth day after their meeting with Marty and Wes, Chris and Lou were until after dark returning to the Ward cabin. They only slept there, on a straw tick in the loft. When Bertha wasn’t around, they slipped food out, cached it, and did their cooking over an open fire. One of the shack’s three rooms was a kitchen. Brady Ward, Bertha, and Bodie Tomlin sat at the table drinking coffee. A gallon jug before them on the table suggested the coffee had been laced with something stronger. Chris and Lou climbed the ladder to the loft as quietly as they could. Removing only their boots, they lay down on their straw tick and listened to the loud voices from below. Brady Ward was speaking.

  “…fifteen miles downriver. They fenced both ends of that canyon, where th’ river runs shallow. They’re ropin’ wild cows an’ buildin’ a herd. What d’you aim t’ do about it?”

  “Nothin’,” laughed Tomlin, “till they git a good bunch. Then we’ll add it to ours.”

  With that, Tomlin left the shack. Chris and Lou heard no more, but it was enough. Next morning, at first light, they rode downriver to Tenatse Chisholm’s cow camp.

  “Step down,” said Ten, “and join us for breakfast.”

  “Thank you,” said Chris. “We will. But we have some bad news. Do you want it before or after breakfast?”

  “Knowin’ it’s bad news, and not knowin’ what it is, would plumb kill my appetite,” said Marty. “Why don’t you tell us what it is while we get the grub ready?”

  There was little enough to tell, but the content was explosive.

  “You invited us to join your gather,” said Chris, “and now you know why we couldn’t. I didn’t want you having to fight that bunch of killers on our account. Now it looks like you’ll have to, with or without us.”

  “Consider yourselves part of the outfit,” said Ten, “but let’s leave things as they are as long as we can. There’ll be trouble enough, soon enough. Besides, as long as you can stay in the house without suspicion, there’s a chance we can stay a jump ahead of whatever they have planned for us. Sooner or later, they’ll discover the herd of longhorns upriver on Marty’s old place. This is the larger herd you’ve gathered, the one we came upon when we first saw you. When they discover that herd, tell them it’s ours. I reckon we’re goin’ to need all the longhorns the lot of us can catch. I’ve promised delivery of fourteen hundred head by next April, in Indian Territory. So I can guarantee you four dollars a head when the herd’s sold. Besides that, you’ll each get forty dollars a month. Fair enough?”

  “My stars!” cried Chris. “Five hundred longhorns would bring us two thousand dollars! We wouldn’t expect more than that, and the chance to get away from here.”

  “You’ll earn the forty dollars a month,” said Ten. “It’s no more than I planned to pay if we’d been able to hire riders. After we’ve gathered the herd and faced up to this fight with Tomlin, we’ve still got the trail drive ahead of us. How’re you fixed for grub and ammunition?”

  “We slip food out of the house,” said Chris, “and as long as Daddy and Bertha think we’re increasing our gather, we’ll have ammunition.”

  “Try to get some extra ammunition, and hold it back,” said Ten. “All we have is for our Henrys and Colts. You’re welcome to share our grub, if need be. Are we likely to have trouble with the Comanches?”

  “Not unless they come after your horses,” said Chris. “The only Indian camp we’ve heard of is four days’ ride, downriver. Somebody’s making moonshine and trading it to the Indians for horses. The Comanches ride as far south as Houston and Victoria, stealing horses.”

  “We need horses,” said Ten. “Each of us need three, and we have one. We need at least eight more.”

  “We need four more, then,” said Lou. “One horse can’t take more than a few hours of this punishment. That’s why we have so few cows. We started this last spring.”

  “Twelve hosses!” exclaimed Marty. “Where in thunder are we goin’ to find even one that’s gentled enough to learn cow savvy? We ain’t got the time for hoss breakin’, even if we had ’em to break.”

  “Bodie Tomlin and his bunch bought some Indian-gentled horses somewhere downriver,” said Chris. “That’s how we learned where the Comanche camp is. Just a few miles north of it, a half-breed has a horse ranch.”

  “Even if we make it through the gather,” said Ten, “we’ll need a remuda—extra horses—for the trail drive. We’d better take the time to call on this Injun and see if he’s got a dozen gentled mounts that are fast learners.”

  “We can’t all go,” said Herndon, “without packin’ up everything and taking the packhorses. It’ll take four of us to lead a dozen broncs, if we can get that many.”

  “Since you’re getting extra horses for us,” said Chris, “we can help.”

  “Send Marty and Wes,” said Lou innocently, “and there’ll be four of us.”

  “You’re lookin’ at maybe four days there and four back,” said Ten. “How can you be gone for a week without your daddy knowin’ where you are?”

  “I’ll tell him where we’re going,” said Chris. “I just won’t tell him we’re going with some of you. I’ve already told him we need more horses, or we’ll never get a decent herd. When mama died, she left us a little jewelry that Bertha don’t know about. I’ll tell him we’re swapping that for some horses. Even if he don’t want us to go, Bertha will talk him into it.”

  “She’d be tickled silly if the Comanches got us,” said Lou.

  “One more thing,” said Ten. “This Bodie Tomlin and his bunch. How much do they know? Do they know you’re—”

  “Females? My God, no!” said Chris.

  “Your daddy’s idea?”

  “Bertha’s,” said Chris.

  “She wants to be the only woman in sight,” said Lou, “if there’s one man or fifty. That’s why we have to get away. She’s just waiting for the right time to get rid of us.”

  Marty, Wes, Chris, and Lou rode out the following morning at first light. They packed enough food for ten days, and Marty carried two hundred dollars in gold double eagles.

  “Marty and Wes,” sighed Herndon. “I’m torn between being glad for ’em and envious of ’em.”

  “I reckon they could do worse,” said Ten.

  His mind was on other things. As Chris had ridden away, her long, black hair had reminded him of Priscilla.

  Wes and Lou dropped behind, while Chris kept pace with Marty. Covertly, she studied him. His hair was the white of new corn silk, his eyes a deep blue. Their eyes met once, but he turned away without speaking. She decided there was no pretense in him. He was a Texan, a cowboy, and probably, as Lou had suggested, had ragged drawers and holey socks. But he was a man, a strong man, and Christabel Ward decided she liked him.

  14

  Wes kept his eyes straight ahead, aware of the redheaded girl at his side but saying nothing. She stood the silence as long as she could.

  “You don’t say much, do you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Are you like this with everybody, or just me?”

  “Mostly just you. What would I have to say to a woman that’s threatened to shoot me?”

  “Do you take everything a woman says as gospel?”

  “Yes, ma’am, when she backs it up with a loaded gun.”

  “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have shot you.”

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nbsp; “I didn’t know that, ma’am.”

  “Damn it,” she flared, “stop calling me ma’am! You’re talking to me like I was your grandma! Call me Lou, or Louise.”

  For the first time he looked her full in the face. The quick burst of anger had left her cheeks rosy, and green fire in her eyes. He decided he liked her best that way.

  “Lou,” he said, “I never had much chance or much reason to talk to a woman, ’cept for ‘Yes, ma’am,’ or ‘No, ma’am.’ The teacher at our one-room school was old enough to be my ma. The girls, what few there was, just looked at me and laughed. I was tall and gawky, with big feet and a face full of freckles. I just tried to stay out of everybody’s way. I left school when I was twelve, lied about my age, and joined the Confederate army when I was fifteen. Pa died while I was gone. Ma lasted until I got home. After I buried her, I throwed in with Ten and Marty.”

  “How old are you, Wes?”

  “I’ll be nineteen the tenth of this December.”

  “I’ll be seventeen the fourth of next April,” said Lou.

  So long was he silent, she became irritated.

  “You’ve been to war,” she said, “and made your way in the world. I just wish I was as much a woman as you are a man.”

  He looked her over carefully, a mischievous light in his brown eyes, and he almost smiled. He edged his horse closer to hers, until they were stirrup to stirrup. He grasped her saddle horn, leaning over until he was looking her full in the face. She felt herself blushing furiously.

  “Lou,” he said, “you’re about the most woman I ever laid eyes on. If you was any more of one, God only knows what you’d do with it.”

  He’d fairly taken her breath away. She became so flustered, it was a while before she trusted herself to speak.

  “For a man that…don’t know how to…talk to a woman, you…learn awful fast.”