Ralph Compton The Cheyenne Trail Page 3

  “What about his father?” she asked.

  “His father, the way he tells it, was a fur trapper. A free trapper. He had a run-in with a bunch of company trappers, with American Fur, I believe, and one of them killed his father. Name was Benjamin, I think. Ben Avery. Yes, that’s it. Vernon doesn’t seem to know much about him, but that’s understandable.”

  “Why is it understandable?” Louella sipped her coffee now that the steam was off and it had cooled.

  “Trappers’ life, I suppose. Indian squaw for a wife. Ben came and went, like the seasons. Vern doesn’t talk about his father, but I knew a trapper or two. Strange bunch. Loners, mostly, obsessed with prime fur, traps, and wild game.”

  “They were out here first, weren’t they?” Louella’s face was beautiful, he thought. And she had ringlets in her soft hair. She kept it clean and washed. And combed. Sitting there, as she was, you’d never know that she was crippled. She looked perfectly normal when she wasn’t trying to walk. He loved her this way. When he saw her walk, the pain she was in, he winced inside.

  “Injuns was here first,” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Oh, silly. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, Lou, I know what you mean. The trappers really opened up this country. They were the first white men to come west of the Mississippi and see what riches were in the Rocky Mountains.”

  “In a way, then, that’s how we came to own this ranch.”

  He saw that she was interested in the history of the land where they lived. So was he. Especially now that Silver Bear was demanding cattle because all the buffalo were gone. He would not tell her about the Cheyenne demand. It would be just another worry she didn’t need while he was away on the cattle drive.

  “Well, I’d better get some shut-eye. Early start in the morning.”

  “You’re not leaving tomorrow, are you?” she said.

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve got to help with the gather. We got cattle scattered all over the place. Got to get ’em bunched and ready to head south.”

  “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  “I’ll miss you too, Lou.”

  The two embraced and he kissed her, long and lovingly.

  Then with his arm around her, she turned down the lamp and they watched it sputter out. In the darkness, they walked to their bedroom.

  Outside, they heard the lowing of cattle and the far-off cry of a coyote. It was a lonesome sound, a sound like the prairie itself, and it sang in their ears as they undressed in the hazy glow of moonlight streaming through their bedroom window.

  That night, Reese and Louella made love, and it was as if all the cares of the world had faded into nothingness.

  There were no disgruntled Cheyenne. There was no need to drive the cattle to Cheyenne. There was only the peace and calm of the prairie night.

  Chapter 5

  Jimmy John had chased the heifer for half a mile before he brought the calf up short with a well-thrown lariat around her neck. When he rode up on her, he saw that she wasn’t branded.

  Somehow, he figured, she had escaped the spring gather. More than once. He led her back to the south pasture and she fought him all the way.

  “What you got there, Jimmy John?” Reese called when he saw the dancing heifer at the end of the cowhand’s rope.

  “Another unbranded calf,” Jimmy John Nolan replied as the heifer dug all four feet into the ground to stop from being pulled.

  “They’re just startin’ up a branding fire over yonder,” Reese said. “Too dark to see where just now, but just keep goin’ the way you’re goin’.”

  “I know where they are,” Jimmy John said.

  “They’re going to put trail brands on every head, but there are Lazy B irons there too.”

  “Got it,” Jimmy John said, and jerked the rope, which brought the heifer to its feet once again.

  It was still dark, but already there were gray smears of clouds on the eastern horizon and a pale cream light in the eastern sky.

  Reese made a circle and saw the first flames of the branding fire. He headed that way, wending his way through bunches of cattle that were grazing in small groups.

  George and Roy were starting the branding fire in a ring of stones. Roy was fanning the small flame as Roy blew on it from the other side of the fire ring.

  Other men, including Vern Avery, were roping cattle, and hog-tying them close to where the branding would take place. Reese noticed that most of the cattle already had Lazy B brands on their hips. Irons were stacked next to the fire ring, some of them with the trail brand, a bar b, at the ends. The brand was small and would go on the ears of the cattle they would drive to Cheyenne. The small b and the small bar were as Reese had ordered from the blacksmith, Ernie Wilson, who worked for him. Ernie kept the horses shod and the stables cleaned. He sometimes had to dehorn a bull or steer and had some knowledge of veterinarian skills dealing with cattle and horses, and the occasional dog or cat.

  “Vern, get your thumb out of your butt,” Calvin Forbes said. “You got to tie them back legs tight.”

  “Up yours,” Avery said as he wrapped rope around a steer’s hind hocks. “If you can do any better, hop to it.”

  Reese frowned at the two men. The steer was kicking and Avery had more rope dangling than he did around the animal’s ankles.

  “We got a lot of cattle to brand, boys,” Reese said. “By tonight.”

  “No way are we goin’ to get this herd movin’ by tomorrow,” Jimmy John said.

  “Boys, we’d better build another fire ring,” Reese said. “We’ve got plenty of irons for two setups.”

  George nodded. “We can do that,” he said.

  Meanwhile, more riders were herding cattle onto the south pasture, their forms silhouetted against the western darkness as they chased cattle onto new pasture.

  Calvin got off his horse and fell on the neck of the steer that Vern was attempting to hogtie. He grunted and glared at Avery.

  “Now, just jerk them ropes tight as you wrap ’em, Vern,” he said. “And tie it off.”

  “I’m doin’ it,” Avery said as he wrapped the rope around the steer’s hind legs. He had to lean on the upper haunch to keep the animal from kicking.

  That’s when Calvin noticed something on Vern’s shirt. “You got paint on your shirt, Vern. Where’d you get that?”

  Vern looked down and saw a streak of red paint that went across the seam of his blue chambray shirt. He knew where it had come from and felt a flush of guilty embarrassment.

  He had met with Silver Bear and told him of Reese’s plans to drive all of his cattle to Cheyenne. In two days. When he had embraced the man, some of his paint rubbed off on his shirt. He just hoped nobody would figure out where the paint had come from.

  Silver Bear had not liked the news.

  He told Avery to do everything he could to slow down the start of the drive.

  “We want some of the cattle,” Silver Bear said. “And we want to drive the white man from our land.”

  “Maybe if you burn him out, he will not come back,” Avery told Silver Bear.

  “He must not take his cattle away,” Silver Bear said.

  And now Avery was wondering how he could slow up the departure of Reese and all his cattle. Without getting caught or drawing attention to himself.

  He wanted Reese and his kind off the lands of his forebears too. But he was just one man against many. And Silver Bear was at least two days away from carrying out his plan.

  And in two days, all the cattle on the Lazy B would be headed south.

  The fire grew hotter and men began to lay the branding irons into the flames while others dragged hog-tied cattle close to the fire pit.

  Reese grunted in satisfaction as he watched his hands drive more cattle to the pasture. There were a lot of head to get trail brands on, but he thoug
ht that with at least two fires going, they would have the entire herd ready by late in the afternoon of the next day.

  It was then, as the sun slid above the horizon and spread golden light over the prairie, that he noticed an ominous sign.

  To the west, where the buttes and mesas rose like dark ships and castles, he saw the white puffs of smoke.

  The Cheyenne were up to something. They were calling to more of their tribe.

  Why?

  He could only imagine that they meant to steal his cattle before he could move them.

  He looked at his men. All were busy with the cattle. He could not spare a single one to stand guard or patrol the outer reaches of his ranch.

  The seeping light of dawn widened his view so that he saw the gathered cattle as more than dark silhouettes. He was proud of his herd. The animals were healthy and fat on the rich prairie grass.

  Avery hunkered down next to the first branding fire. He picked up one of the iron brands and poked its business end into the blazing fire. George picked up another iron and stuck it into the heart of the flames.

  Roy and Johnny dragged two hog-tied cows over and left them near the fire.

  “Ready to go,” Roy said.

  Other men were roping cattle, ready to lead them to the fire ring.

  Avery turned the iron to heat it clear through. George did the same.

  The morning air filled with a different smell, the aroma of new iron heating up, aromatic sage and dried sagebrush, cattle hides, and men’s sweat soaking through cloth.

  “How hot you gettin’ them irons, Roy?” Johnny asked. “You goin’ to burn both flanks at once?”

  The men laughed.

  All except Avery. He turned the iron to make sure that it was heated clear through the trail brand lettering.

  He too saw the puffs of smoke rising in the morning sky. And he knew the meaning of the signals.

  Silver Bear was sending out, to all who could decipher the meaning, a request for all warriors to come help him drive the White Eyes from their lands. The smoke talked about the return of the buffalo only if the white man was gone from Cheyenne hunting grounds.

  There were a few Cheyenne, Lakota, and Crow who still roamed free. They might see the messages in smoke and join forces with Silver Bear. In the meantime, he would fight the white man in his own small way.

  With that in mind, Avery lifted the hot iron and looked at its bright orange glow. He swung the iron toward Roy’s face and landed the hot iron on his cheek.

  Roy screamed and grabbed at the burning flesh.

  The smell of burned human skin wafted to Avery’s nostrils.

  Roy stood up, a partial brand burned into the side of his face.

  “Sorry,” Avery said, loud enough for all those around him to hear.

  Roy staggered a few feet, blinded by pain. He tapped at the burn and his fingers came away with blood and scorched tissue.

  “What the hell?” George exclaimed. “Avery, you dumb numbskull, what have you done?”

  “It was an accident,” Avery said.

  Reese rode over to Roy and watched him twitch and writhe with pain.

  “Get some water,” one of the men shouted.

  “Water won’t do any good,” Reese said. “Avery, watch what you’re doin’.”

  Avery bowed his head and put his iron back in the fire.

  “I said I was sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see Roy when I picked up the iron.”

  “Well, that hot iron is lethal, so watch where you put it. On the cows, not on one of the hands.”

  All of the men glared at Avery, who stared into the fire as he turned the iron to heat it through.

  George walked over and grabbed the iron from Avery’s hand. He burned a brand into one of the cows’ hide.

  “Just find something else to do, Vern,” he said. “You’re too awkward with that iron.”

  Avery stood up. “What do you want me to do, boss?” he said to Reese.

  “Maybe you’d better stay away from fire, Avery. We’ve got a lot of head to brand. Make yourself useful.”

  Avery assumed a look of innocence. He walked over to his horse and untied his lariat.

  He had slowed the branding down. That was all he could do just then.

  Chapter 6

  Silver Bear inspected the drying cattails. They were still not dry enough. In the meantime, the women were gathering scraps of wood from sage and other prairie bushes and stacking them near their shelters. Others were sharpening flints and testing them on iron horseshoes they had saved from those old ones thrown away by the white man on his ranch.

  Up on the mesa, Lean Wolf and Red Deer had used wet brush to build their signaling fire. Silver Bear had told them what messages to deliver in the white smoke. He looked up at the smoke signals now and grunted in satisfaction. He knew that there were like-minded Lakota, Crow, and both Southern and Northern Cheyenne who would heed his call. Maybe even some Kiowa who roamed the country in search of game in a land ravished by the intrusion of the Long Knives.

  He longed for the days before the coming of the white man, when the prairie was black with buffalo and the deer and elk came down from the mountains each spring. There was plenty of food for everyone, and his people were free to roam without hunger in their bellies.

  Now there were soldiers and settlers who hated the red man and were trying to wipe out all the people of every tribe. It was a sad time in the lives of the Cheyenne, and it had all started when they lost the Medicine Arrows and the Medicine Hat. That was the year when everything changed and the fortunes of his people worsened as they succumbed to defeat at the hands of their enemies, both red and white.

  The Medicine Arrows and the Medicine Hat were sacred to his people. And when they were lost, the people were lost. Now they were scattered or penned up like sheep and the land had turned empty from the hide hunters who slaughtered the buffalo with long fire sticks and left their meat to rot in the sun while they stripped the animals of only the hair.

  He sat by the bleak morning fire and smoked, his thoughts roaming through his past and drifting to the ranch owned by a man called Reese. A bad white man who would not give up just a few of his cattle to feed a starving people.

  He could not understand such heartlessness. Nor did he understand how the white man could claim that the land was his. The red man did not believe that any man, white or red, could own something that had been given to the people by the Great Spirit and that none owned any piece of land. The land belonged to the people and they could not buy or sell it as the white man did.

  Silver Bear looked up when he saw Yellow Horse walk up, leading his horse.

  “Someone comes,” Yellow Horse said.

  “Who comes?”

  “It is a Crow on a painted pony. He rides alone.”

  “Ah, maybe that is Crooked Arrow.”

  “I think it is Crooked Arrow,” Yellow Horse said.

  The rider came up and lifted his hand to show that it was empty.

  “Come down off your pony,” Silver Bear said. “It has been many moons since you came to my lodge.”

  “I have hunted and been with the Lakota. I saw your smoke.”

  Crooked Arrow had more than thirty summers. He was a slender man. His moccasins were worn and he wore U.S. cavalry trousers that were faded. He had the marks on his chest that showed that he had danced the Ghost Dance once. The scars were like welts on his bare bronzed chest. In his hair, he wore a single eagle feather that was frayed from wind and wear.

  He dismounted and squatted by the fire, laid his bow across his knees.

  “I come to fight the white man, Silver Bear,” Crooked Arrow signed with slender hands that had ridges from rope burns beneath each finger.

  Silver Bear signed back, “You have hunger?”

  “Yes.” Crooked Arrow rubbed his
swollen belly. His ribs showed, like those of the others in the Cheyenne camp, and his face was drawn and taut.

  “We have eaten our moccasins,” Silver Bear said, “and the white man’s bridles from the last soldier fight many moons ago.”

  “I have only the rope bridle, and my moccasins are skinnier than I am.”

  “We will have cattle to eat soon.”

  Crooked Arrow’s tired eyes sparkled with sunlight that seemed to come from within. “You have cattle?” He made the signs and licked his lips.

  “In one sun, or two, we will have cattle.”

  “Two Bows and Broken Knife follow me,” Crooked Arrow said. “They come from the mountains.”

  “Ah, the Lakota,” Silver Bear said. “Brave men. Good warriors.”

  Crooked Arrow watched the women come and go from the creek. They carried knives and brought back bundles of bulrushes that they laid out in even rows on flat ground. He saw these things but did not say anything. He wondered if the Cheyenne would eat the bulrushes. But he also saw the stacks of bushes, twigs, and small branches. Perhaps, he thought, the Cheyenne were eating those too.

  Silver Bear saw the look on Crooked Arrow’s face and signed his intentions with the bulrushes and the brush.

  “That is a good plan,” Crooked Arrow signed. “I will help you. I will take many scalps when you capture their cattle.”

  “The White Eyes are leaving,” Silver Bear said. “They are taking the cattle away.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “We will take some cattle before they leave,” Silver Bear said.

  “And what if you do not take the cattle before they ride away?”

  “We will follow them and steal their cattle when the stars fill the sky.”

  “Ah, that is a good plan too,” Crooked Arrow said.

  When the Lakota came, Silver Bear welcomed them. They brought with them the dried meat of beaver and marten. There was enough food to chew on while the women cut the bulrushes and gathered firewood. There was enough for the women too.

  The day passed in its slow way and Silver Bear felt the bulrushes.