The Santa Fe Trail Read online

  “His attitude is acceptable,” said Pitkin, “but what’s the rest of his name?”

  “Gonzales is all we know,” Woody replied.

  “Gonzales who?” Pitkin persisted.

  “Madre mia,” said the Mexican. “You call Gonzales, I come. That not be enough?”

  “Yes,” Woody said, “I think that will be enough. Don’t you, Mr. Pitkin?”

  “Yes,” said Pitkin wisely. “You will be in charge of the chuck wagon.”

  “Sí,” Gonzales replied. “Caballos, mulos.”

  “Gonzales!” Gavin shouted.

  He sent his Colt spinning and the Mexican deftly caught it, cocked it, and then eased the hammer down. He expertly border-shifted the weapon, took its muzzle in his left hand, and presented it butt-first to Gavin.

  “You’ll do, Gonzales,” said Gavin.

  The Mexican said nothing, and even Pitkin understood the significance of what he had witnessed. When he spoke, it was to the Mexican.

  “Gonzales, I will direct a written message to a general store, authorizing them to load a chuck wagon with all the food and supplies you believe necessary to feed the outfit on the trail and after we establish a ranch in New Mexico. Woody, we do have a chuck wagon I presume?”

  “We do,” said Woody, “but we’re lacking teams and harness.”

  “Then go to the livery—wherever you must purchase teams and harness—get them, and have them charged to me,” Pitkin said. “When the chuck wagon has been loaded, take it to your cow camp. My daughters and I will be there sometime tomorrow, prepared to take the trail.”

  “Pit,” Woody said, “if it meets with your approval, Gavin and me will go to the store with Gonzales. There’s some things other than grub we’re goin’ to need on the trail. You’ll need bedrolls for your daughters and yourself, and all of you should be armed. If not with Winchesters, at least with Colts.”

  “Very well,” said Pitkin. “You men are much more aware of the needs of an outfit on the trail than I, and I am relying on your judgment.”

  Woody and Gavin found that Gonzales was a good judge of livestock, for the Mexican quickly chose four young mules of good temperament. They harnessed the mules and led the animals to the wagon yard, where the chuck wagon waited.

  “I still have a hundred and fifteen dollars Pitkin advanced us for the chuck wagon and grub,” Woody said. “Since we’ll be loadin’ the chuck wagon today and there’ll be plenty of grub, I aim to use some of this money to buy some extra canvas.”

  “The chuck wagon comes with canvas,” said Gavin. “Why do we need more?”

  “I aim to buy two twenty-foot squares, with the edges hemmed and brass eyelets at the corners,” Woody said. “At least we’ll have a shelter where we can squat and eat, without bein’ snowed, sleeted, and rained on.”

  “Might be handy after we reach Santa Fe,” said Gavin. “Pitkin’s just startin’ with open range, and we don’t know when there’ll be a bunk house.”

  “Sí,” Gon$$$$$ales said. “Thong one side of shelter to wagon bows, other side to trees, or to poles we bury in ground.”

  “Bueno,” said Woody. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “Sí,” Gonzales said. “If chuck wagon have dry firewood, need possum belly.”*

  “We can use a cowhide for that,” said Gavin. “We saved the last one, brought it on one of the pack mules.”

  When they reached the general store, Gonzales expertly backed the wagon up to the ramp for the loading of supplies.

  “Gonzales, turn in Pitkin’s letter,” Woody said, “and begin loadin’ what you know for sure we’ll be needin’ on the trail. We’ll have to find bedrolls and weapons for Pitkin and his daughters.”

  While the general store had Winchesters and ammunition, there were no revolvers.

  “Let’s get three Winchesters and ammunition,” said Gavin, “and if they want Colts, then Pitkin can go to a gunsmith’s. Maybe I ain’t bein’ fair to these English folks, but I can’t see any of them bein’ worth a damn in a fight.”

  “Frankly,” Woody said, “neither can I, but they can change. They’ll have to, if they aim to survive on the frontier.”

  Gavin laughed. “It may shock hell out of Pitkin, but I reckon we’ll have to help Nell and Naomi learn cow. Startin’ out with thirty-five hundred head, after a couple of years of natural increase, a six-man outfit won’t be near enough.”

  After gathering the extra Winchesters, ammunition, and bedrolls, Gavin and Woody returned to the loading dock. Gonzales had three store clerks bringing supplies to the wagon, while the Mexican positioned things so that no available space was wasted. Outside the wagon—on either side of the wagon box—was a water keg, and from each keg to the rear end of the wagon, heavy iron hooks had been bolted to the vehicle’s frame.

  “What are these for?” Gavin wondered.

  “You see,” said Gonzales.

  The Mexican had secured a dozen yard-long, three-inch-wide leather straps with brass rings at each end. The men loading the wagon brought out four heavy gunnysacks.

  “Grain for mulos,” Gonzales said.

  Quickly, Gonzales looped the brass rings on the ends of three of the leather straps over three of the iron hooks on the outside of the wagon box. Two of the men from the store held a heavy sack of grain in position, while Gonzales looped the heavy leather straps over the sack and attached the rings on the loose ends of the straps to three of the hooks along the outside of the wagon box. A second sack of grain was secured in the same manner on the same side of the wagon box, and the remaining two sacks were put into position on the opposite side of the wagon.

  “Grub for mulos no get in way of grub for outfit,” Gonzales explained.

  Gavin and Woody looked at one another and grinned. The Mexican was proving himself resourceful when it came to loading the wagon. Now if he could only cook…

  “Tarnation,” said Gavin, “look who’s comin’ down the boardwalk.”

  Nell and Naomi Pitkin seemed oblivious to the four men following them. It was Naomi who spoke.

  “Father is allowing us to come to the store and choose proper clothing for the drive to Santa Fe.”

  “Well, he shouldn’t have allowed you to come alone,” said Woody. “Who are those hombres followin’ you?”

  “I don’t know,” Naomi said, looking back. “I never saw them before.”

  “Well, now,” said one of the men, “we ain’t introduced ourselves proper.”

  The four looked as though they had recently departed a saloon, for their faces were flushed. Their hair and beards were unkempt and their clothing looked as in need of washing as their faces, necks, arms, and hands. They became angry when it appeared the two women they were following had come to meet Gavin and Woody. One of the four—big, brawny, weighing maybe three hundred—stepped off the boardwalk into the dusty street, and it was he who spoke.

  “I’m Burke Chandler, an’ we seen these ladies first. Why don’t you an’ sonny boy run along, so’s we don’t hafta hurt you?”

  Gavin was nearest. Reacting in a manner that took the big man totally by surprise, he brought his right all the way from his knees. While Chandler didn’t fall, he rocked back on his heels and Gavin had to hit him a second time. When he finally went down in a cloud of dust, his three companions charged Gavin. All of them were big men, accustomed to saloon brawling, and when Woody went to Gavin’s rescue, the two of them went down under the combined weight of the three men.

  “Leave them alone, you brutes,” Naomi shouted.

  She seized the arm of one of the brawling trio, while Nell went after another. The two of them only succeeded in getting sucked into the fight, and it gradually went from bad to worse. Nell screamed when her dress was ripped from collar-to-waist, and Naomi was faring no better.

  “Somebody get the sheriff!” one of the storekeepers shouted.

  But the brawl didn’t last that long. Gonzales grabbed a Winchester from beneath the wagon seat and slammed the bu
tt of it into the head of one of the four troublesome men. Awaiting an opportunity, he slugged another of the four in the same manner. Naomi and Nell managed to drag themselves out of the fight, while Gavin and Woody each took one of their remaining adversaries. Finally the four intruders were sprawled on the ground, and the victors leaned against the chuck wagon, breathing hard. Gavin and Woody were almost in rags. Naomi and Nell, in their undergarments, sought what was left of their ripped and mutilated dresses. A crowd had begun to gather.

  “I reckon you ladies had better go on in the store and get yourselves the duds you had come after,” Woody said. “You’ll never be in more need of ’em.”

  “I’m more naked than I want to be, out in public,” said Gavin. “I reckon we’d better all go in there and get ourselves covered. Pit will just have to take it from our wages.”

  “Oh, God,” Naomi moaned, “don’t tell Father. He’ll be furious.”

  “I don’t care,” said Nell. “It was a perfectly glorious fight.”

  “All of you had better get inside,” said one of the men from the store. “Here comes the sheriff.”

  Quickly, Naomi and Nell entered the store, followed by Gavin and Woody. The sheriff arrived in time to witness the awakening of the four men who had been the cause of the brawl. Chandler sat up, blood dripping from his nose and running down his chin. His three companions slowly got to their hands and knees.

  “Sheriff Robbins,” said one of the men from the store, “these four men had followed two ladies here, and they’re in the store, along with the two gents that defended ’em. The mejicano here, he cracked some heads with the butt of a rifle. It was all he could do to help his two friends, not to mention the ladies.”

  “Chandler,” the sheriff said, “you and the rest of these varmints git on back to the hole you crawled out of, but don’t leave town. If these people—the ladies—want to press charges, I’ll jail the lot of you and let the judge decide your punishment.”

  The four got to their feet and stumbled back the way they had come. Sheriff Robbins went on into the store. Although their hair was a tangled mess, Naomi and Nell were both dressed in men’s Levi’s and denim shirts.

  “Ladies,” the lawman said, “I’m Sheriff Robbins. If you’d care to press charges, I’d be glad to lock up the four varmints that was botherin’ you.”

  “No,” Naomi said. “We’ll only be in town another day or two. I don’t believe they’ll bother us again.”

  Woody and Gavin returned from a dressing room, where they had changed into their new clothes. Each had a black eye, and their faces and hands bled from numerous cuts and scrapes.

  “We’ll see that they’re not alone on the street, Sheriff,” said Woody.

  The lawman nodded and went on his way.

  “Now,” Woody said, “if you ladies are ready, Gavin and me will see you back to your hotel.”

  “I suppose we’re ready,” said Naomi. “Promise you won’t tell Father.”

  “We won’t,” Woody said, “but he may learn of it from somebody else.”

  “He won’t have to hear of it from anybody,” said Gavin. “All he’ll have to do is look at us.”

  “He won’t see us again today,” Woody said, “and by the time we see him tomorrow, we’ll have had time to patch ourselves up.”

  Nell laughed. “Then it shall be our secret.”

  By the time Woody and Gavin returned to the general store, there was very little left to be loaded into the chuck wagon. Gonzales raised the tailgate, closed the canvas pucker, and they were ready to return to the herd. Woody and Gavin mounted their horses and led out, the Mexican following with the chuck wagon. The rest of the outfit saw them coming, and there were shouts of appreciation. When Gonzales reined up the teams, Woody performed the introductions.

  “Gonzales,” said Vic Brodie, “I know you just got here, but I purely could enjoy some grub cooked by an hombre that knows his stuff.”

  “Si,” the Mexican said. “There be firewood?”

  “There will be,” Brodie said. “Some of you varmints come help me.”

  With the long trail ahead of them, every man wanted to know just one thing: could the newly hired Mexican actually cook? Gonzales seemed anxious to prove himself, and he seemed to have loaded the chuck wagon in a manner that was most convenient, for he soon had a meal underway. He had bought a supply of Irish potatoes, and while he had a few spare moments, he brought them forth.

  “There be biscuits,” he said. “Four day, maybe.”

  “The little paisano knows what he’s doin’,” said Brodie. “Sourdough ain’t worth a damn unless it’s had time to work.”

  “Woody,” Rusty Pryor said, “I don’t know how you and Gavin done it, but you found us a honest-to-God range cook.”

  “Yeah,” said Ash, “and now that we’re sure of that, how come you hombres showed up in new duds with black eyes?”

  Gavin and Woody told them about the fight, embellishing the story as they went along. When they had finished, there was a moment of silence, and the rest of the outfit began swearing in almost a single voice.

  “Just our luck,” Rusty said. “Them two Pitkin gals end up in nothin’ but their underpants, and it’s all wasted on you two unappreciative varmints.”

  “Whoa up,” said Nip Kelly. “They took a pretty good beatin’, so I reckon it wasn’t all that much fun.”

  “You’re damned right it wasn’t,” Gavin said. “If Gonzales hadn’t grabbed a Winchester and cracked some heads, them four hombres would’ve made coyote bait of the both of us.”

  “Just four of them, and you needed help? My God,” said Vic, “you’re Texans. Gents, I reckon us and the state of Texas is disgraced.”

  He hung his head, as though in shame, and the others followed his lead. Sorrowfully, they regarded Woody and Gavin, trying mightily not to laugh.

  “Damn it,” Gavin said, “I’d like to see any two of you take on them four gorillas and do any better. Where was you when you was needed at the Alamo?”

  “Back off, Gavin,” said Woody. “They’re hoorawing us.”

  The cowboy humor ended as quickly as it had begun, with a shout from Gonzales.

  “Come and get it, or I feed it to the mulos.”

  The Mexican filled their tin plates with fried steak, potatoes, and onions. That was only the start, for Gonzales had fried eggs and bacon on the side, and there were two pots of hot coffee.

  “My God,” said Vic, when they got to the fried eggs and bacon, “put a sack over the little varmint’s head, and I’d marry him.”

  “You’d have to get in line,” Rusty said.

  They devoured the food to the last morsel, leaving Gonzales beaming.

  True to his word, the following morning Gladstone Pitkin and his daughters arrived as Gonzales was pouring the first coffee. But the Pitkin weren’t alone. A bearded rider led three packhorses, Reining up, Pitkin spoke.

  “Gentlemen, this is Wilkes Thornton. He has been hired to see to our packhorses.”

  But Thornton ignored Pitkin. Dismounting, he stood facing the outfit, his right hand near the butt of his holstered Colt. His cold, hard eyes were on Nip Kelly. Kelly seemed totally relaxed, and only Gavin McCord and Woodrow Miles had any idea as to what was about to transpire. Wilkes Thornton was the gambler who had challenged Nip Kelly at the gambling table in Independence!

  “Mr. Thornton,” Pitkin said, irritated, “may I ask what you have in mind?”

  “Pit,” said Woody, “stay out of this.”

  Pitkin, unaccustomed to taking orders, was about to fire off an angry response, but the situation was out of his hands. Thornton went for his gun, and only then did Nip Kelly move. His Colt roared and Thornton stumbled backwards into his horse. The animal shied and the gambler slumped to the ground, his unfired weapon in his hand. Pitkin found his voice and said exactly the wrong thing.

  “Mr. Kelly, I will not tolerate such barbaric behavior from any man employed by me.”

  “Well, then,
Mr. Pitkin,” said Kelly with exaggerated politeness, “I reckon I won’t be employed by you. I’d sell you my time, but not the right to defend myself.”

  “He’s speaking for all of us, Pit,” Woody said. “This same hombre tried to kill Nip in town yesterday, and likely would have, if Gavin and me hadn’t sided him.”

  “If Kelly goes, we all go,” said Rusty Pryor, his eyes sparking green fire.

  Pitkin was speechless until Naomi spoke up.

  “Father, Mr. Kelly only defended himself. How can you fault him for that?”

  “Daughter,” Pitkin said angrily, “how dare you question my integrity in public? Why, I ought to take a strap to you.”

  “Then you’d as well take a strap to me, Father,” Nell said, “because I feel the same as Naomi. “If Mr. Kelly hadn’t defended himself, he would be dead, and I don’t believe a man should die just to justify your sense of authority.”

  For a moment, it seemed Pitkin’s fury was about to engulf him, but he swallowed his pride and strove mightily to control himself. When he finally spoke, it was to Nip Kelly.

  “Perhaps I was hasty in my judgment of you, Mr. Kelly. All of you must be patient with me, for I am unfamiliar with the Western frontier’s concept of justice. I hired all of you for your experience, and I shall attempt to rely more fully on that experience in the future. I shall begin by allowing you to do what is legal and proper with the body of the late Mr. Thornton.”

  “Thornton asked for what he got,” said Woody, “and if the law comes nosin’ around, Nip’s got all the witnesses he’ll need. No shootin’ was ever more justified, and all we owe Thornton is a decent buryin’.”

  “Very well,” Pitkin said, “I’ll accept your judgment, but who’s going to lead the three packhorses with our personal belongings?”

  “If you was serious about takin’ our advice,” said Rusty, “get rid of the packhorses. What you need is another wagon and some more good mules. You can handle the wagon yourself. All you got to do is follow the chuck wagon, and anywhere Gonzales goes, you can go.”

  It was a sensible suggestion, and it struck both the Pitkin girls as hilariously funny. Pitkin needed a moment to see it as both practical and humorous, and when he spoke again he seemed more like the men he had hired.