The Santa Fe Trail Read online

  “I go first,” Gonzales shouted.

  He urged his teams ahead, and without breaking stride, they took the chuck wagon to the opposite side of the dry creek. Pitkin didn’t hesitate, and urging his teams forward, crossed to the other bank without difficulty.

  “Bueno,” Woody shouted.

  Already, the riders had the herd moving, and Woody got ahead of them, riding up to the point position. He looked back, but was unable to see the Stubbs wagons.

  “Good crossing, eh?” Pitkin shouted to Gonzales.

  “Sí,” the grinning Mexican shouted back.

  Woody allowed the herd to slow to their customary gait, but kept them moving. The Pitkin outfit was already out of sight when the Stubbs wagons approached Mud Creek.

  “Why, hell,” Levi Stubbs scoffed, “this ain’t no problem. Ain’t no mud. That creek bed’s packed plumb solid from them cows trompin’ across it.”

  Stubbs urged his team ahead, but the stream bed that appeared so solid wasn’t ready for the heavily loaded wagons. The rear wheels sank to the hubs and the hapless mules struggled in vain.

  “Pull, damn you!” Stubbs bawled.

  The mules brayed in fear and pain, as Stubbs flayed them with a whip, but the wagon didn’t budge.

  “Stop beating the mules!” Bonita cried, seizing her father’s arm.

  “Get your hands off me!” said Stubbs. “Or I’ll use the whip on you.”

  “Then you’ll have to use it on me, Paw,” Jania said.

  “And on me,” said Laketa.

  The two of them had left the wagons driven by their brothers, Wiley and Whit, and in the face of such opposition, Stubbs put down the whip. Stepping down from the wagon box, he shouted to his sons who had reined up their teams behind him.

  “Unhitch them teams,” Stubbs ordered. “We’ll use ever’ damn mule, if that’s what it takes. Then we’ll do the same with the other two wagons.”

  Silently, Wiley and Whit began unharnessing their teams, wondering what stormy old Levi would do, should the extra mules be unable to move the stuck wagon.

  “We’ll hitch your teams ahead of mine, Wiley,” said Stubbs. “If that don’t do it, then we’ll hitch Whit’s teams ahead of yours.”

  He glared at them, daring one of them to raise the obvious question. But knowing the futility of it, they kept their silence. Wiley led his teams across to the opposite bank of the creek and backed them into position ahead of Stubbs’ stranded mules. When he had all the teams linked together, Stubbs seized the lines and used them to slap the rumps of the first team. Fearing more of the whip, the animals surged ahead, forcing the added teams to move. Time and again, Stubbs forced the straining mules to surge ahead, and while the mired wheels of the wagon moved, they remained stuck.

  “Whit,” Stubbs said, “unhitch your team an’ harness ’em in front of Wiley’s.”

  Whit obeyed, knowing there would be hell to pay if every mule they owned failed to move the stuck wagon. But Levi Stubbs was already considering that possibility. While Whit unhitched his teams, Stubbs worked loose the long hickory pole that served as the wagon’s brake handle. He then went on to Wiley’s wagon and removed its brake handle. When Whit had the third wagon’s teams hitched ahead of Wiley’s, Levi Stubbs spoke.

  “Wiley, you take one of these poles, an’ Whit, you take the other. I want you both behind this wagon, each of you with a pole jammed behind a wagon wheel. When them mules leans into the harness, I want the both of you layin’ your backs behind them poles. By God, this wagon better move. Understand?”

  Wiley and Whit nodded, taking the poles, dreading the possibility that even this might not be enough to move the bogged-down wagon. Stubbs waited until they were in position. He then took the reins and shouted.

  “Heeeeyaaaaa! Heeeeyaaaa! Heeeeyaaaa!”

  The mules leaned into their harness, while Wiley and Whit put their shoulders to the hickory poles behind the wagon’s rear wheels. Slowly, ever so slowly, the wagon moved. Sensing victory, the combined teams surged ahead, drawing the heavy wagon out of the mud and up the opposite bank. The mules stood trembling from exhaustion. Wiley and Whit stood in mud to their knees, leaning on their hickory poles, sweat streaking the mud on their faces. They were a mess, prompting Bonita, Jania, and Laketa to laugh at them.

  “Damn you!” Wiley bawled, charging them with his hickory pole.

  “Wiley!” Stubbs shouted.

  Wiley froze, knowing better than to disobey the old man.

  “Wiley, I want all them mules hitched to your wagon. You an’ Whit git busy.”

  “Hell, Paw,” said Wiley, “them mules is got to rest.”

  “They can rest while they’re bein’ hitched to your wagon,” Stubbs growled. “Git on it, now.”

  Slowly, Wiley and Whit began unhitching the weary mules from Stubbs’ wagon. When all the mules had been harnessed to Wiley’s wagon, he climbed to the wagon box.

  “Git down,” said Stubbs. “You an’ Whit’s young an’ strong. I want the both of you with your backs to them poles, behind the rear wheels of the wagon. I’ll take care of the teams.”

  Silently Wiley got down off the wagon box and took up the muddy hickory pole. Whit seemed about to say something, but one look at grim-faced old Levi changed his mind. He took up his hickory pole without a word. The second wagon met the same fate as the first, and freeing it took an enormous toll on man and beast. The mules stood with heads hanging, their nostrils flared, heaving for air.

  “I reckon we’ll rest the teams before movin’ the third wagon,” Stubbs said.

  “They’re needin’ water, Paw, an’ there ain’t none ’fore Cottonwood Creek,” said Whit.

  “Then, by God, they’ll wait till we git to Cottonwood Creek,” Stubbs growled, “if the next water’s there. Hell, all we got’s the word of Pitkin’s trail boss.”

  “He was telling the truth, Paw,” said Bonita. “He had no cause to lie.”

  “I don’t care a damn what you think of Pitkin’s trail boss,” Stubbs snarled. “Now let’s hitch them mules to that other wagon an’ git this Mud Creek behind us.”

  Predictably, the third wagon bogged down, requiring the failing strength of all the mules and the combined efforts of Wiley and Whit, as they put their aching shoulders to the hickory poles behind the wagon’s rear wheels. Slowly they freed the third wagon from the mud. Wiley and Whit collapsed on the grass, so covered with mud they were all but unrecognizable.

  “Git up an’ unhitch them mules,” Stubbs ordered. “They’ll need a rest ’fore we move on.”

  “Unhitch ’em yourself,” said Wiley. “We been bustin’ our backs under them damn poles, while all you done is holler at the mules.”

  Stubbs said nothing. He had the whip in his hand, and the tip of it bit into Wiley’s behind, sending mud flying. Wiley screamed, stumbling to his feet in a rage, but Stubbs still held the vicious whip. Wiley swallowed hard and limped off toward the weary teams, Whit following.

  Cottonwood Creek. June 16, 1869.

  Nearing Cottonwood Creek, Woody signaled a halt.

  “Stay with the herd,” he told the riders. “I want to talk to Pitkin. I think maybe we can use the herd to level those creek banks enough for a wagon crossing, but we’ll have trouble controlling the varmints until they’ve watered. Keep ’em bunched until I return.”

  Pitkin was waiting, his wagon drawn up next to the chuck wagon. Woody wasted no time.

  “Pit, those creek banks will have to be leveled some, before we can cross the wagons. Hold fast until I get back to you. Maybe we can use the herd to cut down the banks at a shallow crossing. We’ll have to water the herd first, or they’ll be hard to handle.”

  Pitkin nodded and Woody rode back to the herd, waving his hat to the riders. Again the longhorns took the trail, and when they smelled or sensed the water ahead, they broke into a lunging, bawling frenzy. Letting them go, the riders got out of their way, riding to meet Woody.

  “We’ll give them time to drink,” Woody sa
id, “and while they’re doin’ that, we’ll ride along the creek until we find a shallow place where the wagons won’t bog down. I reckon we can drive the herd across a time or two, beatin’ down the banks some.”

  “Where’s the regular crossing?” Nip Kelly asked.

  “Downstream a ways,” said Woody. “I found it when I was scouting ahead, and we’ll have to do better than that. Somebody lost a wagon, and some oxen, some mules, and I found two graves.”

  “Then the banks are too high to cross the wagons anywhere,” Gavin said.

  “That’s the way I see it,” said Woody. “We’ll do better, findin’ some shallows where there’s a solid bottom, and use the herd to level down the banks enough for the wagons. I rode downstream a ways, when I was here before, and all I found was that old crossing that gave somebody a lot of grief. I think we’d better travel upstream and see what we can find, high banks or not.”

  They hadn’t ridden more than a mile when they found a near perfect crossing, for the water was shallow, passing over solid rock. The problem, when it came to the crossing of the wagons, was the high banks.

  “Might be some trouble here,” Vic Brodie said. “Bunch them cows too close, and the first ones down that bank is likely to break their necks.”

  “All the more reason to let them drink first,” said Woody. “Thirsty, nothin’ would concern ’em except gettin’ to the water. It wouldn’t matter if the banks were fifty feet, straight down.”

  “This brings to mind the first Goodnight drive to Colorado Territory,” Nip Kelly said. “He lost four hundred head, crossin’ the Pecos River.”*

  “God, that must’ve been some drive,” said Rusty. “Was you there?”

  “No,” Nip said, “but I knew some hombres that was.”

  “Let’s drive a couple hundred head up here,” said Woody. “Nip, you and me will be in the creek. Once they come down that bank, it’s important that we force them out on the other side. The rest of you force them down that north bank. Don’t keep ’em bunched too close. We don’t want the second, third, and fourth ranks comin’ down on the leaders before they’ve had time to climb out on the other side.”

  Woody and Nip found a place where they were able to lead their horses down to the water. They then mounted and rode to the shallows where the longhorns were to come down the steep bank. With a bawling and rattling of horns, several hundred longhorns were bunched and headed toward the creek. The first rank made an ignominious descent, but they slid down, and there were no injuries. Woody and Nip, swinging doubled lariats, forced the bawling, lumbering beasts up the opposite bank. Dirt and rock came down in a small avalanche from both banks. Quickly the fallen dirt became mud, and the churning hooves of the longhorns splattered horses and riders. A horn raked Woody’s horse and the animal screamed in pain. When the last of the cows clambered down one bank and up the other, Woody and Nip could see Gavin grinning down at them.

  “Ready for another bunch?”

  “No,” said Nip, “but bring ’em on. There’s still too much bank for the wagons.”

  “I purely admire a trail boss that don’t mind gettin’ dirty,” Gavin said.

  “Watch it,” said Woody. “The trail boss can swap places, if he’s of a mind to. You’d better ride back for some more cows.”

  Gavin laughed. “Look out below. It’s rainin’ longhorn cows.”

  6

  By the time the entire herd had been driven down the steep banks and up the other side of Cottonwood Creek, the slope had been drastically reduced.

  “That should be enough of a slope to get our wagons across,” Woody said.

  “But probably not enough for the Stubbs wagons,” said Nip.

  “That’s not our problem,” Woody replied. “He’ll have to use extra teams.”

  Gonzales crossed the chuck wagon first, and Pitkin followed with the second wagon.

  “Upstream about half a mile, Gonzales,” Woody shouted.

  Gonzales waved his sombrero in understanding. Camp must be established well beyond where the crossing of the herd and the wagons had muddied the creek. The importance of getting the crossing behind them became all the more obvious, as the bank of dirty gray clouds shrouded more and more of the western horizon.

  Several miles east of Cottonwood Creek, the Stubbs wagons rattled along, with Stubbs swearing at the weary mules. He reined up, and looking back, found that the other two wagons had fallen behind. Stubbs stepped down, bit off a mouthful of plug, and waited for the stragglers to catch up. When they eventually did, old Levi pointed to the cloud mass on the western horizon. He just stood there passing the bullwhip from one hand to the other, and when he spoke, it was in a tone that Wiley and Whit had come to dread.

  “We got to cross Cottonwood Creek ’fore that storm gits here. If’n we don’t make it, by God, I’m a-goin’ to raise hell an’ kick a chunk under it, if’n you know what I mean.”

  Using the whip, he pointed first at Wiley and then at Whit, and they well knew what he meant. Without another word, he mounted the wagon box and slapped the rumps of the mules with the reins. Wiley and Whit pulled their wagons in behind his, and they moved on toward Cottonwood Creek. By the time they reached it, the thunderheads had already swallowed the sun, leaving the sky feathered with crimson.

  “There ain’t no way we’re gonna git these wagons down one bank and up the other’n,” Whit said. “The mules will go down headfirst, and the wagon on top of ’em.”

  “The cows went down these banks to water,” Stubbs said, “but you know damn well the wagons didn’t cross here. Where Pitkin crossed his wagons, we kin cross ours.”

  “Yeah,” said Whit. “We used their crossin’ at Mud Creek. It took us near three hours an’ ever’ mule we got.”

  “Hell, we ain’t got three hours,” Wiley said. “Two, maybe, before dark, an’ the mules’ rumps is draggin’ out their tracks. They’re beat.”

  “We’re takin’ these wagons across before dark,” said Stubbs, “if’n I have to beat ev’ry mule’s behind with this whip, ever’ jump of the way.”

  “They’re ready to drop in their tracks, Paw,” Bonita said. “Beatin’ won’t change that.”

  “You better hope it does,” said Stubbs, “else I’ll have ever’ one of you behind these damn wagons, shovin’ fer all you’re worth.”

  Stubbs mounted his wagon box, and leading the way, found where the longhorns had been used to level the banks enough for the Pitkin wagons to cross.

  “Their wagons crossed here,” Stubbs said, “an’ so kin ours.”

  “Not without usin’ all the mules,” said Wiley. “We might as well unhitch our teams an’ hitch ’em up with yours.”

  “We ain’t usin’ all the mules hitched to one wagon, unless we got to,” Stubbs said, “an’ we don’t know that we got to. Now git to yer wagons an’ foller me.”

  Stubbs forced his teams down the incline, and while the stone beneath the water kept the wagon from miring down, the weary mules were unable to draw the wagon up the opposite bank. Stubbs applied the whip until his arm tired and the mules were braying in fear and pain, but the wagon remained where it was. Stubbs climbed down from the box and climbed the bank which the wagon had just descended, and when he spoke, his voice shook with fury.

  “Unhitch them other teams an’ hitch ’em in front of them worthless varmints down yonder. An’ be damn quick about it.”

  Wiley and whit hastened to obey, for Stubbs still held the whip. Bonita, Jania, and Laketa stood looking at the pathetic mules hitched to Stubbs’ wagon. The animals stood with their heads down, trembling, their coats dark with sweat, laced with bloody welts from the vicious whip.

  “Paw,” said Laketa, “that was a shameful thing to do. You cut the blood out of them, when they was doin’ their best.”

  “A damn mule never does his best, without a taste of the lash,” Stubbs snarled, “an’ I reckon a woman ain’t much better. I want anything outa you, I’ll ask fer it.”

  Wiley and Whit ha
rnessed the extra teams ahead of the Stubbs team. The lead team was halfway up the opposite bank of the creek. Stubbs started to mount the wagon box, and Wiley snatched the whip from his hand.

  “You ain’t whippin’ them mules again,” Wiley snarled.

  Stubbs eyed his Winchester leaning against the end of the wagon box.

  “Reach fer that,” said Wiley, “an’ you git a taste of what you give them mules.”

  He took the Winchester, tucking it under his arm. Levi Stubbs climbed to the wagon box and popped the reins, sending the teams surging ahead. With the solid creekbed beneath the wagon’s wheels, it lurched ahead, and the combined strength of all the teams was enough to draw the heavy load up the opposite bank. Without a word, Wiley and Whit began unhitching the teams. When they were harnessed to Wiley’s wagon, he climbed to the box and drove across to the opposite bank. Again they unhitched the teams, harnessed them to Whit’s wagon, and he took it across. Without a word to Levi, Wiley and Whit unhitched the teams belonging to Levi’s and Wiley’s wagons, but neither of the sons made a move to harness Levi’s team to his wagon. Wiley handed him the reins, harnessed his own teams to the wagon, and then mounted the box. He still had Levi’s Winchester, and he slid it under the wagon seat. Laketa was already on the box with Whit, and Wiley gave Jania a hand up. Bonita was left with Levi, who was still harnessing his teams to his own wagon. Without looking back, Wiley and Whit drove upstream, seeking a place to make camp for the night. They circled wide of the grazing herd, reining up a hundred yards beyond the two Pitkin wagons. By the time Levi Stubbs arrived with his wagon, Wiley and Whit had unharnessed their teams.

  “Damn it,” Stubbs growled, “why didn’t you wait till I caught up? You done set us in breathin’ distance of that Pitkin bunch.”

  “There’s graze here, an’ the mules can git to the water,” said Wiley, “an’ you ain’t gittin’ no better’n that. Them mules is tuckered out.”

  Muttering under his breath, Stubbs unharnessed his teams. There was lightning to the west, dancing a jagged pattern above the heavy gray clouds. The wind had picked up, its moist fingers touching sweaty cheeks, promising rain sometime during the coming night.