The Green River Trail Read online

  “They shouldn’t be here any longer than that,” said Lonnie. “When I ride in to supper, I aim to have another look at that mule. If he’s healed, we’ll go to town tomorrow, get the wagon, and load it with supplies.”

  “I need to take Mindy along,” Dallas said. “She desperately needs clothes. All she has is worn out Levi’s and shirts discarded by her pa.”

  “I reckon we ought to take Becky, Laura, and April, as well,” said Lonnie. “Where we are going, it may be years before any of them will see another store. Whatever any of us are needin’, now’s the time to get it.”

  San Antonio, Texas. July 17, 1853.

  “Gents,” Lonnie said, “today, Dallas, Dirk, Kirby, and me will be riding into town for the wagon. While we’re there, we’ll load up with supplies. The day after tomorrow, we’ll watch the herd while the rest of you ride into town for whatever you may need. The day after that—July twentieth—we’ll move ’em out for Green River.”

  Lonnie and Becky, Dallas and Mindy, Dirk and April, and Kirby and Laura rode into town. Each of the four men led one of the mules. The women headed for the mercantile while the men rode on the wagon yard. The Studebaker wagon they had bought already had the canvas stretched tight across the bows.

  “We’ll have to buy some harness from Stapleton,” Lonnie said.

  “I knew we was forgettin’ something,” said Kirby.

  “I didn’t forget,” Lonnie replied. “Since nobody’s had any mules to sell, it’s unlikely they’ll have any spare harness. We’ll have to buy it new.”

  “Harness for four mules,” said Stapleton. “They won’t come cheap, because that’s all I got. A hundred dollars for the four.”

  “Tarnation,” Dallas said, “that’s twenty-five dollars apiece. All four of ’em ain’t worth forty dollars, total.”

  “I reckon it all depends on how bad you need ’em,” Stapleton said. “Now, if you was to ride to Fort Worth or New Orleans, the price would likely come down some. But that’s my price. Take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll take it,” said Lonnie, casting a warning look at his companions.

  Quickly they harnessed the mules, and with Kirby at the reins, they started back to the mercantile.

  “Sorry,” Dallas said. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s just that I don’t cotton to bein’ robbed by a varmint, even if he does it without a mask or a gun.”

  “I feel the same way,” said Lonnie, “but we had to have the harness. Day after tomorrow, we’ll let the rest of the outfit ride in to do their buying. The day after that, we should be ready to take the trail north.”

  It took most of the afternoon for the sweating storekeeper and his clerks to load all the supplies into the wagon. The women took the time to carefully choose what they would take with them. Lonnie and his companions were pleased to learn that none of the women had chosen any finery. They had limited themselves to clothing suited to the range, such as flannel or denim shirts and Levi’s.

  “There’s some things you’re forgetting,” Lonnie told Becky. “You’ll need a heavy coat, a wool scarf, wool-lined gloves, wool socks, and maybe three pairs of woolen underwear. See that Mindy, April, and Laura include these things in what they’re buying.”

  “All this is going to cost a lot,” said Becky, “and none of the four of us have money.”

  “I don’t reckon it’ll cost more than six thousand dollars,” Lonnie said. “That’s what we saved by gathering two thousand of your cows. And though the mortgage was expensive, it’s paid off. When we reach the Green River range, I have no idea when you’ll see another store.”

  “I understand,” said Becky. She then sought Mindy, April, and Laura to see that each of them bought the items Lonnie had suggested.

  About an hour before sundown, the outfit reached the Kilgore ranch with the wagon.

  “I got just one complaint,” Kirby said. “This damn mule we bought in Austin is purely unsociable. It’s unlikely he’s ever been hitched to a wagon before, and it gets on the bad side if him, havin’ other mules too close.”

  “Too bad,” said Lonnie, “and he’s just gonna have to get used to it. We can always put blinders on him so he can only see straight ahead.”

  “Then we’d better do it,” Kirby said. “It’s no job for a woman, trying to keep this varmint headed the same direction as the other three.”

  “Another thing,” Dallas said. “He’s got to be one of the lead mules, so he can’t see another mule in front of him.”

  “We’ll get some blinders for him,” said Lonnie. “For now, let’s unhitch the teams, get our supper, and relieve the rest of our outfit with the herd so they can eat.”

  The Kilgore Ranch. July 19, 1853.

  “Don’t spend your money on ammunition,” Lonnie told his six riders as they prepared to ride into town. “We have plenty in the wagon, and two kegs of black powder. Just be sure you get some clothes for snow country.”

  Lonnie, Dallas, Dirk, and Kirby remained with the herd. It was late afternoon when the riders returned from town.

  “Dirk,” said Waco, “Chad Tilden’s in town, badmouthing you.”

  “He’s got nothing against me,” Dirk said, “except that he hates my guts.”

  “He claims he’s missing some cows,” said Waco, “and he’s telling everybody who will listen that you’re responsible. He’s makin’ it sound like we’re adding his cows to our own gather.”

  “That’s a damn lie, and he knows it,” Lonnie said. “We can prove when and where we got every one of these cows. He’s trying to get back at Dirk, but he’s hurting us all. We won’t be leaving this range with an unproven charge of rustling hanging over our heads. I’ll ride into town and talk to the sheriff. Then I’ll face Chad Tilden.”

  “I’m going with you,” said Dirk. “It’s me he’s after.”

  “Saddle up and come on, then,” Lonnie said, “but let me handle him. Don’t let him get to you, forcing you to do something foolish. The rest of you take turns riding in to eat, and don’t breathe a word about what Tilden’s doing. April feels bad enough already.”

  “When we last saw Tilden, he was in the Alamo Saloon,” said Waco.

  “We’ll find him,” Lonnie said.

  When Lonnie and Dirk reached town, the first stars had appeared, and a cooling wind blew out of the west.

  “We’ll talk to the sheriff first,” said Lonnie. “I think he needs to know the real reason Chad Tilden’s got a mad on. There must be some kind of law against a man accusing his neighbors of rustling when he doesn’t have a shred of proof.”

  The sheriff’s office was closed for the day, and not far from the office they found the lawman eating supper.

  “Sheriff Jackman,” Lonnie said, “we need to talk to you.”

  “Pull out some chairs and set,” said Jackman.

  He said no more, and Lonnie quickly told him of Chad Tilden accusations, and of the probable cause behind them.

  “He gets his courage from a bottle,” the lawman said. “If you want, after I eat, I’ll go after him. A night in jail should sober him up enough that I can talk sense to him.”

  “Bueno,” Lonnie said. “We’re leaving on a trail drive to Utah Territory tomorrow, and I don’t want anybody spreading lies when we won’t be here to stand up for ourselves. If you’re going to call his hand, Dirk and me will go with you.”

  “That might be wise,” said Jackman. “Maybe we can bring this to a head while you’re still here.”

  When Sheriff Jackman finished his supper, Lonnie and Dirk followed him to the Alamo Saloon. It was still early, and there were few patrons in the saloon. Chad Tilden sat alone at a table, nursing a bottle. Even as they approached him, he upended the bottle, taking a long drink. Nearing the table, the three men paused, while Tilden glared at them through bloodshot eyes.

  “Chad,” said Sheriff Jackman, “you’ve been doing some talking, and it appears to be gettin’ out of hand. You don’t call a man a rustler unless you can prove it
. Dirk McNelly’s been away for four years, and he ain’t been back more than a few days. Him and his outfit’s been buying cows, and they can account for every damn cow in their herd. This gent with Dirk is one of his pardners, Lonnie Kilgore. I’ve known the Kilgores for more than twenty years. Now, if you’re hell-bent on stirring up trouble. I’ll lock you up for as long as it takes to set your mind straight.”

  “I said McNelly’s a thief, and he is,” Tilden growled. “He come sneakin’ around and stole away my little girl.”

  “So that’s really what’s biting you,” said Jackman. “Chad, April’s a grown woman, able to make up her own mind, which she’s done. You’ve lost her only if you’re so muleheaded you won’t make your peace with Dirk McNelly. He’s family, whether you like it or not.”

  “That young coyote ain’t family to me, and he won’t never be,” said Tilden.

  “In that case,” Sheriff Jackman said, “you have two choices. You can shut up and go home, or I’ll lock you up until I think you’re sensible enough for me to turn you loose. What’s it goin’ to be?”

  “I’m leavin’,” said Tilden, struggling to his feet.

  “Mr. Tilden,” Dirk said, “I’m sorry you can’t see things different, if only for April’s sake. We’ll be-leavin’ tomorrow.”

  “Then go, and I don’t never want to see either of you again,” said Tilden. Unsteadily he got to his feet and stumbled through the batwing doors out of the saloon.

  “A shame, for the sake of his wife and daughter,” Sheriff Jackman said, “but there’s no help for it. Tomorrow your outfit—along with Dirk and April—will be gone, and all the hell-raising he can do won’t change that.”

  “Thanks for your help, Sheriff,” said Dirk.

  The confrontation with Chad Tilden had been a sobering, unpleasant experience. Lonnie and Dirk mounted their horses and rode back to the ranch without speaking.

  The Trail North. July 20, 1853.

  Only Laura’s kin—Neal and Elene Upton—were there to see the drive head out. It was a sad occasion for Becky, Mindy, and April, for they had no blood kin there to wish them well, and they didn’t know if they would ever see Texas again. Mary Kilgore tried her best to comfort them. The cattle had been gathered, and among them were the extra horses. With Becky at the reins, the wagon pulled in behind the herd. Lonnie had ridden to the point position, and from there shouted the command they had all been waiting for.

  “Head ’em up and move ’em out.” Wovoka Shatiki rode beside him.

  Dallas Weaver and Dirk McNelly were the flank riders. Kirby Lowe and Gus Wilder were at swing, while Waco Talley, Sandy Orr, Benjamin Raines, Elliot Graves, and Justin Irwin rode drag. Mindy, April, and Laura rode with the drag riders, while Becky followed close behind with the wagon. Until the herd became trailwise—which sometimes took as long as a week—the outfit would have to contend with bunch-quitters from daylight until dark. The herd became unruly almost immediately, with those nearest the tag end breaking away to gallop along the back trail. It required the efforts of all five men as well as the three women to keep the herd moving. It was still early, and the sun had just begun to rise, but already the heat was sufficient to have all the riders and their horses sweating. A cloud of dust—without a breath of wind—followed the herd, covering the riders and the horses with what looked like a thin coat of mud. After chasing some bunch-quitters back to the herd, Mindy rode alongside the wagon for a moment.

  “Are you ready to take over the wagon?” Becky jibed.

  “No,” said Mindy. “With the wagon trailing the herd, you’re getting as much dust as I am. I’ve never got so dirty so fast in my life. I’ve got sand in places I can’t even talk about.”

  Becky laughed. “I know the feeling. When we stop for the night, I hope there’s water enough that I can sit in it neck-deep.”

  “I have a feeling we won’t have much privacy,” said Mindy.

  “Who needs it?” Becky said. “I’m just takin’ off my boots and hat.”

  Suddenly, from the tag end of the herd, a dozen bunch-quitters fought their way past the drag riders and ran directly toward the oncoming wagon. Their fourth mule was one of the lead team. Skittish, he had been fitted with blinders so he couldn’t see to right or left. But he had no trouble seeing a dozen longhorns lumbering toward him, a big, ugly black bull in the lead. The frightened mule reared, braying. His three companions wasted no time in making his panic their own. The four of them, almost turning the wagon over, swung it around and headed back the way they had come. Waco Talley, leaving the other riders to head the bunch-quitters, galloped after the runaway wagon.

  “Whoa, you jugheaded bastards,” Becky shouted. She was on her feet, leaning on the reins, and slowly but surely, the wagon slowed. She was sitting on the wagon seat wiping sweat from her eyes with her shirtsleeve when Waco caught up. She still had a few choice words to say to the sweating mules. She cussed them and their ancestors back four or five generations.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Waco asked.

  “I reckon,” said Becky, “except for being a little put out with these mules. You didn’t hear … anything I said, did you, Waco?”

  Waco grinned. “Not a word, ma’am. It takes considerable talent, gettin’ it through a mule’s head what you want or don’t want him to do. You’ll do, ma’am.”

  “Call me Becky,” said the girl.

  The trail drive had gone on, and it took a while for the wagon to catch up to the drag riders. Mindy, April, and Laura dropped back, riding alongside the wagon.

  “Becky,” Mindy said, “the whole front of your Levi’s is wet.”

  “That’s sweat, damn it,” said Becky.

  The drive moved on. Becky increased the distance between the wagon and the drag, to make allowances for other bunch-quitters. Near sundown, they reached a creek. Lonnie waved his hat, a signal that was passed on by the flank and swing riders. It was time to bunch the herd for the night. Near the creek, Becky reined up the teams and climbed down from the wagon box. She had cramps in both legs and felt the need to walk.

  “Gus and me will unharness your teams,” said Waco.

  “Thank you,” Becky said. “It’s best I don’t go near them for a while. I’d be tempted to shoot one of them stone dead.”

  It had been decided by the four women that they would cook for the outfit, a decision all the men had applauded. Dallas Weaver soon had a fire going.

  “Ladies,” said Lonnie, “the things you’ll need the most often are packed in the rear of the wagon. If you need something that’s in too deep, let one of us get it for you. We’ve got it packed so the load’s unlikely to shift, unless we move things around too much.”

  While supper was being prepared, Becky saw Waco talking to Lonnie. It wasn’t until after supper that Lonnie had anything to say to Becky.

  “Waco says you’re a top hand. I’m not goin’ to have to pay you more wages, am I?”

  “Probably not,” Becky said with a straight face. “I still owe you a fortune for all that finery you bought for me in San Antonio.”

  “Finery, hell,” said Lonnie. “All you bought was men’s clothes. I may never get to see you in any female finery.”

  “How about stark naked?” Becky asked.

  “That,” said Lonnie, “when it’s just you and me. But maybe I’ll want to show you off to others. We can’t show you off with you not wearing a stitch.”

  “We can’t?” Becky replied, feigning disappointment.

  “Lonnie,” said Dallas, interrupting, “some of us would like to see that map you have before we get too far along the trail. That’s one thing we haven’t discussed.”

  “Here,” Lonnie said. “I’ve drawn a line along the way I think we should take the herd. Just remember, this is a government map, maybe ten years old. Before the first watch rides out, we’ll talk some. If there’s a better way than I’ve marked, then let’s find it.”

  Dallas spread the huge map out on the ground. Except for Lonnie, the
rest of the outfit joined him in studying it. When Dallas had carefully refolded the map, he spoke.

  “I like it. The route you’ve drawn may be a mite farther, but you’ve made allowances for water all the way to southern Colorado Territory.”

  “Yes,” said Lonnie. “By driving northwest, we’ll reach the Pecos River just beyond Del Rio. From there, we’ll follow the Pecos until we’re near Santa Fe. There we’ll take the Rio Grande on into southern Colorado. The last couple of hundred miles, this map isn’t showing any rivers, but southern Colorado is mountainous country. I can’t imagine there not being springs and runoffs from rivers farther north.”

  “Looks like a good gamble to me,” said Gus Wilder. “Once we reach the Pecos, we’ll be following a river about two-thirds of the way. We got to have water, and there’s some better chance of finding decent graze along a riverbank.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Lonnie said. “If any of you have ideas as to a better way to go, I’m willing to listen.”

  Nobody said anything, and Lonnie could tell by the expressions on their faces that they were in agreement with him.

  “It’s about time for the first watch,” said Dallas. “Any change in the way the watches are set up?”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned,” Lonnie said. “It’ll be Dirk McNelly, Kirby Lowe, Gus Wilder, Waco Talley, and Sandy Orr on the first. The rest of us, including Wovoka, will take the second.”

  “What about Becky, Mindy, Laura, and me?” April asked.

  “You’re doing all the cooking,” said Lonnie. “We don’t expect more than that.”

  “Laura and me are going with Dirk and Kirby,” April said.

  Lonnie said nothing, expecting to hear from Becky and Mindy on the subject.

  “Well, I reckon that puts Mindy and me on the second watch,” Becky said.

  “We’ll try it that way,” said Lonnie. “Just so we don’t let a handsome woman draw our attention away from the herd.”

  “That’s how it is with Texas men,” Becky said. “The horses and cows come first, and the women are stumbling along somewhere in third place.”