The Chisholm Trail Page 9

  “Nothin’ I can think of,” said Marty, “if you’re hellbent on goin’ back before goin’ to Texas. Makes sense to me. In the time it takes this boat to get back to Fort Smith, we can be in Texas, with a gather started.”

  “Exactly what I’m gettin’ at,” said Ten.

  “Since shipping from New Orleans is out of the question, where do you aim for us to trail this herd, once we wrassle it out of the brush?”

  “I aim to trail ’em right into Indian Territory,” said Ten. “Jess has gone after a tribe of Wichitas, moving them to assigned lands. There’ll be other tribes, as soon as the government can get ’em to move. They expect these Injuns to farm, and maybe they will, but a man’s got to have meat. Reservation Indians can’t follow the buffalo, and that means beef. Besides that, there’s five forts in the territory, every one with soldiers to feed.”

  “I can see that,” said Marty, “but what’re these Injuns and garrisoned soldiers eatin’ now?”

  “Texas beef,” said Ten, “when they can get it. Texas Cherokees run in small herds from time to time, but nothin’ regular, like I aim to.”

  “Texas Cherokees don’t raise cows. They didn’t in my neck of the woods, anyway. They stole ’em.”

  Ten chuckled. “Still do. Horses and mules too. Jess offered me the pick of what he buys off the plains Indians, but I got some serious doubts about ridin’ horses to Texas that just come from there.”

  Marty grinned. “You do look ahead. I like that. Trailin’ a herd north, we could follow that wagon road—Chisholm’s trail—from Red River to the Canadian, or even into Kansas.”

  “Not Kansas,” said Ten. “There’s problems with tick fever. But Jess says that’ll be settled one day. From what I found out in New Orleans, there’ll be a railroad into eastern Kansas in less than two years. Know what that means? We could trail us a thousand longhorns into Indian Territory, graze ’em along the Canadian or North Canadian until the rails get there, and we’d have us a real herd to ship east.”

  “I like the sound of that,” said Marty. “We’ll be reapin’ our natural increase. Sounds more like an honest-to-God cow ranch than just drivin’ a few cows here and a few cows there.”

  “I know,” said Ten, “but I want to start now, not wait for the rails. We’ll sell what we can, to the forts in the territory. Before we leave, I’ll talk to the quartermaster. Might sell some here at Fort Smith.”

  Ten was allowed to talk to Sergeant Higgins about the possibility of supplying beef to Fort Smith.

  “I can’t imagine the son of Jesse Chisholm dealing in stolen cattle,” said Higgins dryly, “but I’m required to ask. You will be going to Texas and gathering this herd—not buying from questionable sources?”

  “I aim to drag ’em out of the brush and burn my brand on ’em,” said Ten. “I’ll sign your bill of sale myself.”

  “I can get authorization to accept two hundred head at a time,” said Higgins, “but I’m allowed to pay only sixteen dollars a head. You could get nearly twice that in Omaha or Chicago.”

  “Too far,” said Ten. “Omaha and Chicago will have to wait for the rails. You’ll have your beef come spring, no later than mid-April.”

  They rode out of Fort Smith the next morning on borrowed horses, bound for the Chisholm trading post on the Canadian. Ten had left a letter at Fort Smith, to be sent to Priscilla.

  “I reckon,” said Marty, “you’ve made a pretty good case for us gettin’ started to Texas. Two hundred head, that’s thirty-two hundred dollars. I ain’t never seen that much in my whole life, all at once.”

  “If that’s all we bring out the first time,” said Ten happily, “it’s a start. Anyhow, it’ll keep Jess from holding off any longer on this trail drive from Texas. If I’m to keep my word to Higgins, we’ll have to be there chasin’ longhorns, by November first.”

  “You are a sneaky little Injun,” said Marty, “but we got five weeks before your pa returns with them Indians. What do you aim for us to do until then? I’m tired of loafin’, and ridin’ steamboats.”

  “I aim for us to ride to the other forts,” said Ten, “and set up some more beef sales. Fort Cobb and Fort Arbuckle are closest, so we’ll go there first. Fort Washita and Fort Towson are practically in Texas, at the northeastern border of Indian Territory, just across the Red. Fort Gibson’s to the northeast, where the Neosho flows into the Arkansas.”

  “We could’ve got some supplies at Fort Smith and gone to these other forts first. If your pa ain’t there, we’re in no big hurry to get to the trading post, are we?”

  “Not as far as he’s concerned,” said Ten, “but I want to see if there’ll be another load of pelts and hides ready for New Orleans by October. Besides, we can get us some better mounts, and a pack mule.”

  “I feel better,” said Marty, “now that this cow hunt and trail drive is shapin’ up. I just wish that next visit to New Orleans was behind us.”

  “We’ll only be goin’ there on the steamboat,” said Ten. “From there to Texas it’ll be bacon, beans, hard saddles, and harder ground.”

  “Ten, I look for trouble in New Orleans. Gun trouble.”

  “Nobody’s going to know I’m in town,” said Ten, “except Priscilla and maybe Mathewson. Besides, LeBeau won’t have me killed, for the same reason he hasn’t already.”

  “It ain’t LeBeau you got to worry about. You think this Jason Brawn don’t know about Priscilla’s blow-up, and the reason for it?”

  “I want him to,” said Ten, “so he’ll leave Priscilla alone. Just because she’s put him down don’t mean he has to know of my plans for her.”

  “He’ll know,” said Marty, “and he won’t stand for it. He’ll be the kind that if he can’t have her, he’ll see that you don’t either. Laugh if you want, but I got my ma’s uneasy nature, which kind of prods me when there’s trouble comin’. That’s what told me to get a buckboard and go lookin’ for you that Saturday night in New Orleans.”

  Tenatse Chisholm didn’t laugh.

  Jason Brawn surveyed the papers on his desk with a satisfied smile. He paid for information, and he paid well. He had been rewarded with a veritable network of informants from all walks of life, and he reveled in the sense of power that was his. The first sheaf of papers, handwritten, provided him with as much information on Tenatse Chisholm as could be had, from the revelation of LeBeau’s cheating aboard The New Orleans, to Tenatse’s departure from New Orleans.

  The second pile of handwritten pages had actually been part of the first report, but he had separated them for a reason. They dealt entirely with what was known of Tenatse Chisholm’s relationship with Priscilla LeBeau.

  Finally he turned to the third sheaf of papers. They were promissory notes, totaling almost fifty thousand dollars, signed by André LeBeau.

  8

  For the tenth time in as many minutes, André LeBeau looked at his watch. He hardly knew which was worse: waiting in an agony of suspense, or the actual confrontation with Jason Brawn. Because he was vulnerable on so many fronts, he found it impossible to rehearse what he might say in defense of himself. He expected to catch hell over Priscilla’s rebellion or his delinquent gambling debt. Or maybe both, he thought gloomily, since his foolish promise of Priscilla was all that had held Brawn at bay on the staggering debt. If that wasn’t bad enough, there might now be a third crisis, more formidable than either or both the other two. Suppose Brawn had somehow learned of Tenatse Chisholm’s visit to the U.S. Customs office? This fear was fueled by the fact that Sneed had seen Mathewson with Chisholm, following his own disgrace at the poker table. No doubt others had witnessed that brief meeting on the deck of The New Orleans. Mathewson had given Chisholm something. What? How much did Brawn know or suspect?

  “Come in, LeBeau.”

  LeBeau swallowed hard and got up, feeling like a condemned man. Brawn had sent his secretary on an errand. When Brawn was in an especially bad mood, he didn’t want an audience. LeBeau knew it was going to be even worse than he had exp
ected. To the left of Brawn’s mahogany desk there was a plush armchair. With a sigh of resignation, LeBeau slumped down in it.

  “Did I ask you to sit?” shouted Brawn.

  The chair overturned as LeBeau stumbled to his feet. In his frantic eagerness to right the chair, the tail of his coat snagged a whiskey decanter, dragging it off Brawn’s desk with a resounding crash. LeBeau got the chair upright and stood gripping its back so his hands didn’t tremble.

  “Now,” snapped Brawn, “sit down!”

  LeBeau sat, mentally cursing Brawn for his cruel intimidation, and himself for yielding to it. For a long moment Brawn sat without a word, looking for the world like a harried, prosperous banker. He had thinning gray hair, cold blue eyes, and a mouth that seemed to turn down at the corners. Soft living had given him jowls and a ponderous belly, over which was draped a heavy gold watch chain. In fact, his ample person was testimony to his fondness for gold. He wore a gold tie pin, gold cuff links, and, on the third finger of his left hand, a gold ring with an enormous diamond. His gray pin-stripe suit was accented by a flaming red tie over a white ruffle-front shirt. LeBeau glared at him in defiance, torn between hate and envy. When Brawn finally spoke, his voice was deceptively calm.

  “I’m hearing talk, LeBeau. Disturbing talk. I am told the fair Priscilla has repudiated me, refusing to honor our…ah, agreement.”

  “It—It’s a year, yet,” stammered LeBeau. “She’s gone—been sent—to Louisville…for a rest. She’s…distraught, upset….”

  “Her reason for being distraught and upset,” said Brawn, “is a troublesome young man from the West. Tenatse Chisholm.”

  “He—He’s gone,” said LeBeau, licking his dry lips. “I…took care of him.”

  “He’s gone,” said Brawn contemptuously, “but your clumsy attempt to scare him had nothing to do with it. He’ll be back.”

  “You don’t know that! How—How do you know?”

  “How I know doesn’t matter,” snapped Brawn. “What does matter is his disgraceful conduct with Priscilla, and his apparent ties with U.S. Customs. They’re trying to get to me through you, LeBeau. As my chances diminish with Priscilla, so does your usefulness to me. When Chisholm returns, I want him dead. Dead!”

  He pounded the desk with his beefy fist, and LeBeau jumped. From then on Brawn seemed to dismiss LeBeau from his thoughts. He sat there leafing through papers that LeBeau recognized as his own promissory notes. Brawn hadn’t mentioned them, but he hadn’t needed to. He simply wanted LeBeau to see them; reminding him, damning him, accusing him. Long after LeBeau had stumbled from his office, Brawn sat there fondly thumbing through the notes. Fifty thousand dollars! It was a lot of money to pay for a woman, but young Priscilla LeBeau would be worth it.

  Ten and Marty didn’t waste any time at the Chisholm trading post. The second day after their arrival, they set out with two good horses and a pack mule for Fort Cobb on the Washita.

  “I doubt there’ll be enough trade goods to justify another trip to New Orleans anytime soon,” said Ten. “When Jess is off scouting, or negotiating with the tribes, not much tradin’ takes place. Him bein’ gone for six weeks will cut pretty deep.”

  “Plains Indians don’t exactly trust the Cherokee help, I reckon.”

  “That’s what it amounts to,” said Ten. “One Indian will beat another, if he can. It’s their way. They expect that, and they’d rather trade with a trusted white man than another Indian.”

  “So if we’re goin’ back through New Orleans,” said Marty, “it’ll be without the trade goods. You reckon he’ll agree to that?”

  “I hope so,” said Ten, “because I am going.”

  In five days they had visited Fort Cobb, Fort Arbuckle, and had further committed themselves for two hundred head of cattle to each fort.

  “I can’t believe Jess won’t be impressed,” said Ten exuberantly. “He’s a trader; how can he not be excited? Me, a no-account, secondhand Injun, kicked out of school because he ain’t worth a damn, and I’ve already got commitments for six hundred head!”

  “Don’t flap your wings and crow too quick, you young rooster. We got to catch them six hundred brutes and trail-drive ’em eight hundred miles.”

  They followed the Washita until it joined the Red. At Fort Washita they struck a deal for another two hundred head. Proceeding east along the Red to Fort Towson, they brought their commitment to a full thousand head.

  “Five forts, a thousand head!” shouted Ten as they rode away. “Bueno!”

  “If you’ll pardon the expression,” said Marty, “a feather in your hat. But give credit where credit’s due. Your bein’ Jesse Chisholm’s hijo sure didn’t hurt our cause.”

  “Oh, I don’t aim to steal any of Jess’s thunder. He’s a bueno hombre among the Injuns, and on speaking terms with the Great White Father in Washington. All I’ll ever be is a cowboy, if I’m lucky. We’re a long ways from Fort Gibson, but I reckon we ought to ride up there. We don’t, and they’ll wonder why I didn’t make them the offer I made the others.”

  “Come on, then,” said Marty. “Let’s ride. Let’s don’t quit while we’re rollin’ sevens.”

  They had no trouble making a similar deal at Fort Gibson. Even taking their time, it was only mid-August, still two weeks away from Jesse Chisholm’s return.

  “A couple of days down the Arkansas,” said Ten, “and we’ll be at Fort Smith. Why don’t we spend a day or two there, instead of ridin’ on back to the Canadian? We’re waitin’ for Jess now.”

  “On to Fort Smith,” said Marty. “There may be a letter from Priscilla.”

  Their visit to Fort Smith accomplished nothing. Ten was half hoping for a letter from Priscilla, but it wasn’t there. Despite his faith in her, he needed to know that she would be in New Orleans when he arrived. That it would be difficult for him to see her, he had no doubt. He feared she would be under constant pressure from LeBeau.

  “We’d as well head for home,” said Ten after the second day.

  Their return to Chisholm’s trading post was uneventful. They found a secluded area by the river and took turns firing Ten’s new Henry rifle.

  “It’s a sweet-shootin’ gun,” said Marty. “If this trail drive works out, maybe I can afford one.”

  “You won’t have to wait for that,” said Ten. “I aim for you to have one before we ride into Comanche country.”

  Jesse Chisholm returned three days earlier than expected. He looked at Marty Brand approvingly and put out his hand. Ten told him of the negative responses to his inquiries about shipping cattle by boat. He mentioned the coming of the rails to Kansas, a year and a half away.

  “Well,” said Chisholm, “if that’s how it is, I don’t suppose there’s any hurry in trailing a herd from Texas.”

  “Oh yes there is,” said Ten. “I’ve already sold twelve hundred head, and promised delivery by spring.”

  With considerable relish, he detailed their activities of the past three weeks and the commitments he had made to the various forts.

  “While I admire your ambition,” said Chisholm, “I’ll have to question your judgment. You don’t know what difficulties you may encounter in Texas. The cattle are wild. You could spend sixteen hours in the saddle, and catch maybe two or three cows. You’ll need half a dozen good men besides yourself, and you have only one.”

  “You don’t believe I can do it, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Chisholm. “Now that you’ve given your word, you’ll have it to do, whatever the difficulty. I’m just telling you that you’re allowing yourself no slack, and before you’re done, you’ll see the need for it. On the frontier, nothing is ever cut and dried, dead certain. What you plan to do in one day may take two or three. Or a week. Once you have some cows, Comanches may stampede the herd, and then ambush you when you go looking for it. Now that the war’s over, there’ll be deserters and renegades from both sides to contend with.”

  Ten looked from Chisholm to Marty and back to Chisholm. When ne
ither of them spoke, he did. Angrily.

  “I reckon I’m just an ignorant damn Injun. What do I know about catchin’ wild cows, or anything else?”

  He stomped out of the barn and headed for the river. Marty got up to follow, but Chisholm bade him stay.

  “He’s got the bit in his teeth,” said Chisholm. “Just let him run till he’s winded. Then we’ll talk business. I notice he’s picked up some battle scars. Fight?”

  “I reckon it’s his place to answer to that,” said Marty uncomfortably.

  “You’re right,” said Chisholm. “Sorry. How do you feel about this wild cow hunt and trail drive?”

  “I favor it,” said Marty, “and I got my reasons. The Yanks beat us to a finish, and I left Virginia afoot. Got back to Texas and found my family all dead. Our place was gone to hell. I was walkin’ the streets of New Orleans, half starved, when a bunch of pelados bashed in my head and robbed me of the little I had. Even my boots. This no-account, hotheaded Injun found me, got me to a doc, got me a room so’s I could heal, and I been with him ever since. He don’t always look before he jumps, I can see that. But give him time, and he’ll make some almighty big tracks. If he decides to tackle Hell with a bucket of water, I reckon I’ll grab a bucket and go along.”

  Chisholm laughed and slapped the young Texan on the back. “Once in his life, every man deserves a friend he feels that strong about. You’ll do, Marty Brand. I only wish he had some more like you. Let’s go get some coffee. He’ll be along pretty soon, ready to pull in his horns and make some sensible plans.”

  Marty sighed. The cow hunt and trail drive seemed definite, but Ten still had some rocky ground to plow. He hadn’t so much as mentioned the situation in New Orleans and his determination to return there.

  When Jesse Chisholm and Tenatse eventually got together, Marty Brand made himself scarce, not wishing to get caught in the cross fire. While he was loyal to Ten, and sympathetic toward his strange relationship with Priscilla LeBeau, he couldn’t help admiring Jesse Chisholm. While the man was mild-mannered and slow to anger, there was nothing weak or irresolute about him. He hadn’t disagreed with what Ten proposed to do, only the way in which he was going about it. Ten was enough like Jesse that he wouldn’t allow this standoff to go unresolved. Marty finished his coffee, excusing himself just in time. Ten was returning for the showdown. While he didn’t speak, he flashed Marty a lopsided grin. He understood Marty’s reasoning and his hasty departure. Only a fool got himself gunned down in somebody else’s fight.