Killoe (1962) (10 page)

"Wolves won't bother them," Zeb commented. "We haven't seen any wolves in the past couple of days."

"Nothing for them to feed on but snakes. According to Tap Henry, this country is alive with them."

We turned away from the arroyo, both of us feeling sick to the stomach. They had been our enemies, but no man wishes that kind of fate on anyone, and a Comanche with time on his hands can think of a lot ,of ways for a man to take time to die.

Circling the scene of :he ambush, we found the trail of the departing Indians.
There
must have been at least forty in the band--the number could only be surmised, but it was at least that large.

Their tracks indicated they were going off toward the north, and it was unlikely they would attempt to remain in the vicinity, because of the scarcity of water. But they must have crossed this terrain many times, and might know of water of which we knew nothing. Judging from the arid lands around us, though, it was doubtful.

We had started back toward the herd when we saw those other tracks. We came upon them suddenly, the tracks of two horses.

"Well, she caught up with him," Zeb commented, indicating one set of tracks. "That's Tap's paint.., and those other tracks belong to that little grulla Karen rode off. I'd know those tracks anywhere."

They had come this way ... after the massacre in the arroyo, and they were headed due west. Before them lay the eighty miles or so to Horsehead Crossing... had Karen taken any water? They would need it.

We camped that night by the deep pool in the river bed--the last water of which we knew.

Chapter
Four.

The deep pool was gone. Where the water had been was
now
a patch of trampled mud, slowly drying under the morning sun.

"All right, Dan," Pa said to me, "I'm no cattleman, and I have the brains to know it. You take the drive. I don't need to tell you what it means to all of us."

"There's eighty mile,, or close to it, between here and Horsehead." I was
speaking
to them all. "But as we get close to the Pecos we may come up to some pools of water.

I'll have to ride ahead, or somebody will, and spot those pools before the cattle can get wind of them, and then we'll have to keep the herd upwind of that water.

"It's death if they drink it. Water in the pools is full of concentrated alkali, and they wouldn't have a chance.

"This is a mixed herd, the toughest kind of all to drive. From now on, anything that can't keep up will have to be left behind--any calves born on the drive must be killed.

"You know the best day we've had was about fifteen, sixteen miles. On this drive we will have to do better than that, and without water.

"The first night out, we will go into camp late and we'll start early. From that time on every man jack of you will be riding most of the day and night."

"I can ride." Conchita McCrae stood on the edge of the group. "I've worked cattle since I was a child. We want to pull our weight, and Miguel isn't up to it yet."

"We can use you," I replied, "and thanks."

Nobody said anything for a few minutes, and finally it was Tim Foley who spoke. "There's no water for eighty miles? What about the Mustang Pools?"

"We don't know, but we can't count on them. Maybe there is water there, but we will have to think like there wasn't."

Pa shrugged. "Well, we have been expecting it. Nobody can say we weren't warned.

What we had best do is fill all the barrels, jars, everything that will hold water, and we had best be as sparing of it as we can."

Zebony led off, his long brown hair blowing in the wind, and after him came the brindle steer, still pointing his nose into God knows where, and then the herd.

Ben Cole and Milo Dodge rode the flanks; and behind them, Freeman Squires and Zeno Yearly.

Turning, I walked my horse back to where Tim Foley was getting ready to mount the seat of his wagon. His wife sat up there, her eyes fastened on distance.

"Everything all right, Tim?"

He turned around slowly. "No . .. and you know it isn't. Karen's gone, and you could have kept her, Dan."

"Me?" It was not at all what I'd expected from him. "Tim, she wouldn't have stayed for me. Nor for anyone, I guess."

"We figured you two were going to marry," Tim said. "We counted on it. I never did like that no-account Tap Henry."

"Tap's a good man, and there was no talk of marriage between Karen and me.
We talked some, but there weren't any other young folks around . . . just the two of us. And she fell hard for Tap."

"He'll ruin her. That is, if she isn't lying dead out there already."

"She's with him. We found their tracks. She caught up to him and they are riding west together."

This was no time to tell them about the massacre. I had told Pa, and some of the boys knew, because I wanted them to look sharp . . . but it might only worry the womenfolks.

If I had a wife now, well, I'd tell her such things. A man does wrong to spare womenfolks, because they can stand up to trouble as well as any man, and a man has no right to keep trouble from them, but this was Tim Foley's wife and Aaron Stark's widow, and there was Rose Sandy.

The wagons rolled, their heavy wheels rocked and rolled down into the gully and out on the other side, and we moved the cattle westward. Dust lifted from the line of their march, and the rising sun lit points of brightness on their thousands of horns.

Somebody out along the line started up a song, and somebody else took it up, and glad I was to hear them, for they needed what courage they had for the long march that was ahead. , The cattle lowed and*called, the dust grew thicker, and we moved on into the
morning
.

Sweat streaked their sides, but we moved them on. Every mile was a victory, every mile a mile nearer water. But I knew there were cattle in this herd that would be dead long before we came to water, and there were horses that would die, and perhaps men, too.

The way west was hard, and it took hard men to travel that way, but it was the way they knew, the way they had chosen. Driving increases thirst, and the sun came hot into the morning sky, and grew hotter with the passing of the hours. The dust mounted.

Twice I switched horses before the morning was over. Working beside Jim Poor, I handled the drag, with Pa off in front with Zebony Lambert.

And when at last the cool of night came, we kept them moving steadily westward until at last we camped. We had made sixteen miles, a long drive. Yet I think there was a horror within us all at what lay ahead, and Conchita looked at me with wonder in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking.

We were mad.., mad to try this thing.

We cooked a small meal and ate. We made coffee and drank, and the cattle were restless for water and did not lie down for a long time. But at last they did.

The burden was mine now. Carefully, I looked at the men, studying their faces, trying to estimate the limit of their strength.

It was late when I turned in at last, and I was the first awake, rolling my blankets and saddling the dun. Zeno Yearly was squatted by the fire when I came up to it.

He gestured at the pot. "Fresh made. He'p yourself." Filling my cup, I squatted opposite him. "I ain't a talking man," Zeno commented, out of nowhere, "so I've said nothing about this. Especial, as Tap is your brother."

Swallowing coffee, I looked at him, but I said nothing.

"This here range Tap located--how come that grass ain't been settled?"

"Open country. Nobody around, I reckon."

"Don't you be mistook. That there range was settled and in use before you were born."

Well, I couldn't believe it. Tap had told about that range out there, free for the taking. Yet Zeno was not a talking man, and I had never known him to say anything but what proved true.

"Tap found it for us," I protested. "He left a man to guard it."

"Tolan Banks?"

"You know him?"

"I should smile. That's a mean man, a mighty mean man. I heard Tap call his name, and I said nothing because I'm not a gun-fighting man and wanted no part of Tap unless he brought it to me. That Tolan Banks is a cow-thief and an outlaw."

,.:" So there it lay. We were headed west across some
godawful
country, running risk of life and limb, thinking we were bound for fresh and open range, and now I found that range belonged to somebody else and we would be running into a full-scale range war when we arrived.

E; They say trouble doesn't come singly, and surely that was true of ours. So I drank coffee and gave thought to it, but the thinking came to nothing. For all I could see was that we were committed, and we would arrive faced with a fight--and us with starving, thirsty cattle, and folks that would be starved also.
I
"Zeno, you keep this under your hat. This is something I've got to study about.

Seems to me, Tap should have known better."

Zeno put down his coffee and filled his pipe.
He was speaking low, for fear we would be overheard. "Meaning no offense, but it seems to me that Tap Henry is a self-thinking man. I mean, he would think of himself first. Now, suppose he wanted that land, but had no cattle? To claim land in this country you have to use it . . . you have to run cows on it.

E "So what better could he do, knowing you folks were discontented and talking the West? I think you will ride into a full-fledged range war, and you'll be on the side of Tolan Banks . . . which puts you in a bad light."

"It isn't a good thought," I said. "I don't know this Tolan Banks."

"Like I say, he's a mean man. He will fight with any sort of weapon, any way you choose, and he's killed a lot of men. Some folks say he was one of that Bald Knob crowd, up there in Missouri. On that I couldn't say, and it seemed to me his
wife
sounded like Georgia to me."

We moved our herd on the trail, and they were mean. They had nothing to drink, and had not had anything the night before, nor was there water in sight.

We moved them out before the light and walked them forward, moving them steadily.

And this day we worked harder than ever before. Now that water was gone, these cow-critters began thinking back to the Cowhouse or the Middle Concho, and they had no notion of going on into this dry country. First one and then another would try to turn back.

Again, I worked the drag. Nobody was going to say that because I was in charge I was shirking my job. At noontime we found a sort of bluff and there was shade along it for a good half-mile. We moved the herd into that shade and stopped, lying up through the hot hours.

Miguel was sitting up when I went to the wagon. "I shall be able to ride soon," he said, "and I shall help."

Glancing out, I could see nobody close by. "Miguel," I said, "we are heading for land in New Mexico."

"Si, this I know."

"Do you know the Mimbres Valley?"

"Si." Miguel's face had grown still, and he watched me with careful attention.

"Is it claimed land?"

Miguel hesitated. "Si . . . most of it. But there is trouble there. However, the valley is long--perhaps it is not the place of which I speak."

"And Lake Valley?"

"Si . .. I know it. There is much trouble there, from the Apache ... but from white men also, and from our own people, for some of them are bad, like Felipe Soto."

"Do you think we will have trouble there? We were told the range was open. It is not open, then?"

"'No . . . and you will have much trouble." Miguel paused. "
Senior
, I regret... I wish I could ride. I know how hard it is for you."

"Have you been over this road?"

"No... I came from the north. I was trying to escape, and then when hurt I tried for water on the Concho."

As it grew toward evening, we started the herd once more, and Conchita was in the saddle at once, and riding her big horse. Surprisingly enough, it proved a good cutting horse, and it was needed.

Now every rider was needed. The herd slowed and tried to turn aside or turn back, but we worked, keeping them moving, pointing westward into the starlit night. At last we stopped, but the cattle would not settle down. They bawled continuously, and finally I gave up.

"Pa, let's move them. They aren't going to rest, so they might as well walk."

Once again we started, and we sagged from weariness. The men around me were bone-tired, their eyes hollow, but we pushed them on. And the white dust lifted from the parched plain, strangling, stifling, thick.

When the morning came there was no rest, no surcease. The sun rose like a ball of flapae, crimson and dak, and the air was still.
No slightest breeze stirred the air, which lay heavily upon us, so that our breathing required effort.
And now the cattle wanted to stop, they wanted even to die, but we urged them on.

Here and there one
fell
out, but they had to be left. The horses slowed, and stopped, starting again with a great effort.