Posted by AlOmega on June 12, 1999 at 20:05:57:
CHISHOLM TRAIL
by AlOmega
Chapter 2
Red River Station
Crazy thing thinkin’ bout that Indian gal at a time like this - especially when ya knows that a fire will be
blazing in the forest burning your main log. Shoulda been thinkin’ about Martha. But life can do that to ya
sometimes. Should have been grateful that old Broken Nose had only three or four warriors with him. If I’d
been untied and had my guns, maybe I woulda stood a chance. But he was staring at me fingering my Colt
rifle with the revolving barrel. Was a gift from Therese’s husband, Sam. Guess he figured I’d saved her life
and was returning the favor. Heck what with bein’ introduced to Martha at their wedding, I figured we was
even.
Broken Nose and I may have been enemies but we had mutual respect for one another. I could tell
‘cause he was treatin’ my rifle real nice like. Course it coulda been ‘cause he figured it was his. Laying the
gun carefully on the ground, he approached me.
“You pretty brave man. You die real slow. But you no scream, I think. There is deep hate between us.
But respect, too. After you kill brother, I vow to kill you real slow. Only you. Your squaw safe from
Comanche because you set my son free. I watch over them. But you must die.” He said this softly. Why I
never knew. He had no more stood up than he was hit twice by arrows. One in the throat and one in the
chest. His body fell on top of me as cries from the west crowded my ears. ‘Course that coulda been cause
when he fell on me, I struck my head on a rock and lost consciousness.
A few minutes later, I started wakin’ up. The ropes binding my arms and legs were loosened. As
circulation returned to my limbs, I almost cried out. The pain was terrible. Still when surrounded by a
bunch of Arapaho, its best to keep the pain to yourself. I managed to find out that when I returned Vicky to
her people, her father had sent a small party to find and kill the Kiowas that had kidnapped her. Normally,
they would have let the matter rest there but figured that I should be thanked as well. Managed to track me
down. Well they knew I had a spread near where we found her. Always surprised me when injuns thought
well of me. I woulda given all I owned and half my stock as well but they were content. I did ask them to
accompany me back to the herd. Just figured we had a couple of calves we could cull out and give to ‘em.
They could either butcher them there or take them back to their lodges.
That was a surprise to the men - seein’ me ride up with about twenty braves in tow. But Cap’n Tatum
took it in stride. They didn’t mind givin’ up a couple of calves to the Arapaho. Fact was, we’d left a few
already with some of the folks we passed along the way. That was the way some people started their own
herds.
Wasn’t too long after that - about two days later - that we entered Lockhart. Had to wait until Scott
brought back the cutter to pilot the herd though the town and cut out cattle which didn’t belong. Everything
went well. Only one garden got messed up. Cap’n Tatum had gone through this before and paid the
damages. A couple of the folks remembered Thorton Chisholm startin’ a herd of 1,800 from Caldwell
Flats. Split the herd in two with Dave Augustine takin’ over one while Frank White took over t’other. That
was in the Spring of 1866. Day ran into day ‘til we got near Austin. Sent a couple of guys into Austin for
supplies. Most of us had been there at one time or t’other but, outside of a fight, nothin’ much happened.
San Antonio was bigger but a bit south of Austin. Knew that Sam Houston had tried to ship the whole
Legislature, Capital, and all to Houston. Stupid idea that even for old Sam. He just wanted the Capital in a
town named after him. Damn thing was just a smudge in the middle of a swamp. Allen brothers founded it
and called their landing on Buffalo Bayou Houston after Old Sam. I went there once. Figured the place was
just a swamp and would never amount to much. Galveston was bigger.
Course San Antonio wasn’t much until after the Rangers started clearing out the Comanch. When the
Mexicans were in charge, the Comanch only left San Antonio alone cause they could get horses and women
easily enough. With the coming of the Rangers, all that changed.
‘Twas near Waco that we ran the cattle over the suspension bridge to avoid losing ‘em to the Brazos.
Damn thing ran too fast for cattle to take ‘em over the river. That took care to keep them from trying to
cross on their own. Still we didn’t lose any. Me and Scott stopped in Waco which was smack dab next to
the bridge for some supplies. We coulda gotten some from Ft. Worth but it wasn’t worth the effort. Cap’n
Tatum figured Waco would be the last town we’d be at until the Indian Nations.
It wasn’t much of a town but San Antonio wasn’t much either. Still it had a sheriff or something like
one. I don’t remember his last name but his first was Ric. Was in the War I think but might have fought for
the North rather than the South. Knew he had a bunch of ribbons. Anyway, we had just come into town
that day. Cap’n Tatum had said to relax a bit. Scott knew where we were to meet. We stopped at the
saloon for a couple of beers. We were on our third when one of the gals came on to me. Name was Kayla.
I still remember her sweet blond hair. Reminded me of Martha too much bein’ about the same age. Lookin’
into here eyes, I remembered Martha and the baby. I’m no prude not bein’ opposed to havin’ a poke now
and then but Martha was too strong in my memory for me to enjoy Kayla. Scott had lost his woman several
years before. Though old (‘bout forty I reckoned), he could give a good account of himself. I smiled as he
took the pretty blond upstairs. I was sucking on a sixth beer waitin’ on Scott when a short piece of filth
bumped into me. I was drunk enough to wanta fight but that was when the Sheriff stepped in. Now I’m
pretty big but he was bigger.
“Son. Just holster that gun”, he commanded. I say that because when he talked, you listened. Trouble
was the shithead wasn’t havin’ nothing of that. Lookin’ through the haze of the beer, I realized who had
bumped into me. Lucky me, he was lookin’ at Sheriff Ric now. I had only heard about the guy but to see
those eyes... I’m not that bad with a gun but I knew I was outmatched sure ‘nuff. Wasn’t sure if the Sheriff
knew it or not.
“Whatcha doin’, Sheriff? I was only gonna teach this asshole some manners.”
“Not in my town you won’t”, said Ric placing his hand on his Colt.
“Too crowded here. Lets meet outside.”
I tried to tell the Sheriff who the shithead was but he shrugged me off. Guy might have been brave
but he wasn’t the smartest I’d ever seen. Course if he knew who it was he was facin’......
I followed the two outside. The scene would play itself out, I knew. And the Sheriff would soon be
dead. At my elbow was a young woman. Her long dark hair came down to her ass. Actually she was quite
a striking woman. The worry on her face told me she had feelings for this man - this sheriff. If I could have
stopped it, I would have if just for her. Still he faced the younger gunfighter. Sheriff Ric knew what the guy
was. No one would have a low slung holster unless he were a gunfighter. And he wasn’t takin’ chances, I
saw when he drew first. Still the guy drew so fast that before the Sheriff’s bullet reached his ears, he had
fired. While the Sheriff’s bullet missed, the gunslinger’s bullets caught the Sheriff in the belly. As Sheriff
Ric slumped onto the ground, the guy aimed to put a bullet into his brain. From out of nowhere a child ran
into the guy and destroyed his aim. The bullet went into the ground. Turning to the child, the gunman was
almost ready to put a bullet into the kid’s brain when he realized that the brat was only six. Laughing, he
backed away forgetting me and leaving Sheriff Ric bleeding in the street.
The young woman with tears in her eyes, gathered the Sheriff to her bosom and attempted to stop the
bleeding. There was a sawbones in town, luckily. Doctor John something or other, I believe he was.
Anyway, I helped them take the Sheriff to the Doc’s office. Opening the Sheriff’s shirt, he probed a bit
before removing two slugs from his intestines. The girl was by his side all the while as I watched. Doc John
put the lead slugs in a vial and began closing Sheriff Ric’s stomach. The girl - Lisa, I think - took care of
him that day and the next.
After an hour, the Sheriff regained consciousness.
“I never seen such quick shooting”, I said to the Sheriff. “You saved my life. But did you know who
you were facing?” He nodded no. Fact was that was all he could have done.
“That was John Wesley Hardin. I heard he’s killed twenty men. You was lucky.” Still I had to admire
the man. Lisa took care of him until the next day changing his bandages and all.
After a bit, Scott came outside. He seemed quite happy (and Kayla smiled at him, also). Must have
been some poke, I figured. Still, he was sorry he had missed the fight. There’s no counting on what
someone will do. The child though, I never saw again.
Returning after another day, we met up with the herd. Was surprised to see Hardin had joined up
with us. Didn’t know why but didn’t want to cross him neither. It was north of Ft. Worth while chasing a
few strays back to the herd that me and Scott heard gunfire up north. Fearing Injuns, we had our rifles in
our hands ready to shoot. Toppin’ a rise we saw Hardin pokin’ a young Mexican gal.- pretty one, too, I
reckon. Gripped my Colt rifle harder when I saw a couple of men and an old woman lyin’ dead. Harden
was drunk as usual which was one reason I thought Cap’n Tatum shouldn’t have hired him.
The two men were typical Mexican peons except they had shot through the head. The old lady was
probably the wife of the older dead man. She had been shot three times. Scott got down to tend a younger
girl whose blouse was ripped revealing most of her top to the world. It wasn’t that I had never seen a
woman’s bare breasts before but I didn’t want to embarress her. I looked disgusted at Harden as he finished
up. From the looks of it, the two men and woman had objected to his advances on the three women and he
had shot them. Scott was finishing tending the older of the three as I questioned the youngest - a girl of
about twelve. Seems Harden had come onto the small party about a mile back and followed them here. He
had grabbed one of the girls from the wagon and ripped her blouse. She slapped him and he hit her. That
was too much for the men. One was the girl’s father and the other her husband. Hardin had shot them when
they objected calling them trash and all. Figured they were nothin. I guess. When he had killed the men, the
mother of the three grabbed for a rifle. He killed her while advancing. And when the first girl, wife of the
younger man, had picked up the gun, he’d shot her, too. The second oldest was just sixteen and soon to
wed someone in Ft. Worth but he hadn’t cared. He’d simply used her. He hadn’t gotten away with it
entirely, I saw seein’ deep scratch marks on his face. He was laughing when I walked up to him. He didn’t
have no gun now but that wouldn’t have bothered me. I just let him have it as hard as I could with the butt
end of my rifle. Damn fool dropped like a sack of shitt.
Just about the time, Hardin was gettin’ up, Cap’n Tatum and a few others rode up. I think Hardin
realized he had outlived his welcome because when he started for his gun, the whole bunch leveled their
rifles at him. He left us then sayin’ something about visitin’ some relatives - the Clements, I believe -
somewhere in Gonzales County. He might have been mad but there were too many guns on him.
Still what were we to do with the Mexican girls? Frank wanted to kill them as they were the only
witnesses but I stopped him. Cap’n Tatum said I and a few of the riders could escort the women and their
dead to Ft. Worth. So I did. A few of the locals blamed us but most would blame Hardin Yet we knew
none would take after him this day. The man had already killed seven. There would be more.
Wasn’t too long before we got to Red River Station. Red River was down and that would make the
crossing easier. On the other side was the Indian Nations. The goin’ would be shorter but tougher as well.
And Red River Crossing was the last spot to get supplies before Kansas. There actually was a road that
twisted and crossed Salt Creek before going up a hill. While the cattle moved up the road, I watched a
brown leaf from last fall twistin’ in the wind held only by some spider silk. About the time the last of the
cattle cleared the road, a big gust of wind came up and the leaf made its final dash to the ground. While
watching, I’d been wondering how Martha was doin’ and if the baby had been born yet. God, I missed her
then.
For all the trails that ran north to Abilene, this was the real start of the Chisholm Trail. There is power
is some places. This was such a spot. About three hundred and fifty miles north lay Abilene, Kansas.
Looking down, you could see an abrupt bend in the river which checked its flow and created a natural
crossing. For years this was used by buffalo and Injuns. Now it was goin’ to be used by the cattle and us.
Even so, here the water was wide, swift, and clogged with a few sand bars. I noticed the cattle were having
problems gettin’ across. Except for a few head preserved because they were familiar with the trail and could
lead others, most of them would never return. This was a trail that led to their deaths. Cap’n Tatum figured
after crossing, we’d drive ‘em straight an arrow to Kansas.
Now Frank could be stupid at times and this time he was even dumber then normal. Shouting as loud as
he could, he walked across the Red River on the backs of the movin’ cattle. Never seen anything like it.
Damn if Scott didn’t do the same thing. Several of the guys dared me. Like I said before, Martha has all the
sense in the family. I proved it that day as I started walking on the backs of movin’, scared cattle. Just
figured if Frank and Scott could do it, so could I. ‘Twas easy, I thought, pickin’ my way across. Sure I was
wearing boots and the cattle’s backs were sweaty and covered with water from the River. But Hell, I was
eighteen and nothin’ could harm me. I turned to shout my success when I slipped and fell into the River. A
hoof struck my head and I remembered no more.
to be continued in
Chapter 3
Indian Nations