The Trail Drive: The Deadwood Trail (The Trail Drive, 12) - Softcover

Ralph Compton stood six-foot-eight without his boots. His first novel in the Trail Drive series, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was also the author of the Sundown Rider series and the Border Empire series. A native of St. Clair County, Alabama, Compton worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist before turning to writing westerns. He died in Nashville, Tennessee, in 1998.

1VIRGINIA CITY, MONTANA TERRITORY.
MARCH 1, 1876
SNOW GLISTENED ON MOUNTAIN peaks to the west, and there were patches of it on the lee side of hills, where the sun shone briefly. More than five thousand head of unruly cattle were strung out, plodding eastward. The drag riders left no slack, for right on their heels were the two hundred horses intended for the army, as well as the outfit’s remuda. Mac, Arch, Hitch and Quickenpaugh kept the horses in line. Directly behind the horse herd came the chuck wagon, Jasmine at the reins. Lorna and Curley rode drag, in the company of Oscar Fentress and Smokey Ellison.
“I know Mr. Story’s been breedin’ these varmints for nine years,” Curley said, “but I can’t see they’re a damn bit smarter than those jugheaded longhorns we brought here from Texas.”
“I think there are some things that can’t be bred out of them,” said Lorna. “Have you ever noticed that when you want a cow or a group of cows to go one certain way, they’ll run themselves ragged going some other way?”
“I’ve noticed that,” Curley said, “but I’m not near as concerned with the ignorance of the cows as I am the condition of my backside. I’d have been spending more time in the saddle, if I’d known this drive was coming.”
“So would I,” said Lorna. “That’s why I offered to do the cooking. The seat on the wagon box is hard enough, but it won’t leave you with saddle sores. Tomorrow will be your turn with the chuck wagon.”
“No,” Curley said. “You take it tomorrow, and I’ll take it the third day. That’s the way Cal set it up. You don’t want him thinkin’ we can’t cut the mustard, do you?”
“My God, no,” said Lorna. “I brought three tins of sulfur salve. Until we toughen our hides, we can doctor our saddle sores at night.”
At that moment, three drag cows wheeled and, evading the drag riders, ran headlong toward the oncoming horse herd. Only the swiftness of Quickenpaugh prevented the horses from stampeding. The Comanche managed to get between the lead horses and the oncoming errant cows. Using his doubled lariat, he swatted the cows on their tender muzzles, and with the help of the drag riders, the troublesome trio again took their places within the herd.
“Lawd God,” said Oscar Fentress, wiping his ebony brow, “that be close. Cal think we all be sleeping.”
But Cal and his companions were having their own problems. Cal rode point, while Bill Petty, Tom Allen, Quanah Taylor and Bud McDaniels were the flank riders. Much of the longhorn temperament had been bred out of the cows, but they seemed to have retained all or most of the cussedness of their longhorn ancestors. Sundown only minutes away, they gave it up, bedding down the herd for the night. The wind, out of the northwest, had a frosty bite to it.
“I’m thinkin’ we should have delayed this drive at least until April first,” Tom Allen said. “If I’m any judge, there’s more snow on the way.”
“Nobody objected when I set the starting day,” said Cal with some irritation.
“Like it or not,” Bill Petty said, “we’re neck-deep in a trail drive. Whatever happens, I reckon we’ll have to make the best of it.”
“There be water,” said Oscar. “Was there shelter, this wouldn’t be so bad.”
“If we had ham, we could have ham and eggs, if we had some eggs,” Smokey Ellison said. “We better get these varmints on the trail at daylight, and start lookin’ for an arroyo deep enough to keep the snow off of us.”
“The tents Mr. Story insisted we bring may be a great help,” said Lorna.
Supper was a mostly silent affair, each of them aware that if fate was unkind to them, they might be plagued by snow until April and beyond.
“We’ll go with two watches,” said Cal. “The first to midnight, and the second until first light. Arch, Hitch, Mac and Quickenpaugh, I want you on the first watch. The rest of us will relieve you at midnight.”
“You’re forgetting Curley, Jasmine and me,” said Lorna.
“Yes,” Curley said, “we have as much at stake as any of you.”
To the surprise of them all, Cal Snider didn’t lose his temper.
“Sorry,” said Cal, “it’s been a long day. Curley, you and Jasmine take the first watch with Arch, Hitch, Mac and Quickenpaugh. Lorna, you’ll take the second watch with me.”
“I ain’t sure I want my woman standin’ watch with a bunch of hombres,” Bud said.
“Bud,” said Curley, “these are the same hombres that came up the trail from Texas with us near ten years ago.”
“She’s right, Bud,” Jasmine said. “Now shut up.”
“When this herd’s sold,” said Bud, “I might just take my share and ride back to Texas, or at least far enough so’s my big sister can’t tell me to shut up.”
“You do,” Curley said, “and you’ll go by yourself. It’s not home to me anymore.”
“The order stands, then.” said Cal. “Jasmine and Curley, you’ll take the first watch, and Lorna, you’ll be part of the second.”
The three women worked together getting the supper ready and cleaning up afterward. When it was time for the first watch to begin circling the herd, Jasmine and Curley saddled their horses. Bud McDaniels said nothing.
Jasmine and Curley rode out together, and when they were far enough away, Curley had something to say.
“Bud and his damn pride. He’ll never outgrow it, will he?”
“I don’t know,” said Jasmine. “I have my doubts. But the last thing Cal needs on this drive is females that need or expect to be coddled.”
Curley laughed. “If anybody has a right to whine, it’s me. I have saddle sores as big as silver dollars on my behind, and here I am in the saddle for seven more hours.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say anything around Bud,” Jasmine said. “Once this watch is done, I’ll get some of Lorna’s sulfur salve and ease your pain. You may have to do the same for me.”
SOUTH-CENTRAL WYOMING TERRITORY.
MARCH 3, 1876
With Benton McCaleb as trail boss, the Lone Star herd moved north, along the Powder River. Brazos Gifford, Will Elliot, Monte Nance and Pen Rhodes were the flankers, while Jed and Stoney Vandiver—assisted by Penelope and Rebecca—rode drag. Goose, the Lipan Apache, was far ahead of the herd, scouting for possible Indian sign. It was Rosalie’s turn on the high box of the chuck wagon, and it trailed along behind the drag riders. The herd had been bedded down along the Powder when Goose rode in. McCaleb and his riders all gathered around to hear what the Indian had to report.
“No sign,” said Goose. “Snow come.”
“That’s what I been sayin’ all day,” Monte Nance said.
“We know,” said Brazos wearily. “We know.”
“It’s a risk we had to take,” McCaleb said. “We have no choice, unless we turn back to our home range. Does anybody favor that?”
“Hell, no,” said Will Elliot. “We’re Texans, and we don’t start anything we can’t finish.”
“Well, I favor goin’ back,” Monte Nance said. “We ain’t more than thirty miles out.”
“Little brother,” said Rebecca angrily, “if you don’t have the sand for this drive, saddle up and head for home. The rest of us are going to Deadwood.”
There were shouts of agreement from the rest of the outfit. Monte Nance curbed his angry response, bit his tongue and said nothing. Before it was time for the start of the first watch, the wind turned colder and changed direction, coming out of the northwest.
“It’ll be blowin’ like hell wouldn’t have it by morning,” Brazos predicted.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said McCaleb. “We won’t have time to find shelter any better than we have right here, which is practically none. The best we can do is break out all the extra canvas and set up some windbreaks while it’s still light enough to see.”
“We’ll be needin’ firewood, and lots of it,” said Brazos. “Suppose I take Jed, Stoney and Will, and drag in some wood, while the rest of you put up the windbreaks?”
“Do that,” McCaleb said. “It’s gettin’ colder by the minute, and we’ll be needing a fire tonight.”
Instead of taking turns cooking, Rebecca, Rosalie and Susannah joined forces each day, making the cooking and the cleanup far easier than it might have been. Not to be outdone, Penelope had taken to helping them. Monte Nance eyed Penelope, and while she paid him no attention, Rosalie watched him warily. Monte was more than ten years older than Penelope, and while she showed no interest in him, Rosalie knew just how unpredictable her daughter was. Not until the first watch did she have a chance to talk to Brazos. The snow had not begun, and Brazos dismounted.
“This is the only time I can talk to you without the others hearing,” said Rosalie. “I’m worried about Penelope. Monte’s looking at her all the time, and I have a good idea as to what’s on his mind.”
“Penelope’s just as beautiful as her mama,” Brazos said, “and there’s no law against a man looking. I doubt she’s ever spoken a word to him. He’s Rebecca’s brother. ...