Black Horse Creek (9781101607466) (24 page)

Chapter 15

There was a new attitude in the town of Black Horse Creek during the next few days. People seemed confident about the future of their little town in the remote Kansas prairie now that each businessman's burdensome debt had been canceled by Jimmy Hicks's rifle. There were meetings going on almost all of the day, because there were many things to discuss and decide upon. The major issue was how to handle the dynasty left by Jacob Blanchard, for there were no heirs to claim ownership of his lands and cattle. Finally an agreement was decided upon for the whole town to own the land, and a charter created to give each one of the original business owners an equal share. A city council was established with Louis Reiner named as mayor. Burt McNally was officially elected as sheriff, with plans to rebuild the jail and sheriff's office. Shep Barnhill was credited with the idea of establishing Black Horse Creek as a cattle town, since it was not really that far from Dodge City and the railroad, and there was plenty of good grassland for herds being driven up from Texas. As Mayor Reiner said, “The sky's the limit. We can build our town into one of the busiest towns in the state of Kansas.”

As far as Jacob Blanchard's ranch was concerned, the city council thought it only fair to cut out five hundred acres and award that, the house, and the outbuildings, to Rachel, with Jimmy and Stump as share owners. Stump was forgiven for having worked for Blanchard, since he had never actually harmed anyone, and he had refused to shoot Burt McNally. There was generally a bright cloud of optimism over the entire town.

*   *   *

Standing apart from the suddenly busy rebirth of Black Horse Creek, the one man who had more to do with the town's revolution than any other, Grayson silently witnessed the scurrying about of the town's leading citizens. From one quickly called meeting to the next, they seemed to be constantly running up and down the street, from the hotel to the saloon, to Reiner's store in their enthusiastic quest to establish themselves as a community of promise.

Amid all the activity, he was no more than a bystander, no longer the sinister bounty hunter sent to destroy the Blanchard dynasty. No longer a figure of mystery and fear, he was greeted courteously, but he was not one of them. The only person who expressed his appreciation was Burt McNally, and that surprised Grayson, for he never expected appreciation. From the beginning, his sole purpose had been to seek revenge for his attempted murder by Slate and Troy Blanchard. And he didn't give a damn about the future of Black Horse Creek. Seeing all the joyous activity now, however, he was moved to regret not being a part of it—or at least a part of some positive and useful future. The more he thought about it, the more resigned he became to make something of his life other than a hunter of felons. His thoughts drifted automatically to a handsome widow in Fort Smith, and he decided that he needed to get back to Wanda Meadows's boardinghouse as quickly as he could. When he had left her, she made him promise to be careful. That wasn't much, but it might mean that she cared what happened to him. “Worth lookin' into,” he stated.

“Did you say somethin'?” Burt asked.

“Yeah,” Grayson replied, “I said so long.”

 

Please read on for a look at the next exciting historical novel from Charles G. West,

WAY OF THE GUN

Available in March 2013 from Signet.

 

Looks like I might have company,
young Carson Ryan thought as he watched the two riders approaching the North Platte River. Always one to exercise caution, he remained in the cover of the cottonwoods on the north bank until he could see what they were about.
Cow punchers from the look of them,
he decided. They had no packhorses that would indicate it was just the two of them on their way somewhere; maybe they were scouts for a wagon train of some kind. As he watched, the two separated to inspect the banks up and down the river, almost as far as Carson's camp. It was obvious to him then that they were selecting a crossing. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he led his horse over beside a tall cottonwood and pulled off his boots. Then he stood on the buckskin's back to reach a stout limb. Climbing up in the tree, he looked back to the south, and soon got the answer to his question. A faint cloud of brown dust in the distance announced the approach of a cattle herd. He remained up in the tree until he saw the first steers. With no further concern for caution, he descended the tree to drop down onto the ground. When the two point men rode back to meet the herd, he sat down and pulled his boots back on.

It's getting a little late in the day to cross the river,
he thought.
They'll most likely hold them on the other side tonight and cross them over in the morning
. He knew from experience that cows weren't fond of river crossings. Although only seventeen years of age, he had worked with cattle for most of those years, and he guessed it would always be in his blood. He was hoping to catch on with a herd heading for Montana, where there were already some big outfits grazing their cattle on the vast open bunch grass prairies. He had come up from Texas with a herd of twenty-five hundred head belonging to Mr. Bob Patterson. Starting on the Western Trail at Doan's Crossing near Vernon, Texas, they went only as far as Ogallala. Mr. Patterson tried to persuade him to return to Texas with him to pick up another herd, but Carson wanted to see Montana. Patterson wished him well, and Carson set out for Fort Laramie, thinking it a possibility to catch a herd stopping there for supplies. It was a long shot, but at seventeen, a boy can wait out the winter and hope for something in the spring.

Carson was thinking now that he must have luck riding with him, because he had decided to make camp earlier than usual—when along came a herd. Maybe they could use another hand. One thing for sure, they weren't looking to buy any supplies at Fort Laramie, because if they were, they missed the fort by a good forty miles. “We'll just sit right here and see what kinda outfit they are,” he told the buckskin gelding. On second thought, he decided it would be better to cross over to the south side, since that was more likely to be where the herd would be bedded down for the night. While he waited, he decided he would inspect the river to find the place he would pick to cross a herd.

*   *   *

“Well, now, who the hell is that?” Duke Slayton asked when he sighted the lone rider waiting by the river.

Johnny Briggs turned in the saddle and looked where Duke pointed. “Damned if I know,” he replied. “He weren't there when me and Marvin scouted the banks.”

“Well, he's sure as hell there now,” Duke came back. “You and Marvin go on up ahead and make sure he ain't got no friends layin' below that riverbank, waitin' to pop up, too.”

Johnny wheeled his horse around a couple of times, straining to get a better look at the man before he complied with Duke's order. He had his suspicions the same as Duke, and he wasn't anxious to become the sacrificial lamb in the event there might be a welcoming party waiting to gain a herd of cattle. “He don't look to be much more'n a kid,” he finally decided. “He might just be a stray, lookin' for a job. And we're damn sure short of men,” he added.

“Or lookin' for a meal,” Duke said, although he noticed that the young man was riding a stout-looking buckskin and was leading a packhorse. “You goin' or not?”

“I'm goin',” Johnny replied and wheeled his horse once again. “Come on, Marvin.” The two of them were off at a fast lope while Duke turned back to meet Rufus Jones, who was riding forward to meet him.

“I'm thinkin' 'bout beddin' 'em down in the mouth of this shallow valley, where they can get to the water, and there's plenty of good grass,” Rufus called out as he pulled his horse to a stop. “That all right with you?”

“Yeah, hell, I don't see why not. I ain't wantin' to try to push 'em across tonight, and that's a fact,” Duke replied. They were driving close to two thousand head of cattle, and by the time the boys riding drag caught up, it would most likely be approaching dusk. The herd had been strung out for about two miles since the noontime rest.

Up ahead, Johnny and Marvin slowed their horses to a walk while both men scanned the brush and trees behind the lone stranger, alert to anything that didn't look right. With nothing to suggest that foul play was afoot, they walked their horses up to the rider awaiting them. Johnny was the first to speak. “Well, young feller, what are you doin' out here all by your lonesome?”

“I was campin' down the river a'ways,” Carson replied, “and I saw you ride up. So I thought I'd say howdy—maybe visit awhile if you're fixin' to bed that herd down here.”

Johnny studied the young man carefully. He was young, right enough, but he was a husky fellow and fairly tall, judging by the length of his stirrups. He could see no deceit in the deep blue eyes that gazed out at him. “Why, sure,” Johnny responded. “Right, Marvin?” He didn't wait for Marvin's answer. “We're always glad to share our campfire with strangers. Where you headed, anyway?”

“Well, I was thinkin' about ridin' up to Fort Laramie and maybe catching on with a herd movin' on through to Montana Territory.”

“Is that a fact?” Marvin asked. “Maybe you should talk to the boss.” He nodded toward Duke Slayton, who was riding up behind them now. “'Cause that's where we're pushin' this herd—up Montana way.”

Maybe Lady Luck
was
following him, he thought, as a sturdy-looking man with a full face of gray whiskers rode up to join them. Like the two before him, he cast a sharp eye back and forth along the line of the bank behind Carson. Figuring that if there was any funny business planned, it would have already been happening, he nodded to the young man. “Howdy, young feller,” he remarked. “Where are you headed?”

Marvin answered before Carson had a chance. “He's on his way to Fort Laramie, lookin' to catch on with a herd goin' to Montana.”

That brought a look of interest to Duke's face. “Well, now, is that so? You ever work cattle before?”

“Yes, sir. I just came up from Texas with a herd that belonged to Mr. Bob Patterson, but he only took 'em as far as Ogallala.”

“How come you wanna go to Montana?” Duke asked.

“'Cause I ain't ever been there,” Carson replied.

Duke grinned. “I reckon that's reason enough. Reminds me of myself when I was about your age.” He paused to think about it a moment longer before deciding. “We are short a man.” He glanced at Johnny and shrugged. “Hell, we could use about two more men than we've got, but one more would make a heap of difference. Wouldn't it, Johnny?”

Johnny responded with a grin of his own. “I reckon that's the truth, all right.”

“I guess we could give you a try,” Duke went on. “This feller, Patterson, I reckon he was payin' you about twenty dollars a month. Right?”

“No, sir,” Carson replied. “He was payin' me thirty dollars.”

“That's the goin' rate for an experienced cowhand,” Duke came back. “And right now you're a pig in a poke.” Carson shrugged indifferently, and Duke continued. “I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you a try at twenty until you show me you can cowboy with the rest of us. Whaddaya say?” Carson started to reply, but Duke interrupted when a thought occurred. “You ain't wanted by the law, are you?”

“No, sir,” Carson answered. “I ain't.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I reckon I'll go to Montana with you.” He knew he was worth more than the twenty dollars offered, but he didn't blame the man. Besides, he figured, he was bound for Montana one way or another, so he might as well go with this outfit. It might be a better bet than looking for one passing near Fort Laramie this late in the summer. He didn't know where in Montana they were taking the cattle, but if he had to guess, he'd say they had over three hundred miles to go. So they were cutting it pretty close as far as the weather was concerned. It was going to get pretty cold in a month or so.

“Fine,” Duke said. “My name's Duke Slayton. This is Johnny Briggs and Marvin Snead. What's your name?”

“Carson Ryan.”

“All right, Carson, you can meet the rest of the boys at supper. Might as well just wait around till the drags come in and we settle the herd in this valley. You can dump your bedroll and other stuff in the chuck wagon and talk to Skinny Wills—he's the wrangler—about a string of horses.” He turned to Johnny then. “You and Marvin pick the best place to cross in the mornin'?”

“Right here where we're sittin' is about as good as any, I reckon,” Johnny said. “There ain't much bank to climb on the other side.”

Duke turned to Carson then, in a spirit to playfully test the new man. “What do you say, Carson? This look like a good place to push 'em across?”

“No, sir,” Carson replied stoically. “If it was me, I'd try it upstream a couple hundred feet, maybe on the other side of that tallest cottonwood.” He pointed to the tree.

All three men looked genuinely surprised to hear his reply. “Is that so?” Duke responded. “And why would you do that? The banks are good and low on both sides right here.”

“Quicksand,” Carson answered matter-of-factly.

“Quicksand!” Johnny exclaimed. “How do you know that?”

Carson shrugged. “Well, I don't know for sure, but I noticed a couple of places toward the other side where the water looked like it was makin' little whirlpools. And it wasn't flowin' around any tree roots or rocks or anything, and that's what the water looks like when there's quicksand under it.”

Duke couldn't contain the laugh. He threw his head back and roared. “Whaddaya think, Johnny? Maybe we oughta go ahead and give him the thirty dollars.”

“I'm just sayin' that's what the water looked like when we got into some quicksand on a drive two years ago crossin' the Red River,” Carson quickly offered, afraid he might have made an enemy of Johnny. “Might not be quicksand here at all.”

“Ain't worth takin' the chance,” Johnny said, apparently not offended. “That stuff can cause a lot of trouble that I'd just as soon be without.”

“All right, we'll cross 'em up above the big cottonwood,” Duke said cheerfully. “And if we get into any quicksand, we'll hang Carson in the damn tree. Does that suit everybody?” Everyone grunted in approval, including the new hire. “Now, let's get them cows watered. Come on, Carson, I'll take you to see Bad Eye—he's the cook.”