Buffalo Trail (14 page)

•   •   •

A
S THEY RODE AWAY
, Isatai said, “They didn't offer us any food. If they had, I might have summoned a little magic for them.”

Quanah didn't reply. He was thinking hard.

A
round mid-February, some of the hide men and their hangers-on who'd gone off to spend the winter in warmer climes returned, but not nearly as many as Dodge business leaders had expected back. In the buffalo hunting peak of 1872, almost ten thousand hide men and crew members either lived in or camped near the town. But now, with word spreading that most of the buffalo were far to the south, fewer than half the anticipated crowd of hunters came back. Town merchants consequently sold far fewer goods. Saloons still did good business, so drunken brawls were just as frequent. The merchants were frustrated and the hide men were nervous: What if, come spring, the buffalo didn't return at all? There was an abiding sense that Dodge was at a critical, in-between stage. Its days as a buffalo town were numbered, if not already over, and there was still no assurance that the state legislature would move the tick line west and give Dodge a new, thriving economy.

McLendon could not have cared less. He spent virtually every waking minute thinking of Gabrielle. She surely had received his letter. Had it made her weep with joy to learn that he was still alive, that he still loved her? Or had she sneered, crumpled the paper in her hand, and tossed it disdainfully away? He couldn't make up his mind which
extreme action she was more likely to have had, and never considered Gabrielle's response falling anywhere in between. He yearned for a return letter from her and swore to himself that even a flat refusal of his love wouldn't keep him from traveling to Mountain View anyway, just as soon as he was financially able. But that would take so long. Until Billy Dixon announced some kind of formal plan for a hunt down south, McLendon didn't even know when he would start working at the saloon and drawing a good salary. For the moment, he still could barely cover living expenses by gathering buffalo bones. That frustration, combined with his eagerness and uncertainty about Gabrielle, kept him in a constant foul mood.

No one noticed. Everyone else in Dodge was testy too. Hannah Olds, when McLendon joined his landlords for a beefsteak supper, complained throughout the meal about the dearth of boarders she expected when the tick line moved. Texas cow herders would arrive in town and stay only for two or three days, she predicted, and even then they'd get so drunk every night that, instead of renting rooms, they'd pass out in the streets. Her husband William's constant belches seemed somehow indicative of sour temper as well as excess gastric juices. McLendon felt nervous and off balance because he wanted to start his full-time job at Hanrahan's, and besides, his chronic insomnia was growing worse. He spent sleepless hours alternately feeling guilty about the death of his wife and castigating himself for losing Gabrielle to Sheriff Joe Saint back in Arizona Territory. If he'd only been smarter, done one or two crucial things differently, how much better his life would be. Even Bat Masterson, when he and McLendon went out to collect buffalo bones, groused more than he joked. Since Billy Dixon still hadn't announced formal plans for establishing a hunting base south in Indian Territory, Bat now feared that Billy never would.

“He's being too damned closemouthed, C.M.,” Masterson grumbled.
It was around noon, and some of the winter chill still hung in the air. Because most of the area within a ten-mile radius of Dodge had been picked clean, he and McLendon had to range much farther afield for bones. That meant they could bring fewer wagonloads a day back to town to sell—sometimes only one—and their incomes dropped accordingly. Some nights Bat couldn't afford a beer or even a single dance in Tom Sherman's saloon.

“Billy's
always
closemouthed,” McLendon said. He was handling the reins while Bat scanned the horizon for piles of bones or sign of Indians. Some Cheyenne had been spotted in the area, though they reportedly looked like a hunting rather than a raiding party—no war paint and bows instead of rifles. “If he hasn't said for sure that he's going, at least he hasn't said that he's decided not to.”

“What's got me concerned is the identity of the few that he has been talking to,” Masterson said. “Instead of enjoying convivial evenings of beer and good conversation with fellow adventurers such as myself, Billy's been huddling with the likes of A. C. Myers, Fred Leonard, Charlie Rath, even your good pal Jim Hanrahan—businessmen all. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Billy Dixon is thinking of giving up the hunt and becoming a merchant.”

McLendon pulled his coat a little tighter around his shoulders. Though the wind wasn't as cold as it had been just weeks earlier, it still had considerable bite. “Bat, I understand your impatience, and I promise you, I share it. But you know very well that hide men are businessmen too. They're concerned with profit and loss, same as the store and saloon men. I'm sure Billy's just trying to get a handle on how the most money can be made in an Indian Territory hunting camp. He wants a good, solid plan in place. In a way, you ought to be glad that he's taking his time.”

“Well, I'm not. I've had enough of gathering stinky bones and fetching them back to Dodge to sell for pennies. You and I need our own chance for some riches. He can't let us down.”

“I've told you, even when Billy does head south—you'll notice I said ‘when,' not ‘if'—I'm staying in Dodge. I'm going to work for Jim Hanrahan pretty soon.”

Masterson heaved an exaggerated sigh. “We both know that ain't true. Deep down, you ain't a figure-fiddling clerk. You've got ambition beyond that. You talk about how you're eventually bound for California, and maybe so. But you've got an eye for opportunity and turning a quick dollar. When the time comes, you'll be right beside me, riding down toward the Canadian with Billy Dixon.”

“You'll see, Bat.”

“Yessir, I will.”

•   •   •

I
T GREW INCREASING
LY
dangerous to walk Dodge City streets at night. While many of the hide men observed what they called town manners, leaving their weapons back in their boardinghouse rooms or camp tents, some of them took pride in parading about, armed and ornery. Dutch Henry Borne and Brick Bond in particular looked for trouble and found it. Henry savagely beat a whore he claimed took his money but left him unsatisfied. When two other working girls from the same saloon tried to save their friend from his fists, he beat them, too, and dared those watching to try and stop him. They didn't. Bond shot and killed a man just outside the Rath and Company store. They'd both reached for the same bandanna on a shelf, and that made Bond feel disrespected. By the time Ford County sheriff Charlie Bassett was summoned and arrived, Bond had ridden out of town. He lay low for a
few days and then came back, nasty and aggressive as ever. His victim was buried on Boot Hill. No one knew his name, so the flimsy wood marker simply read “Shot Dead 2-22-1874.” He was the forty-sixth anonymous shooting victim buried there. Three had been dispatched by Brick Bond.

Near the end of the month, Jim Hanrahan quietly confided to McLendon that Billy Dixon would announce his plans any day now: “There'll be some surprises.”

“You're still going with him, aren't you, Jim? I need to be starting that job for you.”

“Wait and see. I promised Billy to keep his confidence. But don't fret.”

•   •   •

W
HAT WAS DUBBED
the Union Church opened in the renovated saloon. McLendon went to the first service, hoping it might take his mind off Gabrielle for a little while. It didn't, even though Stephen Geest delivered a rousing sermon on how God was in Dodge City to stay.

“If you have God in your heart, everything else falls into place,” Geest promised. “And, now with a house of God here in its midst, Dodge City on this morning—this very morning—comes into its holy own.”

He had to talk loudly to be heard over a fistfight just outside. A half-dozen skinners from various hide men's crews, drunk at ten on Sunday morning, cursed and rolled in the dirt street. Their imprecations cut cleanly through the morning sunshine. A few of Dodge's high society families—the Fringers, the Zimmermanns, Charles Rath and his wife—had come to Geest's first service. The fine ladies looked uncomfortable at all the swearing outside, but Geest's other congregants, whores and some middle-class shopkeepers like Rebecca Travis, paid no mind. They heard cussing all the time. Hide man Henry Raymond came, too, sitting
beside Rebecca and trying to hold her hand while Geest preached. After a while, she let him.

When Geest finished his sermon, he said, “And now let's raise a joyful noise unto the Lord. I'm sure that everyone knows ‘Bringing In the Sheaves.'”

It turned out that only Geest, one of the rich women, and three of the whores did. The Union Church as yet had no hymnals, so everyone else tried to hum along while the other five sang. McLendon thought that it might not be joyful, but it certainly was noise. Remembering how Gabrielle had loved attending church, in a fine St. Louis cathedral and later in a hotel back room in Glorious, McLendon put a dollar he could ill afford to lose in the collection plate when Geest passed it around. He noticed that was two bits more than Herman Fringer contributed.

•   •   •

B
Y LATE
F
EBRUARY
, the plains began to abound again with game—deer, quail, turkey. Even a few bears lumbered out of hibernation. But there was not the slightest sign of buffalo. It was early days yet, some of the hide men noted. Even back in the heyday of '72, the main herd didn't head Dodge's way until May or even June. All you ever got around early spring was an early buff or two. But as February 1874 gave gradual way to March, not a single buffalo was seen.

That was when Billy Dixon finally called a meeting in Hanrahan's billiard parlor and saloon.

•   •   •

J
UST ABOUT ALL
the main hide men came, and many of the town merchants. They crammed inside, got their whiskey or beer—now served mostly in bottles rather than mugs—and waited impatiently to hear
what Billy had to say. He was closeted back in Jim Hanrahan's office with Jim, A. C. Myers, and Charlie Rath. That inspired considerable speculation, since it was well-known that Rath and Myers didn't get along. Rath & Company by far dominated the town hide purchasing, but Myers also did some hide dealing at his so-called Pioneer Store. He didn't have as much trade volume, but most people liked him better than Rath, who drove hard bargains.

McLendon came to hear Billy because he was curious, not because he had any intention of joining in whatever expedition was about to be proposed. Bat stood by McLendon's side, gulping beer at a furious pace, three bottles in the twenty minutes they'd been in the saloon, with a fourth already ordered from the busy bartender.

“You might slow down that rate of guzzling,” McLendon advised. “If you don't, you'll be potted before Billy gets out word one.”

“I can't help it,” Masterson said. “What if Billy's already cut deals with the ones he intends to take with him? I don't want to be left behind.”

“That's foolish, Bat. You know how people talk in this town. If Billy had been recruiting, we'd have heard.”

“But what if he has been, and we haven't? If he don't offer to take me, I swear—” But Bat didn't elaborate, because Billy, Hanrahan, Myers, and Rath emerged from the back office and took up places in front of the long bar. They blinked a little from the tobacco haze. The merchants smoked hand-rolled cigarettes, while the hide men favored their clay pipes.

“This is Billy Dixon's party, so he'll be the main one to address you,” Jim Hanrahan said. “I'll ask that you refrain from interrupting.”

Billy nodded and took a step forward. Some of his long hair fell in front of his face and he brushed it back. As always, he got right to the point: Everybody knew the buffalo were about hunted out north of the
Arkansas River. There was plenty of sign of a large herd down around the Canadian, maybe one as big as had roamed around Dodge in the summer of '72. Billy said it seemed to him that he and the other hide men had no choice. They had to either hunt south where the buffalo were or else get out of the business.

“If we choose to stay in Dodge, there's a limit on possible professions,” Billy said. He took a sip of beer and let that thought settle on his listeners. “We can try our hands at shopkeeping. But there are already enough shops in town, and plenty of folks to work in them. We're fairly sure, I might even say certain, that the tick line's going to be moved west and Texas cattle drives here will follow. So we can get into the cattle business, maybe herding or branding or some such. Then there's the obvious. Dodge will continue to grow, and more people means the need for more food—not just meat, but bread and vegetables and forage for animals and so forth. So we could become farmers.”

But hide men, Billy said, were unsuited to such pursuits. “It's our nature to crave challenge. We want excitement. None of us came this way to end up merchants or cattle hands or farmers. I'd die before I was a farmer. So sometime in March, mid-month hopefully but surely not much later, I'm going to head south to down around the Canadian, where the great herd will surely pass. If I have to, I'll go alone with whatever shooters and skinners and cooks I can recruit.”

“Count me in!” Bat hollered, and Billy grinned at him.

“Okay, now I got one who wants to come with me for sure. But the thing of it is, what we need to do is all go together, one big group, a hundred or more. If we go in another three weeks or maybe in a month, that will give us time to pick a site and build a permanent camp, one with solid sod buildings that can't be burned down, and a stout corral. A defensible place if need be. Then in late April, early May, or even into June, whenever the herd arrives, we can go out during the day in our
individual parties and return at night with our hides. It'll be safety in numbers, as some like to say. We can make our livings and be the kind of men we want to be.”