Read Across the Rio Colorado Online
Authors: Ralph Compton
Across the Rio Colorado (6 page)
“I was drunk,” Putnam said. “I didn't know what I was doin'.”
“No excuse,” said McQuade. “You were sober when you decided to get drunk.”
“The woman's been makin' eyes at me,” Luke Burke said weakly. “I didn't take nothin' but what was offered.”
“I didn't do anything wrong,” Selma cried. “I was just makin' Trent jealous, so's he'd marry me, like he promised.”
“We have a decision to make,” said McQuade. “Do we allow this trio another chance, or do we expel them from this wagon train?”
Before anybody could respond, the Reverend Flanagan got to his feet, raised his hand, and cleared his throat. Greeted by silence, he spoke.
“Friends, I'm a believer in repentance. All of us are sinners saved by grace. I propose that these three sinners be forgiven, with provisions for punishment if they backslide. I'm prepared to perform a marriage ceremony,
which will fulfill Mr. Putnam's promise to this woman, Selma. Unfortunately, assuming that Mr. Putnam agrees to leave the whiskey alone, we have only his word. Likewise, we will have only Mr. Burke's promise that he will stay away from Selma, who will be a married woman. I propose that these two men take an oath before us all to forgo the evil in which they engaged last night. Should either violate that oath, they will then be expelled from this community.”
which will fulfill Mr. Putnam's promise to this woman, Selma. Unfortunately, assuming that Mr. Putnam agrees to leave the whiskey alone, we have only his word. Likewise, we will have only Mr. Burke's promise that he will stay away from Selma, who will be a married woman. I propose that these two men take an oath before us all to forgo the evil in which they engaged last night. Should either violate that oath, they will then be expelled from this community.”
“What about the woman, preacher?” somebody shouted.
“Should the woman, Selma, be found in violation of her vows, she too will be driven out of our midst,” said Flanagan. “Now, Mr. Burke and Mr. Putnam, do you agree to take this proposed oath and abide by it?”
“Yeah,” Burke said. “I'll take it.”
“Mr. Putnam?” said Flanagan.
“I'll take it,” Putnam growled.
“Now, young lady,” said Flanagan, turning to Selma, “if you'll stand here next to Mr. Putnam, I'll make an honest woman of you.”
“I ain't tyin' myself to that whore,” Putnam shouted.
“If I'm a whore, you made me one,” Selma cried.
“I was about to make that same observation,” said the Reverend Flanagan. “If you are unwilling to fulfill your promise to this young woman, Mr. Putnam, I'm going to suggest to these good people that you be driven from their midst.”
“I'll do it, damn it,” Putnam bawled. “Get it over with.”
Putnam stood there with an expression on his face like he'd been eating sour pickles, grunting out his vows, while the women of the company smiled in satisfaction. When the brief ceremony ended, the Reverend Flanagan had some further advice for Trent Putnam.
“If you threaten or physically harm this woman as you did last night, then I believe a good horsewhipping or public hanging might be in order.”
It became Miles Flanagan's finest hour, as he was cheered and applauded. Many of the men and women had their eyes on the young men of Putnam's caliber, and McQuade felt it was a good time to speak his mind.
“Let this be a lesson to the rest of you who are tempted to visit Hook's saloon. While we can't keep you away, when you show up drunk and raising hell, we can make you almighty sorry you went. Now let's get breakfast and get these wagons on the trail.”
It was a crisis averted, and none of them were concerned with breakfast until they had spoken to McQuade and Flanagan. The Burkes glared at McQuade, but other men and some of the women stared them down, and they retreated to their wagon, helping Luke.
“I'm so glad that's over,” said Mary, bringing McQuade a tin cup of coffee.
“I'm glad the Reverend Flanagan was here,” McQuade replied. “I thought maybe they should have another chance, but not without some rules. Solomon himself couldn't have laid it out any better. Forcing Putnam to marry Selma was pure genius.”
“I thought it was sad. He didn't want her. How could she be happy, knowing that?”
“I don't know,” said McQuade, uncomfortable, “but he had used her, and he owed her something, didn't he?”
“No,” she said. “If I'd been in her placeâif I'd been used by a man, and he didn't want meâI'd kill myself before I'd marry him.”
McQuade was on dangerous ground, and he said nothing, sipping his coffee. One of the other women spoke to Mary, drawing her attention from him. “Somewhere, somehow, those Burkes are going to cause trouble,” said Maggie, as the big wagon rumbled along. “Did you see how they looked at McQuade?”
“Yeah,” Ike replied, “but Chance McQuade can take care of himself. Them Burkes has had it in for him, long before he joined us as wagon boss. It's just his damn hard luck to have 'em show up on this ride to Texas.”
“Well, I hope nothing happens to him,” said Maggie, “if only for Mary Flanagan's sake. Have you noticed how she looks at him?”
“As a matter of fact, I ain't,” Ike said. “Her daddy's took a permanent place on the first watch, leavin' 'em alone on that wagon box. I don't have to look at the gal to know she'd like to share his blankets.”
“Ike Peyton, you should be ashamed of yourself. She's a nice girl.”
“Didn't say she wasn't,” said Ike, “but she's female. You was a nice girl, too, but I didn't have no problem gettin' you in my blankets.”
She colored, but Ike leaned over, forcing her eyes to meet his, and she laughed.
The day after Hook's saloon tent had been trampled beyond use, two men leading a pack horse had ridden back to St. Louis for another tent. They brought some lanterns to replace those that had been broken, and shortly after Hook's wagons had been circled for the night, the new saloon tent had been erected. The dozen gunmen Hook had hired were already tired of the inactivity. Following the stampede that had demolished much of the camp, they had wanted to go gunning for the cowboys, but Hook had restrained them. Now they squatted beneath a lantern in the evenings, playing cards and grousing among themselves.
“Fifty dollars a month ain't all that much money,” said Dirk, “when you consider we got no hope of ever raisin' the limit.”
“Yeah,” Mook agreed, “seein' as how he aims to file for grants in our names, and then take the land for himself. That just rubs me the wrong damn way.”
“You all knew what the deal was, when we hired on,” said Creeker. “It's a mite late to complain, âcause none of us is gettin' more than we been promised. Fifty a month ain't bad pay for settin' on our hunkers until we're told to fight.”
“I don't mind settin' on my hunkers,” Slack said, “if the money's right, and what I mean by right, is us gettin' a better share when we're about to be used to build Rufus Hook a damned empire.”
“I'd favor takin' us a bigger shareâmaybe all of it,” said Rucker, “if there was a way we could do it. We could take over these wagons and maybe sell all this freight, once we get to Texas, but the real money's in the taking over of the grants. Hook's got all the land sewed up in some legal jumble we'd never be able to figure out.”
“It's all been done by that shyster lawyer, Hedgepith,” Groat said. “Suppose we was to throw in with him, gettin' rid of Hook? Then, once it's all tied down and legal, we just shoot Hedgepith and take it all.”
“I heard Hedgepith's already in for half, once it's settled,” Drum said. “Just why in tarnation would he join us in a double-cross when he'll be a rich man, anyhow?”
“Or he could have it all,” said Porto. “Hell, he don't need us to double-cross Hook.”
“You're wasting your time, all of you,” said Creeker. “Between Hook and Hedgepith, they got this thing nailed down so tight, we couldn't loosen it with blasting powder.”
McQuade rode out well ahead of the wagons. He estimated they had traveled at least fifteen miles a day. It was good time, but there had been no breakdowns. He had seen to it that every wagon's wheel hubs had been well greased. The weather had been favorable, much of the spring rain diminishing by the end of April. But from experience, he knew the mighty mountains far to the west wore halos of white, that when conditions were right, a veritable wall of rain would sweep across the Kansas plains, creating oceans of mud. As he squinted his eyes in the blue of the early morning sky, he could see a faint haze that crept up to the edge of the western horizon. He had seen that cloud band before, and whatever it brought to Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana Territories, it meant
rain in Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, and Indian Territory. McQuade believed they had one more good day on the trail. Eventually he found water for the night's camp, and rode back to meet the wagons.
rain in Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, and Indian Territory. McQuade believed they had one more good day on the trail. Eventually he found water for the night's camp, and rode back to meet the wagons.
“We had to pour some whiskey down Luke Burke,” Ike Peyton said. “Fever's got a holt of him. Putnam and his woman's been at it again. She can out-cuss him, when she gets goin'.”
McQuade shook his head and rode on down the string of wagons, speaking to all the families as he went. He only nodded to the Burkes. Putnam and his less-than-happy bride eyed him in silence. Reaching the last wagon, McQuade lagged behind, watching the back-trail. There was no sign of Hook's wagons, but that wasn't surprising. He wondered how they would fare after a drenching rain, when the prairie was wheel-hub deep in mud. Riding back to the head of the train, he jogged his horse alongside the Flanagan wagon for a ways, enjoying Mary's presence.
When the wagons had been circled for the night and the teams unharnessed, McQuade spoke to the men.
“There's rain on the way, probably by tomorrow night. While we wait for supper, we'd do well to load as much dry wood into the wagons as there's room for. Those of you with a cowhide, or a big enough piece of canvas, I'll show you how to stretch it beneath your wagon, makin' a 'possum belly.”
2
2
Once it became dark enough, they could see lightning dancing along the far western horizon, and the wind had a moist feel to it.
“There'll be rain before dark,” Gunter Warnell predicted, as they gathered around the breakfast fire. “We been havin' it too good.”
“I wish you hadn't said that,” said Will Haymes. “That's temptin' fate.”
His words gained considerable credibility when one of their horses nickered and one of the sentries sounded the alarm.
“Riders comin'.”
McQuade and half a dozen men stepped outside the wagon circle, waiting as a group of men rode in from the northwest.
“That's far enough,” McQuade shouted. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
The men reined up and one of them spoke.
“Now that's just damned inhospitable talk. Wouldn't you say so, boys?”
There were growls of agreement. In the predawn darkness, McQuade counted two dozen men.
“I've always believed when a man asks you a question, you owe him some kind of an answer,” said McQuade.
“Let's just say we're ridin' the way you're headed,” said the stranger, “and for grub, we'd be willin' to see that you ain't bothered by Injuns or outlaws.”
“Sorry,” McQuade said, “but we can't take on anybody else to feed. As for Indians or outlaws, we have more than a hundred armed men. Ride on.”
“We aim to,” said the stranger. “We'll be seein' you.”
“We'll be ready,” McQuade said grimly.
They rode away, taking the same general direction the wagons must go.
“That sounded mighty like a threat,” said Cal Tabor.
“It was,” McQuade said. “They would have ridden with us long enough to figure some way to steal our stock, killing as many of us as necessary. We'll keep our eyes open from now on, especially after we reach Indian Territory.”
Once the wagons had taken the trail, McQuade rode ahead, not nearly as interested in finding water for the night's camp, as in learning in what direction the mysterious riders had gone. True to their word, the horsemen had ridden the way the wagons must go. When McQuade reached suitable water which the wagons could reach before
dark, he rode on for another ten miles, studying the tracks. That these men were outlaws, he had little doubt, and their appearing to ride on didn't fool McQuade. While they might strike at any time, he expected them to wait until the wagons entered Indian Territory. He rode back to meet the wagons, and when the train stopped to rest the teams, some of the men gathered, wishing to know what McQuade had learned.
dark, he rode on for another ten miles, studying the tracks. That these men were outlaws, he had little doubt, and their appearing to ride on didn't fool McQuade. While they might strike at any time, he expected them to wait until the wagons entered Indian Territory. He rode back to meet the wagons, and when the train stopped to rest the teams, some of the men gathered, wishing to know what McQuade had learned.
“They're riding on,” said McQuade, “but we can't count on that. Starting tonight, we double our watch, and I'll be ridin' careful while I'm scoutin' ahead.”
Springfield, Missouri. May 12, 1837.
M
cQuade circled the wagons five miles south of the little village of Springfield, the last link with civilization before entering Indian Territory.
3
cQuade circled the wagons five miles south of the little village of Springfield, the last link with civilization before entering Indian Territory.
3
“You won't have the mercantiles of St. Louis, with their river commerce,” McQuade said, “but there ought to be some goods for those of you in need. This is likely our last chance to buy anything, unless we trade with Hook. We'll lay over here an extra day, so a few of you at a time can ride into town.”
“I am not so poor that I cannot contribute to the rations,” said Reverend Flanagan. “Those of you who so kindly fed me and my daughter, I want you to prepare a list that I may take to town. I will see that you do not run out of foodstuffs.”
Realizing that Flanagan was sincere, the women of the families with whom Flanagan and Mary had been taking their meals prepared a modest list. It being a last opportunity to visit a store, some of the women elected to go along with their men, which involved taking some wagons. Mary would be going with her father, and McQuade saddled his horse and rode along with them.
“It's no St. Louis,” said Flanagan, as they approached the village.
There were two mercantiles, however, with a saloon and livery in between. The hotel, a single-story affair, sat next to a cafe. There were no public buildings, no jail, and no law. There were many horses at hitch rails before the saloon, the hotel, and the cafe, but no cause for alarm. But Chance McQuade was wary. Certainly, the way they had come, there wasn't another mercantile, saloon, cafe, or hotel closer than St. Louis. He knew of no other village in eastern Kansas or western Missouri, and certainly nothing in northern Arkansas except the brakes along the White River. What occasion had brought so many riders to this small town? Then he thought of the men who had appeared before dawn, offering to escort the wagons through Indian Territory for food.
“Mary,” said McQuade, “stay near your father. There are entirely too many men here, to suit me. I'll be around, if you need me.”
Mary smiled, and while Flanagan said nothing, McQuade saw relief in his eyes. Reining up before the largest of the mercantiles, Flanagan took his time getting down, allowing McQuade to help Mary. Half a dozen men emerged from the saloon, pausing to eye the men and women entering the mercantiles. McQuade followed the Flanagans into the store, and it proved to have a better stock of merchandise than McQuade had expected. The probable reason, of course, was the nearness of Indian Territory and the absence of law. Obeying an impulse, McQuade stepped behind a display, where he could observe the door without being seen. Six men entered the store and stood there looking around. All were armed, with pistols thonged down on their right hips. Without hesitation, they headed in the direction the Flanagans had gone. McQuade followed, in time to see one of the men seize Mary and begin forcing her toward the door.
“Take your hands off her,” Flanagan shouted.
One of the men had drawn his pistol and was about to
hit Flanagan, when he stopped, frozen by the cold voice of Chance McQuade.
hit Flanagan, when he stopped, frozen by the cold voice of Chance McQuade.
“Drop that gun, or you're a dead man. You with the lady, turn her loose, and the lot of you get out of here.”
The man who had seized Mary laughed. “You shoot me, it'll be through her, bucko.”
“Let her go,” said McQuade, “or I'll kill all five of your friends.”
One of the five made the mistake of reaching for his gun, and died with his hand on the butt of it. Mary Flanagan suddenly went limp and slid to the floor. Sullenly, the five men raised their hands.
“Now,” McQuade said, “get out, and take that dead coyote with you.”
Wordlessly, two of them gathered up the dead man, and they left the store. Mary got to her feet, her eyes on McQuade. Ignoring her father and the storekeeper, she came to him, and McQuade drew her to him.
“My God,” said the storekeeper, “you'd better ride out and keep goin'. Even then, they might ride you down.”
“You know them, I reckon?” McQuade said.
“Only when I see them,” the man said cautiously. “They ride out of the Territory ever so often, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” said McQuade. “Mary, you and your father go ahead and round up what you need. I'll wait for you.”
McQuade turned back toward the door. Men had been drawn by the shot, arriving in time to see the dead man carried out. Some, including the Peytons and Warnells, were from McQuade's camp.
“There's more of 'em in the saloon,” Ike said. “I reckon we'd best light a shuck away from here.”
“Come on in and get what you came after,” said McQuade. “The fat's already in the fire, and if we have to fight, I'd as soon do it here. Otherwise, they're likely to follow and shoot some of us in the back.”
Ike and Maggie entered the store, followed by a dozen others from the wagon train. McQuade lingered near the front door, where he could see through a front window. Before anybody was ready to leave the mercantile, McQuade saw the five men he had driven away enter the saloon. Within a few minutes they emerged, hunkering near the door and lighting cigarettes. McQuade had seen their kind before, and he thought he knew what was coming. From his pocket he took an oilskin pouch, and removing a load, shoved it into the empty chamber in his revolver. Eventually, when the emigrants were ready to leave the store, McQuade stepped out ahead of them. The five waiting men stood up, hooking their thumbs in their pistol belts.
“My God,” said Ike Peyton, “we got a fight on our hands.”
“No,” McQuade said, “they're after me.”
“Not five agin one,” said Ike. “You got Gunter, Eli, Cal, and me here to side you. If all five of âem draw on you, they'll be drawin' agin us, too.”
“We'll see how it stacks up,” McQuade said. “This is my fight.”
“Is there no other way?” Mary Flanagan asked anxiously.
“None that I know of,” said McQuade.
McQuade walked toward the waiting men, and when he was within pistol range, he halted. When he spoke, he seemed totally relaxed.
“You started somethin' in the store, and I finished it. I shot your friend only after he drew first, and there's no sense in any more of you dying for his mistake.”
“It was you made the mistake, shootin' him,” said the man who had seized Mary. “He was my brother, an' there ain't nothin' you can say to change that. It's you an' me, damn you.”
“You'd best keep it that way,” Ike Peyton shouted. “There's five of us, and we'll kill any one or all four of your friends, if they don't stay out of it.”
The four of them took Ike seriously, backing away and out of the line of fire. Chance McQuade remained where he was. Flanagan had his arm around Mary, and she stood there white-faced and trembling. A crow cawed nearby, and the man facing McQuade spoke.
“When that crow sings again, I aim to kill you.”
McQuade said nothing, and in the minds of McQuade's companions, it seemed that a deadly clock was ticking off the remaining seconds of a man's life. McQuade stood with his left hip swiveled toward his adversary, his pistol butt-forward for a cross-hand draw. To those who watched, it seemed incredibly awkward Suddenly the crow cawed again, and the gunman facing McQuade drew. He was fastâunbelievably fastâbut McQuade was faster. None of them saw his hand move, but suddenly his pistol was spitting lead. His adversary blasted a single shot into the ground, and then McQuade's slugs slammed into him. Like an empty sack he folded, striking the ground on his back. A playful wind from the approaching storm snatched his hat and blew it away. The remaining gunmen stared at McQuade, not believing their eyes. He had fired twice, and he stood there with his gun leveled until the four turned away. Only then did McQuade walk back to the store where his friends waited. The men were white-faced and silent, while Mary Flanagan was weeping.
“We'd better be gettin' back,” McQuade said. “That storm won't hold off more than a few hours.”
McQuade helped them load their purchases, and then helped Mary up to the wagon box. The rest of the men helped their women up, then mounted their boxes and turned their teams back the way they had come. McQuade rode alongside the Flanagan wagon. The men from the saloon seemed to have all come out to witness the departure of the wagons.
“Damn,” said one of the outlaws, “I never seen any hombre pull a gun that quick.”
“There's a cure for his kind,” another of the outlaws
said. “Shoot the varmint in the back, and he'll bleed just like anybody else.”
said. “Shoot the varmint in the back, and he'll bleed just like anybody else.”
“Time enough for that, when they git to the Territory,” said a third outlaw. “Maybe they ain't rich, but they got money to come here an' buy. Farmers, an' I'm bettin' they've sold ever'thing they had. They's got to be money in some of them wagons.”
McQuade and his companions reached their camp, and while McQuade issued no warnings, the men who had witnessed the gunfight and knew the cause of it, quickly spread the word to those who hadn't yet gone to the village. Well before dark, the rain began, and only because most of the families had brought extra canvas for shelter were they able to cook and eat their evening meal out of the rain. The wind was chill, and only because the back of the Flanagan wagon was facing the storm were McQuade and Mary able to remain dry, as they spent their usual evening on the wagon box. There was some lightning, none of it striking, and the night was peaceful enough. Mary had said little, and McQuade had an idea her mind was on the trouble that had taken place in town. She confirmed all his suspicions when she finally spoke.
“If you had been killed, I don't know what I'd have done. I think perhaps I would have died too.”
“Do I mean that much to you?” he asked, speaking lightly.
“Yes,” she replied, dead serious. “I was hoping that ⦠perhaps you care for me. But if you do, how could you have taken such a risk?”
He was struck dumb, for a reprimand was the last thing he had ever expected. For a moment he said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. When he finally did, he struggled mightily to control his temper.
“Mary, this is the frontier. A man does what he has to do. Would you have had me stand there in the store and see you carried away by renegades?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation, “but after that, why couldn't you have simply refused to fight?”
“Because, damn it, I would have been branded a coward, and I wouldn't have lived out the rest of this year. You'd have hated me, like everybody else.”
“But I want you alive,” she persisted. “Is that so wrong?”
“Up to a point, no,” said McQuade. “I don't enjoy killing a man, but when it's him or me, what kind of choice do I have? If I'd backed down after I'd been called out, there's a good chance none of us would have left there alive. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“No,” she said, “but it's difficult to accept. How can you be so ⦠gentle with me, and then before my eyes, become a ⦠a ⦔
“Killer,” said McQuade.
“I wasn't going to say that,” she almost whispered, “but I suppose it's what ⦠what I mean.”
“Mary Flanagan,” said McQuade, “you mean a lot to me, but I don't aim to spend all my time with you apologizin' for what I am. I reckon you need to spend some time alone, thinkin' about what happened today and what might have happened if I'd backed down. Then I want you to think about what we've talked about tonight. If there comes a time when you can accept me for what I am, for doing what I must do, then I'll have somethin' to ask you. Until thenâbecause I don't want to hurt youâI'll stay away.”
He stepped down from the wagon box and vanished into the rain-swept darkness. The Peytons peered through the canvas pucker of their wagon, and it was Ike who spoke.
“I reckon they had words. My God, what does the woman expect? He kilt two men because of her.”
“Ike Peyton,” said Maggie, “you'll never understand women, if you live to a hundred. She wants him, but she's afraid of losing him in some senseless gunfight. It's the fear of every woman, that she'll give herself to a man, and he'll get his fool self killed.”
“Maybe I don't understand women,” Ike said, “but I
understand men, and until that little Flanagan gal knows at least as much as I do, she won't be sharin' McQuade's bed, and it'll be his choice. If he hadn't stood up to that shootout, they might have gunned us all down. By God, Chance McQuade's a man with the bark on, and Mary Flanagan's a fool if she throws him down. Why don't you talk to that woman, before McQuade washes his hands of her?”
understand men, and until that little Flanagan gal knows at least as much as I do, she won't be sharin' McQuade's bed, and it'll be his choice. If he hadn't stood up to that shootout, they might have gunned us all down. By God, Chance McQuade's a man with the bark on, and Mary Flanagan's a fool if she throws him down. Why don't you talk to that woman, before McQuade washes his hands of her?”
“Maybe I will,” said Maggie.
The rain continued all night and most of the next day, and when the skies finally were clear, it was too late for the sun to suck up any of the moisture. Even where they sat, some of the wagons had mired down.
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