Ralph Compton - The Alamosa Trail

“What’s it say?”

“It’ started on January sixth, and they’re calling it the worst blizzard in history. Temperature dropped from sixty-five degrees to fifteen below zero in less than two hours.”

“That’s right. It did do that,” Tennessee said. “I recollect I was down to the south pond and was warm enough that I was thinkin’ about how nice and cool the water looked. Then the snow hit and I wasn’t sure I would be able to find my way back to the bunkhouse. Then again, it wasn’t that much better in the bunkhouse. The snow blew in through the cracks around the windows and between the boards so that by the next morning it was six inches deep on the floor.”

Barry looked up from the paper. “Well, we weren’t alone. According to this paper, no part of the western plains was spared,” he said. Then he began to read the article aloud. “From Montana to Texas, ranchers lost upward of sixty to ninety percent of their cattle. Many cattlemen abandoned their ranches without any attempt to round up or rebuild their herds. It is estimated that twenty million cattle died.’ ”

Barry was quiet for a moment.

“What are you readin’ now?” Tennessee asked.

Barry looked up from the paper with a sympathetic expression on his face. “It says lots of cowboys died, too, froze to death while they was trying to save the herd. They died for twenty dollars and found, workin’ on ranches that was owned by folks who live back east somewhere. I doubt the ranch owners even knew the names of the cowboys who died for them.”

“Yeah, well, at least Mr. Brookline knew Cal’s name.”

“That ain’t the same thing. Mr. Brookline didn’t own Trailback, if you recall. It was owned by some folks in England, and you can bet they didn’t know Cal’s name.”

“That’s true. But at least we come through it alive.”

“I suppose we did, but when you get down to it, we aren’t much better off than Cal and the others who died. We’re nearly out of food, we don’t have two pennies between us, and we can’t get work anywhere.”

Tennessee snorted. “Find somethin’ else to read. Don’t that paper have any good news in it?”

“I’ll read the humor column,” Barry suggested. He read for a moment, then chuckled.

“What is it?”

Again, Barry read aloud:

A missionary traveled to a far-off land where he encountered cannibals. Inquiring about Reverend Smith, his predecessor, the missionary was informed that the Reverend Mr. Smith was no longer among the living.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the missionary says. “And did you not find him to be a tender-hearted man?”

“Yes,” the cannibal chief answered, smiling, as he picked his sharpened teeth. “His heart was very tender. So was his liver.”

Both men laughed. Then Barry put the paper down. He tapped his vest pocket, where the wire they had received from Jim was neatly folded. “You think that telegram we got was real? You think Frankie and Jim really have a job for us down in El Paso?”

“Well, they’re pretty good boys,” Tennessee replied. “And it ain’t cheap to send a wire, so don’t reckon they would get in touch with us if they didn’t have something lined up.”

“Yes, but the question is, what?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. What if they’re planning on something that we want no part of?”

“What could there possibly be that we wouldn’t want anything to do with?”

“Robbing a bank maybe? Or a stagecoach. Or a train.”

Tennessee rubbed his chin. “If it was, would you be game for it?”

“Is that what it is?” Barry asked.

Tennessee shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m not saying it is. I was just wondering how you would feel about something like that.”

Barry sighed. “Tell the truth, Tennessee, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean it’s not something I ever gave much thought to before. But right now, with no money, no work, and nobody hiring, I can see how a fella might ride a crooked path. I know I wouldn’t want to rob any person. I figure they’re just like me, trying to stay alive. But a bank, a stagecoach, a train? Well, that wouldn’t be exactly like you’re taking money from any individual now, would it?”

“Maybe not, but stealing is stealing, no matter who you’re doing it to. Besides which, once you start down that path it doesn’t take a whole lot to wind up like one of those fellas we were just talking about.”

“Getting hung, you mean?” Barry asked.

Tennessee nodded. “Yeah.”

Barry snorted. “Well, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t saying I was going to do it, or even that I would do it. I was mostly just talking, that’s all.”

“Maybe Jim and Frankie have something honest lined up for us,” Tennessee suggested.

“Yeah, maybe,” Barry said. He walked over to one of the bunks, then stretched out in it. “I guess we’ll be finding out in another couple days. Right now, I plan to take advantage of this bunk.”

“Yeah,” Tennessee said, crawling into one of the other bunks. “Me, too.”

Chapter 5

When Chad Taylor awoke, he had no idea where he was. He knew he wasn’t in the bunkhouse. When he felt the woman stir beside him, he remembered. He, his brother, Hank, and their pals Ken Keene, Gene Curry, and Eddie Quick were heading for El Paso in response to a telegram they had received from Jim Robison and Frankie Ford. The telegram offered employment, which the five cowboys had been without since the big winter freeze.

With their newfound fortune, gained through the horse race, the boys were almost ready to forget El Paso, or at least delay getting there while they celebrated with, as Eddie put it, “wine, women, and song.” Then, with a laugh, he had added, “But for my token, you can leave out the song.”

That was how Chad happened to wake up in a bed with a woman who was at least ten to fifteen years older than his own eighteen years. Because she was sleeping with her mouth open and a small string of spittle dribbling down her chin, Chad could see that she was missing a couple of teeth, while a third was broken. He wondered what there was about her that had attracted him last night. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, but her looks didn’t improve. Surely the woman he had paid his two dollars to was younger and better-looking than this woman. Perhaps the one he had brought upstairs slipped away during the night and her place was taken by this creature.

His musing was interrupted by a loud and insistent pounding on the door. He heard his brother, Hank, shouting at him.

“Chad! Chad, you still in there? Wake up and get out here. Someone’s done stole our poke!”

Springing out of bed, vaguely aware that the woman beside him was now stirring, Chad hurried into his clothes, then bolted out the door, carrying his boots and still buttoning his fly as he confronted his brother. “Are you sure?”

Gene, Ken, and Eddie were in the hall with Hank, looking as agitated as he was.

“Eddie, he’s teasing, isn’t he?” Chad asked as he pulled on first one boot, then the other.

Eddie shook his head. “No, kid, he ain’t. I’m the one discovered it. I got restless this morning and went down to the livery to check on our horses, and got no farther than one foot in the door when the liveryman told me we had been robbed. So I turned right around and come back here for you fellas.”

“Come on,” Gene said. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

The five young men raced down the stairs, their boots clomping noisily on the steps. Then they ran out of the saloon and up the street toward the stable. Chad’s head was spinning by the time they got there.

The liveryman was standing in the doorway, obviously expecting them and looking defensive. “I can’t tell any of you no more than I already told this fella,” he said, indicating Eddie.