Hunger on the Chisholm Trail Read online

  The man on the bunk slowly stirred under the noise. He was a good-looking man with one of those age indiscriminate faces that said anywhere from thirty-five to sixty. Well groomed and dressed nicely despite the dust of the road, he was a businessman of some sort, the sheriff reckoned. But there was something about those eyes, so dark brown as to almost be black, with a glimmer that said he found everything around to be hilarious.

  “Thank you kindly, Sheriff. I was hoping we could talk reasonably this morning and you would see fit to let me loose. I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding on a grand scale,” he replied as he sat up on the edge of the bunk, putting on his most polite smile.

  The sheriff stared at him with no expression. “You caused quite the ruckus last night, Mister . . . ”

  “Beck. Karl Beck. Please, call me Karl. And that ruckus, as you call it. Well, that was not my intention at all, I assure you.”

  “You spoke of consorting with demons, Mr. Beck. Willfully. Along with your talk of monsters and other tomfoolery. Why, to hear Kenzie speak of it, you would have summoned a demon right there on the spot.”

  Karl chuckled. “I am sure Kenzie did what she thought best, Sheriff. Her imagination may have run ahead of her reason, though. All I did was try and show a few of the patrons of the bar a few sigils in salt to ward off evil. Not summon it.”

  “I will be the first to admit that, on occasion, Kenzie has been known to spin a yarn or two on the quiet nights between cattle drives. But one thing she is not, Mister Beck, is a liar. Now stand up and, if you promise to remain reasonable, you can join me out here for breakfast. But no demons or I swear I will shoot the front of your skull out the back without hesitation. Do we have an understanding?”

  Karl prided himself in his ability to read people and he saw the sheriff did not threaten him. He just spoke the simple truth. He nodded and stood slowly. “I appreciate the kindness. No demons, on my mother’s soul, I swear.”

  The door to the cell opened with a squeal of metal on metal and the sheriff stood staring. “The name is Mikhail Donner. Acting sheriff until my replacement arrives from Dodge. This is just a nice quiet rest on my road to San Francisco. My brother is there, panning for gold in the hills. What brings you to our little town, Mister Beck?”

  They sat at the small table in the center of the room. There were two dented plates with sausages and chopped potatoes. Before answering, Karl took two large bites of eggs. “I was travelling to Abilene from Dallas and decided to take the famous Chisholm Trail. I go where the wind takes me, Sheriff Donner. After Abilene, I shall head up to Wisconsin. A friend of mine tells interesting tales. Then perhaps to the East Coast. No real plans at all.”

  The sheriff nodded and ate slowly. He was a man of slow action but steady resolve. Measure twice and cut once made into a person. “Well then, as soon as the new sheriff gets here and decides what to do with you, you may just make it up to Wisconsin.”

  Karl made a face and swallowed as if the sausage had gone rotten in his mouth. “How long do you expect that to be? Until the new sheriff arrives, I mean.”

  Mikhail stared off into space. “I reckon a week or so. Shouldn’t be any longer than that.”

  Karl nodded. “Might I have my things in the cell, then? Just my journals and such. I can use this time to record my journey so far. I’ve been meaning on trying to find a protégé, one to teach my tricks and help to ease the lonesome road.”

  Mikhail nodded. “I will need to go through it, in an effort to prevent any trouble, you see.”

  Karl nodded in appreciation.

  “And I can sit a spell each day with you to help with the boredom I suspect. If you’d be so inclined.”

  “Sheriff, I would be honored.” Karl was notoriously stingy with his funds and realized this was a chance to not do anything and accomplish some writing. All for free. He kept his face calm, but after the last couple months he had, this would be wonderful. Besides, he thought, the worst thing that could happen out here was a stampede or shooting. He had left the monsters behind in Dallas.

  3

  Chisholm Trail, camp side

  The campfire sent tongues of flame into the night sky, licking the still heat and sending sparks dancing upwards toward the blanket of glittering stars above. The stew pot hung empty, scraped nearly clean by the ten ravenous men. Only Jarod and James barely ate and sat staring at the fire, the memory of the gruesome remains souring their stomachs. It had cast a pall over the normally talkative group. Even Jesse didn’t mother hen the men too badly, which spoke volumes of the severity of what they had seen.

  “It wasn’t nothing I’ve ever seen. I can say that for sure. Nothing natural. Probably one of them,” Thomas looked around the empty land carefully, “savages that done did it. They are barely human. Half dressed and worshipping animals. Probably like going to church to them.”

  Murmurs of agreement came from around the fire at his words. The saddle-sore day riders stared at the fire with drooping eyes that belied the fear they felt. There were stories, countless stories of creatures in the night. But just as sure as the monsters of myth, the reality of the Indians and their barely concealed anger was far more real.

  “They ain’t all bad,” Daniel muttered.

  “What did you say?” Thomas asked, a bit of fire in his voice.

  Daniel looked away from the flames and into the blanket of night that has settled across the land. “I said they ain’t all that bad. You heard me. There’s a couple of them that work the farms by me. Nice enough folk. Ain’t never tried to throw no curses or nothing at me and mine. My kids play with their kids sometimes.”

  Sullen glares crossed the fire as the men sat a little stiffer. Timothy glared daggers at Daniel. “My entire family was nearly killed by those red skinned bastards. Nice enough folks, my ass. I’d as soon shoot my own children as let them be around any of the godless heathens.”

  Daniel glared right back, hand twitching slightly. “Maybe your family nearly got what they had coming to them. You ever think about that?”

  “You take that back right now, you good damned fool!” Timothy shouted.

  All eyes turned to Daniel. He had a burr in his saddle since they started this trek. A sour disposition that had rankled the nerves of everyone on the ride. Constantly complaining about everything one minute and arguing the next. He was the last choice for the trip, and everyone knew it. If Freddy hadn’t gotten sick, he would have been left in Texas.

  Daniel looked at him with a cocky grin. “And if’n I don’t? What then, you ignorant sack of shit?”

  Timothy leapt to his feet and dove across the fire. His hands around Daniel’s throat, the two men rolled around in the dirt for a moment, scrambling to choke the life out of the other. There was no love lost between the two at the best of times. This had been boiling under the surface since the last trip to Abilene. James was content to let them fight it out for a few minutes. Maybe a black eye or two would settle them down. The others exchanged looks and a few coins were set on the ground between them. Finally, Timothy got on top of Daniel and began to rain punches down onto his face.

  James stood to finally break it up when a sharp crack echoed. It took a moment for the gathered group to figure out what had happened exactly. A faint tendril of smoke rose up past Timothy’s face and he looked down at Daniel’s bloody face in confusion. A crimson stain grew as if a magic trick from the stained brown shirt. They could see the smoking revolver with red and yellow dancing along it’s barrel in Daniel’s hand. It was the source of the smoke and sound. Timothy put his hand to his stomach where the red now seemed to bubble through the rough woven fabric. He looked unseeing at the men around him. A solitary bubble of red flecked spittle formed between his lips as he took ragged wet breaths. Then he fell over, off of Daniel, onto the hard-packed ground.

  Daniel stared at the body in shock. Then he dropped the revolver from shaking hands. “He was gonna kill me! You bastards saw it. He was gonna beat me to death while you all watche
d!” Then came great, heaving sobs as he lay under the blanket of stars.

  No one said anything for a long moment, just sat watching the blood pool, nearly black, in a lake around Timothy. They were all frozen, not at the sight of death, but the suddenness of it. A howl in the distance, a wolf from the timbre of it, snapped them back to reality.

  The sound of hooves galloping as well as the silhouette of Chris, the man in charge of the night crew, came into the light. He looked down at the bloody face of Daniel and Timothy’s corpse. “What in the fires of hell happened?”

  James felt shaky as he looked up at Chris. “A tussle that got out of hand.” He turned to the others and nodded. “I need two of you to bury the body. Take his boots for his son. Bury him nice and deep, he deserves to not be picked apart by coyotes. And I need a volunteer to take Daniel to Duncan and turn him in to the sheriff.”

  Chad looked up. “Why take him to Duncan? We can kill him now. Justice.”

  Mumbles of agreement could be heard around the fire as the men stared down at the Timothy. James shook his head angrily. “I have killed before, same as all of you, I suspect. As I get older, though, I begin to worry what that does to a man’s soul. Nah. I ain’t God and I don’t claim to speak for Him, neither. Until He sees fit to speak to me and ask me to carry out His work on Earth, I say we leave it to the sheriff to do.”

  Daniel gave a cry. “He was gonna kill me! I was defending myself! There ain’t no reason to send me to jail for that! Ain’t no crime in a man defending himself!”

  James gave him a pitiless stare. “You were getting your ass kicked. Plain and simple. And deserved. There was no reason to pull out that gun and we all know it. You’ll pay for your crime, same as any of us.”

  Daniel groveled and tried to get to his knees, but he was pushed back down by Jarod. “Don’t add to your cowardice. Accept your actions like a man.”

  “They’ll hang me, sure as hell they will.”

  “No less than you deserve. I’m of a mind to shoot you where you lay myself. As is every other man around you. But James speaks wisely. And I see it this way. We shoot you, it is over. You go to Duncan, well now, you got days to ruminate on your pending death. Something feels good about that.” Jarod spoke coldly and with no remorse.

  Daniel looked at him with tears swelling in his eyes. He looked at the blank faces around him. Then down at the revolver in his hands. He tossed it away as if it were a coiled snake ready to strike and began to sob. “It was a mistake. An honest to God mistake. Nothing fit for a hanging.”

  Jarod looked at James, who nodded. A quick kick snapped Daniel’s head back and all that could be seen was the whites of his eyes as the tears made rivulets down the blood on his swollen face. Lee stood and fetched a length of rope and secured Daniel’s arms and legs. He nodded to James, “I reckon I’ll take him to Duncan, then.”

  James nodded back. “Take a fresh horse. It is two days for the two of you. A week for the rest of us. Ain’t no point in rushing back. Jesse’ll get you enough hard tack and jerky for the trip and I’m sure you can keep yourself entertained while waiting for us to roll in.”

  Lee smiled for a second before his eyes fell on the empty boots by the fire. Chad and Chris had begun dragging Timothy away from camp already. “I can find a way to keep myself occupied, I’m sure. When you boys ride in, I’ll have whiskey waiting on the bar.”

  Jarod stared at Daniel, hatred in his inhospitable, cold, dark eyes. “I will fetch you a strong mare first thing in the morning. No use risking life and limb for a piece of shit like him.”

  James just stared at the ground where the blood had already soaked in. He didn’t give into omens much, but this felt like a sign of things to come. The howling began again and a chill ran down his back. An ill sign indeed. “Get him out of my sight. The sooner he is hanging from the gallows, the better. The rest of you get some sleep. Our jobs got all the harder because of this son of a bitch.”

  The hard truth was the trail made men callous. The sun seemed to bake all of the emotion out of them, leaving nothing but grit and gristle in its place. Most had fought in the war between the States, so there was not a lot left in them, anyway. They tried to settle down and raise families and tend to the ground like their fathers, and their fathers before. But the call for more money, a better life for the kids they brought into the world was too much. It was not easy to leave home for months at a time. They had all learned death was the only thing of any certainty in this life. They accepted it as the one truth. Hard drinking and whoring was no substitute for the sacrifices they made, but for some of them, it was the only thing they had that made sense. So they found themselves under the big sky far from home with the rest of the creatures unfit to settle down.

  The howling went on long into the night as the night watch kept to their rotation around the mindless herd. A fresh mound of dirt, two sticks in a makeshift cross, and an empty pair of boots were the only reminder of a fallen friend.

  4

  Chisholm Trail to Duncan, the next evening

  The Cheshire moon smiled down upon the lone fire burning on the shrub and grass covered plain. The Milky Way wavered in all of its glory around that mocking grin, as if God had thrown handfuls of glittering gems across the sky for all to enjoy and marvel at. Yet the magnificence of it all went ignored by the two miserable men on the uncomfortable ground below.

  “You can at least untie me, let me get comfortable a little, you ungracious bastard,” Daniel whined for the three hundredth time since they headed out that morning.

  “I could bash your brains out and return to the cattle drive just as easily,” Lee responded in mounting anger.

  “You could just let me go. Tell James I managed to escape. Sweet Jesus, Lee. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him. It was instinct. He was about to kill me and they all just sat watching. What would you have done?”

  Lee spit on the ground next to Daniel’s head. “I would have taken my beating like a man. Learned the lesson of keeping my damned mouth shut. Timothy was a good man. A family man.”

  “So am I! Damn you! I have a wife and two kids back in Texas!”

  “And if you are lucky, they will never know what a miserable prick their daddy was. Now be quiet for a damned minute or I will gag you again. Your constant chatter is giving me a headache.”

  Daniel’s mouth moved silently a few times. His eyes shot daggers at Lee. But he thought better and kept quiet. His mouth felt chapped from wearing the gag nearly half the hard ride so far. He had begun his begging as soon as the cattle were a distant memory. Nothing he said had worked, though. His words only seemed to push Lee toward anger. After the first warning, he had gotten the handle of a revolver to the temple. When he woke, bouncing on the back of the horse, he had thrown up the little he still had in his stomach on the trail as it raced past. His ears were still ringing. After a few more hours of begging, Lee had wrapped the filthy bandana around his mouth and head. The stale salt and sweat taste had made him gag. It forced his mouth open enough that the dry air sucked all the moisture from his mouth. It had been miserable. At least his arms were tied together in front now. The strain of them being pulled behind his back had been its own hell. His legs were numb, the thick coil of rope kept his arms pinned to his side for the most part, and he couldn’t get low enough to rub them and restore feeling. He could barely shove the dried strips of beef into his mouth.

  Lee held up a water skin and Daniel tilted his head back to accept the piss warm dribble into his still parched throat. It was stale and tasted like the inside of a worn boot, but he didn’t care. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he swallowed every drop.

  “Now I recommend you try and get some shut eye. We leave as soon as the sun rises. We should make Duncan before night fall, I suspect.”

  Lee stood and went to the opposite side of the small ring of stones that contained the small fire. He stretched loudly and settled down onto the ground with a saddlebag under his head. He set his hat ov
er his face and soon began to breathe easily. Daniel watched him for a long time. The throbbing in his skull and pins and needles down his arms and legs gave him all the incentive to fight off slumber. When he was sure—as sure as he could be, at least—that Lee was asleep, he wriggled his way like a bug toward the fire. He was wrapped tightly around the legs from ankle to knee. His chest and shoulders as well. Then the last coil was around his wrists with a loop that gave some small movement but kept his forearms close to his chest. Trussed up like a prize pig on the way to slaughter, he thought to himself in fury and fear.

  “Well this piggy is gonna set himself free,” he whispered to himself.

  He had to get close to the shimmering flames. Far closer than he preferred. Sweat instantly beaded on his forehead. He braced himself for pain and moved his wrists towards the edge of the flame. He just needed enough to burn the ropes and break his bindings. He wished he had that foul-tasting gag in his mouth to bite down on as the searing heat sent shooting pain. He watched through teared up eyes, pushing down the pain. What was a few blisters compared to swinging by the neck until dead?

  Nothing. Worth it.

  He would get free of his bindings. Take the horse and water skins and ride the long way around the cattle and men. He could be home, gather his family, and be on the way to California or back to Carolina before anyone was the wiser. He watched the coarse fibers of the rope as they blackened. It was miserable, slowly cooking his own flesh as the stubborn rope just smoldered. He constantly flexed his forearms, fighting against the bindings and hoping to feel them release slightly. He saw the skin on his arm slowly turn red, then angrier before bubbling slowly as he strained. The smell, like roasting pork, made him want to wretch and vomit as the pain shot lightning bolts through his arms. It grew more and more intense and he felt waves of dizziness mix with the nausea.

  Then, suddenly, the charred rope flared with little dancing flames. He scooted away from the fire and mouthed silent prayers. Then he felt them loosen. His own oozing flesh seemed to help as he worked his arms free. He wanted to shout in agony and glee. But he remained quiet, watching Lee sleep a few feet away. He liked Lee. As much as any of the others was a fair assessment. He would have no second thoughts about bashing his skull open with a rock if it was that or his own life. Soon, his hands were free and he grabbed the sharpest stone he could find and began to work at the ropes around his chest and upper arms. It was slow work. So slow through the blinding pain of the burns on his forearms. It felt like it was taking hours, that the noise of the sawing was as loud as cannon fire in the quiet night. He just needed to get his arms loose enough to reach down and free his legs. Then he could hobble his way to the horse. He chided himself to remain calm. He could taste the freedom just within his reach. He kept his mind off the pain by imagining what he would do if he could get his hands on Jarod. Fantasies of sneaking into camp and slitting his smug throat danced in his head. That would be the only thing that could make this elation better. He had always hated him. It was mutual. Pulling along the remuda, never racing off to help rein in the stampeding herd.