CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Barbed wire.
One of the biggest reasons the trail drives from Texas to Kansas were dying out was barbed wire. Ranchers decided to fence off their property, which kept herds from being driven across their land during a trail drive. Having to push a herd around these fenced areas made the trail drives just too time-consuming and difficult. In addition, it cut down on places where the herds could graze. If the cattle couldn’t eat during a drive, they arrived at their destination emaciated.
Jake had expected to encounter some fenced-off areas, and was surprised that they had not—until they reached Kansas. The ranchers in Kansas not only wanted to protect their grazing grounds, but also wanted to keep their own cattle from any diseases the Texas cattle might be carrying.
The first time they encountered a barbed-wire fence and had to redirect the herd, Jake realized they were not going to make Dodge City in a week.
“We can cut the wire,” Dundee said, “drive the herd through, and then put the wire back up.”
“And start a war,” Jake said. “No, we’ll go around.”
Apparently, word had gotten out about a herd being driven through Kansas, for the next time they encountered the wire, they also had to deal with armed ranch hands. Jake tried to explain his cattle weren’t diseased, but the rancher they were dealing with was having none of it.
“Go around,” he ordered Jake.
It took two weeks to make the one-week trip to Dodge from Liberal, but they finally drove the herd into the Dodge City stockyards. It was only after the cattle were closely examined that they were accepted, and driven into the stock corrals.
Jake had no doubt that barbed wire was going to further divide the range, and would even cut down on the need for large crews of cowhands to keep the cows from overgrazing certain areas. He was actually glad he was never going to have to try to drive a herd through Texas again. Avoiding barbed wire in the near future would be next to impossible.
“You boys are free to eat or drink all you want,” Jake told his men. “Put your horses up at a livery, and get yourselves situated in hotel rooms, and after I’ve sold the cattle, we’ll settle up. And don’t get into trouble.”
“Sí, jefe,” Taco said, “we will be waiting.”
Taco and the others turned their horses and rode away from the stockyards.
Jake had hoped to get eight to ten dollars a head for his cattle. He was therefore very disappointed when the best offer he got was five. Unfortunately, there was only one man making the offer and setting the price, which left Jake with no choice but to accept.
The count on the herd when it arrived in Dodge City showed that Jake had accurately surmised that he’d lost about fifty head on the trip. He collected his better than two thousand seven hundred dollars and went looking for his men to settle up with them.
Because he had promised Chance a percentage and his dead friend had no family to give it to, he decided to divide that money up among the rest of the men. So they all got paid more than they had been expecting. By the time they were all sharing end-of-the-trail drinks in the Long Branch Saloon, Jake had half of his money left.
He had one drink with the men and then went to the Dodge House to get himself a room. Once he was behind the locked door, he collapsed onto the bed and gave in to the pain he felt in his old joints and bones.
Jake woke hours later, with hunger and depression fighting for supremacy. Pain was bringing up a poor third. The pain would fade away eventually. The hunger could be taken care of by a meal. But only one thing was going to ease the depression, and that was tracking down and killing Seaforth Bailey and however many raiders he had left.
At that moment, the hunger was the easiest thing to handle. He left the hotel in search of a meal, found himself standing in front of Delmonico’s steak house, and went in.
Dodge City was once the queen of the cow towns, a wild and woolly place where men like Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson made their bones. It was no longer as popular, or as open, as it once was, but the steak house was still a busy place at suppertime.
Jake managed to get a table in the middle of the crowded dining room, drew some looks from diners who made a habit of eating there and so were able to recognize a stranger in their midst.
He ignored everyone and ordered a chicken dinner, because after two months of driving cattle, he was tired of looking at beef. He washed it down with a big mug of ice-cold beer, then chased it all with a piece of rhubarb pie and a cup of coffee.
When he stepped outside it was dark, and quiet. He thought he could hear the ghosts of Dodge City around him—or maybe it was Chance’s ghost, asking him when he was going to avenge his death.
Tomorrow, old friend. I start tomorrow.
In the morning he had a hearty breakfast, then began to put together the gear he would need to hunt Seaforth Bailey.
Jake had never been a gunman, never worn a badge, but as a young man, he had joined on several posses when asked. So he had an idea of what he would need.
First, a good horse.
He went to the largest livery in town—the one where he had put up his horse and his animals from the drive—and told the hostler exactly what he wanted.
“I need a reliable animal, lots of stamina, five or six years old . . . and, oh, a gelding.”
“Jesus, you know exactly what ya want, don’t ya?” the old hostler said.
“Have you got somethin’ like that, or do I have to go somewhere else?”
“No, no,” the man said, “I got just the thing for you. Come on out back.”
They went out the back door of the livery to a corral that had about a dozen horses in it.
“Which one?” Jake asked.
“The red sorrel,” the man said. “Just recently gelded. Go on in and take a look.”
Jake entered the corral, put his hand on a couple of the horses to get them to move aside. When he reached the sorrel he admired the strength of it, the flaxen mane and tail, no sway to its back, good teeth, strong neck and flanks.
He walked back to the hostler and said, “I’ll take him.”
“I ain’t toldja the price.”
“Whatever you say.”
“You don’t wanna dicker?” the man asked, surprised.
“I don’t have the time.”
Jake had all the money from his sale of the cattle on him. If he had to, he was going to spend it all to avenge Chance McCandless. The hostler quoted his price, and Jake paid it. He also told the hostler he could have the other animals—the entire remuda.
“If yer gonna throw them in, I’ll lower the price,” the man offered.
“Don’t bother.” He took the money out and handed it to the hostler.
“I got a better saddle than the one you rode in on,” the hostler said. “I’ll throw that in.”
“Good, thanks. I’ll take it. I’ll pick everythin’ up tomorrow mornin’, first thing.”
“I’ll have him saddled. You wanna know his name?”
“I ain’t givin’ him a name,” Jake said.
“He’s already got one,” the man said. “I’m callin’ him Red.”
“Good enough.”
Jake left the livery, went to the mercantile, bought some new clothes, and ammunition for his pistol and rifle, both of which he considered reliable. He also had Chance’s guns. He’d get rid of the extra rifle, but he was going to keep Chance’s Peacemaker as a backup to his own. His rifle was a Winchester ’76, which fired heavier ammunition than the popular ’73 model. It would kill a bear as easily as a man.
The rifle he’d carried during the war had been an 1860 Henry, but the Henry became the basis for the Winchester, which was among the first repeaters manufactured. He had a ’73 when they first came out, but when the ’76 appeared he quickly switched his allegiance.
He bought enough supplies to keep himself going for a week or so—coffee, beans, beef jerky, and some cans of peaches. Eating this way would make sure that by the time he got back to Texas he would have lost some weight. He had lost very little on the drive, thanks to Carlito’s cooking.
If he was going to hunt men, he needed to be in better condition. Rather than shape him up, the trail drive had shown him just what terrible condition his body was in. He had given in to age a long time ago; now it was time to try to fend off the effects of it—at least until he did what he had to do.
The last thing he bought was a holster. He had never worn one before, outside of a kind with the flap that folded over the gun, during the war. This one had no flap, was simply a leather pouch designed to attach to his belt and hold a pistol. He simply needed the gun to be easily accessible for his hunt.
He left with his supplies in a gunnysack, which he brought back to his room. In the morning he would tie it to his saddle horn, put his extra clothes and Chance’s gun in his saddlebags. He put on the newly purchased holster, shoved his gun into it so he would get used to wearing it.
He left the hotel again as it started to get dark, and headed for the Long Branch.
He thought he would find some of the boys at the saloon. As it turned out, only the Mexican cousins were there—Taco, Desiderio, and Carlito, seated at a table with a whiskey bottle in the center.
The bar was crowded, and all the tables were filled. Nobody paid the least bit of attention to Jake as he crossed the room.
“‘Evenin’, boys,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Jefe!” Taco said, glad to see his friend. “Please, sientate. Sit.”
Jake sat in the empty fourth chair at the table, and a saloon girl came right over.
“Beer,” he told her. “Anythin’ more for you fellas?”
“No, jefe,” Desi said, raising his shot glass of whiskey, “we are doin’ well.”
Jake waited for the girl to bring him his beer, lifted it, and wet his whistle.
“Where are Curly and Dundee?” he asked.
“They have been at the whorehouse since last night,” Taco said. “They are young men!”
“I am a young man!” Desi complained. “Why am I not at the whorehouse?”
Taco slapped his cousin on the back and said, “I have been wondering the same thing myself, cabrón.”
That was a word Jake had heard before—dumbass!
The cousins laughed.
“When are you leaving town, señor?” Taco asked.
“Tomorrow mornin’,” Jake said. “I’ve got a new horse and saddle, some new duds, and I’m on my way.”
“And supplies, jefe?” Desi asked. “For your hunt?”
“Yeah,” he said, “supplies for my hunt.”
“I still wish you would allow me to accompany you, Señor Jake,” Taco said. “I would also like to avenge the death of Señor Chance.”
“No, Taco,” Jake said. “This is my fight. I started it, and I’ve got to finish it. I just thought I’d find you boys here and have one last drink.”
“Gracias, jefe,” Carlito said. “We are happy you wanted to share your time with us.”
At that moment the batwing doors swung inward and several men entered, dressed in trail clothes, with guns tucked into their belts.
“Ay, mierda,” Desi cursed.