Ralph Compton The Abilene Trail

Introduction

During the Civil War, the American people ate every chicken and pig in the land. After that conflict, the industrialized North was hungry for protein. In Texas and old Mexico, there were thousands of unbranded longhorn cattle for the catching.

In the years following their bitter defeat, many impoverished Texans headed large cattle herds toward that old North Star, looking for the rich markets. Some returned to brag of their success; others cursed their bad luck, for they lost fortunes in cattle to bushwhackers, rustlers, irate farmers, and natural disasters.

An Illinois farmer, Joe McCoy, spent two years trying to convince one of the railroads to set up shipping yards beyond the sod buster’s Texas Tick Fever dead-lines. At last, this ambitious man in his simple store-bought clothing and muddy shoes found a railroad president who took him seriously.

Joe McCoy started building loading pens at Abilene, Kansas, in the fall of 1867. That winter McCoy hired a surveyor and his sons to plow a furrow from his pens at Abilene to near the site of Jesse Chisholm’s trading post (Wichita, Kansas) to show them the way. Joe also sent salesmen to Texas armed with posters showing this route west of the trouble with farmers and the promise of a good market.

The trail was known as the Abilene Trail until the early 1870s, when the drovers began calling it Jesse’s Trail.

Chapter 1

November 21, 1867

Kerr Mac County, Texas

You ever been to Kansas, Mark? he asked the wide-eyed teenager.

Kansas? The youth threw his hands up to shade his eyes from the noontime sun. Hell—I mean, no, sir.

Ben McCollough looked over at the woman who had come to the doorway of the paintless house. At thirty-two, Jenny Fulton was an attractive enough widow with three boys. Mark, her eldest, stood before Ben’s roan horse, all eaten up with the notion of being asked to make his first cattle drive. The light brown- haired woman standing in the threshold could use the money her son would earn. As a consideration to her, Ben would have to see that some of the boy’s pay managed to make it home.

Hello, Jenny, he said, straightening his spine in the saddle and removing his high crown hat for her. Her willowy figure in the faded, wash-worn dress was enough to make his guts roil.

Hello, Ben. You must be needing some help today. The warm smile showed her even, white teeth, and she pushed back an errant wave of hair from her face. Her steps looked dainty as she walked toward them. By her age, most women’s feet were splayed out from being without shoes so long—but not Jenny’s.

I was asking Mark if he had time to go to Kansas this next spring.

I see, she said, using her hand to hold back her hair and also shade her eyes. He’ll turn sixteen next month.

I know. Been some younger boys than that go up the trail. Could you spare him for a few months?

Sixteen these days and you’re a man, aren’t you? She shook her head as if in mild disbelief.

He stepped off the roan and dropped the reins. All summer and half the fall he’d thought about courting her and done nothing. A couple of times he’d sent a deer carcass over so she and the boys had meat. His cook, Hap, had delivered them to her. Each time afterward she sent him a nice thank-you note in her gracious penmanship with a whiff of sweet perfume on the notes.

Yes, I reckon the war . . . He regretted mentioning the war. The conflict had taken her husband, Allen Fulton, leaving her with the three small boys to raise alone.

Changed all our lives, she said, and nodded.

If it’s all right, then Mark needs to get his gear ready. I’ve got him a good saddle at the ranch. Ben knew the boy’s worn-out saddle would never make it up the trail.

Mark? she said.

Yes?

I guess you better tell Mr. McCollough what you aim to do.

Go to Kansas! he shouted, and threw his felt hat in the air. Yahoo!

Well, how many more hands do you have hired, Ben?

Actually, he’s the first.

That’s a nice compliment, she said to her eldest.

Ben nodded that he heard her. Hap has a good milk cow over at the ranch. I need to board her while we’re going up the trail.

Her face beamed at his offer. I’d sure be pleased to have one. My heifer’s went dry.

Guess tomorrow, then, Mark can make his first cattle drive and get Jersey over here.

Thanks, Ben, she said with her gaze focused on the ground. She looked up, wetting her lips. I do appreciate the many things you’ve done for me and the boys.

He shook his head to dismiss her compliment.

No. She reached out and patted his arms folded over his chest. You need to come over and have supper with us. So we can repay your generosity.

He felt trapped. No need in her fixing him supper—why, she had trouble enough feeding her boys, let alone feeding him. Where she’d touched his forearm, he noticed the spot felt on fire. I’ll be real busy—

You have to eat sometime. You can send word by Mark. But promise you will come eat with us one night?

I will . . . I’ll come eat with you.

A warm smile of relief swept her smooth face, and her blue eyes twinkled.

At thirty-nine years old, he worried about their age difference. He wasn’t a kid any longer, though at times he felt like one, especially when his thoughts ran to her. Lots more things to worry about than his mushy feelings. There were a million details to getting a cattle drive on the way, and this shipping point at Abilene wasn’t next door—a far ways from it.

He put his hat back on his head. Even in her working clothes, though he wondered if she owned any better, she looked nice. But was he ready for a woman in his life? This trail drive could be the difference between his being some two-bit rancher and being a real one. Maybe . . . maybe after the drive he would finally need a lady in his life.

Mark, you come over tomorrow and get the jersey cow for your mom. Then ride back the next day and take you a bunk. We’ve got lots of getting ready to do.

Thanks, mister—I mean, Ben.

What night are we having this supper? he asked her.

Sunday night soon enough?

Yes, ma’am. Don’t go to no bother, hear me?

Oh, no. Just be usual fare.

Thanks. See you Sunday, he said, and reined the roan around for home. What had he agreed to? Only eating supper with her so far. What could that hurt? On one hand, he wanted her for his own; on the other, he wasn’t damn well certain that he wanted a woman like a ship’s anchor around his neck. So what would it be? He’d have to see. Have to figure it all out somehow.

At sunup, Hap was pouring coffee in Ben’s cup. The grizzle-faced former sergeant swung around the stiff leg that he had received at the battle of Pea Ridge and gathered their breakfast dishes. Both stock dogs were raising Cain out front of the house when Ben went to the kitchen window to see who was out there.

Mark’s already come for the jersey cow, he said, amazed how early the boy must have gotten up to have ridden there. He’d completely forgotten about the anxiousness of youth.

Making her that cow as a gift? the white-whiskered cook asked.

Loaning it to her while we go to Kansas.

Loaning it? Hap scoffed. We talked about selling her last I heard anything about her.

Aw, shut up. I told you her cow died. It’s for her use till we get back.

I ain’t milking two cows when we get back.

Hush up ’fore that boy hears us arguing.

By damn, Ben McCulloughie, I don’t aim to milk two old cows.

No one asked you to—now hush.

Hap went off grumbling to himself and rattling metal pans in the dry sink, doing the dishes.

Come on in, Mark, Ben said to the boy, who stood with his hat in his hand in the doorway. Better yet, you wash up out there and then come in. Hap, you have any food left for a starving boy?

How can he be starving? Hap asked with his hands set upon his narrow hips.

’Cause all teenage boys have got a holler leg for food.

I’ll whip him up some eggs, Hap said, sounding put-out and making lots of noise taking the covers off the top to restoke the fire in the range. A damn cook’s job is never done around here.

But ain’t you lucky, Ben said, blowing the steam off his coffee.

How’s that?

You’ve got someone to cook for. Ben chuckled to himself.

You think I can’t find work? Let me tell you, Ben McCulloughie, I can find work quicker than you can blink your eyes.

Sure you can, Hap. Why, there’s lots of greasy-sack outfits going up the trail would love to have you cooking for them.

And I ain’t never going to Kansas with no damn pack train. I could find me a job with a wagon outfit.

Why?

What do you mean, why?

You’ve already got a job with one with me.

Hap scratched his sideburns. Now you’ve gone and made me forget why I was so mad at you in the first place.

Ben knew the answer, but he damn sure wasn’t going to remind his cook. There’d be lots of time on the trail to think about all of it—for him the picture of Jenny Fulton standing in the doorway the day before was going to eat a hole in his guts before he ever got out of Texas.

Chapter 2

Ben spent most of the morning making more plans for the drive. Through the open front doorway, he could look across the brown grass meadows to Coot er’s Bluff above Wild Hoss Creek. The horse herd he had begun to collect for the drive was grazing in the bottom: bays, blacks, a few grays, and some roans. He’d need at least five head per man. Sunlight danced on the cedars and live oaks. November was good time in the hill country. This cattle-driving business could provide him with the land to expand his herd. At thirty-nine, he couldn’t expect to forever be some two-bit rancher—the MC brand needed to be on more mother cows. He needed a couple of them purebred roan bulls to use on his longhorns. Ranching wouldn’t always be rounding up wild-as-deer cattle mavericks out of the brakes and mesquite thickets.

He drummed his finger on the letter that Col. Joe McCoy’s man, William Blair, had left. North is hungry for beef. Top steers will bring as much as forty dollars per head at our new pens in Abilene, Kansas. Forty dollars. Ben tried to erase the price tag from his mind. Four-year-old steers on the Mexican border could be bought for a few dollars. Even if he could sell enough of them at, say, twenty bucks, the size ranch he wanted could be a reality at those prices.

The best interest rate he could find so far was fifty percent. For that loan he had to pledge all his resources, ranch, horses, and mother cows. But he could borrow up to three thousand dollars—that would be enough by his mathematics to purchase eight hundred head of steer and head them for Kansas when the grass broke its dormancy next spring.

He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. If he failed he’d have nothing but his callused hands, and he’d have to start all over, like when he came back from the war. That was why he had not dared court Jenny Fulton the past year. His whole life teetered on making a successful drive—then he could make plans for a future life. He listened to the horses and then the drum of hoofbeats. Someone was coming. He rose to his full six-foot-four and stretched his hands over his head. The reach took some of the stiffness out of his back—he felt more and more of that tightness getting up in the morning.

Mr. McCollough, you home, sir?

He ducked the lintel and straightened to smile at the freckle-faced boy Mark’s age. Billy Jim Watts was riding a long-headed bay horse.

Mark said you was hiring hands to go to Kansas.

Ben nodded. You come to apply.

I sure . . . Yes, sir.

Kin you rope?

Some.

Kin you ride a pitching horse?

If I can’t I can sure get on him again. He dismounted off his bay and jerked his wash-worn pants down so they fit more comfortable.

Amused at the eager boy’s answers, Ben chuckled in his throat. Your mama know what you’re doing?

Yes, sir.

How’d she take it?

Like most women. Billy Jim made a face. Kinda wet-eyed. You know what I mean?

Ben shook his head ruefully. Listen, there ain’t no wanting to go home on this deal. It’ll be pure hell most of the time. No complaining, no turning back. Can you swim?

Billy Jim squinted his green eyes, looking at Ben with a pained expression. What for?

’Cause they tell me we’ve got forty rivers to cross to get to Abilene.

I can swim.

Can you shoot?

I done shot a twenty-two lots.

I was more in mind of a pistol.

The youth nodded; then he cocked his head to the side to look up at Ben. I can damn sure learn. What I mean is, sir, I can learn real quick.

I’ll keep you in mind, Billy Jim. Tell your mom and daddy I said hi.

Means I don’t get the job?

I’m taking it under advisement.

That like setting a hen on top of hatching eggs?

Ben chuckled and so did the youth. Check with me about Christmastime.

He watched the youth awkwardly mount the slab-sided bay, which about fell over in the process. Poor round-bottomed boy—a real miracle he could even stay in the saddle; he bounced all over it when he rode. Billy Jim said thanks and left in a trot, bobbing up and down like a cork with a pan fish on the other end of the line. Ben drew a deep breath up his nose. He needed to fill out the rest of his roster with grown men. There were enough ex-soldiers grubbing a living who could use the work. No, one teenager on the trail with him was plenty. He already had Mark.

He saddled up his roan horse and headed for Teeville. Hap and Mark were out checking the cows and calves, while in town he’d see who he could get signed up as drovers. Plus he wanted to talk to Ab Bowers about the loan. He’d need some of the money after the first of the year.

Teeville sat on the banks of Morgan Creek: two stores, bank, saddlery, doctor’s office over it, gunsmith, two saloons, a one-room schoolhouse, and a Methodist church, plus a smattering of small houses around the edge. It was a quiet place with a few curs to announce who came and went. Deputy sheriff Wylie Harold kept the peace; he had a small jail that sat empty most of the time, and he reported to the sheriff over at the county seat.

Ben checked the post office in Whitaker’s store. A letter had come from Colonel McCoy’s man Blair assuring him there would be plenty of buyers and shipping cars when he arrived with his herd in Abilene next summer. The plowed furrow to mark the way from the Arkansas River crossing to the shipping pens was progressing fine and would be completed before spring broke green on the prairie as a guide for him to follow.

Ben put the letter in his vest and thanked Mr. Whitaker.

You still planning to make a drive next year? the gray-headed storekeeper asked.

Figured so.

Well, me and the misses, we’ve been talking. You buy your supplies from me, I’ll carry them on the books. I figure if anyone can get through that mess of Indian and crazy jayhawk farmers up there, you can, Ben. Whitaker wiped his hands on his white apron.

Ain’t making that offer to many folks, Ben. You know that some won’t ever come back?

Ben nodded. I appreciate your offer. I’ll be thinking on it.

Be New Year’s ’fore you know it, Whitaker said, and shook his head. Years get to going by faster.

They sure do. Ben left the store and headed for the bank. Whitaker’s offer sounded good. It would save him from borrowing so much money that way, even though he’d still feel as obligated to the storekeeper as he would to his banker for the loan.

Perhaps he needed to go see his cattle buyer on the border. If everyone got the idea they were heading north with