Dead Man's Walk

While Brognoli and several other Rangers were standing around the wreck, debating whether there was any hope of repairing the big wagon, Alchise, the half-breed scout, pointed to the north. All Call saw was an advancing cloud of dust—the troop took cover and prepared for battle, but the source of the dust turned out to be a herd of horses, about twenty in number, being driven by two white men and a Negro. One of the white men, a bulky fellow with a thick brown beard, was leading another horse, with two little girls on it. The little girls were about five or six; both were blond. They were a good deal scratched up, and looked scared. Neither of them spoke at all, though Sam and Brognoli tried to coax them down, and offered them biscuits. The three men looked as if they had been dipped in dust. They had clearly ridden fast and hard.

“Howdy, I’m Charlie Goodnight,” the large man said. “This is Bill and this is Bose.”

“Get down and take some coffee,” Caleb offered. “We’ve just had a wreck. My canoe is ruined and I don’t know what else.”

“No, we can’t pause,” Charles Goodnight said. “These girls were stolen two weeks ago, from down by Weatherford. Their parents will have no peace of mind until I return them.”

“They also ran off these horses,” the man said. “We had to race to catch up with the rascals.”

“At least you succeeded,” Caleb said. “Comanches took ‘em?”

“Yes, Kicking Wolf, he’s a clever thief,” Goodnight said. “What are you doing taking wagons across the baldies?”

“Why, ain’t you heard of us, Mr. Goodnight?” Caleb asked. By this time the whole troop had gathered around the travelers. “I’m Colonel Cobb. We’re the Texas-Santa Fe expedition, heading out towards New Mexico.”

“Why?” Goodnight asked bluntly. Call thought the man’s manner short to the point of rudeness. He wasn’t insolent, though—just blunt.

“Well, we mean to annex it,” Caleb said. “We may have to hang a few Mexicans in the process, but I expect we’ll soon whip ‘em back.”

“No, they’ll hang you—if you get there,” Goodnight said.

“Why wouldn’t we get there, sir?” Caleb asked, a little stung by the man’s brusque attitude.

“I doubt you know the way—that’s one reason,” Goodnight said. “There ain’t water enough between here and Santa Fe to keep this many horses alive. That’s two reasons.”

He rose in his saddle and pointed toward the escarpment, a thin line in the distance, with white clouds floating over it.

“That’s the caprock,” he said. “Once you’re on top of it there’s nothing.”

“Well, there has to be something,” Caleb said. “There’s grass, at least.”

“Yes sir, lots of grass,” Goodnight said. “I’ve rarely met the man who can live on grass, though, and I’ve rarely seen the horse that could travel five hundred miles without water.”

Caleb Cobb was stunned by the comment.

“Five hundred miles—are you sure?” he asked. “We thought it would be another hundred, at most.”

“That’s what I said to begin with,” Goodnight said. “You don’t know where you’re going.”

He turned and glanced at the three remaining wagons. The mules were exhausted from pulling the heavy wagons in and out of gullies —and Call could see that there seemed to be no end of gullies stretching west. Goodnight shook his head, and glanced back at the little girls, to see that they were all right.

“We would appreciate some biscuits,” he said. “These children ain’t eaten nothing but a few bites of rabbit, in the last day.”

“Give them what they need,” Caleb said. “Give them the biscuits and some bacon too.”

He looked back at the escarpment, clearly disturbed by Goodnight’s news.“I guess you don’t think much of our wagons, do you?” he asked.

“Them wagons would do fine to go to market in,” Goodnight said. “But you ain’t going to market. You’ll never get ‘em up the hill. You’ll have to take what you can carry and hope you find game.”

“Why, dammit, I was told there was a passage along the Red River,” Caleb said. “I was hoping we’d come to it tomorrow.”

Goodnight looked at him oddly, as if he were listening to a child.

“If you suppose you’re on the Red, then you’re worse lost than I thought,” Goodnight said. “This ain’t the Red, it’s the Big Wichita. The Red is a far piece ahead yet—I took back these horses just shy of the Red. You might make the Prairie Dog Fork of the Brazos, if you don’t jump no more cougars and lose no more mules.”

“You’re a wonder, sir—how did you know about the cougar?” Caleb asked.

“Tracks,” Goodnight said. “I ain’t blind. I’ve never met the mule yet that could tolerate cougars.”

Then he noticed Shadrach, standing by Matilda—Bigfoot was nearby.

“Why, Shad—are you a hundred yet?” he asked. “Hello, Miss Roberts.”

He tipped his hat, as did the cowboy named Bill and the Negro named Bose.

“I’m crowding it, Charlie,” Shadrach said.

“Hello, Wallace—why would you want to walk all the way to New Mexico to get hung?” Goodnight asked Bigfoot. “Ain’t there enough hang ropes in Texas for you?”

“I ain’t planning on no hanging, Charlie,” Bigfoot said. “I expect to fill my pockets with gold and silver and go back to Texas and buy a ranch.”

Goodnight nodded. “Oh, that’s it, is it?” he said. “You’re all out for booty, I guess. You’ve heard there are big chunks of gold and silver lying in the streets, I expect.”

“Well, we’ve heard minerals were plentiful,” Caleb said. Less and less did he like this blunt fellow, Charlie Goodnight—yet the man’s news, unwelcome as it was, was valuable, considering their situation. It was mortifying to be the leader of an expedition and discover that you were not even on the right river.

“There are minerals aplenty—in the governor’s vault,” Goodnight said. “He might open it for you and ask you to help yourselves,but I doubt it. That ain’t the way of governors—not the ones I’ve met.”

There was silence throughout the troop. Goodnight was not particularly likable, but few of the men could doubt that he knew what he was talking about. If he said they were putting themselves in danger of starvation only to run the risk of being hanged upon arrival, it well might be true.

“It’s a marvel that you rode off and got your horses back, Mr. Goodnight,” Caleb said. “We’ve not had much luck pursuing the red boys. If there’s a special method you use I’d appreciate it if you’d tell us what it is—it could be that we’ll lose stock, and we can’t afford to.”

“No, you can’t, you’ll have to eat most of these horses, I expect,” Goodnight said.

He looked at the solemn group of men, some of them with hopes still high for adventure and booty in New Mexico. Not for the first time, he was impressed by the folly of men.

“How’d you get ‘em back, sir?” Caleb asked again.

“Well, they were my horses,” Goodnight said. “I’ll be damned if I’ll give up twenty horses to Kicking Wolf, not without a chase.

“Pardon me for cussing, Miss Roberts,” he said, again tipping his hat.

“The only way to get horses back from Indians is to outrun them —it’s why I try to stay well mounted,” he went on. “We caught them near the Red. There were four warriors and these children. We killed two warriors, but Kicking Wolf and his brother got away.”