Welcome To The Bullpen
Four Days Out Of Dodge
Tim Carpenter
The dust was boiling up into the afternoon sky and my neck was itching from the sweat and the heat. It was miserable sometimes riding drag on a herd of Texas longhorns, but I knew in my heart that I had it to do. I didn’t have to ride drag if I didn’t want to, being the boss of the outfit, but I knew that the men working for me didn’t like riding the drag either, and it was only fair for me to take my turn.
You see, I could never ask these men to do anything that I wasn’t willing and able to do myself, and because I was willing to do whatever it took to get these ornery critters to Dodge, they were too.
They were a tough bunch, these young Texas cowboys. They rode from before daylight until after dark most times, and then took turns riding night herd. In addition, this was in all kinds of weather: sunny, windy, rain, hail, hot, cold and any combination thereof. It was tough work, not for the faint of heart. It took men with the bark on to accomplish the task, and the job required seemingly endless days in the saddle.
There were other hardships as well. There were marauding bands of Comanche and Kiowa to contend with There were floods, quicksand, outlaws, and herd cutters. There were half-broke horses, wild longhorn steers with a mind of their own, and there were stampedes, lightning, rattlesnakes, water moccasins, and wolves.
We had been on the trail for over two full months now, and were nearing the end of the drive. We had gotten an early start, beating most of the other herds up the trail, so the grass had been good, and water had not been too much of a problem. There had been the usual dry stretches, but all in all, it had been a good drive. I had not lost a single man on this drive, and to tell the truth, I was worried that my luck was going to run out.
My men had all been up the trail before and had dealt with most of the trouble without a second thought. We had been very lucky in our skirmishes with the Indians, and had buffaloed more than one bunch of herd cutters this trip. We had started out with almost three thousand head of cattle, but now were pushing thirty five hundred head, give or take one or two.
The afternoon sun was starting to wane, so I rode ahead and told the wingman nearest to me to ride up to the point and stop the herd while we still had good grass. I was thinking that since we were a little ahead of the game, it would be a good idea to let the herd graze as much as possible. I knew from experience that the closer we got to Dodge, the more likely that the grass would be grazed down to nothing or trampled down where herds had been held while a deal with a stock buyer could be finalized. Our cattle were all in excellent shape and I wanted to keep them that way.
A little while later as I was getting ready to ride into camp, I noticed a small dust cloud with a couple of dark specks in it approaching our herd from the southwest. I knew it was a group of riders, and I wasn’t expecting company for supper, so I was wary of just who it might be and what they might want. Out here on the trail, uninvited guests usually turned out to be trouble.
I sat and rolled myself a cigarette while waiting for the riders to get close enough for me to gauge their intentions, and while I was looking for a match to light my cigarette, Bob Jingle, my Segundo, rode up and stopped next to me.
“Don’t like the looks of this,” he imparted nonchalantly. He switched the wad of tobacco in his jaw to the other side and spat out a long stream of brown juice to punctuate his feelings.
“I don’t either, but let’s wait an’ see.” I turned and looked at the herd, and they all seemed to be content with their grazing. I could see a couple more of my men circling the herd and headed in my direction. I was proud as punch of those boys. They didn’t miss a trick. I scanned the horizon around the herd and didn’t see anybody coming up on our blind side, so maybe everything was going to be alright.
When the group of riders was almost up to Bob and me, they halted and looked over our herd as if they were looking for something that belonged to them. Of course, I knew they hadn’t lost anything in our herd, so when the leader of the outlaws, and that’s what they were, started his horse forward, I knew the showdown was not far away.
Now I’m a patient man up to a point, and I was willing to at least listen to what this man had to say, but it seemed to me at the time that this fellow had missed out on a few lessons in manners. He didn’t say hello or anything, but just started bellowing like a bull. I didn’t cotton to him much.
“You’ve got some of my cattle in your herd and we’re cuttin’ them out!” the outlaw leader said, almost yelling. He was a middle-aged man, with a scar on one cheek and long, stringy, black hair spilling over a greasy collar. He was unkempt and unshaved, and had bloodshot eyes that reminded me of a wild pig I had seen one time. His boots were cracked and worn down at the heels, but his pistol looked like it was well taken care of.
“Ain’t likely,” Bob said, looking right at the man. Bob never knew the meaning of the word retreat. I just sat there enjoying my cigarette, acting like I didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t want to take my eyes from the outlaw, but I didn’t need to. I could hear a couple more of my men riding up behind Bob and I, and I knew that they would split up and ride out to the sides. I also knew that a couple of the other boys would be circling to come up behind the outlaws. We had done this sort of thing before.
“Like I said,” the outlaw leader replied with a smug look, “we’re cuttin’ your herd. Just cooperate, and nobody will need to get hurt.”
“Mister,” I said, touching my spurs to the side of my horse and moving immediately forward toward the outlaw, “you ever been to New Orleans, or maybe Charleston?”
“What?” he said, suddenly confused. “What are you talking about?” He was perplexed and a little agitated right then, probably because he had suddenly lost control of the situation, and he didn’t like it. All of a sudden things were not turning out like he had planned and he was beginning to feel less confident. He thought that he would just ride right up to our herd with a few of his men and cut out a few hundred head of cattle and we would just stand by and let it happen. I was going to make certain that he knew it was not going to happen.
“Yep,” I said, continuing to walk my horse right up to him,” The sunny South is beautiful this time of year. The magnolias are bloomin’ and the Spanish moss hangin’ in the trees makes a picturesque setting. I think you ought to see it before you die!”
I was right up to him now and my horse, a big roan maybe sixteen, seventeen hands high, was starting to crowd his chestnut a little. My horse just kept right on pushing his horse, making it step backwards a couple of steps. Of course, I was still nudging my horse with my spurs a little, so he would keep moving forward. That’s when I shot out my right hand and grabbed myself a bunch of the outlaws’ throat and shoved him off his horse with enough force that he went tumbling head over heels in the grass. The whole episode hadn’t taken more than a moment or two, and as soon as he started to get up, my pistol was in my hand and pointed right at the end of his dirty nose.
“Now you listen, boy,” I said quietly, trying hard not to pull the trigger. “Me and the boys have driven this herd for the better part of three months without your help, and I’m sure we can get it the rest of the way to Dodge City without your help. You fellas are nothing more than cow thieves, and you aren’t very good ones at that! If the boys and I weren’t so busy right now, we’d hang every last one of you. So, take my advice, freely given, and go see the sunny South. Your days of stealing cows are over. Now git, and don’t make me change my mind about hanging you!”
The look in that greasy man’s eyes was something to see I tell you. He wanted to do something to change the situation, only there was a big pistol about an inch from the end of his nose. He didn’t look all that smart, but he sure enough fooled me right then and there. He turned around slowly, keeping his hands away from his pistol, and walked to his horse and climbed aboard. He then turned that horse around and slowly walked away from us, he surely did.
While I was showing the greasy outlaw the error of his ways, my men had come up behind the rest of the outlaws and had made them all drop their gun belts into the dirt. There was no way in the world that any of them would have lived if they had made a move against us. Oh, don’t get me wrong. They wanted to do something, and badly, but they were smart enough to see that it was not in their best interest right then.
We had no more trouble after that incident, and I was sure glad. Three days later, we pulled up to the outskirts of Dodge City and it sure did look great. I sold the herd lock, stock, and barrel, and that included the chuckwagon. After I paid off the boys, I went into the nearest saloon for a drink, and while there, ran into an old friend from Texas who warned me to be on the lookout for Indian Jim Davis, the outlaw cow thief I had run into out on the prairie. I had heard of Indian Jim before, but didn’t know that the fellow I had run into was one and the same. It had been rumored that he had been responsible for a good number of cows that had been stolen or stampeded, and was purported to be a dangerous man to cross. Supposedly, he had killed seven men in gunfights, but I didn’t believe the number was nearly that great, and he hadn’t struck me as a brave enough man to stand face to face with someone to shoot it out. Nevertheless, I thanked my good friend and promised to watch myself while in town.
As I headed down to the livery to reclaim my horses and meet up with some of the boys who were heading back to Texas with me, I spied the very scoundrel I had been warned about. He came out of an alley and stood there, blocking my way to the livery with a challenging sneer on his face. I turned around slightly and caught sight of three of his gang approaching me from behind. Not wanting any trouble, I turned and opened the door to the mercantile I happened to be in front of at the time. Walking through the store and into a back storeroom, much to the protest of the proprietor, I went quickly out the back door and into the alley behind the store.
Immediately, I made my way to the livery and met the boys there. They were already saddled up and waiting for me. I saddled up as I told them what had happened, and taking a quick look around, led the way out of town.
Nothing else happened that day and as we sat around the fire that evening, I was starting to relax a little. It had been a close call and I was glad that I had been able to avoid a confrontation with the outlaw and his gang. I didn’t relish the idea of shooting someone, or getting shot myself. I had always thought it was better to avoid trouble, if possible, and hoped that the outlaw had given up any ideas about getting even with me.
The next morning, as the boys and I headed south toward our beloved Texas, we talked about all of the things we were going to do when we got back home. I was going to visit my sister in Uvalde for a while, and then see about gathering another herd for next year. With the money I had saved, added to what I would make next year, I would have enough money to buy a ranch I had my eye on out in west Texas. I wanted to work for myself and not somebody else. Some of the boys said they would come and work for me when I got the ranch all set up, and that sounded good to me.
Two days later, we were riding along, enjoying the warm sunshine when several riders rode up out of a wash ahead of us, and right away, I knew who they were. There was no mistaking the way Indian Jim sat a horse, and I knew that before the day was through, one of us would be sleeping in a very cold bed out on the prairie.
I told the boys to spread out and keep an eye on the men with Indian Jim, but let me deal with the ornery skunk that seemed to hold a grudge against me. We were evenly matched as far as numbers, and my idea was to challenge Indian Jim himself and maybe the others would stay out of it. I knew I could beat Indian Jim with guns, knives or fists, and all he had to do was choose which way he wanted to die.
You see, most supposedly bad men, were really cowards at heart. They had gained a reputation as bad men by picking on the weak and innocent. Many of them liked to brag a lot about their deeds and each time they did, the stories got bigger with each telling. Eventually, they began to believe the stories themselves and began to think they were invincible. I didn’t think Indian Jim was really as tough as the stories made him out to be. Sure, he could get lucky and kill me, and there certainly was nothing laughable about the pistol he wore; it was just that I didn’t think he was as tough as he thought he was.
I had had my fair share of gunfights and fistfights and the like, and I had been working a tough job everyday for as long as I could remember, whereas Indian Jim had been lollygagging around getting soft, living off other folks’ efforts. I had no fear of him, and what’s more, I think he knew it. That alone would give me an advantage over him, not that I needed one. I was also pretty fast when it came to getting a gun into action. I knew that most would-be bad men usually draw and fire too fast, with their first shot going into the dirt in front of their intended victim. I could get my gun out fast, but I could also put my shots where I wanted them to go. No brag, just fact. I had always had excellent hand-eye coordination, and shooting pistols had always been easy for me. Now I was starting to get mad at him and his gang for taking up so much of my free time, and I was set on making sure that I wouldn’t have to watch my back trail all the way to Texas.
There was no negotiating with men of Indian Jim’s stripe, and I had tried to avoid trouble with him, but he sure was persistent. So, if he was set on settling things once and for all, then I guess it was up to me to oblige.
As our horses drew near to one another, I called out to Indian Jim, but only loud enough for him to hear.
“If you’ve come all this way just to die, you sure picked a good day.”
“You owe me for the cattle you sold that belonged to me,” he replied, not smiling at all. “Pay me now, and I may just let you live.” He didn’t look like a happy man right then, and I was going to make him even more unhappy I reckon.
“Uh uh, if you want my money, you’re gonna have to come and get it,” I replied. “But remember this: you’ll earn every cent of it. And as for those cows, you never owned a single one of them. You’re nothing but a two bit rustler and a yeller dawg, and it’s time the world got shut of you.”
Oh, he didn’t like it, not one bit. In his mind, he had formed the opinion that I was afraid of him, though I can’t imagine why. If he had remembered our first meeting, he would have known better than that. I moved my horse away from the others a little, and sat there waiting for Indian Jim to make up his mind whether or not he was going to die that day. I never thought for a moment that he would back down. He didn’t disappoint me.
Indian Jim smiled, showing white, even teeth and a bead of sweat trickled slowly down his cheek. His hand started forward toward his pistol, but that was as far as he got. The sound of my pistol was like continuous thunder. There were other pistols being fired around me but I was only interested in where my shots were going. My first shot hit the second button on Indian Jim’s vest, driving it back into his chest. My second and third shots were centered where his left shirt pocket would be, and my fourth shot glanced off of his belt buckle and struck him in the underneath side of his chin. That last shot was off just a little because my horse decided to sidestep just as I squeezed it off. It didn’t matter though, because Indian Jim was already dead. He landed face down on the prairie, his horse trotting off a little ways before stopping and looking back nervously. I looked at my men and noticed that they were all still in the saddle, albeit with smoking guns in their hands. All of the outlaws were down except one, and he was riding away across the prairie like his tail was on fire. Maybe he had decided that the sunny South was suddenly worth seeing, I don’t know.
After burying the four outlaws that had bucked the tiger and lost, we gathered up their horses, and looked southward, toward Texas once again. I took the time to roll a cigarette before stepping into leather, and it dawned on me that both the first time I had encountered Indian Jim, as well as the last time; I was four days out of Dodge.
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