Chapter 16

And I was born the next of kin
The next of kin to the wayward wind...

“Joss, sometimes a man has to do what he feels is right, at the time – and a lot of times, he has no time to think it over. I’d have done the same thing had it been me back there in place of you. You’re learning fast and you make good decisions even faster. Those men would have killed all of you, took your horses, money and cattle – had you given them the chance ... or even hesitated,” Mr. Charlie told me when I sat down to tell him how we come to have fifteen hundred and forty-one head of cattle in less than a week.

I had just told him about the Mexicans wanting the cattle to drive back across the border into Mexico. Then I took the time to explain about my commitment to Mr. Merle Peters and his family back in Kansas. I was hoping he would understand why I did what I did.

“Thanks, Mr. Charlie. I was hoping I had done the right thing. All I could think about was – this herd will help build my cattle spread back in Kansas even bigger, and I wasn’t to break my promise to a dying man, or give up my dream.”

We left Palo Duro Canyon on May 30^th headed for Cheyenne, Wyoming. We made plans to swing by Mr. John’s ranch down in Roswell, New Mexico and Mr. Charlie’s ranch up in Pueblo, Colorado to add even more cattle to the herd.

Mr. Charlie had made this trail drive all the way to Cheyenne twice before and told us that it would take about a hundred and fifty days, if all goes well. That will put us about the last week of October making Cheyenne. Both men told me this will be the latest they’ve ever ended a trail drive, but they’d rather start now than wait until next spring and have to feed this big herd of cattle over the winter – or turn them loose and lose them.

One day, as we rode toward the border with Texas and New Mexico, Mr. John was riding between Indira and me. He told us that during the war, Mr. Charlie joined a group of lawmen which later became the Texas Rangers. They fought the Indians back away from the ranchers here in Texas and guarded the supply wagons while the war was going on.

He went on to tell us that this very cattle trail we were on, was named, The Goodnight-Loving Trail, after Mr. Charlie Goodnight and his late friend, Mr. Oliver Loving. He told us the story about them being best friends and partners in the cattle business and driving cattle over into New Mexico Territory and Colorado, selling them to the army for eight cents per pound so they could feed the Indians on the reservations. They later extended The Goodnight-Loving Trail all the way to Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Mr. John told us that Mr. Oliver had taken an arrow in his leg during an Indian raid while on a trail drive to Fort Sumner, New Mexico back in 1867. He said Mr. Oliver survived, but had to have the leg amputated above the knee. Then later, he died from infection and they buried him there in New Mexico ... He went on to tell us that Mr. Charlie went back and had his body dug up and took his friend back to Weatherford, Texas to be buried near his family. Then, for a long time after, Mr. Charlie even paid Mr. Oliver’s widow and family, Mr. Oliver’s part of the earnings as he continued to drive cattle to market.

I never knew all that about Mr. Charlie Goodnight, and I cried as Mr. John told the story of him and his close friend and partner, Mr. Oliver Loving. I never knew one man could have that much love for another man like that. After hearing that story about Mr. Charlie, I took on a whole new respect for the man who had just recently befriended Indira and me ... simply because I could shoe horses and Indira could make the best biscuits ever.

Here we are, riding The Goodnight-Loving Trail, alongside Mr. John Chisum, another good friend of Mr. Charlie’s, listening to a story that ought to be told in a book, so others could read about a special friendship between two men who drove cattle to places no one had ever driven them before – across trails they, themselves had blazed.

I knew that I’d never live long enough to be half the man Mr. Charlie Goodnight is, but the one thing I could do to be more like him was, be a friend when someone needed a friend.

We rode on south across New Mexico for days, until we came to a wide river. Mr. John told us this was the Pecos River, the same Pecos we were at when we went down to Fort Stockton. When I heard that, I had to take my map of America out and look at where we were on the map. I looked back over to Missouri and saw Kansas City. I looked close but didn’t see Sedalia. I knew where it was on the map.

I am so glad that I followed my dream and rode out across this big land. I never would have seen all of this, if I hadn’t left Sedalia when I did, and the way I did.

We let the cattle wade through the Pecos and drink their fill. As they began to walk back out of the river, Mr. Charlie took the point, leading them north toward Colorado.

Mr. John took a few of the cowboys to his ranch to gather his herd of ranch cattle. When they brought them back, we gathered them into the tail end of main herd, which was already strung out for miles and miles ahead of them. Mr. Charlie and Nicolas were riding point. It had been four hours since I last saw them in the distance. Now, the herd has gained another seven hundred head as we continued on our way.

Mr. John spent the night with his family and caught up with us the next day. It wasn’t like we were going to leave him behind, as slow as we were moving.

Driving the herd through the dry, dusty canyons was bad enough, but when we crossed the barren stretches, the sun beat down on us hotter than nine kinds of hell. At times out on the High Plains of New Mexico Territory, the dust was so thick I could hardly see the cattle around me. There was no wind and the dust stirred up by this many cattle, just hung in the air forever and ever. I had wet my two bandanas in the river and tried to keep a wet one tied over my face with my hat pulled low. My eyes were caked in dust and grit at the end of each day. I knew the others were the same way because I could see their dust covered hats, faces, clothes and horses.

With the Southern Range of the Rocky Mountains rising in the distance to the west, we made our way out of the High Plains called – Llano Estacado – which Mr. Charlie pronounced, yano esta kaðo.

After crossing smaller rivers and cricks, we finally came to a wider river. Looking on my map again, I decided this had to be the Canadian. The same Canadian River I had crossed when I rode south through Indian Territory with Eloise Sutter and her two daughters, Melody and Melanie. The same Canadian which crosses The Panhandle near Amarillo Crick and wanders its way back up into Indian Territory.

It took us forty-six days to travel from the Texas Panhandle, down to Roswell, then wind back up through the High Plains, through the mountain passes, up the canyons and across the rivers of New Mexico, before finally nearing the southern border of Colorado.

Mr. Charlie told us that he’d discovered a new passage around Raton Pass, which was located in the mountains near the northeast corner of New Mexico. He said there was a man who claimed ownership of Raton Pass, and charged ten cents a head for cattle to pass through.

We were already up to three thousand and some, head of cattle, which would have cost us three hundred dollars or more. That cost would have been like losing at least fifteen head of cattle.

Once we’d made our way down the other side of the mountains into Colorado, the trail through this part of the country was much better and it only took us another twelve days to make Pueblo from Raton, New Mexico.

With the peaks of the Rocky Mountains off in the distance, rising up to touch the western sky, we circled around the east side of Pueblo to a place where Mr. Charlie knew of a spot we could ford the Arkansas River with the herd.

Here was another river I had crossed before. I crossed the Arkansas over in southern Kansas after I met the Sutters and was talked into to take them to Fort Worth through Indian Territory. I was getting a first hand lesson in geography as I traveled the southwestern part of America. All the times I’d read about this land in my school books and all the times I had looked at my map, really helped me understand where I was as we traveled. I sure am glad Mr. Charlie and Mr. John let me tag along as a partner on this trail drive.

Up ahead of me, I watched as two of the Mexican vaqueros threw their lariats over the wide horns of a smaller cow. She was having trouble swimming in the deepest part and was about to drift off downstream when they lassoed her and pulled her across. Day after day, I see these men earn every last dollar of their wages on this trail drive. Sometimes risking their own lives to save one cow.

Once we had this large herd across the Arkansas River, Mr. Charlie told me, Indira, Little Frank and Nicolas to go with him. He already had six of the cowhands picked out to drive his ranch herd back and join the main herd.

Somewhere along the trail, we had picked up another hundred or so head of cattle. None of them were branded, when the cowboys pointed out the shorthorn cattle to us the next day.

Little Frank and Nicolas knew the way and took the men with them to Mr. Charlie’s ranch. Mr. Charlie took Indira and me with him to The Stock Growers Bank of Pueblo. With him beside me, I deposited all the money I had on me except for five hundred dollars. Indira had a hundred and twenty dollars – with her pay and with her winnings at Fort Stockton. She smiled as she stacked a hundred of her money beside mine to be deposited. I could have kissed her right there in front of everybody in the bank, I was so proud of my Mexican woman.

Our clothes had not completely dried from crossing the river and we were smelly, grubby, and gritty from the trail dust, but Mr. Charlie took us to a fine hotel to eat our first real meal in over three months. I ate two beef steaks that were as big as my stoneware plate and Indira ate a whole one just as big.

Mr. Charlie was smiling as we walked out.

“Joss, you and Indira need to purchase some new clothes, get a room with hot baths and spend the night. You’ll still catch the herd way before I will tomorrow. I’m going home to spend the night with my wife, Molly. I’ll see you sometime late tomorrow.”

We did exactly what he told us, we went back inside the hotel and paid for a room. Then we walked down the street where I bought me some new denims, a new hat and boots, and some new socks. I didn’t buy fancy dress-up clothes, just ranch clothes.

In another store, I bought Indira a new white dress which touched the floor when she put it on. The smile on her face made me want to buy her more clothes, but that could wait. We walked into a store where they sold deerskin britches and shirts. I bought Indira two sets of shirts and britches, and two pair of moccasins. I bought three more deerskin shirts for myself, then bought both of us two pair of cowhide gloves and a new set of chaps, since the ones we’d been wearing, were just about frazzled out from the brush, sweat, dirt, and the hot sun baking down on us.

Back in our room, the tubs were filled with steaming water when we stripped and bathed each other. We dried off and went straight to bed, even though it wasn’t dark yet.

“Indira, I want to make love to you here in this fancy hotel on this soft bed with clean sheets. We can fuck anytime we want to, but this time, I want us to make love.”

“Joss, will you leave your cock in my pussy when we get our come this time?”

“If you’re sure about it I will.”

“I want to have your baby in my belly when we arrive in Kansas and meet your other women. I want to be your woman the same as they are.”