"Bring Me His Ears"

by Clarence Edward Mulford

"You fellers air stickin' purty clost ter us," observed Tom.

"But not as clost as th' greasers air," laughed Flint. "Danged if we kin ketch one o' 'em away from th' waggins."

"That's jest as well," replied Tom. "More'n half of 'em hate Armijo as much as we do. If ye pick 'em off careless yer bound ter make mistakes. Thar's one gang that's fer him strong, an' 'twon't be long before they split from th' others an' stand out so thar won't be no mistakin' 'em. They'll be trailin' me an' Hank in a bunch. We're aimin' ter slip away an' head fer Bent's some place between hyar an' the Upper Spring."

"Thought ye was goin' ter Santa Fe," said Burch in surprise. "If yer goin' ter Bent's ye should 'a' left th' train at th' Crossin'."

"I'm goin' ter Santa Fe," replied Tom, "but thar's some folks that air anxious ter see me. If they larn I'm thar I'll likely be stood ag'in a wall; an' Armijo'll add my ears ter his c'llection. We got ter throw 'em off our trail." He smiled grimly around the circle. "I don't want Salezar ter larn I'm in this part o' the country, fer I want ter git my paws on him."

At the mention of that name the eyes of the leader flamed with flickering fires and he leaned slightly forward, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Whar ye aimin' ter leave th' caravan, friend?" he asked.

"Don't know jest yet," answered Tom, "but I know th' way we'll head. Ye know whar th' waggin road crossed McNees Crick? Wall, plumb north o' that a crick empties inter th' Cimarron. Thar's a dry gully jines th' crick at its mouth, makin' a V. Th' gully war made by th' buffalers wearin' away th' top soil, which let the rains cut inter th' sand beneath an' wash it away. That buffaler trail is th' biggest ye ever saw, an' it's worn down so deep that every rain pours a stream along it. It's cut a gully back fer a hundred paces to whar th' buffaler wallers have turned a little pasture inter a swamp when it rains. Clost to its upper end is a hill, whar my partner built a cache about ten years back. He says th' pit could be easy seen when he war thar last."

"We're aimin' ter head fer Bent's as soon as th' caravan gits too fur along," said the leader, who not long since had returned from the lepers' hospital, used as a prison in his case, in Mexico City. His bitterness had seared him to the soul and Tom thought it strange that he so easily would forego the desire for revenge, the flames of which intermittently flickered in his eyes. "I've been wonderin' about th' best an' straightest way to Bent's, with water on it. Yer pardner says that's th' best trail?"

"Yes," replied Tom. "An' it's th' best fer us in another way. Thar's springs in th' river bed up thar an' fer near a mile th' river's allus wet. Ye see, we got ter throw th' greasers off our trail, which will be too danged plain, with two hosses an' eight mules. I'd swap th' eight mules fer two hosses, seein' as how we're fixed, but I dassn't make th' play, fer everybody in th' caravan would larn of it. Come ter think of it, thar'll be more hosses an' mules; couple o' friends air goin' with us. We change our packs tonight, buildin' 'em up with buffaler rugs we traded th' Comanches fer, in case we part with our goods an' leave th' caravan afterward. Th' two extra hosses would be enough ter carry our grub an' supplies, an' they'd let us make better time than th' mules would."

The Texans nodded and one of them glanced at his leader while he spoke to Tom. "Reckon if ye got them mules ter Bent's ye could sell 'em, or trade 'em fer a couple o' hosses?" He hesitated and then said: "We're runnin' powerful short o' powder an' lead."