Ralph Compton The Sagebrush Trail

Chapter One

When Ethan Miller bought his ranch it was called the Bar W. The first thing he did was change the name to Paradise. It had long been his ambition to have a large ranch. That's why he had been saving his pay from the army for many years. When he finally left the service, just after the war, he was able to buy the Bar W and rename it.

The ranch was located about ten miles outside of Bozeman, Montana. Ethan sat on his porch with a cup of coffee, watching the horses in the corral move about. This was just part of the herd he had amassed, which he was preparing to sell. He hoped that the proceeds from the sale would be what he had always imagined they would be.

He also watched his men as they did their work, preparing the horses to be driven to market. He just wasn't yet sure where they were going to drive them to.

Moses, his houseman, came out of the house with a pot of coffee.

"More coffee, suh?"

"Yes, Moze," Ethan said, "and how many times have I told you to stop calling me sir? We're not in the army anymore."

"Yes, Cap'n," the Black man said.

Moze stood there a moment, also staring at the corral.

"This looks jus' like you described all those times on the field, sir."

"Yes, Moze," Ethan said, "it does, doesn't it . . ."

Virginia

April 9, 1865

Captain Ethan Miller was serving in the Cavalry Corps of the army of the Potomac under General Philip Sheridan. He was sitting in his command tent, studying the map on the table before him, waiting to hear if they were going to go into battle in the morning.

Private Moses Jefferson came into the tent carrying a steaming plate of food and a cup of coffee.

"Supper, suh."

"Thanks, Moze," Ethan said. "Put it there." There was some space on the table that was not taken up by the map.

"Also," Moze said, "Lieutenant Ashforth wants ta see ya, suh."

Ethan sat back in his chair, grabbed his plate and fork and said, "Send 'im in, Moze."

"Yessuh."

Moze left and, moments later, a tall, slender man, fifteen years younger than Ethan, entered.

"I'll say it again, Captain," he said. "That nigger don't belong in this man's army. He's a goddamned slave."

"He was a slave, Lieutenant," Ethan said. "Then he became a free man and joined our side."

"To fight slavery," Ashforth said, shaking his head.

"Isn't that what we're all fightin'?" Ethan asked. He put some stew into his mouth.

"No," Ashforth said, "it ain't as simple as that, and you know it."

"Then what are you fightin' for, Lieutenant?" Ethan asked, pointing at the man with his fork.

"I'm fightin' for there to be one president," Lieutenant Ashforth said. "The one true president, Abraham Lincoln."

"What did you want, Lieutenant?" Ethan asked, putting the plate down.

"I think it's time to deploy the men, sir," Ashforth said.

"Not yet," Ethan said. "We're still waitin' to hear from Appomattox."

Ashforth snorted.

"You really think Lee's gonna surrender?"

"I'm hopin' he will," Ethan said. "Then I don't have to send these men into battle again."

"That's what they're here for," Ashforth said. "That's what we're here for. You may not like this war, but-"

"And you do?" Ethan asked, cutting the man off. "You like war, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not afraid of it," the younger man said. "If you want me to give the order, I will."

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Ethan said. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to give any orders."

Ashforth started to leave the tent, then stopped.

"You know, the men don't like you havin' that slave here."

"I told you, he's not a slave," Ethan said. "He's a soldier."

"Well, you treat him like a slave," Ashforth said. "He cooks for you, washes your uniform, shines your buttons-"

"I don't ask him to do any of those things," Ethan said. "He volunteers."

"Then maybe he likes bein' a slave," Ashforth said. "Maybe he should go back."

"He's bein' paid, Lieutenant," Ethan said, "just like the rest of us. Slaves were never paid. Go have your supper." Ethan picked his plate up again.

"Yes, sir."

Ashforth left the tent. Ethan took another bite of the stew, then set it down. He'd had enough of this war. If Lee didn't surrender, and he had to send his men into battle again in the morning . . .

He looked up as the tent flap was flipped again and another man walked in. He had sergeant's stripes on his arm. The only reason for that was that he would not accept a battlefield commission to lieutenant. He didn't want to be an officer.

"What'd he want?" Sergeant William Granger asked. At fifty he was only a year or two older than Ethan.

"War," Ethan said, "what else?"

"Too bad you have to have him as your second," Granger said.

"I wanted you as my second, but you won't take the promotion."

Granger made a face.

"I hate officers," he said. "I don't wanna be one."

"How are the men, Grange?" Ethan asked.

"Antsy," Granger said. "They want it to be over."

"So do I," Ethan said.

"Montana's callin' you?" Granger asked.

"You know it," Ethan said. "You're comin' with me, right?"

He'd asked the man half a dozen times already.

"I'll tell you what," Granger said, "I'll go with you, but I don't wanna be no foreman. I just wanna be a ranch hand."

"I need a foreman, Grange."

"You're gonna take some of the other men with you, right?" Granger asked.

"If they'll come," Ethan said.

"Make Taggart your foreman," Granger said. "He'll go with you, and he's a good man."

Corporal George Taggart was a good man, but he wasn't Granger.

"We'll see," Ethan said.

Granger pointed to the plate.

"Eat that," he said. "Who knows when we'll get hot food, again."

"You don't think Lee's gonna surrender, do you?" Ethan asked.

"No, I don't," Granger said, and left the tent.

Ethan picked up the plate and continued eating.

Moze came in later to collect the plate and hand Ethan a fresh cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Moze."

"Yessuh."

Before Moze could leave, Ethan said, "Tell me, Moze, what do you want to do after the war?"

"What can I do?" the Black man asked, with a shrug. Moze was supposed to be in his forties, but Ethan had the feeling he lied about his age to get into the Union Army. He suspected the man was in his sixties. "I been a slave my whole life."

"You're a free man now," Ethan said. "You can do whatever you want."

"Oh," Moze said, "I think we both knows that ain't true, Cap'n."

"Well then, how about you come along with me to my ranch in Montana?" Ethan said. "You can work for me. I'll pay you real well."

Moze smiled widely.

"I thought you'd never ask, Cap'n," he said. "I'll keep your house for you real good."

"We'll see what you're gonna do when we get there," Ethan said. "That's all."

"Yes, suh."

Moze started to leave, poking his head out, but then drew back in.

"They's a dispatch rider here with a message from headquarters, Cap'n."

Ethan stood.

"I guess that's what we've been waitin' for, Moze," he said. "Send 'im in."

Moze waved and stepped aside to let a man wearing corporal stripes to enter the tent.

"Captain Miller?" he asked.

"That's right."

"Dispatch, sir," the breathless corporal said, holding it out.

"Thank you, Corporal."

"You, uh, mind if I stay while you read it, sir?" the soldier asked.

"Why not?" Ethan asked. "You stayin', Moze?"

"Yessuh!" Moze looked outside. "And they's plenny others out here waitin', too."

"Well then," Ethan said, "let's not keep any of them waitin' any longer."

He opened the dispatch, read it, then looked at Moze and the corporal.

"Let's step outside," he said.

"Yessir," the corporal replied.

He and Moze left the tent, and Ethan followed. Outside, standing in a semicircle, was a crowd of men, among them Lieutenant Ashforth.

"Men," Captain Ethan Miller said, "at one o'clock this afternoon, in the Appomattox Court House, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant. It took a while for this word to reach us, but for all intents and purposes . . . the war is over! Or, as General Grant announced, the Rebels are our countrymen again."

The men began shouting and tossing their hats in the air, with the sole exception of Lieutenant Anthony Ashforth, who was scowling. Later he would be heard to say, "No Johnny Reb will ever be my countryman."

Ashforth, leading a band of men loyal to him, would go on fighting his war for a long time . . .

Chapter Two

Bozeman, Montana

1867

In addition to Taggart and Granger, twelve of the men who served under Captain Ethan Miller came to Paradise with him. George Taggart agreed to be foreman. Moze came and accepted the job of taking care of Ethan and the house. It may have been similar to what he did as a slave, but he was being paid. His cousin Abraham, a freed slave, came later to cook for the men.

Bill Granger, who had been friends with Ethan before they went into the army, agreed to work for him, but reinforced that he wanted to be only a hand, not a foreman.

"Supper be ready in ten minutes," Moze announced. "Is Mr. Granger comin' tonight?"

"Yeah, he'll be here."

Most of the time Ethan ate in his house alone. He enjoyed the serenity. He was used to eating with the sound of artillery in the distance. However, in the mornings he went to the mess hall and had breakfast with the men. He felt it was important to keep in contact with them, and let them know he was no longer "Captain" Miller, even though he was superior.

While Moze cooked supper for him every night, Abraham cooked for the men. When they went on a drive, Moze rode in the chuck wagon with his cousin, and they shared the duties.

Everything Ethan had wanted for Paradise had pretty much come to fruition. The only problem he still had was income. The horses he had now-half of them wild, half animals that he had bred-were supposed to bring in a good chunk of money. They represented security and could set him up for the life he wanted. If it happened, he would be amazed that it had taken only two years.

He was getting ready to go inside for supper when he saw Granger approaching the house.

"Hungry?" Ethan asked.

"Starvin'," Granger said.

"Moze says supper's on the table," Ethan said, standing and tossing away the stub of his cigar.

"Let's go!" Granger said.

In the beginning Granger had felt uncomfortable eating in the house with Ethan. Not because they were friends, but because it made him stand out from the other men. That was why he told Ethan that he would eat with him "occasionally" and not every night. He felt it was more important that he eat with the other hands.

Taggart, as foreman, also made sure to eat with the men. On rare occasions, Ethan would invite him to his table, but it was usually so they could discuss business.

Over a supper of fried chicken, vegetables, and biscuits, Ethan asked, "How's everythin' goin'?"

"Most of the horses are ready to go," Granger said. "There are still some wild ones up in the Big Sky Meadow that we have to round up, but we can get that done tomorrow."

"That's good."

"What about the buyer?" Granger asked.

"I'm goin' to Bozeman tomorrow," Ethan said. "There should be a telegram waitin' for me."

"You think you're gonna get your price?"

"I hope so."

"A hundred and fifty a head?" Granger said. "In the war we could get a horse for ten dollars."

"'Ten-dollar horse, forty-dollar saddle,' right?" Ethan quoted.

"I remember that," Granger said, with a smile.

"If I get that price everybody gets a bonus, and we stay afloat for a long time to come," Ethan said.

"And who's this buyer, again?"

"Some sort of international circus that needs horses," Ethan said.

"Wow," Granger said. "So these horses would be goin' toward entertainin' people, not killin' 'em."

"That's the idea." Ethan grabbed another chicken breast. Moze knew he liked them, so when he cooked chicken it was mostly breasts. "How are the men?"

"They're all set," Granger said. "Taggart's assigned them their jobs and they're ready."

"So I guess the rest is up to me," Ethan said.

Granger poked around in the pile of chicken on the platter in the center of the table.

"No legs?"

"All breasts, remember?" Ethan said. "You want legs, tell Abraham."

"Right." He grabbed a breast, took a big bite. "Takin' anybody to town with you tomorrow?"

"I wasn't going to," Ethan said. "You wanna come?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Fine. Meet me out front at nine, after breakfast."

Granger nodded.

After supper they sat on the porch together, smoked cigars, and drank coffee.

"It's been two years, you know," Ethan said. "You can move into the house. I'll even give you a piece of Paradise."

"This place is yours," Granger said, "your dream. I just wanna work the horses."

"Okay," Ethan said, with a smile, "so take your cigar and get off my porch. I'll see you in the mornin'."

Granger laughed and left the porch.

In the morning Ethan went to the mess and had flapjacks and bacon with Granger, Taggart, and the men.

"Grange says you're goin' to Bozeman today," Taggart said.

"That's right."

"Makin' your sale?"

"Yep."

Taggart stacked the flapjacks high on his plate.

"I'll have the men ready by the time you get back."

"You'll have those horses from the meadow?"

"Oh, yeah," Taggart said. "I'm goin' out there myself with three men."

"Good. I want to be ready to leave as soon as we get the word."

"We'll be ready, boss," Taggart said.

Granger was sitting at the other end of the long table. When breakfast was over and all the men started to leave the mess, Ethan walked over to the house and found Granger already waiting there with their horses.

"I didn't ask you to saddle my horse," he said.

"Hey," Granger said, "you're the boss, remember?"

They mounted up and headed for Bozeman.

Bozeman had been founded only three years earlier by John Bozeman, who also established the Bozeman Trail, which led to Virginia City.

For a town only three years old, however, it was growing in leaps and bounds, especially since gold had been discovered near Virginia City. But all Ethan felt he needed from it was the mercantile and the telegraph office. His men made use of the saloon, whorehouses, and cafŽs, all of which he had visited very rarely-or in the case of the whorehouse, not at all.