by J. T. Edson
‘Nope.’
‘Good, the breed didn’t have to hit him. I was for taking a quirt to Twofeathers, but we was in a hurry. Take it kind that you didn’t hurt young Sim real bad.’
The Kid whistled shrilly, then replied, ‘Had Hobie been hurt, we’d have been some less friendly.’
Hooves thundered and a big white horse raced round the side of the house, travelling at a dead run. Hendley knew this was the chance he had been waiting for. He spun round ducking and flailing a looping blow which he hoped would catch the young man. His fist hit only empty air and the force of his blow staggered him off balance.
The Kid stood, not just behind, but some distance back. He had been as keenly aware of the danger at the time of his departure as had Hendley, and to avert it moved back silently. He looked down with a mocking smile and drawled ‘You been learning from beginners, friend.’
Saying this he whirled and ran forward, caught the mane of the big white and vaulted aboard, sheathed his knife and sent his mount racing away into the night.
Hendley dived for his gun and caught it up. He came up to one knee and lined it, easing back the hammer. Then he shook his head, lowered the hammer again and rose, shoving the gun back into leather. ‘’T’wouldn’t be right, not after they left us two horses for the night-herd.’
Toon, Kenny and some more of the crew came out of the house as they heard the sound of the horse. They listened as Hendley, with many a lurid curse, told of how the Ysabel Kid had handled the entire business. They cursed the black-dressed, baby-faced rider from the Rio Grande, but there was admiration for a master in their curses.
‘Get the crew out,’ Toon howled at the end. ‘We’ll take out after them and get the—’
‘Get nothing, we won’t,’ Hendley contradicted. ‘For one thing, there ain’t but two horses left—and them for the night-herd. For another, and more important, them’s the Ysabel Kid and Kiowa out there. The man who goes after that pair in the dark’s asking for more trouble than plenty, and then some.’
Kenny nodded his sage agreement. ‘Was I a praying man, I’d say Amen to that.’
Six – Point Them Out
‘Aren’t they back yet?’
Disappointment tinged Thora’s voice as she stood on the ranch-house porch in the cold pre-dawn light.
Out front all was activity, Hobie and the Rocking H’s temporary cook had been up some time and the rest of the trail-drive crew had been turned out to get a hot meal. Dusty, with a plate loaded with ham and eggs, answered Thora’s query; ‘Nope, but the crew have to be fed so we can make a start.’
‘A start?’ Thora stared at her trail boss. ‘We can’t start without Salt. Hobie can’t handle the wagons and the cooking.’
‘Then he’d surely best learn, and fast.’ Dusty replied, ‘Tarbrush can handle the bed wagon today and, afore we need food, Salt’ll likely be back.’
‘But what if they can’t get the sourdough keg back?’
‘Salt’ll have to throw up another as fast as he can.’
Mark came up carrying two plates; he handed one to Thora and they entered the house to sit down at the table. Ben Holland was all ready in the room and he greeted them. It never occurred to him that the Ysabel Kid and Kiowa might fail to get the keg back. He watched the worried lines on his wife’s face and smiled, ‘You get fed, honey. There won’t be another chance before night.’
Thora sat down and started to eat. Through the window she watched the wranglers bringing the remuda in and realized something. ‘Tarbrush has been out all night. He can’t drive the wagon all day.’
‘Reckon he’ll just have to get used to it,’ Dusty replied as he started to eat his breakfast.
The meal was over and the two Texans pushed back their chairs. Dusty held out his hand to Ben. ‘See you down the trail, Cousin Ben.’
After Dusty and Mark had left the room Ben pulled Thora’s head down and kissed her. ‘Now don’t you get to worrying. You’ll be all right, Dusty will get you through.’
Dusty and Mark stood watching the other men as they collected their horses from the cable corral which had been set up, using four sticks as supports. The wranglers were having no trouble with the remuda due to the time taken the previous night.
Each cowhand came up carrying his rope and looking for one of his mounts to pass by. Then the hand brought his rope up with one quick twirl in front, then up towards the right and overhead, and sent the loop out to turn flat and drop over the head of the chosen horse. This throw, the ‘hooley-ann’ was always used for catching horses in a corral. It was the best throw for the purpose, for the loop went right out, small and accurate, and dropped over the horse’s head with the minimum of fuss. Using the ‘hooley-ann’ throw several men could all be roping at the same time without unduly exciting the rest of the remuda.
Dusty took his big paint for first horse. The stallion and Mark’s blood bay had come in separate from, but following, the remuda and ran to their masters without needing roping. Dusty saddled his horse and then, as Tarbrush rode by on his mule, yelled for him to take the bed wagon.
‘How’s the remuda?’ Mark inquired.
‘Handled wuss,’ the Negro replied cheerfully. ‘You all done got a big ole claybank that don’t like us none at all.’
Mark and Dusty could feel some sympathy for the Negro; both knew they wouldn’t take to riding night-hawk. Tarbrush would spend the night riding herd on the remuda and try to get what sleep he could in the back of the bed wagon as it bounced along behind the herd.
Today he wouldn’t even get that chance, unless Salt came back in time to let him.
Dusty swung into his low-horned, double-girthed Texas rig and sat watching Mark leading the hands out to the herd. Turning in his saddle, he saw Thora had one of her horses and was mounting it. The horse bounced a few bedsprings out of its system without giving her any trouble, and she rode to join him.
‘Ready to go?’ Dusty asked.
‘Yes, as soon as you are. How do we do it?’
‘Just get round them and point them in the right direction. I can show you better than tell it.’
They rode after the crew, side by side. Thora gave Dusty a warning, ‘You’ll have to expect a lot of questions from me. By the time I get back to Texas, I want to know all about trail-drive work.’
‘You’ll likely know,’ Dusty drawled. ‘But the first thing you have to learn is that we don’t drive the cattle—or won’t after we get them off their home range. After today all we’ll have to do is keep them pointed the way we want them to go and let them amble along, grazing as they go. The hands’ll only need to keep the herd moving, stop them from straying, keep strays from joining the herd. Keep the stock from getting too bunched, or too scattered. That’s all there’s to it.’
Thora laughed; Dusty made it sound all too easy. She waited for him to tell her more, but they were in sight of the herd and there was no more time to waste on idle chatter.
The cattle were just beginning to stir from their night’s rest and the trail hands sat their horses ready.
Thora watched Dusty. The small man halted his big paint and then took off his hat to wave it.
‘Head ’em up!’ he yelled. ‘Point ’em north.’
At the order, all the hands started their horses towards the herd. Shrill yells came from the men as they urged their mounts towards the cattle. Steer after steer came up and started to move, milling and circling. Then a big red beast slammed through the others, horns swinging and bowling lesser creatures from the way. He was watched with keen and knowing eyes. Mark and Billy Jack moved in on either side of the big red steer and headed him towards the north. This would be the lead steer, the others would follow him and, if he was able, he’d keep his place all the way to Dodge.
The rest of the cattle were up as riders came at them. They started to move and any attempt at going in another direction was met by a fast-riding man with a swinging, stinging rope. The swingmen moved into position as the cattle lined out, the
n the flank men dropped into place. At the rear the drag riders for the day, cursing in the rising dust, brought the rear up.
‘Have to hold them bunched for a spell,’ Dusty told Thora as he watched the herd start to move. ‘Cattle aren’t like humans—they don’t cotton to leaving their home section and seeing what’s over the next hill.’
To Thora, the scene below was one of confusion, but it was orderly confusion. The cowhands rode fast, twisting and whirling their horses like the masters they were.
Dusty turned his horse and headed off, leaving Thora watching. She rode towards the herd, wondering what she should do to help and afraid to try anything that made a nuisance of herself.
A steer broke from the line and cut off for the open range. There was no hand near and Thora felt her horse quiver. She shook the reins and allowed the trained cow horse to get after the steer. Thora saw the horse knew what to do and sat back to allow it to work. Heading after the steer, her horse caught up alongside it, and then cut round to turn it back towards the herd. Thora urged the horse to a bit more speed. This was a mistake. She came alongside the steer and a pair of long, sharp horns lashed round at her.
Jerking her leg away from the lashing horn, Thora lashed out with her quirt at the steer’s nose, landing hard on it.
Bellowing, the big animal turned and headed back for the safety of the herd.
Thora’s first essay into cattle work had not gone unnoticed. The handsome young cowhand called Dude had been on the point of cutting out to fetch the steer in and had been an interested witness instead. He whirled his cow horse by with a yell of, ‘You’ll make a hand, ma’am.’
Thora’s face flushed red, she hadn’t realized that she was being watched. She turned the horse to head along the line, and another broke out. Dude allowed it to go and she brought it back again. ‘The next one’s yours,’ she called.
Dude waved a cheerful hand, he had been told by the trail boss to keep an eye on Thora, but could see that he didn’t need. Thora was making a hand.
Dusty sat his paint and watched the herd moving. From a distance, he had watched Thora start work and was pleased with what he saw. Turning the paint, he headed back towards the ranch where the remuda waited.
Lil Jackie watched the trail boss approach and licked his lips nervously, waiting for his first orders. The horses of the remuda were restless, milling in the cable corral and waiting to be allowed to move out after the herd.
‘Bring on the remuda, boy,’ Dusty ordered. ‘Let them go easy and don’t let them get out of hand. If they do, and you can’t hold them, light out for the herd as fast as you can and get one of the hands to help you turn them. Don’t let them run into the drag; that could start a stampede!’
Dusty stayed watching the remuda for long enough to make sure his wrangler could handle the horses. Then he rode to the two wagons. Hobie was seated on the box of the chuck wagon, a bandage round his head but a cheerful look on his face.
‘You ready to roll?’
‘Sure thing, Cap’n. Want for me to move out?’
‘Nope, sit here until fall.’
Dusty watched some of the Rocking H hands coiling the cable. The two wagons started forward as soon as the cable was inside the bed wagon. Tarbrush sat on the box of the second and relaxed, he was a fair judge of horseflesh, and also of mules. From all the signs, he could have gone to sleep and this team would follow the chuck wagon. That was the way they had been trained, the way Salt had them trained.
Dusty whirled the big paint and rode back towards the herd. He passed the remuda and gave Little Jackie a friendly wave. Then he was up with the drag men.
The hands were still holding the herd tightly bunched and hazing them along. This was only necessary on the first few miles; after that, they could allow the cattle to scatter more and let them feed as they moved. The odd steer still tried to break back out of the line, but the hands rode too fast for this to happen. Thora, her face smudged with dust, came alongside Dusty as he headed for the point. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.
‘Fair. We’ll likely have a couple of head left when we reach Dodge.’ They rode side by side until they reached the point where Mark and Billy Jack rode on either side of the big red steer. Mark turned as he heard the hooves.
‘You fixing to run a trail count, Dusty?’ Mark asked.
‘Sure, soon as we get off the home range,’ Dusty agreed.
‘Trail count?’ Thora inquired.
‘Sure, we want to know how many we’ve got along.’
‘Is that important—I mean, to know exactly how many we’ve got along with us.’
‘Why sure, you know what they say about a trail boss?’ Thora nodded in reply to Dusty’s question and he went on; ‘I don’t want you to think I haven’t done the right things.’
Thora smiled; it looked as if the Texans driving for her were starting to accept her as one of them. Looking back at the long line of moving cattle she remarked, ‘We’re making good time, aren’t we?’
‘Sure,’ Mark agreed. ‘But we won’t drive them this ways again, not unless it’s a real emergency. Likely make us fifteen miles today, then slow down to between ten and twelve. It won’t hurt the cattle any to haze them like this today, they’ve been held down in the bottomlands and are fat and sassy. They’ll be leg weary tonight, ready to bed down.’
‘The ole red there looks like he’ll make a lead steer, Mark,’ Dusty put in.
‘Sure, happen he stays on top there won’t be much trouble from the others.’
Dusty pulled his horse off to one side, then sat back to watch the herd moving past. Thora joined him for there were a lot of questions she wanted to ask and this seemed like a good time to ask them. ‘Won’t we lose time if we stop to count the cattle?’
‘Would if we stopped. But, as we don’t, we won’t.’
‘Then how do you do it?’
‘We’ll show you, let you try your hand at it later.’ Dusty suddenly stiffened slightly and looked around the range.
‘What is it?’ Thora had seen the languor fall off Dusty before and knew it meant trouble in the air.
‘Nothing. I just got the feeling we were being watched.’
‘Thora looked around the rolling country; there was enough cover for any amount of watchers, but she could see nothing to disturb her. Neither could Dusty, but he had that instinct which came to men who rode dangerous trails.
They had covered three miles from the ranch by then and Dusty headed back along the line, making for the remuda. Others of the hands were taking a chance to go back and collect a fresh horse. Dusty watched the hands change mounts. Mark rode up a’fork the black which had caused the trouble at the rope corral. Halting Mark asked, ‘Any sign of Lon?’
‘Not yet. What do you reckon to the herd?’
‘Ben picked out good stock. Happen we get the sourdough keg back we’ll have most all we need.’
‘Why, sure.’ Dusty turned to scan the range again. ‘You get the feeling we’re being watched?’
‘Had it myself,’ Mark admitted. ‘But I haven’t seen anybody. When Lon gets here, you’d best have him light out and check.’
‘I’ll do just that,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Bet you a dollar they get it back for us.’
‘Not me.’ Mark had the same faith in their dark comrade. ‘Happen he found him a pretty girl and stopped on to sing to her.’
Dusty saw three riders top a distant rim and, even at that distance, recognized them. ‘Looks like her pappy done run him off with a shotgun.’
‘Sure.’ Mark would have liked to wait and hear the result of the Ysabel Kid’s adventure, but he had work to do. ‘I’d best get back to the point.’
Dusty headed back to meet the three riders. Passing the two wagons, he told them to halt. Salt was carrying the keg; Dusty could see that now, although he knew the three wouldn’t have returned without it. He waited and speculated idly on how the recovery had been made.
‘You took your time,’ he growled as the men ro
de up.
‘For them few kind words of praise and encouragement, sir, we surely thank you,’ the Kid replied. ‘It makes us feel real good to know we was missed and wanted.’
Kiowa grunted in sympathy and inquired as to their next duties. Salt held his keg and looked pleased with himself, but he didn’t get a chance to speak.
‘Take out for the rims ahead, Kiowa,’ Dusty ordered. ‘You fed?’
‘Called in at the spread and took us a bait.’ The Kid answered. ‘Then come as fast as the oldster could make it.’
‘Oldster?’ Salt bellowed. ‘Oldster! Why, you danged Injun, here’s me done all the work and this is how I gets treated!’
‘This’s nothing on how Basin’s going to treat you,’ Dusty warned. ‘He had to take a spare saddle after you lit out on his night horse, and he allows he’s getting galled by it.’
Salt headed for the chuck wagon and Hobie climbed down. He looked relieved when he saw the keg and, after taking care of the cow horse, went to take over the bed wagon. Tarbrush stretched and ambled round to climb in the back of the wagon and try to get some sleep.
The Kid and Kiowa changed horses at the remuda, then rode back to where Dusty was waiting for them. Thora came back at a dead gallop and brought her horse to a halt beside Dusty’s. She looked at the Kid as he came riding up and asked. ‘Did you get it?’
‘No ma’am. Mr. Toon done killed all three of us.’
‘You smell like it!’
Thora couldn’t have said a better thing if she had tried. The Kid was treating her as an equal and a member of the crew. Thora felt pleased that she had been able to think of and get out an answer at him.
The Kid told roughly what had happened at Toon’s spread. Thora got a far more accurate version later from Salt Ballew. The way the Kid told it, he had spent most of the night holding the horses, while Kiowa and Salt did all the work.
She nodded her approval when she heard that the trio had left Double T horses for the night-herd and had not stampeded the herd. Toon might not be friendly, but he was a neighbor and had enough troubles without adding to them.
