by Zane Grey
“Reckon I would long ago if I’d known what to do with the boys. I’ve got two nephews who’ve been brought up on hosses, an’ ridin’ cattle is their especial dish.”
“Ahuh. How many cowhands besides these boys?”
“Two. They ben with me long an’ I shore hate to see them go up the trail with the drivers. Dodge an’ Abilene are bad medicine.”
“Would these four hands fit in with the kind of outfit I want?”
“An’ what’s thet?”
“A young, sober, hard-ridin,’ straight-shootin’ outfit to run cattle with me West of the Pecos.”
“West of the Pecos! … Wal, Smith, I don’t believe you could beat these four boys in all Texas.”
“If I take them will yu sell?”
“Reckon I will. I can get ten dollars a haid at Dodge.”
“Shore, but thet’s there.”
“Wal, to get down to bed-rock. … Eight dollars, Smith.”
A deal was made. Slinger promised to find two more cowhands that he could absolutely guarantee. These were to go home with Hudson, and the herd was to be rounded up, and made ready for Pecos’ arrival, when he would pay his debt and go on.
“Course thet means Horsehaid Crossin’,” he pondered.
“Smith, it’s your best bet. The west trail is not so good. Grazed off in places. Water little an’ far between. My range is way at the haid of the Frio. You have a good road an’ fine conditions this season all the way to the old Spanish trail thet takes off west for the Pecos. With eight good men beside yourself, all well armed, you needn’t worry none aboot Indians. An’ you won’t lose a steer.”
“Done. I’m much obliged, Hudson.”
It took vastly more time to consider what else to buy and take back to Lambeth Ranch. Pecos wanted a home for Terrill and all the comforts possible to pack into the wilderness. For two days he had Terrill’s pretty head buzzing. Yet in spite of her glee and enthusiasm, when it came down to selections she rendered a vast and sensible help.
Pecos bought three wagons, one new and the others second-hand, and twelve horses, all of which were acquired at a low figure. But when these three larger vehicles were loaded to the seats they represented several thousand dollars in value, not including Terrill’s precious treasures. What with Pecos’ armament, and food supplies for a year, furniture, tools, bedding, lumber, leather goods, boots, clothing, utensils, lamps, oil, and so many other needful articles that Pecos could not remember them all, the wagons were heavily laden.
“Gosh! My hair shore raises when I think of crossin’ the river with these loads,” ejaculated Pecos, in mingled concern and hope.
“Wal, yore hair might be raised afore we git thar,” remarked Johnson, dryly.
At last they left Rockport early one morning with Slinger and Johnson each driving a wagon, and Pecos the third, with Cinco haltered behind. Terrill, back in her old blue jeans and jacket, and a battered old sombrero she had picked up somewhere, astride her buckskin mustang, rode beside Pecos for all the world, to his glad eyes, a boy again.
Chapter XVI
HUDSON’s range took in the headwaters of the Rio Frio, and it was a rugged beautiful country that captivated Pecos’ eye.
The very day Pecos arrived with his three wagons buffalo were sighted in the wonderful sheltered valley where Pecos’ two thousand long-horns had been grazing. Buffalo seldom traveled west so far as the Rio Pecos, but according to Hudson isolated herds, probably separated by the hunters from the main body, often wandered up the Frio. Even before Pecos had arrived a buffalo hunt had been planned for him.
Hudson’s ranch-house betrayed the bachelor and one who was used to the elemental life. It was located up in a pass, between two round-top hills, where the wind blew eternally. Terrill vowed it would have driven her crazy.
“Why wind!” ejaculated the old Texan, in surprise. “It wouldn’t be home without wind.”
“Lord! what’d a norther do heah?” replied Pecos. “Hudson, we live down in a canyon where it seldom blows. No dust. Never very cold, even when the northers blow.”
“Wal, no one man can hope to know the whole of Texas,” returned the rancher.
On first sight Pecos formed a most satisfying estimate of the outfit he had hired through Jeff Slinger and Hudson. The brothers, John and Abe Slaughter, were typical Texans, born on the range, stalwart six-footers, almost like twins. Texas Jack was a bullet-headed, jolly-featured, bow-legged cowhand who appeared to be one it might be well to have as a friend, and never as an enemy. Lovelace Hall was an extremely tall Texan, red-headed, and dark-eyed, an unusual type in Pecos’ experience, and said to be “hell on hosses, cows an’ other ornery things.” These two had been trail drivers and had been secured by Slinger. Hudson’s other two cowmen were strikingly different, as one was a Mexican vaquero and the other a negro. Lano, the former, was a slim lizard-like rider, darker than an Indian, stamped all over with incomparable horsemanship. The negro answered to the name Louisiana. In fact, Hudson had no other for him. He was medium-sized, but magnificently muscled, and had a pleasing, handsome face. These completed the sextette, and Pecos, seldom at a loss to gauge men, was greatly pleased.
“Fellers,” he said, intimately, “before we come to terms I have this to say. Accordin’ to Hudson, none of yu know Texas West of the Pecos. I wouldn’t be square with yu if I didn’t say it’s a hell of a tough nut to crack. Hard all the time, harder in winter, an’ turrible in summer. Lonesome as no other part of Texas. Even L’lano Estacado ain’t so lonesome. Gray, rocky, scaly ridges runnin’ forever down to the Pecos an’ away on the other side. A buzzard now an’ then, or a coyote, an’ rarer a deer. Wild hosses on the lower reaches, but few along the fifty miles of my ranges. Comanches always, Kiowas an’ Apaches occasionally. Soldiers few and far between. Rustlers bad an’ comin’ thicker. We’ll have to fight. No law except an old geezer named Judge Bean at Eagle’s Nest, an’ he’s a highway robber.”
Pecos rested a moment to catch his breath and to let all that sink in.
“But West of the Pecos it’s the grandest cow-country on the face of the earth. I am aimin’ big. I know the game. I have the grass, the water, the start in cattle. What I need is a fightin’, hell-rattlin’, hard-shelled outfit. I’d be grateful alone for yu drivin’ this new herd out there for me. But I want yu all to stick. There is a future out there for the right kind of men. If I make out big—as I shore could do with yu fellers all keen an’ hot on the prod—I will give yu an interest, or help you to make a start yoreselves. An’ for the present I’ll pay yu more than yu’re earnin’ heah. Thet’s all. Think it over while we’re gettin’ acquainted.”
Later Hudson told Pecos that he had overheard Lovelace Hall say to his comrades: “Fellers, we’ve nothin’ to lose an’ everythin’ to gain. Thet talk of Pecos Smith’s was as straight as Slinger says he can shoot.”
Next day they hunted buffalo as shy as wild mules, which were the wildest animals Pecos had ever hunted. Six bulls were killed, two by the Ranger Johnson, who knew the game. The cowhands accounted for three, and the other fell to Pecos and Terrill.
Pecos disclaimed the credit and Terrill did likewise.
“Wal, if I didn’t see Terrill stagger thet bull my eyes are pore,” remarked Hudson, with a twinkle in those members. “An’ it shore fell before it got near enough to Smith for a last shot.”
“Terrill, yu get that robe,” drawled Pecos.
“What aboot all the robes an’ the meat? I cain’t use any more. Besides, I’m leavin’ for Santone.”
“Dog-gone! I never thought of packin’ hides an’ meat,” declared Pecos. “We just haven’t got the room. Hudson, will yu sell me a wagon an’ team?”
“No. But I’ll throw them in the bargain.”
Half of the next day was taken up in skinning and cutting up the buffalo. And on the following day, at sunrise, Pecos’ caravan of wagons, riders, and cattle set out on the long slow drive.
It was a leisurely procedure for the wagons,
at least. Pecos drove one of the teams and Terrill sat on the wagon with him. They talked and planned, and made love, and dreamed of the future, and marveled at the long string of cattle grazing ahead, not so wild a bunch as was usual with that breed. The slow pace made Terrill drowsy, and finally, when Pecos rested the horses at the foot of a hill, she went to sleep. When she awoke the first thing she did was to make sure that her precious trunk was still on the wagon, carefully hidden and protected.
“Pecos Smith, if we run into Comanches and they get my trunk—you lose me,” she averred.
“If they go thet far you bet yore sweet life we’ll all be daid.”
“We’re going to be raided. I feel it in my bones.”
“Terrill darlin’, Comanches ride usually in bunches of thirty or forty. What chance would such a bunch have with this outfit, heeled like we are?”
Long before sunset the day’s drive ended. The camp site was ideal; Pecos could look afar to the west and see the dim ghosts of the mountains, somewhere beyond the lower brakes of the river. The cowhands, eating supper in relays of three, were happy, which augured well for the state of the herd. With this the case, with grass and water abundant, and wood for fire and Terrill singing, Pecos gazed at the evening star and thought it was rising for him.
The next day, as far as action and result were concerned, seemed like the first. And so, one after another the slow days accumulated with only minor mishaps that occasioned no delay. The weather stayed fine, cold at night, stinging at dawn, warm at midday.
“Pecos, do you ever stop to think how—how strange and natural a long drive gets to be?” queried Terrill, dreamily.
“Don’t I? Ha! It’s life, Terrill, an’ with yu it’s heaven.”
“Pecos Smith, I don’t believe I could bake biscuits without you getting sentimental,” she retorted.
“Wal, yu’ll have to show me aboot the biscuits.”
But he understood her. There grew to be something beautiful in such a long ride into wild country. The anticipation and labor of preparation, the endless gossip of accident, weather, scant grass and water, savages, the worries about what might happen and never did happen, the gradual fading away of the influence of towns and people—these things ceased magically to loom and were eventually forgotten. Storms and floods, stampedes and Indians, certainly could and did disrupt the peaceful tenor of such days as these. Terrill ceased to mention them; she even forgot her trunkful of delights that revived the memories of her old home. And Pecos dreamed while he watched the horizon.
He would have preferred to dream in his saddle, because the wagon seat was hard and uncomfortable and he was a poor teamster. Nevertheless, no journeying of his down into the wilderness had ever been comparable to this. The sun rose red, shone pale at noon, gold at eventide, and that was another day. That long-horn herd might have been especially trained for him. What little trouble they gave! How few had strayed! He had to award all praise to his riders.
Day by day the landscape imperceptibly changed. A mile was an atom on that vast western upheaval of Texas, yet to keen eyes each mile told of the approach toward the more barren regions that sheered north to the Staked Plains, and west to the brakes of the Pecos. Yet still there was good water to be had, and fair grazing. Pecos’ herd gained weight. Now and then a bleached skull of a steer, ghastly reminder of less fortunate drives, gleamed under the pale sun.
A day came, however, that stood out like a landmark. The caravan cut off from old Fort McKavett toward the military road that stretched west toward the Horsehead Crossing of the Pecos. This sheering off was, of itself, a stirring change. But when Terrill came radiant of eye to cry out: “Oh, Pecos, I know this road! I remember the hills. I came by here. … I will show you the old camps. … It seems so long ago. … Oh, Pecos!”
Downgrade all day they drove, with the cattle moving faster, owing to a thinning of the grass. And that night they made dry camp, the first of the long drive. Next day they crossed water, and on the third made Dove Creek. A thicketed bottomland, with a clear stream, held the stock.
Terrill showed Pecos where she had slept in the wagon. She remembered a tree where she had sat at twilight, melancholy and sad, longing for home yet never wanting to go back, pondering doubtfully over the future, fearful of the ever-growing wildness of this dark-gray stone ledged land.
“Oh, I cried so hard,” said Terrill, her eyes picturing that past hour. “It was a day when all had gone wrong. Dear old Dad—so seldom discouraged! But this day he was down, and I went down too. I could not see any hope in the future—anything but dreadful pain and loneliness. … Oh, Pecos, how terribly wrong I was! What a child! … Oh, if I had ever dreamed then that I was to meet you, love you, be loved by you—I would not have cried myself sick that day.”
“Terrill, what do yu suppose I would have done in the past, if I’d ever dreamed I was to meet yu, love yu, be loved by yu?” returned Pecos, in a passion of regret. “I never dreamed of a yu, darlin’, yet somethin’ kept me from goin’ plumb to hell.”
Another day set Pecos’ caravan on the old military road.
The sun hazed over. There was a chill in the air and a wind rustled the brush. No living creature of the wild crossed Pecos’ vision. The coyotes had ceased following the herd. Something, perhaps an instinct, encroached the leisurely travel. Pecos felt a slight restlessness. Despite the weeks and leagues behind, the way still was long. The horses lagged less; the cattle plodded on sometimes without looking for grazing. That night at Kinway Creek, after the best and longest day’s journey of the trip, the cowmen did not sing on guard or joke around the camp fire.
Johnson had picked up Indian mustang tracks not many days old.
Pecos decided to put Louisiana on the wagon and take to the saddle next day. He talked with Jeff and Johnson.
“Wal, it ain’t anythin’ to see Indian signs,” said Slinger. “Not up heah, anyway. The land is shore heavin’ an’ grayin’ for the Staked Plains.”
Johnson was not sanguine. He did not appear to be a talkative man. Pecos decided the chances were ever that they would have a brush with the Indians. The Slaughter boys and Lovelace Hall were out on night guard. Texas Jack lay asleep in his blanket, his head on his saddle. Lano and Louisiana stood beside the fire, toasting one side, then the other.
Pecos walked away from camp toward where the herd rested and slept. In the main the steers were quiet. Calves born on the way bawled drearily. Travel was hard on them. The guards sat their horses, or rode to and fro, to edge in a stray. All seemed well. It was only the silent night, the cold wind, the encroaching monotony, the long, long way.
Terrill was still awake. She called to Pecos as he was passing. The little tent was just barely large enough for her bed and duffle.
“Lady, one bad thing aboot you, anyhow, is yu cain’t sleep with yore boots on,” said Pecos, reflectively, as he sat on the bed. Terrill had felt for his hand and found it.
“Pecos, you are worried,” she whispered.
“Not a tall, dear. But I’m just thoughtful.”
“Well, the men are. I heard Johnson talking to Slinger. But how much easier we are than Dad’s outfit when it camped here years ago. Pecos, I think the country grows on you.”
“Ahuh. Wish we could drill right on instead of waitin’ for the cattle.”
“But we cain’t. All our hopes are in that herd. Pecos, I feel like Mauree when she has ‘second sight,’ as Sambo calls it. We are going to get across.”
“Shore we are, honey. Dog-gone, but yore a game kid. I don’t mind admittin’ thet it’s yu I buckle on. But for yu, this drive would be apple pie. Last day or so it’s come home to me. Yu’re the real stuff, Terrill. But yu’re a woman, an’ no man ought to risk yu on this cussed Hosshaid Trail.”
“Dad risked me. All the settlers risk their wives and daughters. We can’t be left behind. Besides, Pecos dear, don’t you exaggerate this woman idea? I can ride and I can shoot. I’m not the least bit afraid. I will not be in the way. And I’ll
bet I can keep my haid under better than you.”
Pecos rose with a fervent: “Thet’s just it, Terrill. Yore nerve, yore spirit, yore faith. Yu beat me all hollow. ’Cause yu have other an’ finer feelin’s. More courage. Thet’s what kills me. … I’m prayin’ Gawd to see yu through safe. … Good-night!”
Dead Man’s Water Hole was the next camp, reached late in the evening of a dark and dismal day. If a norther threatened, it did not materialize. That night Pecos stood hours on guard at camp, giving way to Slinger after midnight. Wolves mourned from the ridges above the restless herd. There were four cowhands on duty. Terrill was awake when Pecos noiselessly crept past the little tent. She called a good-night to him. Then he sought his own bed under a tree.
One more day to Wild China Water Holes, then a long drive to Horsehead Crossing. That second day would be the rub. Again the signs of Indian mustangs had perturbed Pecos. And in the morning Johnson informed him that a score or more of Kiowas or Comanches had camped right on that spot two, or at the most, three, days ago.
“Take charge, Johnson,” replied Pecos, curtly.
Lano was fetching in the saddle horses; it was Texas Jack’s day with the cooking chores; Slinger was greasing the wagon wheels; Johnson strode off to a high point with his field-glass; the cattle grazed down the road.
A wintry sun shone fitfully through the dreary clouds and lighted the winding road down toward the Pecos. Out of the gray blur showed dark-spotted hills and blank spaces and white streaks, all forbidding, all the menace of the Pecos.
At breakfast Johnson unfolded his first surprise. “Men, we’ll stay heah today, rest an’ graze the stock. Everybody sleep some. We’ll make the long drive into Hosshaid tonight.”
It was a wise move, no doubt, but it enhanced suspense and wore upon all. Pecos had to find what work offered to counteract his restlessness. He was no trail driver, and he marveled at those doughty Texans who had endured the waits, the stampedes, the toils and fights of the Chisholm Trail.
Terrill, however, slept at least half the day. When she was about camp she seemed quiet, a little strained, but always that ready, beautiful smile flashed for Pecos.
