“Nobody’s said anything about it,” said Lorna, “but all the cows and horses are getting very thin. The grass greens awful slow here in the high country.”
“I’m sure Cal’s been thinking about that,” Jasmine said. “I know Tom has. He says we’ll have to find some graze and fatten them some, before taking them to Deadwood.”
“Well, I’m not gonna worry about it,” said Curley. “Spring always comes, and there’s always grass.”
Lorna laughed. “You don’t worry about anything, do you? Have you taken to warming Bud’s blankets again?”
“No,” said Curley, coloring. “He’s making progress, but he still has to prove himself. I reckon I’ve encouraged him some, but I feel kinda like Quickenpaugh does. Bud’s got to do something besides talk. I’m hoping I’ll be able to trust him again, by the time we get the herd to Deadwood.”
“I suppose it’s just as well that you’re waiting until we reach Deadwood,” Jasmine said. “There’s not much room for man-and-wife time, when your bed’s a thin blanket on the cold ground and the rest of the outfit’s all around you.”
Lorna laughed. “You’re getting old, Jasmine. None of that bothered you on that long trail from Texas.”*
“You nosey little snip,” said Jasmine, “you were spying on me.”
“Only when I couldn’t sleep,” Lorna said.
“Neither of you had it tough as I did,” said Curley. “After I was shot, and Bud found out I wasn’t a man, I had trouble going to the bushes without him following me.
The Montana sky remained clear and the sun unseasonably warm. The ground seemed solid enough, but the right rear wheel of the chuck wagon lurched into a deep hole, and the mules couldn’t budge the wagon.
“Hey,” Bud shouted, “I’m stuck.” For emphasis, he fired a shot from his Colt.
Arch Rainey looked back, waved his hat to show that he understood and rode forward to stop the drive.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one having trouble seeing those holes,” said Lorna.
*Many tomorrows
*The Virginia City Trail (Trail Drive #7)
*The Virginia City Trail (Trail Drive #7)
6
POWDER RIVER, WYOMING TERRITORY.
APRIL 3, 1876
“HEAD ’EM UP, MOVE ’em out,” McCaleb shouted.
Again the herd took the trail. With McCaleb at point, Brazos and Will at swing, while Jed and Stoney Vandiver were the flank riders. Monte Nance and Pen Rhodes were riding drag, accompanied by Rebecca, Rosalie and Penelope. It was Susannah’s day to take over the reins of the chuck wagon, and she kept as close behind the drag riders as she could. Goose rode behind the chuck wagon for a while, and then rode forward to join McCaleb at point. Suddenly, somewhere from within the herd, came an agonizing bellow. For some reason—or perhaps no reason—two steers had began hooking one another. The rest of the herd began to shift, giving them room. Pen Rhodes drew his Colt and fired once. They must halt the drive, in case one of the cantankerous animals drew enough blood to stampede the herd. Stoney Vandiver was near enough to see what was happening, and he held his hat high, warning of the need to head the leaders. Without question, McCaleb, Will and Brazos got ahead of the drive, but they were too late. The pair of steers had hurt one another to the extent that their companions could smell the blood, and all hell broke loose. There was frenzied bawling and clacking of horns, as the herd broke up in the middle, allowing the spooked cattle to run. They stampeded toward the east, and none of the riders was in a position to head them. But Penelope kicked her horse into a fast gallop, trying to get ahead of the lead steers. Brazos and Rosalie could only watch in horrified silence, sighing with relief when she failed to get ahead of the herd. All the riders came together near the chuck wagon. One of the steers responsible for the stampede lay dead.
“Snowed in,” said Will, “and now this.”
“Yeah,” Brazos said. “We’re all gonna get old and die without ever going beyond the Powder River.”
“Knock it off,” said McCaleb. “This is not your first stampede. Will, you and Brazos skin that animal that was gored in the stampede. Penelope, give them a hand. The rest of us will go looking for the herd.”
“I’ll ride with the rest of you to find the herd,” Penelope said. “Skinning animals is squaw work.”
Goose grinned at her in appreciation of her insight.
“Damn it,” said Rosalie, so only Brazos could hear, “she’s going to become a female version of Goose.”
Brazos laughed. “Between Goose and me, we’ll make a real western woman of her.”
“Goose,” McCaleb said, “I want you to remain near the chuck wagon. If there’s any sign of trouble, fire three shots and we’ll come running.”
Goose nodded. Brazos and Will set out to skin the gored steer, while the rest of the outfit rode out to look for the herd.
“That Penelope’s slick as they come,” said Will. “If skinning animals is squaw work, what does that make us?”
Brazos sighed. “I’d as soon not think about that. Let’s just sympathize with the poor varmint that ends up with his boots under her bed. He’ll have to skin his own kill and scrape his own hides.”
“Maybe not,” said Will. “I reckoned it would be the ruination of Wyoming Territory when women were allowed to vote, but I can’t see that it’s hurt us.”*
McCaleb led the rest of the outfit in search of the scattered herd.
“I can’t see that they’ve slowed down much,” Pen Rhodes said. “Normally, it ain’t like a cow to run more than a mile or so before forgettin’ all about the stampede and settlin’ down to graze.”
“Graze is almighty thin,” said McCaleb. “The grass may not begin to green for another month. We may have one thing in our favor, though. I don’t recall any rivers east of the Powder, so there’s a chance it’ll be the nearest water, when the herd gets thirsty.”
“And the wind always blows out of the west,” Penelope said.
After a little more than a mile, there were signs the stampede had run out of steam, for some cattle nipped at the little grass there was. They looked up, as though surprised to see the riders.
Jed Vandiver laughed. “Well, ain’t they an innocent bunch. Turn it around, you horned varmints. We’re goin’ back.”
“Leave ’em be,” said McCaleb, “and we’ll gather them on the way back. If we can find the rest of the herd, we might get them all back to the Powder before dark.”
But that wasn’t going to be the case. Storm clouds had begun to gather, and while it wasn’t cold enough for snow, there was plenty of rain.
“Damn the luck,” Monte Nance said. “With wind and rain at their backs, the varmints won’t ever stop driftin’.”
“You have your back to the wind and rain,” said Penelope. “Just think like a cow, and we’ll follow you.”
“Penelope,” Rosalie said sharply, “stop that.”
But the rest of the outfit had heard Penelope’s proposal, and even McCaleb had a hard time controlling his laughter. Monte Nance said nothing. Sneaking a look at Rebecca, Penelope found no condemnation there. As they rode on, the storm worsened.
“Even when we find ’em,” said Stoney Vandiver, “we won’t be takin’ ’em back toward the Powder until this storm lets up. One thing a cow just won’t do is trail headfirst into a storm.”
“I reckon we can forget about them drifting back to the Powder for water,” McCaleb said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it rain this hard.”
“If it don’t let up and the weather turns colder, it’ll be snow,” said Pen Rhodes.
They had ridden two miles before finding a substantial part of the herd. As expected, the animals had their backs to the wind, drifting. They paused only for the little patches of new grass they found along the way.
“That’s not more than half the herd,” said McCaleb. “We might as well ride on, pickin’ these up on the way back.”
“What bothers me,” Rebecca said, “is th
at all the tracks have been rained out. There’s no way of knowing that we’re still following the herd.”
“It’s bothering me,” said McCaleb, “but we have to go with the obvious, until we know we’re ridin’ the wrong trail. For any reason, sometimes no reason at all, a stampeding herd will split. If that’s what happened here, we’ll find the rest of them somewhere to the north or to the south.”
“We could split up,” Pen Rhodes said, “and cover all the possibilities.”
“We could,” said McCaleb, “but we’re not going to. We believe all the Sioux are in the Dakota Territory, but we don’t know that for a fact. This is their old hunting grounds, and they’ll be of a mind to scalp any or all of us, given a chance.”
“There’s Susannah, alone with the chuck wagon,” Rebecca said.
“But she’s within sight of that steer Brazos and Will are skinning,” said McCaleb. “If we don’t find the rest of the herd pretty soon, we’ll have to search north and south.”
But the storm continued, and it seemed the rain was becoming more intense. Back at the chuck wagon, Will and Brazos had been able to erect a shelter by securing two corners of a large canvas to the rear wagon bows, while anchoring the other two corners to a pair of poles driven into the ground. But the building of the shelter had interrupted their skinning of the dead steer, and they resumed that unpleasant task in the driving rain.
“First time I ever skinned anything in the rain,” Will grunted.
“Yeah,” said Brazos, “and I can think of lots of things I’d rather be doin’. Like settin’ on my front porch, back on the Sweetwater, drinking hot coffee.”
“At least we’ll have that, thanks to us puttin’ up that shelter,” Will replied. “Plenty of dry wood in the wagon’s possum belly.”
McCaleb and the rest of the Lone Star riders soon came upon what had formerly been a dry creek. Now it was running bank-full, the rapid current moving pieces of branches, leaves and other debris. McCaleb urged his horse into the stream, and the animal crossed without difficulty. The other riders spurred their horses, and except for the one Monte Nance rode, they didn’t hesitate. But Monte’s horse, after surging forward with the others, balked. Startled, Monte Nance was thrown over the animal’s head, landing belly-down in the muddy stream. Monte struggled to his feet and stood there cursing the horse, and it regarded him curiously.
“Monte,” said Rebecca, “you were already soaked. Now shut up and get out of there.”
Monte Nance climbed out, but he wasn’t of a mind to let the troublesome horse off so easy. Drawing his right-hand Colt, he slammed the muzzle of it into the horse’s head. The animal reared, nickering in pain. Monte was about to strike it again when a lariat snaked out and tightened about his upraised arm. Penelope had been on the other side of the fast-running stream. She had dallied the free end of the lariat around her saddle horn, and she back-stepped her horse. Monte Nance was jerked head-first back into the roiling water. Pen Rhodes had kicked his horse into a gallop back across the stream and was able to catch Monte’s mount before the animal ran away. When Monte came up the second time, crawling out of the stream, he devoted all his choice words to Penelope. Both McCaleb and Rebecca had dismounted, but Rosalie reached Monte first. She slapped Monte so hard, the blow could be heard over the roar of the wind. For the third time in a matter of minutes, Monte Nance was flung into the muddy stream, the business end of Penelope’s lariat still tight around his right wrist. When he finally climbed out, he found McCaleb waiting for him.
“If you ever hit another horse,” McCaleb gritted, “I’ll beat you within an inch of your miserable life. Now I want you to apologize to Penelope for the names you called her.”
“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothing,” said Monte, “and when I think of some more words, I’ll throw them out there for her to chew on.”
McCaleb had already seized a fistful of Monte’s shirt, and would have landed a right-handed smashing blow, but Penelope cried out.
“Do you know what you’re doing, girl?” McCaleb demanded. “He was about to get off light. Brazos will kill him.”
“Not if he doesn’t know,” said Penelope, “and you’re not going to tell him.”
“Penelope—” Rosalie began.
“No,” said Penelope. “We should be looking for the rest of our herd, not fighting with each other. As for you,” she said, turning on Monte Nance, “don’t you ever speak to me again, and if I ever again see you hurting a horse, I won’t use a rope. I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.”
They mounted their horses and went on, Monte following at a distance. When McCaleb reined up, the rest of the riders reined up near enough to hear what he had to say.
“We’re not far from dark,” McCaleb said. “It’ll be comin’ early. We’d better gather as much of the herd as we can and start them back toward the Powder. They’ll be ornery as hell, driving them into the storm.”
It seemed McCaleb had understated the problem, for the cattle wanted to go anywhere except headlong into the wind-driven rain. They broke away, sometimes in bunches of a dozen or more, galloping back the way they had come. Time after time, the weary riders headed them, turning them back, only to face another group of deserters. Rebecca’s horse slipped, stumbled and threw her belly-down in the mud. Only Monte Nance laughed. When they came within sight of the chuck wagon, they could see the welcome glow of a fire, even through the driving rain. Seeing the herd coming, Brazos and Will mounted their horses and rode to help their comrades.
“Susannah’s got hot coffee ready,” Brazos said. “Will and me have had ours.”
“We’ll have to go a few at a time,” said McCaleb. “This bunch has been givin’ us hell every step of the way. Go ahead, Pen, Rebecca, Rosalie and Penelope, and have some hot coffee. The rest of us will keep the herd from drifting.”
“Lord, I never knew hot coffee could taste so good,” Rebecca said, as she stood under the protective canvas.
“You have Brazos and Will to thank for the shelter and the coffee,” said Susannah. “They got the shelter up just in time, and then had to skin out that steer after the storm began.”
The rain continued, and the ground became a quagmire. Their only sanctuary—the canvas stretched behind the wagon—they owed to Susannah, for she had wisely moved the chuck wagon to the highest ground she could find. McCaleb and the rest of the riders were having a time with the herd, for the animals only wanted to drift with the storm.
“We have a problem,” Brazos half shouted, so that McCaleb could hear. “Long as this storm’s blowing, it’s gonna take all of us to keep this bunch from drifting. We just don’t have enough riders to go after the others.”
“I’ll have to agree with you,” said McCaleb, “and that means it may take us a week to find the rest of them. Long as the storm’s blowing, they’ll keep drifting.”
Without a dry place to spread their blankets, the outfit chose to remain in the saddle, taking turns visiting then-meager shelter for hot coffee during the night. The storm didn’t subside until an hour before first light.
“Load up on grub and hot coffee,” McCaleb said. “We’re goin’ after the rest of the herd.”
“Damn it, McCaleb, we’ve been in saddle all night,” said Monte Nance.
“I’m aware of that,” McCaleb said, “and I reckon I can promise you another day of the same. This is a trail drive, and there’s work to be done. Susannah, Rosalie and Rebecca, I want all of you to remain here with the wagon. Goose will stay here with you.”
“I think Penelope should stay here with the wagon too,” said Brazos.
“Well, I’m not going to,” Penelope said. “You need riders, and there’s not a man of you who can do anything in the saddle with a rope that I can’t do.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said McCaleb.
Brazos shrugged his shoulders, but there was a twinkle in Rosalie’s eyes. Breakfast over and done, the riders rode out, Penelope with them. Rather than covering the same ground
as the day before, and since they had no tracks to follow, they rode to the southeast.
“It’s hard to tell how far they’ve drifted,” Will said.
“Yes,” said McCaleb, “and for that reason, we have no idea how far we may have to ride. We’ll have to ride maybe thirty miles this way, and if we don’t find them, we’ll have to take a similar ride to the north.”
“You’re some trail boss, McCaleb,” Monte Nance said.
“If you have any better ideas for finding the herd, I’ll listen,” said McCaleb.
“Go ahead,” Penelope taunted. “Just ride along calling sooooo cow, sooooo cow, until all of them are following you. The rest of us will ride back to the wagon for coffee while you’re gone.”
Most of the outfit laughed at Monte’s expense, for his face flamed crimson. He bit his tongue and said nothing, because McCaleb and Brazos were watching him. Without further discussion, McCaleb led out, and the others followed. They rode on in silence, and when McCaleb judged they had traveled thirty miles, he reined up.
“Not a cow in sight,” said Brazos. “I reckon it’s north from here.”
“One problem with that,” Will said. “There’s a chance they’ve drifted farther than we think, and if we change direction now, we’ll never find them.”
“That’s true,” said McCaleb, “but we’re running out of choices. We’ll give it another ten miles before we begin our swing to the north.”
“I’ll feel better if we do,” Will said.
“Trouble is,” said McCaleb, “we’re gettin’ so far away, we couldn’t hear a warning shot from Pen or Goose. I only hope Pen, Rebecca, Rosalie and Susannah can hold those cows we rounded up yesterday.”
“They should be able to,” Will said, “with the storm over and done.”
BOULDER RIVER, MONTANA TERRITORY.
APRIL 7, 1876
Quickly, Arch Rainey and Mac Withers harnessed two teams of horses, and with their added strength, freed the bogged-down chuck wagon. Bud McDaniels said nothing, waiting for them to finish. Cal and the rest of the riders were watching for the signal to move out the herd, and Mac Withers waved his hat.
The Deadwood Trail Page 10
