“No, it’s darker than a cave out here. No moon. It surprises me they’re even down here.”
“Hell, we all seen them. Thought they might be part of a bigger party.”
“It’s best you stayed here. No telling what might’ve happened. Come dawn we’ll go check their tracks.”
“Good idea. You know Mrs. Trainer?” Jangles asked, gesturing to a woman with a short cob pipe between her teeth.
“Good evening, ma’am,” Jack said pleasantly.
“Call me Zelda. I’m sure grateful these boys stayed. Robert and I are alone out here.”
Jack saw Robert through the doorway, coming across the yard. “See anything out there?”
“No, guess they rode on. Thanks to these boys,” Robert said, warmly shaking Jack’s hand. “Nice to see you, Captain Starr.”
Jack turned to Jangles. “Did you complete the branding?”
“Yes, sir, Captain. We have them all branded.”
“You might as well stay too,” Zelda chimed in. “Ain’t no sense in losing your head out there. I’ll find you a few blankets. You can sleep on the floor in front of the fireplace with the rest of them.”
He agreed, hoping that Lucy wouldn’t get too worried about him.
In the morning, Zelda fed them a big breakfast and Jack and Jangles went to check on the Comanche tracks while the others loaded the squeeze chute in the wagon. He could only hope his other crew had ridden out that morning without him to the Carlsons’ ranch to continue the branding.
The war party, by all signs, was headed back north on what looked like trotting ponies. They hadn’t lingered long, but Jack told Jangles that they’d done the right thing by waiting till morning.
On the way back to the ranch, they met Red and two of his vaqueros.
“What’s happening, Captain?”
“Boys had some visitors yesterday over at Trainer’s. A small war party showed up on the hillside and the boys stayed overnight to be certain they were gone. Guess the bucks kept on riding, from what Jangles and I saw this morning.”
“They’ve acted half spooked all winter. I was sure they’d have tried something by now. Their old ponies must be getting thin with no hay.”
“You’re right as rain.”
Red and his vaqueros moved aside as the wagon and crew caught up. Jack saluted Red and they moved on.
Midday they arrived back at the ranch. Lucy, her face looking pale but relieved, ran to him. She was getting big, and he could see she was having some difficulty moving quickly.
Jack filled her in on the adventures of the previous night, but not without Lucy’s face turning two shades paler before returning to normal.
“Claude took the crew this morning and went on to Carlson’s. They took bedrolls in case they didn’t get through.”
Jack nodded, pleased. He was only weeks from heading out with the herd and everything needed to be done before they left. The women had dinner ready, so they marched to the house, washed up and ate. After the meal Jack told his crew to get their saddles and tack in top shape.
Estefan waited by the door until they all filed out. “Señor, I have some horses you need to look at.”
A look of concern crossed Jack’s face. “What’s the matter with them?”
“Two have bad backs,” Estefan attested.
They went into the corral. Each questionable horse was haltered and tied neatly in a row. Jack could see the fistulas on the first two horses, both from a neighboring rancher. After only a few days of riding, the swollen sores behind their withers were seeping fluid and blood. Damn, so that’s why the rancher had turned them out, Jack thought. The problem looked chronic.
Estefan raised the hind foot on a third horse. The hoof was badly cracked and the animal would soon be crippled. Jack realized they were all range horses and he began to worry. The fourth and fifth horses had severe cases of ringbone, an affliction to the pastern bones on the front legs of horses that lamed them when they were used too hard.
The next two had bad coughs and were wind broke.
“I need seven more horses?” Jack asked the youth.
“Sí. These caballos are no good, señor.”
“I guess we should put them out of their misery. I’ll inform the owners later.”
He complimented Estefan’s work before he went about the rest of his checkups. He felt lucky to have the boy. He decided to check on Ralph, his new cook, down by the shop. The man was so organized he’d spent his days making cabinets and arranging all the food supplies on the chuck wagon.
“How’s it going?” Jack asked.
Ralph was busy making a new singletree on a sawhorse bench with a clamp. “You know how many of these I broke going to Abilene?”
“How many?”
“Sixteen. Mostly it was the rotten wood they were made out of, but the mules I had were rowdy too. Jim Hamilton was the trail boss and he got to cussing me about breaking them on purpose. I got so mad I wanted to split his head open with one, but I figured that would break it and I’d be out of spares.”
Jack let out a belly laugh. “He was sure lucky you held back.”
“He damn sure was.”
Ralph was a typical cowboy-turned-camp-cook, which he had become on account of his gimpy leg. But he could cook a mean meal, and he understood that eating was the only luxury for a cow outfit on the road. Jack noted that he’d also make an excellent nursemaid for the boys and a pretty good horse doctor to boot. But his real skill lay in his ability to whip up a gourmet feast out of the simplest ingredients. Even Lucy said his pecan pie was as good as any woman’s.
Jack saw Estefan ride on horseback, driving the culls out to an open field, where he would put them out of their misery. Jack was pained to lose seven horses, but he’d rather not ride them into the ground.
He felt lucky to have a strong crew to take on the road. Estefan would have the horses culled to a decent stand. Jangles was looking for a good bell steer to lead them. Ralph was making sure the wagon was sound and ready. But his hay expenses kept growing. All of the nearby range was cropped off after a dry winter. Keeping any number of animals in one place required forage, which was why he was branding them on their home ranches instead of bringing them to his own ranch. A hundred horses and four mules could eat enough store-bought hay to put a man in debt.
The days trickled by and some showers passed through. The weather warmed, but they awoke to hoarfrost on the ground a time or two. Jack had word that the range north of them had plenty of grass for grazing. He hoped there was enough forage between Lost Dog Creek and the Red River to hang some meat on the steers’ hips.
In bed with his wife, he rubbed her swollen belly and they discussed baby names. Jack suggested Cory in honor of his brother, but he was afraid he’d bring bad luck to the child.
“What about Dallas?” he asked, after staring at the ceiling for some time.
Lucy sat up on her elbow. “That’s beautiful, and it would work for a boy and a girl.”
Jack beamed, pleased he had suggested a name they could both agree on. He rolled over and kissed her good night.
“We won’t have many more nights together,” Lucy said, nestling into him. “Let’s make these last ones count.”
Jack sobered. There’d be no mattress under his spine nor a warm, inviting body to cuddle up to. A part of him regretted taking the job. He’d been traveling so much in the last year that the last thing he wanted to do was go on a cattle drive for several months. But he and Lucy stood to gain a lot of money from the venture, which they’d need for their growing family. He knew many folks in similar situations were relying on him. He hated to admit it, but he’d never back down when obligations came to call.
I’m ready for you, Kansas, he thought.
Chapter 22
The next week, Jack learned that Sawyer was back in town. He’d been stopping at ranches that owed him money, letting them know that his trail-driving crew would be by to pick up their cattle in three weeks for Kansas. Jack had expected this a
nd had told the ranchers not to argue. He could only hope that Sawyer was dumb enough to believe they’d all agree to his terms, though the saloon incident had made it perfectly clear how everyone felt about the man.
McIntyre told him there were three hard cases riding with Sawyer, all of whom wore low-slung six-guns, leather cuffs on their wrists, and acted as tough as a pack of Louisiana fighting curs. Jack was sure these men cost Sawyer more than his last crew, and they wouldn’t be as easy to subdue as Dyke and Freeman.
McIntyre scowled at Jack as he described them. “I want to tie a tin can on their tails and send them back to San Antonio.”
“This is the best way,” Jack gently reminded him. “If he thinks he’s pulling one over on them he won’t think to bring down an injunction, and by the time he realizes that no one will comply he won’t have enough time to get one.”
McIntyre grudgingly agreed, but Jack could see the boiling hatred in his eyes for Sawyer.
Later that day Jack began to collect the cattle and prepare for the long drive. He had enough hay scattered on the ground of the corrals to fill the bellies of the first round of cattle, but the subsequent groups would be driven ten miles north, where Ralph and Estefan would set up camp on the grassy plains and ensure that the cattle had plenty of room to graze. In three days’ time, the entire herd of two thousand would be collected on what they called the Frenchman’s Flats, ready to head north to the Salt Fork.
At the end of the three days he kissed Lucy good-bye. By the time he got back he’d be a father. Her pregnancy was going smoothly and she begged him not to worry. He was reluctant to let go of her, but in the end he placed his hat atop his head, mounted Mac and headed north with his crew.
Clayton and Shanks were his point riders and Jangles was his second in command. As for the rest of his drivers, each day a different one would scout ahead for the next campsite and help Ralph set up before riding back to report.
River crossing proved easier than usual. The lack of rain was a blessing for them, although he knew the ranchers were paying for it in other ways. In ten days they were on the Trinity River, which put them close to Fort Worth. They soon closed the gap and swung west of the fenced country.
Ralph and Jack purchased some food and first-aid items in town while the crew caught their breath and regreased the wagon axles. Down in the stockyard district, he ate lunch in a café and listened to the other drivers discuss when they’d be leaving for Kansas. Jack worried that he’d left too early, but he knew he had to be in Indian Territory and out of Sawyer’s reach as soon as possible.
By evening he was back with the herd. The weather held and the cattle were docile now that they had established a ranking system among themselves. The worst-behaved one of the bunch had disrupted the rhythm of the drive so much that Jack had ordered he be butchered and served for dinner. Ralph kept the carcass under a wet canvas to keep it from spoiling, breaking up some of the monotony of eating beans everyday. They roasted some cuts, fried some and pounded others into steaks; the rest was made into stew. The boys respected his decision-making abilities. They’d lose money on the head, but it was a small loss compared to the damage he could’ve caused if Jack had let him live.
At their first campsite north of Fort Worth, Jack could smell a skunk from the chuck wagon. His nose wrinkled, he dismounted and tied his bay horse to the front wheel.
“What in the hell happened here?”
“Rabid skunk came up over there. Had to shoot him with my .22,” Ralph said. “I already had the wagon set up, so I didn’t want to move. You’ll get used to the smell in a while. I sure have.”
Jack wasn’t certain he’d ever get used to it. “You sure he was rabid?”
“Anytime you see a drunk-acting skunk in the daylight, he’s rabid.”
“I’ve heard of cowboys getting bit at night and dying a sad, pain-filled death,” Jack said.
“I had a friend who died from a bite,” Ralph began. “Went delirious. He asked us to put him out of his misery when it got really bad. We drew for the high card, and I was the one who had to pull the trigger. Worst day of my life.”
Jack closed his eyes. A man never forgot something like that. He knew that Ralph had done the right thing, but the job of compassionate executioner was never an easy one. He went and found one of the whiskey bottles and poured three fingers’ worth of the amber liquid into two tin cups for himself and Ralph.
“We need a little pick-me-up,” Jack said. He raised his cup. “To your friend. May he rest in peace.” Ralph clinked his cup against Jack’s as they settled into canvas chairs.
They sat in silence for some time until Jack spoke up. “You ever know a guy named Julius Knotts?”
“Name sounds familiar,” Ralph said, taking a sip from the cup.
“He shot my brother in Abilene years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ralph said. “I take it you’ve been looking for him ever since?”
“Ever since.”
“It’s hard, Captain, to live with things like that. Damn hard.”
“Don’t I know it. My life took a good turn when I met and married Lucy. But I’ve never forgotten my brother. The war. All those bad drives.”
“She’s a good woman. She may not be able to erase those memories, but she’ll support you the rest of the way and that’s all that matters.”
Jack nodded appreciatively and they sat in silence once again.
Finally he said, “When the boys come let’s move this camp. Even this damn whiskey tastes like skunk.”
Ralph laughed and agreed.
A week later Jack and Jangles scouted the snag-choked Red River. On the far shore was Indian Territory. This was the last chance that Sawyer had to stop his crew. Ralph and the chuck wagon could go over by ferry in the morning, but the rest of them would cross the river in a serpentine formation with the steers. Jack knew that some of them would break, and some might even drown, but it was the best way to go.
“It won’t be easy,” Jangles said, “but I guess a million head have crossed here.”
“They have. But it’s one of the tougher ones,” Jack admitted.
“I’ll ask Claude to say a prayer. He reads the Bible all the time.”
Jack agreed. “Some intervention from God could only help with this one.”
At daybreak they had the herd lined up. Jack told them to undress at the river; Jangles would see that all their clothes got across in the chuck wagon. They could swim easier naked.
Claude gave a long prayer once they reached the shore, asking God to protect them on their journey across the river. When the prayer was finished they lined up to cross the river. They had a new lead steer—a big dapple red—that would take them across, but Jack was worried that he’d turn out to be like the previous two lead steers they’d tried, both of which failed them. But a good bell steer was worth a fortune for a reason: they didn’t come easy.
The naked riders looked like white ghosts in the pale morning sunshine, which was just beginning to filter over the horizon. Jack figured the temperature was less than fifty degrees, and he could only imagine what the water would be like. A shudder went through his body. He prayed they didn’t have to spend too long in the river.
Red took to the water and started swimming for the north shore like he’d done it a million times. Some steers leapt way out on their bellies while others calmly waded in and began to swim. The naked cowboys led their horses across the water as best they could. A few of the less intelligent steers swam downstream despite the drivers shouts and curses, but the first of the herd to cross were soon shaking the water from their bodies and collecting on the north bank. Shanks, one of his point riders, was trying hard to get them started uphill. He and Claude, joined by one of the dripping Mexican hands, finally got them going up the road. Things started to go more smoothly after that, but there were still more than two dozen head either stuck on snags and bawling or floundering where the bank was too steep and the water too deep to wade in.
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Jack caught sight of Luke trying to drive some of them upstream, but the cattle kept circling back. He waved his jumper and shouted to Shanks, figuring he’d know what to do. Shanks shouted and waved to a spot where the bank gently sloped upward from the river.
Luke went around the river bend and out of sight downstream. Jack couldn’t help but worry. If anything happened to the boy it would be his fault, and Lucy would have his hide.
“You see Luke?” Jangles asked.
“Shanks told him to go farther down.”
“I ain’t seen him since he went around the corner. It must be deep over there.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Luke. We still have three head caught on snags.”
“What do we do about them?” Jangles asked, loading the clothing in the chuck wagon as they prepared to go across on the ferry.
“Our best swimmer needs to go out there and tie ropes around them; we’ll fish them out with the horses.”
“Bet you won’t get many volunteers for that job.”
“We’ll see.”
Jack and Jangles loaded the wagon and mules aboard the ferry and boarded on their horses. When they reached the other side, Jack rode Mac off the barge and short-loped him through the post oaks until he saw Shanks and Luke driving the remaining wet steers through the brush. He was proud of Luke—he’d saved over a dozen head that day.
Wrapped in blankets, the shivering hands crowded around the fire Ralph had built on the shore. Jack dismounted.
“All the hands here, Jangles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, who’s going to swim and help us fish out those three snagged steers?”
“It’s only two now, Captain. One got loose and swam up here,” Jangles said.
“I can swim out there when I warm up a little, Captain,” Arnold said.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder in appreciation.
North to the Salt Fork Page 16
