“I understand, Elliot,” Josiah said, tossing the saddle blanket on Clipper’s back. “On that note, I surely do agree with you.”
CHAPTER 24
The trail boss was easy enough to find. He was standing alone at the rear of the chuck wagon, staring out over a herd of at least two thousand longhorns that were grazing easily on fresh, spring grass.
The chuck wagon was fully loaded, sitting on the ridge of a shallow valley. A river cut thinly toward the ocean in the distance. The banks were lined with a smattering of tall trees, mostly oak. Wildflowers flourished everywhere the soil would allow, mixing in with the healthy grasses, dotting the landscape with deep reds, yellows, and blues. The ground looked like a rainbow had fallen from the sky, the vibrancy of the colors staining everything they touched. The air would have been fragrant and full of promise if not for the presence of the longhorns. As it was, the air smelled of cows, but it was not so stringent, or foul, just not as sweet as the air should be. Even the flies seemed intoxicated, glad for spring and the opportunities their hosts provided.
The boss was a tall, willowy man with grizzled gray hair and a smooth, serious face. His eyes were deep blue, nearly akin to the color of the sky, and looked like they could be hard and mean if they had to be, but preferred not to. He stood stiffly, looking out over the field of longhorns, finishing off the morning’s cup of coffee.
“Don Bowman?” Josiah asked, as he walked up to the man.
“That’s me. Who’s asking?” The trail boss had a nononsense way about him, not accustomed to being called on when he was deep in thought, probably plotting the journey in his head as he looked to the north.
Josiah glanced around to see if there were any other men within earshot. No one was except for Scrap, who had followed after him and stood impatiently on his heels. “I’m Josiah Wolfe. This here’s Scrap Elliot. We’re Rangers. Marshal Harlan suggested we might ride along with you to Goliad. Captain Leander McNelly and a company of Rangers are heading down to quell the violence Cortina started in Corpus, and we’re to meet up with him there.”
Bowman squinted his eyes, took in Josiah from head to toe. “Rangers you say? Both of you?”
“That’s right,” Josiah answered, curious as Bowman looked past him to size up Scrap, too.
Bowman nodded his head. “You got any experience ridin’ with a cattle drive, there, Ranger Wolfe?”
Josiah looked down to the ground, then back up quickly, staring the boss in the eye. “Can’t say I do, no sir. Never had the opportunity, or desire, until now.”
Scrap stepped up next to Josiah. “I wrangled with an outfit that took me from Fort Worth to Kansas City a few years back before I joined up with the Rangers, Mr. Bowman. I sure would be glad to help out with the remuda. I’m a fair hand with horses, and I can work with just about any man.”
“Elliot here is a fine horseman, that’s true,” Josiah interjected.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bowman said coldly.
Scrap smiled, obviously glad to accept the challenge to prove himself. “I suppose you will. You won’t be disappointed, I’ll guarantee you that.”
“I got all the thirty-dollar men I can afford,” Bowman said. “And we’ve signed on every man we need. You’re a day late.”
“We’re not looking for a wage,” Josiah said.
Scrap shot him a disdainful look but said nothing. He stepped back, out of range of Josiah and Bowman.
“You got trouble followin’ you?” Bowman asked.
“Maybe,” Josiah answered. “Elliot and I were both sent to Corpus on the order of the adjunct general, William Steele, and Captain McNelly to act as spies. Neither of us had any previous experience and most likely failed more than we succeeded. The attack on Corpus by Cortina’s men was a complete surprise to us. We may have made our fair share of enemies before leaving town.”
“Speak for yourself, Wolfe,” Scrap said.
“I can’t risk the herd for a favor to the marshal of Ingleside. I ain’t got no orders.” Bowman tossed what coffee remained in his cup to the ground, then spit right behind it.
“I’m not going to beg you, Mr. Bowman,” Josiah said. “But there may be some men on your crew who are fleeing Corpus with blood on their hands.”
“I don’t hire outlaws.”
“Didn’t say you do—or have. Just that it might become necessary for a Ranger or two to show themselves if any trouble comes along,” Josiah said.
Don Bowman drew a deep breath and furrowed his brow, glaring at Josiah. “I run a tight outfit, Wolfe. No drinkin’, no gamblin’, and no gallyboutin’ while we’re on the trail. What a man does in town is his own business as long as he don’t bring it with him. If the need comes, I can handle any pup in this company on my own, you understand me, mister?”
“I understand,” Josiah answered.
“All right then, I suppose you both can ride along. Elliot, you say you got horse skills?”
“Most folks call me Scrap, Mr. Bowman, but yes, sir, I surely do. Been on a horse before I could stand on my own two feet.”
“I ain’t gonna call you anything, if I don’t have to. You ride up north about a quarter mile. Fella by the name of Peewee Wilson is gatherin’ the rides. You tell him I said to try you out. Peewee’s got a bad eye and he’s as tall as a mountain. You’ll know him when you see him. I wouldn’t go boasting on about how good with horses you are to him. Just let him see for himself. He likes you, you’ll ride with him to Goliad. He don’t, come back here, and you’ll work drag, you understand?”
Scrap smiled broadly again and started to push past Josiah, obviously anxious to get to work. Josiah put his arm out and stopped Scrap cold.
“What in tarnation now?” Scrap bellowed.
“No man on this trail needs to know we’re Rangers. You give them your spy name, you understand?” Josiah said.
“Hank Sutton?” Scrap said. “I thought I was rid of that nonsense.”
“Not until we meet up with McNelly in Goliad, you understand?”
There was no mistaking the order, the hard-as-steel tone in Josiah’s voice. He turned his attention to Bowman. “I go by Zeb Teter. I’d appreciate it if you played along. We’re still duty-bound to our original orders until we rejoin the company of Rangers. I don’t mind giving you some free labor, but we’re still on a mission. As you understand.”
“I don’t give a damn what you call yourselves as long as you don’t cause me any grief. Now, get on there, Elliot, ur, I mean, Hank Sutton, or whatever your name is. Peewee could use the help you’re so eager to offer, sooner rather than later.”
Scrap nodded, glared at Josiah, then broke into a happy run to Missy, who was waiting about ten yards away.
“There’s some fire in that boy’s belly, that’s for sure,” Bowman said.
“Too much sometimes. But I’ve been glad for Elliot’s company over the last few months. He’s a fine shot. Just needs to calm down a bit,” Josiah said, watching Scrap disappear into a cloud of dust over the ridge.
The cows groaned and their horns clattered in the distance, a foreign sound to Josiah’s ears. It sounded like a thousand sticks battling against one another, except there was no anger in the air, no smell of blood, or fear, just shit and the smell of a thousand animals all packed into one small place. It would all take some getting used to.
“What do you have in mind for me, Bowman?” Josiah asked.
“Since you ain’t got any experience with driving cattle, I’ll have you ride the flank, and keep close here to the wagon. If the cookie needs you, you can help him with simple chores. But mostly, I just need you to lay low and keep yourself out of trouble until we reach Goliad. It’ll take a long time just to get every man settled into the ride.”
“I know less about food than I do about cattle,” Josiah said, surprised at the assignment.
“My guess is you won’t touch a bite of food unless it’s on your spoon. Be a pot washer for a day or two, that’ll be good for you, I susp
ect, if flank is too much for you to keep up with.”
Josiah started to protest, then swallowed his words and just nodded. The cookie came walking around the corner of the chuck wagon and came to a full stop. Josiah knew the man. It was Leathers, the ex–Trappist monk he’d fought alongside at the saloon.
CHAPTER 25
Don Bowman disappeared, off to a duty of his own, riding a sorrel mare that seemed to suit the man in stature and attitude; it was lean, proud, and sure-footed.
Leathers stood staring at Josiah. “Now, what exactly am I supposed to do with you, Zeb Teter?”
For some reason Josiah was not surprised to see Leathers. “Bowman said I was to ride flank.”
“A greenhorn, aye?” Leathers’s thin, hard, face was difficult to read. Josiah didn’t know if the man was poking fun at him or if he was trying to antagonize him further. Their encounter at the bar had been a little contentious, but then again, Josiah knew he had been drinking whiskey, had been set on drowning his sorrows about Maria Villareal and Juan Carlos in a bottle, so the sour attitude might well have been all his own. For all he knew, Leathers was a good man, nothing more than a cook on a cattle drive, making a life for himself—just like Josiah. Still, there was something unsettling about the man, and Josiah didn’t immediately trust him or put aside the contention he’d felt when he met him.
“There’s not much left of me that’s green,” Josiah said. “I can ride flank easy enough. I’ll be dropping off in Goliad anyway, so the stay will be short for me.”
“Goliad? There isn’t anything there.”
“I think there is,” Josiah said. “I didn’t take you for a cook. You said you were a drover when we met at the saloon.”
“Cook’s in jail, friend. Bowman needed a man with skills who could do a little more with Pecos strawberries and chuck wagon chicken than the previous man. I suppose I’m that man since I spent time in the kitchen at the abbey in Iowa. We’ll see how the boys like my biscuits in comparison to the last cookie’s. I won’t be burning any beans and bacon, I can tell you that.”
“You got a good recipe for sourdough bullets and most of these fellas will follow you off a cliff.”
Leathers laughed out loud. It was a tenuous laugh that lasted only a second or two. Then the man grew serious again, his face void of any expression, just hard like a statue. “You wouldn’t follow a man over a cliff, would you, Zeb? Still Zeb, right?”
“What else would it be?”
“You tell me.”
“No,” Josiah answered, just as flat and cold as Leathers had responded to him. “I wouldn’t follow many men over a cliff. There are a few. Were a few. But most of them are dead now.”
“Ghosts of the war?”
Josiah nodded. “Of one war or another. There always seems to be one starting or ending, a chance given for bravery and fool’s errands to change the world.”
Thin wrinkles appeared in Leathers’s brow. “I knew there was some wisdom inside that hard skull of yours.”
“More experience than anything,” Josiah said. “I don’t know a whit about wisdom. Nor do I want to. I’m just saying there are very few men in this world who have the heart to lead, to sacrifice enough to make a man want to follow them into battle, or across the land for unknown reasons. Seems I’ve done that most all of my life, and look where it has brought me.”
“Following another man, like the friend you were grieving back at the saloon?”
The air went out of Josiah’s lungs. He didn’t remember speaking about Juan Carlos to Leathers . . . but then he’d been drinking. Another reason to stay away from whiskey.
Josiah had to wonder what else he had said that he didn’t recall. “My friend is not a captain, or a well-heeled officer, just a friend, and I’d just as soon leave it at that, thank you.”
“Sorry to offend you,” Leathers said. He started poking around the chuck wagon, stooped down and checked the security of the boot at the rear. “Maybe you should take the lead. Ever thought about that?”
Josiah glared at Leathers. “No need to lead if you’re a hide trader.”
“I expect not.”
“Life on your own has its rewards,” Josiah said. “Besides, if a battalion of men are going to follow you off a cliff, you got to be the first one to jump. I’m not so fond of heights myself.”
“We’re going to move soon, Zeb Teter, so you best find your place and start working for your wage, no matter how short the journey will be for you. But I’m glad to have a friend on the trail. You’re a fine man to stand next to when the stools start flying.” Leathers stuck his hand out, an offer to shake and, perhaps, put the past behind them.
Josiah shook the man’s hand firmly but not heartily, then nodded. “You, too, Leathers. It’s good to know you’re all right after that melee in Ingleside. Even though you’re a religious man, I had the sense you’d seen more than one bar fight in your life. You’re pretty spry for your age, even if you are a bit wiry.”
“Religion and I parted ways long ago, friend. That was man’s doing more than anything else, but I have no regrets. My life is good. I’m fit as a fiddle and fine as a dandy man on a Sunday morning. You take care out there, and if things get troublesome, I could always use the help here at the wagon. You’re welcome to help out here anytime.”
“Thanks,” Josiah said, walking away. He’d meant what he said, but he wasn’t planning on washing pots anytime soon.
“There’s a man out there by the name of Hughes. He’s a good drover, knows more about moving cattle than any man I ever met,” Leathers hollered after Josiah. “He’ll set you straight, but he won’t tolerate laziness.”
Josiah stopped. “Why would you think I’m lazy?”
Leathers shrugged, tightened up the back door of the boot, the storage compartment at the rear of the wagon, and walked away, leaving Josiah feeling annoyed and angry all over again. He sure didn’t understand Leathers at all. One minute he was a friend, then the next he was parsing words that drew dangerously close to starting a fight.
Josiah stalked off, unhitching Clipper, quickly hopping up into the saddle, and riding toward the herd as fast as he could, ready to find his spot and leave this part of Texas behind.
The herd of longhorns stretched out for almost two miles. There were at least two thousand of them, all in varying sizes and colors—some were nearly white or multiple shades of brown, while others were striped or brindled. The constant bawling of cattle, the horns clanking, the movement forward, bore little musicality, at least the kind a man like Josiah found comfort in.
He was a Ranger, not a cowboy, unaccustomed to the shouts of men, of whistling, of clapping after a stray cow. Riding in a cattle drive was a noisy, smelly proposition, and Josiah quickly found out he was much greener than he thought he was. It was like standing in the middle of one long clap of thunder, muted only by the softness of the ground his own horse was standing on.
He’d quickly found Hughes, a solid man the size of a good boulder, who’d told him to “keep the cows close, and don’t cause me no trouble, or you’ll be ridin’ the long trail home on an empty belly.” With that, Hughes had disappeared, shouting orders as he went, moving cattle seamlessly that parted at his coming—or going—depending on how you looked at it.
As far as Josiah could tell, other than Scrap and the wrangler he’d been sent after to help, there were twelve cowboys driving the longhorns north. They’d cover about ten to fifteen miles a day, making the sixty-mile journey to Goliad equitable for Josiah, the timing just about right to meet up with Captain McNelly.
Josiah’s experience in riding flank was completely void of any true knowledge, and he was more than nervous about it, wondering why he’d let Marshal Harlan talk him into signing on with the cattle drive in the first place. But it was a simple task, or at least it appeared that way. All he had to do was keep the cattle close. He could watch the men in the distance chase after strays, whooping, hollering, and whistling, to get them back to the herd, and fig
ure out the best way to get it accomplished.
The longhorns were so strung out that it seemed there was always something to chase.
Clipper was not accustomed to the demands of a cattle drive, either. The constancy of cutting in and out, back and forth, chasing after this cow or that, seemed to quickly annoy the Appaloosa. There was nothing that Clipper enjoyed more than a full-out run. Short jaunts and breaking this way or that was hard on his untrained legs. Still, the horse responded to Josiah’s demands, though sometimes with a snarl of the lip, a whinny, or a disgusted snort.
Josiah noticed Clipper’s difficulty keeping up, but they soon found a rhythm to moving the cows.
After an hour or so, Josiah’s eyes were always searching the upper scrubs for a wanderer. Luckily, he’d yet to rope a cow. Not that he’d never done it; he had, growing up on a small farm in East Texas. But his roping skills were a thing of the past, barely remembered, and the farm was by no means a cattle ranch; his family never had more than three head of cattle at one time and never a longhorn. He looked at the rope with anxiety, knowing sooner or later he’d have to take it in hand and try to capture a running, live cow.
The fact that it was spring was not lost on Josiah. It was impossible to forget it, what with all of the wildflowers in bloom and with the bulging bellies of so many pregnant cows. He began to wonder how the cows could make the journey in such a state, but the thought quickly passed when a shadow on a ridge caught his eye.
At first he thought it was a smaller cow, way off the trail, out of the cut of the rest of the longhorns. But the ridge was high, and the way up too rocky for a wanderer to make its way up there . . . unless it had started there.
No, it was a horse, and even though he was looking almost directly into the sun, squinting, Josiah was almost certain he saw a man squatting behind a rock, sighting a rifle at the herd.
CHAPTER 26
Josiah whistled at the drover, Hughes, but could not raise the man’s attention. The noise of the moving cattle was almost deafening. Beginnings were always difficult, and this one seemed to be no exception—the cattle were all strung out, and the cowboys had yet to settle them down completely.
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