“You ready for another couple hundred miles of dust and bawling, sister?”
“I am. I am. I lost ten pounds of dirt, but the cooking was not as good as yours.”
“We missed you, too.”
“Well, I am back to help.”
One of the hands came to take their horses.
She thanked him and asked what Jimmy had for supper.
“Irish stew.”
“Well your helper is back and I may live to make it to Abilene.”
“I am sure planning to dance with you when we get there.”
“We will do that, Jimmy. Maybe have a highland fling.”
“That suit you, boss?”
“Fine. I’ll be that glad to get there myself.”
Jan gave him a shove. “Better get our bedrolls . . . we’ll be up in a few hours.”
Long left laughing, recovered their big bedroll, and they headed to a secure place nearby to spread it out for the night. The day off had been fun, but she was a treat for him to be around all the time.
Making ten to twelve miles a day on an average with the herd was his goal. That gave the steers enough time to eat the new rich grass, which was slicking them out as they went north. When a big steer reached way back to lick an itchy spot and left a shiny circle in his new hair, it was gaining weight. Pounds were what they sold at Abilene. Larger and fuller the steers were the more they brought up there. New feed was popping up fast now with the passing showers and warmer, longer days. No severe weather had hatched since they left home.
Springtime on the plains could sweep some powerful storms armed with tornadoes, scattering cattle herds all over or stampeding them off a bluff to their death, and injuring hundreds of head.
The ex–Texas Ranger Charlie Goodnight had used a plan he had in some bad storms that swept his herds the year before and it saved them. He’d shared his plan with others when he got up to Kansas and, over the winter, his plan “to get them moving” swept all over Texas.
He and Harp had gone over the plan with all his lead men. In advance of such a storm the person in charge gets all hands mounted and the cattle moving in a trot, forming a chain behind the lead steer. If this operation can be started soon enough, there is no stampede, but Long knew it would have to be sheer hell for all the men involved at keeping the cattle together while being battered by the raging storm.
Harp and Long knew that most of such storms happened at the end of the day, or later, sweeping the plains at night. Running beside cattle guided by lightning strikes was damn dangerous. A horse could go down or the rider could be struck by that lightning. When Long pulled the covers up that evening . . . the entire notion made his belly cramp. Lord save us from that.
* * *
Each morning Jan helped Jimmy and the boys serve breakfast, then she would ride with the herders or go with the chuck wagon to the next site. He checked his rifle loads, shoved it back in the scabbard, and left for that afternoon’s site in a short lope.
They worked through and around the hills of the southern Indian Territory and then the lands of the Cherokee Strip, that wide band of rolling prairie given to his father’s people that spanned the top of the territory. He had no idea where his father was killed, but the lush bluestem grass was a cattleman’s dream. And the mileage left was soon down to two weeks. That was after they crossed the lot less threatening Arkansas River than the first crossing they made two years before in the Indian Territory west of Fort Smith. Back then there was lots more current and the water higher.
In Wichita saloons and doves lined the muddy ruts the cattle rumbled over. The girls were challenging the cowboys to stop and visit them. Skirt in hands, some ran alongside the cowboys on horseback who were trying to keep the longhorns in the herd. They would shout “Stop and love me!”
One shouted back, “Darling, I’ll be back in two weeks and have money. Save it for me.”
Long was chuckling as he pushed some more steers back to the herd. That boy probably would be back, too. He swung the Comanche pony after another breaking stray and soon had him back in the fold. Damn steers must not like crossing into Kansas. He did. They were that much closer.
There were cattle buyers in their camp that evening. They did that last year. Came to try to buy their cattle at less than market prices . . . told them big tales of being swamped with cattle at Abilene and a bottle neck was holding it all up. One even said the Mississippi River Railroad Bridge was down and wouldn’t be fixed for years.
Harp was not budging. He thanked them for coming, refused a free bottle of whiskey, and that was that. Before they rode away they told him he’d be begging to take a lower price when he found out the truth about the market.
That night in the bedroll, Jan was upset by their words.
“They’re liars. They want our cattle and they will resell them for twenty more than they paid us.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Good. Kiss me and I will forget them.”
“Darling, that is easy.”
He loved having her along. Damn he wished he’d found her a long time ago.
CHAPTER 19
The beef-shipping capital of America was a sleepy cow town called Abilene, Kansas. A town was full of saloons, pickpockets, con men, people looking for a way to swindle away a fortune, wanted criminals, ex-cons, and prostitutes that ran the gambit of fifty-cent Indian squaws, ex-female slaves, Orientals, teenagers, and very fancy expensive beautiful women of the trade.
Whiskey and beer flowed like a river every night in the bars, and one person said it was bright as daylight at midnight because the cowboys shot so many holes in the sky every night. Card games went on for days, and the smoke in those places could be cubed and resold to smokers. Horse races down Main Street happened as often as the scheduled ones at the county fairgrounds.
Gun fighting and bareknuckle fights broke out among the cowboys quite often. Give a sixteen-year-old boy a six-gun in Texas, and by the time he gets the herd to Kansas he thinks he is the toughest hombre on a stallion, and on earth. All that adds up to is that he is a target for the lecherous criminal men and women on the lookout for his pay.
Long made sure he talked to the men with the herd before they reached Abilene. “Men, Abilene is a pirate nation. They cheat at cards. Don’t play. They will take your money. Most of the whores are diseased. That means if you climb into their bed you will be infected and may die from it. They will get you drunk and then roll you for everything down to your underwear, and they may steal that.”
The crew laughed.
“It is not funny. It is the truth. To take your money home, let Harp keep it for you. Stay out of fights. These are not like the fights you have fought in Texas at a dance. They will cut you to pieces or their friend will hit you over the head while you are fighting the other. Go in pairs or more, and cover each other’s backs.”
“It don’t sound like fun,” Rooster Gilbert complained.
“I have been here and seen it all. You boys have a life ahead of you. Don’t ruin it in Abilene for some small thrills.”
“Yeah, but you and Harp got lucky and made it rich.”
“We also didn’t let some damn thief rob us or some woman of the night poison us, either.”
“How am I going to do that on cowboy wages?”
“Get off your ass and put a drive together yourself. We took eight hundred head to Sedalia through the Yankee defenses.”
He saw the men had begun talking to each other. Maybe, just maybe, he had reached them. Damn he hoped so.
Harp and two hands rode for Abilene the next day. They only moved the herd five miles to better water.
Harp returned after dark and met with them.
“Cattle prices are ten dollars per head lower than last year. I was offered seventy dollars a head. They know what kind of cattle we bring. I can sell three herds. They want to see how the market holds—I sold the first three and hope we can make a similar sale on the last three. I think it
is the best we can do.”
“That is over four hundred twenty thousand dollars,” Long said.
“How did you do that? Figure the amount?” Jan asked him privately.
“Six thousand steers times seventy dollars per steer comes to that amount.”
“I would need a pencil and paper to ever get that figured.” She shook her head and squeezed his arm.
Long asked Harp, “What will the markets do before we can sell the others? You get any information?”
Harp shrugged. “Maybe another ten dollars down. No one is sure. There is some resistance at this price. I sold ours today so we had that money and let them grumble. We topped last year’s prices because some of the outfits wanted to resist them. We will have this bunch sold. Half the job and they will work to get the rest in when they have a price. These guys have to make a living, too. They know we bring sound cattle.”
“You did good, brother.”
Harp nodded, but Long knew his brother would be worried about the last of all the sales until he had them. They were the Diamond’s second herd and the rest of the consigned cattle. Lots of people depended on them, and Harp carried a strong conscience for the people who gave them their cattle to sell. If the market broke some more, Long knew Harp would feel the effect. He had no answer. They needed to sell these cattle but were at the whims of the market.
They did lots of work to have six herds and to reach Abilene before many even crossed the Red River.
“It still is iffy isn’t it?” Jan asked him in their bedroll.
“Harp wants to do the best he can. Yes, it is shaky. But we will be fine and can buy more ranchland and fix the ones we have.”
“You two are what do they call them—Die-coons.”
“The word is Tycoons. Means big businessmen.”
“Yes.” She laughed quietly. “Exactly. Did Easter teach you all that?”
“She did.”
Jan snuggled against him. “Can we go see the Rockies after we load the cattle?”
He tickled her until she made him stop.
“Hell, no. Why do you need to know about how they look?”
“Nothing, silly.”
CHAPTER 20
Loading the first cattle began four days later. Things had gone smoothly aside from a rogue steer having to be roped and dragged to the rail yard after he had a wild party of horning hitched horses, chasing honest women off the street screaming, fighting some town curs, and wrecking a horse-watering trough and two hitch rails. The ex-bull was being dragged by two cowpony riders to the loading pens with a lariat on his right leg attached to the third cowboy’s horn to hold him from charging anything else.
Long, who rode up at the end of it all, laughed. It took three of them to bring him to submission.
“Thanks, guys . . . our bill for repairs won’t cost you over eighty apiece.”
The hands shook their heads and rode on past him and Jan on their horses.
“You really won’t charge them for the damages will you?” she asked.
“No, and they know it.”
“Good. I never saw any men as hardworking and determined as your outfit. Many are hardly more than boys but they do work, and loading all these cattle with no more outbreaks than that one is a miracle.”
He agreed. They should be shutting the door on the last cattle car for that first herd that afternoon. He sure hoped so anyway. Harp was to meet them for lunch at the Cattleman’s Restaurant. Katy sent him a letter that everything at home was fine and neither his father nor Hoot had mentioned any more trouble since they left for Abilene.
Herd two had arrived and so had three. The only serious occurrence was the one cowboy from herd two who had drowned at the Red River crossing. His body was not recovered and Long knew Chaw was upset.
Harp was there with Frank Ransom and Justin Coble from the National Cattle Buyers, Incorporated. Both men wore suits and derby hats they removed for Jan when they sat down.
Frank made her welcome and asked if she really enjoyed the trip up.
“I really did. I have worked cattle all my life, and it was a great adventure.”
“Most women would run away from such a task.”
She shook her head. “Before Long and I met, my ex-man and three cowboys, in sixty days, gathered and branded five hundred mavericks out of the south Texas brush. Now that was real work. The drive up here was a sleigh ride. I never rode in one, just heard about how smooth they were.”
“My, my, I am impressed.”
“No need in that. A gal just does what she has to do in Texas. This was my opportunity to see the Indian Territory and Kansas. A little cow chousing never hurt me none.”
“Jan is a Texas cowgirl,” Harp said.
“Well, Mrs. O’Malley, I am pleased to meet you, be assured, and so is Justin.”
He nodded.
They turned in their food order to the waiter.
“Frank told me this morning the last three herds could be sold at a five-dollar discount from the first. I sold them,” Harp said.
Long agreed. That wasn’t as bad as he had thought it might have been, ending up lots lower. Good. They had them all sold. When they got the second herd loaded, he and Jan might head home with some of the men.
The bunch back in Texas was spread way too thin if trouble began to brew again. And he felt certain that it would. The herds were now all in Abilene and it was a miracle that they had only had two deaths. Sad, but still, a miracle.
“Will you bring this many herds next year?” Justin asked as they ate their chicken-fried steak, green beans, mashed potatoes, and yeast rolls with coffee.
“We hope to.”
“They are talking about moving the loading spot next year south to Cottonwood Falls where the railroad track will be by then.”
“Save us a few miles,” Harp said.
“Oh, hell, it won’t be the same,” Justin said. “And we just got Abilene up to being half pleasurable. What is that town’s name? Anyway it is some dried-up farmer’s village.”
“Winfield I think.”
“Won’t be the same.”
There was lots of talk of more and larger processing packing plants in Chicago gearing up to do more slaughter business. Frank thought Chicago would be a much larger market in the future than St. Louis. Long didn’t give a damn what they did, but expansion meant more markets so that pleased him. These two were all right, but they had such airs about themselves they really got under his skin. Lunch with them was enough. Leave the rest to his brother. He liked straightforward talk like he got at home from ranchers and storekeepers. He almost laughed with their haughty talking about some big businessman inviting them to his mansion and what they served. And, oh, how his old French wine was so superb.
Going back to the hotel room he and Jan had, he slapped his knee laughing. “Did you get a little tired hearing about Crabtree and the fancy meal he served them?”
“Heavens, Long, I’d take a real Texas mesquite barbecue to any of that junk.”
When they reached the boardwalk on the farside, he swung her around and kissed her with a “Me too” on the end of it. Right there in downtown Abilene under the bright Kansas sunshine and he didn’t care who saw them do that, either.
They went laughing all the way to the hotel.
They hadn’t been back to the room very long when a knock came on the door.
Hat in hand it was Kirby Drone, one of the hands, and out of breath.
“Mister O’Malley, they’ve done shot Boone Allen and may kill the rest of them boys behind the corrals at the rail yard. I didn’t know who to ask for help. Clerk said you were up here.” He was still deep-breathing.
Long reached for the coatrack and gun holster, strapping it on while Kirby leaned on the doorjamb to recover his breath.
“How many are against them?”
“A bunch.”
“Harp is at the cattle buyers’ office. Can you get him?”
“I can, sir. But I don’t know about—�
�
“I’ll see to him. Get Harp.” Then he turned and told Jan to stay there until he came back.
He silenced her with a kiss and tore out behind the man. They scrambled down the stairs and out into the street. He spotted one of the men riding by and shouted, “Bring me that horse. They have some of our boys treed behind the loading pens.”
The boy reined over, jumped down, stuttering what could he do?
“Get more boys.” He bolted in the saddle, tore the horse’s head around, and dodged him in and out of the street traffic. He arrived behind the pens in a sliding halt and reined the horse to the right.
He saw the smoke of a pistol being fired at him by someone standing there. He whipped out his .45 and returned fire. The shooter had missed him, but Long didn’t and the man went down.
The horse slid on his heels getting sat down. And several of the gathered were running away in all directions.
“Who did this to you, Boone?” he asked on his knees, looking over the obviously shot youth.
“Those bastards—you remember when we passed their herd back down there in Texas.”
“They found us huh?”
“Yes, sir, and they ain’t getting paid to go home, either.”
“That bullet hurting you bad?”
“Bad enough.” Boone nodded, tight-lipped.
“We need to find you a doctor—” Long turned at the sound of a man’s voice of authority.
“What in the hell happened here anyway?” The man talking to him had a big mustache and a badge.
“Some lowlife shot one of my hands. We need a way to convey him to a doctor.”
The lawman’s face formed a frown at his words. “Injun, where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Half Indian. This boy works for my firm and needs medical care. My name is Long O’Malley and I am part of the O’Malley Brothers Land and Cattle Company. That dead man over there I shot in self-defense—he was shooting at me.”
“Hickok is my name . . . most folks call me Bill or William. You got any name on the rest of those shooters?”
“I’ll find them. Right now this boy’s medical attention is more important.”
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