“Ma’am,” Ich said, putting back on his weather-beaten felt hat. “I’m dang sure he’d rather talk to you than palaver with me.”
Ed wasn’t that certain.
She smiled and agreed, waiting for Ich to get beyond earshot. “You met Caudle.”
He nodded.
“You have an idea for a boss?”
“This is your show.”
Despite her iron will, she looked a little uneasy with the notion of that role. “We’ll need a scout, right?”
“It’s best.”
“Who did you use?”
“Several. Jim O’Donald.”
“Where’s he at?”
“Last I heard, up around Mason.”
“Too far and too late. Caudle says he’s been up there several times, and knows all the crossings and where to bed down.”
“It would help if you had a scout. Someone to ride out ahead and see about things.”
“Can you do it?” She looked hard at him.
He dropped his gaze to his scuffed boot toes. “I ain’t worth much these days.”
“I didn’t ask for your self-centered, pity-crowded opinion. I asked if you could scout.”
He rubbed his hands on the front of his pants and nodded. “I can. Let that Comanche Blondie wrangle your horses and find that old cook another hand.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause he knows horses better than any white man.”
“He is white.”
Ed looked off at the trees on the hills in their fresh green coat of leaves. “No, he ain’t, but we won’t argue.”
“All right, he’s going to be the horse wrangler. Rusty’s going to help Jorge if he needs him while we’re gone.”
“Thanks. He’s got two new boys but he’ll need some help.”
“They have your bell steer here, too.”
Ed smiled at the notion of the brockle-faced longhorn. “Sam Houston’s a dandy. He’s more help than ten hands.”
“I know. I heard all about him. What else do I need to do?”
“Get up early and move them north ten miles. The boys will need to swap horses at noontime the first few days. These cattle will be hell getting to the Trinity River before they’re broke to drive.”
“That’s Fort Worth?” She looked shocked.
He nodded. “That’s a month away. Keep several horses saddled on picket line at night. They’ll stampede easy.”
“I see they fight all the time.”
“Settling who’s boss in this new herd. That’s another reason they’ll stampede. They’ve got to get a pecking order from top to bottom, and until it’s straight they’ll fight and butt heads.”
“And there isn’t a cow in the herd and they ride each other like crazy.”
“Nothing to do with breeding. That’s how they subjugate the competitor in the pecking order.”
She closed her eyes. “Guess I’m getting an education after all these years. No one ever had an explanation for those things that they wanted to share with a woman. It was just, drive them.”
“I don’t know it all, but I’ve been gathering things since I went north the first year.”
“Obviously. You all right?” She looked at him hard.
“Nothing—nothing some of Rosa’s goat milk might not clear up.”
She winked. “I’ll have some by night. Oh, all the consigners will be here for the evening meal as a send-off.”
“I’ll be there.”
“The roan’s here for you.”
“Good. I’ve got where I really like him.”
“Consider him yours.”
He laughed. “No, I’d rather have the excuse of borrowing him.”
“Suit yourself. I need to go find a cook’s helper. You’re sure Blondie needs to be the horse wrangler?” She narrowed her left eye at him.
“Yes, he talks their language, and besides, he might scalp your cook.”
She smiled and left, shaking her head.
He watched her striding away in her leather chaps and gallowses crossing her back. The cowboy hat crowned her head—even in man’s getup she made a helluva woman. Might even be a first. A woman heading up a cattle drive—if any female could do it, Unita Nance might just be the one.
He needed a damn drink.
Morning came too soon when someone came and shook him. His head hurt and his belly felt on fire as he crawled out of his roll. Sitting on his bedroll to pull on his boots, he shivered as the body heat from the blankets fled his upper torso in the predawn chill.
About to get up, he blinked at the squatted hatless man in front of him. His words, even in Spanish, were garbled about thanks and the horses. His face gleamed with pride, even in the starlight.
“Don’t let me regret it,” Ed said in a gruff voice.
Blondie smiled and was gone.
She rode by and handed him a mason jar when he started for the horse pen. “More from Rosa.” Then she went on before he could thank her.
No telling how long she’d been up. He could hear the hands calling out horses’ names to Ich and Shorty, obviously handling the horse-catching job in the rope pen. Some they had to give the two men the color or point a gelding out, since both men were new to the remuda. In a few mornings it would be old hat.
“Roan,” he said to Ich when he reached the corral.
“It’s the one with all the mane,” Ich said to Shorty as both men worked in the dark, save for the light of a lantern or two the boys held up.
The roan caught he led him down to the wagon, keeping him on the far side so he didn’t rile the cook on the first day. He drank his jar of goat milk, put the jar up, and found his saddle, blankets, and bridle. With the roan ready to go and hitched on the picket line, Ed went to breakfast, especially for the coffee. The milk settled his stomach some and he felt ready to ride.
“We camping at Eastman’s tonight?” Caudle, in his apron, asked, going by him on his way to get something.
“Fine with me,” Ed said.
No need in him riding all over hell. Caudle knew so much, he’d kick back and help the boys hold them in on the first day.
It was noon, when the boys swapped for fresh horses, that Unita stopped him. “Don’t you need to scout?”
“Caudle’s doing it today.”
“Caudle’s kinda bossy. But he ain’t the scout yet.” She flipped the curls back from her face.
“Boys need all the help they can get today. I’ll be fine. The old man has him a spot picked out up there and the water is easy. Tell Ich and Shorty to feed them in from the east and they’ll be fine.”
She nodded that she’d heard him. “I also watched your Comanche taking the horses out. He is good with them.”
“Too good to wrangle wood and water.”
“Strange acting.” She looked at him for help.
“No, he’s a Comanche and just looks like a white man.”
“I see it now. You were right about this first day. Half these cattle want to go home.”
“Be glad your boys are fresh. When the cattle get worn down they’ll be close to dead.”
“I can see that now. What else should I be doing?”
He shook his head. “Have Ich tie up the clapper on Sam when they get to the bed grounds each night, and turn the bell loose to head them out before a storm gets here. They’re better on the road in one bunch than trying to hold them.”
“What if there’s a river ahead?”
“Best to get them across it beforehand or, if you can’t, you have them swing boys take them in big circles. They know how.”
“When will these boys buck up on me?”
He sighed. “I only had one bunch do that to me and it was up in Kansas. We’d been in lots of storms, no sleep, and I was pushing them hard to get across rivers before they flooded and we couldn’t. Two boys drowned in a mill.”
“A mill? What’s that?”
“That’s when cattle get in midstream of a river and go to circling instead of swimming for
the shore. It’ll lose bunches of cattle, and even hands trying to break them up.”
She blinked hard at him. “How do you prevent it?”
“Pray.”
“Pray?”
“Yes, and hope he hears you.”
Blondie rode by them. “I go now.”
“Sίί, you can find Caudle?” she asked.
He grinned. “Oh, sίί, Senora.”
With a wave she sent him on. The hands were remounted on fresh ponies and the cattle moving again.
“When can I graze them more?” she asked.
“Beyond the Red River when they’re trail broke.”
“Good. Why aren’t you doing this?” she asked, ready to mount up.
“I’m the pilot, remember?”
“I remember lots of things.” She reined her horse around and sent him off in a short lope.
He mounted the roan and skirted the herd, waved to Ich, and headed north. He needed some whiskey to drink. There might be some at Alan’s Spring, a small place north of the drive.
He reached the town in midafternoon. A couple of saloons, a store, a harness shop, and a blacksmith all clustered along a creek. A few ranchers were in town. Their rigs sat about and a couple of hipshot horses were at the rack. He dismounted at the Gray Bull Saloon, hitched the roan, stretched his stiff back, and then pushed his way in the batwing doors.
“Howdy, mister. What can I do for you?”
“Pour me some whiskey.”
“You can pour your own.” The bartender, a tall, thin man looked at the bottle to mentally mark the amount in it. He slapped down a glass and the quart. Then he reset the red garters on his white shirtsleeves. “What else?”
“Need some pints to get me to Fort Worth.”
“Four enough?”
“No, but that’s all I can put in my saddlebags.”
The man nodded like he understood him. “Gets tougher to get north of here, don’t it?”
Ed sampled his whiskey and let it run down his throat. Sure cut the trail dust—good stuff. “There’s a sign ’cross that Red River says ‘This here is Injun Territory anyone in possession of alcoholic products beyond this point will be fined and/or imprisoned for violating the federal laws. Judge Isaac Parker, Federal Judge for the territories, Fort Smith, Arkansas.’ ”
“Must be a long, dry drive across that country.”
Ed shook his head. “There’s more folks make and sell it up there than down here. You can find someone selling it everywhere up there.”
The man laughed. “Why in the hell is there a sign like that?”
“ ’Cause his deputies arrest folks every day up there for making it.”
“You headed up there?”
Ed nodded and downed his whiskey, then looked at the four pints the man had set on the counter. “How much do I owe you?”
“Five bucks will cover it.”
Ed paid him and gathered his purchase.
“Have a good trip, mister.”
“I will, if I can find some more on the way.” They both laughed.
He short loped the roan back west. Pausing before crossing a creek, he reached down and undid his saddlebag flap. A pint out, he broke the seal and pulled the cork to take a good jolt, then recorked, slipped the bottle in his boot top, pulled his pants back down, and grinned—he’d start boot legging right there.
He saw the horse herd first, spread out grazing, and Blondie’s paint, hobbled near a blanket on the ground that no doubt covered his rider’s form as he was catching some shut-eye. Ed rode wide of them into camp, where Caudle and his helper, a boy of about sixteen named Jocko, were busy building a fire and setting the chuck wagon up. Caudle looked in his direction and then he spit to the side. “Suit you?”
“Fine. Where you parking tomorrow?” Ed asked.
“Across Red Water Creek at the old pueblo.”
“Should work,” Ed said in approval. “I’ll tell the boss lady. She’s after me to earn my pay as a scout.”
“Well, Lordy, I been up this way so many damn times, I can read it like the back of my hand.”
“Fine,” Ed said. As long as it suited him they’d use cookie’s places.
He unsaddled the roan and turned him out to roll and then join the rest. He went over and tried cookie’s small pot of coffee. It was done enough, and he stayed back from the two of them. The whole time Caudle was ordering the boy around and chewing on him about something. Blondie owed him a big premium for getting to be out there with the remuda.
The herd moved in and the riders watered them west of camp. After that they pushed them across the shallow creek to eat their fill. The riders returned to camp, and most got out their bedrolls and flung them open on the ground to nap. There was plenty of groaning and moaning about “those damn steers.” Typical first-day whining he’d heard at the end of the day on every drive.
“You boys should have been with me the first time.”
“When was that?” a young one asked.
“All the cattle we drove north that time were mavericks and had never seen a man before we caught them and went north.”
“Was they steers?” one kid asked.
“Yeah, after surgery.”
“Whew, they must have been wild.”
“They stampeded every night and we spent days looking for them.”
“How did it go? I mean, when you got up there?”
“They were real fat ’cause we took twice as long as the rest to get there, and they sold for a high price.”
The hands all laughed.
“How many head?”
“Eight hundred, but counting the cook there were only six of us.”
“Five hands?”
“Right, so there wasn’t any sleep. I’d better go talk to the boss,” he said to them and they all grinned.
“How did you get your job?” one named Jersey asked.
Ed stopped and turned back. “I made one too many trips up there.”
They laughed, and he went over to talk to Unita at the chuck wagon.
She gave a head toss and they walked to the edge of Caudle’s ring for privacy. “How did you think it went?”
“Fine for me.”
“No.” She frowned to make her point.
He shrugged with his hands slid in his back pockets. “One down and probably ninety more to go.”
“Oh, heavens.”
“They get to be a habit finally.”
“Good. Red Water Creek, huh?”
He nodded. Obviously cookie had told her about it. “I talked to Caudle about it.”
“He said so. But I hired him to cook—”
“When I think it’s wrong I’ll tell you and him. He’s a good cook so far, and sent the boys out with extra grub in their pockets this morning. He’s got cinnamon rolls coming up for a treat here in the afternon. I’m fine with him.”
“I’m counting on you to tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
“Go help him dish out those rolls and talk to them boys. It will make their day.”
Her cheeks reddened and she looked undecided. “All right, boss. Where’re you going?”
“Talk to Blondie a little about them horses. He may know which ones would be best for night herding now he’s been around ’em.”
“You sure place lots of faith in him.”
He shook his head. “He knows horses, trust me. Go serve buns.”
“Want one?”
“Naw, it might ruin my supper.”
She shook her head and went to help. He walked through the new grass for the ridge and the pinto raised up and stared at him. A small bell he wore barely tinkled over the growing wind. Smart deal; Blondie had that horse there as a sentry, and when he raised up the bell rang and woke him. Horses were better sentries than a dog and they didn’t bark.
The former captive sat up on his blanket and hugged his knees when Ed reached him.
“You sleep?” Ed asked, and squatted down nearby so he wouldn’t stare at him and make him
feel self-conscious.
“Some,” Blondie said in Spanish.
“Well, how do you like the white man’s world?”
“Different. Comanches only hunt. Women do the rest.”
“You remember being with your own people.”
“I can see the place.”
“Know where it is?”
“No, but I will know it when I see it again.”
“Your parents dead?”
When Blondie didn’t answer, Ed twisted to look at him and Blondie turned up his palms as if he had no words.
“You can pick the night horses. Ones that see better at night. Won’t step on a steer in the dark.”
“Sίί.”
“Help them night herders. They ain’t Comanche.”
“I will. I like it better with the ponies. That old man talks too much. He is like an old woman.”
“I savvy that.” Ed seated himself and drew out the pint. He never offered Blondie any, but took small pulls on it and replaced the cork.
Nothing bothered Ed by the time Caudle rang the triangle for supper. He put the empty pint back in his boot. Broken glass could cripple a horse. He’d find a place to stash it later. The sun was getting low and four of the boys were bedding the steers down on the big flat. They were full of water and grass. That fill would put them to chewing their cuds and then to sleep. He hoped so anyway. Maybe there would be no stampedes.
When Ed reached the camp, he spoke to Ich. “Tell these boys the rules about spooking cattle at night.”
“Listen up, no shooting, no loud screaming, no clanging iron, and don’t ride into a sleeping critter. It’ll be dark out there, but keep your mind on it. Every man draws a two-hour shift. I’ll show you the Big Dipper. If it gets cloudy, we can use Caudle’s alarm clock.
“Someone hollers stampede, you get out of bed and catch a horse. We’ll have some on the picket line. Try to turn them in a circle when you get to the head of the herd. You may have to ram your horse’s shoulder into the leader’s.” Ich looked around at the crew. They all nodded.
“Everyone savvy that? Good, lets eat.”
Caudle had cooked a large haunch of beef and sliced it thin. Plus brown beans, green beans, sourdough biscuits, and he still had some butter left from the night before. Ed took his plateful and went to sit aside.
Unita soon joined him and sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. “Will they stampede tonight?”
Trail to Cottonwood Falls Page 18
