by Zane Grey
Brite felt an eagerness to be on the move again. He had resigned himself to a loss of half his herd; nevertheless the deal rankled in him, and no doubt would grow into a bitter defeat. It was one thing to decide upon a wise and reasonable course after being robbed, and an entirely different one to follow it. These cowboys would obey orders, but they would never accept such a loss. Texas Joe and Pan Handle were the wrong men to rob.
By sunup the drivers were on the trail again, with the cattle stepping along around two miles an hour. Moze had caught up and had stopped to let his horses graze.
That day passed without any of the drivers catching a glimpse of the half of the herd which had been driven on ahead.
“Wal, if I know cow tracks, thet ootfit lost instead of gained on us last night,” said Texas. “They cain’t drive a herd. Funny thing, boys. Yu know we have aboot all the mean old mossy-horns in thet back half. An’ Ross Hite had the bad luck to get them. Pan’s got the deal straight. The d —— stampeder will do our work for us an’ get shot full of holes for his pains.”
Camp had lost its jollity. A different spirit prevailed. These drivers reacted visibly to betrayal by two of their number, to the death of the traitor, to the ordeal of the flood, and Chandler’s fate. Loss of half their herd had made them grim and stern. Excepting Texas Joe, who had changed most overnight, they all lent a hand to Reddie wherever possible, but the fun, the sentiment, the approach to love-making, had vanished. Texas had scarcely ever a word for Reddie, or anybody else. Instinctively they all began to save themselves, as if what had happened was little compared with what was to come.
But Round Top and Brushy Creek camps, and Cornhill, Noland Creek, Loon River, Bosque River, were reached and passed with only minor mishaps. Once from a swell of the vast prairie, which had taken them all day to surmount, San Sabe pointed out the stolen half of Brite’s herd, only a long day ahead. They knew for a certainty now that Ross Hite was driving those cattle. At Belton, a little ranch settlement on Noland Creek, Hite had left behind enough to identify him.
Rains had been few and far between, but enough to keep the creeks fresh and the waterholes from drying up. Much anticipation attended their arrival at the great Brazos River. Here Brite expected another flood and strenuous crossing, but was agreeably disappointed. The Brazos had been up recently, but now offered no obstacle. They camped on the north shore, where a fine creek came in, and struck again, for the first time in days, an abundance of game. Turkeys and deer were so tame they scarcely moved out of the way of horse or man. The young turkeys were now the size of a hen chicken, and made a most toothsome dish.
Brite calculated that at this rate of travel they would drive the distance in ninety days. A third of that time had passed, and more. But he had lost track of the date. Four more days brought them halfway to Fort Worth from the Brazos; and it was noticeable that the drivers began to respond to the absence of the evil that had dogged their trail.
Fort Worth at last! It might have been a metropolis for the importance it held for the drivers. But there were only a few buildings, a store and saloon, and not many inhabitants. Texas Joe bedded down the herd outside of town, wholly unaware that the other half of Brite’s cattle were not far away this night. That news was brought to camp by San Sabe, who was the only one of the four boys sober enough to tell anything straight. That was some time before midnight. In the morning Texas Joe hauled these recalcitrants out for what Brite anticipated would be dire punishment.
“Fellars, yu laid down on me last night,” said Texas, soberly, with not a trace of rancor. “Yu got drunk. If yu hadn’t an’ had rustled back heah pronto with this news aboot our cattle — why, we’d all sneaked over while Hite’s ootfit was in town, an’ drove ’em back. I found oot this mawnin’ thet Hite drove away early in the evenin’. He got wind of us.”
All the cowboys, one of whom was Less Holden, showed shame and consternation at their delinquency.
“Wal, it’s too late now for this chance,” went on Texas. “But I’m askin’ yu to let this be the last till we get to Dodge. There we can get awful drunk. I shore wanted some drinks. I’d like to forget, same as yu. When we cross Red River, then we’ll have hell. Them infernal lightnin’ storms thet play bob with cattle. An’ the buffalo. We’ll shore meet up with them. So, even if we miss the Comanches, we’ll shore have hell enough.”
“Tex, we won’t take another drink till the drive’s over,” announced Ackerman. “I promise yu. I’ll cowhide any fellar who tries to break thet.”
“Fine, Deuce. I couldn’t ask no more,” replied Texas, satisfied.
Before the drivers broke camp that morning a company of soldiers passed, and a sergeant halted for a chat with Brite. Disturbing information was elicited from this soldier. The detachment was under Lieutenant Coleman of the Fourth Cavalry, and was on the way to Fort Richardson, where a massacre of settlers had been perpetrated by Comanches not long before. Comanches and Kiowas were on the warpath again and raiding all the wide territory between the Brazos and Red Rivers. Buffalo herds were to be encountered frequently south of the Red, and north of it, according to Coleman, were packed almost solid clear to the Canadian River. Beef and hide hunters, rustlers and horse thieves, were also following the buffalo.
“Lieutenant Coleman advises you stay at the fort for a while,” concluded the sergeant. “There’s only one herd ahead of yours. An’ that outfit wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Ross Hite’s ootfit?”
“Didn’t get the name. Tall sandy-complexioned Texan with deep slopin’ lines in his face an’ narrow eyes.”
“Thet’s Hite,” confirmed Pan Handle.
“He’ll run plump into everything this range can dig up. You’d better hold up for a spell.”
“Impossible, Sergeant,” replied Brite. “There air two big herds right behind us. One an’ two days. An’ then six days or so more there’s no end of them. Two hundred thousand haid of stock will pass heah this summer.”
“My word! Is it possible? Well, a good many of them will never get to Kansas.... Good-by and good luck.”
“Same to yu,” called Texas, and then turned to his outfit with fire in his eyes. “Yu all heahed, so there’s nothin’ to say. We’ll go through shootin’. Boss, I reckon we better load up with all the grub an’ ammunition we can pack. No store till we get to Doan’s, an’ they’re always oot of everythin’.”
* * * * *
Brite’s outfit of drivers went on, prepared for the worst. And again they had days of uneventful driving. At Bolivar, a buffalo camp, the Chisholm Trail split, the right fork heading straight north to Abiline, and the left cutting sharply to the northwest. The Abiline branch was the longer and safer; the Dodge branch the shorter, harder and more hazardous, but ended in the most profitable market for cattle and horses.
“Brite, do yu reckon yu can find oot which fork Hite took? A coupla drinks will do it. Shore this ootfit heah might be just as bad as Hite’s. All the rustlers an’ hawse thieves call themselves hide-hunters.”
“Yu go, Tex. I’ll lend yu my flask,” replied the boss.
“All right. Come with me, Pan Handle,” replied Texas.
“Let me go, too,” spoke up Reddie.
“What! — Why yu want to go?”
“I’d like to see somebody. I’m tired of all yu cross men.”
“Ahuh. Yu want to meet some new men? Wal, it’s nix on thet. The Brite ootfit wants to hang on to yu, seein’ we done it so far.”
The afternoon was not far spent and camp had been selected on a stream that ran on into Bolivar, some little distance east. There was a beautiful big swale for the stock to graze on without strict guarding. It was the second best site so far on the drive. The stream was lined with trees that hid the camp from the little settlement. Brite proposed to Reddie that they go fishing. This brought smiles to the girl’s discontented face. Whereupon Brite procured fishing lines and hooks from his bag, and cutting poles, proceeded to rig them while Moze was instructed to get g
rubs, worms, or grasshoppers for bait.
Then followed a happy and a successful hour for Brite. Reddie was a novice, but wildly enthusiastic and excruciatingly funny. The climax of this little adventure came when Reddie hooked a heavy catfish which not only could she not hold, but that was surely pulling her down the bank on the stout line and pole. She was thoroughbred enough not to let go, but she yelled lustily for help. It was one of Brite’s rules never to aid a fisherman; in this instance, however, he broke it and helped Reddie hold the big fish until it became exhausted. They landed it, and adding it to their already respectable string, hurried back to camp in triumph. Moze was delighted. “I sho’s glad of dis. Yu-all beat the niggahs fishin’. Mebbe a change from dat meat will be good.”
Before supper was ready Texas Joe and Pan Handle returned, to Brite’s great relief.
“Wal, boss, Hite took the Dodge trail yestiddy aboot noonday,” said Texas, cheerfully. “He’s ahaid of us right smart, but accordin’ to them buff hunters he’ll be stuck in no time.”
“Wal, thet’s good news, I guess,” replied Brite, dubiously. “What yu mean — stuck?”
“Wal, if nothin’ else stops Hite the buffalo shore will.”
“Then they’ll stop us, too.”
“We don’t give a damn so long’s we get our cattle back. Thet Hite deal shore went against the grain for me.”
“A rest wouldn’t hurt us none,” rejoined Brite.
“Reckon this’ll be the last peaceful rest in camp we’ll get,” drawled Texas. Then he espied Moze cleaning the fish. “Dog-gone! Where’d yu get them?”
“Miss Reddie an’ the boss snaked dem oot of de crick dere.”
“Did yu ketch any?” Texas asked Reddie.
“Shore. I got three — an’ thet big one.”
“No! Yu never pulled thet oot.”
“I had to have help. Took us both. Gee! it was fun. Thet darn catfish nearly pulled me in. I yelled an’ yelled for Mr. Brite. But he only laughed an’ never came till I was shore slidin’ in.”
“Ahuh. Yu like to fish?”
“Like it? I love it. Nobody ever took me before. Oh, I’ve missed so much. But I’ll learn or die.”
Texas Joe nodded his head gloomily over what seemed a fatalistic, inevitable fact.
“Who ever heahed of a girl lovin’ to fish? Dog-gone yu. Reddie Bayne, yu’re just the natural undoin’ of Tex Shipman. Of all things I love in this turrible Texas it’s to set in the shade along the bank of a creek an’ fish, an’ listen to the birds an’ all, an’ watch the minnows, an’ — an’ — —”
“Gosh! Mr. Brite, our Texas Jack is a poet,” burst out Reddie, gleefully.
There were indications, for a moment, of a cessation of hostilities between Reddie and Texas. They looked at each other with absorbing eyes.
“Tex, I thought yu’d stopped her Texas Jackin’ yu,” drawled Brite, with a sly glance at Reddie. She blushed for the first time in many days.
“Reckoned I had. Wal, I’ll have to see aboot it,” replied Texas, leaving no doubt in Reddie’s mind what he meant. Wherefore the truce was ended.
Toward the close of their supper two strangers approached in the dusk. Texas greeted them, thereby relieving Brite’s concern. The visitors proved to be hide-hunters stationed at Bolivar.
“We been lookin’ over yore herd,” announced the taller of the two, undoubtedly a Texan. “An’ we want to inform yu thet Hite’s cattle wore two of yore brands.”
“No news to us. But yore tellin’ us makes a difference. Much obliged. It happened this way,” rejoined Texas, and related the circumstances of the fording of the Colorado and loss of half the herd.
“Then yu needn’t be told no more aboot Ross Hite?” queried the hide-hunter, in a dry tone.
“Nope. Nary no more.”
“Wal, thet’s good. Now heah’s what Pete an’ me come over to propose. We want to move our ootfit up somewheres between the Little Wichita an’ the Red, whar we heah thar’s a million buffs. An’ we’d like to go with yu thet fer.”
Texas turned to interrogate his boss with a keen look.
“Men, thet depends upon Shipman,” returned Brite. “We shore could use more hands, if it comes to a mess of any kind.”
“Wal, I’d like to have yu, first rate,” said Texas, frankly. “But we don’t know yu. How can we tell yu ain’t in with Hite or have some deal of yore own?”
“Hellno, yu cain’t tell,” laughed the hunter. “But yu’ve got guns.”
“Shore, an’ yu might spike ’em.... Tell yu what I’ll do, fellars.” Texas proceeded leisurely to replenish the fire, so that it blazed up brightly in the gathering dusk. Standing in its glare the two visitors showed to advantage.
“Reddie, come heah,” called Texas. The girl was not slow in complying. She had moved away into the shadow.
“What yu want?” she replied, slowly coming forth.
“Reddie, these two men want to throw in with us, far as the Little Wichita. If yu was Trail boss of this ootfit what would yu say?”
“Gee! give me somethin’ easy,” retorted Reddie, but she came readily closer, sensing an importance in the event. And certainly no two strangers ever received any sharper, shrewder survey than they got then.
“Howdy, Lady. Do yu know Texans when yu see them?” queried one, quizzically.
The shorter of the two removed his sombrero to bow with all Southern politeness. The act exposed a ruddy, genial face.
“Evenin’, miss. If it’s left to yu I’m shore we’ll pass,” he said, frankly.
“Texas, I’ve seen a heap of bad hombres, but never none thet I couldn’t size up pronto. Guess it got on my mind. If I was foreman I’d be glad to have these men.”
“Wal, thet was my idee,” drawled Texas. “I only wanted to see what yu’d say.”
“What yu got in yore ootfit?” asked Brite.
“Two wagons an’ eight hawses, some hides an’ grub. An’ a box of needle-gun ammunition.”
“Thet last may come in handy.... But I understood from my foreman thet there was six in yore ootfit.”
“Thet’s correct. But Pete an’ me want to pull leather away from them, an’ not answer any questions, either.”
“All right. Yu’re welcome. Be heah at daybreak.... An’ say, what’s yore handles?”
“Wal, my pard goes by the name of Smilin’ Pete. An’ mine’s Hash Williams. Much obliged for lettin’ us throw in with yu. Good night. See yu in the mawnin’.”
When they left, considerable speculation was indulged in by some of the drivers. Pan Handle settled the argument by claiming he would not be afraid to sleep without his guns that night. The guard changed early, leaving Brite, Reddie, and Texas in camp, the very first time that combination had been effected.
For once Texas stayed in camp beside the fire, and appeared more than amenable. He and Brite discussed the proximity of Hite’s outfit and the certainty that a clash would intervene before they reached the Canadian. However, when the conversation drifted to the late Indian depredations Reddie vigorously rebelled.
“Cain’t yu talk aboot somethin’ else?” she demanded. “I always had a horror of bein’ scalped.”
“Wal, kid, yore red curls would shore take the eye of a Comanche buck,” drawled Texas. “But yu’d never be scalped. Yu’d be taken captive to be made a squaw.”
“I’d be a daid squaw, then,” said Reddie, shuddering.
“Wal, to change the subject, Brite, we’ll shore have a party when we get to Dodge.”
“I’m in for it. What kind of a party, Tex?”
“Darn if I know. But it wants to come off quick before yu pay us hands. ‘Cause then we’ll soon be mighty drunk.”
“Why do yu have to drink?” queried Reddie, in unconcealed disgust.
“Dog-gone. I often wondered aboot thet. I don’t hanker much for likker. But after a long spell oot on the prairie, specially one of these turrible trail drives, I reckon it’s a relief to bust oot.”
“I
f yu had a woman, would yu go get stinkin’ drunk?” queried Reddie.
“A — a woman!” blustered Texas, taken aback. “Reddie Bayne, I told yu I never mixed up with thet sort of woman, drunk or sober.”
“I didn’t mean a painted dance-hall woman, like Mr. Brite told me aboot.... I mean a — a nice woman.”
“Ahuh. For instance?” went on Texas, curiously, as he poked the red coals with a stick.
“Wal, for instance — one like me.”
“Lawd’s sake!... I shore couldn’t imagine such a wonderful girl as yu carin’ aboot me.”
“Cain’t yu answer a civil question just for sake of argument?”
“Wal, yes. If I had a nice wife yu can bet yore sweet life I’d not disgust her by gettin’ stinkin’ drunk.”
A silence ensued. Brite smoked contentedly. He felt that these two were scarcely aware of his presence. Some fatal leaven was at work on them. Sooner or later they would rush into each other’s arms, which probability had Brite’s heartfelt approval. Still, he had an idea that since Reddie had refused once to accept Texas, if she ever wanted him, she would have to take the bit in her teeth.
“Thanks, Tex,” replied Reddie, finally. “I sort of had a hunch yu’d be thet sort.”
Texas betrayed that he realized he had been paid a high tribute from this waif of the ranges. But all he said was: “Dog-gone! Did Reddie Bayne say somethin’ good aboot me?”
“Tex, it’s only three hours till we go on guard,” spoke up Brite.
“Yu’re talkin’. I’m gonna turn in right now an’ heah.” Whereupon Texas unrolled his bed close to the fire, threw the blankets over him so that his spurred boots stuck out, and was asleep almost as soon as he stretched out.
Reddie gazed at him a long time, then she shook her curly head and said: “No hope.... Dad, yu can make my bed an’ roll me in it, if yu want to.”
“Wal, I’ll do the first, shore an’ certain,” replied Brite, with alacrity. And he proceeded to pack their bedrolls in under the trees close to camp.
“Not so far away, Dad,” objected Reddie. “I may be wearin’ men’s pants an’ packin’ a gun, but I’m growin’ all queer an’ loose inside. I’m gettin’ scared.”