First, I pawed through the pile of stuff. I hefted and poked every sack among them and picked out the biggest, lightest ones first to put down on the sides, figuring the heavy things should be right on top where they could push straight down and not throw the mule out of balance. I used up plenty of strings—long strips of hide they were—but I got the first batch tied on tight. Then I started up higher, shifting things around and trying them first here, then forward just a mite, next leaned up against something else.
After a considerable while, I had it all tied on the best I could. I stepped back to eyeball the whole thing. It was some higher than I had figured on, and in spots it stuck up or out or some other way, but it was all there and on one mule and I didn't think it was likely to fall off.
"Boy, you sho'ly do build a mean pack. Yessuh, you sho'ly do." Bill was standing off a few feet away. He had a real serious look on his face while he studied my pack job. He cocked his head first to one side and then the other. He dropped his chin and peered at the mule past his brows. He half turned and looked at it over his shoulder. Then he paced real slow in a circle, stopping now and again to go through the same routine from a fresh angle. I noticed the other three mules was already loaded—real neat too.
Finally, he gave a nod. "Duster boy, I'se goin' to show you sumthin'."
Bill walked over behind Maize and took off his hat. He rubbed his head a little with his hand and said, "Ole girl, I sho am sorry to do this."
"Yah," he yelled sudden-like and whacked Maize on the rump with his hat. It made an awful loud smack and raised something of a dust.
Maize, she kicked up her heels, bared her teeth, and brayed something fierce. Then she lit out. She'd run a few steps, bray some more, and kick out like she was trying to fling her shoes off, then she'd run a few steps more and do it all over again. And about every other time she stopped to kick there'd be something come flying off my pack load. It didn't take Maize two hundred yards to throw everything I had put on so carefully. Which was just as well. I'd rather it fell off close than down the trail.
"Awright, Dustah boy. Now fetch that stuff back heah."
From then on, I helped Bill with every little chore that needed done—except making up a pack load. He took care of that himself while I sat back and watched. I never did learn how to build a pack load!
Anyway, I hiked along behind Maize, lifting and toting my way while I tried to round up all the sacks and bundles she'd thrown off.
I found out two things inside of just a couple of minutes. One, it didn't take more than a few sacks for me to figure out that a human person just can't haul as much on his back as a mule. And the other thing was that it's easiest to go pick up stuff starting at the far end of a straight line and then carry it all back instead of trying to fetch and juggle stuff out and then back again. I picked up the first stuff I came to and lugged it half way before I realized my mistake and then dropped it on the ground again, went another hundred yards and started carrying stuff back.
Digger Bill stood there and watched while I made four trips out and back to get everything back where it'd been before. And he watched without saying a thing while I caught up my steeldust and fetched Maize back. She hadn't gone far and had settled down to chew on some greenery nearly as quick as she'd got rid of her load.
Once I finally had everything assembled next to Maize ready for loading again, Bill looked over at me and grinned. "You sho do like to work, don't you, boy?" he asked. "Mules got feets, you know. Some folks 'ud think about that an' figger it's easier to take a mule to the load than t'other way 'round."
"Shee-oot," I said. I couldn't think of anything real bright to add to that so I just dug down and started piling stuff onto Maize for a second shot at it.
"Nevah mind that," Bill said. "From now on you jus' leave my packsaddles be. It'll be easier on you, me, an' the mules too."
I dropped the sacks I was holding and took off for my little horse herd as quick as I could.
The remuda was a welcome sight, and an easy enough one to find. I just wandered out in the direction I'd last seen them and listened for the sound of the bell mare having her musical breakfast. They tell me some people use a bell mule since horses are so partial to mules and train real easy to stay with one, but a mule is a lot smarter than a horse. A mule with a bell on pretty soon learns to graze early and then stand still about the time that day herder is going to be out looking for her. That would sure make it harder to find the remuda in thick brush, but horses don't seem to figure that out very easy, so it was always simple for me to locate the bell mare and get the spare horses pointed up toward the herd.
Once I’d found them, I really expected to have my hands full moving the horses, but it turned out they was no trouble at all. After they had got used to each other they stayed in a bunch almost by themselves. I just sort of pointed them where I wanted them to go and then kept an eye out to make sure they didn't get split off into a couple of smaller bunches. The only danger of losing any of them would be if they got split going around a motte or heading up a wash I wanted them to cross or something, but as long as I was careful about that there wasn't any problem.
The way a trail herd works is that the beeves take off first in the morning, and they are the slowest traveling. Then the cook goes with his pack animals in tow, and they are a lot faster. Finally, the remuda gets moving, and as slow as they are, they are still the quickest group moving.
Since the cattle don't take kindly to walking all day and need their siesta, it works out real fine for a bunch of cowhands who never have time for nooning when they are chousing cows out of the brush. The cook and the day wrangler both can pass the beeves without hurrying and pick out a spot for nooning some miles ahead. By the time the cows are brought up and settled, the cook has a hot meal ready and the wrangler has fresh horses waiting for the afternoon drive.
As quick as we located a good place to stop, it was my job to gather fuel while Bill got his cooking gear together. There was usually just enough time to get a good bed of coals ready before the herd got up to us.
Once the beeves was settled, everybody would come over to the remuda first thing to catch up a fresh horse. If there was trouble with the herd while everyone was chewing lunch it wouldn't do to have tired horses waiting nearby. And nobody was ever without a saddled horse handy, daytime nor night.
Anyway, this first day with the whole bunch moving Bill picked out a good place to stop for the nooning, a little stream bed that I'd of thought would be dry so long before the rains was due, but instead had a nice flow of sweet water in it.
I got the horses quieted and happy, and I offsaddled to a shaggy, quick-moving red that I'd had my eye on all morning. I was beginning to find out that being a wrangler had some advantages—it sure gave me first pick on the best horses.
When I had taken care of that I gathered up an extra big load of wood and carried it over by Digger Bill's pile of skillets and other truck.
Bill was in fine mood when I got there—humming to himself and looking about as cheerful as I'd seen him.
"What's got you going on so?" I asked him. "I thought you was the one that hated to work. I sure never figured you to be happy with an extra meal to fix."
"I ain't fond of work maybe, but I sho love to cook, boy. It's what I does best." He grinned. "Nex' to whippin' a young'un like you into line when he needs it, that is."
"Not me. There's nobody going to bring in more wood than me. An' you won't catch me riding close to the fire nor stirring dust up around your meat neither. No sir, not me, you won't." I took a block of lucifers from a cloth sack and got the fire started.
"Now, I tole you once about gettin' into my bags o' fixins."
"Oh, I remembered, too. But these was in plain sight and I didn't want to bother you while you was busy."
Bill had a big, wood hammer and was flailing away at some slabs of fresh meat trying to beat it down until it could be chewed, though he wasn't about to make that new-killed beef close to ten
der. After seeing the way he could pound meat I surely didn't want him pounding on me. But he seemed to accept the explanation about getting those matches out, so I allowed it was all right.
"Don't be bashful now—pile that wood on high. We got cookin' to do."
"Right."
Everything I'd drug up was already burning by then, so I went off and hauled in some more. I'd hardly got it to burning good when Bill spoke up again.
"That ain't really enough yet. Maybe a couple more trips will do it."
I stomped back off into the brush, gathered a big armload, brought it back, turned and got still another. By that time I'd worked up a good sweat, but I didn't set around waiting for Bill to get mad. I thought what I'd do would be to feed the wood onto the fire and sneak back to my horses.
"Shore hate to ast you t' do this, Duster boy, but this here meat's awful tough. It's gonna take a lot of heat t' make it right. I figure about two more loads should get 'er done."
I was tempted to say something back but I figured that wouldn't be a real smart thing, so I didn't...except maybe a little that I said too quiet for him to hear. But I got two more loads of wood. If Bill didn't pretty soon quit calling for more wood I'd have to borrow one of his mules to haul it back all the distance I'd have to go to fetch it.
When all that was burning good I could hardly stand getting close to that fire it was so big, and plenty hot. Nobody could of wanted a bigger fire than that even if he was fixing to cook a whole steer instead of just steaks for the ten of us.
"Duster?"
"Yeah." I was puffing and awful tired by then.
"I think that fahr o' yourn may be good size now. You got that block o' matches yet?"
"Yeah."
"Toss it over t' me an' I'll put it back in the sack." The sack was laying practically by my feet, nowhere near to him.
I got the lucifers from where I'd laid them and gave them to Bill. I got the message too. He sure did favor privacy for him and his stuff, including them sacks.
I didn't say anything more—just got away from there and back to my horses quick before Bill thought of something else.
I went back and kept a real careful eye on the horses. Before long, the rest of the boys came up with the beeves, and I helped them rope out fresh horses. Then we all went over to collect our noon steaks.
There was considerable grumbling around the fire—seemed someone had got the fire too hot so the meat was all burnt on the outside before it had ever begun to start cooking on the inside.
Me...I never said a word of complaint.
15
THE NEXT FEW days was really PRETTY pleasant. Since I had to tend the remuda in daytime and get up early to help Bill with the breakfast fire, and now that we was moving I had to fetch in the horses first thing so day animals could be saddled, I didn't have to ride nighthawk on the herd. It was mighty nice being able to wrap up in my soogan of an evening and stay in it right straight through until Bill rousted me out about two-three hours before dawn.
We moved the herd slow, not more than ten or twelve miles a day though they could of been pushed further. I guess there wasn't any real reason for being so careful of the animals, but all the hands was in a good mood and nobody likes to walk beef off a steer unless he has to. So we just sort of drifted along, keeping mostly pretty close to the river.
Going easy, as we were, the horses never got overworked either. Every hand, except Bill of course, used three mounts a day. One for morning, one for afternoon, and one for night.
Right at first I didn't realize how much a man can favor his night horse, and that led to something of a fuss between me and B.J. Hollis.
The second afternoon out I was helping some of the boys rope their afternoon mounts. Split Emmons came in from the herd and commenced to offsaddle. While he was doing that, just to be helpful-like, I dabbed a loop onto an ugly brown, black, and white paint that looked terrible but had good feet and moved real easy in spite of its awkward appearance.
I led the horse to Split and was about to turn it over to him when I heard this awful commotion behind me. When I looked, here come B.J. at a flat-out run, kicking his horse through the scrub for all they was both worth. When he got close I could see that he was awful mad.
"Git yore dud-blasted rope off'n that horse, you no-'count dumb kid. Git it off'n him right now 'fore I lay you out."
He came boiling up beside me and slid to a stop, and before his horse was even stopped B.J. had piled off and had jumped alongside that ugly paint. "Git. Git. Git." He looked like he was so mad he couldn't say anything else while he peeled my rope off the horse. Then he turned toward me and flung the rope back at me.
"Don't you never, boy, don't you never put a rope on my night horse again ... not unless I come and tell you myself. Do you understand what I'm sayin'?" He was all red in the face and puffing, standing with his hands on his hips and breathing in and out hard. For a second I was scared he was going to come at me. "D' you understand me, boy?"
"Ye...yessir. I do."
"You better." B.J. squared his shoulders like he was trying to get himself calmed down, then he turned around and started jerking the gear off his morning horse and throwing it down on the ground.
Split looked sort of embarrassed for me, but he didn't say anything. I didn't either. I wanted to tell B.J. that I hadn't meant no harm. I didn't know whose horse it was or that he'd have anything against anybody else riding it. But it sure didn't seem the right time for me to try talking to B.J. Hollis, so I turned and got out of there and went over to the other side of the remuda.
I watched from there while Split caught up a horse and rode off toward the noon fire and while B.J. roped his fresh horse. He was still some upset for it took him three throws to put a loop on an animal standing stone still at the edge of the remuda. I was glad when he got remounted and left.
A little while later, after most of the others had already come and gone, Ike Partley came over to pick out a horse. I was on the far side of the remuda from him, too, but I worked my way around to him. I'd intended to just say something sort of casual and ask him a thing or two, but when I got over by Ike I started pouring words out awful fast. I told him all about it, and though I never meant to, I heard my voice begin to take on a little bit of a whine. I didn't like that at all so I shut up before I started bawling.
By then, Ike had pretty near all of the story, though. He finished stripping the tack off his morning horse and then sat down on the saddle with a wave of his hand for me to get down and join him.
I hunkered down next to him while he shaved some tobacco into his pipe and got it lighted up.
"I guess maybe I should of told you about that, Duster, but I never thought to. You're lucky old B.J. ain't much of a violent man...an' that he got there afore Split had rode off with his night horse. They's some people will pull a gun over a night horse.
"You see, it takes something out of a man if a herd of long-horned cow brutes takes off on a tear at nighttime. It's so dark and there's horns and rocks and steep washes all around, and all a drover can do is let his horse out and trust him to keep them both alive while they try to stop the cows. You understand? "
I nodded.
"Now, that don't happen all the time...maybe once on a long drive, maybe twice. If you're lucky, maybe never in your lifetime. But it could happen. Them animals could take off tonight or tomorrow or right now—for no reason at all.
"Anyway, the thing is, a man's awful careful about a horse that he may be trusting himself to in a nighttime run over strange ground. A stumblefooted horse can kill him just as dead just as sure as a Yankee ball might of done, or the pox, or anything else. So, it ain't unusual for a man to be particular about his night horse. It's for sure he don't want anybody tiring it out during the day.
"What I'd tell you to do, was you asking, 'ud be for you to take notice of the horses everybody catches out at night an' then don't you rope them horses for the day nor don't you let nobody else do it neither. All right?"<
br />
"Yessir," I said. "Uh, Ike...Mister Partley, there's something I wondered if you'd do for me. I never meant to do nothing wrong. Maybe, maybe if you'd tell B.J. that..."
"No." He said it quick and firm. "You may be new on the trail, but you're growed enough. You want something done, you do it your own self. I can show you the rope but you got to throw it yourself. You got to stand on your own hind legs, boy."
That was straight enough, and there wasn't no way I could argue with it. I nodded my thanks and went back to work.
I didn't see B.J. Hollis again until evening, him having eat and gone before I got over to eat my noon meal and help Bill start off again, but that night I got B.J. off to one side alone and said my piece apologizing to him. I told him I was sorry, I hadn't known. And he said he wasn't mad any more and for me to forget it. I knew I wasn't going to forget about it... no more than I was likely to rope out that painted night horse of his again. But I thanked him, and we parted with no permanent hard feelings, though he never after seemed to have much use for me.
Another thing I done that night was go around and mark down in my mind each and every horse that had been saddled for a night animal, and by who. I didn't want to make that same mistake a second time.
After the evening meal was done, I made sure the horses were settled comfortable and fetched up enough wood for the breakfast fire. Then I hunted around for a soft-looking spot big enough for my soogan.
It didn't take any time at all to get my stuff unrolled and wrapped around me. I stretched out on the ground with the soogan pulled close around my ears and listened to the sounds going on around the camp. It was comfortable there. The thick soogan felt good, for it was coming on chill and a little damp, and the heavy wrapper made me feel warm all over. I wiggled my toes and stretched, and the stretching started a lazy yawn tickling its way up out of my throat. There was a stick or a bit of rock or something poking in the small of my back on the right side, but it was padded enough by the soogan that it wasn't worth bothering with. I scooted over to the left a bit and that made it feel better, so I just laid back and relaxed and let the hum of the campfire conversation slip in past the folds of cloth that were bunched up near my ears. The talk sort of melted together into a soft buzz that had a drowsy kind of sound. I couldn't pick out any particular words or any one conversation though every so often a word or two would come through so I could understand them. It sounded funny.
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