"...raise you one...price down again...screwworms bad...sure...yeah, she's a real looker.. piked some monte once...good beef but short legged...sure miss that garden truck...Annie's place is better than...north next year...good grass but no...bluffed you again...dollar a head if..."
The voices droned and while they did it seemed I was sinking down deeper and deeper into my soogan. I'd been watching the stars up overhead but it occurred to me just then that I wasn't looking at them any more—just remembering them sort of. Not that it made any difference. I was too comfortable to care about much of anything.
I worked down deeper and warmer.
Next thing I knew, I was still warm, but my nose tickled and I kept wanting to blink. I couldn't figure out why at first until I tried to turn my head and rub my face into the folds of my soogan. When I did, I didn't nuzzle into a nice, warm fold of cloth but into a doggone wet, cold mess. I came awake then, wide awake, to discover it was drizzling rain. Water running all over my face was what had woke me up and set my nose to tickling.
I glanced up and instead of bright stars the whole sky was clouded over. It seemed like it was only seconds since I had laid down, but I must of slept. When I sat up and looked around, I could see it was coming nigh onto morning. Tommy Lucas's gear was already rolled and tied, and he had the predawn trick on nightherd.
While I watched, it started to rain harder, and several of the fellows stirred in their bedrolls and pulled covers over their heads to keep the wet off. I don't know that they ever got awake enough to even know they was doing it.
Some little distance away, I could see Digger Bill coming awake. He always slept on a thick pile of empty sacks and tarps that covered his packs during the day and a blanket or two, always close to his pile of cook tools and chuck. I figured he wouldn't be in too good a mood after waking up to rain, so I jumped up on my own without him having to come wake me.
I slipped into my shoes, only flinching a little when my warm feet hit cold, wet leather, and rolled my soogan up as fast as I could so I could maybe keep it dry inside even if it was soppy wet on the outside layers. By the time that was done, I was pretty well soaked myself, and I didn't have a slicker to keep the rain off.
It was plenty cold what with the morning chill and being wet and having just got out of a warm bed, but there was work to be done and standing there feeling miserable wouldn't help. I could just as well feel miserable while I got something done.
"Mornin', Bill," I whispered when I got over to him.
He growled something back at me that I couldn't figure out. Then he muttered for me to "get the dang fahr going."
I started to do that, knowing the coals from last night's fire would be drowned out by now so I'd have to start from scratch. But when I went over to get some wood from where I'd piled it the night before, the tarp cover was flat on the ground. I looked under it but like I'd suspected there wasn't so much as a nubbin of fuel there.
Now, I got to admit it, right then and there I got about as mad as I'd ever been in my life. I mean, I had gone and dragged in three good loads of dry wood the night before, and I'd been as tired as anyone else when I did it. When I seen that every little stick of my wood was gone, I purely saw red. The first thing I wanted to do was to go around and give a good, hard kick to the backside of every hand and every owner in the crowd from Mister Sam Silas right on down. Next thing, I felt like going around and smashing everything in sight. Instead, I stomped over to where Bill was sawing slabs off of a big chunk of bacon.
"Some lousy...no...good...sorry cow-chasing thief went and stole all the wood I had piled up. An' I hope whoever it was went an' lost every cent he has or ever will have play in' monte by the light of my wood. An' don't you go an' try an' defend 'em neither. I know that's what happened, an' I know there's not the least bit of dry wood anywhere around here now."
Bill didn't say anything at first, though he set his long old butcher knife aside. Finally he looked up and asked, "What you gonna do about it, boy?"
"I'd go find me a chunk o' wood and lay it up against his head if I knowed who it was...but I don't. So, I ain't going to do nothing about it. Nothing, an' that includes getting more wood. Whoever went an' used up all the dry wood can go fetch back some more if he wants a hot breakfast, far as I'm concerned." I was still mighty hot tempered and breathing hard. Right then I'd of been willing to light into Bill or anybody else.
He didn't say a word, though. He thought for a minute on what I'd said, then he nodded and started putting his stuff back into the sacks. Even the coffee was stowed back away. When everything was put away Bill looked over at me. "Wake 'em and tell 'em boy."
"Now?"
"If they'se gonna ride hungry they jus' might's well do 'er now."
So, I went around from bedroll to bedroll shaking people awake. They all came awake quick enough. I never even had trouble getting Eben Dyer up, just peeled back his covering and let the rain get to him and he come right up off the ground spitting and snorting and wiping his face.
Right at first everybody was too sleepy to notice anything different around Digger Bill's little pile of stuff. They hurried up to get into boots and hats and slickers, in that order, and then rolled their stuff together.
Then one by one they came trooping over to where last night's fire had been to stand there with sleep still on their faces while it kind of come over them slow that there wasn't neither fire nor breakfast waiting for them there. It was sort of funny to watch, really. I sneaked a look at Bill and I do believe he was enjoying himself.
Mister Sam Silas was the last to come over to the group and about the first to figure out what was wrong. "What in the blue billy blazes is going on here?" he wanted to know in a voice that liked to’ve knocked us all down. I had never knowed he could turn loose a sound like that, especially so early in the day when the rest of us was groggy and half asleep.
Mister Sam had hollered more at Bill than at anyone else, so everybody turned to stare at Bill. Bill, he stared back, then he turned and nodded at me.
And me...right then I felt about as foolish as a body can be. I could tell I was getting red faced from everybody staring at me, and for just a little while I reckon I'd have given near about anything to take back the last few minutes and start all over again. I was tongue-tied for sure, though I knew I had to say something.
"Well," Mister Sam demanded.
I waved one hand around in the air a little, but it didn't start my tongue to working again. If I could of said something I believe I would of apologized for waking them up early or something like that.
Then I happened to think. Here we all were, standing around with rain dripping down the backs of our necks and our feet wet and a long day ahead of us and there wasn't even a fire to take the chill off or to fix up some coffee to get the day going. And it was the fault of whoever had taken and used up my wood. I got mad all over again.
"Mister Sam, sir, there ain't no fire here nor bacon nor coffee nor nothing else. An' as far as I'm concerned there ain't going to be neither, not if you all are countin' on me for more wood. Last night I brung wood aplenty an' stacked it an' pulled a tarp over it, an' then some sneakin' thief went an' stole it. Used it all up. Well, I ain't fetching any more. Whoever used it can go find us some dry wood if he wants a hot breakfast, an' if he don't, well, I still ain't gonna get more wood." I stopped for a second and then plunged on. "Not now nor later until whoever done it brings in three good armloads to make up for what he took. An' I reckon I can go as long without hot chuck as he kin." I didn't know but what I'd gone too far with that last, but I'd said it and was willing to stick to it.
Mister Sam Silas stood and listened to what I had to say. He never let on what he thought of it. B.J. Hollis looked sort of mad. Ike Partley and Eben Dyer seemed to think it was funny. Jesus looked a little scared. The others I couldn't tell about. It was starting to lighten up some, but not so good I could see very far.
Mister Sam pulled on his chin while he thought on it. Fi
nally he looked around at the others. "He's right, boys. We've done him wrong. Everybody in the game last night better go fetch back some wood."
Mister Sam started off himself and pretty soon he came back with some damp sticks, enough to get a fire started anyway. And before long, it was built up into a pretty fair, if spitting and sputtery, blaze by Ike and Crazy Longo and Eben and even B.J. Hollis, each of them adding something until Bill had enough flame to work with. With the rain coming down and us getting a late start at the cooking, there was no sense trying to get coals to cook over, so he made do.
Once it was finally ready, that meal tasted pretty good to me.
16
JESUS WAS WAITING under the little bit of shelter given by a thick, squatty mesquite. He looked pretty sorry sitting on his horse there. The brushy tree gave no shelter at all from overhead, and didn't even make much of a windbreak to keep water from blowing in under the brim of his wide hat.
The rain had been coming down steady for two days, and we was all soaked through to the skin—those who had slickers just the same as me without one.
The horses was doing all right...I made sure of that. But the wet and the drag of mud every time they took a step was beginning to show on them. They walked a little slower than before with not as easy a motion when they jumped over something, and they held their heads a little lower than at the start of the drive, or even before the rain began.
When I had the horses up abreast of himJesus left the little protection he had and came riding over to me.
"Am I gettin' the day off?" I asked.
"Jus' about, amigo. Today you 'ave got one ver' fine cowhand to help you with these horses, eh? Tha's the nex' thing to having the day free of work."
"Glad to have the company I'm sure, but what's up?" It was still early in the day and I hadn't passed the herd yet, but I hadn't expected to see anybody from the crew for at least another hour or maybe more.
"I got sent back to help get these horses acrost the stream up ahead. It must o' been rainin' right good up north of us— water's runnin' pretty high. Had some trouble getting the cows acrost one place an' Mist' Sam thought it might be too much for you to handle the remuda alone. Said we'll probably need one of us on the downstream side in the water with 'em an' someone else to push 'em from behind."
"Okay. How far?"
" 'Nuther half mile or so."
"All right. You go on back and get behind. I'll go in the water. I can't get much wetter than I already am."
Jesus nodded and waited where he was while me and the horses went on toward the stream, then he cut in behind us to push up the rear. One thing sure—he wasn't going to be choked up by any dust back there in all that rain.
I worked my way forward on the right side of the bunch. The Nueces was off to our right as usual, so the stream would have to be flowing down that way.
When we got over the little rise that had been beyond Jesus's mesquite I could see why he'd ridden back toward me. The ground sloped off to the stream he had been talking about, and there wasn't a thing on that piece of land taller than four feet at the outside. The rain kept coming down and there was a pretty fair breeze whipping across the open ground. Down by the stream there wasn't anything growing of any size either, so I figured this creek usually would of been just a dry depression. If it carried water for very much of the year there would of been a strip of green there with some low trees at the least and maybe some pecans or an oak motte.
Just then, the dry creek bed was hidden some place under a pretty healthy run of fast flowing water near the color of sand. It was awful muddy, and that seemed to make it look even faster and deeper than it probably was.
"Watch out for the drop-off," Jesus called out from behind, and I pushed the lead horses into the water.
The water wasn't spread more'n seventy-five yards, but it looked bad and I was glad to have Jesus handy. There was a pretty easy slope going in, and for the first little while the horses splashed along, the stream getting deeper a bit at a time. About twenty yards out, though, we hit the original creek bed. One minute we were going through water hock high and a second later, the front legs of my steeldust dropped off into nothing. He fell forward until he dipped under, then came up swimming.
I got flung forward when he pitched down like that, and when he got righted and kicked up to swim I was still going forward. I smacked my nose against the back of his head but I never lost my seat, and I was still on him when he hit the far wall of the old creek bed.
The horses upstream of me had a time scrambling out at first. I guess they was swimming in water six or seven feet deep for a few yards and then they had to climb up onto a shelf they couldn't see but that took them back into water not more than a couple feet deep. It wasn't easy on them, and they was scared to start with.
I held the steeldust in the deep water and let him swim there for a while. He was strong yet and a good swimmer. The rest of the horses swum past. They had a time getting up on the shelf, but they made it once they gave it a good try. A few tried to turn downstream instead of climbing out, but with me staying there to cut them off and keep them pointed across we didn't lose any.
Jesus pushed until they were all in the water; then he slipped over to the downstream side too. As quick as I saw him in the water I let the steeldust go up on the shelf too and got him on solid ground again. He was too good an animal for me to let him get overtired.
"That was not so bad, eh?"
"Naw, not too bad. What now?"
"I am supposed to stay with you for now, hokay?"
"Okay. Lead on."
We took the horses ahead, splashing through narrow rivulets in places where there'd normally be only sand and through fair-sized streams nearly everywhere there was a low place in the ground.
We passed Bill, and then the herd, inside of an hour and slowed to keep pace with Bill's pack mules once he was past the beeves. The cattle weren't gaunted or anything like that, but they was having a hard time of it through the mud. Bill must of noticed it too for he pulled up early, making it a short drive.
"I can't speak much for your good sense, but I got to admit you got your share of gumption," I told Bill. "Mister Sam Silas might not like you stoppin' short and throwing his drive off by a good couple miles."
"You just leave that to me an' scout me up somethin' to burn. I know what Mista Sam wants—sometime better'n he do his own self."
Jesus had heard what Bill told me, so real quick he took off for the remuda, back where we'd settled them, and hollered, "I'll help the boys catch their fresh horses. You help Bill."
I could of cussed him for that. He didn't even put on a show of trying to be helpful. Staying with the horses was nothing, but finding something to get a fire going with—that was going to be no fun at all.
Mumblin' and grumblin' I headed out through the brush. I went on foot so I could poke around under things trying to find dry stuff—but I needn't have bothered. There just wasn't anything dry. As hard as I looked, peering under slabs of rocks and reaching deep in under bushes, that two-day-old rain had got everything soaked.
It was getting so I paid no mind any more to the steady drip-plunk-splat of raindrops on my head and all over me, and I was sort of used to the idea of being wet too. I had to admit there were other discomforts, though, and they didn't get any better just because I was used to being wet now. What with having been wet day and night for more than two days my skin was getting wrinkled, and I was starting to get powerful sore where I kept rubbing against a wet saddle all day long. I couldn't see to find out for sure, but I thought I was busting out in some sort of boils back there. That's what it felt like anyhow. In a way it was a relief to be on my feet while I went looking for dry wood, and I hadn't thought I'd ever admit to that. It's something a riding hand won't often do.
I searched around and around camp, up a little swale that was running a foot and a half of water in the low spots, across every little rise, and around every big rock I could see. Right there, t
he land didn't have much up-and-down to it, nor much greenery, either. All the growing things was pretty little.
I'd been hoping I could find a downed log with the bark still on. Then I could of just stripped off the wet bark on top, used the dry from underneath to get some flame going, and then feed on some real wood. After that, it wouldn't of made any difference how hard it wanted to rain. We'd of still had a fire to cook and to steam out our clothes until we got warm again even if we couldn't expect to get dry.
Once I gave up on finding a log, I figured to settle for some small bits of dry wood caught in the middle of a bushy, green shrub. I went around reaching into the middle of every fair-sized plant I could find. All of it was wet. That water had purely got everywhere.
I gave up on that kind of looking real sudden-like when I reached into the middle of a thick, low thing that I believe was a juniper. I thought I had found me something good about as big around as an ax handle. It was cold, but it didn't feel too wet— and it seemed to have the bark still on it too. But when I went to pull it out, it wriggled and squirmed and pulled away from me. Then it rattled.
For a second I couldn't move or do anything else. I sat there, hunkered down close to the ground while that cold thing slid through my hand. I was froze up so tight I couldn't breathe or swallow or move.
It seemed an awful amount of time I stayed there like that, just listening to my heart beating. I could hear it plain, though I couldn't feel it beat. The only thing I could feel was that slimy snake and the cold shivers up and down my back— colder than the rain had ever been.
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