by Zane Grey
“Reddie, how long have yu been masqueradin’ as a boy rider?”
“Three years an’ more. Yu see, I had to earn my livin’. An’ bein’ a girl made it hard. I tried everythin’ an’ I shore hated bein’ a servant. But when I grew up—then it was worse. ‘Most always boys an’ men treated me fine—as yu know Texans do. There was always some, though, who—who wanted me. An’ they wouldn’t leave me free an’ alone. So I’d ride on. An’ I got the idee pretendin’ to be a boy would make it easier. Thet helped a lot. But I’d always get found oot. An’ I’m scared to death thet hawk-eyed Texas Joe suspects me already.”
“Aw no—no! Reddie, I’m shore an’ certain not.”
“But he calls me Girlie Boy!” ejaculated Reddie, tragically.
“Thet’s only ‘cause yu’re so—so nice-lookin’. Land sakes! If Texas really suspected he’d act different. All these boys would. They’d be as shy as sheep. …Come to think of thet, Reddie, wouldn’t it be better to tell Texas Joe an’ all of them?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!—please—please don’t, Mr. Brite. …Honest, we’d never get to Dodge!”
Brite greeted this appeal with a hearty laugh. Then he recalled Moze’s talk about the Uvalde boys. “Wal, maybe yu’re right. …Reddie, I’ve a hunch now thet hombre Wallen knows yu air a girl.”
“Yu bet he does. Thet’s the trouble.”
“In love with yu?”
“Him! … Why, Wallen’s too low to love anyone, even his own kin, if he ever had any. …He hails from the Big Bend country, an’ I’ve heahed it said he wasn’t liked around Braseda. He claims he bought me with a bunch of cattle. Same as a nigger slave! I was ridin’ for John Clay, an’ he did let me go with the deal. Wallen made thet deal ‘cause he’d found oot I was a girl. So I ran off an’ he trailed me.”
“Reddie, he’d better not follow yore trail up this way.”
“Would yu save me?” asked the girl, softly.
“Wal, I reckon, but Texas Joe or Pan Handle would have thet hombre shot before I could wink,” declared the cattleman, in grim humor.
The girl turned an agitated face to him. “Mr. Brite, yu make me hope my dream’ll come true—some day.”
“An’ how, Reddie?”
“I’ve dreamed some good rancher—some real Texan—would adopt me—so I could wear girl’s clothes once more an’ have a home an’—an’——”
Her voice trailed away and broke.
“Wal, wal! Stranger things than thet have happened, Reddie,” replied Brite, strangely stirred. On the moment he might have committed himself to much but for an interruption in the way of distant gun shots.
“Rumpus over there, Mr. Brite,” suddenly called Reddie, pointing to a huge cloud of dust over the west end of the herd. “Yu better ride over. I’ll take care of the hawses.”
Putting spurs to his mount, Brite galloped in the direction indicated. Hallett and Little were not in sight, and probably had been obscured by the dust. A low roar of trampling hoofs filled his ears. The great body of the herd appeared intact, although there were twisting mêlées of cattle over toward the left on the edge of the dust line. Brite got around the left wing to see a stream of long-horns pouring out of the main herd at right angles. The spur was nearly a mile long, and bore the ear marks of a stampede. With too few drivers the danger lay in the possibility of the main herd bolting in the opposite direction. Except in spots, however, they were acting rationally. Then Brite observed that already the forward drivers had the stream curving back to the north. He became conscious of relief, and slowed up to take his place behind the most exposed section of the herd. All across the line the cattle were moving too fast. A restlessness had passed through the mass. It was like a wave. Gradually they returned to the former leisurely gait and all appeared well again. Little rode past at a gallop and yelled something which Brite did not distinguish.
The drive proceeded then in its slow, orderly procession, a time-swallower, if no more. Hours passed. The warm sun began its westering slant, which grew apace, as did all the details of driving, the rest and walk and jog, the incessant stir of cattle, the murmur of hoofs, the bawl of cows, the never-failing smell of dust, manure, and heated bodies, and ever the solemn sky above and the beckoning hills, the dim purple in the north.
In another hour the great herd had surrounded a little lake in the center of an immense shallow bowl of range land. Trees were conspicuous for their absence. Moze had wisely hauled firewood, otherwise he would have had to burn buffalo chips for fuel. Brite walked his horse a mile along the left flank before he reached the chuck-wagon and camp. These were at the head of the lake, from which slight eminence the whole center of the depression could be seen. Gramma grass was fair, though not abundant. The cattle would need to be herded this night.
Reddie Bayne came swinging along on the beautiful black, always a delight to a rider’s eye. Reddie reined in to accommodate Brite’s pace.
“Heah we air, the long day gone an’ camp once more. Oh, Mr. Brite, I am almost happy,” declared Reddie.
“There shore is somethin’ sweet aboot it. Make the best of it, Reddie, for God only knows what’ll come.”
“Ah! There’s thet Texas Joe!” exclaimed Reddie as they neared camp. “Looks mighty pert now. I reckon he’s pleased with himself for turnin’ thet break back. …Boss, what’ll I do when he—he gets after me again?”
“Reddie, don’t be mealy-mouthed,” advised Brite, low-voiced and earnest. “Talk back. Be spunky. An’ if yu could manage a cuss word or two it’d help a lot.”
“Lord knows I’ve heahed enough,” replied Reddie.
They rode into camp. Texas Joe had thrown off sombrero, vest, and chaps, and gun-belt as well. It occurred to Brite that the tall amber-eyed, tawny-haired young giant might well play havoc with the heart of any fancy-free girl.
“Wal, heah yu air, boss,” he drawled, with his winning smile. “Fust I’ve seen yu since mawnin’. Reckoned yu’d rode back to Santone. …It shore was a good drive. Fifteen miles, an’ the herd will bed down heah fine.”
“Texas, I got sort of nervous back there,” replied Brite as he dismounted.
“Nothin’ atall, boss, nothin’ atall. I’d like to inform yu, though, thet this heah Pan Handle Smith might have rode up this Trail with Jesse Chisholm an’ been doin’ it ever since.”
“Thanks, Joe. I hardly deserve thet,” rejoined the outlaw, who appeared to be getting rid of the dust and dirt of the ride.
Lester Holden was the only other driver present, and he squatted on a stone, loading his gun.
“I had fo’ shots at thet slate-colored old mossy-horn. Bullets jest bounced off his haid.”
“Boys, don’t shoot the devils, no matter how mean they air. Save yore lead for Comanches.”
“Wal, if there ain’t our Reddie,” drawled Texas Joe, with a dancing devil in his eye. “How many hawses did yu lose, kid?”
“I didn’t count’em,” replied Reddie, sarcastically.
“Wal, I’ll count’em, an’ if there’s not jest one hundred an’ eighty-nine yu’re gonna ride some more.”
“Ahuh. Then I’ll ride, ‘cause yu couldn’t count more’n up to ten.”
“Say, yu’re powerful pert this evenin’. I reckon I’ll have to give yu night guard.”
“Shore. I’d like thet. But no more’n my turn, Mister Texas Jack.”
“Right. I’m mister to yu. But it’s Joe, not Jack.”
“Same thing to me,” returned Reddie, who on the moment was brushing the dust off his horse.
“Fellars, look how the kid babies that hawse,” declared Shipman. “No wonder the animal is pretty. …Dog-gone me, I’ll shore have to ride him tomorrow.”
“Like bob yu will,” retorted Reddie.
“Say, I was only foolin’, yu darned little pepper-pot. Nobody but a hawse thief ever takes another fellar’s hawse.”
“I don’t know yu very well, Mister Shipman.”
“Wal, yu’re durned liable to before this
drive is much older.”
Somehow, Brite reflected, these two young people rubbed each other the wrong way. Reddie was quite a match for Texas Joe in quick retort, but she was careful to keep her face half averted or her head lowered.
“Reckon we’ll all know each other before we get to Dodge.”
“Ahuh. An’ thet’s a dig at me,” replied Texas Joe, peevishly. “Dog-gone yu, anyhow.”
“Wal, haven’t yu been diggin’ me?” demanded Reddie, spiritedly.
“Sonny, I’m Brite’s Trail boss an’ yu’re the water-boy.”
“I am nothin’ of the sort. I’m the hawse-wrangler of this ootfit.”
“Aw, yu couldn’t wrangle a bunch of hawg-tied suckin’ pigs. Yu shore got powerful testy aboot yoreself, all of a sudden. Yu was meek enough this mawnin’.”
“Go to hell, Texas Jack!” sang out Reddie, with most exasperating flippancy.
“What’d yu say?” blustered Texas, passing from jest to earnest.
“I said yu was a great big, sore-haided, conceited giraffe of a trail-drivin’ bully,” declared Reddie, in a very clear voice.
“Aw! Is thet all?” queried Texas, suddenly cool and devilish. Quick as a cat he leaped to snatch Reddie’s gun and pitch it away. Reddie, who was kneeling with his back turned, felt the action and let out a strange little cry. Then Texas fastened a powerful hand in the back of Reddie’s blouse, at the neck, and lifted him off his feet. Whereupon Texas plumped down to draw Reddie over his knees.
“Boss, yu heahed this disrespectful kid,” drawled Texas. “Somethin’ shore has got to be done aboot it.”
Chapter Four
THE astounding thing to the startled Brite was the way Reddie lay motionless over the knees of the cowboy, stiff as a bent poker. No doubt poor Reddie was petrified with expectation and horror. Brite tried to blurt out with a command for Texas to stop. But sight of that worthy’s face of fiendish glee completely robbed the cattleman of vocal powers.
“Pan Handle, do you approve of chastisement for unruly youngsters?” queried Texas.
“Shore, on general principles,” drawled Smith. “But I reckon I cain’t see thet Reddie has been more than sassy.”
“Wal, thet’s it. If we don’t nip him in the bud we jest won’t be able to drive cattle with him babblin’ aboot.”
“Lam him a couple, Tex,” spoke up Lester. “Reddie’s all right, I reckon, only turrible spoiled.”
Texas raised high a broad, brown, powerful hand.
“Shipman—don’t yu—dare—smack me!” cried Reddie, in a strangled voice.
But the blow fell with a resounding whack. Dust puffed up from Reddie’s trousers. Both her head and feet jerked up with the force of the blow. She let out a piercing yell of rage and pain, then began to wrestle like a lassoed wildcat. But Texas Joe got in three more sounding smacks before his victim tore free to roll over and bound erect. If Brite had been petrified before, he was now electrified. Reddie personified a fury that was beautiful and thrilling to see. It seemed to Brite that anyone but these thick-headed, haw-hawing drivers would have seen that Reddie Bayne was an outraged girl.
“Oh-h-h! Yu devil!” she screamed, and jerked for the gun that had been on her hip. But it was gone, and Lester had discreetly picked it up.
“Ump-umm, kid. No gun-play. This heah is fun,” said Lester.
“Fun—hell!” Then quick as a flash Reddie leaped to deal the mirth-convulsed Texas a tremendous kick on the shin. That was a horse of another color.
“Aggh-gh-gh!” roared Texas, clasping his leg and writhing in agony. “Aw, my Gawd! … My sore laig!”
Reddie poised a wicked boot for another onslaught. But she desisted and slowly settled back on both feet.
“Huh! So yu got feelin’s?”
“Feelin’s?—Say, I’ll—be—daid in a minnit,” groaned Texas. “Kid, thet laig’s full of lead bullets.”
“If yu ever touch me again I’ll—I’ll fill the rest of yore carcass with lead.”
“Cain’t yu take a little joke? … Shore I was only in fun. The youngest driver always gets joked.”
“Wal, Texas Jack, if thet’s a sample of yore traildrivin’ jokes, I pass for the rest of the trip.”
“But, say, yu ain’t no better than anybody else,” protested Texas, in a grieved tone. “Ask the boss. Yu wasn’t a good fellar—to get so mad.”
Reddie appealed voicelessly to the old cattleman.
“Wal, yu’re both right,” declared Brite, anxious to conciliate. “Tex, yu hit too darned hard for it to be fun. Yu see Reddie’s no big, husky, raw-boned man.”
“So I noticed. He certainly felt soft for a rider. …Kid, do yu want to shake an’ call it square? I reckon I got the wust of it at thet. Right this minnit I’ve sixteen jumpin’ toothaches in my laig.”
“I’d die before I’d shake hands with yu,” rejoined Reddie, and snatching up her sombrero, and taking her gun from the reluctant Lester, she flounced away.
“Dog-gone!” ejaculated Texas, ruefully. “Who’d took thet kid for such a spitfire? Now I’ve gone an’ made another enemy.”
“Tex, yu shore was rough,” admonished Brite.
“Rough? Why, I got mine from a pair of cowhide hobbles,” growled Texas, and getting up he limped about his tasks.
Presently Moze called them to supper, after which they rode out on fresh horses to relieve the guard. Deuce Ackerman reported an uneasy herd, owing to the presence of a pack of wolves. Brite went on guard, taking a rifle with him. He passed Bayne’s black horse. The remuda had bunched some distance from the herd. It was still warm, though the fiery-red sun had gone down behind the range. Brite took up his post between the horses and cattle, and settled to a task he had never liked.
The long-horns had not quieted down for the night. Distant rumblings attested to restlessness at the other end of the herd. Brite patrolled a long beat, rifle across his pommel, keeping a sharp lookout for wolves. He saw coyotes, jack-rabbits, and far away over the grass, a few scattered deer. Before dusk settled thick Reddie Bayne appeared with the remuda, working them off to the eastward, toward a sheltered cove half a mile beyond Brite. Twilight stole on them down in the bowl, and over the western horizon gold rays flushed and faded.
Before dark Reddie rode up to Brite.
“Hawses all right, boss. I reckon I’ll hang around yore end. We all got orders to stand guard till called off.”
“Maybe somethin’ brewin’. Maybe not. Quien sabe?”
“I reckon what’s brewin’ is in thet hombre’s mind.”
“Which hombre, Reddie?”
“Yu know. …Wasn’t it perfectly awful—what he did to me, Mr. Brite?”
“Wal, it was kinda tough,” agreed Brite. “Tex got in action so quick I just was too flabbergasted.”
“Yu shore wasn’t very chivalrous,” rejoined Reddie, dubiously. “I’ve my doubts aboot yu now.”
“It sort of paralyzed me ‘cause I knowed yu was a girl.”
“I’ll bet thet would paralyze him, too,” retorted Reddie, darkly. “Boss, I could get even with Texas by tellin’ him thet he had insulted a lady.”
“By thunder! yu could. But don’t do it, Reddie. He might shake the ootfit.”
“I’d hate to have him know I—I’m a girl,” replied Reddie, musingly.
“Let’s hope none of them will find oot.”
“Mr. Brite, I’d never forgive myself if I brought yu bad luck.”
“Yu won’t, Reddie.”
“Listen,” she whispered, suddenly.
A weird chanting music came on the warm air, from the darkness. Brite recognized the Spanish song of a vaquero.
“San Sabe singin’ to the herd, Reddie.”
“Oh—how pretty! He shore can sing.”
Then from another quarter came a quaint cowboy song, and when that ceased a faint mellow voice pealed from far over the herd. The rumblings of hoofs ceased, and only an occasional bawl of a cow broke the silence. San Sabe began again his haunting love so
ng, and then all around the herd pealed out the melancholy refrains. That was the magic by which the trail drivers soothed the restless long-horns.
The moon came up and silvered the vast bowl, lending enchantment to the hour. Reddie passed to and fro, lilting a Dixie tune, lost in the beauty and serenity of the night. From a ridge pealed forth the long, desolate, blood-curdling moan of a prairie wolf. That brought the ghastly reminder that this moment was real—that there was death waiting just beyond.
The cowboys smoked and sang, the cattle slept or rested, the balmy night wind rustled the grass, the ducks whirred to and fro over the lake. The stars paled before the full moon.
Texas Joe came trotting up. “Boss, yu an’ Reddie go to bed. Two hours off an’ then two on, for five of us. I ain’t shore yet thet all is wal.”
Reddie never stopped singing the sweet ditty.
“Gosh, Tex, it cain’t be midnight yet!” exclaimed Brite.
“It cain’t be, but it shore is. Go along with yu. …Reddie, yu got a sweet voice for a boy. I shore am a-wonderin’ aboot yu.”
“Boss, yu see?” whispered Reddie, fiercely, clutching Brite’s arm. “Thet hombre suspects me.”
“Let him—the son-of-a-gun! Then if he finds yu oot it’ll be all the wuss.”
“For him or me?”
“For him, shore.”
“How yu mean, boss, wuss?”
“Wal, it’d serve him right to fall so dinged in love with yu thet——”
“O my Gawd!” cried Reddie, in faint, wild tones, and spurred ahead to vanish in the shadows.
“Wal!” quoth Brite, amazed. It was evident that he had said something amiss. “Thet was an idee. Didn’t she fly up an’ vamoose?”
Brite made his way slowly into camp. Hallett and Ackerman were already in by the fire, drinking coffee. San Sabe came riding up, still with the remnants of song on his lips. Reddie’s horse was haltered out in the moonlight and something prone and dark showed beside a low bush. Brite sought his own blankets.
Next morning, when Brite presented himself for breakfast, Whittaker and Pan Handle were the only drivers in camp. They were eating in a hurry.
“Herd movin’, boss,” announced Smith. “We been called.”