by Zane Grey
Brite hastened after Reddie, and coming up with her just out of the camp-fire light he detained her with a gentle hand.
“Lass, yu mustn’t go runnin’ off.”
“Oh, I—I could run right—into the river,” she cried, miserable. “I—I was so—so happy.”
“Wal, it’ll all come right,” returned the cattleman, and put a kindly arm around her and led her to a seat on a near-by rock. Reddie was not proof against sympathy and she sank on his shoulder.
“Tell me yu don’t—believe it,” she begged.
“Believe what, lass?”
“What Texas thinks—aboot me.”
“Wal, I should smile not. None of the boys do. An’ I reckon Tex himself … Heah he comes, Reddie.”
She stiffened in his arms and appeared to hold her breath. Texas strode up to them, bareheaded in the dusk. Only his eyes could be seen and they gleamed darkly.
“Reddie Bayne, yu listen to me,” he began, sternly. “If yu wasn’t such a darned little spitfire yu’d never disgraced me before the ootfit. I——”
“Disgraced yu?” she interrupted.
“Yes, me. … I swear to Gawd I had no idee atall thet yu wasn’t as honest an’—an’ good as any girl. I meant yu was a queer, contrary, temperish, spiteful little devil. But only thet. Sabe? … An’ I’m sorry I upset yu an’ I want to apologize.”
“Yu’re aboot six days too late, Texas Jack,” she burst out, defiantly. “An’—an’ yu can go to hell, anyhow.”
He gave her a slow, strange glance as she lay with her head on Brite’s shoulder.
“Wal, I’ll have company, for thet’s where this ootfit is haided,” he replied, coldly, and stalked away.
Reddie raised to peer over Brite’s shoulder after the cowboy. She was not aware how she clung to Brite. But he felt the strong, little hands on his vest. Slowly then she dropped back, head and breast against him, where she all but collapsed.
“There! … I’ve—done—it—now,” she whispered, as if to herself. “I should have—acted the—the lady. …But I—I hate him so.”
Brite formed his own conclusion about how she hated Texas Joe. It also came to him, and stronger than formerly, how he had come to feel toward Reddie. This was the time to tell it.
“Lass, I reckon folks oot on the Chisholm Trail can have feelin’s the same as when they’re home safe an’ sound. Mebbe stronger an’ deeper an’ better feelin’s. Anyway, I’m goin’ to ask yu somethin’ particular. I’m alone in the world. No near kin. An’ I’d like to have yu for a daughter. How aboot it?”
“Oh, it’d be my dream come true,” she cried, ecstatically. “Oh, if only I’m worthy!”
“Let me be the judge of thet,” he replied, happily. “I have a ranch ootside Santone. An’ yu can make it yore home. All I ask is thet yu care a little for me.”
“I love yu now, Mr. Brite,” she whispered, generously, and hugged him. “Oh, it’s too good to be true.”
“Wal, then, do yu accept me as yore adopted dad?”
“I cain’t thank God enough,” she murmured.
“It’s settled an’ I reckon I’m doin’ some thankin’ on my own hook.”
“Yu air so good an’ kind. …Oh, this ootfit is different. … I wonder what he will say when he finds oot.”
“Who?”
“Thet cowboy.”
“Aw, he’ll have me to reckon with now. But, Reddie, we’ll keep it secret till we get to Dodge.”
Brite was unrolling his bed when he felt something fine and cold touch his cheek. Rain! He had been so preoccupied that he had not observed any change in weather conditions. The stars had grayed over. All the north appeared gloomy and black. Storms were the bane of the trail drivers. Texas was noted for storms, from the del norte of the Mexicans to the Pan Handle cyclone.
“Reddie, it’s goin’ to rain,” he called. “Fetch yore bed over under the wagon.”
But Reddie was in the land of dreams. Brite took his long slicker and, stepping across to where Reddie lay, spread it over her bed. Brite experienced a new sensation—a warm wave of joy at realization of his new responsibility. Hearing voices, he went over to the wagon. The boys were moving their beds under it. The wind had quickened, blowing a fine, chilly mist in Brite’s face.
“Wal, boss, our luck has changed,” spoke up Texas, grimly. “We’ve shore been too damn lucky. Now it’s comin’.”
“What’s comin’, yu gloomy geezer?”
“A norther, first off. I don’t know what after thet.”
“It’s a late spring. We could have a norther even this late,” replied Brite, ponderingly.
“Moze, where’n hell air yu?” called Joe.
“I wuz under de wagon, Mars Joe, till I got rolled oot,” answered Moze.
“Wal, yu roll oot farther an’ pack all the dry wood yu got in the caboose.”
“Yes, suh. Ise done on de way.”
“Where’s yore ax? I’ll split some more wood. Boss, we might as wal use thet extra tarp for a wind an’ rain break. Moze has one over the wagon. Lawd! I do hate the wet an’ cold. …Hadn’t yu better wake Reddie an’ call her oot heah?”
“I spread my slicker over her,” replied Brite, pleased with the solicitude in Shipman’s voice. “She’ll be all right unless it pours.”
Texas went off, muttering to himself. Soon the ring of the ax attested to his occupation. Moze was having his troubles putting wood in the canvas that had been stretched under the wagon for such purpose. The cowboys were in his way.
“Moze, let ‘em sleep,” suggested Brite. “We’ll put up the extra tarp. Yu can lay the wood under thet till mawnin’. …Heah. Tie one end of the tarp to the hoops of the wagon an’ peg down the other.”
“Reckon dat’ll save dis black chile’s life.”
Texas came up staggering under a load of wood which he deposited very considerately without making a noise.
“Boss,” he said, “if thet wind comes stronger with rain we’ll have a driftin’ herd. An’ I’d shore hate to have them drift south. Bad for us.”
“It’s kind of northwest, Tex,” replied Brite, holding his hand up.
“Jest as bad, ‘cept a norther lasts three days. Mebbe it’s nothin’ much. We’ll know in a couple of hours. Which I’m gonna use sleepin’.”
They rolled in their blankets in the shelter of the stretched tarpaulin. Texas dropped off into slumber by the magic of youth. Soon Moze snored like a sawmill. Brite did not feel sleepy. The warmth of his blankets told him just how cold the air had grown. He lay there resting and listening. The wind moaned steadily, weirdly, and whipped in chilly gusts under the wagon, flopped the canvas, and swept away mournfully. Coyotes barked about the camp. Somewhere out there in the black, windy void the great herd would be stirring uneasily in their beds. The old mossy-horns would be bawling. And the guards would be singing to them. What a singular and tremendous movement this was—the driving of cattle herds north! Lying there, Brite seemed to have a vision of what magnitude this business would attain, how it would save Texas and pave the way for an empire. No doubt old Jesse Chisholm had seen that vision first of all the pioneers. These cowboys who were driving up the Trail by hundreds—or those of them who survived the hardships and perils—would see the day their prosperous ranches owed all to this heroic beginning.
These pondering thoughts might have merged into dreams, for all Brite knew, but they were disrupted sooner or later by the thud of plunging hoofs and a ringing voice.
“All oot. Herd driftin’.”
When Brite sat up, Texas Joe was on his knees, rolling his bed.
“What time, Deuce?” he called.
“After midnight. Cain’t see my watch. Colder’n hell!”
“Rainin’ much?”
“Not yet. Mixed with sleet.”
“Sleet in June! Wal, I forgot aboot it bein’ Texas.”
“Tex, we’ll need lanterns. Cain’t see yore hand before yore face.”
“Moze, air yu awake?”
> “Yas, suh, I reckon I is.”
“Air the lanterns filled? An’ where’ll I find them?”
“All ready, boss. Settin’ inside the front wheels where I keeps them every night.”
Brite got his heavy coat which had served as a pillow, and while putting it on he advised the drivers to don their warmest.
“Reddie Bayne!” yelled Texas.
No answer! Joe yelled again, with unnecessary peevishness, Brite thought. Still no sound came from Reddie.
“Must be daid. Never knowed Reddie to be hard to wake.”
“I heah hawses,” spoke up Deuce.
Soon Brite followed the others out from under the shelter into the yellow light of the lanterns. Brite was about to go over to awaken Reddie when a pounding of hoofs preceded a dark, ragged bunch of horses coming into camp.
“Heah she is! Dog-gone!” Deuce Ackerman called.
In the windy gloom Brite espied Reddie on foot, leading half a dozen horses by halters. The long slicker glistened wet in the lantern-light.
“Where’d yu get them hawses?” queried Texas.
“I had them tied oot heah.”
“Ahuh. So yu can see in the dark, same as a cat?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Reddie, meekly.
“Wal, I shore hate to admit it, but yu beat holler any hawse-wrangler I ever seen,” concluded Texas, gruffly.
“Thanks, Jack,” returned Reddie, sweetly.
They bridled and saddled the horses. Texas mounted, and calling for one of the lanterns he headed away from the wind.
“Deuce, yu fetch the other lantern,” he called. “Moze, hang right heah till we come back. Have a fire an’ hot drinks, for we’ll shore need ‘em.”
Brite and the others followed, soon to catch up with Texas. The horses were unwilling to go and rubbed close together. Texas lifted his lantern.
“Thet’s Reddie’s black, ain’t it?” he queried, sharply.
“Yes, I’m heah,” replied Reddie.
“Wal, yu go back to camp. This won’t be no job for little girls.”
“Jack, yu go where it’s hot. I can stand the cold.”
“Stop callin’ me Jack,” he retorted, testily. “Or I—I’ll box yore ears. An’ I tell yu to stay in camp.”
“But, Texas, I’d be afraid in camp withoot yu-all,” she returned, seriously.
“Wal, come to think of thet, I reckon yu’re right. …Deuce, where’n hell air we haidin’?”
“Darned if I know. I shore had a time findin’ camp. Took me half an hour.”
“How far oot was the herd?”
“Coupla miles, I reckon.”
“Spread oot to the right, Deuce. An’ go till yu can just see my light. Rest of yu hang in between. …Hell, but it’s nasty!”
A stiff wind was blowing at their backs. It carried fine rain and sleet, that could be distinctly heard by the impact and the rustling in the grass. The darkness appeared inky black. And Texas’ lantern shone fitfully upon weird spectral figures of horses and riders. When they had covered a distance of two or three miles Texas and Deuce began to yell to locate the guards with the herd. No answering yells rewarded them. They went a couple of miles farther, and then the line, with Texas at one end and Deuce at the other, began to sweep in a circle. The situation grew serious. If the herd took to drifting badly, the few guards could not hold them, and they might stampede, or at least travel many miles. Mossy-horns were as limber and enduring as horses when they wanted to go.
“Hold on, fellars,” ordered Texas, at last. “I heahed somethin’. Mebbe it was only a coyote. But I’ll pile off an’ get away so I can heah shore.”
Leaping off, he stalked apart from the horses, his light swinging to and fro in his hand. Then he pealed out a stentorian yell. Brite listened, but could hear nothing. After a short silence Texas called: “Yep, I was right. I got an answer.”
He hurried back to his horse, and mounting, led somewhat to the left. “Reckon I cain’t keep thet direction long. But we’ll stop an’ yell till we locate them.”
By this method Texas Joe found the other guards and the herd at last. But the guards were on the far side of the herd, which was drifting with the wind. Texas called for Brite and Reddie to follow him, and for the others to follow Deuce, who would circle the herd from his end. Time and time again Texas’ light fell upon stragglers of the herd, evidently far behind the main body.
“Wal, the drags air good for somethin’,” said Texas. “An’ thet in a storm.”
Answering yells became frequent and louder. Soon Texas led his followers round in front of the herd, where they encountered Pan Handle and Rolly Little.
“How aboot yu, Pan?” shouted Texas.
“They’re driftin’, Tex, but not bad,” came the reply.
“Where are the other boys?”
“Sometimes near, sometimes far. Now I can heah them an’ again I cain’t.”
“Oh, ho, ho! Oh, ho, hell!” sang out Texas. “Line up all. Take yore medicine, boss. Yu will buy cattle at twelve bits a haid. Reddie, heah is where we make a man oot of yu.”
The drivers faced the wind and the oncoming herd. A bawling mass of cattle showed a square front to Texas’ lantern. They were not ugly and probably could have been wholly halted but for the crowding from behind. Back a hundred yards, the light and the yells and singing of the drivers had little effect. So there was no hope of stopping them. The best that could be done was to retard their advance, to prevent a possible stampede, and give way before them.
Fortunately they had bunched closely, which fact became manifest when Deuce’s welcome light showed up half a mile distant. Between these two lights ranged all the other drivers, shouting and singing. They had to rely absolutely on the sight of their horses, for only near the lights could they see anything. They could hear, however, and often located the front line that way. At intervals Deuce would ride across the front with his light and Texas would pass him going the other way. Thus they kept some semblance to a straight line.
It was slow, tedious, discouraging work, not without considerable risk, and wearing to weariness and pain. The wind blew harder and colder; the sleet cut like tiny blades. Brite had always been susceptible to cold. The hour came when his heavy gloves and coat appeared to afford no protection to the storm. He could scarcely endure to face the sleet, yet he had to do it or be run over by cattle. Necessarily the action of his horse had to be slow, seldom more than a walk, and this was not conducive to active blood circulation. Reddie Bayne stayed with him, so near that they could locate each other without yelling. When Texas or Deuce passed with the lanterns they established their positions again.
“Hang on, drivers,” Texas shouted, cheerily. “It ain’t gettin’ no wuss an’ we shore air lucky.”
Brite knew that if the storm increased he and no doubt others of the drivers, certainly Bender and Reddie, would find themselves in desperate straits. The cold, tooth-edged wind grew harder to bear, but evidently it did not increase in volume. Monotonously Brite beat his gloved hands, and his one ear and then the other under the collar of his coat.
“Cheer up, Reddie; the mawnin’s aboot to bust,” yelled Ackerman, the last time he rode by.
“It shore better come soon or I’ll bust,” replied Reddie.
Brite peered with tear-dimmed eyes away from the herd. The blackness had grown faintly gray in that direction. He watched it, turning often. How slowly it lightened! The hour dragged with hateful slowness. But almost imperceptibly the dawn came, until all the black void changed to gray, and the gray to pale, obscured stretches of prairie and the dark wall of twisted horns and heads and legs. Soon Brite could distinguish Reddie on her horse, and then the other riders, one by one. The lanterns were extinguished, and the drivers, aided by light enough to see, made far better success of their job. They could ride at a trot, and an occasional lope, from one pressing point to another. Horses as well as riders benefited by this brisker exercise.
Slowly the front line yielded. The mo
ssy-horns would stop and try to graze a bit, only to be pushed on again by the surging from behind.
Brite made sure that but for the sleet turning to rain and the wind lessening a bit the herd would have had to be abandoned until the riders could thaw out and get fresh horses.
Daylight came broadly at last, revealing a dreary range land, and a dragging herd under a low-sailing bank of clouds, and bowed and sodden riders, stuck in their wet saddles. To turn the herd back became imperative. A day lost might mean loss of hundreds, even thousands, of cattle. Texas drove the weary riders to incredible exertions, concentrated at one end; and by hard riding, shooting to take the place of voices gone, he turned that end and the rest followed, like sheep follow a leader. Cattle and drivers then faced the north. The reluctant herd could not be driven faster than a plodding walk. Heads down, weary and hungry, the mossy-horns covered ground like snails. The horses, except Reddie Bayne’s black, were spent, and would be useless the remainder of that drive.
Some time during the afternoon Brite recognized landmarks near camp. He saw the remuda apparently intact and none the worse for the storm. Texas Joe and Ackerman left the herd bunched on a square of rich grass, and cutting out some horses they drove them into camp.
Brite was not the last by two to ride in. Pan Handle, haggard and drawn, came after him, and finally Bender, who sagged in his saddle. He had to be lifted off his horse. Brite was not so badly frozen, but he did not recall when he had been in such a plight.
“Wal, boss, yu rode in,” said Texas, his voice low and hoarse. He stood steaming before a hot fire. Moze was dealing out hot drinks. Brite wondered what would have been the outcome if no fire or reviving whisky had been available.
Reddie Bayne was the only one not wet to the skin. The long slicker had saved her, and though she looked peaked and wan, she had evidently finished better than some of them.
“Coffee—not whisky,” she whispered, huskily, as she smelled the cup Moze forced upon her.
“Reddie, yu’re shore there,” remarked Deuce, admiringly.