The Trail Driver

by Zane Grey

  “Thet cowboy!” cried Reddie, in awesome wonder. She did not need to say any more.

  Brite found silence his best tribute. The wagons and remuda quickened to a downhill grade. Soon the freshness of morning gave way to the heat of noonday, and when they reached the rolling floor of the valley, to encounter reflection from the dragging sand, horses and riders alike suffered severely.

  Beyond that arid spot a gradual slope waved on toward the horizon where dim hills showed. Grass became abundant again, and toward late afternoon the herd appeared to be halted at the head of a swale where a fringe of willow signified the presence of water.

  Brite’s end of the cavalcade caught up eventually. The cattle had bunched in a meadow that surely would hold them all night, but at this hour they were weary and only a few were grazing.

  Reddie swung the remuda off to a bend in the creek. Brite rode on up to the head of the swale, where Moze had halted. Only two drivers remained with the herd, each solitary on opposite sides of it. They drooped in their saddles. A scattering of low trees afforded a fairly good site for camp. All the other drivers were dismounted. Brite got off, and stumbled around on cramped legs until he located Pan Handle and Texas Joe off to one side under a tree.

  Brite’s heart contracted when he espied Joe lying with a bloody bandage round his head. He heard Pan Handle say: “Tex, it’s kinda low down of yu.”

  “All’s fair in love an’ war. I’m crazy aboot her an’ I reckon she doesn’t care a damn——”

  “Heah comes the boss,” interrupted Pan Handle, warningly. Brite had heard enough, however, to get an inkling of what the wily cowboy was up to. He decided he would hide his suspicion.

  “Tex, old man, I shore hope yu ain’t bad hurt,” he burst out, in alarm, as he hurried up.

  “Aboot goin’ to cash, boss.”

  “My Gawd!—Man, this is terrible. Let me see.”

  “Rustle Reddie over heah,” replied Texas, in an awful voice.

  Reddie was unsaddling her black on the other side of camp. She heard Brite’s call, but showed no inclination to hurry. Her face flashed in their direction.

  “Reckon I’d better go prepare her, Tex,” said Brite, conceiving a loyal idea in the girl’s behalf.

  “Fetch her pronto,” called Texas, after him.

  Brite lost no time reaching Reddie, and when she turned he was amazed to find her white and shaking.

  “Dad—I saw! Tex has—been shot!” she whispered, with a gasp. “For pity’s sake—don’t tell me——”

  “Reddie, the damn cowboy ain’t hurt atall,” retorted Brite. “He ’pears bloodied up some. But I’ve a hunch he wants to scare yu.”

  Reddie’s face warmed, and slow comprehension drove the horror from her telltale eyes.

  “Honest Injun, Dad?” she asked, hoarsely.

  “I’ll swear it.”

  She pondered a moment, then jerked up, all spirit. “Thanks, Dad. But for yore hunch I’d shore have given myself away.”

  “Lass, yu turn the tables on thet tricky hombre,” suggested Brite.

  “Watch me!—Come a-runnin’,” she replied, and fled toward where Texas lay. Brite thumped after her as best he could, arriving just in time to see Reddie fall on her knees with a poignant cry.

  “Oh Pan—he’s been shot,” she cried, in horrified tones.

  Pan Handle confirmed that with a gloomy nod. Texas lay with the bloody yellow scarf across his forehead, just shading his eyes. Devil as he was, perhaps he could not risk exposing them to her perception.

  “Wal, I should smile I have, Reddie,” he drawled, in a husky whisper. “But no matter. Pan an’ me got the herd back.”

  “But, Jack!—Jack!—Yu’re not—not—” she wailed in accents that must have tricked the lover into ecstasy.

  “Reckon—I’m gonna—cash.”

  “Not die!—Jack?—Oh, my heaven!”

  “Yes, girl. I’m gonna die—oot heah on the lone prairie.”

  “Jack, darlin’!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands and rocking to and fro over him.

  “Aw! … Then yu’ll be sorry?” asked Texas, in a tender voice.

  “My heart will break. …It will kill me!”

  Texas Joe manifested a peculiar reaction for a man about to depart from life at such a harrowing moment. Reddie, too, appeared about to go into convulsions.

  “Kiss me—good-by,” whispered the villain, determined to carry the subterfuge as far as possible.

  Suddenly Reddie uncovered her face, which was rosy, and convulsed, too, but in smiles. She snatched the scarf off Texas’ forehead, exposing the superficial scalp wound over his temple.

  “Yu deceitful, lyin’ cowboy!” she burst out. “Yu may have fooled a lot of pore girls in yore day. But yu cain’t fool this one.”

  “Dog-gone!” ejaculated Texas, his eyes popping. “Yu air smart!”

  “The minute I seen yu I was on to yu,” she replied, mockingly, as she arose.

  “Yeah? … All right, Miss Reddie,” he replied, in grim discomfiture. “Pan said it was a low-down trick. An’ it was, I reckon, but next time there won’t be no foolin’.”

  Always, at the last, Texas Joe was not only a match for Reddie, but a master at finesse. Her dark eyes changed startlingly. It was indeed easy to see when this complex range-rider was in earnest. Reddie sobered instantly, and drooping her head she hastened away.

  “Boss, did yu double-cross me?” demanded Texas, with those piercing eyes shifting to Brite.

  “Lands sake! How could I?” ejaculated the boss.

  “Wal, yu’re a pretty smart old hombre,” growled Texas. Then he brightened. “Dog-gone! She had me most oot of my haid. Pan, ain’t Reddie just the wonderfulest girl thet ever was?”

  “I haven’t seen ’em all,” drawled Pan Handle. “But she shore would be hard to beat. …Tex, I don’t believe she gives a dam’ aboot yu.”

  “Aw!”

  “No girl could have come thet with yu lyin’ there all bloody. An’ yu’re a natural liar an’ actor. My idee is thet yu found oot what you wanted to know so powerful bad.”

  “Wal, thet’s some good, anyhow,” rejoined Texas, sitting up with a change of manner. “Boss, did yu take a look oot there?”

  He pointed with long arm and his gesture had impressiveness.

  “Boy, I been lookin’ my eyes oot,” responded Brite. “Shore don’t know how to thank you an’ Pan. Or what to say. I’ll wait till yu tell me aboot it.”

  “There, Pan, what yu make of thet. He’s an old Texas cattleman, too.”

  “Mr. Brite, if yu had looked the herd over carefully yu’d have seen thet we have fifteen hundred haid of long-horns more’n when we started.”

  “What!” ejaculated Brite, astounded.

  “It’s a fact, boss,” added Texas. “Our good luck is matchin’ our bad. Thet Hite ootfit had a herd of their own, stole, I reckon, from other drivers. Must have had them just this side of the Little Wichita.”

  “Wal, I’m stumped. What’s the brand?”

  “We saw a lot of X Two Bar an’ some Circle H. Do yu know them brands?”

  “Reckon I don’t.”

  “New branded over an old mark, we figger. Wilder’n hell, too. As if we hadn’t had enough hard work. …Get Pan to tell yu aboot last night.”

  Texas strode off, muttering to himself, and went down toward the creek, evidently to wash his bloodstained scarf, which he carried in his hand. Brite waited for the somber-faced gunman to speak, but was disappointed. Whereupon Brite, pretending tasks to do, moved about the camp fire, where the trail drivers were congregated, talking low. The advent of Reddie and Ann entirely silenced them. If Brite had expected his boys to be elated, he made a mistake. Perhaps they were keeping something from him and the girls. Mr. Hardy was holding his own, considering the serious nature of his wound, but he had developed a fever and was a pretty sick man. Williams said if they could get him to Doan’s post on the Red River that he had a fighting chance for his life. Presentl
y Moze called them to supper, which turned out to be a more than usually silent meal.

  San Sabe and Little rode in, after being relieved, and reported Indians with the buffalo several miles to the west.

  “Thet bunch been keepin’ along with us all day,” said Williams. “But it ain’t a very big one, so I reckon we needn’t set up huggin’ ourselves all night. How-somever, we won’t keep no fire burnin’.”

  “I gotta get some sleep,” complained Texas Joe. “Pan Handle is an owl. But if. I don’t get sleep I’m a daid one.”

  Just before dark Texas called Brite aside, out of earshot of camp.

  “Gimme a smoke, boss. Funny, me bein’ nervous. …Did Pan tell yu what come off last night?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Humph! Dam’ these gunmen, anyhow,” growled Texas. “Yu just cain’t make one of ’em talk. I’ll say Pan talked last night, though, with his gun. …Boss, thet was the strangest deal I was ever up against. If we’d known there was ten or eleven men instead of six we might have been a little leary.”

  “Tell me as much as yu like, Texas,” replied Brite, quietly. “It’s enough for me to know yu’re safe an’ we got our cattle back.”

  “Ahuh. …Wal, Hite wasn’t standin’ guard, so we reckoned after it was over. …Luck was with us, boss. We rode oot an’ located before the storm busted. So when the lightnin’ began to flash we didn’t have far to go. As we worked up on the herd we seen one guard ride off hell bent for election. He’d seen us shore. Just after thet the rain hit us somethin’ fierce. We split as planned an’ started round the herd. They was millin’ around in a bunch, lowin’ an’ crackin’ their horns, an’ gettin’ restless. Wind an’ rain, an’ lightnin’ too, were all at my back. An’ thet shore was lucky. I hadn’t gone far when I heahed a shot. The wind was comin’ off an’ on, so when it lulled a bit I could heah. Thet was how I come to heah one of Hite’s guards yell: ‘Thet yu, Bill?—Yu heah a shot?’ … I yelled yes an’ kept on ridin’. It was black as coal ’cept when the flashes came. I got close to this guard when all the sky ’peared to blaze. He yelled: ‘Hell!—Who—!’ … An’ thet was all he had time for. I rode on, sort of feelin’ my way, bumpin’ into cattle off an’ on. If they’d stampeded then they’d run me down. It didn’t rain. It just came down in bucketsful. I couldn’t see more’n twenty steps, an’ could heah nothin’ but wind an’ rain an’ thunder. Then I seen another guard. Seen him clear. But the next flash was short an’ when I shot it was in the dark. When it lighten’d again I seen a hawse down an’ the guard gettin’ to his feet. It went dark again quick just as I shot. An’ he shot back, for I saw the flash an’ heahed his gun. He missed, though. An’ so did I. Couldn’t see him next time, so I rode on ahaid. …Wal, after thet I had it most as light as day, for seconds at a time. But I didn’t meet no more guards. A long time after I expected to I seen the white flag wavin’ from Pan’s hat, an’ I was shore glad. We met an’ yelled at each other, then the long-horns took it in their haids to run. Right at us! We had to ride to get oot of the way. But the lightnin’ kept flashin’ an’ the rain slowin’ up, so we kept tab on them easy. They must have run ten miles. The storm passed an’ they quit to settle down.”

  “How’d yu get thet bullet crease in yore haid?” queried Brite.

  “Thet was this mawnin’ a little after daybreak,” concluded Texas. “We hung around the herd, watchin’ an’ listenin’. But nobody come. In the mawnin’, however, four hawsemen charged us. They had only one rifle. An’ we had our buffalo guns. So we stopped them an’ held them off. I got this cut first thing. So far as we could tell we didn’t hit one of them. Finally they rode off over the ridge. Pan an’ me both recognized Ross Hite. He had the rifle, an’ he was the one who bloodied me up. Hope I run into him again.”

  “I hope yu don’t,” returned Brite, bluntly.

  “Wal, so does Pan Handle,” drawled Texas. “Do yu know, boss, I reckon Pan an’ Hite have crossed trails before. Because Pan said I didn’t want to be meetin’ Hite before he did. An’ after thet I needn’t never look for him again. What yu make of thet?”

  “Humph,” was all Brite replied. His brevity was partly actuated by the approach of Reddie and Ann.

  “Better go to bed, girls,” advised Texas. “Thet’s shore what I’m aboot to do.”

  “Won’t you let us bandage your head?” asked Ann, solicitously. “Reddie says you had a terrible wound.”

  “Shore. But thet’s not in my haid, Ann,” drawled Texas. “I got a scratch heah. It’s stopped bleedin’.”

  “Texas, air yu goin’ to tell us aboot last night?” queried Reddie, curiously. “Pan Handle seems all strange an’ froze. We shore left him pronto.”

  “Nothin’ much happened, Reddie,” replied Texas. “We scared thet Hite ootfit an’ stampeded the herd. An’ heah we air.”

  “Scared my eye!” quoth Reddie. “Do yu reckon me an’ Ann air kids to give guff to?”

  “Wal, if guff is taffy, I say shore.”

  “Yu shot some of Hite’s men,” declared Reddie, with force. “I saw some daid ——”

  “Aw, yu mean them guards thet was struck by lightnin’ last night,” went on Texas, coolly. “Talk aboot retribushun! Why, girls, the Lawd was on our side last night. It’s common enough for lightnin’ to kill a trail driver or cowhand now an’ then. But to strike three or four men in one storm an’ all close together—thet’s somethin’ supernatural.”

  In the gathering dusk the girls regarded the nonchalant cowboy with different glances—Ann’s wide-eyed and awed—Reddie’s with dark disdain.

  “Wal, there’s shore a lot supernatural aboot yu, Texas Jack,” she drawled.

  Brite slept with one eye open that night. It passed at length without any disruption of the quiet camp. The trail drivers got off slowly and not until the sun burst red over the ridge top.

  Orders were for the wagons and remuda to keep close to the herd. Watchful eyes circled the horizon that day. Far over on each side of the trail black lines of buffalo showed against the gray. Their movement was imperceptible, Brite often turned his glass upon them, but more often on the distant knolls and high points, seeking for Indian signs.

  Eight or ten miles a day was all the trail drivers risked for their herds. Even this could not always be adhered to, especially with the obstacles of flooded rivers ahead, buffalo all around, and the menace of the savages, if not sight of them, ever present. Brite had begun to feel the strain of suspense, but had not noted it in any of his men.

  At length, about mid-afternoon, it was almost a relief actually to sight a band of mounted Indians on a high top back from the trail. Uncertainty ceased for Brite, at least. By trying he ascertained that he could not make out this band with his naked eye. Perhaps the blurred figures might be clearer to his keen-sighted scouts. With the glass, however, Brite could see well enough to recognize the Indians as Comanches, and in sufficient force to cause more than apprehension.

  Whereupon he rode forward to acquaint Hash Williams with his discovery. The hunter halted his team, and taking up the glasses without a word, he searched the horizon line.

  “Ahuh, I see ’em. About forty, or so,” he said, and cursed under his breath. “Looks like Comanches to me. If thet’s Nigger Hawse we’re shore flirtin’ with the undertaker. Ride on ahaid an’ tell Shipman to keep on goin’ till he finds a place where we’d have some chance if attacked.”

  Brite was to learn that Texas had already espied the Indians.

  “Up to deviltry, I reckon,” he said. “I was thinkin’ thet very thing Williams advises. Don’t tell the girls, boss.”

  When Brite dropped back behind the remuda again he was accosted by Reddie, who suspected that something was amiss. Brite told her, but advised not letting Ann know.

  “Gosh! I don’t know what good bein’ an heiress would be if I lost my hair!” she exclaimed.

  “Lass, yu wouldn’t be anythin’ but a good daid girl,” replied Brite.

  At last, at almost dus
k, the herd was halted out on a flat near which a thread of water ran down a shallow gully. Camp was selected on the north bank in the shelter of rocks. Moze was ordered to make his fire in a niche where it would be unseen. The riders came and went, silent, watchful, somber. Night: fell. The wolves mourned. The warm summer air seemed to settle down over the camp as if it bore no tidings of ill. But the shadows in the rock cracks and caverns harbored menace.

  Three guards kept continual watch, around camp all night and six guards stayed with the herd. Two of the drivers were allowed to sleep at one time. So the night passed and the gray dawn—always the perilous hour for Indian attack—and the morning broke without incident.

  But that day was beset with trials—barren ground for the cattle, hard going on the horses, ceaseless dread on the part of the trail drivers for the two girls and the injured man in their party. Several times during the day the Comanches were sighted watching them, riding along even with their position, keeping to the slow pace of the herd. How sinister that seemed to Brite! The red devils knew the trail; they were waiting for a certain place, or for something to happen, when they would attack.

  Buffalo increased in numbers on all sides, still distant, but gradually closing up gray gaps in their line. That black line extended north as far as eye could see. The fact became evident that Brite’s outfit was driving into the vast herd, leisurely grazing along. The situation grew hourly more nerve-racking. To swerve to either side was impossible, to stop or go back meant signal failure, defeat, and loss. The drivers absolutely had to stick to the trail and keep going.

  The Chisholm Trail had again taken a decided slant to the northwest. And probably somewhere ahead, perhaps across the Red River, it would bisect the vast herd of buffalo. The alarming discovery was made that the following herd of long-horns had come up in plain sight, and ten miles behind it another wavered a long, dark line on the gray. Brite asked his men why these pursuing trail drivers were pressing him so hard. And the answer was Indians, buffalo, and the two hundred thousand head of cattle that had started and must keep on. To turn or slow down meant to fall by the wayside.