“He’s done for,” a man said.
Jock let out a sigh.
“One of you boys get some water,” Chad said. “Splash it on him.”
Jock stood there, heaving for breath. A man stepped up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Quist wasn’t really mad at you, Jock, so much as at your brother Abel. You were just the handiest.”
Jock turned around, bewildered, and looked into the eyes of Earl Foster, a man who once worked for him.
“We’d all like a piece of Abel right now,” Foster said, and his eyes glinted with a flashing anger that made Jock wince. He could almost feel the heat from those burning, angry eyes.
Chapter 4
Jock stared at Earl Foster, completely bewildered by what he had said.
“What’s Abel done to you, Earl? And to Quist, for that matter?”
Foster didn’t say anything, just stared at Jock and shook his head.
“Jock,” Chad said, “let it go for now. There’s been enough bad blood spilled here. Take your plate and let’s eat and let tempers cool.”
Chad handed Jock his plate of food, growing cold now, and Jock took it as Foster walked away. He heard Quist spluttering as a man splashed a bucket of cold water over his face, drenching his shirt and trousers.
“It’s all over with, Lou,” Foster said. “Maybe Jubilee will give you some hot grub to take your mind off Jock and his brother.”
Quist groaned, unable to speak. He felt his jaw and nearly doubled up with the pain.
Chad led Jock away from the others and took him around behind the chuck wagon. Jock was aware of the murderous glances the other men shot at him as he passed them by. Jubilee was the only one who smiled, as if to reassure him that at least he was on Jock’s side.
Chad sat down, leaning against one wagon wheel. Jock leaned against the other. He was still shaking, but a bite of food seemed to calm him, taking his mind off the bruises he had suffered during the fight. A man came around the tailgate of the wagon, carrying Jock’s gunbelt.
“I hope you don’t need this, but I’m plumb tired of carrying it,” the man said.
“Jock, this is Dewey Ringler. He worked for Charlie Goodnight.”
“Thanks, Dewey,” Jock said, taking the gunbelt. “I hope I don’t have to use that hogleg for anything more than killing rattlesnakes.”
“Kane, you got one enemy in this outfit already. Lou Quist. Me, I’m on the fence. But Charlie told me once’t that you was a good man. I hope like hell he was right.”
“Charlie’s a good judge of character,” Chad said in Jock’s defense. “But I’ll vouch for Jock Kane any day of the week.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Ringler said, and then turned on his heel and left Chad and Jock to their supper.
“What was that about my brother, Abel?” Jock asked, after Ringler was out of earshot. “I thought you said he borrowed money and then rode on.”
“I might have made a big mistake there with Abel, Jock.”
“How so?”
“I tried to hire him and his two friends for the drive to Ellsworth. Told him my plan, said I wanted you for my trail boss. He said he’d let me know. He came back two days later and paid me back the money he owed me. He was by himself.”
“And?”
“I asked him where his two friends were and he said they’d hired on with the Cross J outfit.”
“Damn,” Jock said, chewing on a piece of meat, tucking it to one side of his mouth.
“Yeah, I thought the same thing. A couple of bad boys going even badder.”
“What about Abel? Did he turn you down for the job with your outfit?”
“He said he was riding for the Cross J, too, and that they were heading out for Ellsworth themselves pretty quick. That was a week ago. I’ve got a scout over at the Cross J, two of ’em, really, who keep me informed about their plans to beat me to Ellsworth.”
“Are you saying there’s a chance the Cross J will cut you out of a sale up there in Kansas?”
“I am.”
“That bastard,” Jock said.
He was thinking of Curt Torgerson, the big Swede who owned the Cross J, a dirty-dealing Yankee who had come to Texas after the war and grabbed up land for taxes as an official with the federal government.
“Torgerson was born a bastard,” Chad said, “and remains one to this very day.”
Jock finished the stew and mopped up the gravy with a wedge of hardtack, his thoughts racing beyond that paling afternoon when long shadows began to stretch across the land, leaning away from the coming sunset.
“I can’t figure why my brother would throw in with a rascal like Torgerson,” Jock said finally. “To get back at me, maybe.”
“He knew that you and Torgerson had a run-in?”
“Why, sure he did. I’d still be ranching next to your spread if Torgerson hadn’t taken it away from our folks. In a way, he caused my mother’s death, and maybe my father’s, too. He broke their hearts when he showed them the papers and told them they had to get off their land. Land they had wrested from the Spaniards, the Mexicans, the Apaches, and who knows what all. Daddy had a small piece of land near Del Rio and we went there. At least it was paid for and the damned carpet baggers couldn’t grab it.”
“I hated to see you leave, Jock. But you did well. You increased your holdings and all.”
Jock set his plate down beside him and pulled out the makings. He offered the sack of tobacco to Chad, who shook his head. Jock built a quirly, lit it as the sun sank lower in the sky and the talk of the men became first a murmur, then a sporadic series of grunts. He could hear Jubilee scraping plates with dirt, banging them together, and his helper putting them into a gunnysack to take to the creek. Mac came by and got their plates, scraped them quickly with a knife, then put them into the sack he was carrying. The young man walked off toward the creek, his sack rattling softly despite his attempts to keep the plates from banging together.
“I’ve told Mac how easy it is to start a stampede,” Chad said.
“If he drops that sack, that could do the trick,” Jock said.
“Back to what we were talking about, Jock,” Chad prompted when it turned quiet once again. “About your ranch over yonder in Del Rio.”
“I was doing just fine until I made that drive to Abilene.”
“What happened to you, Jock, could have happened to anybody. Nobody blames you.”
“Abel blames me, and now it seems Quist bears me a grudge.”
“Quist will get over it.”
“I don’t think so.” Jock flexed his fingers, his sore knuckles, looked at them as if they belonged to someone else. They were scuffed and scratched, showing little lines of red where he had bled some. His other bruises throbbed, but he knew they were already beginning to heal.
“You still have your land, don’t you, Jock?” Jock laughed dryly. “A whole lot of empty land. It will take years for me to build another herd. I’ve got a few bulls and a handful of cows. It’s getting harder and harder to find wild longhorns over Del Rio way, and harder still to round them up in Mexico and drive ’em over the Rio Grande.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Chad said. “I finally had to hire Mexicans to round up cattle down in Mexico, and then pay them so much a head. I’ll still come out all right if I can get this herd up to Ellsworth. Before Torgerson does, that is.”
“How many head is Torgerson driving up?” Jock asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing the size of my herd, though. And probably a lot of those he’s herding are stolen. Torgerson is not averse to using a running iron, I know.”
“Yeah. He got caught once. I don’t know what happened though. He didn’t get hanged and he didn’t go to jail.”
“You know why?”
Jock shook his head. The sun was very low on the western horizon by now and a breeze was making the end of his cigarette glow. But at least it took the smoke away from his eyes.
“The complainant—that’s what the Texas
Rangers called the man who had his cattle stolen—wound up dead.”
“Dead? You mean murdered.”
“Broken neck. Murder was never proved.”
“Very convenient,” Jock said.
“Jock, I’ve got a very good reason to ask you to boss my herd up to Ellsworth. I didn’t want to tell you all this, but maybe what I say will change your mind.”
“I doubt it. I’m still real shaky about running a herd that far. Especially one the size of yours. I just don’t want the responsibility.”
“What if you had another herd of your own, Jock? You’d have to drive it to the railhead to make any gain. Otherwise, you’d just have a lot of beef to husband and real empty pockets.”
“Well, yeah, Chad. But that’s not likely to happen any time soon.”
Chad got up and stretched his legs. Jock could hear his knees creak. They were both getting toward that age when they could hear their own bones jar against one another when they stiffened up. And they stiffened up more often than not if they sat for a spell.
Jock put out his cigarette, which had burned down to a scrap. He got up, too, and looked to the west, where the sun burned acid rims to the clouds, turning white fluff into bronze and silver and gold. He didn’t see Chad take a small bottle from his pocket and quickly take a sip. Chad shuddered as he put the bottle back, his face white as cuttlebone.
“Listen to this, Jock,” Chad said. “Nobody wanted to make this drive after what happened to you. Most of the hands are green-horns. I had to put my ranch up to borrow enough money to pay my drovers and wranglers every month. If I don’t make this drive, I’m wiped out. Worse than you.”
“Maybe you should cut the size of the herd,” Jock said.
Chad shook his head.
“I borrowed real heavy,” he said. “And my buyer wants that many head. If you hire on, I’ll pay you a hundred and fifty a month and found. I’m paying the hands thirty.”
“That’s a good offer, Chad. But, no.”
Chad bit down and bunched his lips.
“Damn it, Jock, you’re the only one I can depend on. You carry a lot of respect around here, despite what happened to you. You know how to handle men better than I do. You proved that in the army and since then.”
“I don’t want the job, Chad.”
“I’m going to sweeten the offer, Jock. That’s how bad I need you.”
“Don’t waste it on me, Chad. My mind is made up.”
Jock started to walk away. Chad grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back.
“Damn you, Jock, just listen, will you?”
“Chad, take your damned hand off my arm.” Jock’s voice was as cold and hard as steel.
Chad dropped his hand as if it had been burned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to leave before hearing the rest of what I have to say. I admit I’m desperate. Everything I own or give a damn about is riding on this single drive up north.”
“Chad, that was the same situation I was facing when I took those three thousand head up to Abilene. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I was wrong to go when I did.”
“You couldn’t help what happened, Jock. Mother Nature played her part, you know.”
“The only thing is, Mother Nature’s not accountable. She can take the blame but it costs her nothing. I lost everything I owned, just like that.” Jock snapped his fingers. “One night of hail finished me off. I’ve gone over that night a thousand times in my mind. I still come up the same way. A loser.”
“All right, Jock. This is the last time I’m going to ask you to trail boss my herd. I’ll lay it all out for you. You can take it or leave it. I won’t press you and I won’t argue and I won’t beg. One roll of the dice. Okay?”
Jock didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled out the makings and began building a cigarette. It was a habit he had that unnerved some people, puzzled others. But it was his way of putting some distance between himself and an adversary who might be hot-headed. Chad was neither of these, but Jock knew they both had to be prepared for that last roll of the dice.
Maybe both of their lives depended on it. Maybe both their fates were in jeopardy.
Jock rolled a cigarette.
And he took his own sweet, slow time.
Chapter 5
Chad waited until Jock had finished rolling his cigarette. Then he pulled out a match and lit it for his friend.
“Are you ready to listen now, Jock?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Give it your best shot.”
Chad didn’t laugh. “All right. I offered you five times the pay I’m giving my hands. But this drive is so important to me, and you’re so important to me, I’m willing to offer you ten percent of what we get for the herd in Ellsworth. That’s forty dollars a head, son, and that should be right around what you would have gotten for your cattle if you’d made it through to Abilene.”
“What would have been, what might have been,” Jock said, musing as he mulled over Chad’s generous offer.
Chad said nothing, allowing his friend to ruminate in silence.
Jock watched a small band of longhorns grazing several hundred yards away, their calico hides shimmering in the sun, their legs moving woodenly whenever they moved, their horns casting off glints of light as they swung their heads or lifted them in wary vigilance.
He had no money. He had no future. He had no cattle. Not anymore. Chad was giving him a chance to populate his ranch with cattle like those he saw grazing, grazing as if they were waiting for something. Or someone.
“Fifteen thousand head,” Jock said.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s a hell of a responsibility.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“The men have to be good. And careful.”
“Like you, Jock.”
“There might be some weeding out.”
“Might be.”
“They’d all have to follow orders.”
“Sure.”
“First three days on the trail,” Jock said.
“Stampedes?”
“Yeah. That’s when they want to bolt back for the home range. It could be one hell of a mess.”
“That happen to you?”
“Yeah, it did,” Jock said. “I broke them up after that. Into bunches we could handle better.”
The memories of that drive unfurled in Jock’s mind until he could see it all—the wide, well-marked trail churned up by thousands of cattle that had preceded them, the country sprawled in all directions like some living map where grasses grew and creeks ran like the veins of a living thing, and the land breathed and wafted up its scents until a man’s head was full of perfume and the poignant aromas of dung and the sweat of animals and men. He had become drunk on it, and mindless of the dangers ahead, despite the early stampedes and the meanness of longhorns and the short patience of men on horseback. The giddiness of it all came back to him then, and he felt his resolve weaken and dissipate like the morning dew on cactus flowers when the rising sun warmed the day and streamed light into a man’s heart.
“I’ll take your herd up, Chad,” Jock said finally, dreamy shadows flitting in his eyes as if he had returned from a state of rapture.
“We have to move them by tomorrow. Grass is about played out.”
“I’ll meet with the men, all of them, right at dawn. You have the remuda and the wranglers there, too. I want to look at this herd and, tomorrow, the horses. And tell every man to bring pistol and rifle. No exceptions.”
“I’ll spread the word, Jock,” Chad said, beaming, his face bright as a white cloud sprayed with the last rays of the sun.
The two men shook hands.
“Go on then, Chad. I want to ride through the herd. Where do we bunk tonight?”
“We can ride back to the house, or we can bunk out here on the ground.”
“Might as well get used to it,” Jock said. “That’s what bedrolls are for.”
Chad laughed.
>
Jock caught up his horse, ignoring the stark glances of the men still hanging around the chuck wagon, smoking and talking in low tones.
“You goin’ to ramrod this outfit, Kane?” one of the men said. His name was Burt Stubbins—Jock knew him.
“Any objections, Burt?”
“I ain’t got none.”
Jock mounted his horse and turned to the men.
“Anybody who doesn’t want to ride with me tomorrow can pack it in tonight. I mean to put you boys through hell and high water.”
Somebody cursed.
Jock spat out his cigarette and turned his horse. Behind him, he could hear the low rumble of talk in his wake, and it didn’t bother him at all. He knew how hungry the men were. They were almost as hungry as he was.
Chapter 6
Jock caught only fragments of the conversation that rose up behind him as he rode off into the sea of longhorns.
“Burt, you better watch what you say to Kane. Look what that bastard did to Lou.”
“He got lucky,” Quist said. “There’ll be another time.”
“. . . ain’t so tough . . .”
“. . . he don’t have eyes in the back of his head . . .”
Jock couldn’t recognize the last two voices and they faded out. It didn’t matter. He had enemies, new and old, in Chad’s camp, and he’d have to deal with them when the time came.
For now, he was glad to get away by himself and see what kind of animals he’d be driving north. He almost couldn’t believe he’d agreed to take on the job of trail boss for Chad Becker, but he’d given his word and shook hands on it, so this was his bed to lie on, good or bad.
Some of the longhorns eyed him as he passed, and others pawed the ground and took fighting stances as if ready to do battle. He recognized these as wild cattle. He would have to pick out a lead steer come morning, and hope the drovers could make a tame crowd out of these unruly and unpredictable beasts.
The Ellsworth Trail Page 3