“All right, Jimmy,” Dag said, “you made your point. Let’s drop it. No more threats, Coker. Just pack up and ride off. Deuce, you get your men out of here. Barry, get one of your men to take Luke back home. We’ve had enough grief for one day.”
Deuce nodded, swiping a sleeve across bloody lips. “You pay for this, Dagstaff,” he said, huffing for breath. “By God, you pay dear for the trouble you bring.”
Dag drew his pistol. He aimed the barrel at Deutsch and cocked it. In the silence, men sucked in their breath and froze in their tracks. Off in the distance a meadowlark trilled.
“We go,” Deutsch said, and turned to Coker. “We go back, Coker. Tomorrow the roundup we will make.”
Dag watched as Coker and his men gathered their cups and mounted up in sullen silence. Matlee took the reins of Luke’s horse from Little Jake, who had sat his horse watching the whole thing, dumbfounded at the sudden eruption of violence.
Deutsch and the men of the Rocking D rode off to the east, into the glare of the sun.
Dag let the hammer down on his pistol and holstered it. Jimmy slid his own pistol back into its holster and let out a long breath.
No one spoke for a long time, as if they all were wondering what to do next, as if wondering who had been right, who had won, who had lost.
Chapter 4
Some of the longhorns that spring were as wild as the beasts of far-off Africa. Chad Myers and Carl Costello, two of Dag’s hands riding for his D Slash spread, were driving eight of them out of a brushy draw under a hot sun that boiled all of the salt out of them and burned their already leathered faces to the crispness of fried bacon. Chad’s little cow pony, Ruff, was working back and forth like a dog with a bone, while Carl’s horse, Lulu, crowded the rear, sawing back and forth to keep the cattle in line.
The cattle streamed onto level land, moving their heads back and forth to look over their surroundings. Their legs were caked with mud, which had accumulated on the ground from the recent rains. Chad edged toward the leader to let the cow know that if it bolted, he would run it down. He slipped the lariat from its thongs and shook out a loop, just in case. Carl put his horse into a sideways sidle and bunched the cows up from the rear. The cattle halted in a bunch and Chad let them think it over.
“This ought to be the last of it,” he told Carl.
“Yup. We’re always the last in.”
“These ain’t seen a horse all winter, let alone a rider.”
“Maybe a lot longer than that. Check them brands.”
Carl noted that four of the cows had the D Slash brand, which was Dag’s. Two were Box M cattle, belonging to Matlee. One was a Rocking D, Deutsch’s brand. The seventh had no brand at all.
“Cut out the Rocking D and let’s head ’em in for the tally,” Chad said.
Carl moved the cattle and guided his horse to cut out the Deutsch cow. An hour later, they arrived at the main herd, which stretched from horizon to horizon. They waved to Dag and Jimmy, Ed Langley and Doofus Wallace, who were tending the smaller bunch of cattle separated from the main herd. Dag was tallying the cattle, with Jimmy looking on as a backup checker. Wallace and Langley were letting the counted cows join the main herd, holding back the rest.
“Just run ’em in behind,” Dag called to Chad.
The two men let their cows join the smaller herd, then rode flank on the rest until the tallying was done. The ground was still wet from the heavy rains, so there was little dust that day. Some of the mud was starting to cake up under the baking heat of the sun. They rode up to Dag and Jimmy.
“That’s the last of them, boss. All we could find.” Chad took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his bandanna.
“It don’t look good,” Dag said. “About half Matlee’s and half ours.”
“What’s the tally?” Carl asked.
“A shade under twelve hundred head.”
“Shit.” Chad put his hat back on, squared it, and crumpled the crown with a pinch of deft fingers.
“Let’s go over to the chuck wagon and talk about this,” Dag said.
The whole herd moved slowly, and as Dag rode the length of it, he talked to the other herders and told them to leave the cows to graze and join them at the chuck wagon next to Rattlesnake Creek. The herd began to swell and expand as the riders left, the cattle grazing on new shoots of green grass. It was like watching a river widen and extend its banks, Dag thought. And the herd was pointed north.
“One of them cows warn’t branded,” Chad told Dag as he rode alongside. “We cut out a Rocking D.”
“Good. Too bad we can’t use a running iron on those.”
Chad laughed. “I could make one real quick.”
“We’ll do this by the book, Chad,” Dag said.
“I’ll bet we ran into a thousand head of Deuce stock on this last go-round.”
“I counted a few hundred myself. Deuce will come out all right at thirty-five dollars a head in Sedalia.”
“He might get forty.”
“We’ll get fifty.”
The men from two ranches, the Box M and the D Slash, gathered at the chuck wagon. They all dismounted and ground-tied their horses. They knew they were not through riding for the day. There was an air of anticipation among them as they whispered their concerns to one another and looked at Dag for a sign of what he might be going to say.
“Gather round,” Dag said to the men.
The hands and Matlee formed a semicircle around Dag. In the chuck wagon, Bill Finnerty, the cook they called “Fingers” and his daughter, Jo, sat on the buckboard seat overlooking the cluster of men.
“Well,” Dag said, “that’s the gather yonder. Headed north. We’ll start the drive in two days.”
“How many head you got, Dag?” Matlee called out.
“I’ll get to that, Barry. Just hold your horses.”
Laughter rippled through the assemblage like a nervous current.
“We’ll have shifts watch the herd, giving you all a chance to go home, say goodbye, and pack for the trip. Bring rifles, pistols, ammunition, canteens, bedrolls, extra tack, your favorite grub. Extra horses. I want the remuda to have some sixty to sixty-five head. Fingers won’t spoil you on this trip. And neither will Josephine.”
More laughter, less nervous this time.
Then one of Matlee’s men, Fred Reilly, spoke up. “You’re not takin’ no woman on this drive, are you, Dagstaff?”
“Where Fingers goes, his daughter goes. Yes, Jo is coming with us, and you should all be mighty grateful. And maybe you’ll learn some manners along the way, Reilly.”
There was a trickle of laughter, but it was plain to see that a lot of the men objected to having a woman along on a trail drive, especially one that would last as long as this one. There were some muttering and grumbling, but it died down quickly.
“Make your own choices for the rotation. Half here, half going home. Then the same tomorrow. I know, I know, some of you won’t have as much time to kiss the missus as the others, but you can quarrel about that when you divide up.”
A chuckle or two broke out, but the seriousness of the moment was not lost on anyone there.
“Expect to be gone most of a year,” Dag said, and waited for the effect of his words on all the men.
“I don’t think we have near enough cattle to make the drive,” Matlee said, a moment later. “Not enough to pay for a drive even to Abilene or Sedalia.”
“Barry,” Dag said, “you really got that head count stuck in your craw, don’t you?”
Dag said it amiably and the crowd laughed, but then it turned serious. Some more grumbling began to break out. Dag held up his hands to quiet the men down.
“It’s a damned good question, Dag,” Jimmy said. “A lot of us have been wonderin’ what you mean to do with this scrawny little herd.”
The men grunted in agreement with Gough.
“This from a man who doesn’t know one end of a cow from the other,” Dag said. “He’s a mighty fine horse wrangler, bu
t I caught him trying to milk a steer the other day.”
More laughter erupted, and Dag felt some of the tension subside this time.
“All right, you deserve an answer, Barry, and here’s what I’ve worked out. Before you all go protesting, hear me out.”
“We’re waiting, Dag,” Matlee said. “You’ve got the deal.”
“And all the cards,” Dag quipped. Then, in a more serious tone, he began speaking. He spoke very slowly and loud enough for every man to hear.
“When I made the trip to Cheyenne last year, I saw a lot of stray cattle. I saw a lot of unbranded cattle. Now what we’re going to do is forage all the way through Texas. Box M men can brand the cattle they bring in, and my men will burn the D Slash into those they bring to the herd. I’ll pay seventy-five cents extra for each head brought in. Now there are millions of cattle in Texas and not all of them wear brands. I expect this herd to swell to the number we need by the time we hit the Red River.”
“Impossible,” someone said.
“It’s going to be work—I grant you that,” Dag said. “But by God, we can do it and we’re going to do it.”
“You really think we can find nearly three thousand head of cattle on the drive?” Matlee asked.
“I do. And I’m going to show all of you how to do it, starting on the first day of the drive, two days from now.”
There were expressions of disbelief among a number of the men. Dag stood his ground and let the dissension die down.
“Now one other thing,” Dag said, “there’s going to be only one trail boss on this drive. He will have the final say on anything that comes up. He’s the best there is, and I want you to know that even I will follow his orders. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve talked to the man and he’s agreed to come with us and lead us to Cheyenne.”
“You’re not going to be trail boss?” Jimmy Gough asked.
“No, I’ll be out with all of you, rounding up more head to fill our contract.”
“Well, who the hell is this trail boss?” Reilly asked. “We might not like the son of a bitch.”
More laughter.
Again, Dag waited until there was absolute silence.
Then he dropped the bomb, knowing there would be an explosion. “Jubal Flagg,” he said.
The air turned blue with curses, and for a few moments, Dag thought he might have a riot on his hands. But all he did was stand there and smile with a confidence he knew he didn’t have. Jubal Flagg was probably the most hated man in that part of the country. But he was also the best.
Chapter 5
Dag stood on the back porch of his adobe house staring past the outhouse and garden to beyond the empty pastures at the flaming sunset. The magnificent glow stretched from horizon to horizon like the banked fires of a gigantic furnace. Tomorrow would be a good day, he thought, and hoped the next one would be too. He thought of the others who worked on his ranch, knowing they were home, as well. The Box M hands and his own had decided to take separate shifts. Tomorrow, he and his men would relieve Matlee’s so they could pack and say goodbye to their families and friends.
The final tally that day had wound up being 1,376 head of cattle, more than he had figured. He was still a long way from having enough for the long drive to Cheyenne, but in his heart, he knew he would swell the herd to nearly four thousand head.
It was a big gamble, he knew, but with Flagg running the outfit, they had a better than even chance of picking up enough unbranded cattle to fulfill the contract.
“Felix, supper’s ready.”
Dag turned and saw his wife standing in the open doorway, a smile on her tired face. The woman worked hard, but time had been kind to her. She was still beautiful, with her auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes, her sculptured face radiant with Grecian symmetry and grace. Her apron bulged out with the baby growing inside her. Alas, he would not be there to see it born, come September.
“Thanks, Laura. Would you just look at that sunset?”
She laughed. “I see it every day when you’re gone,” she said, “and I wonder if you’re looking at it the same time as I am.”
He followed her into the house, into the rich smells of her kitchen, to the table laid out for supper in the center of the room, still magically cool despite the heat of the woodstove at one end of the room. Steam drifted up through the cone of golden light shining from the overhead oil lamp. He sat down at the head of table; Laura sat by his side. They bowed their heads and Dag spoke the prayer he always said at supper.
“Heavenly Father,” he intoned, “we thank you for the food at our table that you have so graciously provided. We thank you for the life you have given us, and the home wherein we dwell. Amen.”
“Amen,” Laura echoed, and they began to eat. She had prepared roast beef, potatoes, green beans, biscuits, and gravy. They drank strong tea, which they only had on special occasions, a gift from Laura’s mother, who lived in San Antonio.
“When are you leaving, Felix?” she asked.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you did not. I know that look in your eyes, though. And when I saw the hands coming back tonight, I knew you had finished roundup.”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Do you have enough cattle to make the drive?”
“Not yet. We’ll get more on the way to Amarillo.”
“A big gamble.”
“Yes,” he said.
“When will you be back?”
“Next spring, I reckon.”
“So long? The baby’s due in September.”
“I know. It’s a long ride. But you’ll have Carmelita to help you. Jorge will be with me, so she’ll be able to be with you until we get back.”
Jorge Delgado was one of Dag’s best cowhands. His wife, Carmelita, worked for Laura, helping her with the washing, the cooking, the housecleaning. He had sent her home so that Jorge could say goodbye.
“Is Jo going?”
And there it was, the question Dag had been dreading. Laura knew as well as he that Bill Finnerty’s daughter went everywhere with him. He was a widower and Jo was a big help to him. She was always at roundup, and at the big picnics they had on the Fourth of July.
“Yes, dear, Jo is going. Of course. You know that.”
“That girl will be trouble, Felix.”
“What do you mean? She’s no trouble that I know of.”
Laura’s eyes flashed and then seethed with the smoky haze that marked a smoldering fire within her.
“That gal took a fancy to you ever since she had pippins on her chest. And now that she’s a woman, she’s got her sights set on you, Felix. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“I haven’t noticed, Laura. Honest.”
“Well, I’m telling you, Jo’s going along on this drive for one reason.”
“Oh, pshaw, Laura. You make mountains out of anthills.”
“That’s molehills, Felix, and I’m not. Jo is how old now? Twenty?”
“Maybe.”
“She’s twenty-two, Felix, and you know damned well how old she is. She flirts with you at every picnic, every race, every get-together. You may not have the roving eye, but that woman wants to find out what you got in your britches. I know.”
Dag flushed with embarrassment. Jo was pretty, but he was too old for her. And he was married.
“Laura, don’t make something out of nothing. You’re my woman and I’m your man. I don’t plan on sparking that girl. Far as I’m concerned, she’s just a cook, like her pa. She’ll be treated as such.”
Laura was still fuming when they finished supper. Dag could see that she had been talking about Jo in her mind the whole time they sat at the table in silence. The rest of the conversation could erupt at any moment and he’d catch hell for something he hadn’t done and didn’t intend to do.
Soon after Laura finished washing and drying the dishes, they heard dogs barking. Laura went to the front window and looked out into the darkness.
�
��Felix,” she said, “someone’s coming up our road. I can see their shapes by the moonlight.”
Dag went to the window.
“Two riders,” he said.
And moments later, they heard hoofbeats as the riders approached. Horses in the corrals whinnied.
“Now who could that be at this hour?” she asked, as she and Dag stood looking out the window.
“Hard to tell, but they’re in an all-fired hurry.”
The riders stopped at the hitch rail, dismounted, and wrapped their reins around the top pole.
“It’s Deuce,” he said, “and Coker.”
“I’ll make some coffee. I wonder what they want. Maybe Deuce changed his mind and is going to let you drive his cattle to Cheyenne.”
“That man doesn’t change his mind,” Dag said. “Once he makes it up, it turns to hard stone.”
Dag opened the door. Lamplight spilled out onto the porch, painted a soft yellow carpet.
“Deuce,” Dag said, “Sam, come on in.”
“Felix,” Deutsch said with noncommittal curtness. Coker said nothing. The two men entered the front room and Dag closed the door behind them.
“Sit down, Adolph. Laura’s putting coffee on to boil. Or would you like some elderberry?”
“No, we will not long stay,” Deutsch said. But he did sit down on the divan. Coker sat next to him. Both men took off their hats, but held them in their hands. Coker ran the brim of his hat through his fingers in a circular motion. Deutsch set his hat on the arm of the divan.
Dag sat down in a chair facing the two men.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. “Laura can set out plates for you, I’m sure.”
“We have eaten, Felix, but settle well the food does not.”
Coker’s face was drawn tight, with anger seething just below the surface of his visage, as if something were boiling in his mind and he was just holding back to keep from opening an ugly valve that would spew it all out. Dag noticed that both men wore pistols. He knew that Deuce seldom carried a weapon.
“Maybe you ate too much, Adolph.”
The Palo Duro Trail Page 3