The Palo Duro Trail

by Ralph Compton

  He turned back and clucked to Nero. He tapped the horse in the flanks with his spurs and they were moving. He passed the chuck wagon and waved without looking at either Jo or Fingers. Then he started circling the tail end of the herd, heading for the right flank.

  He felt the weight of all that was on his mind and wondered if he was making the right decision. He couldn’t go back now. Deutsch would foreclose on him if he didn’t come up with the money to pay off the mortgage and he’d wind up with nothing. Nothing at all.

  And now another worry.

  Where in hell was Barry Matlee?

  Chapter 11

  The drive continued along Palo Duro Canyon. Horton and the others brought in small bunches of cattle, but the herd never stopped. Fingers kept a fire going in a large iron bowl, and when it came time for branding, Jo gathered firewood, and Cavins brought out the irons. It was hot and dusty, and the hands rode through rugged country with little water. Finally, by midafternoon, Dag turned in the saddle and saw a cloud of dust to the south. He switched with Chavez and rode drag, falling farther behind as the dust cloud drew closer.

  “Jimmy,” Dag called, when he could make out the pinpoint silhouettes of riders and horses far to the right, “ride up and tell Jubal to turn the herd in. I think I see Matlee comin’.”

  Gough stopped the remuda and told Little Jake to hold them up while he rode to the front of the herd.

  “Close ’em in, Manny,” Dag yelled. “Bunch ’em up. We’re going to call a halt for a while.”

  Chavez started compacting the herd, but he did it slowly and carefully so that the cows wouldn’t be alarmed. Gradually, the rear of the herd began to slow even more and the cattle grazed contentedly under the watchful eyes of the outriders.

  Several minutes later, Barry Matlee rode up, followed by his hands and their remuda. The cloud of dust thinned and evaporated. The horses were starting to lather, Dag noticed.

  “Where in hell have you been, Barry?” Dag pulled his hat off and wiped his sweaty forehead. “You had me plumb worried.”

  By that time, Flagg was riding up at a gallop, wondering why Dag had sent Jimmy up to call a halt to the drive.

  Matlee waited until Flagg joined them before he answered Dag’s question. “Hellfire, Dag, that damned Deuce played hob with us right off this mornin’. Wouldn’t let us ride acrost his land. I mean he put guns out to stop us doin’ what we’ve always done.”

  Matlee unleashed his canteen and drank several swallows. His shirt was plastered to his chest with sweat and his face tracked with grime. He looked tired, and so did his men, who were dismounting and leading horses over to Jimmy and the remuda.

  “I thought Deuce was going to head out himself,” Dag said. “He’s taking his sweet time.”

  “Oh, he’s made the gather, all right,” Matlee said, as he corked his canteen. Water sloshed in it as Matlee slung it over his saddle horn. “But he and his men blocked us every time we tried to cut a corner or cross a creek that ran across his spread. I mean, those boys were downright belligerent.”

  “You were threatened?” Flagg asked.

  “Yep, his segundo told us he’d shoot the first man who trespassed.”

  “Any shots fired?” Dag asked.

  “Several. Deuce has a bunch of trigger-happy gunmen on his payroll. They shot at the ground, but they shot real close too.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Dag swore. “Well, Deuce is mad that Flagg hired two of his top hands. He’s carrying a grudge against me.”

  “Meanness don’t grow overnight,” Flagg said. “Deuce was born plumb mean. He’s just got himself an excuse now to practice it on y’all.”

  “It doesn’t take a big man to carry a grudge,” Dag said. “Deuce is a pretty small man to pull iron on you and your boys, Barry.”

  “Well, here we are,” Matlee said. “Finally. We ain’t et nothin’ but dust for fifteen miles or better and I feel like I been in a horse stall gettin’ kicked to death.”

  Dag laughed dryly. “Go on up and talk to Fingers, Barry. Maybe he can give you some hardtack and bacon. We’re stopped for now, but we’ll be movin’ on till nearbout nightfall. Right, Jubal?”

  “We should make the ground while we can, Dag. This is the easy part. We’ve got rivers to cross and maybe hostiles waitin’ up ahead.”

  “Oh shit,” Matlee said.

  Dag stifled a chuckle, but Flagg’s face hardened to a bronzed mask.

  “This ain’t no Sunday buggy ride, Matlee,” Flagg said. He turned his horse and rode back up to the head of the herd.

  “Dag, why in hell did you hire Flagg to be trail boss? He’s meaner’n Deuce.”

  “Wait’ll you count head, Barry. Flagg’s building our herd as we go.”

  “How many men has he kilt so far?”

  “Take it easy, Barry. Flagg will grow on you.”

  “Yeah, like a hairshirt.”

  “You’re worn down to a nub, Barry. Go tell Fingers to get you some coffee and vittles. You join up with us when you feel better.”

  “Yeah, I got me something in my craw, all right: that damned Deuce. And now I got to deal with Jubal Flagg.”

  Dag let it go. He rode back and relieved Chavez, who took the drag. Dag started the cattle moving, got the ones up that had folded up their legs to rest under the blazing sun. He sighed with something resembling relief.

  At least Matlee and his men were now with them. That gave them more strength for the perils they might face in the coming days. He was perturbed that Matlee didn’t like Flagg but he understood the other man’s feelings. Flagg was not an easy man to like.

  The herd roamed on at its slow pace as Horton and the other riders continued to lead or drive stray cattle to the chuck wagon, where Cavins and others branded the unmarked outlaws.

  “I’d like to get in on that,” Matlee told Dag as they were riding flank together after helping rope and hogtie cattle so that Cavins could mark them with the hot irons.

  “What’s that?”

  “Send some of my hands out to bring in strays.”

  “Do you have any hands who can beat the brush and bring in thirty or forty head?”

  “Sure, Doug Hazlett, Billy Lee Grant, and some others, like Tommy Colgan.”

  “Better check with Flagg. He took some of my men out and trained them the first night and then those boys taught others how to do an outlaw roundup.”

  “I’ll do that. I notice all the stray ones are wearing D Slash brands. I’d like to see some Box Ms in the herd.”

  Dag smiled to show Barry that he wasn’t trying to cheat him.

  “That’s how we’re going to come up to our quota, Barry. You go right ahead. In fact, if you want, we can just let all the boys we don’t need to tend herd go out and split it down the middle.”

  “Naw, Dag, that wouldn’t be right. We’ll get our cattle and your boys can get yours.”

  “Fair enough,” Dag said. “I just don’t want no fights to break out.”

  “I’ll go talk to Flagg right away,” Matlee said.

  “Tell him I told you that you can take some of my hands to help the first time out.”

  Matlee’s face darkened as if he had been slapped. “That’s all right, Dag. We can manage, I reckon.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Matlee rode off at a canter atop his showy Palomino gelding, Powder.

  Dag watched him go and wondered if Flagg had sense enough to make sure the Box M hands went in the opposite direction from where the D Slash boys were bucking the brush. Otherwise, there could be trouble. There were some hot-tempered boys who rode for Barry and he had a few himself. A man’s nerves could fray mighty quick under the hot sun when there was close competition. And after all, the cattle were money on the hoof to all of them. He trusted Matlee, but he also knew some of his men might want to cut corners, and way down at the bottom might lie a man’s greed. But they had agreed to make the drive to Cheyenne together and keep their cattle separate when the money was paid out. They had shak
en hands on it, and he knew Barry was as good as his word. But then, he had never dealt with him when large sums were involved. Money changed everything, he knew.

  He hadn’t told Barry about the branded cows from other ranches that were running with the herd and all of those he’d watched come in bearing no markings. But it was going to come up, and he had no idea how Matlee would take it. And if it came to the day of the sale, would he be willing to pay the ranchers for the cattle that had mixed in with their herds? He knew he’d have to tell Barry what they were doing before he sent men out to round up outlaw cattle. Otherwise, there’d be hell to pay, maybe.

  Flagg didn’t like the idea.

  “Jubal,” Matlee said, “we got one herd here with two separate brands. If my men round up more’n Dag’s men do, I don’t think it’s fair to split even.”

  “You think your boys can gather more head than we can?”

  “What’s this ‘we,’ Jubal? Are you trail boss for me and my boys or just for Dag?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Barry. You know that. You been gone and came late, so I opened the ball with D Slash hands, that’s all.”

  “Well, it sounds to me like Dag wants to hog all the strays for hisself.”

  “Did he tell you that?” Flagg asked.

  “Naw, I don’t reckon. I want to ride out tonight and see can we round up some of them outlaws.”

  Flagg dug in his pocket for a plug of tobacco. He offered it to Matlee, who shook his head. Flagg took that as a sign of impatience. That was why he was trying to slow things down with a chaw. He took his pocketknife and cut off a thumb-sized chunk from the plug and eased it into his mouth. He tongued it into his cheek and began to maul it with his teeth. He didn’t speak until he had spit a stream of brown juice at a colony of ants swarming over their little sandy hill.

  “You might find slim pickin’s along this stretch of the Palo Duro,” Flagg said, “though I ain’t sayin’ you will. There’s so many cattle roamin’ around Texas, no tellin’ where they all are. It’s just that I’ve been lookin’ all day and ain’t seen none. You might want to get acquainted with the country a little first before you take your men out on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Damn it, Jubal. You sound discouragin’,” Matlee said.

  Flagg chewed and Flagg spat.

  “Ain’t that way at all. But you just rode up on us and haven’t even had time to pick yourself a wildflower. Wait a day or so. Then you can take to the brush.”

  “I ain’t waitin’, Jubal. I just want you to make sure we don’t run into D Slash riders wherever we decide to go.”

  “You want me to point you somewheres like I did with Dag’s boys.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You don’t need to get your dander up about it, Barry. I can do that. I will do that. You just tell me when.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Moon’s on the wane now,” Flagg said.

  “Damn you, Jubal. You sure as hell are buckin’ me.”

  “Tonight, Barry. Right after supper. Now go someplace and cool off. You got a hot collar and it ain’t from the sun.”

  Matlee snorted and rode off.

  Flagg watched him go and shook his head. He spit a stream of tobacco juice in Matlee’s direction, although he was a good two hundred yards away.

  “Trouble,” Flagg said to his horse. “It comes whether you expect it or not.”

  Then he turned back to the way ahead, looking for a line of trees that would mark a creek where they could stop for supper, at least.

  He thought that he might just run the herd all night to give those Box M boys a good sweat.

  Chapter 12

  There was little water that night. Flagg didn’t find a creek, but he found some depressions that had collected water from the last rain and that was where he ordered the men to bed the cattle down for the night.

  He had come to another decision as well.

  Flagg gestured to Dagstaff, as the hands who were not tending to the herd gathered to smoke and talk and wait for supper. The two men walked out of earshot of the others. Flagg chewed on a cud of tobacco, his face as dusty as the land itself, his eyes peering out of sweat-soaked mud holes.

  “Dag, I’m going to turn Matlee and his bunch out tonight to round up strays he can put his Box M brand on. We’ll keep your boys in camp. Let ’em get some shut-eye.”

  “That’s fine with me, Jubal. But there’s something else behind it, ain’t there?”

  “Maybe. Let Barry get his feet wet.”

  “I hope he finds a passel of outlaws.”

  “He won’t.”

  “We’re not in competition, Jubal.”

  “I’m not so sure, Felix.”

  Dag looked over, saw that Matlee was glaring at them from where he was leaning against one of the wagon wheels, rolling a quirly. He couldn’t make out the expression on Barry’s face, but he could imagine what he was thinking.

  “I ain’t gonna ride that road with Matlee, Jubal.”

  “Good. Maybe we can have a peaceful journey.”

  “We by God better.”

  The two men left it at that. They split up and walked their separate ways. As Dag approached the chuck wagon, he felt Matlee’s gaze on him. The coffee was boiling. He got a cup off the wagon, walked to the fire, picked up the pot, and poured some in his cup.

  Finnerty had driven his cooking irons into the ground and a pot full of stew hung over the fire, its blackened bottom licked by lashing flames.

  Dag turned and saw Jo standing there, a smile curving her lips.

  “Don’t spill that on me,” she said lightly.

  “Jo, I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Will we be here for the night?”

  “Yes, we all need some rest.”

  “Good. I think I found a catfish pond. I’ve got some poles in the wagon.”

  “You want to go fishing, Jo?”

  “I thought it would be nice. A change.”

  He stepped to her side, away from the fire. He tipped the coffee cup to his lips.

  “Early?” he asked. “Late?”

  “When it turns cool.”

  “We don’t have any worms.”

  “I’ve got some liver. Pa butchered a cow today and I saved some. It won’t last and it makes good bait.”

  “We’ll do ‘er,” Dag said. “Wanta bet?”

  “First fish? Biggest?” She laughed.

  “First.”

  “A nickel.”

  “A nickel.”

  She smiled at him and he walked behind the wagon, where he could watch the setting sun. He took a deep breath, wondering if he had made the right decision. It was harmless enough, he decided. He and Jo had fished many times before. But not out there, not in that vast emptiness, that long plain that stretched from every horizon in every direction.

  Nothing will happen, he told himself. We’ll fish and we’ll swap stories. Like always.

  Then, after another sip of coffee, he quietly said something else. “Felix, you’re a damned fool.”

  Horton and the other cowhands rode in with a half dozen head of cows to show for a long day’s work. The sun was setting and the men looked tired. Cavins and Jorge Delgado made short work of the branding and the cattle were turned into the herd. Flagg handed out assignments to the nighthawks, with Dagstaff standing by. He saw Matlee looking at him and he nodded.

  “Don,” Flagg said, “you and your boys can rest up tonight. I’m sending Matlee and his hands out ahead of us to rustle the brush for outlaws.”

  “They won’t find nary a cow for twenty mile,” Horton said.

  “Maybe they will and maybe they won’t, Don. But they’ll get their cherries busted.”

  Everyone laughed, including Jo. She rang the dinner triangle with a ladle and the men lined up for supper as the sun sank below the western horizon, leaving a soft orange glow in the sky.

  After supper, Matlee divided up some of his hands and directed them to go to different locations ahe
ad of where the herd was bedded down. Those of the D Slash outfit who had been out before offered plenty of advice, mostly in the form of wisecracks.

  “Don’t wear red. Them outlaws can see in the dark.”

  “If you get off your horse, you better be wearin’ horn-proof clothes.”

  “Ropin’ cows in the dark is like bein’ in a coal mine. You don’t know what you’re goin’ to catch.”

  And then the Box M boys rode out under the slender moon, disappearing into the darkness. The cattle lowed and moaned as the men passed the herd, and the nighthawks waved them on, wishing them good luck.

  “Well, there they go, Jubal.” Dag heaved a sigh.

  “Did you talk to Barry about bringing back branded cattle?”

  “No, I never had the chance. He’ll find out soon enough.”

  “That man’s already got a burr under his saddle, I’m thinkin’.”

  “We’ll just have to see what he brings in,” Dag said.

  “If he brings in anything.” Flagg spit a gob of tobacco and juice, then slapped his leg with the flat of his hand. “I’m goin’ to turn in, Dag. Looks clear tonight. The herd’s settled down some, and unless somethin’ spooks ’em, they should be quiet.”

  “You’re not thinkin’ stampede, are you, Jubal?”

  “Not tonight, anyways. You get a herd this size and one nervous cow—hell, anything can happen.”

  “Now you’re makin’ me nervous.”

  “Well, don’t snore too loud tonight, Dag.”

  Dag walked over to the chuck wagon. Finnerty and Jo were finished with the dishes. Jo was getting a couple of cane poles out of the wagon, along with some string, a sack of hooks and weights, and a package of bloody liver in a tin can. She was wearing the same calico dress, but had donned a light wool shirt. He had seen her in overalls back home, but she knew a lot of the hands didn’t like women in men’s pants, so he had told her not to wear overalls or trousers on the drive.

  “Is your daddy comin’ with us, Jo?” Dag asked.

  “No. You know better than that, Felix. Daddy doesn’t like to fish.”