As Will rode on north, he found that he was pretty much surprised at himself. Here was a man who had married, raised a family, fought a war and by now he reckoned he should know himself. But he didn’t know a damned thing about himself. He’d never known before that he was a mean bastard. The man who had gone after those cow-thieves and gunned one down in cold blood had been a total stranger to him. Grimly, he thought that he was going to see plenty more of him in future. The thought rather overawed him.
He travelled warily now for several days, for he suspected that he had not seen the last of the rustlers. However, they must have learned the lesson he taught them, for there wasn’t another sign of them. He reckoned the word had gone out—the Storm crew were Indians. Just the same he set extra guards at night and saw to it that as many men as possible carried carbines on their saddles. It was one worry that there were not enough to go around, nor was there sufficient powder and ball to make him feel safe.
Store-bought supplies had been low from the start, but by now they had dwindled almost to nothing. Martha, who liked to put dainty dishes in front of the men, despaired. They seemed to be living on a straight diet of beef, augmented whenever possible by game. Martha reckoned that a man couldn’t live by meat alone, but Joe didn’t see it her way at all. Meat was food and what more could a man want. None of them would die of hunger. A crew was usually as good as its cook and its chuck, but that rule didn’t seem true in this case. If the men were discontented with their food, nobody said so. They knew what the circumstances were and they knew that all that mattered was to get the cows to Kansas. They plodded on steadily north.
As they approached the west fork of the Trinity River, they came up with a Jackson County herd under a man named Frank McDowell. This herd was some two thousand five hundred strong and belonged to a number of owners who had hired McDowell to get them to market. Will rode forward and talked with the trail-boss, finding him a pleasantly mannered and co-operative man. He had heard that the Storm herd was on the trail and said he thought there’d be a good number of Texas men going up the trail this year. It was one hell of a gamble, but what had they to lose? There seemed to be an abundance of supplies in McDowell’s camp and Will was tempted to beg at least for some coffee, but he refrained. McDowell agreed that he would keep a steady pace and try to remain a day’s march ahead of the Storms. Will asked him how he proposed to tackle the Nations.
“I’m not fightin’ the Indians, if that’s what you mean,” the trail-boss said. “I’m buyin ‘em off as cheap as I’m able.”
Together, the following day, McDowell and Will rode forward to take a look at the Trinity, in case they should need the help of each other’s crews for the crossing, but they saw that the river wouldn’t give them any trouble. The water wasn’t too deep and they found firm footing. Will took leave of McDowell and rode back to Ms own people.
The Storm herd seemed to have settled down nicely again, but this time Will wasn’t going to let himself be fooled. He had to expect a run any time of the day or night. Certainly his crew were cheerful and holding together. That being so, he felt he could face any eventuality.
Will sent Clay forward to watch McDowell’s crossing to make sure that there were no snags to the stream. Clay came back to say that the Jackson County herd was over the water and that there had been no trouble. McDowell was camped on the far side. Will took his herd up to the ford at noon on the following day with the sun right overhead, old Blue led the way across and there wasn’t any trouble. He thought now the drive should be plain sailing until they reached the Red. After that they would be in Indian country and anything could happen. Indians didn’t love whites and whites didn’t love Indians—it was as simple as that. No matter that the Indians ahead of them might be Christian and civilized. Will reckoned if he’d had done to him what the Indians had had done to them, he’d be as mean as they were. But that didn’t alter his position at all.
It was indeed plain sailing after the Trinity. They settled down to the humdrum life of the trail. Will now had only minor worries—the men were tired and there was little chance that they would get enough sleep before they hit the end of the trail; looking out for the saddle-stock might be proving more than Kate could manage, she was a woman after all and couldn’t be expected to do a man’s job. She was in the saddle all day and often woken during the night. But he had to admit that she seemed to thrive on it. Certainly the men in the crew admired her for what she was doing and it looked to Will that more than one of them had taken a shine to her. He knew she must look good enough to eat to the younger men. She was now as brown as a berry, her blue eyes shone healthily from out of the tanned flesh, her hair was bleached pale by the sun; she looked slender, strong and capable. Will didn’t blame the men.
His own three boys were shaping up well, all of them behaving soberly, even Jody, except for a little horse-play in camp at night. He allowed this. Young men were high-spirited and they had to have their fun. With this in mind, as they drew near to the Nations’ line and passed not so far from Henrietta he drew lots and allowed four of them to go into town, ostensibly to buy supplies. Martha had declared that if she didn’t have salt and coffee she wouldn’t cook for the outfit any more. Will gave Clay, who was one of the men going into town, almost the last of his small supply of money and told him to purchase what Martha wanted. With him Clay took young George, Charlie Quintin and James Madders. None of them had more than small change in their pockets so Will reckoned they couldn’t get up to much mischief, but he was mistaken. The following day at noon only three of them returned. Madders, for some reason which nobody could explain, had fallen foul of the local law and drawn a gun. Shots had been exchanged, but nobody had been hit. The last they had seen of Madders, he had been fogging it for the Nations. Will wasn’t too put out, for he reckoned that the hand would rejoin them after they had crossed the Red.
They came slowly up to the river just east of where the Little Wichita cut off west and found that the water was up and that McDowell was hesitating to cross. The Storms pulled their animals off the trail and let them graze. Will rode forward with Mart and Joe to look at the water. They found it pretty fast and pretty deep. They discussed the situation with McDowell and all of them came to the conclusion that they didn’t like the look of things at all. It looked like they had to get across an impassable barrier. McDowell had sent riders east and west looking for a crossing, but they had failed to find one. Will had no reason to doubt their word, but just the same he sent Mart and Joe on the same errand. Both men came back into camp that night to say that they’d had no luck. Not even Joe seemed to have an answer to this one. They talked of building booms, of constructing a ferry, even a bridge. They didn’t seem to get anywhere. They slept on it and on the following morning, they joined McDowell at the river again and saw that it was even higher. McDowell said he would wait for the water to go down. Mart thought he might wait for weeks.
Will led the two men back down the trail a ways and said: “Well, do we try it or don’t we?” Joe said: “We gotta. We cain’t go back.” Mart said: “We have to try it, Will. We can shore the wagon up with logs and float her over.”
“All right,” said Will, “let’s get at it.” He gave his orders for Mart and Joe to bring the herd forward and halt it a short distance from the river. Then he rode forward and asked McDowell to throw his cattle to one side. McDowell agreed and offered a half-dozen men to help the Storm herd to cross. Will was thankful for this—he would need every man he could get.
The crew brought the herd forward, but the sun wasn’t right now and this fact troubled Will so he merely gave orders for the cattle to be watered and threw them back from the river for the night. In the morning, he took Joe down to the water’s edge and picked the exact spot for the crossing. This was a gravel shelf that would take the cows about thirty feet out into the water and give them a firm start. After that they would have to swim. He reckoned the best bet was to bring the animals up to the water at a steady pace, rat
her than ease them up to the water. He rode back and saw to the river-worthying of the wagon. Juan Mora and his cousin Pepe felled some trees, trimmed the trunks and lashed them to the underside and sides of the vehicle. The wagon would go over last. Will didn’t want Martha stranded with Melissa on one side of the water while he was on the other.
Jody had the best swimming horse, so the boy stripped down to his long johns and started across, bestriding a saddleless horse and swinging from its back to hang on to its tail once the swimming started. The animal swam strongly and willingly, but the current was strong and brought it to the farther shore a hundred yards or more down-stream. That gave Will some idea how the cows would react. He placed his best men downstream and when Jody came back across the water, put him and Joe on point. All might be well if old Blue didn’t play them false. Will rode back to give his orders to each man individually, checking they were all on swimming horses. Meredith Quintin and Manning Oaks couldn’t swim and they were pretending they weren’t scared. Will told them not to let any cow lag, but for God’s sake don’t crowd them overly when they’re in the water. They were to do their best, but they were also to remember that a man’s life was worth more than a cow’s in his book at least. The men nodded solemnly. Everybody was getting a little tensed up.
Will then looked at the river again and looked back at the waiting herd. He didn’t like it one little bit. McDowell rode up with his men and they took their places. At least they weren’t short of men.
He raised his hand and shouted: “Let ‘em come.”
The crew yipped and swung their ropes’ ends, the herd started slowly forward. They covered fifty yards at a steady walk, old Blue out in front, head up, nose sniffing the water, his great spread of horn proud. Will swung his horse out of the road and got himself up on a swell in the ground so that he could watch the whole operation. The drovers redoubled their efforts and the mass of animals lifted their pace to a trot. The whole earth seemed to shake beneath them. Blue topped the already broken bank and headed down for the water, suddenly he balked and something inside Will groaned. The weight of the animals behind him heaved him forward and he went reluctantly down to the water’s edge, went in and started drinking. The mass propelled him forward. He went in to his shoulders and tried to turn back.
Will yelled for the men to push them, but other animals had followed Blue’s lead, a tangled mill was starting at the water’s edge, horns tossed and eyes rolled. Cows on the edge of the herd tried to scatter out, riders spurred to head them off; they broke back in too many numbers to be stopped. A cow went down in the shallows. The bawling was deafening. Will rode forward to stop the forward pressure, yelling for the men to throw them back. Cursing, the men obeyed him.
Jody rode up to him, still dripping from his dip.
“Pa,” he cried, “let me rope that ole mossy-horn. I’ll lead him over.”
“No,” Will said. “Your horse is tired.”
“Then let somebody else do it,” the boy said.
“I’ll do it,” Will said.
“You?”
The boy thought he was too old. He could see it in his eyes. Something chuckled inside him. Too old at forty-two. He’d show the green kid.
He dismounted and stripped off his clothes except his long johns, hat and boots. He put his clothes in some brush and remounted. Jody protested. Let him do it.
“You ride point, boy,” Will snapped, “an’ don’t talk so much.”
Will mounted, took down his rope and built a noose. He rode back to where the herd had been withdrawn and dropped the noose over old Blue’s horns.
“Joe,” he said, “this time we’ll try it gently.”
“You’re the boss,” said Joe.
He looked back toward the wagon and saw that Martha was making frantic signs to him. He guessed she knew what he was going to do and was trying to stop him. He ignored her. That was the worst of having women along.
He started talking to Blue and slowly led him forward. He kept the talk going and the old steer looked at him as if he understood every word. Will made signs to Joe and Jody to keep the cattle coming, but to keep them a little back from Blue until he said.
He got the old steer down to the water’s edge, still talking. Blue hesitated, Will put a steady pressure on the rope and made a dally around the saddle horn with it. He touched his horse with the spur and urged it into the water. The horse leaned on the rope. Blue was used to being yoked to other cattle and fighting them. Will hoped to God he wouldn’t fight the horse. The horse was pulling with all its weight, scrambling on the gravel for a footing. Will wondered if Blue would refuse till a saddle girth went. The old animal opened its mouth and bellowed. Will went on talking to him. Behind the herd was still moving and if Blue didn’t move soon there’d be another tangle at the water’s edge. Will started to sweat. The impulse to raise his voice and yell at the old steer was almost overwhelming.
A horseman rode up. Looking around, Will saw that it was Joe. In his mouth was a lighted smoke. He took the smoke from his mouth and said: “Watch out, boss.” Leaning from the saddle he jammed the burning end of the smoke up the old mossyhorn’s butt.
With a bellow of surprise and rage, Blue leapt forward and it was all Will could do to get out of the way. As it was his horse, on the rope pressure suddenly being relaxed, nearly fell over. Wildly, Will spurred and jumped the animal forward into the water.
He shouted for the men to come ahead. His horse was swimming. The look of surprise still in his eyes, old Blue swam after him. Will looked back and saw the cows piling into the water, the yelling hands all around them.
In a few moments the strength of the river hit them and took them and Will knew that it was no use fighting it. The horse started to arc away downstream, swimming strongly. Will slipped from the saddle and caught hold of the tail. Behind him he could hear Blue snorting and snuffling. The old beast was swimming like a sea lion. Behind came the herd still streaming down into the water, the long patchy line of it starting to curve out into the stream. They were coming nicely with room enough to swim. The boys were doing well.
It seemed an age of straining against the powerful pull of the water before he felt the horse scrambling forward on a solid footing. A second later his own feet touched and he was heaving himself ashore, panting fit to bust and thinking maybe Jody was right after all and maybe he was too old for this kind of thing.
Right behind him were the cows with Joe and Jody at point. They were scattering now and trying to let themselves go with the current. Hastily, Will got his rope free of Blue, coiled it and mounted, riding downstream to catch the stragglers. Jody and Joe got ashore and mounted, coming downstream to join him. The cows started to come ashore in mass, climbed onto the grass above and started grazing as if they hadn’t just swum Red River.
They landed on a pretty wide front, but even so their weight broke up the shore line and it wasn’t long before animals started to get bogged down. Then it was a matter of roping them out, sometimes three ropes and horses to an animal, until they were heaved free. It was hard sweating work that seemed to occupy them the rest of the day.
Then the remuda was swum across without too much trouble. The men insisted on doing this without help from Kate. She was indignant, but consented to ride in the wagon. A half-dozen men crossed the river again, dabbed their ropes on the wagon and got it down into the water without its team and swam it across. Martha was pretty frightened, but she didn’t make a fuss. It had been her who had insisted on coming along and she must take what the trip had to offer. Just the same, the wagon was no sooner safely on the north side of the river than she had a fire going and had started to prepare a meal.
Will stationed his guards and thought with some surprise: “We’re in Indian country.” He wondered what the next day would bring.
Chapter Ten
The next day brought nothing, nothing that is except the hard work and the risk entailed in helping McDowell and his herd across the river. Will threw his own
herd north, then went back to help the Jackson County herd. To their surprise they found that the river was starting to go down. The crossing was made without too much trouble and the two herds started on slowly north. Now the Storms were in the lead.
The following day, they saw their first Indian. At least they thought it was an Indian, though nobody could be too sure. In the lead, Joe saw a distant rider on a ridge to the north and warned Will. He rode over and warned Kate not to let the remuda wander too far from the herd. He passed the word to the men that a rider had been sighted, but nobody knew whether it was an Indian or not. He wasn’t quite clear what he would do if he ran into Indian trouble. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it all the way along the trail. He had three thousand cows and womenfolk along. A man in those circumstances couldn’t put up much of a fight, that was for sure.
If it was indeed an Indian who had sighted them, the remainder of his people were in no hurry to come down on the herd. They no doubt knew that cattle moved slowly and there was no call to hurry.
It wasn’t until the following day that the Indians appeared and, when they did, it was something of a letdown. They came shambling over a hill to the east, three of them, mounted on ponies that were a disgrace to the human race. One old man, a youngish man and a boy. They looked so harmless that Will had to laugh at the sight of them. They were all dressed in white man’s clothing and looked as inoffensive as could be. The old man was apparently their spokesmen. He greeted Will politely and in the white man’s tongue. He was, it appeared, a spokesman for the Chickasaw people. This was their country and nobody was allowed through it without their permission.
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