Van, Rosa, Bo, and Long John rode drag. After last night's rain, it was still too early in the day for dust to be a problem, and the herd was still fresh enough that the longhorns were trailing well. Van rode his horse next to Rosa's, and she smiled at him.
"Not a bad horse for an Injun mount, is he?"
"He is a fine horse," said Rosa. "Even if we hadn't needed him so badly, I am glad we found him. One who has been mistreated, when you have won his trust, he will die for you."
"Your talks with Gil have done some good. He was almost friendly this morning."
"I have told him I may not be returning to Texas with him, and that if I do, the decision will be mine alone. I have begun to believe that my coming on this trail drive was a mistake, but it is too late to change that."
"For Gil's sake," Van said, "I hope he measures up, and that you'll be goin' back with us. I don't know how old you are in years, but you're the kind of woman the frontier needs. If I didn't already have a wife, old Gil wouldn't stand a chance. I'd grab you for myself."
"Thank you," said Rosa, touched by his sincerity.
* * *
Gil kept his horse at a slow gallop, and in a little more than two hours reached Cienega Creek. He found, while the map called it a creek, it was more a river. The previous night's rain had swelled the stream until it ran bank full. Gil rode upstream two or three miles. From there he rode west, in a half circle. When he again reached the fast flowing creek half a dozen miles south, he followed it north to the place where he had first approached it. While he saw no Indian sign, it told him nothing prior to last night's heavy rain. Before the trail drive approached the creek, it must again be scouted for recent Indian sign. For now, it would do. When he had rested his horse and allowed it to drink, he mounted and rode back to meet the oncoming trail herd. By the time the sun was two hours high, there wasn't a hint of last night's rain. The "wet weather" streams and water holes were only mud, and another day's sun would see them dried stone-hard, spiderwebbed with cracks.
Much to his satisfaction, Gil found that Mariposa, Estanzio, and Juan Padillo had the horses moving at the kind of gait it would take to reach Cienega Creek in a one-day drive. Gil regarded his outfit as superior to most, because his men had originally been riders for the famous Mendoza horse ranch, in Durango, Mexico. They understood and respected horses, but they also knew the limits of an animal's endurance. It was better to drive them hard all day than to have them suffer a night in dry camp. The same held true for the long-horns, but unlike horses, they knew no loyalty that inspired them to greater effort. They trailed best at a steady, comfortable walk, and when forced to exceed that, they became rebellious and mean. That was the state in which Gil found them on this day when their choice was a killing twenty-mile drive, or dry camp. While the flank riders were having their problems with bunch quitters, it would be far worse at the drag, and that was where Gil headed. With the greatly increased horse herd, Juan Padillo was working with Mariposa and Estanzio. Ramon rode the point, and Gil had shifted everybody he could spare to the drag. There was Long John, Bo, Rosa, Pedro Fagano, and Juan Alamonte. On a normal day that would have been enough, but one look at the cantankerous herd told Gil this was anything but a normal day. Rosa headed a big brindle just in time to ride madly after another that had just broken away. The rest of the riders were equally busy. Long John's horse had a bloody gash along its left flank, having been raked by a horn.
"Swap horses, Long John," Gil said, "and smear that gash with sulfur salve before the blowflies get to it."
Long John nodded and rode away. While he understood what had to be done, he wasn't neglectful. The herd had been so unruly, he couldn't be spared. Gil quickly got a taste of the kind of day they had in store. The same old stubborn brindle that Rosa had just sent bawling back to the herd again decided to back-trail. Gil tried to head him, failed, and finally was forced to rope the brute. He came up fighting, and his mad rush for Gil was cut short when Rosa caught him by the hind legs with a second loop and sent him crashing down in a bawling heap. With both cow horses holding him helpless, Gil bound his front and hind legs with piggin string.
"Three times he has run away," said Rosa.
"We'll leave him lay here awhile and fight the rawhide," Gil said. "If he still won't trail with the rest of the herd, I'll shoot the bastard. One ornery steer can be more trouble than he's worth, and he sets a bad example for the others."
An hour down the trail, Gil rode back and cut the brindle loose. Meekly the steer trotted ahead of him until they caught up with the tag end of the drive.
"I reckon he's yer pet," said Long John with a grin.
"Yeah," said Gil. "He runs one more time today, and we'll have fresh steak for supper."
"We ain't took enough vinegar out'n 'em," said Long John. "Why don't we bust ther' backsides an' make 'em lope faster?"
"They'd just get more ornery than they are already," Gil said. "Let's see if we can't keep 'em bunched so tight they can't break loose and run. If we keep 'em moving, we'll make our twenty miles. It's the bunch quitting that's costing us. Let's close the ranks and keep 'em closed. I want them bunched so tight, none of the brutes can see anything but the ugly backside of another longhorn."
They swatted the drag steers unmercifully, until they got the idea and closed ranks. The drag animals could set the pace for the herd, as those behind, with their sharp horns provided a powerful—and painful—incentive for their companions ahead. By the time the sun was noon high, Gil judged they had covered ten miles. Their hard driving would get them to Cienega Creek before dark. Gil rode ahead and caught up to the horse herd.
Estanzio, he said, 111 take your place here. 1 want you to ride on to the creek and look for Indian sign. I found none this morning, but I don't want any surprises. Ride on beyond the creek a ways, and then get back to us pronto."
Estanzio rode out, and Gil felt better. While he trusted his own eyes, ears, and judgment, nobody was better at Indian sign than another Indian. The relentless sun bore down, kindling a thirst in man and beast. The longhorns, weariness and thirst added to their already cantankerous mood, made it hard on the riders. When the troublesome brindle steer again lit out down the back trail, Rosa lost her temper and her patience. She kicked her faithful Indian pony into a gallop until he was neck and neck with the big brindle steer. Rosa doubled her lariat, then doubled it again, making it a veritable club. Swinging it as hard as she could, she brought it down on the brindle's tender muzzle. Bellowing in pain and rage, he hooked at her, but her shrewd Indian pony was ahead of him. No sooner had the horse drawn away, when he darted back in, and again Rosa laid a mighty blow across the brindle's nose. Then she urged the valiant horse on until she was ahead of the stubborn steer. She was prepared to slug him again, and he apparently realized it. Wheeling, he ran to catch up to the herd. Rosa laughed and tickled the ears of her horse.
"No see Injun sign," said Estanzio when he returned.
By late afternoon there was only one lingering benefit from the last night's rain. There was no dust, and that was something for which the drag riders were thankful. Two hours away from sundown. Gil rode ahead and caught up to the horse herd. He had an idea, and he needed to talk to Estanzio, Mariposa, and Juan Padillo.
"Take the horses on to the creek," he told the trio. "With their stride, they can get there an hour ahead of the longhorns. Water them and get them on some good graze for the night. Move them well out of the way. If we get rushed for time, we may have to run the longhorns the last couple of miles."
It was the only way he could compensate for the unpredictability of the ornery longhorns. Not only would the horses be watered and safely out of the way, the Indian riders would select the graze with an eye for defense. Gil rode back to the herd, pausing to speak to Ramon.
"I've sent the horses on ahead. We'll keep the long-horns moving, but they can run the last two or three miles, if that's what it takes to get them to water before dark."
"Bueno," said Ramon. "You
start them running, I get out of their way."
It was a controlled stampede that Gil had found effective, depending on the time and place. Terrain was a big factor. A stampede, however brief, was the last thing a trail boss needed if there were deep canyons or dropoffs. But there were no such dangers these last few miles to Cienega Creek. If need be, some riders could be sent ahead to slow the herd as they neared the water, but Gil had no fear of the thirsty longhorns running beyond the creek. He had only to be sure the horses had been watered and were out of the way.
"Ye reckon we gon' make it?" Long John asked when Gil rode back to the drag.
"One way or the other," Gil replied. "I've sent the horses on ahead. Once they're watered and the creek's clear, we can stampede the longhorns the rest of the way. That's the only thing predictable about a longhorn. If he's thirsty, he won't run beyond the nearest water."
When it came to running the rest of the way to Cienega Creek, the herd made its own decision, aided by a cooling west wind. Just minutes after the sun had slipped beyond the western horizon, a playful breeze had sprung up, bringing with it the tantalizing smell of water. The lead steers lifted their heads, forgot all about how tired they were, and lit out in a dead run. The rest of the herd followed, and for the first time that long, hard day, the riders relaxed. The herd would run no farther than the creek.
"How 'bout this Cienega Creek?" Long John inquired. "Is she deep?"
"Deep," said Gil. "More like a river."
"Sincet the herd has took care o' itself fer the night," said Long John, "they's enough time 'fore dark fer me an' Bo't' try fer some fish."
"Go ahead," said Gil, "but you'll have a long ride upstream. Once those longhorns hit the creek, there won't be a fish for miles."
So Bo and Long John rode away, taking Van, Pedro Fagano, and Vicente Gomez with them.
"If there be any fish, we have plenty." said Ramon.
"I hope the others are as thoughtful as Bo and Long John," Rosa said. "When they catch fish, they clean them. The cook does not clean the fish."
The longhorns were strung out along the creek, while the horses grazed well away from it. Juan Padillo had already begun unloading the packhorses, but he was receiving no help from Mariposa or Estanzio. It was not the nature of an Indian, whatever his origin, to so demean himself.
"I'll round up some wood for a fire," Gil said. "Ramon, take a couple of riders and haze the longhorns back into a herd. Now that they've watered, there's no reason for them to graze for two miles along the creek. Our watch won't be worth a damn with them stretched halfway to Mexico."
Gil built the fire, Rosa put the three-legged iron spider in place and soon had the coffee ready. When the fishermen returned, every man with a big string of trout, Rosa threw up her hands in despair.
"Now, now," soothed Long John, "we gon' clean 'em fer ye. We jus' brung 'em back like this so's we could git here 'fore dark."
Chapter 16
Despite the long, hard day, the outfit was elated. Even if it had been necessary for the longhorns to run the last two or three miles, they had reached Cienega Creek in a single day's drive. Rosa put a big iron skillet on the fire, rolled the trout in cornmeal, and fried them in bacon grease. It was a good camp and an excellent meal. To Gil's surprise—and probably that of everybody else—Rosa volunteered for the first watch. No more would she tempt Gil, nor would she make it convenient for any more late night arguments. Instead she spent her first watch in conversation with Bo. Long John, and Van.
"Oncet we git back't' Texas," said Long John, "I'm takin' some time an' goin''t' see my mama, back in the bayou country. Bo, he aims't' go wi' me, an' git a bait o' Cajun cookin'."
There was a depth to Bo that few of them had suspected, and before the night was over, they would regard the little cowboy with respect and awe.
"There is a legend," said Bo, "that each of us is born under a star. It influences us, directs our footsteps, and is our link with God. It shines upon us all the days of our lives, and to follow it is our destiny. When our star grows dim, we may yet be young in years, but when it dies, so do we."
""Ye soun' like my mama," said Long John. ''She reads tea leaves, coffee grounds, playin' cards, the stars, the moon, an' God knows what all else."
"Madre de Dios, Bo," said Rosa, "you speak like the profeta. If your star does not permit it, you cannot go with Long John to visit his madre?"
"Should my star grow dim and flame out," said Bo, "I will not be returning to Texas."
"Ye need fer my mama't' git a holt o' this damn star," said Long John, "an' figger out what it aims't' do. How'n hell can a man go anywher', er do anything, with this know-it-all star a-tellin' him he may be dead nex' week?"
Bo laughed. "Long John, how can any of us know if we'll be alive or dead next week? For that matter, even tomorrow? Our star is our friend, not limiting our days, but marking them. To worship the creation instead of the Creator is paganistic. The star is not my God, but a manifestation of Him. When your star dims, it is His way of preparing you for that which is to come."
"Por Dios," said Rosa, "I have read Gil's Bible, and I think you have been reading it also. You seem to have a better understanding of it than I. Does it tell you that your star is growing dim?"
"Tonight," said Bo, "my star is at peace, as am I. But in times of great danger, the star becomes restive. I tell you none of this to frighten or sadden you, but so that you may know I enjoy each day as it is given to me. I cannot plan for next week, next month, or next year. I suppose that what I wish to say is that when my star flames out, you should have no regrets, for I will be ready. You are my friends, and I am glad that my life touches yours, however briefly, and for as long as my star permits."
Van and some of the other riders had been witness to the strange conversation. None of them had ever heard anything so profound, and in the light of what was to come, they would understand it for the premonition it had been. Darkness hid the tears in Rosa's eyes, and Long John was strangely silent…
* * *
Cienega Creek had been a memorable camp, and every rider felt some reluctance in leaving it. But Gil had the longhorns on the trail at first light, driving them hard to stay within sight of the fast-moving horse remuda. This day demanded yet another twenty-mile drive, which should take them to Tucson. The visitors from the town had told Gil the herd must be driven to the south of Tucson, then west four or five miles, to Saguaro Springs. That posed a question Gil should have asked the visitors, a question that now bothered him. Had their estimate of the twenty miles from Cienega Creek to Tucson included the extra miles beyond the town, to Saguaro Springs? He suspected it had not, and once they were near enough, he must ride ahead and learn for sure just how far they must go to reach water. The longhorns had already begun to lag,
"Good water an' good graze, an' they's still cranky as hell," said Long John in disgust.
"They don't like bein' pushed this hard," Gil said. "We run them ragged yesterday, for sure, but they were rewarded with a night of good graze and plenty of water. It's a damn shame longhorns learn nothing from experience. They'll be just as mean and ornery today as they were yesterday, and they'll give us hell for our good intentions."
The longhorns had become such a trial that Bo had been forced to use a lariat, saving the unique bola for deer hunting and special occasions. The lariat could be doubled and used as a whip, a necessity in the daily battle with bunch-quitting longhorns. Rosa rode and worked as hard as any cowboy, while the nondescript Indian pony she had adopted became one of the best cow horses in the outfit.
Gil rode out when the sun was noon high, bound for Tucson. After he knew where the water was, he aimed to call on the man who bought and sold livestock. They had no need for the many horses they had taken from the Apaches. Even if there was little or no market for beef, the horses might bring enough to supply their needs from Tucson to the goldfields. Unsure as to how far he was from his destination, Gil topped a ridge and his horse nickered. Hand on the but
t of his Colt, he reined up and waited, but there was no answering nicker. Cautiously he rode down the slope, and as he emerged from a forest of fir, he couldn't believe his eyes. At the north end of the valley below was a cluster of greenery, like an oasis. His thirsty horse had scented water! Warily, he rode on. At best it could only be a spring, but why had their visitors from Tucson not mentioned it? Slowly an answer—or what might be an answer—came to him. Had they passed to the north of Tucson—and at one time, they might have—this little patch of green with its spring would have been well to the south of them. Now he suspected they had drifted off their original course and were actually somewhere to the south of Tucson. But what did it matter, if they were miles closer to water?
Gil scouted the spring, finding it more than adequate, with a good runoff. Using the sun as a guide, he estimated the trail drive could easily reach the water before dark. Tomorrow would be soon enough to correct their course and ride ahead to Tucson. He turned back to meet the herd with the good news. Not only was there water, but it was near enough that they need not kill themselves getting to it, as they had been forced to do yesterday.
"Bueno." Ramon grinned. "Is better than having cows stampede through the town."
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