by Gary Church
“Okay,” said Pete, shaking out his lariat. He spurred his horse forward, and coming close to Loco, threw his rope over Loco’s head, pulling it tight.
“Good toss,” said Briggs quietly.
But at that moment, everything changed. Loco reared on his hind legs and roared, which sounded like a high-pitched scream—a rare sound from a horse. Loco, nineteen hands high and sixteen hundred pounds of muscle, dropped his front legs and charged straight at Pete before turning away and running at full speed. When the slack rope popped tight, Pete was snatched from his saddle. He had wrapped the rope around his left wrist, and he hit the ground face first, his nose and jaw smashing into the ground.
Briggs and Lyle sat on their horses, frozen in shock. They watched, as Loco ran, dragging Pete behind him. He was running toward the herd. Recovering, Briggs told Lyle to grab the reins on Pete’s horse, and both men turned back toward their campsite.
Johnny jumped to his feet and grabbed his rifle when he heard Loco’s roar. He was running in the direction of the scream when he saw Loco running toward him. He stopped and waited. Jace and B.R. appeared at his sides.
“What the devil?” said Jace.
Loco slowed when he saw Johnny and was walking when he reached him. Johnny reached out and stroked him while he talked soothingly to him. He removed the rope from his neck, noticing it had caused some rope burn. Then he walked the rope until he got to the end and found the man lying there, the end of the rope twisted around his wrist and arm. His face broken and bloody, his shirt badly torn, one boot was missing, the man was alive, but blubbering.
Johnny looked at the man with no sympathy in his eyes. A six-gun, its cylinder packed with dirt, was still in its holster. Johnny reached down and pulled it out. Jace and B.R. stood looking down at the man.
“Horse thief,” said B.R. “Picked the wrong horse.”
“He’s likely not alone,” said Johnny. “His kind always runs in packs. You boys mind dragging him into the light? Let Cookie take a look at him, see if he’s gonna live.”
Johnny spent a few more minutes with Loco, then he walked to the front of the chuckwagon where Christie had his tent. After a brief conversation, they decided to put an extra man on the remuda for the night.
Returning to the main campfire, Johnny found the man propped up against one of the chuckwagon wheels. Cookie had wiped some of the blood and dirt from his face and tied a stick to a broken arm. Johnny stared at the man. He couldn’t remember his name, it had been years, but he knew him from the war. This man, along with two buddies, had abandoned their positions under fire. Johnny had put all three to work in the rear, wearing balls and chains for several months, before he could turn them over to a headquarters unit to be dealt with. They had cursed and threatened him. Now he wondered if they had followed him, knowing who he was, or if it was just happenstance. People rarely change their character. He pulled his knife from his boot and held it up so the man could see it.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“I need a doctor,” groaned the man, his voice strained.
Johnny smiled a cold smile. “You’re a horse thief. I’m the trail boss. We’re going to hang you.”
“No, no!” said the man. “It’s Briggs you want. I’ll help you, please!”
Johnny stared at the man. “You’re the man who tried to steal my horse.”
“I work for Briggs. He’s gonna kill you.”
“Briggs?” asked Johnny.
“Captain,” said Pete, his voice weak, “you put the three of us in ball and chain during the war. We seen you in town. Briggs and Lyle are camped a mile due east, looking to kill you. I was told to rope your horse is all.”
“Why, that makes you practically innocent,” said Johnny, his sarcasm lost on Pete.
Johnny walked away. He asked Cookie for irons, and sure enough, there were two sets in the wagon, in case of trouble. After securing Pete to the wagon, Johnny told him, “If you’re still alive in the morning, somebody will take you to New Braunfels and turn you over to the sheriff.”
Pete started to protest but thought better of it. A reprieve from an immediate hanging was better than nothing.
Johnny retrieved his rifle from where he had left it laying across his saddle. Loco was nearby, grazing, and Johnny went to him. He stroked his neck and flank, talking quietly.
Jace and B.R. appeared, both carrying rifles. “Mind if we trail along?” asked Jace.
Johnny turned and looked at the two. “Suit yourselves,” he said, “but I’m gonna walk.”
Jace and B.R. looked at each other and shrugged. “Gonna be a little strange, walking,” said B.R., “but I’m game.”
Johnny looked down at Jace’s bad leg. “Reckon you can—”
“It’s not a problem,” interrupted Jace. “It’s damaged, but it works, and it don’t hurt none.”
With that, Jace and B.R. followed, as Johnny turned and strode into the night.
“In about a mile, there’ll be a fire. These aren’t the smartest fellows,” said Johnny, as the three walked in the moonlight.
They saw the campfire in the distance. “If you boys get a chance, turn their horses loose,” said Johnny. “I’m gonna have a word.”
When they got close to the campsite, Johnny stood in the shadows, watching. Briggs and Lyle were passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Jace and B.R. found three hobbled horses, removed the ropes from their legs, and led them out into the night, as Johnny walked into the campsite. Briggs and Lyle sat frozen in shock for several seconds before Lyle started to his feet, and Briggs reached for his rifle.
Sitting around the campfire a few nights later, Jace and B.R. would tell the story of what happened next with, as they explained, no need for embellishment.
“Now, we unhobbled the horses, led them out a ways, and gave ’em a whack to send them off. We turned and hustled back to help. We were still a good thirty feet away when he walks into their camp, pretty as you please, holding his rifle kinda loose, in his left hand,” said Jace, pausing to draw on his cigarette and let his words sink in.
B.R. took up the story. “One goes for his rifle, and the other starts to stand up. Black just keeps on walking, right up close to them, and when the nearer one gets to his feet, he smacks him, right in the jaw, with a right cross. As the other fellow stands up holding his rifle at his waist, well I’m not sure how Black did it…” He paused.
Jace said, “Black kind of swung up his rifle with his left hand, and caught the barrel with his right hand, and then he jabbed the rifle butt right in the fellow’s throat and twisted to his left, using the barrel to crack the fellow upside the head. Man drops like a rock. The other fellow was still on the ground, holding his busted-up jaw.”
“Yeah,” B.R. chimed in again. “Afore we could cover the last thirty feet, he had put both of them out of action.”
There was silence for a moment, then one of the cowboys asked, “Well, what happened next?”
“Well, Johnny just looked down at them for a minute and said, ‘I ever see you two again, I’m not going to go so easy on you,’” said Jace. “Then he gathered up their rifles and handguns and made ‘em take off their boots. He told us to grab the boots, and he turned and started walking back to camp. Along the way, he tossed all the weapons into the brush, and told us to toss the boots.”
“Dang, y’all left them boys without horses or boots? Hell, we’re a good ten or fifteen miles from town.”
There was general laughter from the cowboys.
“You say he just walked into a campsite, at night, without holding up his gun?” asked one of the men.
“That’s a fact,” said B.R. while Jace nodded his affirmation.
Then one said, “I don’t reckon I’ll be messing with Boss Black,” to more whoops and laughter.
TEN
Jace’s love interest, Elizabeth, was sitting at her dressing table admiring herself. She was beautiful—there was no denying it, she thought to herself, as she picked up
her brush and began to stroke her hair. She dreamed of getting out of this backward state. She had never been to San Francisco or New York, but she had read about them and knew she belonged in one of those cities. Her thoughts turned to her current situation. She had wasted months letting Jace court her. What was she thinking?
The man was fun and handsome, and he adored her, but he was a mere cowboy with no prospects. She laughed out loud. The man had told her they would have a ranch. “Imagine,” she said to the mirror, “me, gathering eggs and working in a garden. I am far too beautiful for that.”
Elizabeth had shared her dreams with her current beau, Edward, who was reading law in his father’s law office. His father was a very successful lawyer, and Edward would one day take over his practice, but that didn’t interest Elizabeth.
Her father, a banker, had been pleased when Edward had first begun calling on her, and she had gotten rid of Jace. Later, after her father had consumed a few whiskeys, she pestered him until he told her that Edward’s father had over six thousand dollars in his bank. Now, that was something to look forward to. Although the man was in his fifties, he wouldn’t live forever. After she married Edward, she would see to it that they moved to San Francisco. He could work as a lawyer there, and when his father died, well, then they would have a fine house, and she would order her dresses from New York and Paris.
Edward, she reflected, was not exactly boring, just focused on silly things—politics and laws. But at least he dressed and spoke well. And he was invited to some wonderful parties by important people. That was what mattered—that and the fact that he was earning a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month now, and he would earn much, much more when he became a partner in his father’s law firm.
ELEVEN
As the Circle C cattle drive moved north, it began to rain hard. The cowboys quickly pulled out their slickers, but the driving rain soaked their leather chaps and made smoking almost impossible. A rider had been sent ahead, and he reported back to Johnny and Christie that the rain had followed him south. The San Marcos River was running high, but there was a favorable crossing about five miles east of the San Marcos settlement. When pressed, he noted he wasn’t sure, but estimated the front of the herd was some fifteen miles from the river—a day’s journey, if they pushed the cattle.
Johnny and Christie decided to press forward, settle the cattle on the near side of the river, and cross the next day. Christie said he would inform the point riders and the cook, while Johnny began to work his way around, informing the cowboys holding the swing, flank, and drag positions. The two point men, both a little older, had previously driven herds up the Chisholm and controlled the direction and speed of the drive.
The swing men rode about a third of the way from the front, and the flankers rode about two-thirds of the way back. In the back were the cowboys unlucky enough to ride the drag.
Jace, riding at the rear of the herd, was unable to see more than fifty feet ahead due to the driving rain. Water had run over Jace’s left chap, behind his leg, and down into his left boot. He was miserable, but it almost felt good to feel physical misery. It helped him, somehow, with the emotional pain that was getting worse every day, rather than better, as everyone had told him. He couldn’t get Elizabeth off his mind. He kept wondering what she was doing. It had been a mistake, he decided, coming on this drive. If he was back in San Antonio, maybe he could see her. In his mind, he imagined her eyes lighting up as she realized how much she loved him.
To be sure, there had been embarrassing scenes with Elizabeth. She was high-strung and demanding, but Jace didn’t think about that. Yes, she had belittled him more than once, calling him a worthless cowpuncher and worse. He remembered the fun times. They had attended some parties, and Elizabeth had often been the center of attention, making others envious of him.
He tried hard to put on a good front. Moping made him look like some kind of woman, B.R. had told him. So, he smiled and tried not to think about her, but he couldn’t help it. By golly, he’d head back as soon as he was paid, and first thing, when he hit San Antonio, he would get a bath and a shave, some new clothes, and call on her. Hell, she’d probably be so glad to see him, she’d grab him and kiss him. He laughed into the rain.
B.R. had ridden into the brush and driven a stray back toward the herd. He was riding his favorite horse, Washington, a sorrel gelding, what some called reddish. The horse was quick to respond, good at wrangling the longhorns, careful to avoid the horns, and had great stamina. Glancing around, B.R. saw that things appeared to be under control, at least for the moment. He leaned forward in the saddle, reached under his slicker, and brought out the makings, careful to shield them from the rain. He had some trouble, but finally managed to roll a cigarette, replace the makings, and using the brim of his hat to block the rain, he lit the cigarette, taking a deep pull.
B.R. sat on his horse, cupping the cigarette with his hands. He tried to mark moments in his day, to appreciate them. This was one of those moments. Consciously enjoying the tobacco, his mind reflected on the here and now. He was in a good place. He hadn’t always been so lucky, and you never knew what the next hour, the next day, or the next month might bring.
The past was something he had determined not to forget. There had been some tough spots, and he wanted to remember them. It made the good times all the sweeter. His only concern was his friend, Jace. He seemed to be sinking further into melancholy. B.R. thought Jace would come out of it, given time, but he wasn’t. Other than worry about his friend, B.R. was feeling good.
He had confidence in Christie, and he liked the trail boss, Johnny Black. Although the man never really talked about himself, he listened with interest and had an aura about him. An interesting man, thought B.R., jolted back to the moment as a longhorn in front of him turned out, and Washington cut to head him off without B.R.’s command.
Johnny had been so busy and so tired in the evenings that he hadn’t suffered from his separation from Rosalinda, but then he hadn’t been gone very long. He was standing in the rain on a small hillock, observing the herd. Loco grazed a few yards away, paying no mind to the rain. Things were going well, he considered. His thoughts drifted to home, and he wondered if it was raining there.
He saw B.R. riding the sorrel he favored. Funny how men and horses seemed to bond. A cowboy drifted into view coming from the west, driving a big longhorn in front of him. Jace, thought Johnny. He liked the two young men—Jace and his friend B.R. They sat and ate with him often, and he had considered it might be an issue with the other cowboys, but he had left the two on drag and showed them no favor. In fact, he did everything he could to show none of the crew any special treatment.
A couple of the hands had come to him with issues. One told Johnny he hesitated to complain, but he had drawn a night watch shift in the middle of the night and wanted to change. Johnny listened carefully and reminded the man of what he had told them all when they set out. He would rotate some of the riding positions and the night watch assignments, probably every fifteen days or so. The cowboy nodded, said that was fair enough, and he seemed satisfied. The other one shuffled about a bit before getting to the point. He couldn’t swim and found himself in absolute terror when they approached a river. Johnny assured him that if he stayed calm, his horse would get him across, and the man seemed to accept that.
They bedded the herd a bit early that day, as they didn’t want to get them too close to the water for fear they would all try to get to it to drink. Longhorns could go a long while without water, but it was better to be cautious. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still gray with clouds.
Screaming erupted near the chuckwagon not long after it halted. As the cook ran toward it, he saw Leo, one of his helpers, vigorously shaking his leg and yelling for help. A five-foot long snake, some two inches in diameter, was attached to the boy’s leg. Twenty feet away, Cookie stopped suddenly. Snakes were the one thing in this world the man feared. He stood and stared in horror as Leo continued to yell and sh
ake his leg, trying to free the snake from its grip.
Suddenly, Christie strode past the cook toward the boy. “Stop!” yelled Christie in such an authoritative voice that the boy froze.
Christie, who was still wearing his riding gloves, reached down, grasped the snake behind its head, and twisted it free. He glanced at it as it writhed in his grasp, its long body trying to encircle his arm. Looking at it, Christie announced, “Western Diamondback.”
“Help,” said Leo, who was white with fear. “I’m gonna die.”
Christie turned his gaze from the snake to the boy. “Maybe from fright,” he said calmly, “but not from a bite. He got you low, bit into your boot top.”
By now, the other wrangler, Jack, had appeared. He was also a boy, still in his teens, who took care of the horses and helped Cookie. Looking at him, Christie said, “Fetch a shovel.”
Jack ran, and when he came back with a shovel in his hand, Christie tossed the snake onto the ground, and the boy slammed the edge of the shovel into its neck, severing its head.
Following Christie’s instructions, the boys buried the snake’s head, careful to use the shovel to drag it into a hole. Christie picked up the snake’s body and handed it to the cook. “Give the rattles to the boy who found the snake, and fry up some of the meat for me after you skin it,” said Christie as he walked away.
The incident made for a fine story around the campfire that night, the snake getting bigger with each telling.
TWELVE
The Circle C trail drive crossed the San Marcos River without losing a man. However, they lost an estimated twenty or so beeves, swept away when they lost their footing in the river. The weather had cleared, and the temperatures were mild as the lead riders followed the trail toward Austin and the Colorado River.
Christie sent for Johnny, and when he arrived, the two rode away from the herd to talk. Stopping his horse, Christie said, “If we let the beeves eat a little, we can cross the Colorado west of Austin in three days. We’re gonna be close to town. I feel like we’ve got a good crew, but you’ve been working with them. Are there any who might try to ease off into town during the night?”