Cooks didn’t give orders. Cooks took them.
“If you don’t want to do it that way, you get the Rolling J cows back. Tell Flagg how hard you worked finding them, and take credit. I don’t care. I’ll see that these are returned to wherever they belong.”
“That might be a dozen miles off. There’s no telling when those cows got cut off from their main herd. We’ve lost a couple dozen since we started. This will go a ways toward making up for them.”
“It’s not rustling, not exactly. But it’s wrong to keep them, Billy. I’ll drive them back to wherever the 23 herd is bedded down.”
“Damn it, Mac, you’re taking food out of our mouths if you do that. Every cow sold in Abilene adds to the pile of money to be split amongst us cowboys.”
Nothing had been said to him about that. He had been hired as cook, and likely Lem Carson only gave bonuses to the cowboys. Even if it was true that the total profit for the herd was divvied up, it was wrong. And a couple cattle wouldn’t amount to much more than a dollar or two when split twenty ways.
“Are you that hard up, Billy? I’ll give you some of my pay, if you are. I’m getting a dollar a day.”
“I’m getting more, but that’s not the point, Mac. We’re busting our butts out here and deserve every penny paid us.”
Mac saw that arguing wasn’t getting him anywhere. It was a crime to steal another man’s cattle. Accidentally cutting a few into your herd after the storm they’d endured was one thing, doing it on purpose was another.
“Get them back to Flagg.” He swung his rope in short, swift arcs that whacked the rumps of the 23-branded cattle.
“Mac.” Billy’s voice had turned velvet and soft. That was warning enough, even if staring down the barrel of his gun wasn’t.
“You’d shoot me over the cattle?”
“I would. I like you, Mac, I do, but I went through hell getting those cattle. You’re not giving them away.”
“Giving them back,” he corrected. Billy Duke looked serious about squeezing the trigger. He had no idea what drove the man to want to commit murder on someone he had known and been friends with for a month or more, but the intent was there. Mac read it in his eyes.
“We’ll drive them all back and let Flagg decide. But I am telling him. Whatever he decides, I’ll abide by. Will you do the same?” Mac thought he was secure in that. He knew Flagg pretty well. The man was honest and did the right thing. He wouldn’t keep cattle he knew were stolen from another herd.
At least, Mac didn’t think he would. Billy’s actions had surprised him. It was possible Flagg’s would, too.
After a tense moment, Billy shrugged and slid his gun back into leather. Working together, they moved the tiny herd back. Mac tried to memorize the markings on the cattle. Once they mingled with the far larger Rolling J herd, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to single them out. This could be done in Abilene when the cattle were run down a chute and examined one by one. Spread all over the prairie was another matter.
When he saw Flagg, Mac waved his hat and beckoned him over.
“I got work to do. No time for jawing, Mac.”
He quickly explained the situation, not mentioning how Billy Duke had gone out of his way to steal the 23’s cattle.
“So they were just grazing with ours?” Flagg’s disgusted tone showed the depth of his concern about the errant cattle. “We need to find this herd—I don’t know where the 23 calls home—and get word to the trail boss that we have their cows.”
“Three cattle, boss,” Billy Duke said. “There’s only three. Why not square it with them in Abilene, if they even notice?”
“That’s why.” Flagg looked past them to a trio of riders coming fast toward them.
“Rustlers!” Billy Duke clawed at the gun on his hip, but Mac almost fell from the saddle as he lunged and grabbed the man’s arm. He kept the lead from flying by doing that.
All three of the approaching riders had rifles resting across the saddle in front of them. Seeing Billy’s move caused them to bring their weapons around.
“Howdy!” Flagg called, raised his hand in greeting and trotted out to meet the men.
“You stay here,” Mac ordered. Billy Duke growled like a cougar but took his hand off his six-shooter. “I’ll be right back.”
“There’s no call to give the cows back.”
Mac tried to ignore the comment. He joined Flagg, who already was parleying with the man obviously in charge. The rider was older, had a touch of iron gray hair in his sideburns, even if he wasn’t more than forty years old. His gaze was as piercing as Flagg’s, but there wasn’t a hint of smile on his lips. Flagg tried to jolly the trio, but they weren’t having any of it.
“You stole our cattle. We want them back.”
“You belong to the 23 brand?”
“The 23’s down near San Antonio. Damned right, it’s our brand. Those are my cows you stole.”
“They got separated from your herd during the storm,” Mac said. “We rounded up some of our strays, and yours were with them. I only noticed when we got back. I’m real sorry this happened.”
The trail boss looked Mac over, then turned back to Flagg without saying anything. The set to his body spoke louder than words.
“Why don’t you boys go fetch your cows?” Flagg said. “There’s not been any harm. You get ’em, and we can all get on to herding up to Abilene.”
“We ought to get a lawman out here. You tried rustling our cattle.” The 23 trail boss glowered.
“Do whatever you like,” Flagg said. “We’re moving on as soon as we get a meal in our bellies. The storm set us back a day or two, and we’d like to make up the time.”
“Try that and it’ll be a range war. I promise that.”
“No need to be unreasonable. Mac here’s admitted it was a mistake. Doesn’t seem like one that ought to garner anything more than a ‘thank you.’ ”
“You need to pay for stealing those cows.”
“Well, sir, you have a one-track mind. It’s on those tracks, and it’s heading for a solid wall. I don’t have to do this, but if it smooths your ruffled feathers, why don’t you take a couple of our cows as payment for your aggravation?”
The trail boss exchanged looks with the two cowboys with him. He nodded brusquely to them and pointed to the Rolling J herd. They trotted off.
“Makes life easier,” Flagg said agreeably enough. Then his tone hardened. “This ends the matter.”
He wheeled about and galloped away. Mac started to apologize again but saw there wasn’t any chance he would get an acknowledgment. He trailed behind Flagg and overtook him halfway back to the Rolling J campsite.
“Flagg, hold up. We need to talk a minute.”
“What is it? Billy Duke just caused us to lose a couple cattle.”
“The 23 trail boss didn’t deserve it. If anything, he owed us for saving his cows,” Mac said. “But you’re right about Billy. He wanted to keep those longhorns and did what he could to lose them among our herd.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s got an itchy trigger finger. That’s not good in a cowboy who’s supposed to be watching over the herd.”
“He’s a hothead, but he’s not wrong. Not entirely.”
Flagg shook his head and rode away without giving his opinion.
As Mac got the chuckwagon ready to roll, Billy Duke rode into camp and hit the ground on the run. He grabbed Mac by the arm and spun him around.
“What’s got you so fired up?” Mac held his irritation down. He had work to do.
“They took the cows.” Billy was almost out of breath and looked to be on the verge of tears. “They took the cows.”
“Flagg told them they could get their own back and take a couple of ours for their trouble.”
“They took more ’n a couple. They took a couple dozen. Those owlhoots rode away with twenty-five head, and most of them were ours!”
Mac had no words. He just stared at the hotheaded cowboy, wondering if he w
as exaggerating—or if the 23 trail boss had outright stolen Rolling J cattle.
CHAPTER 18
“Did you tell Flagg?” Mac asked. “He’s got to know. This is serious.”
He chewed his lip, thinking about his part in the rustling. Too many problems piled up for him to bear all the responsibility, but somehow he was always in the middle of trouble every time it broke out. He felt a tad guilty that he hadn’t convinced Billy Duke not to steal the cattle in the first place.
Only he wasn’t in charge. Mac tried to figure out why he took such responsibility on himself when he wasn’t anything more than the cook, though that job had changed day by day until he might as well have been the trail boss, too. Cook and scout and wrangler—and the one who had sprung the actual trail boss from jail and sent the herd racing on in the storm when the rustling had occurred. He filled all those jobs and maybe some he hadn’t even bothered to consider.
None of this was his doing, but he felt responsible anyway.
“If I tell him, he’ll fire me for sure, Mac,” Billy said. “There’s no way I can afford to lose this job and forfeit all my pay. I need the money somethin’ fierce.”
Mac studied the young cowboy. This wasn’t the first time he had heard a note of panic from Billy when it came to money. That was the heart of this entire mess.
“Why? We all need the money. Working the Rolling J herd is the way we earn it, but you make it sound like a matter of life and death. You’ve got three squares, a horse whenever you want, and you pull down a decent salary for the work you do.”
Billy shuffled his feet and looked around, dropped his gaze, and nodded. He spoke in a mumble too low and garbled to be understood. Mac said nothing, knowing the cowboy would spit it out if he had a mind to.
“Most of the cowboys don’t have a family. I do, and that’s only part of my woes. The crops failed, and my ma got real sick and died. Pa’s not been the same since.”
“That’s a shame, but your pa can’t expect you to support him the rest of his life.”
“There’s Jenny and little Tom, too. My wife and son, and they ain’t got nobody else. Tom’s only three. They all live together in a one-room cabin outside of Waco. There’s not a whole lot I can do to keep from losing the farm, but the money from my wrangling can save them. She tries to hide it, but Jenny’s got the consumption, and Tommy’s on the sickly side. I never saw a young’un who was so pale and thin.”
“You left them for a trail drive to Abilene?” Mac wondered what he would have done in those circumstances. “There wasn’t a job around Waco? Mr. Jefferson has a few men working what’s left of the herd on the Rolling J. Without someone keeping those cows healthy, there won’t be a spring birthing or a drive next year.”
“I asked. He said it was the trail or nothing. Nobody else would give me a job, and I was desperate. Please, Mac, don’t tell Flagg.”
“How likely is he to notice the missing cattle? What with the storm and all, he might never notice they’re missing.”
“Maybe not, but I need the bonus money those cows would fetch in Abilene. It’s not much, but a few dollars means the world to me. I ain’t spent one thin dime since I signed on. It all went to Jenny.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a soaked letter. He thrust it at Mac. “See? She writes me. Ain’t been nowhere lately to pick up mail. No address even if I went into town, but this letter reached me just before the herd left Waco.”
A quick glance at the water-stained ink showed it to be almost illegible. But Mac did make out the last two lines: Love, Jenny, Tommy and Pa.
“What are you suggesting?” Mac asked a question and didn’t really want the answer. He cursed his foolishness when Billy said, “I’m gonna steal ’em back. I’ll find our cows in the 23 herd and drive them all back. I promise, Mac, I won’t touch a one of them others. Let the 23 keep theirs. All I intend to do is recover what’s by law ours.”
“The 23 trail boss never should have taken advantage of Flagg the way he did. I heard him say to take a couple cows as payment for all the trouble. Flagg never said to take a couple dozen.”
“You cover for me, Mac. Please. I’m beggin’ you.”
If Flagg knew what Billy Duke intended, he would go up like a Fourth of July skyrocket. Whether he would bother confronting the 23 trail boss about the theft was something else. They were in a race to get to Abilene after so many delays. He knew the H Bar H herd was least two days ahead, maybe more. Compass Jack Bennett would get to the railroad ahead of them and claim the best price per head. That reduced the value of the Rolling J herd a mite. This new theft by the 23 cut it down even more. Not only would they receive less for each head of cattle, there’d be fewer to sell.
“You can’t hope to get to the 23 herd, find the cattle, and drive ours back all by yourself before morning. Flagg would see you were gone and ask questions nobody’d want to answer.”
“Do what you have to, Mac. I’m going.” Billy sounded so desperate Mac grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“One man can’t do all that. Two stand a better chance.” Seeing Billy’s confused look, he shook the young cowboy and said, “Us, damn it. You and me. We’ll both go. But if you can’t find ours straight away, we turn around and ride on back. Money or no money in Abilene, you can’t risk your neck. Where’d your wife and boy be then?”
“And Pa,” Billy said in a choked voice. Tears welled in his eyes. He thrust out his hand and shook Mac’s hand, hard. “You’re the best friend a man could ever hope for, Mac.”
“Don’t get us killed. That’s all I want.”
They mounted and rode into the night. Mac’s thoughts drifted as he rode, his mind slipping and sliding around from exhaustion as if it were on an icy pond. He jerked awake when Billy whispered, “There, Mac, there’s the 23 herd.”
He tried to make out the shapes of the cattle in the light of a waxing crescent moon. Scant illumination showed a small herd of close to a hundred head.
“What are the chances our cows are in there?”
“The only way to find out is to look. Come on.”
“You look, I’ll keep watch.” He touched the S&W he had strapped on before leaving. It was dangerous going armed at night, but he had the feeling in his gut that any trouble would be life or death. If he had to shoot it out with the 23 cowboys, he wanted something to shoot with.
Billy Duke walked his horse among the cattle. Mac nodded in approval. If the young cowboy had tried forcing his way into their midst, he would have stirred the sleeping cattle. The horns these cattle sported could gore a man to death if they made a quick turn. Worse, his horse would go down first, leaving him on foot amid frightened, angry longhorns swinging their heads this way and that. It might take a man a day to die from what a single horn could do to his body.
Mac rode the perimeter, trying to make out the brands. In the pale moonlight, he caught sight of only a few. All the stylized 23, the middle stroke in the 3 being the bottom of the number 2. He saw the larger herd some distance away and heard the cowboys singing to them. He had to grin. Those cowboys didn’t sing any better than those riding for the Rolling J. And these cattle didn’t much care, either, about the quality. Only the soothing sound that wasn’t a wolf sneaking up on them mattered.
“Get on back to the main herd,” a man’s voice ordered abruptly from behind him. “You know the boss wanted these to stay away from the others until he checked them for the fever.”
Mac half turned in the saddle before he realized it was one of the 23 hands who gave the order.
The rider practically yelped in surprise. “Hey, you’re one of them cowboys from the other herd. What’re you doing here? Rustler! We got a rustler!”
“Now, wait, I—”
Mac ducked low when the cowboy unlimbered a pistol and fired. A foot-long orange and yellow flame spurted in his direction, and the slug whined just over his head. Not intending to do so, he sent his horse lunging directly into the cowboy’s. They collided amid a tangle of flailing hoov
es, shouts, and gunfire.
Mac grabbed the other man and dragged him from the saddle. They hit the ground hard, but he had a split second to prepare. He landed on top of the cowboy. This advantage proved fleeting. The man kept shooting wildly. None of the bullets came close to Mac, but he had to dodge the end of the barrel or he would have caught an ounce of lead in the chest.
Moving fast, he caught the drover’s wrist and forced it back and around until he dropped the gun. Then Mac worked to pin the man. That proved harder than getting him to drop the gun, but at least the danger from getting a bullet in the gut was past.
“We’re not doing anything,” Mac grunted as he fought.
“Rustler!”
“You’re the one who stole our cattle.” Mac rolled over and found himself pummeled by wildly flying fists. He got his forearms up and took the blows there.
He feinted to the right, then used a left jab to the man’s midriff to double him over. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Mac held him in place as he brought his knee up under his chin. That ended the fight. As the cowboy collapsed, Mac staggered back and gasped for breath. Then he heard more gunfire.
Knocking out one cowboy did nothing to stop a half dozen others charging in his direction. He saw less of the riders than he did the muzzle flash as each fired at him. Mac stared, thinking he could tell the difference between the six-shooters and the rifles. Then shock passed, and he knew he had to hightail it or he’d end up in an unmarked grave—if he was lucky enough to be buried.
He looked around frantically. His horse hadn’t run far. Whether it was too tired or wanted to remain near someone it considered a friend didn’t matter. He whistled, got the horse’s attention, then approached it. With a single vault, he landed in the saddle. Lead whipped through the night all around. He bent down so the horse’s neck protected him as he dug his heels into the animal’s flanks to get some speed. The urging wasn’t necessary. The gunshots spooked the horse and sent it racing across the prairie.
The Chuckwagon Trail Page 16