Suddenly there was a silence over the little group of men, and it became apparent that the subject of conversation might be getting somewhat touchy. Tom was immediately aware of the potential for a good-natured ribbing to escalate into something beyond a joke. It was obvious that Little Joe did not find anything humorous about it. Tom recognized a somewhat immature but hotheaded young buck in Little Joe, a young rooster who was eager to test his spurs. And Slim was too easy-going, and too downright dense, to realize Little Joe would take him seriously. It was time to diffuse the situation. He placed his hand on Slim’s arm and said in a soft voice, “Let it lay, Slim, it ain’t funny anymore.”
“Aw, hell, Tom, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it. Little Joe knows that. Don’t you, Little Joe?”
Tom didn’t like what he saw in Little Joe’s face. The boy wasn’t sure whether his manhood was being tested or not. The intensity in the boy’s expression looked as though he was already working himself up to a face-off against Slim. This was the first sign of friction Tom had seen in the entire Broken-T crew, and he didn’t want to see it go further, especially when Slim was too dumb to see his teasing wasn’t taken lightly by Little Joe. “Sure, Little Joe knows that,” he said. “He knows you don’t mean anything by it.” Turning to Little Joe, he added, “If you’re lucky, you won’t ever need to shoot anything but rattlesnakes with that pistol.”
“Maybe so, Tom, but I ain’t a’feared to use it on a man if I have to.”
Big Joe spoke up at that point. “No, little brother, you ain’t a’feared to use it on a man.” His tone was laden with the impatience of one who had heard the discussion before and grown weary of the talk. “Ever since he seen two half-drunk cowhands face each other in Oklahoma City to see which one could shoot the other one first, he’s been practicing and practicing with that damn gun.”
Little Joe pulled his pistol again and looked at it thoughtfully. He wiped a drop of oil from the handle and replaced it in his holster before he answered. “You don’t never know when you’re liable to be called out by somebody, and I aim to be faster than anybody else in the territory.”
Big Joe threw up his hands in despair and turned to Tom for support. “I swear, I give up. You talk to him, Tom. He’s gonna git his ass shot off one day, talking like that.”
Tom looked long and hard at Little Joe. He knew there was nothing he could say to influence the boy. “Little Joe’s man enough to make his own way. All I can say is I wouldn’t waste my time or risk my neck in a showdown with somebody who might be faster getting his gun out than I was. If I know a man’s set on killing me, I’m not likely to give him any edge. Most likely I’d shoot him on sight. I expect most men would do the same.” His face softened into a smile. “But that ain’t got nothing to do with anybody on the Broken-T, has it, Little Joe?”
“I reckon not.” Little Joe got up and carried his empty plate back to the chuck wagon.
Tom looked at Slim. “You better mind how you tease that boy.”
Chapter VI
According to Eli Cruze’s calendar, they left the Little Missouri on a Thursday. He was no doubt the only one of them who knew the day of the week, or cared, for that matter. For the crew of the Broken-T, one day melted into the next and was no different from the day preceding it. When they were on the home range, the weeks were delineated by Sundays, for Eli didn’t expect his men to work a full day on Sunday, aside from the necessary chores that had to be done even if Christ Himself came again. But on the trail, there were no Sundays, so they started the herd out on the last leg of the drive. Tom and Bris rode point. Behind them, Slim and Doc were the swing men, Big Joe and Little Joe rode the flanks, and two young boys from Texas, Henry Cousins and Johnny Crabb, rode drag. Smoky rattled along behind in the chuck wagon with the remuda bringing up the rear. The weather was good, and there was plenty of grass and water for the herd. Tom felt at peace with himself and with his past.
“How’s it going, Tom?”
He looked over his shoulder to see Eli riding up behind him. When he caught up to him, he reined back and let his horse pace Breezy. Tom didn’t answer, and just nodded to his boss. He knew Eli could see how things were going, and he obviously was in a mood to talk.
“No more sign of Injuns,” Eli offered. “I don’t expect none between here and Fort Lincoln.”
“I expect not,” Tom replied.
They rode along in silence for a few minutes before Eli spoke again. “Well, how do you like punching cows for a living?”
Tom smiled, “Better than pulling teeth, I reckon.”
“I’ll say this—you sure caught on to it quick enough.” When Tom didn’t answer, he continued, “I won’t beat around the bush, Tom, I’ve been watching you pretty close for the last few weeks, and I admire the way you handle yourself. You ain’t like the rest of these boys. I mean they’re all good boys, but they’re just young and wild. You appear to be a lot more responsible. Don’t think I ain’t noticed how most of the boys already look up to you. Well, what I’m gittin’ at is I could use a good man to help me run the Broken-T.” He hesitated, looking for the right words. “Like a foreman, I reckon.”
Tom was completely taken by surprise. When he had signed on in the spring, he didn’t expect to stay for the fall roundup. Now, Eli’s offer was so sudden and unexpected that he was almost at a loss as to how he felt about it. “Damn, Cap’n, I don’t know. I appreciate the kind words. I guess I’ll have to think about it.”
Eli pressed the issue. “You know, you ain’t exactly no kid no more. You can’t just drift around the country all your life. And the cattle business is solid. People have to eat, and they’re always gonna want beef, unless somebody invents some new kind of animal, and I don’t reckon that’ll happen.”
“I have to admit you’re right there. I just never gave it any thought before. Hell, at one time I thought I was going to retire from the army. I don’t have any idea what I’m good at, that is, good enough to make a living.”
“You’re good at cattle, that’s what you’re good at. Not only that, but you can handle the men, and you’re a helluva shot with a rifle, and you ain’t afraid to use it, according to what Slim and Bris tell me.”
“Damn, Eli…” Tom started. It was obvious to his boss that Tom was trying hard to decide what to do.
“’Course I don’t expect you to stay on at thirty dollars a month. We’d have to adjust that some. If things work out, why, hell, I might be able to cut you in for a share. There’s gonna be plenty for two men. Whaddaya say, Tom? You wanna help me build the Broken-T into the biggest spread in Montana?”
Tom hesitated for a moment more, looking for a reason not to. Finally, he shrugged and smiled. “Hell, why not?”
Eli’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Good! By God, we’ll be a team to reckon with.” He stuck out his hand and Tom shook it. “Now, let’s git these critters to market.” He wheeled and rode off toward the far side of the herd.
“I guess I’m in the cattle business,” Tom said to himself. The more he thought about it, the more it pleased him. It was a solid feeling. He was going to put down roots.
* * *
Four more days found them skirting the fringes of Bismarck, its buildings now visible on the horizon. To Tom, it was a very familiar sight. He had seen it countless times before when returning to Fort Lincoln from the many patrols into hostile country, only this time he would be avoiding the army post and going to the cattle pens by the railroad instead. There was a noticeable sense of anxious anticipation floating over the entire Broken-T outfit. The men were chomping at the bit to complete the drive. They were in sight of the saloons and bawdy houses that were to them the rewards for the hardships of the trail. Even the cattle seemed to exhibit an air of urgency, unaware of the fate awaiting their arrival at market. Tom attributed their behavior more to the fact they could smell the Missouri than a celebration of the end of their long walk across Montana. They would be riding the train from here on but they weren’t going to be
too happy when they made their final destination.
Eli directed his men to move the herd south of the pens to be held there while he rode into town to negotiate the sale of his beef. There was good grass there, and he figured that maybe they could add on a pound or two while awaiting sale. Understandably, there was a rush of volunteers to go into town with Eli. Since there was no threat of trouble this close to the fort, Eli conceded that a skeleton crew should be all that was necessary to watch over the cattle, but he questioned their eagerness to see the town before he sold the cattle and could pay them. It didn’t seem to matter to the men, starved as they were for the pleasures a town could offer. A few of them had saved a little money. The others would be content to borrow or just look until payday. The thought of merely seeing a female was enough to excite most of them, so the problem was who to appoint to stay behind and watch the herd.
Unlike the other men, Tom was not especially anxious to see the town. He had seen it before, although he had never been to the small collection of stores and saloons that bordered the stock pens. Consequently, he volunteered to stay with the herd. Smoky volunteered to stay with him, and Eli had to appoint two others to help them. If things went as they usually did, Eli assured them, the cattle would be sold almost immediately and they would soon get their turn at the saloons. There was a little good-natured grumbling from the two unlucky drovers as they watched the rest of the Broken-T crew gallop off toward the collection of rustic wooden buildings.
Following Eli’s instructions, Tom assigned one of the younger boys to the remuda while the rest of them watched over the herd. It was late afternoon, almost dark, and the rest of the crew had been gone for several hours when Tom pulled up by the chuck wagon. Smoky had just put on a new pot of coffee, so Tom stepped down to have a cup before making another circuit of the herd. The quality of the coffee had improved tremendously over the last several days of the drive since Smoky was no longer concerned with running out of beans. He would be taking on new supplies in a day or two, so it was unnecessary to reuse the old grounds over and over.
“I swear, Smoky, this coffee almost tastes like the real thing,” Tom teased. “You must not have used as many buffalo chips in this pot.”
“Odd damn, you better be glad you got any a’tall.”
Tom laughed. “How come you stayed behind? I figured you’d be roaring to get into town to visit the ladies.”
“Shit,” Smoky snorted. “They ain’t nuthin in that there town potent enough to excite these old bones. Cows are better company.”
Tom grinned at the old man. “You may be right,” he replied. He stood silently for a long time, sipping the black, hot liquid, listening to the low murmuring of the peaceful herd. A hint of breeze stirred the buffalo grass in the shallow basin, making the prairie appear to be gently bobbing in the growing dusk. He realized a feeling of peace within him, and he was glad his days of Indian fighting and military life were behind him. The cattle business was the future, and he was glad now that fate had directed him to the Broken-T. He would help Eli build a cattle empire on the rich grasslands of Montana.
“Somebody’s wearing out a horse,” Smoky observed casually, breaking Tom’s reverie.
Tom turned to follow Smoky’s gaze. In the gray light of early evening, he could make out a rider coming from town at a full gallop, a small cloud of white dust leaving a phosphorescent trail behind him as his horse weaved his way around the small gullies and rises. They continued to watch the progress of the rider as he approached the herd. When he was within about fifty yards of the chuck wagon, they recognized the rider as Slim, riding as if the devil himself were after him. Within seconds, he burst into the circle of firelight and, leaping from his horse, called out frantically, “Tom!” He gulped a couple of swallows of air before he could form his words.
“Odd damn, Slim…” Smoky marveled.
“Tom!” Slim exclaimed and thrust out a piece of paper he had folded up inside his shirt.
Puzzled, Tom took the paper and unfolded it, holding it up to the firelight. He was at once struck by the bold headline on what proved to be a Wanted poster. Beneath the Wanted was a five-hundred-dollar reward offered for information leading to the capture of one Thomas R. Allred, for the murder of an army private. For a moment, he seemed to black out, his mind reeling from the shock of seeing his name in bold print. At first, he couldn’t understand, and then, almost immediately, it was obvious to him—Spanner! That lying son of a bitch had undoubtedly coerced the men who were witnesses to the incident at Jubal Clay’s store. At once he admonished himself for being fool enough to think the other two men would hesitate to tell the authorities anything other than what Spanner told them to.
“What the hell?” Smoky wanted to know. Tom didn’t answer him, just handed him the poster. “Odd damn, Tom, what’s it say? I cain’t read.” Tom still did not answer, his mind racing wildly.
“It says Tom’s wanted for murdering a soldier,” Slim blurted. “And that ain’t the worst of it, Tom. I hightailed it out here to warn you. They know you’re riding for the Broken-T.”
Tom recoiled visibly, and jerked his head around to look Slim in the eye. “How do they know that?”
“Doc told ’em.”
“Doc!” He couldn’t believe it. “Doc told them? Told who?”
Slim held his hands up in an effort to calm Tom down. “Wait a minute, Tom. He didn’t go to do it. We started to walk in the saloon, and Big Joe saw this here poster on the wall beside the door. There was a deputy sheriff standing right out front, and Big Joe was just joshing, said he could use five hundred dollars. Before he thought what he was saying, Doc blabbered out, ‘Thomas Allred! Why that’s Tom!’ and that there deputy had him by the collar before he could say spit.” Slim put his hand on Tom’s arm, pleading, “Honest to God, Tom, ole Doc never meant to spill it. It just come out.”
“I know, I know,” Tom assured him. He was trying to think. His first impulse was to saddle Billy and run. What should he do? He couldn’t decide whether he should ride in and try to clear his name, or head for the high country. It was all happening too fast.
“Tom,” Slim pressed, “you got to git goin’. There’ll be a posse making up in town. You need to put some ground between you and them and I mean right now!”
“He’s right, Tom,” Smoky said. “I’ll git you up some grub to take with you.”
Tom still did not move. He was fighting with his sense of justice and, at the same time, listening to his soul’s natural instinct to survive. He realized that the decision he made at this moment could have a monstrous impact on the rest of his life. He didn’t want to make the wrong move. Quickly, he tried to play the events out in his mind, based on probability and his experience with army trials. He knew that once he was handed over to the army, there was the distinct possibility that he could languish in an army stockade indefinitely, waiting for a court-martial. And, even though he was now a civilian, he was sure he would be bound over to the military for trial since civilian law in the territory was still in a fledgling stage at best. Still, if Jubal and Ruby could testify, they would certainly attest to his innocence. But no, he told himself, the court would place more emphasis on the testimony of the three soldiers over that of the civilians. They always did. He could imagine the scene in the courtroom: him, a former officer who had been cashiered from the service, already hated by many of his fellow officers for letting a hostile prisoner escape. He didn’t like the odds.
“Tom,” Slim pleaded, “you better git goin’.”
His back stiffened suddenly. His head jerked up like a wild mustang when it senses danger on the wind. “I’m going,” he stated. “Slim, thanks for warning me. Do one more favor for me, will you? Cut Billy out of the remuda while I load my packhorse.”
“Yessir!” Slim replied and started for the remuda on the run.
In less than fifteen minutes he was ready to go. As he prepared to step up in the saddle, Smoky came running from the chuck wagon with a large sack of
provisions.
“There’s enough possibles in here to carry you for a while,” Smoky said as he tied the sack on Tom’s packhorse.
“Thanks, Smoky.” Tom climbed into the saddle and looked down at his two friends. A sudden wave of sadness swept over him as he realized he was giving up a way of life that had seemed to be right for him. The impact of it hit him hard. His partnership with Eli was not to be. Once again, he was adrift. He reached down and took Smoky’s extended hand, shook it, then grasped Slim’s waiting hand. “Just to set things straight. I did what any man would have done. That soldier was fixing to shoot Jubal Clay.”
“Odd damn, Tom, you didn’t have to tell me that. I know you ain’t the murderin’ kind.”
“Maybe I’ll see you again someday.” He turned Billy west, back toward Montana territory. “Tell Eli I didn’t feel I had any choice. I’m sorry to have to run out on him like this.”
“You take care of yourself, boy,” Smoky called after him. “If I don’t see you again, I’ll save a place in hell for you.” He and Slim stood and watched the two horses until they faded into the darkness, now falling in earnest as the final rays of the sun were clipped off at the horizon. When they could no longer see him, Smoky said, “I’m gonna miss that boy.” He nudged Slim on the arm. “Might not be a bad idea if you was to get on your horse and ride out toward the south a mile or two and circle back to the herd.”
* * *
When Eli Cruze heard the news about Tom, it was the same as if someone had told him there was alkali in the water hole. “Damn!” was all he said at first. “Damn!” He had been looking for someone like Tom to come along for two years, and now this. The sheriff and two deputies rode out to the herd just after sunup that morning, hoping to find Tom, but he was long gone by then. Eli found it hard to believe what they said about Tom. He didn’t think he could be so wrong about a man. A murderer, they said. If Tom did murder the man, maybe he needed killing. “Well, I reckon I got along before he showed up. I reckon I’ll get along just as fine when he’s gone.”
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