The Tylers 1

by Neil Hunter

  I woke as dawn grayed the sky.

  Slipping out of my blankets I crossed the room and unfastened one of the window shutters. Not too happily I saw that it was still snowing, as heavy, if not heavier, than yesterday. It must have been at least two-feet thick on the ground. I stared out at it for a time and the realization suddenly hit me that we might easily find ourselves snowed-in, unable to leave this place. If the weather continued this way, we could very definitely find ourselves trapped.

  Closing the shutter I made my way across to the fire. Riley had built it up well before we had settled down for the night and it was still burning. I threw on some more logs. Filling the coffeepot I hung it over the flames, squatting on my heels, staring into the rising blaze.

  Had I overstepped myself?

  Was I going to find myself with a herd of cattle that I couldn’t move? Worse, would I lose the herd? It was likely that a freeze would follow the snow. If that happened I was going to be in trouble. I stirred restlessly. I was getting my first taste of the sour end of being in business. It was not to my liking but I knew that if I did lose out I had no one to blame but myself. I had made my choice, taken my own counsel, and had acted accordingly. I could blame only myself.

  I didn’t sulk for long. I wasn’t down yet. Not by a long way. I wasn’t down until I had exhausted every possible way out. Until then I was still in business, still on my feet. It did no harm to realize what could go wrong, as long as you still had cards to play.

  The coffee bubbled in the pot. I helped myself to a mug. I could hear the others stirring behind me. There was a certain amount of grumbling as they rolled out of their blankets but the moment they smelled the steaming coffee the grumbles ceased. I moved out of the way as they headed towards the pot.

  ‘Gawd,’ Riley muttered sourly, ‘my mouth tastes like the inside of a buzzard’s belly.’

  ‘Lew, you look like the inside of a buzzard’s belly,’ Crown told him, his face stony under his hat brim.

  A laugh filled the gloomy room for a moment, breaking the cramped silence.

  ‘How’s the weather, Brig?’ Crown asked.

  I opened a shutter and let them all see. For a moment there was a hard silence.

  ‘Hell, it looks like we’re here for the winter,’ Bill Ward said.

  ‘I hope not,’ I told him.

  Riley poked his head out for a closer look. ‘I hope not too,’ he remarked. ‘Stuck in here with you hombres? Hell, no. You know how long the winters last out here? I’d rather bunk with the horses,’ he added dryly.

  ‘Horses are particular,’ Crown told him. ‘Anyhow, we’ve been wintered together before.’

  ‘You an’ me, yeah. But I don’t know nothin’ about these other gents.’

  ‘He’s worried about your habits,’ Crown said solemnly.

  Swede, obviously taking the whole episode seriously, pushed out his big chest. ‘My habits are good.’

  Standing just behind Swede, Bill Ward showed a grin that covered his face. Then unable to hold back any longer he hooted with laughter. Swede looked at him, then back at the poker-faced Riley. He turned his gaze on Crown who failed to hide his amusement. For a moment it seemed as if the big man might let his anger slip. I prepared to step in. But I need not have worried. Swede suddenly relaxed, his craggy face breaking into a wide smile.

  The atmosphere was considerably eased after that. We prepared breakfast and sat down to eat. There was a lot of talk and a fair amount of laughter. It was an attempt to keep things running smoothly. Tempers could easily get frayed in a situation like this. Men who spent most of their time out in the open hated to be boxed up for long. They were used to wide spaces, to seeing the earth under their feet and the sky above them. Shut them up in a small room and they soon became a restless, edgy bunch. I’d seen it happen before and I didn’t want it to happen here.

  After breakfast I sent Swede out to cut some wood for the fire. I put Riley and Ward to tending the horses. Crown and I took a walk down to look over the herd.

  The snow was deep in places. We made our way down to the canyon slowly. The sky above was still heavy and full. It looked as if it held enough snow to carry through for a month.

  The herd appeared to be pretty well settled in. During the night they had done some considerable moving about, keeping the snow pretty well trampled down. There was ample grass for them and I figured that as long as it didn’t freeze, those beeves would manage.

  We checked the fence we’d erected. It was untouched.

  ‘Our problem now is to figure when to make a move,’ I said.

  Crown raised his face to the falling snow. ‘Long as it’s coming down like this,’ he said, ‘I reckon we’re better off where we are.’

  ‘That’s the way I see it. If there was a regular trail I might chance it. Trouble is, we’re breaking trail as we go. Too many things we don’t know about this terrain yet.’

  Crown drew his hat lower across his face. ‘We’ll rest easy for a while then, Brig.’

  ‘One thing, Joe,’ I said. ‘Any sign of a freeze, we head out fast.’

  We moved back up the canyon, heading back to the cabin. As we crested a ridge in the trail I saw Swede ahead of us. He was just off the trail, swinging his axe at a felled tree. Crown and I moved his way and we helped him to carry the chopped logs back to the cabin.

  A little later Riley and Ward rejoined us. We closed the cabin door and prepared ourselves for a day of waiting. Despite how we felt there was nothing else we could do. I didn’t relish the thought of sitting here in this cabin for a couple of days. But circumstances said otherwise. Trying to drive that herd in weather like this was plain suicide. The weather was against us and so was the unfamiliar trail. One trip through was not enough time for us to have got a clear picture of the best way. I would have given a lot to have been able to keep driving but I wasn’t going to risk the lives of my crew, just to satisfy my impulses.

  Riley produced a pack of cards and we got a game of poker started. None of us were real gambling men in the sense that it meant we played for money. We played simply for relaxation, for something to do.

  The day passed slowly. We consumed vast amounts of coffee. Just after noon the poker fizzled out. Riley put his coat on, told us he was going to take a turn around the herd. Swede asked if he could go along and Riley nodded.

  They hadn’t been gone long when Crown got up. He took his rifle and picked up his coat.

  ‘I’ll go see if I can find us some fresh meat,’ he said.

  Silence followed as he closed the door. I crossed over to the fire and helped myself to more coffee.

  ‘Haven’t you got anything you want to do?’ I asked Bill Ward.

  He glanced up from the book he was reading. ‘Me? No, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t take to snow. Much as I like being on the outside. Never did see snow down where I come from. It was all desert.’

  ‘Southwest?’ I asked.

  Ward nodded. ‘Texas. Right on the border.’

  ‘Me and my brothers had an outfit down there before the war. By the time we came back there was nothing left. We could have started again, I suppose, but we had itchy feet.’

  ‘You sorry?’

  I smiled. ‘No. It was the best thing I ever did.’

  Ward came over to the fire. He took some coffee.

  ‘Brig, you do much reading?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘You figure it’s a waste of time? I mean, do you think a man ever learns from it?’

  ‘I think so. I reckon every man has to decide for himself. Some men never look at a book all their lives and they do pretty well. But I think books give you a lot. They open your mind, let you see another line of thinking. Not everything books say is good. A lot is bad, but it is all different. You have to read and then decide if you believe what you’ve read. One way and another though, I think a man is just that much better off from what he’s seen in books.’ I paused. ‘One thing, it makes you talk a lot.’

  Ward s
miled. ‘Long as it’s sense, I don’t think it hurts to talk. Man gets too much time alone out in this country. Too much time by himself, too much silence. Gives him time to think and little else. I think some men forget how to talk.’

  He held up the book he was holding. ‘You ever read any of this feller’s work?’

  I took the volume. It was William Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar’. I’d once read his ‘Merchant of Venice’. That had been when Jacob and Seth and me had been down in Texas. I’d had a volume of poems by Milton and I had given it to a passing cowboy for the copy of ‘Merchant of Venice’. I had spent many happy hours with that book. I’d had it with me during the war but I’d lost it one day during a period of heavy fighting. I recalled that as the day I lost most everything, save for my rifle and my life.

  ‘I once saw a theatrical troupe doing some Shakespeare down in Austin,’ Ward said. ‘They did bits from maybe four or five plays.’ He smiled then. ‘You know, Brig, it was a thing I’ve never forgot. They put up in one of the saloons, set up a stage and all. Come the night the place was packed. Mostly trail hands, all armed to the teeth and drinking fit to bust. Anyhow, the troupe started to perform, and you know, Brig, within five minutes that place was quiet as a graveyard. I don’t know just what it was but there was something about that performance that just held a man. Me, I was like most of the others in there. A lot of what was said was way above me. Only it got to me. I figured it was the way the words were put together. You know what I mean?’

  ‘I know what you mean. I envy you that night, Bill. One thing I’d like is to hear Shakespeare spoken like he should be. The way he wrote his plays.’

  ‘Maybe one day you will,’ he said.

  ‘If we ever get out of here,’ I told him.

  He got up and went over to the window and stood looking out for awhile.

  I threw some more logs on the fire, then sat back, staring into the flames. I wondered what Judith was doing right now. I realized that this was the first time I had thought of her for some time. Of late I had been too busy to do any thinking at all. I wanted to see her again, as soon as possible. But I realized that I would have to wait until I had the herd safe in Hope. Then, and only then, could I put my mind to other things.

  Crown came back after a couple of hours. He’d shot a deer and he set to cutting up the carcass, hanging up the fresh meat to cool.

  Riley and Swede returned in time for a fresh brew of coffee. The herd was still all right they told me, and there was no indication of a freeze.

  We lazed the afternoon away. I read. Swede settled in a corner and slept. Crown and Riley and Ward started another game of poker, playing for non-existent stakes. By the time darkness fell they were all owing each other vast, impossible amounts.

  That night we dined on venison and beans and more of Swede’s biscuits. After the meal I took a walk outside. It was still snowing but I had the feeling that it was easing off. I couldn’t be sure. I hoped I was right.

  I went back inside, fastened the door. I shed my coat, knocked the snow from my boots.

  ‘I think it might be easing off,’ I said.

  ‘You certain?’ Crown asked.

  I shook my head. ‘No. I could be mistaken. But if I’m not, I want us to be ready for a quick getaway in the morning.’

  We all turned in. If the snow had stopped by morning we were going to have a big day in front of us. We still had a good way to go and there was no way of telling how the weather was going to turn. All we could do was to wait our chance, then head out fast and worry later.

  I lay in my blankets and it took me a while to get to sleep. My mind was full of jumbled thoughts. But I did sleep and when I opened my eyes light was streaming into the cabin through a gap in one of the shutters. I rolled out of my blankets, went to the door and jerked it open.

  It had stopped snowing. A pale, watery sun shone out of a bleak sky. I stood and stared for a moment. I felt anticipation rising in me. Our chance was here. There was no telling how long the snow might hold off. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t dare because if I did we never would get the herd on the move.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We ate breakfast on the run, filled ourselves with hot coffee. Horses were saddled, gear packed. We made sure the cabin was left with a good supply of cut wood, the door fastened. Someone else might come across it one day, someone like us, who needed shelter. Perhaps one day the owner might return.

  Down on the canyon floor we dragged aside our fence and rode into the herd. We began the job of getting the herd on the move and it was no easy task, for every beef in that herd had decided that it was pretty well settled where it was. It took a lot of shouting and rope-cracking to break their stubbornness but we finally did it.

  Once we had the herd out of the canyon our troubles really began. Ahead of us lay snow-covered terrain unbroken by man or beast. A vast, sprawling carpet of white. It looked all right but there was no knowing what lay beneath that soft whiteness.

  I sent Riley on ahead to break trail for us, to try to work out the way which would be safest for us and the herd. I figured that if Riley couldn’t do it, nobody could. I soon learned that my judgment was right. Apart from a couple of delays due to floundering cattle we kept on the move throughout the morning and the afternoon. I'd not had to ask if anyone minded going without a break, for Crown had ridden alongside, saying that we might as well keep going until darkness made us halt. I was grateful for that; it made me realize again what a good crew I had.

  As the afternoon drew on I told Riley to look out for a place where we could spend the night. Again he did us proud and before the light started to fail we had the herd in a fairly well-protected basin, ringed on three sides by tall trees. A stream cut across the basin, there was ample grass, and the rise of hills around the hollow held off the full force of the wind.

  There was a sheltered section of ground on one slope of the basin that was ideal for a camp. We picketed the horses, unsaddled and fed them. Swede got his cook fire going and before long we were tasting our first coffee of the day since breakfast.

  I’d noticed a sharpness in the air and I wondered if we were in for a freeze. I mentioned it to Crown.

  ‘Might get a mild frost,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’re in for a bad spell. Not yet.’

  ‘Not freeze tonight,’ Swede said. ‘Only get cold a little.’

  And he was right. The morning was crisp, the air frosty, but it was not anything worth worrying about. It was blowing more than it had the day before. The sky was clear and sharp though.

  It stayed that way for the next three days. In that time we made slow but steady progress, eating up the miles that separated us from Hope. We had little trouble, save for the occasional steer that got itself buried in deep snow. It was cold, miserable work most of the time, but we survived, and we didn’t lose one steer.

  On the morning of the eighth day, close to noon, we passed the edge of the Thorpe spread. I wanted to ride over to see Judith but it would have taken me a couple of hours there and a couple back. There wasn’t the time to spare and I knew she would understand.

  We made good time that day and camped that night on the edge of a big, deep meadow. The snow was not so heavy here, the weather being a little milder.

  ‘Swede, what do you reckon?’ I asked.

  ‘I think maybe we get more snow soon. Not so cold. Maybe one day off, maybe two. But we goin’ to get snow.’

  ‘It’s going to be close,’ I said. ‘That last push down to Hope is pretty rough. If we get caught up in another snowstorm we’re going to be in trouble.’

  ‘Then we’d better push hard,’ Riley said.

  We did. The next day we threw that herd on the trail before it was full light. We kept at that herd without pause, driving it on all that day and we were still pushing when darkness overtook us and made us halt. We made camp where we were. The herd just stopped when we did and stood around like it didn’t know what to do. There was no fear of any of those stee
rs wandering off. They were dog-tired, just like we were. We ate our food without really tasting it, drank coffee, then pulled our blankets round us and slept until it was time to relieve whoever was on watch.

  The next day we repeated the process. We were all tired but nobody let up. Tempers were wearing a little thin by now. We were getting to the stage where we only talked when it was important. Our dispositions were a lot more than sour. We felt sour and I know we looked sour. We were unshaven, unwashed, wearing stale damp clothing. Our faces were red-raw from exposure, eyes aching and red-rimmed. There was no doubt that we must have looked a savage, unkempt crew but I wouldn’t have bet on the chances of any man who had told us so.

  Again we kept pushing that herd well after dark, only halting when common sense penetrated our tired brains and made us realize we were only asking for trouble. But we had got over the last ridge and we were on the far side of the hills. It was downhill all the way to Hope now. Before us lay the last lap. It was still hard country to cross and not one of us thought things would be any easier even now.

  The snow that held off for the past few days caught up with us the next day. It began as a few big flakes about mid-morning. By noon it was coming down thick and steady. It caught us out in the open, on the steep, bare slopes below the timber line, and the wind that came with it tore at us in an icy blast.

  I felt a moment of anger. Here we were, so close to Hope, and now we were once more plagued by the snow. My anger faded after a while. There was no future in sitting and cursing the weather. It would have its way, no matter what. All we could do was carry on, keep the herd on the move.

  Taking the herd down those rough slopes was the devil’s own job. The way was rock-strewn, criss-crossed by gully and ravine. Like the first time across we had our work cut out watching for all these hazards. This time though we had the snow to contend with as well. It hid a lot of the dangers from our eyes.

  When something did happen it was not to one of the steers but to one of us. I was riding some way behind Bill Ward when I saw his horse lurch sideways. The animal gave a shrill sound before it, and its rider, vanished in a flurry of snow.