by John Shirley
Since Mase had saved the boy’s life, Rufus had been his shadow, whenever it was allowed, trailing after his boss as if he were the foreman and not Pug.
“We’re just fine, Rufus,” said Mase. “We’ve made a deal. We’ll let ’em have their pick of three beeves.”
“There’s one going lame we could give ’em,” Pug said in a low voice.
“It was part of the deal that they’d pick their own. But we might have a use for that lame cow later.”
The sun was almost gone, and the shadows had merged by the time the Indians had selected their beeves and received their goods. Now they were all gathered around the cooking fire.
“Should I offer them a dram of liquor, sir?” Dollager asked. He had a carefully guarded bottle of whiskey secreted away in the wagon.
“Not on your life, Mick,” Mase said. “Just coffee with sugar, beef stew, and a biscuit. Me, Jimson, and East Wind will eat with them.” He turned to Pug. “The rest of our people will eat afterward—I want them circling the herd, keeping watch for the rest of the band.”
Pug nodded and went to issue orders. Rufus heard the orders but hesitated. “Go on, boy,” Mase told him. “Watch the herd. Keep an eye out.”
“You sure you got enough men to watch your back, Mr. Durst?”
“I reckon we’ll be all right.”
Reluctantly, Rufus followed Pug to the remuda.
Mase, East Wind, and the Indians sat around the fire, eating, the Indians muttering to one another, East Wind sometimes answering a question from Cloudy Moon. Mase noticed the chieftain eyeing the chuck wagon.
“What’s he asking you about, East Wind?” Mase asked.
“How many cattle we have. And what’s in the chuck wagon.”
“You think they’re going to make some kind of play?”
“No, I don’t think so. This chief has medicine. I can feel it. It’s the kind that says he’s a man of his word.”
“Hope you’re a good judge of medicine.”
After the meal, Mase drew out the map that Crane Williams had given him, and with East Wind’s help, he conveyed to Cloudy Moon that he wanted to know how to reach Red Trail most directly and what he could expect on the trail.
Cloudy Moon made a speech, and East Wind snorted and said, “Long and short of it is, he’ll be glad to tell you all about it. But you got to pay. Then tomorrow he guides you to the entrance of the canyons. He wants two more steers.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. . . .”
The lame steer was accepted as payment for the information, and Cloudy Moon told them just what they needed to know. Some of it was good news.
And some of it wasn’t.
* * *
* * *
Katie was just bringing a jug of fresh milk from the barn when three men rode up to the ranch house. She put the jug down on the porch and shaded her eyes to look at them. The sun was rising behind them, and she saw mostly their silhouettes as they trotted up. After pondering them a moment, she made out two of the men, Andy Pike and Red Sullivan. The third man, sitting on a gray horse between them, was taller, gaunter, paler than the others, and clean-shaven; he wore a duster and a wide-brimmed gray hat. There was a six-gun tied down on his thigh. He just sat on his horse, looking at her, seeming amused.
If this man worked for Harning, he was new; he was surely no ranch hand, and that tied-down holster was like a business card. Feeling a chill go through her, Katie realized he was most likely a hired gun.
She felt his expressionless gray eyes watching her as she called, “Curly!”
He came out of the barn, horse tackle in his hand. Curly wore his gun belt as always since the breach of the fence. He saw the men reining in a few yards from Katie, and he dropped the tackle in the dirt, hurrying over to her as Jim came out of the house.
“Ma?”
“Back in the house, Jim!”
“Ma—!”
“Go!”
Katie heard him moan to himself as he retreated into the house.
“What’s your business here, Pike?” she asked.
“Delivering a message from Mr. Harning,” he said. “There will be men this side of the fence to do some surveying. They’ve got the papers from the county.”
“They can show me those papers,” Katie said. “Maybe I’ll allow them on Durst land.”
“Ma’am,” said the man in the gray hat, his voice a lazy drawl, “you’d better have yourself another think on all this.” He rested his impudent gaze on her face and never took it off.
“What’s your name, mister?” Katie said.
“It’s Adams, ma’am. Clement Adams.”
She’d heard the name somewhere. Maybe in an old newspaper. “You work for Mr. Harning now?”
“That’s right.”
“You say, think on all this—all what, Mr. Adams?”
“They’re foreclosing on you.” He leaned back in his saddle a little, moved his shoulders as if stretching. His smile was as impudent as his gaze. “Your property lines aren’t even legal. And there’s only so much Mr. Harning can put up with.”
“The foreclosure isn’t going to happen,” she said, and hoped she sounded as if she believed it. “That scheme with the property lines isn’t going to hold water in court. The deed shows the property lines. And as for what Mr. Harning can put up with, I guess we’ll find out just how much that is. Or he can pull his horns in and give himself a rest.”
Red Sullivan chuckled. “She’s about got you buffaloed, Adams.”
Adams frowned at that. Pike said, “Mrs. Durst, the point is, you need to pull out. This place will be taken by the bank before your husband comes back. You should be looking for a home for him to come back to.”
“Lies!” growled Curly. He put his hand on his gun, and before he could draw it, Adams had his six-gun pointed at him.
“Go on ahead. Pull it,” Adams said easily. “Save me some time and trouble.”
Looking down Clement Adam’s gun muzzle, Curly froze.
“Get away from here!” Jim yelled, stepping out on the porch. He had his mother’s pistol in his two hands, pointing up at Adams.
Adams stared at the boy—and before Katie could act, Curly stepped in front of Jim.
“You have to kill me if you try to hurt this boy!”
Katie reached down and snatched the gun from Jim’s hand. She pushed him back behind her; getting a grip on the gun, she swung it toward Pike.
“Who goes first, Pike?” she demanded.
Andy Pike and Red Sullivan exchanged looks. “This ain’t going so well, Andy,” Red said, grinning.
Pike nodded. “Adams, put the gun away. We delivered the message.”
“The message I got is that you men are snakes who’ll do anything for a dollar!” Katie said. “Get off my land!”
Adams holstered the gun, tipped his hat to Katie. “I learned a long time ago, ma’am, when the train comes down the tracks, you got to get out of the way. You need to clear out. Simple as that.”
He turned the horse and rode off at a leisurely pace, followed by the other two.
“Curly,” Katie said, her voice hoarse, “would you keep an eye on those three from a distance till they’re away from here? Don’t challenge them. Just make sure they’re gone.”
“Yes, Mrs. Durst.” He gave her a sad look as if he wanted to say something else, but he turned on his heel and strode to the barn for a horse.
Heart pounding, mouth dry, Katie went into the house, pushing Jim ahead of her. The man Adams had a hair trigger to him. He might’ve killed Curly or Jim.
Katie was deeply angry. She was angry at Adams and those other men; she was angry at Harning; she was angry at Jim; and she was angry at Mase Durst. She had warned him there would be trouble with Harning. But he had left them alone, anyway.
She sp
un the boy around and snapped, “Boy—you could’ve gotten Curly killed! Or me! That man had his gun in his hand! You can’t go . . .”
Katie saw the tears in his eyes then. She knelt down and pulled him to her. She was shaking, almost sobbing. But she kept it down, not wanting him to see her cry. Best he thought she could handle anything that came along.
“Jim . . . you were brave. But you have to leave the fight to me and Curly and your pa when he comes back. There’ll be ways you can help . . . if it’s needed.”
“What ways?”
“You’ll see. But you will not be using a gun. Do you promise me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She kissed him on the cheek and wiped his eyes. “Go on now. Check the chickens. See if they’ve left us any eggs. Will you do that?”
“Yes, Mama.”
She watched him go out to the chicken coop, and then she went to her bedroom. Folded on the little table by the bed was the one letter she’d had from Mase so far.
She sat on the edge of the bed and read it again. She needed to hear his voice. She did hear it in her imagination as she read.
Darling Katie,
Well, we are outside Denison, and the drive is moving along just fine. We’re doing ten miles a day at least, sometimes more. The cattle are fat and sassy. We haven’t lost any stock, but we sure came close. We caught an Indian boy, no more than fifteen, stealing one of our yearlings! He had no horse, no shoes, not even a knife, and he had lost all his people. He’d made his own lasso from grass. Well, he was more than half starved, so I had Dollager feed him, but then he got away with Jacob’s mule! There was a lightning storm, and we had a stampede that same night and I had some trouble getting out of the way and up comes this Indian boy, bringing me one of my own horses. Then he rode off on that mule. It took us a whole day to get the herd back together. Come a couple or three days more and the boy started following us and bringing us game. We ended up hiring him onto the drive! Can you beat that?
Katie smiled. She wasn’t surprised. It was just like something Mase would do. It was also just like him to not give her enough explanation of what exactly had happened. She was sure he was leaving out some of the danger he’d been through.
We’re shorthanded, but the men are shaping up good. The Duff kid and Jimson are learning. The food’s fine for a drive. Dollager’s a good hand with chuck. He’s got me liking that yellow spice. Curry, he calls it. But it’s your cooking I hanker for. More than that, I sure miss you, the sight of you and the touch of you and hearing your voice. I think of you more than a busy man should. I miss Jim, too. I can’t say I don’t worry about him. I guess I just have to trust you and Curly and Hector to take care of everything.
You can tell Jim the story about that Indian boy. He’ll like that. The boy is a Sioux who wandered far south. His name is East Wind.
With luck we’re going to hire some men in Denison tomorrow, and we sure need them. I’ll post this then. Then we’re across the Red River and west to the trail. I wish I could hear from you. But since you’re the best woman in Texas, I know you’ve got everything in hand. I love you, my darling, and will write again first chance I have.
Tell Jim all is going well, and I’ll see him in June. Tell him I said to do every one of his chores.
Mason Durst
Katie felt a little better reading the letter again. She’d known it would help her anger seep away. Anger was a burden she couldn’t afford to carry. There was too much else on her shoulders now. . . .
The best woman in Texas . . . everything in hand.
Katie didn’t feel she measured up. But she knew that she had to act like it was true.
CHAPTER NINE
Thirty-one days into the drive.
Mase, East Wind, and Pug rode along with Cloudy Moon, just the three of them under the noon sun in a wide grassy basin between high cliffs of sandstone. The curving red stone bluffs would have converged if not for the mouth of a canyon cutting due north.
They rode across the high grass, seeing spoor of deer and antelope, and halted at the entrance to the canyon. The floor of the canyon before them was rubbly with fallen stone, patchy with brush. The passage was about sixty feet wide, opening up to around eighty feet inside.
“Well, Mase, that’s a narrow run for herd and men to push it,” said Pug, shaking his head. “And over that ground, too.”
“We’ll clear it some,” said Mase. He turned to East Wind. “Ask the chief if it’s like this all the way along.”
East Wind used signs and two languages to ask the question.
Cloudy Moon shook his head and spoke for a time, gesturing to show the route of the trail ahead and its rough spots.
East Wind nodded and said, “Boss, it’s pretty bad for a mile, and then it smooths out and becomes sandy. There’s water along the way, and there’s a canyon cutting across . . .” He slashed his hand horizontally. “Like that. And it has a stream in it, sometimes runs hard and fast. There’s not much forage till you get close to Leadton.”
“This the only route to Leadton, Mase?” Pug asked.
“Nope, there’s a road that runs northwest to Leadton, but it’s off to the east, and it’s past country we can’t get through.” He looked down the canyon, picturing the herd going through. “It’ll be slow for a while. But we’ll get there.” He turned his horse and pointed at the grassland. “We can graze the herd here, fatten it up some, and move it north through the canyon.”
“And the chuck wagon on such terrain?” Pug asked.
“We’ll clear the way for it, ease it through as we can. Add horses to the oxen where we have to. Crane Williams got through with his herd. We can do it, too.”
“Crane’s herd was smaller, and I misdoubt he had a chuck wagon,” said Pug.
“You knew before we came it’d be tough,” Mase said. He was wishing Pug had a sunnier outlook on the venture.
“I ain’t complaining, Mase. I’m just thinking about what we got coming. I expect we’ll get ’er done.”
Cloudy Moon spoke again, and East Wind translated. “Says he goes now. Will go east to the wickiups of his people. Gives you his blessings.”
“Glad to have any blessings I can get,” Mase said. He reached out to the chief, and they clasped forearms as brothers.
Then Cloudy Moon rode off to the east and Mase, Pug, and East Wind rode south toward the herd.
But on the bluffs overlooking the grassy basin, four men watched the riders depart. Joe Fletcher, Sawney Tine, and the Kelso brothers, rifles in hand, were pondering what they’d seen.
“You figure they’re crazy enough to take a herd and a wagon on that trail, Joe?” Sawney asked. A part-time rustler who worked for the feed-and-grain store in Leadton, Sawney was a chunky, half-shaven man wearing a floppy brown hat that’d seen too many rains, and a buckskin jacket over an old blue Cavalry shirt. He claimed the Cavalry shirt had been left over from serving in the war, but Fletcher figured him to be a deserter from the Indian-fighting troops. Leadton attracted deserters, seeing as it was so far from any Cavalry fort.
“Don’t seem they have any choice with their herd so close,” Fletcher opined. A rising wind from the north gusted cold over them, and he buttoned up his coat collar. “They’ll move up here, likely graze the herd before they go on. We’ll hit the herd tonight, see if we can peel off a good three hundred to the south and Kerney Canyon, off east. It’ll be a good dark night for it. We’ll wait till round four in the morning. They’ll be scarce watching out by then.”
“I wish we could sell them cows,” said Rod, “instead of the other way.”
“We’d never get ’em there. Too easy to find. This will pay off nicely, boys. You’ll see.”
* * *
* * *
Mase and his crew were camped near the mouth of the canyon, and as the sun went down, Rufus, Karl Dorge, Jim
son, and East Wind worked to clear big stones and small boulders, sometimes using a pickax to clear a place, sometimes having to swing an ax at mesquite to open the way for the wagon and make it easier for the herd.
Mase and Pug oversaw the job for a time, sometimes lending a hand, but it soon got too dark to work at it effectively, and he sent them to relieve the hands watching the herd.
Smelling coffee and stew cooking, Mase went to the chuck wagon. “Hey, cookie, is that coffee ready?”
Dollager poured him out a cup. “How fares the canyon trail, sir?” the cook asked.
“We opened it up a piece. I don’t think Crane had a chuck wagon when he came through. Everything was on pack mules, as they did it then. But we’ll get your wagon through. The trail opens up about two miles in.” He wasn’t actually sure of the distance—two miles? Three? Four? Cloudy Moon didn’t think in terms of miles.
Pug came in and sat down on a supply crate near Mase. Lorenzo, Ray Jost, Harry Duff, and Vinder rode in, glad to dismount after hours in the saddle.
“Mase, those beeves are loving this grass round here,” said Ray, coming over to the coffeepot. “Been a while since they had water, though.”
“They drank up plenty at that watering hole this morning,” Pug said.
“There’s water a few miles into the canyon,” said Mase.
“Sure, if we can get to it,” muttered Vinder, once more annoying Mase.
“We got a good start clearing the trail,” Mase said. “Some places we’ll just have to rough it.”
“Thus far it has not been roughing it?” asked Dollager, smiling as he poured a cup of coffee for Ray.
“Why,” said Ray, “that canyon is nothing! One time I was on a drive, and we had an earthquake, and we all slid down to the bottom of a big hole two hundred feet deep. Well, I had to climb up the cliff and pull each cow up with a rope myself.”
“Now, that’s a heap of bull—” Vinder began.
Ray poked him in the chest and said, “Don’t you call me a liar, mister—even when I’m lying!”