One week later …
Distant flashes of lightning illuminated the landscape around the herd. Thunder, although only just audible, could be heard and every one of the trail crew knew that if they got through this night without any trouble, then they could consider themselves lucky.
Trent tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the ground and focused his gaze on two men across the other side of the fire. ‘Get your asses up and out to the herd. If this storm hits we’ll need extra hands out with the other nighthawks.’
Both men glanced at Breen before they stood up. Trent noticed them do it but let it go. While they were on the trail he was in charge, not Breen. And Breen had let it play out as they went along.
They were two days north of Fort Sumner and the herd was traveling well. Until now that was.
The Texas Longhorn breed were naturally skittish at the best of times. Now, with this storm moving in, they sensed it and were becoming restless. That meant it wouldn't take much for the herd to start to run.
The two hands disappeared towards the horse pickets. Trent looked at those who were left around the campfire. ‘That goes for the rest of you. Every one of us rides nighthawk tonight.’
‘The hell I am,’ Milt growled.
Trent shifted his gaze to Breen who nodded. ‘All of us, Milt. Although I do not know what we are to do with our guest.’
‘She can ride with me,’ Trent said. ‘No one stays in camp. Not even the cook.’
‘I can’t ride a damned horse,’ the cook protested. ‘Why do you think I ride a blasted wagon?’
Trent fixed his hard gaze on him. ‘You’re about to learn.’
‘What about the chuckwagon? What about all the cleaning up, and cooking breakfast in the morning?’
‘If it’s still here, you can see to it then.’
‘Aren’t you being a little over the top, Trent?’ Breen asked him.
‘No, Breen, I’m not. I’ve seen a herd stampede, and I’ve also seen what can happen to a man when a thousand pounds of crazed animal runs over him, not to mention the whole herd. I was on a drive once when we had a stampede. One of the hands was trying to turn the herd away from a deep wash they was headed for. His horse stumbled, and he was thrown. When we went back looking for him, all we found was one of his boots and a pile of busted meat. They could destroy this camp and everyone in it. Now, you tell me if I’m being over cautious.’
While the two men stared at each other, a crash of thunder sounded overhead and some of the other hands gave those around them a nervous glance. Slowly they started to climb to their feet and walk towards their horses. Even Milt.
Breen smiled. ‘All right, you win. We’ll all ride nighthawk. But the woman is your problem. If she causes any trouble, it’s on you.’
Trent nodded and looked across at the second wagon where Mavis was sequestered. He walked over to the conveyance and pulled back the stained, canvas flap at the rear of it.
Mavis Porter’s voice growled from the darkened interior, ‘What do you want?’
‘You need to come out of there and get a horse. You’re riding with me tonight, just in case the herd stampedes.’
‘My herd, you mean.’
‘I’m not going to argue with you, May. You can come with me, or you can stay here and if the herd stampedes, pray they don’t come this way.’
Another crash of thunder sounded, closer again. The noise persuaded Mavis to climb from the wagon and take Trent up on his offer.
‘Once we get mounted, stay close to me.’
‘With a little luck, the herd might trample you,’ Mavis hissed.
‘If it does, then you will be too.’
The rain came down in sheets, with drops large enough to sting when they hit bare skin. The cowhands were drenched through as water flowed from every part of their clothing. Even their hats acted as a waterfall.
With every step, the horses sloshed water and mud. Lightning kept illuminating the sky with an electrically-charged light show, its beauty lost on those living through it, and thunder added further anxiety to the already-tense men.
Mavis rode steadily around the herd with Trent. She was cold and wet and miserable.
‘Can’t we find a tree to shelter under?’ she shouted above the wind.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s too dangerous. Lightning.’
She shouted something back at him that was whipped away on the wind. She was about to give him another spray when something unbelievable stopped her cold.
‘Look!’ Mavis shouted at Trent.
‘What?’
‘Look! The cattle!’
He shifted his gaze to where Mavis was pointing at the milling Longhorns until he saw it. The tips of their horns were an iridescent blue. Then came the faint hissing sound.
A look of despair crossed Trent’s wet face. ‘Oh, shit!’
The sky above the milling herd was torn asunder with a magnificent, electric-blue flash followed by the sound of a thousand cannons firing at the same time. A great fork of lightning struck a tree to their right. It stood no chance and was split apart, bright sparks filling the air around it. Small flames flickered from the blackened scar in its trunk, while it started to burn from the inside out.
That was all it took for the herd to start running. An instant before, the Longhorns were a mass of nervous energy. Afterwards, they were a surging, unstoppable tide. Creatures bawled in panic and began running west, away from the camp.
And towards them!
‘Stay with me!’ Trent shouted at Mavis.
Their horses leapt forward as the panic-stricken herd closed the gap at an alarming rate. Each time the lightning flashed, Mavis could see them, closer, wild-eyed, horns lashing the rain-soaked air.
Not far away, she caught sight of a horse and rider in front of the out-of-control mass. The darkness became all-enveloping momentarily, before the next flash lit the night once more, revealing that the man and mount were gone.
Fear coursed through Mavis as she realized that both had been overwhelmed by the runaway herd. Without realizing it, she cried out in horror and hauled back on the reins of her horse.
‘Keep moving!’ Trent shouted at her.
But Mavis had frozen and the horse beneath her started to panic as the ground beneath them began to tremble. The frightened animal reared up and almost unseated her.
Trent moved his horse in beside her and wrapped an arm around her shaking form. ‘Hang on to me!’
Mavis came free of the saddle and clung to Trent as he carried her clear of the oncoming herd. Behind them, her horse screamed as the mass flowed over it before it could get away.
Then they were safe. Trent stopped his horse and looked back over his shoulder as he lowered Mavis to the rain-soaked ground. That was when he noticed it. The herd had wheeled around in a big arc and was headed back towards the camp.
In a dry tone, he muttered, ‘There goes breakfast.’
Come daylight, there were still dark clouds overhead, giving the morning a cold, drab feel. Around the camp, the earth was a churned mass of mud and water. The chuckwagon was wrecked and its contents were strewn everywhere and stomped into the soft earth.
The cattle were scattered to hell and gone and the remuda weren’t far behind them. The only horses left were the worn-out and bedraggled ones the crew had been riding when the Longhorns stampeded.
Trent came into camp on foot, his horse walking behind him, head down. Beside the ramrod was Mavis.
‘I found Polden,’ he said to Breen. ‘What was left of him anyways. All someone will have to do is scrape dirt over him.’
Breen cursed. ‘That’s two we lost.’
‘Who else?’
‘Warren. Broke his neck when his horse fell. Wasn’t even near the herd. Speaking of which …’
‘It’s going to take us days to round them up,’ Trent told him. ‘Especially with bone-tired horses.’
‘I haven’t got days to round up cattle,’ Breen growled.
The ramrod shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
‘Not for me. Milt and I are going on as soon as we get fresh horses. I’ll leave you money for Raton Pass and to hire some more hands at Las Vegas. We’ll meet you in Dobson.’
At first, Trent thought about protesting but decided against it. In a way, he was happy to be rid of Breen. He could run things the way he wanted to without interference.
Trent nodded. ‘I’ll have someone find you a couple of horses.’
‘There is one other thing,’ Breen said.
‘What’s that?’
Breen motioned him over and away from the others. He gave the ramrod a stern look and said, ‘The woman. Get rid of her before you get to Dobson.’
‘But –’
‘I don’t care how but I want her gone. The last thing I need is her spouting off about the herd. Set her afoot, put a bullet in her head, I don’t give two shits. Just do it.’
Christ, Trent thought, how has it come to this?
‘You have to stay in bed, Mr. Savage,’ protested the gray-haired doctor, Morton Brown. ‘You’re still not strong enough to be up and about.’
‘Horseshit!’ Savage snapped. ‘I have been laying in that bed for ten days. I’ve had enough. I got me things to do. Where are my damned clothes?’
With an exasperated expression on his face, the doctor pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. Savage picked up the new pair of brown pants and began to put them on. He nodded with satisfaction as they fit perfectly. ‘Your wife knows her sizes.’
His previous pants were ruined after he’d been shot, as blood had soaked through them.
The doctor told him that he was one of the luckiest men alive. Two bullets had entered his body and neither one had hit anything vital. He’d just lost a lot of blood.
He’d been found by the hotel owner after Breen and his hired gun had left. The doctor had some men carry him to the surgery where Brown had patched him up. Savage was unconscious for three days before he woke up.
After learning that Breen and Trent had taken the Longhorns, along with Mavis Porter, the Drifter decided immediately that he would find the woman, rescue her, and take the herd north. Killing Breen, though, would have to be done first.
Savage tried on the red shirt. Again, it fit him like a glove.
‘Do you plan on going after them alone?’ Brown asked, referring to Breen.
Savage shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m going to scrape together a crew before I go anywhere.’
‘Where, pray tell, do you propose to get one of them?’
‘I was hoping you could tell me.’
The doctor shook his head and then realized Savage wasn’t joking. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I figured you would know. I’ll need fellers with experience who ain’t afraid to fight.’
‘There’s only one place in Deadman you’ll find men like that.’
‘Where?’
Brown’s voice was a low growl when he next spoke. ‘At the Long Trail Saloon.’
Savage frowned. ‘I didn’t know there was a third saloon in town.’
‘It ain’t a saloon as such. It’s a watering hole for crooks, thieves, and murderers. You’ll find who you’re looking for all right, but be careful.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re all bad, to a man. Every single one of them. Ain’t no decent townsfolk set foot in the place. Even the sheriff stayed away from it.’
‘It’s a wonder Breen didn’t take it over.’
‘Even he had more sense than to try. I pity the poor person who tries to clean it up.’
‘Is there anyone special I should keep an eye out for?’ Savage asked as he strapped his gun belt around his waist.
Brown sighed. ‘There’s going to be no talking you out of it, is there?’
‘Nope.’
The doctor gave a resigned nod and rubbed his tired eyes. ‘The barkeep is the owner. His name is Ike. If he takes a dislike to you, he’ll try to shoot you. If he bends down behind the bar, watch out. He’s got a sawn-off scattergun there. The second one is Johnny Hanson. Young feller who’s pure mean. He likes killing just for the hell of it. You’ll know him right off. The third feller is the rope that ties all of them together. His name is Mike Bannister. He’s an ex-Confederate officer. He’s tough.’
Savage finished putting his boots on and walked over to the corner to pick up the Yellow Boy Winchester. ‘So am I, Doc. Now, where will I find this Long Trail Saloon?’
The Long Trail Saloon was on a back street one block off main. It was a low, single-storey affair with a false-front that had seen better days. One of the batwings hung freely as it had lost the top hinge, the paint on the sign had faded, and the bridging rail to which horses would normally be hitched, had fallen upon the ground.
Savage paused outside the entrance and gathered himself. There wasn’t a lot of noise coming from within but there was some. Not surprising considering it was just after noon. The scent of cigar smoke, stale alcohol, and an aroma of unwashed bodies filtered through the opening.
When the Drifter entered, stern gazes focused on him. He stopped a few paces inside to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There were maybe twenty people inside. His estimate included a couple of scantily-clad whores who looked as though they’d been dragged through some briar patch. Their corsets were torn, and their hair stuck out at odd angles.
One of them sensed fresh meat and hurried across to him and gave her best gap-toothed smile. She thrust out her ample chest, the ripped garment only covering one of her large, pale breasts.
‘Hi there, handsome, buy me a drink? I could sure use one.’
‘You could use a lot of things, but a drink ain’t one of them.’
She pulled a face at him and then poked out her tongue. ‘Screw you, asshole.’
‘Not in this lifetime,’ Savage said and walked further into the room.
Behind the Drifter’s back, the whore made a signal to the man behind the bar. He nodded and moved a short distance along it.
When Savage stood before him he asked, ‘What do you want?’
‘Whiskey.’
The barkeep nodded and turned away to get a bottle off the shelf behind him. Above his head was a long mirror in which Savage was able to observe some of the movement behind him.
Johnny Hanson was easy enough to pick out. A baby-faced young man with no more than peach fuzz adorning his cheeks. He wore twin six-guns about his hips. He also seemed to carry an air of confidence. From what the Drifter could see, maybe too much.
Hanson stared openly at Savage’s back and knew it would only be a matter of time before he started something with the stranger.
The barkeep let the half-full bottle thump onto the battered bar-top, and placed a not-so-clean glass beside it. He looked Savage over and said, ‘Kinda customary around here to buy one of my girls a drink.’
The Drifter looked him in the eye. So this was Ike. He said, ‘Kinda customary from where I come from, for them to have a bath every now and then, too.’
Ike’s brows knitted together. ‘Talk like that will get a feller into trouble around here.’
Savage ignored him. ‘I’m looking for a feller named Bannister. I was told I could find him here.’
Ike stared at him and then nodded. ‘Uh huh.’
The saloon owner bent down below the bar.
‘ … watch out.’
The Drifter moved with lightning speed as Ike started to come erect. The Yellow Boy came up and streaked across the bar, butt first and the brass plate smashed into the ’keep’s forehead, rendering him useless.
The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, and blood began to trickle from a nasty cut that had opened where the gun had struck him. He went limp and fell to the floor. Although Savage didn’t see the shotgun, he heard it rattle to the floor.
Without missing a beat, the Winchester came back around and settled on the young gunman. The kid froze, guns halfway out of their holsters.
Savage shook his head. ‘You don’t want to die this day, son.’
Hanson clenched his jaw, fire in his eyes as he realized Savage had bested him.
‘Unbuckle the belt and let it drop,’ the Drifter ordered.
Hanson glanced at a table to his left where two men sat. One of them was a big man with a trim beard flecked with gray. His face was a walnut-brown and his hair, dark. Was this Bannister? His nod was almost imperceptible.
Savage shifted his gaze back to the kid who finished with his buckle. But the gun belt never fell to the floor at his feet. Instead, he did something foolish and flung it at the Drifter.
The bearded man’s chair scraped back as he lurched to his feet. The distraction was pitiful and telegraphed. The Yellow Boy in Savage’s hands bucked and roared. The slug caught the man in the throat before his six-gun could even come level. Blood sprayed hot and tacky over the other man at the table before he could move.
The bearded man clawed at the ghastly wound, eyes wide. Then he toppled to the left and crashed to the floor.
The Winchester shifted a touch left. As it moved, Savage worked the lever and jacked another round into the breech. It roared once more, and the man covered with his dead friend’s blood, cried out and grabbed at his shoulder where the .44 Henry slug had smashed it.
Another round was rammed home into the chamber and the Drifter looked for another target in the stunned room.
‘Son of a bitch,’ the kid snarled.
The Yellow Boy’s still-smoking barrel came back to rest on the kid’s chest. ‘Live and learn kid. Don’t make a move until you know your enemy.’
‘Spoken like a soldier,’ a voice to the Drifter’s right, said.
Savage caught the movement of a man coming out of his seat. He swiveled the Winchester and it snapped into line with the man’s midriff. The newcomer raised his hands and said, ‘Easy, General Sherman. I ain’t looking to cause you any grief. Besides, I heard you tell Ike you was looking for me. I’m Bannister.’
He was a solidly-built man, Savage observed. He carried himself with pride too. His hair was brown, which matched his face and mustache. He also wore brown pants and shirt. About his hips was a single holster gun belt with the Colt Navy butt forward in a cross-draw position. Savage figured he was around his own age.
‘What is it you want with me?’ Bannister asked.
‘Kill him, Mike,’ Hanson snarled.
‘Shut up, kid,’ Bannister snapped. ‘I want to know what he wants first.’
Savage let down the hammer on the Yellow Boy and pointed the barrel towards the floor. ‘How about we get a drink and I’ll explain a few things. As long as no one else tries to kill me, that is.’
Bannister nodded. ‘They won’t. I don’t think I could stand the losses.’
‘Fine, then. Let’s talk.’
Pale, brown liquid sloshed into the glass and Bannister pushed it across the table towards Savage. The Drifter knocked it back and felt the burn as it flowed down his throat.
‘Tell me what you want, Savage?’ Bannister asked.
Savage gave him a curious look.
‘I know who you are. I wish I’d known how tough you were before you killed two of my men, but yeah, I know who you are. And going by what I’ve heard, it seems you’re a hard man to kill. Breen shot you point-blank, didn’t he?’
The Drifter nodded. ‘Got lucky I guess.’
Bannister inclined his head. ‘So, I ask again. Tell me what you want.’
‘I need your help.’
‘To do what?’
‘I’m going to steal a herd of Longhorns.’
‘Breen’s herd?’
Savage nodded. ‘They ain’t Breen’s. They’re the Porter woman’s.’
Bannister took a drink from the glass in front of him and then refilled both before he said, ‘I get that you want to go after Breen for shooting you, but why the cattle?’
‘After I’ve taken care of Breen, she’s going to need a crew to take the herd to Cheyenne.’
‘And you figure I can help you do that?’
Savage nodded. ‘For the right price.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Five-hundred a man and one-thousand for you. You’ll be ramrod. I figure on fifteen men plus a cook. Works out to be nine-thousand all up.’
Bannister stared at Savage and then asked, ‘You got that kind of money?’
The Drifter shook his head. ‘Not that much. No one will see a cent until the cattle are sold.’
‘What’s stopping me from killing you and taking the cows myself?’
‘If you want to end up like your friends, then try.’
Bannister tried to read Savage’s expression and realized that what the Drifter had said wasn’t a brag, it was a simple statement.
‘All right. But I only have six men left since you shot two. We’ll need more than that.’
‘Then find them. We’ll need a good scout. One that knows the country and where to find water. Even if there is none to be found.’
‘There’s only one type of scout that I can think of who can do that.’
Savage nodded.
Bannister continued. ‘About two miles northeast of here you’ll find what you need.’
‘What I’ll need?’
‘More like who,’ Bannister told him. ‘A feller by the name of Llano Sam has a small horse ranch there. He’s part Comanche. If you can convince him to come along, then he’s your man.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything about him?’
Bannister gave a wry smile. ‘Let’s just say that his Comanche side can sometimes get the better of him.’
Savage glanced across to where Hanson sat with a scowl on his face. ‘What about him?’
‘Him? He’s as hot-headed as they come. Rather have a gunfight than a meal.’
‘Then why should I have him come along? I want men who’ll fight beside me, not try to kill me or cause me more trouble than they’re worth.’
The bottle clinked on glass as more whiskey was poured. ‘He’s good with horses. If you want a good man in charge of the remuda, then he’s it.’
‘And if I have to wail the tar out of him?’
Bannister sighed. ‘That will only be a matter of when, not if.’
‘What about you?’
‘If I sign on, it’s until the end of the line. But if I get there and you can’t pay, we’ll be butting more than heads.’
‘Fair enough. Now, what about extra hands, and a cook?’
‘I’ll find them. When did you want to leave?’
‘Day after tomorrow. Everyone will have to supply their own grub until we catch up to the herd.’
Bannister nodded. ‘I guess we can manage that.’
Savage stood up from the table and looked around the seedy-looking room. ‘I’ll see you back here tomorrow night then?’
‘I won’t be hard to locate.’
‘Until then.’
‘Yeah. Until then.’
A rifle fired a third slug that cracked as it passed closer than the previous two. Savage cursed and hunkered down lower behind the small slab of rock.
‘Hold your fire, you ornery son of a bitch, I just want to talk!’
‘Get the hell off my land, white man, before I put a bullet in your mangy hide.’
The voice was deep and harsh. Savage had no doubt that Sam would do just that if he couldn’t get him to stop long enough to listen.
He’d approached the small, rundown house not long before noon and no sooner had he come within shouting distance, when Llano Sam opened fire on him. Savage had thrown himself from the saddle and as he did so, took the Yellow Boy with him. But so far, he hadn’t used it. After all, what good was a dead scout to him?
Savage shouted, ‘Ain’t you part white?’
‘The part that’s shooting at you ain’t.’
Another couple of shots were sent the Drifter’s way.
Savage was starting to lose patience. Apart from laying under an increasingly hot sun, Sam’s shots were getting closer. ‘Hold your fire damn it! I want to offer you a job.’
‘What doing?’ Sam shouted back.
‘Riding trail scout for a herd.’
‘Not interested!’
More shots.
‘It pays five-hundred dollars.’
There was a drawn-out silence.
Savage filled his lungs again. ‘Did you hear me?’
The squeak of hinges signaled that the front door had been opened and the half-breed Comanche stepped outside. ‘I heard you.’
The Drifter lifted his head to peer over the rock. Sam was standing in the sun with his rifle angled across his body. His long, dark hair seemed to shimmer in the daylight and his face was a deep, walnut color and slightly rounded.
‘If I come out, are you going to shoot me?’ Savage called to him.
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘If you’re lying to me or not.’
‘I ain’t lying.’
‘Well then, come ahead.’
Savage stood erect and braced himself for the shot he fully expected.
‘Who are you?’ Sam asked.
‘The name’s Savage,’ Savage answered.
‘What’s this about five-hundred dollars?’
The Drifter looked about him. Everything looked dry and brittle. ‘Been a spell since you had some rain?’
Sam nodded. ‘Some. The money. Tell me about the money.’
‘I need a scout for a trail herd that’s headed north. You interested?’
Sam gave him a questioning look. ‘For five-hundred dollars? Nope. What’s the catch?’
Savage told him about Breen and how they would have to steal the herd back first.
Sam shook his head. ‘Nope. I ain’t going. I have enough of my own troubles without buying into somebody else’s. Find yourself another scout.’
The Drifter shook his head. ‘The man who recommended you said you were the feller I’d need. He said you could find water in a desert and could find a trail over rock.’
With a derisive snort, Sam asked, ‘Who told you that shit?’
‘Mike Bannister.’
The half-breed’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that young punk, Hanson, going along?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Right then, count me in. I’ll be your scout. Give me some time to get a horse ready and I’ll ride with you.’
Thirty minutes later, Sam was ready, and the two men started their ride back to Deadman. Savage looked at him and asked, ‘Will your horses be all right while you’re away?’
‘Sure.’
Then the Drifter asked the question that was burning to get out. ‘What made you change your mind about coming?’
Without looking at Savage, Sam said, ‘Hanson. I aim to kill him before we’re through.’
A loud scream pierced the saloon and through the melee of arms and legs, Savage was sure he’d seen Sam bite Hanson on the ear. The Drifter winced as the young man flung his head forward and his brow caught the half-breed Comanche across the bridge of his nose.
Blood flowed from both men, along with grunts and curses. Savage was pleased that Sam had lost his knife early on, otherwise who knew what might have happened.
‘You could’ve warned me about this before I hired him,’ Savage growled at Bannister.
‘What, this? This ain’t nothing. They’ll run out of steam soon and they’ll be right for a few days before they try again.’
‘Christ,’ Savage shook his head as the pair crashed through a chair and turned it into matchwood. ‘What’s their problem?’
‘Do they need one?’
Savage had seen enough. He drew his Remington and strode forward into the maelstrom. With two deft blows, both brawling men went down clutching at sore heads. Their moans could be heard clearly, as the cheers of the other men ceased at the Drifter’s interference.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ asked a slim-built man with curly hair.
‘Shut up, the lot of you,’ Bannister snapped. ‘Fun’s over. Get them both cleaned up. We’re pulling out tomorrow.’
Hanson stared hard at Savage, as he rubbed at his head. ‘That’s the second time you’ve rubbed me the wrong way, you son of a bitch. It won’t happen again.’
‘You’re damned right it won’t,’ Savage agreed. ‘If it does, I’ll kick you off this drive and find someone else to take care of the remuda.’
The young man’s eyes flared before he turned away and stalked off.
Savage turned to Bannister. ‘Did you get us a cook?’
‘I sure did. His name is Jones. Most folks call him Grub.’
‘Will he poison us on the trail?’
Bannister shrugged. ‘There’s always that possibility, I guess.’
‘Where is he?’
Bannister pointed to a corner of the bar room. ‘Over there.’
Both men walked across the room where they found the unshaven, gray-haired man with a whore sitting on his lap. The one with the missing teeth. The dress she wore this time should have kept her ample breasts tucked away out of sight.
Except, this time, she was wriggling on the old man’s lap and the top was pulled down and both were flopping around. She faced forward and the cook’s face, behind all the whiskers, was a glowing, red color.
‘Get lost, Esmerelda,’ Bannister growled.
She gave him a distant look and panted, ‘In a minute.’
‘Go away, Mike,’ Grub gasped, his face turning redder with every second.
‘C’mon Esmerelda, the boss wants to talk to Grub,’ Bannister told the gyrating whore.
She swallowed hard. ‘Too … bad. Are you nearly … there, Grubby?’
The old cook brought up his right hand and dug gnarled fingers into her right breast. With the left, he brought up a half-full bottle of whiskey and took a swig. ‘Keep going Essy. I’m almost done.’
Savage turned away and as he did, he said to Bannister. ‘Have him ready to go in the morning. Tell me about the other men.’
The ramrod followed him outside the saloon and into the bright, afternoon sun. ‘I managed to find the amount of men you require. You said fifteen?’
Savage nodded.
‘They’re rough but they’ll fight if you need them to. All my guys know cattle …’ Bannister’s voice trailed away as he gave Savage a wry smile. ‘Out of the rest, those who don’t, will learn.’
‘Okay,’ said Savage. ‘We’ll leave at first light. I’ll buy some supplies to get us through until we catch up with the herd. Also, a pack horse. If you want me before then, you’ll find me having a last decent meal at the café.’
‘Have you ever done anything like this before?’ Bannister asked.
Savage shook his head. ‘The closest thing I ever done to this was working for a freight outfit over in the Big Bend country before the war. I’m guessing we both have experience leading men, although from different perspectives.’
‘Ahh, yes’ Bannister acknowledged.
‘Yeah. Is that going to be a problem?’
Bannister blew out a long breath. ‘Bit late to worry about that now.’
‘You could say that.’
‘The only way I see that we’ll have a problem is if you don’t pay what we’re owed at the end of it all.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll see you at first light.’
‘See you then.’
Savage turned to leave but Bannister called after him. ‘Were you at Sharpsburg?’
The Drifter remembered a time before he was a cavalry captain. ‘We called it Antietam, but yeah, I was there.’
‘Helluva time.’
Savage nodded. ‘Yeah, helluva time.’