Chapter Four

Del wasn’t making many friends on the drive. He’d taken Kip’s advice to try to mingle with the drovers more, but he didn’t much feel like having company. Even during the best of times that wasn’t his way, and these weren’t the best of times. Nights, he watched Kip work his way into the group around the campfire. Part of him wished he could do the same. But being alone as evening drifted in was fine, too. Time to think, reflect. Drink his worries away. Try to make sense of his torn-apart world. Goodwin must have been real hard up to take him and the boy on.

Where’d he hide that last bottle? Ought to be a town soon. He’d stock up on the one thing he could count on to push his heartache back, even for a little while. He shook his head as he sat on a riverbank near camp. Stars twinkled to faint life overhead. What was he doing on a cattle drive with his family and ranch just…memories? And a mute boy following him.

They camped by the Pecos River that streamed out of rough New Mexican country to the north. Rodrigo sat nearby, imitating Del as he whittled an oak branch to nothing. He’d given the boy an old knife he found lying on a barroom floor back in Texas. Didn’t remember the town’s name. Could have been any one of a number. They all seemed to blend together in a haze in his head. The dried stain on the blade was likely blood, but he wouldn’t share that with the boy. Kip’s voice startled him out of his reflections.

“You’re starin’ at nothin’ like you’re percolatin’ on something, Del Lawson. Looks like you could use some company.”

Del looked up to see Kip eyeing him with a smile on his face. Seems like he always had one, warranted or not. Just as well. Time he roused himself to stand watch, anyway. He drew his coat collar tighter, stood, and stretched. “No need. I’m done thinkin’ about things. You just comin’ off watch?”

“No, dummy. I’m gettin’ ready to go stand watch with you. Let’s set out.”

Del caught Rodrigo’s eye. He nodded toward Buck, and the boy hurried over to the cook. Del took a last swig. As he and Kip strolled to the remuda, Stoney Goodwin blocked his way. The foreman poked a finger just short of Del’s chest. “So, still with the rotgut whiskey? You stand four hours again tonight. Left flank. You’ll pull doubles ’til I say so. And I ain’t said so yet. Understand? Don’t ever let me see you drinking out here again.”

Del tried to go around the man, but Goodwin sidestepped in front of him. “Like I said, understand?”

“No problem, Boss.” He wanted to square the bigger man up and was sure he could, but he took a path around the foreman instead, Kip in trail. The farther away from Goodwin right now the better. The two friends saddled a couple of mounts and trotted toward the ever-present sound of cattle lowing in the gathering dusk. An early evening wind sighed a faint tune through the waving sage sprouts and early spring grasses.

Kip glanced sideways at Del. “What was that all about?”

“Wants me to stop drinkin’, but that only makes one of us. We ain’t had a civil word ’tween us since we met.” He cracked a small smile. “I’m startin’ to get the impression he don’t like me.”

Kip grinned. “You catch on quick for a dirt farmer.”

Del had shared some of his background with Kip—about his ranch—but not his family. He wasn’t that close to the black man yet. He sat up in the saddle and pointed in the distance. “Looks like a bulge of longhorns off to the left. They’ll need ridin’ back in.” He spurred his mount. On the way to the breakout, he scanned the huge expanse of nearly two thousand Kay-J cattle, still restless as they settled in for the evening. He’d been riding long nights since he came. Days, he usually worked drag with Kip at the wedge-shaped end of the herd, which meant the most riding. Also the most dust, dirt, and crap.

“Let’s go rein in those outliers.” A wolf howled somewhere nearby and set Del on edge. His mind spun to thoughts of his family, his ranch. He wished the wolf that night had howled a little sooner.

Kip said, “I ain’t so sure that’s a wolf. Comanches can sound like almost anything they got a mind to. They like raidin’ early drives every year, then they sit back and pick and choose after that. Usually hit on moonlit nights toward dawn. More often than not they’re just after horses. Not sure about Apaches, though.”

Del was clear. “That’s a wolf.”

Kip drew his rifle out of the scabbard. “Cussed animals pick off newborns and stragglers, so keep an eye out. There’ll be more than one. And right about now it’s dinnertime.”

Del knew about wolves, he’d almost raised the one that hunted around his ranch. He gripped his rifle stock. As he neared the straying cows, a commotion off to the left caught his attention. Wolves had taken down a calf and growled ‘stay-away’ warnings for all to hear. Their snarling split the night’s peace. Del drew his Colt but stayed his hand. Confusion reined in the pack, then the big one grasped the still-bawling youngster and lugged it away by the neck, leaving a dark trail in the dim light. The rest trotted behind as the alpha made off toward a shallow draw and disappeared. The calf’s wails faded, and its momma protested all alone.

Kip rode up. “I was waitin’ for you to drop the wolf. Why didn’t you?”

Del couldn’t put his finger on it. Something had stopped him. “Wolves have to eat, too.”

It took the herd some time to settle down. Del had his hands full minding the rear of the restless mass. The night wind whipped stronger from the west now, which always made the animals dodgy. As clouds shrouded the moon, Del scanned the overcast night sky. It looked like it had a storm in mind, which might set off another stampede. But the wind soon died, night sounds reclaimed the land, and the herd quieted.

Not long after, Kip bid Del farewell. “Goin’ back in. Wish you were, too. Keep your eyes peeled, huh? You got reason to.”

Del tapped a finger to his hat brim and watched his friend disappear in the dark. He patted his horse’s neck. Another couple of hours. Not that he minded being out on the prairie by himself. Out here he didn’t have to listen to barbs around the campfire. He was getting tired of Goodwin singling him out. And there was no doubt he was. He’d overheard other drovers laughing about it. One of them in particular. Jake. Kip said the man’s last name was Potter. The hand kept calling him greenhorn, making fun of everything about him, including his town clothes. Del did allow as how he could use some boots. And a hat with a tie string.

All he wanted was to be left alone to settle into the bottom of a bottle. Just let him roam, like he and the boy had been doing the past year. He didn’t know anyone on the drive, and no one knew him. Should have been a good change of scene, but he hadn’t counted on running afoul of the foreman. And Potter.

And he still didn’t know what to make of Rodrigo.

The trail boss was someone Del hadn’t figured out, either. He pretty much let Goodwin run things. Nighttime, Old Tom Sammons often sat by himself near, but not at, the campfire. Why did the white-bearded man keep riding these hard trails? By reputation, he was a trapper times ago. Surely, he’d led enough drives to know better than to keep doing it. Old Tom didn’t seem like someone Del would go to for much of anything.

He checked the western sky. Dark from more than the night. He opened his coat a little to let the air cool him. The evening wind had its own way of swirling. Del looked forward to when it picked up, more so than when the new grasses stood still. Breezes wound around and over him as he sat his horse. A sudden chill ran up his back. Nothing much was right these days. He was growing tired of wandering—looking for something that wasn’t there anymore, yet already knowing it wasn’t. Drifting with that same night wind wherever it pushed him. He fingered the crushed bullet hanging from his neck.

He was roused from his reverie by the crack of a gun somewhere off to the east. Was it one of the other drovers on watch—or something worse? Two more shots split the air, then faint shouting carried on the wind. Goodwin made it clear Del’s job was to guard the herd’s left flank, right where he was. He considered staying for a moment, then kicked his horse into a gallop on a looping route toward the gunshots that vanished in the evening air. His wide swing took him south of the herd, trying to pick up any sounds the wind lifted his way. It was hard to hear anything over the protests of nervous cattle as they bellowed to one another. Gunfire wasn’t on the short list of things they liked.

He hurried along and soon picked up muffled voices. Couldn’t tell who they belonged to as the wind played its night tricks. He flicked the loop off his hammer and loosened his rifle in its scabbard. Just ahead now. He pulled his horse back a notch and searched the dark ink to his front. The cattle protested louder here. Several large knots of animals would have to be driven back in as well.

He recognized the two drovers in the saddle dead ahead. One of them was Carl something. They turned his way. He slowed, one hand in the air, the other on his holster. They’d be nervous, no doubt. There was already trouble—riders don’t didn’t go firing in the night for nothing. “It’s Del Lawson—don’t shoot me. What’s goin’ on, boys?” Del brought his mount to a halt and drew his gun as he eyed his surroundings.

“Jumpers,” said Carl. “They put Ed here down and got away with some head. How many, don’t know.”

Del hadn’t seen the cowhand on the ground at first. He recognized him but hadn’t had much to do with him or any of the drovers. “Rustlers gone?”

The third drover whirled with his sidearm and peered into the darkness, swinging the barrel left and right at nothing.

Carl said, “Yeah, they were already hightailin’ it by the time we got our shots off. Long gone now.”

Del knelt by the unconscious man and put a hand to Ed’s neck. “Still got a pulse, but…” He felt around the man’s chest until he found the bloody wound. He pressed his bandana on it and surveyed the surroundings. “His horse still here?”

“Yeah, spooked, just over there.” Carl pointed to a shadow.

Del said, “He’ll die if we don’t get him back to camp soon. Help me lift him up on his horse.”

Between the three of them, they slumped Ed crosswise on his saddle. Carl said, “I’ll take him back. You two stay and shape the herd up again. Run those stragglers in.”

As the horses galloped away into the night, Del turned to the other wrangler. “My name’s Del, tell me yours again, willya?”

“I know who you are—you’re Jake’s favorite drunk.” A short laugh. “Easy to figure how you got on the wrong side of Goodwin so quick. He don’t drink. Usually takes new hands longer than that to annoy Stoney, though. You done it the fastest I ever seen.”

Del ignored the insult. “We got some head to ride back in.” He trotted toward the yawning bulge, yelling in their direction. He looked back, but the other wrangler sat still, watching. Del waved for him to come help, but if the drover saw, he didn’t let on.

Damn! Another herder hanging him out to dry. So be it. He turned back to the runaways and kicked his mount harder. Sooner or later, he’d need to return to the flank. Goodwin would have his hide for leaving, just for the hell of it. Where were the other wranglers? There should be at least another two out tonight, posted on swing, toward the front of the herd. At least he hoped they were still out there.

Whooping and hollering, he managed to box the wayward animals in as he rode side to side. Soon, the cattle had no place to go but to rejoin the herd. For a tenderfoot, he was getting good at this. He was handling cows better than some of the regular crew. He started back to his post.

“Hey, Lawson!”

Another drover rode up. Jake. Damn.

“You’re supposed to be over there, ain’t ya?” The wrangler pointed in the direction Del came from when he heard the shots.

Del started to tell what happened but decided it wouldn’t do any good. “Yeah…was just heading back there now. You my relief?”

“You don’t listen so good, boy. I oughta let you stay out here all night. You ain’t real smart, sodbuster.” That was about as low a name as a cowboy could be called. “Foreman’s not gonna like this.”

“Didn’t think he would.” Goodwin didn’t like him whether he was doing right or doing wrong. No sense in trying to please a man who can’t be pleased.

“If it wasn’t so late, I’d give you a good whippin’ myself.”

Del’s adrenaline surged. He was ready to mix it up with this two-bit wrangler. He pursed his lips. Trading insults with a weasel wasn’t going to help things. He took a deep breath. “Be on the lookout for rustlers and wolves.” Del yanked his horse away before his mouth failed him. He drifted along the outskirts of the herd, letting the evening air cool the burn in his cheeks. The clouds were gone with the wind in the night sky. Satin starlight lay softly over the land.

He nodded to two more of Goodwin’s outriders on his way back to camp. They didn’t bother to look his way. No matter. He took his time as he scanned the dim land—gently rolling hills that vanished in the distance. He patted the horse’s neck. He’d always taken potluck from the remuda, but he kind of liked this one. Blackest animal he’d ever seen, had a certain spirit about him. A good gait Del took to right away. He leaned forward in the saddle. Might as well get back to camp and get it over with. No doubt Goodwin would notice he wasn’t back. The drive wasn’t turning out to be the salve he’d hoped it would be. A long shot that wasn’t working out, but he was just stubborn enough to see it through. For once, he’d used his head and left a bully—Jake—alone. No sense getting in a fracas with him. There was likely a bigger one waiting for him back at camp.