Paul found the Texans camped about a hundred yards from the river; far enough to keep out of the mosquitoes and gnats, but close enough to the water to make it handy. Four men sat in the shade of a mature cottonwood tree. Nathan Greene got up as the wagon rolled to a stop.
“Good ta see y’all,” he drawled. “Reckon you can set that wagon right up agin those trees on the right.” He pointed to a small group a hundred feet downstream.
Paul urged the team ahead and turned slightly to the right as he did so. He stopped when he was abreast of the first tree. It looked like an ideal spot. He climbed down and walked back to the camp.
“If you think that’s where you want it, we can take the team back to town with us. If not, we can leave the horses for a couple days. What do you think?”
“I think where she sets’ll be fine.”
“Simon, Buell. Unhook the team and leave the singletrees under the wagon. I’ll lead the horses back to town.”
The boys unhooked the heavy leather straps from the oak and iron bar that delivered the power from the horse’s shoulders to the wagon’s front axle. Then they fastened the ends of the traces to hooks on the harness straps that went over the animal’s rumps.
Paul nodded. “The boys want to stay a while and watch the herd with you. I know we talked about it, but I’m gonna give you a chance to change your mind.”
Simon and Buell had ridden out on two of Mace’s horses, and they now stood next to Paul, waiting to hear Nathan’s answer.
“I’ve had a good look at the place you picked out here, and I gotta tell you, you done real good. I reckon the six riders I got is all I’m gonna need to sit on this here herd.”
Buell appeared visibly shaken, and Paul knew the boys had talked about little else for several days.
Nathan shot them a glance. “But we can always use another waddy or two. I suspect we could teach ’em a mite about cowboyin’. Mind you, I cain’t pay ’em what I pay Lacey there, but then I won’t be expectin’ ’em to be a diggin’ in like Lacey either.”
“Sounds fair to me. You pay ’em what you think they’re earning,” Paul said. He turned to Buell and Simon. “Okay with you boys?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon said.
Buell nodded at Paul, then looked at Pat Lacey and grinned.
“Guess that’s settled, then,” Paul said. “I brought enough canned food and the usual dry stuff to keep both boys going. It’s in a box in the wagon. Might be you could teach ’em both a bit about camp cooking.” He was pleased the boys could stay and knew Nathan was doing them a favor. He hoped the boys would see it the same way. “Well, we’ll leave it at that. Much obliged, Nathan. I’ll be getting back to town.” He shook the Texan’s hand, then turned to Simon and Buell. “You boys pay close attention and do as you’re told. We’ll see you again soon.”
Paul untied his horse from the rear of the wagon, climbed on, and then, leading the two draft animals, he rode out of camp.
Matt walked into Luger’s and looked for Paul. He didn’t see him, but found Mace sitting at the usual table by the bar and approached. “Hello, Mace.”
Mace looked over his shoulder and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Hello, Matt. Come for lunch?”
“Well, yes and no. I come to see Paul, and you can usually find him here around noon.”
“He’ll be along. He was by my place about two hours ago and said he’d see me here. Sit down.”
“Thanks, I will. So, what do you think of all the commotion with the Texas herd? That was some deal.”
The back door swung open and Fred hustled in with the daily food offering. He hooked the door with his heel and banged it shut. “Well, hello, Matthew. What brings the rich farmer to Luger’s?” Fred walked down the bar toward Mace’s table.
There was no love lost between Fred and himself. “Come by to see if I could catch Paul.” Matt tried on a smile.
“Ain’t here yet. Expect he’ll be along. Get you a beer or something?”
“I’ll wait till he gets here, and then I will, thanks.” He gave up on the smile.
“Okay.” Fred set the platter down and started to arrange the food. Freda came through the back door, a crock of pickles held by the rim in one hand, and a large glass jar of pickled eggs balanced on the opposite arm. She huffed down the bar without a word, set the load down and huffed right back out, slamming the door. “Thank you, love,” Fred said to the closed door. He turned and gave Mace a wide grin. “Woman loves her work,” he said as he levered the glass stopper off the egg jar.
“So, what do you think about the Texans?” Matt asked.
“I think John Lindstrom is a planning genius,” Mace replied.
“I agree. I understand now how he did it. I’m just not sure why he started to think along those lines in the first place. What prompts a man to come up with stuff like that?”
“Some people just take to that naturally. Me, I pound on things and sometimes they turn into something useful and sometimes not. I can figure out how to make most anything if someone comes to me with a plan, but I’ve come to accept the fact I ain’t an idea man.”
“But how did he know who to contact in Kansas?”
“I think John knows a lot of people, and not just around here. Old Prosser over at the telegraph is always flagging John down with two or three scraps of message paper.”
“Is that how he contacted the people in Kansas? The telegraph?”
“Far as I know. That’s what he showed us the afternoon he told us the herd was on the way. I remember, cuz I thought at the time a message that long must’ve cost someone a pretty penny.”
“Hmm.” Matt glanced at his watch. “I just remembered something. I’ve got to go see Avery for a few minutes. I’ll try to get back.” He got up and hurried out the door.
“I don’t like that man and never will,” Fred said as he walked up to the table.
“Tried to sell him a beer though, didn’t you?” Mace teased.
“Well, business is business, and I still don’t like him. You ready yet? Food is.”
“Sure.” Mace hustled to the bar and as his mouth watered heavily, built his usual one-pound sandwich. Today Freda had supplied smoked venison and sausages.