For a long moment neither Dusty nor Goodnight spoke. Taken any way a man looked at it, the Kid had made a mighty startling—some would even say, considering his knowledge of the terrain involved—even crazy suggestion. The Staked Plains were a rolling, arid, semi-desert area between the South Concho and Pecos Rivers. Baked by the heat, parched for the want of water, the stunted vegetation offered poor grazing and little shade for the cattle and many hazards existed along the route they would be forced to follow. Under no circumstances could it be termed the kind of country into which a trail boss would willingly direct his herd.
At last Goodnight let out a long breath and said, ‘It’s near on ninety-six miles from the South Concho to the Pecos, Kid. With nothing but spike grass, horned toads and gila monsters from one side to the other.’
‘I knowed that all along,’ the Kid answered. ‘Back when I was a button with the Pehnane, I hunted desert sheep around it.’
‘We’ll not be hunting around it, we’ll be trailing cattle across,’ Goodnight pointed out. ‘There’s not much drinking water, but plenty of alkali and salt lakes scattered about. Let a thirsty herd get just a teensy smell of one of ’em, and there’d be a stompede that nothing could stop. And any steer that drinks from one of them lakes’ll be buzzard bait in twenty minutes.’
‘I know that, too,’ the Kid admitted.
For all his words, Goodnight was clearly giving the suggestion his close consideration. Watching his uncle, Dusty could almost follow the other’s train of thought. Novel, wild, impractical though the Kid’s idea might have sounded at first hearing, it was possibly their only chance of beating Chisum to Fort Sumner. The very nature of the animals in the herd made that so.
Unlike the pampered beef breeds that would follow them, the Texas longhorns lived an almost completely natural existence. Left to forage for themselves upon the unfenced ranges, they had over the generations developed the survival instincts of wild animals. In nature only the fittest survive. So any longhorn that reached maturity was perfectly capable of standing up to hardships and the rigors of climatic conditions.
Maybe, just maybe, the Kid had offered a solution to Goodnight’s problem. Crossing the Staked Plains would be desperately risky, but better than no chance at all. No Texan ever cared to go down without fighting.
‘Damn it!’ Goodnight growled. ‘I’d hate like hell for Chisum and that slimy cuss Hayden to lick me this easy.’
‘And me,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Especially after they cost me the price of two new Stetsons.’
‘Two?’ grinned the Kid. ‘Don’t tell me that you lost that one you bought after them fellers shot up your old woolsey?’
‘Somebody put a hole in the new one,’ Dusty explained, ignoring the suggestion that he would wear a cheap, poor quality ‘woolsey’ hat. ‘You haven’t got kin around here, have you?’
‘Damned if I don’t start talking Comanche soon!’ Goodnight groaned. ‘Kid, if you could find each of those lakes afore we come to it, we could point the cattle up-wind until we get by and they won’t smell the water.’
‘It’ll not be easy doing, Uncle Charlie,’ Dusty cautioned.
‘Don’t I know it?’ demanded the rancher grimly. ‘But, bad as it is, it’s our only chance of licking Chisum to Fort Sumner.’
‘Which we all want to do, for more reasons than one. I tell you, Uncle Charlie, if we fail there’ll be few who chance trying. And Chisum’ll cheat ’em blind on taking their stock to sell for them.’
‘There’s one thing in our favor,’ Goodnight said. ‘It’s good grazing and easy going from here to the South Concho. So we’ll let the steers take on fat and tallow up to there. After that, we’ll push them day and night without stopping until we hit the Pecos. It’ll be all of three-four days to get across.’
‘By then the crew’ll’ve learned plenty about their work,’ Dusty replied and remembered something. ‘Hell’s fire. We’ve got Dawn along. Maybe we should send her back.’
‘Whee doggie!’ chuckled the Kid. ‘So that li’l gal made it, did she? Way she talked ’n’ acted going home, I got to figuring she had it in mind to come along. And I sure admire you, whichever of you’s the one who’s fixing to make her go back. That’s no Nemenuh naive xii as’s been trained right ’n’ proper from the cradle-board to do as the men-folks tells her regardless.’
‘What does delegation of authority mean, Dustine?’ Goodnight inquired.
‘You do it, I’m scared to, I’ve always been told. Poor ole Mark, I hope she don’t chaw his ears off when he passes the word.’
‘Does she have to go back?’ asked the Kid. ‘She’s got sand to burn and spunk enough to see it through.’
‘Having her along might even help,’ Dusty went on. ‘No matter how tough the going, the fellers won’t quit while she’s sticking it out—and stick she will.’
‘We’d best ask her how she feels about it, anyways,’ Goodnight decided. ‘And do it tonight, so’s she’s close enough to the Swinging G house to make it back without an escort; happen she wants to go.’
‘I’ll bet my next month’s pay that she’s still with us at Fort Sumner,’ the Kid offered, looking at Dusty. ‘Are you on?’
‘No bet. And, anyways, you’ve already drawn most of your next month’s pay to buy shells for that fool rifle.’
‘Injun-giver!’
‘Are you figuring on telling the rest of the hands, Uncle Charlie?’ Dusty asked, ignoring his friend’s comment.
‘What do you think?’ asked Goodnight.
‘I’d say no, was it me,’ Dusty decided. ‘At least until after they’ve been on the trail a mite longer.’
Goodnight nodded soberly. Told of his intention of taking the herd across the Staked Plains, while still new to the notion of handling it, the Mineral Wells men might figure that they faced an impossible task. After a few weeks on the trail, they would have widened their experience and, more important, gained at first hand complete confidence in the abilities of their trail boss and his segundo. Knowing they were led by competent, trail-wise bosses, the men would be more willing to risk the dangerous crossing.
‘I think you’re right,’ the rancher said approvingly. It seemed that his nephew had learned the lessons of leadership well; small wonder Dustine had done so well during the War and since. ‘When Dawn comes from the night herd, I’ll tell her what we’ve decided and ask what she wants to do. Then I’ll ask her not to tell any of the others.’
‘It’d be best,’ Dusty agreed.
On her return from riding the night herd, Dawn found herself taken to one side and told of Goodnight’s intention to cross the Staked Plains. Without attempting to influence her one way or the other, he warned of the difficulties and dangers they would face. At the end, the girl stated her determination to see the drive through. Then she promised not to mention his plans, even to her brother. After a meal, she went to where her blankets were spread in the bed-wagon. Allowing her to sleep there was the only concession the men made to her sex, but agreed it was less embarrassing for all if she did not sleep among the male members of the crew.
Taking his horse—the big paint stallion which had crippled Ole Devil Hardin before Dusty tamed it for use as his personal mount xiii —from the picket line, the small Texan rode out to the herd. He had waited to see the girl’s response to Goodnight’s question, and left grinning a little at the calm manner in which she heard the startling news then gave her answer. As he drew near to the bed-ground, he could hear the droning, near-tuneless singing which experience had taught cowboys soothed the cattle and prevented them from becoming frightened by the unheralded appearance of a rider from the darkness.
‘Now say, you fool critters,
Why don’t you lay down?
And quit this forever moving around,
My hoss is leg-weary,
My butt-end aches like hell,
So I could feel the bumps,
If I sat on a smell,
Lay down, you_____bastards, lay down,
Lay down; you_____sons-of-bitches, lay down.’ xiv
Looming from the blackness, riding at a leisurely walking pace, Swede Ahlen brought his song to a stop and grinned a greeting as he saw Dusty coming his way.
‘That sure was a beautiful tune, Swede,’ complimented Dusty. ‘And the chorus would make a deacon proud.’
‘You should’ve heard the words Dawn was singing when we come out to relieve her,’ Ahlen answered, still grinning. ‘It like to start ole Billy Jack and me to blushing.’
‘I’ll have to come out and listen next time she’s on,’ Dusty decided. ‘Everything all right?’
‘We’ve been quiet enough so far. Knowed we would be. Billy Jack was saying how he figured we’d have a stompede come half an hour.’
Turning in their saddles, the two men looked across the night-darkened range. Before them, the cattle were assembled in a loosely-formed square with a rider patrolling each side. Experience and good luck had allowed the trail boss to pick a nearly perfect location, clear of ravines or draws into which a restless steer might blunder, or where wild animals could hide. Nor was there any wooded land, always a source of trouble and danger, close by. Some of the steers lay quietly chewing their cud, others slept on their feet. Here and there, a restless animal stirred a flurry of complaint as it moved from place to place in search of choicer grass on which to chew. However, having been pushed hard all day, allowed to feed on the way and carefully watered, the majority of the herd showed no inclination to travel.
Yet Dusty and Ahlen were aware of how easily the peaceful state could be changed. A sudden, loud, unexpected noise, the wind-carried scent of a passing predatory animal—be it cougar, wolf, black or grizzly bear—the appearance of a rattlesnake from a hole down which it had slipped during the day, any of them might send the cattle racing off in wild stampede. That was more likely to happen, however, when the steers were hungry, thirsty, riled up or disturbed for some reason; but the men knew better than to take unnecessary risks.
‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ Dusty said after a moment’s study of the herd. ‘Unless you feel like taking a gallop after them, that is.’
‘Happen I get to feel that way, I’ll find me a tall tree and bang my head again’ it to knock my brains back in,’ Ahlen grinned. Then he became sober and continued, ‘Say, Dusty. Burle Willock’s got a big mouth, but he’s a good hand.’
‘If he wasn’t, I don’t figure you’d’ve brought him along,’ Dusty replied.
‘Yeah. Waal, I had me a li’l talk with him afore I come out here and I don’t reckon, what he said back, he’ll give you any more lip or fuss.’
‘That’s all I ask. I don’t like billing in on things like that tonight, but it had to be stopped. Young Vera Sutherland’s aiming to prove how he’s a man-grown on the drive and I’d hate like hell to see him get pushed so that he acted loco trying to do it.’
‘Burle was more’n a mite rough on him, and hadn’t any call to talk about having to carry him. Vern did all right today. Damn it though, I’ve just now remembered—’
‘What’s up?’ Dusty asked.
‘Burle figures to be a real ladies’ man,’ Ahlen answered. ‘He got into some fuss with Darby Sutherland over making up to Dawn the wrong way. Darby licked him good and he’s a bad forgetter.’
‘He’d better forget until this drive’s over,’ Dusty warned. ‘How d’you stand if I have to pick up his toes, Swede?’
Ahlen knew what Dusty meant. Generally the term was used to describe the punishment handed out to a remuda horse which continually broke out of the wranglers’ rope corral, or a fractious steer making trouble in a herd. Rather than have the difficult one stir up its companions, or teach them its bad habits, the boss would order one of his cowhands to pick up its toes. To do this, the man roped the animal by its forefeet, bringing it crashing down with sufficient force to knock some sense into it or break its neck. In the latter case, the boss considered the loss of the awkward one justified in that it preserved the majority’s good behavior.
While Dusty’s intentions in Willock’s case were somewhat less drastic, his words conveyed the desired meaning to Ahlen. If Willock did not mend his ways, the small Texan intended to teach him a sharp and painful lesson.
‘Maybe we ride for the same brand back to home, Dusty,’ Ahlen answered soberly. ‘But if it’s to do with the working of the herd and just between you ’n’ him, he’s on his own. I know you won’t play favorites when it comes to picking up toes.’
‘You can count on it,’ Dusty assured him. ‘Well, I’ll be moving on to see if Billy Jack’s fell off his hoss and broke both his legs yet.’
‘Way he was talking coming up here, he’s figuring on that, or worse, happening any ole time,’ Ahlen replied. ‘Tell him to keep happy and cheerful.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Dusty asked. ‘Spoil his night.’
For a moment Dusty wondered if he should tell Ahlen about the decision to cross the Staked Plains. Then he decided against doing so. Not that he distrusted the big man. Dusty knew Ahlen to be shrewd, capable, regarding him as one of the best hands in the crew and well worthy of the post of ranch foreman.
The latter was the deciding factor in not speaking. First quality of a ranch’s foreman was the ability to put his own spread’s interest foremost on all things. Being aware of the risks involved in making the crossing, Ahlen might feel it his duty to prevent his boss’s stock being submitted to them. From what Dusty had seen, the other Mineral Wells men, with the possible exception of the D4S contingent, would follow Ahlen’s lead. The big blond could either be a calming influence, or stir them up.
In the final analysis, the decision on whether to inform Ahlen or not lay with Goodnight. So Dusty concluded it would be best for him to go along with his uncle’s original plan. With that in mind, Dusty left Ahlen to continue patrolling and drifted on in search of Billy Jack.
‘Howdy, Cap’n Dusty,’ the lanky cowhand greeted, halting his doleful and even more profane chorus of the night herders’ chant as the small Texan came up. ‘Nice night, if it don’t blow up a blue-norther or twister afore morning.’
‘Sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Everything going all right?’
‘Up to now,’ Billy Jack answered, in a tone which expressed amazement that such should be the case. ‘Likely they’ll all’ve died off by morning.’
‘Happen they have, Uncle Charlie’ll likely peel your hide.’
‘Shucks! I knowed that I’d get blamed regardless. Did the Kid learn anything wherever he’d been?’
‘A mite.’
‘Is that Wednesbury’s partner still around, you reckon?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Dusty replied. ‘He wouldn’t get word about Wednesbury’s try failing until it was too late to hit at us on the holding ground.’
‘He’ll know by now,’ Billy Jack announced in gloomy satisfaction. ‘Likely got him a whole mess of hardcases coming after us by now.’
‘Could be,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Only Lon didn’t see any of them on his way here and he watched real good.’
Knowing Billy Jack, Dusty did not expect him to be comforted by the news. Letting out a long, tormented sigh, the lanky cowhand waved a languid hand at the resting cattle.
‘This here herd’d spook real easy happen they come boiling up at us with guns a-roaring. Even if they ain’t got any of that new-fangled diney-mite with ’em.’
‘Don’t you let ’em do it,’ Dusty commanded.
‘How’d I stop ’em?’ Billy Jack wailed.
‘Why, look to the heavens with the light of righteous truth, brother,’ Dusty suggested, sounding like a hell-fire-and-damnation circuit-riding preacher delivering a sermon, ‘and shout, “They can’t scare me, my soul is pure!” Then charge ’em head down and horns a-hooking.’
‘What if they figure I’m a stinking liar?’ Billy Jack wanted to know, then he brightened up. ‘Anyways, they’d probably drop me in the first volley.’
‘We’ll give you a swell burying,’ Dusty promised.
For all the light manner in which they discussed it, neither underestimated the danger. There had been at least two dudes involved in the bid to capture the Army’s beef contracts, one of whom now lay in a grave at Graham’s boot-hill. Dusty did not expect Wednesbury’s partner—or partners—to give up after the earlier setbacks, there was too much at stake for that. Those men were not interested in the welfare of Texas, but meant to carve a fortune out of the State’s misfortune and poverty. There would be other tries at stopping Goodnight reaching Fort Sumner. So the trail crew needed to maintain a constant vigilance and be ready to counter force with force should the need arise.
At the moment Dusty gave his promise of a fine funeral, a disturbance started close to where they sat. Coming on to a resting muley, one of the steers decided to drive it away out of sheer ornery cussedness. Instantly Billy Jack dropped his mournful pose and started his horse moving. Dusty waited until sure his help would not be needed, then rode on in search of the next member of the night guard.
Seeing the slim figure of Vern Sutherland approaching, Dusty brought his horse to a halt. There had been a slight stiffness in the youngster’s attitude to him after the incident with Willock and he could guess at its cause. A faint grin twisted at the corner of Dusty’s lips as he thought of the diverse nature of a segundo’s work. It entailed far more than merely attending to the cattle, or ordering the trail hands to perform their tasks.
‘Hi Vern,’ Dusty said.
‘Cap’n!’ Vern grunted and made as if to ride on.
‘Hold it. Is something up?’
‘Naw—Hell, yes there is. You didn’t have to bawl down Burle Willock on my account. I could’ve took him.’
‘I didn’t bawl him down on your account,’ Dusty corrected. ‘I made both of you quit doing something that somebody’d’ve been sorry for had it been done.’
‘I can handle a gun !’ Vern began hotly.
‘So can most folks in Texas,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘Trouble being too many of ’em only learn how to shoot, not when.’
‘Burle Willock don’t scare me!’
‘And you don’t scare him, so you’re even,’ Dusty replied. ‘But, happen you pair make any more fuss on this drive, I’ll make a stab at seeing if I can scare you both.’
‘Sure, Cap’n,’ Vern muttered, figuring that Dusty could make good his threat. ‘Only I don’t cotton to having folks ride me.’
‘Ride you!’ Dusty barked. ‘Did you hear the way they all rode Rowdy about his cooking?’
‘Sure.’
‘Did he get riled?’
‘No. He’s only a cook—’
‘You try doing without him. Or wait until you’ve got a bust leg, or some other hurt,’ Dusty interrupted. ‘Then see how “only” he is. Rowdy’s as good a man as anybody on this drive. And because he is, and knows it, he takes a joke or more about his food. You’re young, Vern, the youngest hand on the drive. So you’ll get hoorawed some. But the fellers know that you’re doing a man’s work and figure you’re grown enough to take a li’l funning. Remember that next time somebody does it.’
‘Willock didn’t mean it funny,’ Vern protested.
‘Nor did you when you answered,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Which I don’t blame you for doing it. Sure, you’ve got to stand up and not be pushed around. All I ask is that you don’t go to pushing back—afore somebody else starts.’
‘I’ll mind it,’ Vern said.
‘It’d be as well,’ Dusty replied. ‘See you around, Vern. Don’t let Billy Jack give you the miseries.’
Continuing his tour of the night guard, Dusty knew that he had caused Vern to think. He hoped that the youngster would take his advice and steer clear of further clashes with Willock. The drive would be difficult enough without adding a feud to its problems.