CHAPTER 24
Day two started out with a bang. One of those Comanche buffalo ponies gave a hand named Hank Dryer a wild ride and bucked his damndest. He covered a lot of ground and finally quit and blew the snot out of his nose. The crew shouted and tossed hats at him to make him buck some more. Instead he went off single-footing like he’d never done anything, and Hank acted like it simply was another day to top a bronc.
He’d jot that down in his diary when he got to camp that evening. His son could laugh about it someday. They had the herd moving out. Blue’s bell was clacking and the steers followed the next tail ahead of them—going north.
Somewhere over that northern horizon on this side of the Arctic Circle was a dusty cattle-shipping town called Abilene—probably at the end of the tracks like Sedalia. Harp jobbed the buffalo horse with his spur to get back to work, and the gelding ducked his head and went to bucking, grunting like a fat hog on legs of steel springs, landing hard and going for another leap into the sky with Harp sawing his jaw off with the bridle.
He never quit bucking until they were near a quarter mile from the herd. Red came whipping and driving his pony hard across the flat to come to his aid, but by then Harp was loping him in a circle, the fit over. Red slid to a halt.
“You all right, boss?”
Harp reined up his horse and shook his head. “My dad said a horse that won’t buck ain’t worth his salt. I’ve rode that horse two thousand miles or more, and he never bucked before today.”
They both laughed about it. In three hours they were spreading the cattle out to graze. The cousins rode in. Sly shouted, “Hey, boss man, that Comanche can really buck.”
“You see my ride?”
“Damn good one.”
“Naw, I was damn lucky he quit.”
“No, sir, he’s not gonna be the first one or the last one you rode like that.”
“Thanks.”
Long had rode in, heard the laughter, and asked what it was about.
“My horse was dinking along and I spurred him. He broke and bucked all the way across the flat, having a fit. I wasn’t the only one. Hank had one break earlier this morning and he had a helluva ride on him. All is good now. How does tomorrow look?”
“No problem,” Long said. “I’ll give Ira and Holy Wars Brown, your wrangler, good directions. I guess we were just green when we left with Emory. This drive is too smooth compared to then.”
“Well, we do know more about how to handle cattle, we’re mounted better, and we’re having good weather. There’s already been some herds ahead of us. I hear a different rumor each day. The price for cattle is sky high in some place named Springs in south Kansas, but I think we better stick with this road and go all the way.”
“I am with you. I guess tomorrow the last herd starts out?”
“Yes, that was the plan.”
“Chaw should do okay,” Long said. “The Arkansas will be just inside Kansas where we cross it on this route. Day after tomorrow we cross the Colorado River. That shouldn’t be too high with no more rain than we have received.”
“Where you figure we’ll have the first trouble?” Harp asked him.
“Right now I can’t say but I bet them carpetbaggers, like they call them damn Yankees in Austin, are going to realize that tax dollars are going out of state and try to tax us on exporting the cattle. You know the grass isn’t as good this year as it was last.” Long shook his head.
“Not enough rain this winter. We started later, too, last year.”
“Bro, if this drive works, we’re going to be big ranchers.”
“My wife’s word for us is emerging cattle barons.”
Long laughed. “You are the luckiest man on this earth getting that woman, and you two are as natural together as Mom and Dad are.”
“You will find someone.”
“I know.”
Holy Wars took Long’s horse.
“Thanks,” Long said after him. “But my leg ain’t broke, I can do it.”
“Long, you’ve been many miles today. Glad to have you back.”
Ira rang the triangle. And everyone sleeping woke up and went for grub. Red handled the cowhands, all doing one three-hour shift a night riding herd. That interrupted their sleeping. They could read time on the big dipper. Red used a windup alarm clock like Harp used going north to get the next shift up.
Harp wrote about the two bronc rides in his diary and started a letter to Katy.
In the morning big dark ominous clouds began to gather. Everyone tied a slicker behind their cantles before they rode out. It was cooler and rain looked imminent. Once on the move, Harp pulled his hat down low when he got on board his saddle, like most men that wore felt hats. When there were thirty-mile-per-hour gusts, he’d pull some leather strings out of his saddlebags. He would thread them through the holes punched about his ears so the leather strings would hold the hat down, or catch it on his back. All to keep it from blowing away.
Harp rode up to the point riders and told them close the gap if the weather got rough. Sly made some signals, pointed at the sky, and closed his hands, so across the herd, Jimbo nodded and waved. Everyone knew that if you wanted the cattle to go faster you narrowed the space between them and they’d begin to trot. By trotting they were less liable to stampede even in a bad thunderstorm.
That herd speed set, Harp rode back keeping an eye on the moving flow. He spoke to the boy on the right flank and they both agreed the incoming weather was going to be rowdy. The curtain swept in and hail arrived on the first wave, thumbnail-sized ice that his horse did not appreciate and danced around in under him. About then, Harp recalled seeing a green-looking curtain under the coming storm clouds, and realized they’d get a lot of hail out of it.
The downpours were blinding walls of water and ice. The face of the running cattle herd faded in and out beside him, but they were trotting. The thunder roared. Bolts of lightning pounded the ground, and the smell of the nitrogen they produced filled his nose. The surface turned slick and he worried that someone would get hurt. He had Comanche gallop hard north to be close to the front of the herd in case they needed to be turned back or aside to avoid a collision.
Nothing let up. The rain, the blinding flashes of lightning, or the roar of the angry weather. Water ran off the brim of his hat in buckets, but the surging powerful horse never faltered or stumbled. He swam through it all, racing into the unknown night like it was daytime. Hail pounded them relentlessly, stingingly hard at times. Then he saw Sly and knew he was at the front of the herd, but had no idea what was ahead—if they faced a bluff or a river. The earth tilted down, so he eased up on his horse and, in the next flash of lightning, saw Sly and his horse were in the water. They had crossed a raging wash like it was only a step off and quickly ran up the other side to a new flat.
Then his God made the storm rise like a curtain and he shouted to Jimbo, “Circle left.”
Somehow the cousin on the far side heard the command. The huge line of cattle began to slow into a circle as if in a great doughnut and brought them to a halt. The sun was still not out, and the chill of the wetness made him quake sitting in the saddle. Off to the side, he watched as the circle slowed and wound larger.
Red joined him. “One helluva storm. I bet there was a tornado somewhere with it. I have no idea the losses, but I will count riders first.”
“Yes, there was a tornado, I bet. Red, you check on the riders and I’ll search for the camp bunch.”
“If a man never had any religion, surviving a storm like this would bring him around, wouldn’t it?”
“You want the two of us to pray?” Harp asked his man.
“Harp—yes, please. You have words I don’t.” He bowed his head and waited.
“Our dear heavenly father, thanks for preserving our lives, sir, so we may continue our journey. Protect all our crews on the trail and accept any part of our departed crew in your arms now, sir. Forgive our sins and help us lead a better life and be safe. Lord, care for our families at home as well. Amen.”
Red put his wet hat back on. “Thanks . . . I needed that.”
“We both did.”
Sly had ridden over. “I didn’t interrupt your praying did I?”
“No. Help Red find all the crew. The cattle will settle and I am going to try to find our camp crew.”
“We can do that, sah.”
“I trust you two can.” He smiled at them in the dim light.
They parted. Harp rode east feeling they’d deviated a lot to the left in the rain. This part of Texas was fairly flat, broken here and there by woods. In an hour he found a road he decided was the route. He looked south, saw nothing, and decided to go north for a while. He took a good look at the surroundings where he had merged on this north-south road to know the route back and set it in his memory.
Short-loping his horse, he crossed a high horizon. Then in the growing light of the broken sky he saw the canvas wagon top way off in the distance. They’d stopped there and he was grateful. One of his horses, with Holy Wars on him, showed up on the panorama bringing in the horses behind the bell mare that kept the geldings with her. The scene warmed Harp under the canvas coat he’d chosen over a rubber slicker.
“How is the herd?” Ira asked when he reached him.
“Intact in the west. Red is checking on the men. I came to find you. Everything all right?”
“Me and the boys are fine. Helluva storm. Holy Wars is bringing in the remuda.” He gave a head toss toward them.
“I am glad to see you’re not hurt. Follow me.”
The outfit was going to take two hours at wagon speed getting back. He rode his mount back around to Ira and the wagon. “I need to get back. I’ll tie a rag on a stick where you have to turn west.”
“We’re coming. Ride careful; we sure need you.”
He waved to the pair on the seat and set the horse in lope southward, taking a shortcut to get back to the herd. The rest of the day was going to be a pick-up-the-pieces day; so much for things going so smoothly. His bighearted horse ate up the miles and past noontime he heard bawling and topped the rise to see cattle spread out everywhere. He gave a sigh of relief at the sight of them settled. He noticed some saddled horses in a group and swung Comanche left to join them.
Coming closer, he saw they had a body on the ground covered under a blanket.
Harp slid his horse to a stop and dismounted. A hand caught him by the reins. “I’ve got him.” Red came to meet him. “New hand, Johnny Green. Must have broken his neck when his horse went down. We destroyed his horse. Everyone else is okay.”
“I hate we lost him. He was single?”
“He has a widow mother, the boys said.”
“We can’t give him back to her, but we can help her.”
“Is the wagon coming?”
“Yes. They are fine and the horses are good.”
“That’s wonderful. Of course we don’t have a shovel,” Red said.
“Fellows, I am sorry about Johnny. When Ira gets here, he has a shovel and we will bury him with services. Get some rest . . . the worst is over for now.”
They all nodded.
“All the benches and our things are in the wagon. Too wet to sit on the ground and not a tree trunk close by. Boys, they say it is miles between trees north of here. Guess we will get used to it.”
“What was Missouri like?” the cowhand holding his horse asked.
“Big hardwoods, steep mountains but not high ones. Lots of farms burned out and abandoned. They fought hard over in that part of the country, back and forth. I figure many folks have moved back in there by now. Small farms in pockets in the woods . . . nice rivers. No money there, either.”
“They said you had a tough time getting there?”
“Reb haters. They even had a law barring Texas cattle coming in.”
“Did you really hire the posse who came to kill you?”
“Yes. It was a lot cheaper than killing them.”
They laughed.
Mid-afternoon Ira and the horse herd arrived. Long rode up, gave his reins to a hand, and headed for Harp.
“We lost a new hand, Johnny Green,” Harp said. “His horse went down in the rush. He has a widowed mother we need to help when we get home.”
Long agreed. The men had shovels and were digging the grave. Harp had lots to put in his diary. He hoped his pregnant wife was safe. He figured they weren’t much over sixty miles north of home—maybe not that far. No matter—