High Rider Part 3

The Texas economy began to recover as well, but at a much slower rate. The railroad arrived from Marshall and points east in 1876, and Fort Worth grew and thrived. New businesses popped up and mule-drawn trolleys plied the streets. The Texas Rangers had been reorganized and sent many of the outlaws packing, and the town streets and state roads were much safer. Even so, while the ranch had proved to be a haven for John, the town was the exact opposite. His visits there always met with some form of challenge, from something as simple as white men refusing to step aside on the boardwalks, to threats on his life. Remembering his father's advice, he reasoned that the best response was no response at all.

The s.h.i.+ning exception to this hostility was the reception he received at Khleber Van Zandt's dry goods store. Over time, he purchased his own rope and every item of clothing a man needed, from good leather gloves to leather chaps, plus all the required tack.

He sat down with Ellie one day and with her help wrote a letter to his parents, telling them how good life was for him and that he hoped the same for them and Millie, and Nettie in particular. He proudly wrote his signature at the bottom, knowing his family would be impressed. Five months later, he received a reply, not from any of his family but from James Ball, his old boss. Ellie read it to him. Ball began by apologizing for being the bearer of bad news, then explained that Nettie had disappeared. "She went for a walk one day and never returned, John," Ball wrote. "Her employers feared she had taken her own life, because there was such a sense of sadness about her. I think the sadness came from being the last of the Ware family left in Georgetown. Not long after you left, Millie found herself a husband and moved north to be with your brothers. Later, your ma came down with pneumonia and died, and that sent your pa spinning off into a different world. He could not recognize anybody, not even Nettie. He went to bed one night and did not wake up. I believe the burden of those losses was too much for your sister to carry."

Ball concluded by apologizing again for sending such bad news, but John's letter had been brought to him by the Wares' neighbour, and he felt duty bound to answer it. He was pleased but not surprised that John was doing so well for himself.

Ellie handed John the letter, her eyes watery with tears. "I'm so sorry."

John took the letter, folded it, and put it in his s.h.i.+rt pocket. "Thank you, Ellie." He sc.r.a.ped back his chair and went outside to be alone and digest the contents of the letter. He feared also that he might embarra.s.s himself in front of Ellie. Was every man's life so full of "what ifs"?

In 1877 Emmett joined an outfit driving cattle to the stockyards in Abilene, Kansas, mainly to gain the experience to lead his own drive one day. Many ranchers s.h.i.+pped their cattle east from Fort Worth, but the real money lay in trailing them north, where an animal could fetch up to ten times its value in the south. What's more, millions of wild longhorns roamed the Texas plains, there for anybody with the salt to gather up.

When Emmett returned, he and Amos made plans for their own business venture. They had rebuilt a healthy bank account, so Emmett hired some drovers to help him make up a herd from several gathers to trail to Ogallala, Nebraska, in the spring of '78. While the profits were high in terminating a drive at Dodge City, Kansas, some two hundred and fifty miles short of the Nebraska town, the railway through Ogallala served a Pacific coast market, where profits were even higher.

"You'd be more than welcome on these gathers," Emmett told John, "but for the time being, Pa needs your help more than I do."

That was true. The ranch, which had been renamed the Flint Springs Livery and Cattle Company, now depended less on cattle for its income and more on horses that had to be broken and trained, a job Amos had not been able to do for a good many years, but one at which John excelled. Nevertheless, he was keen to go on the drive when it happened, although he didn't say anything to Emmett, or to Amos for that matter. But the northwest had taken on almost mythical overtones for him ever since he had talked to cattlemen who had been as far north as the Montana Territory. Without exception, they spoke of the grandeur of the mountains and the bountiful gra.s.s in the foothills, claiming that it was real cattle country, and that people were few and far between. It made John think of one day having his own ranch in such a beautiful part of the world.

Emmett and his cowhands, who included Duffy, would go out with a small herd of Flint Springs cattle and use it as a decoy to lure the wild ones along. Over a few months and several gathers they ama.s.sed a large herd of longhorns and situated them on good grazing land between the Clear and West forks of the Trinity River, where they could fatten up for the drive. Some would birth calves, and Emmett guessed they would have around two thousand animals to trail north. In the spring the animals would be "road branded" with a light brand that would last for the duration of the trip. Emmett had Duffy and another drover set up camp to watch the herd at all times and a couple of others to spell them off. He rode up to check on them from time to time, especially when thunderstorms were in the vicinity and the cattle might stampede.

John went with him once and the visit only served to whet his appet.i.te to join the drive. One night after supper, when he and the Coles were sipping their last cup of coffee and smoking their last cigarette before turning in, John broached the subject of going north with Emmett. He told them that the north country had been filling his dreams lately, that it might prove to be the perfect place for a man like him to make a new start. He knew that he'd be the greenest hand on the huge drive, but Emmett knew how hard he worked and how quickly he learned. He expected no more pay than the other crew members, plus the same bonuses they made.

"Much as I hate to leave you folks," he told Amos and Ellie, "it's time, I reckon. That's if you'll have me, Emmett."

"I can't think of a reason in the world why I wouldn't," said Emmett enthusiastically. "Except maybe that you'll be sorely missed around here. But that's no reason for you to stay."

Amos grew contemplative. "I guess what surprises us most is that this day took so long to come. We've known for some time that there was much more for you in the world than what we could offer. Didn't say nothing, for selfish reasons I reckon. But when life calls to you, it's best not to turn your back on it, so go with our best wishes, John. We've got plenty of time to find a replacement, and it'll be up to Ellie and me to be fair and not compare him to you. Don't expect it'll be easy."

The winter, though mild, seemed longer than usual to John, even with the work, of which there was never any shortage. In March, Emmett acquired a remuda of forty horses, some of which needed breaking, a task that John gladly looked after. Then he brought Duffy in from the camp to help with training the animals to work with cattle.

Emmett went to town one day and returned with a used buckboard that he and John converted into a chuckwagon. On another trip, upon Emmett's advice, John bought a Colt six-shooter for the drive, along with a hand-tooled leather holster and belt.

"You might need a gun to turn the herd if it stampedes," Emmett said, "but use it only as a last resort. Cattle and gunfire ain't usually a good mix because it can spook 'em even more. You might also need it to shoot an Indian or a rustler, but we'll hope it never comes to that."

Excitement ran high at the supper table the night before Emmett and John were to depart. Eight drovers and the remuda had left that morning, along with a cook and a well-stocked chuckwagon. Emmett was more excited than John had ever seen him, insisting that if their gamble paid off and they got most of the herd to Ogallala safely, the Coles stood to earn anywhere from sixty to eighty thousand dollars after expenses. To John, those figures were almost incomprehensible, but he reckoned his friends deserved every penny of it. He also knew that Emmett would be generous when it came to paying out his men, as long as they pulled their weight.

Early the following morning, the pair saddled their horses and prepared to take their leave from Amos and Ellie. The older couple knew their son would be back, but that it might well be the last time they saw John. Ellie was near tears.

"I was hoping this day would never come, John, even knowing in my heart that it would. You've been like the son we lost, and that's the highest praise I can offer." With that, she reached up and pulled John's head down and kissed his cheek.

A hundred thoughts ran through John's mind, but only one formed into words: a half-baked joke that he could say without his feelings catching in his throat. "I heard that the cook Emmett hired has been known to burn water, so besides missin' you, I expect I'm really gonna miss your cookin'!"

Ellie laughed, the response he had hoped for, but both knew that he would miss much more than home cooking. The Coles had included him in their lives, brought him inside their circle, and made him feel like a fellow human being instead of chattel. Their generosity had allowed him to discover what he supposed he had been looking for all along: the man he had become.

While John was talking to Ellie, Amos had gone into the house. He came back out with a brand new Winchester rifle, model 1876, tucked inside a leather scabbard. He handed it to John.

"A gift to take with you, son, from all of us. It was a good day for the Cole family when you walked through our gate. A sad one now that you're leaving. Maybe this'll help you remember us."

John accepted the rifle. "It was a good day for me too, Amos. When I left South Carolina, I dreamed of workin' on a ranch out this way. Never seen in it me ownin' a horse or havin' a pocketful of money, or learnin' as much as I did. And I surely didn't know I'd meet such fine folks as you. I'm not likely to forget you or forget what you done for me."

True to his habit, Amos lifted his hat, brushed his thinning hair back, and said philosophically, "Well, I guess it's pretty hard to say who done more than the other, ain't it? Maybe that's as it oughta be for folks everywhere."

John grasped Amos's extended hand, the grip still hard and firm. "So long, Amos."

While Emmett said his own goodbyes, John went to Cat's right side, lifted the stirrup leather onto the saddle, and cinched the latigo straps on the scabbard to the metal rings there. If he needed the rifle in a hurry, it would be within easy reach. After one final farewell, he and Emmett mounted their horses and nudged them into motion. Neither of them looked back, but they knew that Amos and Ellie would be watching them until they disappeared from view.

When Emmett had gone north on his learning drive, the route taken was the Chisholm Trail, a well-established track that pa.s.sed through Fort Worth, crossed the Red River into the middle of the Indian Territory, and ended in Abilene, Kansas. The drive to Ogallala, however, would take a different route that cut through the western edge of the Oklahoma Territory to Dodge City, before continuing on to the Nebraska cattle town and the Union Pacific Railway.

On the short ride to the camp and herd, Emmett told John that he had let the new cowhands hired for the drive know that a coloured man would be joining them. "Most of 'em don't have a problem with it but a couple a diehards named Rufus Pauley and Homer Morgan weren't exactly whistling happy tunes about it. They're good hands, but if they cause you any trouble, let me know and they'll be paid up and sent packing."

"I can take care of myself, Emmett; you know that."

"I do. But for this drive to work, someone's gotta be in charge and that's me. You start taking matters into your own hands and it'll bring nothing but trouble. Meanwhile, the men know your main colour is green and they'll expect you to start as wrangler. It's the low board on the fence post, but few men understand horses better than you do, and I figger when they see how good you are at taking care of 'em and how well you handle 'em, they'll be over to your side without knowing they made the trip."

Emmett also cautioned him about Pepin Gireaux, the camp cook. "Call him Pepper or Cookie, but nothing else. Best not to call him Frenchie, unless you wanna get brained by a cast-iron frying pan. And you'll wanna walk softly around him. Think of the chuckwagon as a country and he's the king, and the rest of us are simply peasants that he feels obliged to feed. He ruled the roost on the drive to Abilene and he puts in long hours, so if he gets a tad crotchety, all you got to do is walk away and don't argue with him. He fries up a mean steak and after you've had one at the end of a hard day's ride, I believe you'll forgive him for most things."

At the camp, when Emmett introduced John to the crew, most nodded cordially and said h.e.l.lo: Nathan Pitt, Albert Jackson, Glenford Pounds, Ben Munger, Reg Haliday, Alex Baily, and "Pepper," the cook. Rufus Pauley and Homer Morgan barely moved their heads. Both seemed like hard cases, particularly Pauley with his thin lips, cold, brooding eyes, and shoulder-length black hair. John was glad to see Duffy's friendly face among the crew and knew that he would be a staunch ally if one were required.

There followed a democratic discussion of a.s.signments: who would ride point, who would ride swing and flank, and who would ride the drags. It all boiled down to experience, and so Ben, Nathan, and Rufus, as the most experienced, got the point, leading the herd; Duffy, Reg, and Alex would ride swing and flank on either side of the herd, keeping it in line and picking up strays. The least experienced, Glenford and Albert, would ride drag, keeping the herd moving forward while eating the dust that it churned up. Emmett was trail boss and scout, and John and Homer were in charge of the remuda. Emmett would have liked a better pairing, but with any luck he would open Homer's eyes to a much broader world. The drag men would spell them off from time to time, as a much needed break from the dust. John liked that arrangement because it would give him some experience working with the herd.

He roped off a corral among some trees and drove the horses grazing nearby into it. In the order of their experience and place on the drive, the men had their choice of mounts from the remuda that would be theirs for the duration. John would ride Cat, who was now thirteen years old but still had a lot of s.p.u.n.k, Emmett had Goldy, a beautiful palomino mare, and Pepper had command of the chuckwagon pulled by two mules.

While the mount selection was under way, Emmett rode amongst the herd and counted them. By his tally, they would be driving a little less than two thousand head of longhorns north. He was a happy man. He cut out an older, dry cow and took her back to camp to slaughter.

That evening, while the men tended to their equipment, John gathered bundles of oak firewood for the canvas sling beneath the chuckwagon, and got the remuda settled down and hobbled for the night. With help from Emmett, Pepper dressed the slaughtered cow and hung it to cool overnight. They would wrap it in a spare canvas in the morning to keep it cool during the day and hang it out again in the evening when they stopped. The men would have steaks and roasts, and when the meat was too old for those luxuries, Pepper would put it to good use in chili and stews.

Pepper ground up some beans and put on a final pot of coffee. Emmett was the first to taste it and he sighed appreciatively. "You could float a saddle in this, Pepper. d.a.m.ned fine brew."

There were murmurs of approval from the other hands and Duffy added, "Best d.a.m.ned coffee I ever tasted."

Pepper neither smiled nor beamed over the accolades, accepting them not as compliments but as statements of fact.

Most could hardly wait until morning when the drive would get under way; it was what they lived for, and talk around the campfire was wild stories from past drives. When the coffee pot was empty, Emmett yawned. "Well, boys, best we turn in. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow. We'll see if we can get maybe eighteen or twenty miles out of these critters and break 'em into the trail. Get 'em used to heading in the direction we want 'em to, and tire 'em out enough so that they'll wanna rest and not wander off into trouble somewhere. Don't expect there's a cow alive that hasn't tried it more than once in its lifetime."

In antic.i.p.ation of the coming journey, John didn't feel sleepy; indeed, the whole camp was restless. Men tossed and turned in their bedrolls, and a crescent moon was high in the night sky before he heard some snoring. He lay there thinking about what the coming months would bring. He felt more excited than he had when he left Georgetown so many years before, like an explorer off for the first time to some exotic, unknown land. On a map, it was north that he was heading, but he wondered where the journey would really take him.

FIVE.

We got ourselves an outfit here!

John awoke the following morning with dawn a rope of light on the horizon, the sky above still starry. He lay there for a few seconds gathering his senses and focusing on the coming day. He was about to stretch when he became conscious of a weight on his chest. The weight began to move. John froze. Peering over his blanket, he saw an enormous coiled rattlesnake stirring from where it had apparently slid to find warmth in the cool night air. John's bowels felt as if they were shaking themselves loose, and for an instant he did not know what to do. He saw that the snake was lethargic, and without further thought, flung the blanket off. The reptile flew through the air and landed on Duffy, who was just awakening. Duffy yelped and he too threw the snake off, sending it into the cold ashes of the campfire. He had his gun out in a flash, leaped to his feet, and shot the rattler twice, then a third time for good measure. Meanwhile, the other members of the crew were flying from their sleeping rolls and grabbing for their weapons, fearing they were under attack by Indians.

"G.o.dd.a.m.ned snake, boys!" Duffy explained. "Come at me outta nowhere, flyin' through the air like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned bird! Never seen the likes of it!"

John was tempted to let Duffy think that he had seen his first flying snake, but reasoned it was best to own up to his part. "It was me who did that, Duffy. Woke up with it on my chest and it scared the bejesus outta me. Flung it off without thinkin', and I apologize." He was still shaking, thankful that he had not been bitten and had not fouled himself. He would never have lived it down.

Duffy took some good-natured ribbing from the others and saw the humour in it. He half grinned. "Well, I'da done the same thing. I hate those sonsab.i.t.c.hes! Old Saint Patrick drove all the snakes outta Ireland, then sat around on his a.r.s.e for the rest of his life. Lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d shoulda come to Texas."

Emmett laughed. "Too bad you killed it, Duffy. Don't know how we're ever gonna get you up that fast again."

Emmett let the herd graze for a while, before he, Pepper, along with the chuckwagon, and John and Homer, with the remuda, headed out under a cloudless April sky. Emmett's job would be to find a good bed-ground for the night. Behind them, the herd moved out, an enormous ma.s.s of animal flesh surrounded by roiling clouds of dust, led by Nathan and Rufus and contained by the rest of the crew. The object was to keep the herd moving in one h.o.m.ogeneous string, but in those first days it was nearly impossible. What little mind the Texas longhorns had was at least their own, and the swing and flank men were kept busy routing strays out of mesquite and oak thickets.

It was those riders, off in the bushes, who encountered snakes-mostly rattlers, but in the wetter areas around streams and ponds, an occasional cottonmouth or copperhead. Most of the men gave the reptiles a wide berth and left them alone, but not Duffy. His hatred of snakes ran deep and that first day he killed six rattlers before the noon break, sometimes riding out of his way to do it. As a reptile slithered away trying to make its escape, he'd slap it hard with his rope and break its back. "Got another one a them sonsab.i.t.c.hes!" he'd cry to anyone within hearing distance. The snakes were all diamondbacks, some four to five feet long.

John could not blame Duffy. The mere sight of a snake, in particular those long, large-fanged devils, made him weak in the knees. On the trail, you always had to check for snakes before you sat down, and stories abounded around the evening campfires of them curling up with a drover at night for warmth. No one had ever heard of anyone dying from a snakebite, but one day a huge rattler bit a grazing calf on the nose. Its face swelled up and it soon collapsed. Emmett put it in the chuckwagon, hoping to save it, and even placed a poultice of kerosene and sliced raw onions on the bite, trying to draw out the poison. It failed and the calf died later in the day. Yet it was not the horror of the incident that bothered most of the men. Losing an animal was like someone picking their pockets.

The days slipped by and the men grew accustomed to handling the herd, while the herd settled into travelling and being kept in line. The days were long, lasting from dawn until dusk, and were made even longer by the two-hour stints on night watch the men took in rotation. Slowly, they got used to each other as well as to Pepper's rants when things were not going well for him, which seemed to happen regularly. But everyone loved his sourdough biscuits-on cool nights he slept with the pot of yeast to keep it warm-as well as his beans, which he soaked overnight to make them tender and tasty. The smell of sizzling steaks would drive the men mad, and best of all, he always had the coffee pot on first thing after stopping, and kept it full.

Over time, Homer came to accept John, perhaps not as an equal, but at least as a fellow human being. Because of their positions on the drive, they had opportunities to talk and that helped. Rufus, on the other hand, was distant and cool, though cordial when necessary, knowing that Emmett would not tolerate any disrespect among a crew living in close quarters for several months. However, around the campfire at night, he would always sit opposite to John, and he was the farthest away when bedding down. With other matters to worry about, Emmett gave no sign of noticing.

Besides Emmett, of all the crew John liked Duffy best. He was gregarious and did not have a discriminatory bone in his body. John knew Duffy and Emmett had fought side by side in the last battle of the war, although they had never talked about it in front of him, not even at Waco. One evening, when they went to a nearby creek to fetch water for Pepper, Duffy told John what had happened.

"The Rebs had run us out of Brownsville, and we was holed up on Brazos Island blockadin' the mouth of the Rio Grande. Our job was to cut off their supply route, but we all knew the war wasn't gonna last much longer. Then Colonel Barrett heard that the Rebs was leavin' Brownsville and got it in his craw that we could retake it. Jesus H. Christ, John, it wasn't real intelligence, it was only rumours! We was more than willin' to fight where we were if we had to, but to go back to Brownsville when we should of waited for official word that the war was over? That was plain crazy! We marched with the 34th Indiana and the 62nd Coloureds-we was the only cavalry unit in the d.a.m.ned war without horses. Turns out only a handful of Rebs left Brownsville and we didn't get any further'n about halfway there before we ran into 'em."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "We only had rifles and a hundred rounds of ammo each, so it weren't exactly a fair fight. Kept us pinned down for about a half hour and then they attacked. That's when Thomas got it. That's also when Barrett sounded a retreat. Emmett hoisted Thomas up on his shoulder-don't know where he got the strength from-and we ran till the Rebs stopped chasin' us. By that time, poor Thomas had bled himself pale as a ghost. Never seen a man more heartbroke than Emmett, standin' there, soaked in his brother's blood. Never seen a man more courageous, either."

"I've known him ten years and he ain't never talked about the war. I can see why," John said.

"He don't even talk about it with me. Never has. Maybe he's holdin' it all inside in case he ever runs into Barrett."

"Maybe. But I'd be surprised. Near as I can tell, Emmett don't live in the past and he ain't vengeful. Don't know that I've met a finer man, 'cept maybe his father."

Duffy shrugged. "You can't tell nothin' about any man. Don't matter how much you know him. We're all carryin' secrets around inside a us."

John reflected on that for a moment, and then, because it had piqued his interest, said, "I didn't know there was coloureds fightin' down that way. Somethin' else he never told me."

"He told you in his own way. With a man like Emmett, honour is everything, and those men of the 62nd were honourable men. He knew they was fightin' for an even greater reason than puttin' an end to slavery. They was fightin' for the honour of coloured folk everywhere. That's the reason you was made so welcome in the Cole household."

Two weeks of dry weather saw them at Doan's Crossing on the Red River. Jonathan Doan and his nephew Corwin, both Quakers, had set up a supply post near a gravel-bottomed ford, much of the rest of the river sh.o.r.e being quicksand. Across the muddy waterway was the Oklahoma Territory, and the next opportunity to resupply was in Dodge City. Emmett took on some more beans, coffee, salt pork, and kerosene, and asked the younger Doan if he had seen any Indians.

"We had a visit two weeks ago," the sapling-thin Doan replied. "I was away hunting and the other men were off getting supplies when a band of Kiowa came close enough to scare our women silly. They never attacked and I can't say why. Other than that, they haven't been much trouble for the big herds going through. Doesn't mean to say that they won't try to steal one of your beeves or demand one as a toll. Maybe even try to stampede them and pick up a few strays. It's best to give them one if they ask. The price of one animal isn't worth the trouble they can cause if they take a disliking to you."

The next day the outfit pushed on, across the Red River. Emmett knew that the two worst obstacles for trailing cattle were water and no water, but unlike their shorthorn counterparts, the longhorns usually had no fear of rivers as long as the sun was not reflecting off the surface and they could see the other side. It also helped if they were thirsty. On drag for a while, John followed the last of the cattle into the river. The cool water rising up the side of his legs filled him with apprehension because he could not swim, but the water never got above Cat's shoulders and she was sure-footed.

Later that day, they encountered thousands of bleached buffalo bones, mottling the landscape for as far as the eye could see. It was as if some great hand had slaughtered an endless river of the beasts all at once and emptied the land of its only living inhabitants. The herd pa.s.sed through the vast boneyard without incident; the animals seemed to have accepted as their fate to plod on across a country as flat as Pepper's work table and as hot as his chili. It was not until the next evening that they left the last bones behind.

The days repeated themselves, each an exact duplicate of its predecessor-the skies fair, the afternoons hot, the dust never-ending, the landscape unchanged and immense, demanding humility. The bleak emptiness was so awesome that John was glad to be in the company of a dozen men and a herd of cattle. To be out here alone would have been terrifying.

Ten miles south of the Canadian River, they camped for the night, hoping to reach the watercourse the next day. There had been so little water for the herd to drink that the beasts were beginning to get restless. The men sensed this, which in turn put them on edge. Around the campfire that night, they watched the smoke curl toward the ground and felt the temperature rise.

"We're in for a good storm, I think," said Emmett. "Guess only a fool would think that we'd stay dry all the way to Ogallala." He spoke to Homer: "Best you get some horses in here close by so's the boys can saddle 'em up in case we need to get to the herd fast."

The men named their favourites and Homer retrieved them. Once they were hobbled nearby, everyone turned in, hoping they would not need their mounts until they rolled out of bed at the usual time in the morning.

It took John some time to get to sleep, and he awakened in the middle of the night. The fire had gone out and it was pitch black, the air humid and heavy, as still and silent as death. The camp was about three hundred yards from the herd, but he could clearly hear Glenford Pounds, on night watch, singing.

O bury me not on the lone prairie Where coyotes howl and the wind blows free In a narrow grave just six by three- O bury me not on the lone prairie.

John lay listening to the song for a while. So far, the rain had not come, and that was a good thing. But he wondered why, if he could hear Glen singing, he wasn't hearing any cattle blowing off. His last thought before falling back asleep was that they seemed awfully quiet. Maybe they were expecting something.

In the predawn, a loud crack and rumble of thunder in the west awakened everyone. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky and the herd voiced its apprehension. Emmett leaped up, and without prompting, the rest of the crew did too.

"Breakfast's on hold, boys," he said. "Best we get out to the herd before it's spooked completely! Circle around and keep it contained. Talk nice and sing if you have to. Some of 'em might even listen."

John and the others swiftly gathered up their bedrolls, donned their rain slickers, grabbed their saddles and rifles, and unhobbled their horses from the string nearby. In a few minutes, they were all riding out to the herd, the thunder still rolling and the lightning still flas.h.i.+ng, but much closer now. Ben Munger and Albert Jackson were working the tail end of the night s.h.i.+ft, and Ben shouted over the noise of the animals, "Glad to see you fellas! These b.u.g.g.e.rs ain't none too happy."

The herd was milling around, fused with great energy, the adults bellowing and the calves bawling.

"We better work some of their energy off, boys!" Like Ben, Emmett had to shout to make his voice heard. "Get 'em movin' toward the river so that if they stampede they'll at least be goin' in the right direction."

More thunder boomed, followed by jagged bolts of lightning stabbing the ground. The brunt of the storm seemed to be upon them but so far it hadn't rained. John could have sworn he saw lightning dancing along the horns of some of the steers, and ropes of fire snaking along their backs. He stayed in the drags where he was supposed to be, talking to the cattle, whacking them on their rumps with his rope to get them moving forward. The herd was strung out over a half mile of flat terrain and he could feel its dangerous power in the electrically charged air. There was a deafening explosion that seemed to engulf him, accompanied by a blinding flash of blue-white light. Cat balked and reared, and John thought someone had set a bomb off under her. His ears were ringing like a soundly struck bell and for a moment, he could hear nothing.

Panic-stricken, the herd bellowed and shot forward, and John spurred Cat and followed. A smell that permeated the air reminded him of when a branding iron is left too long on cowhide. He saw the cause as he rode past two dead cattle, smoke curling up from their hides, and parts of them burned black. More thunder and lightning came, but it had moved eastward. The rain began, great fat individual drops of water that soon turned into a deluge and churned the slick ground into mud. John rode carefully, knowing that a spill might prove deadly.

Parts of the herd were splintering off and the riders were helpless to do anything but let them go and round them up later. John stayed in position at the rear, waiting for Emmett and the point men to turn the lead beeves back into the rest of the herd in a giant narrow U and halt the stampede. It did not seem long before the animals in front of him began to slow and he saw Emmett and the vanguard coming toward him. They had managed to turn the herd. As the thundering ma.s.s approached, John and Homer rode straight at it, shouting and swinging their ropes. Like a wave curling in on itself, the group of lead animals slowed to a walk, melded in with those behind them, and began milling. The stampede was over.

With the herd contained, John reined Cat to the east and began rounding up strays. The rain stopped and the sky cleared, and by late morning, the herd was back together. The trail was greasy with mud but at least it gave the drag men a respite from breathing in dust.

Pepper had coffee with bacon and beans ready for the hungry crew, and the hard and dangerous work made it taste better than usual. Around the fire, the men were jubilant and praise ran high for Emmett, Rufus, and Nathan for getting the herd turned.

"Give yourselves a pat on the back, boys," Emmett said. "It was good work all the way around. We only lost those two beeves to lightning." He grinned. "I believe we got ourselves an outfit here!"

Before they moved on, Pepper and John returned to the dead cattle and took what edible meat they could salvage. Much of it was good only for son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h stew, but even that would taste good at the end of a long day's toil.

The cattle were docile as lambs after their great expenditure of energy and ambled along at a leisurely pace. By late afternoon, the party had reached the breaks of the Canadian River and Emmett called a halt for the day, to let both man and beast rest up after the hectic start to the morning. When Emmett scouted the river, he saw that it was running high and wide, and crossing it would probably be easier on the morrow, provided they did not get any more rain. They camped well back in the breaks, away from the water, where the mosquitoes were not so plentiful.

In an effort to bridge the gap between himself and Rufus, John waited until he caught the point man alone and complimented him on his good work. Rufus pursed his thin lips and glared at John with brooding eyes. He said, "I don't need your praise, n.i.g.g.e.r boy. You do your job with the horses and the a.r.s.e end of the herd, and I'll do mine with the front. That's what we get paid for."