A Dream Unfolding (11 page)

“How’s he doing?” Will asked, nodding toward Jed.

“Good.
 
A little nervous, but he’s
settlin
’ in.”

Will followed Ben’s gaze towards Miguel Ramirez, the only cowboy to respond to the advertisement at the store.
 
Though he spoke limited English, he seemed to be rather experienced.
 
He handled the drag position at the back of the herd well, effortlessly rounding up strays.

A wordless nod and half smile from Ben confirmed he was pleased with the Mexican’s work.

The other member of the first shift, Pedro Morales, manned the out-riding position, keeping an eye out for trouble by riding far ahead of the herd.
 
Coming from the Star C, Pedro was one of his most dependable and experienced men.
 
Pedro first hired on with Will three years ago.
 
Though of Mexican descent, he spoke English well.
 
He came from another ranch in eastern Texas that went under.
 
He made his way west from ranch to ranch looking to hire on.
 
When Will met him, he eagerly offered Pedro a job, pleased with his experience.
 
Will was grateful Pedro remained loyal, choosing to head west with him instead of staying at the Star C.

“Go get some shut eye,” Ben said, resuming his position at point, which normally required two men.
 
Will couldn’t spare a second man in the position, being as short-handed as he was.
 
“And encourage those young pups on second shift to do the same.”

Will nodded, feeling some of the weariness seeping into his bones.
 
Two of his new men, Daniel Owens and Samuel Whitten, sat at a makeshift table playing a round of poker.
 
The two seemed more interested in cards than sleep, until it came to the late night hours.
 
He caught Owens dozing in his saddle last night—a dangerous mistake.
 
If he slipped from his horse, he could be crushed under the steady movements of the herd—dead long before anyone realized he was missing.

An image of his father’s bruised, limp body flashed before his eyes.
 
As much as he wanted to explain the image in detail to Owens to stress the importance of remaining alert at night, he hadn’t.
 
He didn’t trust himself to keep the hitch from his voice, as the memory was still too raw.

“We’ve got four hours before we’re on,” Will said, pulling his horse to a stop in front of Owens and Whitten.
 
“I want you two alert this afternoon and on through the night.”

Red crept up
Owen’s
neck to his face as he threw his cards down.
 
Whitten grumbled something under his breath, setting Will on edge.
 
Neither man earned his complete trust yet.

“Care to repeat that?” Will challenged the nineteen year old pup, trying to solidify his authority.

Pursing his lips tightly, Whitten gathered the cards and walked toward his saddle and bed roll with no further protests.

Will’s concern about Owens and Whitten grew the longer they were on the trail.
 
He knew so little about the two men.
 
When they showed up just days before Will had to leave, he hired them out of desperation.
 
They came together, saying they had worked on a ranch elsewhere.
 
Their story was vague and Will had neither the time nor sufficient information to verify where they came from or their references.
 
Both reeked of alcohol and smoke, causing Will to suspect they came straight from the saloon.
 
Nothing about the pair made him comfortable.
 
Something seemed out of place.
 
He only hoped it had not been a mistake to hire them.

The fourth member of the second shift,
Jethro
Pace, already stretched out on his bedroll with no prompting from Will.
 
Soft snores confirmed he slept.
 
At least Will didn’t have to worry about Pace, as he proved himself capable and trustworthy years ago at the Star C.

Sliding down from his mount, Will handed the reins to Matthew Covington, the new wrangler, as he removed his saddle.
 
Covington was definitely younger than most of the cowboys in the crew.
 
While he looked like he was fourteen, he was really seventeen—Will had asked just to be sure.
 
The wrangling job would whip him into shape and bulk up his frame in short order.
 
Working with the horses was a much tougher job than most young men realized, until they spent day after day on the trail.
 
The cowboys rotated through two or three horses in one day.
 
It would be
Convington’s
job to feed, groom, water, and see to the horses’ medical needs.

Dropping his saddle to the ground, Will shook out his bed roll.
 
Easing to the ground, he settled his hat over his eyes.
 
Noisy clanging of pots and pans from the chuck wagon chaffed his nerves and kept sleep way.

The cook, Daniel
Raulings
, was a character.
 
He insisted on being called “Snake” because if you got on his wrong side, that’s what he served you for dinner.
 
Despite his cantankerous nature, he came highly recommended from a neighboring ranch.
 
Snake was close to Will’s age, maybe a year or two younger.
 
His lanky form was no hindrance to driving the chuck wagon.
 
So far, the men had been very pleased with his cooking abilities, even if the process of cooking seemed rather loud.

He couldn’t pin all the blame on Snake for his lack of sleep.
 
Too many thoughts of home—of his former home—consumed his mind.

Leaving the ranch two days ago was more difficult than Will expected.
 
The brief picnic with Julia in his last days on the ranch warmed his heart.
 
It gave him a chance to say good bye and encourage her that God would work things out in her life.
 
It had been so easy to dispense the advice which seemed much harder to believe when it came to his life.

Those last few days, he also spent a fair amount of time reminiscing.
 
He had so many fond memories of his father.
 
He remembered the joy that shown in the senior
Colter’s
eyes when Will successfully roped his first steer.
 
The fun joking between them when Will started to inch taller and taller, eventually surpassing his father’s height.
 
He recalled the many Christmases around the hearth listening as his father read the story of Christ’s birth.

The memories of his mother were equally poignant.
 
Ah, the first time he fell off a horse his mother had set and bandaged his broken arm, seeing no need to take him to the doctor since it was a clean break.
 
Then there was the way she conspired to make every birthday a surprise, even in adulthood.
 
For his twenty-fifth birthday, four years ago, she and father had purchased Jackson from a renowned horse breeder.
 
It was his mother who arranged to stable the animal at a nearby ranch for the few days prior to Will’s birthday.

And there was little Julia.
 
Such a sweet and unexpected joy for her parents.
 
Will easily recalled most of Julia’s childhood, since he was thirteen when she was born.
 
At first he was mad that the baby was a girl.
 
A boy would have been much more fun.
 
But as she grew older and followed him everywhere, he just treated her like a boy.
 
He smiled as he thought about the time he taught her how to rope.
 
They practiced with her rocking horse, a gift from their father.
 
She was determined to do well, so she practiced every chance she got, spending more time roping the rocking horse than riding it.
 
Mother was upset one Sunday when she discovered little Julia had brought her rope to church.
 
When asked why she would do such a thing, she just smiled and said that a rancher should never be without two things, his gun and his rope.
 
She obviously listened to the repetitive admonitions of her father.

Forcing his eyes closed beneath the shade of his hat, Will tried to push the thoughts of home aside.
 
He needed sleep, or he might be the one dozing in his saddle tonight.

Four short, restless hours later, as Will and his shift finished packing up their bedrolls and selecting their mounts, he heard some commotion near the herd.
 
Looking up, Will saw a rider fast approaching.
 
Miguel waved furiously a hundred yards out, covering the distance to camp in a hurry.
 
Just as he pulled up near Will, a whooshing sound flew past Will’s head.
 
Turning to see what made the sound, he saw an arrow stuck in the chuck wagon’s side board.
 

“Indians!
 
Indians!” Miguel yelled the warning in his thick accent.

In a second, the danger registered, prompting Will to reach for his Sharps big fifty rifle.
 
Letting go of the reins for the horse he was almost ready to mount, Will counted the men as most of the other first shift cowboys rode in.
 
Each man quickly dismounted, pulling their rifles from their sheaths.
 
Arrows fell in showers all around them.

“Take cover!”
 
Ben shouted as he dove behind a rock.

Whoosh, thud
.
 
Another arrow made contact with the chuck wagon, reminding Will he was still out in the open.
 
Adrenaline kicked in as he ducked behind the closest boulder.

“Snake, you have a rifle over there?” Will asked as he saw him crouch behind the chuck wagon.

Rifle fire coming from the wagon answered.

Propping his rifle on the top of the boulder, Will raised his head just enough to sight in one of the enemy.
 
Squeezing the trigger released the bullet from its chamber, sending the butt of the gun kicking back against his bracing shoulder.
 
The bullet pierced the naked chest cavity of one of the natives, throwing him from his painted horse.

Peering around the edge of the boulder, Will trained his gun on one of the savages that kept Covington and Pace pinned down some yards away with little cover.
 
Just as the Indian released an arrow, the bullet pierced his arm, causing him to drop his weapon.
 
The arrow made swift contact, penetrating Pace’s arm.
 
As Pace cursed loudly in pain, he shifted his revolver to his other hand, sending the shot of death through the offender’s skull.

Covington shook violently as he tried to reload his rifle.
 
With no protection, he and Pace remained the primary focus of the attackers.
 
Another arrow flew past the young wrangler’s head, causing him to drop the cartridge from his unsteady hands.
 
The arrow landed in the center of Pace’s thigh, bringing on a new string of insults, followed by the rapid firing of his pistol.
 
By the time Pace needed to reload, Covington finally managed to secure a usable cartridge in his rifle.

Owens shimmied his way over to Will, sharing the protection of the large boulder.
 
As both Owens and Will fired off another round, Pedro and Whitten took cover behind another large rock near Ben.
 
There was no sign of Jed or Malone, yet.

As Will tried to pick a target, arrow volleys filled the sky with the deadly projectiles, making accurate aim impossible.
 
Horses galloped in rhythm to the breakneck pounding of his heart.
 
High pitched shrieks from the enemy added to the strained atmosphere.
 
He fired randomly at the nearest sound, hoping his shot connected.

To his right, Snake flattened himself on his belly under the chuck wagon to get better aim and provide more cover fire for Covington and Pace.
 
Covington moved behind Pace at his command, still unable to control his turbulent shaking.
 
Pace continued firing at buckskin clad savages.