North to the Salt Fork (16 page)

“Oh, there will be other trips.” Jack turned the team into the smaller pen. “Right now I just want to sleep a few hours.”

“Naw,” Luke said. “I smell bacon grease. Mom's about to make us breakfast.”

Jack laughed. “Oh well, I'll sleep later, then.” On their way back to the house he told Luke all about Freeman and Dyke.

“They'll learn they can't mess with the rangers,” Luke said.

“I doubt their kind ever learns anything.”

“Kinda like a chicken-eating dog. Can't ever break 'em, huh?”

“Exactly.”

 

That evening his mustangers showed up with Jangles on the wagon and the other two on horseback. After supper they sat on the porch and talked about the drive to Fort Worth. They decided that two twelve-horse lines would be easier to lead, so they set them up for the morning.

 

That night, Jack and Lucy were in bed, with the sound of crickets chirping in the background.

“How long will you be gone?” Lucy asked.

“A month or so, I figure. It'll take time to get up there and more time to sell them and get back.”

“I'll miss you,” she whispered.

He rolled over to face her. “I'll miss you too.”

“You know folks have asked me to help them convince you to take their cattle to Kansas?”

“What did you tell them?”

“I don't know what to tell them.”

“My last trip up there was so bleak. I'll tell you about it sometime. For now, let's sleep. I have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

She squeezed his hand. “I'll be here for you.”

 

In the predawn, Jack and his crew washed up on the porch while Tally handed them towels and hot water.

The smell of fried bacon filled the great room when Jack stepped inside. His time with Lucy was always too short. She scurried around putting food on the table—platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits and gravy and steaming hot coffee.

How she could look up and smile at him when he could give her only a few days at a time, he'd never know. But she did and she looked happy.

He said grace and they ate. As the sun began to peek into the windows, they left for Fort Worth. With Jangles and the wagon leading the way, they were off to sell the ponies.

 

North of Austin, a few days from home, a rancher named Ira Tobin and his foreman, Martin Brown, stopped them on the road. Jack swung off his horse and shook the man's hand.

“I reckon you have them for sale,” Tobin said as his man went from horse to horse, looking them over. “My remuda was recently stolen. We think it was Comanches.”

Watching the man's close inspection, Jack said, “Shame, but there ain't none of yours in this bunch.”

“Oh no, Martin's only checking their age and condition.”

“I'd hoped so. We just ran them in off the range, tamed them and rode most of the fire out of them.”

Tobin, in a brown suit, white shirt and fine hat, squatted on his heels with Jack. “What do you want for them?”

“Forty bucks a head,” Jack said without hesitation.

Tobin made a face like he'd been punched in the gut. “Kinda high, ain't it?”

“There aren't any sleepers in the bunch.”

“What about that gruella? He looks like he's been running as a stud.”

“He ain't one anymore.”

“I can see that. You have a ranch down where you got these?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Nine hundred and sixty dollars. That's a lot of money for some untried horses.”

Jack shifted his weight to his other leg. “You could probably buy horses cheaper, but I've got two dozen head, sound and all in one place. That would save a lot of time riding all over the country to complete a team, and you'd still not save much over my price.”

“Let me talk to my man,” Tobin said.

Jack agreed.

Jangles joined him, jerking his head in Tobin's direction. “Is fancy-pants going to buy 'em?”

Jack smiled. “He's considering it. If he does buy them we save a long trip. Comanches got his whole remuda, he thinks.”

“Shucks. I was planning on having me a real fandango up there.”

“He may be saving you a big headache.” They both laughed.

Arnold and Cotton joined them.

“They sure are checking them ponies thoroughly,” Arnold said with a wary headshake.

At last Tobin walked over to the shade where Jack and the rangers were lounging.

“I'll give you seven hundred for them,” Tobin said, standing with arms folded across his chest.

“No.” Jack shook his head. “We can take 'em to Fort Worth and sell 'em for more.” The rancher was barking up the wrong tree if he thought he was going to swindle Jack out of more than two hundred dollars.

“What's your bottom dollar?”

Jack rose to face the man. “Nine hundred and sixty dollars. My next offer is a thousand. You want it?”

Tobin shuffled, his face turning bright red. “Can you deliver them to my ranch?”

“How far is it?”

“Eighty miles west of here, near Burnett.”

“We'll deliver them.”

Tobin stuck out his hand. “I'll have the money there to pay you.”

Jack shook his hand. “I'll expect it.”

After leaving them a map Tobin and his man rode off. Jack wondered about the man and his finances, but he soon dismissed it. Still, it was strange that they'd both left a ranch alone in Comanche country. Who had Tobin left in charge of his outfit? He'd have to trust that they were legitimate buyers.

“We sell them?” Jangles asked, hitching up his chaps and pants.

“Sold 'em. Got to deliver them, but we sold them and got our price.”

“Where's his ranch?”

“Near Burnett.”

“West, huh?”

“Right. Why do you ask?”

Jangles shook his head. “Oh, nothing. Just closer to Injun country, ain't it?”

“Yep. Tobin says they stole all his horses.”

“That works for us, but I still wanted to see them bright lights.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “You're young enough—you'll see lots of bright lights in time.”

More than anything, Jack felt relieved that he wasn't going to Fort Worth and would be home with Lucy in a week. They made camp and plans were laid to head west in the morning.

 

Later, when they were seated around the campfire, Jangles asked, “Cap'n, you ever decide to take another herd north, can the three of us go along?”

Jack looked at their faces in the orange light. “Can you three swim?”

“How far?' Jangles asked, and the other two leaned in to listen.

“Oh, a quarter mile in a raging current.”

Jangles looked at the other two. “Well, we can learn, can't we?”

“Sure thing,” Cotton said.

“Why's being able to swim so important?” Arnold asked.

“There're two dozen rivers to cross north of here. Some are creeks, others are simply quicksand, and some get up higher than hell in the rainy season.”

“You must hate rivers,” Cotton said, awed by the information.

“Trust me, there's more than rivers to face. There're rattlesnakes, rabid skunks, rustlers and men ready to loot you at every turn. Throw in stampedes, pneumonia, horse wrecks and bad storms and you've got yourself a cattle drive.”

“Have you dealt with all of those things?” Arnold asked.

“Everyone leaving South Texas for Kansas with a large herd experiences all of them.” He tossed some small sticks in the red coals and they flared up. “It damn sure ain't no Sunday picnic. Anyway, we better turn in; we've got two long days ahead of us before we get to Tobin's ranch.”

“Sold 'em. Wahoo!” Cotton shouted. “You cut a fat hog in the ass. You knew from the start he was going to pay the price you asked for, didn't you?”

Jack nodded. “Figured so. It's hard to find two dozen solid horses in one place.”

“Shoot, we'll be rich if we keep this up.”

“I looked over the entire country when we were rustlin' them horses,” Jack said, “and there wasn't anything left that we didn't already round up. We'll need to find some new sources until the mare market improves.”

“When we were cutting them out I wondered about that too,” Jangles said with a grim nod. “And we wouldn't be lucky enough to find traps already set up again, I bet.”

Jack rose. “Well, I'm ready for bed. Do I have the morning watch?”

“Yep,” Cotton said. “I'm first.”

“When I pay you boys for the work, maybe y'all could buy yourselves some new pants. Rangers with their asses hanging out don't look too spiffy.”

Jangles slapped the deer-hide patch on his butt. “I got most of the hair wore off it.”

Jack let out a full-bellied laugh and went off to set up his bedroll. Those boys were dandy, but a little dressing up wouldn't hurt their looks.

 

In the predawn Jack took his place as guard on a high spot above the camp and horses. Crickets chirped in a chorus and a large barn owl hooted in a deep voice for his mate farther down the valley.

Suddenly, Jack caught sight of something—or someone—creeping toward the camp. One of the horses must have seen it too because it raised its head and pitched its ears up at the disturbance. Soon all the horses were on the alert; Jack could tell from their silhouettes. Something was wrong. On his feet he slipped downhill, staying in the shadows, and eased the hammer back on his Winchester.

Was there more than one person?

When the stranger started to reach for the rope of the first picket, Jack calmly raised his rifle and pointed it at the man's temple. “Hold it right there.”

The man stood dead still in his tracks.

“Why'd you come to steal my horses?”

“I just need one,” the man said with a slight whimper.

“Stealing one is just as bad as stealing the whole damn bunch.”

“I need a horse real bad.”

“Who the hell is he and why ain't he dressed?” Jangles demanded, joining Jack with his pistol cocked at the stranger.

“I was just about to ask the same thing.”

The man remained silent.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack shouted.

“Wil-Wilburn Shanes.”

“What are you doing out here in a nightshirt?”

Shanes swallowed hard. “It was all I had to wear.”

“Better than being bare-assed,” Jangles said, as Cotton and Arnold joined them.

“Where do you live?” Jack asked.

“Hoover Crick.”

“How come you ain't got any clothes on?” Jangles asked, his face betraying his disgust.

“There's no money. And we ain't got any credit. Too dry around here. The cotton ain't gonna make this year.”

Jangles uncocked his pistol and put it away. “You must be too damn poor to think.”

“We're sure poor as hell.”

“What were you going to do with the horse you stole?” Jangles asked.

“Go find something to eat.”

“When did you eat last?” Jack asked.

“We had some bullheads to eat day before yesterday. But there ain't no more of them. We used green walnut hulls in a sack to make them float up. But there sure ain't another fish left in that creek. Tried every pool. Got a few minnows is all.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Six. My three older brothers rode off. They said I couldn't come with them 'cause I had no clothes.”

“Do you know they hang horse thieves in Texas?” Jack asked him.

“I guess hanging ain't no worse than starving to death. You'd get over it a lot quicker.”

“Where's the closest store?” Jack asked.

“Mandy's Crossing. It's four miles or so west of here.”

“What're we going to do with him, Captain?” Cotton asked.

“I guess find him some clothes and send two sacks of frijoles back to his people.”

Shanes blinked, dumbfounded. “I ain't got no money.”

“You can work that out,” Jack said. “First we need breakfast. Shanes, you help Cotton here get it ready.”

“You mean you'd give me a job even though I was about to steal your horse?”

“Don't make me mad. Now get to work.” Jack shooed him away.

“What do you think?” Jangles asked after Shanes and Cotton had left.

“I think he's telling us the desperate truth. And I have to say I feel bad for the man. He's got it a lot rougher than some folk. Plus, it sure does beat all, stumbling on a nearly naked horse thief.”

“He sure is worse off than we are,” Jangles and Arnold said between fits of laughter.

 

At the store, Jack bought two sacks of frijoles. The boys loaded them over a saddle horse and sent Cotton to deliver them by horseback to Shanes' family.

“Tell them he's found some work and he bought this for them,” Jack said. Then he went back inside and bought the boy a pair of waist overalls, two sizes too big. They nearly drowned Shanes' small, thin frame, but after a few rains or washings—and a few meals—they'd fit fine. Jack added a one-piece red underwear suit to the pile along with suspenders, a large whipcord shirt, socks, a pair of brogans and a felt hat. He told Jangles to put leather strings on the hat so he wouldn't lose it. A man not used to wearing a hat would be hatless after a short ride; experience would teach the wearer how to tilt his head just enough to keep the wind from sweeping it up and away.