North to the Salt Fork (22 page)

 

At the end of the three days he kissed Lucy good-bye. By the time he got back he'd be a father. Her pregnancy was going smoothly and she begged him not to worry. He was reluctant to let go of her, but in the end he placed his hat atop his head, mounted Mac and headed north with his crew.

Clayton and Shanks were his point riders and Jangles was his second in command. As for the rest of his drivers, each day a different one would scout ahead for the next campsite and help Ralph set up before riding back to report.

River crossing proved easier than usual. The lack of rain was a blessing for them, although he knew the ranchers were paying for it in other ways. In ten days they were on the Trinity River, which put them close to Fort Worth. They soon closed the gap and swung west of the fenced country.

Ralph and Jack purchased some food and first-aid items in town while the crew caught their breath and regreased the wagon axles. Down in the stockyard district, he ate lunch in a café and listened to the other drivers discuss when they'd be leaving for Kansas. Jack worried that he'd left too early, but he knew he had to be in Indian Territory and out of Sawyer's reach as soon as possible.

 

By evening he was back with the herd. The weather held and the cattle were docile now that they had established a ranking system among themselves. The worst-behaved one of the bunch had disrupted the rhythm of the drive so much that Jack had ordered he be butchered and served for dinner. Ralph kept the carcass under a wet canvas to keep it from spoiling, breaking up some of the monotony of eating beans everyday. They roasted some cuts, fried some and pounded others into steaks; the rest was made into stew. The boys respected his decision-making abilities. They'd lose money on the head, but it was a small loss compared to the damage he could've caused if Jack had let him live.

 

At their first campsite north of Fort Worth, Jack could smell a skunk from the chuck wagon. His nose wrinkled, he dismounted and tied his bay horse to the front wheel.

“What in the hell happened here?”

“Rabid skunk came up over there. Had to shoot him with my .22,” Ralph said. “I already had the wagon set up, so I didn't want to move. You'll get used to the smell in a while. I sure have.”

Jack wasn't certain he'd ever get used to it. “You sure he was rabid?”

“Anytime you see a drunk-acting skunk in the daylight, he's rabid.”

“I've heard of cowboys getting bit at night and dying a sad, pain-filled death,” Jack said.

“I had a friend who died from a bite,” Ralph began. “Went delirious. He asked us to put him out of his misery when it got really bad. We drew for the high card, and I was the one who had to pull the trigger. Worst day of my life.”

Jack closed his eyes. A man never forgot something like that. He knew that Ralph had done the right thing, but the job of compassionate executioner was never an easy one. He went and found one of the whiskey bottles and poured three fingers' worth of the amber liquid into two tin cups for himself and Ralph.

“We need a little pick-me-up,” Jack said. He raised his cup. “To your friend. May he rest in peace.” Ralph clinked his cup against Jack's as they settled into canvas chairs.

They sat in silence for some time until Jack spoke up. “You ever know a guy named Julius Knotts?”

“Name sounds familiar,” Ralph said, taking a sip from the cup.

“He shot my brother in Abilene years ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Ralph said. “I take it you've been looking for him ever since?”

“Ever since.”

“It's hard, Captain, to live with things like that. Damn hard.”

“Don't I know it. My life took a good turn when I met and married Lucy. But I've never forgotten my brother. The war. All those bad drives.”

“She's a good woman. She may not be able to erase those memories, but she'll support you the rest of the way and that's all that matters.”

Jack nodded appreciatively and they sat in silence once again.

Finally he said, “When the boys come let's move this camp. Even this damn whiskey tastes like skunk.”

Ralph laughed and agreed.

 

A week later Jack and Jangles scouted the snag-choked Red River. On the far shore was Indian Territory. This was the last chance that Sawyer had to stop his crew. Ralph and the chuck wagon could go over by ferry in the morning, but the rest of them would cross the river in a serpentine formation with the steers. Jack knew that some of them would break, and some might even drown, but it was the best way to go.

“It won't be easy,” Jangles said, “but I guess a million head have crossed here.”

“They have. But it's one of the tougher ones,” Jack admitted.

“I'll ask Claude to say a prayer. He reads the Bible all the time.”

Jack agreed. “Some intervention from God could only help with this one.”

At daybreak they had the herd lined up. Jack told them to undress at the river; Jangles would see that all their clothes got across in the chuck wagon. They could swim easier naked.

Claude gave a long prayer once they reached the shore, asking God to protect them on their journey across the river. When the prayer was finished they lined up to cross the river. They had a new lead steer—a big dapple red—that would take them across, but Jack was worried that he'd turn out to be like the previous two lead steers they'd tried, both of which failed them. But a good bell steer was worth a fortune for a reason: they didn't come easy.

The naked riders looked like white ghosts in the pale morning sunshine, which was just beginning to filter over the horizon. Jack figured the temperature was less than fifty degrees, and he could only imagine what the water would be like. A shudder went through his body. He prayed they didn't have to spend too long in the river.

Red took to the water and started swimming for the north shore like he'd done it a million times. Some steers leapt way out on their bellies while others calmly waded in and began to swim. The naked cowboys led their horses across the water as best they could. A few of the less intelligent steers swam downstream despite the drivers shouts and curses, but the first of the herd to cross were soon shaking the water from their bodies and collecting on the north bank. Shanks, one of his point riders, was trying hard to get them started uphill. He and Claude, joined by one of the dripping Mexican hands, finally got them going up the road. Things started to go more smoothly after that, but there were still more than two dozen head either stuck on snags and bawling or floundering where the bank was too steep and the water too deep to wade in.

Jack caught sight of Luke trying to drive some of them upstream, but the cattle kept circling back. He waved his jumper and shouted to Shanks, figuring he'd know what to do. Shanks shouted and waved to a spot where the bank gently sloped upward from the river.

Luke went around the river bend and out of sight downstream. Jack couldn't help but worry. If anything happened to the boy it would be his fault, and Lucy would have his hide.

“You see Luke?” Jangles asked.

“Shanks told him to go farther down.”

“I ain't seen him since he went around the corner. It must be deep over there.”

“I wouldn't worry about Luke. We still have three head caught on snags.”

“What do we do about them?” Jangles asked, loading the clothing in the chuck wagon as they prepared to go across on the ferry.

“Our best swimmer needs to go out there and tie ropes around them; we'll fish them out with the horses.”

“Bet you won't get many volunteers for that job.”

“We'll see.”

Jack and Jangles loaded the wagon and mules aboard the ferry and boarded on their horses. When they reached the other side, Jack rode Mac off the barge and short-loped him through the post oaks until he saw Shanks and Luke driving the remaining wet steers through the brush. He was proud of Luke—he'd saved over a dozen head that day.

Wrapped in blankets, the shivering hands crowded around the fire Ralph had built on the shore. Jack dismounted.

“All the hands here, Jangles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, who's going to swim and help us fish out those three snagged steers?”

“It's only two now, Captain. One got loose and swam up here,” Jangles said.

“I can swim out there when I warm up a little, Captain,” Arnold said.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder in appreciation.

Barefoot and naked, Luke joined them, shivering down to his bones. Ralph threw a blanket over him.

“How did we do?” Luke asked, his teeth chattering.

“Pretty good. Just need to get those snagged steers and we can head on out,” Jack said.

“So I didn't freeze my ass off for nothing,” Luke said, and they all laughed. “It's hard to herd cattle, hold on to your horse's tail and swim at the same time. Doesn't help that those steers are dumb as rocks too.”

As the crew warmed up, Arnold, rope in hand, swam out to the first steer. The angry bovine wanted to fight him, but the ranger finally got the loop around his horns.

Arnold waved for them to go ahead and swam back to the shore. Shanks and two of the Mexican hands created a lariat at the end of the rope that could be tied to multiple horses. Urging them on, the horses slowly pulled the floundering steer out of the snag. The men and the horses kept slipping on the shore, which had been muddied by thousands of cattle hooves, but they finally pulled the steer from the snag. He came swimming to shore, lowing angrily.

Raul heeled him and stretched him out while Jangles removed the loop of rope.

Arnold, who had been warming by the fire, took the rope and started out toward the second steer. “Let's get this over with.”

He waded out and as he drew closer the steer started to throw a fit, and Arnold was forced to swim out and come in from the back. He climbed on the steer, riding him like a horse, and fashioned the loop around his huge horns. The spectators shouted and applauded. When he was finished he stood up on the steer's back and dove back into the muddy water.

Arnold swam to shore as the men pulled the steer through the water. Suddenly the longhorn flipped over and all they could see were his four legs thrashing above the water. Jack felt sure they'd have to eat him, but the steer righted himself and sprayed water like a geyser. Raul rode in and took off the lariat and the steer joined his brothers on the shore. The men cheered. They were finally in Indian Territory, and out of the reach of Hiram Sawyer.

“They can't bother us up here,” Jangles said. “Right?”

“Right,” Jack said, cradling a cup of hot coffee in the light of the burning post oak logs.

“There's no authority on this side of the Red River,” Jangles said, a little awed.

“Yep, no Texas lawman can come up here and serve papers to us. Only a U.S. marshal can do that.”

“Hell, I'd like to have shown my ass to that damn Sawyer back at the river,” Jangles said with a laugh.

“You wouldn't need to,” Cotton said. “We were all bare-assed for you.”

The whole crew laughed.

“How far are we from Kansas?” Cotton asked.

“A month,” Jangles said. “But it won't take us a month to get back here.”

“No, it won't, since our load will be considerably lighter. But remember, it may take time to sell these steers,” Jack warned.

“I'd like to be home by the Fourth of July,” Cotton said. “I think we can make it.”

“We ain't across Indian Territory yet,” Jack said with a laugh. “We still have a long way to go.”

They turned in for the night, relieved that the day was finally over.

“Nice to be warm at last,” Arnold said from his bedroll.

“Damn nice. I never was so cold in all my life,” Cotton answered.

“Hell, Cotton, you didn't offer to swim back and get those steers.”

“Naw, I figured ten more minutes in that cold water and I'd be a steer myself.”

Somewhere out in the night a buffalo wolf gave a long, mournful howl while the boys talked from their bedrolls. Jack rolled over and closed his eyes and sleep came swiftly.

 

A few warmer days followed the river crossing. Plum thickets were in bloom and Indian paintbrush flowers added a look of brightly burning flames to the prairie. Firewood grew scarce as they moved along, and the drivers had to drag every dead branch they could find on the way to their next campsite. Ralph had a leather sack made from old cowhides under the wagon to hold the wood. When they ran out they gathered dry cow pies and buffalo chips. Jack hadn't seen any of the shaggy beasts since his first drive to Kansas, when there were still small herds roaming the prairies.

 

As they were plodding along one day, Jack was overwhelmed by a bad feeling. He watched the clear azure sky all day while the temperature rose. The winds grew still and sweat ran down his face.

Earlier he'd mentioned it to Ralph over breakfast. “I've got a gut feeling you'll need to pick high ground for our camp tonight. There wasn't any dew on the ground this morning, and my grandfather always said you're liable to get a gully washer when that happens.” Ralph had agreed and set out early along with Luke to scout for the next camp.

Jack noticed how the good grass they'd found in the Indian Territory was beginning to show on his herd. He watched several steers rise at the bell call and lick the hair on their sides in swirls. They looked healthy, but the realization didn't ease his bad feeling about the weather.