From Hide and Horn (A Floating Outfit Book Number 5) (22 page)

‘
We’ll see how it goes first,’ the
photographer decided, taking Barbe’s arm as she opened her mouth.
‘Come, dear. I think we had better get a good night’s sleep, don’t
you?’

‘
If you say so,’ Barbe answered, her
voice brittle.

‘
Edmond’s got a right smart idea,’
Dusty remarked as the couple walked away. ‘We’re all going to need
our sleep with what’s ahead. I don’t know about the rest of you,
but I’m riding herd on my blankets right now.’

The feeling appeared to be generally accepted
and soon the camp had settled itself down for what would be their
last night’s sleep until they reached the Pecos.

~*~

Always a light sleeper, and never more so
than when acting as a scout, the Kid woke as some slight, alien
noise reached his ears. The normal camp sounds had left him
undisturbed. Neither the changing of the night guard nor one of the
crew leaving the camp to relieve himself had woken the dark
youngster. Yet faint footsteps brought him from his sleep. Apart
from a casual-appearing roll over in his blankets, he gave no sign
of the change in his condition. Looking around, he saw nothing
apparently changed. The crew still slept around the fire, except
for the empty beds of the night herders. Yet somebody had sneaked
away from the camp, of that he felt certain.

In a swift, silent movement, the Kid quit his
blankets and rose. He wore moccasins, was bareheaded, fully dressed
and held his bowie knife. Glancing at the rifle and Dragoon Colt on
his bed, he decided they would not be needed. So he flitted into
the darkness without disturbing the other sleepers.

Whoever had woken the Kid was going towards
the bedded-down herd a quarter of a mile from the camp. On
fast-striding, noiseless feet, the Kid followed. At last he saw a
crouching figure moving through the darkness. Not fifty yards from
the nearest of the steers, the figure halted. Something metallic
glinted in its hand and the rapidly approaching Kid knew what it
was.

‘
Drop it!’ hissed the Kid.

‘
What
the
—?’
snarled a familiar voice and the figure spun around, right arm
bending to point at the dark youngster.

Knowing what the other had planned to do, the
Kid did not hesitate. Up then down swung his right hand. Leaving
it, the bowie knife flashed through the air. Such was the weight,
balance and cutting edge of the great knife, powered by the Kid’s
trained right arm, that it severed a way through the snooper’s ribs
and sank its clip point into the vital organs they protected.
Reeling, the night-sneaker let his revolver drop unfired. Vainly
his hands tried to draw out the knife during the brief time he had
left to live. Buckling at the knees, his legs deposited him face
down on the ground.

‘
Who-all’s that?’ called a voice and
Mark Counter rode from the darkness.

‘
You had a caller,’ the
Kid replied, rolling over his victim and retrieving the knife.
‘Likely Dusty’
ll be interested to know who it is.’

Which statement proved correct.
On his return, the Kid found the cook and louse already preparing
breakfast. Going to Dusty, the Kid shook him gently until he woke.
Hearing what his dark
amigo
had to tell, Dusty rose immediately.

‘
Let’s go and see what de Martin’s got
to say,’ Dusty growled.

‘
His bed’s not under the wagon,’ the
Kid said as they walked that way. ‘I missed seeing
that.’

‘
Where the hell is
he
,
then?’ Dusty asked.

De Martin supplied the answer by looking from
the rear of the wagon’s canopy. With ruffled hair and his torso
bare, he gave signs of having been recently woken. Yet he had
always bedded down under the wagon, except during the rainy
period.

‘
What’s wrong?’ the photographer
asked.

‘
Can you come out here, Edmond?’ Dusty
said.

‘
Of course. Just a
moment,’ de Martin agreed and ducked back out of sight. The Texans
heard him talking with his sister, then he appeared wearing a
bath-robe which had been much
admired by the cowhands on previous
occasions. ‘What is it?’

‘
Heenan,’ drawled the Kid.

‘
What about him?’ asked the
photographer.

‘
I just now killed him for trying to
stompede the herd.’

There was no doubt that the words came as a
shock to de Martin. Nor had the Kid done anything to lessen their
impact, wanting to see how the other reacted.

‘
I—I don’t understand!’ de Martin
gasped.

‘
Nor do we,’ Dusty assured him. ‘Where
did you hire Heenan?’

‘
In Graham. It was soon after we
learned that Charles had already left with his herd. Heenan came to
me and offered to act as my guide. From what he said, I formed the
opinion he wished to leave Texas to avoid a feud. As he asked a
reasonable wage, I agreed.’

‘
You took a big chance, hiring a
stranger like that,’ the Kid remarked.

‘
It seemed safe enough,’ the
photographer answered. ‘I knew that we would soon catch up with the
herd. Please, Dusty. Can we continue this later? My sister was so
disturbed at the thought of crossing the Staked Plains that I spent
the night in the wagon to calm her. I wouldn’t want her made more
nervous.’

‘
I reckon we can,’ Dusty decided.
‘Let’s go, Lon.’

‘
What do you reckon, Dusty?’ the Kid
inquired as they walked away.

‘
If Heenan was working for Hayden,
coming with Edmond and his sister’d be a good way to get accepted
by us,’ Dusty replied. ‘Then he waited his chance, or for help to
catch up. When it didn’t come, he figured to scatter the herd.
After the trouble at Horsehead Crossing, the crew’d not be too
eager to gather the steers and go on.’

‘
Even if they did, it’d
slow us down so we’d not get to Fort Sumner on time,’ the Kid went
on.
‘I’ll bet on one thing, though. De Martin didn’t know what
Heenan planned.’

‘
That’s for sure,’ Dusty agreed.
‘Nobody could act as surprised as he looked. Come on, we’d best go
tell Uncle Charlie what’s happened.’

When told of Heenan’s attempt at
stampeding the herd and death, Goodnight agreed with Dusty’s views
about the former. However, the urgent nature of the drive’s next
phase soon pushed all thoughts of the incident from his and Dusty’s
heads. To avoid complications, they passed the word that Heenan had
deserted during the night. Filled with the knowledge of what lay
ahead, the trail hands accepted the excuse and were not greatly
interested in why the
hardcase had gone.

When the cattle started moving
that morning, there began an epic journey in the history of the
West. For years to come, the first crossing of the Staked Plains by
a trail herd would be spoken of
in awe. Certainly the people involved
would never forget it. Just as Goodnight had warned, they kept
going without a pause by day or night.

At the point, Boiler Benson and Billy Jack
took over the usual leaders. The giant strength of Mark and Ahlen
was of more use with the drag. There they and other men tailed up
steers which had fallen or just lay down to quit, or pushed aside
the stronger steers to ease the path for the weaker. Masked by
bandanas to try to keep the churned-up dust from clogging their
nostrils and mouths, the remainder of the crew found work in
plenty. Heat-crazed steers fought among themselves or showed the
savage aggression of stick-teased rattlesnakes. More than one of
the trail hands owed his life to the speed and sure-footedness of
his horse, when attacked by a raging longhorn. Snatching meals in
the saddle, dismounting only when nature could no longer be
resisted, they rode on and on, ever west.

Ranging far ahead of the others,
dependent upon his
Pehnane
upbringing and the ability of his horses, the Kid sought
out the deadly alkali or salt lakes. Once located, he checked on
the wind’s direction and passed the word to Goodnight who changed
the line of march to pass so that the smell of water was not
carried to the cattle. In that way they avoided the greatest danger
of all. Fights could be stopped, charges evaded,
the weary kept
moving or the ‘downers’ hauled up and made
to
walk. Let the thirsty cattle get but one
sniff of the water and they would have pushed to it with a force
that neither man nor horse could hope to halt.

Through the three days of the
drive, Dawn took her share of the work, risks and hardships. In
fact, the way she plunged herself into the thic
kest, hardest of the grueling
toil, it seemed that she sought to fill both her own and her dead
brother’s places. Not only did she work hard, but her presence
acted as the spur Dusty had hoped it would. What cowhand would
quit, no matter how tired or dispirited he might be, when he saw
the girl carrying on? At times Dawn being on hand prevented an
exhausted cowboy from just giving up. Although every muscle, fiber
and bone ached with weariness, the girl continued to ride the
herd.

On the morning of the fourth—and they hoped
last—day, Dusty sent Dawn back to see if the de Martins were all
right. His main reason for the order was to take the girl from the
dangers of the herd, if only for a short time. Reluctantly she
agreed and rode away through the dust of the drag.

Even the girl did not
realiz
e just
how tired she was. Once clear of the constant exertion and the
ever-present need to remain alert, she found trouble in keeping her
eyes open. In fact she actually went to sleep, only her years of
riding training keeping her balanced in the saddle. The sound of a
female voice raised in anger jolted Dawn awake. Staring ahead, she
found that her
bayo-tigre
gelding was approaching her destination. The de Martins’
wagon stood with its team unhitched and flaps opened so that the
approaching girl could see inside. Dressed in a robe, a disheveled
Barbe faced de Martin furiously.

‘
If this keeps up, I’ll go
mad!’ the bl
ack-haired girl was screaming. ‘You said it would all be
over before we had
to—’

At that moment the photographer slapped his
sister hard across the cheek. The force of the blow knocked her
sprawling on to the unmade bed, sobbing in pain. Then he heard the
sound of Dawn’s horse. Whirling around, he snatched a Remington
Double Derringer from the top of a trunk to line it in the
newcomer’s direction.

‘
Oh it’s you, Dawn!’ de Martin greeted,
lowering the little hide-out pistol.

‘
Cap’n Dusty sent me back to see if
everything’s all right,’ Dawn replied, wondering where a dude like
the photographer had learned such fast, efficient
gun-handling.

A muffled croak broke from the weeping Barbe,
but de Martin went to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘It
is,’ he assured Dawn. ‘My sister was just a little hysterical and I
had to quieten her, but we’re all right.’

‘
Will she be all right?’

‘
Yes. I can take care of
her.’

‘
Can I help you hitch up your team, or
anything?’

‘
No!’ de Martin stated emphatically.
‘You’ve probably got enough on your hands with the
herd.’

‘
That’s for sure,’ Dawn
admitted. ‘Well, if there’s nothing I
can do—’

‘
Not a thing,’ de Martin
insisted. ‘
In fact, I can probably cope with Barbe better
alone—’

‘
Sure,’ Dawn said. ‘You’ll
find the chuck
wagon maybe a mile and a half along the trail.
I’ll get back to the herd.’

With that, she rode in the direction of the
herd. Curiosity made her turn in the saddle when about a hundred
yards from the wagon. De Martin was bending over his sister talking
in what Dawn felt to be an angry manner. Figuring it was none of
her business, the girl continued to ride after the herd. Before she
had reached the drag, something happened to make her put the de
Martins out of her mind.

Up at the point, Billy Jack and
Boiler Benson saw Buffalo start to sniff the air in a restless
manner. At a signal from the old-timer, Goodnight and Dusty rode
up. They too noticed the change in the lead
steer’
s
behavior and turned worried faces to each other.

‘
There’s a lake among the
broken country ahead! ‘Dusty said
worriedly. ‘If the wind’s
changed—’

‘
Yes!’ Goodnight answered and the one
word was encyclopedic in its inference.

More of the leading steers
raised their heads, joining Buffalo in excited bawling. The sounds
rose to a crescendo as the leg-weary longhorns increased their
pace. From a weary, dragging gait, they
changed to a hesitant trot, then to a
faster run. Soon the front section of the herd was racing forward
with a dogged, blind determination that knew no
stopping.

‘
God damn all
fool
steers!’ Goodnight cursed impotently and profanely as the
tired cowhands tried to halt the rush.