Goodnight's Dream (A Floating Outfit Western Book 4) (5 page)

‘
We’ll have to grade and examine the
herd, of course,’ Hunter said, sounding almost apologetic and
offering Goodnight a cigar from the number he carried in his jacket
pocket. ‘It’s not that I doubt your honesty, but you understand my
position.’

‘
I do,’ Goodnight assured him. ‘How
about the weights?’

‘
Between us, we ought to reach a fair
figure,’ the officer replied. ‘Shall we make a start, Mr.
Goodnight?’

‘
Tell us what you want doing and we’ll
get it done,’ Goodnight answered.

‘
Can your men bring them up one at a
time so that we can check their weight, condition and number?’
Hunter requested. ‘It has to be done.’

‘
That figures,’ Goodnight replied and
gave his orders.

Low groans greeted the news of Goodnight’s
intentions. Most of the cowhands had expected to hand the cattle
straight over to the soldiers and be left free to sample whatever
delights or pleasures the town had to offer. Instead they found
themselves sent to cut out every individual steer and lead it up
for inspection by the buying commission. It promised to be a long,
tedious, boring and possibly dangerous business. At best the steers
in the herd were only half-domesticated and feared human beings
only when seeing them on horseback.

First the captured steers were
led by where John Poe, one of the majors and two corporals waited
to count them. While the major’s military assistants each held a
tally-book and pencil, the
segundo
kept his count with no greater aid than tying a
knot in a length of cord for every hundredth steer to go
by.

From being counted, each steer was taken to
the second major. A qualified veterinary surgeon, he had to check
the animal’s condition; no easy matter despite the controlling rope
about its neck. Fortunately few of the herd required a close
inspection, being in excellent condition.

Which brought the steer to the third and,
from the Army’s and Goodnight’s points of view, most important part
of the examination.

For all his excellently cut uniform under a
knee-long white linen-duster jacket, air of pompous dignity and an
almost political desire to keep everybody contented, Hunter rapidly
proved himself a better than fair judge of cattle. He certainly
knew sufficient to avoid falling into a basic error often made
where Texas longhorn cattle were concerned.

Seeing a longhorn from the side for the first
time, an inexperienced person might easily form a greatly
exaggerated estimation of its poundage. Tall, leggy, flat-ribbed, a
longhorn’s profile produced an illusion of extra bulk and heft.
Viewed from the rear, the cat hams, narrow hips and swayed,
ridge-pole kind of backbone with a thin, high shoulder top
dispelled such notions of excessive weight. As shown by the way the
body tucked up in the flanks, or legs had length rather than bulky
thickness, the longhorn’s free-ranging way of life prevented it
from being a quick converter of forage into beef and producing
clean, heavy cuts of meat down to the hock. Any fat gathered in
times of good grazing was disposed evenly about the body, instead
of being stored in the belly or on the legs. Coarse of head and
hair, carrying a great spread of needle-pointed horns, the Texas
longhorn could run, jump, fight and live off the land in a manner
which no carefully raised Eastern beef-breed might hope to
equal.

Clearly Hunter knew of the Longhorn’s
physical conformation. If his estimation of a given steer’s weight
tended to go under rather than over, it always came close enough to
satisfy Goodnight. Between them, they were forming a fairly
accurate total of the herd’s poundage on the hoof. While the price
would have been at least double for dressed, butchered beef, the
subsequent wastage of bone and hide had to be taken into
consideration.

The work continued, although not always
smoothly. Roped and hauled from the security of the herd, the
earlier steers displayed a marked reluctance to the separation.
When checked and driven well clear of the main body, they needed
constant watching to prevent them fleeing back to it.

As might be expected, an audience soon
formed. Loafers and other town-folk mingled with off-duty soldiers
and hovered in the background to see what was going on. Among them
were the two dudes who had commented so cryptically from the
sidewalk outside the Yellow Stripe Saloon about Goodnight’s
arrival. Standing slightly aside from the crowd, they watched
everything that happened with more than just idle or casual
interest.

‘
If that’s all the weighing they get—’
the bigger man began.

‘
It’s got possibilities,’ agreed his
companion.

At first the crowd saw nothing out of the
ordinary, other than fine but normal riding and roping. Wanting to
get finished and into town, the Texans worked fast and the sizes of
the two bunches began to grow more even. Suddenly a big steer broke
from the Army herd in a determined attempt to return and find its
travelling companion with the unchecked cattle. Cut off by a
fast-riding, tall, young cowhand the steer reversed its direction
and headed towards the onlookers.

‘
Stop it!’ roared the veterinarian, a
man of hasty temper and conscious of his superiority over the
less-well-educated cowhands.

Already the young Texan had
twirled his mount around and given chase. Holding the checked
cattle had not called for the use of his rope, so it hung coiled on
his saddle horn. There would be no time to free it, work open a
loop and rope the fleeing red steer before it plunged in among the
crowd. However, he knew how to handle the situation. That there was
an
appreciative audience, including several pretty girls, did
nothing to lessen his intention of doing so.

Between the cowhand’s legs, the trained horse
knew what was expected of it. Extending its stride, it crowded
closer to the fleeing steer. The more nervous members of the crowd
started to scatter before the menace of the long, spike-sharp horns
and mean-looking heft of the big animal. Coming alongside it, the
cowhand leaned across and grabbed its tail. A touch of his heels
caused the horse to step aside and add its weight to the pull he
gave at the tail. Thrown off balance, the steer went crashing to
the ground. It bounced on landing, sliding to a halt before it
reached the places so rapidly vacated by the front members of the
crowd.

‘
Damn it!’ the veterinarian bawled,
starting towards the cowhand who slid his horse to a halt facing
the steer. ‘Don’t break the beast’s neck!’

Annoyance flushed the young Texan’s face.
After performing a mighty neat ‘tailing down’, he could see several
of the female audience eyeing him in frank admiration and did not
care to have the feeling spoiled by any damned shiny-butt,
desk-warming Yankee.

‘
Go to hell!’ the cowhand yelled back
over his shoulder. ‘What should I’ve done, let it run all over some
of these good folks here?’

‘
Get it shoved back with the others,
Austin!’ Goodnight barked, knowing the youngster to be
high-spirited and hot-tempered. ‘The sooner we’re through, the
quicker you boys get your pay.’

‘
Is that steer all right, Major?’
Hunter went on, indicating a perfectly healthy animal being drawn
up for inspection.

The words caused the tension to stop for the
time being. Although the major’s neck showed red above his collar,
he swung back to his work. Snorting and grunting, the winded red
steer lurched to its feet and stood shaking its head in a dazed
manner. However, one good tailing had taught it a lesson and it
lumbered quietly enough back to the herd.

Other steers continued to be
passed between the examination teams. Cowhands changed their
horses, grabbed a cup of coffee prepared by Rowdy Lincoln and his
louse, the tall, gangling, excitable Turkey Trott. The latter also
delivered coffee to the buying commission, allowing the work to
continue unchecked. However, the veterinarian was still smarting
under the sting of Austin’s retort and apparent rebuke by Hunter.
So he gave the cattle a closer scrutiny, which slowed down the
proceedings. Wanting to check a
grulla
^vi
steer brought up by a sweating, tired
Spat, the veterinarian acted rashly. Instead of warning the
cowhand, he walked towards the
grulla.
It let out a low, warning snort that a
more experienced man would have recognized, dropped its head and
lunged forward. Wise to the ways of ropes, the steer had not fought
against the pull. So the rope hung sufficiently slack for it to
have the means of reaching the rash soldier. Even as the major
threw himself to the rear, Spat made his horse jump sideways.
Snapping tight, the rope jerked the steer to a halt. For all that,
its wicked horns only missed the major by a couple of inches as its
head hooked up in a belly-ripping slash.

Unable to stop himself, the major sat down
hard. Hearing the laughter of the crowd increased his feeling of
humiliation. Thrusting himself to his feet, he looked for someone
on whom to vent his anger. The closest person, and most logical,
was the lanky Spat. Having been thwarted in its desire, the steer
calmed down and made no further attempt to fight the rope. So Spat
lounged in his saddle, waiting for instructions.

‘
Why in hell don’t you watch what
you’re doing, you damned beef-head?’ yelped the
veterinarian.

Normally Spat had an amiable nature, but he
was feeling the strain of the long drive and the emotional stress
of having left Loving and Sid to face the Indians. Nobody blamed
him for the latter, there had been no other decision but for him to
try and fetch help. However, Spat still felt that he might have
been more use staying at the cave; even though he knew at the
bottom of his heart that he had acted for the best. It all combined
to make Spat most unappreciative of the soldier’s comments.

‘
Watch what you’re doing
yourself, blue-belly!’ he growled back, answering the major’s
derogatory name for a Texan with one equally opprobrious to the
U.S. Army. ‘A kid in its cradle back to home’d know better
than
walk
up to a longhorn.’

‘
Don’t speak to a m—!’ the major
bellowed, thrusting himself erect.

‘
Get on with it, Major!’ Hunter barked.
‘Nobody got hurt.’

Watching the officer stalk angrily back to
his original position, the two dudes exchanged knowing nods.

‘
With hotheads like those two cowboys,
we ought to get something stirred up easy enough,’ commented the
smaller man.

‘
That major’ll be worth cultivating
too,’ the other replied. ‘He’ll be on the board which awards the
contract. What happens if Goodnight should get it, Joe?’

‘
We’ll just have to make sure that he
doesn’t fulfill it,’ the smaller man stated. ‘It’s as easy as
that.’

At last, with the sun going down, the last of
the steers had passed before the buying commission and been
accepted. Coming across, the veterinarian faced Goodnight and
Hunter stiffly but did not allow personal feelings to interfere
with his duty.

‘
They’re all healthy and in good
condition, Colonel.’

‘
Thank you, sir,’ Goodnight
answered.

Without making any reply, the veterinarian
saluted Hunter, made a smart about-face and walked away.

‘
He’ll calm down soon enough,’ Hunter
told Goodnight, then looked at John Poe and the second major as
they approached.

‘
I make the tally one thousand five
hundred and fourteen,’ the major announced, holding the two books
in which his assistants had kept their count.

‘
And me,’ agreed Poe,
still holding the length of pigging thong which had served him
instead of pencil and paper. ‘Fifteen hundred and fourteen, just
like on our last trail count,
^vii
boss.’

‘
All branded with the Swinging G,’ the
major went on.

‘
You was expecting maybe something
else, soldier?’ Poe inquired sardonically, having been aware how
the major had studied the “G” brand burned on the left flank of
each steer.

‘
I’ve my duty to do,’ the major replied
stiffly.

‘
Have a cigar, Mr. Poe,’ Hunter put in
hastily, producing a handful from his tunic pocket. ‘Take some for
the rest of your men.’

‘
Gracias,
Colonel,’ Poe answered and grinned at the
major.
‘I
know you don’t want to buy stolen stock, friend. But was I you, I’d
put that report a mite different next time you make it. Some
folks’d be touchy about how it sounded.’

‘
It wasn’t a good choice of words, I’ll
admit,’ the major said and grinned back as Poe offered him one of
the cigars, accepting it in terms of an olive branch. ‘You’ve done
well to get that many here and in such good shape.’

Although Poe knew Goodnight’s thoughts on the
subject, he did not comment on them. However, he felt that the
major would be considerably surprised when the rancher declared his
views at the contract meeting the following day.

‘
If you show us where you
want
’em
,
we’ll bed the herd down,’ Goodnight told Hunter, seeing harmony
restored. ‘How about handling them?’

‘
I’ve two dozen troopers who’ve been
cowhands for that,’ Hunter assured him. ‘You and your men can take
a well-earned rest.’