Jodi's Journey (26 page)

The man turned to look at them with a shrug.
“Ready as I'll ever be. Ain't gonna cross until it goes down,
though. Sure no rush on that.”

“You checked the banks down river?” Hunt
asked, wanting to know if this man did anything other than eat and
talk big.

“I checked a few days ago. It ain't changed,”
he said and continued eating. He took a long drag on his cigarette,
then flicked it into the water's edge.

“You got them strung out?” Bud asked, as
impatient with the man as Hunt.

“Well now.” the young cowboy gazed up at them
with speculation. “I don't see any use stringing them out any
sooner than necessary. Besides, what business is it of yours?” the
man asked, eyeing Bud with curiosity.

Bud Taylor was not a man to be messed with.
He wasted no time in jerking the little fella off his butt, holding
him inches from his angry face, and pulling his clean shirt from
his jeans. “Look you little pike, you got four herds waiting to
cross this mess after you, and when the time is right, you better
be ready. That means you can't sit on your butt and wait till the
water goes down. It means, you better get up and get moving.”

The younger man looked startled at the
affront. “Hey, no use getting hostile. I cain't hep it if the river
is swollen.”

Hunt moved in on him too, his eyes going
around the camp with disgust. “Doesn't look like a single man is
preparing for it.”

“What do you mean?” the man asked, his face
going red. “What's to prepare? We cain't do nothin' till the water
goes down.”

Hunt shook his head in disbelief. “A good cow
man knows he has to take this time to check his ropes, and grease
the axle on the chuck wagon. He has to keep checking the banks,
maybe a better embankment. You sit around camp like there's nothing
to do. Cull out your leads and move them up river. You check
saddles, horses, and keep the cattle tight. Build a raft for your
wagon. Gather wood for the caboose. Anything but sit on your butt
and try to talk big.”

“Okay, okay, we'll do it, but it ain't going
down anyway soon,” the man hollered. “I just don't see the
rush.”

“You don't see no rush with nearly fifteen
thousand cows waiting to cross that river and you aren't
ready?”

Hunt nodded. “You best get on what I just
told you because if the water isn't down in a couple of days, we
are going to move them anyway. Understand?”

“But you cain't do that,” the young cowboy
objected vehemently.

“What's your name?” Bud Taylor asked, his
tone no longer hiding his disgust.

“Charlie Miller,” the man replied a little
hesitantly.

Bud nodded. “You heard the man. You are
moving out in two days, so get ready.”

“Okay, okay, let go, will you?” Charlie
hollered again, jerking his shirt back in place and straightening
himself. Hunt noted the young man's confidence waning.

After that, the camp seemed to come to life
again. Every cowboy found something to do, even if he didn't know
what to do. Hunt and Bud watched. They spoke to the cook who was
the only man in camp who seemed concerned that no one had done
anything. He was fussing at a cowboy as Hunt and Bud walked up.

“I'm sure glad you boys showed up. I've been
tellin' them we needed a raft and no one was doing anything. Said
they would get to it. If we go this low end down here it will be a
long one, but probably the shallowest. That sorry excuse for a
straw boss doesn't see it that way. He thinks it would be faster to
head to the north end. He has no idea how steep those embankments
are. He don't know nothing and he don't care. He just wants to be
through with the drive.”

Hunt could tell this man was a seasoned
drover, and appreciated the fact that he was the only one in camp
who seemed to take the river seriously.

“What's your name?”

“Everett Howell, sir. Been a cook for nigh on
to ten years now, but I've taken a few up the trail in my younger
days. Problem is, around here, no one pays much mind to me. That
river out there is not going to be a fun job. It's about as bad as
I've ever seen it. It just won't stop rainin' and stormin'.”

“Yeah, that's how we see it, too. But the
herds are backing up against each other now and we are nearly at
market, so we need to get this over with. Bud and I intend to stay
with you to see they get these cattle over. Do your lead cows go
willing, or do they balk?”

Everett shook his head. “Naw, they balk
getting in the water most of the time. We lost fifty last river.
They let them bunch up and we couldn't make 'em go nor turn them
around. One drover drowned trying to turn them. The rest just sort
of gave up when old John tried to get them across and drowned in
the process like the other. Biggest mess I ever saw.”

Hunt nodded. He'd heard stories like this one
before, and he didn't want to repeat history. “You know, I've seen
greenhorns before, but this bunch confuses me. Where did they come
from?”

“Aw…Charlie is the son of the owner in south
Texas. He's nothin' but a snot-nosed kid who thinks he knows it
all. He's tryin' to prove to his daddy that he's ready to take over
the ranch, but he ain't got what it takes to do 'er. The old man
knows it, too, but he gave him this one last chance. You know what
I mean.” Everett glanced up to see Charlie eyeing him from
afar.

“So that's it.” Hunt said. “I wondered. Well,
this river is going to be a test for us all. That's one mean
current. I've brought oxen. They take to water just fine, and
they'll lead them in. We push the remuda from behind to see that
they keep swimming. String them thin and take as much time as we
need to dig them out. Should be okay.”

Bud nodded. “Got anyone who cain't swim?”

“Me and one of the younger ones. Done told
him he could go over on the raft with me. That is, if this bunch
ever builds one,” Everett said. “Sure glad you fellas came along,
though. No one's even thought to ask, 'cept me.”

“Yeah.” Hunt tried to laugh only the
seriousness of the river kept everyone sober.

It was a rough two days and Hunt and Bud
stuck together most of the time while Cole and the others scouted
around the camp and kept their eyes peeled for any goings on. More
than once they had to break a fight up, Cole ending it before it
began. Hunt separated them and took their guns away from them. This
didn't make the drovers very happy, but it sure settled the
fights.

Cole was right alongside Hunt on that. These
drovers were sure gun happy. Could have been their ages, for one
thing. Most of them weren't over twenty. Trouble was, they had a
lot to learn, and not many were willing to try.

The raft was finally built and Hunt decided
he was going to test the waters. He first swam his horse over. Even
though the water was icy, the horse didn't hesitate. He then culled
out an ox and took it across. The ox didn't balk too much either,
so he decided they were going to cross.

“String them out; we're going over,” Hunt
told Bud and Charlie.

“It ain't gone down much,” Charlie muttered
miserably.

“Can't help that. We have got to get the
cattle over, and we've waited as long as we can. There might even
be more herds behind us now,” Bud explained. “You do exactly as we
say and everything should go all right.”

The chuck wagon was first. A rope had to be
strung across the river to pull it to the banks as the current was
too strong and would have pulled the wagon down the river. Bud and
Hunt did most of the rigging, since they knew what to do. Charlie
did get the cattle strung out, and after the oxen were led in, the
cattle began to follow.

Mid-way the cattle began to balk because it
was so cold; Hunt and Bud prodded them onward. Sometimes catching
them by the tail and yanking, sometimes by heading their horse in
front. The other drovers followed slowly, pushing them into the icy
waters and nudging them onward. The cattle started to turn; no one
except Bud and Hunt knew how to handle the situation. Both men
jumped in. They tried to turn the cattle back toward the bank but
the lead steer wouldn't budge. He began to sink and Hunt went down
with him. Over and over Hunt tried to turn him. The steer seemed to
wrestle with Hunt and caused all manner of chaos.

Bud tried to throw a rope to Hunt, but Hunt
was underwater as much as he was above the water. Bud swam out to
help; the current was too strong and pulled both men under.
Eventually, they came up. The others could see Hunt holding Bud's
head up out of the water. It was the last anyone saw of either of
them before they disappeared from sight.

Cole was helping on drag. When he realized
what had happened, he dove into the icy water to try and find them.
He came up empty each time. He'd been too late. Able to finally get
the balking cattle straight again, they made it to the other side
of the embankment.

Cole sat down on the ground and waited,
hoping one of the men, or both of them, might surface. No one did.
It grew very quiet, like a wake. Cole shook his head, unable to
believe that Hunt or Bud couldn't have made it. Even though the
current was strong, and the water icy, it was hard to believe that
such men could die.

Angry that two fine men had drowned because
of the laziness and inability to muster the cattle, Cole was near a
rage when Charlie caught up to him.

“Looks like they didn't make it,” Charlie
sighed.

“You better get your butt back into the
saddle and hope I don't draw on you, mister. You are the laziest,
good for nothing bunch of cowboys I've ever seen. This should have
never happened. There are enough men to have helped. No one went in
after them, and I'm going to want to know why,” Cole said in a
harsh breath that was unmistakably dangerous.

“You think that's my fault?” Charlie
hollered, sneering at Cole from a distance. “Can I hep it if they
jumped in after those dern cows. No one could have turned them. It
was stupid to try.”

“I wouldn't be calling anyone stupid if I
were you. I don't think, boy. I know it was your fault. This was
your herd, not his. You should have been the one to see after those
cows, and what of your men? Don't mess with me now, just finish
getting them over and don't say another word. Because if you do, I
might just shoot you so I don't have to look at you.”

Cole got back in the saddle and finished
getting the herd across. He was dead tired and in the meanest of
moods. These young yahoos had a lot to learn, especially about
herding cattle. Two good cowboys had just died, and the little worm
of a straw boss couldn't even take the time to be sorry.

It took all Cole's nerve not to kill them all
on the spot. They didn't know how bad his finger itched to pull the
trigger, or they wouldn't have stood around the embankment like a
bunch of scarecrows. Cole had hung up his guns from fighting men a
while back. This was sure enough reason to take them down again.
And the worst thing was, now he had to figure out how to tell Jodi
what had happened. He'd rather be stranded in a desert with no
water than have to tell her this.

The next day, he built two crosses and put
them by the river. For a long while he stood there, the tears he
felt bottling his throat so hard he couldn't speak. He'd come to
respect Hunt and think of him as a friend, and Cole didn't have
many friends. He'd sorely miss Hunt and Bud.

The last of the cows were across from the
first herd and now his own herd would be moving. Would he have to
ramrod the herd? He knew Concho would be there for him. All the men
back at his camp were unaware of what happened here. He still
couldn't believe it himself.

In an effort to make sure, he walked down the
embankment several times, looking for clues, of what he wasn't
sure. Maybe somehow they had survived. Two tough men like Hunt and
Bud wouldn't give up so easy. But there was no sign of life, or
struggles for life, anywhere near the river bottoms.

With a heavy heart, he watched as the herd
ahead disappeared against the setting sun.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Leading the oxen to the river's edge again,
Cole crossed them over and met Concho on the other side. “Concho,
hold up a minute.”

“Si, where is Señor Hunt and Bud?” Concho
asked, a smile on his face at the fact that the cattle were going
to cross today.

Cole didn't know how to tell him. He'd been a
gunfighter, a cowman, and even tried ranching, but he'd never been
able to handle personal matters. He still didn't know what to say
to anyone. He sat there on his horse and crossed his arm over the
horn of his saddle. His face held a grimness that conveyed a
message. Concho looked at him, and he knew.

“I do not believe it…” Concho said slowly, as
though the thought of Hunt being dead was not something that was
possible. “Please tell me…please…”

Cole looked him in the eye, and shook his
head somberly. “I didn't want to believe it either, Concho. But I
searched the banks for a good mile and half and found nothing. No
signs of either man washing up on the banks, no signs of trouble,
no signs of anything. I guess the water was just too cold and the
current too strong. Hunt jumped in to swim the cattle back; they
were turning and going with the current. He tried to turn them by
himself. I was in drag, I couldn't see what was going on. The cook,
who is the only man I'd trust with the information, told me. I
searched long and hard, but I didn't find him. No sign, no
nothing.”

Concho hung his head, and for a minute he did
not seem to trust his own voice to speak. “How are we going to tell
the Señora…?”

Cole hung his head too. “I don't know,
Concho. I'm not good at this…as you can probably tell.” Lifting his
gaze, he said, “Let’s get this herd across first, then we'll tell
her. If we tell her now, we might not get across any time
soon.”