Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave (35 page)

 

Chapter 27

XIT Ranch

Spring Lake Pasture

Texas

 

Frank Yearwood squinted at the sunset. The sky was full of flat-bottomed thunderboomers but the rain was still bottled up.

He liked the feel of the wind when rain was coming. It was fresh and smelled good after a long day in the white Texas heat. After such a blistering week working the branding chute, it felt particularly good. With the sun going down the clouds suddenly blossomed across the sky, coloring in like a well-painted portrait.

The last of the August sunlight took on a golden glow. It made the thin grass look richer and thicker than it did during the hot afternoons. Frank could see across the plains pretty far. The landscape felt bone dry. Large patches of prickly pear stuck up in places. Whatever wildflowers had come up in the spring were long gone now. Frank's favorite time of year was when the bluebonnets and paintbrush covered the hillsides.

“They're circling in,” Lee told him.

Small pockets of cowboys were slowly riding in, pushing cattle towards a center point up ahead. The three of them had cut out a dozen head themselves and were easing their way forward. Davis was riding a stone's throw off, keeping them pointed in the right direction and picking up whatever strays they happened upon.

A pulse of lightning flickered and hit the plains off to their right somewhere. It took a couple seconds between the sight and the sound. Above them the sky rumbled, rolling right over their heads.

“Whoa, hope no one gets cooked,” Frank drawled without much worry. “I expect to have about 1200 steers collected by the time all of us pull together. We'll run a tally when we pass into the Black Water pastures. Then we can take ‘em all up to them breaks in the Alamositas. Maybe on up to Rito Blanco if need be…course that means crossing the Canadian.”

“Twelve hunnert four-year olds,” Lee contemplated. “In this pasture alone? The B-Cross ran about 2500 total. And that was the whole mixed herd…mommas, babies and all.”

“Well actually,” Frank said, squinting again at the sun. It was hovering about an inch above the western horizon. It would not be long and it would be gone. “There's around thirty thousand in Silver Lake alone. Which is plumb too many on this end, what with water so scarce this year. They all can't stay here.”

“Thirty
thousand?
Gee whiz, that's a bunch of beeves. How far off is the Alamositas?”

“We got a ways. It'll take a few days of easy walking. Just ain't much water between here and there.”

Lee was trying to wrap his mind around three million acres. He had seen some barbed wire running across the open spaces, but he was surprised how far spread out it all was. The pastures were subdivided and even those subdivisions were sprawled out enormously. All this open space was just the opposite of the mountain life. But, the high country was a place of rugged beauty like none of these Texas cowpokes had ever seen — and probably never would. If they were lucky, some of these men might catch a glimpse of snow-topped peaks from a distance, on a cattle drive to the north.

As for his pard, Lee was not sure how bad Davis would miss those same peaks.
That ol' boy sure did relish all that a lot more than me,
Lee thought. The heavy snows and the bitter cold really take its toll on a body. And yet, he knew winters in the Panhandle would not be any easier, really.
I may need to drift on further south before then
, Lee reflected.

A few fat rain drops plopped down from the sky.

“Wish it would rain,” Frank said. But even with clouds like this, the rain might pass on by.

Frank Yearwood was relieved the syndicate had brought in Matlock and Boyce to fix the XIT. The morale had really been dragging. There was a lot of theft. Gambling was everywhere. And with it came violence. Frank knew there were men working for the ranch who had been run out of other parts of the country, men that Barbeque Campbell had deliberately brought on.

The sun dropped off the horizon and the wind picked up. All the cowboys were moving in good time and had all the steers bunched up by nightfall.

Frank decided to put both Billy Ney and Arizona Johnny on first watch. They might be too tired to cause any trouble come morning. The rest of the crew staked their horses and got out their bedrolls. With the gusty wind, Frank was uneasy with a large fire, even if it sprinkled. The grass could catch with just a spark. And these parched conditions were too bad to risk a prairie fire. He had seen plenty of prairie fires and knew it took a lot of hard work to get them under control.

They did get a small bed of coals going…just big enough to heat a coffee pot and warm some canned chili.

“Chuckwagon be waiting for us up yonder a'ways,” Frank mentioned. “Get a real meal in you all, tomorrow night.”

He dug out the can opener and started notching off lids.

 

Chapter 28

 

Frank sat straight up. He flung off his old wool blanket and froze stock-still. He cocked his head a bit and listened.

It was pitch black and there was no moon and there
should
have been. The stars were gone. He couldn't see a thing.

Then the sky lit up bright — so bright he had to squint, and the landscape was bathed in black and white. Boom. The sound split the sky and made his chest hurt and his head ring.

Frank got up as quick as he could get to his feet. He grabbed the wool blanket and ran a few steps.

White light exploded again and he didn't need to see to know what was coming…he could feel it. Above the throbbing in his chest and the dull humming in his ears, the drum of the running herd shook right up his legs.

“Huh-yaw! Go on! Go on!”

Frank made as much noise as he could and waved the hell out of that blanket.

Lee and Davis both jumped out of their bedrolls, slapping around frantically for their boots.

The steers came running.

Loose of their wits and barreling along blindly, the herd parted around Frank and poured past their camp. The noise consumed Frank's shouts, but he kept yelling and waving the wool blanket. Dust was everywhere and all he could hear were horns clanking and hooves pounding and bellows and snorts as they all blew by.

Davis's horse was thrashing around on his side, feet kicking at the air — he was still hobbled. He wasn't hurt, but tripped himself when he spooked. As luck had it, he had been standing in rein's grasp from Davis's bedroll and was safe from being trampled by the cattle. Davis was hunched over his horse cooing easy easy, trying to grab those reins without getting struck in the face by a hoof.

Lee's horse was gone. He had staked his horse, and in the chaos it must have pulled up the stake and ran.

The steers were gone now and the danger along with it. Frank put his fingers in his mouth and let out a long sharp whistle.

His bay whinnied, out in the dark.

Frank went out looking, and it didn't take long to find the horse. Then he was up in the saddle tearing across the prairie in the pitch black.

His eyes couldn't adjust to the dark with the electric sky cutting apart every few seconds. Frank's ears were ringing pretty good, but it helped that he could see where the herd was.

In one burst of brightness, he caught sight of Davis riding wildly ahead of him, chasing after the herd.

Ten minutes of hard riding passed before Davis realized Frank was behind him. That was all he needed. He knew he wasn't alone out there and figured, between the two of them, they could turn this herd in. Quirting his horse, Davis pushed to get up with the lead steers.

Leaning into it and hoping his horse wouldn't trip up, Davis rode up alongside the stampede.

In what light he had, he could see the leaders a short distance up ahead. But in that light he also saw them go off into an arroyo. They just disappeared — right off the edge. So did the steers following them. They just plowed right over.

Davis snapped his reins and leaned back hard into the saddle, angling away from the herd as he did, in a wide arc. White slobber strung off his horse's bit, eyes wide and mane waving.

The sky lit up again. The ground shook with it. Davis managed to get his horse stopped but he looked on, horrified.

The stampede was a dozen animals across at its widest — but they just charged on, following the tails of the steers in front of them. Row by row, they dropped out of sight like dominoes off the edge of a table.

“O mercy!” Davis shouted. He sat there, aghast.

Frank Yearwood pulled up next to him, and they both sat their saddles watching with every lightning pop. The noise was loud — the thunder and the rush of the herd. Being so close to the arroyo, they could hear the sickening thud of cowflesh.

Davis could not believe his eyes.

“What the Sam Hill!” Davis cried.

He pulled his hat off and whipped it helplessly across his thigh. His heart was pounding.

Then the stampede was running on. Past the arroyo. On the far side.

And on into the night.

Frank shook his head slowly, his face set. He said nothing.

The sound of the running herd faded with the distance.

Maybe Frank had seen this before, but Davis never had seen anything like it. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The draw was full of dead steers. Full of them. They piled right on top of each other, right on up till it was so full of dead steers the rest of the herd ran right across to the other side and kept on going.

“Sakes alive,” Davis spoke softly. His voice was raw from the hard run and all the dust he breathed in. “Sakes alive.”

 

Chapter 29

 

“Like Moses,” Lee said and raised his arms up. “Partin' the Red Sea.”

The other cowhands were milling about the chuckwagon eating black beans, beefsteak and dried banana chips. The fire beneath the potrack was smoldering. A dutch oven was seated in the gray dust and chunks of smoldering manure. The lid was off and half the sourdough biscuits were gone.

Frank Yearwood knelt down and plucked out a second biscuit. He had missed breakfast — they all had, riding after the herd like they did. By the time dawn came around all the riders regrouped and crossed the draw. It took a while to catch up with the loose herd. By then the stampede had ended all by itself, and the steers were grazing. The riders swung out in a wide loop and brought them back together again — and now here they were, eating biscuits.

“We would have been trampled to bits, Frank,” Davis said solemnly. “Owe you one.”

Some of the hands wore permanent scowls, ever since the week before. Barbeque Campbell may have been gone, but he still had a good number of loyal men in the crew. Frank knew it and could tell who was with him and who was against him. No one had to guess that Arizona Johnny and Billy Ney were against him. They weren't with him in spirit…and that morning they weren't with him in person, either.

Frank looked around the group.

“Johnny or Ney turn up yet?”

Albert Smith and Henry Higglesworth were two good men. They stood by, tiredly spooning up black beans.

“Ain't seen ‘em yet, Frank,” Albert said.

“That storm rolled in on their watch,” Henry muttered. He was salty. Most of them were. The entire experience put them in a sour mood.

“Maybe they got it,” Albert suggested. “Run down to pieces.”

“Well, ain't seen their horses around though,” said Frank. “Probably still in the saddle.”

“Squally night. Mebbe they just rode off,” Henry added, walking his fingers in the air. “Simple as that.”

A sea gull flew over the chuckwagon. Davis craned his neck and watched in wonder as the bird floated slowly overhead. It was the top of Texas in a late summer drought and there wasn't any sea for a thousand miles, but look at that. A sea gull. Circling over the chuckwagon.

One of the new young hands, Kenyon, rode in and got off his horse. He stepped up to Frank and pointed off across the low grass.

“I believe that's Arizona Johnny, sir.”

They all turned and watched him ride in.

“Sun'abitch!” Arizona Johnny snarled as he parked his horse by the chuckwagon. “Them cows busted loose, and it ain't my fault, Frank! Ain't my fault on that!”

He slid off and hit the ground hard. He marched over, shaking his fist toward Lee and Davis.

“Boyce's crew! Saw you light a cigarette, you sun'abitch! It was one of you.”

Arizona Johnny was fuming. His face was flushed.

“Where you been, Johnny?” Frank asked and frowned. “Needed every hand we had to bring them steers in this AM. And I could'a used both you and Ney. Where is he?”

“Oh, you think it was on
our
watch, so it must o' been us, don't you?” Arizona Johnny spat at the ground, his eyes narrowing. “This ain't on my back, Yearwood!”

“Didn't strike no match,” Davis stated firmly.

“Didn't strike no match neither,” Lee added, just as firmly.

Johnny's face wound up tight and he glared at Lee.

“Boy, I'll fix your flint.”

Spinning away from Frank, Arizona Johnny took two quick steps and lashed out with his fist. It landed hard in Lee's chest. He fell in the grass, his plate went flying, and beefsteak and black beans splattered down his pants.

Tossing his own feed plate aside, Davis charged and tackled Arizona Johnny around the waist. But Johnny did not go down. He made fists out of both hands and swung them down hard on Davis's back. The wind whooshed out, but he did not let go.

Then Arizona Johnny produced a small knife from somewhere and jabbed it into Davis's back. He pulled it out and stuck him several more times before Frank could get there.

“No more o' this nonsense!” Frank growled. He drew his handgun and thunked Arizona Johnny on the head with the gun butt.

Dropping wobbly to his knees, Johnny let the knife fall out of his hand. Davis slid to the ground, face first. Blood oozed from his back in several places. Then he rolled over to face the sky, wheezing.