This Calder Range (6 page)

“Nope.” Ely stabbed a knife into the steak sizzling in the skillet's tallow and turned the meat over.

“I cut his sign this morning,” Jessie said. “But it was two days old.”

“Where'd you cross his trail?”

“Over by that draw of white brush.”

“I'll ride over that way tomorrow.” Benteen drank down a swallow of the scalding coffee, strong enough to stiffen his spine and bitter enough to waken his senses.

Something rustled in the brush, attracting all eyes. The firelight flickered, throwing grotesque shadows through the thicket. Before any of them had time to reach for a weapon, a man called out in an accented voice, “It's I, Spanish.”

A lanky form separated itself from the shadows and approached the campfire on foot, lugging the bulky shape of his saddle. When Spanish Bill entered the circle of light, his dirty and ripped clothes told a lot of his story. His limping walk said a bit more.

“Where's your horse?” Shorty asked. No one mentioned the fact that Spanish had been absent for three days. His reception wasn't any different than if they'd seen him that morning.

“Back there.” Spanish indicated the brush with a nod of his head and set his saddle on a barren piece of ground. Dragging his left foot, he limped to the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I thought I would have to spend another night in the bush, until I smelled those steaks.”

“They're just about burnt.” Ely indicated the meat was nearly done.

Spanish limped back to his saddle and lowered
himself to the ground, stretching his injured left leg in front of him and leaning against his saddle.

“I swung my loop on a
ladino,”
Spanish said. He used the Mexican word, which has no true equivalent in the American language. “Outlaw” comes closest to describing a wild cow that will fight to the death for its freedom. “When the rope started to tighten around its neck, he switched ends like a cutting horse. That
ladino
had a horn spread five feet across, maybe six. He charged my horse and hooked a horn into its breast, twisting and pushing. I never had time to throw away the rope. The horse died right underneath me. It was a good horse.” He shook his head briefly. “But the
ladino
, he takes off with my rope.”

Horses were more easily replaced than good rope.

“Was it a big ole red devil?” Jessie asked.

“Sí.”
Spanish nodded.

“I tangled with him a week back. That animal isn't about to be taken. Don't waste your time tryin'. You're better off shootin' him.”

No one disagreed.

Supper consisted of steaks and beans, sopped up with cornbread made out of meal, tallow, water, and a little salt. No one pretended it was delicious. It was food that stuck to the ribs and that was the important thing.

After they'd eaten, each man scrubbed his own plate clean with sand. Water was too valuable in this country to waste as dishwater. There was still some coffee left in the pot. Benteen poured some of the thick black liquid into his tin cup and sat on the ground in the shadowed fringe of the firelight. When he took the pouch of Bull Durham tobacco from his pocket, he noticed it was nearly empty.

“Hey, Benteen.” Shorty broke the weary silence that had settled over the camp. “Are you going to invite us to your wedding?”

“I was thinking about asking all of you to come along with us on our honeymoon,” he replied while his fingers tapered off the rolled cigarette.

“You serious?” Stretched out on the ground with his saddle for a pillow, Shorty lifted his head to frown narrowly at Benteen.

“Sure I'm serious.” He leaned forward to take a burning limb from the fire and hold the glowing end to his cigarette. “Lorna and me could use some help trailin' that herd up to the Montana Territory.”

“Are you takin' her on the cattle drive?” Jessie Trumbo sounded incredulous.

“I'm not going to marry her and leave her behind,” Benteen replied. “The offer stands. Any of you wantin' a job taking these cattle north are welcome to sign on.”

“You can count me in.” Shorty was the first to speak up.

“I got nothin' keepin' me in Texas,” Jessie included himself.

“Spanish?” Benteen glanced at the Mexican. He wanted his experience on the drive.

“I go with the cattle,” he agreed, and grinned when he added a quick qualification, “—as long as you get the herd there before it gets cold. My blood is too thin for such weather.”

The Mexican's dislike of the cold was well-known and greatly exaggerated. It brought a lazy curve to Benteen's mouth as he turned to the last man in the group. Ely Stanton was always the quiet one, the last to speak up, slow to decide anything until he'd thought it through. He was also the only married man present. He'd tried his hand at almost everything—from farming to storekeeping—but he wasn't happy off a horse.

“What about you, Ely?” asked Benteen.

“I don't think the idea would sit well with Mary,” he answered slowly, with reference to his wife. “She's got relatives in Ioway. She's wantin' us to go there and see if I can't find me a place with some good rich dirt.”

“Aw, Ely, you ain't gonna walk behind a plow and look at the back end of a horse all day when you could be ridin' one, are you?” Shorty declared with a cowboy's derision of a farmer.

“I been thinkin' about it.” There was a stiffness in the man as he poked at the campfire's coals.

“If you decide to pull up stakes for Iowa, you might consider throwin' in with the herd as far as Dodge City,” Benteen suggested. “Lorna might like the idea of havin' another woman along for part of the journey.”

“I'll let you know about that,” Ely said.

The cattle milled in the pen, horns rattling together. The men around the campfire were immediately alert, expecting trouble, but the disturbance was only a minor shifting of positions. Within minutes the bunch had settled down and all was quiet.

“You been away an awful long time, Benteen,” remarked Shorty. “How do you know yore gal'll be waitin' there to marry you? Maybe she changed her mind an' run off with somebody else.”

Unwittingly he touched a sore spot. Benteen had never forgotten his mother's defection.

“Lorna isn't that kind,” he snapped.

“Hey, I didn't mean nothin' by it,” Shorty protested. “You been in the brush too long. You're as prickly as a cactus.”

Benteen took the last drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt into the dying fire. “We'll be headin' out of here in the next couple of days. Soon as we got that last penful, we'll join up with Willie and the main herd and head for Fort Worth.”

Within a week, the cattle were thrown together and pointed toward Fort Worth. The first few days of the drive were critical, getting the herd trail-broken. The cows' natural instinct was to return to the brush country that had been their home. The drovers were kept busy turning them back and keeping them moving in the right direction.

Some trail bosses believed in pampering the animals, taking it slow the first few days. Benteen elected to push his mixed herd of cows, steers, and bulls—young
to old—so they'd be tired when they were bedded down for the night and less inclined to become restless and stampede. Those first days, they averaged better than fifteen miles a day.

Luck seemed to be on Benteen's side. The herd was only a few miles from Fort Worth and there hadn't been a single stampede. Herds had been known to get into the habit of stampeding on a daily basis. But if stampedes could be avoided the first ten days, a herd was normally easy to handle on the remainder of the drive.

Benteen was riding with Spanish Bill on the left point. A long-legged brindle steer had assumed leadership of the herd, striding out in front of the others.

A bareback rider on a big horse crested a rise in the prairie ahead of the herd. Benteen sat straighter in the saddle, ready to curse the slim rider if he spooked the herd. The big chestnut horse was reined in the instant the rider saw the herd strung out before him. Benteen relaxed a little when the horse and rider made a big sweeping arc to approach from the side.

Without appearing to do so, Benteen kept a close eye on the young rider as he approached. The chestnut had a lot of draft horse blood in it to give it that size, and the lanky kid on its back looked as though he had ridden straight off the farm.

It seemed there were more farmers showing up each year, plowing up the range grass and fencing in land. That was all the more reason to be leaving Texas, as far as Benteen was concerned. He'd heard about that new barbed wire, and he didn't like the sound of it.

“Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Calder?” the boy asked as he rode up. His voice had made the transition to manhood but the body hadn't grown into itself yet. He reminded Benteen of a gangly colt, all arms and legs, with a skinny body.

“You're looking at him.” He slowed his horse, letting Spanish continue on without him while the boy came alongside.

The big horse was plow-reined into a walk, giving Benteen a better look at its rider. Hatless, the tall, lanky boy had a mop of dark brown hair, cropped close to his neck. He tried to appear older than he was, but Benteen guessed his age was somewhere in the vicinity of fifteen.

“I heard you had a herd to take north this year.” The boy studied the animals walking by with what was supposedly a critical eye. “Look like they've been travelin' good.”

“Yeah.” Benteen had been away too often to know who the boy's family was, but there were a lot of new farmers moving into the area.

“It occurred to me that ya might be needin' some more drovers.” The remark was delivered with only a mild expression of interest, but the eager glance he sent Benteen ruined his cool pose.

“Could be,” Benteen admitted. “What's your name?”

“Joe. Joe Dollarhide,” he said quickly. “I been raised with animals all my life. I know everything about 'em. I'm a hard worker. You can ask anybody. An' I learn fast, too.”

“Your folks have a farm around here?” Benteen let his hands rest on the saddle horn and swayed loosely in rhythm with his walking horse.

“Yes, sir.” It was a reluctant admission.

“And you wanta be a cowboy?” he guessed.

“I'll make a good one,” the boy named Joe Dollarhide insisted firmly. “I already know about cows and horses. I can ride. And I'm a good shot. I been huntin' since I was seven.”

“Seems to me your pa could probably use a strong boy like you at home.” Most of the time Benteen kept his attention on the herd, only occasionally letting his glance stray to the kid.

“I got six brothers and sisters at home. They're most all old enough to help.” First, he assured Benteen that he wasn't needed at home, “‘Sides, it's time I was
strikin' out on my own an' makin' my way in this world.”

“How old are you?” Benteen had already made his guess, but he was curious what the boy's answer would be.

“Seventeen,” he said quickly.

Amusement lurked in Benteen's dark eyes, but he didn't confront the boy with his doubt. He used a more subtle tactic. “I remember the first time I got a job workin' somebody else's cattle. 'Course, I was only fifteen,” he declared, then looked straight at Joe Dollarhide. “It was really somethin', gettin' paid to do work that my pa had been havin' me do for free,” he drawled. “How old did you say you were?”

The boy bit at his lower lip, then admitted, “I'll be sixteen in April.”

“That's old enough to draw a man's wages, don't you think?” Benteen asked with a half-smile.

“Yes, sir.” The boy grinned, then tried to contain his excitement to be sure he understood. “Does that mean you'll hire me?”

Benteen didn't say yes or no. “We're gonna be holdin' this herd outside of Fort Worth for about a week while I get supplies and take care of a few personal matters. I'll be needin' some extra help to spell the boys. They'll have to be dependable.”

“You can depend on me. I can do whatever needs to be done,” the boy promised eagerly.

“It wouldn't be easy,” Benteen cautioned.

“Work's never easy. I can handle anything, though,” Joe Dollarhide boasted.

“Have you got a saddle?” His pointed glance drew attention to the chestnut's bare back.

“No,” he admitted on a grimly reluctant note, then asserted, “But I'm gonna buy me one when I draw my first pay.”

“I think you're gonna need something in the meantime,” Benteen murmured dryly. “It's kinda hard holdin' on to the end of a rope when there's an
eight-hundred-pound steer on the other end who doesn't want to be there.”

“I'll manage,” the youngster insisted, determined not to lose his chance at the job.

It was a fool's brag, but Benteen let it slide by without comment. “I'll give you a try for a few days. If you work out, I'll sign you on for the rest of the drive. Does that sound fair, Joe Dollarhide?”

“You bet!” he exclaimed. “You won't be sorry. I promise.”

“If you stay on, I'll pay you thirty dollars a month and found. But you can't cowboy without a saddle. Until you get your own, I better see if we can't find a spare one for you to use.” There was an old one in the barn, if Benteen remembered right. It was the worse for wear, but better than nothing.

“I'll pay for the use of it,” Joe Dollarhide insisted proudly.

“Ride on home and get your possibles together. I'll expect you right after daybreak tomorrow morning,” Benteen stated. “If I'm not here, report to Jessie Trumbo. He'll tell you what to do.”

Joe Dollarhide pushed his hand to Benteen to shake on the agreement. “I sure do want to thank you for considerin' hirin' me to go north with the herd. I'll do good for you. It's time I was seein' somethin' more of this world 'sides Texas.”