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Show mK''-f v$ HAR.OLD CHANNIN6 WIRE H TO LEW BURNET has been engaged by TOM ARNOLD, owner of the Cross T, to act as trail boss on the drive from southern Texas to Ofrallala in the spring of 1875. Tom, with his son and daughter, STEVE and JOY, are moving to Wyoming. Wyo-ming. Tom must deliver 3,000 longhorns to the Indian agent by September 1, or lose a profitable contract. Lew has reason rea-son to believe that the Indian Supply Co. Is trying to delay the Cross T herd, and he suspects that Clay, Steve and ED SPLANN are working In league A'ith the company. Lew heads west and runs into a furious "dust storm that chokes and blinds men and cattle alike. The herd is near death from thirst when the storm ends and a misty rain falls. CHAPTER VII Far off, in what he knew now was south, Lew picked out the first column col-umn of his scattered herd. Two others oth-ers were separated from it by perhaps per-haps three miles. On behind them he found the white tops of the wagons. But as he moved his gaze on slowly around the sharp horizon there was no sign of water nor the double butte to set him on his course. His moment's gratefulness sank to a heavy dread. They had come too far from the last watered camp. The cattle couldn't go on. Another day would bring its killing heat, for clouds that followed a dust storm never held long. He was staring east; he gave his head a sudden jerk to clear it. He wiped one hand across his swollen eyes. They weren't tricking him. As if from the grass roots smoke twisted upward over there. It rose and shaped a pillar, broke and rose and broke again. Willy Nickle . . . sending up his talk! He spurred his tired horse south. Halfway toward the scattered columns col-umns he drew his gun again and fired it. He pulled his horse around into short fast circles. They heard his shots that time and saw his signal. Little figures of men started but toward him. He rode on and met John Quarternight first. The old man's beard was muddy mud-dy white, his eyes puffed almost closed. "Boy," he said, "we got here. Wherever that be. There's someone's some-one's camp, though, yonder." "Willy Nickle, I think," Lew said. "I'm going to look. I'll leave you to gather up." The creek was still two miles off, and before he reached it the smoke ended. Riding into a little grove of trees, he found only the embers, no sign of Willy Nickle at first, until un-til he saw the forked stick. It had been thrust into the ground with one prong like a thumb pointing downstream. down-stream. He followed in the stick's direction. Sheltered from wind and rain, a snug retreat, Willy Nickle sat, contentedly con-tentedly smoking his black clay pipe. He threw up his left hand in a silent saiute and dropped it. His' gentle face was brown and smooth from a recent shave. Lew grinned and shifted over into one stirrup, halting. "Well," he said, "we had a wind." Willy nodded. "So you did." "I guess," Lew said, "we clean missed the double butte. Came too far north maybe. But here's a river." riv-er." "South branch of the Pease," said Willy. He took the cherry pipe-stem pipe-stem from his mouth and pointed with it. "If a man heads out of here quarterin' east of north he'll hit a creek of the Red. He'll follow that to the Red herself, ten miles above Doan's store. Two days, maybe, may-be, if his men have made it." In three days they were still crawling through low hills south of the Red. Blindness healed slowly in ' both animals and men. Three had ridden in the cook's wagon. Clay and Steve rode with Joy. They both had bandages smeared with 1 axle grease over their eyes and sat I up with her on the seat, l He had a queer feeling sometimes, j seeing them in a row like that, t When he dropped back along the herd he could see their fun and hear them laughing together. They sang i a lot. Old songs that he used to ; sing with her. It took him back to Three Little Apaches; only it was Clay's big shape ther- now instead I of his. But today all of his crew were in their saddles, eager to reach the Red. That meant something. It j was halfway to Dodge. It was the I last of Texas soil. Beyond the Red ! River lay the Indian Nations and i the north. Every trail drive marked ) it with a celebration of some kind. J, He rode the point with Quarter- night and could see old Rebel John i was feeling what he felt. A man ! would never feel this lonesomeness about leaving any place up north. ; He was sure of that; not a Texas man. There was Tom Arnold riding rid-ing back behind the horse herd what must this crossing the Red River mean to one like him? It must go hard. He was leaving the biggest part of his life down here, the best part. What was Tom looking look-ing ahead to in Wyoming? Not much, so far, if he was counting on Steve. That had been his hope 1 at the start. Well, what was he looking ahead to himself? Nothing that he could see. Not the ranch he'd planned there on the Powder when he had thought he was going to build it up alone. You didn't pen j two bulls in the same pasture. Get j this herd to Ogallala. Beyond that he didn't know. His head bobbed to the slow walk of his horse. He let it nod, peacefully peace-fully drowsy, until Quarternight's quick voice came across to him. "There she is!" He looked up. The fold between the hills had widened. Beyond its mouth lay a five-mile level shelf of grass. Far-off red bluffs marked the river, high and shining in the sun. He grinned and said, "A man's glad to see that old girl somehow." "Glad when he's across her." "Well, sure," he said, "that's right." Men had reason to want this river behind them. No other, except ex-cept perhaps the Canadian with its quicksands, farther north, had tak-en tak-en so many lives. In a little while he was pointing out upon the open shelf, as flat as a floor, and he could look far east along its great bend. No other herds swarmed across its grass. Doan's store and the main trail's crossing were ten miles downstream. "We're alone here, John," he said. "That's good." Behind them the crack of rope ends against leather sounded like pistol shots. Swing men were crowding crowd-ing the longhorns on. But even the cattle had sensed the river and walked at a faster pace of then-own then-own accord. His plan had been to cross at once and go into camp on the north side. There would still be time for an aft- He let the herd spread out to drink. ernoon's rest and the night's fun. But riding ahead, he reached the lower bluffs of the south shore and looked down upon an angry, churning churn-ing stream. The Red was full from bank to bank. There had been heavy rains somewhere west. He swung back and met the point and told Quarternight, "She's up, John. Too high to swim. We'll have to hold over." He shook his head. "I don't like it much. 'We may get some neighbors we don't want." He waved his swing men up. "No use worrying about that now. I'll ride down to Doan's after we water and see what herds are on the trail." Under the added pressure of swing riders he bent the point west toward a creek. He let the herd spread out there to drink and afterward after-ward left them standing drowsily under a two-man guard. "Lew, is this a holiday?" asked Clay. "Part." "Then I'm riding down to Doan's." It was an ordinary-enough request; re-quest; a man could get a few things at the store. But that was not the reason, he felt, with Clay. He shook his head. "None of the crew's going go-ing there. I don't figure it's safe." Clay's stare sharpened on him. "Kind of high-handed, aren't you? Maybe you'll find it hard to make that order stick!" He didn't answer. But afterward, standing ankle deep in the water, shaving in front of a mirror propped against a willow fork, he went back to find Clay's meaning. It wasn't clear. If a man deserted against the trail boss' order he might as well quit. Clay wouldn't do that He continued his shave. The scar made his cheek stiff. He had forgotten about Clay's threat and he felt good, cleaned and dressed once more, walking back into the shady grove of the camp. Then he saw Ed' Splann. Splann had not been at the river and he had wondered. Only Jim Hope and Tom Arnold were on guard with the herd. But he was here in camp now with his horse saddled. His clothes that he had worked and slept m for a week hadn't been changed. "Thought I'd tell you," he stated bluntly, "I'm ridin' down to Doan's. You won't need me till night." Lew walked past him and tossed his war bag into the cook's wagon. He turned back and said, "Not thU trip," and started on. Splann's surly growl Jerked him around: "What the hell kind of a boss are you?" He walked up close, his high shape coming above Ed Splann's broader and more powerful build. He could feel the scar burn hot and red. But there were times like this when he let his voice come out of him in a slow drawl. "My friend," he said, "I'll tell you what kind of a boss I am. No man in my outfit fools me any. You don't." He let it hang there, watching Splann weigh it behind his pale eyes. They narrowed coolly. "You think you know something. What?" "You've got no warning coming," he said, his voice still held to that quiet way, "but I'll warn you this much. I'd as leave have a rattlesnake rattle-snake in my bed as a spy and traitor in this camp. You don't need to ride to Doan's; I'll see your friends for you. Is that clear?" A wicked brightness leaped into Splann's eyes. "You talk tough. You got anything to back it up? Show or lay down, Burnet. I've called your hand!" He didn't underestimate this man. There was the experienced gun fighter's fight-er's arrogance about him. He let his muscles go slack and ready and felt only that cool alertness as he said, "Any time." He could almost see the huge right shoulder begin its lift that would bring the gun up out of its holster. His own fingers curved when Splann's eyes went past his and swung back. A subtle change came over him. He leaned forward a little, confiding, "Burnet, you stay clear. You've got a lot to learn, some things you don't want to know. And you've got a lot to lose." His eyes moved again. Footsteps crackled in the dry leaves, and then Joy called gayly, "Lew! Come and look!" She passed beyond them looking pleased, with something bundled in her arms. She was barelegged and her long hair, washed and dried, was soft around her head. Splann's eyes followed her through the trees. Then they came back with a knowing shrewdness. "You take my advice and you'll get your pay. One thing about you ain't hard to read." He wheeled and led his horse toward the picketed mounts. Joy was up on her bed in the wagon, wag-on, sitting crosslegged with both hands covering her lap. "Lew . . . eggs!" She lifted her hands. "Turkey "Tur-key eggs. I found a nest!" He leaned in to her and turned them with mock gravity. "Real eggs. Think of that." But it was her scrubbed fragrance he was aware of, her soft hair and skin that was warm and glowing. It put a tight quietness in him that was not mockery. Then she laid both of her hands on his. The laughter was gone from her eyes. She looked up soberly. "Lew, I've been sorry about something. Dreadfully sorry. I mean back there when Steve went blind. I wasn't hating you. It was only that everything every-thing seemed so wrong. I understand under-stand what you're going through .these days. I shouldn't make it any harder." He pulled his hand from under hers. "I've never asked for pity, Joy, not from anyone. Let me pity myself if I want to. We all do that sometimes. But I don't want it from outside." "This isn't pity! Don't you understand?" under-stand?" Something turned her lips soft and gentle, parting them with a slow and even breath. Her dark eyes searched his face. "We've meant so much to each other. Nothing must end it. I want you to know that." She stirred him with an irritable violence. "That's past, Joy. We aren't children any more. You've grown up and what I have is not a I brother's feeling." I "I know it." Her voice was hushed. "Look here!" He put his hands roughly on her arms and pressed them against her sides. He hurt her and wanted to hurt. "You've got one man. What do you think? You can still offer some little part of you to another?" "No. It's only " She faltered. His grip tightened. "Joy, this is nothing you can play with. You'd better not try!" Her breath was quick. He could feel the tremble of her body beneath be-neath his hard hands. He let her go and stepped back. "Anything you want from Doan's store?" She didn't answer but only shook her head, staring at him. He wheeled from her, shaken by the violence vi-olence of the feeling she had aroused. In five miles he reached the bend of the river shelf and saw an unexpected un-expected sight beyond. Far on east of the bend a dozen trail herds flood-bound flood-bound south of the Red made dark blots against the grass. That was the crowd he bad missed by taking an unknown route. He could not judge the number from this distance, dis-tance, anywhere up to forty thousand, thou-sand, a bare fraction of the longhorns long-horns pouring north. TO BE CONTINUED) |