Dashing Druid (Texas Druids) Page 14

  “Two wait to cross,” Jack replied as Chic handed him a plate of beans. “Another will get there a day before us.”

  “Damn. And a bunch behind us. Sure hope it don’t end up like back in ’71. I trailed west that spring, sold to an outfit over on the Pecos, but I heard tell Big Red was a mile wide.” Del glanced at his segundo. “Weren’t you in that godawful stampede, Neil?”

  “Aye, and a horror it was. Sixty thousand steers all runnin’ like the devil was after them. That’s how many were bedded near the Station at the time. Shanghai Pierce warned the other bosses ta move their herds back, but they wouldna listen. They feared losin’ their turn at the crossing.”

  Del grunted derisively. “Durn fools.”

  “Exactly. A few nights later, one herd stampeded and before ye knew it, they were all up and on the run. Took ten days ta sort them out, and I canna tell ye how many were killed or crippled.”

  Head bent, Del crossed his arms and paced slowly back and forth. Water poured off his hat and splashed under his boots. Finally, he stopped and looked up. “Boys, we’ll try waiting out the river. At a distance. But with grass so bad, the herd’s gonna be restless. We may have to cross while she’s still up some.”

  Neil gave him a steady stare. “I wonder, did ye hear what else happened that time? There was this Mexican outfit from down Refugio way. The sun came out and they tried crossin’ before the river went down. Lost a good many cattle . . . and two men.”

  “I’m no fool, MacClure,” Del snapped. “I ain’t about to try the river if it’s that bad. But we’re not losing half the herd in a stampede, neither. Not if I can help it.”

  The Scot said no more, but his grim face spoke volumes.

  Tye glanced at Lil. Although her withdrawn expression revealed little, he detected a heavy sadness within her. Neil’s story seemed not to frighten her, but the thought of her in a wild river, amid panicked cattle, frightened him mightily.

  The woman brought out his protective instinct, along with all of his baser ones. When he wasn’t worrying about her, he was thinking how much he longed to kiss her and feel her catch fire in his arms. He’d go mad with yearning before this infernal drive was over.

  Aye, and when it’s over, what then, boyo? Shall ye return to the River T and be forever tormented with the colleen so near, yet out of your reach? Or shall it be Colorado and the Tommyknockers waiting for ye in the black depths?

  Was he ready to face his demons? Could he bear to never see Lil again?

  * * *

  Lil swore under her breath as she watched the Red River rush past her lookout point. Hundreds of yards wide and rusty with clay, the tumbling water carried a dangerous cargo of uprooted trees and brush. Occasionally a bloated carcass also swept past. The herd wouldn’t be moving on for a while, not across that.

  They’d pushed hard today through wooded country where panthers were said to lurk, and had settled the herd several miles back on Panther Creek. Then Lil had ridden ahead with her father and Neil to inspect the river. She kind of wished she hadn’t. The sight was worse than she’d imagined.

  “A fine thing,” her father muttered.

  “Aye. ’Twill be a few days at least before it settles down,” Neil remarked.

  “If we don’t get any more gully-washers.”

  Lil glanced at the sky. The rain had finally let up, for which she was thankful, but the bright blue dome above did nothing to lighten her glum mood.

  Her thoughts kept returning to that evening in Fort Worth, and the morning after, when Tye’s silence had confirmed her worst fear. All he’d ever wanted was to get into her drawers. If Frank Howard’s crude remarks hadn’t roused his sense of honor – or maybe it was only pride – no doubt he would have taken advantage of her shameful weakness that night.

  At least he’d left her alone since then, as she’d begged him to do. Yeah, and didn’t that prove she was right about him? He didn’t really care about her, he just . . . .

  “Come on, I’ve seen enough,” her father said, snapping her back to the present.

  Lil followed him away from the turbulent river, unable to escape her roiling thoughts so easily.

  * * *

  The orange sun floated low on a crimson horizon as Tye slowly circled the herd. His thoughts were not on his job. He’d been in camp when Lil returned from the river with her father and Neil, and it was obvious from their grim expressions that the situation was bad. For Lil’s sake, Tye hoped Del would not attempt the crossing before it was safe.

  A whistle caught his ear. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Kirby Daniels riding toward him.

  “Mister Crawford says head for camp. He wants to powwow with all of us’n,” the skinny youth called.

  Nodding, Tye turned Patch and headed for the wagons. Most of the crew had already gathered when he arrived. Del Crawford stood smoking a hand-rolled cigarette as he conferred with his segundo. Chic and Jubal had managed to build a decent fire, and judging by the aroma, they’d have the cook’s famous “son-of-a-bitch” stew for supper. It would be a welcome change after days of eating beans and more beans, Tye thought.

  Then he spotted Lil with Choctaw Jack. She laughed at something the handsome Indian said, causing Tye to grit his teeth. He’d never been jealous over any other woman, but the green-eyed monster took a bite out of him now, just as it had whenever he’d thought of Lil with Frank Howard.

  He swung off his horse and wound his reins around the picket line. Instinct pulled him toward Lil, but he halted when she looked his way. Her cold stare and the anger behind it stabbed into his brain, making him flinch. The pain reminded him of the vow he’d made to himself to stay away from Lil. Sighing in resignation, he aimed a scowl at Jack, then turned and walked over to join Dewey and Luis.

  “Listen up,” Del barked a moment later. “Most of you know this place. For those that don’t . . .” His steely eyes pinned Tye briefly. “. . . it’s called Panther Creek. And there’s a good reason for that. The cats have caused stampedes here before.”

  He looked at each of them in turn. “I don’t want that happening to us, ’specially with other outfits nearby. So we’re gonna ride double shifts tonight and every night ’til we move on.”

  Muttered grumbles sounded until he held up a hand for silence. “We’ll go short on sleep, but that’s better than trying to stop twenty-five-hundred fired up steers. ’Sides, it won’t be the last time we lose shut-eye on this drive. Y’all know that.”

  He received shrugs and resigned nods.

  “One more thing. Chic’s the only one going over to the Station, and he’ll be in town just long enough to pick up supplies. Any man I catch sneaking into the saloons is fired.”

  Rusty and Alabama grumbled again, but Del’s glare shut them up. “You’ll be no good to me or yourselves if you’re drunk in the saddle when we cross the Red. Do like I say or lose your jobs and your pay.”

  He glanced around once more. “All right, go ahead and load up on grub. You’ll need it. Chic, keep the coffee brewing so we stay awake.”

  The cook jammed his hands in the pockets of his stained flour-sack apron and drew himself up to his full five-and-a-half feet. “I always do. Don’t need nobody remindin’ me.”

  Del laughed gruffly. “Sorry. I know that, so don’t start pawin’ the sod.”

  Tye smothered a grin. By now he knew even the trail boss liked to keep on the cook’s good side, but he hadn’t figured anything Del Crawford said would ever strike him funny.

  Lil drew his gaze as she sauntered toward the chow line with Jack. Tye yearned to drag her away from the other man and make her admit she was his. But she wasn’t, he conceded against his will.

  * * *

  Three nights later, Tye was circling the herd, humming softly, when the shriek of a panther ripped through the darkness. Cattle stirred at the sound. A longhorn bawled as Tye ambled past on his grulla. He recognized the deep throated call. It came from Jefe, their lead steer. His name meant chief or leader in Spanish. L
uis had named the big, tawny brute that for his bossy ways. Imperturbable as a rule, even Jefe was nervous tonight.

  The panther had screamed a couple times earlier, but he’d sounded farther away. He was getting too close for comfort now. Along with the other night guards, Tye attempted to calm the cattle, not an easy task when he was on edge himself.

  Glancing at the stars, he judged it nearly time to head for his bedroll. Three nights of double guard duty had left him dog tired, but the panther’s presence overrode his need for sleep.

  He stiffened in his saddle when another blood-curdling cry rang out, sounding dangerously close. Dozens of cattle scrambled to their feet, almost ready to run.

  “Stop your racket, ye devil,” Tye muttered. Figuring he was closer to the troublemaker than anyone else, he made a quick decision. Not giving himself time to reconsider, he swung the grulla toward where he thought the shriek had come from, certain the panther wouldn’t attack him. He’d seen the creatures down along the Nueces and back in Colorado. They must roam all over the West. Lions, some miners called them. Despite their fearsome cry, they usually ran off when a man approached.

  He’d drawn near to a rocky outcrop when a long, shadowy shape detached itself from the rocks and took off running with a snarl. Startled for a second, Tye kneed his horse after the predator to make sure it kept going. Oddly, the cat appeared to limp, but it still outran them for a good ways. Then it stumbled to a halt, whirled around and shrieked.

  The grulla stopped so short, Tye nearly catapulted over its head. Before he could regain his balance, the horse neighed in terror and reared. Losing his grip, Tye tumbled from the saddle and hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him. He lay there for a few seconds, fighting to breathe while the horse galloped off. Then he started to sit up . . . and froze.

  Not ten feet away, he saw the dark form of the panther. Ears laid back, fangs bared and eyes glittering in the moonlight, the cat crouched, ready to spring. Tye grabbed for his gun, but stopped, remembering the nearby herd. A gunshot might start a stampede. Reaching for his knife instead, he barely had time to draw it from his boot before the panther was on him.

  The snarling brute instantly went for his throat. Tye clamped his free hand around the beast’s own throat to hold it off. As he did, razor-sharp claws raked his shoulders. Hissing in pain, he attempted to plunge his knife into the cat’s heart, but oaken ribs deflected the blow. All he did was make the demon madder.

  Growling, the panther tried to twist free of his hold on its neck. A hind foot clawed his right thigh; front talons flayed his chest. Crying out, Tye shifted his grip and desperately forced the animal’s head back. Then, using every once of strength he had, he thrust his blade into the furry throat and straight up into the brain.

  The snarls ceased. A shudder passed through the cat’s body, it went limp and flopped over. Panting, Tye lay there beside it for a long moment before slowly rolling to his knees, groaning with pain. Hoofbeats matched the pounding of his heart. He looked up and saw a rider approach, outlined against the starry sky.

  “Who’s dat?” the man called out as he drew up.

  “It’s me, Devlin,” Tye gasped, recognizing Dewey Sherman’s drawl and his lean, dark form.

  The cowboy skinned out of his saddle. “I heard some hollerin’ and figured I bes’ come see.” Spotting the dead cat, he paused and stared. “You tangle wid dat painter?”

  “Aye, unfortunately.”

  “Tore up, is yuh?” Dewey asked, squatting to lay a hand on Tye’s shoulder. He jerked it back when Tye flinched. “Lordy! You sho is.”

  “A bit,” Tye said, voice shaking slightly. “Would ye get my knife? It’s stuck in his throat.” Luis had given him the bone-handled knife, and he didn’t want to lose it.

  “Sho’, I’ll get it.” Dewey extracted the knife and ran his hand over the cat. “He’s a big ’un. Fine pelt. Make a nice . . . .” He paused and bent low, examining. “Dis ol’ boy’s been hunted some. He’s got a broke off arrow in his flank.”

  “Aye? I thought he limped when I was chasing him.” Tye felt a twinge of pity for the animal he’d been forced to kill.

  Dewey wiped the bloody knife on the grass and handed it back to him. “Betcha Mistah Crawford’s gonna be glad yuh downed dis varment. Wounded cat cain’t ketch game too good, so I ’spect he’s been stealin’ beeves to feed hisself.”

  Tucking the knife back in his boot with some difficulty, Tye realized Dewey was right. He’d only done what needed to be done.

  “C’mon, let’s get yuh back to camp.”

  Tye gritted his teeth and stifled a groan as Dewey hooked an arm under his and pulled him to his feet.

  * * *

  Lil downed a bitter swallow of Arbuckle’s and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, dreading the long hours ahead. Neil stood nearby, also trying to wake up with coffee. Rusty and Alabama slowly crawled out of their bedrolls while her father pulled on his boots. Determined to do his share, he insisted on riding the last half of the night with them. But he wasn’t getting any younger; going without sleep was harder on him than on her and the others. She hoped he wouldn’t drop from exhaustion.

  Her head came up at the sound of a horse rapidly approaching. Seconds later, Dewey Sherman pulled up in the circle of firelight. Tye was mounted behind him.

  “Chic! Wake up!” Dewey called urgently, keeping his voice low so as not to spook the herd. “Tye kilt hisself a painter an’ he took some clawin’.”

  Lil gasped and dropped her cup. She hardly heard the men’s shocked exclamations as Dewey’s horse pivoted and she got a good look at Tye. His shirt hung in red tatters; bloody rents marked his right pant leg. Seeing him sway as if ready to fall off the horse, she ran to him, injured feelings forgotten. She didn’t give a thought to her father. Tye was hurt; nothing else mattered.

  He looked down at her, face pale and filmed with sweat. Gripping Dewey’s offered arm, he clenched his jaw and slid clumsily off the horse, grunting when his feet hit the ground. Luis Medina, awake and quick to react, moved to steady him.

  “Easy, amigo,” the vaquero said, clutching his arm.

  Lil slipped her arm around Tye’s waist from the other side. “Lean on me,” she said, immediately conscious of his hard body pressed along the length of hers.

  “Gladly, colleen.” Incredibly, he managed a smile, but his voice sounded raspy, and fine tremors passed through him as he draped his arm across her shoulders. The scent of blood and wild animal clung to him.

  Chic was up and cracking orders. “Rusty, fetch my medicine box and that jug I keep under the seat.” As he spoke, he upended his wreck pan near the fire. “Set him down here where I can see good,” he said. While they did as directed, he grabbed a smaller pan and went to fill it from the water barrel lashed to the side of the chuck wagon.

  Once Tye was seated on the washtub, Lil bent to unbutton his shredded shirt. He worked the tails free, and Luis got his gunbelt off, but when the vaquero drew a knife and crouched to cut open his pant leg, Tye caught his wrist and glanced up at Lil.

  She frowned impatiently. “I won’t faint at the sight of your leg, if that’s what you think.” In truth, she was flustered by the thought but wasn’t about to let him know that.

  Tye raised his eyebrows, Luis’ black mustache quirked and several drovers laughed. Then Lil heard her pa clear his throat. She glanced up and found him glaring at her across the fire, fists on his hips. He opened his mouth to speak, but she glared back mutinously, and after a moment, he clamped his jaws shut. He didn’t say a word as Luis slit Tye’s pant leg from knee to hip.

  The vaquero stepped back, leaving Lil to help Tye out of his shirt. He inhaled sharply as she gently peeled the material from his scored shoulders and chest, causing her to swallow hard. Four more nasty gashes ran down his muscular thigh. Curly, blood-matted dark hair clung to his skin on leg and chest.

  Lil didn’t realize she was staring in horror until he spoke.

  “Don’t let a few wee scra
tches bother ye, colleen.”

  “Wee scratches! Maybe you’d better take a look at yourself.”

  He gave her another crooked smile. “I’d rather look at you, love,” he whispered.

  Her cheeks caught fire. How could he tease her when he had to be hurting like hell?

  “Move over and let me at ’im,” Chic barked, giving Lil a start.

  She backed off a few steps, allowing him room to work. Tye didn’t make a sound while the cook washed the blood from his chest, although his lips compressed into a thin line and his arm muscles bulged as he leaned hard on the rounded edge of the washtub.

  Frowning, Chic clicked his tongue. “Reckon I’ll have to do some sewin’. But first . . . .” He reached for the whiskey jug Rusty had brought out and uncorked it. “Here, yuh better have some.”

  “Thanks, I can use it.” Hoisting the jug, Tye took several hefty swallows before Chic snatched it away.

  “Don’t drink it all, boy. I need some to clean out them cuts, ’less yuh want ’em to go putrid.”

  Tye gasped from the strong drink and stared at him, obviously realizing what he was in for. Then he cocked an eyebrow. “’Tis a shameful waste o’ good whiskey, but do what ye must.”

  A couple of the men chuckled at his show of bravado, but Lil felt sick at the thought of raw spirits touching his torn flesh. Giving no thought to her father or anyone else, she crouched beside Tye and laid a hand on his arm. Their eyes met in silent communication until Chic handed him a rawhide strip.

  “Here, bite on that. Can’t have yuh yellin’ up a stampede.”

  Tye eyed the bite marks of former users. “Get on with it,” he said curtly, then clamped his teeth over the strip. He set himself but jerked violently and gave a strangled cry when Chic began to dribble whiskey over his wounds.

  Lil clutched his arm with both hands, biting down hard on her lip as he squeezed his eyes shut and growled behind the gag. A fresh film of sweat broke out on his face and he swayed precariously. Luis Medina rushed forward to grab his other arm and steady him.

  Once he’d doused all the gashes, Chic did the same to a needle and thread. “Keep chawin’ on that rawhide,” he said. “I’ll be quick as I can.”