then the wagon came all the way over on him, resting on its high chuck box in the rear, wheels in the air.
In that small space left between the bed and the ground Cap lay and watched the camp go. He saw Ferg Daniels, who had been too stubborn to leave. The cattle hit him, bowling him down out of sight. His horse was rearing in fright, and the impact of the fear-maddened herd sent him over on his back, neighing wildly, and then he was lost too. The fires were trampled out as if some giant handhad smothered them. The wagon rocked under the glancing impact of the cattle who hit it, and Cap felt the ground under him quivering as if alive.
In a few minutes the last of the herd had passed into the timber, crashing into that darkness where they would run in a thousand directions until they dropped with exhaustion.
Cap wearily climbed out from under the wagon. The remuda, of course, was taken away in the stampede too. It was blacker than soot now, and Cap stood there helplessly. It was useless to shout yet, for the cattle were making too much noise out in the brush. It was, in fact, useless to do a damned thing, Cap thought bitterly. Automatically he set about looking for wood with which to build a fire and survey the damage. The sideboards had fallen from the wagon and had been splintered by the trampling herd. Cap gathered up an armload and then got a fire going.
By the time the blaze had taken hold the crew came straggling in from the timber. Someone hallooed out in the night, announcing himself, and then came into camp on horseback. He was a night herder, his horse lathered and trembling from the run. The rest of the crew was cursing bitterly, or else they were glum and afraid to look at Cap.
Cap counted noses. Daniels was missing. He reluctantly left the fire and made his way over to where he had seen Daniels go down. Presently he returned and salvaged a tarp out of the tangle of bedrolls and took it out to Daniels and covered what was on the ground there.
When he came back nobody spoke. Cap said, “How’d it start?” to the night herder.
“I couldn’t stop it, Cap. They waited till I was on the other side of the herd and began shootin’. I didn’t even see one.”
Cap grunted and stared bitterly into the fire. “Nine days to make the deadline. Hell, it’ll take two weeks to round up that stuff in this brush.”
“What about horses?”
Cap grunted and said to the night herder, “You come back with me and bring out a new string.”
They nodded, and still they said nothing about Daniels. It was what they were thinking about and not talking about. There wasn’t a man here but who imagined that death, had imagined it many times. It was the old trail death and it had come into their midst again tonight.
One of the punchers said softly, “By God, I’ll make Riling remember this.”
Cap wasn’t looking at him. Far out from the circle of firelight he had seen the shining eyes of a horse with the fire reflected in them. He walked out toward it, approaching slowly, talking softly. The horse shied a couple of times, and then Cap caught him.
Immediately he saw the man on the ground, one foot caught in the stirrup. Still holding the reins, Cap knelt and struck a match. It was young Fred Barden, and Cap knew dismally that it was his own shot that had knocked Barden out of the saddle. It had caught him in the chest, and the horse had apparently swerved wide of the herd and stopped immediately.
Now the others came up and looked down at young Barden. A month ago they had been at dances with Barden, had drunk with him and laughed athis jokes and liked him. The whole bitter folly of this fight was expressed in this scene, and they all felt it and it made them angry. They had traded Daniels’ death for this Barden’s, and the exchange pleased none of them.
Cap quietly led the horse back to the firelight and looked around the camp. It was utterly wrecked. Some grub that had been locked in the chuck wagon’s box
In that small space left between the bed and the ground Cap lay and watched the camp go. He saw Ferg Daniels, who had been too stubborn to leave. The cattle hit him, bowling him down out of sight. His horse was rearing in fright, and the impact of the fear-maddened herd sent him over on his back, neighing wildly, and then he was lost too. The fires were trampled out as if some giant handhad smothered them. The wagon rocked under the glancing impact of the cattle who hit it, and Cap felt the ground under him quivering as if alive.
In a few minutes the last of the herd had passed into the timber, crashing into that darkness where they would run in a thousand directions until they dropped with exhaustion.
Cap wearily climbed out from under the wagon. The remuda, of course, was taken away in the stampede too. It was blacker than soot now, and Cap stood there helplessly. It was useless to shout yet, for the cattle were making too much noise out in the brush. It was, in fact, useless to do a damned thing, Cap thought bitterly. Automatically he set about looking for wood with which to build a fire and survey the damage. The sideboards had fallen from the wagon and had been splintered by the trampling herd. Cap gathered up an armload and then got a fire going.
By the time the blaze had taken hold the crew came straggling in from the timber. Someone hallooed out in the night, announcing himself, and then came into camp on horseback. He was a night herder, his horse lathered and trembling from the run. The rest of the crew was cursing bitterly, or else they were glum and afraid to look at Cap.
Cap counted noses. Daniels was missing. He reluctantly left the fire and made his way over to where he had seen Daniels go down. Presently he returned and salvaged a tarp out of the tangle of bedrolls and took it out to Daniels and covered what was on the ground there.
When he came back nobody spoke. Cap said, “How’d it start?” to the night herder.
“I couldn’t stop it, Cap. They waited till I was on the other side of the herd and began shootin’. I didn’t even see one.”
Cap grunted and stared bitterly into the fire. “Nine days to make the deadline. Hell, it’ll take two weeks to round up that stuff in this brush.”
“What about horses?”
Cap grunted and said to the night herder, “You come back with me and bring out a new string.”
They nodded, and still they said nothing about Daniels. It was what they were thinking about and not talking about. There wasn’t a man here but who imagined that death, had imagined it many times. It was the old trail death and it had come into their midst again tonight.
One of the punchers said softly, “By God, I’ll make Riling remember this.”
Cap wasn’t looking at him. Far out from the circle of firelight he had seen the shining eyes of a horse with the fire reflected in them. He walked out toward it, approaching slowly, talking softly. The horse shied a couple of times, and then Cap caught him.
Immediately he saw the man on the ground, one foot caught in the stirrup. Still holding the reins, Cap knelt and struck a match. It was young Fred Barden, and Cap knew dismally that it was his own shot that had knocked Barden out of the saddle. It had caught him in the chest, and the horse had apparently swerved wide of the herd and stopped immediately.
Now the others came up and looked down at young Barden. A month ago they had been at dances with Barden, had drunk with him and laughed athis jokes and liked him. The whole bitter folly of this fight was expressed in this scene, and they all felt it and it made them angry. They had traded Daniels’ death for this Barden’s, and the exchange pleased none of them.
Cap quietly led the horse back to the firelight and looked around the camp. It was utterly wrecked. Some grub that had been locked in the chuck wagon’s box
Similar Books
