good thing, so I played the hand out. "Zeno," I said, "you've gone and spoiled a good thing. Between you and the boys on the river bank, I figured to collect some scalps."
Soto did not like it. In fact, he did not like it even a little. He did not know whether there was anybody on the river bank or not, nor did he like what he would have to do to find out.
He knew there must be men with the cattle, and that, had they seen him coming or been warned in time, they might easily be sheltered by the high bank and waiting to cut Soto and his men to doll rags.
"I regret, senior "--Soto smiled stiffly--"the shortness of our visit. When we come again there will be more of us . . . and some friends of ours, the Comanches. You would do well to drive Miguel Sandoval from your camp."
"There was a grave back yonder," I said, "of a Mexican we found and buried."
Soto smiled again. "A good trick . . . only we turned back and opened the grave.
There was no body."
He turned his horse and walked it slowly away from camp, but we knew he would come back, and we knew we were in trouble.
"All right," I said. "A quick breakfast and then we move out."
During the night several steers and a cow had managed to make the river, and rejoined the herd. There was no time to estimate the loss of cattle on the drive, although obviously several hundred head were gone.
We pushed on, keeping up a steady move, pausing only at noon to water in the Pecos, whose route we were following. One or more of us trailed well behind or on the hills to right or left, scouting for the enemy.
The earth was incredibly dry and was covered over vast areas with a white, saline substance left from the alkali in the area. Wherever there had been water standing, the ground was white, as if from snow.
Pa fell back and rode beside me. "We're outnumbered, Dan," he said. "They'll come with fifty or sixty men."
We saw not a living thing. Here and there were dead cattle, dried to mere bones and hide, untorn by wolves, which showed us that not even those animals would try to exist in such a place. By night/all the-e was no grass to be found, so we brought the wagons together on a low knoll, with the cattle behind it.
There was a forest of prickly pear, which cattle will eat, and which is moist enough so they need little water. Half a dozen of us went out and singed the spines from bunches of pear with torches, and it was a pretty sight to see the torches moving over the darkening plain. But the cattle fed.
With daybreak, the wind rose and the sky was filled with dust, and clouds of dust billowed along the ground, filling the air and driving against the face with stinging force. The sun became a hall of red, then was obscured, and the cattle moved out with the wind behind them, herded along the course of the Pecos, but far enough off to avoid its twistings and turnings.
By nightfall the dust storm had died down, but the air was unnaturally cold. Under the lee of a knoll the wagons drew up and a fire was built.
Zebony rode in and stepped down from his horse. Ma Foley and Mrs. Stark were working over a meal. There was little food left, but a few of the faltering cattle had been killed, and some of the beef was prepared. The flour was almost all gone, and no molasses was left.
Zeno Yearly came up and joined us. There was a stubble of beard on his lean jaws, and his big sad eyes surveyed us with melancholy. "Reminded me of a time up on the Canadian when I was headed for Colorado. We ran into a dust storm so thick we could look up betwixt us and the sun and see the prairie dogs diggin' their holes."
Squatting by the fire, I stared into the flames, and I was doing some thinking. Pa was relying on me, with Tap gone, and I hadn't much hope of doing much. The herd was all we had, and the herd was in bad shape. We had a fight facing us whenever Felipe Soto and his Comancheros caught up with us, and we were shorthanded.
We had lost several hundred head and could not afford to lose more.
Soto did not like it. In fact, he did not like it even a little. He did not know whether there was anybody on the river bank or not, nor did he like what he would have to do to find out.
He knew there must be men with the cattle, and that, had they seen him coming or been warned in time, they might easily be sheltered by the high bank and waiting to cut Soto and his men to doll rags.
"I regret, senior "--Soto smiled stiffly--"the shortness of our visit. When we come again there will be more of us . . . and some friends of ours, the Comanches. You would do well to drive Miguel Sandoval from your camp."
"There was a grave back yonder," I said, "of a Mexican we found and buried."
Soto smiled again. "A good trick . . . only we turned back and opened the grave.
There was no body."
He turned his horse and walked it slowly away from camp, but we knew he would come back, and we knew we were in trouble.
"All right," I said. "A quick breakfast and then we move out."
During the night several steers and a cow had managed to make the river, and rejoined the herd. There was no time to estimate the loss of cattle on the drive, although obviously several hundred head were gone.
We pushed on, keeping up a steady move, pausing only at noon to water in the Pecos, whose route we were following. One or more of us trailed well behind or on the hills to right or left, scouting for the enemy.
The earth was incredibly dry and was covered over vast areas with a white, saline substance left from the alkali in the area. Wherever there had been water standing, the ground was white, as if from snow.
Pa fell back and rode beside me. "We're outnumbered, Dan," he said. "They'll come with fifty or sixty men."
We saw not a living thing. Here and there were dead cattle, dried to mere bones and hide, untorn by wolves, which showed us that not even those animals would try to exist in such a place. By night/all the-e was no grass to be found, so we brought the wagons together on a low knoll, with the cattle behind it.
There was a forest of prickly pear, which cattle will eat, and which is moist enough so they need little water. Half a dozen of us went out and singed the spines from bunches of pear with torches, and it was a pretty sight to see the torches moving over the darkening plain. But the cattle fed.
With daybreak, the wind rose and the sky was filled with dust, and clouds of dust billowed along the ground, filling the air and driving against the face with stinging force. The sun became a hall of red, then was obscured, and the cattle moved out with the wind behind them, herded along the course of the Pecos, but far enough off to avoid its twistings and turnings.
By nightfall the dust storm had died down, but the air was unnaturally cold. Under the lee of a knoll the wagons drew up and a fire was built.
Zebony rode in and stepped down from his horse. Ma Foley and Mrs. Stark were working over a meal. There was little food left, but a few of the faltering cattle had been killed, and some of the beef was prepared. The flour was almost all gone, and no molasses was left.
Zeno Yearly came up and joined us. There was a stubble of beard on his lean jaws, and his big sad eyes surveyed us with melancholy. "Reminded me of a time up on the Canadian when I was headed for Colorado. We ran into a dust storm so thick we could look up betwixt us and the sun and see the prairie dogs diggin' their holes."
Squatting by the fire, I stared into the flames, and I was doing some thinking. Pa was relying on me, with Tap gone, and I hadn't much hope of doing much. The herd was all we had, and the herd was in bad shape. We had a fight facing us whenever Felipe Soto and his Comancheros caught up with us, and we were shorthanded.
We had lost several hundred head and could not afford to lose more.
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