“You ought to know, Carl,” Myers said. “I shook hands with him once’t and he stripped every dang one of my fingers to see if they had any milk left on ’em.”
Jo had scooted closer to Dag so that her leg touched his. Dag didn’t notice it at first, but when his leg started to heat up, he knew that she had done it deliberately. No harm in that, he thought. But he felt the pressure and moved his leg slightly. It still burned.
“Felix,” she said, “do you remember that time we went fishing in that catfish pond at Daddy’s?”
“Yes, I remember it. About five years ago, wasn’t it?”
“It was just after a spring rain,” she said, “and the banks were muddy.”
“And slippery.”
She laughed.
“You warned me to be careful, but I didn’t listen. I was eager to catch the first fish. We had dug worms on the way there and I grabbed the can away from you.”
“You were a scamp, all right, Jo.”
“I climbed up on the bank and was about to sit down and put a worm on my hook, when I slid down the smooth bank and fell into the water. I screamed and beat the water. I couldn’t swim.”
“Yeah. You were quite a sight, Jo.”
“You dove in after me and lifted me up in your arms. I fought you because I was scared of drowning, but you got me to the bank and pulled me out. You helped me up to the top and onto dry ground. You held me tight because I was shaking like a leaf.”
“I built a fire and you finally dried out.”
“I know,” she said. “But sometimes, often really, when I’m in bed at night trying to sleep, I can still feel your arms around me, just like they were on that day.”
“Jo, you shouldn’t talk about these things. Not here. Not right now.”
“Why? It’s how I feel, Felix.”
“I know. But I’m married.”
She bit her lip, locking out what she wanted to say. Her hand touched his leg. He looked up at her.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I just wanted you to know about that. Because it happened again last night. You were so near, out there with the cattle, yet so far.”
“Jo . . . don’t.”
She took her hand away and sighed.
A few yards away, Horton watched them with narrowed eyes. He sighed too. With satisfaction.
Chapter 10
Flagg took charge shortly after breakfast. He assigned men to ride to places he designated in order to round up more unbranded outlaw cattle. He sent three different groups, one with Horton, another with Mendoza, and a third with Noriega. He sent two men with each leader.
“Those of you going with these men I’ve put in charge will do what they say. They learned last night how to catch outlaws. You’ll go to the watering holes, the outlying tanks, and to shaded places where cattle bed down during the heat of the day. Catch what sleep you can, and bring back some outlaws to brand. We won’t be here by the time you get back, so figure out where we’ll be by sundown and catch up with us.”
The men all nodded and rode off, their saddles dripping with coiled lariats.
He ordered those who stayed behind to sleep for one hour. After that, he said, they would get the herd moving again, at a very slow, grazing pace. He put Manny Chavez in charge of assigning positions for the drive.
“I’ll take the point,” Flagg told Chavez.
“When the herd is moving, you ride drag and take care that none of the cows stray far from the herd.”
“I got it, boss,” Chavez said.
“Where do you want me, Jubal?” Dag asked.
“You’ll take the right flank, ahead of Chavez. Have the remuda and the chuck wagon follow us at a distance of two miles in case we run into anything.”
“What anything?” Dag asked.
“Well, maybe Comanch’,” Flagg replied, “or Apache.”
“We’re shorthanded for that sort of shit,” Dag said, “until Matlee and his bunch catch up with us.”
“When do you expect them?”
“No later than noon. Maybe an hour or so before then.”
“We’ll stop at high noon for lunch,” Flagg said. “Then maybe we can get organized with the Box M boys and add some more outlaws to this herd.”
“I saw a lot of wild cattle last year, when I made the trip north,” Dag said. “But I expect a lot of ’em are branded by now.”
“Dag, there are millions of Mexican cattle in Texas and probably millions still wandering around not carrying brands. We’ll fill this herd, by God, and all of us will make a few dollars.”
“What about the trail I picked, up the Palo Duro? Do we stand a good chance of making the drive with four thousand head or so?”
“One trail’s as good as another, and most side trails lead to the main ones. One thing I’ve learned since Charlie Goodnight started his trail is that there are as many trails to the rail-heads as there are ranches in Texas.”
Dag laughed. “I believe that.”
The herd moved out under a blue sky flocked with little cloud puffs scattered over the heavens like clusters of picked cotton. The herd was surly, but the pace Flagg set that morning didn’t cause any mutiny among them. When a cow lay down, Flagg told the men to let it rest until the man riding drag reached it. Chavez would prod it back on its feet and it could eat the same dust as he was.
Noon came and there was still no sign of Matlee. Dag kept watching for telltale dust, but the back trail was empty, and he felt hollow inside. He wondered if anything had happened to Barry. He kept his concerns to himself.
Fingers fed the hands beans and beef, bread that was already turning hard, peaches served from the airtights he had brought with him, and strong coffee. There was little banter during the meal. The men were tired and the cattle were starting to sprawl out with only three riders making the circuit around the herd. Those would eat later and by then the herd would be moving again.
The men who had gone out that morning to round up outlaw cattle returned, and there was more branding. This time, Dag and Cavins used the cookfire to heat the irons. The riders ate quickly, as Flagg questioned them.
“Any more where these came from?” he asked.
“They’re scattered all over,” Horton said, “and they’re wild as March hares.”
“You brought thirty head,” Flagg said.
“We brought thirty-two head,” Horton said, correcting him. “I counted them twenty times on the way here.”
“You gettin’ nervous about somethin’, Don?”
“No,” Horton said, almost too quickly. “It’s just that these were so hard to come by, I didn’t want to lose even one head.”
“What are you doin’ with those wearin’ brands?” Flagg asked.
“We’ve been chasin’ ’em well away so they don’t foller us back here.”
“Well, some showed up, anyways.”
“You run ’em off?”
“I didn’t recognize the brands. There were Circle T and some Lazy R. A few with notched ears. If the owners come lookin’ for them, I’ll either give ’em back or buy ’em for the going price.”
“Maybe we don’t need to check brands so close no more,” Horton said.
“Don, when you make your gather, you cut out the branded cows. If some foller you back to the herd, you can’t help that none. We’ll sort it all out when the time comes.”
“I don’t hanker to be caught rustlin’ another man’s cattle,” Horton said.
“Well, you ain’t, so don’t worry about it. Cattle go where they want to go, and on a drive, we can’t help what gets mixed in.”
“That makes sense,” Horton said.
Dag listened to all this without saying anything. After Horton and the others rode off after more wild cattle, he spoke to Flagg.