Chapter 28
The simmering sun slipped behind the western canyon walls, leaving the expanse of cacti, sage, and scrub brush in shadows.
Sunset at last, but there’d be no rest. Ben’s tongue felt like cotton, and his cracked lips stung with every twitch.
His eyes burned. A night and three days without water for the cattle, and even with rationing, the riders and the horses had drained every barrel and canteen to the dregs earlier this afternoon.
They’d driven the cattle through the night.
No sense in trying to stop. The night before, the animals had walked and stomped about, requiring everyone to be in the saddle in order to prevent a stampede.
Riding at the left point, Ben gripped his reins and coaxed his gelding onward.
The mass of cattle groaned behind him, their eyes sunken, skin tight across their ribs, and tongues hanging.
Goodnight’s man, Juan, rode point on the right, while two hired hands, Dan and Henry, kept to the sides of the middle.
Fighting to keep the stragglers moving, Devon and Morning Fawn brought up the drags.
They’d already had to put a bullet in almost a dozen head who’d either wobbled to the ground or turned to fight, crazed with thirst.
In the distance, dust flew as Eagle Ed rode toward them.
Ben loped his horse to meet him. “You find the Pecos?”
Ed removed his hat. Ten days’ worth of grime coated the trail guide’s face. His sweat-soaked hair lay plastered to his head. “No, but I caught sight of Castle Canyon. That means we’re close. I’m betting we’ll reach the river before sunrise.”
“We’d better.” A sigh rattled through Ben. He could only pray that this man’s wealth of knowledge was at least half of what he claimed it to be. “The cattle won’t stand much more of this.”
“We’ll get there. At least most of them will.” Ed unscrewed the cap on his canteen.
Ben’s eyebrows shot up. “You still have water?”
Ed worked his jaw and recapped the lid. “No. Just dreaming of a drop.”
Ben narrowed his gaze but pressed his lips shut. No use starting a confrontation with the man who knew the most. “Why’d you come back? Don’t we need someone out looking?”
Ed swiped his mouth. “Wanted to give you a choice. When these cattle catch the scent of water, and they can do that from miles away, there’s liable to be a stampede.” He rubbed his nose. “Either you can take our canteens and ride ahead scouting, or you can stay here and keep them from going wild.”
Ben scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know anything about the area.”
Ed puffed his chest out. “You know less about cattle. I figure you can follow the stars. Plus, on your return, you’ll be able to hear us from miles off.”
Ben glared at the man. Ed was under his hire. He could order this seasoned cowhand to ride out for water, but if he did that, and the cattle stampeded? “What about Juan or Dan? They’ve ridden with Goodnight. They could help me keep the cattle in line.”
“Whatever you say, boss man.” Ed tapped his hat back to his head. “But I’m the best cowhand of the lot.”
Ben ground his teeth. Juan was hardly more than a kid, and Dan wasn’t much better. Devon was an excellent rider, and so was Morning Fawn, but they weren’t cattle experts, and neither was Phillips. “All right. Bring me the canteens.”
Canteens swinging from his saddle, Ben rode ahead, praying for direction and grace.
Close to midnight, he jaunted his gelding down the side of a slope into the moonlit limestone walls of Castle Canyon. A cool breeze rippled across his parched skin. Water. Pebbles and sand flew as he skidded the gelding down to the canyon floor. The horse sensed the water, too, and picked up speed.
Less than an hour later, Ben dropped his knees into the mud flats of the snake-like Pecos.
Thank God. Water at last. He dipped his hand in and tasted.
Tolerable under better circumstances. Tonight, it tasted almost like molasses.
While his horse quenched its thirst, Ben swallowed his fill, careful not to overindulge, and filled the canteens.
He looped the strings around every point of his saddle possible. An owl hooted from a lone scrub oak.
Ben scanned the landscape. The way he’d come down would be treacherous for the cattle, but north of that spot, the slope was more gradual. He’d warn Ed to drive them that way.
Less than two hours later, cowbells, worn by the lead cattle, clanged in the distance as Ben loped his horse toward the herd. They’d made amazing progress in the few hours he’d been gone.
When he was within sight of Ed and Juan, he held up the canteens and waved. He might not be an expert, but even he knew enough to not yell or make loud noises around cattle who were already rattled. A cool breeze ruffled his shirt sleeves.
Horse hooves pounding the pebbled sand, Ed rode out to meet him, barely keeping ahead of the trotting longhorns. Had they started moving faster?
Grunts and moos echoed through the mass.
“Two hours from here.” Ben handed the man a canteen as they nudged their mounts to move alongside the lead cattle. “Enough sweet water to fill them all. But we should direct them to the northeast a couple of notches. The descent is more manageable there.”
Ed upended his canteen to his lips until moisture dripped off his chin. He swallowed and swiped his mouth. “Sounds good. Ride around to the others and hand out canteens. Don’t make a lot of racket—”
A gust of wind tugged at Ben’s hat and toppled Ed’s from his head. A sweet smell tickled Ben’s nose.
Moos cascaded. The lead longhorn picked up speed, the front runners outpacing Ben and Ed.
“What the...” Ed rode for the head, the rest of his sentence lost in the rumble of hooves, the hard thud, thud, thud of over a thousand hooves. Running. “Turn ’em right. Turn ’em right,” Ed hollered.
Dust plumes billowed. Ben rode hard to catch up with Ed. Drive the animals right. Turn them until they’re circling. Mill them up. Tighten the circle. Ed had drilled the instructions into his, Devon’s, and Morning Fawn’s heads during the first couple days of the drive.
On the right, Juan fell back to encourage the turn and avoid spooking the animals.
Ben’s gelding snorted and skidded away from the wild thrash of a longhorn. Ben gripped the reins and pressed his thighs to the horse’s flanks. Choking dust and sand bit his eyes and clogged his throat.
Dan yelled behind him.
Bent over the neck of his horse, Ed charged in close. “Turn ’em.”
Ben moved in, heart pounding. So many horns. The herd at his side shifted. He squinted, searching for Ed in the haze. The gelding’s flanks rippled beneath him. Keep driving right. It didn’t matter if he could see.
Wind whipped at him. From the cattle or the canyons?
Moos. Up ahead, the curving trajectory of beeves cut left. A horse on the right reared. The rider teetered and toppled. Ed or Juan?
Ben jerked his horse to the left. Let them go straight for now.
Save the rider. Ben hovered on the side.
The gelding whinnied. The mass of bovines pounded past them.
Should he go after the cattle or help the man?
Across the mass, another rider waved his hat at him and thrust his hand toward Ben and then the cattle, then repeated the gesture.
Ben signaled with his own hat and goaded the gelding forward, waving for Dan to follow behind. Take care of the cattle, slow them, turn them from the precipice. The rider would look after the fallen man.
Canteens tumbled from their hooks as Ben charged into the night.
Let the beasts get clear of the fallen rider, then work them to the north, as best he could.
He had an hour, less. Surely, chunky, water-deprived animals couldn’t run for that long.
They’d probably drop and need water hauled to them if they were to survive.
The gelding’s hooves pounded beneath him. Sand plastered him. Coated his throat and his lashes. Coughs rattled through him. Tingles ran through his half-numb fingers from his strangling the reins, and his thighs clung to the animal with all his might.
To the right, to the right, not a circle. They’d given up on a circle. Other riders helped. Dan behind him, and Morning Fawn trailing farther back, on the far right. Devon’s voice rang out from the back. No sign of Juan or Ed.
Castle Canyon loomed in the distance. They were going to make it.
The trajectory had shifted from the steep embankment.
Grunts, snorts. A few animals had dropped, but the mass picked up speed.
Water was near. Just keep them like this.
The river. The Pecos. Salvation from thirst. Almost within reach.
The herd pulled farther right.
“Shift ’em back. Keep ’em straight.” Ben’s voice scraped as he beat his hat against the air.
Across the way, Perkins drove in, pushing. Down the line, Devon swooped close. Ben eased off, giving the animals room to drift left.
But cattle burst through the gap in front of Dan like water ripping through a hole in a dam. The stream exploded into a flood. Dan’s horse reared, but the cowboy held tight and galloped from the path of the charging mass.
Stupid cattle. They were going to miss the river. Couldn’t they smell the water? Unless the river curved south. Decimating sage, grass, scrub brush beneath their onslaught, the longhorns tore across the ground, crazed for moisture. A rise, then a drop up ahead—not the canyon, a stubble of a mesa.
Ben drove his gelding. He needed to get on point.
Bovines charged over the edge, skidding down helter-skelter.
The ones in the lead slid toward a murky pond bathed in moonlight.
Rows of longhorns slammed into the front runners, until the latter mass butted head to end, sending some of the cattle into a tumble.
Helpless, Ben and Dan swung to the side.
Devon and Morning Fawn worked to turn the stragglers, remaining at the top.
Cattle in the pond and others shoving their way in bullied the leaders clear to the other side. Water. Others struggled to their hooves, some bellowing, injured. Every creature who could manage a stumble fought its way into the soupy mixture and guzzled.
Dan scrubbed his hand down his face. “This can’t be the river.”
“No.” Ben worked to catch his breath. “They turned too sharp. The Pecos is a little farther north.”
“Just a large pond?” Dan swung down from his horse, his voice rising. His gaze scoured the ground. Dodging the back end of a couple of heifers, he dropped to his knees and scooped his hand into a puddle.
A chill swept over Ben. Pond. Standing water. No flow.
Dan spit out the sip. “Poison. Alkaline. We got to move them.” His voice crescendoed.
Ben charged into the mass, followed by the other riders, reining in their pawing horses who fought against their bridles in desperation to moisten their tongues.
The herd leaders plodded to the muddy flats, followed by others. The mass of those who’d had a taste slowly submitted to the riders. The first animal made it a couple hundred feet before it dropped.