Duff was riding nighthawk when he heard the sound of a rifle shot. At the sound of the shot, the cattle, which had been bedded down, were up as one, and instantly on the run.
“Dusty!” Duff called to the one who was riding nighthawk with him. “Dusty!”
It just so happened that in their circuitous route around the outside edge of the cattle, Duff was approaching Dusty. Dusty didn’t answer Duff’s call, and Duff urged his horse into a gallop, reaching Dusty just as he started to reel in his saddle.
“I been shot, Duff,” Dusty said. “Damn, I think I’ve been kilt.”
Dusty fell from the saddle, and Duff dismounted quickly to check on him. As it so happened, that dismount saved Duff’s life, for a second shot was fired. Duff saw the muzzle-flash, then heard the bullet whiz by, amazingly close, especially for a shot at night.
“Cattle thieves!” Falcon shouted. “Clay, Smoke, Falcon, turn out! Turn out!”
Duff shot back toward where he had seen the muzzle-flash, but had no specific target because he hadn’t actually seen anything but the muzzle-flash.
The gunfire startled Tom and Rebecca, and Tom sat up quickly to see what was going on.
By now, rapid fire was coming from the camp itself, as Smoke and the others rolled out of their makeshift bedrolls and into the snow, which was now at least three inches deep. Matt put his pistol away and raised his rifle. He aimed through the falling snow and toward the swirling melee of cattle, waiting for one of the robbers to present a target. A horse appeared, with a rider Matt didn’t recognize. The rider was shooting wildly.
Matt fired and the robber tumbled backward. His horse, with its saddle empty now, galloped away.
“Get ’em out of here! Stampede the cattle!” someone shouted.
It wasn’t until that moment that Smoke and the others realized how many rustlers there were. There were more rustlers than there were cowboys, and they were able to get the herd running.
“Get mounted!” Clay shouted. “We’re going after them!”
Once mounted, they started after the cattle, which now had a good half-mile lead. The cows were running as fast as they could run, which was about three-quarters of the speed of the horses. But what the cattle lacked in speed they made up for with momentum, and that momentum was continued by the shooting and shouting of the rustlers who, as part of their plan, needed the cattle to stampede.
With lowered heads, wild eyes, and flopping tongues, the cattle ran as if there was no tomorrow. More than a million pounds of muscle, bone, and hair, red eyes, running noses, and black hides spotted white with snow. Over twenty-five hundred animals welded together as one gigantic, raging beast. A cloud of white churned up by ten thousand hooves rose up from the herd and billowed high into the air, mixing with the snow that was falling, so thick that within moments it was impossible to see through the blizzard and the dark of the night.
Suddenly a rider appeared out of the swirl just in front of Tom. At first Tom thought it might be Matt, but he realized at once that it wasn’t anyone he knew. Then he saw that whoever it was was pointing a pistol at him.
Without thinking, Tom raised his pistol and fired, and he saw the rider reel in his saddle, then turn and try to ride away. He disappeared into the snow and the night, but a moment later, Tom saw him again, this time on the ground, being trampled by the stampeding cattle.
This was the first time he had ever shot anyone, and he felt neither a sense of remorse nor elation. He felt no emotional response at all, and he remembered something his father had told him about his experience in the war.
“I think it is something that God gives us at such terrible times,” his father had said. “It is a mechanism that shuts down all emotion such as fear, horror, anger, hate, and love. You can kill if you have to, you can watch your friends be killed, you can wade through a field of bodies and gore without going insane.”
Tom was totally disoriented now. He didn’t know where the wagon was, he didn’t know where the river was, he had no concept of north, south, east, or west. He knew only where the stampeding cattle were, and he rode alongside them, keeping them to his left.
He knew that if he kept close to the cattle he couldn’t get lost, because the others would be in contact with the cattle as well. And he had confidence that at least one among them, Clay, or Smoke, or Dusty, would be able to find their way back. At the moment he was unaware that Dusty was dead.
So far, Tom had seen only one other person since he had left the camp, and that was one of the rustlers. At least, Tom hoped he was one of the rustlers, because Tom had killed him.
The cattle thundered on, a huge, undulating black mass lumbering through snow growing deeper by the minute. Because of the heavy snowfall, the pace slowed more and more. The cattle stopped running, and continued forward in what could only be described as a laboring trot, then a walk, until finally the cattle stopped all together. By now the snow came up almost to Thunder’s belly, and the powerful animal was blowing streams of vapor into the air as he labored to keep going.
This wasn’t going the way Red Coleman had planned. He had thought that by striking in the middle of the night that they could stampede the cattle away from the drovers who would be asleep, and too confused to be able to react. But two of his men had already been killed, and that left him with only five plus himself. Also, he had not counted on the severity of the snowstorm. Even if he didn’t have the cowboys to deal with, he knew now that he would not be able to move the herd. The cattle had come to a complete stop. Clearly, he no longer had the odds strongly enough in his favor to pull this off.
He knew that Smoke Jensen was a deadly shot; he had not only heard of him, he had encountered him before. But it wasn’t just Smoke Jensen. There were at least three more with him who were every bit as good as he was. He had run into a hornet’s nest!
“Let’s get out of here!” he called to the others, then he broke away, moving as rapidly as he could at right angles to the herd. Because of the snow, they were moving only marginally faster than a man on foot would be able to move, had there been no snow. Red’s only hope now was that Jensen and the others would stay with the herd.
“What about the cattle?” one of the others shouted.
“To hell with the cattle!”
At that, all the remaining rustlers broke off to follow Red, leaving the motionless herd behind them.
“They’re leaving!” Matt shouted.
“Duff! Stay with Clay and the herd! We’re going after them!” Smoke shouted.
Smoke, Matt, and Falcon started toward the outlaws, but they could move no faster than the rustlers could. It made for a most unusual chase, the outlaws urging, unsuccessfully, their exhausted horses to open up more distance between them and those in pursuit of them, and the pursuers urging their horses, with no more success, to close the gap.
Back at the wagon, where the three women were huddled together, the snow was still falling silently and heavily from the night sky. Rebecca, Sally, and Maria had climbed up onto the seat of the chuck wagon so that they were out of the snow, though the snow itself was halfway up the wagon wheels. The three huddled together as best they could for warmth, pulling their heavy, wool-lined coats about them. They were holding a piece of canvas over them to provide them with some protection against the snow, frequently shaking it to keep it somewhat clear.
“I wonder where the men are,” Rebecca said.
“And how far did they have to go?” Sally asked.
“Do you think they will be back tonight?” Maria asked.
“I wish I could answer that,” Sally said.