“This is the best I been fed in ten years,” said Elmer Dumont. “A man could start to liking these trail drives.”
“A man generally don’t have his women folks along to fix the grub,” said Tuck. “We all know it’s hard times in Texas, and we didn’t dare leave them there.”
“There’s a stronger reason than that,” Maureen Chadman said. “Katrina and me haven’t had a stitch of new clothes since before the war, and we’re practically naked. Surely we’ll get enough for the herd so we don’t go home in rags.”
“We’ll just have to hope we get a good price,” said Enos Chadman uncomfortably.
“Katrina’s cast-iron underpants are startin’ to rust,” Tuck said softly, standing behind Danielle.
“If anybody would know, it would be you,” said Danielle coldly. “You spent the night following her around, instead of watching the herd.”
“So what the hell is it to you?” Tuck demanded. “Sooner or later, she’s got to give in to some hombre. Why not me? You reckon I can’t do her justice?”
“I don’t doubt that you can,” said Danielle. “And neither does she. I just want to get this damn herd to Abilene, so I can get on with my life.”
“You mean to get on with your killing,” Tuck said.
“Well, just what the hell would you have done if your pa had been strung up without cause?”
“I deserved that,” said Tuck. “I’d do the same thing you’re doing.”
Their second day on the trail was little better than the first. “We should reach Red River tomorrow,” Elmer Dumont said. “From there on, every night will be a danger. They can even set up an ambush and pick us off in broad daylight.”
“There’s always the old Indian trick,” said Wallace Flagg. “Stampede the herd, and when we separate to gather them, get us one at a time.”
The third day on the trail, the cattle had begun to settle down. The drive reached the Red River, making camp on the Texas side.
“This could be our last peaceful night,” Cyrus Baldwin warned. “From here on, it could be Indians, outlaws, or both.”
The night was still, and Danielle lay in her blankets, unable to sleep. She kept hearing Katrina laugh, and had no doubt Tuck Carlyle was keeping her amused. On Danielle’s mind was the sobering realization that unless that murdering pack of outlaws died somewhere in Indian Territory, she would have to ride away and leave Tuck to the wiles of Katrina. At midnight, when it was time to change watches, Danielle spoke to Tuck.
“Well, did you get the key?”
“Not tonight,” Tuck said cheerfully. “Maybe tomorrow night.”
“Damn it,” said Danielle, “like most men, you have only one thing on your mind.”
“Then I reckon you don’t,” Tuck said. “Are you one of them fool hombres that prefers other hombres to women?”
“Tuck Carlyle, if we weren’t on watch, I’d pistol-whip you for saying that.”
“Just watch your damn tongue,” said Tuck. “You’re startin’ to sound like a jealous female, and anytime you’re of a mind to pistol-whip me, just keep in mind that I have a pistol too.”
It silenced Danielle. Already, Tuck was suspicious of her. It was difficult, playing the part of a man when she most yearned to be a woman, but her resolve to find her father’s killers was just as strong as ever. She would have to keep her silence, whatever Tuck and Katrina did. Danielle didn’t realize it, but Tuck and Katrina were actually talking about her.
“I’d like to know Dan Strange a little better,” Katrina said. “He keeps watching me, and he seems so nice.”
“I reckon I’m not,” said Tuck grimly.
“Sometimes you are,” Katrina said, “and other times you’re not. You think I haven’t heard all the talk about my cast-iron underpants?”
“I didn’t start that,” said Tuck.
“I wouldn’t expect you to admit it,” Katrina said angrily, “but you repeated it.”
“Hell, it’s a reputation you created for yourself,” said Tuck. “Your look-at-me-but-don’t-touch attitude scares hell out of men.”
“Everybody except you,” Katrina said.
“And I’m gettin’ exactly nowhere,” said Tuck angrily. “Build yourself a reputation as a man-hater, and you won’t need them cast-iron underpants.”
Katrina laughed. “I’ll give the key to the right man. Just don’t get your hopes up too high, Tuck Carlyle.”
Indian Territory. August 23, 1870.
The Red River crossing had been used many times before, and there was a shallows that allowed even the wagons to cross without difficulty. There was a trail of sorts, left by previous drives, and they followed it closely. Tuck was the point rider, and with the herd still behaving, he rode far ahead, seeking out a possible ambush. But all during their first day in Indian Territory, they saw nobody.
“From here on,” said Elmer Dumont, “all of you on watch mustn’t let anybody through your guard. Our lives and the herd are depending on you. No talking and no smoking, and when it’s your turn to sleep, keep your horses saddled and picketed.”
At the Wilks ranch, Kazman had just returned from Indian Territory. With him were four men, and he introduced them.
“These gents is Mitch Vesper, Elihu Dooling, Burt Keleing, and Chunk Peeler. I done told them what we got to do.”
“Nothin’ ain’t been said about the pay,” Dooling said. “This ain’t one of them thirty-and-found jobs, is it?”
“Forty and found,” said Wilks.
“Fifty and found,” Dooling said. “If I got to shoot somebody, it’d better be worth my while.”
There was quick agreement from Vesper, Keleing, and Peeler.
“Fifty and found, then,” said Wilks, “but damn it, I want results.”
“We can leave now and be in Indian Territory by midnight,” Kazman said.
“I want you to get ahead of the herd and stampede them south,” said Wilks. “There’ll be no moon tonight, so don’t go after the riders. Scatter the herd, and the riders will have to split up, looking for them. That’s when we pick them off one or two at a time.”
“Thirteen of us,” Chunk Peeler said. “That’s an unlucky number.”
“Only if you don’t do what you been hired to do,” said Wilks. “Now get the rest of the bunch out of the bunkhouse, Kazman, and ride.”
Within minutes, thirteen heavily armed men rode north toward Indian Territory.
Danielle noticed there was not much conversation between Tuck and Katrina, and she wasn’t sure if it was by command or by choice. She was awake an hour before the second watch took to the saddle, and lay there listening. There was nothing to disturb the silence of the night except the occasional bawling of a cow.
An hour after the second watch had gone on duty, the raiders struck, riding in from the north. Bending low over the necks of their horses, they fired their pistols until it sounded like a small war in progress. The second watch fired at the elusive targets, their own shooting spooking the cattle all the more. The herd was on its feet in an instant, running south, seeking to escape these demons who swooped after them from the north. Tuck Carlyle and Wallace Flagg got ahead of the running longhorns, but they wouldn’t be headed off, and the two cowboys had to ride for their lives to escape being trampled. The stampede thundered on, while those responsible for it fell back and vanished into the darkness. Slowly, the night watch made its way back to camp.
“Damn it,” said Enos Chadman, “we didn’t get a one of ’em.”