James was the last to leave, still holding his gun at the ready as he backed through the door. A moment later, those in the saloon heard the sound of hoofbeats as the cowboys rode off.
Private Murphy, who was one of the soldiers ordered to the table, got up quickly and started toward the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, soldier,” the proprietor said. “That fool cowboy might just be waiting for someone to stick his head through the door so he can shoot it off. I know them Texans.”
Murphy halted his charge toward the door. He went over to the bar. There were the ghosts of missing stripes on Murphy’s sleeve, indicating that his present rank of private was the result of some misdeed in the past. Picking up what was left of John Scattergood’s beer, he drank it.
“Say, will them cows really pay for the damage that was done in here?” he asked.
“They sure will. There is a standing offer from the U.S. Army for cattle. They’ll pay twenty dollars apiece for ’em.”
“Is that a fact?” Murphy asked.
“What does the army want with cattle?” one of the other soldiers asked.
“What does the army want with cattle? Where do you think we get our beef?” Murphy replied.
“Seems to me like we don’t hardly ever have none,” the first soldier said. “Seems to me, mostly all we get is beans and, sometimes, a little bacon.”
“What with the war on and all, there’s a lot more soldiers than there is beef available,” the saloon proprietor explained. “And what beef is available goes to the fightin’ men, not soldier-boys like you, safe in some distant fort. That’s why there is a standing order for cattle, and the army is willing to pay good money to anyone who can furnish them with beef.”
Murphy walked back to the table to sit with the others. “Twenty dollars for one cow. Did you fellas hear that?”
“Yeah, I heard it,” one of the other soldiers said. “Twenty dollars is damn near two months’ pay.”
“That’s a lot of money,” another soldier said.
“You know, if we had us, say, a hundred cows, that would be worth some real money,” Murphy said.
“Yeah, if we had a hundred cows.”
Murphy smiled at the others. “Well, I know where we can get a hundred cows,” he said.
“Where?”
“Didn’t you hear that Texan tell the barkeep that he had a cow camp just up the river a ways? A cow camp means there’s cows.”
“Are you suggesting we rustle cattle?” one of the others asked.
“Nah,” Murphy said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “It wouldn’t be rustling. We’re in the Union army, them boys are Rebels. All we would be doing is confiscating a few cows for the government.”
“What’s the good of that? If we confiscated them for the army, the army would just take them away from us and we’d get nothing.”
“Yeah,” another agreed. “And it don’t matter what they are paying civilians to sell them beef—they ain’t going to pay soldiers.”
“I was thinking we could sell the cows to the barkeep, then he could sell them to the army.”
“Think he’d do that?”
“I’ll give you boys fifteen dollars a head,” the barkeep said, overhearing their conversation.
Chapter Twelve
Cow camp on the Arkansas River, early morning,
Friday, August 1, 1862:
Billy Swan was riding Nighthawk when he heard the faint sound of hooves on rock. Since the herd was at rest, he looked around to find the source of the sound and saw a long dark line, ragged with heads and horns, moving away from the main herd.
It took him a moment to realize exactly what was happening, but once he figured it out, he reacted quickly.
“Cattle thieves!” he shouted. “James, Bob, Duke, the rest of you, wake up! Turn out! We’re being robbed!”
Billy’s shout not only awakened his partners, it alerted the thieves and, instantly one of them fired a shot at the sound of Billy’s voice. Billy saw the muzzle flash, then heard the bullet whiz by, amazingly close for a wild shot in the dark.
Billy shot back, and the crack of the guns right over the heads of the pilfered cows started them running. By now, rapid fire began coming from the camp itself as James and the others rolled out of their blankets and began shooting. Revelation was standing in the wagon, firing a rifle, adding her own effort to the fight.
Billy put his pistol away and raised his rifle. He aimed toward the dust and the swirling melee of cattle, waiting for one of the robbers to present a target. One horse appeared, but its saddle was empty. Then another horse appeared, this time with a rider who was shooting wildly.
Billy fired and the robber’s horse broke stride, then fell, carrying his rider down with him, right in front of the running cattle. Downed horse and rider disappeared under the hooves of the maddened beasts.
“Let’s go! Let’s get out of here!” someone shouted.
“What about the cattle?” another voice asked.
“Leave ’em! They’re runnin’ wild; we’ll never get ’em under control now!”
As nearly as Billy could tell, there were three remaining rustlers, or would-be rustlers, and they started off, running in the opposite direction from the running cows.
Billy was torn between a desire to go after the rustlers or run down the cattle. So far, only the cattle that had been stolen were running. The main herd, though made restless by the flashes and explosions in the night, milled around but resisted running.
James appeared alongside Billy at that moment, now mounted on his own horse.
“Let’s get them back!” James shouted to Billy, indicating they should go after the running cows.
“What about the rest of the herd?”
“Bob and the others will keep the herd here,” James said, spurring his horse into a gallop toward the fleeing cows.
Billy urged his own horse into a gallop, and within a minute he and James were riding alongside the lumbering animals.
“We’ve got to get to the front!” James called.
The cows were running as fast as they could, which was about three quarters of the speed of the horses. But what the cattle lacked in speed, they made up for with their momentum. With lowered heads, wild eyes, and flopping tongues, the cattle ran as if there were no tomorrow.
Finally, James and Billy reached the head of the column, rode to the front and were able to turn them. Once the cows were turned, they lost their forward momentum, slowed their running to a trot, and finally to a walk. When that happened, James and Billy were able to turn them around and start them back.
Fifteen minutes later they brought the small herd back. Bob, Duke, and the Scattergoods, including Revelation, had been able to keep the main herd calm. When the one hundred would-be rustled cows were returned to the others, everything settled down once more.
“Who was that?” James asked, getting down from his horse. “Who tried to rustle cows from us? It wasn’t Indians, was it?”
Bob shook his head. “It was soldiers,” he said.
“Soldiers?”
“At least the two we killed were soldiers.”
“Damn, I hate that,” James said. “That’s bound to cause trouble with the army.”
“I don’t know why it should cause trouble,” Bob said. “After all, they were the ones who were doing the stealing.”
James, Billy, and Duke went over to look down at the two dead soldiers. One of them was unmarked, except for a bullet hole in his forehead, just above the right eye. The other soldier was so badly mangled, bruised, and practically dismembered by the hooves of the cattle that the body was barely recognizable as that of a human being.