Kill McAllister (8 page)

Forster got to his feet and walked up and down.

“The damned fools have gotten themselves lost,” he said. “This means we can't hear a word until noon tomorrow. None of them could find this camp in the dark.”

“Cool off, captain,” Grotten said. “We'll make out. I can feel it in my water. This is our lucky year. We'll have those cows, never fear.”

Forster stared at his lieutenant, wondering at his calm. Hell, what did the man have to lose? His desires were simple – a book or two, beer and a bed to sleep in. He demanded nothing more of life.

Forster flung himself down again. By God, if he didn't get those cows, he'd take to the road, stop a stage-coach or a train, rob a bank. He wasn't getting any younger, the years were catching up on him. He wanted the money to enjoy while he still could.

Grotten lifted his head.

“What is it?” Forster demanded.

“I thought I heard something.”

The captain was on his feet again.

“Where?”

“South, I guess.”

They both strained their ears. Forster heard a faint sound. A horse whickered. The tied horses answered. This could be one of his men returning. Both men reached for their rifles; they couldn't afford to take chances. Grotten faded into the deep shadows away from the fire. After a while they were hailed.

“Hello the camp.”

“Who is this?” Forster called.

“Trig.”

“You alone?”

“Mace is with me.”

“Come on in.”

A few minutes later two horsemen rode into the firelight and stepped down wearily from the saddle.

“Well,” Forster demanded, “did you find them?”

“Sure,” said Trig, a tall bearded man, “they're headin' north about twenty miles south-west of here. Steppin' up the pace some. I guess they're in a hurry.”

“Good,” Forster said. “Good work. Help yourself to coffee.” Then the thought hit him. He knew where the cows were and he didn't have any men. He started to swear; he wanted to get going now, he wanted to catch the Texas men in the dawn. This time tomorrow he wanted to be on his way to market with the beef.

“What the hell do we do, Dice?” he demanded.

“Do?” Grotten said. “Hell, we go after the cows.”

“But we don't have the men.”

“They'll be here.”

“But we should move now.”

“Don't you fret, captain. They'll be here tomorrow. The cows have a long ways to go and they're slow; we'll have 'em in good time. You see. Let's all get some sleep now.”

* * *

Forster was up with the dawn, his nerves on edge. Why weren't the men here?

In a moment of panic, he pictured them running out on him; he saw them lost on the endless plains of Kansas; he saw them doing everything except locating the Struther herd and finding
their way back to him.

Trig was up, preparing breakfast at the fire. Grotten came sleepily from his blankets.

“Why aren't the damned fools here?” Forster stormed needlessly.

Grotten yawned and said: “They'll be here.”

Mace came from the direction of the horses.

“There's riders coming in from the south,” he told Forster.

Forster seemed to lose all sense of dignity. He turned and ran excitedly up the ridge to the south of camp and strained his eyes to the south-west. The light was uncertain and the approaching horsemen were no more than uncertain blurs, but he reckoned there was something like a half-dozen of them. He ran back down the ridge and shouted: “It's our boys. It has to be. Trig, rustle up some chow for them. Men work better on full bellies.”

Grotten picked up his rifle and went up on the ridge. Maybe it was their own men coming and maybe it wasn't. He wasn't taking any chances. He didn't have to wait long to feel reassured. The lead horse was a grey roan and that was Jack Sholto's horse. Behind him came Cal Cowdrey on his black. He ticked the others off in his mind as they became clear. He rose to his feet and waved to them. They veered toward him and in a few minutes they were in camp and stepping down from the saddle, telling Forster they had had no luck and had seen nothing of the Struther herd.

Forster was all gaiety.

“Don't you worry, boys,” he said. “Trig and Mace found 'em. Come tomorrow dawn we'll have 'em right where we want 'em. Get some chow in you and we'll ride.”

“Christ,” Sholto said, “we only just got here, captain. We rid all night.”

Forster said: “If we don't get the cows quick, it'll be too late.”

Cowdrey said: “Our horses are beat. No good'll come of goin' in on tired beasts.”

“There's fresh horses out on the grass there,” Forster said, grinning happily. “You can sleep in the saddle. Boys, this is our chance to make our stake. We pull this off and we can all make a fresh start.”

The two men looked from Forster to Grotten and knew that the duo were unbeatable. If Forster said they rode, they rode. They sipped hot coffee and started to feel a little better. Soon there was hot food for them and they squatted and ate hurriedly, wolfing the food down into their empty bellies. They had no
more time than to clean their plates and it was time to saddle up. Grumbling, they caught up new horses and stood ready. Grotten buried the fire. They mounted and Forster told Trig: “Lead the way, Trig, and hit a good pace. We don't have too much time. I want to get within a couple of miles of the herd after dark, let the men have a couple of hours' sleep and hit the herd at dawn.”

Sholto said: ‘Wouldn't it be safer at night?”

“Safer, yes,” Forster agreed. “But that way we could lose cows. I don't mean to lose one if I can help it. They all mean money to us.”

Trig led out, lifting his horse first to a trot and then to a mile-eating lope. They strung out behind him and followed.

They rode through the day with a short break at mid-morning and during the afternoon; the weather was hot and dry and was trying for men and animals, but Forster didn't show either any mercy, he kept them moving. At the end of the afternoon, Trig led them to water and they were all able to slake their thirst. Men bathed their sweat and dust covered faces in the cool water, rested for a moment in the shade of timber. Then Forster led the way out again; hitting the same pace as before.

Trig said to Mace: “The damned fool's killing the horses. They'll have no run left in them when we most want it.”

Mace growled: “You tell him that.”

Trig grinned briefly: “You think I'm crazy or somethin'?”

Two hours after dark, they halted. Trig reckoned they weren't so far from the herd, that is if the drovers had kept the direction they had been on yesterday.

Forster gave orders to off-saddle and sleep. “Trig,” he said, “pick yourself a fresh horse and go find that herd.”

Trig said: “Maybe I can find the herd an' maybe I can't. But how the hell do I find you again? There's quite a bit of country around here.”

Forster's voice showed his edginess.

“You do it, Trig,” he said shortly.

Trig found himself a fresh mount, put his saddle on it and swung up. He didn't like the chore ahead of him. He had ridden some on the plains, but he was far from being an expert plainsman. He thought his chance of finding the herd in the dark was small and finding his way back to this spot nil.

Grotten came up to Forster.

“Captain,” he said, “maybe I should go along too. I have my compass.”

Forster agreed. “But make it fast, Dice. We have to be in position by dawn.”

“Do my best.”

Grotten found himself a horse that had been led throughout the day and switched his saddle to it. Trig led the way west through the darkness. When they had gone a half-mile, he turned in the saddle and told Grotten: “This is the craziest thing I ever saw, Dice. What chance do we have of finding the cows in this?”

Grotten said: “We can't pick up signs in this light for sure, so we'll have to go on sound. The Texans'll be singing to the cows. Cows make a noise.”

“But they could be anywhere within twenty miles of here.”

“Get on,” Grotten said abruptly. “Talking won't help any.”

They pushed on through the dark. Soon they were riding through bright starlight. After a while, they were riding through moonlight and they felt a little easier. Every now and then they stopped and listened, but they couldn't hear anything.

“I reckon we're wastin' our time,” Trig opined.

“We better not be, by God,” Grotten said.

Dawn found them still searching. Both their tempers were bad; Grotten because he knew they should be back in camp with the information the captain wanted and he had never failed his leader; Trig because he had known all along they were on a wild goose chase and he could have spent the night snug in his blankets.

An hour later from the top of a ridge, they saw something dark moving on the surface of the prairie, a mass of animals drifting slowly over the grass.

Grotten said: “That has to be cows.”

“Going east?” Trig said sarcastically.

“They could have turned east.”

“More likely buffalo.”

They pushed on north, riding down from the ridge and losing sight of the herd of whatever it was. On the next rise they still could not make out what the animals were. They had to ride for another thirty minutes before they saw that they were indeed buffalo. They stopped their horses and stared at them in bitter disappointment.

“What now?” Trig demanded.

Grotten said: “They could be drifting away from the Struthers' outfit. Look over yonder in the west. Isn't that more buffalo? Maybe the Texans went clean through the buffalo and split them. Let's go ahead a little and have a look.”

They rode to the west of the nearest buffalo and headed north. After a while, Grotten pointed to the ground in front of them and halted his horse.

“Look at that. That's cow sign,” he said. “They're heading north. Over there – that's the ruts made by wagon-wheels. By God, we've found them.”

Trig wasn't so easily convinced.

“I'll believe it when I see 'em,” he said.

They went on, following the trail of the cattle easily.

“Where'd you reckon they're headed?” Trig asked as they rode.

“Maxton maybe,” Grotten suggested. “I heard there's a dealer there. They reckon the yards won't be working fully till next year, but there's pens there and maybe these boys could sell their herd there. The Struthers' boys'll be feeling a mite desperate. Any port in a storm. They're late and they'll want to get shot of the cows before the weather breaks.”

An hour later, they spotted the distant herd, moving slowly north at a walk.

“Do we go in close and check?” Trig asked.

“No,” Grotten told him. “Too risky. We know there's a herd on the road. It don't matter who the cows belong to, they're all cows.”

Trig grinned.

“Now,” he said, “all we have to do is find our way back to the captain.”

They turned and started back, working their way back by the landmarks that they remembered. But they were precious few on the open plains and they had their work cut out. Grotten used his compass, but by noon he reckoned they were too far south and west, but that was no more than a guess and the two men started to be worried and flustered. The meeting with Forster was going to be unpleasant at best. During the afternoon, they were making their way east when they spotted a horseman on a ridge waving his hat to them. They turned their mounts toward him and soon reached him. It proved to be Sholto out looking for them.

“Godamighty,” Sholto told them, “the captain's fit to be tied. You fellers get yourselves lost?”

Grotten snarled: “Who could help getting himself lost on this God-forsaken plain?”

“You find the herd?”

“We found it.”

Sholto led them a couple of miles east and soon they were surrounded by their comrades and facing a furious Forster. The tirade that followed drove Trig to reply, but Grotten took it without a word. When Forster had done cursing them, his lieutenant said: “Well, we found the herd, captain; I reckon we best get after it.”

Forster cooled a little and gave the order to saddle and mount. They all got on the move and were soon riding north-west. By now most of the men and horses were pretty well rested and they hit a good pace, but night caught them before they could sight the herd and once more they were forced to camp without coming up with their goal. Forster was white to the mouth with rage and the men left him alone. As they did not know how near the Struthers' outfit was, the captain did not allow a fire to be lit and this fed the men's ill-temper. It was not a happy camp as the men once more rolled up their blankets. Forster wanted to send out a man to locate the herd afresh, but the men argued fiercely that it would only result in further delays as nobody could find his way on the plain in the dark. Forster had to be satisfied with this.

But he had them up before dawn and on the move. Grotten went forward alone this time to sight the herd. In a couple of hours he came back on the run to tell them that he had sighted the drive going slowly north along a shallow valley. An ideal place for an ambush. If Forster hurried, the Struthers' outfit would be sitting ducks.

Forster's ill-humor lifted at once. Quickly he was all smiles.

“This is it, boys,” he cried. “We've got 'em this time.” Grotten gave the men their direction and then Forster rode forward with him to see the drive for himself and to see how best he could place his men. This was going to be planned with military precision. There were going to be no slip-ups. It wasn't long before he sat his horse watching the herd going slowly away from him north. The slowly moving mass was about one-third of the way along a shallow valley on the brinks of which was enough cover for an ambush in the form of rocks and brush. Forster was elated. He laughed from pure joy. At last his luck had turned. It would be a push-over.