Showdown at Widow Creek (7 page)

We’d started the day with a big breakfast (during which Ned and Dusty regaled the others with tales of the Hardy brothers’ “initiation”), and then everyone saddled up and moved out the herd.

It was a clear day and the cattle were going with the program, for the most part. Only once did I have to chase down a young heifer that had strayed too far from the herd. When she saw me galloping toward her, she quickly cut back to the others. If it had been the day before, I would have relished the thought of having a bit more of a chase, maybe even roping the stray cow. But the pain I felt every time I bounced in the seat made me glad the cow wasn’t so bold.

Sarah and Lucky had everyone rotate around the herd, same as the day before. Because we worked different positions, I didn’t see much of Frank. When I did see him, he was with Sarah. For someone who said he wasn’t so interested, Frank sure was spending a lot of time with her.

It wasn’t long before I found myself riding drag again. We had crossed to another ranch, and the pasture was more lush than the last one. But the herd still kicked up enough dust that I had to wear a bandanna over my mouth and nose. Lucky joined me behind the herd. He pulled up his bandanna too. I decided to take the chance to interrogate our main suspect.

“So how is the drive going overall?” I asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We should reach the main ranch before sundown. All the pranks have put us a bit behind schedule.”

I adjusted my bandanna. “Any other obstacles to worry about?”

Lucky cocked his head at me. “What do you mean?”

“You know, swollen water crossings, things like that,” I explained.

The cowhand shook his head. “Nope. Just a couple more gates to get through.” He pointed ahead of the herd. “We should be coming up to Wilson’s spread in about a mile.”

I felt a pang of disappointment. I was kind of sorry to see it end. Getting to sleep in my own bed tonight meant calculus tomorrow.

I shook those thoughts from my mind; I had to stay on topic.

“So, what was up with that dam?” I asked. “Any ideas?”

Lucky shrugged. Since his face was covered, I couldn’t read his expression. “Could’ve been that Rogers was working on it and somehow botched the job.”

If that were the case, and it was a botched job, why would someone get rid of the equipment that made the hole in the first place? “So you don’t think it was done on purpose?” I asked.

“I don’t see what good that would do,” Lucky replied. “From what you described, it’s going to have to be fixed; otherwise the hole is going to get bigger.”

“What about those guys who tried to steal Hondo?” I asked, deciding on the direct approach. “Wally thinks they might’ve cut the cinch straps too.”

Lucky didn’t reply for a long time. For a moment, I thought maybe I had blown the interrogation. If I were a detective on a cop show, this would be the part where the suspect asks for a lawyer.

“Yeah, I feel rotten about that,” he finally said. “I’m the one who brought those boys on, so I feel somewhat responsible.” He shook his head. “I still don’t know why they would do such a thing. Sure, Wally came down on them hard a couple of times, but they had it coming. They were always slacking off.” Lucky leaned back in the saddle. “Heck, I know they needed the work, so I don’t see why they would throw that away.”

I didn’t reply, a tactic Frank and I had learned from our dad. Sometimes, given the chance, suspects will continue speaking just to fill an uneasy silence. Lucky didn’t seem like a suspect, though. I couldn’t read his expression, but he sounded genuinely remorseful. I rode quietly and watched the herd pass over the hill in front of us.

“Yeah, they probably cut the straps outta meanness,” he continued. “But I don’t see why they would mess with that dam. The high water didn’t stop us. And even if it did, there was still a way around it.”

I didn’t have any other questions, so we rode in silence for a while. Well, silence in the fact that we quit talking. As usual, the cattle had plenty to say. They continued the sporadic moos they had been making throughout the entire trip.

Once we’d followed the herd down the opposite hillside, I could just make out the fence line in the distance. Of course, I couldn’t see the barbed wire, but I saw rows of fence posts dotting the lower horizon.

As we reached the bottom of the hill, a strange sound competed with the bawling cattle and the hoofbeats. It seemed out of place here in the country but was a familiar sound to a city slicker like myself—the tinny hum of a motor. I looked around but couldn’t spot the source.

“You hear that?” I asked Lucky.

The cowhand was already scanning the horizon. “Yeah. Sounds like an ATV or something. Some ranchers ride them instead of horses.”

The sound grew louder and deeper. My ear picked out more than one motor approaching.

Lucky and I both spun in our saddles as a dirt bike crested the hill. Its helmeted rider leaned forward, seeming to aim his bike right at us.

“Whoa, boy,” I told Norman as he shuffled nervously.

Three more dirt bikes followed. Their throttles whined louder as they turned toward the herd.

Lucky took off his hat and waved it over his head. “Hey! Stay back!”

The riders ignored him and raced closer, chasing the herd. The cattle bellowed and began to flee. The riders raced by us, chasing the herd.

“Hey!” I shouted.

I leaned forward as Norman reared into the air. It was all I could do to stay in the saddle. If I had so much trouble, there was no telling how the other riders would react with a hundred head of terrified cattle running at them.

“Stampede!” Lucky screamed. He kicked his horse and chased after the dirt bikes.

I got Norman under control and galloped after Lucky.

S
ARAH AND I WERE RIDING
in front of the herd, with the chuck wagon a hundred feet in front of us, when the sound of thunder filled the air. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

Sarah was the first to turn in her saddle. Her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

I looked back to see a cloud of dust as the herd began galloping. A wave of motion rippled through the cattle as they broke into a run. The cows directly behind Sarah and me looked back anxiously. The entire herd would be upon us in no time.

Sarah cupped a hand to her mouth. “Clear out of the way! Stampede!”

Wally quickly glanced over his shoulder before snapping the long reins against the backs of his mule team. They broke into a run and angled away from the approaching mass of cattle.

I pulled alongside Sarah. “What scared them?”

She pointed to distant figures on dirt bikes. “What are they doing?” she asked.

The riders looked out of place in our western tableau. I hadn’t heard them over the roar of the thumping hooves, but now I could make out the sound of their buzzing motors. There were four of them bearing down on the herd. As they drew near, they swerved closer and closer to the terrified cattle. The riders seemed to move with purpose; they knew exactly what they were doing.

Furious, I kicked Harvey into a run. “Yah!” I shouted. I steered him toward the two riders teasing the west side of the stampeding cattle. I stood in the stirrups as Harvey poured on the speed. With the riders zipping in my direction, the gap between us closed quickly.

The second rider peeled away as I approached, speeding away from the stampede and into the pasture. I kicked Harvey again as I steered toward the rider in front, who was closing in fast.

I don’t know if I had gotten used to being in the saddle or if I was just angry seeing the cows so frightened. Either way, I found myself in a game of chicken with a guy on a dirt bike. And I was on a horse. Not the smartest move.

My rational mind finally kicked in as I pushed down on the stirrups and leaned back, ready to pull Harvey to a stop. In this case, I didn’t mind being the chicken.

I guess the dirt biker had the same idea. He jerked his handlebars and skidded to a stop. However, his momentum was too great. A wave of sod erupted in front of him as his dirt bike plowed to a stop, and he fell off, the bike landing partly on top of him.

There was no way I could stop Harvey in time. And even if I had, I’d probably go flying off over his head. I jerked the reins to one side, trying to steer around the fallen biker. Harvey didn’t obey. Instead he lowered his head and kept running. We were going to crash.

That was when I felt the strangest sensation. The ride atop the horse had been bumpy and rhythmic, but suddenly it was smooth. Then I felt a sense of weightlessness before I slammed back into the saddle. Harvey had jumped the downed rider!

After a few feet, I pulled Harvey to a stop and spun him around. The rider slid out from under his dirt bike, hopped back on, and revved the motor. I kicked Harvey forward as the rider peeled out, heading away from me, Harvey, and the stampede.

The last of the herd ran by as Lucky galloped up to me. “Good job, Frank,” he said. “Now help Sarah and the others turn the herd. Joe and I will get the others.”

“Turn the herd?” I asked.

“Yeah, turn ’em!” he repeated. “If they hit that barbed-wire fence, they’ll get all kinds of cut up!”

I
HAD DONE FAIRLY WELL
roping Sarah’s practice steer. Now I had to rope a moving target atop a galloping horse. I hoped my luck would hold.

Norman kept pace beside the dirt bike as it sped alongside the stampeding herd. I spun the lasso over my head, remembering to rotate my wrist just as Sarah had shown us. The terrified cattle bawled as they churned up the ground nearby. I tried to tune out the chaos of the stampede and concentrate on my target.

I released the lasso and watched it fly. Time seemed to slow as the wide loop sailed from my hand to the rider. For a moment, it seemed as if I had overshot the mark, the lasso flying in front of the helmeted man. Then he accelerated and drove right into the waiting loop. It tightened around his arms as he pulled away.

“Yeah!” I shouted in triumph.

I wrapped the other end of my rope around the saddle horn and pulled Norman to a stop. The rope tightened and jerked the rider off the dirt bike, slamming him to the ground.

Up ahead, a second dirt biker glanced over his shoulder, skidded to a stop, then spun around. He popped a wheelie as he accelerated toward me. I had taken care of one motorbike rustler with only one rope, but I had no idea what to do about the second guy.

Luckily, I wasn’t alone. I heard loud hoofbeats behind me. Lucky galloped toward us, evening the odds.

My brief distraction was all the first rider needed. When I turned back, he had already slipped out of my lasso and was running toward the other rider. I quickly reeled in my rope, preparing for another throw.

Lucky galloped past me, his own rope in hand. He smacked his horse’s rump to gain speed. I kicked Norman into a run and gave chase.

Ahead, the dirt bike had pulled to a stop and the downed rider climbed on behind the driver. The motorcycle popped another wheelie just as Lucky was upon them. Lucky’s horse reared back in surprise, and mine came to a halt beside it.

“What are you doing, Lucky?” a voice asked. “Look out!”

Since both wore helmets with tinted faceplates, I couldn’t tell which rider had spoken. But whoever it was knew Lucky.

The motorbike spun around, peeling out in the soft earth. A plume of dirt sprayed toward us, and both horses shied away. The two rustlers sped from the herd, the whine of the motor growing softer.

“Come on!” Lucky said as he kicked the sides of his horse. He sped alongside the stampede.

Urging Norman on, I raced to join him. We stayed in tight formation as we slowly outpaced the running cattle.

“They’re going to turn the herd.” Lucky pointed to the front of the panicked cattle. “That’s where we come in.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

“The only way to stop a stampede is to turn it into itself,” he explained. “And I can’t do it alone.”

As we sped toward the front, I noticed what the others were doing. The chuck wagon, Mr. Jackson, and the Muellers stood to the right, away from the action. Up ahead, four riders moved up the line, to the right of the herd. That had to be Sarah, Ned, Dusty, and Frank. They waved hats and lariats, shooing the cattle away from that side. Slowly, the galloping mass of cattle changed course.

“Follow me!” Lucky ordered. He peeled to the left, veering away from the stampede. I directed Norman to follow.

We rode into the open pasture, away from the turmoil of the stampede. The thundering hooves grew softer behind us. When we were about fifty yards away, Lucky pulled his horse to a stop. I did the same. Lucky squinted as he scanned the front of the herd.

“What are we—” I began to ask.

Lucky held up a hand. I followed his gaze and watched the herd slowly arc to the left. The mass of cattle made a giant U-turn and began running right for us.

“Now it’s our turn,” Lucky said. “Yah!” He kicked his horse and rode straight toward the oncoming cattle.

“This is crazy!” I yelled as I followed his lead.

After their big turn, the cattle weren’t running quite as fast, but I have to say, riding straight toward an advancing herd of cattle was daunting.

I followed Lucky as he approached the cattle. He pulled his horse to a stop and waved his lariat over his head. The lead cows turned sharply, running toward the tail end of the stampede. I pulled up alongside Lucky and did the same with my rope. The cattle slowed to a trot as they moved closer to their running herd members. The front of the herd pulled to a stop before colliding with the tail end of the herd. Like a ripple effect, the entire stampede halted.

We were back to being a bunch of riders surrounding a docile, albeit out-of-breath, herd of cattle.

O
NE OF THE GUYS CALLED
him by name,” Joe told me. We rode side by side at the front of the herd.