The Palo Duro Trail

Chapter 15

The thunderheads had drifted away by late afternoon, when the last of the herd filed down into the canyon. And there wasn’t much shade in the canyon. The cattle had been watered, and they were grazing north up through the wide and winding wonderland that was the Palo Duro. Flagg sent riders ahead and one to ride the eastern rim, three men in all. They had been gone for some time and Dag had ridden back and forth along the line of cattle, which now numbered more than fifteen hundred head. He knew that Flagg had sent Jorge Delgado and Little Jake Bogel to ride point, while Ed Langley rode the rim.

Matlee was not there, nor were any of his men, which irritated Dag. But something else irritated him even more. He kept looking for the man, but he had not seen him all afternoon. And it began to worry him. Finally, he rode up to Flagg at the head of the driven herd and asked him, flat-out, “I don’t see Don Horton anywhere, Jubal. Did he drift off or desert?”

Flagg chuckled. “No, I sent him off with Barry Matlee.”

“How come?”

“Well, you heard Matlee at breakfast. He said he was going outlawin’ and wouldn’t come back until he had at least a hunnert head to drive back.”

“So?”

“So, after that, Don came up and said he’d like to ride with Matlee, maybe show him some old cowhand tricks.”

“Well, if we run into anything serious, Jubal, we’re sure as hell short of men.”

Flagg turned his horse and halted him, looking Dag square in the face. “You don’t like the way I run this outfit, Dag?”

“Hey, hold on, Jubal. No need to get your dander up, son. I’m just nervous, is all. Has nothin’ to do with the way you ramrod.”

“Just so we’re clear on that, Dag.”

“Christ, you’re touchy, Jubal.”

“It’s turnin’ to a long day, Dag. You better ride back up the rim where we come in and look for the chuck wagon.”

“You tell Fingers where we were headed?”

“Didn’t have time. But I’m thinkin’ we’d best keep him and the wagon up on the flat. It’s mighty rugged and uneven ground down here.”

“That’s so. And it might be hell getting it out of here, especially if a flash flood was to come roarin’ down the gorge.”

“I’ve noticed a lot of game trails streaming down off the flat, on both sides, so I’m thinkin’ I’ll draw up the herd come this evenin’ where the men can ride or walk up one of them trails and get their grub.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Jubal.”

“See? I do know what the hell I’m doin’, sometimes.”

“Let’s not be scratchin’ that itch no more, Jubal.”

“Fair enough, Dag.”

Jubal clucked to his horse and nudged its flanks with his spurs. Dag turned his horse and rode to the edge of the canyon wall, where he could retrace his steps and get back up on the flat. Fingers would wonder where in the hell everyone went, and it would be bad if he rode into that prairie dog town.

Dag headed up the playa to the plain and went two miles, to where the old cattle trail would have been, had they driven straight to the prairie dog town. He stopped Nero and the horse blew its nostrils and began to graze while Dag looked to the south. He saw the single large speck on the horizon and stood up in the stirrups and waved his hat. Then he sat back down in the saddle and waited, watching as the speck grew larger, then dissolved into several separate specks. He stood up, straight-legged, in the stirrups, held on to the horn, and waved his hat again. This time, two men waved hats back and he knew it was Jimmy and Little Jake bringing on the remuda. Dust smudged the sky above the horse herd, the haze shimmering rust and brown in the glow of the sunlight.

Off to the left of the remuda, Dag saw another speck, but larger. He knew that was the chuck wagon, flanking the sixty-odd horses, and it was raising dust of its own. Dag tautened the reins and ticked Nero’s flanks with his spurs and rode off toward Jimmy and Little Jake.

“Boy, we must be a-ways behind that cattle herd,” Jimmy said. “I ain’t seen no dust since we topped that last rise. We had some trouble with a couple of the horses. It was turning into a prizefight and they had to break it up and separate ’em. What brings you out this way, Dag? Didn’t run into anything harder than a rock, did you?”

Jimmy was sweating and his light shirt looked almost black.

Dag turned Nero and rode alongside him. “There’s a dog town up yonder, Jimmy. So you can turn your remuda to the west. ’Bout two miles away, there’s Palo Duro and the herd’s down in the canyon.”

“Be damned,” Jimmy said.

“You’ll find a playa where a flash flood opened up a path into the canyon. Just run ’em down there and you can’t get lost less’n these nags can climb walls straight up”

“Dag, don’t you be talkin’ about these fine breeds that way.”

Both men laughed.

Jimmy turned to Little Jake on the other side of the herd and yelled at him.

“We’ll turn ’em here and head west, Little Jake. Look lively, son.”

Little Jake grinned. The two men smiled at each other.

“I’ll catch up to you by and by, Jimmy. I’m going to talk to Fingers and bring him over next to the canyon.”

“You takin’ the wagon down in there?”

Dag shook his head. “Nope. Just going to ride shotgun for Fingers along the top edge of the rim. We’ll likely see you round suppertime.”

“You ride careful, Dag,” Jimmy said. He touched a finger of farewell to the brim of his battered felt hat, which had a dark band of sweat around the lower part of the crown, where the moisture had dropped through. The band was caked with dust.

Dag turned his horse and rode toward the chuck wagon, which was looming ever larger as it approached.

Jo was the first to wave from the seat of the wagon. Her father waved when Dag was still some distance away. He felt a trip hammer rhythm in the region of his heart when Jo waved. It surprised him because he had not been thinking of her in any special way. But there were flutters in his stomach and his pulse raced. She was a beautiful young woman, of course, but that didn’t explain his reaction to seeing her. No, there was something else beneath it. She stirred feelings in him that had long been dormant. He would have to watch himself, he vowed silently, as he rode up to the wagon.

“Somethin’ up, Dag?” Finnerty said as Dag rode alongside.

“We’re drivin’ the herd up the Palo Duro, Fingers, but there’s a prairie dog town like you never saw up ahead and you’ll have to turn west to keep out of the worst part.”

“Big town?”

“Huge.”

“We goin’ into the canyon?”

“Nope. Might not get out. And if a flash flood happens down in there, you’d turn this wagon into a rowboat.”

Finnerty laughed.

“It’s good to see you, Felix,” Jo said. “Are you going to escort us?”

“Yes’m,” Dag said, and mentally kicked himself for being so formal with a girl he’d known for most her life.

Jo frowned.

“Am I a‘ma’am’ now, Felix?”

“No’m—I mean, naw, Jo, I just—”

“Just what?” she teased.

Finnerty looked at both of them and smiled. “You just got your tongue all tangled up, didn’t you, Dag?”

“I reckon,” Dag said lamely.

“Daddy, Felix can speak for himself.”

“I know that, darlin’. I’m just trying to make the man more comfortable, is all. You bat them pretty eyes of yours at men and they lose their senses.”

“Oh, Daddy, stop it.”

When Dag didn’t say anything and she could see that he was feeling somewhat uncomfortable, she turned to her father. “Daddy, tell Felix about what happened last night.”

“Oh, yeah. Mighty peculiar,” Finnerty said.

A short silence, except for the clank and tink of pots and pans inside the wagon, the muffled scrape of tools loosened by the jarring motion of the wagon over rough terrain.

“What do you mean, Fingers?”

“Sometime last night, someone broke into the chuck and stole food.”

“What food?”

“Mostly stuff that won’t spoil for a time: jerky, hardtack, coffee beans, some salt pork, and bacon, a few peaches in airtights. Well, one or two, I guess. Didn’t hear ’em ’cause I was sleepin’ some ways away, you know, and the mules was unhitched.”

“Who do you figure?” Dag asked.

“Dunno. Could be anybody.”

“What about you, Jo? Any ideas?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything either. Whoever stole the chuck went about it awful quiet-like.”

“So nobody you can name? Either of you?”

“Coulda been one of the hands or an Injun,” Finnerty said. “They took enough grub to last ’em maybe a week or so.”

Dag pondered these revelations. Anyone in the outfit wouldn’t need to steal grub. He would just have to ask Fingers for a handout and the cook would have been happy to supply whatever was asked.

“Did you pass out grub to Matlee and his bunch?”

“Sure,” Finnerty said. “Hardtack and jerked beef. He said they’d be out for a while. He took coffee beans and some other stuff. Said he’d shoot quail or jackrabbits if they ran short of meat. Nobody had to steal nothin’ from that outfit.”

They were all silent for a while. They reached the rim of the canyon and Finnerty turned the wagon north.

“I’m going to ride up ahead and look for bad dog holes,” Dag said. “Just follow me.”

“Felix,” Jo said, “before you go, I do have one man in mind that might have stolen the food last night. I can’t prove it and I may be way wrong.”

“Who might that be?” Dag asked.

“Well, I noticed one man in the early evening pay a whole lot of attention to Daddy when he packed up after supper and I put the dishes and utensils away. He kept glancing over as he sat by the fire, smoking a cigarette and belching.”

“All right, who was that?”

“Don Horton,” she said.

“Horton?”

“Yes, I know that’s not much proof of anything, but he was mighty interested in the wagon, all of a sudden like.”

“Thanks, Jo. Time will tell,” he said, then rode away from the wagon.

Horton again. The man might be up to something. He bore watching. But if he did steal so much food, not wanting anyone to know he took it, what did that mean? What in hell was he planning to do?

Dag wondered if he would ever know. But he had a strong hunch that he would. And maybe he wouldn’t have to wait long for Horton to play out his hand and reveal his cards.