Trail Dust Page 10

  “Yeah,” grunted the other trail boss.

  “How big is th’ gap between you an’ th’ next herd?” asked Hopalong.

  “Not so much north an’ south; but plenty when you figger it east an’ west. I understand they’re not goin’ to throw back onto th’ trail for two, three more days. They’re over on th’ other side of th’ trail. Turn to th’ left at th’ next crick an’ you’ll find ’em without no trouble.”

  “Reckon I will,” said Hopalong. “What’s their road brand?”

  “T Dot Circle.”

  “Well, reckon I’ll drift,” said Hopalong, wheeling. “See you up in Bulltown, I reckon.”

  “Reckon so. So–long.”

  Hopalong rode back to the trail and followed it north. In due time he came to the creek, a trickle of water meandering eastward. He turned and followed along it.

  The T Dot Circle cattle were well spread out, the guardian riders at reasonable distances from them and loafing in their saddles. Then Hopalong saw the thin finger of smoke which indicated the position of the chuck wagon, and not long thereafter breasted a sharp little rise and found the camp in the hollow on the other side. He drew rein on the crest, waited for a moment, and then pushed down the slope at a walk.

  The three men at the wagon stopped their conversation and watched the newcomer in silence. They replied to his raised hand, and one of them slowly stood up.

  “Howdy,” said Hopalong.

  “Howdy. Light down,” invited the T Dot Circle man.

  “Hardly stayin’ long enough,” replied Hopalong, with a smile. “I been ridin’ up th’ trail to kinda look things over. I got a bunch of cattle back aways. I don’t want to be crowded, or crowd nobody else; but I got a delivery date to figger about. So I just dropped in to learn how you boys are located. I see yo’re off th’ trail an’ feedin’.”

  “You got a delivery date, huh?” asked the T Dot Circle boss. “You headin’ up for Bulltown?”

  “Yeah, for th’ pens.”

  “For th’ pens, huh?”

  “Yeah. Our herd’s sold to Phillips Brothers, of Kansas City, when we get it into th’ pens,” said Hopalong.

  “Huh!” muttered the T Dot Circle boss thoughtfully. He turned something over in his mind and eyed the horseman speculatively. “We been waitin’ for th’ range stockers to open up an’ get outa our way.”

  “They’ve been doin’ that right along, an’ I was figgerin’ to throw back onto th’ trail tomorrow or th’ day after. How far you behind us?”

  “Near a dozen miles, I figger.”

  “Then yo’re crowdin’ th’ 3 TL outfit purty close.”

  “No. Anyhow, they crowded in ahead of us,” said Hopalong, still smiling. “That’s th’ trouble with a branch trail. We was on th’ main trail, comin’ up. Th’ 3 TL, you fellers, an’ nine range herds cut in ahead of us from th’ Squaw. Of course, nobody’s to blame for that. Th’ question is, have I got to stand still, let you two outfits graze yore cattle, an’ nine more move along as they feel like? My herd is sold, an’ I got a delivery date to worry about. You say yo’re goin’ back on th’ trail tomorrow or th’ day after. Why not make it th’ day after? Th’ 3 TL are still grazin’ an’ won’t be crowdin’ you. I just talked with their boss. By day after tomorrow I can go past both you fellers, an’ be outa yore way.”

  “Then that’ll put us between you an’ th’ 3 TL,” growled the T Dot Circle boss. “How much of a gap will you open up between you an’ us?”

  “As big a gap as you want,” answered Hopalong, turning his horse.

  “Well, all I want is plenty.”

  “All right: I’ll see that you get plenty. We’ll push right along an’ get outa yore way. Much obliged,” said Hopalong and rode up the little slope and over the crest.

  The T Dot Circle boss stood quietly looking in the direction of the departed visitor. His seated companions had nothing to say, and one of them reached out and broke off a weed stem, idly twirling it between thumb and finger. The seconds slipped past. The weed stem broke with a sharp little snap, and the cook looked up curiously.

  “Phillips Brothers, huh?” he muttered, glancing at his boss. “You reckon his herd’s shore sold?”

  The boss shifted his gaze from the crest of the little rise and looked thoughtfully at his seated companions. From the questions he had asked the trail cutter he believed that he would get good prices for his herd at Bulltown; but that, of course, depended on other things. He knew that, so long as he was off the trail, the trail was open to any following herd; if he was on it, trail ethics urged that he be not passed without his permission.

  “Don’t know,” he growled. “That feller had a lot to say. Too much, mebby.”

  The man with the broken weed stem tossed the halves away.

  “Me,” he said, slowly, “I’d figger that th’ gaps are wide enough ahead of us. An’ they wouldn’t have to be very wide, at that, to suit me. He’s been drivin’ along, havin’ things all to hisself. Suddenly he finds himself plumb behind eleven trail outfits. Count ’em—eleven! That put th’ lather on him.”

  “Yeah,” grunted the trail boss. “Them gaps are shore long enough,” he said with sudden decision. He swung toward his horse. “I’ll send in yore work hosses, cook. You put ’em to th’ wagon, an’ light out. Come on, Jim: we’re throwin’ back onto th’ trail, an’ we’re doin’ it now.” He laughed derisively. “Sold on delivery, huh? Hell, I wasn’t weaned yesterday!”

  Jim hesitated and then, dismissing his scruples with a laugh, still gave them utterance.

  “This good weather’s due to break,” he said. “If we throw back onto th’ trail now, it’ll put that hombre purty close behind us. We all know that trail cattle allus stampede th’ way they came. He’ll be right close ahead of that 3 TL herd, an’ we’ll be out in th’ clear if anythin’ busts.”

  “Shore, but I wasn’t thinkin’ so much about that as about prices in Bulltown,” replied the trail boss. “To hell with him, an’ th’ 3 TL, too!”

  XIV

  Hopalong rode straight toward his herd, parallel with the trail. When he reached it, he gave orders to step the cattle right along. He had promised the T Dot Circle boss a reasonably safe trail interval, and he would make good that promise, even if it meant to drive for half the night. He did not especially care for night driving, but the situation might require it. The herd had been drifting lazily along, moving as they grazed, with no thought for the gaining of much mileage; but now they were pushed into a brisk trail gait, which made the dust climb into the sky. Hour after hour went past, and at last they reached the little creek beyond the 3 TL, where the T Dot Circle were holding. Not far beyond the creek, heavy cattle tracks cut into the trail from the west, and Hopalong regarded them with surprise. His own herd, well watered at the creek, was moving at the same brisk gait again. He let the animals pass him and then crossed over behind the drag. It was not long before he overtook the right point rider.

  “Red,” he said, “foller up that creek we just crossed for about two miles. You oughta find th’ T Dot Circle outfit close to it. I want to know if they’re still there. Get a move on.”

  He turned in his saddle, swung his hat, and Johnny Nelson left his swing position and rode ahead to join him.

  “Take th’ point, Kid, till Red gets back ag’in,” ordered the trail boss. “Somethin’s wrong, an’ I’m goin’ on ahead for a look. I passed th’ words to th’ swing riders to keep ’em steppin’ right along. I’ll be back soon.”

  It was mid–afternoon when he returned, and he was scowling. He made a gesture to the left point rider which meant to keep the cattle moving as they were, and Lanky acknowledged it with a like gesture. Hopalong then joined Red at right point.

  “Yo’re loco,” greeted Red pleasantly. “There warn’t no herd, wagon, or nothin’ else up that crick. Nothin’ but signs.”

  “I know it, now,” growled the trail boss, his eyes glinting. “That T Dot Circle outfit has deliberately run a blaz
er on us. They told me to come right along an’ get outa their way, an’ then they threw back onto th’ trail an’ put us between them an’ that 3 TL crew. There ain’t no harm in that, but I’m damned if I like to be made a fool of.” His lean jaws tightened. “All right. They gave me th’ right of way, an’ by Gawd I’m takin’ it! I’m takin’ it if it means to drive all night!”

  “Yeah!” grunted Red. “All night, all day, an’ all night ag’in, if we have to! What you figger he’s got in his mind?”

  “Brand worms, mebby!” snapped the boss. “Red, you go up th’ trail far enough to see their dust, but not so far that they can see you. As soon as they throw off for th’ night, you streak it back here an’ let me know which side they take.” He quickly placed a hand on the arm of his eager friend. “Wait a second. Cook’s up ahead with th’ wagon. I didn’t stop to speak to him. Tell him to keep a mile behind you till you ride back, an’ then to move right along till somebody tells him to stop.”

  Red grinned, pulled his hat firmly down on his head, and left a trail of dust behind him. The boss rode off to speak to the day wrangler with the cavvy and not long thereafter returned to Red’s place at right point, where Johnny was doing the honors.

  “All right, Kid,” he said. “Pass th’ word back to keep these animals movin’ as they are, an’ then take yore reg’lar place.”

  The afternoon went slowly past, and it was twilight before Red returned from his scouting expedition up the trail. He joined Hopalong and rode with him leg to leg.

  “They just left th’ trail an’ threw off it to th’ west,” he reported. “Cook’s goin’ right along as soon’s it’s dark enough to hide him.”

  “How far ahead are they?” demanded the trail boss. “Three hours good drivin’.”

  “All right,” growled Hopalong. “I don’t like night drivin’ any more than th’ next man, but we’re goin’ on for more’n three hours. Th’ whole damn thing is, they thought I was lyin’ when I told ’em I was sold on delivery.” He laughed grimly. “They told us to pass ’em, an’ pass ’em we will!”

  Through the twilight and the growing dusk stepped the herd, steadily marking off the miles. The point riders laughed, the swing riders grinned, and the drag rider swore, but the herd kept to its steady pace. It was dark when Red, who had been closely watching the landmarks along the trail, waved a hand and spoke.

  “Here’s where they turned off,” he said.

  “Two hours more, then,” growled his companion. “I’ll take over this job while you find th’ cook an’ tell him when to stop. As soon as he stops, tell him to get supper, an’ right quick. Then he’s to kill his fire. We’ll throw off a mile west of th’ trail. When he’s located, you come back to th’ trail an’ wait for us, to show us th’ way to camp. You savvy?”

  “Shore,” replied Red and again rode northward, wondering why his friend and boss was laughing. Red could see no reason for mirth in a forced night drive: but he lacked the imagination of his friend.

  The herd marched on, six to eight cattle wide, and moving like the trail–broken animals they were. In the early days of the drive they had moved twenty to thirty miles a day to keep them too tired to “raise hell” at night; since then, however, they had been allowed to take things easy with an average daily progress of less than ten miles. And since then, in turn, they had averaged less. Clack, shuffle, clack; clack, shuffle, clack. A figure suddenly appeared out of the night and spoke to the right point rider.

  “Hoppy?”

  “Yeah, Red. This th’ place?”

  “Yeah. Head ’em off an’ over. Cook’s got a little fire goin’, down in a hollow. It’s just a bed of coals, an’ it’s all right: you can’t see it over th’ rise.”

  Swiftly the word passed down the flanks. Lanky drew rein and let the leaders swing past in front of him. Clack, shuffle, clack. Hopalong glowed with pride over the regimentation of the cattle in this herd. They moved, with hardly a break in their formation, from the well–beaten trail and plodded westward. Some of their good behavior was doubtless due to fatigue. In less than half an hour they were checked, stopped, and allowed to spread out over the bed ground, where expert knowledge of cattle psychology in letting them spread out enough but not too much, of not riding too close to them, and in letting them feel the least possible restraint, had its reward. They were full of water, they had been well fed, and they were tired. After a little while they slowly, one here, a bunch there, lay down for a well–merited rest. The riders hurriedly ate a still warm supper, and the two men with the cattle rode in shortly after the first–trick riders had departed. These fed themselves and flipped their blanket rolls, but as the rolls unfolded they remembered the watch of the night before and looked inquiringly at the boss.

  Hopalong stood up and motioned to Red.

  “Well, boys,” he said, “we hit th’ trail at noon.”

  “An’ give them T Dot Circle coyotes a good six hours to get on th’ trail an’ put us behind ’em again?” asked Lanky pugnaciously.

  “They won’t hit th’ trail at daylight, or at noon, or even by dark tomorrow,” replied Hopalong, grinning. “They’re goin’ to have troubles of their own, come mornin’. It will all come from tryin’ to run a blazer on th’ Bar 20.”

  “Yeah?” asked Red, with total lack of whatever reverence a trail boss is supposed to receive.

  “Yeah,” grunted Hopalong and then laughed outright.

  “We goin’ to fool around all night, waitin’ for Waggoner an’ his gang, like we did last night?” demanded Skinny.

  “No, not tonight, or any night,” answered Hopalong and laughed again. “All you boys have to do is to roll up, get yore sleep, an’ take over yore reg’lar tricks with th’ herd. That T Dot Circle boss is laughin’ in his sleeve, right now; but there won’t be no laugh left in him when mornin’ comes. Red, you come along with me. I’ll mebby show you what happens to smart Aleck trail bosses. Th’ rest of you boys turn in an’ get yore sleep.”

  “Where you goin’?” asked Red, who thought that he, too, could use a little sleep.

  “I told you to come along with me,” rejoined his friend and boss.

  “Oh, I heard you,” growled Red, but he followed his friend from camp without further grouching.

  Cook, obeying the orders given a few minutes before, grudgingly poured water over the incandescent coals of the fire; and not long thereafter the little camp was wrapped in sleep.

  Hopalong reached out and touched his companion’s arm when the faint glow of the distant fire became visible.

  “We stop here,” he said and laughed again.

  “What th’ hell’s so damn funny?” asked Red politely.

  “What herd was th’ last up th’ trail this afternoon an’ just before dark?” asked his boss, chuckling.

  “We was, of course,” growled Red.

  “Right,” grunted Hopalong. “An’ what would a trail herd outfit do with a beef herd, if they had common sense, when it got to be near dark?”

  “Why, they’d throw off th’ trail an’ bed down,” answered Red.

  “They shore would,” agreed Hopalong. “An’ bein’ last on th’ trail at dark, they’d nat’rally be th’ first herd that would show itself to anybody ridin’ up that trail, except th’ 3 TL outfit, which ain’t moved, an’ which we passed miles back.”

  “Yeah,” said Red after due thought. “An’ then what? An’ what’n hell are we settin’ out here for instead of gettin’ some sleep?”

  “I’ll show you that before mornin’,” answered his cheerful companion, his eyes on the flush in the night which marked the location of the T Dot Circle fire. He laughed in his throat. “There she burns, for everybody to see.”

  “An’ why shouldn’t it?” snapped Red, buttoning his coat against the coolness of the night air.

  “Shore: why shouldn’t it?” chuckled Hopalong. “Well, Red, I’ll take th’ first watch. Get some of that sleep you been bellyachin’ about.”

  Red took him at
his word.

  Time moved slowly. Midnight came and passed. Another hour, and then one more. Suddenly Hopalong shook his sleeping companion, and Red came to instant wakefulness. There were faint flashes to the south of them, but so far away they barely could hear the roar of the heavy black–powder loads. They imagined they could feel a slight tremor of the earth, and a faint roaring sound came to them like a ghost out of the night.

  “Stampede, by Gawd!” muttered Red.

  “Yeah, stampede,” said his companion, with satisfaction. “It’s their cavvy, an’ mebby some of their cattle. Waggoner’s gang has run it off, thinkin’ that it’s ourn. It’s where ourn ought to be, ain’t it? I told you they’d be too damn busy tomorrow to throw back on th’ trail. That’s what they get for bein’ smart Alecks. Well, come on. Let’s get back to camp an’ catch up on some sleep. You an’ I’ll sleep late. Th’ herd will graze till noon an’ then amble peacefully on its way.”

  “Well,” said Red. “You long–headed ol’ coyote! I’ll be teetotally damned!”

  “There ain’t no question about that a–tall, Red,” laughed his boss and led the way to camp.

  XV

  They had held the herd on the creek after a night drive for the gaining of miles, to give the cattle a well–merited rest. They knew that a herd is hard to start from water, that the animals would be sullen and reluctant to begin the day’s journey; but in this case it did not matter. They would leave so late in the morning that their slow grazing would take them away from the stream before the day’s drive was begun, and they would be on their way before they realized it.

  Skinny Thompson drove the cavvy from the wagon, to start it on its lazy way northward, parallel with the trail but a considerable distance from it. He was chuckling and slowly shaking his head in admiration for the brains of his boss, which even at that early day were noticeable.