sea of grass before them, but the sound of it was lost in the screech and groan of the carts, which were entirely of oak and ungreased.
Highpockets Haney rode up beside Orrin.
'You got your work cut out for you, Sackett,' he said. 'You ever rounded up cattle scattered by a buffalo stampede? They're likely to be scattered to hell an' gone.' 'It won't be easy.' 'We'll be workin' alone most of the time, just the way the Injuns like it.' 'We'll work in pairs,' Orrin suggested.
'Takes less time to bunch them. If trouble comes, use your own judgment. Fight if that's necessary, but run if you can, just so long as you run together. I don't want any man left alone unless he's already dead.' Now he left them, riding out at least a mile in advance of the carts and the other riders. Since the news had come, there had been no time to be alone, no time to mourn, no time to think, only time for the immediate business, and first things must come first.
They had started to drive cattle to the gold fields because Logan Sackett had promised it. Therefore the job must be continued. Logan was still in trouble, and a Sackett had given his word.
Rumor had it his brothers were dead. He did not believe it, yet it could be. Men died every day, and his brothers were no more immune than their father had been.
It was his mission now to go to the area, accept the risks it entailed, round up the cattle if possible, and find and bury the bodies of his brothers.
Feeling sad was a luxury he could not afford at the moment. With resolution, he turned from sadness to the task at hand. Now, with all going forward, he could think, so he rode far out before his small party where he could ride alone.
He was alone, simply with his horse, the sound of his passing, and the wind in the grass.
Tell and Tyrel--gone! That he could not accept, even for the moment. Tell had always been the older brother, strong, quiet, and sure. He had been less talkative, even, than Tyrel, who was himself quiet. He, Orrin, had always been the easy-talking one, taking after the Welsh side of the family.
He remembered the day when Tell, still only a boy, had ridden off to war. They lived in the mountains of Tennessee and had kinfolk fighting for the Confederacy, but Tell had said, 'Ma, I'm a goin' to war. I'm goin' to fight for the Union.' 'For the Union, son?' 'Yes, ma. It's my bounden duty. Our folks fought to build this country, and I'll not turn my back on it. It's our country, all of it, not just the South. And there's many a boy in Kentucky and Tennessee feels likewise.' He went in the night, using the old Indian trails, that only mountain folk knew, and somehow he got through to Ohio, and eventually he'd wound up in the Sixth Cavalry. He never said much about the war years, and if he met any kinfolk on the field of battle, he didn't say.
When it was over, he'd gone to fightin' Injuns and then quit the army and joined up with a cattle drive. He'd covered a far stretch of country before their paths crossed again in the western lands. So far as they knew, Tell had not been back to Tennessee, which was surprising because there'd been a girl back yonder that he'd been sh*' up to when the war started.
Tyrel was the youngest but already married and owner of a ranch, part of which his wife brought to him, but which he'd helped to save from renegades in the Land Grant fights. He was better off than any of them.
He owned land and stock, but he owed money, and this trip was costing him.
This was wide-open country, yet there were unexpected hollows and valleys, and a man had to keep his wits about him. There were sloughs, small lakes usually surrounded by a thick stand of cattails. The hills were green now; only a few days had made a striking difference. The grass was short but long enough to color the hills with springtime. Wild flowers were everywhere, harebell, silverberry, and blue-eyed grass as well as wild parsley and yellow violet.
Here and there were small herds of antelope, and occasionally they saw a buffalo.
That night by their small fire he warned them again. 'This here's Sioux country, and they're first-class fighting men. You got to expect them all the time.' On the third day they killed a buffalo for fresh meat and skinned it out with the meadowlarks calling. Orrin's eyes kept roving, searching, watching, yet a part of his mind was far away, with Nettie Molrone, wondering where she was and how she fared.
Douglas Molrone--he must remember the name and listen for it, yet the gold fields had a way of devouring men, of chewing them up and spitting them out at the ragged ends of the world. It was whiskey and hard work that did them in, standing in cold streams, panning for the elusive gold.
So many times even the best discoveries somehow seemed to come to nothing. Tell had struck it rich in the mountains of Colorado only to have the vein play out. He had taken out a goodly sum, but part of it had gone back into searching for the lost vein.
Sometime, somebody would discover it, broken off and shifted by some convulsion of the earth.
In the distance, they could see the flat-looking blue shadow that was the Turtle Mountains. Not mountains at all but a plateau of rolling country scattered with lakes and pretty meadows among the trees.
The dim trail they were following, probably made by m`etis buffalo hunters, skirted the Turtle Mountains on the north, but Orrin led the way south, skirting the plateau's eastern end and making camp near a slough almost in the shadow of the hills.
'Keep your rifles handy,' he advised, 'but be damned sure you see what you're shooting at.
You boys know as well as I do that some or all of them might come through a stampede. If it takes place at night there'd likely be only two, three men on night herd, and they'd know you can't stop a buffalo stampede.' 'So?' Fleming asked.
'It's likely they'd scatter. They'd take out an' run,' Haney said. 'That's what I'd do. A dead cowhand ain't no good to anybody.' 'If my brothers or Cap come through this, they'd more than likely take to the hills. There's water there, and there are hideouts and small game.' They were camped in a small hollow with some low brush around, a few polished granite boulders left by a vanished glacier, and several tall cottonwoods. The slough where they watered their stock was about fifty yards below. Baptiste built a small fire and roasted buffalo steaks. Orrin could not rest but prowled about outside of the hollow, listening for any small sound.
He heard nothing but the expected sounds of the night.
It w
s very still. To the north loomed the bulk of the plateau; to the west the land fell gradually away into a vast plain, which he suspected was a prehistoric lake bed. Behind him there was a faint rustling of wind in the cottonwood leaves and a low murmur of voices.
Somewhere out in that great silence were his brothers and Cap, alive or dead, and he had to find them.
He walked out a few steps farther, listening.
Overhead were the stars, and the sky was very clear. He moved out still farther, haunted by the feeling that something was out there, something vague that he could not quite realize.
He let his eyes move slowly all around the horizon, searching for any hint of a fire. He turned his head this way and that, trying for a smell of smoke.
Nothing!
were they gone, then? Truly gone? After all, there is a time for each of us.
Faintly, something stirred. His gun came easily into his hand. He waited, listening. There was nothing more.
Some small animal, perhaps.
After a few minutes, he went back to the fire. In the morning, they would continue on to the westward. Then he would climb the plateau and see what he could see from that height. Certainly, he could see farther, and he might detect some movement out there. Also, he should check for tracks.
The trouble was there were, so he had heard, many lakes in the Turtles and no end to available water. It was not as simple as in the desert where waterholes were few.
'Charlie,' he suggested, 'you take the first watch. Give yourself an hour and a half, then awaken Shorty. The same for you, Shorty, and then call Haney and Haney will call me.' 'You t'ink I am too old?' Baptiste asked.
'You have to get up early, anyway, and you'll have to watch the camp tomorrow. You get some sleep now.' Fleming took up his rifle. 'Anything else?' 'Don't sit by the fire. Stay out on the edge somewhere.' He unrolled his bed and pulled off his boots, then his gun belt. Shorty was asleep almost as soon as he hit his blankets, and Haney followed suit. Baptiste stirred about a bit, then settled down.
