Through Darkest America

more treacherous route, figuring it was also likely the safest and quickest, if they met the army on time. Anyway, they argued, Lathan was after meat and wouldn’t be looking to run down pot sellers and farmers with empty wagons.

There were gamblers with their women in tow, loaded with trail packs and camp gear. Merchants and corn whiskey dealers pulled hastily loaded carts through the shallow water. They were all afoot; few had ever been close to a horse before. Mounts were for fighting men, or whoever could get and hold one of the rare animals for himself. Less than a quarter of the forty-odd drivers in Pardo’s group were mounted. And not half of that number had guns. Howie decided he probably ought to feel like something special—even if his horse belonged to Pardo and his pistol couldn’t hurt anyone.

Before he splashed up on the far bank he turned and squinted back across. But if Aimie was there, he couldn’t pick her out of the dust-covered followers.

At noon, Pardo and Jess had an argument that came near to going past loud talking and hard looks. The land was flat and easy beyond the river and Jess wanted to speed up the herd some. Pardo said he could understand Jess and the others being anxious to get where they were going, but he didn’t see any use getting there with three-thousand head of dead meat. Jess flared up and said it wasn’t any of Pardo’s meat in the first place—dead or otherwise. The end was they did speed up some—then slowed a little—so no one could tell much difference one way or the other.

Howie heard some of it, bringing water bags up to Pardo, but he got hastily away as soon as he could.

“What you think’s going to happen?” he asked Cory later. “You figure Lathan’ll git here or the army?”

“No way of telling,” Cory shrugged. He sat his mount chewing a stick he’d snapped off a scrub tree. “You can’t never say about Lathan. He’s fooled that old army before, though.”

“You didn’t like soldiering much, did you?”

Cory chuckled and grinned. “Guess you could say that.”

“What’s it like?” Howie asked. “I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to do it either. I don’t care much for soldiers.”

Cory’s face screwed up in a frown. “What it’s like is sittin’ around waiting to do nothing forever. Giffin’ one place, and coming back to where you was. Going here and then marchin’ there—and then sitting some more in the cold ’till your ass falls off. And then, all of a sudden like, some fool’s throwin’ lead at you or coming over the hill screamin’ with a big blade flashing and you’re wishing to shit you was back doin’ nothin’ again.” Cory sighed and shook his head. “It’s some wearin’ on the mind and body, Burt.”

“Ain’t as good as driving, huh?”

Cory held him with one eye. “Lordee, boy!” He spit wood splinters and wiped his mouth. “Where’d you get the idea one piece of work’s better’n another? Hell, it’s all bad!”

Howie laughed. “That what you going to do when we get to Badlands? Nothing?”

“Not if I want to keep eating,” he said sourly. He squinted hard at Howie. “You sure loaded up with questions today, ain’t you?”

Howie colored and looked at his hands. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just talking . ..”

Cory grunted to himself. “Well… What I figure on doing—after I sober up and get tired of women—is headin’ south.” He winked at Howie. “Might even go after War booty.”

Howie’s eyes widened, then he decided Cory was playing with him.

“No, I ain’t kiddin’ at all,” Cory assured him. “There’s still booty to be found from the War. Gold and silver and all kinds of metals. Specially copper an’ stuff. People find it all the time. There was some fellers in Colorado, right before the war, found a whole building full of goodies. Rain hadn’t got in or nothing. Know what was in there? Coils of copper. Looked just like rope, they say—big around as your arm. Hundreds of reels of it, all higher’n a man.

The idea intrigued Howie. “What’d they do with it?”

“Huh?” Cory turned on his mount and laUghed. “Why, they got rich as old kings, is what they did. Raised all kinds of hell. ’Till one figured he wanted what the other’n had too, and they blew a bunch of holes in each other. Right smart couple of fellers.”

Cory paused, gazing thoughtfully past the horizon. “’Course, you want to make a real find, now. What you want to do is stumble on a whole passle of guns. Lord, I’d rather find me a cache of new weapons than a barrel of gold!” He laughed. “So would everyone else. But there’s still finds bein’ made, an’ it only takes one to make a man rich. And it’ll be that way until we can make ’em the way they used to… and I don’t see that comin’ soon.”

Howie kept his silence a long minute. “Cory,” he said finally, “I’d like to do that. I truly would.”

Cory started to answer, then caught his meaning. “You would, huh?”

“I surely would.”

“Well, I don’t imagine Pardo’d take much to you going off treasure hunting with me, now would he?”

Howie didn’t answer. He looked away from Cory and stared out over the herd. “You know Pardo very long?” he asked finally.

“Not any longer than he’s been on the drive. Knew of him,though.”

“You mean you heard things.”

“Well, sure. This and that.”

“What kind of things?”

Cory looked at him curiously. “He’s your pa, Burt. Reckon you know more ’bout him than I do.”

Howie looked straight ahead. Well, he’d done it now. If Cory took it into his head to tell Pardo he’d been asking questions…

Cory suddenly seemed to make up his mind about something. He leaned over and gripped Howie’s reins and turned him about.

“Listen, boy,” he said quickly, glancing at the head of the herd, “what I ought to do is keep shut, but I ain’t got good sense and never have. Thing is, I was talking to Maye and she was talking to Aimie. What I’m saying is, you best take a care who you tell your business to.” He looked hard at Howie. “Aimie says you told her Pardo ain’t your pa.”

Howie felt his stomach drop. “She… did?”

“Uhuh.”

“Well, maybe I said it. I don’t recall.”

Cory ignored him. “If he ain’t your pa, what is he, Burt?

An’ if he’s not, I can’t say I’m real surprised to hear it.”

“He’s… just kind of someone I know, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Cory…”

“You mean, like a friend.”

Howie felt miserable. “Yeah, sort of. I mean…” Cory watched him, and he knew there wasn’t anything at all he could say that wouldn’t turn out wrong. For sure, he couldn’t tell the truth. Cory might be about the only friend he had, but there were some things you didn’t dare talk about to anyone, no matter how much you might want to.

“Burt,” Cory told him, guessing his thoughts, “I ain’t sticking my nose in where it don’t belong. You’re right enough to keep to yourself. Only…” He hesitated a moment. “You got any trouble you need gettin’ out of?”

Howie looked at him and kept straight as he could. “Everything’s fine, Cory. Honest it is.”

“Yeah, well that’s good.” It was plain Cory didn’t believe him at all.

“And I’m obliged. About what you said.”

Cory shrugged. “Well, that’s what friends are for, ain’t it?”

Howie felt awful, then, about what he’d been thinking. Maybe it was wrong to try to keep everything to yourself. Maybe Cory was someone he could talk to. It was clear he didn’t like Pardo. That was a start. And if he ever hoped to get away when the drive was over… . It was something worth thinking about, he decided. There was still plenty of time. But he knew he was already sure what he was going to do. It made him feel some better, but it would make the waiting harder, now.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught sudden motion at the edge of the herd, and automatically started his