“Yes, ma’am, it would be my privilege,” Dusty said. He walked over to the hoodlum wagon and, moving aside some of the gear, pulled out his guitar. Returning to the campfire, he checked the tuning, then pausing for a moment, began to play. The lower strings provided a steady rhythmic beat while the higher strings, plucked by quick and nimble fingers, brought out the melody, like a fine, golden thread woven through a rich piece of tapestry.
Clay wrapped his arm around Maria and she leaned into him as the music lifted from the guitar, as if following the glowing red sparks that danced their way up on the column of heated air until they became lost among the stars.
“Where did you learn to play the guitar like that, Dusty?” Clay asked.
“I spent some time at sea,” Dusty said. “Wasn’t much to do on board one of those ships, and there was a Spanish fella that could play the guitar. I talked him into teaching me, and I’ve been playin’ it ever since.”
“This is by a fella named Bach,” Dusty said. “Never learned the name of the piece though,” he added.
Dusty began playing and when he was finished Tom complimented him on it. “Beautiful,” he said. “And the piece you just played is called
“Damn, I’ll have to remember that,” Dusty said.
Dusty played a few more songs, then Clay and Maria crawled into the chuck wagon to go to bed. Dusty put away his guitar and threw out his bedroll close to the fire which, though the flames had died down, still retained much of its heat.
Mo and Dalton stayed up talking, long into the night.
“What was it like growing up in an orphanage?” Dalton asked.
“It wasn’t just any orphanage,” Mo said. “It was an orphanage run by nuns.”
“Did you like it?”
“I liked having a place to sleep and food to eat,” Mo said. “And I reckon I got more of an education than lots of folks do. But I wasn’t that keen on all the praying and Bible reading.” Mo chuckled. “I’ll bet I know the Bible better than most preachers.”
“Did you ever think of becoming a preacher?”
“Sister Mary Katherine wanted me to become a priest,” Mo said.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I like drinking, and I like women,” Mo said. “Also I never quite got a handle on that turn your other cheek thing. No thank you. I got turned out of the orphanage when I was sixteen, and I’ve been on my own ever since. And I like it that way.”
“Where did you learn to shoot like you do?”
“It was just something I wanted to do,” Mo said. “So I practiced a lot. Anybody can get good with practice.”
“I’ve been practicing too,” Dalton said. “But I’m not near as good as you are.”
“It’ll come,” Mo said. “Just keep practicing. It’ll come.”
“I’ve never been to Dodge City,” Dalton said. “They say it’s a wild town.”
“Oh, it’s wild all right,” Mo agreed. “But it’s the most fun town I’ve ever been in. I tell you what. When we get to Dodge, you stick with me. I’ll show you the town and we’ll have us a fine old time.”
“Mo?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever wonder who your Ma and Pa is?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Whoever they was, they didn’t care enough about me to keep me, so why should I worry any about them?”
“But don’t you ever wish you had a family?”
“I got a family,” Mo said. “Clay, Dusty, all the other hands at the ranch. Even you. You’re all the family I need.”
“I don’t have any brothers,” Dalton said. “You can be my brother.”
“I already am,” Mo said.
Dodge City had holding pens and feeder lots sufficient for 30,000 head of cattle, so Duff, Smoke, and the others had no difficulty in finding accommodations for their herd once they arrived. The last telegram Duff had received from Big Ben said that Clay Ramsey would meet him at the Dodge House.
Duff didn’t have to go to the Dodge House because, even as the four trains were off-loading the cattle, a man walked up to him. He had brown hair, a well-trimmed moustache, and blue eyes. About five feet ten, he was thin, but Duff knew better than to mistake his slender form for weakness.
“Would these cattle be bound for the Live Oaks Ranch in Texas?” the man asked.
“Aye, they would be,” Duff replied. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Duff MacCallister. You would be Clay Ramsey?”
Clay took Duff’s hand. “I am, yes, sir.”
Duff waved at Smoke, Matt, and Falcon. “I want you to meet the men who are with me. This is Smoke Jensen, Matt Jensen, and Falcon MacCallister.”
As Duff introduced the others, Clay’s eyes widened noticeably. “My God,” Clay said. “I never thought I would meet any one of you, and now, all three together? I have heard about you—I have read about you. This is quite an honor.”
“Don’t believe all you read, Mr. Ramsey,” Smoke said.
“If I can believe only one tenth of what I have read, I am still honored to meet such genuine American heroes,” Clay replied.
“How is Big Ben doing?” Smoke asked. “It’s been several years since I’ve seen him.”
“Still big,” Clay said, “somewhat ornery, and still honest.”
“Honesty is accolade enough for anyone,” Smoke said.
Clay glanced toward the holding pen, which was filling with the introduction of the cattle. “So it’s true, Black Angus really don’t have horns,” he said.
“Nothing to write home about,” Smoke said. “Certainly nothing like the magnificent rack Longhorns have.”
“They look a lot bigger.”
“They are. They’ll weigh in anywhere from two to five hundred pounds more than a Longhorn,” Smoke said.
“How soon can we start south with them?” he asked.
“We discussed that,” Smoke said. “And seeing as these are about to become your beeves, and seeing as you know the area, I reckon that makes you the trail boss. So I figure when we start south is up to you.”
“I appreciate the confidence,” Clay said. “All right, if I’m to be the trail boss, I would like to start back tomorrow. That is, if you think you and the cows are up to it. If possible, I would like to get back to Live Oaks before Christmas.”
“Yes,” Duff said. “I believe Big Ben said something about inviting us to a Christmas celebration.”
“I’m sure he did. Big Ben has always done Christmas up big. I think you will have a good time.”
“We’ll be looking forward to it,” Matt said.
“Oh, by the way, I should tell you that my wife, Maria, is with us. She signed on to cook for us. I hope you don’t have some superstition or something about having a woman on a trail drive.”
“I’d be in a fine pickle if I did,” Smoke said. “My wife, Sally, is with us.”
Clay smiled, broadly. “Really? Why, that’s wonderful. Maria will enjoy having another woman along.”
“I believe Mr. Conyers said you would have some other drovers with you,” Smoke said. “Is that true?”
“Yes, I have four men with me, in addition to my wife.”
“Good,” Smoke said. “Your four drovers, plus you, make five. We four, plus Sally, make five, so that gives us ten drovers, plus your wife as a cook. I don’t think we will have any problem in moving this herd down to Texas. Where would be the best place to take supper, do you think?”
