asked.
“You got to know how to build fences, Doofus. Somethin’ you cowpokes can’t do. That’s why you’re always chasin’ your cattle.”
“And how do you build your fences, Fingers?”
“Only one way to build a fence in this country,” Finnerty said, “horse high, pig tight and bull strong. I use oak, Doofus, for my fences and for paddles to spank cowboys.”
Everyone laughed and Wallace’s face turned a pale rose.
Amid the clatter of plates and forks, Jo Finnerty walked over with her plate and sat beside Dag, who had taken one of the planks from the wagon and laid it out over the rocky ground.
“Hello, Dag,” she said. “Tired?”
He looked at her. She looked fetching in her colorful calico dress and light sweater, which was blue to match her eyes. She wore a blue ribbon in her hair, as well. Her smile was as warm as the rising sun.
“Yeah, Jo, plumb tuckered.”
“We can pull the wagon into the shade and you can sleep underneath.”
“I’m not real sleepy. I slept in the saddle some last night.”
“Well, suit yourself. I don’t want to spoil you.”
“Oh, I can be spoiled real easy, Jo.”
“Then maybe I will,” she said, her voice low and throaty.
Dag thought it had the quality of silk being rubbed by soft hands. He could see why Laura would be jealous of her. She was a beautiful young woman. She kept herself neat and clean and she always smelled like flowers. He could smell her now as she drank her coffee and picked daintily at her plate. But he had known her since pigtails and it was hard now to think of her as a grown woman. Yet she was grown, and he knew she didn’t have a beau. They had always been close, but now he knew that something had changed between them. He could no longer sit her on his knee and tousle her hair, or lift her by her arms and swing her around him like a girl on a carousel.
“What was the name of this hog, Fingers?” Lonnie Cavins asked. “It tastes mighty good.”
“I don’t name no pigs I plan to eat, Lonnie. But if I was to have named this ‘un, it might have been Lonnie.”
More laughter and the talk among the hands floated around Jo and Dag as they sat together, both of them silent, as if each were wrestling with unspoken thoughts.
“How come you don’t keep milk cows, Fingers?” Chad Myers asked.
Finnerty was still making flapjacks, shoveling them onto empty plates. “I keep milk cows. Put the milk in the feed for the hogs every mornin’.”
“The trouble with milk cows,” Carl Costello said, “is they don’t stay milked.”
They all laughed at that. Carl had hands that were cracked and blistered. He had milked cows since he was old enough to grasp a teat.
“You ought to know, Carl,” Myers said. “I shook hands with him once’t and he stripped every dang one of my fingers to see if they had any milk left on ’em.”
Jo had scooted closer to Dag so that her leg touched his. Dag didn’t notice it at first, but when his leg started to heat up, he knew that she had done it deliberately. No harm in that, he thought. But he felt the pressure and moved his leg slightly. It still burned.
“Felix,” she said, “do you remember that time we went fishing in that catfish pond at Daddy’s?”
“Yes, I remember it. About five years ago, wasn’t it?”
“It was just after a spring rain,” she said, “and the banks were muddy.”
“And slippery.”
She laughed.
“You warned me to be careful, but I didn’t listen. I was eager to catch the first fish. We had dug worms on the way there and I grabbed the can away from you.”
“You were a scamp, all right, Jo.”
“I climbed up on the bank and was about to sit down and put a worm on my hook, when I slid down the smooth bank and fell into the water. I screamed and beat the water. I couldn’t swim.”
“Yeah. You were quite a sight, Jo.”
“You dove in after me and lifted me up in your arms. I fought you because I was scared of drowning, but you got me to the bank and pulled me out. You helped me up to the top and onto dry ground. You held me tight because I was shaking like a leaf.”
“I built a fire and you finally dried out.”
“I know,” she said. “But sometimes, often really, when I’m in bed at night trying to sleep, I can still feel your arms around me, just like they were on that day.”
“Jo, you shouldn’t talk about these things. Not here. Not right now.”
“Why? It’s how I feel, Felix.”
“I know. But I’m married.”
She bit her lip, locking out what she wanted to say. Her hand touched his leg. He looked up at her.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I just wanted you to know about that. Because it happened again last night. You were so near, out there with the cattle, yet so far.”
“Jo . . . don’t.”
She took her hand away and sighed.
A few yards away, Horton watched them with narrowed eyes. He sighed too. With satisfaction.
Chapter 10
Flagg took charge shortly after breakfast. He assigned men to ride to places he designated in order to round up more unbranded outlaw cattle. He sent three different groups, one with Horton, another with Mendoza, and a third with Noriega. He sent two men with each leader.
“Those of you going with these men I’ve put in charge will do what they say. They learned last night how to catch outlaws. You’ll go to the watering holes, the outlying tanks, and to shaded places where cattle bed down during the heat of the day. Catch what sleep you can, and bring back some outlaws to brand. We won’t be here by the time you get back, so figure out where we’ll be by sundown and catch up with us.”
The men all nodded and rode off, their saddles dripping with coiled lariats.
He ordered those who stayed behind to sleep for one hour. After that, he said, they would get the herd moving again, at a very slow, grazing pace. He put Manny Chavez in charge of assigning positions for the drive.
“I’ll take the point,” Flagg told Chavez.
“When the herd is moving, you ride drag and take care that none of the cows stray far from the herd.”
“I got it, boss,” Chavez said.
“Where do you want me, Jubal?” Dag asked.
“You’ll take the right flank, ahead of Chavez. Have the remuda and the chuck wagon follow us at a distance of two miles in case we run into anything.”
“What anything?” Dag asked.
“Well, maybe Comanch’,” Flagg replied, “or Apache.”
“We’re shorthanded for that sort of shit,” Dag said, “until Matlee and his bunch catch up with us.”
“When do you expect them?”
“No later than noon. Maybe an hour or so before then.”
“We’ll stop at high noon for lunch,” Flagg said. “Then maybe we can get organized with the Box M boys and add some more outlaws to this herd.”
“I saw a lot of wild cattle last year, when I made the trip north,” Dag said. “But I expect a lot of ’em are branded by now.”
“Dag, there are millions of Mexican cattle in Texas and probably millions still wandering around not carrying brands. We’ll fill this herd, by God, and all of us will make a few dollars.”
“What about the trail I picked, up the Palo Duro? Do we stand a good chance of making the drive with four
