thousand head or so?”
“One trail’s as good as another, and most side trails lead to the main ones. One thing I’ve learned since Charlie Goodnight started his trail is that there are as many trails to the rail-heads as there are ranches in Texas.”
Dag laughed. “I believe that.”
The herd moved out under a blue sky flocked with little cloud puffs scattered over the heavens like clusters of picked cotton. The herd was surly, but the pace Flagg set that morning didn’t cause any mutiny among them. When a cow lay down, Flagg told the men to let it rest until the man riding drag reached it. Chavez would prod it back on its feet and it could eat the same dust as he was.
Noon came and there was still no sign of Matlee. Dag kept watching for telltale dust, but the back trail was empty, and he felt hollow inside. He wondered if anything had happened to Barry. He kept his concerns to himself.
Fingers fed the hands beans and beef, bread that was already turning hard, peaches served from the airtights he had brought with him, and strong coffee. There was little banter during the meal. The men were tired and the cattle were starting to sprawl out with only three riders making the circuit around the herd. Those would eat later and by then the herd would be moving again.
The men who had gone out that morning to round up outlaw cattle returned, and there was more branding. This time, Dag and Cavins used the cookfire to heat the irons. The riders ate quickly, as Flagg questioned them.
“Any more where these came from?” he asked.
“They’re scattered all over,” Horton said, “and they’re wild as March hares.”
“You brought thirty head,” Flagg said.
“We brought thirty-two head,” Horton said, correcting him. “I counted them twenty times on the way here.”
“You gettin’ nervous about somethin’, Don?”
“No,” Horton said, almost too quickly. “It’s just that these were so hard to come by, I didn’t want to lose even one head.”
“What are you doin’ with those wearin’ brands?” Flagg asked.
“We’ve been chasin’ ’em well away so they don’t foller us back here.”
“Well, some showed up, anyways.”
“You run ’em off?”
“I didn’t recognize the brands. There were Circle T and some Lazy R. A few with notched ears. If the owners come lookin’ for them, I’ll either give ’em back or buy ’em for the going price.”
“Maybe we don’t need to check brands so close no more,” Horton said.
“Don, when you make your gather, you cut out the branded cows. If some foller you back to the herd, you can’t help that none. We’ll sort it all out when the time comes.”
“I don’t hanker to be caught rustlin’ another man’s cattle,” Horton said.
“Well, you ain’t, so don’t worry about it. Cattle go where they want to go, and on a drive, we can’t help what gets mixed in.”
“That makes sense,” Horton said.
Dag listened to all this without saying anything. After Horton and the others rode off after more wild cattle, he spoke to Flagg.
“Jubal,” Dag said, “what do we do about these odd brands when we get to Cheyenne? How do we explain those that aren’t Box M or D Slash?”
Flagg rolled a cigarette while Fingers and Jo scrubbed plates with dirt and washed them, put out the fire, and packed up the sawhorses and boards. He lit his cigarette with a lucifer and blew the smoke into the air where the breeze shredded all but the acid aroma.
“If this was a regular roundup, we’d have representatives from all the ranches around us.”
“Right,” Dag said.
“And if we had time, I could ride to every ranch and offer to buy the head that follered us or just tell the owner to come and pick up his cows.”
“That’s right, Jubal.”
“But we ain’t got time to ride a hunnert miles a day lookin’ for owners of strays.”
“No, we don’t.”
“So we got some other choices, Dag. We can fill out false bills of sale and hope to hell we don’t get caught, or we can use a runnin’ iron on them strays and pray to Jesus we don’t get caught with the irons or that the buyer finds out what we done.”
“Shit, Jubal. We could all get hanged.”
“Or just you, Dag.”
Jubal pulled on his cigarette and let the smoke dribble out of the side of his mouth.
Dag put a hand to his throat, massaged the flesh as if it were some precious material, which it was.
“I don’t much like the idea of that,” Dag said.
“There’s another thing comes to mind. A couple, really.”
“Yeah?”
“First off, when we butcher a beef on the trail, you can bet, by God, that it’ll be a cow wearin’ a brand what ain’t none of ours.”
“And the other?”
“We keep a tally at the stockyard in Cheyenne and pay the ranchers when we get back. Adding, maybe, a little profit, but just a little.”
“Some might say we took advantage.”
“I reckon some might,” Flagg said.
Dag looked out at all the cattle. They were moving now, slowly streaming north, in no particular hurry. He was still far short of the number of head he had to have to fill the contract in Cheyenne. Fingers was finished packing the chuck wagon. Jo had gone off to relieve herself and he saw her walking back, patting her hair, straightening her dress. She waved to him and he nodded, still preoccupied with all that he and Flagg had discussed.
“Well, Jubal, what do you reckon I ought to do? We’ll have to tell Matlee about the odd brands.”
“Yeah, you would. Or just let him find out.”
“No, I’m going to tell him straight out.”
“That would be my advice.”
“So what do we do if Matlee wants those odd brands cut out?”
“Reason with him,” Jubal said. “And if he says cut ’em out, we cut ’em out.”
“And what happens if we keep all those brands in our herd and we have to explain them to the buyer in Cheyenne?”
“If he’s a cattleman, he might look the other way, give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Dag, there’s some decisions you have to make on your own. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble. But if it comes, just meet it head on.”
“What would you do, Jubal, if this was your herd?”
“In a way, it is my herd, Dag. I’m responsible for it. What I say goes, on the drive. So I say we keep what we got and cull what we can for vittles along the way, and then let the damned chips fall where they fall.”
Jimmy Gough and Little Jake were setting out with the remuda. Dust rose in the air and wafted away like red and brown smoke.
“All right, Jubal. I guess we’ll go with what we have. We didn’t steal those cattle.”
“No, you can’t help it if some other man’s cattle want to foller you clear across the Red and on up to Cheyenne.”
Flagg walked away and climbed aboard his horse. Dag watched him go, then saw Jo climb up onto the wagon seat next to Fingers. She turned and smiled at him. She waved and he waved back.
“See you tonight,” she called, as the wagon lurched into motion.
