“I’ll go talk to Flagg right away,” Matlee said.
“Tell him I told you that you can take some of my hands to help the first time out.”
Matlee’s face darkened as if he had been slapped. “That’s all right, Dag. We can manage, I reckon.”
“Suit yourself.”
Matlee rode off at a canter atop his showy Palomino gelding, Powder.
Dag watched him go and wondered if Flagg had sense enough to make sure the Box M hands went in the opposite direction from where the D Slash boys were bucking the brush. Otherwise, there could be trouble. There were some hot-tempered boys who rode for Barry and he had a few himself. A man’s nerves could fray mighty quick under the hot sun when there was close competition. And after all, the cattle were money on the hoof to all of them. He trusted Matlee, but he also knew some of his men might want to cut corners, and way down at the bottom might lie a man’s greed. But they had agreed to make the drive to Cheyenne together and keep their cattle separate when the money was paid out. They had shaken hands on it, and he knew Barry was as good as his word. But then, he had never dealt with him when large sums were involved. Money changed everything, he knew.
He hadn’t told Barry about the branded cows from other ranches that were running with the herd and all of those he’d watched come in bearing no markings. But it was going to come up, and he had no idea how Matlee would take it. And if it came to the day of the sale, would he be willing to pay the ranchers for the cattle that had mixed in with their herds? He knew he’d have to tell Barry what they were doing before he sent men out to round up outlaw cattle. Otherwise, there’d be hell to pay, maybe.
Flagg didn’t like the idea.
“Jubal,” Matlee said, “we got one herd here with two separate brands. If my men round up more’n Dag’s men do, I don’t think it’s fair to split even.”
“You think your boys can gather more head than we can?”
“What’s this ‘we,’ Jubal? Are you trail boss for me and my boys or just for Dag?”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Barry. You know that. You been gone and came late, so I opened the ball with D Slash hands, that’s all.”
“Well, it sounds to me like Dag wants to hog all the strays for hisself.”
“Did he tell you that?” Flagg asked.
“Naw, I don’t reckon. I want to ride out tonight and see can we round up some of them outlaws.”
Flagg dug in his pocket for a plug of tobacco. He offered it to Matlee, who shook his head. Flagg took that as a sign of impatience. That was why he was trying to slow things down with a chaw. He took his pocketknife and cut off a thumb-sized chunk from the plug and eased it into his mouth. He tongued it into his cheek and began to maul it with his teeth. He didn’t speak until he had spit a stream of brown juice at a colony of ants swarming over their little sandy hill.
“You might find slim pickin’s along this stretch of the Palo Duro,” Flagg said, “though I ain’t sayin’ you will. There’s so many cattle roamin’ around Texas, no tellin’ where they all are. It’s just that I’ve been lookin’ all day and ain’t seen none. You might want to get acquainted with the country a little first before you take your men out on a wild-goose chase.”
“Damn it, Jubal. You sound discouragin’,” Matlee said.
Flagg chewed and Flagg spat.
“Ain’t that way at all. But you just rode up on us and haven’t even had time to pick yourself a wildflower. Wait a day or so. Then you can take to the brush.”
“I ain’t waitin’, Jubal. I just want you to make sure we don’t run into D Slash riders wherever we decide to go.”
“You want me to point you somewheres like I did with Dag’s boys.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t need to get your dander up about it, Barry. I can do that. I will do that. You just tell me when.”
“Tonight.”
“Moon’s on the wane now,” Flagg said.
“Damn you, Jubal. You sure as hell are buckin’ me.”
“Tonight, Barry. Right after supper. Now go someplace and cool off. You got a hot collar and it ain’t from the sun.”
Matlee snorted and rode off.
Flagg watched him go and shook his head. He spit a stream of tobacco juice in Matlee’s direction, although he was a good two hundred yards away.
“Trouble,” Flagg said to his horse. “It comes whether you expect it or not.”
Then he turned back to the way ahead, looking for a line of trees that would mark a creek where they could stop for supper, at least.
He thought that he might just run the herd all night to give those Box M boys a good sweat.
Chapter 12
There was little water that night. Flagg didn’t find a creek, but he found some depressions that had collected water from the last rain and that was where he ordered the men to bed the cattle down for the night.
He had come to another decision as well.
Flagg gestured to Dagstaff, as the hands who were not tending to the herd gathered to smoke and talk and wait for supper. The two men walked out of earshot of the others. Flagg chewed on a cud of tobacco, his face as dusty as the land itself, his eyes peering out of sweat-soaked mud holes.
“Dag, I’m going to turn Matlee and his bunch out tonight to round up strays he can put his Box M brand on. We’ll keep your boys in camp. Let ’em get some shut-eye.”
“That’s fine with me, Jubal. But there’s something else behind it, ain’t there?”
“Maybe. Let Barry get his feet wet.”
“I hope he finds a passel of outlaws.”
“He won’t.”
“We’re not in competition, Jubal.”
“I’m not so sure, Felix.”
Dag looked over, saw that Matlee was glaring at them from where he was leaning against one of the wagon wheels, rolling a quirly. He couldn’t make out the expression on Barry’s face, but he could imagine what he was thinking.
“I ain’t gonna ride that road with Matlee, Jubal.”
“Good. Maybe we can have a peaceful journey.”
“We by God better.”
The two men left it at that. They split up and walked their separate ways. As Dag approached the chuck wagon, he felt Matlee’s gaze on him. The coffee was boiling. He got a cup off the wagon, walked to the fire, picked up the pot, and poured some in his cup.
Finnerty had driven his cooking irons into the ground and a pot full of stew hung over the fire, its blackened bottom licked by lashing flames.
Dag turned and saw Jo standing there, a smile curving her lips.
“Don’t spill that on me,” she said lightly.
“Jo, I’ll get out of your way.”
“Will we be here for the night?”
“Yes, we all need some rest.”
“Good. I think I found a catfish pond. I’ve got some poles in the wagon.”
“You want to go fishing, Jo?”
“I thought it would be nice. A change.”
He stepped to her side, away from the fire. He tipped the coffee cup to his lips.
“Early?” he asked. “Late?”
