“All right,” Orrin said, “you are called the Ox. What else are you? Who are you?”
The Ox knew who he was facing. He did not know the man or care, but he sensed a rival male beast and welcomed it. He was a creature nature had bred to destroy.
“There was a stampede, buffalo. Everything went with them. Men, horses, cattle, everything. There was nothing I could do.”
“Where were you when it happened?”
“Off to one side. I was swinging wide around the herd. They came out of the night like — like an avalanche. And then it was all gone.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“Gone. He went crazy when the stampede came, and he threw me. He ran away following the herd.”
“Get something to eat. You look all in.” The trouble was that he did not, and Orrin sat down across the fire from him. Something here was wrong, completely wrong. The Ox did not look done in; he did not look tired or hungry. He had appeared so, coming up the slope from the flat, but no longer. His gun was still in its holster.
Orrin’s sense of justice warred with his innate dislike of the man he was watching. He warned himself to dismiss his antagonism and judge fairly.
“Was this the Sackett herd?” he asked.
The big man was eating, not very seriously. A really hungry man did not gulp food, he savored it, he ate slowly. A truly hungry man cannot gulp food because his stomach has shrunk. He is more apt to eat in small bites. The Ox ate as one does who has already eaten his fill, which is a different thing altogether.
“It was. Gilcrist and me, we hired on some time back. The drive was headed west. All gone now, all gone.”
“What happened to the Sacketts?”
“Dead, I reckon. They must be dead.”
“But if you were off to one side, mightn’t they have been, also?”
The Ox squinted his eyes. Orrin suspected he did not like the thought. “Maybe, but I ain’t seen them.”
‘Where have you been since?”
“Hidin’ from Injuns. I ain’t seen any, but I think it was them started the stampede.”
Orrin watched the Ox put down his plate. The man’s movements were easy, perfectly controlled. There was much about him that was puzzling. He was, Orrin was sure, a much brighter man than he at first appeared and probably a better-educated one.
Orrin stood up. “All right, boys, as soon as you’re through eating, let’s move out. Work south and east, and stay together, two by two. I’ll ride with Fleming.
“You” — he turned on the Ox, “help Baptiste — and tomorrow we’ll start you riding for us.”
The Ox started to speak, then turned away obviously irritated.
“Work south and east but not too far east. Anything you find, start this way. We’ll try to bunch them on the flat down there.”
“That’s crazy!” the Ox exclaimed. “They’re scattered to hell and gone!”
“Maybe,” Orrin agreed, “but we’ll find out, won’t we?”
It was a long, hard day. Fleming and Orrin worked south and for some time saw nothing. Twice Orrin cut the sign of old Indian travels. Then they came upon three young steers and started them west.
“Take them along, Fleming,” Orrin said. “They’ll be a start, anyway, and I’ll work on south.”
“But I think —”
“It’s all right,” Orrin said blandly.
Fleming, none too pleased, rode off herding his three steers.
Orrin waited until he was some distance off and then turned back. In less than three hundred yards, he found what he had seen a few minutes before, the tracks of two shod horses and a trail obviously made that day. One of the horses had been carrying a very heavy man.
At a point where the trail would have brought them within sight of Orrin’s camp, the two riders had suddenly turned south. Orrin followed, swinging along the trail in a wide circle. There, in the shade of some cottonwoods, one of the riders had dropped from the saddle and walked away.
The other rider had gone off to the west, leading a spare horse.
Orrin Sackett glanced off to the east where the rider had taken the spare horse and then turned in the saddle and glanced up at the plateau of the Turtles. “I’d lay a little bet,” he muttered aloud.
He rode south, swinging in a wide circle toward the west, and in a little hollow found six head of cattle gathered around a small seep. He moved them out toward the northwest, picking up two more on the way.
By the time he reached the gathering place, there were at least thirty head there, and Fleming was bringing in another.
Throughout the day, they worked, finding more and more of the scattered groups with occasionally a buffalo calf running with them. By sundown, they had gathered nearly three hundred head.
Baptiste had shifted camp farther west by a good five miles, with the Turtle Mountains still looming close on the north. He had a good fire going on some broiled buffalo steaks for all hands as well as more of his beans. He had made sourdough bread, and they ate simply but well.
The Ox was irritable and not talkative. It was obvious things had not gone as he expected. Baptiste was wary, watchful, and kept a gun handy, not trusting the Ox.
“There’s a-plenty off to the southwest,” Haney told them. “I saw maybe fifty, sixty head in one bunch and glimpsed several other scattered bunches.
“It won’t be easy,” he added. “They’re scattered wide, and there’s still a good many buffalo among ’em who will stampede again at the slightest excuse. If they do, most of those damn fool cows will go right along with them.”
“We need more help,” Orrin suggested, “but tomorrow we’ll have the Ox helping us.”
“I ain’t in no shape to ride,” the Ox muttered.
“If you want to eat,” Orrin replied, “you’ll ride. You can work with me. I think we understand each other mighty well.”
The Ox glared but made no comment.
“We may be able to get some help,” Shorty suggested. “This country isn’t as empty as a body might think. I came on two sets of tracks today, both of them shod horses and none of them our horses.”
Orrin knew he had been shying away from the thing that must be done. He had been avoiding the site of the stampede, and he knew why. If Tell and Tyrel were dead, he did not want to know it. Until he actually saw their bodies or some other evidence that proved them dead, he could still delude himself they were alive still.
“Tomorrow I am going over to check their last camp.” Orrin glanced at the Ox. “You can show me where it was.”
The Ox said nothing, sipping a cup of coffee, and Shorty smiled. “Ain’t much to see,” he said. “I was over there.”
They waited, and he said, “I scouted that country some. The buffalo hit that camp goin’ all out, and they just run everything right into the ground. But I don’t think anybody was in the camp.”
“What?” Orrin turned to stare. “Then where in God’s name — ?”
“They were with the cattle. They were moving them when the stampede hit them.” He glanced at the Ox. “Wasn’t that what you said? You were off on the flank?”
“I was.” The Ox paused. “It was like I said. They were here, then they were gone, and the cattle with them. I heard one man scream. I’ve no idea who it was.”
“Did you see any Indians?” Orrin asked.
The Ox hesitated. “Can’t say I did. I heard whooping. I figured it was Indians, and I lit out.”
“Haney, you and Shorty continue the roundup. The Ox and I will go over the site of the stampede before we settle down to rounding up cattle.”
Orrin glanced at Baptiste. “You stay with the carts and keep your rifle handy. Any sign of trouble everybody closes in on the carts, do you hear? We need that grub.”
It was a quiet night, and before daybreak they were in the saddle. Orrin, with the Ox beside him, rode down toward the site of the stampede.
The Ox turned in his saddle to look at Orrin. “You don’t like me much, do you, Sackett?”
“No, I don’t.”
“When the right time comes, I’ll take pleasure in beating your head in,” the Ox said.
Orrin smiled. “Don’t talk like a fool, man. You couldn’t whip one side of me, and away down inside you know it”
The Ox was not amused. “Nobody ever whipped me,” he said, “and nobody can.”
“Keep that thought. I want you to have it when I prove you wrong.”
Orrin drew up, looking over the terrain before them. The shallow valley, if such it might be called, sloped away toward the south. The earth was still torn by charging hoofs. He glanced around, taking in the situation. The Ox stared at it, then looked away. “You know, Ox,” Orrin said quietly, “you’re a liar. Your whole story is a tissue of lies, from start to finish. Now where’s your partner?”