Lin was feeling better. As for me, I limped along with a head aching something fierce and a disposition that would frighten a grizzly. Not that I let those Indian folks see it, but, believe me, I was sore.
Meanwhile, a way out in the western mountains, Logan was in trouble and wishful of our coming.
As to Tyrel, he might be killed dead, but I misdoubted that. Tyrel was just too downright ornery to be killed that easy. If he ever went down to death, there’d be bodies stacked all about, you could bet on that.
One thing about a Sackett, he finishes what he starts if it is a good thing to start. All of us knew that whatever else was happening, we’d be pushing on west. West was where I was going, and if I arrived there with no cows, I’d round up a buffalo herd and drive it in, or try.
If that failed, I’d have to get a rattlesnake for a whip and drive a flock of grizzlies. Right now I was mad enough to do it.
It so happened that at the time of the stampede these Indians were a way off to one side where they’d had to go to camp on water. The stampede went right by, an easy half mile off.
“Where do you go?” I asked the old man.
He gestured to the northwest. They were going back to some place; that was all I could gather. His English was limited, and I spoke none of the Indian tongues that made sense to him. It was a rare thing to find an Indian who spoke any language but his own, although some had picked up some French or English because of trade.
Their direction was our direction, so we stayed with them. Besides, they needed us. The young warrior was still not able to travel far when hunting, and neither of the old men had much luck with hunting. Their food was mostly small game or roots picked hither and yon.
The meat I’d left them had been a godsend.
Soon as I was fit, I scouted around some of an evening. First evening I had no luck; never even saw anything worth shooting until the second day when I spotted a buffalo calf.
It was a week before Lin could walk, even a little, and by that time we’d traveled most of a hundred miles. It was that night by the fire that Little Bear came to me. He was the youngster walking about, and me and him had talked a good deal, neither understanding too much except that we liked one another.
He had been out setting snares, and he came to me by the fire. “A horse!” he said.
“That’s it, son. That’s what I need.”
He pointed off to the east. “A horse!” he repeated.
“You mean you’ve seen a horse?”
When he said yes, I went to my saddle and took my rope, from it. “You show me,” I said.
Our horses had been scattered when the stampede took place, and it might just be one of our own. Not that it would be any easier to catch.
We walked maybe a mile, and he pointed. Sure enough, feeding along the shadow of some poplars was a dun horse.
Now Tyrel and me, we both rode line-back duns, probably get of the same sire, as we’d caught them out of a wild bunch who ran with a powerful old dun stallion. The stallion was no horse to catch. He’d run wild too long; he was too strong and too mean. A horse like that will never stop fighting, and he’ll either kill somebody or himself.
At that distance, I couldn’t make out whether that was Tyrel’s dun or mine. But he’d been riding his when the stampede hit us, so this one must be mine. There was a shadow from the trees, or I might have guessed which one it was.
Anyway, we moved toward him. His head came up sharp, and he looked at me with ears pricked and he let me come on.
When I was within fifty yards, he shied away a mite, but he didn’t run, and I called to him. He walked toward me then, and I rubbed his neck a little, and he seemed glad to be back with folks again. I rigged a hackamore and led him back to camp. Next morning, when we started out, I was in the saddle and felt like a whole man again.
The wind began to pick up, the grass bending before it, and I was scouting ahead looking for game when I came on some tracks.
Little Bear looked at them and pointed toward the direction they’d taken. “You cattle,” he said. “Two mans!”
Maybe thirty head of cattle and two riders, and we set off after them.
We found them bedded down near a slough alongside a capful of fire with some meat broiling.
” ‘Light an’ set!” Cap said, like he’d seen me only that morning. “Brandy an’ me got a few of your cows.”
It was good to see them. They had six horses, two of them strange, wearing a Lazy Y brand.
“You don’t look the worse for wear,” I said.
“Pure-dee luck! We was out in front, and we run for it. We had fast horses, an’ after a mile or two, we managed to cut away to the side. Seen anybody else?”
“Lin’s alive. He’s with the Indians.”
Little Bear rode off to get his people, and we set by the fire explainin’ to each other what happened.
“All we can do,” I said, “is head north to meet Orrin. He’ll have grub, and if there’s anybody else alive, they’ll come to that rendezvous.”
“That’s how I figured it.” Cap glanced over at me. “You see the tracks? It wasn’t Sioux.”
“We know.”
“I wonder what Logan’s tied into, anyway?”
The smell of the wood fire was almighty nice, and I felt right just having a horse again. I’ve spent so much time sittin’ on the hurricane deck of a horse that I ain’t at home anywhere else.
Little Bear’s folks came in shy of midnight, and we all bedded down close together, with Cap, Brandy, an’ me sharin’ time with the cows.
Cap an’ Brandy were sure enough hungry. They’d been eatin’ squirrel, rabbit, and skunk most of the time since the stampede, when they ate anything at all.
“There’s hills up ahead,” Cap said. “Maybe we’ll run into Orrin an’ his carts. Those are the Thunder Breeding Hills. If he didn’t find anything west of the Turtles, he’d keep on west, wouldn’t he?”
“He would. Or I think he would.”
Yet I was worried. We were a long way from the mines, we had only thirty head or so, we were short on riding stock, and we had no grub or ammunition. We’d lost the biggest part of our outfit, and we were riding strange country.
There were Sioux around, and there were the white renegades who’d attacked before. Yet it felt good to be back with Cap. Brandy and Lin were new men, but Cap I knew from way back. Any kind of a stir-up, be it work or fight, Cap would stand his ground.
The cattle had lost weight. A stampede can run a good many pounds off a critter, and these had been driven hard since.
The way we drove them was across a prairie with islands of brush and occasional swamps. Time or two we had to stop and rope some old mossyhorn out of the bog. Those islands of brush worried me because a body could get close to a man before he realized. And they did.
All of a sudden, Cap ups with his hand and outs with his Winchester, and we saw three men ride into view from behind a clump of brush.
I had no idea who they were but had a mighty good idea they weren’t friendly.
Chapter XVII
The sun lay bright upon the land ahead and bright upon the three horsemen who rode to meet us.
Cap glanced around. “Good boy,” he said. “Brandy’s facin’ the other way. So’s Lin.”
The Indians were behind us and to the right, concealed from the riders by the brush.
“There will be more of them,” Cap said.
“There will,” I agreed, and glanced at the small lake that lay ahead and to the right. It was likely they would attack from the left and try to drive us toward the lake. The three riders were too obvious.
“Howdy, boys! Huntin’ for something?”
“Lookin’ to buy cattle.” The speaker was a big, bearded man in a buckskin coat worked with blue and red beads. He had a rifle in his hand and a fur cap.
“Sorry. These are not for sale.”
“Make you a good offer?” His horse was sidling around, and I saw him throw a quick glance toward left rear.