There was water a-plenty and good grass, so we took some time. Meanwhile, keeping a watch out and seeing none of the cattle got to straying, I thought about Logan.
Logan and his twin brother Nolan were Clinch Mountain Sacketts, almost a different breed than us. They were rough boys, those Clinch Mountain Sacketts, right down from ol’ Yance Sackett, who founded the line way back in the 1600s. He settled so far back in the mountains that the country was getting settled up before they even knew he was there.
Some of those Clinch Mountain Sacketts were Blockaders; least that’s what they were called. They raised a lot of corn up in the mountains, and the best way they could get it to market was in liquid form. They began selling by the gallon rather than the bushel.
Pa, he would have none of that. “If’n you boys want to take a drink, that’s your business, but buy it in town, don’t make it. Maybe I don’t agree with the government on all things, but we elected them, a majority of us did, and it’s up to us to stand by them and their laws.
“From all I hear handed down,” he added, “that Yance was a wild one, and his get are the same. Those boys are rougher than a cob, but if you’re in trouble, they’ll come a runnin’. They’ll build you a fire, lend you money, feed yon, give you a drink from the jug, or he’p you fight your battles. Especially he’p you fight battles. Why, ain’t one of them Clinch Mountain Sacketts wouldn’t climb a tree to fight a bear.
“Why, there was a man over at Tellico whupped one of them boys one time. Sure enough, come Saturday night, here was that Sackett again, and the feller whupped him again. An’ ever’ Saturday night, there was Sackett awaitin’ on him, an’ ever’ time he whupped that Sackett, it got tougher to do. Finally, that feller just give op and stayed to home. He was afraid to show his face because Sackett would be waitin’ on him.
“Finally that feller from Tellico, he just taken out and left the country. Went down to the settlements and got hisself a job. He was a right big man, make two of Sackett, but it was years before he stopped jumpin’ if you came up behind and spoke to him. ‘Made a mistake,’ he said after. ‘I should have let him whup me. Then I’d of had some peace. Wust thing a man can do is whup a Sackett They’ll dog you to your dyin’ day.'”
That was the way it was. If one of us was in difficulties, Logan would come a-runnin’, and the least we could do was go see what we could do.
He said he needed beef cattle, so we’d take him beef cattle. I don’t know what had him treed up yonder, but it must’ve been somethin’ fierce, knowin’ Logan.
So we’d spent all we had, barrin’ a few dollars in pocket, and we were headed into wild, rough country with eleven hundred head of steers. But it wasn’t only that Logan was in trouble. It was because a Sackett had given his word.
I hear tell that down in the towns some folks don’t put much store in a man’s word, but with us it was the beginning and the end. There were some poor folks up where we come from, but they weren’t poor in the things that make a man.
Through the long afternoon, we plodded steadily west, the blackened earth only a few hundred yards off on our right. The low gray clouds broke, and the sky cleared. The grass was changing, too. We rarely saw the tall bluestem that had grown further east. Now it appeared only in a few bottoms. There was a little bluestem, June grass and needle grass.
Slowly, the herd was gettin’ trail broke. Once in a while, some old mossyhorn steer would make a break to go home, and we’d have to cut him back into the herd, but generally they were holdin’ steady. A rangy old brindle steer had taken the lead and held it. He was mean as a badger with his tail in a trap and would fight anything that argued with him, so mostly nobody did.
Cap rode back to me just about sundown as we were rounding the stock into a hollow near a slough. “Tell,” he said, “better come an’ have a look whilst it’s light.”
He led the way to the far side of the slough, and we studied the ground. The grass was pressed down here and there, the remains of a fire and the tracks of two travels.
“Six or seven, I’d say,” Cap said, “but you’re better at this than me.”
Well, I took a look around. “Six or seven,” I agreed. “Maybe eight. One of them travois leaves a deep trail, and I figure they’ve got a wounded man on it.
“They’ve had them a fight,” I said, “and that’s odd because there’s at least two women along. It’s no war party.”
“There’s a papoose, too,” Cap said. “If you look yonder by that rock, you’ll see where they leaned his cradle board.”
I indicated a dirty piece of cloth lying in the tram-pled-down grass. It was very bloody. “Somebody is hurt,” I said. “Probably the man on the travois.”
Squatting, I sat on my heels and looked over the place where they’d camped and the ashes left from their fire. “Yesterday,” I said, “maybe the day before.”
“And they’re headin’ west, like us.”
“We got to keep an eye out. We’ll be comin’ up with them maybe tomorrow night or next morning. They aren’t going to make much time.”
“What do you make of it?” Cap asked.
“A papoose in the cradle board, one walkin’ about youngster, two women and four men. Two of the men are oldish, gettin’ on in years. One’s a youngster — fightin’ age but young. Then there’s the wounded man.”
“I spotted ’em a while back.” Cap put the butt of his rifle on the ground. “They’ve been keepin’ to low ground. Looks to me like they’re scared.”
Well, I took my hat off and wiped the sweat off my forehead, then put my hat on and tugged her down tight. “Cap,” I said, “we’d best sleep light and step careful because whatever’s after them is comin’ our way, too.”
Chapter III
We were taking it easy. We had a long way to go, but the season was early, and there was no use us gettin’ so far north that the grass wouldn’t have come yet. The country was greenin’, but it would take time. We had come up to the Jim River just below Bear Creek.
Cap an’ Tyrel scouted ahead, riding into the trees to see if company waited on us, but there was nobody. There was fair grass on the plain and mighty good grass in the creek bottom, so we swung our herd around and bedded them down.
Swingin’ along the edge of the trees, I dabbed a loop on a snag and hauled it up for the fire. Lin was already down from the wagon and picking up some flat stones he could use to set pots on.
We hadn’t any chuck wagon, and grub was scarce. Leavin’ Brandy with the stock, Tyrel rode down to where I sat my horse. “Saw some deer back yonder.” He gestured toward the creek. “Figured I’d ride out and round up some meat.”
“Sure.” As he turned his mount away, I said, “Keep your eyes open for those Injuns. I think they’re somewhere about.”
“Maybe so.” He pulled up for a moment. “Night before last — maybe I was wrong, but I thought I smelled smoke.” He let it rest for a minute, and then he said, “Tell? You know what I think? I think those Injuns are ridin’ in our shadow. For protection, like.”
He took out his Winchester and rode off into the trees, but what he said stayed with me. Those Indians were only a handful, and they’d seen trouble from somebody. Tyrel might be right, and they could be stayin’ close to us with the idea that they’d not be attacked with us so close by.
By the time I started back for camp, the cattle had settled down. A few were still grazing on last year’s grass, but most of them were full as ticks. I wasn’t fooled by their good shape because I knew rough country lay ahead of us.
When I stepped down from the saddle and ground hitched my horse, the other two riders had come in and were drinkin’ coffee. Gilcrist was a lean, dark man who handled a rope well and seemed to know something about stock but was obviously a gambler. He’d not had much luck getting up a game around camp because mostly when we bedded down the cattle, we were too tired to do anything but crawl into our blankets ourselves. The man traveling with him was a big, very heavy man but not fat. He was no taller than me, maybe even a mite shorter, but he was a good fifty pounds heavier, and it wasn’t fat. Gilcrist called him the Ox, so we followed suit. Nobody ever did ask him his name, as folks just didn’t ask questions. Whatever somebody named you or whatever you answered to was good enough.