Twenty-two

Houston, Lara, and the Vincents caught up with the cattle drive about noon. Flat, arid land fanned out in front of them as far as the eye could see. A mesa over to the right rose up from the inhospitable landscape, and clouds of thick dust coated Houston’s tongue. He prayed they’d make it to the Canadian River without losing any cattle, grateful to have the Cherokees’ assurance there was water in it.

After leaving Lara and Gracie at the chuck wagon, he put Nick on horseback and located his number one man in charge.

Clay grimly pushed back his hat and used his shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat running down his face. “Mighty glad you’re back. How’s sweet pea?”

“Sassier than ever. All the way from Chimney Rock, she pointed her finger at every bird, blade of grass, and rabbit, scolding them for crossing her path.” Houston grinned. “Personally, I think that woman doctor put something in her water.”

“Could have,” Clay agreed after Houston described Dr. Mary and her necklace. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

“What are you talking about? Every woman seems to be your kind. A word of warning…don’t mess with this one. She knows a hundred different ways to hurt a man.” Houston thought about how easily Zeb could’ve shot the doctor, and grew serious. He introduced the young man beside him. “This here’s Nick Vincent. He and his wife are riding along to Kansas. Put him to work.”

Clay told the young man to help with the remuda until he had time to break him in as a drover.

“Anything happen here?” Houston asked after Nick had ridden off.

“Other than the disaster at breakfast with Henry, it’s been pretty quiet.” Clay reached in his pocket for a match to light his rolled cigarette. “Only, the riders following are getting bolder. They don’t seem to care if we see them; they just keep coming. I’ve never seen them this close.”

Houston let out a curse. “We’re sitting ducks.”

“The worthless bastards,” Clay Angelo spat. “Ain’t fit for buzzard bait. Makes me skittish. What do you reckon they’re waitin’ for?”

“For their friends to catch up. The bastard wants to stack the deck first,” Houston answered. He really must’ve sent the rest of the gang on a wild-goose chase when he burned the note Yuma had left at his campsite. His glance swept to the drovers. Good men, and he’d put them up against anyone. “We can’t outrun them, but hell if we’re going to make it easy. Push the herd faster. We’ve got to drive them to the limit.”

“The pace will kill a bunch. You ready for that?”

“My people mean more than this herd. We can always raise more cows. The men and my family have to come first.”

Clay’s black eye patch lent extra danger to his wary face. That, combined with the dark whisker growth along his jaw, made him look downright formidable. He took a drag on the cigarette and let the smoke curl from his mouth. “I’ve worked for plenty of ranchers who valued the almighty dollar over their men. You’re different, Houston. So is Stoker.”

“It’s the way we see things.” Houston leaned forward to pat his horse’s sleek neck. “You mentioned Henry.”

“The poor boy tried, but burned everything.” Clay wagged his head in sympathy. “Felt sorry for him. His brothers finally took over and got a little grub into the hungry bellies at least. Miss Lara will be a sight for sore eyes.”

Houston glanced back at the chuck wagon where he’d left Lara and Gracie, praying Caroline Vincent would prove a big help. “She’ll have things running smoothly now.”

“You ain’t lyin’. You were right about Henry being good at fixing things. Every time he got upset, I’d take him something broken—even broke things on purpose—and that settled him right down.”

“That’s good to hear. Henry can get agitated sometimes.”

Virgil galloped up. “You’re back. Is everything—”

“Gracie’s fine, son.”

“What happened was my fault.” Virgil glanced down but Houston saw the slight quiver of his lip. “I never meant to leave Gracie…to let…”

Houston squeezed his shoulder. “She’s a handful. No one holds you responsible.”

“I do. Because of me she could’ve died.” Virgil’s voice was raw with emotion and self-loathing.

“Could’ve is a far cry from did,” Houston reminded him quietly. “She’s alive and well and that’s what’s important. I’m sure you learned a valuable lesson.”

Virgil’s gaze rose to meet Houston’s. “Yes, sir, for a fact.”

“Okay, then let’s get these cows to Dodge.” When Virgil gave him a quick nod and rode away, Houston turned to Clay. “I’ll go to the rear and protect our backside if you have things in hand up here. The way the hair is standing on my neck, we’d best stay alert.”

“I never stop, boss.” Clay pointed his horse north and hollered some orders.

Protecting his men, the women, and the herd would call for strength, commitment, and nerves of steel. Stoker had instilled all three in his sons. Now, Houston finally understood the tough lessons his father had taught.

“Come on, you sons of bitches,” he growled low. Turning, he kept an eye on the dust devil swirling behind them, like a giant brown beast ready to grab them in claws of sand and wind. That swirling tower of sand seemed to have been created by Blackstone himself, to slow them.

He galloped past the long column of bellowing longhorns that surrounded the chuck wagon. “Lara, keep in the middle of the cattle. Don’t straggle behind and if riders attack, try not to panic. Whatever you do, keep moving.”

“Where will you be?” She seemed calm and collected. His wife had a good head on her shoulders, now more than ever. The days in Chimney Rock had helped her settle into a newfound confidence.

“Stopping them,” Houston answered.

“Do you think an attack is coming?”

Damn, he wished she hadn’t asked that. She’d made him promise to tell the truth, though. After letting out a long sigh, Houston said, “I do.”

Henry leaned around Lara. “I have a rock. I’ll hit him.”

“Keep it handy, Henry.” Houston didn’t tell him that they’d need more than a rock against Blackstone. “Do as your sister says and don’t argue. She knows what’s best.”

“I will. But you forgot that my name is Bones.”

“Indeed it is. Thanks for the reminder, Bones.” As Houston was about to touch his spurs to the horse’s flanks, Gracie reached for Houston and babbled something. “I’m sorry, Angel, but I can’t take you with me. Not this time. Remember what I said, Lara.”

Gracie started bellowing when Houston galloped off to tell Caroline the same thing. It didn’t sit well to break his little girl’s heart.

Hell!

Before his horse had gone three lengths, gunshots burst from both sides. Riders emerged, two on each side, from behind the cover of some juniper that stood beside the trail.

His Colt .45 filled his hand and he returned their fire while jockeying for the best position. With the two-thousand-strong herd being fifty to sixty feet across, the safest place was in the middle, so that’s where he headed, praying all the while that the gunfire wouldn’t stampede them.

From the corner of his eye, Houston watched the wagons speed up. He breathed a sight easier when they were out of the direct line of attack. Now they had to keep Blackstone and his men too busy to go after the women.

The drovers were quick to double back to help, and Clay and the others were in the thick of the chaos in an instant. The blasts of gunfire, frightened screaming horses, and bellowing cattle deafened Houston.

Blackstone was smart; Houston gave him that. He and his men kept constantly moving, making it difficult to draw a bead on them. They’d run at them in a charge on two fronts, then quickly retreat. Over and over they repeated the strategy, dividing the drovers’ focus. That told Houston the man had to have been in the military at some point.

When Houston’s Colt ran out of bullets, he yanked his rifle from the scabbard and kept shooting. One of the attackers’ horses stumbled and went to its knees. Houston aimed and fired. The rider flew from the saddle and landed facedown on the ground, and the horse got to its feet and galloped away.

Satisfied that the rider wouldn’t get up, Houston turned his attention to the other three attackers.

A drover fell from his horse to the dirt in the middle of the moving cattle. Houston didn’t have time to check on him, as the next bullet zinged past his cheek.

Saying a prayer the drover wasn’t dead, he turned and fired. Painful screams filled the air as the hot metal shredded the attacker’s shoulder. He slid halfway out of the saddle and hung there as his horse disappeared into a dry wash.

Houston turned in time to see a man riding straight for him. When the rider was a few lengths away, he tumbled from the saddle, where he lay unmoving on the ground. Houston stared in disbelief. He knew he hadn’t shot him. But who had? Clay was too far away and had his hands full with the others, and the rest of the drovers were chasing the one who’d ridden into the gully.

A loud cry penetrated the noise. “Retreat! Retreat!”

The two remaining riders galloped hell-bent for safer territory, leaving behind their two fallen comrades. While Clay and the drovers gave chase, Houston dismounted and ran over to the man who’d mysteriously fallen from his saddle.

“Help,” came the faint cry. “Please help.”