To Tame A Texan (28 page)

She smiled at him, her eyelashes fluttering. “Whatever you say, Ace.”

The cowboys cut out some steers for the hungry Indians and resumed their trail drive, with the pretty Comanche girl still smiling at Ace in a bold and inviting manner.

“Lordy, she's temptin',” Ace said, turning in his saddle to look back at her.

Somehow, that annoyed Lynnie no end, and she gritted her teeth and looked straight ahead as they rode, trying not to think about what had happened last night in the teepee.

Things remained calm for the next few days as they drove the herd across the Indian Territory toward the Kansas border. The weather grew hotter as June progressed, and sometimes water was in short supply.

At last they came to the broad South Canadian River, which meandered across the central Indian Territory. It was wide but shallow. Still, it gave the trail hands a chance to water the thousands of cattle and rest their remuda of horses. Then they pushed on north across the parched land to the North Canadian River. This would be their last chance at plenty of water as they pressed on toward Kansas. The cattle seemed to sense this, too, and were loath to move on. Tempers were short and cattle difficult to move as they crossed the plains. Worse than that, Forrester and his herd were eating up the grass ahead of them so that when Ace's herd moved in, the grass was eaten to the ground.

Lynnie sighed and wiped her red face. “My, it's hot.”

Ace frowned at her as he rode up. “Lynnie, try to keep your hat on; you look like a boiled lobster.”

“You've never seen a lobster,” she snapped back. Why was it the sun turned her even redder and more freckled while Ace's tan just deepened, making his rugged face even more handsome?

“Don't bother me with details.” He took off his Stetson and wiped sweat from his face. Red dust swirled up as the bawling cattle passed. “If we don't find water soon, we're in real trouble. We need a little luck.”

They got it, all right—bad luck. The chuck wagon broke an axle and they lost a day carving up an old cottonwood limb to replace the damaged one. Nothing seemed to matter as the days passed but to keep moving north.

Wolves and coyotes hung around the edges of the herd, spooking the cattle and keeping the cowboys from getting any rest. Here and there, they ran across Indian sign and wondered if they would come under attack. Again the chuck wagon broke an axle and delayed them for a day while it was repaired. That night, all the cowboys were tired and discouraged.

Squatting down by the campfire, Ace sipped his coffee and made a wry face. “Tastes like it was made with water that came out of a cow track.”

“I heerd that, you young pup,” Cookie yelled. “And for your information, that's just about where it did come from.”

Lynnie licked her dry lips and watched her calves nibbling grass. In her mind, she was swimming naked in a cold spring, diving down and drinking all the clear, cold water she wanted.

She looked up to see Ace watching her. “Hey, kid,” he said gently, “I got a canteen-full; take a drink.”

She shook her head. “I've had plenty.”

“Lynnie, don't lie to me. You shared your water with those calves, didn't you?”

“Well, what if I did?” she flared. “It was my water.”

Joe walked up and squatted by the campfire. “We ought to kill those calves,” he said. “Then we might manage to milk the cows.”

Lynnie attacked him with both fists. “No, damn it, not my calves!”

Ace pulled her off the cowboy. “Here, here. Nobody's gonna kill the calves, Lynnie. Besides, we shouldn't be too many days from the Cimarron River. Maybe there'll be plenty of water when we get there.”

But what if there isn't?
She must not even think that. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sure, when we get there, we'll have all the water we want.”

Cookie paused in cleaning his big cast-iron skillet. “The Spaniards didn't name that river ‘Wild One,' for nothin'. Cimarron's a devil to deal with—lots of quicksand.”

Ace looked at him. “But the safe path across is marked, ain't it?”

Cookie nodded. “Yep, but you can never be sure the quicksand ain't moved some, so's you might be ridin' right into danger.”

Lynnie was miserable, thirsty, dusty, and sunburned. The crew looked surly and ready to revolt. If they all decided to abandon the herd and head for Dodge or home, Ace might not be able to stop the mutiny. He was worried, she could tell by the expression on his rugged, dark face. What a mess. She tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway and she blinked rapidly.

Ace studied her. “You get something in your eye?”

“Y-yes.”

“Here, have a sip out of my canteen.” His voice was soft, almost gentle.

She started to refuse.

“Look, I'm the trail boss.” His tone brooked no argument. “Drink some of my damned water before you pass out and are no good to us the rest of the trip.”

“I—I can carry my own weight,” she insisted. “I'm fine.”

“Uh-huh. Drink it anyhow before I pour it down your throat.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Lynnie, you keep tryin' my patience and you'll find out.”

She decided he was big enough to do it. “Well, just a little.” The water was warm, but it tasted delicious. She had to force herself not to empty the canteen. “I didn't realize the trip would be so tough.”

“You wanna quit? I could send you on to Dodge with a couple of cowboys. I'm worried about you—all sunburned and sick-lookin'.”

So that's how he saw her. He had been lying when he'd told her she was pretty. He'd only been trying to get her drawers off. Her big sister had warned her about men like Ace. She glared at him. “You're not going to do me any special favors. Besides, you don't have enough hands to spare, and how would that look back home if everyone found out you'd sent me on to Dodge because I couldn't take it?”

Ace sighed. “You and your damned equal rights. You know what Uncle Maverick and my dad would do to me if something happened to you?”

So that was his only concern. Well, what had she expected?

“I got myself into this and I'll damned well get myself out.”

“Ladies aren't supposed to swear,” he reminded her.

“I'm not a lady; I'm a cowboy!” Lynnie shouted, and the cowboys looked at her and cheered.

She studied the green cowhands. They were dusty and sweat-stained and looked almost ready to give up. But there was no way to quit now except to abandon the herd and ride for the Kansas border. “Look, fellas, if I can make it, you can, too. It's only a few miles to the Cimarron.”

The boys looked at each doubtfully, and a murmur ran through their ranks. “Reckon if that little gal can make it, I ain't gonna yell ‘calf-roped' and be laughed at back home.”

Lynnie grinned. “Then it's settled. We'd better all get some sleep so we can get an early start in the morning.”

Ace shot her a look of gratitude, but she pretended not to see it.

“I tell you what I'll do; I'll read you some Shakespeare or poetry.”

Ace looked doubtful. “Must you?”

“You don't have any culture, Ace Durango. I'll read MacBeth.” She got up and went searching through her saddlebags. “You'll like that; it's about an ambitious man, a bad woman, and lots of sword-fighting.”

The cowboys were soon enraptured in the story and magically transported to Scotland.

 

 

The next few days were tough, and the June sun was hot as they drove the weary cattle at a walk toward the Cimarron. Heat waves rose up from the sun-baked earth, and when a wind came up, dust devils danced out ahead of the weary herd. Just about the time they were ready to drop in their tracks from thirst, old Twister raised his head, sniffed the hot air, and bawled. The other steers raised their heads and sniffed the air, too. They all began to bawl and to move a little faster.

“Hallelujah!” Cookie yelled from the chuck wagon. “They smell water. The Cimarron must be straight ahead.”

“Look lively, boys,” Ace shouted. “We'll have to keep them between the markers and away from the quicksand. Thirsty cattle won't care where they stop to drink.”

The cattle began to pick up the pace, and Cookie slapped his mules with the reins. “Get along, mules; water ahead.”

The cowboys cheered and perked up as they rode alongside the dusty cattle. Lynnie licked her dry lips and thought about water, lots of water. “Ace, we're going to make it.”

“We ain't there yet, kid; stay to one side. I don't want you trampled.”

They could see the river in the distance now, flat and sandy. The cattle were starting to run, and there was no way to stop them—only to slow them and keep them from trampling the leaders when they reached the water. The cattle broke ranks and scattered up and down the shallow river despite everything the cowboys could do.

Lynnie took in the scene. “Oh, dear God, Ace, there aren't any markers.”

“What?” He galloped over beside her, took one disbelieving look, and began to curse. “Those dirty skunks, they've pulled them up behind them.”

Lynnie shook her head. “Nobody would do something that underhanded.”

Ace laughed without mirth. “You don't know the Forresters very well, do you?”

“As well as I want to know them.”

“Watch where you try to drink,” Ace warned her, and spurred his horse to reach the river ahead of the last of the herd. Ahead of them, cattle were crowding into the shallows, eager to drink, and already some of them were in trouble. She watched Ace make a loop and throw it over a sinking steer's head. “Hey, boys, watch out, we'll lose some here if we aren't careful.”

Cautiously Lynnie rode near the river and dismounted. The cowboys were obeying Ace as he barked orders, spinning loops, pulling out cattle that had waded into dangerous areas.

Cookie reined in near the water and studied it. She ignored the temptation to go splashing into the stream and rode over to the chuck wagon. “Cookie, you think you can remember the trail?”

“That's just what I'm studyin' on,” he replied. “As I recall, if we take that ford there, right past that bend in the water, the ground's safe. That Forrester is a rotten coyote. Even rustlers wouldn't pull up stakes markin' quicksand.” He got down off the wagon.

“Cookie,” she said, watching the cattle plodding deeper into the shallow stream, “tell me where it's safe.”

The old man pointed, and Lynnie dismounted and led Boneyard across the ground. The sand seemed solid here. Boneyard bent her ugly head and drank deeply while Lynnie fell on her belly upstream from the cattle and plunged her sweating face into the cold water. “Ohhh!”

Then she drank as if she could never get enough. Behind her in the chuck wagon, her calves bawled. “I'm coming, babies.” She filled her hat with water and took it back to the chuck wagon. Cross-eyed Daisy stuck her small muzzle into the hat and drank deeply. Then Lynnie returned to the river for more water for the others.

Ahead of her, some of the cowboys were in trouble, their horses stepping into the mire and beginning to sink. Other cowboys threw them loops and pulled them out.

“It'll be worse out in the middle!” Cookie shouted in warning. “We'll have to be careful when we take them across.”

Ace rode up. “Remember the trail, old-timer?”

“I'll have to think on it.” The old man took off his hat and scratched his gray head. “If'n I'm wrong, we could lose a lot a beef.”

“And cowboys, too.” Lynnie had remounted and rode up beside them after watering her calves.

“Lynnie,” Ace said, “be careful.”

“You stop worrying about me and get your steers across,” Lynnie said.

“I'm not worryin' about you,” he said. “I just don't want to have Uncle Maverick mad at me; that's all.”

They had taken most of an hour getting the cattle watered and pulling the stragglers out of the sand.

Ace rode up to the edge and stared across. It was probably only a few hundred yards across the river, Lynnie thought, but it was going to be the most dangerous part of this trip after surviving the Red.

Cookie limped about, picking up limbs from cottonwoods along the bank. “I'll do the best I can to mark the way across.”

“Careful, old-timer,” Ace said, and she caught the affection in Ace's voice.

“Listen, you young pup, I kin take care of myself.”

“Sure you can,” Ace nodded. “But if you get stove up, we'd be without a cook.”

“That'd be a blessin',” Comanch muttered.

“I heerd that!” The old man paused in staking out a path through the shallow water. Abruptly, he made a misstep and began to sink. “Oh, my God, quicksand!”

Ace rode to the edge of the water and lassoed him. “Hang on, old man; I'll get you out.” He backed his horse away slowly, and the rope tightened. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the old man continued to sink; then the rope tightened and Ace dragged him out.

“Well,” Cookie said, “I made a misstep there, didn't I?”

Lynnie looked at Ace and exchanged glances. If the old man made a mistake, they could lose half their herd in the bottomless quicksand of the Cimarron. Cookie tossed off the rope and went back to staking a trail. Out in the middle, the water was not shoulder high on him, but there were dangerous sinkholes in the river bottom that could grab a man and swallow him without a trace before anyone could make a move to save him. It was late afternoon when Cookie finished.