A hill of beans, p.23
A Hill of Beans, page 23
Toward that end, Malloy scooped up a handful of dirt and moistened it with spit and blood into a mud pack. He pressed this tightly over the wound. Pulling the bandanna from around his neck, he looped it under his left armpit then up and over the shoulder. With one end of the bandanna clenched between his teeth and the other gripped in the fingers of his right hand, he pulled it tight and formed a knot to keep pressure on the mud pack and hold it in place.
Next, Malloy removed his belt from its trouser loops and then rewrapped it around himself at midrib level with his left arm inside. Cinching the belt tight once more held the arm securely in place to prevent any movement—inadvertent or otherwise—that would aggravate the shoulder wound.
With these steps taken, the Ranger felt ready for the rest of his challenge to stay alive and survive . . .
And deliver justice to the men who had done this.
CHAPTER 40
“If there was any question about taking the herd across this morning, that right there settles it.”
The “right there” Norris Bradley referred to with a tilt of his head was a bank of dense black storm clouds rising above the horizon off to the northwest. “Another hard rain—which those clouds sure look like they have in ’em,” he added, “could churn up that river all over again and possibly keep us here who knows how long.”
“I don’t need convincin’,” said Shad Hopper, standing next to him.
“Nor me,” agreed Roman, standing on the other side of his father.
The three were grouped, each with a cup of coffee in hand, near the chuckwagon where Mac was busy fixing breakfast. The other men scattered around the camp were still in the process of crawling out of bedrolls.
After taking a sip of his coffee, Shad said, “The river oughta be tamed down even more this mornin’, and that shallower crossing we found a ways downstream yesterday will also help. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble at all gettin’ to the other side.”
“As long as we make it before that storm hits,” pointed out Roman. “Don’t look like it’s movin’ in too fast, but you never can tell. If the wind starts whippin’ up, it could be on us in no time.”
Bradley scowled in the direction of the storm clouds for a handful of seconds. Then, abruptly, he called over his shoulder back toward the chuckwagon, “Whatever you got going there, put a shortcut to it, Mac! Go ahead and finish a batch of biscuits if you’re far enough along, but that and some coffee will have to do until we’re across the river.” Turning back to the middle of the camp, he raised his voice and hollered out to the others, “Shake the dew off your lilies and hop to it, you rascals! Stow the bedrolls and stomp into your boots. We got a herd to move!”
For the next hour there was a flurry of activity that, to the untrained eye, might have at times looked somewhat chaotic. But in fact, it was seven veteran cowhands each knowing and performing—with a hastily gulped cup of coffee and a biscuit—their individual roles when it came to stowing gear, breaking camp, rounding up and saddling a mount, then fanning out to encircle the herd and prepare them for getting on the move again. Colleen put the medicine wagon and her attention to Belinda behind, and once again returned to her remuda duties. Belinda herself, who had for days hardly ventured outside her wagon, also had to pitch in and see to hitching up her own team.
“We’ll take the wagons across last,” Bradley ordered. “I need you on horseback, Mac, to help contain the herd during the crossing. Afterwards, you and Shad can come back and fetch the wagons—you on yours, him driving the medicine wagon.”
“What about Belinda?” Mac asked.
Bradley frowned. “She’ll have to stay and wait with her wagon. She can bring it to the crossing point if she wants, then wait there, alone, until somebody comes back for her. I’ll explain to her how it has to be.”
No sooner was Mac once again mounted on his big paint than they were ready to move out. The sun was climbing brightly in a clear sky to the east, but to the northwest, the bank of mean-looking storm clouds edged steadily closer.
After days of lazy grazing, the cattle weren’t exactly eager to get moving again. But some prodding and pistol shots fired over their heads along with a few well-placed cracks of Shad’s whip got them in the mood quick enough. Toward the river they headed in a strung-out mass, bawling and complaining but moving along at the pace set by the drovers pushing them. The remuda and Belinda Forrest in her wagon brought up the rear.
Upon reaching the river, they veered to the right and followed the muddy, recently overflowed bank another mile to the wider, shallower spot that Shad, Roman, and Mac had marked yesterday. The current was slower here and the bottom under the muddy water good and solid.
The lead cattle balked briefly when first faced with entering the flow. But they were loosened up and settled into their pace by then, and the mass of other cows crowding up from behind—not to mention the yipping, cussing cowboys urging them on—didn’t allow any time for contemplation. They plunged in, and the rest followed with only minor displays of resistance.
When all was said and done, the crossing went well enough to almost be called anticlimactic. Eight hundred head taken over in only about forty minutes, with a loss of just four—weaker specimens who got caught in quirky swirls of current and couldn’t fight their way free. A half dozen more would have met the same fate if not for some timely and expert lasso-throwing by Roman and Shad, who pulled them to safety.
Once the last cow and rider had scaled the opposite bank, Bradley called for the men to find somewhere close by where all could hold in place while the remaining parts of the outfit, the wagons, were brought across. A wind out of the northwest was picking up and hastening the approach of the storm clouds. It seemed pretty certain they were in for another drenching by early afternoon.
Sitting his horse just back from the river’s edge with Shad, Roman, and Mac again gathered about him, Bradley said, “Sorry to prod you fellas right back into the drink, Shad and Mac, but you’d best not tarry about getting those wagons on over. That doggone storm looks like it’s in more and more of a hurry to get to us. And you’re going to want to be on this side when it does.”
“No need to worry about sending us into the river again,” said Mac. “Like you said, that storm is going to be on us in no time, so we’re going to stay soaked one way or the other.”
Shad made a sour face. “Brrr. Don’t remind me. That cold river water bit deep into these old bones, and I was lookin’ forward to warmin’ ’em in some sunshine for a spell. Fat chance of that now, by the look of things.”
“If you want, Shad, I can go over and fetch that medicine wagon,” Roman offered. “Give you a chance to soak in at least a little bit of sunshine before—”
Bradley cut him off, stiffening in his saddle and saying, “Hold it a minute. Is that crazy woman starting across on her own?”
The eyes of the other three whipped around, following his gaze, and sure enough, they all saw that Belinda Forrest was whipping her wagon team into motion and urging them into the river. As they watched, the horses plunged in, pulling straight and strong. But the wagon, once fully out on the water, immediately began drifting off course with the current. What was more, the light, top-heavy conveyance began to bob and sway erratically.
“We’ve got to get some ropes on that rig to keep it upright or she’s gonna lose it,” Shad barked.
He was already loosening his lasso from the side of his saddle and gigging his horse out into the water. Roman took the exact same action. Mac followed suit, except for pulling free a lasso. He had one on his saddle as well, but was honest enough with himself to admit that his roping skills were too lacking to be of much use. He’d do more good if he was able to reach the wagon team and try to steady them.
By the time the three riders approached the rig, it was starting to founder. The wagon was fast taking on water, twisting in the current and tipping wildly. The added weight and countermovement made it impossible for the horses to continue on a straight course across the river, threatening to drag them sideways. They were fighting frantically, eyes bugged with terror as they sensed the futility of their efforts.
Shad and Roman rode to the upstream side of the wagon and roped it at the front and rear, then turned their horses to swim hard against the current, trying to both hold the wagon upright and check its drifting-away momentum. While they were doing that, Mac reached the team and grabbed the halter of the upstream leader, talking to the animal, trying to calm it and coax it to keep pulling, keep fighting even as he swung his paint to also swim against the current and aid in the struggle.
But they weren’t even halfway across the channel yet, and the rig had drifted so far downstream from the intended crossing that the river was narrowing and the current was picking up speed and strength. Up on the driver’s seat of the wagon, Belinda appeared to have given up all hope. She’d let go of the reins and was just holding on to whatever she could grip in order to try and keep from getting thrown overboard by the swaying and pitching.
Up on the bank, more Rafter B riders had appeared. Henry and George Bradley heeled their mounts out into the water and came swimming hard to be of assistance.
Above the increasing volume of the current, the slap and creak of the wagon, and the anxious shrieks of the pulling team, Shad hollered, “We can’t hold it! Start cuttin’ those horses loose to try and save ’em! Somebody grab the girl!”
A fraction of a second later, one of the wagon’s submerged wheels struck an unyielding object thrusting up from the riverbed. There was a loud craack! of splintering wood, and the wagon gave a fierce lurch. Belinda was upended from her seat and thrown into the water on the downstream side of the wagon. She managed a short, terrified squeal before going under.
Mac didn’t hesitate. With Henry and George arriving to start cutting loose the horse team, he launched from the saddle of his paint, clambered across the backs of the pullers, then dove off on the other side to go after the girl.
He spotted her as soon as he broke the surface. Ten feet away, flailing, twisting in the rush of water. Mac reached ahead and began pulling himself toward her in long, steady strokes. He was a good swimmer and moving fast with the current. Belinda appeared to have some swimming skills of her own, but she was panicking, fighting the current, trying to swim against it rather than going partially with it and putting her efforts into angling toward one of the banks. The only good thing about that was that her struggles held her somewhat in place and allowed Mac to reach her more quickly.
“I’ve got you! Quit struggling, I’ve got you,” he said, spitting water as he grabbed a handful of clothing and pulled her to him. The current spun them in a tight circle as he got hold of one arm and pulled her closer still.
But panic still had hold of her, too. She flailed and grasped wildly at him, scraping his face, clawing at his shirt. Her eyes were as wide and frightened as those of the team. She babbled something, but it was unintelligible. The way she struggled and grabbed at him threatened to pull them both under.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Mac said sharply. “Try to relax and swim with me toward the bank. If you keep fighting, you’ll drown us both.”
But the wildness in her eyes didn’t subside. Neither did her thrashing about. Mac inadvertently swallowed some muddy water and went into a brief coughing fit.
“Blast it, hold still!”
A sudden loud noise, the magnified creaking and splintering of iron and wood being violently twisted out of shape caused Mac’s head to snap around and look frantically upstream. He saw the medicine wagon, having been temporarily hung up on the sunken object that had caught its wheel, suddenly break apart and pull free in huge, shattered pieces—all of them now hurtling straight for him and Belinda!
Their chances of getting out of the way in time, especially with her fighting against him, seemed all but impossible. But Mac wasn’t ready to give up that easy. The first thing he did, without hesitation, was to throw a slashing right cross straight to the girl’s jaw. It knocked her cold.
The instant her body sagged in his arms, he twisted away, hooking his left arm under her chin, and began stroking with his right arm and kicking furiously with his feet. At first he went straight with the current, letting it and his added effort propel him along, trying to increase the distance between him and the oncoming wreckage. Then, gradually, he began angling toward the bank.
As his breath started burning like fire in his throat and lungs, he heard shouts coming from over on the bank, just a short way ahead. Then he saw them—Sparky Whitlock and Laird Nolan. They were mounted, riding their horses along the edge of the water, whirling their lassos. Mac kept swimming as hard as he could, never letting up until he saw the loop of Nolan’s lasso spinning just above his head and then dropping down over him. He thrust up his arm to make sure it was inside the loop and then grabbed it, for added assurance, as the rope settled across the back of his neck and over his shoulder and started to cinch tight. The scratch of that coarse braid felt sweeter and more wonderful than the caress of the most beautiful woman imaginable. And not even the sudden jolt as Nolan braced his horse and then commenced tugging with all his might to pull Mac and his burden from the river was enough to diminish the illusion.
Out they came, geysering water, dragged skidding and slipping up over the muddy bank and then rolling to a stop on the grass. In the final seconds before being yanked from the current, Mac felt the unmistakable tap of something solid bump the very tip of his boot heel and through the water splashing across his vision he saw a massive, twisted section of the medicine wagon go swirling past. That’s how close it came to slamming into and almost certainly drowning him and Belinda . . .
CHAPTER 41
Much as he hated to admit it, the ordeal in the river had left Mac battered and spent. As a result, against his not very strenuous protests, he hung back to recuperate a bit while George and Henry went to fetch the chuckwagon.
As for the medicine wagon, it was a complete loss. But at least its team had been saved and no one else was injured in the disastrous attempt to try and get the rig across.
No one except for Belinda. In addition to a sour stomach from all the river water she’d swallowed, there was also the matter of a chipped tooth and swollen jaw she suffered as a result of the punch Mac had landed to make her stop struggling.
Upon regaining consciousness, Belinda immediately and sincerely began apologizing for her actions. “I—I thought I could get the wagon across by myself. I didn’t want to bother someone else with having to do it. Instead, I ended up bothering so many of you in an even worse manner.” She paused to cough up more river water. “Not only that, I subjected you to far more danger than you would have had to deal with if I’d just waited. And yet, after all my lies and everything Herbert and I put this outfit through, you still risked your own lives to save mine. Even you.”
The last part was directed squarely at Mac. The words and the penetrating gaze that accompanied them were somewhat unsettling.
Nevertheless, Mac met her eyes and held them. “Even me,” he echoed softly. “As in . . . even the man who shot your husband?”
Belinda blinked and then averted her gaze. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, almost a whisper. “I—I just meant I’m grateful. As for the other, I understand that you didn’t have any choice. I know Herbert was being dangerous and irrational. But still . . . even though things had become very strained between us, he was an important part of my life for so long . . . It’s just not easy to . . . to . . .”
Her voice trailed off and she went quiet. She leaned her face into her palms and began rocking slowly back and forth.
Colleen stepped up and adjusted the blanket that had been draped over Belinda’s shoulders, pulling it more tightly around her. She looked up and swept her gaze over the men who stood gathered around. “This isn’t a good time to be trying to drag a lot of talk out of her,” she said to no one in particular.
It was her father who responded. “Wasn’t nobody looking to badger the gal,” he stated. “We’ll step away. You go ahead, stick with her a bit. When we get a fire going, bring her over to get dried out some more, leastways until that doggone storm hits.”
With that, he led Mac, Shad, and Roman off toward a grove of cottonwood trees where Nolan and Sparky were stirring up a campfire. “When Henry and George get here with the chuckwagon, we’ll boil up a pot of coffee,” Bradley said. “That and some beef jerky—maybe some leftover biscuits if there are any—will do for grub until supper time. Storm or no storm, I mean to cover some ground today with the herd. We’ve lost too much time and I want to get to Miles City before anything else goes wrong.”
“If Miles City holds some kind of guarantee to the end of our troubles, I’m all for that,” Roman said, but not without a trace of skepticism.
When they reached where Nolan and Sparky were feeding more branches into the fire, Mac went up to Nolan. Loud enough to make sure everyone could hear, he said, “Laird, I got something to say to you. Miss Belinda a minute ago expressed her gratitude to me for saving her life. Truth is, and everybody here knows it, if it hadn’t been for you and your lasso, neither me nor her would have made it out of that river alive.” He extended his right hand. “Words don’t cover it, but I want you to know how grateful I am for you saving our hides.”
The leathery-faced old wrangler took the offered hand and the men shook. Then, pulling his hand away, Nolan abruptly arched one shaggy brow and said in a dubious tone, “If I was to think on this very long, it might be that I don’t want no credit for savin’ the life of a rascal like you. You’re still plenty young, hard to tell what kind of scrapes you might still have ahead of you. Might not be healthy for me to be sharin’ in the credit for something you haul off and do in the future.”
