Duster (9781310020889) (16 page)

Now, I'm just about as lazy natured as the
next fellow, and to have someone come right out and tell me not to
be in a hurry over work suited me just fine, and I told him so, and
reached to pour myself another cup of coffee.

Bill reached out too and stopped my hand.
"They's one other little thing. Do I figure it's time to work, then
it's sho time to pitch to it."

"I guess it's time to work, huh?"

"It's that time, boy. It sho'ly is."

And we did. There was tin cups and plates
that needed washing—in water, since the river was handy, though it
would of been in sand otherwise—and sacks of stuff to tie up and
bundles to be put together and lashed in place on the mules.

I do mean to say, when Digger Bill decided
it was time to set down to work he did mean it for fair. But I also
got to admit that he never threw work off on me that was any more
or any harder than what he did his own self. If anything it was the
other way around. When he got down to it, that man could purely
fly. I never could of kept up with the way he dashed around
throwing this here and that there and something else in another
place.

Before you knew it, all our leavings was in
a hole and covered over, the fire looked like it had never been
there, and everything was stowed ready for a packsaddle.

Bill liked to keep his mules on a picket
line that he set out himself every night, and I brought them up to
the gear for him. We put the pack frames on them in good order and
then Bill told me what I'd been dreading to hear. "Take that pile
o' sacks there an' load 'em onto Maize, boy."

I didn't know anything more about making up
a pack load than a half-wit grasshopper would of, but I figured the
only way to get it done was to pitch in and try. So, I did.

First, I pawed through the pile of stuff. I
hefted and poked every sack among them and picked out the biggest,
lightest ones first to put down on the sides, figuring the heavy
things should be right on top where they could push straight down
and not throw the mule out of balance. I used up plenty of
strings—long strips of hide they were—but I got the first batch
tied on tight. Then I started up higher, shifting things around and
trying them first here, then forward just a mite, next leaned up
against something else.

After a considerable while, I had it all
tied on the best I could. I stepped back to eyeball the whole
thing. It was some higher than I had figured on, and in spots it
stuck up or out or some other way, but it was all there and on one
mule and I didn't think it was likely to fall off.

"Boy, you sho'ly do build a mean pack.
Yessuh, you sho'ly do." Bill was standing off a few feet away. He
had a real serious look on his face while he studied my pack job.
He cocked his head first to one side and then the other. He dropped
his chin and peered at the mule past his brows. He half turned and
looked at it over his shoulder. Then he paced real slow in a
circle, stopping now and again to go through the same routine from
a fresh angle. I noticed the other three mules was already
loaded—real neat too.

Finally, he gave a nod. "Duster boy, I'se
goin' to show you sumthin'."

Bill walked over behind Maize and took off
his hat. He rubbed his head a little with his hand and said, "Ole
girl, I sho am sorry to do this."

"Yah," he yelled sudden-like and whacked
Maize on the rump with his hat. It made an awful loud smack and
raised something of a dust.

Maize, she kicked up her heels, bared her
teeth, and brayed something fierce. Then she lit out. She'd run a
few steps, bray some more, and kick out like she was trying to
fling her shoes off, then she'd run a few steps more and do it all
over again. And about every other time she stopped to kick there'd
be something come flying off my pack load. It didn't take Maize two
hundred yards to throw everything I had put on so carefully. Which
was just as well. I'd rather it fell off close than down the
trail.

"Awright, Dustah boy. Now fetch that stuff
back heah."

From then on, I helped Bill with every
little chore that needed done—except making up a pack load. He took
care of that himself while I sat back and watched. I never did
learn how to build a pack load!

Anyway, I hiked along behind Maize, lifting
and toting my way while I tried to round up all the sacks and
bundles she'd thrown off.

I found out two things
inside of just a couple of minutes. One, it didn't take more than a
few sacks for me to figure out that a human person just can't haul
as much on his back as a
mule. And the
other thing was that it's easiest to go pick up stuff starting at
the far end of a straight line and then carry it all back instead
of trying to fetch and juggle stuff out and then back again. I
picked up the first stuff I came to and lugged it half way before I
realized my mistake and then dropped it on the ground again, went
another hundred yards and started carrying stuff back.

Digger Bill stood there and watched while I
made four trips out and back to get everything back where it'd been
before. And he watched without saying a thing while I caught up my
steeldust and fetched Maize back. She hadn't gone far and had
settled down to chew on some greenery nearly as quick as she'd got
rid of her load.

Once I finally had everything assembled next
to Maize ready for loading again, Bill looked over at me and
grinned. "You sho do like to work, don't you, boy?" he asked.
"Mules got feets, you know. Some folks 'ud think about that an'
figger it's easier to take a mule to the load than t'other way
'round."

"Shee-oot," I said. I couldn't think of
anything real bright to add to that so I just dug down and started
piling stuff onto Maize for a second shot at it.

"Nevah mind that," Bill said. "From now on
you jus' leave my packsaddles be. It'll be easier on you, me, an'
the mules too."

I dropped the sacks I was holding and took
off for my little horse herd as quick as I could.

The remuda was a welcome sight, and an easy
enough one to find. I just wandered out in the direction I'd last
seen them and listened for the sound of the bell mare having her
musical breakfast. They tell me some people use a bell mule since
horses are so partial to mules and train real easy to stay with
one, but a mule is a lot smarter than a horse. A mule with a bell
on pretty soon learns to graze early and then stand still about the
time that day herder is going to be out looking for her. That would
sure make it harder to find the remuda in thick brush, but horses
don't seem to figure that out very easy, so it was always simple
for me to locate the bell mare and get the spare horses pointed up
toward the herd.

Once I’d found them, I really expected to
have my hands full moving the horses, but it turned out they was no
trouble at all. After they had got used to each other they stayed
in a bunch almost by themselves. I just sort of pointed them where
I wanted them to go and then kept an eye out to make sure they
didn't get split off into a couple of smaller bunches. The only
danger of losing any of them would be if they got split going
around a motte or heading up a wash I wanted them to cross or
something, but as long as I was careful about that there wasn't any
problem.

The way a trail herd works is that the
beeves take off first in the morning, and they are the slowest
traveling. Then the cook goes with his pack animals in tow, and
they are a lot faster. Finally, the remuda gets moving, and as slow
as they are, they are still the quickest group moving.

Since the cattle don't take kindly to
walking all day and need their siesta, it works out real fine for a
bunch of cowhands who never have time for nooning when they are
chousing cows out of the brush. The cook and the day wrangler both
can pass the beeves without hurrying and pick out a spot for
nooning some miles ahead. By the time the cows are brought up and
settled, the cook has a hot meal ready and the wrangler has fresh
horses waiting for the afternoon drive.

As quick as we located a good place to stop,
it was my job to gather fuel while Bill got his cooking gear
together. There was usually just enough time to get a good bed of
coals ready before the herd got up to us.

Once the beeves was settled, everybody would
come over to the remuda first thing to catch up a fresh horse. If
there was trouble with the herd while everyone was chewing lunch it
wouldn't do to have tired horses waiting nearby. And nobody was
ever without a saddled horse handy, daytime nor night.

Anyway, this first day with the whole bunch
moving Bill picked out a good place to stop for the nooning, a
little stream bed that I'd of thought would be dry so long before
the rains was due, but instead had a nice flow of sweet water in
it.

I got the horses quieted
and happy, and I offsaddled to a
shaggy,
quick-moving red that I'd had my eye on all morning. I was
beginning to find out that being a wrangler had some advantages—it
sure gave me first pick on the best horses.

When I had taken care of that I gathered up
an extra big load of wood and carried it over by Digger Bill's pile
of skillets and other truck.

Bill was in fine mood when I got
there—humming to himself and looking about as cheerful as I'd seen
him.

"What's got you going on so?" I asked him.
"I thought you was the one that hated to work. I sure never figured
you to be happy with an extra meal to fix."

"I ain't fond of work maybe, but I sho love
to cook, boy. It's what I does best." He grinned. "Nex' to whippin'
a young'un like you into line when he needs it, that is."

"Not me. There's nobody going to bring in
more wood than me. An' you won't catch me riding close to the fire
nor stirring dust up around your meat neither. No sir, not me, you
won't." I took a block of lucifers from a cloth sack and got the
fire started.

"Now, I tole you once about gettin' into my
bags o' fixins."

"Oh, I remembered, too. But these was in
plain sight and I didn't want to bother you while you was
busy."

Bill had a big, wood hammer and was flailing
away at some slabs of fresh meat trying to beat it down until it
could be chewed, though he wasn't about to make that new-killed
beef close to tender. After seeing the way he could pound meat I
surely didn't want him pounding on me. But he seemed to accept the
explanation about getting those matches out, so I allowed it was
all right.

"Don't be bashful now—pile that wood on
high. We got cookin' to do."

"Right."

Everything I'd drug up was already burning
by then, so I went off and hauled in some more. I'd hardly got it
to burning good when Bill spoke up again.

"That ain't really enough yet. Maybe a
couple more trips will do it."

I stomped back off into the brush, gathered
a big armload, brought it back, turned and got still another. By
that time I'd worked up a good sweat, but I didn't set around
waiting for Bill to get mad. I thought what I'd do would be to feed
the wood onto the fire and sneak back to my horses.

"Shore hate to ast you t' do this, Duster
boy, but this here meat's awful tough. It's gonna take a lot of
heat t' make it right. I figure about two more loads should get 'er
done."

I was tempted to say something back but I
figured that wouldn't be a real smart thing, so I didn't...except
maybe a little that I said too quiet for him to hear. But I got two
more loads of wood. If Bill didn't pretty soon quit calling for
more wood I'd have to borrow one of his mules to haul it back all
the distance I'd have to go to fetch it.

When all that was burning good I could
hardly stand getting close to that fire it was so big, and plenty
hot. Nobody could of wanted a bigger fire than that even if he was
fixing to cook a whole steer instead of just steaks for the ten of
us.

"Duster?"

"Yeah." I was puffing and awful tired by
then.

"I think that fahr o' yourn may be good size
now. You got that block o' matches yet?"

"Yeah."

"Toss it over t' me an' I'll put it back in
the sack." The sack was laying practically by my feet, nowhere near
to him.

I got the lucifers from where I'd laid them
and gave them to Bill. I got the message too. He sure did favor
privacy for him and his stuff, including them sacks.

I didn't say anything more—just got away
from there and back to my horses quick before Bill thought of
something else.

I went back and kept a real careful
eye on the horses. Before long, the rest of the boys came up with
the beeves, and I helped them rope out fresh horses. Then we all
went over to collect our noon steaks.

There was considerable grumbling around the
fire—seemed someone had got the fire too hot so the meat was all
burnt on the outside before it had ever begun to start cooking on
the inside.

Me...I never said a word of complaint.

THE NEXT FEW days was really PRETTY
pleasant. Since I had to tend the remuda in daytime and get up
early to help Bill with the breakfast fire, and now that we was
moving I had to fetch in the horses first thing so day animals
could be saddled, I didn't have to ride nighthawk on the herd. It
was mighty nice being able to wrap up in my soogan of an evening
and stay in it right straight through until Bill rousted me out
about two-three hours before dawn.

We moved the herd slow, not more than ten or
twelve miles a day though they could of been pushed further. I
guess there wasn't any real reason for being so careful of the
animals, but all the hands was in a good mood and nobody likes to
walk beef off a steer unless he has to. So we just sort of drifted
along, keeping mostly pretty close to the river.