From Hide and Horn (A Floating Outfit Book Number 5) (23 page)

A mile fell behind, then two,
with no sign of the cause for
the steers’ behavior. At last Billy Jack saw the
sun glinting on something ahead. For all his previous gloomy
predictions, the cowhand felt a sickening sense of frustration and
rage. After so long they were in danger of losing most of the herd.
Unless—

‘
It’s not a lake!’ Billy Jack screamed
the words above the sounds of hooves, bellowing steers and shouting
men. ‘By the Good Lord, it’s the Pecos!’

‘
It’s the Pecos!’ Catching the words,
another of the hands sent them ringing through the air. ‘It’s the
lovely, son-of-a bitching Pecos!’

So it was. Instead of a lake with misery and
death in every mouthful, the water ahead was the Pecos River.
Scented almost three miles back by the steers, it had drawn them on
and given the inducement they needed to reach it.

By that time the herd had spread itself into
a long, segmented line as the fitter steers drew ahead. Even the
drags had caught the fever of excitement and were pushing along at
their best possible speed, although Mark and his eight-strong party
still found the need to help the weakest.

Down to the river’s bank rushed the leading
cattle. Buffalo and the first of the steers plunged in without
hesitation, only to be pushed through by the crush from behind. Yet
even that was not as dangerous as it might have been, for they went
on, turning back and moving up or downstream until they found a
place to enter and drink.

Among the cowhands accompanying the front of
the herd, Dawn followed the cattle towards the Pecos. Knowing her
strength limited her usefulness in the drag, she had pushed on
along the line to help try to stop the rush. Keeping with the men,
she rode into the river. Profane hilarity filled the air as rider
after rider flung himself from his saddle to disappear beneath the
surface. Coming up, gasping and spluttering, Dawn looked around
her. While the Pecos River lacked the sparkling, crystal-clear
quality of a snow-fed mountain brook, none of the crew thought the
less of it. At that moment they would rather be drinking its water
than the finest whiskey money could buy.

‘
We’ve done it!’ Dawn
screamed, throwing her arms around the nearest man and kissing his
bristle-stubbled cheek. ‘We’ve
done it!’

‘
We for sure have!’
whooped the re
cipient, Billy Jack, then realized that such enthusiasm
would ruin his image. ‘I’ll bet either them or us drown or get
bogged in a quicksand, mind.’

‘
Get
’em out of it and to
work, Dustine!’ Goodnight ordered through his water-sodden
whiskers, pounding his grinning nephew on the back. ‘The rest of
the drive’re coming and’ll need handling.’

The Staked Plains had been
crossed, the Pecos River lapped around their hips, but there was
still work to do. Gathering the cowhands, including a bright-eyed,
wildly happy Dawn, Dusty set half to control the arriving cattle,
move those that had watered away from the river and hold them. The
other half went back with him to meet the drag. It said much for
the self-control of the riders in Mark’s party that they had stuck
to their pos
ts and continued with the grueling work of keeping the drag
moving.

Not until noon did the last of
the herd quench its thirst
and cross the river. The chuck and bed-wagons had
arrived and come to the western bank to join the cattle and remuda.
Last on the scene were the de Martins, helped over in their wagon
by laughing, delighted men. There had been losses during the final
rush, but not heavy and still more than sufficient steers remained
to fulfill the Army’s contract.

‘
All right!’ Dusty told the assembled
trail crew. ‘You’ve done real well and deserve a rest. So I’m
giving you a holiday. Right through to tomorrow at
sun-up.’

‘
I
dearly love a
generous, kind-hearted boss,’ Red Blaze whooped. ‘Danged if I don’t
celebrate by having me a bath.’

The idea caught on and a steady stream of
cowhands left the camp carrying a change of clothing and, if they
owned such refinements, towels. Going to the bed-wagon, Dawn
climbed in. It had been cleared of bedrolls by men wanting clothing
or the means to reload their soaked revolvers. So she opened up her
war bag with the intention of following Red’s suggestion. First,
however, she figured to let the men get through. Lying on her
blankets, she drifted off to sleep.

Voices woke the girl and she stayed still for
a moment until her sleep-dazed senses cleared. Looking out of the
wagon, she concluded the time to be late afternoon. Then she rose,
listening to what was being said.

‘
Barbe has gone along the
river to bathe, Jacko,’ came de
Martin’s cultured tones. ‘Can you go
and ask her to come back?’

‘
Sure can,’ agreed the cowhand,
sounding just a touch too eager. ‘Which way did she go?’

‘
Upstream, among those bushes,’ de
Martin explained. ‘I’d go myself, but I want to take some
photographs.’

‘
Shuckens, I don’t mind
doing you
’n’ Miss Barbe a favour,’ Jacko protested.

‘
I can just bet you don’t!’ Dawn
thought as she waited silently. ‘Not when there’s maybe a chance of
seeing her taking a bath.’

Before lying down to rest, the girl had
removed her boots. She slipped on a pair of Indian moccasins,
picked up the clothing set out earlier, draped her gunbelt across
her right shoulder and left the wagon. Already de Martin was
strolling towards the fire and Jacko was going at a fair speed in
the direction of the bushes. Dawn darted after the cowhand and he
turned as he heard her coming.

‘
Hey, Jacko,’ Dawn greeted. ‘Say, Cap’n
Dusty wants to see you.’

‘
What for?’

‘
I dunno. He said for me to tell you if
I saw you.’

‘
Reckon I’d best go and see what he
wants,’ Jacko muttered in a disappointed voice. ‘If you see Miss
Barbe, ask her to come back to help her brother take some
pictures.’

‘
I’ll do just that,’ Dawn
promised.

Watching the cowhand stalk
indignantly back to the camp, Dawn shook her head and let out a
long breath. If her actions should be questioned later, she would
claim that she had delivered the false message as part of a joke.
One thing was certain to her way of thinking. For a smart big-city
feller, d
e
Martin sure showed a bad judgment of human nature in picking Jacko
to fetch his sister. If Barbe was still either bathing or dressing,
Dawn could not see the cowhand acting polite and warning the
unsuspecting girl of his presence.

‘
I’m damned if I know why I’m
bothering,’ Dawn mused. ‘Only it don’t seem right for him to be
watching her.’

Finding a path, Dawn followed it. She made no
attempt to walk quietly, not wanting to startle the other girl by
an unannounced appearance. Hearing a frightened feminine cry, she
sprang between two bushes and skidded to a halt at the sight that
confronted her.

Barbe stood on the other side of a sandy
clearing, clad in a flimsy silk shift over the briefest, most
daring underclothing Dawn had ever seen. Not that the shift offered
anything but the scantiest concealment. Its hem had become spiked
on the branches of a bush and was drawn high enough to expose her
bare, very shapely legs to the tops of the thighs.

‘
I—I’m caught. Can you
help m
—?’ Barbe began, making ineffectual attempts to free
herself. Then she looked up at Dawn and puzzled annoyance creased
her beautiful face. ‘It’s you!’

Maybe Dawn was a country-raised girl, with no
more formal schooling than her mother had been able to supply, but
she possessed her fair share of natural intelligence. Taking in the
scene, she drew some rapid conclusions and did not care for them.
Everything about Barbe’s attitude hinted that she had been
expecting some other person to come on to the scene.

‘
Just who the hell did you think it’d
be?’ Dawn demanded, dropping her clean clothes and crossing the
clearing to drape her gunbelt over the top of the bush which
trapped the other girl. ‘Let me help you get loose.’

Gripping the hem of the shift, Dawn tugged it
free from the bush and ripped the material. With an angry hiss,
Barbe started to pull away from the other girl and added further
damage to her garment. Staggering back a few paces, Barbe’s face
twisted into an expression of rage which shocked Dawn.

‘
You did this on purpose!’
Barbe spat out, moving forward
and holding out the torn edge of the
shift. ‘You cheap little—’

‘
Don’t start mean-mouthing
me, you man-chasing bitch!’
Dawn flared back. ‘Pulling a play like
this, you could have—Hey though! How the hell did you know your
brother wouldn’t be coming out to fetch you? That fancy skirt
didn’t hang itself on the branch by accident.’

‘
You mind your own business!’ Barbe
yelled. ‘I’ve had enough of you, the whole stinking bunch of
you!’

‘
Which I can’t say I reckon a whole
heap on you,’ Dawn replied and started to turn away. ‘Get dressed.
None of the men’ll be coming.’

Barbe spat out something in a
language which Dawn did not understand, but figured it to be
anything except complimentary. Then the dark-haired girl caught the
blonde by the arm and jerked her around. Up drove Barbe’s right
knee, aimed at
Dawn’s groin. Giving the angry oath had been a mistake on
Barbe’s part. Always a tomboy and with experience gained in
childhood scuffles, Dawn turned half-expecting such an attack. So
she continued to swing her body and the knee struck her hip instead
of its intended target. The force of its arrival sent the slim girl
staggering away and with an effort she retained her
balance.

‘
All right!’
Dawn hissed. ‘If
that’s how you want it—’

Clearly that was just how Barbe wanted it.
Letting out another string of what Dawn assumed to be French
profanity, the dark-haired girl flung herself forward. Caught by a
stinging slap across the face, Dawn cut loose with both hands to
retaliate in kind. Then their fingers sank into hair, tugging and
jerking while their feet or knees flailed at the other girl’s legs
and body.

For a few seconds the girls staggered
backwards and forwards clinging to hair. Gasps, squeals and curses
broke from them as each tried to throw the other to the ground but
retain her own footing. In the matter of hair-pulling Dawn had the
advantage. Her short-cropped locks offered a less secure gripping
area than the long black tresses of her rival.

Feeling her fingers slipping from Dawn’s
hair, Barbe raked her nails down the other’s cheeks and closed her
hands on the other’s throat. Pure instinct made Dawn release her
hold and transfer her fingers to Barbe’s neck. Reddish blotches
formed where their fingers gouged into flesh, yet neither showed
signs of releasing her hold. Guttural, croaking sounds broke from
their mouths as the choking grips grew tighter.

Dawn had been surprised at Barbe’s unexpected
strength, but was still the stronger of the two. Slowly she forced
Barbe back, digging her thumbs into the other’s throat and bending
her rearwards. Desperately Barbe released Dawn’s neck and clawed
wildly at Dawn’s wrists. Pain brought a screech from Dawn’s lips
and she hurled the other girl from her.

For a moment Dawn thought Barbe
had had enough. Then the beautiful-faced girl attacked again.
Launching themselves at each other, they collided with a sickening
force. Without any form of planned attack, they grappled wildly for
a grip to bring the other girl down. Locking her wiry arms around
Barbe’s waist, Dawn tried to crush her. Struggling wildly, the
black-haired girl encircled the blonde’s neck with her right arm
and twisted until she held Dawn in a headlock. With her
own arms around
Barbe’s middle, Dawn could do nothing to prevent herself being
trapped. Once again Dawn found herself being choked, but with less
chance of reprisal. Nor could she use Barbe’s method of effecting
an escape. Riding with the trail herd did not allow her to grow
long fingernails.

Croaking and gasping, Dawn broke off her bear
hug. Her hands roved wildly in an attempt to break the hold.
Reaching Barbe’s head, Dawn’s left hand buried into the hair.
Taking a firm hold, she jerked Barbe’s head backwards and at the
same moment kicked the other hard behind her right knee. Braced on
stiff legs, Barbe was thrown off balance when her leg suddenly bent
forward. Before she could recover, Dawn had jerked free and they
both sprawled in a heap on the sand.

With barely a pause the girls began to roll
over and over. It was a wild, mindless tangle in which fists, flat
palms, knees, feet, heads and teeth were used indiscriminately.
Dawn’s shirt ripped down the back and flapped free of her levis,
while Barbe’s scanty clothing—even less suitable for such treatment
—suffered even greater damage. The shift hung in tatters, while the
bodice of her underclothes had ripped to bare her torso.

Exhaustion rather than
modesty or shame at
her behavior made Barbe try to end the fight. How it happened was
impossible to decide, but in some way they had each obtained a head
scissors on the other. With legs locked about the other’s head,
they rolled four times and then came apart. Sobbing for breath,
Barbe tried to crawl away. Dawn lurched to her feet and flung
herself forward. Taking a double handful of the black hair, she
dragged Barbe upright. Then she released the girl and swung a
punch. Hard knuckles crashed into Barbe’s nose and she stumbled
backwards with hands going to the source of the pain.