Luke's Gold (3 page)

“I expect you'd best call me Cade,” he replied calmly, “and I think you'd best let my hand go.”

“What's the matter?” Brady chided. “Does your hand hurt?”

“I need it to eat with,” Cade replied. Then, when Brady tried to increase the pressure, Cade, moving without haste, but very deliberately, took his knife and jabbed the back of Brady's hand. The brute yelped with pain and immediately released the hand.

“Damn you!” Brady roared. “I'm gonna break your goddamn neck!” In a rage, he reached for Cade, only to find himself staring at the business end of a Winchester rifle. Recoiling, Brady backed away a couple of steps. He thought about pulling his pistol, but the cold intensity he saw in the young man's eyes told him such a move could prove fatal. He was painfully aware, however, of the eyes of the other men upon him and the awkward position in which he had placed himself. Although a minor cut, the wound on his hand was freely dripping blood. That didn't help the situation any. He could feel the other men waiting for his response, but there was no course of action for him at the moment. “Damn you,” he mumbled lamely, trying to save face.

“Why don't you leave him alone, Brady? The man just wants to eat his supper in peace.” The comments came from a man who appeared to be a few years older than most of the other men. A tall raw-boned man sporting a modified handlebar mustache, Cade remembered his name to be Luke Tucker.

“I don't reckon I need any advice from you, old man,” Brady immediately shot back. Looking back at the solemn face of Cade Hunter, he said, “There weren't no call to pull that gun on me.”

“I expect there's a few of the fellers that wished he had pulled the trigger,” Luke interjected, “so just count yourself lucky.”

“All right, Mister,” Brady said to Cade. “You got away with it this time, but I wouldn't count on it happenin' again. You're lucky I'm in a friendly mood, or things mighta been a whole lot different.” He turned and walked away, the pain from the tiny cut on the back of his hand overshadowed by the sting of his humiliation.

After the bully had withdrawn to the other side of the chuck wagon, Cade resumed his supper. Luke Tucker picked up his plate and moved over to settle himself next to Cade. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked as he sought a level spot to place his coffee cup.

“Suit yourself,” Cade replied.

“I'm Luke Tucker. Don't let ol' Brady rile you too much. He's about the only son of a bitch in the whole outfit. He's mostly good at just talkin', but don't turn your back on him.”

“Much obliged,” Cade said, smiling. He offered his hand, saying, “Don't squeeze it too hard. That big bastard damn near broke it.”

Later that evening when Becker returned from recovering some stragglers, he came over to talk to Cade. “Some of the boys told me about your little set-to with Brady. A fistfight is bound to happen once in a while, but I don't hold with anybody pullin' a gun, and they said you damn near shot him.” When Cade made no reply, Becker asked, “Am I gonna have trouble with you on this drive?”

“No, sir,” Cade answered. “I'm not lookin' for any trouble, but I will not be bullied—by him or anyone else.”

Becker took a moment to study the determined young man before responding. “Fair enough,” he replied.

John Becker was a reasonable employer. He tried to utilize the best skills of the men who worked for him. Being new, however, Cade was relegated to riding drag for the first week he was with the drive. It didn't take long for Becker to recognize the special rapport the young stranger had with horses and cattle alike. After that first week, he let Cade ride flank and swing.

Since he was the new man, Cade rode the least favored horses in the remuda—the rank and unruly mounts that the other men had little patience for. Every morning, the man riding nighthawk would bring the horses in where they were herded into a makeshift corral of ropes tied to the chuck wagon on one corner and the bed wagon on an opposite corner. With the horses corralled, the men roped their pick for the day's drive. The rest were released to the remuda until a change of mounts was necessary. Since Cade was the new man, he felt it only fair to let the other hands have first pick, so he waited till they had roped their mounts. Then he would pick from what was left, a practice that did not go unnoticed by his boss. Becker also noticed that those same horses seemed to perform differently for Cade.

Cade made it a point to stay clear of Brady Waits as best he could, and Brady never showed any sign of seeking retribution for the time Cade had bested him. The one friend that Cade seemed to have made was Luke Tucker. The other men were not unfriendly, but seemed to sense something different about the quiet young man who came riding into camp on the chuck wagon. Maybe it was his solemn demeanor, or maybe it was his strange bond with horses. Stump Johnson said it was because Cade could talk their language. “You watch the way them horses prick their ears up when he comes around,” he said. “They know he knows what they're a'thinkin'. He's got the gift. I seen it right off.” Luke couldn't disagree, although Stump very seldom knew what he was talking about. Luke decided that he liked the quiet young man from Colorado. He made it a point to approach Cade, and found him to be as friendly as anyone else, once you got by those eyes that seemed to look into yours like he could read your mind.

Cade had only been with the drive for a few days when the herd approached the South Platte River, and Brady Waits saw an opportunity to extract a measure of revenge for his first humiliating encounter. Cade was riding a particularly skittish horse the morning of the river crossing, a mottled gray named Loco. Everyone knew about the horse's jumpy disposition, but no one mentioned it to Cade. They figured he'd find out soon enough.

Harvey Farmer was riding point with Brady that day, and when he reached the riverbank, he dismounted while his horse drank. Walking down to the water's edge to wet his bandanna, he almost stepped on a snake coiled on a ledge under the rim of the bank. Jumping back, Harvey pulled his pistol, preparing to shoot the viper, but wisely decided to hold his fire because of the approaching herd of cattle. Mr. Becker would have his hide if he caused a stampede by shooting that pistol. As it was, the cattle would be hesitant enough to cross the river. Brady, having seen Harvey jump, rode over to find out what had startled him. Harvey pointed to the snake, and admitted that it had scared him, but after a second look, realized it was a harmless blacksnake.

Brady immediately saw it as an opportunity to have a little fun with the new man. “I'm gonna show you how to give that new feller a bath,” he announced, and enlisted Harvey's help in catching the unsuspecting snake. Harvey made no objection to participating in the prank, even though hazing was not to his liking. He had no desire to get on the wrong side of Brady.

The blacksnake almost got away from them, but the two drovers, using their wide-brimmed hats, managed to shoo the reptile away from the water, where Brady was able to trap it in his rain slicker. “Now, by God,” he roared with a devilish grin, “we'll see if that feller can stay on ol' Loco.” With his surprise effectively captured within the slicker, he stood waiting for his victim.

It was no more than a quarter of an hour before the lead cattle arrived at the riverbank. Cade, riding swing, was one of the first to get there. He pulled up beside Brady and Harvey. “Right here's a good ford,” Brady said, holding his slicker tightly in both hands. “Drive 'em on in the water.” All the while his reluctant captive was getting more and more riled up.

The quaking slicker did not go unnoticed by Cade, and although puzzled by the grinning bull of a man holding it, he was not curious enough to question him. Instead, he prodded the horse with his heels and started down the bank. Brady walked down beside him, making sure the horse could see him. Just as Loco's front hooves entered the water, Brady gave out with a loud shout and flung the angry snake at the horse.

Predictably, the horse squealed in fright and pitched backward, almost throwing Cade. Then it went sideways and started bucking, but Cade proved to be a better bronc rider than Brady had figured. He stayed in the saddle while the terrified horse bucked and sidestepped away from the water. Cade finally managed to calm the nervous animal, and rode him around in a wide circle until he was under control again. He then turned the horse's head toward the river once more and slow-walked him back to the bank where Brady was chuckling contemptuously. “Well, you hung on,” Brady jeered, “but you was 'bout shittin' your britches.”

Cade made no reply beyond a wry smile. Guiding Loco up beside Brady, he casually took his foot out of the stirrup, and before the smirking brute could react, planted it solidly into Brady's chest. Caught off balance, Brady stumbled backward and landed flat on his behind in the chilly water. Cade didn't bother to look back at the stunned bully, but continued across with the cattle. Sputtering furiously while trying to catch the breath that had left him when he hit the water, Brady hurled threats and obscenities at the broad back in the saddle.

Arriving in time to witness the incident, Luke Tucker speculated that the young newcomer was in for a whipping the likes of which he had never experienced before. And just as everybody who was in range of the dunking figured, Brady came after Cade with blood in his eye. Brady looked like a wet volcano fixing to blow. Cade never looked back, just continued moving the lead cattle up the opposite bank, but he knew Brady was coming after him. The big bully wasn't about to stand for a dunking like that. Forgetting his horse on the near bank, Brady sloshed his way across the shallow river, fuming and flailing the water along with the bawling cattle.

Scrambling up the bank, his sodden clothes dripping water, Brady charged after the man on horseback. Showing no more than a casual interest, Cade turned Loco around to face the irate bully. “Were you wantin' somethin'?” Cade asked in the soft voice that Luke would become familiar with as he came to know the quiet young man in the days that followed.

Momentarily flabbergasted by the apparent unconcern shown by Cade, Brady stopped in his tracks. “Why you . . .” he sputtered, his anger almost choking him. “I'm gonna jerk you offa that horse and give you a whuppin',” he roared, then charged toward Cade like a bull in season.

Cade appeared not to make a move. He just sat in the saddle, showing no emotion. Watching from his position on the bank, Luke noticed, however, that Cade had slowly reached down with one hand and loosened his rifle in its scabbard. When Brady got to Cade, the big man reached up to pull him out of the saddle. Spooked by the brute's attack, Loco bolted sideways. Cade pulled the rifle, and swinging it with both hands, laid the barrel across Brady's nose. Luke would swear later that the crack of Brady's nose was as loud as a gunshot. The force of the blow knocked Brady to the ground, and while he was staggering to his feet, Cade dismounted. When the stunned bully reached for his pistol, Cade swung the rifle again, this time cracking Brady right across his kneecaps. Brady howled with pain and sagged to his knees, only to howl again when his bruised knees hit the ground. He rolled over to lie on his side, still fumbling to draw his pistol.

“If you pull that pistol,” Cade warned, matter-of-factly, “it'll be the last thing you ever do.” There was something in the deadly tone of his voice that made Brady reconsider. He lay back, holding his injured knees, his mustache red with blood from his broken nose. There was nothing more said between them for three or four minutes as Cade remained standing over him, waiting for the bully to make up his mind.

It was hard to say if Brady would have attempted to take it further at that point because Mr. Becker arrived on the scene and put a stop to the altercation. “By God,” he exclaimed as he pulled his horse to a stop before them, “you two end it right there! I don't give a damn if you kill each other, but it better damn sure wait till I deliver these cattle to Montana.” He glared from one to the other, making sure they had heeded his words. “What's the trouble between you two?”

“It was just a little joke,” Brady said. “And the son of a bitch broke my nose, and I think he cracked my kneecaps.”

Becker looked then at Cade, waiting for his side of it. Cade shrugged. “He had no call to scare my horse,” he finally said. “It's tomfoolery like that that makes a horse skittish.”

Listening to the conversation from the seat of the chuck wagon, Stump Johnson leaned down to comment to one of the other spectators. “Brady had it comin'. I knew he was gonna get his ass kicked good if he kept after that boy. I seen it right off.”

 

Week piled upon week as the drive continued up through Colorado into Wyoming Territory, past Cheyenne and on to Fort Laramie, crossing the Platte, and on northward to follow the Powder into Montana Territory. The days were long, and the work hard, but eventually the day came when the scouts came galloping back to the herd with reports that the Yellowstone was dead ahead.