Luke's Gold Read online

  “Henry Travis—is that a fact?”

  “Yep. Do you know Mr. Travis?”

  “No. I know of him,” Stump replied. “He runs a big outfit.” He took another look at Cade. “Six years, you say. You musta went to work right offa your ma’s teat.”

  Cade smiled. It was the sort of remark he had grown accustomed to. “I’m older than I look,” he said.

  For about a mile or so after picking up Cade’s possessions from the gully, they talked on, Stump doing most of it, generally in the form of questions about herding cattle. Cade’s answers satisfied Stump that the young man seemed to know enough to talk a good game. “You say you was headin’ out to Montana?” he suddenly asked. When Cade said that he was, Stump said, “Back there about four or five miles, on the other side of that line of hills, there’s a herd of about eleven hundred longhorns, and they’re headed for Milestown, Montana Territory. The obvious spark in the young man’s eyes told Stump that Cade’s attention was captured by his statement. “John Becker’s the owner,” Stump went on. “If you wanna take a chance on it, I could take you back with me, and maybe Mr. Becker will take you on. That would fit right in with you wantin’ to get to Montana, wouldn’t it?”

  “It sure would,” Cade replied.

  “Course, if Mr. Becker don’t offer you a job, then you’re back out in the hills on foot again.”

  “I’ll chance it,” Cade quickly replied. It was a timely opportunity, and he was confident in his ability to sell himself to the owner.

  “Good,” Stump said. “We’ll just ride on into town and I’ll pick up some supplies. Then we’ll ride on back to meet the herd.”

  John Becker was a big heavyset German with a barrel-like torso that was supported by two skinny legs. He reminded Cade of a great blackbird. With a skeptical eye, he eyed the young self-proclaimed cowhand who rode into his camp on the chuck wagon. “Stump tells me you’re lookin’ for a job,” he said. When Cade replied that he was indeed hoping to join up, Becker simply nodded his head while he thought about it. Finally, after Cade felt he had been scrutinized from head to toe, Becker continued. “I need good men, men who know cattle, and you look a little young to have had much experience.”

  “I’m twenty years old,” Cade responded, “and I ain’t ever had a cow or a horse ask me my age.”

  “Is that so?” Becker grunted, and winked at Stump. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you get your rope and cut out one of those horses in the remuda and throw your saddle on him. That red roan on the outside oughta be easy to rope.”

  Becker and Stump stood by the chuck wagon and watched Cade go about the task he had been given. “He ain’t wastin’ no time, is he?” Stump remarked as Cade shook out his rope and approached the roan. He stood there for only a moment before moving on past the horse in favor of a sorrel with white stockings.

  “Uh-oh,” Stump grunted. “That’s a mistake.”

  The sorrel stood nervously watching the man walking slowly toward it, the rope hanging limp in his hands. It permitted Cade to approach to within ten feet before suddenly turning away, preparing to bolt. Cade’s reactions were like lightning. In less than a couple seconds, he twirled his rope once over his head and threw it, catching the sorrel around the neck.

  “Hot damn!” Stump exclaimed. “He’s goin’ for a ride now.”

  Much to his and Becker’s surprise, however, the sorrel did not bolt and drag Cade across the valley as they had expected. Instead, the horse seemed hesitant as Cade hand-walked up the rope until he was close enough to stroke the sorrel’s face and neck.

  “Damn,” Stump said, “what’s got into that horse?”

  Becker was impressed. “I believe that boy wasn’t just braggin’ when he said he was good with horses.”

  “I seen it right off,” Stump said, and spat.

  Becker stroked his chin thoughtfully while he watched Cade lead the horse back to the chuck wagon where he slipped a bridle on it, and then threw on his saddle. Becker had already seen enough to hire him, even before he gave him another test to demonstrate his ability. When Cade led the saddled horse over to him, Becker asked, “Why didn’t you throw a rope on that roan?”

  “He was tired,” Cade answered. “That horse had already been worked hard today, so I picked this one instead since I didn’t know what you wanted me to do with him.” He put a foot in the stirrup and climbed in the saddle. Reaching down to stroke the sorrel’s neck, he asked, “What’s his name?”

  “Red Pepper,” Becker answered, still astonished by the horse’s sudden transformation.

  “Well, whaddaya want me and Red to do?”

  Becker looked at Stump and grinned, shaking his head. Looking back at the young man astride the horse, he shrugged and said, “Oh, I don’t know. Let me see you cut out four or five head of them cows over there and circle ’em back this way.”

  In a matter of minutes, Cade drove five longhorns past the wagon, calling out as he rode by, “Whaddaya want me to do with ’em?”

  “Nothin’,” Becker called back. “Let ’em go. You’re hired. We’ll be startin’ out to Montana in the mornin’.”

  Most of Becker’s crew accepted the new hire with a simple nod and without many questions beyond where he had worked before, and where he hailed from. As with most drovers, they reserved their opinion of a man until he had ridden with the drive a few days. Of course, there was one exception to that general air of indifference. His name was Brady Waits, a big fellow, thick through the chest, with arms like hams. Every drive had its troublemaker. Brady played that role in Becker’s outfit. It was inevitable that he would deem it amusing to test the new hand, especially one as young as Cade seemed to be.

  Off to himself, apart from the circle of cowhands, Cade sat eating his supper of beef, beans, and coffee, content to have found the opportunity to work his way to Montana Territory. Concentrating on the plate of food, he suddenly sensed someone standing over him. Glancing up, he was confronted by the imposing bulk of Brady Waits, and he knew without being told that he was looking at the resident bully.

  With a grin that was closely related to a sneer, the big man announced, “I’m Brady Waits. I’m the man that’ll break your back for you if you get on the wrong side of me.”

  “That a fact?” Cade answered, unimpressed. “Cade Hunter.” He stared at the beefy hand extended toward him for a long second before taking it.

  His grin growing wider by the second, Brady clamped down hard on Cade’s hand until Cade felt the bones rubbing together. “Cade Hunter, huh?” Brady snorted. “I think I’ll call you Tater, ’cause you look like a tater to me. Whaddaya think of that?”

  “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 han
dlebar 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 Br
ady 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.