Free The Last Trail Drive by J. Roberts Page A

Flood said. “Might be rustlers.”
    â€œThe last rustlers trying to steal steers from the last trail drive?” Clint asked.
    â€œAs if my life could get any more confused,” Flood said. “I’m a man who doesn’t like change, Clint, and there’s lots of change comin’.”
    â€œI know how you feel,” Clint said. The time was coming—and fast—when he and some of his friends, like Bat Master-son and Wyatt Earp, were going to be out of date. He wasn’t looking forward to that, either.

TWENTY-FOUR
    Santiago Jones pushed himself back from the crest of the rise, so he could stand without being seen from below. The other two men with him watched and waited, but when nothing was forthcoming and the man continued to stand like a statue, one of them spoke up.
    â€œHey, Jones?” Bill Lacey said. “What’s goin’ on down there?”
    â€œNothing,” Jones said. “They are camped for the night.”
    â€œThe herd bein’ watched?” Steve Peters asked.
    Jones looked at him with cold eyes. “Of course, it’s being watched.”
    â€œWhy don’t we just stampede it?” Lacey asked. “I mean, that would pretty much put an end to this drive. Ain’t that what the boss wants?”
    Jones looked at Lacey, who got the chills.
    â€œI will decide what gets done, and when,” he said. “Understood?”
    â€œYeah, sure,” Lacey said, and Peters nodded. “You’re callin’ the shots, Jones.”
    â€œYes,” Jones said, “I am.”
    He walked down the hill. The other two men looked at each other, shrugged, and followed.

    Clint decided to take a turn watching the herd before he turned in. He wanted the men to see that he would be doing the work as well as supervising them.
    The sky was cloudless, the moon almost full. It was still spring, although late. Most trail drives would have started before now, but most trail drives were gone.
    He sat high in his saddle, watching the surroundings rather than the herd. Although there was bright moonlight, he still couldn’t see anything on the surrounding hilltops. He was going to have to tell Spud to pick campsites on flatter ground. That would make it harder to watch them.
    He heard a horse approaching and turned his attention to it. It was Roland, one of the men he’d helped load the buckboard back in Doan’s Crossing.
    â€œNice night,” Roland said.
    â€œGood night for a stampede,” Clint said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s quiet,” Clint said. “Wouldn’t take much to spook this herd.”
    Clint had the feeling that both Daltry and Roland were kind of new to the job. They seemed to know what they were doing, but they just didn’t seem to have been doing it as long as some of the others.
    â€œW-what would cause that?” Roland asked, thereby admitting his lack of experience.
    â€œAlmost anything,” Clint said. “Big cats, snakes, shots, it all depends on how the cows in front act.”
    â€œIn front?”
    Clint nodded.
    â€œThe natural leaders usually gravitate to the front of the herd, so the rest of the herd goes the way they go.”
    â€œGeez.”
    Roland had been riding flank the first two days.
    â€œI’m going to move you to the point, Roland,” Clint said. “Give you a chance to see what I’m talking about.”
    â€œUh, we already got men ridin’ point, Boss.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Clint said. “I’m going to make some changes from time to time. Give everybody a chance to move around.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Roland didn’t look too happy with the news.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Clint said. “By the time this drive is through, you’ll know every job inside and out.”
    â€œUm, okay.”
    â€œAnd I’ll know every man on this drive,” Clint added, “inside and