Free From Hide and Horn (A Floating Outfit Book Number 5) by J.T. Edson

as well,’ Dusty
replied. ‘See you around, Vern. Don’t let Billy Jack give you the
miseries.’
    Continuing his tour of the night guard, Dusty
knew that he had caused Vern to think. He hoped that the youngster
would take his advice and steer clear of further clashes with
Willock. The drive would be difficult enough without adding a feud
to its problems.

Chapter Six – The Yap-Eaters’re Tough
Hombres
    With only the barest touch of dawn’s light
showing, Rowdy Lincoln and his louse set to work rousing the trail
hands. Already the coffeepots were steaming on the fire and the
aroma of breakfast wafted to the groaning, cursing men the cook’s
racket tore from the arms of sleep.
    Laying in his blankets, Vern listened to the
comments hurled at Rowdy’s head and began to see more than ever the
point Dusty had made to him the previous night. So the youngster
decided that he would avoid being touchy or easily riled in the
future. If a mere cook could take joshing of a rough kind, a cowboy
who was also a trail drive hand should be able to do just as
well.
    ‘ Come on!’ Dusty shouted, striding
towards the bed-wagon and banging his fist against the side. ‘It’s
near on noon and the crew’re dying of sun-stroke waiting to put
their gear away.’
    ‘ Looking for somebody?’
Dawn inquired, walking from the far side of the wagon.
‘ Us
womenfolk’re used to getting up early.’
    Collecting their food and coffee, the trail
hands stood or squatted around the fire and began to eat. They ate
without the formality of washing or shaving, stowing away the hot
refreshments in the knowledge that they would receive no more until
the herd had been bedded down that evening.
    Having eaten, the hands dumped
their plates and cups into the tub of hot water placed for that
purpose. Then they rolled their blankets, secured the bundles
holding their individual belongings and headed for the bed-wagon.
Each hand was responsi ble for seeing his, or her, bedroll went into the
wagon. On the first failure to do so, the cook would attend to the
matter and give the owner a tongue-lashing on their next meeting
for his idleness. If the offender continued to leave his bedding
unrolled, the cook was within his rights to drive off and leave
it.
    Already fed, the two day
wranglers had collected the ‘cable’ from the bed-wagon. Taking the
long, stout rope to where the nighthawk held the remuda, the two
men set up a temporary corral. Supporting the cable on forked sticks
spiked into the ground, they formed it into an open U shape. Into
that flimsy enclosure, the nighthawk guided the horses.
    Having been taught early the futility of
fighting against a rope, the horses made no attempt to break
through the slender barrier. So they milled around but remained
inside the U while their users came to make the first selection of
the day. With the trail hands, less the four on night guard,
mounted and gone, the wranglers let the night-horses join their
companions. They did not start the remuda moving straight away, but
waited for the night herders to return and change mounts.
    Having relieved the night watch,
the fourteen remaining trail hands took up their positions and
watched for Goodnight’s signal to start moving. Removing his hat,
Goodnight swung it once counter-clockwise over his head, then
pointed it forward above the ears of his horse. Instantly Mark and
Ahlen cut loose with a deep-throated, singsong chant which, they
hoped, would eventually come to be regarded as marching orders by
the steers.
    ‘ Ho, cattle!’ boomed the two men. ‘Ho!
Ho! Ho! Ho!’
    Closing in, the trail hands began the
business of getting the herd on the move. There was much the same
kind of confusion as on the previous day, with an additional source
of concern for the crew.
    Even among the de-prided
and impotent
steers there was an inborn desire to lead. So, up towards the
point, the largest or more aggressive of them started jockeying for
position. It was a time of danger,