Free Kill McAllister by Matt Chisholm Page A

some sleep now.”
    * * *
    Forster was up with the dawn, his nerves on edge. Why weren’t the men here?
    In a moment of panic, he pictured them running out on him; he saw them lost on the endless plains of Kansas; he saw them doing everything except locating the Struther herd and findingtheir way back to him.
    Trig was up, preparing breakfast at the fire. Grotten came sleepily from his blankets.
    â€œWhy aren’t the damned fools here?” Forster stormed needlessly.
    Grotten yawned and said: “They’ll be here.”
    Mace came from the direction of the horses.
    â€œThere’s riders coming in from the south,” he told Forster.
    Forster seemed to lose all sense of dignity. He turned and ran excitedly up the ridge to the south of camp and strained his eyes to the south-west. The light was uncertain and the approaching horsemen were no more than uncertain blurs, but he reckoned there was something like a half-dozen of them. He ran back down the ridge and shouted: “It’s our boys. It has to be. Trig, rustle up some chow for them. Men work better on full bellies.”
    Grotten picked up his rifle and went up on the ridge. Maybe it was their own men coming and maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t have to wait long to feel reassured. The lead horse was a grey roan and that was Jack Sholto’s horse. Behind him came Cal Cowdrey on his black. He ticked the others off in his mind as they became clear. He rose to his feet and waved to them. They veered toward him and in a few minutes they were in camp and stepping down from the saddle, telling Forster they had had no luck and had seen nothing of the Struther herd.
    Forster was all gaiety.
    â€œDon’t you worry, boys,” he said. “Trig and Mace found ’em. Come tomorrow dawn we’ll have ’em right where we want ’em. Get some chow in you and we’ll ride.”
    â€œChrist,” Sholto said, “we only just got here, captain. We rid all night.”
    Forster said: “If we don’t get the cows quick, it’ll be too late.”
    Cowdrey said: “Our horses are beat. No good’ll come of goin’ in on tired beasts.”
    â€œThere’s fresh horses out on the grass there,” Forster said, grinning happily. “You can sleep in the saddle. Boys, this is our chance to make our stake. We pull this off and we can all make a fresh start.”
    The two men looked from Forster to Grotten and knew that the duo were unbeatable. If Forster said they rode, they rode. They sipped hot coffee and started to feel a little better. Soon there was hot food for them and they squatted and ate hurriedly, wolfing the food down into their empty bellies. They had nomore time than to clean their plates and it was time to saddle up. Grumbling, they caught up new horses and stood ready. Grotten buried the fire. They mounted and Forster told Trig: “Lead the way, Trig, and hit a good pace. We don’t have too much time. I want to get within a couple of miles of the herd after dark, let the men have a couple of hours’ sleep and hit the herd at dawn.”
    Sholto said: ‘Wouldn’t it be safer at night?”
    â€œSafer, yes,” Forster agreed. “But that way we could lose cows. I don’t mean to lose one if I can help it. They all mean money to us.”
    Trig led out, lifting his horse first to a trot and then to a mile-eating lope. They strung out behind him and followed.
    They rode through the day with a short break at mid-morning and during the afternoon; the weather was hot and dry and was trying for men and animals, but Forster didn’t show either any mercy, he kept them moving. At the end of the afternoon, Trig led them to water and they were all able to slake their thirst. Men bathed their sweat and dust covered faces in the cool water, rested for a moment in the shade of timber. Then Forster led the way out again; hitting the