The Diary of Jerrod Bently, J.W. Osborn [the false prince series TXT] 📗

the fence post above me, I got a little sleep. By 4:00 in the morning, the men were up and moving. This was it. We took up our positions, the herd would be between us. The wagons were behind. Watson dashed about on his bay, looking impressive and giving the order to “move out.” The gates to the cattle pens were opened and we began moving one thousand head of cattle out onto the trail. It was a dirty, stinking, hot, dusty and very noisy job as we made our first few miles that day. Mud seemed to have forgiven me for my escapades of the previous night and plodded along , not bothered by much of anything other than the flies. Yes, that was when the hat I wore really came in handy, I could swat at the buzzing plague and at least get the off us for a little while. It was going to be a long trek but I was ready and glad to be part of this cattle drive. As the miles slowly passed, I thought of New York and wondered if Alva Jane O’Donnell’s father had figured out that he’d been wrong about me and Bart was now his willing or unwilling son in law after the shot gun wedding. I did not envy him for a second. I was glad I got out of town when the getting was good. I should have beaten the stuffing out of Bart for what he tried to do to me, but now it did not seem to matter. I was forgetting my city life. The dust was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife and as the sun rose higher into the sky it grew hotter, but we kept moving. Sam Dodge and Watson , or should I say Sam, had planned a route that included pasture and water for the herd. I saw Sam for the first time since we had left Grant’s Creek but we were working two different jobs. That was fine. Mud and I were getting nicely acquainted as he picked up his pace and trotted for a little while, keeping the wandering steers in line. I watched Sam and a few of the cowboys getting after strays and bringing them back to the herd. With only a thousand head, we could not afford to lose any. Obviously these cowboys had a good bit more experience than I did, but in time I too would be doing the same things they were. Progress was slow and it gave riders like me time to think. I wondered about Nathan Travis, the Texas Ranger and why he’d been out at the Flying S the previous night. Who was he looking for and why there? I had no idea.
Scrub Pot shifted the reins of the mule team into one had as the mules walked along at a leisurely pace. The crunch of stone and sand under the metal rims of the wagon wheels told him that he was carrying a heavy load and mud or quicksand should be avoided like one avoids plague. All the wagons started out heavily loaded at the beginning of the drive. They would lighten their loads as we progressed. Behind his wagon, the black and white paint walked along keeping pace with the mules and the wagon. Scrub Pot reached inside the canvas flap behind him. “Come out.” he said “It is safe now.” A fuzzy brown and white head appeared behind him. It was a young but rather large dog. She was mostly white with brown ears and matching freckles on her nose. Her furry ears that flopped over in compliment of her bright intelligent brown eyes. She was big and fluffy with four large paws and a fluffy tail that seemed to wag often. Scrub Pot smiled as the dog climbed into the wagon seat next to him and made herself comfortable. How long his grand daughter had this dog? He could not recall. She had been a small puppy when Sam brought her with her when she came back to the small settlement of Bear Claw from back East.
Sam hated Philadelphia and her Aunt Lillian’s restrictive refinement and lack of respect for her Blackfoot heritage. The East seemed to agree with Sam’s brother Brian, and he chose to stay, but Sam missed her grandfather and the horses. Somewhere on her way back home, she had found the pup she named “Diamond”. Diamond had a sweet face, and a loving disposition, but she also had a talent for picking up on danger and sounding the alarm. The previous night while the drovers slept, the second mountain lion had returned to look for its dead mate. Diamond growled, waking Scrub Pot. He had armed himself with his bow, and stepped out of the wagon ready to put and arrow through the beast. Their gazes locked on one another, and then the lion had turned tail and run. Scrub Pot knew that it would be back, and when it came, he would be ready. As a young brave, killing a mountain lion showed his courage and skill to his chief and his peers. Yes, Scrub Pot had faced many a trial in his life, fought many battles, and was known for his bravery, but there was a event coming that would test that bravery he was so famous for and bring back to him part of his past that he would just as soon forget and let stay forgotten.

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We made roughly ten miles that day in the dust and sweltering heat. Watson decided it was time to stop for the night. Sam told him we needed to rest near water and grass. We were near neither. Like the other drovers, I had eaten dust all day was sweating like a pig in a Turkish bath and I was ready to get out of that saddle. I was sore in places I never knew a man could be sore in. The word had been passed that we were getting ready to stop and I relieved. Of course, like that red headed Scotsman, who was our trail boss, I did not realize that cattle needed to be where they can eat and drink and I was ready to get off Mud’s hot sweaty back. I was really peeved when Dodge rode up to me on the big stud and told me we were going scouting for water. Sam gave me that look that said “Green horn , go home.” “You wearing spurs?”, Sam asked.
“No,” I answered. Before I knew it Sam was on the ground, taking his off and handing them up to me. “Use mine,” he said as he turned and vaulted up onto that stud’s back. Either Dodge was the best horseman in the West or had a death wish. I am not sure, but that stud never batted and eye. He stood there like a statue.
Well I had never used spurs in my life. Oh yes, I’d read about the silver ones the cowboys wore to get more speed from their horse when they were running from the Indians. At least that was what was said in the dime novels I read all they way from New York to Texas. Begrudgingly I put on the spurs under Dodge’s watchful gaze. What was it about Sam Dodge? He looked so young, may be even a touch delicate, but I just could not put my finger on it. I’d find all that out later, but that time was yet to come. I had come to respect him and thought he was some one I’d like to know as a friend. I had not figured him out yet, but in the days to come I would solve the puzzle that was Sam Dodge. “Let’s go,” Sam said “and use those spurs like I do. Mud has been asleep for most of the drive, Bently, so wake him up!” He set his heels against the sleek flanks of that red stud and I was eating dust again. Now, I am not sure just what it was that I did, but I woke Mud up all right.. He bucked crazily, his heels in the air and when he hit the ground again, he took off like a shot after Sam and the stud. I was grateful for the saddle horn, and I hung onto it for dear life as we passed Sam at a dead run. As we went streaking by I know I heard him laugh. Now I was really peeved. Little did I realize that I’d just had another lesson in horseman ship. It was one that would ultimately save my sorry butt in future days. As it were, we did find water and range enough just a few miles ahead of where Watson had wanted to stop. Another hour and then we would rest. As Sam and I let Trouble and Mud drink their fill from the river, enjoying the brief break , Sam suddenly signaled me to be still. He had seen something, or sensed something. He was pointed down river. Not more than two hundred yards away, there was a rather large woman washing clothes on a rock. “What is—“ I began. “Pawnee”, Sam hissed back at me in a whisper “ They don’t see us yet. Back up quietly and get on your horse.” No painted braves came screaming out of the woods as I climbed into the saddle and that rotund woman with the long greying hair never seemed to notice us. She just went on washing and chattering on and on to herself. Sam got back on his horse and we left quietly. For a moment Sam paused and looked back down stream at the woman. I think he might have recognized her as someone he knew. We started off at a quiet walk and then both of us broke out into a dead run across the prairie back toward the herd. I could hardly believe it, I riding pretty well, and Mud was matching the stud stride for stride. Then half way back, Sam kicked the stud like I thought and Indian might , burst out a head of me and they were gone in seconds. Mud tried to keep up, but with the stud gone and Mud began to slow down. I could not believe it. I was still on him and we had worked very well together. I had felt the wind in my face, and the power of that horse under me and I knew I would never be the same.
Well, we got the herd moved up to the river,