the Thundering Herd (1984) (14 page)

"I wouldn't mind. Reckon I've hinted as much. I'm serving on scout duty, you know. But one thing's sure, these hide-hunters have started a bloody mess. And it's a good thing. This section of Texas is rich land. It's the stamping-ground of the Indians.

They'll never give it up till the buffalo are gone. Then they'll make peace. As it is now they are red-headed as hell. They'll ambush and raid--then run back up into that devil's place, the Staked Plains."

"I'll bet you we get a taste of it before this summer ends."

"Like as not. If so, you'll remember the campaign," said the other, grimly.

Presently the soldier returned with the canteens, which manifestly were most welcome.

"There's a camp below, sir," said the soldier.

"Buffalo outfit, of course?"

"Yes. Three wagons."

"Did you ask whose outfit it is?"

"No one about camp, sir."

The officer got to his feet, and wiping his heated face, he stepped to his horse.

"Ellsworth, we've passed a good many camps of hide-hunters, all out in the open or along the edge of the timber. What do you make of an outfit camped way down out of sight. That's a hard pull for loaded wagons."

"Hunters have notions, same as other men," replied the scout.

"Maybe this fellow wants as much protection as possible from storm and dust. Maybe he'd rather get out of the beaten track."

"Colonel's orders were to find trace of hide thieves," said the officer, thoughtfully. "That stumps me. They're hundreds of these outfits, all traveling, killing, skinning together. How on earth are we going to pick out thieves among them?"

"You can't, Captain," returned the scout, decidedly. "That'll be for the hunters themselves to find. As I said, they're a hard lot and jumbled one. Outlaws, ex-soldiers, adventurers, desperadoes, tenderfeet, plainsmen, and pioneers looking for new ground, and farmers out on a hunt to make money. I reckon most of them are honest men. This hide-hunting is something like the gold rush of '49 and '51, of course on a small scale. Last summer and fall there were hide thieves operating all through the Panhandle. A few of them got caught, too, and swung for it. This summer they'll have richer picking and easier. For with the Indian raids to use as cover for their tracks how can they be apprehended, unless caught in the act?"

"But, man, you mean these robbers waylay an outfit, kill them, steal the hides, burn the camp, and drive off to let the dirty work be blamed on Indians?"

"Reckon that's exactly what I do mean," replied Ellsworth. "It's my belief a good many black deeds laid to the Indians are done by white men."

"Did you tell the colonel that?"

"Yes, and he scouted the idea. He hates Indians. Got a bullet in him somewhere. I reckon he'd rather have bad white men on the plains than good Indians."

"Humph!" ejaculated the officer, and mounting his horse he led the soldiers west along the edge of the timber.

Milly waited a good while before she ventured to descend from her perch; and when she reached the ground she ran down into the woods, slowing to a walk when within sight of camp. She repaired to her tent, there to lie down and rest and think. She had something to ponder over. That conversation of the scout and officer had flashed grave conjectures into her mind. Could her stepfather be one of the hide thieves? She grew cold and frightened with the thought; ashamed of herself, too; but the suspicion would not readily down. Jett had some queer things against him, that might, to be sure, relate only to his unsociable disposition, and the fact, which he had mentioned, that he did not want men to see her.

Milly recalled his excuse on this occasion, and in the light of the soldiers' conversation it did not ring quite true. Unless Jett had a personal jealous reason for not wanting men to see her! Once she had feared that. Of late it had seemed an exaggeration.

Fearful as was the thought, she preferred it to be that which made him avoid other camps and outfits, than that he be a hide thief and worse. But her woman's instinct had always prompted her to move away from Jett. She was beginning to understand it. She owed him obedience, because he was her stepfather and was providing her with a living. Nothing she owed, however, or tried to instil into her vacillating mind, quite did away with that insidious suspicion.

There was something wrong about Jett. She settled that question for good. In the future she would listen and watch, and spy if chance offered, and use her wits to find out whether or not she was doing her stepfather an injustice.

The moon took an unconscionably long time to rise that night, Milly thought. But at last she saw the brightening over the river, and soon after, the round gold rim slide up into the tree foliage.

Her task of safely leaving camp this evening was rendered more hazardous by the fact that Jett and his men were near the camp, engaged in laborious work of stretching and pegging hides. They had built a large fire in a wide cleared space to the left of the camp. Milly could both see and hear them--the dark moving forms crossing to and fro before the blaze, and the deep voices. As she stole away under the trees she heard the high beat of her heart and felt the cold prickle of her skin; yet in the very peril of the moment--for Jett surely would do her harm if he caught her--there was an elation at her daring and her revolt against his rule.

Halfway up the trail she met her lover, who was slowly coming down.

To his eager whispered "Milly" she responded with an eager "Tom," as she returned his kiss.

Tom led her to a grassy spot at the foot of a tree which was in shadow. They sat there for a while, hand in hand, as lovers who were happy and unafraid of the future, yet who were not so obsessed by their dream that they forgot everything else.

"I can't stay long," said Tom, presently. "I've two hours pegging out to do to-night. Let's plan to meet here at this spot every third night, say a half hour after dark."

"All right," whispered Milly. "I always go to my tent at dark.

Sometimes, though, it might be risky to slip out at a certain time.

If I'm not here you wait at least an hour."

So they planned their meetings and tried to foresee and forestall all possible risks, and from that drifted to talk about the future.

Despite Tom's practical thought for her and tenderness of the moment, Milly sensed a worry on his mind.

"Tom, what's troubling you?" she asked.

"Tell me, do you care anything for this stepfather of yours?" he queried, in quick reply.

"Jett? I hate him. . . . Perhaps I ought to be ashamed. He feeds me, clothes me, though I feel I earn that. Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you cared for him I'd keep my mouth shut," said Tom.

"But as you hate him what I say can't hurt you. . . . Milly, Jett has a bad name among the buffalo outfits."

"I'm not surprised. Tell me."

"I've often heard hints made regarding the kind of outfits that keep to themselves. On the way south some freighter who had passed Jett ahead of us gave Pilchuck a hunch to steer clear of him. He gave no reason, and when I asked Pilchuck why we should steer clear of such an outfit he just laughed at me. Well, to-day Pilchuck found Jett skinning a buffalo that had been killed by a big-fifty bullet. Pilchuck knew it because he killed the buffalo and he remembered. Jett claimed he had shot the buffalo. Pilchuck told him that he was using a needle gun, and no needle bullet ever made a hole in a buffalo such as the big fifty. Jett didn't care what Pilchuck said and went on skinning. At that Pilchuck left, rather than fight for one hide. But he was mad clear through. He told Hudnall that hunters who had been in the Panhandle last summer gave Jett a bad name."

"For that sort of thing?" inquired Milly, as Tom paused.

"I suppose so. Pilchuck made no definite charges. But it was easy to see he thinks Jett is no good. These plainsmen are slow to accuse any one of things they can't prove. Pilchuck ended up by saying to Hudnall: 'Some hunter will mistake Jett for a buffalo one of these days!'"

"Some one will shoot him!" exclaimed Milly.

"That's what Pilchuck meant," rejoined Tom, seriously. "It worries me, Milly dear. I don't care a hang what happens to Jett. But you're in his charge. If he IS a bad man he might do you harm."

"There's danger of that, Tom, I've got to confess," whispered Milly. "I'm afraid of Jett, but I was more so than I am now. He's so set on this hide-hunting that he never thinks of me."

"Some one will find out about you and me, or he'll catch us. Then what?" muttered Tom, gloomily.

"That would be terrible. We've got to keep any one from knowing."

"Couldn't you come to Hudnall's camp to live? I know he'd take you in. And his wife and daughter would be good to you."

Milly pondered this idea with grave concern. It appealed powerfully to her, yet seemed unwise at this time.

"Tom, I could come. I'd love to. But it surely would mean trouble. He could take me back, as I'm not of age. Then he'd beat me."

"Then I'd kill him!" returned Tom, with passion.

"He might kill you," whispered Milly. "Then where would _I_ be?

I'd die of a broken heart. No, let's wait a while. As long as he's so set on this hunting I have little to fear. Besides, the women out here with these buffalo-hunters are going to be sent to the fort."

"Where'd you hear that?" demanded Tom, in amaze.

Milly told him of the impulse that had resulted in her climbing the tree, and how the soldiers had halted beneath her, and the conversation that had taken place. She told it briefly, remembering especially the gist and substance of what the officer and scout had said.

"Well! That's news. I wonder how Hudnall will take it. I mustn't give way where I heard it, eh, little girl. It'd be a fine thing, Milly. I hope the soldiers take all you women to the fort quick.

I wouldn't get to see you, but I could endure that, knowing you were safe."

"I'd like it, too, and, Tom, if I am taken I'll stay there until I'm eighteen."

"Your birthday is to be our wedding day," he said.

"Is it?" she whispered, shyly.

"Didn't you say so? Are you going back on it?"

His anxiety and reproach were sweet to her, yet she could not wholly surrender her new-found power or always give in to her tenderness.

"Did I say so? Tom, would you quit murdering these poor buffalo for me, if I begged you?"

"What!" he ejaculated, amazed.

"Would you give up this hide-hunting business for me?"

"Give it up? Why, of course I would!" he responded. "But you don't mean that you will ask it."

"Tom dear--I might."

"But, you child," he expostulated, "the buffalo are doomed. I may as well get rich as other men. I'm making big money. Milly, by winter time--next year surely, I can buy a ranch, build a house, stock a farm--for you!"

"It sounds silly of me, Tom. But you don't understand me. Let's not talk of it any more now."

"All right. Only tell me you'll never go back on me?"

"If you only knew how I need you--and love you--you'd not ask that."

Milly, upon her stealthy approach to camp, observed that the men had finished their tasks and were congregated about the fire, eating and drinking. The hour must have been late. Milly sank noiselessly down in her tracks and crouched there, frightened, and for the moment unable to fight off a sense of disaster. She could do nothing but remain there until they went to bed. What if Jett should walk out there! He and his comrades, however, did not manifest any activity.

"No--not yet. We'll wait till that Huggins outfit has more hides," declared Jett, in a low voice of finality.

"All right, boss," rejoined Follonsbee, "but my hunch is the sooner the better."

"Aw, to hell with buffalo hides," yawned Pruitt. "I'm aboot daid.

Heah it's midnight an' you'll have us out at sunup. Jett, shore I'm sore, both body an' feelin'. If I knowed you was goin' to work us like this heah I'd never throwed in with you."

"But, man, the harder we work the more hides, an' the less danger--"

"Don't talk so loud," interrupted Follonsbee.

"It shore ain't me shoutin'," replied Pruitt, sullenly. "If I wanted to shout I'd do it. What's eatin' me is that I want to quit this outfit."

Jett shook a brawny fist in Pruitt's face, that showed red in the camp-fire light.

"You swore you'd stick, an' you took money in advance, now didn't you?" demanded Jett in a fierce whisper.

"I reckon I did. I'm square, an' don't you overlook that," retorted Pruitt. "It's you who's not square. You misrepresented things."

"Ahuh! Maybe I was a little overkeen in talkin'," admitted Jett.

"But not about what money there is in this deal. I know. You'll get yours. Don't let me hear you talk quit any more or I'll know you're yellow."

For answer Pruitt violently threw a chip or stick into the fire, to send the sparks flying, and then rising, with one resentful red flash of face at Jett, he turned and swaggered away towards his tent, without a word.

"Bad business," said Follonsbee, shaking his head pessimistically.