Ben scanned the landscape. The way he’d come down would be treacherous for the cattle, but north of that spot, the slope was more gradual. He’d warn Ed to drive them that way.
Less than two hours later, cowbells, worn by the lead cattle, clanged in the distance as Ben loped his horse toward the herd. They’d made amazing progress in the few hours he’d been gone.
When he was within sight of Ed and Juan, he held up the canteens and waved. He might not be an expert, but even he knew enough to not yell or make loud noises around cattle who were already rattled. A cool breeze ruffled his shirt sleeves.
Horse hooves pounding the pebbled sand, Ed rode out to meet him, barely keeping ahead of the trotting longhorns. Had they started moving faster?
Grunts and moos echoed through the mass.
“Two hours from here.” Ben handed the man a canteen as they nudged their mounts to move alongside the lead cattle. “Enough sweet water to fill them all. But we should direct them to the northeast a couple of notches. The descent is more manageable there.”
Ed upended his canteen to his lips until moisture dripped off his chin. He swallowed and swiped his mouth. “Sounds good. Ride around to the others and hand out canteens. Don’t make a lot of racket?—”
A gust of wind tugged at Ben’s hat and toppled Ed’s from his head. A sweet smell tickled Ben’s nose.
Moos cascaded. The lead longhorn picked up speed, the front runners outpacing Ben and Ed.
“What the...” Ed rode for the head, the rest of his sentence lost in the rumble of hooves, the hardthud, thud, thudof over a thousand hooves. Running. “Turn ’em right. Turn ’em right,” Ed hollered.
Dust plumes billowed. Ben rode hard to catch up with Ed.Drive the animals right. Turn them until they’re circling. Mill them up. Tighten the circle.Ed had drilled the instructions into his, Devon’s, and Morning Fawn’s heads during the first couple days of the drive.
On the right, Juan fell back to encourage the turn and avoid spooking the animals.
Ben’s gelding snorted and skidded away from the wild thrash of a longhorn. Ben gripped the reins and pressed his thighs to the horse’s flanks. Choking dust and sand bit his eyes and clogged his throat.
Dan yelled behind him.
Bent over the neck of his horse, Ed charged in close. “Turn ’em.”
Ben moved in, heart pounding. So many horns. The herd at his side shifted. He squinted, searching for Ed in the haze.The gelding’s flanks rippled beneath him. Keep driving right. It didn’t matter if he could see.
Wind whipped at him. From the cattle or the canyons?
Moos. Up ahead, the curving trajectory of beeves cut left. A horse on the right reared. The rider teetered and toppled. Ed or Juan?
Ben jerked his horse to the left. Let them go straight for now. Save the rider. Ben hovered on the side. The gelding whinnied. The mass of bovines pounded past them. Should he go after the cattle or help the man? Across the mass, another rider waved his hat at him and thrust his hand toward Ben and then the cattle, then repeated the gesture.
Ben signaled with his own hat and goaded the gelding forward, waving for Dan to follow behind. Take care of the cattle, slow them, turn them from the precipice. The rider would look after the fallen man.
Canteens tumbled from their hooks as Ben charged into the night. Let the beasts get clear of the fallen rider, then work them to the north, as best he could. He had an hour, less. Surely, chunky, water-deprived animals couldn’t run for that long. They’d probably drop and need water hauled to them if they were to survive.
The gelding’s hooves pounded beneath him. Sand plastered him. Coated his throat and his lashes. Coughs rattled through him. Tingles ran through his half-numb fingers from his strangling the reins, and his thighs clung to the animal with all his might.
To the right, to the right, not a circle. They’d given up on a circle. Other riders helped. Dan behind him, and Morning Fawn trailing farther back, on the far right. Devon’s voice rang out from the back. No sign of Juan or Ed.
Castle Canyon loomed in the distance. They were going to make it. The trajectory had shifted from the steep embankment.Grunts, snorts. A few animals had dropped, but the mass picked up speed. Water was near. Just keep them like this. The river. The Pecos. Salvation from thirst. Almost within reach.
The herd pulled farther right.
“Shift ’em back. Keep ’em straight.” Ben’s voice scraped as he beat his hat against the air.
Across the way, Perkins drove in, pushing. Down the line, Devon swooped close. Ben eased off, giving the animals room to drift left.
But cattle burst through the gap in front of Dan like water ripping through a hole in a dam. The stream exploded into a flood. Dan’s horse reared, but the cowboy held tight and galloped from the path of the charging mass.
Stupid cattle. They were going to miss the river. Couldn’t they smell the water? Unless the river curved south. Decimating sage, grass, scrub brush beneath their onslaught, the longhorns tore across the ground, crazed for moisture. A rise, then a drop up ahead—not the canyon, a stubble of a mesa.
Ben drove his gelding. He needed to get on point.
