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“Lorna isn’t that kind,” he snapped.
“Hey, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Shorty protested. “You been in the brush too long. You’re as prickly as a cactus.”
Benteen took the last drag on his cigarette and tossed the butt into the dying fire. “We’ll be headin’ out of here in the next couple of days. Soon as we got that last penful, we’ll join up with Willie and the main herd and head for Fort Worth.”
Within a week, the cattle were thrown together and pointed toward Fort Worth. The first few days of the drive were critical, getting the herd trail-broken. The cows’ natural instinct was to return to the brush country that had been their home. The drovers were kept busy turning them back and keeping them moving in the right direction.
Some trail bosses believed in pampering the animals, taking it slow the first few days. Benteen elected to push his mixed herd of cows, steers, and bulls—young to old—so they’d be tired when they were bedded down for the night and less inclined to become restless and stampede. Those first days, they averaged better than fifteen miles a day.
Luck seemed to be on Benteen’s side. The herd was only a few miles from Fort Worth and there hadn’t been a single stampede. Herds had been known to get into the habit of stampeding on a daily basis. But if stampedes could be avoided the first ten days, a herd was normally easy to handle on the remainder of the drive.
Benteen was riding with Spanish Bill on the left point. A long-legged brindle steer had assumed leadership of the herd, striding out in front of the others.
A bareback rider on a big horse crested a rise in the prairie ahead of the herd. Benteen sat straighter in the saddle, ready to curse the slim rider if he spooked the herd. The big chestnut horse was reined in the instant the rider saw the herd strung out before him. Benteen relaxed a little when the horse and rider made a big sweeping arc to approach from the side.
Without appearing to do so, Benteen kept a close eye on the young rider as he approached. The chestnut had a lot of draft horse blood in it to give it that size, and the lanky kid on its back looked as though he had ridden straight off the farm.
It seemed there were more farmers showing up each year, plowing up the range grass and fencing in land. That was all the more reason to be leaving Texas, as far as Benteen was concerned. He’d heard about that new barbed wire, and he didn’t like the sound of it.
“Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Calder?” the boy asked as he rode up. His voice had made the transition to manhood but the body hadn’t grown into itself yet. He reminded Benteen of a gangly colt, all arms and legs, with a skinny body.
“You’re looking at him.” He slowed his horse, letting Spanish continue on without him while the boy came alongside.
The big horse was plow-reined into a walk, giving Benteen a better look at its rider. Hatless, the tall, lanky boy had a mop of dark brown hair, cropped close to his neck. He tried to appear older than he was, but Benteen guessed his age was somewhere in the vicinity of fifteen.
“I heard you had a herd to take north this year.” The boy studied the animals walking by with what was supposedly a critical eye. “Look like they’ve been travelin’ good.”
“Yeah.” Benteen had been away too often to know who the boy’s family was, but there were a lot of new farmers moving into the area.
“It occurred to me that ya might be needin’ some more drovers.” The remark was delivered with only a mild expression of interest, but the eager glance he sent Benteen ruined his cool pose.
“Could be,” Benteen admitted. “What’s your name?”
“Joe. Joe Dollarhide,” he said quickly. “I been raised with animals all my life. I know everything about ’em. I’m a hard worker. You can ask anybody. An’ I learn fast, too.”
“Your folks have a farm around here?” Benteen let his hands rest on the saddle horn and swayed loosely in rhythm with his walking horse.
“Yes, sir.” It was a reluctant admission.
“And you wanta be a cowboy?” he guessed.
“I’ll make a good one,” the boy named Joe Dollarhide insisted firmly. “I already know about cows and horses. I can ride. And I’m a good shot. I been huntin’ since I was seven.”
“Seems to me your pa could probably use a strong boy like you at home.” Most of the time Benteen kept his attention on the herd, only occasionally letting his glance stray to the kid.
“I got six brothers and sisters at home. They’re most all old enough to help.” First, he assured Benteen that he wasn’t needed at home, “‘Sides, it’s time I was strikin’ out on my own an’ makin’ my way in this world.”
“How old are you?” Benteen had already made his guess, but he was curious what the boy’s answer would be.
“Seventeen,” he said quickly.
Amusement lurked in Benteen’s dark eyes, but he didn’t confront the boy with his doubt. He used a more subtle tactic. “I remember the first time I got a job workin’ somebody else’s cattle. ’Course, I was only fifteen,” he declared, then looked straight at Joe Dollarhide. “It was really somethin’, gettin’ paid to do work that my pa had been havin’ me do for free,” he drawled. “How old did you say you were?”
The boy bit at his lower lip, then admitted, “I’ll be sixteen in April.”
“That’s old enough to draw a man’s wages, don’t you think?” Benteen asked with a half-smile.
“Yes, sir.” The boy grinned, then tried to contain his excitement to be sure he understood. “Does that mean you’ll hire me?”
