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"He gonna be alright?" one of the boys asked.
"He will be, gotta keep him still, the poultice will draw the poison out, but it will take a couple of days." Cookie told them. "He ain't gonna be worth nothin' to the herd for a while, so find someone to take his place."
One of them rode out to tell Lance, Marty and Joe.
That night Rusty played his harmonica around the campfire after supper, he was playing some sad songs and Lance nudged his boot, "Play something happy son. This ain't a funeral."
Rusty nodded.
The next day they had a visit from a Shoshone tribe wanting to trade for a couple of beefs. These were renegades who refused to stay on the reservation, and they looked hungry. Still, they approached with hopes of getting some whiskey. Lance shook his head, "No whiskey!"
The Indians weren't happy to hear that, but they persisted in their demands for beef.
Marty shook his head, "We can't start feeding every one of those Indians."
"Two steers, that's all they want, and they'll leave us alone. It's worth it to me, cut them out of our herd boys." Lance told his crew.
"It's not a good thing. They're liable to be back."
"There's two herds behind us, they'll catch them next. Besides, I like to keep my scalp and I want to get home to that pretty wife of mine." Lance chuckled. "With my scalp intact, thank you."
Marty shook his head with disgust. "Oh, alright, but it's agin my nature to give in to Indians."
"It's not like they want to rob us. I'd give anyone that much."
Lance just chuckled. Marty tended to get onry when on a drive as Lane knew he'd rather be home with Helen than out here on the prairie. Joe just chuckled.
Lance covered for Willis as he had the night guard. Lance relaxed, feeling very at home on the range and sang to the herd and they seemed to enjoy it. He always felt a closeness when he sang to them, as though he instinctively knew what they wanted to hear.
But two nights later there was a storm, a really bad storm. And the cattle were restless as the lightning lit up the tips of their horns like lanterns. The clash of horns butting into horns made the boys restless too. They knew the least little thing could set the herd off in a stampede. The thunder sounded like a hundred drums in the wide-open spaces. But the lightning was deadly.
"This ain't good," Joe told Lance.
"I know, let's put a double guard around them tonight, just in case they run." Lance told him.
"Good idea, I'll tell the boys." Joe told him.
It was about two hours before dawn when a streak of lightning cut through the herd that seemed to touch them off. They ran and the stampede felt like the earth was going to cave in. The boys mounted up and they all rode like hell, trying to turn the herd, stirring dust, listening the to clang of horns, and the pounding of the hoofs, as the rain pelted them like small rocks against the skin.
The boys rode hard, trying to turn them, everyone doing their job. Every cowboy did their job, as the storm was relentless. It began to rain hard and it made the task even more daunting. Just seeing was difficult in such an extreme storm. It was nearly five hours later when they gathered them against a canyon, and dawn was peaking over the horizon.
Some of the boys came into camp soaked to the bone, all were weary.
Everyone was worn out and tired, some hadn't gotten any sleep. But the storm had stopped, and they'd only lost about twenty steers. One of the boys had been gorged as he got too close to the herd. His name was Tim, and he was only about seventeen. There was a lot of blood and everyone was concerned. Marty's sons knew him best and they were shook up about him, as they were the ones that found him. They took him to Cookie, but his wound was so deep, Cookie shook his head. "I done all I can do for him. I sewed him up, but he lost a lot of blood. Gave him some laudanum to ease his suffering."
It was one of Marty's men, and Marty shook his head. "That was one hell of a storm. Tim didn't have any folks, except us."
"It was a storm we won't forget. Is there any hope for the boy?" Lance asked Marty.
"I don't think so. My boys are taking it pretty hard too."
Lance frowned, every cowboy knew the dangers of a stampede and they had all reacted as quickly as possible. It was no one's fault. But the camp was very quiet that day. They didn't push the herd that day, everyone gathered around the chuck wagon discussing Tim and he died that night.
They buried the young cowboy the next day along the trail, and Lance and Marty both agreed they would rest that day as the boys were wiped out tired and the cattle too. The small wooden cross seem to stick out on the prairie like a lonely reminder of their troubles. Every drive had it's casualties, always unexpected.
Tim Holton wouldn't be forgotten, and Jake, Marty's oldest said some words over his grave and Lance sang Amazing Grace. It was a somber day.
Because of the rains though, the next river was rising, and they spent some time trying to find a place to cross it. Hazards happened on almost every trail drive, and Lance was prepared for anything to go wrong. Because there were so many men on the drive when there was a problem like this, they'd put their heads together, talk it over and then act.
