Lonely On the Mountain (1980) Read Free

handy. I cut some Injun sign over yonder." Sure enough, I'd not gone a quarter of a mile before I rode up to the edge of the burn. Far as the eye could see, the prairie was black.
    Turning west, I cantered along for a ways, studying the country. The raindrops had speckled the burned grass, and the chances were Cap's guess was right. Nobody knew more about handling cattle in rough country than Cap.
    Several times, I came upon buffalo tracks, and they had turned off to the west just as we were doing. This was going to set us back a day or two, and it was time we could ill afford to lose. It was just spring, with the grass turning green, but we had a long drive ahead and must reach our destination before winter set in.
    Every time I topped a rise, I studied the country around, but mostly what lay behind. There were always a few antelope in sight and usually buffalo, but in small bunches and afar off.
    Just short of midday, we swung the herd into a shallow valley where there was a slough and some good grass. Lin went off to one side and put together a small fire.
    Nobody takes a herd over two thousand miles of rough country without trouble. We'd have our share, and we were ready for it, but we didn't want more than we had to have.
    Tyrel came in from the herd, and getting down from the bay he was riding, he whipped the dust from him with his hat, standing well back. When he came up to the fire for coffee, he looked over at me.
    "See anything?" He'd seen me looking around when I topped those rises. "Nothing but buffalo," I said.
    "I got a bad feeling," he said.
    "You and me both," I said.
    Cap rode in and dismounted, switching his saddle to a rat-tailed dun that looked like the wrath of God but was tougher than whalebone, a mustang born to the wide plains and the rough country.
    When he came up to the fire, he glanced from one to the other. "If you want to know what I think--" "I do," I said.
    "We better skip that drive east. Allowin' there's good grass like we heard, we still lose time, and we just ain't got it to lose." He filled his cup and came over, squatting on his heels. He took a stick and drew in the dust. "Right here's about where we are. Right over here is the Jim River--the James if you want to be persnickety about it. I say we drive west, then follow the Jim north, which gives us water all the way.
    "Right here there's a mighty pretty valley where the Pipestem flows into the Jim. We can let the cattle have a day there, which will give Orrin a chance to gain on us.
    "There's good grass in that valley, and there's a lot of elm, box elder, and some cottonwood along the rivers. There'll be firewood and shade for the stock if we have to wait, and it might pay to wait a couple of days for Orrin." "We've been lucky on the grass," Tyrel said, "bein' so early in the year, but we're drivin' north." "You're durned right." Cap sipped his coffee. "An' from here on, the new grass will be slower, and farther west it will be almighty scarce." Well, now. That fitted in with my own thinking, but I studied on it a mite. Orrin was probably on the river right now, ridin' one of them steamboats up the Red River to Pembina.
    Once he got there, he'd have to find a couple of men, buy teams and a couple of Red River carts, then stock up with supplies for the westward drive.
    He would need a day if he was lucky, three days if he wasn't, and then he would start west to meet us. We would be coming up from the south, and he would be driving west.
    From Pembina there was a trail that led due west through the Pembina Mountains and skirting the Turtle Mountains on the north. If Orrin could make his arrangements in Pembina, he could strike west along that trail, and with luck we'd meet him somewhere close to the Mouse River. With horse-drawn carts, he should make about twenty miles a day, while we would make no more than twelve to fifteen. If he had to go on to Fort Garry, that would throw everything out of kilter, and we'd have to meet farther