Through Dust and Distance Chapter 16 Part 1
Turning Home
This is the twenty-third installment in a serialized story about Will Sturgis, a young hand looking for wages and maybe a bit of purpose. He joins a northbound cattle drive and learns fast that the trail is equal parts sweat, dust, danger and unexpected grace. If you like Westerns with heart and grit, saddle up. Will’s got a long way to ride.
The first one is free, but the rest will be under the paid subscription. I have a sale going on now where you can get a permanent 75% discount for annual subscriptions now. Sign up here: Annual Subscription Sale 75% off!
I hope you join Will on his ride north.
Tucker groaned into his pillow. “Tell me this bed ain’t gonna swallow me whole if I move.”
Will pulled on the new shirt. The fabric was stiff as barrel paper.
“Get up. Cutter’ll have our hides if we’re late.”
“Feels like he’d have to climb two flights of stairs for that,” Tucker muttered, but he pulled the cover back and swung his feet down, rubbing at his face.
They packed their things and stepped outside into the warm morning sun. Hammer blows rang from the rail yard, a woman shouted prices from a stand up the street, and a wagon full of hides rolled past trailing a sour smell behind it.
Cutter stood with Dutch by the wagon, both men reading through a bill of sale.
“You two alive?” Cutter asked without glancing up.
“Mostly,” Tucker said.
Dutch snorted. “Mostly’s enough. We ain’t runnin’ a church choir.”
Cutter slipped the paper into his coat pocket. “Good. We leave at noon sharp. Dutch and I are settlin’ the last accounts. You boys check the remuda. Isaiah and Vega are ahead of you.”
He tipped his hat and strode off. Dutch followed.
Tucker watched them walk off and said, “Cutter walks like he’s already halfway to Texas.”
“He’s ready to be done with this place,” Will said.
“Ain’t just him,” Tucker said. “Town makes me itch.”
The livery sat on the north edge of town where there were a few copses of trees, and the noise wasn’t so bad. The smell of manure and fresh creosote from the fence posts hit them as they got close.
Vega was spreading fresh hay across the fence line with his back to them. Red was leaning against a post watching a sorrel gelding try to bully the others.
Isaiah spotted Will and Tucker as he hauled buckets from the pump. “’Bout time,” he called. “Horses thought you went and joined the circus.”
Tucker snorted. “What’d you feed ’em, gunpowder?”
Vega grinned. “Town makes ’em nervous. Too many noises.”
Will stepped into the yard and spotted the pinto before the horse spotted him. Didn’t matter, he walked toward Will straight as if tied by a rope, ears pricked.
“Hey, boy,” Will said, rubbing the white patch between his eyes. The pinto leaned into him like a friend.
“Legs look good,” Will said, running a hand down each one.
“You got a good one there,” Isaiah answered.
Will didn’t have anything to do with how good his horse was, not really, but it filled him with pride nonetheless.
Tucker checked his own roan, muttering to it.
Red saddled up a bay mare, testing her cinch.
Tom Reed stepped out from the barn, shirt damp from brushing down the lead horses.
“Livery man charged us double,” Tom said. “Said trail horses eat more.”
Vega tossed hay at him. “We do eat more. He’s right.”
Will took a moment alone with the pinto. The animal was the only thing in Abilene that felt familiar. He slipped an arm around the horse’s neck and breathed in the warm, dusty scent.
“Ready for home?” Will said, even though he wasn’t sure himself what that actually meant.
The pinto shook his mane like he agreed.
Cutter arrived not long after, smacking his gloves together. “Good. You boys finish up. Be ready by noon. And keep clear of saloons.”
Tucker groaned. “All of ’em?”
“Any with more ’n one piano.”
Tucker pointed. “How many pianos does it take to get me arrested?”
“One,” Red answered. “If you’re drinkin’.”
Will laughed under his breath. Felt good to laugh again.
Will still needed a rifle, something he’d meant to handle yesterday but hadn’t had the stomach for after everything that’d happened with Cole.
Amos met them near the mercantile, hands tucked in his belt. “Come on. Let’s get you armed proper before we start down the long road.”
The gun shop smelled of oil. Rifles lined the walls in neat rows. Will’s eye caught on a Winchester, the brass catching a sunbeam through the window.
The shopkeeper lifted it down. “’66. Smooth throw. Won’t kick you half to death.”
Will hefted it. Balanced. The kind of weight a man could trust.
“How much?” Will asked.
The price made Tucker whistle through his teeth, but Will unfolded some of his new bills. He’d already counted his money three times. He thought of winter, broken harnesses, or other things a man couldn’t predict. It would take most of his money.
He looked down the row. “How much for that Henry?”
“This one’s used, so I can give it to you for $28.”
Almost half of what the Winchester Yellow Boy cost.
“Shoots the same caliber bullet,” the shopkeeper says. “Winchester’s just easier to load and holds more. It’s what they call a repeater.”
Damn. A repeater sure would be nice on the prairie.
“I’ll take the Winchester,” Will said. He would definitely need to find work when they got to the end of the trail.
Amos nodded once. “Good choice.”
Will bought a box of cartridges too. The shopkeeper wrapped them up in brown paper and handed everything over with a nod.
“Keep it clean,” he said. “She’ll treat you better than most men.”
Will slung the rifle into its scabbard, and for the first time he felt full grown. He had his own horse and a rifle that was worth taking care of. Next drive he would get a new hat.
Then he checked his money pouch again. Not much left. He could hear his dad. What fool spends winter money on a rifle?
He needed to find work for sure. He didn’t want to drag himself home, hat in hand.
They found Clara and Dutch behind the mercantile, stacking flour sacks and tins into the wagon bed. Clara had rolled her sleeves up. Her hair was back in a tight braid. She held a list and was making sure everything was accounted for.
“You need help?” Will asked.
Dutch didn’t even look up. “Yes.”
Clara tried to hide her smile.
Will and Tucker hauled sacks up into the wagon bed. Dutch tied them off while Clara checked items off her list with quick pencil strokes.
Tucker dropped a tin by accident and swore. Clara gave him a stern look and he apologized right away.
When they finished, Clara brushed her skirt, then shaded her eyes with her hand and said, “That’ll get us home.”
The rifle was on Will’s mind. Now was as good a time as any.
“Clara… I wanted to ask you somethin’, if it’s all right.”
Dutch suddenly found a rope that needed tightening thirty feet away.
Clara faced him. “Ask.”
“My folks’ place ain’t much,” Will said. “And there ain’t work there come winter. I was wonderin’… if your Pa ever needs hands through the cold months. Fences, stock, whatever comes.”
Clara took his measure, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t got to know each other, at least a little.
“My father always needs hands,” she said. “Good ones. Hardworking ones.”
Will hoped he met that standard.
He couldn’t breathe.
“I expect he’d take you on,” she finally said. “I can’t promise you anything.”
He nodded, a little awkward, a lot relieved. “I’d be grateful for the chance.”
“I’ll write ahead,” she said. “So he knows to expect you.”
Holt came around the wagon from the shaded side, forearms bare but dirt streaked, sweat darkened the underarms of his shirt. He had been working at something.
He noticed the stacked supplies. “Looks about ready.”
“You ridin’ south with us?” Will asked.
Holt nodded. “To the Red River. After that, I peel off.”
Clara stopped but didn’t turn around, one hand resting on a flour sack.
Will asked Holt, “You got somethin’ lined up?”
Holt adjusted the strap on his saddlebag, testing the weight. “There’s a company down south hirin’ riders. State men tryin’ to keep the frontier steady. They need hands who don’t spook easy.”
Will understood without needing him to name the Frontier Rangers. The state was stitching back together companies, the kind that rode long miles for little pay, fighting the kind of danger most folks preferred not to think about. He had seen one in Denton, at the courthouse. His older brother, Thomas, had pointed out the lawman. He even talked about joining, but Pa talked him out of it.
“Reckon you’d be good at that,” Will said.
Holt met his eyes. “Hope so. Man ought to be useful somewhere.”
Clara finally turned and looked at Holt with worry, but she nodded.
Holt tipped his hat to her, then stepped away to help Vega.
Will watched him go, wondering how he always managed to be in the right place at the right time, like he had some sort of extra sense.
Clara pretended to study her list, though her pencil didn’t move.
By midday the heat began its normal press. The wind carried coal smoke and the pungent odor of the cattle yards.
The wagon was packed, and the remuda was rounded up and ready for the long trip home.
The men mounted and waited for Cutter to say the word.
Cutter stood at the head of the group, hat brim pulled low.
“All right,” he said. “We ride.” He swung into his saddle and turned south.
The wagon started forward, with the mules falling into their steady rhythm.
Will drifted into his usual place on the left side of the outfit without thinking. Tucker rode beside him, humming something Ortega had taught him. Amos rode ahead to scout the first mile out.
The whistles and hammers of Abilene faded behind them. The prairie spread out in front of them. The wind carried the smell of grass warmed under sun.
Will checked the rifle in its scabbard, then the line of the wagon to his right and the remuda behind.
“Feels right,” he murmured.
“What does?” Tucker asked.
“Ridin’ out,” Will said. “Headin’ home.” He said that like he was going home.
Tucker grinned. “Hell yeah it does.”
“You got family waitin’?”
“My aunt and uncle have a place near Fort Worth.”
“Nice. Not far from where I grew up,” Will said.
“No kiddin’. We should meet up.”
“I’d like that, but I’ll be working on the Mallory ranch. At least I hope to.”
“Clara’s?”
“Her family.”
Tucker got the biggest grin.
“Stop it. It’s just work.”
“Sure.” But the smile didn’t fade even a little.
Will laughed and then Tucker joined in.
The sun moved into the west. Abilene slipped behind them, but Will would remember the town. It was too loud to forget.
Will breathed the open air. He was happy. They were headed south, toward work and winter.
And he rode into it upright.
They changed horses regularly and kept up the pace. They moved in a straight line for the most part. No sign of any of the Indian nations. Either they didn’t care, or their group just got lucky. Maybe they figured to get their toll on the way back with the herd in tow.
An easy eleven days later, the Red River showed itself first as a dark line through the trees, then as a flat shimmer of brown water. It sat lower than when they’d crossed north.
The outfit slowed near the river’s edge. Below, ruts from a hundred drives dug into the slope leading up from the river. Dutch pulled the wagon to a stop. He jumped down to check everything before they crossed.
Will eased the pinto up beside Cutter. The air smelled of wet clay baking in the heat.
Holt stopped between them.
“This where you’re splittin’ off?” Cutter asked.
“I reckon so,” Holt said. “There’s a group of riders gatherin’ out of Belknap. Company lookin’ for men who can keep their seats and not lose their nerve.”
Cutter grunted. “They’ll be gettin’ a damned fine hand.”
Holt didn’t say anything,
Cutter went on, “You kept this crew standin’. More’n once. I don’t forget that.”
The muscles in Holt’s jaw tightened, not pride exactly, just the weight of being seen cleanly for the first time in a long while.
Cutter tipped his head toward the southern trail. “You give those men half what you gave me; they’ll think they struck gold.”
Holt nodded, grateful in that quiet way of his. “Appreciate it.”
Cutter nodded once, sharp. “Go on, then. Frontier’s waitin’.”
Holt looked back at everyone.
Isaiah saluted him with two fingers.
Vega said, “Don’t go gettin’ killed.”
Red muttered, “Try keepin’ the peace without startin’ a war.
Tom Reed gave one solemn nod.
Clara shielded her eyes with her hand. “Safe travels,” she said, barely above the river’s churn.
“Thank you,” Holt said, simple and honest.
He turned last to Will. “You keep growin’ into yourself. You’re on the right road.”
“Hope you find what suits you,” Will said.
Holt looked south, toward the heavy trees and the hard country beyond. “Reckon I’ll find somethin’. Good or bad, I’ll handle it.”
Will believed him. He was glad for the time they had together. Hard to say he would miss Holt, though. He was barely a presence most of the time and wasn’t much for talking.
Holt reached out, laid a hand on the pinto’s neck, one firm pat, nothing more. Then he touched the brim of his hat to Cutter, to Clara, to the group as a whole.
And without ceremony, he turned his bay toward the south bank and crossed the river.
The water rose halfway up the bay’s legs, splashing brown against the horse’s shoulders. Holt didn’t look back. He just rode up the far slope and kept going, swallowed by cottonwoods. The last hint of bay hide disappeared behind a stand of hackberry.
Clara watched Holt ride off and didn’t move after he disappeared.
Dutch finally said, “He ain’t comin’ back for another look.”
“Didn’t ask him to,” she said.
Will said nothing. Much as he admired Holt, relief settled into him watching the man disappear south. Felt ugly thinking it, but he’d never once believed he could stand beside a man like Holt and have Clara choose him. Not that she would anyway.
Tucker exhaled slowly. “Think we’ll see him again?”
“No idea,” he said. “I’m betting he’s where he needs to be.”
Tucker let out a long breath. “Hell of a man.”
Cutter slapped his reins lightly. “Best I ever hired.”
That surprised Will. Cutter wasn’t exactly the type to talk about stuff like that. But it was something to aim for. Hard to imagine though.
“Let’s move,” Cutter said. “We’re burnin’ daylight.”
The wagon creaked forward into the river, and the remuda followed.
Will nudged the pinto after the wagon, the river swirling warm around their legs. The whole outfit pushed south.