it had come to this, as Joe should have known it would. “I’ll be gone at first light,” he said. “Want me to do the chores before I leave?”
“Don’t bother.” The old man stood, holding his fork and plate. “Reckon I’ll go out on the porch and eat with the dog.”
* * *
The two of them didn’t speak again. Joe gathered up what little was his and rode out before dawn the next morning. It wasn’t the way he wanted to take leave of the man who’d treated him like a son, but he’d made his choice—and Elijah had made his. For better or for worse, it was time to move on.
As he rode south onto the open plain, the sun came up, flooding the prairie with its golden rays. Dewy blades of grass glittered where they caught the light. A flock of blackbirds rose from the ground in a circling cloud and vanished into the blue sky.
That was when Joe saw them, galloping over the horizon—the blue roan stallion and his band. As he paused to watch them, they moved in his direction, then, still keeping their distance, veered away and vanished, leaving him to wonder if he’d seen them at all. Maybe he’d only dreamed or imagined them. Maybe, as Elijah had suggested, they were spirit messengers sent to guide him, or even to warn him. But now they were gone, leaving only a mystery in his mind. Nudging his horse, he moved on.
By now Joe knew the country well enough to locate the camp where Clem and Slinger would be waiting for him. He could see the thread of rising smoke from a half mile off. As he rode closer, the smell of coffee and bacon guided him in.
“You’re early.” Clem greeted him with a grin. “Have some vittles. You look like a starved coyote. Where’s your shootin’ iron?”
“The one I had wasn’t mine. Hope you’ve got an extra.”
“I’ve got Pa’s old .44 in my gear. You can use it till you get your own.”
“Thanks.” As he helped himself to coffee, bacon, and eggs, Joe hid a sudden unease. Hadn’t he told Clem that he only meant to join them for this one job? Clem was talking as if they planned for him to stay.
Huddled by the fire drinking coffee, Slinger gave him a nod. He looked older and thinner than Joe remembered. When he stood, with effort, a grimace of pain flickered across his face. Clem had mentioned that his brother had been shot escaping the vigilantes last fall. Slinger appeared to have been badly wounded. And Joe would bet that he hadn’t been treated by a doctor.
No wonder Clem had come to find him, Joe realized. Slinger didn’t look strong enough to be much help in a dangerous situation like a cattle stampede. The brothers had needed at least one more able-bodied, experienced man to pull off this big job.
If the raid was successful, maybe the brothers would take their share of the money and head to Mexico. They might not have enough to live high, the way their father had planned, but it wouldn’t take much to get by in some small pueblo. And it would certainly be better than the life they had here.
But why did he care? Joe asked himself. These men had held him against his will and forced him to commit crimes. Now here he was, against his better judgment, joining up with them again. Only the thought of getting revenge on Benteen Calder kept him from mounting up and riding away—that, and the strong hunch that he’d be shot in the back if he tried.
“So tell me the plan so far,” he said. “Where’s the Calder herd now, and how are we going to hit them?”
They crouched around a patch of smooth ground, using the sharp point of a knife to draw a crude map and plot lines of attack. The cattle drive had last been reported four days short of Ogallala. The raid needed to happen soon, before the herd got close to the town.
Joe argued that they should wait for a storm. The weather had been unsettled for the past few days, with rain and lightning bursts sweeping across the prairie. The dark, the noise, and the rain would offer the best chance of stampeding the herd and using the confusion to make off with a good number of animals. It might even be possible to blend in with the riders who were rushing to round up