I’m the best point rider on the Chisholm Trail.”
Luke kept his face expressionless. “You are when you’re sober.” He poured an unspoken warning into an unblinking stare. For a moment he thought his friend would argue. Then Jesse snapped his jaw shut, jerked his horse’s reins, and headed for the back. Griff guffawed and then sat a little straighter in the saddle.
“He’s too cocky for his own good,” the cowhand commented.
Luke nodded. “Problem is, he’s right. He is the best.”
Griff shrugged. “He’s all right.”
That was about as close to a compliment as Griff ever gave. Luke nodded and then kneed Bo into a gallop to join Kirk on point.
They hadn’t made five miles that day when Luke thought it wise to call a halt. Dusk was setting in, and the cattle were dragging their hooves in the dust when they came to a wide, shallow river. A grassy plain on this side provided plenty of late summer grass for grazing, so the herd could fill their bellies and hopefully rest easier that night. He gave instructions to let the cattle have their fill while McCann set up camp and rounded up a hearty supper of beans and biscuits with thick pan gravy that the cook called Texas butter. Luke took the first watch alongside a sullen Jesse, and he encouraged the men to cut their tale-telling around the campfire short in favor of a good night’s rest.
The next morning the sun rose in a clear blue sky. After a cup of strong coffee, Luke toed Jesse awake with the tip of his boot. Loud snores stopped abruptly as his buddy snorted to wakefulness.
“Wha’s wrong?” His sober early morning voice was even more slurred than it had been the previous afternoon. He sat straight up on his bedroll, his spiky hair bearing witness to a rough night. “Stampede? Not again.”
Grinning, Luke had to get his goat. He had one—no, ten times coming for the headaches he’d caused him. “Wrong? Why, not a thing. It’s a grand morning, and time to get a’move on!”
Jesse groaned, settled back on his bedroll, and plopped his hat over his face. “A few more minutes, Ma.”
Luke toed the hat off his face and hauled him up into a sitting position with one hand. Then he thrust a mug of hot coffee in Jesse’s hands. “Drink this. McCann brewed up axle grease this morning, but it’ll get your blood pumping. Then saddle up. I want you to scout upstream to see if there’s a better place to cross the herd.”
A low, miserable moan came from Jesse’s throat. He sipped at the coffee and then gave his body a shake. “You’re after me this morning, aren’t you?”
Luke grinned again. “Yep.”
With a sigh Jesse took another swig and then struggled to his feet. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it, but only because I wouldn’t put it past you to put me riding drag the rest of the way.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.” He slapped Jesse on the back with enough force that coffee sloshed out of the mug. “The next time I have to pull you out of a saloon or dance hall, you’re gone, Jesse, quicker than you can spit and holler howdy.”
Thirty minutes later the herd had roused and started to graze. Luke and McCann were eating biscuits slathered with apple butter when Jesse rode back into camp. He looked better today, his eyes clearer and his cheeks not so sunken. He dismounted, crossed to the campfire, and filled a mug.
“We’re at the best crossing.” He sipped the steaming brew and then pointed toward the river. “It’s wide and shallow here. Up that way it gets deeper, and there’s a muddy bank on the other side that will bog down the chuck wagon.”
Luke tossed the final bite of biscuit in his mouth and chased it with the last of his coffee. “Sounds good.” He raised his voice to address the rest of the drovers, who were in various stages of packing up camp. “We’re crossing here. Let’s get a move on.”
Jesse squatted down beside the fire and grabbed a biscuit. “You won’t believe what I found a half mile or so up the way.” He tore the bread open and piled on a dollop of apple butter before McCann snatched the can away from his grasp with a grunt.
“What’s that? Another herd?”
“Nah, better than that.” Jesse popped half the biscuit in his mouth and spoke as he chewed. “I found those Aim-ish people’s wagon. Looks like the