Summary:  Two brothers encounter danger while returning home with a herd of cattle.
Rating:  G  (1,435 words)

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Ride The River

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The brothers sat on a low hill in the late morning sun and watched the herd stream along the river bank before them.  It had been a long job bringing the cow and calf herd in from California, but fresh blood in the breeding stock was essential.  They had moved them slow and carried more than a few of the weaker calves in the chuck and supply wagons.  Now, they were almost home.

Adam nudged his brother.  “That’s our last ford coming up.  Then we’ll be on the Ponderosa.”

“Can’t be too soon for me,” Hoss replied.  “Home, Hop Sing’s cooking, a glass of good brandy and my own bed.  Shore beats sleeping on our soogans under a wagon.  Wonder what Joe’s been up to?”

“Probably courtin’ the newest gal in town or skinnin’ miners out of their hard earned pay at poker.  Course, maybe Pa’s had him doing our chores instead.”

“Yeah, poor thing; it’s a rough life.    Well, we better get down there and get ‘em headed across.”

They touched up their horses and rode toward the head of the herd.  Hoss sat the solid Chubb, while Adam had his best cutting horse, Chingo.

The Truckee had worn a horse-high bed through the granite baserock, but there was an easy slope that ran down to the swift, but shallow stream.  Adam eased Chingo down the path and into the edge of the water.  “I’ll test the footing,” he called back to Hoss.  His brother nodded.

The roan horse picked his way carefully through the rocky bottom, and Adam didn’t hurry him.  The water was icy cold and ran hock-high.  They reached the far bank safely.   Chingo gathered his hindquarters and jumped up the muddy slope in two long strides.  Adam pulled him up and shouted across,  “Looks passable.  They should make it okay.”

“Cookie says the stew is hot,” Hoss bellowed back.  “Iffen we don’t eat now he’ll toss it out.”

Adam looked toward the mist that was drifting across the tops of the more distant mountains and frowned.  Picking his way back across the river, he pulled rein beside his brother.  “I don’t know, Hoss.  Might be smart to get them in the water now.”

“Men are hungry, Adam.  We started off before daylight this morning, and it wouldn’t hurt to let the critters rest a few minutes before they have to dive in.  We’ll make it fast.”

“Let’s do that,” Adam said.  They kicked the horses and rode back toward the chuck wagon and cook fire where the trail hands were already gathering.

The hot stew, filled with beef, onions and pinto beans in a thick gravy, tasted good with tough, sourdough bread and hot coffee, but the hands didn’t linger for second helpings.  Still, close to an hour had passed before they had gathered the grazing herd and strung them out headed for the crossing.

Hoss rode on ahead.  When Adam caught up, he found Hoss still on the near bank. A frown creased his broad forehead.  “Look there, Adam.”  Hoss pointed down.  The water ran faster and appeared to be two or three inches deeper.  Adam spurred Chingo and rode upstream for a quarter of a mile, away from the noise of the herd.   He slid his mount to a halt and listened.  The birds were quiet and a faint, distant grumble seemed to seep up from the ground.

Adam raced back to the crossing with his horse stretched flat out.  The herd leader and the first few animals were already in the water.

“Turn ‘em, men, turn ‘em!” he shouted.  “Flash flood!  Get those cows back! No crossing today.

Hoss wheeled Chubb and shouldered into the heifers that hesitated on the bank.  He whooped  at the top of his voice and smacked at their muzzles with his rope, driving them to turn aside.  The hands joined in to push the herd left and back on itself.  Hoss was caught up in the jostle and press of startled cattle, but managed to break free and maintain his position on the river bank.  He used knee pressure and fast weight shifts to cue Chubb, as they darted back and forth to face down the suicidal critters determined to throw themselves into the rapidly rising water.  The drag riders at the back of the herd  raced to head off the leaders as they stampeded back from the crossing.  In the eternity of a few frantic minutes, they had the herd circling and on its way to safety.

Adam had kicked Chingo and jumped him off the bank and into the water.  He headed for the leader, a fierce old cow with one broken horn and a nasty disposition, that the men called Jezebel.  Already belly deep in the stream, she hooked at him.  He grabbed her good horn as it grazed him and yanked her head across his thigh.  He hauled his mount around and headed back to the bank. Half way there the water surged higher and began to foam.  Jezzy jerked away frantically and snatched Adam from the saddle with her. Adam threw up a hand and shouted, “Hoss!”

Over the bawling cattle and roaring water, his brother somehow heard and turned. He shook out his rope, formed a loop, and tossed it out and over Adam.  Hoss hauled in from his end, while Adam pulled himself hand-over-hand toward the land.

Jezebel and the three heifers that had followed her swam hard and managed to scramble out furthur downstream.

Hoss jumped down and hauled a dripping and hatless Adam up the bank by main force as the water tugged hard at its escaping prey.  They turned and stared as a subaudible rumble grew into a spine-chilling thunder, and a destructive wall of water five feet high raced down the river with incredible speed.  Boulders, it would take two men to move, tumbled along in the tumult accompanied by battered logs and mangled vegetation.    With the herd settling onto the grass again, most of the trail crew had ridden back to the water’s edge. They could do little beyond shake their heads and swear in astonishment as the few animals still in the water were swept from sight.

Adam shook the water from his hair.  “Damn,” he said, “that was close.”

“Too darned close,” Hoss said.  “Iffen we’d been in there, we’da lost half the critters and some of us. As it is we lost four head.”  His big shoulders shivered.  “Shore looks like I won’t be sleeping in no soft bed tonight.”

“Afraid not.”  Adam reached out to place a sympathetic hand on his brother’s arm.  “Should go down by morning.  We’ll probably have to do some clearing up in the crossing, but let’s hope we can get across before noon.  Hop Sing will just have to hold that roast pig for another day.”

The deadly front of the flash flood passed within minutes.  But, the water still ran to the lip of the stream bed and was too swift for even the strongest animal to dare.  “Look!” someone shouted and pointed at the far bank well downstream.  All eyes shifted, and they saw Chingo heave himself up and out of the water and onto the solid land.  He shook himself from head to hoof, bugled once at the gaping men and bent his head to crop the rich grass at his feet.

“Tough pony,” Adam said  “Glad I didn’t lose him.  If he doesn’t go home, we’ll pick him up tomorrow.  Head back to the wagons,” he told the men.  “We’ll have a good supper and an early night.  Think we can plan on gettin’ home tomorrow.”

They moved back from the stream and Adam saw that Hoss was limping on his right leg.  “You’re hurt? he asked.  “What happened?”

“Nothin’ much, got bumped some as I turned the cattle.  Just a bruise; be okay in a day or two.  Besides, you look like a drowned cat and there’s blood on your shirt.”

Adam lifted his shirt tail to examine the shallow cut along his lower ribs.  “Looks like old Jezzy got me there.  Clean it out with some whisky for me?”

“Shore, soon’s you get out of them wet clothes.”

“And thanks, Hoss, for hauling me out of that flood.  Darn fine roping.”

“Had to, couldn’t lose my best pard.  Who else would I ride the river with?’

They turned and, shoulder to shoulder, walked back toward the camp.

THE END