# Short Grass/Chapter 15

Early next morning the herd was on the march toward the crossing of the Cimarron. Hughes appeared considerably mollified in his bearing toward Dunham, who rode with him and Bob at the head of the long line of cattle, so thoroughly trail-broken after their months of this daily routine they filed along like soldiers.
Hughes said the Cimarron was treacherous, like all those western Kansas rivers, full of quicksands in which cattle would mire down, causing endless trouble and delay to pull them out. There always was more or less panic in a herd when one of those quagmires was struck, with attendant loss and suffocation.
To avoid such a calamity as this, Hughes was going to ford the river at the old crossing, instead of trying to get over at some other place not so strongly guarded, where the river ran entirely inside the Indian country. The law was on his side, as far as any law went in that country, and he would proceed under the assumption that he had a law-abiding citizen's right to follow a public road. He had not been informed, officially, of anybody's objection.
So Hughes talked as he rode at the head of his herd, as if trying to assure himself, or build up an argument that would stand him in good service when needed. He ​was strained to the highest pitch of anxiety, and in spite of his apparently calm determination to proceed Dunham could see that he realized the gravity of his situation and the hopelessness of trying to fight his way into Kansas against such heavy odds. Ruin was waiting at the old trail crossing of the Cimarron.
The Texans were not to be left long without official notification of the quarantine against their cattle. While they were still two miles from the river a delegation of Kansans made their appearance under the leadership of John Moore, whom Dunham recognized some distance off.
Dunham said he believed he'd drop back a piece, as he wasn't looking for trouble right then, and thought it would be for the good of all concerned if he passed unrecognized.
"I guess you've got your own reasons," Hughes said, his opinion of Dunham's valor appearing to take a slump.
"I'd rather they didn't know I'm with you yet a while," Dunham said, putting it in the form of a request.
Bob Hughes flushed, something hot on his tongue, which his father stopped by lifting his hand.
"Let him go," he said. "Maybe he's got better reasons than we can see right now. I never judge a man before he's tried."
Dunham thanked him, and rode back at a canter as if he had been sent on some detached duty. The head of the long string of cattle came to a halt when Hughes pulled up to wait the arrival of the Kansas delegation. ​All down the winding column the cattle stopped as if at command, the cowboys who rode along the flanks leaning to look forward anxiously, aware that they had come to the big obstacle in that long trail at last.
Dunham rode back a safe distance, where he drew in beside the cattle, which were already beginning to break ranks and browse on the tempting dewy grass. One of the herders rode up, inquiring anxiously if the big fight was coming off. Dunham said he expected it was about to pop. They watched the conference, which was soon over. The Kansas men, having force behind them, were not pushed to the use of many words.
Hughes and his son sat looking after the Kansas men as they galloped back to the river, making no move to proceed. The cattle spread wider and wider, unchecked by the disheartened cowboys, who realized gloomily that they had come to the end of that drive. Dunham rode forward.
Father and son still sat in that crushed, hopeless attitude, drooping in their saddles, watching the band of riders kicking dust for the forbidden line. As Dunham came up, Hughes turned to his son, throwing out his hand in a despairing gesture that seemed to say it was all over.
"Well, Dunham, your friends say we can't take this herd into Kansas on any kind of terms," Hughes said.
"He knows damn well what they said without hearin' 'em!" Bob charged hotly. "You don't need to tell him."
"Yes, I knew about what they'd say," Dunham ad​mitted with the calm frankness of a clear conscience.
But he was nettled by their meanness in throwing their suspicions in his face that way, although he reasoned they hardly could be blamed. What they expected he was to gain by attaching himself to them that way passed his understanding.
"We're prohibited from even waterin' in the Cimarron," Hughes said bitterly. "They're afraid the river'll carry our poison, but I reckon you know all about that."
Bill flushed under the repeated nagging and harping on that fool note of his treason and treachery. He was getting tired of it. His long solemn face was as earnest as honesty could pull it when he pinned Hughes with a look so hard it was almost like an icicle thrust against his hide. The two little bony processes in the bridge of Bill's big nose, uncommonly prominent in that structure, grew white as he drew his long face a bit longer, and sat there drilling his sentiments into the Texas cowman's understanding without the assistance of words.
Hughes had ridden the trails a long time, and met all manner of men. He knew pretty well he had hold of one now who had taken about all he would carry without bucking off the load.
"I didn't mean any offense, Dunham," he said.
"You come purty damn close to givin' it," Dunham replied.
Bob Hughes gave his horse a little prod with the spurs, not that he had to charge to get up to Dunham, but to take some of his rising spleen out on something, ​it seemed. The animal jumped, and reared against the hard rein the young man pulled to restrain it.
"You may be a big gunman where you come from," Bob said, fury in his face, hand on his pistol, "but you don't look big enough to throw a scare into me!"
The elder Hughes stopped this foolish bid for trouble by lifting his hand in the commanding gesture of silence that seemed so potent between father and son. The young fellow subsided, but sat there scowling, hand on his gun, a good deal more bluff than earnest in the whole demonstration, for a man in hotter pickle of passion than he could have seen that Dunham had no intention of taking up any quarrel between them.
"I've heard a good deal of talk about fightin' your way through," Dunham said, addressing the elder man, maybe just a tinge of slight and depreciation in his tone. "When are you goin' to start?"
"If we didn't have anything but ourselves to take across that river we'd go," Hughes replied, his look fixed on the cottonwoods which marked the stream.
"Nobody would object in that case," Dunham reminded him. "That would be easy enough. But it happens you've got a million or so cows—"
"Four thousand," Hughes corrected the extravagant estimate.
"They look like at least a million to me," said Bill. "The next thing is, what are you goin' to do about it?"
"Men can't put up a fight against three or four to one, and it would be that if I could fetch all of mine up to the front, and ford a herd of cattle across a tricky river at the same time," Hughes replied to this not very ​well hidden taunt. "They've got us, and they know it."
"Um-m-m," Dunham grunted, his eyes on the ground, his mind so completely concentrated on something of his own that he seemed miles away from the Cimarron and the troubles lined up at its crossing that bright morning hour.
"To be honest with you, Dunham, I thought they'd put up a bluff that a bigger one would meet and we might strike a compromise between them. But it ain't a bluff. All I can see to be done is hold my herd here till I go to Wichita and get a lawyer to head some of Uncle Sam's men down this way. I guess the United States marshal might be able to argue with them fellers to a better effect than I can."
"It might take a week or two to get action that way," Dunham seemed to reflect, as if he studied his own problem. "You'd either have to countermand your order for cars, or pay demurrage on what you've ordered, with no tellin' how much charge for the train crews that are to be there to pull you to Kansas City. That'll eat you holler in no time."
"Well, if you've got something better to offer, Dunham, spit it out,' Hughes invited, hard in the scorn that only a hopeless man can give his words.
"Hell!" Bob sneered.
He gave his horse another rake with his big spurs. It sidled and pranced, writhing in the smart of it, furious against the restraint it could not understand.
"I don't mind tellin' you, Mr. Hughes," Dunham spoke evenly, learning rapidly and well the advantage of a calm man over a passionate one, "that I'm not so ​much interested in helpin' you get your cattle to Pawnee Bend on your account as I am on my own."
"I'm willin' to make it worth while to you, Dunham." Hughes turned to him slowly, taking his eyes reluctantly from the straggling line of stumpy cottonwoods, a light of understanding appearing to break in them suddenly. "If this is part of the hold-up, if this is you fellers' way—"
"I'm not biddin' for money—I'd see you in hell before I'd take a dime!" Dunham cut in, almost losing the rein over his temper there. He grabbed it again, frantically, feeling himself cooling from the nose downward, in that easing relief that comes over a man when he has rushed to save something and found it safe.
"How in the hell do we know what you're out for?" said Bob, resenting this vehement protestation.
"There's a man on the other side of that river I want to ride till he slobbers like a clovered horse," Dunham said, ignoring Bob, looking in his turn at the sentinel cottonwoods along the weak little river which was a barrier that day between so many men and their desires. "I want to ride that man till his head hangs so low his tongue'll lop the road when he walks! I want to soak him so hard he'll walk knock-kneed all the rest of his life. If I can bust that man I'll bust him, and that's what I'm over here to try."
Hughes looked at him with the slow-waking expression of a man who is beginning to see things in their proper shape. Dunham didn't wait for yea, nay nor maybeso, but pushed on with his bill of intentions.
"Your dang cattle may be clean and they may be ​lousy for all I know, but I hope they're so full of p'ison they'll drip it along the road. If I can help you put 'em through I'm here to do it, but I want you to understand I'm not goin' to tackle the job because I want to help a set of Texas fellers out of a hole. I don't give a damn whether any more Texas cattle ever make it across the Kansas line if I can put these over. I'll not be doin' it for you, but for myself. If I can bust that man, I'll bust him!"
"They're clean cattle," Hughes said, not vehemently as a man might be expected to speak in a matter of such heated controversy, but with the disheartened weariness of utter futility. "What have you got in mind, Dunham?"
The cattleman spoke with growing respect, more as man to man. Even Bob sneaked his hand away from his gun, still surly and sour, but no longer feeling as if he must fight somebody, the handiest man preferred.
"It's a wild scheme, maybe it's impossible," Dunham replied, lapsing into his inscrutable, self-communing silence, which he kept for some moments, his gaze on the trampled road. "It's not likely you'd think much of it, Mr. Hughes"—looking up suddenly—"so I guess I'd better keep it under my hat. I'm gittin' damn tired of bein' laughed at in this country, anyhow."
"If you can overlook what's been said, Dunham, we'll cross it out and start over," Hughes proposed, offering his hand.
Dunham shook hands with him solemnly, taking the initiative himself with Bob, whom he knew how to forgive better than one who had not misjudged and ​been misjudged would have known. They all felt easier for the truce. They drew breath with a lighter and freer feeling, as people always do when the mists of prejudice and suspicion have been blown away.
Bill turned and looked back as if estimating the job he had laid out for himself. There were more cattle waiting to cross the river than Dunham ever had seen together at one time outside the stockyards at Kansas City. Four thousand in the open looked more impressive to him than twenty thousand in the stockyards pens.
The anxious cowboys were looking ahead for some signal, making little effort to hold the cattle in marching order. As the minutes passed the animals spread to graze, inaction during working hours being strange to the program of their lives. They had been bred on a range where constant foraging was necessary to existence. This luxurious pasture presented allurements which even a strong-minded Texas white-face could not resist.
"That's a lot of cows," Bill said, speaking mainly to himself. He turned to Hughes again, briskly. "They used to say I was a damn fool where I was raised, and I don't blame you if the same thing's passin' in your mind. I'm used to it. It does look kind of foolish for a greenhorn to tell a cattleman like you what to do with his herd, but you'll have to act on my suggestion if you want to be ready to take advantage of my scheme."
"Shoot," said Hughes.
Bob fidgeted in his saddle, not impressed by Dun​ham's preface, plainly wanting faith in his scheme, whatever it might turn out to be.
"Work your herd up to the river, takin' it easy and slow," Dunham directed. "I wouldn't let 'em down to the water if I was you—there's no use crowdin' trouble. You be around the ford where you can spot me, ready to start 'em over. If I come back, I'll be all set to lead the way; if I don't come—I wish you luck."
Dunham headed toward the river, not a good-by nor a good-luck going after him. Bob Hughes snorted his impatient contempt for such palpable duplicity.
"If he thinks he can toll us on into a trap that way they named him right where he was raised," he said.
"I don't know," Hughes pondered, far from clear in his own mind, "but I don't see what there'd be in it for them to try to trick us. They don't want us in Kansas; they'd rather have us down here than along the river. Whatever his scheme is, I think it's all his own."
"What're you goin' to do?"
"Go on to the river. That boy's green; it's plain he's give us the straight of that, but I don't believe he's anybody's fool, and I'm goin' to gamble on it that he's straight."
"Then here's where you lose," said Bob.