Partida Rol por web

Hurd fired his shot first, and missed badly. Vern had no better luck, and his rifle misfired. Amongst the chaos of bandits shooting and cattle starting to move, none of the outlaws had spotted Hurd and Vern behind the chuckwagon.

Vern reloaded and aimed again...

Hurd was so focused he didn't even stop to swear after missing. He cocked the rifle, aimed again at the same man, waited for a clear shot and pulled the trigger.

BANG! Hurd´s shot³² hit the riding outlaw in the chest!

The outlaw was stunned. The bullet had barely scratched his chest, but he did not understand where the shot had come from. He held the reins with his left hand, and looked around puzzled.

- Dammit! - Hurd frowned and cocked again. This time the outlaw was a sitting duck, he couldn't miss! He aimed briefly and sent another bullet his way.
 

Vernon missed his second shot⁴⁴. This was really not his day. Hurd fired a split second later, and also missed. By now, the two outlaws on the left realized the shots were being fired from behind the chuckwagon. After some hesitation, they left the remuda area and drove their horses through the cattle to get the animals moving. They wanted to get the hell out before they were shot, but not before they got their prize. If not the horses, at least a few dozen heads of cattle!

Hurd muttered another blasphemy as he cocked. The bastard just wouldn't go down! He glanced briefly to the right to check on the other outlaws position, then looked back to his target. And his target was looking back at him, approaching. Hurd ducked against the wagon as tight as he could and took his time to aim while the man came closer. He fired again.

Hurd looked at the outlaw, and their eyes met. Then he fired again, and the shot hit the poor bastard in the head. His empty eyes stared for a moment, and then he fell heavily from the horse. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The cowboy next to him looked in horror. And then another rifle shot hit him! It was Vern´s turn, but again he had trouble with the rifle. Now it was the case that got separated, and he could only get the head of the cartridge out. The rifle was useless now!

The outlaw that Vern was firing waved at his compadres. About a fourth of the herd was spread out, and a few heads of cattle was no reason to die for, and these cowboys were out to kill.

-LET´S RIDE! GO! GO!, he yelled. -THEY´VE KILLED DELLA HUMPY! HE´S DEAD!!

The other four turned around and were galloping away.

- Gotcha! - Hurd mumbled, his heart racing with a blast of euphoria, while through the corner of his eye he saw Vern making a mess of his weapon. Hurd glanced over the field and focused on the next outlaw. He cocked the rifle once more and aimed at him. Then the man started waving and shouting. Hurd paused, his aim locked at the outlaw and his finger on the trigger. He hesitated for an instant and... slanted the rifle slightly upwards, shooting in the air – Yeah, you better run!

He felt relieved. If they wanted to run, fair enough.

The outlaws were gone, but there was no time to celebrate. Hundreds of animals had stampeded, and everyone got on their horses to rein as many as possible. Vernon took charge of the operations, and small groups of cattle were recovered from the river bank upstream and downstream, and also inland. The cowboys worked without rest well into the night, and were able to recover all but seven of the animals that had run. There were also fourteen that had drowned in the river crossing.

The trail boss approached each of the exhausted cowboys. Most of them were lying on their backs, or taking off their wet boots or shirts. Hitchins had made dinner and coffee, but most men just wanted to rest. Vernon patted each cowboys shoulder, and said a few words. He too was tired, but also grateful of how they all had coped with the situation. The last one he went to speak to was Hurd. –You did well, amigo. If it wasn´t for ya, I mean, my damn rifle started playin´ up... Then he looked at the dead body. Della Humpy was the name one of the outlaws had shouted. He was not angry at the poor guy anymore. Life in the West was tough, and whatever crimes he had committed, he would have to answer for wherever he was now.

Vernon took two shovels and looked at Hurd: –We killed him. We bury him.

That was all there was to it. Vernon knew it in his heart. And so did Hurd. The unwritten code for the cowboys. Somehow, the men in the West knew what was the right thing to do. They simply knew it. For them, there was really no other way.

Hurd was totally worn out. He had felt exultant seeing the outlaws skedaddle, and the feeling had lingered all through the evening while they worked hard to regather the herd. Now exhaustion was hitting like a train and a less comforting feeling was slowly taking over him.

- You did well, amigo. - Vern was saying – If it wasn't for ya, I mean, my damn rifle started playin' up...

- Yeah... - He scratched his face, staring at the corpse of the outlaw – Guess I got the lucky hand today.

A moment later Vern was handing him a shovel. Hurd nodded gravely and followed his friend to do what had to be done.

When the hole was dug, they dropped the body inside and Hurd stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, hands on hips.

- Ya reck... - He said, stopping to catch his breath – Ya reckon... we oughta say something?

Vern gazed down at the grave, maybe wondering what would be appropriate. Or maybe thinking it was a stupid idea... Hurd slowly took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He didn't move for a moment, then cleared his throat.

- “For my enemy is dead.” - He spoke solemnly - “A man divine as myself is dead.”

He felt Vern's eyes upon him and turned to look at him. Then shrugged.

- I read it somewhere. In the... In the Bible. I guess.

Hurd put his hat back on, awkward. He took the shovel and started burying the corpse.

–Amen... Vernon could not think of anything more appropriate to say. His friend Hurd was a learned man, at least more than most cowboys. It did sound appropriate, and was probably from the Good Book. In any case, it summed up the mixed feelings they had.

Early next morning, the cowboys were ready to continue the cattle drive. Vernon had got up early and he had took a few pieces of wood and made a simple cross to mark the grave of the dead cattle thief.

The route followed the course of the river through some surprisingly bare areas. There was plenty of water, but the cattle were loosing weight. On one hand, Vernon was eager to rush forward quicker, but on the other he could not risk the quality of beef to go too low.

Other than that, the drive was moving ahead nicely. The weather was good, and they were no surprises on the route.

Finally, thirty days into the drive, the landscape was lushier. Vern ordered one day of grazing. It was mandatory for the animals to recover now that there was plenty of food around. Not so much for the cowboys, who would be forced to cut down on the meals. After the next river crossing, there was ten more days before they would reach Fort Worth, and the cattle would be evaluated.

The price per head of cattle at the rail head would vary from $50 for what was considered “Exceptional” quality, to $40 for Excellent, $30 for Good, $20 for Fair, $10 for Malnourished… and all the way down to $5 or 2$ for Poor or Deplorable quality beef. At the trail end, a random number of animals were inspected, and the value per head would be applied to the entire herd. A thousand heads could therefore have a value of $50.000, or $2.000.

-C´mere Hurd, Brimley told Hurd. Ever since Hurd joined up with Lon and Sinta on the opposite flank, they had not had much contact. Tonight, the veteran cowboy was sitting with Marc Corman next to the fire, as usual. Corman was playing his flute, and Razor was also there, but he was dozing off listening to the melody.

-Marc and me were havin´ a palaver ´ere, talkin´ ´bout the day we got to Fort Worth. Or to be more pre-cise, the night, he laughed. –I´m probably too old for the shindig and boot-scoot Marc is gettin´ ready for, but a whiskey or two, some music other than the damn flute here… That sounds mighty nice, eh?

Hurd sit heavily next to Brimley with a grunt, tired after another day of hard work. Lately he had noticed a better mood among the men, and he even felt now some of the other cowboys looked at him differently after the outlaws incident.

- Yeah Joe, I know whatcha mean. - He smiled frankly - Sounds so nice I can barely believe it...