On the Royle Range by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2024-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The storm took hours more to completely pass. By then, Fergus, Regis, Benito, and Chancy, strapped across the back of Fergus’s mount, had crossed. They only waited for the slashing, lashing, wind-blown rain to abate, and then they crossed the river, starting a quarter mile upstream and letting their horses have their heads to swim across.

It worked well, and once the three horses made it across, the men found they were but a short distance downstream from the men and herd.

They spent nearly two days more there, alongside the river, long enough to see the flow diminish as they took an accounting of their losses. They’d lost two head, by all counts a surprisingly low number, to lightning strikes, six head to trampling on the riverbanks, and another dozen were among the missing, presumed washed downstream or wandered off unnoticed. And all other men were accounted for, alive and, if not fully well, at least with injuries that would not hinder their work.

They buried Chancy on a bluff about a mile from the river, for several men were fearful that the river might one day overrun its substantial banks and wash out the grave. That notion did not sit well with the men, Regis chief among them.

Though several of the men had been chummy with the dead young man, Regis insisted that he had caused the man’s death. Therefore, he should be the one to contact Chancy’s family.

Cyril told him Chancy had mentioned he had a younger sister still at home and a widower father. They lived in Missouri. Regis vowed he’d try to track them down and explain the fact that their sweet young man was indeed a man who died unexpectedly and unhappily. Regis remained inconsolable and brooded openly.

Finally, after a good many of the crew huddled together and learned what details over and over they could about Chancy’s death, and why the boss should feel so guilty over it, they elected Fergus to talk with the man.

The rangy cowboy rubbed a hand over his tired, seamed face. “It’s not as if he’s doing anything wrong, boys,” he said.

Though they agreed with him, Benito said, “That’s just the thing, Ferg! He keeps on like this, all confused and whatnot, acting as if he caused the whole thing, why, we’ll never make it to the railhead at Schiller.”

Fergus squinted and toed a well-chewed hummock at his boots. Thing was, he knew they were right. The boss had been acting peculiar since the storm. “All right, then. All right. But look, if I get fired, it’s on your heads.”

He’d meant it as a bit of a joke, but the funny thing was, it could well be true. Regis Royle was an odd man to begin with, all work-driven and hard to smile, and then you throw a storm and all on top of that, why, you never knew what you were going to get.

Besides, thought Fergus as he walked on over to the boss, he wasn’t all that certain the boss didn’t hold him responsible for all that happened in the storm.

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