Return to Red River by Johnny D Boggs

Author:Johnny D Boggs [Boggs, Johnny D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Pecos River.

Everyone seemed to talk about the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Colorado far to the west, but few—outside of Texas and New Mexico Territory—mentioned the Pecos.

Really, it wasn’t much to look at out in Texas, except around Seminole Canyon, a few miles from where it converged with the Rio Grande. For nine hundred miles, it flowed, usually sixty-five to no more than a hundred feet wide. Except during wet years, it wouldn’t be more than seven or ten feet deep. Usually, no one wanted to drink the water. It might taste like pure brine in one spot, and a few miles downstream, turn to iron. Or you’d likely have to sift the sand out before you drank. Maybe you wouldn’t get sick. Probably, you would.

If the river didn’t kill you.

For it often proved deadly, to cattle, to horses, to men. Even at Horsehead Crossing.

The banks flattened here, and while sandy on both sides—where you wouldn’t get ripped by the thorns on the mesquites—at least the bottom here was hard. Try to cross the Pecos anyplace else within a hundred miles, and you risked quicksand.

Wind, cold, brutal, biting, slapped Mathew’s face as he rode the black gelding with the two white forefeet up and down the riverbank. He had to shout so that Teeler Lacey and Laredo Downs could hear him. Thunder rolled, rolled, and another streak of lightning lit up the western skies. Four o’clock in the afternoon, but it looked like midnight.

Dropping his reins over the black’s neck, Mathew cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled again.

“How . . . is . . . it?”

Laredo heard him this time, although Teeler Lacey did not. Laredo, on a sorrel, jammed a stick into the stream, already swollen from the rains upcountry. “Quicksand!” he shouted. “Here.”

“Solid!” Teeler Lacey yelled. He must have heard Laredo’s yell. Lacey’s steeldust splashed water while making its way back to the western bank.

Horsehead Crossing had been around forever, but crossings changed with the seasons and the flow of the river. It might move upstream or downstream, so you had to play things safe—if you wanted to reach the other side alive.

“Flowin’ faster than usual, Mathew,” Teeler Lacey said.

And the Pecos always had a savage, swift current.

“Can we get them across?” Mathew asked.

Lacey started to speak, but saw Laredo Downs crossing the river, so he held his tongue. He trotted his horse, reined in, and spit with the wind.

“We best get that herd movin’, Mathew,” Laredo said. “Pronto. River ain’t risin’ right now, but there’s another turd float comin’, and if we ain’t got ’em beeves across soon, we’ll be waitin’ here a spell.”

Mathew nodded. “Move ’em out,” he said, and spurred his horse to the two wagons.

Groot, Tess, and Joey Corinth had lashed makeshift pontoons—nothing more than juniper logs—there were no cottonwoods or pines in this country—to the sides of the hoodlum and chuck wagon. The wrangler had returned to his horses, leaving Groot and Tess to await orders.

“All right.” Mathew paused, wiped his face.

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