Under Prairie Skies by Cynthia Roemer

Author:Cynthia Roemer [Roemer, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781649170385
Publisher: Scrivenings Press LLC
Published: 2020-07-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chad whistled under his breath. The sea of cattle looked as numerous at the Israelites coming out of Egypt. The air was strong with the scent of livestock. Brash bellows sounded from the cattle as they trekked over the unbroken prairie. The handful of men stationed around the herd prodded the cattle along at a steady pace, coaxing stragglers into position. At the rear, in a swirl of dust, a younger man worked to corral the spare horses.

Spurring Buck to a trot, Chad fell in alongside the gangly youth. “I’m looking for Pete Callaway.”

With a glance in his direction, the boy pointed out ahead of them. “That’s my Pa. You’ll find him at the lead.”

Nodding, Chad cut a wide berth around the herd and made his way to the front, gleaning curious stares from the weary cattle drovers as he passed. A chuck-wagon clanked along the worn path that cut across the vast terrain. Chad strained to spot the cattle master and spied him a short distance behind the wagon. With a tap of his heels, he reined Buck in the man’s direction.

The cowboy turned, his sun-leathered skin adding years to his face. A layer of dust on his light brown hair made his age hard to distinguish, but his muscles held firm beneath his shirt. His horse kept pace as Chad wedged Buck in beside him, Duran’s horse tied on behind. Chad leaned to the side, raising his voice over the tromping cattle. “You Pete Callaway?”

The man’s steely brown eyes washed over Chad. “I am.”

“Name’s Chad Avery. I was supposed to have met up with you back in Hammett, but was waylaid and robbed before I could get there.”

The man rested a gloved hand atop his saddle horn, staring out in front of him. “Sorry to hear it.”

“I’ve not much money left for cattle, maybe three or four head, but I was wondering if we could work out some sort of deal.”

They followed the chuck wagon across a narrow stream, then Mr. Callaway threw his hand up to halt the group while the cattle spread out for a drink. He pushed his hat back on his head and squinted over at Chad. “What’d you have in mind?”

Chad wet his lips, meeting the man’s steady gaze. “Could you use another cow hand to see you through to Chicago?”

The cattle master rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “Lost a flank man a ways back, so I reckon I could . . . if’n he was the right sort of fellow.”

“I’d earn my keep.” And hopefully enough money to buy some of his herd.

One side of the man’s mouth lifted in a half grin. “Drivin’ cattle’s no picnic, son. It’s hard ridin’ sun up till sun down.”

Chad squared his shoulders. “I’m up to the task.”

Mr. Callaway stared back in silence as though sizing him up. “You look sturdy enough, all right, but you’ll need chaps and a change of clothes and boots.”

“Got the clothes and boots right here.” Chad reached a hand back on his saddle bag.

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