His gaze found Freddy and Les. “Three cowboys died last week crossing this river. This one is dangerous even for experienced hands. I want both of you to ride the forward swing today. And the sooner you’re across, the easier I’m going to breathe. Any questions?”
Les had a thousand questions, but her mouth was too dry to speak.
“All right, then.” Dal settled his hat on his head and flexed his shoulders, his gaze lingering on Freddy. “We’ve done this before. Good luck everyone. Let’s move ’em out.”
Les wet her lips and mustered a ghostly smile for Freddy. Since Freddy’s arm was still weak, Freddy would ride on the upstream side of the herd. Les had agreed to take the more dangerous position on the down side. If she was swept off her horse, there was nothing to catch her, nothing to prevent her from being swallowed by the violent river. Suddenly, her boots felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds. She wasn’t a strong swimmer in the best of circumstances; weighed down with boots and clothing, if she fell into the water, she was dead.
Ward intercepted her on the way to the remuda. Clasping her arm, he leaned close to her ear. “You heard what Frisco said. Do something to start a mill in the water. Do it, Les! I’ll be watching.” He increased the pressure on her arm. “I’ll cross about a half hour behind you,” he warned. “If you don’t do as I’ve told you, you’re going to be very sorry.”
Without speaking, she jerked her arm free and found her saddle, taking extra care today with the girth cinch before she swung up on Cactus. Farther upstream she could see Alex’s chuck wagon already on the ferry. Luther and Jack Caldwell stood beside their wagon, waiting their turn to cross.
It was a beautiful morning, clear and dry, but a tense excitement quivered in the air. Some of the Red River Station people lined the bluffs to watch, knowing the potential for disaster was high. After murmuring a quick prayer that everyone in their outfit would cross safely, Les urged Cactus forward and swung into position alongside the herd. Freddy rode on the other side of the longhorns and forward, the drovers spaced out to provide as much coverage as possible.
When the drovers were in position, Dal rode past Les waving his hat, pointing it north. He cut in front of the lead steers and moved toward the riverbank. A good trail boss never let his stock trot, and Dal didn’t allow it today, but he set a brisk pace. He wasn’t going to give the leads time to think about entering the turbulent waters. If the lead steers went in without balking, the rest of the herd would follow.
Les lost sight of him when he rode down the bank, and she didn’t release her breath or her grip on the pommel until she saw him reappear in the river. Water churned around his waist and all Les could see of the buckskin was his head. Behind Dal came two sets of horns, then the rest of the herd. That’s all Les could see of the swimming animals, just their horns bobbing up and down above the surface of the rampaging waters.
But the lead steers had not balked. The herd was going in smoothly. She released a breath, then gasped as one set of horns began to drift away from the line of animals crossing the river. As she watched, the horns turned form north to west and swiftly flowed downstream. An instant later, the horns sank and were gone.
All too soon Les saw Freddy set her mouth in a grim line and urge Walker into the heaving waters. Off to her left, she noticed a longhorn mired in quicksand. He wasn’t bawling yet, but he would be soon and that would make it difficult for the drovers behind her to hold the herd squeezed down. There wasn’t time to worry about it.
Suddenly the floodwaters tossed in front of her. She felt Cactus tense beneath her and hesitate, then she swallowed hard, dug her heels into the horse’s flanks, and they plunged into the violent waters. To her right were floating horns and the eerily silent animals straining against the currents. To her left, a cottonwood gave way and crashed into the river. One of the steers turned his head, eyes wild, but Les’s body blocked his view. “Keep going,” she crooned, her voice shaking. “Nothing to fret about, old boy. Keep swimming.”
Cactus’s legs were off solid ground and cold water swirled up around her waist. Leaning forward, as frightened as she had ever been, Les wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck and clung for dear life, struggling against powerful currents that plucked and snatched at her. An eternity elapsed before she felt Cactus’s hooves strike solid ground, then they were coming up out of the water dripping on the muddy, trampled north bank, the steers struggling out of the river alongside her.
She waved her hat in the air and it was all she could do not to release a relieved and exuberant shout of triumph. Freddy twisted around in the saddle to give her a thumbs-up sign, then they drove forward, running the glistening cattle into the main herd.