From Hide and Horn (A Floating Outfit Book Number 5) by J.T. Edson Page A

mighty
startling—some would even say, considering his knowledge of the
terrain involved—even crazy suggestion. The Staked Plains were a
rolling, arid, semi-desert area between the South Concho and Pecos
Rivers. Baked by the heat, parched for the want of water, the
stunted vegetation offered poor grazing and little shade for the
cattle and many hazards existed along the route they would be
forced to follow. Under no circumstances could it be termed the
kind of country into which a trail boss would willingly direct his
herd.
    At last Goodnight let out a long
breath and said, ‘It’s near on ninety-six miles from the South Concho to the
Pecos, Kid. With nothing but spike grass, horned toads and gila
monsters from one side to the other.’
    ‘ I knowed that all along,’
the Kid answered. ‘Back when I was a button with the Pehnane, I hunted desert
sheep around it.’
    ‘ We’ll not be hunting
around it, we’ll be trailing cattle across,’ Goodnight pointed out. ‘There’s not
much drinking water, but plenty of alkali and salt lakes scattered
about. Let a thirsty herd get just a teensy smell of one of ’em,
and there’d be a stompede that nothing could stop. And any steer
that drinks from one of them lakes’ll be buzzard bait in twenty
minutes.’
    ‘ I know that, too,’ the Kid
admitted.
    For all his words, Goodnight was clearly
giving the suggestion his close consideration. Watching his uncle,
Dusty could almost follow the other’s train of thought. Novel,
wild, impractical though the Kid’s idea might have sounded at first
hearing, it was possibly their only chance of beating Chisum to
Fort Sumner. The very nature of the animals in the herd made that
so.
    Unlike the pampered beef breeds
that would follow them, the Texas longhorns lived an almost
completely natural existence. Left to forage for themselves upon
the unfenced ranges, they had over the generations developed the
survival instincts of wild animals. In nature only the fittest
survive. So any longhorn that reached maturity was perfectly
capable of standi ng up to hardships and the rigors of climatic
conditions.
    Maybe, just maybe, the
Kid had
offered a solution to Goodnight’s problem. Crossing the Staked
Plains would be desperately risky, but better than no chance at
all. No Texan ever cared to go down without fighting.
    ‘ Damn it!’ Goodnight growled. ‘I’d hate
like hell for Chisum and that slimy cuss Hayden to lick me this
easy.’
    ‘ And me,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Especially
after they cost me the price of two new Stetsons.’
    ‘ Two?’ grinned the Kid. ‘Don’t tell me
that you lost that one you bought after them fellers shot up your
old woolsey?’
    ‘ Somebody put a hole in the new one,’
Dusty explained, ignoring the suggestion that he would wear a
cheap, poor quality ‘woolsey’ hat. ‘You haven’t got kin around
here, have you?’
    ‘ Damned if I don’t start talking
Comanche soon!’ Goodnight groaned. ‘Kid, if you could find each of
those lakes afore we come to it, we could point the cattle up-wind
until we get by and they won’t smell the water.’
    ‘ It’ll not be easy doing, Uncle
Charlie,’ Dusty cautioned.
    ‘ Don’t I know it?’ demanded the rancher
grimly. ‘But, bad as it is, it’s our only chance of licking Chisum
to Fort Sumner.’
    ‘ Which we all want to do,
for more reasons than one. I tell you, Uncle Charlie, if we fail
there’ll be few who chance trying. And
Chisum’ ll cheat ’em blind on taking their stock to sell for
them.’
    ‘ There’s one thing in our favor,’
Goodnight said. ‘It’s good grazing and easy going from here to the
South Concho. So we’ll let the steers take on fat and tallow up to
there. After that, we’ll push them day and night without stopping
until we hit the Pecos. It’ll be all of three-four days to get
across.’
    ‘ By then the crew’ll’ve learned plenty
about their work,’ Dusty replied and remembered something. ‘Hell’s
fire. We’ve got