Charlie Handy certainly wasn't the first leaf on the tree but in twenty-eight years he had acquired enough skill to wangle a job on the BoxG cattle drive. The owner, Wendell Grimes, had approved Charlie as a last minute addition because he wanted to get the drive started; he had 16 including himself and decided that was plenty.

There was training time before the actual drive began; choosing the lead steer then getting the rest used to his routine of being lead. Grimes, the owner, expected the drive of 2000 head to take about two months, moving maybe 10 to 12 miles a day. The hurry was to take advantage of the spring grass for feed and the fact that rivers would still be low and fordable before the snow melts began.

The route he chose was the Chisholm Trail. They would leave Houston, cross the Brazos at Hempstead and parallel the river north to the Red River Station. From there it would be a straight run up the Chisholm Trail to Abilene and the Kansas Pacific rail head.

Charlie was designated to ride drag, the least coveted position on the drive. His days were spent eating dust, smelling the herd's leavings and rounding up strays that lagged behind or wandered off. Occasionally the flank riders would drop back and make sure he was still with them, offering little help.

********

"Bet yer happy them steers ain't eatin' these beans eh, Charlie?" The two swing riders sitting next to him broke into loud laughter.

He nodded good-naturedly, staring down at his plate. "Are beef beans and biscuits all we get?"

"Ol' Pots cooks up eggs and bacon at breakfast when he has a mind. When we get to Abeline you get paid, then you can eat just about anything you want."

"Can't he bake something besides biscuits? Bread maybe?"

"We'll put in your order, Charlie. Pots can whip up a loaf of sourdough to chew on back there behind the herd."

"Your watch, you two." Kinney, the foreman, barked at the swing riders. "You'll be Nighthawk tonight, Handy, along with Downs." Charlie sagged internally. His butt was sore as it was from the day's ride and now another four hours at night. "And remember, no noise unless you want to sing softly. Stampede them steers and Pot's cookin'll be the least of your worries."

"Right, boss." Probably why he drew Nighthawk duty. He cleaned his plate and settled back with a coffee, hoping to catch a few winks before nightfall.

********

So far things had gone well. Good grazing and the fording of the few rivers had been without incident. The next town would be Waco and fresh supplies.

Downs rode up beside Charlie, whispering. "Everything okay here?"

"Yep, bin croonin' to this lot for about twenty minutes . . . haven't mooed me yet."

Downs snickered and shook his head, moving quietly away to the other side of the herd. He liked Charlie and felt a bit for him, being the brunt of everyone's jokes. He stopped near a group of steers that had settled together and began humming softly.

Charlie welcomed the flank rider replacing him and drifted back to the camp and his bedroll.

"Two hours and it's back on drag, Handy." The foreman kicked his foot and moved on.

Two hours. How am I gonna wake in two hours? Charlie rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, praying for sleep to come quickly.

The first indication of trouble was the sound of scrambling feet and then the rough shoving on his back.

"Get up, Handy, Downs had a coughing spell and spooked the herd."

"Is Downs okay?" Charlie called as he dragged on his boots and grabbed his hat, hearing he rush of sound from the herd. Hooves pounding like drum beats and the clink of horns sent shivers down his back. It was like the earth had lifted. He ran to the remuda where Mick, the tough old hand was helping settle the nervous horses as the cowhands saddled up.

Charlie grabbed a line for a horse and before he could get the saddle on it reared up, eyes white and ears back. He fell, screaming as the hooves gouged the ground next to his head. Rolling away and spitting out dust, Mick grabbed the line from him and, dancing around almost comically, calmed the animal long enough to get Charlie aboard.

Gun shots could be heard far away as the riders fought to turn the herd. Even in the dark the clouds of dirty dust could be seen swirling around the camp. Eyes stinging from the dirt-filled air, Charlie galloped off to help. It took most of the night before they finally got them milling and everyone was worn ragged.

The gutsy point men that rode into the lead steers with their horses to turn them were the most tired. Had one tripped or even stumbled they would have been trampled flat. Charlie elected to help Pots and ran mugs of coffee around to the sprawling cowboys. The unlucky few that had to stay on watch would get biscuits with theirs when they finished.

********

Grimes lashed out at Downs even though his coughing was purely accidental. He railed on about loss of cattle including two cows and a calf that died, as well as the twenty-eight that ran off. Downs was tasked with tracking them down and re-joining the drive smartly; it would be reflected in his share at the end of the drive.

The next few weeks saw a few storms that had the cattle grumbling and the men worrying but came to nothing except the trail was a slippery mass of muck that had cattle and horses slipping and sliding. Downs got back, amazingly with sixteen of the mavericks that had run off. Grimes never said a word, just listened and retreated to his spot in the chuck wagon. The total loss from the stampede was reduced to thirty two - a pretty good result considering.

Kinney, the foreman, informed all the hands that, "Mister Grimes has scouted ahead an extra two miles past Pot's wagon and he said there were tracks and some signs of an Indian camp. That means Comanche for sure plus maybe some others as well. They mostly have guns these days and like to raid drives for cattle so we all better keep a sharp eye for trouble."

None of the men wore guns on the drive, many didn't even own a six gun; they only brought trouble. Those that did stored them in the chuck wagon. Now they got them out along with rifles, which all of them did own. Charlie asked about riding drag alone; the herd was spread out over a couple of miles during the day. Kinney told him he could have Downs. Maybe his cough would scare any Indians off.

If only . . .

********

North of Kimble they had to re-cross the Pecos and chose to bed down early and begin in the morning. It was a needed break for the men and those that weren't on watch relaxed playing cards or writing letters. The herd behaved and to date, after rainstorms, accidents and runaways, the loss was only around 250 head; Grimes was grimly accepting.

His acceptance was short lived however. Morning arrived and the crossing began. Grimes was in the river along with two others keeping the herd together across the roughly ninety feet of water. Another was on the opposite side driving them off the embankment and away from the shore.

Pots had all the bedrolls and extra gear stashed in the chuck wagon, ready to take his turn while the other riders were keeping the herd moving. Downs and Charlie were in their drag position, Charlie was just returning with their last cow and its calf, which had straggled behind when he saw the band of riders headed their way.

"! Indians!" He drew his rifle and fired into the air, alerting the others and then watched, terrified, as the attackers rode straight at them, rifles blazing.

One of the flank riders rode up yelling, "Shoot the horses!" And immediately did just that. The pony crumpled and its rider was launched through the air, landing head first on the rocky bank. Two of the steers collapsed from rifle fire and the herd began jostling dangerously about."Drive them forward, fast!" The flank rider yelled again, taking down another pony with success."I got it!" Downs shouted and began driving the herd ahead.

Charlie was shooting at everything. He had never shot anything before and the sight of his first hit left him frozen and gaping. The Indian stood and toppled from his pony, the hole in his neck spurting blood like a fountain."Don't stop, Handy!" His companion called. "They won't."More of the drovers arrived, whooping and blasting away and the raiding party scattered in retreat . . . some on foot."C'mon, no time to lollygag. Them steers are runnin' wild again."

********

Most of the day was lost recovering the herd and it was now split with some across the river and many more still waiting to cross. Two camps were set up and the decision was to wait until daylight again. There was a pause in the morning for the burial of two of the cowboys that died in the attack.

Nobody had even realized it until the bodies were found. The whole thing lasted maybe fifteen minutes and two men died. Grimes had graves dug and then read some words from a small worn book he stored inside his jacket.

"Okay, we've got cattle to move. Kinney," he called to his foreman, "pick another point man, Handy can ride drag alone again."

Charlie didn't care; he urged the steers on automatically, his mind absorbing the fact that it might just as easily have been him that got buried.

The rest of the drive went pretty smoothly. A rattlesnake bite that killed one steer and spooked another bit of a run that they managed to halt in a hurry and another that took an accidental but fatal poke from one of the longhorn's horns. The surroundings got busier the closer they came to the end and when they finally reached Abeline there was a huge sigh of relief.

The work wasn't done by any means, the cattle had to be counted and loaded onto the waiting cars for their journey east. The final tally was 1487 out of the original 2000, netting the owner roughly fifty-six thousand dollars, a loss for Grimes but still a huge profit from the two to three dollars a head in Texas.

The men followed their boss to the bank and jigged up and down as each man was called to a window to collect his share.

Downs stood alone outside counting his pay and looking defeated. Handy slapped him on the back and grinned. "Well, how you gonna spend that?"

'Carefully. I lost four dollars for each of those miserable slabs of beef lost in that stampede."

"He told you way back when, partner."

"Yeah . . . I know."

"C'mon, I'll buy you your first drink to celebrate even gettin' here."

********

Charlie decided to stay in Abeline and not return to Texas. Wild as it was, he had lost all stomach for cattle drives and after the tragedy with Downs, he pretty much gave up on people too.

After wild, drinking and celebrating with more than obliging women, Downs joined a poker game hoping to make up the loss of his share of the drive. Three hands in he called out one of the players, accused him of cheating and an instant later was shot dead.

Nothing was done about it. The last of his friend's money covered his coffin and burial.

Today, Charlie just sits on the saloon porch regaling young kids with his wild tales of cattle and Indians.

A/N: According to word it is 2000 words including title.