The Last Trail Drive by J. Roberts Page B

each.
    â€œThanks, Spud,” Flood said.
    â€œSure, Boss.”
    Spud walked off with the pot and the jug.
    â€œDrink up,” Flood said to Clint.
    â€œYou thinking if I’m drunk enough I won’t be mad at you when you tell me?” Clint asked.
    â€œTell me what?”
    â€œWhatever it is you’re going to tell me that needed whiskey.”
    â€œMaybe I needed the whiskey.”
    â€œWhoever needed it,” Clint said, “what’s going on, Hank?”

TWENTY-EIGHT
    â€œWhat makes you think there’s somethin’ I ain’t tellin’ you?” Flood asked.
    â€œBecause no matter how I look at it, it’d still be easy for somebody to stampede this herd,” Clint said. “Then they could pick off whatever men weren’t trampled. So there’s something else going on here, something other than keeping you from completing this drive.”
    Flood studied Clint for a moment, and then sipped his spiked coffee before speaking.
    â€œNo, it’s still about makin’ me fail,” Flood said, “but it’s got to look like I failed on my own. See, Morgan is lookin’ not only to stop me, but to humiliate me, too.”
    â€œThey could still cause a stampede,” Clint said. “It’s happened on a lot of drives.”
    â€œI know it,” Flood said. “And they still might try, but maybe they got a few other tricks up their sleeves, first.”
    â€œLike killing Trevor.”
    â€œYeah, like that.”
    Clint studied Flood, and then said, “Hank, I can’t help feeling like I’ve been suckered.”
    â€œMaybe ya have, just a little, Clint,” Flood said, “but damn it, I need you. Some of these men don’t care what my reputation is, but they’ll care about yours. They’ll do their jobs and maybe they won’t run off at the first sign of trouble for fear that you’ll go after them.”
    â€œSo I’m here just to scare them into working, huh?” Clint asked.
    â€œMaybe it started out that way,” Flood said, “but now I need you. With Trevor gone, I needed a man I could trust. I mean, really trust to get the job done. Even if . . .”
    â€œEven if what?”
    â€œEven if I don’t make it,” Flood said. “I don’t care what happens, Clint, this herd has to make it to Fort Laramie. You gotta promise me that.”
    â€œAll right, Hank,” Clint said. “I promise.”
    Clint looked out into the darkness, again.
    â€œOkay,” he said, “we’ll know more when Ryan gets back here tomorrow night. For now let’s just double up on night duty and tell the men to keep alert.”
    â€œKeep alert for what?” Flood asked.
    â€œThey don’t have to know that,” Clint said. “We’ll just tell ’em to do their jobs.”
    Â 
    Two of the six men who were riding with Santiago Jones for his boss, Larry Morgan, sat by their fire drinking coffee and looking at Jones, who was sitting off by himself, as he usually did.
    â€œSo, what’s his story?” Zeke Sterling asked.
    â€œWhataya mean?” Chris Dawkins asked.
    â€œWell, they say he’s a half-breed.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo does that mean he’s part white, part Indian?” Zeke asked. “Or part white part Mexican?”
    Chris thought a moment, then said, “I dunno. Maybe he’s part Indian and part Mex. What’s the difference?”
    â€œI don’t like half-breeds,” Zeke said. “Can’t trust ’em to pick a side, ya know? Ya never know when they’ll turn on ya.”
    â€œWell, why don’t you go over there and ask ’im, then?” Chris asked. “Tell him you don’t like half-breeds and see what he does.”
    â€œAre you crazy?” Zeke said. “I don’t wanna get myself killed.”
    â€œThen keep yer trap shut,” Chris said. “Drink your