Page 96 of Conveniently Wed
Ricky got close enough to take a look and shouted back to him, waving his hat.
That was either good or bad.
Edgar quit fighting the herd and spurred his horse.
He passed one of the rangy beasts. Another.
He kept going, even though his eyes blurred with emotion, and sweat poured into them and stung.
He kept pushing, because he had no choice.
An eternity passed, watching the backs of the steers, until he edged out in front. Looking to the side, Ricky had done the same.
There were two ways to stop a stampede. Wait for the cattle to tire themselves out, or get out in front and lead them in a circle.
Edgar and Ricky signaled each other and started turning the herd back to the south. It took time.
Time they didn’t have.
But the other choice was to let the cattle run and possibly hurt themselves, possibly damage homes or other people who might be out on the prairie.
Soon Matty, John and Chester joined them, pushing the cattle into a tighter and tighter circle, until they didn’t have anywhere else to go and had to stop in a tight bunch.
Edgar took off his hat, waving it in front of his face to cool the sweat from his brow. Ricky untied a handkerchief from around his neck and mopped his face.
“You all right?” Ricky asked. “Thought you were a goner. Nasty spill you took.”
“You fell?” Matty asked.
Edgar rolled his shoulders. “I’ll be sore in the morning. What about the girls?”
Ricky shrugged, mouth tight. “Wagon was smashed to bits by the time I got there.”
Heart thundering, Edgar wheeled his horse. He trusted the other cowboys to take care of the cattle. He had to see for himself what had happened to the girls.
Ricky and Matty trailed him.
“What of Seb?” Edgar called over his shoulder.
“Dunno. He was on last watch with the girls. Didn’t see him with the cattle, either.”
Edgar hopped off his horse even before they’d reached the wagon. Ricky was right—the wagon was crushed. One side had been completely obliterated; the other was in large pieces. Remains of food were mixed with grass and mud.
There was no sign of the girls.
Heart in his throat, Edgar turned over the largest piece of the wagon—part of the bottom panel. He was afraid of what he would find beneath, but only found hoofprints and smashed grass. No blood.
“They’re not here,” he said. “They’re not here.” Repeating the words sent a wave of relief spiraling through him. Sharp and painful and joyful enough to cover his eyes with the sheen of tears.
Fran was still alive. Somewhere.
“You all right? You got pale all of a sudden,” Matty observed.
“Yeah.” He turned in a circle, scanning the horizon. “Any sign of the draft horses?”
Ricky took a turn looking around. “I haven’t seen ’em since last night when they were tied by the wagon. What’re you thinking?”
“The girls have got to be somewhere,” he said. “Either they got on the horses and escaped?—”
