Clair Huffaker: The Cowboy and the Cossack

Either way, I didn’t feel up to watching, so I started to turn back to Kirdyaga.

And in that instant a whole lot happened. A gun roared and I jerked around to see an impossible sight. The Tartar had lunged to his feet and toward Rostov with his knife. Rostov’s bullet caught him dead center and nearly point blank, and the Tartar was thrown back to the ground, the knife flying from his hand. In that same instant Shad had his gun out too, but he didn’t have to use it.

Finally, as the two men slowly put their guns back, I muttered in a stunned voice, “Jesus Christ! He was dead !”

“Not quite,” Rostov said.

And that closed the subject. But since a rattler has been known to kill a man with its head completely cut off, that snake comparison sure came unforgettably back to mind.

Slim had stayed near Kirdyaga, and as we now gathered back around him, Slim asked, “What’d that hardcase have t’ say, Captain?”

Rostov knelt beside Kirdyaga. “First, he congratulated us on killing all of his group.”

Kirdyaga was breathing better by now, and Slim said, “Hell, maybe we ain’t in too bad shape then. Nobody t’ carry no tales.”

Studying Rostov, Shad said, “There’s more.”

Rostov nodded grimly. “The Tartar knew he was dead. And he spoke to us as one dead man to other dead men. Riders are already on their way north to Genghis Kharlagawl.” He paused. “Within two weeks his army will be upon us.”

That hit hard, and we were silent for a long moment.

Finally Shad said quietly, “How many?”

“Over six hundred.”

Shad now kneeled down beside Kirdyaga and near Rostov. The giant cossack’s breathing was becoming deeper and more regular. “Glad this big bastard’s shapin’ up,” he said. “With them kinda odds, we’ll need all the help we c’n git.”

As Shad helped Rostov wrap the blankets closer around Kirdyaga, the two big men’s broad shoulders touched and you could almost see and feel a kind of invisible power between them.

We got Kirdyaga, still wrapped warmly, up onto his horse. When he was in the saddle he slumped weakly forward over his mount’s neck, clutching the mane in one feeble hand.

Then, with Slim and Nick each riding on one side to hold him aboard, we started at a fast clip back to camp.

WHEN WE were about half a mile from where the herd was bedded down, Old Keats and Igor rode swiftly out of the dark to meet us in the moonlit valley.

The sound of our gunfire had carried for miles through that cool, silent night and they’d heard the distant shots.

But from right up front not one word was said. They saw that we were all present and accounted for and that Kirdyaga was in a bad way. So without wasting time or slowing us down they edged out Slim and Nick to take over at holding Kirdyaga upright in the saddle, and we rode on silently past the sleeping herd to the two low-burning fires, where all the men except those on guard and on the herd were gathered. Every man here was geared for trouble too, guns and horses at hand, and ready to move out at any second to wherever fighting might start.

They all stood up as we rode in, silently taking stock of the situation. And some of them helped lift Kirdyaga from the saddle and lay him down near a fire for warmth.

Then, finally, Shad said, “There’s no immediate trouble b’hind us. But a lot of it’s on the way.”

A short distance from us, Rostov now started speaking in quiet Russian to his cossacks.

And Shad, building a smoke, told the Slash-Diamonders what had happened. He ended with the news of the oncoming Tartar army, and in the dead silence that followed he lit his smoke from the glowing coals of a half-burned branch in the fire.

After a while Crab said, “ Six hundred ?” Then he added with quiet sincerity, “That’s just too fuckin’ many , boss.”

“Hell,” Rufe grunted. “Might’s well be six thousand!”

“One thing,” I said, “from what we saw, they ain’t got one good gun among ’em.”

“Explain that t’ poor ol’ Kirdyaga,” Mushy growled.

Slim now spoke up. “’Nother thing. That there Tartar back yonder mighta been exaggeratin’. Or he mighta been plain lyin’ in his teeth t’ scare us.”

“Well as far as I’m concerned,” Crab grumbled, “he damn well succeeded.”

“Crab’s right,” Rufe said. “A fight’s one thing, but suicide’s another. It’s sure worth consideration t’ just haul ass out a’ here an’ leave ’em the herd.”

Shad stiffened very slightly at that suggestion and Old Keats noticed it. “If we all of us, cowboys an’ cossacks alike, felt that same way, it’d wind up with just Shad an’ Rostov drivin’ them five hundred cows all by themselves. Now wouldn’t leaving them all that work make you kind of ashamed of yourself, Rufe?”

But Rufe hung on. “I just said it’s worth our considerin’! If there’s that many, they’ll git the herd no matter what! So why not at least think about gettin’ out an’ savin’ our goddamned necks?”

“I’ll tell you somethin’, Rufe.” Slim took a bite off his plug and chewed slowly as he spoke. “Some of us tangled with them fellas t’night. An’ I c’n tell ya’ this about ’em. If we leave ’em the herd, they’ll come after us an’ kill us f’r our weapons. Leave ’em our weapons, an’ they’ll come after us an’ kill us f’r our horses. Leave ’em our horses, an’ they’ll come after us an’ kill us f’r our clothes.” He’d worked enough on the chew now to spit a charge into the fire, where it hissed briefly on the coals. “An’ if we fin’ly leave ’em our clothes, they’ll come after us an’ kill us f’r the pure damn sport of it.”

After a moment Old Keats said quietly, “We were all given our chance to pull out before Khabarovsk. But we’re too deep in now, and that chance just isn’t there anymore.”

Shiny nodded. “This ain’t the U.S.A., an’ there ain’t no safe train t’ Denver.”

“Hell,” Big Yawn grunted. “I’d ruther fight ’em doin’ m’ job than fight ’em runnin’ away.”

We all thought on that, and then Sammy the Kid ventured quietly, “B’sides, I’d hate t’ think a’ them cossacks havin’ t’ go it by themselves.”

Though it hadn’t come up until now, we all felt the same way, and that seemed to sum it up, for no one else said anything.

After a moment, Shad took one last drag on his smoke and tossed it into the fire. “I’m sure glad you fellas ironed our problem out all by yourselves.” He tried to make it sort of sound like he was kidding, but he wasn’t. And then he turned, kind of abruptly, and walked over to where Rostov had been talking to his men.

After a while the two of them came back over to us and Shad said, “Two things. One, Rostov’s sending a rider on ahead to Bakaskaya. By going like a bat out a’ hell, he can get help to us by about the same time that Kharlagawl catches up.”

“How much help?” Purse asked.

“Probably about five hundred men,” Rostov said. “They should be able to afford that many without leaving the town itself dangerously unprotected.”

“Christ,” Slim said, “that’s the only good news we’ve ever got in Russia.”

“They should join us about halfway between here and Bakaskaya,” Rostov continued. “Eight, perhaps nine days from now.”

“Which leads t’ point two,” Shad said. “We’re gonna drive that herd like a sonofabitch. Once we’re out a’ these mountains, it’ll be pretty clear goin’, so we’ll be pushin’ them hard as hell, night an’ day.”

We were all starting to feel a lot better about everything, and Natcho flashed that brilliant smile of his. “Excellent,” he said. “The herd has been getting fat and lazy anyway.”