Stampede (Part 2)

As the vaqueros skirted the herd and the storm slowly dissipated, Abel surveyed the area where the animals had run wild. He saw two longhorns down. They’d been trampled by the other stampeding cows. In the distance he saw what he dreaded most. A horse lay on its side trying desperately to get up on a badly broken leg. Beside it, a Mexican boy lay motionless. He was the youngest of the cowboys and had celebrated his nineteenth birthday the day before they’d left.

Abel rode over and dismounted. The boy’s clothing and body were torn by the sharp hoofs and his head had been crushed.

The others gathered around and stood in silence clutching hats against their chests. They knew this kind of thing was a risk they’d all taken but seeing it become a reality was a shock to all of them.

Nobody spoke for a long moment. Abel looked down at the young man and suddenly thought about bodies of all the young men he’d seen on the battlefields during the war. It was never easy to bury a friend but it had to be done.

“Juan,” he said, sadness showing in his eyes. “You and Carlos dig a grave over there under that live oak. We’ll lay him to rest there.”

The two Mexicans nodded and walked toward the chuck wagon to get the shovel.

Abel said some words over the grave. Two of the men made a cross out of a couple of sturdy mesquite limbs and stuck it in the soft, muddy earth.

The storm was over as quickly as it had started. It had turned very cool and the sky was a brilliant blue as the dark clouds disappeared to the east.

Some of the cattle were lying in groups on high ground. The stampede had taken its toll. The night would be calm and the animals rested. Their fear was gone now and it was time to recover from what had seemed like hours but had actually only been a few minutes of furious activity.

The men sat around a campfire silently drinking coffee. The cook had butchered one of the fallen cows and there would be beef along with the beans tonight. Steaks sizzled on the fire for the evening meal.

It was only the second day out and they had faced a dangerous storm and a deadly stampede. They wondered what else lay ahead of them on this long drive.

Any critique from my Substack family will be appreciated. Was Mr Ortwein’s insult wrong?

Here's my hope:

That some English teacher out there will read this and, instead of doubting and crushing a student's dream, help the young author gain confidence.

That some young, aspiring author will learn to take rejection and insults as a reason to work harder and persist in order to gain the confidence necessary to succeed.