“You’re up for watch.” Exhaustion dragged at the man’s voice. Luke stirred and saw that Griff had already roused McCann, who stumbled toward the remuda with an unsteady step. “I’m up,” he said. “Go to bed.” “G’night, boss.” Vic stumbled off and collapsed, clothes and all, onto his bedroll. Luke tried to shake off sleep, and when he failed, walked on unsteady feet toward the campfire. McCann had left a row of clean tin mugs on the grass outside the fire ring, and the coffee pot rested on a flat rock set near enough to keep the contents warm. He poured himself a generous swig and downed it. The heat scalded his throat, and he took in draughts of cool air as he awaited the caffeine jolt. Night lay quiet over the herd. He scanned the sleeping cattle for any signs of restless movement and found none. They had drawn close together before bedding down for the night, which would make his job easier in the morning. They would rise as one and be ready to hit the trail probably sooner than his tired men wanted.
