THE SHEEP-WAR
If Grimes had thought to win a bloodless victory and take over
Maverick Basin for his sheep he was brought back to earth by that
first rifle-shot, which had struck down his boldest _caporal_. And
the fusillade which followed, killing his sheep by the hundreds and
scattering them across the plain, showed the presence of an enemy as
ruthless as himself and as determined to play a bold hand. No, it was
too rich a prize to be given up lightly and the Scarboroughs were
fighting to win. For an hour, while Grimes raged about in the distance
and cursed his cowering herders, the rifle-shots continued and the
sorely harried sheep went down until there were no more to kill. It was
a slaughter of the innocents, but each sheep that went down sent a pang
through Grimes' hard heart.
The position of the Scarboroughs, behind the bank of the low creek-bed
which meandered across the plain, was impregnable from every side; and
even after dark Grimes was afraid to venture out, lest he walk into
yet another ambush. They were playing his own game--the way he had
often played it when rash cowboys had charged down on his camp--and
after gathering a few strays he was compelled to retreat, taking his
much-vaunted Mexicans with him. Out of three thousand sheep he did not
have fifty left; and his fighting _caporal_ lay dead on the plain, shot
down by a cowman's bullet.
But Grimes had made his boast that he would "show" the Scarboroughs,
and the next morning early he came riding down the creek bed at
the head of more than twenty armed Mexicans. They were ferocious
looking creatures, each armed with a rifle and a pair of forty-five
six-shooters, and as they rode past the house they charged the Bassett
dogs and put them to flight with their ropes. Then they galloped on,
laughing, to join Grimes and the rest, who had dismounted and tied
their mules in the brush.
The Bassetts watched them through loop-holes, not without muttered
curses for the bravos who had lashed their pet hounds; but when they
saw the Mexicans start up a stream-bed to the west they paused and
reserved their judgment. It was the mouth of that same wash which had
sheltered the ambushed Scarboroughs when they had shot down the herder
and his sheep, and if the Scarboroughs were still there--they waited
in tense silence, but no battle sprang up on the plain. All was quiet
and still, and at last Grimes himself walked out to the body of his
_caporal_. The Mexicans followed after him, they carried the body back;
and then for a long time not a head was seen above the cut-bank of the
wash.
At the Rock House, far away, Hall could see through his glasses other
men looking on from the mound. The Scarboroughs were at home, their
horses caught and saddled, waiting to see what the next move would be.
The sun mounted higher and the Bassetts stepped forth, the better to
watch the grim drama; and then, from the north, there came the faint
_baaa_ of sheep--Grimes was throwing another herd into the Basin.
They came on at a trot, urged along from behind by herders and racing
dogs; and as the first band left the brush another followed behind
it, and after that a third. In long, bleating columns they strung out
across the plain, heading straight for the guarded creek; and while
the Scarboroughs ran to mount the bands swung to right and left and
were held close along its bank. All three of Grimes' herds were now
safely pastured in the very heart of the Basin; and he and his men were
between them and the Scarboroughs, securely hidden behind the cut-bank
of the wash. He came out into the open and held up his gun, but nobody
answered the challenge.
As the Scarboroughs, the day before, had been impregnable to assault,
so now Grimes held the upper hand; and, while his Mexican fighters
patrolled the dry stream-bed, the sheep mowed down the grass. They
were held in compact bands, each close to the creek, but as no one
moved against them they were allowed to spread out and the clamor of
their braying ceased. All was still in the Basin--as it had been before
when the first band had gone to its fate--and as the heat came on the
sheep huddled up together and slept in each other's shade. But the
Scarboroughs had disappeared, some riding south and some west, and that
was a bad sign for sheep.
At the log fort of the Bassetts they watched in patient silence, now
scanning the hilltops for any signs of riding men, now turning again
to the sheep. These had roused up from their drowsing and drifted out
across the grasslands, anxiously guarded by three pairs of crouching
herders; but if Grimes had hoped that the Texans would charge him he
was disappointed again. They were playing a waiting game, or planning
some new ambush which would mean fresh disaster to his sheep; and as
the afternoon wore on Grimes scouted about uneasily, finally returning
to mount his black mule. He started back towards his herds, then
changed his mind suddenly and galloped up to the Bassett door.
"What--hiding in the house?" he hailed in mock surprise. "You'll get
white from not seeing the sun. Or--well, I mean no disrespect, but
where is that man Sharps, that misdoubted I would ever win my point?
Will you look out there now and see my bands of sheep, feeding along
like the beauties they are? And where are the Scarboroughs that were
going to wipe me out if I dared to assert my rights?"
"They're hiding in the hills," answered Winchester grimly, "and you'd
better git off and come in."
"Ah, weel," laughed Grimes, "I see you're no great fighters or you'd
be in the hills yourselves. A man must come out boldly if he expects
to get his rights, but we all of us follow our own nature. And that
reminds me--how'd do, Mr. Hall--I'll be back for that ten-dollar hat!"
He turned his mule to go, looking back for the answer, and a bullet
struck the ground close behind him.
"Yes you will!" called out Bill, as the mule cringed his tail and
Grimes dropped down quickly with his gun. "Git around behind the house
or they'll tap you off sure--they're shooting from the top of that
hill!"
"The damned cowards!" cursed Grimes, suddenly jumping at a close shot
and dragging his mule by the head; but as he struggled to lead it off a
third bullet came that struck the poor animal dead.
"Come in here!" yelled Winchester, throwing open the door, but Grimes
had gone out of his head.
"Stay in there if you want to!" he shouted back defiantly, and started
on a run for the brush. It was a scant hundred feet to the edge of the
river-bottom, and as they watched him through the port-holes they saw
him gliding from tree to tree, vengefully stalking the slayer of his
mule. But it was far to the hilltop and before he had more than started
there was a shot from out on the plain. It was answered by another
and then by a fusillade, and once more the sheep broke and ran. Who
was shooting, and from where, it was impossible to say; but all the
herders were gone and the Mexicans along the stream-bed were firing off
their guns at random. The only thing that moved besides the rush of
frightened sheep was Grimes, running savagely up the wash.
From the shelter of their fort the Bassetts looked after him, and
Sharps grunted scornfully to himself. But no shower of bullets followed
the sheepman in his flight, he kept on and rejoined his frightened men;
and when their frantic shooting had been stilled by his boot, the old
silence fell again. Only the _skuff-skuff_ of myriad feet as the sheep
made a rush, then listened and rushed off again, broke the stillness
which hung over the plain; but when a hiding herder sprang up to turn
them back he went down before a single, distant shot. Then the Mexican
fusillade reopened and when it had been silenced the sheep were left
to their fate. From the hills far away plunging shots fell among them,
to add to their senseless panic; and each bullet seemed to explode,
throwing up dirt and tufts of grass, making the disaster more complete.
The bulk of the herd fled back up the broad canyon and took shelter in
the brush along the creek, but there once more the explosive bullets
fell among them and drove them into the hills. As dusk came on they
were scattered in small bunches, hiding close and then rushing in full
flight; and at dawn they still hid there, for Grimes' Mexicans had
deserted him, thinking of nothing but to save their own lives. Three
more of their number had gone down before the gun of that marksman who
never missed a shot; and in the night they fled north, leaving Grimes
to gather his sheep, or leave them to the wolves if he chose.