ON THE TRAIL
After breakfast the following morning Ridley and his companion saddled
their horses to ride back to Highbank, where they would wait for the
trail boss. As they finished cinching up, Big Tom strolled into the
corral and smilingly watched them.
"I suppose you want Mac to bring you a check, as usual?" queried
Ridley, swinging into the saddle.
"This is th' one time I'd rather have cash," replied the foreman. "With
cash, in th' next week, I can make a quick turnover."
"Cash it is," said Ridley. "Gold or bills?"
"Make it bills," answered Big Tom. "I'm glad I met you boys--come
up again next year. If yo're lookin' for good cattle then I'll have
plenty."
"Then I reckon we'll be here. So-long."
"So-long," replied the foreman, watching them ride away. As they
dropped from sight over a rise he smiled cynically and went back to
the ranchhouse. Pausing at the door, he looked out over the range in
the direction of the northwest section and the Double X, and slowly
turned his head, his gaze passing along the horizon, behind which lay
Gunsight, Green Valley, and the SV ranchhouse.
"I said it easy," he growled. "_Me_ throw over a couple of hundred head
of mavericks to Arnold, an' split up th' rest four ways? It makes me
laugh! An' when I hit Nelson he'll wonder what kind of brains he really
_has_ got. There's a jolt comin' to this section, an' it'll be Big Tom
that springs it. About one week more an' _I_ play _my_ hand!"
Four days passed and then, in the afternoon of the fifth a great dust
cloud appeared far down the Highbank trail. Fraser discovered it and
called Big Tom from the ranchhouse. The foreman glanced south, told
the puncher to ride off and get the herd started, and then hurried to
his horse, sprang into the saddle, and rode toward McCullough's sign.
He had hardly more than gained the regular trail when he saw seven men
riding toward him at a good pace, and no second glance was needed to
identify the one who rode in the middle and slightly ahead.
The trail boss was a character to demand attention wherever he might
be. Over the medium height, he was so heavily and solidly built that
he appeared to be well under it when standing alone; he had the
barrel-like chest that stands for strength, and his sloping shoulders
were a little rounded from a careless saddle seat of many years. His
rugged face was brown, the skin tough as parchment, and the faded blue
eyes peered out in a direct, unwavering gaze between lids narrowed
by the suns and winds, rains and dusts of a life spent in the open.
His head was massive and the iron-gray hair, falling almost to his
shoulders, gave it a leonine appearance. He wore no chaps, for his
riding took him into few thickets and there was no reason for him to
bear their discomforts. His clothing was simple and loose: black,
heavy, woolen trousers thrust into soft, high boots with moderate
heels, and bearing no spurs, for he depended on his quirt; a blade,
woolen vest, buttoned at the bottom, from an upper pocket of which
protruded the well-chewed stem of a pipe; a heavy, faded, blue flannel
shirt, open over the bronzed, hairy chest and throat; a faded blue
kerchief, knotted loosely about his neck; a heavy, gray sombrero,
moderate in height of crown, but with a wide brim. He rode a Cheyenne
saddle, devoid of ornamentation, its housings covering the horse
from rump to withers, and the reins of the bridle, contrary to the
prevailing fashion of that southern range at that time, were short. A
.44 Winchester lay in its sheath under his right leg; a braided hair
lariat was coiled at the pommel; a heavy, plain six-shooter rested
in an open holster; and behind him was rolled the everlasting yellow
slicker. He rode a magnificent bay horse whose spirit was shown in
every movement, and which would follow him about like a dog. Over all
was dust, gray, thick, impalpable dust.
"Hello, Huff!" he bellowed. "Come down to see if I got lost? Join up
with us; I'm figgerin' that Triangle herd may be up at this end of th'
crick, an' if it is, it's got to move. Them long-laigged cattle of mine
ain't had a drink since yesterday mornin', an' they'll shore rush that
crick. We'll have some cuttin' out to do if th' other herd is in their
path. How 'bout it?"
"You can pull up, then," replied Big Tom. "They're well to th' south of
th' bunkhouse--you got plenty of room for ten times that little bunch
yo're so peart about I heard they are th' leavin's of four Greaser
ranches."
"Glad to learn they ain't there," said McCullough.
"They're such leavin's an' scourin's," smiled one of his companions,
"that I'm advisin' Mac to double th' night guard while he's within'
forty miles of this bunch of ranches."
"We'll count that Triangle bunch right away," said the trail boss.
"Where's yourn?"
"It's on its way," answered Big Tom. "It'll be on hand soon enough.
Goin' to count that, too, tonight?"
"Shore. An' throw 'em together, an' bed down on Clear River, so we can
get a two-hour jump-off in th' mornin'. Is th' Double X holdin' its
bunch in th' same old place?"
"I reckon so," replied Big Tom, and soon they passed the Triangle
ranchhouse, where Hank Lewis rode forth to join them.
"Get yore boys, Lewis," shouted the trail boss. "We'll count that herd
right away."
"They're with it now," replied Lewis, as he drew nearer. "Glad you
brought some of yore boys along--I'm short-handed for quick work."
It was not long before they reached the herd and it was slowly crowded
into a more compact mass, and became wedge-shaped. McCullough, one of
his men, and the two foremen stopped before the point, the trail boss
and Huff on one side, the others not far away and facing them. The herd
started slowly forward, narrowing to an animated ribbon which flowed
between the two pairs of counters and kept them busy. McCullough and
Lewis counted on knotted strings fastened to their pommels, Huff used
his fingers to check off the tally, fifty head to each digit, while
the fourth man threw a coil of his rope over the pommel of his saddle
at each hundred. The counting was finished well under ten minutes and
the results compared. Lewis said five hundred and five, the other three
announcing five hundred and six.
The Triangle foreman laughed. "Here is where I get paid for a missin'
cow."
"Three to one bein' good enough for me," replied the trail boss,
grinning, "I says you do. It's worth that to see you again; an' what's
a cow between friends?" He turned in his saddle. "You might move 'em
up closer to th' trail, boys," he shouted, and added with a chuckle,
"they'll disappear when my long-laigs come along."
His prediction was justified, for the long-legs, having run the last
mile or two with the scent of water in their red nostrils, poured into
the creek and soaked themselves inside and out. By the time McCullough
and his group reached the scene, the Bar H herd was crossing the trail.
The counting was gone over again, the tallies agreeing to a single cow,
and the Bar H herd was allowed to join the strangers along the creek.
In due time the enlarged herd was thrown back on the trail, and when
the Triangle five hundred joined it they were, indeed, swallowed up.
The trail boss and Big Tom rode off to the Triangle ranchhouse, figured
for a moment and then exchanged cash for a receipt. The foreman shoved
the bills into his pockets and went with McCullough back to the herd,
picked up the squad, and had the Double X contingent counted before the
trail herd reached the river.
As the herd came along it made a fine sight for a cowman to look upon,
the cattle strung out for three-quarters of a mile in length and spread
well out on both sides of the trail, well watered and fed, and making
under these conditions four miles an hour. The chuck wagon, drawn by
four mules, rolled far ahead of it, the caviya of a hundred and thirty
saddle horses to one side and also ahead. Each of the two point men
was followed by four swing men, five to a side, and they had nothing
to do now but look out for stragglers and to keep local cattle from
joining the invading host. The bed ground was well chosen and the night
promised to be a good one, notwithstanding that clouds were forming and
the moon would be more or less obscured.
After the Double X contingent had joined their trail mates for the
long journey and the great herd had bedded down, half of the trail
outfit, together with the punchers from the ranches, headed for town,
McCullough electing to remain with the herd. Big Tom and Lewis shook
hands with him and returned to their ranchhouses, riding together part
of the way.
Just before they separated Lewis looked up. "I heard that Arnold was
ridin' today--one of th' Double X boys met him at th' trail. I reckon
it must feel good to be in th' saddle again after such a long siege in
bed."
"I'm bettin' it does," smiled Big Tom. "I had a dose of it when I was a
young man, an' once is shore a-plenty."
"He must think so, for he's aimin' to ride to town every day, an'
spend some of his time gettin' acquainted with Dave an' his friends.
Well, I'm leavin' you here. Good night."
"Good night," replied Big Tom, riding on with a sinister smile on his
face.
The following morning was cloudy, which suited the Bar H foreman,
who had a long ride ahead of him. He opened the south door of the
ranchhouse, looked out and caught sight of a movement near the
right-hand corner. A full-grown rattler was crawling slowly across a
sand patch, and the foreman watched it idly. Then he grinned.
"Wonder how good my gunplay is these days?" he muttered, and his Colt
leaped from its holster and roared. The snake writhed swiftly into an
agonized coil, its flat head moving back and forth, its tongue darting
angrily, and its rattles buzzing steadily. Huff growled at himself
and fired again. The flattened, venomous head sank down, twisting and
turning on the writhing coils.
"H--l!" growled the marksman, walking slowly forward for a closer
look, which showed him that his last shot had cut through the vertebra
and half of one side of the neck. It was good enough, and he turned
and walked along the side of the house. Passing a window, he suddenly
stopped and looked closely at the ground just under its sill, where
boot prints were plainly visible. Before doing anything else he
reloaded his gun, and then followed the prints with his eyes until
the corner of the house cut them from sight. He stepped back until
he could see the bunkhouse door to learn if anyone was coming up to
investigate the shots, and his gaze followed the prints straight toward
it until they became lost on harder ground. No one being curious about
the shooting, he went back to the window and peered in. He could see
nothing because of the curtain, and had about decided that he had
enjoyed secrecy the night before, when a sudden thought struck him.
The interior, being dark now, was not right for a test, and he went
around to the door, opened it, threw up the other shades, and hastily
returned to the window, where he smothered a curse as a small hole in
the curtain let him see quite plainly. Again returning to the house,
he closed the door and slipped his extra Colt into the waist-band of
his trousers, where one side of his open vest covered it, put on his
coat and, going out the rear door, sauntered toward the bunkhouse, his
eyes finding and losing the boot marks as the trail passed over varying
ground. Before he reached the house his four men emerged from it and
began the regular, humorous, morning wrangle as to preference in the
use of wash basin and towel. They grinned at his approach and he smiled
in return, his eyes missing nothing in their expressions, and it was
Fraser at whom he looked longest when he spoke.
"Throw my saddle on th' big bay, Bill," he smiled pleasantly. "I'm
goin' up to Sherman to fatten th' balance at th' bank. I may be back
tomorrow night, but if I hear of any cattle that can be got cheap I may
go on an' look 'em over. You boys have plenty of supplies, but if you
run short go up to Dailey. If he's got any cigars, get a box--I reckon
we can afford that much of a celebration, in view of that herd. But
don't drink too much. You know why."
Fraser got the saddle from the storeroom and went out to put it on the
foreman's best horse. As he came out of the door he nodded toward the
north. "There's Mac's sign already; he must 'a' passed around Gunsight.
He's well on his way."
The others looked at the faint thickening in the air beyond the town
and past the east end of Pine Mountain, where the dust from four
thousand cattle rose heavenward.
"He's a wise bird, gettin' to th' crick last night," commented Carson.
"He's been movin' since dawn; an' I bet he's glad it's cloudy, with
that dry stretch ahead of him."
"Shucks!" snorted Dahlgren. "Thirty mile of dry trail ain't nothin'."
"Not much," admitted Carson; "but, still, it's better cloudy than
boilin' under th' sun."
"I reckon Mac ain't thinkin' as much about it bein' cloudy as I am,"
smiled the foreman, turning to take the horse Fraser was leading to
him. He had asked Fraser to get and saddle his horse in the hope that
the puncher would stand on his dignity and, perhaps, provoke a quarrel,
out of which anything might come; but Fraser paid no attention to the
request, unusual as it was, and grinned as he stepped back.
"It's fifty miles to Sherman, an' I'd ruther have it cloudy, all th'
way," smiled Big Tom, mounting. "Well, so-long, boys!" and he was off.
He chose the trail over Pine Mountain, not so much for its saving in
miles, but because it gave him a high, distant point from which to
look back over his trail, and it avoided the Doc's shack and Gunsight
as well. Reaching the top of the mountain, he turned and closely
scrutinized the trail, finding nothing to bother him; but he was
bothered, nevertheless, and he determined to pay as much attention
to the trail he covered as to that which lay before him. Setting out
again, he went well to the west of Gunsight and struck the Sherman
trail ten miles beyond the town.
* * * * *
Back on the Bar H, Fraser was thinking. He had been doing a lot of it
the last week, and he had not been alone in it. When his foreman had
ridden off he leaned against the door and watched him until he was
lost to sight. Dahlgren and Carney passed out, joked with him and went
to the corral, soon riding off to the south. Dick Carson passed out a
little later, paused, retraced his steps and leaned against the other
door jamb.
"Wonder if yo're thinkin' th' same as me?" he quietly asked.
Fraser looked at him closely. "I don't know; _I_'m thinkin' of a
gamble," he replied, hooking a thumb in an armhole of his vest.
"Shore; so am I," nodded Carson, carelessly. "This here range is shot
full of holes, for us."
"It is," admitted Fraser. "We been driftin' them mavericks for three
years--an' now they're goin' to be throwed back, branded, an' th' rest
cut four ways. How are we goin' to stop it?"
"I'm figgerin' on driftin' myself; but I hate to drift alone, an'
empty-handed," growled Carson. "I come down here to work for Huff, for
fifty a month, an' pickin's. I've been gettin' th' fifty--but there
won't be no pickin's, less'n I run some off with me. I'm tired of this
blasted country, anyhow. Why, I'd ruther take chances, like Nevada,
than go on this way down here. H--l!" he snorted in angry disgust. "I'm
sayin' I fair itches to gamble," he added.
Fraser shifted to a more comfortable position.
"What do you think th' boss has got in his pockets right now?" he
asked, cynically.
"A big, fat check, that won't do him nor us any good," replied Carson.
"Check!" Fraser laughed sarcastically. "Check? He allus used to have a
check, after delivery; but he ain't got one now. He's got bills, wads
an' wads of bills. Quite some over six thousand, I reckon, in bills.
I saw his pockets bulgin', an' I wondered why he didn't take a check,
same as usual. I wanted to make shore, so I did some scoutin' up around
th' ranchhouse last night--I _saw_ 'em. Wads, an' wads. I was shore
tempted."
Carson was looking off toward Pine Mountain, an evil expression on his
face, and he moved restlessly. "There's only one reason for that," he
muttered, and turned to his companion. "Are you still thinkin' of a
gamble?" he demanded, all thought of cattle out of his mind. "Th' herd
money is shore worth while--what you say about it?"
"I was sort of turnin' it over in my head," Fraser admitted "It's a
lot of money; a powerful lot of money for one man to tote."
"It'll still be a lot of money if it's split in two," suggested Carson.
"Do you figger he's goin' to bank it? All that cash? Why didn't he take
a check? Why did he change, just when things was gettin' worse down
here all th' time?"
"I don't know; but he's allus been purty white to me."
"Has he been three thousand dollars' worth?" asked Carson, smiling
evilly. "I'm figgerin' he's lettin' us hold th' sack, that's what _I_'m
figgerin'. An' if he don't come back, who's goin' to sign checks for
our pay? We're losin' our share of all them mavericks. There won't be
no nice bunch of cattle goin' up th' trail for us fellers, not now. But
there's one whoppin' big bunch of _cash_ goin' up a trail for us, if we
go after it. How's yore nerve? What's th' use of playin' for buttons,
when there's _bills_ to be had?"
"If I reckoned he was goin' to bank that money I wouldn't touch it, not
if I was shore he was comin' back to stick with th' ranch," muttered
Fraser. "But I reckon he's throwed us down. I reckon we're holdin' th'
sack, all right. An' if he aims to keep it, then we has as much right
to it as he has. Cuss him! he's chicken-livered! Come on: I'm with
you," and he led the way into the house to get some of his personal
belongings.
"He's got a start on us, an' a cussed good hoss," growled Carson as
they hastened to the corral. "We can't save nothin' by cuttin' across,
neither."
"No, we can't; but we can take a lead hoss apiece," said his companion,
"an' ride without carin' what happens to th' ones we start on. He won't
be pushin' hard--he don't like hard ridin', he thinks too much of his
hoss, an' he ain't got no reason to be in any great hurry. He's serene
as a snake full of birds, chucklin' at how easy it is."
Down on the southern part of the ranch, in a draw, there was another
conference, where Dahlgren and Carney also were mourning the deplorable
state of affairs on the range.
"Three years' work gone to blazes," grumbled Little Tom, resentfully.
"I'm near on th' prod."
"Gettin' near on th' prod ain't worth nothin'," replied Dahlgren. "It's
gettin' on one, a good one, an' stayin' with it, that counts. I figgers
we still got a lot of interest in them mavericks, an' I'm dead shore
there ain't nobody watchin' 'em this side of th' Double X line."
"There's a lot of 'em away south of there," said Carney. "There's a
couple of herds hang out closer to th' water hole in West Arroyo. I've
seen 'em often when I rode that way. We could round up near three
hundred, hold 'em in that blind canyon till evenin', an' then run th'
whole bunch over th' Double X southwest corner an' get 'em well away
tonight. It's cloudy, an' there won't be much moon showin'--just enough
light to see what we're doin', an' not enough to show us up for any
distance. Th' four of us can swing that herd in bang-up style--an' Big
Tom won't never catch us, once we get into th' Snake Buttes country.
An' what's more, I know where unmarked cattle can be sold, with no
questions an' at a fair price. Th' game's up for us, down here, anyhow."
"You aimin' to let them two in on this?"
"I'd ruther let 'em in on it, an' swing more cattle, than have 'em
trailin' us tomorrow. An' four ain't too many for drivin' through th'
Buttes."
"I don't like splittin' 'em four ways," growled Dahlgren, but he
grudgingly gave his consent "All right. Go up an' feel 'em out, while
I start roundin' up. Don't give nothin' away before you know how they
feel about it."
"I'm off. They wasn't goin' to ride out till late, an' mebby I'll catch
'em at th' house," and Carney was off like a shot. He was not gone
long, and when he returned he spread out his hands expressively.
"They've pulled their stakes, I reckon," he reported. "Their blankets
an' 'most everythin' they owned, of any account, was gone. My extra gun
is missin', an' our stuff is spread all over th' place. I rustled some
supplies, an' found they had been there, too. Let 'em go!"
"Cussed glad of it; now it's halves, instead of fourths," replied
Dahlgren, cheerfully. "Come on; let's push this work. Don't get any
more branded cattle than you can help; but we ain't goin' to waste no
time cuttin' any out."
Up on the Sherman trail Big Tom was swinging along within ten miles
of town when, passing a particularly high, abrupt hill, he turned
out, rode along it and, dismounting, went up on foot until he could
peer across the top of it. He did not have long to wait, for soon
two horsemen appeared far back on the trail, where it crossed a wide,
open space. Going back to his horse, he led it into a thicket and tied
it to a bush, took his rifle and returned to the hill top, where he
chose cover close to the bank at the trail's edge, and settled down
comfortably to wait.
As the two riders drew nearer he recognized them by their ensemble, and
by the way they sat their saddles, and it was not long before he could
make out details. They were riding hard, both keenly alert, peering
along the trail ahead of them. Nearer and nearer they came, pushing
ahead at a fast, hard pace, eager to overtake him before he reached the
town. Sweeping past the steep bank, they shot around a bend and went on.
Big Tom watched them until they had passed from sight, and then arose
and nodded. "It's a good thing for you that you missed me!" he growled.
"I hate to lose th' pay-roll money; but what's got to be done has got
to be done. My interest in Sherman has plumb faded. Now for a smash at
Nelson that'll hurt him to his dyin' day, d--n him!"
* * * * *
Darkness had fallen on the range and the night riders of the west
section of the Double X were Slim Hawkes, Tom Wilkes, and Cimarron, who
had the first shift. They were back on the old three-shift plan and
would be off duty at half-past eleven. Cimarron had ridden south and
had reached the end of his beat, the north side of a shallow arroyo.
He softly gave the night's signal and, receiving no reply, decided to
wait for a while, for Slim was due to reach and stop at the other side
of the arroyo at any minute. He could faintly discern the outlines of
objects at quite a respectable distance and wondered how soon the moon
would break through the filmy clouds. Suddenly he listened closely
and thought he detected the noise made by a herd. Slime's signal came
faintly to him and he replied to it with a double one. In a few minutes
Slim loomed up out of the dark.
"Are you hearin' that, too?" asked Slim in a whisper.
"I am," replied Cimarron. "That's a herd, an' there's work for me an'
you. It's comin' up from th' south, bearin' a little west, I reckon.
How do you figger it?"
"West, bearin' a little north," answered Slim. "But it's shore comin'
_from_ our range, which is enough for us. I'm askin' no questions
tonight. Th' last time I sung out Nevada shot me up. I'm doin' my
talkin' tonight with my gun. An' I'm hopin' it's Nevada, personal: I
_owe_ him somethin'."
"Don't separate, or we'll mebby shoot each other," growled Cimarron.
"If we hit 'em from this side we'll mebby turn th' herd so it'll
stampede back where it belongs; an' if it does, th' fellers on th'
other side will have plenty to do for a couple of minutes, an' give us
a chance to get to 'em. It's closer. Are you ready?"
Slim loosened his left foot from the stirrup and then lay forward
along the neck of his horse, Cimarron doing likewise; and then the two
animals moved forward at a walk, innocent of any silhouetted figures
sticking up in the saddles. Louder and louder grew the sound and soon
the two clinging riders could plainly distinguish the rattle of horns
from the hoofbeats. A few minutes more, and then a mounted figure
became vaguely outlined. The herd was being moved at a walk, possibly
to avoid greater noise until it was well across the Double X line, and
now its bulk could be guessed at.
The herder leaned forward suddenly to scrutinize two moving blots he
barely could make out against a rise of ground behind them, and the
movement was the beginning of the end, for him. A sudden stream of fire
poured from the left-hand blot and he slid from his saddle without a
sound. The blots let out yells and dashed for the front ranks of the
herd, which wheeled like a flash and thundered across the range over a
course at right angles to the one which they had been following. The
two night guards spurred towards the place where they hoped to come
in contact with other rustlers, but found no one to oppose them, and
they then set out to follow the herd. Far ahead of them they saw two
flashes, followed at certain, agreed-upon intervals by another and then
a fourth. Cimarron fired once, counted twelve and then sent two more
shots into the air as close together as he could make them, which left
nothing to be desired on that score. When he and Slim neared the herd
again the moon shone down faintly and let them see what they were doing.
"Where'd you get 'em?" yelled Matt Webb. "There ain't a brand on 'em,
that I can see; an' I can see plain enough for that."
"Where do you suppose we got 'em?" retorted Cimarron, "from Europe?" He
rode at one end of the front rank and had the satisfaction of seeing
it falter.
"I see a Bar H mark!" shouted Rich Morgan. "An' they're stoppin', thank
th' Lord!"
In another ten minutes the herd started milling and soon afterward
became sensible.
"I say we have been made a present of some of Huff's pets," chuckled
Rich. "He says mavericks take title from th' ranch they're on; an' I'm
gamblin' these are on th' Double X!"
"If they was ours I'd say to let 'em wander," spoke up Cimarron.
"Seein' as they ain't, I reckon it'll save a lot of work if we beds 'em
down an' keeps 'em together. I'll go on in an' let Lin know, so he can
turn out th' off shift. We shot somebody out near that dividin' arroyo
between Slim's section an' mine; you might take a look out that way.
Slim's hopin' it was Nevada; but I'm sayin' mebby he'll be surprised
when he finds out who it is."
"I'm guessin' right about th' outfit he belongs to, anyhow," replied
Slim. "An' I'm not goin' in till I sees which one he is. Comin', Matt?
I'll ride out with you."
Leaving Cimarron to go to the bunkhouse for the off shift, Slim and
Matt rode rapidly toward the scene of the fight, and when they reached
it they saw a figure on the ground. Dismounting they bent over it, and
then looked at each other.
"Dahlgren!" breathed Slim.
Matt nodded. "They wasn't waitin' for their mavericks to be split
four ways," he said, covering the upturned face with the dead man's
sombrero. "They was stealin' a march on Big Tom while he is up in
Sherman. Well, anyhow, he was on th' rustle--an' there ain't no harm
done. Go on in, an' get yore sleep. As to th' herd, I reckon Arnold has
got th' best title to it--but that's for Lin to say. If he does throw
'em over to th' SV it'll save Big Tom th' shame of doin' it hisself.
Good night."