by C. J. Petit
He was sweaty, dirty, and covered with sawdust when he finished. He’d head up to the creek and maybe dig out a small pond. He grabbed a pickaxe and spade.
He looked at the shadows on the ground and thought the time was around two o’clock. He returned to the bunkhouse and grabbed his saddlebags. He had his change of clothes inside as well as his lone bar of pumice soap.
Gus began walking toward the creek. He passed the pond and followed the creek even farther north. He finally found a nice spot where the creek had a bit of a hook. He put his saddlebags down and took up the pickaxe. He viciously attacked the area adjoining the creek, leaving a small dam. He didn’t need it too deep, but he got carried away a bit. He just kept at it with the pickaxe and then the spade. He tossed the rocks he found into the creek for washing. It took almost two hours before he was happy with the size of the pond. It was about nine feet across and four feet deep. As he had been shoveling out the earth, he had been dumping it in a circle around the pond to keep out annoying beef critters that would foul the water. He climbed out of the hole and began tossing the clean rocks into the new pool. Gus climbed back into the hole and spread the rocks across the bottom.
Time to get the water flowing into the pool. He broke the dam, and water rushed in. For a few minutes, the creek was reduced to a trickle as the water filled the pool. It was a bit muddy at first, but he knew it would settle shortly. While he was waiting, he began forming the mounds of dirt into a crude earthwork wall. He left a narrow gap for his use. It was done. He was exhausted, but it was worth it to him. He looked around to make sure no one was around and stripped off his filthy clothes. He looked at the clearing water and dove in.
It was perfect. The water was cool, but not cold. It was refreshing. He swam over to the edge and took his bar of soap out of his saddlebag. He began scrubbing. He closed his eyes and scrubbed his hair and then submerged into the pool. He surfaced and put the soap on the saddlebags before stepping out via the creek and stepping around the wall to his saddlebags again. He quickly dressed and put on his boots. He took a few minutes to scrub out his hideously dirty shirt and pants in the creek. After rinsing them, he wrung them dry and walked back to his saddlebags. He threw the bags over his shoulder and grabbed the pickaxe and spade. He balanced them on his other shoulder and headed back.
He was almost there when he noticed a pair of riders coming down the access road. He couldn’t make them out with the setting sun behind them. He started trotting faster after dropping the pickaxe and shovel. He crossed in front of the barn and ran into the bunkhouse. He strapped on his Colt and levered a round into the Winchester. He grabbed his Stetson and pulled it on. Why he felt he needed his hat was a mystery, but that didn’t matter.
He walked back outside and watched the riders approach. Gus didn’t recognize either one. He stepped forward as they neared the house. The one on the left was an older man, almost as old as Eli, but much heavier, and he had a full head of white hair. The other was about thirty, tall, thin, and dark haired. Both men wore side arms.
“What can I do for you fellas?” he asked loudly.
They had seen Gus walking out as they got within a hundred yards of the house and had no idea who he was.
“Who are you? We came to see Aronson.”
Gus picked up the attitude right quick. He heard the front door open. Gus kept his eye on the two of them. Both had their hammer loops on, so they were no threat that the Winchester couldn’t handle.
The older one’s eyes snapped up to the house. The younger man kept his face toward Gus.
“Aronson, you’ve been letting your cattle graze on my grass. I found where you had cut the fence and then let them eat on Slash M pastures. You’re heading for trouble, Aronson.”
Before Eli could answer, Gus spoke up.
“Mister, I have no idea who you are, but you are dead wrong about Eli’s cattle grazing anywhere but his land.”
“The name is Miles, Joe Miles. I own the Slash M, the next property over. And who the hell are you to tell me that I’m wrong?”
“Name’s Gus Matthews. I’m just a cowhand with obviously more experience with the critters than you and your man put together. You know that cows don’t wander if they have grass and water nearby. There’s plenty here for the few that Eli has left, a hundred sixty-seven head. I found that the wire had been cut on the northwest corner leading onto your property. I don’t know who did it, but it was done about a week ago. Forty-five head were stolen from the Star A and moved across your property and, if you look, you’ll still be able to see the tracks running right alongside the wire all the way to the railroad stockyards. Turns out they were shipped out to Kansas City a week ago. Luckily, I was able to ensure that Mr. Aronson was fairly compensated.”
“Are you accusing me of rustling, mister? That’s a pretty serious charge,” he bristled.
“You didn’t hear me accuse you of rustling or anything else. I’m telling you what I found. Now, it may have been a couple of your boys that did it on their own or a couple of strangers, I don’t know. But for you to ride in here and threaten Eli takes some amount of chutzpah. Now, I’d suggest that you ride back to your ranch and check out what I said. If you have a couple of hands that seem to have a lot more spending money than they did before, I’d sure want to talk to them if I were you. But if nothing else, I think you should go and check out those tracks and see that you were wrong to accuse Eli. He’s a good man.”
The owner of the Slash M knew full well what had happened to the cattle. He didn’t think anyone else knew outside of his people. Who was this guy?
“I’ll look for myself. If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”
“I don’t lie, Mr. Miles. I think you should come back anyway and apologize to Mr. Aronson. You were pretty rude there. You could have just ridden up nice and peaceful and asked, ‘Mr. Aronson, we seem to have a problem with some of your cattle grazing on Slash M grass. Is this possible?’ But you rode in here accusing him of doing something wrong and not even using the common courtesy of calling him Mr. Aronson. I imagine you’d be right peeved if I called you Miles. Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s not the point. I’m leaving and going to check this out.”
He wheeled his horse around, and the foreman stayed two seconds longer, glaring at Gus before following his boss.
Gus turned to Eli and noticed that Rachel had witnessed the whole exchange from the doorway.
“That was interesting, Eli. Is he always like that?”
“To us, he is. I have no idea how he is with other folks. Come on in, Gus. Rachel has dinner almost ready.”
Gus followed, carrying his Winchester with him. Once he got inside, he leaned the Winchester against the doorjamb.
He followed Eli into the kitchen, lost in his thought. How long had Eli dealt with this kind of thing?
He sat down at the table, still mired in questions.
He barely heard Rachel talking to him until she was almost done.
“Oh, excuse me, Rachel. I missed that. What did you say?”
“I said that your hair seemed different.”
“I took a bath earlier. You’ve probably never seen it clean before. It might have had a few spiders living in there.”
She laughed. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Where did you take a bath? The tub in our room?”
“After fixing one of the stalls in the barn, I was kinda filthy, to be honest. So, I grabbed the pickaxe and spade and went out to the creek north of the pond. Dug a smaller pond nearby. I built a small wall around it to keep the critters out. Took my bath there. It was actually very pleasant.”
“Aren’t you worried about rattlesnakes?”
“Rattlesnakes are predictable. They’ll avoid you if they can, but you sure don’t want to surprise one. Now, I checked around before I took my bath, so I wasn’t concerned.”
“You can use our tub if you’d prefer.”
“I like the pool fine. It’s quicker and doesn’t require all that work
with heating water.”
“I thought you liked work.” She smiled as she began scooping out the mashed potatoes.
“Not useless work. That’s worse than being lazy. If it doesn’t need to be done, save the energy for real work. There’s enough of that around.”
Eli asked, “Gus, when you were talking to Joe Miles, you used the word ‘chutzpah’. Where did you hear that word, and why did you use it?”
“When I was friends with that Jewish cowboy I told you about, he used it once, and I asked about it. He told me, and I thought it was a polite way of saying what I used to say. I like the word. It’s more than saying a man has sand. It’s a little more. Takes explaining most of the time. Now, Miles, he didn’t even ask.”
“Sand?” asked Rachel.
“It means guts, or . . . Well, chutzpah is more akin to the other word that cowboys use more often, saying a man has, um . . . Well, let’s say he isn’t gelded.”
They both laughed.
“That explanation took a lot of chutzpah, Gus,” she added.
“Did either of you notice Miles’s face as he was talking? When he was saying all that hogwash about accusing you of letting your cattle graze on his land and then acting like mister innocent when I told him about recovering the cattle? He knew what happened. I’d bet that he had a hand in it, too. When I was talking to Sara, it hit me that I had been wrong. I had thought someone had simply rustled the cattle for money, but I was wrong. Rustlers rarely steal from small spreads. It’s too easy to spot. Why would they steal cattle if the reason wasn’t money? If they took your cattle, you’d have to sell your empty ranch and leave. I think that’s what they’re trying to do.”
Eli sighed. “We used to live in Kansas City. I had a house near my father’s house. He still lives there. I met Rachel, and we lived there for fifteen years. Then Rachel’s uncle died. This was his ranch. I had always wanted to own a ranch. My arthritis wasn’t so bad in those days. So, I talked her into keeping the ranch and moving here with Sara. Rachel’s uncle wasn’t Jewish, so no one knew we were. We were accepted as new neighbors, and everything was fine. We had one hired hand. Then everything started to go wrong after he found out we were Jewish. Mostly, it was indifference. But hiring hands was difficult. They wouldn’t stay long. We became more isolated. Then, about two years ago the threats started. We lost Betsy, so our only way in and out of town was if Rachel rode Charlie bareback. That limited the supplies we could bring in. You noticed that right away. If you hadn’t arrived, I don’t think we could have lasted another two months. Now, it’s better, but with Sara a lost cause, I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“Eli, you and Rachel will need to make that decision. But don’t make it based on what they want. Choose what you both want.”
“What about you, Gus?”
“Don’t worry about me at all, Eli. If you pull up stakes and sell out, I’ll find another job. But I will tell you something. I’d miss you both.”
Rachel stood and walked over to Gus and kissed him on the cheek.
They enjoyed a pleasant dinner.
“What are you doing tomorrow, Gus?” asked Eli.
“I’ve got to start on the cattle. Branding is going to be difficult. I’ll have to build a stockade to hold them still. Usually, it’s a two-man operation.”
“Don’t you ever stop, Gus?” asked Rachel.
“Sometimes. Right now, there’s so much to do.”
“Are you in a rush to get everything done?”
“It’s not so much a rush as a need to work.”
“You can still satisfy that need and take your time. Enjoy the work and the time in between.”
“There is a lot of work. But you’re right. I need to pace myself a bit better.”
“Good. You remember that.”
“I do want to warn you both that you’re liable to hear some gunfire over the next week. I need to polish my accuracy a bit.”
“Are you worried about trouble, Gus?” asked Eli.
“Not necessarily. But it’s good to keep up.”
Gus had already planned on picking up a few more boxes of .44 cartridges to practice. He felt like there was trouble brewing. He’d have to dig into that $200 minimum, too.
_____
Trouble was indeed brewing for Lou. With the murder of the clerk at the savings and loan, he knew he’d be hunted. He was heading south and slightly west. He had to disguise himself. But how? His horse stuck out like a sore thumb. He had counted his take from the savings and loan. It was only $153. At least it gave him enough money to buy another horse. Then there was the gun. He knew it was a dead giveaway. He took off his gun and put it in his saddlebags. He was approaching Altus. He needed to park his horse in the woods somewhere close and walk into town. He was lucky; there was a heavy growth of trees about a half mile from town.
He rode his strawberry roan into the trees and tied him off. He put his saddlebags over his shoulder and began walking. Five minutes later, he entered Altus and found the livery. He walked in and found the liveryman in the back, shoeing a horse.
“Howdy!” cried Lou, acting as innocent as he could by flashing a big smile.
“Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“Got any horses for sale?”
“Two. Come on back.”
Lou followed him out back to the corral. There were two horses. Neither seemed special, but they weren’t bad. The best part was they had no distinctive markings. They were just plain horses.
“How much for the gelding?”
“He’s thirty-five dollars. Got new shoes, too.”
“All right. I’ll take him.”
Lou pulled out his wad of cash and counted out thirty-five dollars. He handed the money to the liveryman and led the horse out of the corral. He waved at the liveryman and walked out of town. The liveryman watched him head out of town, leading his new horse. He left the barn and went to talk to the sheriff.
Lou took his time so as not to draw attention. He didn’t realize how much attention he had just attracted by not negotiating on the horse like everyone else did and then by flashing the roll of bills. Even though most were small bills, the size of the stack attracted the liveryman’s attention.
The liveryman was talking to the sheriff as Lou saddled the new horse. The sheriff, after getting the wire from Warren about the murder with the description of the suspect, had notified the liveryman, the store proprietor, and the banker of the murder. When he heard the liveryman’s description of the man, the wad of bills, and the curious behavior, followed by the man’s walking the horse out of town, the sheriff was convinced that it warranted investigation. He went outside and mounted his horse.
Then for the first time on his continued escape, Lou did something smart. He decided to bypass the town. After saddling the new horse, he struck out cross-country, heading due south. Of course, he offset the smart thing by doing another stupid thing. He left his roan ground hitched in the trees and didn’t do a good job of it.
The sheriff rode past where Lou left the roan. He found nothing and assumed that the man had continued east. He rode another two miles before turning around. As he was heading back, the sheriff saw a roan exiting the trees. A strawberry roan with a big white patch on the side that looked like Nebraska.
He trotted up to the horse and threw a rope over him and returned to town. He dropped the horse off with the liveryman. Before he left, the liveryman called the sheriff back.
“When you send your telegram, Sheriff, you oughta tell ’em that the horse he bought has marks on the shoes. When you told me about him bein’ around, I filed across the shoes on both horses. So trackin’ ’em oughta be easier. There’s slots on all four shoes.”
“Thanks, Harvey. You done good.”
When the sheriff sent his telegram to surrounding lawmen, he did include the description of the horse and the slots on the shoes.
Chapter 3
Gus got up a little later than usual, trying to heed Rachel’s advice. He w
alked into the kitchen, where Rachel was making breakfast.
“How would you like your eggs, Gus?” She smiled at him.
“I have a choice? I’m not used to that. We were always given scrambled eggs. What’s easiest?”
“Scrambled, but I asked what would you like.”
“Could I have them sunny side up, please?” Gus asked, almost pleading.
“You may.” She almost started laughing. She had seen Gus stare down a ranch owner and his foreman. He intimidated a bank cashier with just his voice. And yet he seemed like a little boy when asking for eggs. She was tickled.
She cooked his eggs as Eli walked in.
“Could I have some like Gus is having, Rachel?”