by Hank Madison
There were two cowboys at the fire beside the cook, and they had both been wounded, wearing bloody bandages to prove that they had tried to save the herd from the rustlers. They looked up at Harlan as he approached, but neither spoke. They could see by his appearance that he had done his share. The cook dipped a big mug into the coffee and passed it across to Harlan without a word, but there was relief on the old man’s wet and weary features. The silence was almost intolerable, and after swallowing the scalding coffee, Harlan cleared his throat. He had to make two attempts before he could speak clearly.
“This is the hell of a note,” he finally growled. He tossed the drains of the coffee into the fire. “Is there anything left of the herd?”
“Yeah,” the cook growled, ladling stew into a deep tin plate and passing it across to Harlan, who took it and set to eating hungrily. “The boys are out rounding up. Did Chuck tell you about Horn?”
“Hell, I was there. Who the hell do you think killed those five men?”
They stared at him with shock burning in their eyes.
“You got them all?” Chuck Mallett demanded. “Heck, I didn’t think to check Horn’s gun.”
“I had to fight for my life,” Harlan said bitterly. His blue eyes narrowed and hardened to pack ice. He told them what had happened in a taut voice that seemed on the verge of splintering. They listened silently, lips thin against their teeth, eyes filled with respect. Harlan finished his narrative and started eating. There was silence in the camp, and then Chuck Mallett spoke impulsively.
“I wish I’d been there, Steve. Wish I could’ve got in a couple of shots.”
“You haven’t lost the chance, Chuck. You don’t think we’re gonna let those rustlers get away with it, do you? For years the herds have been held up here and the cattlemen had to pay for passage through. Well it’s about time something was done about it, and I’m gonna make a start.”
“The herd, Steve,” the old cook said thickly. “We got to get the herd rounded up and on its way to Dodge City. The herd comes first.”
“I know. It’s always the herd. Okay, so we’ll round up what we can find and push them into Dodge. But we’ve got to come back this way, and I aim to find out where those rustlers hide out and do something about them.
“I guess the boys will back you up,” the cook said. “They sure were in a hell of a way at daybreak. They figured you’d been taken by those rustlers.”
“We’ll see it through,” Harlan promised. “We got some dead men to avenge. By the time we get finished around here there won’t be any rustlers left.”
“It’s gone on too long,” the cook said. “Holding up the herds is business in this country. We’ll likely run up against the law if we start helling around. I remember the time your pa tried to lay into the set-up. We left some good men buried in the hills over there. We never did clean out the rustlers.”
“It’ll be different this time,” Harlan promised. “I don’t give a damn if I have to do this alone. I ain’t going back to Texas until I know that Sim Horn and the others can rest easy.”
“We buried them over there,” Chuck Mallett said. He was tall and slender, with a thin face. His blue eyes showed pain, as if the incidents of the night had hurt him personally.
“I’ll go take a look shortly, but you’d better get some fresh horses saddled, Chuck. We’ll be moving out for the herd as soon as possible.”
The two wounded men got to their feet and moved to their waiting horses.
“Not you,” Harlan said. “You’d better stick around here and rest up.”
“Not us,” one of them replied. “We ain’t loafing around while there’s work to be done. We’re here now because it was our turn to come in for grub and coffee. The outfit it coming in two at a time so we don’t waste too much time.”
Harlan sighed and straightened, feeling dirty and uncomfortable. He had become accustomed to the driving rain, but now he was plastered with mud. He went to the chuck-wagon and took out his bag, pulling out damp clothes. He shivered as he stripped and washed, and the rain lashed at his body. He dried himself as best he could and dragged on his damp clothes. Then he checked his gun and put on another slicker. He set his hat on his head and grimaced. The sweatband was soaked and cold. He showed his teeth in a mirthless grin and walked to where Chuck Mallett was holding a couple of fresh mounts.
“Keep the coffee hot, Mike,” he called out to the cook.
The old man shouted something in reply that Harlan missed, then he and Mallett were moving out of the camp, heading in the direction the herd had taken. The two wounded cowboys trailed along behind.
They began searching for strays, and in the distance spotted grazing cattle standing rump to in the rain. A rider appeared and came slowly towards them, and Harlan recognised Billy Wayne. The big cowboy came up fast. He was plastered with mud, his clothes stuck to him by the rain, but he grinned harshly when he saw Harlan.
“Sure glad to see you alive, boss,” he greeted.
Harlan’s lip twisted at the word boss. That was always reserved for the trail boss, and with Sim Horn dead the onus had fallen upon him.
“Seen any of the others, Billy?” he demanded.
“Sure. Harvey and Wilmer are over yonder, bringing in about fifty head. I saw some of the others farther west, following the trail of the herd, and there were plenty of steers around. But I reckon them rustlers got away with a thousand head.”
Harlan shook his head slowly at the news. He had known that it would be bad, but the rustlers had taken about half the herd. He gazed around, water dripping from his face, and his eyes hardened.
“Okay,” he said at length. “So we’ve lost half the herd. We’ll round up what we can and take them into Dodge City. Then we’ll come back.”
“It’ll be too late by then,” Chuck Mallett said bitterly. “When the rain stops those rustlers will head for the nearest cattle market. There won’t be anything left for us when we return.”
“We’ll find them,” Harlan promised. “We’ll teach them that they can’t steal Cross H stock and get away with it.”
They rode on throughout the day, gathering the steers that had got away from the stampede. The rain did not stop, but now they were used to it, and hardly noticed it. It seemed to them that there had never been such a thing as sunshine. They lived eternally in a bleak grey world of driving rain. By the end of the day they had gathered a sizeable herd, and riders came in from different directions hazing along small groups of tired cattle. They were all heading back to the shattered camp, working towards a common end. The herd came first, and the cattle had to be rounded up and headed back to the sleeping-ground from which it had been stampeded. That was the law of the range, and they lived and died by it.
That night was tensely spent, and none of them got any sleep. They were afraid that the rustlers might strike again, and rode around the herd with their hands on their guns, but nothing happened, and when the sky lightened enough for them to see they started out again to look for more strays. The rain continued without pause, and the hours passed and they found more cattle and collected them, heading them back to where the camp lay shrouded in drizzle.
Harlan took Chuck Mallett with him and set out to follow the tracks of the stolen herd. They covered twelve miles, always riding to the west, and then the ground began to harden. They were approaching the hills, and outcrops of rock rose up like ramparts. But Harlan was not dismayed. The rain had already swallowed the greater part of the tracks. He knew they were losing out, that they would never be able to track the herd to the rustlers’ hideout, and was reconciled to it. Before nightfall, he and Mallett were on a plateau, and Harlan was looking for a spot to camp. They couldn’t make it back to their camp. They wanted to go on, and to go back would waste them too much time. But the ground was hard and exposed to the elements. They didn’t fancy bedding down in the open.
“Let’s head up to that timber,” Harlan suggested, peering through the rain. “We might find cover. There m
ight be a cave or something where we can rest up.”
Mallett nodded and they headed in that direction, ever on the lookout for trouble. It was likely that the rustlers had left a couple of men behind to watch for pursuit. It was obvious that these cattle-thieves were professional rustlers. They would not leave anything to chance.
When they reached the timber, Mallett stretched out and touched Harlan’s arm. He pointed off to the right, and, glancing in that direction, Harlan saw a glimmer of light in the distance, hidden almost by a rise in the ground. They both reined in and stared at the light, wondering about it. Then Mallett moved impatiently.
“This looks like the place where I’ll get my shots in,” he said.
“Hold your horses,” Harlan told him. “We don’t know if the rustlers are there, and if they are how many there’ll be. We don’t want to ride in there and get our fool heads blowed off. Let’s take it easy.”
They moved forward more cautiously, and, as they drew nearer, the light took on an oblong shape. Then they saw the sharp outlines of a small house. Harlan threw a glance at Mallett, who shrugged. They moved on through the gloom, and Harlan reached under his slicker and loosened his gun.
“This could be a rancher’s place,” Mallett remarked.
“We’ll go in and find out,” Harlan told him. “Don’t make any mention of the herd unless it looks like these folk ain’t in with the rustlers.”
They had to rein in at a gate set in a high fence, and Mallett leaned sideways in his saddle to open it. Harlan rode through and the cowboy followed, closing the gate at his back. They crossed another yard and reined up in front of the house.
“Hello there,” Harlan called. He heard the sound of a gun being drawn, and glanced at his companion. Mallett was holding his Colt. “Don’t be a fool, Chuck,” he cautioned. “If someone looks out of a window and sees you holding that, they might get the wrong idea.”
“Behind you, men,” a harsh voice cut in. “Lift your hands and don’t move. We don’t take any chances in this part of the country.”
Harlan lifted his hands immediately, and Mallett holstered his Colt and did likewise.
“That’s better,” the voice told them. “Are you alone, or is there a bunch of you waiting out there in the rain?”
“We’re alone,” Harlan said. “We saw your light from some distance, and figured we might be able to get some food and a bed out of the rain.”
“Dismount and stand still in the open.”
They did so, moving away from their horses, and then turned slowly to face the big man who was looming out of the shadows. There was a cocked rifle in the man’s hands.
“Who are you guys?” the man demanded.
“I’m Steve Harlan, and this is Chuck Mallett. My father owns the Cross H ranch down in Texas. We’ve had some trouble with rustlers. They ran off with half our herd, and we were following their tracks.” Harlan had decided to take a chance.
“Well, you didn’t follow them in here,” came the sharp reply.
“That’s right. We were looking for a place to camp and saw your light.”
“Okay. I believe you, but get rid of your guns. Toss them on to the porch behind you. Do it slow or you’ll draw some lead.”
They did as they were ordered and then the big man came closer. He passed around them, keeping out of distance, and stepped on to the porch. Harlan turned slowly to keep his eyes on the menacing figure, but the man rapped on the door of the house. A few moments later the door was opened by a girl, and the man spoke up loudly.
“Aggie, there’s a couple of guys here who claim they were with a herd that got rustled last night. They were looking for tracks when they spotted us. Do you want that they should come in?”
The girl peered out at them. Harlan could not see her features because of the light at her back, but her fingers looked good, and she didn’t seem to be very old.
“I’m Steve Harlan,” he said, “and this is Chuck Mallett.”
“Come in, the both of you,” the girl said without hesitation. “You look as if you’ve just swum in the river.” She stepped back out of the doorway and the big man moved aside, making no effort to lower his rifle. Harlan stepped forward, his thanks sounding grim. He took off his hat as he entered the house, and Mallett followed him. They stood in the doorway, dripping water on to the polished floor.
The girl beckoned for them to follow her, and Harlan did so, apologising for the water. She smiled at him, and he studied her. She was about twenty-five, he figured, and her face was thin. Thick black hair framed her features, and there was a hardness in her gaze that could not have been borne of worry. He figured that she was not a happy girl, despite this big house.
“Wiley,” she called to the man, who was at their backs. “Go on up to Will’s room and fetch down some of his clothes. These men have to get out of their wet gear.”
“Okay, Aggie,” the big man rasped, and disappeared.
The girl led the way into the kitchen, and Harlan moved to the roaring fire in the big stove. He shivered violently, aware now of the discomforts of wet clothing. Mallett followed him and they turned their backs to the fire, standing as close as they could. The girl watched them, pity showing in her dark eyes.
“You look as if you’ve been out in that weather for at least a week,” she commented.
“You have never spoken a truer word,” Harlan told her.
“I’m Aggie Payne,” she said. “I live here with my brother, but he’s in Dodge right now. But you’re welcome to stay the night. I’ll get Jane, the cook, to prepare some food for you. Wiley will bring you some dry clothing, and after you’ve changed and eaten he’ll bring you along to the sitting-room. I must go now. I’ve got a badly wounded man on my hands. He rode in early this morning, hanging on to his saddlehorn.”
“Maybe we should take a look at him,” Harlan offered. “It’s likely he’s one of those rustlers we had trouble with last night. There was a lot of shooting. We had three men killed.”
“Later,” she said. “I think he’s dying. He’s hit pretty badly.”
She left them then, and they both turned to the fire, shivering as the heat struck their chilled, tired bodies. The big man returned, holding a pile of clothing, and he dropped the clothes on to the table.
“I’m Wiley Shaw,” he introduced. “Glad to know you, fellers. Sorry for the way I greeted you, but if you’ve already met up with the rustlers then you know what this country is like. Get yourselves out of those wet clothes. We ain’t had rain like this for a long time, huh?”
“You can say that again.” Harlan said, starting to strip. “We haven’t been dry for a week.”
“Here are a couple of towels.” The man went to a cupboard and came back with two large squares of rough towelling. “You won’t be disturbed in here. Aggie has gone to call the cook. I’ll wait outside and keep them at bay until you’ve dried out and changed. Then I reckon you could do with some grub and coffee, huh?”
“We sure could,” Chuck Mallett said.
When the man had left them they stripped and dried themselves, then dressed in the clothes that had been provided.
“This feels great,” Mallett commented. “I was afraid that I was gonna finish up with webbed feet. But this is a whole lot better. I’m beginning to feel human again.”
Harlan called in Wiley Shaw, and an elderly woman followed. She soon had food cooking, and Harlan licked his lips as the aromas of the cooking taunted his appetite. They sat down at the table and the woman placed plates before them. Then she dished out the food and they fell to. Shaw stood by the fire, arranging their wet clothes to catch the heat, and steam started rising. They finished the meal with scalding hot coffee, and Harlan began to feel cosy. The sound of the driving rain outside made him shiver, and he thought of the rest of his crew still out with the herd. A feeling of guilt attacked him, but he shrugged it off. He had come after the rustlers, looking for their trail, and he would go on until he found it.
“You�
��d better come along to the sitting-room now,” Shaw said. “Your clothes will be dry by the morning. I’ll go out and take care of your horses.”
They followed him out of the kitchen, and he ushered them into a large sitting-room. There was a man stretched out on the couch, covered to his shoulders with a blanket, and the girl was seated on a chair by his side. Harlan went over and stared down at the wounded man. He saw a stubbled face that was grey with shock, and shook his head. He had seen this complexion before on the face of a dying man. The girl was watching him anxiously, and there was concern in her eyes.
“Do you think he’s got a chance?” she demanded.
“No,” Chuck Mallett said quickly. “He’s slated for the great divide.”
“Do you know him?” Harlan asked her, and she shook her head. “Well, he’s a stranger to us,” he went on. “Maybe he is one of those rustlers, but I wouldn’t like to say. There could be other trail herds in the country, and he might be from one of them. Now I must thank you, Miss Payne, for your hospitality.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the girl said. “We don’t get many callers here. I’ve sent a man into Black Creek for the sheriff. He should be back at any time.”
“I’d like to see the law myself,” Harlan said grimly. “We had a bad time of it.”
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks.” Harlan narrowed his eyes as he thought about the last drink he’d had. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the incident at Doberman’s Post. He caught Mallett’s blue eyes and the cowboy grinned tightly. They both thought it was good to be out of the rain.
“We run a big place here,” the girl said during the course of conversation. “My father built it up, but he died three years ago. Now my brother acts as foreman and boss, and I do what I can to help. We have a fairly large crew. They’re away at the moment; at least, most of them are. My brother took a herd into Dodge City.”
“That’s where you get the better of us,” Harlan said with a smile. “We have to trail a thousand miles. This is my first trip, by the way, and I’ve been told it’s the worst one for years, so I’ve taken just about everything. There can’t be much more I don’t know about.”