Dig Your Own Grave

by William W. Johnstone

  It occurred to him that Junior wasn’t searching for strays. Had he been, he would have surely looked down at the river’s edge, where cattle might be drinking. In fact, he had paid no attention at all to the few small groups of cows he rode past. Will’s thoughts returned to the two men he had seen heading back to the ranch and leading a body on a horse. Maybe the dead man was not a trespasser, as he had assumed, but instead, one of the Beaudry ranch hands. If that was the case, Junior, and probably the other men, were searching for whoever shot one of their crew. The half-wit, Will couldn’t help thinking. He still should have searched down along the riverbank.

  He waited a few minutes to make sure there was no one else coming along behind Junior, maybe someone who was searching along the river’s edge. If they were trying to cover their whole range, they had likely all split up, and there was the possibility they would all meet at some point. A good spot, if that was the case, was the point where the road to the ranch crossed the river, and there was a chance he might be able to see how many men he would have to deal with. It was still too early to follow Junior on horseback—he might be too easily seen—but it was worth a try to follow him on foot. He had not ridden more than a mile or so from the ranch trail before he came to this bend in the river where he rested his horses. On foot, he could remain in the cover of the trees all the way back to the road. He paused to question his thinking. It was not an easy decision to run off and leave his horses in this situation, especially when there might be a good chance he was going to need them in a hurry if he was discovered. He decided he had to see if his hunch was right, so he loaded his supplies back on the packhorse and saddled Buster. “I might need you in a hurry,” he told the horse, “so don’t get to wanderin’ around.” Then he started out through the trees at a trot fast enough to keep pace with Junior on horseback.

  It didn’t take long to reach the ranch road and he could see another rider already there when Junior arrived. He pulled his horse up beside the other man’s and dismounted. Will advanced only a few yards closer to them. The trees thinned out the closer he came to the road to the ranch headquarters, and to try to get any closer would be pushing his luck. Since the two men showed no sign of riding away, Will figured he had been right in his assumption that other riders were searching and Junior and the other man were waiting for someone else to show up.

  It was fully twenty-five or thirty minutes before someone else showed up, time enough for Will to start worrying about his horses and if they might have decided to wander from the river bend. He was just about to retreat to make sure they were all right when two more riders splashed across the river to join Junior and his partner. Will suddenly felt his arm muscles become tense when he saw that one of them was riding a gray horse. Even at that distance, he easily recognized the rider of the gray as Ansel Beaudry, the same man he had seen fleeing the ambush where Luther Curry was killed! After the initial tenseness at suddenly coming upon the man he hunted, Will’s next reaction was one of frustration, for there was nothing he could do about it. Kneeling there, no more than forty yards away from Beaudry, he was on foot, a mile or more from his horses, with four mounted men to confront. It was decision time again. He looked back over his shoulder. The sun was rapidly settling down now and the shadows where he knelt watching the four men were beginning to darken the brush under the trees.

  Out on the ranch road, the conversation between the four men stopped and they all climbed into their saddles and started for home. Will didn’t wait to make sure which way they were going. It was obvious to him that they had been scouting their range, looking for the killer who shot one of their cowhands. And now they were going back to headquarters, having to surmise that whoever the shooter was, he was long gone now. Knowing the kind of killer Ansel Beaudry was, Will figured there was a fair possibility that the killer they searched for might be riding with them back to the ranch. Making his way back through the oaks at a lope, Will intended to get to his horses in time to trail the four men to the ranch house.

  * * *

  “We can send everybody out on another search tomorrow,” Ansel said to Brady as he rode along beside him, “but it looks to me like he has cut outta here. Tell you the truth, I was expectin’ to find what was left of the cow he was butcherin’ when your man Sonny found him.”

  “You’re probably right,” Brady said. “That makes sense to me. Mighta been an Injun, I was thinkin’, but I didn’t see any unshod hoofprints. Maybe some of the other boys did. I reckon we’ll see what Boss thinks about it, but I agree with you, the jasper that shot Sonny is most likely halfway to Fort Worth by now.”

  Ansel smiled to himself, pleased that he had Brady solidly in his camp. The old man was going to be a problem, but he felt confident he could win him over, too. That still left one problem that might be a thorn in his side, so it might be necessary to arrange an accident for his brother, Todd. All things considered, this day had worked out to his advantage, and he was looking forward now to supper. He might have been a bit too hasty in his dealings with Sonny Pickens, however. It was Sonny’s fault, he told himself. I should have taken his word for it when he said he was Mica Beaudry’s son and let him ride on in unannounced. Ansel shrugged. He had been in a hurry, and he didn’t feel like arguing with him, so he shot him. The way things were working out now, he might wish he hadn’t shot one of his cowhands. What the hell, he thought, he got my dander up. There was one extreme possibility that never entered his mind, and that was the possibility that there might be a U.S. Deputy Marshal approximately one mile behind him in the dusky twilight on the road to Hornet’s Nest.

  Chapter 17

  Holding Buster to a slow walk, Will managed to keep the four riders in sight, just far enough ahead of him so he could barely make out their forms in the growing darkness. After a ride of about four miles, he passed under a high arch that spanned the width of the road, but there was no gate and no fence, nothing but a rough sign nailed to one of the posts. He assumed it was the official gateway to the ranch headquarters, but it was now too dark to read the sign. He continued on, occasionally having to rein Buster back when he began to shorten the distance between himself and the men he followed. After what he figured to be another mile, he saw the lights of the ranch house and a lantern at the barn door. He figured it was dark enough to allow him to continue following them until getting much closer, so he continued until he could see lantern lights shining from what he figured to be the bunkhouse. It was a sizable operation, he declared to himself. He reined Buster to a halt when the men he followed rode into the barnyard and he could clearly see them, so he knew he shouldn’t risk coming any closer.

  He watched as Ansel and the other three pulled up to a windmill and water trough near the barn and dismounted. Two men came from the barn to meet them, then they were joined by three others. Since they all gathered around the later arrivals, Will figured they were all reporting on the failure of their search to find any trespassers on the Beaudry range. While they talked, Will tried to decide what he should do. I’m sure as hell not going to ride in to confront eight men and tell them I’ve come to arrest Ansel Beaudry, he thought. Eight men, not including Beaudry, were all he was seeing at the moment. There was no telling how many more worked the ranch. His only chance to arrest Beaudry was to catch him alone and preferably far enough away from any help. The odds of that didn’t look that good from where he stood right now. This might be one of those situations that was unworkable for one lone lawman, and one with any common sense would back off and go for help. Still, it was hard to ride away before taking a good look at the headquarters’ layout, which might be good to know when he came back with reinforcements. There might not be a better opportunity to have that look, since most of the men were gathered at the barn, and he might not have to worry about being discovered by someone riding night herd.

  As he faced the headquarters, the barn and corral were across the yard to the left of the ranch house. There appeared to be a smokehouse and an outhouse behind the
main house. There was a bunkhouse, another outhouse, and what looked to be a cookshack next to the bunkhouse. He decided his best chance to get in closer would be to circle around to his right and move in behind the smokehouse. That way he could get a better look at the whole layout, including the bunkhouse, so he wheeled Buster and did just that.

  As he circled around, he could see a dark line of trees ahead of him that turned out to be a creek behind the smokehouse that ran between the barn and the bunkhouse. He couldn’t have asked for a better place to watch the ranch. It afforded him cover and a convenient place to leave his horses in the event he might want to work his way in closer on foot. This close to the barn, he couldn’t afford to risk leaving Buster to wander, so he hurriedly tied his reins to the branch of a tree, close enough to the creek to let him reach the water. His packhorse was still tied to his saddle by a lead rope, so there was enough slack to allow that horse to get to water, too.

  As soon as his horses were taken care of, he made his way quickly along the creek bank to a point where he could see the group of men still talking beside the water trough. His gaze was naturally fixed upon Ansel. He was not close enough to hear what was said, beyond a loud exclamation or hardy laugh, but he did hear Spot Morris when he came from the cookshack on the other side of the creek and walked as far as the footbridge to call out to them. “I ain’t tellin’ you this but once ’cause it’s already past suppertime. If you’re wantin’ to eat this chuck before I throw it to the hogs, you’d best get yourselves up here.” He promptly turned and went back to the cookshack.

  “I believe he means it, boys,” Ansel said. “We’d best do what he says.” Since he was just meeting some of the men for the first time, he felt it best to eat supper with the crew, even though he had made it plain to his father that he intended to take his meals at the house. He decided that they had likely already finished supper at the house by then, anyway, so he followed the men into the bunkhouse.

  Back in the cover of the creek, Will watched as the men hurriedly pulled their saddles off their horses and turned them out into the corral. He noticed that Ansel handed his reins to one of the men, who promptly took care of his horse. Thinking it a sign that Ansel was already well on his way to taking over as boss, Will couldn’t help a cynical grin. It might be near impossible to ride out of here with Ansel his prisoner. It was hard to fight the frustration he felt for his helplessness to do anything but sit and watch. Retreat now, while it was safe to do so, would surely be the only rational thing to do. Ride out while he still could, then go to Fort Worth on the chance there might be a Ranger post there—he could do that. But what if there was no Ranger there? How far to Austin, and how long would it take to assemble a posse sizable enough to take on the Hornet’s Nest? There are some battles you just can’t win, he tried to tell himself, but the thought of Oscar Moon brutally murdered by Ansel Beaudry came back to him. I can’t let the son of a bitch get away, he told himself.

  * * *

  “Hold on there a minute, Papa.” Ansel stepped quickly to catch up to his father before he returned to the house.

  Mica turned to glare at him. “I’ve got nothin’ to say to you,” he said.

  “Well, I’ve got somethin’ to say to you,” Ansel responded. “I’ve gotta say you’ve done a pretty good job with the ranch, seein’ as how you didn’t have much help. I’ve changed my mind about movin’ on in a couple of days ’cause it looks to me like I could build this ranch into the biggest in Texas. All we need is somebody who knows how to build it and a little cash to do it with. Just so happens I’m the man to take care of that.” He saw an instant look of anger on his father’s face, so he hastened to continue. “Your men are already thinkin’ I’m gettin’ ready to take over, and I’m holdin’ six thousand dollars to use for stock. So you think that over before you decide you still wanna kick me out.”

  Mica’s immediate reaction was one of hostility for Ansel’s brash proposal, but also one of surprise at the mention of the six thousand dollars. He was at once reminded of Ansel’s tendency never to have his saddlebags out of his sight. It caused him to hesitate to tell him to go to hell, and instead he said, “I’ll think about it.” He turned then and headed for the house, thinking of how best to take possession of the money.

  * * *

  Will remained where he was until Mica and his son parted with Ansel, who was following the men to the bunkhouse. Since Will saw little chance that he would be discovered, he decided to cross over to the other side of the creek, where he would get a better look at the bunkhouse. The cookshack was a small cabin and used only to prepare the food and clean up the dishes. It was obvious that the men ate in the bunkhouse. I could use a little grub, myself, he thought, since he had had nothing since breakfast. At least my horses are getting some grass.

  He waited out the supper hour, thinking that maybe Ansel would be coming out of the bunkhouse to go to the ranch house. Surely he would be sleeping in the house, he thought, but as the evening wore on, there was no sign of him. At first he thought that he had somehow missed him, but then he saw him step outside the bunkhouse. He paused for only a moment before walking a short distance to join a couple of men who were draining some of the coffee they had consumed at supper. There was an outhouse only a little farther away, but that was typically used only in cases of more serious business. Will stared at the man who had cold-bloodedly murdered Oscar Moon and thoughts of him escaping his just deserts for his blatant act began to eat away at Will’s conscience. He slowly raised his rifle to his shoulder. Very deliberately, he laid the front sight on Ansel’s back, between the shoulder blades. Holding his breath to maintain a steady aim, he gently squeezed the trigger until hearing the click of the hammer on the empty chamber. He exhaled gently and lowered the Winchester. It was tempting, even easy, but it was not in the rules he played by. If at all possible, he would try to take Ansel back for trial and afterward take a front-row seat at his hanging. In the meantime, he would just have to hope for an opportunity to catch him without any of his men around.

  He was surprised when Ansel finished and went back inside the bunkhouse instead of going to the main house as Will had assumed he would. Curious now, he waited until the bunkhouse eventually quieted down and the cook had finished cleaning up the cookshack. Still no Ansel Beaudry. Evidently he was not living in the main house after all, preferring to bunk in with the crew. He waited a while longer, until it seemed certain Beaudry was not leaving the bunkhouse. Will thought maybe he had taken a hand in a card game or something, but when the lamps went out, he had to conclude Ansel wasn’t coming out. It was a walk of forty yards or more from the bunkhouse to the main house, and Will was thinking he might have had a chance to jump him, although it would have been difficult to do it without Ansel shouting an alarm. It had little chance of success, he decided. He was probably lucky Ansel stayed in the bunkhouse. His best hope was to try to keep an eye on the ranch and maybe see where Ansel went the next day. If he was lucky, maybe Ansel might ride off to some part of the range by himself. It was a lot to hope for, but that’s all he had.

  He got up from his position on the creek bank and went back the way he had come. As he walked, he took a good look at the area surrounding the creek and the number of trees and bushes growing close by. Just having discovered that he was in no danger of being seen in the dark of night, he now decided there was enough cover close to the bunkhouse to make the odds good that he could escape detection even in the light of day. He decided it worth the risk of coming back to the same spot early in the morning to watch the ranch wake up.

  When he got back to his horses, he was greeted by a soft nicker from Buster. “At least you had some grass to eat,” he said to the horse. “As soon as we get to someplace to camp, I’ll get some grain for you outta the packs.” He climbed up into the saddle and guided the buckskin across the creek. Coming up out of the trees on the other bank, he looked out across the dark prairie to the west, then gently gave Buster his heels. With the line of trees betw
een him and the ranch headquarters, he rode until he came to a tiny stream that flowed between two low hills. “This’ll do,” he announced, and reined Buster to a stop. Freeing his horses of their burdens, he then fed them some grain before he dug in his packs for some jerky for his supper. Far enough from the ranch for a fire not to be seen, he built one just big enough to heat up some water for coffee. He spread his bedroll and set his mind to wake up at first light, then went to sleep.

  * * *

  As was his usual habit when in the field, he awoke sometime just before first light and promptly packed up and readied his horses to ride. He climbed aboard Buster and rode back across the prairie toward the line of trees bordering the creek in the distance. When he reached the spot where he had tied his horses the night before, he rode into the trees and dismounted. With his rifle ready to fire, he crossed over the creek and walked up into the trees on the other side in order to take a precautionary look toward the house and the barn. After a few minutes’ watch, he was satisfied the ranch had not roused itself for the day as yet. The only sign of life came from the cookshack beside the bunkhouse.

  He returned to his horses then and moved them slightly closer to the bunkhouse, thinking the cover better, now that the sun was threatening. As before, he tied his horses close to the water, then made his way through the grove of trees, more carefully than he had before, since the chance of being seen was greater. When he settled into the best spot he could find to stay hidden as well as for cover in the event he was spotted, he waited. Before long he saw the cook starting up his stove to begin cooking breakfast. There were soon noises that announced the men in the bunkhouse were rousing themselves out of bed.