“Where are you going?” she asked again. “Why do you want to ride that horse?”
“To get here.”
“You’re already here.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Grant said haughtily. “Help me get up in the saddle.”
“Get in that house!” she commanded.
“What?”
“I said get in the house,” Rebecca scolded. “Look at you. Did you fall off your horse?”
“He bucked me off in a dastardly, wicked manner,” Grant said. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I hate farming worse than I hate this godamn civilian horse,” he said. “Help me up in the saddle.”
“Get in the house, Grant.”
“Sure.”
He stumbled and staggered across the yard toward the door while Rebecca led the horse into the barn. She wasn’t able to unsaddle the animal in her condition. The poor beast would have to spend the night bridled and saddled.
Chapter Thirty
Dawn’s pink streak split the sky just above the far horizon as the four riders looked down on the grazing horses from their vantage point on a wooded knoll. Silsby McCracken shook his head. “I don’t like it none.”
“Me either,” Tommy Chatsworth said. “It’s getting too light.”
Charlie Ainsley turned an angry glare toward Tommy. “Whose horse throwed a shoe and held us up at Red Fork?”
“Well godamn it, Charlie!” Tommy said. “I didn’t do it a-purpose.”
“You look after your horse and shit like ‘at wouldn’t happen,” Charlie scolded.
“Horses throw shoes all-a-time,” Tommy countered.
Dennis Nettles rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should wait for tonight.”
Charlie shook his head. “We don’t know if them horses is gonna be here tonight. I say we go down there and cut ’em out now.” He gestured around the area. “I don’t see no drovers, do you?”
“I reckon not,” Silsby said.
“They ain’t even a single sorry-ass wrangler down there anywhere,” Charlie added.
“They sure ain’t,” Tommy agreed.
“This jawing ain’t getting us nowhere,” Charlie said in a tone of finality. “Let’s go, boys!”
Without waiting, he kicked his horse’s flanks and rode down toward the herd. The other three instinctively followed after their leader. Within moments they fanned out in their usual pattern to drive the animals toward what was hoped would be a safe extraction through another barbed wire fence they’d furiously torn down. This time the direction of travel was due west.
The herd looked up in collective alarm from their early morning grazing. They snorted in fear and became restless before suddenly breaking into a run. The four experienced rustlers quickly identified the stallion leader, and concentrated on getting him to move westward. They wouldn’t have to worry about the rest of the herd who would blindly follow the dominant male.
This job was the farthest the quartet had traveled since their foray into the horse-rustling profession. The trip took them on a precarious ride across the entire area of the Cherokee Strip before they turned to the southeast to ride into the Creek Nation. Marvin Waring, the man who bought the horses they stole, had told them about the herd through his agent Stubbs in Liberal. These were prime animals stolen in Mexico by one of Waring’s principal competitors. After a month of resting and grazing from the ordeal of a long, harrowing run up through Texas, the horses were ready to be sold for top dollar in legitimate markets.
Now, stolen for the second time, the animals pounded across a meandering stream and continued their panicky flight. Silsby, on the left rear of the herd, concentrated on not letting any stragglers split off and escape. The thundering rumble of hooves pounded his ears as he maintained his position. After some ten minutes of wild riding, his attention was diverted by a succession of popping sounds. He glanced rearward to see several men galloping after them, riding hard. Silsby then recognized the sounds he heard as gunfire. He took off his hat and waved it wildly for several moments before Tommy noticed. Silsby pointed toward the rear.
Tommy took a look, and an expression of fearful surprise flashed across his face. He turned toward Charlie, yelling and gesturing. Within seconds, Charlie was aware of the pursuit. He pulled his pistol and pointed it rearward, firing a couple of times. Silsby and Tommy followed his example, making no attempts to aim. Now Dennis noted the situation. He joined in the shooting, and the men chasing them began to fall back. They were easy to identify as Mexicans even at a distance by their large sombreros. They were the original horse thieves, and meant to get back what they had stolen for themselves.
The pursuers spread out a bit and picked up speed before moving in closer to concentrate their fusillades. Incoming bullets whipped the air around Silsby and his friends. The Mexicans fell back once more. They had all the time in the world to recover the stolen animals. The four Americans would eventually have to abandon their living, running loot. They would be able to get away with their lives only if they made a break for the open country.
But Charlie Ainsley had no intention of surrendering the profits to be made on this project. These were prime animals; the sort that horse thieves dreamed about. He kept his eye on the terrain around them. After another five minutes of hard riding, he gestured to the others to follow him. He pulled away from the herd and headed for a stretch of woods not far away. They made a hard gallop to draw themselves out of the view of the enraged Mexicans. When they reached the concealment, the four immediately dismounted.
Silsby gave Charlie a hard look. “Are we giving ’em up?”
“Like hell!” Charlie shouted in a rage. “Get your long guns, boys! When them son of a bitches come into sight, blast ’em!”
After securing their horses to trees, the young rustlers grabbed the Winchester carbines from saddle scabbards and settled themselves at the edge of the copse to wait for the imminent appearance of the pursuers. Silsby held his carbine, licking his lips as he nervously tapped his fingers on the stock. He had never killed a human being in his life.
In a matter of short moments the Mexicans pounded into view and gun range. Charlie was the first to fire. He shot rapidly several times, working the cocking lever of his Winchester. The others followed his example, sending massive .44 caliber slugs into the group of riders.
One man somersaulted over the back of his horse and a couple of more sprawled to the grass. Another swayed violently in the saddle at the same moment that the rest of the Mexicans turned to the side and galloped away.
“They don’t know where we are,” Charlie said. “They cain’t see where our shots is coming from.”
“Look at that feller,” Tommy said, pointing. The wounded man had brought his horse to a halt. He sat holding his side with both hands, leaning over. His sombrero had fallen off.
“He’s hurt,” Dennis commented.
Charlie brought his carbine to his shoulder and aimed. He pulled the trigger and the man looked as if he had leaped sideways off his horse when the bullet struck him with a brutal impact. It was obvious he was dead before he hit the ground.
“You kilt him, Charlie!” Silsby exclaimed.
“Damn right I did,” Charlie said.
“He was hurt,” Silsby protested. “He couldn’t do nothing to us.”
“Well ain’t you the sister of mercy?” Charlie sneered. “Now sit tight!” They breathed hard, sweating as much from fear as the growing heat within the trees. Ten minutes of heart-pounding tension passed before the four rustlers began to breathe easier. Charlie whistled low in relief. “They ain’t coming back,” he said. “They don’t know for sure how many of us they is. They prob’ly think they’s a whole bunch of us and we drew ’em into an ambush.”
“I noticed they was Mezkins,” Silsby said.
“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “They was the ones that stole them horses in the first place. They don’t know this part of the country good enough to try hunting us down
.”
Dennis snorted. “I bet they was already paid off.”
“Could be,” Charlie said. “That’s why the son of a bitches ain’t really pressing us none.” He chuckled. “No doubt they’re heading hell-for-leather south right now so’s they don’t have to give the money back.” He walked over to his horse and put his carbine away. “Let’s round up the herd and get on our way.”
“I say we forget the herd,” Silsby said. “Let’s vamoose the hell out of here.”
“Are you loco?” Charlie scoffed.
“We could get in trouble with the law,” Dennis said. “I mean for more’n stealing horses. We shot at least a couple of them fellers.”
“They ain’t the first we kilt,” Charlie said.
“What’re you talking about?” Silsby asked. “We ain’t kilt nobody in all this time.”
“I’m talking about in our whole lives,” Charlie said. “Hell! Back on the Rocking H we hung several fellers over the years. That was before you joined up.”
“What’d you hang ’em for?” Silsby asked.
Dennis chuckled. “You know what we hung ’em for.”
“No I don’t,” Silsby insisted.
Charlie interjected, “For doing what we’re doing right now. And it was legal for what we done to them rustlers too. Just like it’d be legal if somebody strung us up.” He pulled himself up into the saddle. “Now lets’ get them damn horses back before they’re scattered over the whole of the Injun nations.”
In spite of diligent work, they missed several head, but decided it wasn’t the worth the extra risk to hunt them down. An outside chance still existed that another pursuit would be mounted against them. “Turn ’em west!” Charlie commanded. “We got to get paid for this shit.”
Within a half-hour the diminished herd was completely under the rustlers’ control. Silsby rode at his usual post in the left rear. He wondered if he’d personally killed any of the Mexicans. He had aimed carefully and fired, but there had been so much shooting, he couldn’t be sure if it was his bullet that struck home when one of the pursuers was hit.
He suddenly shivered involuntarily and felt sick to his stomach.
~*~
It took the small gang three days to skirt the Strip and follow a western circuit around the old Medicine Bundle Grasslands before they crossed into Kansas. They stayed out of sight of the town of Liberal as they delivered the herd to Waring’s churlish agent Stubbs.
Silsby and his partners, dusty and weary, sat in the saddle while Stubbs’ crew herded the horses into the large corral. While the job was being tended to, Charlie complained to Stubbs about the trouble they had experienced in getting the animals out of the Creek Nation. “Just let me say that we ain’t getting our ass shot at on the cheap. I don’t want to hear no bottom prices throwed at us on this deal.”
“Now, boys,” Stubbs said, “this here was a special arrangement, so don’t you worry none about that. These is prime horses raised by them charros down Mexico way. We’ll get top dollar, we ain’t hiding that from you.”
“Then you give us top dollars, godamn your eyes, Stubbs,” Charlie growled.
Stubbs was offended. “They ain’t no call to talk like ‘at.”
“You mind my words,” Charlie warned him.
“Now looky here,” Stubbs said. “They’s only four of y’all. I got a dozen and a half men here. You don’t want to start no trouble you cain’t finish.”
Charlie glared at him. “I’ll just shoot you right off the bat, Stubbs. I don’t give a shit about nothing else. You ain’t gonna be gloating over this.”
Stubbs face reddened, then he stepped back and forced a smile. “Now how’s come we’re a-talking this-a-way? We’re all pals. I know you fellers is riled, and I can understand that. Why I almost got myself strung up near the town of Terral down on the Texas line one time. I was riding through and was so hungry that —”
“Let’s talk money,” Silsby interrupted impatiently. Now that the herd was delivered, his misgivings about the gunfight had evaporated. His thoughts were turned to Mildred Duncan.
“— I shot this stray heifer before I noticed the brand on her,” Stubbs went on. “Well, to make a long story short —”
“You do that,” Silsby snapped.
“— I got caught. But I had enough money to pay for it or them boys would’ve had me dancing in mid-air for sure,” Stubbs said. He laughed. “They didn’t know the money was from a bank job down in Bowie.”
“What’re you gonna pay us, Stubbs?” Charlie asked.
“We won’t be haggling, boys,” Stubbs said. “You brung thirty-two head of fine horseflesh and Mr. Waring has told me to give you one hunnerd dollars for each and ever’ one.”
“One hunnerd and twenty-five dollars a head,” Charlie said.
“No haggling, Charlie,” Stubbs warned. “It’s one hunnerd and you know it’s a good price. We still got to ease them horses into the market real careful like, so they’s gonna be expenses on our part.”
“We’ll take it,” Charlie conceded.
Within a half-hour the quartet was back on the open range. This time, with eight hundred dollars each, they headed toward their sanctuary in Kensaw. Tommy was deep in thought for several long moments. “I been thinking on what I’m gonna do.”
Dennis laughed. “You’re gonna spend all your money on whores.”
“He always does,” Silsby added.
“But it’s gonna be differ’nt this time,” Tommy announced “I think I’ll get one of the gals for all night in a reg’lar room in the hotel. I ain’t never done that in my whole life.”
Dennis approved. “That’s a grand idee. I think I’ll do that too. Maybe take up a bottle or two and have me a private party.”
“It’d be like a married feller,” Tommy said. “All he’s gotta do is roll over and get it when he wants it.”
“You boys best save some of your money,” Charlie advised them.
“Hell! We got eight hunnerd dollars!” Tommy crowed. “And I aim to have eight hunnerd dollars worth of fun.”
“How’s come you’re so damn thrifty all of a sudden?” Silsby asked Charlie.
“Because these damn rustling jobs is gonna start getting scarcer and scarcer,” Charlie said.
“Aw!” Dennis said in disagreement.
“You dumb jackass!” Charlie exclaimed. “Ain’t you noticed how the countryside is filling up? It ain’t gonna be long before you cain’t go two or three miles without running into a barbed wire fence. Now just how in the blue-eyed world are you gonna herd stolen horses if you have to stop a hunnerd times a day to tear down fences?”
Silsby had another thought. “They’s gonna be more law around here too as time goes by.”
“That’s something else to ponder on,” Charlie said.
All conversation ceased as the pronouncements of the easy pickings going away sank their spirits. After almost twenty minutes of silent riding, Tommy spoke up. “Say, Charlie, just what will we do when we cain’t rustle horses no more?”
“I been thinking on that,” Charlie said. “What we need is something that don’t have to be herded over the countryside.”
Dennis frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Money,” Charlie replied.
Tommy laughed. “Are we gonna round up money?”
“Sure,” Charlie said. “And do you know where we’ll find it? In banks and railroad baggage cars.”
“That’s scary, Charlie,” Tommy said.
Charlie’s comments made Silsby uneasy too. He looked over at his friend. “You’re talking about becoming reg’lar outlaws, Charlie.”
“Don’t you think we’re outlaws now?”
“Hell, no!” Silsby said. “We’re cowboys getting revenge on the folks that stole our range.”
“That’s what you think we are, huh?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah,” Silsby insisted. “We’re just like that feller in the stories they call Robbing Hood.”
>
“Who the hell is Robbing Hood?” Tommy asked.
“I read the story about the feller in a school book back in Missouri,” Silsby said. “He robbed from rich folks and give it to the poor ones.”
Dennis smirked. “What kind of name is Robbing Hood?”
“I don’t know,” Silsby said with a shrug. “I suppose they call him that because he robbed.”
Tommy laughed. “If he rode with us, they’d call him Rustling Hood.”
Charlie said, “I don’t know if this here Robbing Hood you’re talking about is an outlaw, but we sure are in the eyes of any starpacker we might run into. Anyhow, I ain’t talking about hitting banks and trains as a permanent thing. We could pull us a couple of big jobs and get a few thousand dollars. Then we’ll drop out of sight and head for Texas. We still want that ranch, don’t we?”
“I reckon,” Tommy said.
“Sure,” Dennis added.
Charlie looked at Silsby. “You’re perty sweet on that Duncan gal, Silsby. Wouldn’t you like to make a big bundle of money and take her down to a Texas ranch? You’d have a grand house on that big ol’ spread. Why, we’d all have grand houses.”
“Let’s talk on it,” Silsby suggested.
“We’ll do that, don’t you worry none,” Charlie assured him.
The four continued the journey, skirting plowed fields and farms on their way back to Kensaw.
Chapter Thirty-One
The heat in the kitchen enveloped the three women as they brushed sweat-drenched wisps of hair back from their foreheads. Out in the exposed expanse of the farmyard, the sun baked the earth with all its August ferocity. Unfortunately for the trio of females, the temperature within the small area around the stove was a good fifteen degrees hotter.
Fionna with Anna Lindgren the hired Swedish girl, pulled two loaves of bread from the oven, and carried them over to the table in the middle of the room. A very pregnant Rebecca stood on the other side, packing pieces of fried chicken into a large wooden box that had been lined with a dishtowel. Fionna, her dress top drenched with perspiration, upended one of the bread pans. She looked over at her daughter, noting her appearance. “Rebecca, I want you to go outside and sit in the shade under the tree for a spell. You can rest on the bench out there. Take one of the pillers off’n the sofa and you’ll be right comfortable.”
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