by S. L. Stoner
The old fellow stepped forward, offering a hand as he said, “Wahl, okay then, if that’s how you feel. Howdy Mr. Miner, my name’s Samuel Hamilton.”
“You know my name already?” Sage asked as he shook the firm, calloused hand.
“Wahl sure. Dexter Higginbottom’s an old pal of mine. Puts up here in the stable most nights when he’s in Prineville. He told me how you saved him and the runaway stagecoach coming down Cow Canyon.”
The man turned and gestured toward an animal inside the nearby stall. “This here is a fine horse. His name’s Twister. He’s a mite frisky, but as long as he knows you’re the boss, he does right fine.”
Sage eyed the big gray horse, noting that his nose seemed overly long and narrow. The one gleaming eye he could see looked crazed. “Umm, how’s Twister do with barking dogs?” he asked.
Hamilton wrinkled his forehead. “Wahl, this here is a cow pony. He’s probably worked around more ranch dogs than you’ll ever come across. I don’t think he’s much afraid of them.”
“And does he have anything against barbed wire? I once ended up on the neck of a horse that was afraid of barbed wire.” Hamilton didn’t bother to hide his grin.“On the neck, hmm? Don’t think Twister would like that much—you landing on his neck. Just may take exception.” He turned to look at the horse who curled a lip, displaying huge yellow teeth before stamping on the floor with a heavy hoof and sidling backward in the stall.
“I understand there are a lot of rattlesnakes out in the mountains. Does Twister know what to do if he sees one?”
This last question seemed to make up Hamilton’s mind about something because he sent a long arc of brown spit out the open door, put down the feed bucket and walked briskly toward the farthest stalls leaving Sage to trail behind.
Hamilton stopped at the last stall. Inside was a swayback horse, who seemed to be sleeping because his eyes were closed and his head drooped.
“This here’s Rocky, he’s kinda old but he still can do a day’s work. A tad pokey, but very dependable. Nothing seems to upset Rocky, maybe because he’s partly blind in one eye and can’t see as many disturbing things.” Hamilton chuckled to himself so Sage couldn’t tell if the stableman words were truth or a tale. Sage stepped forward and studied the old horse. Rocky’s eyelids opened, long black lashes framing the liquid brown eyes that stared calmly at Sage.
“Rocky’s got a horse that he likes in particular when it comes to traveling,” Hamilton said before giving another one of his private little chuckles. “That horse’s called Gasper. He won’t tolerate no rider but he’ll haul your stuff all day long without complaint. If he’s with Rocky, he does just fine.”
“Rocky and his friend, Gasper, it is then,” Sage said, relieved that he’d be spared the failure of showing Twister who was the boss. Hands down, that horse would have won.
“Yup,” said Hamilton, “that’s what I figured you’d say.”
The man’s eyes twinkled but Sage couldn’t take offense. He’d never liked horses much. Thus far, that dislike seemed to be mutual with just a few exceptions. It was why he was hoping the new horseless carriages would take hold. “Horseless” was the selling point as far as he was concerned.
After paying Hamilton in advance, he led the two horses to the hotel where he tied his prospecting kit onto Gasper’s back. After that, the three of them had headed east, moseying down the wagon track that ran alongside Ochoco Creek. Since their speed never exceeded a sedate walk, he had time to admire the rich green grasses of the creek bottom, the cloudless expanse overhead and the symmetrical pine trees dotting the low hillsides. Here and there a ranch house sheltered from the blazing sun under huge shade trees.
The open space let his mind stretch and wander. Which of those cattlemen were shooting sheep and murdering shepherds? Siringo was having a devil of a time finding that out. In eight days, according to Mrs. Henry, the sheep ranchers were going on the attack. From what he’d overheard at the Rimrock, the shepherds were also plotting to do the same. Who could blame them, really? Two shepherds murdered, sheep slaughtered, dead lines springing up everywhere and a sheriff they couldn’t trust because his sympathies lay with the cattlemen.
A thought struck him. Maybe Twill was the go-between. Maybe the shepherds and the sheep ranchers were coordinating their counterattack against cowboys and cattle. That would explain Twill’s odd behavior. Still, the Irishman might resort to fisticuffs but would he murder cowboys? No, Sage refused to believe that. And what about Van Ostrand and Thomas? Did they plan to join the other ranchers in seeking revenge? Since both men were very tense, maybe they did. All of which meant that he and Siringo had less than eight days to prevent the sheepmen’s retaliation and the start of a full-fledged range war. To do that, they had to discover who killed O’Dea and Rayburn. Then bring Meglit and the other killers to justice—removing the need for revenge. It was a deadline of a different sort than the dead lines blazed on trees. But, in one sense it was the same. If they ignored it, death could follow.
By the time they’d started to climb into the mountains, Sage’s nether region was signaling it had enough of Rocky’s wide back and jarring steps. “A man’s legs aren’t meant to wrap around anything this big. No wonder some cowboys walk like they’re holding a small barrel between their knees,” Sage mused aloud.
Rocky stopped. Looking forward, Sage saw no reason for him to stop. “Come on, old fellow. Just a bit more to go. Don’t stop now.” Sage’s boots nudged the horse’s side without effect. He glanced behind him. Old Gasper was already nibbling the trail side grass.
Sage turned forward and nudged Rocky’s sides more firmly with his heels. It made the horse’s ears twitch but still, the old horse stepped back, not forward. Sage sighed. He would have to dismount and lead the animal. He pulled one foot out of the stirrup and began to lift his leg over the saddle. Rocky nickered and stepped back again quickly—so quickly that Gasper snorted in irritation. Rocky had bumped into him. Sage grabbed the saddle horn as his unanchored foot flailed for the stirrup it had just abandoned.
A calm voice called from his right side. “Don’t do anything but hang on. Let the horse be in control. There’s a rattler beside the trail.”
Sage looked to his side. Siringo sat up slope in the shade of a tall pine, high atop a huge black horse. Sage looked forward and he saw it. Just five feet from Rocky’s right leg. The biggest snake Sage’d ever seen lay coiled beside the trail, head and tail raised, its rattle silent. Time seemed to freeze as snake, horse, and man studied each other. Then the snake lowered its head and glided away like water down a smooth channel.
Sage’s hand shook when he leaned forward to pat Rocky’s neck.“Sorry, old boy,” he said.“I won’t make that mistake again.” That had been over two hours ago. With Siringo leading, their little cavalcade had continued along the trail, climbing ever upward into the mountains. Sage’s backside and legs were beyond aching and sweat had glued his shirt to his torso.
Turning in his saddle, Siringo called, “We’re nearly there.”
“Thank the Lord,” Sage responded under his breath only to hear the other’s chuckle drift back through the hot air.
TWENTY FOUR
“At last,” Sage muttered as Siringo’s horse stepped off the trail and into a clearing. They’d reached the camp. Rocky apparently felt the same relief because his head raised and his pace quickened. The jostling gait worsened the aches but Sage didn’t care. The dependable old horse was as eager to get the human off his back as the human was eager to be off.
The camp looked well-used with a packed-earth clearing, blackened fire pit and a hitching rail rigged between two trees. Downslope, a creek burbled over a rocky bottom.
Sage dismounted, staggering when his feet hit the ground. He untied the line between the horses and led them to the creek where Siringo’s huge steed was already drinking.
“This here is Scissors Creek,” Siringo said, gesturing at the rocky creek bed. “Our old fellow lies in a small meadow abou
t a quarter mile upstream. Pretty place. He probably wouldn’t mind staying there,” the cowboy added.
“Are we going to go get him once the horses finish drinking?” Sage asked, though dreading the answer. It was the last thing he wanted to do. To unearth a moldering corpse, after a day of horseback riding, would be a special kind of hell. “My, my,” he chided himself. “Getting a little soft, are we?” It was a gibe Sage had given himself more than once over the past year.
At thirty-three he was no longer the lively young fellow who’d climbed over Chilkoot Pass on his way to the Klondike.
Siringo interrupted these thoughts by saying, “Wahl, Adair. Aren’t you the eager beaver?” with that hint of a chuckle. “But no, we’ll leave him be for now. The horses have to rest and we sure don’t need to be sleeping around a body. Especially one that old. We’ll dig him up tomorrow morning, load him onto your ancient pack horse and you can head out. You should make town before dark tomorrow.”
“His name’s ‘Gasper’,” Sage said more to himself than to Siringo. He wondered how a horse, who refused to be ridden, would react to having a decaying corpse slung across his back.
“Who’s ‘Gasper’?” Siringo asked.
Good grief, the cowboy must have the ears of an elephant. Maybe it was from spending so much time in the quiet back of beyond, Sage thought, but answered, “Gasper’s the horse that’s going to be carrying the old shepherd’s body back to town.”
Hearing his name, the horse raised his head from the water to eye them. Sage grabbed Gasper’s lead rope and Rocky’s reins and led them to the hitching rail. Once they were tied up, he quickly removed Rocky’s saddle and Gasper’s light load of prospecting equipment. Digging into his pack, he extracted a brush and began to brush Rocky. He felt Siringo’s eyes on his back.
“You’re spoiling them animals. They’re working cow ponies. Water ‘em, give ‘em a handful of hay, hobble ‘em, let ‘em graze and they’re happy enough,” he told Sage.
Sage finished brushing Rocky and moved toward Gasper. “Well, I’d be the last to say that I’m a horse lover but I figure these animals deserve special treatment. Rocky saved me from getting snake bit today. Old Gasper’s got a rough day ahead of him tomorrow.”
Siringo said nothing, just shook his head and began gathering dried sticks. The two men busied themselves. Siringo building a fire, Sage piling hay he’d brought at the feet of all three horses. Rocky nickered his thanks and Siringo’s black horse tossed his mane before dropping his head to munch.
An hour later, Siringo lay back against his saddle, his legs stretched out on the ground. “Adair, you might not know much about horses, but you sure are handy around a cook fire. I never expected such a fine meal.”
“It’s hard to go wrong with steak,” Sage said, though the meal had been pretty darn good. “The saving grace was the ice. The clerk tells me the Crooked River freezes every winter, keeping the town’s cellars full. That’s why the meat tasted so fresh.”
Siringo nodded, took another swallow of coffee and said, “I guess we better get to figuring exactly what we know about the doings hereabouts.”
“You’ve solved the mystery of the missing shepherd. So, that’s one thing done. Do you think Meglit also murdered the other sheepherder, Timothy O’Dea and his dog, Felan?
Siringo heaved a sigh. “Nope, that’s one thing I’m certain sure Meglit didn’t do.”
“How come you’re so sure?”
The cowboy leaned forward. “Wahl, first of all, he didn’t brag about doing it. If he had done it, he would have bragged. Once he decided I was a hard case like him, he couldn’t wait to boast about how darn bad he was.” Siringo grabbed a small rock and forcefully threw it against a pine tree before adding, “Sooner we get that sorry critter locked up, the sooner everyone will be safer.”
Sage gazed at the widely spaced trees and sparse grass between them. No knee-high tangle of fern, vine and shrub. It was possible to see far. A much easier place to travel cross-country than the rain forest side of the Cascades.
He poked the fire with a stick. “So, we still have to solve the O’Dea murder, the Rayburn murder and the Kepler brother’s barn burning. You sure those cowboys with Meglit didn’t do any of that?”
“Yup, their foreman keeps a tight rein on his crew and Meglit is not popular with most of them. Besides, they were up north herding cattle when O’Dea was killed. And, not a one of them was in Prineville when Asa Rayburn got shot. Maybe they could have burnt the Keplers’ barn but I’m thinking not.”
“Why?” Sage asked.
“No one’s bragging about it. And, near as I can tell, Meglit’s been with that outfit for over a month. If they’d had anything to do with barn burning, he would have been involved. Besides, that foreman’s a straight shooter. I can’t see him condoning a barn burning. He’d be more likely to go at a man bare-knuckled.”
“Well, somebody’s making it hard for the sheepmen. I saw Van Ostrand and Thomas’s outstanding debts. They’re in financial trouble. And, Van Ostrand’s acting ‘jumpy as water on a hot griddle,’ as my mother would say. Maybe Thomas and Van Ostrand have decided to join the other sheep ranchers in a retaliation scheme. The one I told you about last night. That could explain why he’s so riled up.”
Siringo leaned forward, using his own stick to poke the embers. Sparks wheeled upward and blinked out. “Could be that’s it,” he said. “For sure Van Ostrand, Thomas and the Kepler brothers have it particular hard since their ranches depend on grazing land out here in the Ochocos.”
Siringo was silent for awhile. When he spoke, his words were subdued.“The sheepshooters down south of Post, they definitely want to drive the sheep out. Sad part is, those fellows aren’t bad men, just desperate. They might kill sheep hereabouts but, Adair, I can’t see any one of them murdering that young shepherd.
“Matter of fact, when they went on their little raid, they carried a burlap bag to pull over the herder’s head. And they smudged their faces with soot and planned to cover their chins with kerchiefs. Those aren’t the acts of men ready to kill easily. And, every one of those men seemed relieved when we found the shepherd and his sheep gone.”
“Maybe, you’re right. But Twill said there were signs that O’Dea and his dog resisted.”
Siringo’s forehead wrinkled. “I heard that. But I’m willing to swear on a Bible that it can’t be either of the two cattle outfits I’ve been riding with. With the exception of Meglit, I’m just not seeing murderers. Sheepshooters, maybe. Murderers, nope.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What’s been happening in town? Maybe that’s where we should be looking,” he said.
Sage dropped his poking stick onto the embers.“You might be right about our killer being a town man. Someone’s shot at me twice, right in Prineville. And, so far, the only snooping I’ve done was into Rayburn’s murder. He was thought to be an unsavory fellow. Nobody seems to have liked him. He held a minor financial stake in the Rimrock. In fact, the fellow who disliked him the most was his partner in that saloon. But, for sure, that fellow didn’t shoot him. He has too many witnesses saying he was at the saloon all that day.”
Siringo had been stirring the coals as Sage talked. He tossed his own stick into the fire and said, “Wahl, Rayburn was involved in the sheep business. I suppose you heard he used to work for that sheep baron, Bellingham, up north? You heard what he was doing up there?”
“Not really. I’ve speculated that maybe Rayburn was somehow involved in Bellingham’s land fraud scheme. I talked with Fromm about it. We wondered if Bellingham might have wanted him dead.” Sage said.
Siringo nodded, “Could be that he did. Rayburn rounded up entry men to lay false claims on grazing land and then made arrangements for Bellingham to take over that land once the entry men took title. It was how Bellingham planned to secure permanent grazing for his sheep.”
“So, maybe he helped Bellingham commit land fraud? You know that for certain?” Sage was familiar with land fraud involving timbe
r but this idea of land fraud to obtain grazing land was a new twist.
Siringo held up his hand to halt Sage’s train of thought. “That ain’t the most important part. Rayburn was going to testify against Bellingham. Before I headed back here, I visited with Mr. Heney in Portland. He asked the Dickensen Agency to keep an eye on Rayburn. He was afraid Rayburn would run or that Bellingham would figure out Rayburn was a turncoat.” Siringo’s face turned morose as he added, “I surely failed in that job.”
“Heney’s in Prineville, did you know that?”
Siringo’s eyes widened. “Why no. I ducked in and out of town trying not to be too conspicuous. Stayed away from the usual watering holes.” His brow lowered as if working through the implications of the federal district attorney’s presence in Prineville. “You know,” he said slowly, “If he’s on this side of the Cascades because of the Bellingham trial, he’d have no call to be straying this far south. That trial’s happening in Portland. Rayburn was the only person in Prineville was involved. He was here avoiding Bellingham until the trial. So, it makes no sense that Heney would expose Rayburn by traveling out here to meet with him. Arrangements were already in place for Rayburn to leave for Portland next week.”
Silence fell. Sage picked up a new stick and began poking the fire alive. Despite the heat of the day, a breeze through the trees was driving warmth from the air. “I got fired by Van Ostrand,” he told Siringo. “Remember, they’ve lost their grazing lease along the military road. The Kepler brothers got it instead. Apparently, they bought a bunch of sheep before learning they weren’t going to get the lease again. Anyway, Van Ostrand had me looking at survey maps of the Ochocos. My task was to locate sections with watering holes.”
“Mmm,” was Siringo’s only answer before he clambered to his feet and headed toward the hobbled horses peacefully grazing among the trees. “We’d best tie the beasts closer to the fire. I saw the tracks of an old cougar hereabouts. The older they get, the more desperate they get. Could even take on a hobbled horse—probably one of your two. They’re a bit long in the tooth to put up a good fight.”