They rode on in silence. It was mid-morning, and the temperature was rising quickly. Sweat dripped from their hair onto their collars. Josh was glad that he had his hat. They walked their horses to keep the dust down as much as possible. Bunch grass grew in clusters across the plains, green from the recent rain. The horses weaved in and out of light green mesquite. Occasionally they rode through dark green, oak thickets. They guided their mounts up the rocky hillsides with the ocher sandstone reflecting the heat of the sun. The sides of the hills were dotted with the ever-abundant prickly pear, with its green and purple fruit on many of the pads. On each hill they stopped before reaching the crest, then moved slowly, with their hats off, until they could just see over the ridge. They carefully surveyed the country in front of them for hostiles before crossing over the top and moving on.
It had been a long morning when they crested a hill and saw the dark green pecan and oak trees with the lighter green of the big cottonwood trees along the Pecan Bayou, as it snaked its way south.
Scott rode up next to Josh, “We came out some south of where I suspect they’re holding the cattle. We could move into the trees on the Pecan, and, with this little north breeze, whip up some coffee and get some water for the horses.”
“Good idea,” Josh said. “A little coffee and a bite to eat will refresh us all; not to mention being under those trees and out of this sun.”
They eased down the hill and into the trees. The shade felt good. The men dismounted and took their horses to the creek for water. The striking of the horses hooves on the rocky bed of the creek was more noise than Josh wanted, but the horses needed water. After the horses drank, the men moved back into the trees. They cleared leaves from a spot and started a fire with some small dry pecan limbs. Only a small amount of smoke wafted into the trees and was quickly dissipated by the leaves as it rose to the heavens.
Scott made the coffee while they opened the food bags that Teresa had prepared for each of them. They were pleasantly surprised when each bag included two of her delicious apricot fried pies. Each man took out one and ate it with his coffee.
“Mr. Nance, I’ll swear, I don’t think I’ve tasted food as fine as Teresa makes. This here is like dying and goin’ to heaven,” Scott said.
“You’re right about that. She can cook. I’d say it’s a real toss-up between her and Victoria Diehl.”
All the hands nodded as they finished off their coffee and pie. Josh had been up the creek scouting for sign. He came back and squatted by the fire for a second cup of coffee. “About a hundred yards up the creek is a crossing. There’s been a lot of cattle cross there. More than would naturally. I also saw some shod horse tracks. We can’t be far. Get this fire put out and we’ll go see what we can find.”
After putting out the fire and ensuring there were no burning embers, the men mounted and slowly made their way up to the crossing.
“How far up the creek do you reckon they’re holding the cattle?” Josh asked Scott.
“The bend is at least another two miles. We can cross the creek here and slip up over the ridge. If we follow that ridge line, it’ll take us right to where they are. They won’t know we’re anywhere around.”
Chapter 21
“Check your weapons,” Josh said. “There’s a good chance we’re gonna need ‘em.”
The six men pulled their handguns and checked the loads. They checked their long guns, ensuring there was a round in the chamber. After all the guns had been checked, Josh and Bill led out. They rode slowly over the crossing, the horses’ hooves clicking and rolling the rocks as they crossed the creek. The pecan and oak trees extended about fifty yards on each side of the creek. The land sloped from the edge of the trees up the rocky ridge. Josh and Bill eased up to the edge of the trees and stopped, scanning north and south along the ridge line. All that was visible was rock, patches of cactus, and a few scattered mesquite trees; no movement except for a solitary jack rabbit and a few turkey buzzards sailing on the rising currents of hot air.
“Move out,” Josh said softly.
The men slowly rode up the ridge line in a column of twos. A few minutes later they stopped just before sky-lining themselves and peered over the top of the ridge. Still no movement. Slipping quietly over the ridge, the riders drifted down the other side and turned north.
They rode silently for a couple of miles until they heard the cattle lowing. Josh turned to Pat. “You still have your army issue binoculars?”
Pat’s lips spread in a wide grin. “Aye, the colonel said to keep them—never know when I might need them.”
“Good. How about slipping up that ridge and see what you can find out for us.”
Pat nodded, pulled his Spencer from its boot, reached into his saddle bags, and pulled out his binoculars. He made his way up the ridge, skirting loose rocks on the hillside. Pat removed his hat, laid his Spencer next to him, and stretched out on the rocky ground behind a small mesquite tree. Slowly, he eased his head above the ridge. Cattle were spread across the flat. They were backed up against the Pecan Bayou to the west. The bayou made a switchback that formed a perfect pocket for holding the cattle. Scott came slipping up beside Pat.
“How many head you reckon are down there?” Scott asked, as he took off his hat and eased his eyes just above the hill.
“Looks to me about six or seven hundred head. They sure found a good place to hold those cows. They’ve got water, and this pocket has about the best grass I’ve seen around here.”
“How many men you count?”
Pat continued to scan the trees with the binoculars. “So far, I’ve only been able to pick out four. There’s one over on the east side of the herd walking his horse around ‘em.” I see three more at their camp. You see them back in the trees a bit?”
Pat handed Scott the binoculars. Scott adjusted them and looked where Pat indicated. “Yep. I see ‘em.” He panned the binoculars up and down the creek, then around the cattle. “I recognize the boy on the horse. His name is Slim, and he’s kinda new. Young fella; not a bad sort. I hate to see him here.”
Pat took the binoculars back, “Aye. laddie, I fear it will be a bad day for those rustlers.”
They slipped back down the hill and delivered their news.
“Four men,” Pat told Josh. “Three at their camp, almost straight back in the trees, and one young fella just over the ridge and north of us about two hundred yards. Looks like they all have rifles and are well armed.”
“Thanks, Pat.” Josh turned to Bill. “What do you think about us splitting up? I’ll take Pat and Jack, you can take Scott and Lee. You move north up the ridge and we’ll go back south a ways. Shouldn’t take us more than fifteen minutes for each of us to get into position. We’ll ride over the hill in thirty minutes. Make it nice and slow. If we charge, it could cause them to start shooting. I’d like to keep the shooting down as much as possible.”
Bill nodded. “Sounds good to me. But you boys be ready. If they start the music, we’ll play their tune. Be ready, but don’t shoot unless they do.”
Josh and Bill checked their pocket watches, and the two groups turned in opposite directions. Thirty minutes later they were waiting in position. Josh led Pat and Lee over the ridge. He could see Bill and his men crossing the ridge at the same time, rifles laying across their saddles, in hand and ready. The tall fellow saw Bill first. He stopped and sat watching them for a moment, then turned his horse and trotted back to the camp. Josh just kept riding toward the camp. The three men had been sitting around the campfire. Now they stood and focused on Bill. They hadn’t looked toward Josh. The two groups were now within seventy-five yards of the camp. Two of the cowboys in camp had slipped the leather thongs holding their six-guns in the holsters.
When Josh was within about forty yards, one of the men turned and saw them. “Howdy, boys,” Josh said. They all turned and looked his way, then back at Bill. It was obvious they were nervous and confused. Josh and Bill kept riding toward the camp. They were at the edge of the tr
ees.
Josh heard Scott say. “Hi Slim. You boys have any coffee?”
“Howdy, Scott,” Slim replied. He was a tall, skinny, kid with a face full of pimples. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”
“I reckon you didn’t,” Scott said sadly.
Josh and Bill’s riders were now around the camp. The rustlers had backed up, with their backs to the fire.
“Mr. Nance, that short, stocky feller with the black hat is Norm. I don’t know the other two. They must be new,” Scott said.
When Scott called the old ranger by name, the four men looked at each other and worry clouded their faces like a summer thunderstorm.
Bill Nance leaned forward on his horse, “Which one of you boys is ramroddin’ this outfit?”
Norm stepped forward. “I am, and what’s it to you?” Norm carried his gun tied down and low. It was obvious he fancied himself a gunfighter.
“Well, I figure the he-boar ought to lead the way to the hanging.”
“Ain’t gonna be no hangin’ here today,” Norm said and went for his gun.
Pat put a round from his Spencer through the left hand pocket of Norm’s shirt, just before the bullet from Bill Nance’s .44 Colt slammed into the same pocket. Norm staggered back against one of the other rustlers who was trying to get his gun into action. Josh shot him through the center chest with his Winchester. Smoke drifted through the pecan trees. The blast of sound silenced the birds and squirrels that had been singing and barking. Slim and the other man stood with their hands held high.
Josh sat his horse, watching the other two men. It always amazed him how quickly death could happen. A few minutes earlier these men had been sitting around the fire talking about who knows what. Now two of them were dead. “You boys drop your guns. You want to tell us how you happened to have over seven hundred head of Rocking N cattle?”
The other rustler turned to Josh. He was an older man. Silver had started streaking his hair, and wrinkles coursed across his forehead and the corners of his eyes. “Mister, I’ve been a cow nurse my whole life. I was passin’ through Camp Wilson. Thought I’d head over to New Mexico. I stopped in at the King 7 Saloon, and they said a Mr. Ruffcarn was hiring hands. My stake was about gone, so I figgered a couple of months here and I’d move on. Reckon I picked the wrong spread.”
Bill Nance spoke up, his voice hard. “You reckon those cows carry the Circle W on ‘em?”
The old cowboy turned back to Nance and shook his head. “No sir, they sure don’t.”
Nance looked the man over. His boots were worn down, and his chaps had patches on them. “It’s a sorry way to end up,” he said. “You know what’s coming.”
The man rubbed his thick greying mustache, “I surely do. I’d be much obliged if you’d get on with it. I’ve no hankering to stand here and think about it.”
The afternoon wind was freshening, caressing the green leaves on the pecan trees. The shooting had scattered a covey of bobwhite quail, and they were whistling to one another, slowly getting back together. Red flashed through the trees as a brilliant-colored cardinal flew to a welcome limb, causing a nearby fox squirrel to fuss at him for a moment. Life was returning to the creek.
“Jack, we’ve got plenty of good trees here. Find one and get a couple of ropes over a solid limb. I’d like to get this done and get these cattle moving back toward the ranch,” Bill Nance said.
While Jack Swindell found a tree, Nance turned back to the boy and older man. “You boys do this on your own?”
The older man shook his head. “No sir. We was told to hold these cattle here till his crew came back to rebrand ‘em and sell them to the army. That’s what we were doing when you rode in—just holdin’ ‘em.”
“So Ruffcarn gave the orders?”
“He shore did. And I’ll just tell you. He’s dead set on gettin’ your ranch.”
Slim hadn’t said a word after his greeting to Scott. He was barely shaving. He had a mustache he was trying to grow that was so sparse it was comical. His face was pale, but he stood his ground, his back straight and his eyes clear.
The older cowboy spoke up again. “Mr. Nance, I got a request for you. Goodness knows I have no right to ask, but it’s not for me. I’ve been over the mountain. I’ve seen the bear. But this boy, why he’s just startin’ life. He’s a good boy. Don’t cause nobody trouble and works hard for his wage. He just got in with the wrong bunch. If you could see your way clear to see he gets another chance, why I reckon he’ll never throw a loop over another man’s brand. I swear that’s true. If you could just let him ride, I could go to my maker a happy man.”
Bill Nance had seen a number of men’s necks stretched for wrong doings. He was a hard but good man. He never stole anything from anyone and had no patience for them that had. He turned to Josh, “You think we would accomplish anything by hanging this boy?”
Josh was tired of death. He’d seen so many young men slaughtered and mutilated, dying and screaming on the battlefield. “Bill, why don’t you ask him if he’d be willing to straighten out and stay away from shady characters like Ruffcarn.”
Nance turned back to Slim. “Boy, I’ve got to tell you, I have no patience with thieves. I rangered for many a year. I don’t hanker to stretch a man’s neck, but I surely don’t truck with rustlers. If we let you go, do you think you could give up this business and become an honest man?”
Slim looked up at Bill Nance with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Yes, sir. Why I’d be out of this country before the dust could settle. I give you my solemn word on my mother’s grave, I’ll never again take another man’s property.”
Nance nodded and turned to the old cowboy. “Where’s your horse?”
“Why, it’s that little, dun mustang. He’s a fine cowpony. He’s been a pleasure to ride.”
“Go ahead and mount up and ride over to Jack,” Nance said. He, too, wanted to get this gruesome business finished.
The older cowboy mounted up and rode over to the noose hanging from the big pecan limb. Jack rode up next to him, slid the noose over his head, and positioned it with the big hangman’s knot under his left ear. He took out his piggin’ string. “Reckon it’s better if I tie your hands. It’ll keep you from flailing around.”
“Sure. I don’t mind.”
Jack reached up to the man’s bandana to put it around his eyes.
“No need to do that, mister. I’d like to see this fine country as long as possible.”
Nance rode over to him. “You got any last words?”
“Well, sir, I surely do. I’ve had a fine life. Never had much money, and what I had, I spent on women and liquor. But I’ve seen a big part of this country and I’ve enjoyed it. I’d also like to say I appreciate you givin’ the boy a chance.” He looked over at the boy still standing at the fire. “So long, Slim.” With his last words, the old cowboy, without waiting for Jack to slap his horse, slammed his spurs into the sides of the little, dun mustang, and it leaped forward, leaving him swinging in the air. The pecan limb groaned and swayed slightly with his sudden weight, and they all heard the audible snap as the correctly positioned hangman’s knot broke his neck. He swung there for a few minutes. All the men sat silent.
“Seemed like a pretty fine guy,” Scott said.
Josh took off his hat and wiped his forehead, then the sweatband, “Yeah, sometimes good guys get mixed up with bad men and just can’t, or won’t, find the courage to step away. Bill, what do you want to do with the bodies?”
“Let’s get this man buried. I didn’t even know his name.” He turned to Slim, “What was his name, boy?”
Slim, unashamed of the tears coursing through the dust on his cheeks, said, “Mr. Nance, that was Rusty Felton. He was always good to me.”
“Well, he did seem like a mighty fine feller. Jack, you and Lee get him down and bury him under the tree. Leave the other two where they lay. Reckon they don’t deserve much else.”
The men dismounted and started surveying the camp. They stripped
the guns from the dead men and sacked up the cooking gear and other supplies. Saddles were tossed onto the horses, and the supplies divided among the rustlers’ horses.
Nance turned to Slim. “Boy, I’m gonna turn you loose. You could just as easily have hung next to Rusty. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks to Rusty, you get a second chance. Don’t prove me wrong, or I swear I’ll hang you myself.”
“No sir, you won’t be wrong. I know its easy to say, but I’ve learned my lesson. I swear.”
Bill Nance swung up into the saddle, “Well how about you help us herd these cattle back near the ranch. We’ll get you a meal, and you can be on your way. I’d recommend south … maybe Brownwood way. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes sir. Thank you sir. I’m much obliged.”
The camp had been cleaned, the fire put out, and Rusty buried. The hands were turning the cattle and moving them south. They would take them south until they reached the crossing, then cross Pecan Bayou and turn them west to the ranch. Josh eased Chancy next to Bill. “Bill, if it’s okay with you, I think Pat and I will ride up to Camp Wilson. I want to check on the telegrams I sent and get the word spread about Ruffcarn. We’ll be back in a four or five days.”
“That’s fine with me, Josh. Tell Jeremiah howdy for me. I’ll see you back at the ranch.”
Josh called Pat back from the herd. “You want to go see your sister? I’ve got some business at the fort, and I want the word of Ruffcarn being a rustler spread quickly.”
“Aye, Major, me lad, I’m your man. But sure it is that we won’t get there today.”
“What’s the matter, Pat? You getting too old to spend a night camped out on the ground,” Josh asked as his face broke into a grin. He turned his horse toward the creek so Chancy could get some water before they started out. Pat rode along beside him. They could hear the cowhands pushing the cows down the creek.
“It’s a dirty job, dealing with rustlers,” Pat said.
They were in the creek bottom, about three inches of water was still running, with deeper holes on each end—a nice crossing. The horses were drinking as Josh and Pat sat relaxed in their saddles. Josh was feeling some better. The gloves over his wrapped hands protected them from injury. He slipped them off to see how they were doing. Both hands were healing well although his right hand appeared to be healing faster than his left. “Yeah, Pat, it is. I’m glad we didn’t have to hang the boy. You never know how he’ll turn out, but I hope this straightens him out.”
Logan's Word: A Logan Family Western - Book 1 (Logan Family Western Series) Page 17