Talman's War (A Piccadilly Publishing Western #9)

by Neil Hunter

  Olsen glanced at Howser, then at Jarrett. Pay these two enough and they would kill anyone. Their price might be high, but it would be cheap compared to what a drawn-out range war could cost him in time, money and men.

  ‘You keep me out of it,’ he said.

  ‘Easy done,’ Howser said. ‘All you got to do is to carry on as normal. Leave it to me and Cal.’

  ‘And your price?’

  A new light shone in Howser’s eyes. He scrubbed a big fist across his jaw. ‘Three thousand apiece,’ he said. ‘Half now — half when the job’s done.’

  Olsen’s face remained blank. ‘Very well.’ He paused. ‘You wouldn’t try a double-cross would you, Howser?’

  ‘Run off as soon as we get our hands on the money?’ Howser laughed. ‘Hell no. I know how big you are. That’s enough for me.’

  ‘Meet me in town, at the livery, about noon tomorrow. I’ll have your money.’ Without further talk Olsen turned and retraced his steps to the house. He heard the men he’d hired to commit murder ride out, and he felt well satisfied with the transaction that had just taken place.

  Chapter Ten

  With the evening meal over, lamps were lit against the fast approaching darkness. Though the bright heat of day vanished with the setting of the sun the sudden blackness of night still held a sullen warmth that threatened to cling and stifle. Above the dark land the sky broke into pinpoints of light as stars appeared, and a silence fell over the wide, empty country, broken only by the feverish activity at Rocking-T headquarters.

  Over coffee Jim and Ben Nolan got down to the talk they had avoided during the eating of Ruth’s meal. While the meal had taken place they had tried to keep the atmosphere clear, but a brittle tension had developed and the light-hearted banter had finally died into uncomfortable silence. Ruth had sensed that the two men wanted to talk; she cleared the table, then disappeared into the kitchen. Jim had passed Nolan a thin black cigar, filled his own pipe, and had sat back.

  Ben Nolan lit his cigar, letting writhing smoke rise above his head. He glanced at Jim, his face suddenly taut. ‘This can’t go on, Jim,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to try and stop it. Long as I wear this badge I can’t let a thing like this go on.’

  ‘I know, Ben,’ Jim answered. ‘But I’ve got to fight him. I won’t let Rocking-T go.’

  Nolan sighed. ‘Hell, Jim, I’d figure you a quitter if you did. I’d do the same in your place.’ He leaned forward. ‘That’s as far as I go, Jim. A man has a right to protect himself and his property, but that’s as far as it goes. Any man who breaks the law will have me on his tail. And that applies to friend or otherwise. Understand that, Jim, here and now.’

  Jim nodded. He knew Nolan well enough to realize that the lawman meant every word he said. Nolan would carry out his duty to the end, regardless of whether the lawbreaker was a close friend or a total stranger. When it came to applying the law Nolan gave nothing. He walked a thin line and never even thought of stepping to either side of it. Jim respected this in the man and wouldn’t have it any other way.

  ‘What do I do, Ben?’ Jim asked. ‘How do I settle this? It’s doubtful I could talk Olsen out of it. This water problem is all the excuse he needs to justify anything he does. In his own eyes he’s in the right.’

  ‘Like hell he is.’ Nolan pushed up out of his seat. He prowled restlessly about the room. ‘Jim, you know as well as I do that it’s going to be a long time before we’ve got any really effective law in this territory. Hell, I got no more chance of upholding complete obedience to the law than you have of becoming King of England. So it means that every man has to be his own law — but only up to a point. Olsen has already gone beyond that point. I’ll go see him and make it clear how I stand. I don’t figure he’ll worry too much over that, but if he pushes me I’ll push back. I may get my head shot off, but I figure that’s a chance I get paid to take.’

  ‘In effect, Ben, you’re telling me I’m going to have to fight, one way or another.’

  ‘Unless a miracle happens,’ Nolan said. He smiled wryly. ‘Maybe if I make convincing noises Olsen will decide to quit.’

  ‘Ben, you give as much comfort as a pair of tight pants.’

  A soft laugh came from Nolan’s throat. He ran a big hand through his hair. ‘You’ll make it, Jim, I know it. You’re John Talman’s son and I know the way the Talmans fight.’

  ‘You make it sound easy.’ Jim straightened out of his chair as Ruth came back into the room.

  Eyeing the two men, who had fallen silent again, she let go an exasperated sigh. ‘For a minute I thought I was alone,’ she said. ‘Do you have to shove the body under the table every time I come into the room? I know you’re only trying to keep me from worrying, but I wish you wouldn’t.’

  Nolan grinned. ‘Jim, if I had a girl like Ruth in back of me I’d take on the whole damn world.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Jim said. He put an arm around Ruth’s waist. ‘You figure we can whip Olsen, honey?’

  ‘Yes, Jim, we can, and we will,’ Ruth told him.

  Stubbing out the remains of his cigar Nolan reached for his hat.

  ‘Ruth, I want to thank you for having me over. Both your cooking and your company are things I look forward to. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that a body is better off on their own. It just isn’t so. Home and family are the only things worthwhile.’

  Ruth put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘That was a lovely thing to say, Ben. Thank you. And remember that you’re welcome here anytime. No need to let us know you’re coming, just open the door and walk in. You hear?’

  ‘I’ll remember, Ruth.’ Nolan glanced at Jim. ‘Keep your eye on her, boy, else I’ll hoist her behind my saddle one day and light out for Mexico.’

  ‘Like that is it,’ Jim grinned. ‘Looks as if I’ll have to keep my eyes on the pair of you.’

  The sound of men and horses reached them from outside and Jim realized that time was getting on. He went to the old roll top desk where he did his paper-work. From a drawer he took out a rolled gun rig and strapped it on. It had been some time since he’d worn the gun and the weight of it on his hip was strange to him. Turning he saw that both Ruth and Ben Nolan were watching him. Nolan showed no emotion; he knew what it was all about and the sight of the gun did nothing to him. For a moment Jim avoided Ruth’s gaze. When he did raise his eyes he could plainly see the worry in her face, the sadness in her eyes.

  ‘Ben, would you tell the boys it’s time to ride,’ Jim asked.

  Nolan put his hat on, nodded slightly. ‘Sure, Jim.’ His tone was soft, understanding. He turned and went out, closing the door behind him.

  Ruth brought Jim’s hat to him. She gave him a smile that was on her lips but not in her eyes. ‘Please be careful, Jim.’

  ‘I intend to be. All we’re doing tonight is to relieve the boys on guard out there. Expect me back come dawn.’ Jim took her in his arms. ‘Dicken will be around so you won’t be alone.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried for,’ Ruth told him. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘I’ll be all right. Don’t fret. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  Ruth smiled gently. ‘And women weep while men go to war,’ she murmured.

  ‘Where did you hear that one?’

  ‘I think I read it in a book.’

  ‘Too many women forgetting where they should be,’ Jim told her with mock gravity.

  ‘And where is that?’

  Jim smiled. ‘In the kitchen, woman, among the pots and pans.’

  ‘Jim Talman, at times you talk like an old-fashioned prude.’

  Jim kissed her hard, and for a long time; after a while Ruth relaxed in his arms, responding with tantalizing eagerness. When Jim finally pulled away, reluctantly, he saw Ruth’s flushed, bright-eyed face, and he almost said to hell with riding out.

  ‘You want me to hang up my hat and quit right now?’ he asked.

  Smiling, Ruth pushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. ‘Out
, Jim Talman, out.’ She eased him to the door, opening it for him. ‘Out,’ she said again, then held him to her for a moment before he left her.

  Ben Nolan and the rest of Jim’s crew sat their horses in a pool of light from the open cook-shack door. Crossing the yard to join them Jim’s light-heartedness left him as fast as the night-gloom enveloped him. He mounted up in silence and led the way out of the yard. Ruth had already gone back inside, closing the door of the house behind her and Jim didn’t look back as he rode away from the ranch. A full moon had risen, throwing soft, pale light onto the wide land. Riding was made easy and Jim and his crew reached the herd in fairly quick time. As soon as they began to come across the bunches of Rocking-T cattle Jim set his men on the job of gathering them. With the light as good as it was he’d decided that they might as well carry on with pushing the herd on up to the high meadow. Too many of his beeves were showing the effects of the prolonged drought, and he didn’t want this to go too far. The grass up in the high meadow was plentiful as yet. The trees and the rising hills around it helped to protect the meadow, keeping the ground active and the grass growth regular and steady. Somehow Jim had to try to keep his herd up there and hope at the same time that the grass lasted.

  Ben Nolan threw in his hand, helping Jim and his crew to get the bunched cattle on the move. Once the herd was set and on its way Nolan eased his horse over to where Jim was, sitting his own mount, silently watching the passing stream of steers.

  ‘Long time since I did anything like this,’ Nolan said. In the moonlight his face shone wet with sweat. He cuffed his hat back, spat the taste of dust from his mouth. He eased up on one hip as he glanced across at Jim. ‘Man, I figure I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.’

  Jim smiled. ‘That’ll be the day. Ben, when are you going to see Olsen?’

  Nolan settled back in the leather. ‘I figure to cut across and see him as soon as I can.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘The sooner the better. I don’t aim to let him get away with this any longer than I can help.’

  ‘You want any help?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it my own way. It’s my job and I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘Take care, Ben.’

  Nolan nodded. ‘Will do, Jim.’

  The bright moon stayed with them as the herd moved snakelike across the pale land. Dust from their passing hung thick and milky-white in the hot night air, the heat pressing heavy and dry against the faces and bodies of the sweating riders.

  Andy Jacobs rode out of the dust-fog, appearing like some phantom in the long white duster he wore when he was driving cattle. The flapping skirts of the coat hid his legs and billowed out from his body like a cloak.

  ‘At least they ain’t got much fight in ’em,’ he said. ‘Heat’s got ’em beat.’

  ‘I know how they feel,’ Jim said. ‘Makes for easy handling anyhow.’

  Jacobs sleeved his wet face. He hooked one leg over the saddle horn and fished out his makings. With expert judgment he filled a paper, rolled and sealed it. ‘I’ll ride on and let the boys know we’re coming. Don’t want ’em to start shooting us by mistake.’

  ‘All right, Andy,’ Jim agreed. ‘I’ll give the boys a hand here.’

  ‘Mind if I ride along, Andy?’ Ben Nolan asked. ‘I’m heading over to Boxed-O, so I may as well start now. You mind, Jim?’

  ‘Go ahead, Ben, and watch yourself. Olsen’s one tricky feller.’

  ‘That’s why I’m calling unexpected,’ Nolan said. ‘Catch a man off guard and you’ve got the upper hand from the first.’

  With a brief wave of his hand the lawman turned his horse after Andy Jacobs. They angled away from the herd, fading into the darkness.

  Gathering his loose reins Jim gigged his own horse forward, concentrating on the swelling mass of the herd. Time merged with the darkness and there seemed to be little else save dust and heat and jostling steers. Jim lost track of the minutes passing by. He saw ahead of him, finally, the gently rising slopes of the foothills. Above them the main bulk of the hills rose darkly against the moonlit sky. Turning in his saddle, he watched the straggling line of cattle with dust-smarting eyes. Once they had the herd on the marked trail that led to the meadow things would be easier.

  A sudden shout broke through the noise of the herd’s passing. Jim saw a rider approaching. As the horseman got closer a sudden tightness gripped him. The man wasn’t one of his crew. Jim’s hand dropped to his gun. He didn’t draw it, but sat waiting, his fingers just touching the butt of the weapon.

  He recognized the rider with something of a shock. It was Frank Spode, Olsen’s foreman. Suspicions flooded Jim’s thoughts. What did Spode want? Whatever it was, it was bound to mean trouble for Rocking-T somewhere along the line.

  Frank Spode threw a quick glance at Jim’s herd, then looked back at Jim. ‘I’ve come to give you a warning, Jim,’ he said.

  ‘About what?’ Worry gnawed at Jim’s inside.

  ‘Bunch of Olsen’s riders are planning to stampede your herd tonight. They aim to scatter them to hell and gone.’

  ‘When’s this going to happen?’

  ‘Any time now,’ Spode said.

  ‘How come you’re telling me this, Frank?’

  Spode rubbed his jaw. ‘Me and Olsen don’t see eye to eye on things any more. Look, Jim, I’m a cattleman, not a gunslinger. Olsen’s after Rocking-T and he doesn’t mind how he gets it. I just didn’t like the idea of being part of that kind of deal. I told Olsen how I felt and where I stood. The outcome of that was Olsen firing me, but I’d already quit.’

  ‘And the raid?’

  ‘I overheard some of the crew talking about it just before I rode out. Seems Olsen had decided the raid would be a follow-up to the try at your water. He had it all fixed before him and me had our little talk. I don’t think he really trusted me from the start.’

  ‘I’m grateful for this, Frank.’

  ‘No need. I knew your pa, and he was a good man. Square as hell. Man in the cattle game has enough trouble without bastards like Olsen around. What he aims to do is wrong in any man’s book and I won’t stand by and let it happen without trying to do something about it.’

  Jim caught sight of one of his men riding by. It was Jan Dorn, and he wheeled his horse round at Jim’s call.

  ‘Pass the word, Dutchy,’ Jim told him. ‘We’ve got trouble coming. Boxed-O is going to make a try at our herd tonight.’

  ‘What you want us to do?’ Dorn asked.

  ‘Two of the boys can stay down here. Keep the herd where it is. The rest of us will get on up to the high meadow.’

  Dorn turned his horse and pounded off into the night.

  ‘Frank, what are you going to do now you’ve left Boxed-O?’ Jim asked.

  Spode lifted his wide shoulders. ‘Haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘Leaving the territory?’

  ‘No.’ Spode hesitated. ‘I got personal reasons for staying around for a while.’

  Jim didn’t pursue the question any further. It was obvious that Spode didn’t want to say any more, and Jim wasn’t one to pry. He was too grateful to the man to offend him any.

  Chapter Eleven

  In a couple of minutes Jan Dorn had all but two of the crew gathered round Jim. They sat silent and grim-faced as he told them what was liable to happen. The Rocking-T hands were not of the gun- hand breed as Olsen’s riders were, but Jim knew that if and when trouble reared its head they would fight as hard as any.

  ‘One thing,’ Jim concluded. ‘If we tangle with Olsen’s crew up there we won’t be playing for marbles. I won’t have time to issue orders so if anybody shoots at you remember you’ve got guns too. So shoot back and we’ll worry later. Understand?’

  They nodded and murmured their agreement. Jim felt satisfied. He had a good bunch here and he hoped they would all come through unhurt.

  ‘Lead out, Dutchy,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll follow up.’

  As the Rocking-T crew rode away Jim turned to Frank Spode. ‘
I don’t expect you’ll be riding with us?’

  ‘No offence, Jim, but I don’t want to get involved any further.’

  Jim understood. ‘That’s all right, Frank. Thanks anyway.’

  Jerking his horse round, Jim set it out after the rest of his crew. He caught up with them as they reached the well-defined trail that led up to the high meadow. Taking the lead Jim gigged his horse up the rough, dusty trail. The way became steeper as they went higher, the slope curving its way out of the swells and hollows of the hill.

  They had been riding for some ten minutes when the first shot rolled its sound into the night. It was followed by a second and then a short, heavy volley that rattled and popped its echoes around the slopes of the dark hills.

  Fear and anger surged up in Jim; fear for the safety of his men, and anger at what Olsen’s men were doing. His emotions urged him on. Driving his heels in, Jim forced his horse on up the pale, moonlit trail. As he rode he reached down and yanked his rifle out of the boot. He cocked it one-handed and rode with it across his thighs.

  The gunfire continued and the higher Jim got the louder it sounded. At times it was ragged, uneven, then maybe just one or two guns firing widely-spaced shots.

  Reaching the place where the trail began to level Jim drew rein, bringing his laboring horse down to a slow walk. His crew, following close, did the same. They crested the final slope, coming into the meadow, knowing that once they did they would come into the view of the Boxed-O raiders.

  ‘Jim, on the right.’ Jan Dorn’s voice came from close to Jim’s side.

  Jim’s head snapped round, eyes searching the gloom. For a time he could see only the blending mass of trees and brush merging with the denser background shadows. And then he saw one of the shadows move. It fused into the shape of a horse and rider. Jim stiffened. Was it a Rocking-T rider? Or was it a raider from Boxed-O? He got his answer moments later when the rider wheeled his horse, plunging it back through the brush.

  ‘Comin’ up the trail! Rocking-T!’ The rider’s warning rang loud and clear to every ear. And on the heels of his shout came the crack of a rifle.