Rustlers

by Orrin Russell

  He smacked the cows nearest him with the end of his rope and put his heels into the roan. The horse, already on edge, bolted into the deeper section of the river. It was panicked now. Balum could see its eyes flared wide as it swung its head from one side to the other.

  The first log shot in front of them, missing them by a few feet. The pointed end of it stabbed into the neck of a bull, the force throwing the bull into the cows downstream of him. It knocked them under the water momentarily and when they rose their eyes were wide with fright.

  Charles had nearly reached the other edge. There was nothing more Balum could do but sit tight and watch the logs racing towards him. Another passed behind him, ramming into the cattle at the back. The water reached above his knees, and he thought for a moment of jumping from the roan’s back and swimming for shore.

  The larger section of timber reached them just as Balum had reached the shallower ground of the northern side. The roan got its footing and lurched up the bank. It reached dry land with its legs quivering and its eyes still showing the whites in their sockets.

  Those few cattle left in the river stood no chance. Reams of timber smacked into them, knocking them over and carrying them downstream. The jagged ends of the logs pierced them like giant, crudely-made fishing spears. Blood poured into the river and mixed with the muck churned up by the cattle’s flailing hooves. The men could do nothing from the shore. They sat on their horses and watched as the last few dozen cattle were crushed and stabbed and carried away by the Rio Grande.

  10

  The first signs of humans in the flat, wide open vistas of the Texas plains were not people themselves, but cattle. They appeared sporadically at first, small groups of cows grazing together or lazing in the shade of juniper trees. Only one brand showed on their hindquarters; that of a Double T Bar.

  They passed by a dugout on the side of a hill that showed no recent signs of activity. Several hours later they came across an adobe hut with no one home.

  Just after noon on the third day after crossing the Rio Grande they topped a rolling hill and saw several miles into the distance a collection of houses and buildings. It wasn’t much, but Charles wanted supplies and a wagon as soon as he could get them.

  They bunched the cattle on a nice spot of grass a few miles outside of town. At least two of them needed to stay behind to guard the cattle. William and Dan were nearly begging for the chance to get in on the trip to town.

  ‘I know you’re itchin for it,’ said Charles. ‘No one can have much of a conversation with you two without you bringing up how bad you want to get to drinking and gambling and carrying on with the women. I don’t know what kind of hell you want to raise; you’re barely dry behind the ears yet.’

  ‘Come on Charles, you and Balum got to ride into town in Mexico. We’re tired of looking at the same faces every day. No offense, but a toothless grandma would be prettier than you fellas right now.’

  Charles laughed. ‘Look boys, right now is business. We need supplies and a wagon. I’d also like to speak to folks and get any information I can on trail conditions. Once we’re back, if you want to go on in and look around, have at it.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘Good. Balum, you ready? Let’s ride.’

  There wasn’t much to the town. A few poorly constructed buildings lined a solitary dusty street. There was a saloon, which would please the boys, but Charles and Balum had supplies on the mind. They hitched their horses outside of the general store. In the street a couple passersby stopped to stare at the newcomers.

  The man running the store was thin and tired looking. He had the goods they needed though, and pulled the flour, coffee, canned beans, blankets and rope from the shelves. The pile began to grow.

  Charles scratched his head. ‘You know what friend, I’m doing this all backwards. The pile is getting bigger and I’ve got no way to carry it all out of here. I’m in need of a wagon. Any idea where I can buy one?’

  ‘Couple folks came into town a month ago from back East. Got themselves a ratty looking covered buckboard. Sitting gathering dust is what it’s doing, and they’re hard up for cash. Like everyone else around here. Name’s Jeb, mile or so outside of town. How far you headed with the wagon?’

  ‘Cheyenne.’

  ‘You’ve got a lot of ground ahead of you. What’s your business if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘We’ve got near a thousand head of cattle. Rounded them up south of the border and driving them to the railheads.’

  ‘Is that right. You get clearance with Turnbull?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Ted Turnbull, Double T Bar. Used to be there were a half dozen outfits out this way running small operations. Turnbull come in a couple years ago and drove ‘em out. Hired a couple toughs and bullied folks right out of business. This here’s free range country, but Ted don’t see it that way. All this land you see around here he stakes a claim to, and if you’re grazing on it you’re gonna catch hell.’

  ‘We won’t be long. Couple days from now we’ll be out of his hair.’

  ‘If you do have a run in with him you’ll have yourselves plenty of trouble. There’s no law in this part of Texas and his men ain’t afraid of using a gun. Couple of those ranchers he drove out put up a fight. They’re buried outside of town now.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. Hold on to this for us, we’ll be back with the buckboard.’

  They found the man named Jeb driving a plough pulled by a skinny mule. He held its trace chains in one hand and guided the plough with the other. It was slow, hard work, and Balum and Charles watched him turn at the end of his plot and start back up the way he had come. The plow would hit a rock, causing the blade to turn, and the man would kick it back in line.

  They dismounted and continued to watch as he made his way towards them. When he reached the end of his furrow he turned the mule around pulled him still. The mule dropped its head, its sides heaving from the effort.

  Jeb’s shirt and face were drenched in sweat. He pulled his hat from his head and ran a hand through his matted hair.

  ‘Help you fellas?’

  ‘I take it you’re Jeb,’ said Charles.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Man down at the general store says you might be inclined to sell that buckboard over there,’ he motioned to the wagon sitting across the field.

  ‘I could be persuaded.’

  ‘Can we take a look at it?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  They inspected the wheels and frame and found no issues. The sides had attachments for the covering, which lay on the wagon bed. All of the hitching material was present and in good shape; the traces, reins, the hame and collar. They were worn, but they’d work.

  ‘It’s bumpy but there’s room enough for the two of you. No fun riding in the back though, my kids will tell you that,’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘It’s just for supplies.’

  ‘Where are you headed?’

  ‘Cheyenne. Driving a herd north.’

  ‘Now you’re talking. You’re just what I needed. That mule has been past due for death since last spring, and I’d be surprised if she lasts through summer. I need a couple strong animals to pull the plough. I’ll give you that wagon for two young bulls.’

  It was a deal heavily skewed in the man’s favor, but they needed the wagon badly and had little room to negotiate. They agreed to drive a couple young bulls out that evening and shook hands on the deal.

  They harnessed Charles’s horse to the wagon and drove it back to town. On the way Balum brought up the subject of Ted Turnbull. An extra box or two of ammo wouldn’t be a bad idea. If it wasn’t this Turnbull fellow it would be someone else. They had a thousand miles of trail ahead of them, and plenty of under-handed ranchers who would like to cut their herd.

  There existed two types of rustlers; those who stole a few head in the dark of night, and those who appropriated an entire herd for everybody to see. The former could be dealt with easi
ly enough. The latter however, was another matter. They used force, shady legal practices, and intimidated those who opposed them through fear and violence.

  Balum had no desire to get into a shooting war, but he’d come this far and he’d be damned if some range bully stripped them out of cattle. He had skin in the game now. He had two months of his life sunk into this particular gamble and was looking at several more.

  The shopkeeper made no comment when they requested four hundred rounds of ammunition of varying calibers. He simply stacked the boxes on the counter with a knowing look in his eye.

  11

  They rolled into camp with their new wagon just as Turnbull’s gang rode in. There were six riders all together, and from their demeanour and how they were armed, Balum knew they were no cowpokes. These were hired guns.

  Ted Turnbull was a middle-aged man, slight in the body but with a large face that did not smile. He introduced himself as if his name was to be recognized.

  ‘You boys just rode through my land. The way you’re headed you’ll be on it for another day yet.’

  ‘I had the understanding this was free-range country,’ said Charles.

  ‘You understood wrong. I own this land and you’re on it. The way I see it you’ve got a hell of a lot of unbranded cattle. It’s easy to pick up young stuff without a brand as you ride through cattle country.’

  ‘We rounded these up wild in Mexico. Most of these are full grown, and you know as well as we do that no one brands full-grown longhorns. The young stuff we’ve got isn’t much, and we haven’t picked up any of yours along the way.’

  ‘I never heard of cattle such as these in Mexico.’

  ‘That’s where they came from and there’s more for the taking if you’re so inclined.’

  ‘Either way, we’re cutting your herd. If you haven’t picked up any so far you’ll certainly do so over the next twenty miles. We’re taking a hundred head.’

  Balum had not said a word. He was looking at the men alongside Turnbull. He recognized some of the faces, if not the names. They were no-good men, preferring to hire out their guns than earn a living by the sweat of their backs. Still, they were no fools, and though Turnbull spoke roughly, no one was going to start a shooting match. Five men lined up against six at such close range meant few would come out alive.

  He spoke up. ‘Like Charles said, these cattle just got rounded up down Mexico way. That’s why there’s no brand. Yes, we’ve passed by some of your stock coming through. I’ve only seen a couple young ones without brands, and we’ve been careful not to mix them in. Now we’ll cut you out a half dozen head if that’s your price, but that’s it.’

  The old man’s eyes focused on Balum. ‘I hear you and I’m not buying it. I said we’ll take a hundred and that’s final.’

  ‘Boss,’ one of the riders interjected. ‘That man there is the one who shot Lance Cain.’

  Turnbull looked at Balum as if he hadn’t clearly seen him before. He swallowed, and the two groups of men sat their horses in a brief and unsteady silence until Turnbull spoke again.

  ‘You’ll cut those head out and leave them to the side when you ride out. All one hundred of them. Otherwise I come back with more men.’

  Turnbull reined his mount around and his men swung their horses in after him. They rode back in the direction from which they came, Balum and the rest watching them go.

  When the sound of their hoofbeats died down William turned to Balum. ‘No shit, you killed Lance Cain?’

  ‘Tell us the story, Balum,’ said Dan.

  ‘There’s no story to tell. He came hunting me and it was a fair shooting.’

  ‘They say Cain was fast,’ said William.

  ‘That means Balum is faster than Cain,’ Dan tore his hat off. ‘We ain’t got shit to worry about, we got a gunfighter riding with us!’

  ‘I’m no gunfighter and you boys don’t need to go flapping your lips about this. I don’t need a reputation as such, and I don’t want one either.’

  ‘Can we see you draw?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you at least teach us how to draw fast?’

  Balum looked at the boys. ‘Maybe. But right now you’ve got work to do.’ He explained the sale of the buckboard and the payment in bulls. ‘Once you boys deliver those cattle you can have yourselves a night in town. But like I said, you don’t need to go talking about me or Lance Cain or any such stuff.’

  They cut out two young bulls of roughly the same age and build, and the boys drove them in. The herd grazed contently and evening crept in. The men set about to making a cooking fire. With the supplies they had purchased they were eager to treat themselves to the first decent meal they had had in weeks. They made a batch of stovetop biscuits, enough to last several days, and a pot of beans and bacon.

  They ate slowly, savoring the food and talking of the trail ahead. The conversation eventually came back to Turnbull. They agreed there was no way they would be robbed of a hundred head.

  ‘We can’t outrun them,’ said Charles. ‘If they want to catch up with us they will.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Joe.

  Charles was silent.

  ‘You boys knew this wasn’t going to be easy,’ said Balum. ‘You knew there’d be trouble of all types, and it’s here now, staring you in the face. I don’t like the idea of losing a hundred head for money’s sake, and I like it even less when they’re stolen from me.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Charles.

  ‘This won’t be the last bit of trouble before Cheyenne. You give away the herd to every criminal that threatens us and we’ll end up in Wyoming with nothing. Those men he’s got riding with him would rather shoot a man in the back than face him down. My feeling is if they ride after us we don’t give ‘em our backs. We face them down.’

  Charles and Joe nodded, contemplating Balum’s words.

  ‘And that’s my disposition from here to Cheyenne. Trouble comes to us; we face it down. If you two agree to that, and the boys do too, we might just make this trip pay off.’

  ‘That your position Joe?’ asked Charles.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Alright Balum. We’re in it all the way. Let’s get an early start tomorrow and get some distance. We’ll keep eyes on our backtrail at all times, and we’ll ride with rifles in their scabbards, not in the buckboard. I don’t care if it makes riding harder, I want us armed.’

  They had long since extinguished the fire and Balum and Charles were circling the herd when Dan and William returned to camp. Balum saw the dark outlines of their horses ride in, the figures slumped in the saddles. They stopped at the wagon, and shortly thereafter Joe was calling Balum and Charles in.

  He had pulled the two boys onto the wagon. They lay on their backs, face to the sky, and in the dim starlight the men could see their faces; bloodied and cut. The wounds had begun to swell, so much so that William’s eyes were nearly swollen shut, and Dan’s lips were twice the size they should have been.

  The men stripped the boy’s clothing off to check for broken bones. Their shirts were stained in blood. They had been whipped, the long cut marks of leather across their bodies and forearms which had been raised in defense.

  They were conscious, barely. Spitting blood from their mouths they recounted what had happened. The bulls had never made it to Jeb’s place. Driving through town they had been intercepted by Turnbull’s men. They held the boys until Turnbull arrived. On hearing they were giving cattle to a farmer and had not yet separated his required head, he ordered them beaten.

  Their story told, Joe hushed them. They needed rest.

  Balum walked to his horse and swung into the saddle.

  ‘What are you thinking Balum?’ asked Charles.

  ‘One thing, Jeb needs two bulls. But more important, we’re not traveling fast with the boys in that condition. We’ll need to rest up a couple days, and that means staying put right here and eating all of Turnbull’s good grassland. He’s brought trouble to us, now we’ll bring it to him.’<
br />
  ‘I’m coming with.’

  Balum looked down at him from atop the roan. ‘Bring the Sharps.’

  12

  They swung wide of town, continuing on to the eastern side and to Jeb’s farm. They left the cattle with him and rode back to town. It was dark and quiet except for the saloon, from which talk and laughter echoed out into the night.

  Turnbulls’ mens’ horses were tied to the hitching posts in front. Balum and Charles tied theirs up and before entering Balum paused. ‘Put that Sharps to your shoulder and have it raised when we come in.’

  Charles tucked the butt of the buffalo gun into the crook of his shoulder and followed Balum through the swinging doors of the saloon.

  Lanterns were hung to the wall with nails, which gave the room a dim light. Turnbull’s men were lined up at the bar. Others sat at a table playing cards. Charles stopped just inside the doorway, and the men froze seeing that big buffalo gun’s barrel covering the room. Each of them knew the damage that gun could do at such a short distance.

  Ted Turnbull himself stood behind the card table with a glass of liquor in his hand. Balum crossed the distance quickly. Turnbull let the glass slip from his hand, dropping it to his holster. His hand came up with his gun, but Balum was already there. He slapped the man’s gun-hand down and came in with an arching right hook that smashed Turnbull in the lips.

  The man fell to the hardwood floor, the gun slipped from his hand. Balum was on top of him immediately. He picked him up by his shirtfront and drove his fist into the man’s face several times over.

  Balum’s fists had swung an ax and a gold pick. They had pulled rope, and even wielded a blacksmith’s hammer for some time. They were large and tough, and they pummeled into Turnbull’s face. Balum felt the man’s orbital bone crunch under his knuckles, and he dropped him and turned to the men in the room.

  ‘I find out which of you beat those two boys and you’ll get what he got,’ he said, motioning to the man with the crushed eye socket writhing on the floor. ‘We’re staying put with our herd until the boys are in decent enough shape to ride. You’re not getting any of our cattle, and if you come in shooting I hope this man is paying you enough, cause we’ll be shooting back.’