“No. We’re looking for Logan Mann’s ranch.”
“Mann?” The puncher pushed his hat back, then shook his head. “Don’t know any owner by that name.”
Dan looked around at the landmarks. “You should. This is it we’re standing on. He’s my partner—and those cows with a Circle W are our stock.”
At once the man’s light-colored eyes fixed on Winslow in a different manner, and there was a slight tension as he shifted his weight. “You’re wrong there, mister. This here is Arrow land. Has been for years. You look closer you’ll see those Circle W cows have been vented. They’re Arrow cows now.”
Dan was aware of the custom of laying a line with a hot iron across a brand, called “venting.” A new brand would be placed below, signifying that the cow had been sold to the owner of the new brand. Angry at this surprising turn of events, Dan dismounted, and Rosa followed suit. He wished she were not with him, but there was no help for it now. Advancing until he stood in front of the blond man, he said carefully, “I’d like to look around inside the house.”
“That’s too bad,” Deuce Longly grinned. “ ’Coz you got no more chance than a snowball in Hades of doin’ it. Not unless Mr. Head says so. You go get a note from him, and you can look all you please.”
Dan had an impulse to force the thing, for he knew that if there was anything in the house that would give a clue to the mystery of Logan’s failure to be on the spot, it would be gone by the time he returned. But he was acutely conscious of Rosa’s presence and said, “Looks like you got the best cards.”
He turned to go, but as he did the other man moved from the porch. He was a tall, burly man with the pushed-in nose and scarred eyes of a fighter. He was running to fat, but he was not slow. Winslow had swung onto his horse, but in that moment, the big man had come to take Rosa’s arm, holding her fast.
“You’re a pretty little thing,” he leered. “Me and you ought to get on fine!”
Rosa gave a short cry of fear and looked to Winslow. Deuce Longly, Dan saw, was laughing, his attention on the big man.
Without hesitation, Dan drew his .44 in one smooth, fluid motion and slammed the barrel down on the balding head of the bruiser, who collapsed without a sound; then he swung the gun to cover Longly, who had reacted with a fast draw. But Longly stopped abruptly, his gun only halfway out of the holster when he saw the black muzzle of Winslow’s revolver looming in front of him. He pulled his hands clear and held them away from his guns. “I’m not drawing!” he said quickly.
Winslow ordered, “Take those guns out and lay them on the porch—by the barrels.” When Longly had carefully placed them down, Dan said, “Now turn around, kneel, and put your hands as high as you can reach.” He got a glance of pure hate from Longly, but when Winslow said quietly, “Better mind,” the gunman did as he was told. Dan reached back and pulled a length of rawhide from his saddlebags, then stepped down out of the saddle. He pulled the gun from the holster of the unconscious man and stuck it in his own saddlebags. He quickly bound the man’s wrists and cut the rawhide with his knife. Moving to the porch, he tied Longly’s wrists, then collected the man’s guns. “Put these in my saddlebags, Rosa.”
“Get up,” he snapped, and Longly struggled to his feet, his pale eyes glowing with rage. “You’ll never get away with this,” he whispered.
“Let’s take a look inside.” He noted that the man he’d hit was coming out of it, so he walked over to him and hoisted him to his feet. “Get inside,” he said, forcing him to the porch. “You two first.” Dan shoved the pair through the door. “Sit down on the floor, and don’t even think about anything rash.” He began to search the house, hoping to find something that would at least prove that Logan had been in the house, but found nothing. He looked at every scrap of paper, but none of them were to Logan or were written by him.
Finally he gave up, saying to Rosa, “We’ll find him.”
Longly demanded, “Untie me! I told you, there ain’t nobody named Mann been here.”
Dan considered the two, then asked, “How far to Arrow?”
“Ten miles.”
“Get up. We’re going to see your boss.”
The two men began to curse, but in the end they had no choice. Dan untied their hands and said sternly, “You two will ride in front of us. There’s plenty of daylight left, so don’t get ambitious and try to get away. Get your stuff, because you won’t be coming back here.”
Fifteen minutes later the four of them left the ranch house, and an hour later they pulled up in front of a large log structure. At once a voice challenged them, and Dan moved his horse forward, laying the muzzle of his gun on Longly’s ribs. “Be polite and you might make it out of this thing,” he said quietly.
“It’s me and Ollie,” Longly called out. “Got some people who want to see Mr. Head.”
The man who had challenged them called out, “Well, bring them in here.”
“Nice and easy,” Dan said, and he dismounted, keeping his gun in his hand. “Let’s go see the man.”
They moved across the yard, and when they reached the porch they were met by a man who peered at them, trying to make them out in the deepening twilight. “Who are you? What d’you want with Mr. Head?”
“I’ll have to tell him that personally.”
“He’s got a gun on us,” Longly burst out.
The information caused the shadowy figure of the man to straighten up. “You’re not going in this house with a gun!” he said abruptly.
“Then ask Mr. Head to come out on the porch.”
There was a brief silence, then the front door opened and Head stepped outside. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Mr. Head?” Dan asked.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“My name’s Winslow. I found your crew on my place. Thought we’d better talk about it some.”
“He means the old Gunderson place,” Deuce broke in. “He knocked Ollie in the head and got the drop on me. Gimme a gun—!”
“Shut up, Deuce,” Head said impatiently. He paused, then said, “Come in the house—all of you.”
Dan waited until the men of Arrow were inside, then stepped through the doorway. At once he heard his named called—“Dan Winslow!”
Winslow wheeled to meet the astonished gaze of a man he recognized instantly. A brief smile touched his lips. “Hello, Ash. Didn’t expect to find you here.”
Head was watching this carefully. “You know this man, Ash?”
Caudill nodded. “Reckon I do. We worked together on a small ranch in Texas many years back.”
Dan motioned quickly toward Rosa. “This is Miss Rosa Mann, my partner’s daughter.”
Deuce Longly was glaring at Winslow balefully. He broke out, “He busted Ollie on the head and threw me down! Then he busted into the house and searched it.”
Ash glanced first at Head, then at Winslow. “What’s all this about, Dan?”
Dan faced the two men squarely. “Maybe you better tell us. Logan Mann left Texas three months ago with a small herd, all branded Circle W. When I got to the ranch this afternoon, I saw a few Circle W cows mixed in with a lot of Arrow cows. These hairpins claim those cows are all Arrow cows now and they never heard of anyone named Mann. I asked to look around, and Longly said I’d have to get your okay. When we started to leave, that one started to force himself on Miss Mann, so I knocked him down and took Longly’s guns away.” Winslow’s eyes grew fierce. “I guess you better start talking, Mr. Head. Your men were in my ranch house and jumped us when we tried to talk to them. Apparently, my cows are vented with your brand on them, and there’s no sign of my partner.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Head said at once, his face growing red. He was a man who could not abide opposition and now said angrily, “If you attack my men again, I won’t be responsible.”
“Let me see the bill of sale for those cattle with your brand on them,” Winslow said promptly.
“Get off this ranch,” Head broke out.
“That place has been empty since the last owner left!”
“Show me the bill of sale,” Winslow demanded.
“Get out!”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Head,” Caudill interrupted. He turned to Winslow, saying, “Dan, we found those cattle straying on our graze.”
Winslow’s eyes grew harder. “And you slap a brand on any cow that strays on your place? You know better than that, Ash!”
Head broke in. “I’ll have no man invading my range! Get off the place—and if you’re at that cabin tomorrow, I’ll have you put off.”
Winslow wheeled to face Silas Head. He fixed his eyes on him, and there was a readiness in his face that made Caudill stiffen.
“I have certified copies of the bill of sale and the deed for that ranch. Your brand’s been illegally vented on my cattle. I’ll be there tomorrow and the day after. I’ll be looking over the rest of your herds for any vented Circle W stock.”
“Get out! Get out!” Head shouted. “You’ll not go through my stock!”
“Let’s go, Rosa,” Dan said. He wheeled and took her out of the house without a backward glance.
“You ain’t lettin’ him get by with this, are you, Mr. Head?” Deuce Longly’s face was flushed, and he was almost trembling with rage.
Head stared at him. His lip curled as he said, “Looks like I’ll need tougher men than you to stop him.”
Longly flushed, but before he could answer, Caudill ordered, “You two get out of here.”
“Ash—!”
Ash gave him a contemptuous look. “I said get out!”
Longly and Ollie stumbled out, and when the two were gone, Head demanded, “What do you know about all this, Caudill? Is Winslow telling the truth about that vented stock?”
Caudill explained quickly, “Sure, there’s a few cows we picked up. Not many.” He tried to remember, his brow wrinkled with thought, and finally said, “Ed and Shorty found them wandering around over close to the Red Hill country. I said to let them graze, and a month later Shorty asked me what to do with them. I told him to vent them and put our brand on them.”
“What about this fellow Mann?”
“Nobody of that name I know of.”
“What about that ranch of Gundersons? We need it?”
“We need it bad,” Caudill agreed, then looked the owner right in the eye. “But we don’t need it bad enough to fight Dan Winslow for it.”
Head stared at his foreman. “He’s tough, then?”
“Too tough to fool with. But he’ll sell, I guess, if we pay enough. Let me handle him, Mr. Head. We went through some tough times together. I can bring him around.” He hesitated, then added, “He’s not a bad fellow. Rather have him on my side than against me. But if he gets stubborn, we put pressure on him. How much can I offer him for the place?”
****
As they headed away from the Arrow ranch, Rosa rode silently beside Winslow. The scene had shocked her. She had seen Winslow handle the two Arrow hands almost contemptuously, though she knew they were both dangerous. It was a side to him she had not suspected, and finally she asked in a small voice, “Dan, where is my father?”
“I don’t know, Rosa. But if he’s alive, I’ll find him.”
“You think he might—be dead?”
Dan hesitated, then said, “It’s something we have to consider. If Logan were alive and able, he’d have gotten in touch with us. He wouldn’t just run out without letting us know something.”
Rosa said nothing for a few minutes. Finally she asked, “Dan, what will happen to me if we don’t ever find him? I heard what my stepfather said—that if I left I could never come back.”
Dan drew his horse close to hers and put his hand on her shoulder. “Rosa, I’ll take care of you. I promised Logan I would.”
“Will you, Dan?” She turned to look at him and put her hand out for his.
Winslow took it, noting how small it was. “Rosa, we’ll find him if we can. But whatever happens, I’ll be around for you to lean on.”
There was a silence, and then she whispered, “Thank you, Dan—!”
They rode through the night, each thinking their own thoughts. Dan was aware that his dream of a ranch was only a fragment now. If he had had no obligations, he would have ridden away from it all, but he’d given his word. And the memory of Rosa’s small hand in his, resting there trustfully as a child’s, was fresh and strong. He put his own weariness out of his mind, knowing that he would never stop until he’d done whatever a man could do for his friend.
Rosa was aware that she should be afraid, and she was—for her father. But as they rode on, she seemed to hear Dan’s voice, like a tiny echo—Whatever happens, I’ll be around for you to lean on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WINSLOW PAYS A CALL
Sheriff Bill Rider considered his visitor with hooded eyes, saying, “Have a seat, Winslow.” He waited until the big man sat down in one of the three cane-bottomed chairs in the small office, then added, “Been expecting you to come by.”
“News travels fast.”
“Bad news quicker than any,” Rider agreed. He got up, walked to the stove, and picked up the ancient coffee pot. “This coffee’s about as bad as coffee can be,” he said, picking up a heavy mug and passing it to Winslow. “But the worst cup of coffee I ever had was pretty good.” As he filled the two cups, he studied Winslow carefully, knowing that he’d have to deal with him in one way or another.
What he saw was a man taller than the average rider, heavier of bone, and more solid in chest and arm. Winslow was trimmed down to muscle, and exposure to rain and sun and cold and dust had built within him a reserve of vitality. He was not a man, Rider recognized instantly, who would be easily stopped at anything he threw himself into. He had a head of black hair; the blue eyes were direct, and his skin, with all its weathering, was unwrinkled. His nose was long and his mouth heavy, and though he showed no sign of hurry or strain, his face had a melancholy shadow on it.
Dan saw that the elderly sheriff knew more than he was likely to say, so Dan smiled faintly, remarking, “I’m probably going to be a downright nuisance to you, Sheriff. But I guess you know about that.”
“I hear you’ve already stirred up Silas Head.”
“We had some words,” Winslow nodded. “We’ll have more, I expect.”
“A powerful man around here, son,” Rider said idly enough, but there was a warning in his hazel eyes. “Pretty well used to having his own way.”
“I know, he’s the big mogul in tin pants, and he’s got fur on his knees,” Winslow shrugged. “I’ll be going over to collect any more vented Circle W cows from him. Be calling on all the ranchers for that same reason.”
“Might run into some trouble.”
“They’re my cows.” The words might have been carved in stone, and Winslow moved on to say, “My partner, Logan Mann, came up the trail with three hundred head of good stock two months ago. I’ll be asking around for him.”
“I run into most people who come into this valley,” Rider said. “I never met him, never heard his name until you mentioned it.”
Winslow knew the old man was speaking the truth. There was an air of honesty about Bill Rider that he recognized, and he nodded at once. “Sure—but the cattle are here, Sheriff. They didn’t get here alone.”
“No, I guess not.” Rider was troubled and said so. “It don’t look too good, does it? I take it he wasn’t the kind of man who’d just take a notion to ride off and leave stock to wander?”
“Not Logan.” Winslow sipped the bitter coffee and spent the next ten minutes giving Rider a brief history of their partnership. Winslow appeared relaxed and idle as he sat in the chair, but there was a latent power in his posture. Finally he got up, saying, “I know you don’t have any authority outside War Paint, Sheriff Rider. Just wanted to stop by and tell you I’ll be nosing around. You’ll probably get some complaints.”
Rider rose to his feet, a thin man worn by time but still vigorous. “Wish I
could be of more help, son. I’ll keep my ears open. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, come and see me from time to time—and try to keep from stirring up more hornets than you can swat.”
Dan grinned, and it made him look younger to the sheriff. “Good advice,” he said. “Do the best I can.”
As he left the office and walked to his horse, he considered questioning some of the businessmen about Logan, but he was totally convinced that the sheriff was an honest man. Rider knows this town, he thought. If Logan had spent any time here, he’d have met him—or at least heard about him.
A pair of punchers were leaning against the wall, watching him from under the brims of their hats. On impulse, Dan asked them, “You know the way to Arrow Ranch?”
His question caught them off guard, and there was a noticeable hesitation before one of them finally pointed west. “Out that road. Go six miles and take the west fork.”
“Much obliged,” he nodded, and rode out of town in a leisurely fashion. He glanced back as he turned off the main street, just in time to see the two mount and drive their horses at a dead run down one of the side streets. Later he saw dust to his right, then in front of him, and knew that they were on their way to give notice of his coming.
“Nothing ever changes,” he murmured. It was an old game to him, and he knew he had no choice but to allow himself to be drawn into what was coming. But he put those thoughts away, having learned that a man can’t let trouble control his actions. There was a dark streak of fatalism running through him, put there by the hard times he’d encountered. They had not soured him, but he was always conscious of the possibility of a tragedy around the next bend, so as he rode toward Arrow, he gave little thought to what might happen there, but rather studied the country.
All the way up from Texas he had thus studied the land, so that now he could draw a map upon the ground of each river and creek he had crossed, each hill and pass. He could describe the quality of grass along the way, the brands of the various trail herds seen. There was this map in his head, filling out day by day. For him the world was a natural environment of weather and grass and beef, and of this world he was an active scholar. He recognized that there was another world where men lived crowded together, worked according to the clock, and surrendered their freedom to authority—and all that made a terrible picture to him of stunted souls sweating in an endless treadmill.
House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman Page 17