House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman
Page 19
“None of them Circle W cows up here, I’m afraid,” Charlie Littleton said. “We’ll keep our eyes open, though.”
An alarm went off inside Winslow, but he let nothing show on his face. “I’d appreciate it.”
“You’re going to have trouble with old man Head,” Dion nodded. “He thinks he owns every blade of grass that grows in Wyoming.”
“Some of us have been meeting,” Charlie said carefully. “Trying to find out some way to hang on to what we’ve got. Like to see you there next time. We little fish have gotta stand together.”
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
Winslow stayed around for another thirty minutes, and when he rose to go, he saw the relief in the eyes of the pair. “Got to head home. Sorry about the misunderstanding, Charlie. I’ll sing out next time.”
“Sure, no hard feelings. And you come to the meeting next week. It’s at the Jenson place.”
Dan didn’t relax until he was clear of the place, and in the darkness he was having to move slowly. Finally when he exited from the draws, he pulled up his horse and took a deep breath. “Pretty close, Dan,” he murmured softly. “Something about those two won’t hold up.”
He managed to get home at three in the morning, and as he dismounted stiffly, he heard Sid hit the door calling out, “Dan—!”
“What’s wrong?” he demanded instantly.
“It’s Rosa! She went off for a ride on her mare, and she didn’t come back.” Sid was angry and scared, Winslow saw. “She was just going for a short ride. Well, she didn’t come back, so I went out to look for her—but it got too dark for me to track her, Dan.”
“Which way was she headed, Sid?” Dan asked, feeling sick.
“Over toward the hills. But we can’t track her until first light.” Sid smashed his fist into his palm. “I ought to be shot—but she’s been taking a little ride for days now.”
“She must have gotten lost,” Dan said. Looking up, he said, “Two or three hours before we can follow.” He saw that Sid was in torment and said quickly, “Not your fault, Sid. We’ll find her.”
But as the two of them waited for the dawn, Dan Winslow was aware that a fear gripped his own spirit. He had to grit his teeth to keep from showing what he felt, and once he thought, It’s at times like these when a man knows how little and helpless he is!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ARROW HITS BACK
As soon as Zane came into the house, Hope knew that he was angry. She poured a glass of water from the olla she kept hanging on the wall, then handed it to him, saying, “You don’t drink enough water, Zane.”
He took the glass, drained it thirstily, then handed it back. “Sis, some of our cows are gone.”
Hope looked at him with a startled expression. “Stolen?” she asked quickly.
“I guess not really,” he said. His lean face showed fatigue in the lines around his mouth, and his shoulders drooped beneath the faded blue shirt. For months now, he had worked night and day trying to keep the ranch going. He was the only rider to see to the stock, though Cody was old enough now to help some, and Amos did a few of the easier chores. But the hard work could be done only by a strong, active man, and Zane had been worn thin by it.
Now he said bitterly, “Arrow let some of their stock drift onto our graze over by the buttes. They shoved ’em onto our grass, and we had twelve cows get mixed up with their stock. When I went to get ’em out, they wouldn’t let me. Now they’ve taken their stock away—and our cows with ’em.”
“I’ll go see Mr. Head,” Hope said. She put her hand on his shoulder, adding, “You can’t do everything, Zane.” His shoulder was hard and muscular, but thin beneath her touch.
“He won’t do nothin’. I’ll have to go find that herd and bring our stuff back.” Hope argued with him, but he shook her off. “I may not get back tonight, so I’ll need some grub.” He waited until she fixed a sack of food, then left the kitchen.
As he rode off, Amos came in through the back door carrying three sticks of wood for the cookstove. Dumping them into the box, he asked, “Where’s Zane off to in such a rush?” He straightened up, listened as Hope explained, then shook his head sadly. “Too much on that boy, Hope. We’ve got to have some help.”
“How would we pay them, Dad?”
“I’ve still got a little money left from the sale of the farm.”
“We’ll need that to get through another winter.” Hope scanned her father’s face, noting that he looked as tired as Zane, though he did little work. “I’m going to have to start doing some of the riding,” she said. “You and Cody can help with the house.” She had seen for some time that it would come to this, and now she added, “I can ride and keep track of the cattle. If I run into something I can’t handle, I’ll come and get Zane to help.” She glanced out the window. “I wish Zane wouldn’t go after those cows. Those Arrow riders like nothing better than to stir up trouble.”
Zane was thinking along the same lines as he rode steadily toward a set of hills that peaked in the distance. He realized that Arrow had taken the cows deliberately, for they had done such things before. He dreaded coming up to them, for they would taunt him as they always did. He’d get the cows, but only after they had their sport. He knew that it was part of Silas Head’s policy to make things as rough as possible on small ranchers, and his orders were carried out with glee by his workers.
He let his hand fall to the .44 that he wore on his right hip, but knew that the worst mistake he could make was to let the Arrow hands lure him into a fight of some kind. If he fought with his fists, he had little chance, for they were all tough men and would have no compunction about piling on him in numbers. As for using a gun, he had little skill there, though he practiced regularly.
No, he would have to let them have their fun, no matter how humiliating it got. As he rode along, he tried to put out of his mind the scene that would take place. He was so tired he rode half-asleep, coming awake with a jerk when he felt himself slipping out of his saddle. Once he stopped to water his horse, and as he looked around, he saw that the sun was dropping fast. “Should have waited until morning,” he muttered aloud. He thought of going back but decided that he could get the cattle back on his own range even in the dark.
An hour later, he came up to the herd, glad to see that it was not a large one—no more than two hundred head. One rider was in front, one was riding drag, and the third turned at once to face him. Zane felt his stomach knot up when he saw that it was Jack Hines, but he rode up to say, “I guess a few of our cows got mixed up with your stock.”
Hines leaned on his saddle, grinned, and shook his head. “Now, you ain’t calling me a rustler, are you, kid?” Hines was a tall, muscular man of thirty, with tightly curled coppery red hair and a bold face. He had a bad reputation with fists and guns, and was proud of it. Now he was enjoying the sight of the boy, who had no chance at all against him. The cruelty in him came out in the shine of his light blue eyes and the twist of his wide mouth.
“I didn’t say that,” Zane mumbled. He looked at the cows and then pointed, “Look—there’s one of our cows.”
Hines looked, then turned back to Zane. “I didn’t see it.”
Zane sat there helplessly, knowing that there was no way he could force the rider to do anything. His lips were drawn tight, and there was a trembling in his legs. It was not fear but humiliation that brought that reaction, but he could do no more than say, “If you’ll let me go through the herd, I’ll cut our stuff out.”
“You’d scare our stock,” Hines commented. “Might stampede them. Can’t take no chances.” One of the other riders came over, the one who was riding drag, and Hines said, “This fellow says we’ve got some of his stock, Luke. Think we ought to let him cut ’em out?”
“Let him go to the devil!” The speaker was a tall puncher named Luke Mott. He had a hatchet face and a pair of closeset brown eyes that gleamed with malice as he looked Zane over. “Light a shuck, boy. Run home to your momma.”
Zane’s face burned, but he mumbled the words. Both men laughed, and Hines said, “Hurry it up—and don’t get them cattle stirred up.”
It was a difficult chore, separating his own cows from the herd, but finally Zane cut them out, twelve as he had reckoned. When he left, Hines said, “Now, kid, you keep your stock from getting in with our stuff from now on, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
Hines taunted, “You ain’t said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Hines, sir.’ ”
Zane knew if he refused, the tough puncher would take the cows and mix them back with the herd, so he said evenly, “Thank you, Mr. Hines, sir.”
“Git outta here, you punk kid!”
Zane turned his horse and didn’t look back, not wanting Hines to see the expression on his face. He began moving the cows along at as fast a clip as he could manage, but they scattered, individuals running off in different directions, so he had to slow them down to a walk.
Dusk caught up with him, and he stopped to let the cattle rest. They were tired and his horse was moving slowly, so he finally decided to spend the night by a small stream. He had had nothing to eat, so he built up a small fire, cooked some bacon, and made coffee. Then he wrapped the single blanket around him, stretched out beside the fire, and dropped off at once into an exhausted sleep.
He awoke with a start, not knowing where he was. He had been awakened by some sound, but as he listened there was nothing. He had no idea what time it was, having no watch, but thought it could not be past midnight. He began to gather a few sticks to replenish the fire, and as he did so he heard something. It was not one of the usual night cries one would hear on the prairie, and it was so faint and thinned by distance he could not make it out.
He stood to his feet, straining to hear, and it came again—almost a ghostly sound on the stillness of the air. The moon shed a silvery light on some cattle that stood quietly close by, and Zane waited until the sound came again. He saddled his horse, mounted, and moved away toward what seemed to be a stand of timber. When he had gone perhaps two hundred yards, he heard the sound again—and recognized it as someone calling. He moved ahead at a faster rate, moving carefully through the saplings that appeared. The timber grew thicker, larger trees beginning to loom in front of him, and finally he stopped his horse and listened. When he heard nothing, he shouted, “Where are you?”
At once a voice to his left came: “I’m over here!”
He moved toward the sound and soon heard someone cry, “This way—over here.”
When he had gone a little farther into the timber, he stopped when someone spoke, almost at his feet. “Here—!”
Zane glanced down. In the darkness, he could barely make out a huddled form beside a large alder. He dismounted, moved closer, and discovered that it was a woman. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but she said huskily, “Thank God you’ve come!”
“What happened?” Zane went to one knee, bringing his face down to her level. She was young, but aside from that impression, he could tell nothing about her.
“My horse ran away,” she said. “A limb raked me off.”
“Are you all right?”
“I twisted my leg when I fell—and the limb cut my head.”
Zane said, “Get on my horse. I’ve got a fire going.”
She tried to get up but cried out in pain. “My ankle—!”
“Here, let me help. Lean on me and put your good foot in the stirrup.” He took her weight, noting that she was small but was firmly rounded. She moaned slightly, but when her foot was in the stirrup, he lifted her as carefully as he could into the saddle. “Let’s get out of these woods,” he said, and led his horse through the timber. When they got back to the fire, he stopped the horse and moved to her side. “I’ll be as easy as I can,” he promised. She slid off the horse, falling into his arms, and he let her down gently. When she was sitting down, she looked up, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “I thought no one would come.” Her voice was raw and husky.
Zane said, “I’ll bet you’re thirsty.” He grabbed a tin cup, ran to the creek, and hurried back to her. She took it eagerly and drained it without stopping for breath. He got another, which she drank more slowly. When she finished, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Rosa Mann.”
“I’m Zane Jenson. What about your folks? They didn’t come for you?”
She shook her head. “I went for a ride when it was nearly dark. I think they’re looking for me, but I rode in a different direction from my usual way.” Rosa was feeling a tremendous relief, for she had been badly frightened. She’d never been in the outdoors alone at night and knew that there were wolves and bears in the region. “If you hadn’t come when you did,” she said, “I don’t think I could have stood it.”
Zane was suddenly aware that she was a most beautiful young woman. Her eyes were large and dark, and her hair was black. With her lips half-parted she made an attractive picture as she gazed at him. He wondered how old she was but was too shy to ask.
“Well, it’s no fun being lost in the woods,” he said finally. Then he added, “Look, I’d better go to your house and get help. Where is it?”
“Oh no!” Rosa was flooded with fear at the thought of being left alone. She reached out and grasped his arm, begging, “Please—don’t leave me here by myself!”
“Why, I won’t then,” Zane said, startled by her action. “We can ride double. Think you could do that?”
“I think so,” she said. “But I’m so hungry. I didn’t eat anything since breakfast.”
Zane said at once, “Why, I’ll fix you something, Rosa.” He pulled a quick meal together from his small store—bacon, cold biscuits, and coffee. He sat back on his heels, watching as she ate hungrily. “What about your family?” he asked. “Your folks will be about crazy with worry.”
She stopped eating and looked across the fire at him. “I—don’t have any parents—” She hesitated, and he was puzzled by her manner. “I mean, my mother’s dead, and I don’t know where my father is.”
“Well, gosh, that’s tough!” Zane exclaimed. “Do you live with relatives?”
“No. I live with my father’s partner. His name is Daniel Winslow.”
“Winslow?” Zane thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, I heard about him—and it’s your pa that’s disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Zane dropped his gaze uncertainly. “That’s too bad, but maybe he’ll be found.”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s dead.” Rosa had not admitted this to Dan or to Sid, but she was aware that neither of them had any hope of finding her father alive. She spoke out of the harrowing experience of being alone and helpless. Now that it was out, she suddenly realized it was this suspicion that had been dragging her spirits down. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Zane was appalled by her grief, which he felt that he had caused by prying into her family life. He stood up, looked off into the darkness, then moved around the fire to take her plate. As he bent over, he saw that she had hidden her face in her hands and that her shoulders were shaking. The sight of her brought the sharpest kind of pity to him, and he awkwardly sat down on his heels and put his hand on her shoulder. “Rosa—please don’t cry!”
For an answer she leaned against him, giving way to a paroxysm of grief. She had been alone for a long time, even with her family in Texas, and had put all her hope of happiness in her father. Now that she had faced up to the fact that he was probably dead, she was left with nothing. The grief flooding through her was so black and bitter that she was totally unaware of the boy; leaning against him was only a reaction.
Zane put his arms around her, shocked by the deep sobs that racked her body. She was totally vulnerable, without defense, and he was held by an emotion that he had never known. Her sobs were deep at first, but
finally they subsided, and then she pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Zane Jenson,” she whispered. The tears made silver tracks down her smooth cheeks, and she was more lovely for her helplessness. “I—didn’t mean to do that.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dried her eyes. “I guess you never expected to run into something like this way out here, did you?”
He was relieved that she seemed better. “Never did before. All I ever found out here was cows.”
She smiled at that, then asked, “Where do you live?”
“Over that way, about five miles.” He motioned toward the ranch. “I came out yesterday to get some steers that got mixed in with another herd, and I got caught out after dark.”
“I’m glad you did, Zane,” she said. “I’d called until my throat was raw. When I saw you coming for me, I thought you were the best thing I’d ever seen!”
“Well, you won’t think so after you get over being scared,” he said.
“You look better than I do,” Rosa smiled. She touched the bump on her head, winced, then said, “Let’s see if I can ride.”
Zane nodded, and after putting out the fire and packing the gear on the horse, he helped her mount. It was obvious she was in severe pain, and he asked, “Which way to your place, Rosa?”
“Why—” Rosa looked around for a moment, then said with confusion, “I don’t know. The mare got scared and ran for a long time before I got knocked off by that limb.”
Zane hesitated, then said, “I’ll take you to our house. My sister can take care of you, and I can ask around to see if I can find Mr. Winslow.” He put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up behind her. “Does it hurt—your ankle?”
“Just go slow, please.”
He spoke to the horse, and as they left, Rosa asked, “What about the cattle?”
“They’re all right. We’re on our land now.”
As they made their way toward the ranch, she asked him about his family. He gave her a few details, and then she asked, “You take care of the ranch all alone?”