The Big Hunt

by J. T. Edson

  “He’s only been three-saddled, ma’am,” Wainer warned and, seeing the girl did not understand, went on, “that means the breaker’s only ridden it three times. That’d be enough for a man to handle it——”

  Such a remark was calculated to rouse Calamity’s ire and brought an angry snort from her.

  “Toss a saddle on him, one of you,” she said. “I’ll give him a whirl.”

  Grins crossed Mark’s and Killem’s faces, for both knew Calamity to be better than fair at handling a snuffy horse. Certainly the paint did not appear to have more than average cussedness and Calamity ought to be able to take the bed-springs out of its belly, especially as it had already been three-saddled.

  Mark collected his girl’s saddle from her wagon while Killem led the paint into the breaking corral which had been left empty for the purpose of testing any horse selected out of the remuda. Handled by two such skilled men, the saddling went by without a hitch and at good speed. From the calm manner with which it accepted the indignity, the paint knew better than to fight the inevitable—which did not mean it would allow itself to be ridden without protest.

  Mark’s huge bloodbay stallion and Kerry’s gray stood saddled and ready for use at one side of the breaking corral. When dealing with range horses that had been kept in such close confines for a time, it paid to have the means to catch any animal that broke away.

  After checking everything was to her satisfaction, Calamity swung astride the paint. Mark continued to hold the horse’s head until she settled down firmly in the saddle. Then, at her command, he released his hold and retreated hurriedly.

  At first the haste did not seem necessary, for the horse remained standing patiently. Calamity decided to force the issue and rammed her heels into the paint’s ribs as an inducement to movement, and immediately had her wish granted. Bogging its head, the paint blew up with a series of high, back-arching jumps; impressive to watch, but nothing out of the ordinary. Always one to enjoy being in the limelight, Calamity had hoped for a better chance to show off her skill.

  In the course of her lifetime, over-confidence had landed Calamity in more than one scrape, and so it proved that day. Suddenly the horse made a fence-corner pitch, going up pointing due north but landing at a forty-five-degree angle to its original direction. Taken by surprise, Calamity felt herself slipping and took the easiest way out. Kicking her feet from the stirrup irons, she parted company with the saddle in full flight. She had ridden for long enough to learn how to fall and, although lighting down on her rump, softened her landing in a manner which saved her from serious injury. Bouncing twice, Calamity slid halfway out of the corral almost at Mark Counter’s feet.”

  “Thought I saw you on that horse, Calam,” the blond giant remarked.

  “Help a lady up, you long, white-topped slab of useless Texas cow-nurse!” she answered hotly. “I’ll show him who’s the boss next time on.”

  Before Calamity could do so, Beryl ducked between the fence rails. Shooting out his hand, Lord Henry caught his sister by her arm.

  “Don’t be silly, Beryl!” he snapped. “You’ve not ridden astride since we were children.”

  “Haven’t I?” smiled Beryl. “It’s time I learned if I still can, then.”

  With that, she shrugged his hand from her arm and walked toward the horse. Speaking gently, she reached for and caught hold of the paint’s reins. Just as smoothly, she moved around until in a position to mount. Up went a dainty foot and into the stirrup iron. Then, with a little swing, Beryl mounted the horse. Her move was so smoothly executed that she had her rump on the saddle and other foot firmly in iron before the paint realized that another human being challenged it. Once the realization came, the paint took off in a high buck. Although she rose into the air more than the horse, and her face showed pain as she landed, Beryl stayed in the saddle instead of dirtying her shirt on the ground.

  While the saddling took place, Kerry led Shaun into the livery barn and left him there. To a certain degree Shaun could be trusted around people, but Kerry preferred not to take chances. Already an excited crowd gathered round the corral, and in the excitement somebody might kick or bump against the wolfhound with unpleasant and painful results. After safeguarding the public, Kerry hurried back to see Calamity thrown and Beryl take the red-head’s place.

  Again and again the paint bucked, leaping high and slamming down hard; but without the devastating change of tactics which sent Calamity out of the saddle. Yells of admiration, whoops of delight and shouts of advice rang out from the men who surrounded the fence. From the excited way some of them acted, Kerry showed wisdom in removing his dog.

  “Yahoo!” Mark whooped, almost deafening Calamity at his side. “Stay up there, Beryl!”

  “Damn it!” Calamity snorted, feeling just a touch of pique at Beryl’s success. “She didn’t get bit where I did last night.”

  “I bet she got more sleep, too,” Mark grinned.

  “You’re to blame for that,” Calamity reminded him. “All I—watch him, gal, he’s going to pitch fence-cornered.”

  And the horse did, using the trick which threw Calamity. For a moment it seemed Beryl would smell corral dirt. She hung over in the saddle, made an effort and remained in her seat. Pique forgotten, Calamity almost drowned out the cheers of approval at Beryl’s skill.

  “Where did Ber—your sister—learn to ride like that?” asked Kerry, turning to Lord Henry.

  “I’m blessed if I know,” the peer admitted. “Probably been riding astride back home when nobody watched her.”

  “She’s sure some gal,” enthused Kerry. “I’ve only seen——”

  His words chopped off as he saw the paint change tactics. Forgetting bucking after its lack of success, the horse ran across the corral, heading for the fence facing the open range beyond the town. By that time Beryl had gained the feel of her mount and found no difficulty in staying on it at a gallop. However, she knew that she could not turn the paint in time to avoid a collision with the fence. Feeling the horse’s muscles bunch, she guessed what it planned and gave the idea her full cooperation. Hand, legs and body worked in conjunction with the paint as it took off, rising up toward the top of the six-foot-high top rail of the fence. Spectators scattered hurriedly and a concerted gasp rose from among the others as the paint sailed into the air.

  Having ridden to hounds on numerous occasions in England, Beryl knew how to take a jump; but she had never done so while sitting astride. So when the paint landed, she instinctively adjusted herself to take the impact as when riding side saddle. Although she managed to retain her seat, the paint’s landing slammed her down hard enough to make her lose control of the reins for a vital instant. Taking the bit between its teeth, the paint bolted, streaking away from the corral and toward the open range.

  Even before the girl reached the stallion, Kerry raced forward and went afork his gray with a flying bound. He lit down with feet digging into the stirrups and started the horse running in almost the same move.

  “Watch those horses!” Mark shouted, for in the excitement and confusion Wainer’s men ignored the animals selected to accompany Lord Henry on the trip and they showed signs of spooking.

  Running to his horse, Mark jostled Calamity aside and swung into the saddle. His example brought the attention of other men to Lord Henry’s stock and helped to prevent it scattering.

  “Come on,” Potter growled to his companions, throwing a glance in the direction taken by the fleeing paint and pursuing gray.

  “What’s up?” Wingett mumbled through a swollen jaw and mouth.

  “Barran’s just left town and we’re going after him.”

  “Why?” asked Rixon.

  “To get what’s coming to us. He’s carrying money on him and that gray’d bring a fair price from some Army officer.”

  While broke, having been fired for their failure on returning to Corben, the other three showed no great eagerness to tangle with Kerry Barran again. True, he would have enough money on him to mak
e the effort worth while, but they all knew the risks involved.

  “He’ll have that limey gal with him,” Wingett pointed out.

  “Sure, but not that damned dog,” answered Potter. “Let’s get after them and if there’s a chance, we’ll take him.”

  Having no alternative plan, and being under the marshal’s order to get out of town—neither Berkmyer nor Corben wanted the quartet to be around to answer awkward questions—Potter’s companions followed him to their waiting horses. Nobody gave them a glance as they mounted and rode out of town, headed at a tangent to the direction taken by Beryl and Kerry.

  Mark’s prompt action prevented the scattering of the horses from being too serious. Already they had become split away from each other, but he turned back a couple and then more men came up. Calamity threw open the gate to the corral which housed her own and Killem’s teams, using the cracking of her whip to keep the animals already inside from leaving. Used to the explosive cracks of the bull whip, the team horses did not need touching with its lash to remain obedient to its wielder’s will. After the horses had been corralled, Calamity turned and looked out across the range. Such was the broken nature of the land that Beryl and Kerry had already passed out of sight.

  “Reckon we’d best get after them?” she asked.

  “They’ll be all right,” Lord Henry replied. “Beryl can ride well enough and Kerry will catch up with her before she gets too far away.”

  “I dunno,” objected Calamity. “That paint had a fair head start and it’s carrying less weight than Kerry’s gray.”

  “You trust old Kerry to fetch her back in one piece, Calam,” Killem comforted. “The country’s a mite rough, but that paint’s been raised in stuff like it and’s too smart to run blind. Look how it took that fence.”

  “There’s that,” the girl admitted, knowing a panic-stricken horse would have smashed bodily into the fence instead of going over it.

  “You sound concerned for Beryl’s welfare, Calamity,” smiled Lord Henry.

  “So I should be,” she replied, then grinned back. “That’s my saddle she’s using.”

  “Oh, well,” drawled the peer, “if it doesn’t come back, I’ll buy you a new saddle.”

  Just as Calamity sought for an adequate reply, she noticed certain absentees from the crowd. Taken with the departure of Kerry Barran, she did not like the idea of not seeing Potter’s bunch present.

  “Hey,” she said. “Those four yahoos who jumped Kerry last night were here.”

  “So I saw,” Lord Henry replied. “I don’t think we’ll see any more of them.”

  “You’re right at that. They’ve gone.”

  “If you mean Potter and that other bunch who used to skin for Kerry,” Wainer put in, “they just now rode off.”

  “Which way?” Mark asked.

  “Down to the South-West, thought maybe they’re headed for the forward construction camps, them not working for him any more.”

  “Could be nothing to it,” Mark said doubtfully.

  “I’d sure hate to count on it,” Calamity answered.

  “Those blighters wouldn’t dare do anything while Beryl’s with Kerry,” Lord Henry objected. “But I hate to take a chance. I say, Mr. Wainer, I’d like a saddle if you have one.”

  “Make it two,” Calamity corrected.

  “Are you coining along, Calam?” asked the peer.

  “Sure am,” agreed the girl. “We’d best have some of your horses, Wainer. There’s not time to take bed-springs out of that bunch in the corral.”

  “Good thinking, gal,” Mark said, knowing that using the horses from the corral would cause a far longer delay than taking mounts from the barn’s hire-supply.

  Crossing to the barn’s door, Calamity opened it and looked to where the big dog came to its feet. She tried to hide the apprehension that rose as Shaun walked in her direction. One wrong move would see her badly bitten, that she knew.

  “Easy there, boy,” she said quietly. “I’m not fixing to touch you. All I want to do is get you after your boss.”

  Shaun walked by Calamity and across to where he had last seen his master. Dropping his head, he sniffed around, sifting through the mingled scents until he located the one he wanted. Watched by the girl and men, the big dog followed on Kerry’s line to where the hunter mounted. For a moment the sudden disappearance of his master’s scent picture fooled Shaun. Then he picked up the scent of the gray, which he knew well enough. Swinging on to the gray’s line, he loped away in the direction the horse took when chasing after Beryl’s paint.

  “I feel better now,” she said.

  “And so do I,” Lord Henry admitted. “Come on, Calamity, let’s get the horses and ride.”

  Chapter 9

  A NICE DAY FOR KILLING

  AT FIRST BERYL FELT JUST A LITTLE AFRAID AS THE horse tore out of town with her on its back. Not blind panic, but merely a normal fear which could be kept under control. With the bit firmly between its teeth, Beryl had no way of stopping the paint. However, she soon found that it did not rush blindly along, endangering itself and the rider. Instead it ran as a wild animal fleeing from something unpleasant, fast but alert for anything which might cause it to injure itself. The speed at which the paint ran made falling off its back impracticable; even if Beryl had considered taking that way out. Not that she did, coming from a stock which did not lightly flinch from danger. Once she knew that the horse was not in a wild blind flight, she settled down to keep her seat and enjoy the ride.

  Kerry urged his gray after the paint, but soon knew he could not close the gap on the lighter-loaded animal until it tired. Booting the carbine, he concentrated on keeping the gap between them from enlarging and followed ready to lend a hand should Beryl find herself in difficulties.

  On they went, tearing out over the rolling, open range. Kerry could not help admiring the girl’s riding skill, especially when the paint went down a steep incline. Bounding out at the bottom, the horse lit down running. For a moment Beryl tilted dangerously, but by that time she had adjusted herself to riding astride and found no difficulty in regaining her seat. Dropping from his saddle, Kerry slid down the slope alongside the gray and remounted when they reached the bottom.

  Not for three miles did the paint show any sign of slackening its pace. At last Kerry called up a burst of reserve speed from the gray and drew alongside the paint. He expected to see fear or concern on the girl’s face; but read only exhilaration and excitement as she flashed a surprised but delighted smile at him. Edging his gray closer to Beryl’s mount, Kerry leaned over. He reached out and his fingers closed on the paint’s head-stall. With a firm grip on the other animal, Kerry slowed his horse and brought both to a gradual halt.

  “Are you all right?” he asked and jumped to the ground.

  “Fine,” she replied, eyes sparkling and bosom heaving. Tossing her right leg across the saddle, she slipped down and landed before the hunter. “I was a little frightened at first, but that soon passed. Then when I found he wasn’t running blind, I sat back and enjoyed the ride—not that I could have stopped him.”

  Turning, she ran a hand along the horse’s lathered neck. Without needing any instructions, she set to work cooling down the paint. After watching her for a moment, Kerry decided she could manage and attended to the gray.

  “You must think I’m an absolute horror, Kerry,” Beryl remarked, when the horses had been cooled down and they prepared to walk some of the way back to town.

  “Why should I, ma—Beryl?”

  “Well, last night I became involved in a brawl. Then I appear this morning dressed like this——”

  “What’s wrong with the way you’re dressed?” asked Kerry.

  “It’s hardly a costume a lady should wear in public,” Beryl smiled. “Not that I’ve been acting very lady-like recently.”

  “I’ve seen a few ladies in my time. Not for-real ladies like you, though. Can’t say any of them dressed that way, but I don’t care.”

  “Is
that a compliment?”

  “It was meant to be. Most of them ladies would’ve screeched if they saw a mouse and couldn’t tie their shoes without help. Can’t say I took to them. You’re not like that.”

  “I try not to be,” Beryl said. “Of course, I’ve been on hunting trips with my brother before and am used to roughing it. But I never dressed like this.”

  “Once we get moving, you’ll damn—sorry, ma’am, you’ll near on live on a horse. They clothes’ll be better than a fancy dress then. Reckon we’d best start heading back to town.”

  “What kind of horse is this, Kerry?” Beryl asked, indicating the paint.

  “Just a range mustang. You’ll see plenty of them running wild on the Great Plains. Come from Spanish critters that escaped way back, so a railroad surveyor told me, with a mixing of blood from stuff that escaped or got lost from wagon trains.”

  “Are there many of them?”

  “I’ve seen herds of hundreds.”

  An interested gleam came in Beryl’s eyes. “Doesn’t anybody try to catch them then?”

  “Sure,” Kerry answered. “The Indians pick up what they want. A few fellers make good money picking up herds, breaking them and selling them.”

  “All good horses like this paint?” the girl breathed.

  “Nope. He’s an exception. You don’t see many that good.”

  “But they have stamina and an ability to stand off local diseases. Crossed with blood stock, they could be turned into ideal mounts for this country.”

  “That’s strange. I was just thinking the same thing last night.”

  Leading their horses and discussing the possibility of improving the range-raised mustangs’ blood-line, Beryl and Kerry walked side by side across the rolling country in the direction of the town. Ahead the land dipped and rose in folds and valleys; outcrops of rocks and clumps of trees or bushes dotted the slopes and valley bottoms. Ideal country for an ambush, although Kerry, absorbed in conversation on an interesting subject, overlooked the fact.

  Potter and his men had been unable to keep the departing riders in sight after they left town, but followed the tracks of the two racing horses. Unsure of how long the paint would run, or which route Kerry might take back to town, the quartet separated and fanned out in a line to cover as much of the range as possible. In the center of the line, Potter caught sight of their prey first, signalling to Rixon and bringing the small man over. However, they could not attract either Wingett or Schmidt’s attention. Potter would have preferred to bring all four of them together, but as he studied the situation, decided they were better off split up. Concealed among a fair-sized clump of bushes, he and Rixon appeared to be in direct line with Kerry and the girl. Off to the right Wingett left his horse hidden and inched his way through cover on a course which ought to bring him close to where the couple passed. Over on the left, Schmidt halted behind an outcrop of rocks, drew his rifle and covered where the big hunter and girl ought to go by. The two flank men had moved ahead some thirty yards, forming what might be termed the lips of the funnel down which their victims must travel.