Running Irons

by J. T. Edson

  “You fellers being so friendly and neighborly, it sure riles me that I got to wait to pay day afore I can repay you.”

  “Reckon you’d like to earn a mite more, afore then?” Stocker asked.

  “I sure as hell would.”

  “Look, boy,” the rancher said, dropping his voice. “I got crowded up on the Rock Pile because the big ranchers took all the good land. A fair number of my cattle stray down there. I’d pay well for any you found and brought back.”

  “How’d I know which was yours?” asked Danny.

  “If they’d got the Bradded S brand on ’em, they’d be mine.”

  “Shucks, I’ve not seen any Bradded S stuff on our range,” Danny groaned.

  “How about unbranded stuff?” the rancher inquired.

  “You mean unbranded Bench J stock?”

  “Under the law, Danny,” Soskice put in, “an unbranded animal is property of the man who lays his brand on it.”

  “Is that the legal law?” asked Danny, wide-eyed and eager.

  “It sure is,” agreed the rancher. “Hell, I bet all the ranchers have branded dozens of mine. You’ll only be helping me get my own back. It’d be justice and I’d pay you five dollars a head.”

  “I’ll just bet you would,” Danny drawled, a crafty glint coming into his eyes. “I risk a rope for five dollars a head, when you’ll likely sell them for thirty. Mister, I may be——”

  “Hold your voice down!” Soskice hissed. “You want money——”

  “Not bad enough to risk a hemp bandana for that price.”

  “You risked it when you rode the Rafter O’s bay,” Soskice pointed out, silencing Stocker’s angry growls with a wave of his hand.

  “Sure, but for a damned sight more than you’re offering,” Danny answered. “I’ll sell at ten dollars a head, no less.”

  “Ten doll——!” began Stocker.

  “All grown beef. Got me twenty head located right now, not a brand on ’em and ready for picking.”

  Suspicion glinted in Stocker’s eyes. “How the hell——”

  “Shucks,” drawled Danny. “Word’s got around about the cow stealing up here. Why’d you reckon I come. I figured sooner or later I’d tie in with the right folks. Where’d you want ’em bringing?”

  Stocker and Soskice looked at each other, then a grin creased the rancher’s face. “You’re a smart cuss,” he told Danny. “Brand ’em someplace and deliver ’em to Bowie Rock. Do you know it?”

  “That one with a top shaped like the clipped point of a bowie knife, down by where the Talbot River flows off the Rock Pile?” asked Danny.

  “That’s the one. I’ll be there from midnight until three in the morning tomorrow night. You deliver the cattle and collect your money in town.”

  “Can’t say I like that idea.”

  “It’s the way we do it,” Stocker growled.

  “And it’s better that way, Danny,” the lawyer put in. “Safer too. If anybody sees you, you claim you found the cattle straying. They can search you and Turk and not find any money on you, so they can’t prove you aimed to sell them to him. And if your boss catches you coming in late and wants to know where you’ve been, he’ll not find you with more cash in your pockets than you should have.”

  “You fellers look like you’ve got it all worked out,” Danny said admiringly.

  “We sure have,” agreed the rancher. “Do you want in?”

  “Deal me in,” drawled Danny, glancing to where Mousey and Calamity entered. I’ll see you all tomorrow night.”

  “What do you think?” Soskice asked as Danny rose and walked to meet the two girls.

  “He’s a slicker young cuss than I reckoned,” answered the rancher.

  “Too slick, maybe,” said the lawyer. “Of course, the ones who think they’re the smartest always fall for a girl. Watch him, Turk, and if he makes a wrong move, kill him.”

  “Dutchy’d like the chance to do that,” the rancher replied.

  Danny managed to get Calamity alone long enough to tell her of his progress, then he left the saloon, collected his sabino and rode back to the ranch. On his arrival, he put up the horse and walked across to the main house.

  “Like to see you, boss,” he said when Jerome answered his knock on the front door. “Can you take a walk down to the corral with me?”

  One look at Danny’s face told the rancher that something serious was afoot. So, without asking any questions, Jerome stepped out of his house and walked toward the corral at Danny’s side. Jerome did not know what to expect. It could be that the youngster had found some serious disease among the stock and wanted his boss to hear of it in privacy. There might be any of a dozen other reasons for the request. Never would Jerome have guessed the real reason for Danny’s visit; and when he heard, he could hardly believe his ears.

  “I want to steal some of your cattle,” Danny remarked casually.

  While noted for his skill as a poker player, Jerome could not help coming to a halt and staring at Danny.

  “Reckon you’d best take that again—slow, Danny.”

  Reaching into the concealed pocket built into his gunbelt, Danny extracted his badge and held it so Jerome could see the star in the circle. “I’m a Ranger in Captain Murat’s company and was sent up here to bust up the cow stealing.”

  “Well, I swan!” swore the rancher. “You sure as hell had me fooled.”

  “And a few other folks—I hope,” drawled Danny and went on to tell the rancher of his activities, including the offer he received. “I want proof enough to take the whole danged bunch into court, boss.”

  “Then we’ll jump ’em when they take the cattle,” Jerome suggested.

  “It wouldn’t do any good. They’ll just claim they know nothing and it’s two men’s word against mine. I figure to learn where they hide the stock, who they sell to and bring in the whole danged bunch.”

  “We’ll play it your way. Say, can I let Ed in on this?”

  “Sure,” Danny confirmed. “I’ll need help to handle the stuff, too.”

  “Don’t reckon me or Ed’d do for that,” grinned the rancher.

  “Or me. Can’t see them being dumb enough to buy a rancher or his segundo becoming cow thieves. I’ll take young Tommy.”

  “Tommy?”

  “Sure. He’s got a good head and he’s steady enough where Mousey’s not involved. If you’ve still got those two running irons we found by Sammy and Pike, I could use them, too.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Jerome promised. “And anything else you may need.”

  The rancher proved to be as good as his word. Next morning Danny, Tommy and Lyle rode out on what appeared to be an ordinary routine ranch chore, except that the two younger members of the party each carried a running iron hidden under his saddle-skirts.

  During the ride Tommy listened with awe and admiration as Danny told what he knew about the cow stealing. Although Tommy had a cowhand’s disrespect for local law enforcement officers, he regarded the Texas Rangers as being something real special and his admiration for Danny grew rather than lessened on learning the other belonged to that famous body of men. Eagerly Tommy agreed to help Danny and listened carefully to his instructions.

  Being older, Lyle hid his feelings and merely remarked that he had figured all along that there was more to Danny than met the eye. With his knowledge of the range, Lyle took the others to where groups of cattle grazed. Scanning the animals, Danny’s party picked out and cut any unbranded grown beef they saw, hazing it ahead of them until they drove twenty head before their horses.

  “We’d best play this the right way,” Danny remarked. “Let’s use that hollow where the boys were killed to do the branding.”

  “Sure,” the foreman agreed. “I sure as hell never figured I’d be using a running iron on the boss’s cattle.”

  “Or me,” Danny admitted. “Say, Ed, I’ve been kicking a fool notion around in my head. Let’s make sure we can identify our stock by running a small Bench J where it won�
��t show, say under the animal’s belly.”

  “You’ve got a right smart notion,” the foreman grunted.

  Once down in the hollow where two men died, the three cowhands set to work and branded the stock. While Tommy held the cattle, Danny cut out each animal in turn and led it to where Lyle kept a fire burning and the running irons heated to a glowing cherry-red. Showing his riding and roping skill, Danny put the captured animal down. Lyle hawg-tied it and then burned a prominent Bradded S on the animal’s left hip and traced a smaller Bench J under the belly where it would escape notice unless specifically searched for. In range terms, a brand was “something that won’t wash off,” so the cattle carried a mark of legal ownership as well as the cow thieves insignia.

  The hidden brand, known as a “sleeper” became a standard weapon in the war against cow thieves in Texas and more than one light-fingered, wide-looped gent met his just deserts through Danny Fog’s “fool notion.”

  Hard work and skilled handling saw all twenty head branded before darkness fell. With the preparations made, Danny and Tommy left Lyle to carry out the next part of their business; meeting Stocker and selling their “stolen” cattle.

  “Good luck,” the foreman said as they parted.

  “We’ll likely need it,” Danny answered with a grin.

  Turning his horse, Lyle headed back in the direction of the ranch to report to his boss that all had worked out satisfactorily so far. Danny and Tommy moved the cattle a couple of miles from the hollow which held such painful associations for the animals, then halted to wait out the time until midnight.

  “Do we take ’em tonight?” asked Tommy as they mounted their horses ready to make for the rendezvous.

  “Nope. Not unless we have to. I want them all, from top to bottom, not just Stocker and his bunch.”

  “All?”

  “There’s more than just Stocker involved,” Danny told him. “All we do is ride up, deliver the stuff and pull out. Then I’m going to trail Stocker to where he hides it. Once we know that, we can move.”

  “You’re the boss,” grunted Tommy.

  Shortly after midnight the two young men drove their twenty head of cattle toward the rock shaped like the clipped point of a bowie knife.

  “Just act natural, Tommy, boy,” Danny warned in a low voice.

  “I’m as nervous as a hound-scared cat,” the youngster groaned back.

  “That’s how you should be,” Danny replied with a grin. “This’s the first time you’ve ever done any cow stealing. Can’t expect you to act easy on it. Just follow my lead though—and don’t spook.”

  As they drew closer to Bowie Rock, the two young men saw a pair of shapes ride into view from a clump of scrub oaks at one side of the outcrop. Coming closer, the shapes turned into a recognizable Stocker and his bulky foreman, Schatz. The burly man’s right arm looked unnaturally white but Danny realized this to be caused by a bandage around the place where his heel stamped into flesh.

  “Hold it!” Stocker growled suspiciously. “There’s two of you.”

  “Needed two to handle the branding,” Danny replied. “Anyways, there’s two of you, too.”

  “Who’s the other one?”

  “Tommy Fayne.”

  Hearing Danny’s reply, Schatz growled something inaudible but Stocker spoke to cover the sound.

  “Allus figured you for a ‘saint,’ Tommy.”

  “Reckoned I’d never get enough money saved to marry Mousey by sticking to cowhand’s pay,” Tommy replied.

  Relief hit Danny as he heard Tommy’s response. While the youngster’s voice sounded a mite strained and odd, it held nothing to make the other men suspicious. If they noticed the difference, they would put it down to his nervousness at becoming a cow thief. More than that, the youngster had given the one reason which might turn a loyal cowhand into a cow thief; Stocker had seen at least two other hands go the same way.

  Everything appeared to be going the right way, Danny decided—then Schatz, still smarting under his defeat at Danny’s hands, damned nigh blew the whole thing into the air. A nasty snigger left the big hard-case at Tommy’s words.

  “So you’re fixing to marry that——” Schatz began.

  “Call him off, Turk!” Danny interrupted before the other could finish his insulting words. “If he doesn’t stop, I’ll muzzle him. And you watch the cattle, Tommy, we don’t want to lose ’em now.”

  The low-spoken warning prevented Tommy spoiling the business at hand. Like Danny knew, the youngster tended to get a mite hot-headed where Mousey was concerned. Normally Danny would have regarded the loyalty to a feller’s gal as being praiseworthy and expect one to defend his sweetheart’s honor; but he did not want Tommy tangling with Schatz until after they had finished their business.

  Stocker also appeared to desire peace. Being a businessman, if one engaged in an illegal business, Stocker had an eye on his profit and loss account. While he would be paying Danny double the price given to the more naïve local hands, Stocker figured the young cowboy would be worth it. Even in the darkness he could form some idea of the quality of the stock Danny brought for sale. The cattle appeared to be two to three-year-old animals, ideal for marketing and most likely Danny Forgrave knew where more of them could be gathered. So Stocker did not want trouble.

  “Go get the lantern, Dutchy,” he ordered. “And leave Tommy be, we don’t want any fuss. No offense meant, Tommy.”

  “None took, neither,” Danny answered for his young friend. “You sounded a mite edgy when we rode up, Turk.”

  “So’d you be in my place. It don’t do to take chances.”

  “Sure admire to be working with a careful man,” Danny drawled. “We’ve only brought twenty head this time.”

  “Mind if I look ’em over?” asked the rancher.

  “Feel free,” replied Danny.

  Clearly Stocker had the cow stealing business well organized. On his return from the clump of trees Schatz carried a bull’s-eye lantern and directed its light on the “stolen” stock. While a longhorn was dangerous to a man afoot, one could approach the animal while riding a horse without any great risk. Closing on the twenty head, Stocker examined their running iron brands in the light of the lantern. Watching the two men, Danny felt tension mounting on him but held it in check. His right hand rested on the butt of his off-side Colt, for if Stocker discovered the sleeper brands under the cattle’s bellies Danny reckoned he would need a gun in a hell of a hurry. Across at the far side of the small bunch of cattle, Tommy felt sweat trickle down his face. The youngster twisted restlessly in his saddle and looked toward Danny; but his nervousness attracted no attention for Stocker and Schatz had become used to such a reaction from the cowhands they dealt with when handing over the stolen stock.

  After checking each animal in turn, Stocker nodded and Schatz closed the front of the lantern. The rancher rode to where Danny sat his sabino and nodded in approval.

  “They’ll do, Danny. We can use more stuff like this, and I’ll keep paying you ten dollars a head—only don’t mention it to anybody else.”

  “You figure a fair profit for yourself, Turk,” Danny replied.

  “Hell, they don’t cost you anything. And I’ve overheads to meet out of my end,” the rancher objected.

  “Likely. Want Tommy and me to lend you a hand to move them?”

  “Nope. You’d best not be out too late, you don’t want to get Buck Jerome all suspicious.”

  Danny had not expected finding the hideout for the stolen stock to be so easy and was not wrong, however, a man always liked to try to smooth his path if he could. So he went on with something he must not forget to ask.

  “How’ll I let you know when I’ve some more for sale?”

  “Go to the Cattle Queen. If I’m not there, leave word with Miss Ella. Say you’ve found some of my strays and want to deliver ’em. She’ll pass the word to me and I’ll meet you here at around midnight the following night.”

  “Mighty obliging lady, Miss Ella.�
�

  “Sure,” the rancher agreed, then went on just a shade too quickly. “She don’t know a thing about what I’m doing. When you go in ask her for the envelope the man left and she’ll give it to you. You’ll find the money for this lot in it. Only don’t mention any names.”

  “I won’t,” Danny promised. “See you, Turk.”

  Turning, Danny rode to where Tommy sat waiting for him at the rear of the bunch of cattle. Just as he reached the youngster, Danny heard the drumming of hooves. Somebody was riding through the night, coming in their direction at a fair speed. One thing Danny knew for sure. The newcomer would not be bringing news of joy and good cheer for him and his young friend.

  “Coming from town,” Tommy said in a low voice, showing again how clear-headed he could be.

  “Get set for trouble,” Danny replied, swinging his horse to face the suddenly alert and suspicious Stocker and Schatz.

  “Stacker!” yelled the fast-riding shape as it drew closer. “Danny Forgrave’s a Ranger. Get him!”

  Chapter 13 HOLD HER UNTIL I GET BACK

  BUSINESS WAS SLACK IN THE CATTLE QUEEN. ONLY Wally Stirton, boss of the Rafter O, a few of his hands and a handful of townsmen used the bar room. Calamity Jane and Mousey sat at a table clear of the men, idly talking and waiting for customers to arrive. Phyl crossed the room and came to a halt by the two girls.

  “Aren’t your fellers coming in tonight?” she asked.

  “Don’t look like it,” Calamity replied. “It’s gone nine now and no sign of them. They’d’ve been in afore this if they was coming.”

  “Things are always quiet on Wednesdays,” Mousey went on.

  At that moment the batwing doors opened and a man entered, halting just inside to look around. Yet he did not have the watchful caution of a hard-case gun fighter who might find enemies inside and wanted his eyes to grow accustomed to the bar’s lights after coming from the darkness. Glancing at the door, Calamity stiffened slightly; recognizing Jake Jacobs, the pedlar who sold information to peace officers. For a moment Jacobs stood at the door, then he walked forward in the direction of Phyl and the other two girls. Calamity felt Jacobs’s eyes studying her with more than normal care. Maybe he recognized her, although she doubted it. As far as she knew, the pedlar left Austin before she arrived, but he might remember her from some other town. Calamity decided she must find out what brought the man to Caspar.