“Well, thanks, Lonnie. I reckon we’ve seen the last of Kelso, though. Funny to stumble on him like that.”
“Yeah. A big surprise to me too. I haven’t thought about him or Jasper Mullins since I left Denver and come to work for you.”
“Yeah, I heard Roy Davis was killed and his ranch sold for back taxes.”
“Yeah. Roy was killed all right. Shot with a rifle from a long ways off, and his cattle herd stolen. Nobody ever caught the ones who killed Roy or knew what happened to all his cattle. But I have my suspicions.”
“Mullins?” Reese said.
Lonnie nodded. “Mullins and his gang, four or five of the hardest cases you ever saw.”
“Well, thanks, Lonnie. I haven’t thought about Roy in a long while. I knew what happened to him because I bought cattle at the auction in Denver, the one they had at the stockyards. Roy was a decent man.”
“And an honest one,” Lonnie said. “Not like Mullins. Or Kelso.”
One or two of the cows drifted away from the herd and started to turn back.
Lonnie turned his horse. “Back to work,” he said. “Them two cows want to get back to that lake, I reckon.”
Reese watched him spur his horse into a run. Snow flew from the horse’s hooves as it stomped its way through at least four inches of snow. More cows tried to turn from the herd. But Lonnie and his horse drove them back into line.
Reese thought about Earl Kelso and wondered why he had been in a line shack with no sign of any livestock anywhere near it.
And what, he wondered, was a hard case like Kelso doing so far from any town? Men like that were usually someplace where they could buy a drink or a woman and brawl on Saturday nights. He just didn’t seem to fit in as a ranch hand.
He hoped he’d seen the last of Kelso. There was something about the man that made his skin crawl.
During the rest of the morning, Reese kept thinking about Roy Davis and how he had died. Someone had bushwhacked him, stolen his cattle, and left his widow penniless. It was not a typical story of the West, but it was one he knew well. He and Roy had shared many a drink at auction, and Reese knew him to be a man with a good eye for sound cattle.
Nobody had ever caught the rustlers or the man who had shot and killed Roy Davis.
So much for the law, he thought.
Town law, at that.
Out here, he mused, there was no law at all. And dangerous men like Earl Kelso hadn’t a worry in the world.
And that was a worry as Reese rode on, alone with his thoughts and the bawling cattle that trudged through the snow that was still falling, still piling up on the trail as the wind blew in from the north like a banshee on the prowl.
And there was no sign that it would ever stop in that gaunt white world where a sea of cattle trampled through hock-high snow on an old buffalo trail.
Reese looked back once or twice. Back where he had been, at the little log cabin that served as a line shack on empty pasture.
He had the feeling that someone was following him.
But there was nobody there.
Chapter 23
Jasper Mullins was a giant of a man, with an appetite to match. When Earl rode up to the main house on the Crooked M, Jasper was gnawing on a shank of beef with two other men, Homer Parsons and Dave Riggs. Those two were playing cards at the same table while putting down shot glasses full of cheap whiskey. Neither was drunk, but they were well on their way.
Homer shuffled the worn and frayed deck of cards. “Five-card stud,” he said. “Jokers wild.”
“Deal ’em,” Dave said. “It’s quicker than seven-card.”
“Don’t you two ever get tired of playin’ poker?” Mullins asked as he chewed his beefsteak.
“Hell, there ain’t nothin’ to do but play cards,” Homer said as he dealt out two hands.
“I never been so bored in my life,” Dave said as he picked up his cards, one by one. “Same thing ever’ day. Same cheap whiskey, same tiresome grub.”
“Something will turn up,” Mullins said. “Something always does.”
“Hell, it’s snowin’ outside,” Homer said. “And we’re stuck out here with nothin’ to do but put more wood on the fire.” He glanced at the fireplace. The fire was burning and hissing as snowflakes descended the chimney and melted in the flames.
“You got anything planned, Jasper?” Dave asked.
Mullins swiped his sleeve across his wet mouth and swallowed the chewed chunk of meat.
“Nothin’ right soon,” Jasper said. “I’d like to get me to a town,” Homer said, “where we can find a willing woman and eat some decent grub.”
“Yeah, like Cheyenne,” Dave said. “That’s a town where we ain’t known.”
“Cheyenne is full of drifters and soldiers,” Mullins said. “Denver’s better.”
“Yeah, but the law knows us in Denver,” Homer said. “And I think there’s a reward poster with my picture on it.”
Mullins laughed. “We all got posters with our faces on ’em in Denver,” he said. “Puny little rewards. Five hundred bucks. Nobody’s goin’ to come after us for that kind of money.”
“What about Roger Collins?” Homer said. “Somebody shot him dead for two hunnert dollars. Money is money.”
“Collins was sparkin’ the man’s wife,” Mullins said. “He brought it on hisself.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “Roger was a damn fool. But I’d like to get the bastard who killed him. I liked Roger.”
“He was a fool,” Homer said as he pushed poker chips into the center of the table. “I bet five dollars.”
“I’ll just call,” Dave said, and pushed chips against the others. They made a clicking sound.
Homer looked up and across the table. Through the window and the falling snow, he saw a rider approaching at a slow, floundering pace.
“Somebody’s comin’,” he said. “Looks like Kelso.”
“What the hell’s he doin’ comin’ here?” Mullins asked. “I told him to stay in the line shack and watch for any cattle that might be on that old buffalo trail.”
“Maybe he saw somethin’,” Homer said.
“He’d better have seen cattle or horses,” Mullins said. He got up from the table and walked to the window. He heard the whisper of cards and the click of chips from his two men at the table.
“Snow’s driftin’ in that wind,” Mullins said.
Kelso was fighting his way through heavy drifts, slapping his horse’s rump with his reins. The snow fell thick and fast, large flakes, and they made Kelso look shrouded in a curtain of white flakes.
“That damn snow is driftin’ all over the place. Kelso’s fighting it all the way.”
The two stopped playing cards and walked to the window. They saw Kelso’s horse shy from every hump in the snow and plunge into four-foot drifts. There was no sign of the trail leading to the house.
Presently Kelso reached the well, then the hitch rail. His hat and coat were white with snow and when he dismounted, snow fell from the horse like powder.
“Let him in,” Mullins said.
Homer went to the door as Kelso tramped up the snow-flocked path. When he opened it, snowflakes flew through the door as Kelso walked in, his boots packed with snow. He took off his hat and shook it free of most of the flakes.
“Boy, it’s good to be where it’s warm,” he said.
“Set down at the table, Earl,” Mullins said. “I expect you got a tale to tell.”
The four men walked to the table in the center of the front room. They all scraped chairs on the hardwood floor and sat down. Mullins and the two others stared at Kelso in anticipation of what he had to say.
“Well, like you said, Jasper, somebody come down that old buffalo trail.”
“Horses?” Mullins said.
“Cattle. A heap of ’em. Round a thous
and head. Feller name of Reese Balleen is drivin’ his herd down to Cheyenne.”
Mullins pursed his lips and let out a long whistle.
“That’s a lot of cattle,” Homer said.
“Shut up,” Mullins said. “Cows look okay?” he asked Kelso.
“Fat as pigs,” Kelso answered. “And slow movin’ in all this snow.”
“Outriders? How many?” Mullins asked.
“Don’t know. I just seen one flanker, and I knowed him.”
“Who was it?” Mullins asked.
“Lonnie. Lonnie Willetts. You remember him from Denver, Jasper?”
“I don’t have much of a recognition, but the name sounds a little familiar.”
“He worked for Roy Davis on the Lucky Day Ranch,” Kelso said.
“Oh yeah, that Lonnie. Smelled like cow shit.”
The men at the table laughed. Mullins did not laugh.
“Can I have a shot of that whiskey?” Kelso asked.
“Have to swig it out of the bottle,” Homer said. “I ain’t gonna roust you up a whiskey glass.”
“I’m plumb froze up inside,” Kelso said. He uncorked the bottle and drank from it. His eyes teared up and he shuddered as the whiskey went down his throat.
“Feel better?” Mullins asked.
“I’m still half-froze,” Kelso said.
“So, the herd is movin’ real slow, you say,” Mullins said.
“Real slow. It’s snowin’ like hell and there’re drifts all across that buffalo trail. It’ll take them a month of Sundays just to get out of North Dakota.”
“Good,” Mullins said. “That gives us a chance.”
“Them two, Balleen and Lonnie, were packin’ pistols and I saw rifles in their boots.”
“Likely all the hands are totin’ weapons,” Mullins said. “No matter. We can pick ’em off one by one.”
“You aim to keep the cattle we rustle, Jasper?” Homer asked. “Or sell ’em somewhere?”
“We can’t get all of the herd, so we won’t be greedy on this. I’d say a couple hundred head ought to bring a fair price in Denver.”
“Long drive, though,” Riggs said. He swigged some of the whiskey and Mullins glared at him as he wiped his mouth.
“Maybe it’ll quit snowin’,” Homer said. “And it won’t be so bad.”
“Well, we need money,” Riggs said. “Been a long while since we saw any greenbacks.”
“Not so long,” Mullins said. “Last horses we stole brought a pretty good price.”
“Yeah, they did,” Riggs said.
“Well, there’re only four of us,” Mullins said. “And a lot of cattle out there. You boys ready to ride?”
The three other men all nodded.
“One hour. We’re goin’ after them cattle in daylight.”
“And in the snow,” Kelso said.
“We drop those cowhands and we can take our sweet time,” Mullins said.
“Be a pleasure,” Homer said. Dave grinned and his eyes brightened.
“Dave, you pack us some grub. Leave the whiskey here.”
“What if I get cold?” Riggs said.
“You can freeze your nuts off, for all I care,” Mullins said. “Now, let’s get crackin’.”
Kelso walked over to the fireplace and opened his jacket to let the heat in. He rubbed his hands to warm them. He shivered as the cold seeped from his body.
Mullins opened a gun case and took out a Winchester. From a drawer, he brought out a box of .44 cartridges. He set these on the table and from a wardrobe, he took out a heavy, fur-lined coat. Then he strapped on his gun belt from a clothes tree near the gun case. All the loops were filled with .45-caliber cartridges. He pulled the pistol and spun the cylinder. The magazine was full. He brought the hammer down to half-cock and slid the pistol back in its smooth leather holster. He walked over to the fireplace, carrying his coat under his huge arms.
“You did a good job out there,” he said to Kelso.
“Thanks, Jasper,” Kelso said. “You called it right. Somebody was bound to come down that old buffalo trail sooner or later.”
“That’s why I run the outfit,” Mullins said. “Put that fire out before we go.”
“I’ll be ready,” Kelso said. He thought of Lonnie, a man he did not know well. A man he might have to kill.
And he hoped he would have the chance to drop Reese Balleen too. He had no use for cattle ranchers and their hired hands. As far as Kelso was concerned, they were all money-grubbing parasites who thought they were better than anybody else.
Well, he’d show them all right.
Their blood would look real pretty on the white snow.
Chapter 24
Checkers felt the wagon jolt and heard a horrible crunching sound. The wagon teetered and he felt the front of the wagon give way and drop. He knew that he had hit a hole in the trail. He had to hold on to the sideboard to keep from tumbling off the seat and falling to the ground.
Louella let out a loud cry of alarm as she swayed to the side. She reached out and grabbed the side panel to keep from sliding down toward Checkers.
“Checkers. What’s going on? Did something break?”
“Wheel,” he said. He set the brake since the horses were straining against their harness, struggling to pull the wagon out of the hole.
“Oh my,” she said as she gripped the sideboard.
“Just hold on. I’ll get her righted once I get off this dadgum seat.”
The wagon lurched again as the horses stopped pulling and the wheel fell deeper into the depression.
A stab of pain jolted through Louella’s hip and she cried out.
“You all right, ma’am?” Checkers asked. “Need some help?”
“I should get down,” she said. “My hip is killing me in this position.”
“I’ll help you,” he said. “Just let me get down. I got to fix that wheel or we’ll be stuck here when the herd comes through. We’re liable to get trampled to death if that happens.”
“Oh my,” she said again, and gritted her teeth against the surge of pain through her hip.
Checkers climbed down from the wagon. He looked at the wheel. There were at least two broken spokes. He shook his head and walked around the back of the wagon to the other side where Louella was holding on to the sideboard.
“Give me your hands,” he said as he looked up at her.
She reached over and grasped his hands with hers.
“Can you stand up?” he asked.
“I—I think so. Give me a minute.”
She struggled to turn and face Checkers. Then she wobbled to her feet. She was shaky, but Checkers held on tight to her hands.
“Now step over, one foot only, and put your foot on my shoulder,” he said.
She lifted one leg and stuck out her foot. The snow fell fast and the flakes were large. Checkers seemed to be in a white funnel with snow falling on and around him.
“Now I’m going to stoop some and you just foller me,” he said. “Let your weight come down on me.”
“I—I’ll try,” she said.
She felt his body sink as he bent his knees. She also felt the pressure in her foot increase as she put more of her weight on his shoulder.
“Now bring your other leg over the side and find my other shoulder,” he said. He rose on his feet as she swung her other leg over. Her foot found his shoulder and then he pulled her.
“Ooh,” she cried as she felt herself being jerked from the wagon.
“Hold on to my head,” he told her. “I’ll grab your waist when I squat and let you down easy.”
She grabbed his temples beneath his hat and pulled on some hairs that were sticking out. She felt herself sink as Checkers squatted. Then his hands were around her waist. She squeezed her hands against his head.
A moment later he set her firmly on the ground. She was shaking inside, but glad to be on solid ground.
“Ooh, thank you, Checkers.”
“Now, can you walk? I’ll be a while fixin’ that busted wheel.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “There’s so much snow.”
“I know. I can lower the tailgate and lift you up so’s you’ll be under cover.”
“No, I’ll watch you fix that wheel and try to enjoy the falling snow.” She was smiling, so he knew she was serious.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll help you walk around the wagon to the other side. He held on to Louella as she walked in her peculiar, disjointed gait around the back of the wagon to the other side.
“Wait here,” Checkers said.
He walked a few feet away and found a somewhat flattened rock. He brushed away the snow with his hands and looked over at her.
“It’ll be cold, but you can sit here and rest,” he said.
“Thank you, Checkers. You’re a dear.” She limped over and Checkers helped her sit on the rock.
“It is cold,” she said.
“Keep your toes moving in those boots and they might not freeze up on you. I’ll be a while.”
Checkers had spare spokes in the wagon. He brought those out, two of them, and then hunkered down to remove the broken ones from the wheel. He replaced those, twisting and working the replacements into their seats.
Then he took off the brake and walked in front of the horses and spoke to them. He pulled on their bridles and they stepped out, pulling the wagon. The wheel spun out of the hole and Checkers stopped pulling on the harness. He leaned over the sideboard and pulled on the brake.
Then he turned to Louella. “We’re ready to roll,” he said.
“I watched you work. You did a quick job on that wheel.”
He reached out his arms and she took his hands. Checkers pulled Louella to her feet.
“Let’s go around to the other side,” he said. “Let me help you all I can.”
“The snow,” she said. “Hard to walk in it.”
“You just take it easy,” he said. “Let me take your weight. I’ll walk real slow.”
Ralph Compton The Cheyenne Trail Page 11