“I reckon not,” the puncher finally said.
“Good,” Falcon replied. “You and your partner can start these cattle moving toward their own range. That’ll save us some time.”
“You want us to do ... what?” the other Snake hand asked.
“Get these cattle moving. They don’t belong to you and I just might get it in my head to hang you both for rustling.”
Big Bob Marsh and Stumpy started forming hangman nooses.
“Now wait just a damn minute!” one of the Snake punchers hollered. “We didn’t rustle these cattle.”
“Looks pretty bad to me,” Puma said. “I just can’t abide a thief.”
“We ain’t thieves!”
“Well, you work for a murdering thief,” Falcon told him.
“And that’s all we do,” the second puncher said. “We ain’t drawin’ fightin’ wages.”
“You still work for a skunk,” Dan Carson said.
“We got to work, mister.”
“That’s a fact. A man that don’t work is a bum. But I’ll bet there are other ranchers around who need hands.”
Both punchers sighed.
“That’s the truth, Dan,” Falcon said. “I heard Tom Gorman over on the Double Triangle was paying top wages for good hands. Why don’t you boys head over there and tell him I sent you. After you push these cows back onto Rockingchair grass, that is.”
“We do that, and our lives won’t be worth spit,” the other puncher said.
“They will be if you stay out of town,” Falcon corrected. “Just think, come the fall you boys can have about a hundred and fifty dollars saved up. Then you can do what you want to do. And boys, this situation around here will all be cleared up come the fall. You can bet on that.”
The two cowboys exchanged glances, one asking, “How about our gear back at the bunkhouse?”
“What’d you have there?”
“Britches, shirts, socks, bedrolls, winter coats, gloves.”
Falcon took a notepad out of his saddlebags and scribbled a short note, signing it Val Mack. He handed the note to the punchers. “You take this over to the old trading post and get outfitted new what you left behind. It’s on me.”
“Say now!” one of the punchers said. “That shines, mister. Thanks. Tom Gorman just got himself some hands.”
“You’ll sleep a lot better now that you’re away from Miles Gilman.”
Both cowboys smiled. “You’re probably right about that.”
“Any others over at the Snake who might be persuaded to leave?”
“Three that I can think of. We’ll probably run into them ’fore long.”
“Same deal for them.”
“We’ll tell them. Whether they take your deal or not is up to them. We’ll get these cows back to the Rockingchair.”
One of the punchers hesitated and said, “Val, you watch out for Lars Gilman. He’s lookin’ to make a name for himself. And he’s fast, real fast.”
“And about half nuts,” his partner added.
“Thanks for the word. I won’t forget it.”
“See you boys around,” Mustang said cheerfully.
“Nice fellers,” Big Bob said.
“They are now,” Wildcat added.
The men spend the rest of the day on Snake range and by the middle of the afternoon, had found about seventy-five more Rockingchair cows. They decided to call it quits for the day and push the small herd back to home range. They had seen no more Snake riders.
“We was lucky this day,” Big Bob said. “But you can bet that from now on, this range will be swarming with Snake riders.”
Falcon smiled. “So tomorrow, we’ll work the far north sections for a couple of days. Then move to the extreme southern part of Snake range. There is no way we’ll ever recover all of John’s cattle, but if we can get several hundred, I’ll be happy.”
“I haven’t spotted no altered brands,” Stumpy said. “I think the Rockingchair brand is damn near impossible to cover.”
“It would be difficult,” Falcon agreed.
John and Kip were waiting at the corral when the riders returned. John smiled at Falcon and said, “I had an interestin’ visit from a couple of, uh, former Snake riders this day.”
“Did you now?”
“Yes. They brought back about thirty head of cattle. They were on their way to work for Tom Gorman.”
“We talked to them boys for a few minutes and they had a change of heart ’bout workin’ for Miles Gilman,” Bob said. “We could tell right off they was troubled ’bout it.”
“Do tell?” Kip said.
“Yep,” Stumpy replied. “They seemed real happy ’bout leavin’ Gilman.”
“I just bet they were. ”You boys decided not to spend the night on Snake range, hey?“
“We couldn’t find no comfortable spot to bed down,” Bob told him with a straight face. “ ’Sides, we miss Cookie’s grub.”
“I see,” John said.
“Anything exciting happen here while we were gone?” Falcon asked.
“Quiet as a church,” the rancher replied. “Well, I been doin’ some thinkin’. I probably don’t have to remind you, but the weekend is comin’ up.”
“Do tell?” Stumpy said.
John smiled. “You boys wouldn’t be thinkin’ ’bout headin’ into town to blow off a little steam, would you?”
“The town of Gilman is really jumpin’ on a Saturday night, hey?” Puma asked.
“It can get right crowded when it fills up with Snake riders,” Kip said.
“Tell the truth,” Dan Carson said, standing with the other men, “I have been lookin’ forward to a bottle and a friendly card game. We been on the move since we heard from, uh, Val, here and we just ain’t had much time for relaxation. A night on the town would be sorta nice.”
Both John and Kip noticed the slight hesitation when mentioning Val’s name, but neither man said anything about it.
“I thought you boys might want to slick up and go in,” John said.
“How about you and your family, Boss?” Big Bob asked.
John smiled and shook his head. “Can’t risk it. Gilman’s tried to burn us out twice. But with five good shots here, he won’t dare attack the house.”
“You want us all to stay?” Falcon asked. “After what happened this day, Gilman might throw caution to the wind and attack.”
“No. You boys head on in and whoop it up. But you know, of course, that you’re going to run into Snake riders.”
Puma Parley smiled. “Countin’ on that, Boss. Countin’ on it.”
Ten
Tom Gorman of the Double Triangle rode over the next day and thanked Val personally for sending him the two ex-Snake riders.
“I think they’re basically good boys,” Val said. “But keep them close to the bunkhouse for as long as you can. Some of the hired guns of Gilman will surely be carrying a grudge for them.”
“Don’t you worry about that. My wife’s been cookin’ up a storm since they arrived. All those boys are thinkin’ ’bout doin’ is eatin’.”
Saturday afternoon, Falcon and the crew began slicking up for their visit into town. They all took turns in a horse trough bathing and washing the cooties out of their hair. Then Cookie volunteered to give them all a haircut. They shaved and brushed and curried and combed and primped and blacked their boots and put on their best.
“I swear,” Big Bob said, turning slowly so all could get a look at him. “I shore am a handsome feller.”
“You resemble a moose to me,” Dick “Wildcat” Wheeless said.
“You mean I sorta remind you of that last squaw you took up with?” Bob came right back.
Laughing, the men saddled up and headed for town. To a man they knew they were riding into trouble, and to a man they didn’t care ... indeed, they were looking forward to it.
About four miles from the Rockingchair ranch, the men came up on a wagon, a man and a woman on the seat, several kids in the back, two riders fla
nking the wagon.
“Howdy,” Falcon called cheerfully, reining Hell back to a walk.
“Afternoon,” the man called, after giving the riders a once over.
The outriders nodded at Falcon and the others, their eyes flicking over the various brands, for the men weren’t riding Rockingchair stock.
“Joe Gray,” the man said. “I own the spread just east of Bailey.”
“John speaks highly of you,” Falcon replied. “I’m Val Mack.” He introduced the others and the man and woman and outriders all visibly relaxed.
“Y’all headin’ into town for a bit of shoppin’?” Big Bob asked.
“ ’Fraid so,” Joe said. “Got to visit the doc and the apothecary. We usually trade at the old post, but this time we got to go to town.”
“We haven’t been to town in near’bouts a year,” his wife added. “Not since it got too dangerous for us.”
“Because of Miles Gilman and his bunch of trash, ma’am?” Stumpy asked.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “And my name is Sarah.” She smiled and introduced the others.
One of the outriders was their son, Jack—Falcon guessed him to be about seventeen—and the kids in the wagon were Lou Ann, fifteen, a very comely lass, and two boys, ages ten and eight.
“Well, if you folks don’t mind,” Falcon said, “we’ll just ride along with you and see that you’re not troubled by any of the Snake riders.”
“I can handle myself,” Jack said.
The older outrider grimaced at that remark, but said nothing.
“I’m sure you can, boy,” Puma said. “But it never hurts to have backup, do it?”
“I reckon not,” the teenager said. The young man was wearing a six-gun, low and tied down.
Falcon had carefully dressed in his only good clothes: a dark suit with a white shirt and a black string tie. He was wearing a long duster to keep his clothing relatively clean, and his twin guns were covered by the duster.
“Heard what you boys done for Tom Gorman,” Joe said. “Kind of you. You see anyone else wants a job punchin’ cows, send them over to the Four Star.”
“We’ll do that, Joe. How many hands do you need?”
“Three more would do it for me.”
The older man’s name was Sal, and he was the foreman at the Four Star. He’d been with Joe Gray and family for years. Sal dropped back from the right side of the wagon and rode over to Falcon, walking his horse along beside him.
“Jack’s a hothead,” Sal said softly. “He’s a damn good son, loves his ma and pa, but he’s got a quick temper and thinks he’s better with a pistol than he really is.”
“I got that impression, Sal.”
“The job of bird-doggin’ him whilst we’re in town falls to me.” He cut his eyes to Falcon. “He’s gunnin’ for Lars Gilman.”
“That isn’t good. Lars is almighty quick, so I hear.”
“That ain’t all he is. He’s twisted real bad. All them boys of Miles’s ain’t normal in the head. They’ve all raped girls around the area. I hear tell that Miles don’t believe none of it. Thinks it’s all madeup. But it ain’t madeup. It’s true.”
“The boys get that side from their father?”
Sal slowly nodded his head. “That’s the word I get. Miles likes to get rough with women.”
“The more I hear about Miles, the less I like him.”
“There ain’t a whole lot to like, for a fact.”
“How does the town doctor stand in this fracas?”
“You mean what passes for a doc? Oh, he’s all right . . . when he’s sober. And he really ain’t a bad doc. Had a couple of years of medical school back east somewhere. Boston, I think. He’s dug a lot of lead out of a lot of men.” Sal chuckled for a moment. “I heard what you done to ol’ turd-face at the general store. I’d like to have seen that, for a fact.”
“He wasn’t too happy.”
“I just bet he wasn’t.”
“You can’t buy supplies there?”
“Not a pound of coffee nor a peck of taters. Mainly it’s his moose-butted wife who sucks up to Miles. They’ve got a worthless boy who gets all weak-kneed every time he gets around Miles’s daughter. They think there might be a marriage someday.”
“Any chance of that?”
“None. That vile-tempered, rattlesnake-tongued female don’t even know he’s alive.”
Falcon smiled at Sal’s description of Miles’s daughter. “I gather you don’t like the girl?”
“I don’t even think her daddy likes her much. Terri’s a mean, spiteful heifer. She’s just as twisted as her brothers. Whole entire family’s nuts. Only one who ever had any sense was Miles’s wife. She pulled out right after Terri was born and nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since.” He eyeballed the crew who rode up with Falcon and shook his head. “I don’t recall ever seein’ a meaner-lookin’ bunch than this one. Mountain men, right?”
“Yes. I’ve known them all since I was just a little bitty boy. They’re a good crew, long as nobody crowds them.”
Sal took another look. The mountain men were all wearing two guns and he suspected they probably had a third or maybe even a fourth pistol tucked away on their person somewhere.
“Town just might get real interestin’ ’fore this day’s done.”
“Oh, I think you can count on that, Sal.”
Sal grinned. “I think I’ll encourage the boss and his lady to take a room at the hotel for this night. Have a meal at Rosie’s.” Then he shook his head. “No. I’d do that if it wasn’t for young Jack. I don’t want him to get killed.”
“You know the way it is out here, Sal. Boy straps on a gun, he becomes a man.”
“Both his pa and me has tried to tell him that. But it’s like talkin’ to a fence post.”
“Seventeen is a tough age, all right.” Falcon remembered all too well his own youth. He looked up at the sky. Dark storm clouds were rolling in and gathering thick and ominous. “They might be forced to spend the night in town. We all might. It’s about to come a real frog-strangler.”
“Well, the ranch house is covered. The cook and the one hand we got left could hold off a small army. We sure could use a couple more hands, though.”
“I’ll ask around.”
The town of Gilman came into view and the group stopped on the crest of the short ridge that overlooked the buildings set on either side of the wide main street. There were only a few horses at the hitchrails and the corral was empty.
“The Snake riders haven’t made it in yet,” Joe called, lifting the reins.
“But they will,” his wife said.
“I hope so,” Jack said.
“You keep your distance when they do,” his father warned him. “And if you run into a pack of ’em, keep your hand away from that gun. You hear me?”
Jack did not acknowledge his father’s words. He sat in his saddle, a sullen look clouding his young features.
“I ought to take that damn gun away from you,” his father said.
“Nobody takes my gun,” the young man replied. “Not you, not nobody.”
At that, Falcon exchanged glances with his men. No getting around it: If any Snake riders showed up, there would be trouble. Young Jack Gray was primed and cocked and sitting on ready.
Joe clucked to the team and the parade rolled into town. Joe pulled around to the rear of the doc’s offices, and Falcon and his men stabled their horses at the livery. Big Bob and the others shied away from hotels, preferring to sleep on the hay in the loft of the livery. Falcon walked over to the hotel and got him a room.
In his room, he removed his duster and brushed off his suit, then checked his guns. The men had not seen his guns. He was wearing pearl-handled, nickel-plated twin .44s. The guns had been specially made for him several years back.
Falcon walked over to the general store and the shopkeeper and his wife almost fainted when he strolled in, but they both kept any sharpness from their tongues as he picked out a new hat and paid f
or it in hard money. Falcon went over to the livery and stowed his old bullet-torn hat; he would wear it for everyday use.
His crew were over at the Stampede, having a bottle and arranging for a romp in the bed with some of the soiled doves. Then they would all go to Rosie’s for a huge supper and then back over to the saloon for more drinking and card playing.
Joe Gray and family were still over at the doctor’s office. Sal was leaning against a post in front of the office.
Falcon glanced over at the bank. It was closed. Then he heard the sound of horses. He looked up toward the end of the street. The hired guns from the Snake had arrived.
Eleven
Falcon looked over at Sal and caught the man’s eye. Sal shrugged his shoulders before turning and walking into the doctor’s office. Falcon stepped back into the shadows of the awning and counted a dozen Snake riders riding into town. Some tied their mounts to hitchrails, a few rode down to the livery. Before he could step out of the shadows, a half dozen more riders came racing into town, riding too fast. Anyone caught out in the street would have been trampled. Falcon frowned at the careless and arrogant riding. The men whooped and hollered and cussed without regard for any womenfolk who might have been on the boardwalks as they tied up at the hitchrails in front of the Stampede.
Falcon studied the brand for a moment. NlN, and the end of each N had a fancy curlicue, making it almost impossible for anyone to change it to a Box X.
Falcon carefully rolled a cigarette and licked and lit. He waited. He knew the Noonan riders could not have possibly pushed a herd up to this part of the country this quickly. That would have been impossible. Nance was sending some of his men in to beef up Gilman’s boys.
Before he could ponder on the situation any further, more riders came galloping into town with the same carelessness and arrogance shown by the Noonan riders. This bunch rode horses carrying the .44 brand: Rod Stegman’s boys. The man who married Nance Noonan’s sister; a man whose holdings were nearly as vast as his brother-in-law’s; and, from what Falcon had been able to find out, just as ruthless as Nance.
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