by Dean Owen
Rim drew in the team as Tyler came up. Tyler was sweating more than he should have been. “Howdy,” Tyler said, and his grin was forced.
Rim’s gaze ran over the gray horse, seeing Ward’s T brand on the flank.
“Didn’t take you long to sign on,” Rim observed. “Sign on regular, I mean.”
Tyler flushed. “I don’t like the way things is shaping up, Rim. I—Simpson was a friend of mine.”
Rim hesitated. “Then you know who shot him?”
Tyler fiddled with his reins. “I’d like to be back working with Anchor.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Rim pressed. “You know who shot Simpson?”
“I want to be on your side of the fence. That’s all I can say.”
“It was Meade Jellick,” Rim said. “He was trying for me and he got Simpson by mistake.”
“Yeah—yeah, reckon that’s true.”
“I want Jellick. I’d like to see Jellick hang, if there’s a rope in this country big enough to do the job.” Rim leaned forward. “Will you go back to town with me and tell Sheriff Dort that it was Jellick?”
“A man might as well put the muzzles of that shotgun you got slung to the seat there, Rim, in his mouth and work the trigger with his big toe. You’re dead any way you look at it.”
“It takes more guts to face up to the truth, than it does to blow your own head off.”
“I’m sick of Ward. You goin’ to take me back, Rim?”
“How would I know you’re to be trusted?”
“You got my word.”
“I’ll think about it, Tyler,” Rim said. He put the rifle back in the boot under the seat. “When is Ward going to start roundup?”
“He don’t figure to hold a roundup, Rim.”
This caused Rim to lift his brows. The rancher in country like this who didn’t hold roundup twice a year, didn’t stay in business very long. But he knew Ward was too smart for that.
“I’ll ask you again about Jellick,” Rim said. “Tell your story to the sheriff. You’ll have Anchor behind you.”
Tyler shook his head. “I’ll come back to work and I’ll work like hell to make up—Rim, I never meant nothing when I told Jellick about you fighting with Ward in town. And about that niece of Stallart’s all swole up—”
“Did Jellick admit that he killed Simpson? I know there was nobody else with him because of the sign. Just one rider. But—”
“Jellick done some cussing that night. He had you dead center, he said, then something spooked your hoss and he missed. He lit outa there because he said you was three to one and he didn’t like fighting them odds.”
“Simpson asked me for a match. He dropped it, burning, and it hit my horse. It was just that little thing that meant I’m alive and Simpson is dead. If he was your friend you should want to see Jellick hang for killing him.”
“Rim, I seen Jellick one time at Mesilla. He was drunk and mean and he got in a fight with a big teamster. He took this teamster across his knee and busted his back like a stick. It’d be bad enough if he’d just take a gun. But I know him. He’d kill me and take a long time doing it.”
“You don’t seem to think the law or Anchor offers much protection to a man like you.”
Tyler rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know about Anchor, but with Sheriff Dort—Well, he’s goin’ to lean mighty heavy on anybody that tries to cut the ground out from under Ward’s outfit.”
Rim felt he was touching on something. “Is there some connection between Ward and the sheriff?”
Tyler looked surprised. “Dort’s brother buys the beef for Fort Slaughter up north of here. That’s how come Ward got the beef contract—I figured you knew that, Rim.”
“No. First time I heard about it.” The knowledge that the sheriff had used his influence to get Eric Ward a beef contract was unsettling. “It’s unethical for a man holding public office to use his influence—” Rim broke off, knowing he wasted his breath. Not many men cared for a sheriffing job in country like this. The townspeople and the other ranchers wouldn’t take kindly to having Dort put under a cloud. Particularly not at the start of roundup. This was a time for tension; and no time for a new sheriff to take over.
“Have you ever heard Jellick or Ward, for that matter, mention any business they might have had with Bert Stallart back in Kansas?” Rim asked.
“Never heard nothing, Rim.” Tyler licked his lips. He was still sweating too much. “Guess you’re goin’ to turn me down. About the job, I mean.”
Rim made up his mind. “I just can’t take a chance. Not now. I’ve got to count on my men.”
Color flooded into Tyler’s face again. Without a word he turned his horse and sent it at a dead run for the aspens growing at the foot of the hills.
Rim pushed his team more than was his custom, because even armed with a rifle for long work and a shotgun for up-close fighting he was vulnerable. In case Tyler rode to a nearby T camp and told the men there he had just seen Rim Bolden.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For one of the few times since his life started at Anchor, Willie Temple felt important. Rim had put him in charge of the remuda, which was to be moved from the horse camp to the roundup headquarters on the Gila. There were nearly a hundred head of horses that he and four Anchor riders were to push north and west to roundup camp. It was the day after Rim returned from town. Willie knew there had been a scene at the house last night, Stallart yelling that Ellamae had no right to stay in LaVentana. She should get out where her disgrace could not blacken the Stallart name. Willie heard his sister trying to quiet her husband, but Stallart bellowed like a bull with a horn broken off short.
And Willie noticed that Rim seemed mighty sour these days. Rim usually had a word for you. He would fan your tail with work during the day but at night he’d have a drink and some cards with the boys in the bunkhouse. But not now. The word had gotten around that once they sold off some beef Rim was going to take enough to pay for his partnership and clear out. Willie hated for this to happen. Rim being at Anchor was the only thing that made it tolerable.
That morning Willie made a great show of looking over the remuda. The horses were all broken, most of them by Meade Jellick. The rest of the string had the rough corners knocked off by Rim Bolden.
One of the men with Willie that morning was Sam Englander. Although Rim had given orders that there was to be no drinking from the start of roundup to the finish, Willie knew that Englander had a bottle hidden out behind the horse camp. Englander made frequent trips down to the brush to “run a little water on the ground,” he said.
Willie, in his Natchez drawl, said, “You all better swap bladders with the next cow we butcher. Yours is in need of repair.” He laughed, thinking this was a huge joke.
Englander’s round red face was lacking in humor. But Willie forgot about the hand as he made ready to drive the horses through the pass and to the roundup camp.
Englander made his final trip into the brush and Willie was surprised when he came hurrying back. He drew in his bay horse, showering pine needles. He gestured wildly behind him.
“Know what I just seen, Willie?” he cried.
“A purple snake wearing a red hat,” Willie said.
“Goddam you, Willie—” Englander showed his anger.
“You been drinking enough to see most anything.”
“I just seen about two hundred head of Anchor cows.”
“This is Anchor ranch,” Willie said, feeling a slight uneasiness. “Why wouldn’t there be Anchor cows?”
“Meade Jellick and six boys was pushin’ ’em toward Eric Ward’s place over the hill.” Englander gestured toward the south.
“Jellick isn’t fool enough to do that,” Willie said, and there was a thread of doubt in his voice.
“Go see for yourself,” Englander said. “I watched ’em from the ridge yonder.”
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And now Willie and the other three men, who had come up from the corrals at the sound of Englander’s excited voice, looked in the direction the cowhand had pointed. There was a big cloud of dust looming up as the bunch of cattle obviously were driven out of the trees and onto the flats where the dust was thick.
As Willie watched the dust cloud grow, he was weighted with indecision. He was about to tell one of the men to ride over to the Gila Camp where Rim would be this morning. But at that moment he heard a slow-moving horse and saw Bert Stallart coming up from the direction of the dust cloud.
“You saw them, Bert?” Willie asked his brother-in-law.
“Saw what?” Stallart said and rose up in his stirrups and peered over the corral fence at the horses bunched there. “You better be getting these on the trail. Rim’ll be needing ’em tomorrow.”
Willie felt a taut anger. The four men at the camp exchanged quick glances, then shook their heads as if unable to understand Stallart’s attitude.
Willie walked over to where Stallart sat his horse. “Englander says there’s two hundred head of our cows being driven off by Meade Jellick.”
Stallart’s face this morning was strangely lacking in color. He swallowed and gave Willie an impatient glance. “You mind your own goddam business, Willie.”
“You mean you’re letting Jellick—”
A bright steel anger flashed across Stallart’s eyes. “I said mind your own business!”
Willie stood stiffly, all the dislike he held for this man his sister had married churning through him. In that moment he felt his frustrations keenly. He knew Marcy had married to give him a home, as much as herself. And he secretly knew that if it hadn’t been for Marcy taking Bert Stallart as her husband he, Willie, would still be forking hay at the livery in LaVentana.
“Willie,” Stallart said coldly, “Rim gave you a job to do. Get at it!”
Stallart started to swing his horse away from the corral fence and spur it toward Anchor headquarters three miles away. But Willie caught the horse by the bridle, bringing it up short. Stallart’s gun leaped into his hand. He laid the long barrel against Willie’s forehead, breaking the skin. There was a bright gushing redness across Willie’s face as he dropped heavily. Half-conscious he lay there, unable to move, seeing the hoofs of Stallart’s prancing horse come dangerously close to his skull.
“Tell him,” he heard Stallart say to the men, “that if he ever lays hand on me or my horse again, I’ll kill him!”
This reached Willie through the roaring pain in his head. He rolled over. Englander helped him to sit up and was pressing a bandanna to his forehead. Stallart was gone.
“What the hell’s ailing him?” Willie said shakily. “He gone crazy?”
“It’s a wonder,” one of the men said, “your brains ain’t layin’ on the ground beside the yellow pile his hoss just laid.”
Englander got some of the blood wiped off Willie’s forehead. “The boss ain’t been right in the head since that gal showed up lookin’ big around as a barrel.”
Willie managed to get to his feet. “You got any of that whisky left, Englander?”
Englander wadded up the bloody bandanna and walked down to the creek that flowed beyond the largest of the two corrals. Over his shoulder, he said, “I finished it, Willie. Wish I had some to give you, but—”
Willie closed his eyes. His head felt as if an ax bit had split his skull. The ground was spinning and he thought he would fall down again. As his head gradually cleared he felt his dislike for Bert Stallart turn into a blinding hatred.
Here he was, segundo on Anchor. A man of importance, not some damned thirty dollar a month cowhand to be pistol-whipped. He treats me, Willie thought, like a horse he can’t break. Whatever it is he can’t dominate he wants to crush. Like my sister Marcy. Poor Marcy. If only Rim Bolden had come here to this country a year sooner—
Englander had washed out the bandanna and now came up to wipe the rest of the blood from the gash on Willie’s forehead.
“This would be one hell of a lot better place to work,” Willie said to Englander, “if Rim owned it instead of Bert Stallart.”
“I s’pose,” Englander said cautiously, as if not wanting to commit himself. “He sure give you a nasty cut on the forehead.”
“If something happened to Bert Stallart,” Willie said, grinding his teeth at the pain in his head, “Marcy and Rim would get married quick.”
Englander said nothing. The other three men were saddling fresh horses down by the shack that was used for shelter at the camp.
“Stallart is playing some sort of a dirty game with Meade Jellick and Ward,” Willie said, “And this business today with the two hundred head of cows proves it.”
“Wa’al, maybe Stallart sold them cows—”
“He wouldn’t sell Ward his second hand bath water for ten dollars a gallon.” Willie took the wet bandanna from Englander and held it against the cut on his forehead. It helped ease the pain. “How many men did you say Jellick had with him?”
“Six, near as I could tell.” Englander gave him a long look. “What you figurin’ Willie?”
“I figure to get those cows back. They belong to Rim as much as they do to Bert Stallart.”
Englander looked worried. He glanced down to the corral where the others were tightening cinches, as if he wished they were nearer to help him out. “I wouldn’t go messin’ with it, Willie, if I was you.”
“Won’t hurt to ask Mr. Jellick, just what the hell is going on.”
“Maybe your memory done dried up after Stallart hit you, Willie. But I remember Rim and some of the boys ridin’ in the other night with Simpson’s body. Rim says Jellick killed him. I figure to stay alive a while longer.”
“Look, Englander,” Willie said sharply. “I’m segundo of this outfit. I take my orders from Rim. Not from Bert Stallart. Rim is foreman—”
“And Rim told you to get these hosses over to the Gila camp. Let’s get at it—”
Englander started away, but Willie’s voice arrested him. “If somebody’s running off Anchor cows, it’s our business to find out about it. That takes precedence over Rim’s orders.”
Englander looked puzzled, and Willie supposed he was trying to puzzle out what precedence meant. The other three hands came riding up. Willie told them what he planned to do. They didn’t say anything, but looked at Englander as if expecting him to offer any objections.
But Willie spoke before Englander could say anything. “You all have good jobs here. I don’t like Bert Stallart worth a damn and neither does any other man on the place if he’ll speak the truth. There’s a fight shaping up between Rim and Stallart. I’m choosing my side right now. It’s Rim’s. I’m segundo,” Willie reminded again, looking at each man in turn, “and I have the right to give orders the same as Rim. But any man who doesn’t want to follow my orders can get his time.”
“Rim’ll have something to say about that,” Englander said stoutly.
“He’ll back me up. He’s not going to take kindly the rustling of two hundred head of beef that he has an interest in.”
“So we find out Jellick’s drivin’ off Anchor beef. What can we do about it?” Englander said.
“We take them away from Jellick, that’s what”
“But they’re six—”
“Against our five.” Willie gave as much a shake of the head as pain would allow. “I’m ashamed of you boys.”
“I dunno,” Englander said uneasily.
“I think it’s going to be Stallart selling out his interest to Rim,” Willie pressed on. “Instead of the other way around.”
“And your sister will go with Stallart. I’ll bet a wagonload of Carolina whisky against a bootful of side meat that’s how it’ll be, Willie. I know women—”
“She’s my sister, goddam it, Englander. I should know her better than you
do. Stallart isn’t her kind of man at all. Rim is.”
There was a sound over beyond the shack and the men turned in that direction. There was a sudden taut silence as they saw Bert Stallart standing there. He gripped a rifle.
“You whining, no-good son-of-a-bitch,” Stallart said. “Get off my property, Willie! Get off or your guts will be bleeding on good Anchor ground.”
Willie reacted strongly to the sudden appearance of his brother-in-law. Since the blow to the head his face had been without much color. But now it was completely pale. “You’re cheating Rim,” he accused, and hoped his voice was not shaking. “You are a thief!”
“I figured you’d talk when you come to,” Stallart said, and started forward, his big feet making whispers of sound on the carpet of pine needles. The horses in the corral seemed to smell the tension for they began to mill. And the mounts of the three men sitting their saddles to one side of Willie and Englander began to fidget.
“Do you walk off this place, or do I drag you at the end of a rope?” Stallart cried.
Willie stood his ground as Stallart advanced out of the shadows thrown up by the shack. He saw Stallart work the loading lever of his rifle. Saw Stallart suddenly step from the shadows into bright sunlight that swept the yard. Stallart was facing into the morning sun and he involuntarily lifted a forearm to shade his eyes. And in that moment Willie made a desperate grab for his revolver. It surprised him even more than it did Stallart. One moment Stallart was standing tall, shaggy like the grizzly so many people had likened him to. Then Stallart was face down on the ground, head turned a little to one side. Dust stained his mustache and the brow and lashes of the eye turned toward Willie. The echoes of Willie’s gunshot still slammed around the trees.
“He’s dead, sure as hell,” one of the men said, awed by what he had seen Willie accomplish.
“No he ain’t,” Englander said. He was the first to reach Stallart. “Looks like you got him chest-high, Willie, in a bad place.”
“Carry him into the shack,” Willie instructed. For the first time in his life he felt invincible. He looked down at his brother-in-law where the men had placed him on one of the bunks. Stallart’s breathing was heavy. His eyes were closed. Willie opened Stallart’s shirt and saw the ugly smear of blood. He wanted to vomit. He turned away and asked Englander to do the bandaging. Willie went outside and smoked a cigarillo, and each time he lowered the cigar his hand was trembling.