by John Benteen
He crossed the rails, turned the horse toward The Waterhole, Jordan’s saloon. That was as good a place to start as any. He swung down, hitched the animal, went in.
The big room was full of locals and track workers, “terriers” and “Cousin Jacks” — Irishmen and Cornishmen. It rang with their curses and shouted laughter, the shrill voices of the thronging percentage girls. Standing just inside the door, Boyd swept his eyes over the crowd, looking for any of his riders.
Then he heard a familiar laugh. Panhandle Smith was at a table, a painted floozy on his crippled knee. Her wet lips played over the cook’s tanned, beardy face — and, Boyd saw all at once, her hand was working its way into his pants pocket. Panhandle dazed with liquor and lust, felt nothing as she began to frisk him.
Boyd crossed the room in three long strides. The girl’s hand had come out of Smith’s pocket, now, holding a purse. It was about to slip under her skirt, stash the little bag that contained whatever gold Panhandle had left, somewhere there, probably in a garter or her underwear. She was so intent on that delicate operation that she was oblivious of Boyd’s approach — until, savagely, he seized her arm, jerked her off Panhandle’s lap.
She went flying in a flash of lace, a kicking of long, stockinged legs. The purse chinked on the floor, and Boyd scooped it up. Panhandle was on his feet, bleary eyes working. “Boss, what the hell — ?”
“You damned stupid, horny idiot!” Kilpatrick snapped. “Can’t you even take care of your money? Here!” He threw the purse at Panhandle. “The bitch picked your pocket! I should have let her keep it to teach you a lesson!”
“The hell she did!” Panhandle stared at the girl sprawled on the floor, a circle of people around her now, grinning and curious. He sprang to his feet, lurched and almost fell. “Why, you slut — ”
Kilpatrick pushed him back. “Sit down before you fall,” he rasped. Then he turned to the girl. Her eyes were full of hatred; she spat at him like a cat. Kilpatrick grinned. “On your feet, sister, and find another sucker. When you do, make sure it’s not one of my people. Because — ”
“Kilpatrick!” Another voice sliced through his. Boyd broke off, turned.
The crowd made way. Then Boyd went tense. The man who shoved through to confront him was Rio Fanning.
It was not the kid’s sudden appearance that startled Boyd, nor the way Rio’s small, long-fingered hands swung close to the butts of his guns. What riveted Kilpatrick motionless for an instant was the silver badge Rio wore pinned to the breast pocket of his shirt.
The crowd fell silent. After a second, Boyd said quietly: “Hello, kid.”
“You call me Marshal now,” Fanning said.
“So that’s how Jordan handled it,” Boyd murmured.
“Jordan came after me, handed me the badge. It’s all legal. I’m the law in this town, now.” Rio’s lips curled. “I’ve got the chance I’ve always wanted.”
“To end up like Trask. Dead when you meet somebody faster.”
“There ain’t nobody faster,” Rio said.
Boyd shook his head. “There always is. Like there never was a horse that couldn’t be rode, a man that couldn’t be — ”
“Throwed. You think you’re faster?”
Boyd sucked in a deep breath. “Rio, I don’t make my living with my guns.”
“You think you’re faster?” The boy moved forward a pace, pushing it. Then he jerked his head toward the woman who was scrambling to her feet. “Kilpatrick, you created a disturbance here. As the law, I want to know why.”
“I’ll tell you why. She picked Panhandle’s pocket.”
Rio laughed softly. “That biscuit-burner’s a grown man. Let him look after himself.”
“You ought to know by now, I look after my men.”
“Your men.” Rio’s voice was contemptuous. “You don’t care anything about men. All you care about’s that herd.”
“I care about a lot of things,” Boyd said. “That’s neither here nor there right now.”
“Oh, yes, it is.” Rio’s eyes were like two chips of ice. “Everything’s different now, Kilpatrick. You’re not gonna bat me around like you did last time. Nobody is, ever again. And I’m gonna tell you something now, trail boss. As long as I’m the law here in Gunsight, you and your men are gonna walk a chalk line. If you don’t, you’ll have me to deal with.”
Panhandle, on his feet, swaying, blinked. “Why, you damn feather-necked rooster!” he blurted. “You’re tryin’ to threaten us Two Rail drovers? I ought to — ” The fingers of his right hand spread. Kilpatrick realized with horror that Panhandle was about to go for his gun; in the same instant, he saw the flare of cold pleasure in Rio’s eyes. Boyd moved like a striking hawk. There was a strange, sodden sound as his big fist clipped Panhandle’s jaw. The cook sighed, dropped to his knees. Boyd whirled on Rio. “Don’t you draw!”
Rio looked from Kilpatrick to the cook’s body, sprawled on the floor. His red lips curled. “You saved his life, Kilpatrick.”
“Or maybe yours,” Boyd rasped. “If you’d shot him, I’d have killed you, Rio.”
“You think so?” Rio was tense, that gleam still in his eyes.
“I know so,” Kilpatrick said quietly, surely. Then, turning away, he pulled Panhandle to his feet. The cook, muttering, rubbed his jaw. Before he could reach for his gun again, Boyd whisked it from its holster, thrust it into his own belt. Then Kilpatrick’s eyes met those of the kid for one final moment. “I’m taking Panhandle out. Then I’m rounding up the rest of my men and we’re going back to camp. Marshal or no, you stay clear of me while I’m doing that, Rio. You hear?”
“Don’t give me orders,” Rio said. Then he relaxed a little. “All right. Get your men. But I’m just looking for an excuse, Kilpatrick. I’ve got a lot to settle with you and your crew. The first time one of you breaks the law — ”
Boyd’s lips curled. “I don’t know what the law is and neither do you. Just stay clear.” He wrestled Panhandle around. “Come on, knothead.” And the crowd made a path for him as he half dragged, half pushed the dazed and drunken cook out of the saloon.
~*~
Dawn came, gray and cloudy, and Kilpatrick was, as usual, up before daylight. Panhandle, groaning with the pain of hangover, had fixed something that might pass for breakfast, but the other five men who had made town the night before had no appetite for it. Mule Sloane’s right eye was swollen shut and Tep Chance’s mouth had dried blood on it; Panhandle was not the only drunken puncher Kilpatrick had had to hit to get back to camp.
Now he stood spraddle-legged, addressing the entire crew, face grim. “So that’s the picture,” he ended. “Rio Fanning has managed to get himself appointed marshal of Gunsight. He’s got a mad on against me and the whole Two Rail bunch, and he’s champing at the bit to start notching those guns of his, anyhow, using that badge as cover. So, until I sell the herd, there’s going to be no more playing in Gunsight for anybody. I’ll work over the first man that leaves this bed ground myself. And when I do pay the bunch of you off, you’ll be damned careful when you have your fun not to give Fanning any excuse to use his weapons.”
Cord Lightner took a step forward, thumb hooked in his gun belt, fish-eyes cold, lips thin. “Boss, we ain’t scared of that kid.”
“I’m not saying you ought to be. I am saying that if there’s any trouble, it’s not gonna be our fault. Not, anyhow, until I get a lot of things straightened out here. And until I do, you walk easy and speak soft. Now, get to work, the whole bunch of you. With any luck, I’ll make a deal for the herd today and we’ll be moving in for shipping tonight or tomorrow.”
Lightner drew in a deep breath. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Orders is orders, but — ” Then his eyes flickered beyond Kilpatrick. “Speak of the devil,” he said.
Boyd turned. A big band of riders had crossed the creek, were loping toward the wagon — ten, fifteen men, Boyd judged. In their lead, on a chestnut stallion, was Tully Jordan. Stirrup to stirrup with him on a bay
rode Rio Fanning.
Panhandle shaded his bleary eyes. “Boss,” he said, his voice suddenly crisp. “That looks like trouble to me.”
“Maybe it is and maybe it ain’t. All of you,” Boyd snapped. “Get out there with the herd. Leave this to me. But keep your eyes and ears open, and if I holler for you, you come a-running.”
The men hesitated. “Damn it!” Boyd rasped, “Didn’t you hear me? I said, get out there with the herd.”
There was a jingle of gear, a squeak of leather, as the men reluctantly mounted. Presently only Boyd and Panhandle remained at the fire as Jordan and his men neared the wagon. Then Jordan gave a signal, reined in, and his band came to a halt. Boyd looked at them. He had never seen a tougher crew. Gunmen all, he thought. Well, now he was going to find out just how bad a mistake he had made in coming to Gunsight, if any.
The rest of Jordan’s men sat their saddles, while he and Rio trotted up to the campfire. “Morning, Kilpatrick.” Jordan smiled down at Boyd.
“Morning.” Boyd looked at Rio. “You too, Fanning.” Rio’s lips moved soundlessly; his eyes were opaque.
Then Jordan rose in his stirrups. He turned, head swiveling, surveying the immense herd spread out on the flat. He let out a whistle of genuine appreciation. “Kilpatrick, you weren’t lyin’! That’s a prime herd if I ever saw one.”
“I take it you came out to look it over and make me an offer.”
“Sure did. Ought not to take long to come to terms.”
Kilpatrick went to his tethered roan, unlashed its reins from the wagon wheel. “You brought along enough help.” He jerked his head at Rio, and then at the men beyond.
“Those.” Jordan grinned. “Well, I didn’t know whether you’d need more men to drive into the shipping pens.”
“I can manage with what I’ve got. Send yours back to town. They might spook the herd.”
Something flickered in Jordan’s eyes as Kilpatrick came up alongside him. “They won’t spook the herd. I’ll keep ’em around, though.”
“You like to travel with a lot of guns.”
Jordan’s face never lost its good humor. “You’ve got a lot of guns, too. And everybody knows how sudden Texas cowboys are.” Then he indicated Fanning. “I understand you know about the new marshal.”
“Yeah. It didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”
“Well, the whole idea is that the fastest gun wears the badge. Rio was faster than Trask, so now he’s got it.” Jordan laughed. “Somebody faster comes along, we’ll take it off of Rio before we bury him and pin it on him. That’s the way it works in Gunsight.”
Kilpatrick turned his roan toward the herd. “I’m beginning to find out a lot of things about how Gunsight works.”
Jordan kneed the stallion up alongside. “I guess you are,” he said. “I understand you had supper with Stewart Gault last night.”
Boyd looked at him. “What concern’s that of yours?”
“Why,” Jordan said, “anything you want in Gunsight’s yours. Except Stewart Gault.”
Boyd pulled up. “She didn’t say anything about being your private property.”
Jordan’s smile was bland. “She don’t know yet that she is. But she is, Kilpatrick, take my word for it. She is. I’ve had my eye on her for a long time.”
“After what you did to her daddy, you think you could get to first base with her?”
“I told you, Ike Gault’s an irresponsible drunk. They’re flat broke. I’m going to be a big man someday, Kilpatrick. A rich man. The time will come when Stewart will get tired of living close to the bone, looking after that stinking rummy of a father of hers. The day will come when a man with money will look damned good to her. Until that day gets here, I don’t want anybody muddying the water.” Then his smile came back. “Anyhow, you’re just passin’ through. You’ll be bound back for Texas in a few days, so what difference can Stewart make to you? Meanwhile, if it’s women you want, you can have your pick of any gal in my place. Any two or three of ’em, for that matter. It’s all on the house.”
Boyd sat rigidly for a moment. Then he relaxed. Let it ride, he thought. For now, just let it ride. The main thing is to sell the herd. With a mildness that made Rio Fanning look at him in surprise, he shrugged and said, “Maybe you’re right, Jordan.”
Jordan laughed. “You stick around Gunsight, you’ll find out I’m hardly ever wrong.”
“I’ll hold judgment on that until you’ve seen the herd. Let’s cut some beef.”
The next two hours were plain hard work. They circled the herd, then rode in among it. Boyd watched Jordan closely, saw that he was indeed a top cowman. Nor did he miss the spark of admiration that the sight of all these prime steers ignited in Jordan’s eyes. The sun was high when they presently pulled away from the herd, into the shade of a clump of cottonwoods near the creek. Then Jordan took out a cigar, bit off its end, thrust it between his teeth. He scratched a match on the backstrap of his Colt, inhaled, blew smoke. “Your tally’s four thousand head?”
“Give or take a half-dozen. Of course, we’d make a final tally when we shipped.”
“Of course,” Jordan said. He hooked his right leg around the saddle horn, relaxed, blew smoke a while longer. Then, as if he had been thinking hard all that time, he nodded decisively. “All right, Kilpatrick. Forty dollars a head, and my men will load ’em in the cars for you.”
Boyd stared at him. Forty dollars a head? A hundred sixty thousand for this herd? He cinched down the anger, the outrage, that had surged up in him at this ridiculous offer. The Gaults had been right. . .
“I think that’s a fair price,” Jordan said easily. “In fact — ” He grinned. “In fact, I don’t think you’ll be able to beat it here in Gunsight.”
“Listen, Jordan. That herd would bring two hundred thousand delivered in Dodge. Here it ought to be worth a premium of twenty thousand more.”
“But it ain’t in Dodge,” Jordan said.
“I can take it there.”
Jordan was silent for a moment. “Why sure,” he said at last. “Of course you can. It ain’t but ten days or two weeks more drive. By the time you get there, of course, a lot of other herds will have hit — herds that cattle cars have been arranged for. You’ll have to wait, find somewhere to hold ’em outside of town until more cars can come in. By that time, the market will be glutted and the grass gone and they’ll lose flesh and value every day you wait. But, fine — take ’em to Dodge if you want to.”
“Let me get this straight.” Boyd’s voice was soft. “A hundred sixty thousand is your top price? As high as you’ll go?”
Jordan looked at him directly. “Yeah. My limit.”
Boyd Kilpatrick smiled. “Then you can go to hell, Jordan.”
Jordan’s face remained perfectly bland, but his eyes turned hard. “That’s tough talk, Kilpatrick.”
“Oh, you ain’t heard no tough talk yet, Jordan. I didn’t come all this way to be whipsawed like this.”
Jordan drew almost unconcernedly on the cigar. “Tough talk don’t scare me. But since you’re dissatisfied, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You get a better price anywhere in Gunsight, I’ll beat it five dollars a head.” He laughed softly. “Of course, you may have a little trouble finding another price. Since I’m the only man in town that can get cattle cars to ship anything in.”
“Then maybe I will drive on to Dodge,” Boyd said evenly.
“Go ahead. I do hope, though — ” Jordan’s voice was smooth. “I do hope you don’t get stampeded on the way. You might have some bad stampedes between here and Dodge, Kilpatrick. You know, the kind where the cattle are really spooked, where they run themselves down to skin and bones and a lot of ’em wind up dead or lost. Such stampedes have been known to happen on that stretch.”
“And so now you’re threatening me, too,” Boyd said.
“Why, Lord, no, I’m not threatening you, Kilpatrick. I want to do business with you. But I want you to be satisfied.” With his leg still hooked negligen
tly over the saddle horn, Tully Jordan tipped back his hat. “You just take your time, Texas. Take your time and make up your mind what you want to do. Me, I ain’t in no hurry.”
Boyd was silent a moment. Then he said, “That’s good advice, Jordan. I’ll take my time. Meanwhile, let me add one thing. You see those men out there around the herd? There ain’t a one of them can’t use a gun as good as anybody you got in that crew of yours yonder. They’re nice, easygoing people, until they’re riled. You want to be real careful not to do anything to rile ’em. Otherwise, they might just come into that town of yours and take it apart and forgit to put it back together again. And I might just be ridin’ at the lead when they do.” All at once, his voice was cold, hard, all the ease rasped from it. “Lemme tell you something, Jordan. Anything happens to that herd, either here or on the way to Dodge if I decide to drive there, I’ll deal with you, all right. And it’ll be guns we deal in!” His eyes went to Fanning. “And you, kid. You’ve thrown in with the wrong crowd. You’d better cut loose right now if you know what’s good for you. You side Jordan and there’s trouble, no bullet’s gonna ask your name.”
Fanning’s eyes flared. “That suits me, Kilpatrick,” he said fiercely.
Jordan had swung his foot back into the stirrup. Now he sat up straight in the saddle, staring at Boyd. He took the cigar from his mouth; it had gone out. Then he threw it away.
“Forty a head. A hundred and sixty thousand. You’ve got three days to decide, thanks to that little speech. Then the price drops to thirty. Beat it in Dodge — if you think you can get there. Come on, Rio!” And he jerked his mount around so savagely that it reared, sent it thundering across the flat toward where his gunmen waited.
Rio Fanning hesitated. He looked at Boyd. “I still want my chance at you,” he said. Then he pulled his horse around, too, and went riding after Jordan. Boyd kept the roan tight-gathered, sat where he was, cursing softly. Jordan had figured everything out, figured it perfectly. With an outfit like his determined to stampede the herd, he could harass it all the way to Dodge and no power on earth could keep him from making it run and run again until the cattle, what was left of them, were walking skeletons.