.44 Caliber Man

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Those horses are moving in a strange manner,’ Colin commented. ‘They look lame to me.’

  ‘They’re all right,’ Jeanie replied. ‘It’s just that they’ve got sarprimas on. Ole Raoul’s done good bringing this many in.’

  Advancing down the slope, Jeanie felt surprised that none of the mesteneros came forward to greet her; not even Fernàn, the fat, happy cook. He at least ought to be showing interest in her arrival. Followed by Colin, she rode down the slope and across the stream. While still wading through the water, Jeanie became aware of two details. Raoul, the segundo, was not present and the sarprimas on the horses had been secured in the wrong manner.

  There were two ways of fixing a sarprima, a means of quietening down captured wild horses. The one insisted on by Trader Schell had been to girth the horse’s body with a rawhide thong from which a strap coupled to the ankle of a front foot, in such a manner that it could use the foot when walking slowly but was brought down if it tried to run. Jeanie saw that the horses did not have that kind of sarprima. Instead the rope was passed around the animal’s lower throat, between the forelegs and fastened to a hind fetlock, drawing the hoof from the ground. The girl knew this was a far more dangerous method than the first.

  Nor did the flouting of her late father’s orders end there. A block of wood hung from each horse’s foretop, free to swing and bang its face when it moved.

  Hot with anger, Jeanie dismounted and flung her reins to Colin. Then she stalked around the wagon and towards the fire. Fernàn started to move forward, but the big, surly-looking man leaning against the side of the wagon scowled at him and he halted in his tracks.

  ‘Where’s Raoul?’ Jeanie snapped, speaking Spanish with the ease of her native tongue.

  ‘He had an accident,’ the surly man answered. ‘His horse fell and rolled on him. So I took over.’

  Turning her eyes towards the speaker, Jeanie studied him coldly. Luis Cijar was a troublemaker who her father had only hired because he had urgent need of an extra man. Of all the mesteneros, he had been the one she expected to make trouble on learning that Kenny was not with them. Moving from the wagon, he confronted the girl and grinned truculently at her. Jeanie stiffened slightly. To show weakness at that moment would mean a loss of control over the men.

  ‘You just lost your chance,’ she stated. ‘Felix, you’re segundo. Get the blocks off the horses’ heads and fit the sarprimas properly.’

  ‘Stay where you are!’ Cijar snarled as the man Jeanie named started to rise. ‘Who are you giving orders to, little girl?’

  ‘I’m running things until my mother gets here!’ Jeanie answered.

  ‘Not Kenny?’ Cijar inquired with a mocking leer.

  ‘He’ll be along!’

  ‘Maybe he will. Or maybe he got shot in Fort Sawyer. If he did, you’ve no man with you. We mesteneros won’t take orders from a woman.’

  ‘Does that go for all of you?’ Jeanie asked.

  ‘They’ll do what I say,’ Cijar growled. ‘Now you get on your horse and go back to your mother. Tell her that we’re working for ourselves.’

  Instead of going, Jeanie turned her attention to the men around the fire. She saw worry, indecision, a little fear and concern on their faces. If there was only some way she could deal with Cijar, the men would follow her. Forgetting Colin’s presence, Jeanie prepared to force a showdown with the surly troublemaker.

  ‘You’re fired, Cijar!’ she spat out. ‘So get out of our ca—’

  Before the words ended, Cijar caught her by the shoulder. His powerful fingers sank into her flesh, bringing a gasp of pain. ‘I think maybe I’ll teach you—’

  Coming around the wagon, Colin took one quick look then moved forward. The men about the fire had been so interested in Jeanie’s arrival, that they had overlooked the fact that she had a companion. After fastening the horses to the corral’s top rail, Colin had followed the girl. While he did not understand the conversation, he could tell what Cijar meant by the man’s attitude. Colin needed to know no more.

  ‘Get your hands off her!’ the Scot roared, catching Cijar by the left arm and swinging him around.

  Bunching his left fist, Colin drove it into Cijar’s face. The force of the blow split open the man’s lip and he crashed into the wagon. Spitting out a curse, Cijar grabbed at his revolver and started to draw it. As the gun cleared leather, Colin bounded forward. Up lashed his left leg, the brogan smashing into the bottom of Cijar’s hand and sending the gun spinning from it. With an almost animal-like screech, the mestenero grabbed for his knife with the left hand. Gliding in, Colin ripped a punch into Cijar’s belly and knotted him over on to the other hand as it drove up. Hard knuckles slammed into the man’s face and he lifted erect. Again Colin struck, crashing a blow to the side of Cijar’s jaw. Pitching sideways, the man sprawled face down at Fernàn’s feet. Colin walked forward and jerked the knife from its sheath.

  ‘¡Hijo de yegua!’ the cook gasped, staring from Cijar to Colin. ‘For a man who wears a skirt, you’re plenty tough, señor.’

  ‘This’s Colin Farquharson,’ Jeanie told the men after translating Fernàn’s compliment. ‘Is he man enough to help us until Kenny can ride again?’

  A mutter of assent rose from the men. Collecting a bucket of water from the side of the fire, Ferndn emptied it over Cijar’s head. For a moment the man continued to lie still, then his body writhed. Slowly he forced himself on to his hands and knees. After shaking his head, he turned over and sat on the grass. His eyes focused on Colin and he spat out a curse. Grabbing at his right side, Cijar found an empty holster. From it, he grabbed for where his knife should be and found it too had gone.

  ‘That’s gone as well,’ Fernàn commented unnecessarily. ‘And I wouldn’t try to take it back. He’s one tough hombre no matter how he dresses.’

  Slowly Cijar dragged himself upright. Wiping the blood from his lip, he glared his hatred at the Scot. However, Cijar did not intend to take the matter further right then. One taste of Colin’s hard fists had warned him of the other’s potential in that line of fighting. Cijar decided he could wait for his revenge until a better chance presented itself.

  ‘How did you know about Kenny?’ Jeanie demanded, moving to Colin’s side and looking at Cijar.

  ‘He rode out two days after you left,’ Fernàn supplied when the mestenero did not answer. ‘Came back on a half-dead horse three days ago. Told us that Kenny was killed and how he’d found Raoul dead.’

  ‘What about Raoul?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Like Cijar said, his horse fell and rolled on him,’ the cook answered. ‘Cijar said you wouldn’t be coming back, senorita and that he was boss. He’s a bad hombre and we waited to see if he spoke the truth.’

  ‘I’ll get you for this, fat man!’ Cijar spat out.

  ‘You’ll get out of our camp!’ Jeanie corrected. ‘All right, Felix, get the men to work. I want the sarprimas put right and the blocks taken off.’

  ‘They’re coming with me,’ Cijar snarled. ‘They won’t take orders from a woman.’

  ‘I don’t go,’ Fernàn stated. ‘And anybody else who does is a fool.’

  ‘Which is it, mestenero, si,’ Jeanie went on. ‘Go with him, or to the corral. Make your choice, pronto.’

  For a moment none of the men moved. Then the short, leathery Felix rose and tossed his plate into the dish of water placed for that purpose.

  ‘Let’s get to work!’ he ordered.

  Man after man followed the new segundo’s lead. Cijar glared at them, but to no avail. After being beaten by the Scot, he had lost his hold on the mesteneros and knew they would not obey him.

  Watching the rage which played on Cijar’s face, Jeanie knew that they could expect further trouble from him should he remain in the vicinity. However she figured that she could move him on.

  ‘You know Cabrito?’ she asked.

  ‘¡Si! Cijar answered sullenly; no great surprise, for the Ysabel Kid’s fame covered the border country.

&nb
sp; ‘He’s coming with my mother. When he gets here, I’m going to ask him to ride out to the place where Raoul died and see what can be learned. Maybe he’ll want to see you when he gets back.’

  Slowly concern wiped the anger from Cijar’s face and Jeanie knew her point had been taken. Everybody along the bloody border had heard of Cabrito’s almost uncanny ability to read sign. Worry worked on Cijar’s face. Maybe the Kid would find something Cijar’s presence had caused the other mesteneros to miss. If so, the man had no wish to be interviewed on the subject; especially by the black-dressed Tejano called Cabrito.

  ‘I’m going now,’ Cijar muttered. ‘You give me my gun and knife?’

  ‘Aye,’ Colin agreed when Jeanie explained the request. ‘Only I’ll take the percussion caps off the revolver first.’

  While that was being done, Cijar gathered his belongings and collected his horse. On the return of his weapons, he swung into the saddle and rode away from the camp. Colin stood watch, holding the double-barreled rifle—which he had left leaning on the rear of the wagon when dealing with Cijar— until the man passed out of sight. Then the young Scot joined •the girl as she supervised the improvements to the horse’s conditions.

  By the time the wagon arrived, Jeanie had everything to her satisfaction. She told her mother and the Texans of Raoul’s death and Cijar’s behavior.

  ‘Get one of the mesteneros to show you where it happened, Lon,’ Dusty ordered. ‘Way that feller took off could mean he knows how the hoss happened to fall.’

  ‘What’ll I do happen it wasn’t an accident?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘Bring Cijar back here,’ Dusty replied. ‘Likely we’ll think of something.’

  ‘You choosy how he comes back?’ drawled the Kid.

  ‘If he killed Raoul, bring him in any way you have to,’ Dusty answered and Ma Schell nodded her approval.

  Going out to the place where the segundo had died, the Kid made a thorough examination of the area. He failed to find anything to say how the horse came to fall, but decided that Dusty would want definite evidence before having Cijar fetched in. Despite all his sterling qualities, Dusty possessed what the Kid considered too high a regard for the sanctity of human life. So the Kid returned to the camp and reported his findings. After some discussion, it was decided to let Cijar go and count it as good riddance to a worthless trouble-causer.

  That night the whole party held a celebration in honor of the remount contract and the birth of Fernàn’s eighth child. Dawn found them making preparations for beginning the hunts. During a council of war held around the breakfast fire, Colin learned something of the way the hunts would be run. To his surprise, he found that they would not attempt to break any of the horses captured. Instead they were to let the mustangs settle down, then introduce them to a bunch of gentle mares—which had been range-grazing away from the camp on Colin’s arrival—and rely on herd instinct to hold them all together. Stallions would be gelded when captured, to prevent them fighting among themselves or trying to scatter with the mares.

  The thirty or so horses already captured had been taken in corrals de espiar, spy or night pens. Simple to construct, being no more than a pole corral around a known watering place, they were left with the gates open. A hidden man kept watch until the mustangs entered to drink, then closed the entrance. However there had been a couple of days with heavy rain which made corrals de espiar practically useless. The mustangs could find water easily and no longer needed to rely upon the regular, always productive holes.

  From then on, the mustangers would rely on corridas, driving the mestenas, into large, stoutly made wing corrals. After discussing the situation with Felix and the mesteneros, Jeanie decided that they would make their first corrida using a corral about a mile from their present camp. With a calm efficiency that delighted Colin, the girl took command and gave her orders. Sending the Kid and Felix out to scout the mestenas and select the best route to make the corrida, she led the rest of the men to see what repairs needed making to the corral.

  Colin expected to see an ordinary circular pole corral, with triple bars running horizontally between upright supports. Instead he found himself confronted with a large palisade of logs. Looking down the steep side of a canyon, he could see that one wing extended to each side of its lower end and that the wall of the corral formed a spiral rather than a circle.

  ‘It’s a caracol pen,’ Jeanie explained. ‘That means “snail”. Once the hosses get inside, they can’t double back.’

  ‘Suppose they won’t come down this valley?’ Colin inquired.

  ‘We’ll tend to that,’ the girl promised. ‘Let me go see what the fence wants doing to it first though. It’s no use making the corrida and then have the hosses break through the side of the corral.’

  ‘I see that,’ Colin admitted.

  ‘With luck, there’ll be two to three hundred head inside,’ Jeanie went on. ‘The corral has to be strong. We haven’t used this one for three years, it’ll likely need plenty of fixing.’

  Which comment showed that the girl possessed good judgment. In the course of her examination, Jeanie discovered and pointed out a number of faults which needed attention before a corrida could be brought to a successful conclusion.

  ‘That gate needs clearing so it’ll close,’ she announced. ‘See to the hinges while you’re at it.’

  ‘I’ll tend to it, Jeanie,’ Mark offered and the girl nodded her agreement.

  These posts want replacing,’ Jeanie went on, indicating some of the wall’s supports after assigning men to help Mark. ‘Will you tend to it, Dusty?’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ Dusty answered.

  ‘Lend him a hand, Colin,’ the girl ordered. ‘Then we’ll start re-roping the uprights, that raw-hide don’t look any too strong.’

  Work on the corral continued through the day and next morning Colin found himself handed a shovel. Other of the men collected picks and shovels from the family wagon and Jeanie took them on to the open range by the outer mouth of the canyon. While riding there, the girl explained what had to be done next.

  ‘You boys have to clear a yard-wide strip of earth for a distance of half a mile on each side of the canyon, starting from its mouth. I mean clear it, grass, bushes, everything. Widen the other end so you’re maybe half a mile apart when you’ve done.’

  ‘And then put up a fence?’ Colin asked.

  ‘Nope. Just the furrows,’ Jeanie replied. The mustangs’d see a fence as we haze them in. They’ll not see the furrows until they’re right on them.’

  ‘Won’t they just run across?’

  ‘They never have yet. Don’t ask me why, but they’ll not try to cross the black strip of open ground.’

  Having decided that Jeanie knew what she was doing, Colin set to work without further debate. Although he had done little digging, he threw himself into the task whole-heartedly and drew grins of admiration from his work-party. Already the mesteneros had grown accustomed to his kilt and his handling of Cijar prevented any adverse comments on it. By nightfall they had one strip completed and the other half cut. Nothing could have given the young Scot greater pleasure than when Jeanie told him he had done real well.

  By noon the following day the furrows had been completed and the caracol made ready to take the mestenas at the end of the corrida. Felix and the Kid had scouted out the surrounding ranges and reported that there were a number of herds of varying size, including three bands of young stallions that would form a fine nucleus for the remount contract.

  ‘You boys can rest up today,’ Jeanie told the men around the fire. ‘Cull out and de-pride the stallions in the corral there. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Monday, we’ll start the corrida.’

  ‘What’re you going to do, Jeanie?’ Mark grinned. ‘Sit on your butt and watch the help working like most bosses—’

  ‘’Cepting you, that is, Dusty.’

  ‘Is that loyalty or just scared he’ll remember it when you’re back on the ranch?’ April asked from where she was hel
ping to prepare the evening meal.

  ‘Both,’ Mark admitted. ‘How about it, Jeanie-gal?’

  ‘I’m going to see how that lil dun of mine takes to me on the saddle,’ the girl replied.

  On the day of her arrival, Jeanie had selected a horse from those captured in her absence. It was a small but shapely dun stallion with lines hinting at speed and stamina. Having it cut from the others and penned alone, she began the process of winning its trust. So far she had done no more than let it grow accustomed to the feel of the saddle. With the afternoon free, she hoped to carry the training a stage farther by riding it.

  The hope did not materialize. Having left that morning with the intention of making a long circle around the camp, looking for signs of the Flores gang, the Kid returned hurriedly just as Jeanie planned to visit the dun. Swinging from his horse, the Kid went straight up to Dusty.

  ‘There’s a bunch of Injuns coming, Dusty. Seventy or so, Tejas mostly.’

  ‘They’re horse-hunting, likely,’ Dusty replied, for the Tejas tribe had long been noted for its friendship with the white man.

  ‘I don’t reckon so,’ contradicted the Kid. ‘There’s a few Kaddo and Waco bucks along with ’em.’

  ‘Renegades then,’ Mark stated. ‘No friendly Tejas’d ride with Kaddo and Wacos along.’

  ‘They know we’re around, Lon?’ Dusty asked.

  ‘Saw your smoke, I’d say,’ answered the Kid. ‘What’re you fixing to do?’

  At such a time Jeanie did not offer to give orders. Came to gun-trouble, she rated yearling stock compared with the small, soft-spoken Texan. All eyes went to Dusty as those mesteneros who spoke English told the others what had been said. Dusty did not reply for a moment, but his eyes went to the Winchester in the Kid’s hand. An idea took form and Dusty gave his orders for trying it out.

  ‘Colin, Mark, get your rifles and saddle your horses. Ma, have everything made ready for a fight if it comes. Can you count on your men?’