It took a couple of months to get to the coast. Craig stopped often, to allow the horses to get plenty of rest, and so he could look around areas that might provide trade opportunities in the future. He continued to do a bit of trading here and there, as often as not moving items he’d traded for earlier. It was just instinct with him to trade.
He used a little of the gold and silver he’d acquired. It was becoming fairly commonplace the further south he went. When he reached the Louisiana Gulf Coast, between the short section west of New Orleans, that had been nuked, and the area far west, which had taken a lot of fallout from Houston, much of the trade was being handled with an agreed upon standard for an ounce of gold. Craig got his lobster, and found more sulfur than he could ever use.
He even found someone to deliver a few tons of it to the Retreat outside of Sullivan. It would go by boat up the Mississippi River, and then overland to Sullivan. Craig penned a letter telling Sally to pay the man the remaining half of the gold that Craig would owe him. The man had wanted the full amount up front, but Craig wasn’t a fool. He paid him half.
His main business done, Craig decided to look around a bit and see what else he could turn up. It suddenly struck him that Louisiana was also known for oil production and sugar production. “You idiot!” Craig said to himself. “You should have been thinking of these all the time, beside just the sulfur and getting some fresh seafood.
Like Texas, some Louisianans had got one of the smaller refineries on the coast working and was producing diesel, kerosene, and small amounts of gasoline. Craig got Quentin involved and was able to set up a regular delivery of all three fuels for distribution in the Midwest. Like the sulfur, the fuels would go up the Mississippi River and then overland.
Three weeks later, Craig had an almost identical trade set up to provide sugar for the area. Both the deals required payment in gold. The Retreat could trade the goods for what they wanted, but both producers wanted gold in payment. A private conversation with Quentin and Craig convinced him it was doable. More and more people were using precious metal coins to conduct business. The more that went into circulation, the more people were willing to use them.
Craig thought about heading east when his business on the Gulf was done, but the massive destruction of the nuclear attacks east of the Mississippi would make it problematical to make a trip without having to take extreme measures to avoid hotspots. Besides, there was a rumor that a rough gang was operating on the Texas Oklahoma border, doing a lot of horse and cattle rustling. “I ought to fit right in there,” Craig mused, swinging his leg up and over Clyde, in preparation of leaving.
With the destination in mind, Craig drifted west and slightly north, taking his time, stopping regularly to trade for fresh food for him, and grain for the horses, primarily trading his considerable capability as a skilled laborer in return. He did a few trades, picking up a couple of extra horses once, trading them away two weeks later, for items of much more value to him than what he’d given for the horses.
One could never have too many open pollinated seeds. He got enough to load the pack horses to their maximum capacity until he traded off a few of the heavier items in the panniers. So it took him quite a bit longer on the trip to Wichita Falls than initially planned. He took it real easy on the horses until he traded off the six cured hams and several pounds of salt he’d picked up in other trades in Arkansas.
He began to see quite a few other men outfitted much as he was outwardly, when he got to cattle country. He talked to a few of the buckaroos. They were slow to open up, thinking he might be part of the gang that was operating as far south as they were.
But Craig was able to convince them that he was actually on the lookout for them himself. “You aiming to do something about them, Cowboy?”
“I own horses. Of course I’m going to do something about rustlers,” Craig would answer when asked the question or one of its variants. He was offered jobs several times, but turned them all down, but again was able to set up a couple of trade agreements for small numbers of additional cattle for the Retreat. Some for breeding to increase the genetic diversity of the herds, with more for butchering and meat to be traded about the area, which the Retreat would be able to expand with the additional cattle available.
Craig spent two months reconnoitering around Wichita Falls. Making friends. And, he guessed, making a few enemies. Though he thought he was being careful, he was shot at from a distance when out scouting. “Must be getting close,” he muttered, looking at the two holes in the arm of the duster a few hours later after he’d made it back to the ranch where he was staying.
He’d found the place through the grapevine. In return for a bit of hard money, Craig was permitted to use the ranch as his home base, where he could keep the animals safe, and he could have a safe spot to rest and recuperate after the long hours out looking for the rustlers.
It was only after two weeks of suddenly finding less and less information about the rustlers that Craig came to the conclusion that he need not look further than the ranch that he was on for the rustlers. He’d been bamboozled for the last three weeks.
Craig wondered why they hadn’t just killed him and disposed of the body. They could have easily gotten rid of the horses. People were more than willing to buy good horseflesh, without asking too many questions. That’s why the rustling was so effective. There had to be a reason they were keeping him alive.
He woke up in the middle of the night, that night after he decided he would be leaving the next day. “They want a trade deal for stolen stock! I can’t believe it!” Craig came up with his plan during the rest of the night, getting just a few hours’ sleep before he got up, ready to implement it, still not sure why they hadn’t broached the subject.
Feigning mild illness, Craig stayed around the ranch for three days running. Sure enough, he saw people come and go that he could see no real reason to be there. Frank Holloway, the owner of the ranch, asked him up to the ranch house to talk to him the fourth day after the epiphany.
“How you doing? Didn’t know you were sick until this morning.”
“Just a touch of the flu,” Craig replied, accepting the cup of real coffee Frank’s wife served them. “Thank you,” he said, looking up at Katherine and smiling. She smiled back.
It was a complication Craig had to figure out how to deal with. This wasn’t the relatively simple situation with the cannibals. The whole group had been bad. They used people, but had no tight relationships. Craig had no way of knowing if Katherine knew of the rustling or not.
“Well,” Frank said, having no inkling of Craig’s thoughts, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I hear you have a deal with a couple of ranches down south to supply beef back to Missouri and Arkansas.”
“Sure have. Only a few head a year, but it will help. People are hungry for beef. Most of what is being produced by local ranchers is consumed by them or people in their immediate area. Not much left for, if I may use the term, consumers.”
“You know, I think I’d like to be part of that. How much beef do you think you could move? And what about horses?”
“Kinda hate to open up competition to my own horse breeding work, but yeah. There is more of a market than the other local breeders and I can fill. As to the beef, I think the area would support as many as twenty-five head a month, if the price was right.”
“Really?” Frank looked to be thinking about it. “I think I could supply that, without any problems.”
“Wouldn’t you have to increase your production? And what about rustlers. Moving cattle across country would make them really vulnerable.”
Frank smiled a smile that was rather secretive looking to Craig. “Well, with your help, I think I can guarantee delivery.”
Going along with the charade, Craig said, “Well, I’m certainly trying to do what I can, but I’m not having much success.”
“I’m not even sure why you are looking in to it,” Frank said. “What business of it is yours, anyway?”
<
br /> Craig shrugged. “Kind of a hobby with me. Life is hard enough without predators like rustlers making it harder. I’ve got friends to help protect. I’d rather go out looking for the troubles than wait for them to come to me and mine.”
“I guess I can understand that. But I haven’t had much trouble with the rustlers. Let me be your supplier and I think we can take care of business.”
“It’s tempting. Of course, I’d have to clear it through the Retreat Administrator, and let the council decide if the price is right or not. Be nice to get a herd started that way before winter. The other ranches can’t do anything until next spring.”
“I’ve got some cattle up on the high range. I could have them brought down and start a drive right away. Need to get paid in gold, though. Is that doable?”
Frank was greedy, and it showed. Craig had dropped a baited hook and Frank had snapped it right up. Not wanting to make himself an immediate target of opportunity, Craig didn’t mention that he had more than enough gold with him to buy just about any size herd of cattle was available. Instead, he said, “It would have to be on trust. You’d get paid when you got there.”
Frank didn’t seem to like it, but he was still tempted. Suddenly he said, “You make the deal with your people and I’ll get my men rounding up the cattle. Up in the high country.”
You have a communications set here?”
“Of course.” Frank took Craig to what would pass as a study in the old days and pointed out the Kenwood HF Amateur Radio set.
“I’ll get a hold of Quentin just as soon as I can,” Craig said. “How much for how many head?”
Frank told him and Craig managed not to show his surprise. Frank was more than greedy.
Frank left the room, a big grin on his face when Craig nodded and said, “Sounds okay. I’ll get right on it.”
Craig fiddled with the radio and actually was able to make contact with the Retreat. At least for a moment or two before the signal faded out. Craig went back out to the living room and waited for Frank. He didn’t have to wait long.
Still smiling, Frank came back in and asked, “What did they say?”
Craig gave Frank thumbs up.
“We’re going up right now to bring down the herd. Should be back in a couple of days,” Frank replied, the smile even wider than before.
“I’ll get saddled up and go with you,” Craig said, getting the immediate reaction he was expecting.
Frank’s smile was gone in an instant and he was hurriedly making excuses for Craig to stay on the ranch. “No… Uh… Man, you are still sick. Shouldn’t be out and about right now. Besides,” Frank continued, the thought suddenly coming to him, “You’ll be going to Missouri with us won’t you? So you’ll need to rest up.”
It wasn’t really a question. Frank was used to giving orders and have his men jump to obey them. It was more than a bit difficult playing the upstanding citizen. Craig played right along, despite the flash of anger at Frank’s authoritarian attitude.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Craig said, hesitating for a convincing amount of time.
“Okay, then. I need to get ready to go with the men. I’ll see you in no more than three days.”
“Okay Frank. I’ll go back to the bunkhouse and get some rest. You’re right about me needing to conserve my energy.”
Craig went to the bunkhouse and began getting ready. As soon as Frank and all of his men left, Craig saddled up and loaded up the pack horses. He was gone less than an hour after Frank and his men.
He made his way to the nearest ranch and got permission to stable the horses for a couple of days. “Boy, these guys like their gold,” he said to himself, when the rancher indicated that keeping the horses for Craig wouldn’t be a problem. For a bit of gold. Craig forked over the coin and then climbed back on Clyde and went hunting Frank and his rustling gang.
Craig still had a touch of doubt about Frank being the rustler, but it was soon dispelled when the tracks of Frank and his men turned from the route to the high country and turned toward another ranch.
They were moving quickly and with the later start that Craig had, there was no way Craig could get ahead of them to warn the ranch that a raid was going to happen. Besides, Craig couldn’t be sure which ranch would be hit until the gang made their move.
With the timetable Frank had given Craig, it seemed that it was a ranch some distance away. Craig was sure of it when the men stopped and set up camp near a river. Craig did the same, staying with a dry camp and no fire to avoid detection. He was up before dawn the next morning and ready to follow Frank and his men after they breakfasted, saddled up, and hit the trail again.
Frank had called the timing pretty close. The gang hit the small ranch just before noon, going in shooting. Craig saw the ranch hands diving for cover and hoped none of them were hit. In order to reduce the chance for injuries to the rancher, and his hands and family, Craig let Frank and the gang get the herd started and then dropped in behind them.
Craig had almost brought the M14E2, but had been doubtful it would be reasonable for use in the endeavor. It wouldn’t have been. Neither was the Calico. What Craig was doing called for close up handgun use to avoid injuring any of the cattle. Firing a rifle from atop a running horse at any range but pointblank was just asking for a miss. Besides, there was no point in stopping the rustlers if all the rancher’s cattle were dead.
With a slight flick of the reins Craig had Clyde up to speed. The big Barb gained on the rustlers. The herd, though running, was no match for Clyde. Craig didn’t just start shooting as he came up on the men. One of them was slightly behind the others and he rode up beside him, Craig’s hand going to the smooth wood of the Ruger .45 Colt revolver in the right hand pommel holster.
“Stop!” Craig yelled over to the man. It wasn’t one of Frank’s hands that Craig had met. And the man was none too smart. He pulled a gun from his waistband and tried to shoot Craig. But Craig was quicker. He pulled the trigger of the Ruger and down went the rustler, his horse angling off and slowing down without the rider to urge him on.
The first two shots were enough to speed up the herd slightly and alert the other rustlers that there was someone trying to stop them. In the full light of day a battle royale ensued with the rustlers leaving the herd and heading off to get away from Craig. If they’d stopped and faced him as a group they would have had him. But each one was looking out for himself.
They didn’t start to split up, shooting over their shoulders, the rounds going wild, until Craig had dropped two more of them from close range right behind them.
Frank was still in the lead and he reined over, breaking away from the three men left in the group. Craig managed to down one more, with what he knew was a lucky shot. He holstered the Ruger and drew the left hand Ruger from its pommel holster, gigging Clyde a bit and turning him to go after Frank.
Craig saw Frank drop the magazine from the pistol he was using and ram another home. He turned and began shooting, but the shots were wild. But even a wild shot could hit something. And that was what happened. Clyde took a round across his left hip. He shied and came to a sliding stop, Craig almost going off over Clyde’s head.
But Craig got Clyde stopped safely, with Frank getting further away. Immediately Craig dropped the Ruger and drew the Marlin 1895. He sighted the rifle on Frank. It took five tries, with Frank getting further away between each one, for Craig to finally get a hit on him. Frank went off the horse head first.
Craig checked the shallow groove in Clyde’s hip and then calmed the horse down enough to get back on after picking up the Ruger he’d dropped. Keeping the rifle at the ready, Craig rode up to Frank. He wasn’t moving. Not trusting him, Craig slid off Clyde the rifle still in his hands and walked up to the body. For that was what it was. A body. Frank was dead. Not from Craig’s rifle shot, not directly, for it had hit him high in the shoulder. But the shot had caused Frank to lose control and when he fell off the horse he broke his neck.
The herd had slowe
d down and finally stopped, exhausted. Craig circled them up and started drifting them back toward the ranch from which they’d been taken. He saw a couple of the dead rustlers, and at least two of them limping away from the herd’s line of travel. Craig had hit them, but not killed them.
Seeing the dust cloud nearing the herd from the direction of the ranch, Craig made sure to keep his hands in clear view as five men rode up to him, slowing from a gallop to a sliding stop just a few feet from Craig.
Between not making any dangerous movements, and the fact that he’d talked with the rancher while making his early inquires, Craig managed not to get shot as a rustler himself. The men allowed him to explain what had happened.
When he explained what he discovered, one of the men exclaimed, “You just lived right there with those snakes to get evidence! And then chased them down! Man, you are some tough Cowboy, fer sure!”
Cowboy Page 10