Well, right then I had me a healthy hunch, but what I wanted was to locate the fire. I reined my horse over and rode him around a bush, speaking softly so's not to startle the cattle, which, after all, were longhorns and wild animals by anybody's figuring.
The fire was off across the herd, and I glimpsed a faint glow on the side of some leaves over yonder, on a tree trunk. So I let my horse fall into the rhythm of walking around the herd, just as if we were riding night herd ourselves, which we'd done often enough.
From the way my horse acted, I didn't figure these were strange cattle, so when I saw the fire ahead, I rode over and let my horse walk up quiet.
Tyrel, he was a-settin' by the fire, and he never even raised up his head. He just said, "Get down, Tell, we've been a-missin' you." So I got down and shook his hand, and we Sacketts was together again.
Chapter XIX
"You got yourself some cows," I said.
"Seems as though. We've had some losses.
Right now we're a few shy of having nine hundred head. We lost cattle in the stampede, and we lost a few head in the sand hills. All of them are worn down and beat." "We've got thirty-two head, last count," I told him. Then I asked, "How you fixed for grub?" "A-plenty. Orrin came along with his carts.
Trouble was we under-guessetimated the size of the carts and the appetites of the boys. We'd about decided to go into Fort Carlton to take on more grub." "Suits me. We've been wishful for coffee the last couple of days, and as for grub, we've been fixin' to chaw rawhide." "Come daylight," Tyrel said, "we'll move the herd on some fresh grass and go into camp. Give you boys a chance to catch up on your eating." "How you fixed on ammunition? We've been ridin' scared of a fight." "We've enough." The coffee tasted good. We sat by the fire, comparing what had happened to each of us, and we studied some about what Logan's trouble could be.
"Whoever it is that wants our hides," Tyrel said, "is from below the border. At least, those I've talked to. Looks to me like ol' Logan stumbled into something and he's thrown or is about to throw some trouble their way." When I finished my coffee, I went to my horse and mounted up. We'd picked a place for meeting that he'd scouted the day before, and I rode back to our camp.
Brandy was standing guard, and I told him of the morning move. "All quiet here," he said.
Then he said, "Mr. Sackett? I ain't been punchin' cows long, but there's something that puzzles me. Most of what we've got here are steers, so why do you call them cows?" "Just a manner of speaking, Brandy. Lots of places you never hear cattle called anything else but cows." Well, I went in and bedded down, resting easy for the first time in days. Tyrel and Orrin were alive and close by, and tomorrow we'd join up with them. Most of my years I'd lived alone and rode alone; even when I was with other folks, I was usually a man alone. Now my brothers were close by, and it was a comfort.
They'd come a long way. Tyrel had married well and had him a nice ranch.
Orrin's marriage hadn't worked out, but he had studied law, been admitted to the bar, and had been making a name for himself in politics. He was the best educated of us all, and he'd never let up on learning.
We bunched our cattle on a flat among some low hills, and our boys all got together. I noticed Gilcrist had headed for the Ox as soon as the two outfits stopped, and they had them a long talk. Fleming rode nearby a couple of times but did not stop, yet I had an idea they spoke to him.
We started on at daybreak and pushed the cattle at their usual gait. For the first couple of hours, we let them take their time, kind of spread out and grazing; then we moved them along at a steady gait until noontime.
We rested them at noon while we took our turn at coffee and some beef; then we started again with two to three hours of grazing and two to three hours of steady travel until we bedded them down. Driving that way was good for twelve miles a day or better, and we could still keep them in good shape. Naturally, we varied the drives and the grazing in relation to the grass and water.
Me, I was worried. It was unlikely whoever wanted us stopped was going to give up, and the chances were we'd find some tougher men next time.
Also, the country ahead, according to old Baptiste, who had covered it, was rougher and wilder. So far, we had seen few Indians and had no trouble since our meeting with High-Backed Bull, far away in Dakota.
Yet Indians know no borders and roamed where they would, although each tribe had an area it conceived as its own hunting grounds until pushed out by some stronger tribe.
Fort Carlton, or as some termed it, Carlton House, was several days to the north. Leaving there, we must strike westward for the mountains, moving as rapidly as possible considering the condition of the cattle. All this had once been known as Prince Rupert's Land, a vast and beautiful area now in dispute because of Louis Riel's move to set up a provisional government.
We knew little or nothing of the dispute, having learned but the barest details, and had no wish to become involved in something that was clearly none of our business. We had heard there were a few Americans, and no doubt some Canadians as well, hungry for land for themselves or land to sell, who hoped to somehow profit from depriving the m`etis of their lands.
Lin was now the cook, and Baptiste handled the carts and helped with the cooking.
"Have care!" he warned me. "Blackfeet and Cree are fighting, and this is the way they come!
They will steal your horses!" It was a good warning, and we took care, for we had too few horses as it was. We hoped to get more at Carlton, but Baptiste shook his head to indicate doubt.
"Few horse! Many no good!" He paused a minute, then glanced at me. "You ride ver' good. There is a place where some wild horses run, but grizzly bear, too! Much big grizzly! Ver' mean! A place called Bad Hills!" Day by day, we edged farther north, the length of our drives depending on the grass. In some places, rains had fallen, and the grass grew tall, but we found stretches where grass was poor and water hard to find. There were salt swamps and bare, dry hills. Buffalo we saw in plenty, and there was no question about meat. We found buffalo and occasionally a deer or bighorn sheep.
There were wolves always. They clung to our drive, watching for the chance to pull down any straggler, and several times they succeeded. One of the younger steers went into a swamp to test the water--it was salt--and became mired. Before its frightened bawling could bring us to help, the wolves were upon it.
Tyrel heard and came in at a dead run.
His first shot caught one wolf atop the luckless steer and another fled, yelping wildly and dragging its hind quarters. We were too late to help the steer, and Cap put it out of its misery with a bullet.
We were camped at the Bad Hills when trouble erupted suddenly. Brandy had come in for coffee, and Gilcrist sat by the fire with the Ox, preparing to go on night guard.
Brandy was still limping from the fall he had taken during the stampede. Orrin an' me had come in from scoutin', and Orrin was on the ground stripping the gear from his horse. We were back under the trees and out of sight of the camp. Lin was at the fire, and Baptiste was repairing a lariat.
Cap and Haney were coming in; Tyrel, Fleming, and Shorty were with the cattle.
Brandy was limping a little. He'd been thrown and hurt during the stampede but said nothing of it, and we'd never have known except that once in a while, when he'd been in the saddle for a long time, you'd see him favoring the bad leg. Most of us were banged up more or less, but we taken it as part of the day's work, as he did.
It was the Ox who started it. "What's the matter, mama's boy? Tryin' to make somebody think you're hurt?" "Nothing of the kind. I do my share." The Ox took up a stick from the pile gathered for the fire. "Where's it hurt, boy? There?" He hit him a crack just below the hip bone.
Brandy turned on him. "You put that stick down, Ox. And you lay off, d'you hear?" "Or else what?" The Ox sneered.
Orrin came out of the trees. "Or else you settle with me, Ox." "This is my fight, Mr. Sackett," Brandy said. "I will fight him." The Ox was twice the size o
f Brandy and several years older. Orrin walked forward.
"Yes, Brandy, you have a prior claim, but this man is working for me, and he has chosen to ignore my suggestions. I'd take it as a favor if you'd let me have him." "Ha!" The Ox stood up. "Forget it, kid. I'd rather whip this smart lawyer-man.
I'll show him something he'll never learn in books!" He started around the fire, and Orrin let him come. Now I came out of the woods. Cap and Haney rode up, and we saw the Ox start for Orrin, swinging a ponderous right fist. Orrin took a short step off to the left and let the right go over his shoulder. At the same instant, he whipped up his right into the Ox's belly.
It was a jolting punch, but the Ox turned like a cat, dropping into a half crouch. Orrin's left took him in the mouth, but the Ox lunged, grabbing for Orrin to get hold of him. Orrin evaded the clutch, hooked a right to the body, and then walked in quickly with a one-two to the face.
The Ox ducked a left and grabbed Orrin, heaving him from his feet to hurl him violently to the ground. Charging in to put the boots to him, the Ox missed his first kick, and Orrin lunged against the leg on which the Ox was standing. The big man went back and down but came up like a rubber ball. A swinging fist caught Orrin beside the head, and he staggered; a left dug into his midsection, and Orrin clinched with the Ox.
The Ox gave a grunt of satisfaction and wrapped his powerful arms around Orrin and began to squeeze. He was enormously powerful, with arms as thick as the legs of most men, and he put the knuckles of a fist against Orrin's spine; then he spread his legs and brought all his power to bear.
Orrin gasped, then hooked a left to the Ox's face, then a right; they had no effect.
He started to bend Orrin back, trying literally to break his spine, but Orrin was a veteran of too many mountain and barge fights. He threw up his legs and fell back to the ground, bringing the Ox down atop him. The fall broke the grip the Ox had, and Orrin was too fast. Like an eel, he was out of the bigger man's grasp and on his feet. The Ox lunged and met a stiff left that split his lips. He ducked and tried to get in close, but Orrin put the flat of his hand on the Ox's head and spun him away, then deftly tripped him as the Ox went forward, off balance.
The Ox got up slowly. Orrin, knowing the bigger man was better on the ground, stood back and allowed him to get to his feet. "What's the matter, Ox? Is something wrong?" Cautious now, the Ox moved in, arms spread wide for grappling. Orrin waited on the balls of his feet, feinted a move to the left, then stepped in with a straight left and a right. The
blows jolted the Ox but did not stop him. He landed a light left to Orrin's chest, then a smashing right to the head that made Orrin's knees buckle. Lunging close the Ox's head butted Orrin on the chin, knocking Orrin's head back like it was on a hinge.
Orrin went down. The Ox lunged close, kicking for Orrin's head, but a swift movement partially evaded the kick, taking it on the shoulder.
It toppled him over again, and the Ox rushed in, booting Orrin viciously in the ribs. Orrin, gasping with pain, lunged to his feet and swung a left that missed and a right that didn't.
Moving around, neither man showing any sign of weariness, they circled for advantage. Orrin stabbed another left to the Ox's bleeding lips and crossed a right that the Ox ducked under. He smashed a right to the ribs that jolted Orrin, who moved back, stabbing a left to the Ox's face.
The Ox rushed, and instead of trying to evade the rush, Orrin turned sidewise and threw the Ox with a rolling hip lock. The bigger man hit the ground hard, but came up fast, and Orrin threw him again with a flying mare.
Jolted, the Ox got up more slowly, and Orrin moved in, stabbing a left three times to the mouth, then slipping away before the Ox could land.
The Ox was breathing hard now. There was a swelling over his right eye, and his lips were puffed and split. He was learning that he must evade the left that was stabbing at his face. He moved his head side to side with his swaying body, then lunged to come in, lost balance, and as he fell forward, Orrin lifted a knee in his face.
The Ox went to his knees, blood dripping from his broken nose and smashed lips.
There was an awesome power in his huge arms and shoulders, but somehow those fists were always in his face, and Orrin's evasiveness left him helpless.
He got up slowly, of no mind to quit. As his hands came up, Orrin's left hit him again, and the right crossed to his chin.
He ducked under another right and hooked a right to Orrin's ribs that seemed to have lost none of its power. Orrin stabbed a left that the Ox evaded.
Another left missed and then another. Orrin feinted the same left and landed a jolting right cross. He feinted the left again and repeated with the right. The Ox moved in; Orrin feinted the left and then followed through with a stiff jab to the mouth.
The Ox circled warily waiting for the chance he wanted. He knew his own strength and knew what he could do. He had never fought anyone as elusive as Orrin Sackett, nor anyone who could hit as hard. He was learning there were times when strength was almost useless, but he was in no way whipped. He was getting his second wind, and he was ready. Above all, Orrin seemed to be slowing down.
He no longer could be content with whipping Orrin Sackett. He wanted to maim or kill him.
Get hold of an arm or a leg and break it.
Break his neck if he could. Kill him!
The Ox held his hands low, inviting the jab.
Could he grab that darting fist, so like a snake's tongue? If he could-- The fist darted, and he caught it in his open palm. The other palm smashed upward at Orrin's elbow, but instead of resisting, Orrin went with the power and fell forward to his knees. Before he could turn, the Ox booted him in the ribs.
He felt a wicked stab of pain, and he lunged to his feet.
Orrin moved carefully. That he had at least one broken rib he was sure. He had narrowly evaded a broken arm or shoulder. The Ox was learning, and he was dangerous. He had to get him out of there, and now.
There could be no delay.
The Ox, suddenly confident, was coming in now, ready to destroy him. Orrin feinted a left, and the Ox smiled. Orrin backed off slowly, and the Ox, sure of himself, came on in. Orrin feinted a left, and the Ox blocked it with almost negligent ease but failed to catch the right that shot up, thumb and fingers spread.
It caught him right under the Adam's apple, drew back swiftly, and struck again just a little higher.
The Ox staggered back, gagging, then went to his knees, choking and struggling for breath.
Orrin backed off a little, then said to Gilcrist, "Take care of him." He sat down, mopping his brow; then he looked around at me. "They don't come much tougher." "No," I said, "they surely don't.
Better soak those hands in some warm water with some salts in it. It will take the soreness out." I walked over to the fire and filled my cup.
We had made a good start, but we had a long way to go.
And we were losing two hands.
Chapter XX
We gulped black coffee in the cool, crisp air, then saddled our broncs for the drive. We roused our cattle from their resting place and moved them out on the trail. There were wild, shrill calls from the cowboys then and whoops to hurry them on. There was a click of horns and a clack of hoofs and the bawling of an angry steer, but the cattle bunched up, and old Brindle took the lead and we headed toward Carlton.
We hung their horns on the Northern Star, and the pace was good for an hour, and then we let them graze as they moved.
"Don't bother with Eagle Creek," Baptiste advised. "The water is brackish, although the grass is good. There's a wooded glen beyond, a place of trees and springs. But much grizzlies, too." By late afternoon, we were crossing a long, gently sloping flat; then we pushed the cattle through Eagle Creek and moved on toward the Bad Hills.
It was one long hill, really, and not so much of one at that, cut with many deep, wooded ravines. I did not wonder there might be bears, for the country suited them. It reminded me somewhat of the canyons in the mountain
range back of the Puebla de Los Angeles, in California.
I'd been there once, long since, and there were grizzlies there, too.
We saw none of the wild horses Baptiste had told us would be there. Orrin came in with a story of old horse tracks on the far side of the herd and added, "This is Blackfoot country." Fort Carlton was about a quarter of a mile back from the river, a palisaded place with bastions at each of the corners. We bunched our cattle on a flat and a hillside not far from the fort, and with Tyrel remaining with the herd, Orrin and I rode in.
We had come some distance from the Bad Hills, a place we were glad to be free of, as we lost two steers there to grizzlies, both of them found in the morning, one half eaten, the other dragged some distance and covered with brush.
There were a good many Indians, all friendly, in the vicinity of Carlton. At the store, where many things were on sale, we arranged to buy a small amount of ammunition and some supplies. More, they suggested, might be available if we talked to the man in charge.
We were coming out of the store when Orrin stopped short. A girl in a neat gray traveling suit came toward him, hands outstretched. "Why, Mr. Sackett! How nice!" He flushed and said, "Tell, let me introduce you to Devnet Molrone." "Howdy, ma'am!" She turned. "And this is Mrs. Mary McCann, Mr. Sackett!" "Well, well! Howdy, Mrs.
McCann!" Mary McCann had flushed. Nettie glanced at her, surprised, then at me. I hoped my expression showed nothing but pleasure at the meeting.
"Rare pleasure, Mrs. McCann," I said. "Womenfolks to a man on the trail-- well, we surely see almighty few of them.
I've got a friend along with me who would be right happy to shake your hand, ma'am, if you was so inclined. I reckon he ain't seen a woman in weeks, maybe months." Mary McCann looked right at me and said, "Now that's interestin'. I haven't seen many men, either. Just what would his name be?" "Mr. Rountree? We call him Cap.
He's seen most everything a man can see an' been most everywhere, but I d'clare, ma'am, he'd be right proud to meet you!" Nettie Molrone put her hand on Orrin's sleeve. "Mr. Sackett? My brother is not here, and they are not sure they even remember him! They think he passed through on his way west." "I was afraid of that, ma'am." "Mr. Sackett? You're going on west.
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