by Dale Graham
‘Chisum is gonna need supplies, which means leaving the homestead. They sure won’t come here,’ he averred eagerly. ‘And Maverick is two days’ ride. That’s when we’ll strike hard and fast. After your ham-fisted performance in Sidewinder Gulch, they won’t be expecting a fast response. This is our chance to burn the place down while they’re away. And when they return, we’ll be waiting to give them another hot reception.’ He chuckled uproariously as the resulting image of his scorching plan impinged itself on his scheming brain.
It was Rizzo who pointed out the fly in the ointment. ‘Even with Chisum pushing up the daisies, you still can’t take ownership of the land while Chico Lafferty is still alive.’
The objection was given short shrift. ‘Once Chisum has gone to meet the Grim Reaper, you’ll have plenty of time to flush that critter out of his hidey hole. And for your sake, it had better be more successful than your search for the Gump.’
Rizzo gritted his teeth, forcing back the cutting reposte regarding Steiger’s own failure to finish the half-breed off with a rope. The hired gunman was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he could do a much better job of spreading the vigilante message. For the present, however, he would bide his time and swallow down any critical remarks.
Steiger then called across to Stringbean. ‘Go back to the S Bar 7 and round up the rest of the boys. This time I’ll make darned certain nothing goes wrong.’
His next snappy command was aimed at Foxy Janus. ‘Is it right you were a scout for the army after your trapping days fizzled out?’
An eager nod from the ageing mountain man, and he launched into what was meant to be a colourful description of his hunting adventures in Grand Teton country. His eyes misted over at the thought of those wild shindigs at the annual Green River rendezvous. ‘Boy, were those crazy times. We all met up with our stock of pelts. . . .’
But Steiger was not interested. ‘Some other time, Foxy,’ the boss rapped, chopping off the eager beaver’s idle ramblings ‘We have more important matters that need sorting. I want to make sure my figuring is correct. The moment you see one of those varmints riding off to get supplies, hightail it back here pronto. We’ll be ready to ride at a moment’s notice.’
A feeling of optimism swept through the gloomy confines of the Burning Bush. Steiger had promised substantial bonuses to all his men once the whole valley was in his hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Possession
The three newcomers had just crested a rise that overlooked the top end of the Nueces Valley. They paused to take in the sight. Ben in particular was eager to view the land of which he was now a legal half-owner. So this is what all the hassle was about, he mused.
The cluster of buildings that made up the heart of the Jaybird holding was mainly constructed from rough-hewn logs. Nothing here was remotely attractive or pleasing to the eye. Only the barn looked in good shape, being constructed from sawn timber planking with a sloping Dutch roof. The stable, crop store and various lean-tos were huddled around the main cabin and were built to serve a practical purpose. The living quarters especially looked as if they had been thrown together by some careless giant, identifiable only because one end was of stone with a wide chimneybreast.
The entire homestead was enclosed by a pitch-pine fence and backed up against rising ground from which the infant Nueces River emerged on one side. Thundering down from the heights above in a series of rocky cascades, the water had been dammed up to provide regular irrigation for the crops during the long dry season. This innovation was what had enabled the Jaybird to thrive. That was certainly a measure to strike a positive note. Chico Lafferty clearly knew his stuff when it came to farming the land.
Behind the homestead, bare stumps indicating from where the building wood had been obtained only served to emphasize the bleak aspect. Above this, a sheer cliff face of orange sandstone rose over three hundred feet piercing the azure sky. The sound of meadowlarks and bluebirds trilling in innocence helped to convey a certain homeliness to the workaday atmosphere.
‘Some spectacle, eh, you guys?’ Gus Ordway proclaimed, clearly more stimulated than Ben. ‘You can see now why old Chico is so keen to prevent a takeover.’ Both his new pals nodded dutifully, allowing Gus to lead the way down a winding track in single file to enter the corral at ground level through an open gate.
The moment of arrival was shattered by a large wolfhound emerging from the barn. A hostile growl was made all the more chilling due to the rat gripped between slavering pincer-like jaws. The dog’s sudden appearance certainly had the desired effect of keeping the unfamiliar intruders from approaching any closer. Its purpose there was clearly to act as a deterrent. And it had worked.
Once again, Ordway proved his worth by gently cajoling the snarling beast. In no time at all, softly spoken words of reassurance had persuaded the surly beast that they were here as friends. A stick of jerky helped to seal the truce. Ben couldn’t help wondering where the dog had been during the abduction of its master. Perhaps it was an easy pushover where food was involved.
With the suspect ally added to their small force, Curly Bill gave his unfettered opinion of the austere spread. ‘Lafferty sure don’t go in for the creature comforts, do he?’ he intoned, taking in the rough-hewn sprawl. Nobody disagreed. The valley head situation was idyllic, unlike the ramshackle appearance of the accommodation.
The next day was spent investigating the Jaybird holding. Ben was eager to discover what he had signed up for. The tour, conducted by Ordway, did not take long. Unlike a cattle ranch, the fields were compact and close together. Each one was separated by a track wide enough for a wagon to load up the harvested yield. In addition to the staple crop of maize, squash and rye were cultivated. There was also an apple orchard adjoining the homestead.
It was obvious even to a greenhorn farmer like Ben Chisum that he would need to hire labour to gather in these crops at harvest time. Had he taken on far more than he could handle? Having Gus Ordway along was going to prove useful in managing the place.
The big man appeared to read his thoughts. ‘Don’t worry none, boss. I’ve worked on plenty of spreads in my time. You ain’t got nothing to worry about.’ A beaming grin split the furrowed façade. ‘Just so long as you don’t object to grafting hard from dawn ’til dusk.’
Ordway’s remark was delivered with serious intent. Looking at the big guy’s stoic regard, Ben could readily appreciate that sodbusting came easy to the muscle-bound simpleton. That said, he was clear in his own mind that becoming a homesteader was only ever going to be a temporary measure, a means of earning some quick dough. Although ridding the Nueces Valley of its unwelcome parasites had to be his primary task, closely followed by a better acquaintance with the delightful Elsa Durham.
After inspecting the accommodation briefly, it was clear that the vigilantes had been hard at work wrecking the place after arresting the Jaybird’s occupier. A thorough search of the debris revealed a distinct lack of grub and other basic necessities. ‘That guy sure didn’t believe on living high on the hoof,’ Curly Bill advocated, lighting up a quirley. ‘All I managed to find is a sack of old pinto beans and a side of dodgy bacon. We sure can’t live high on that, and all I’m packing is trail grub for another three days.’
‘Reckon it’ll be best if’n I go stock up at Chocktaw Charlie’s Trading Post,’ Ordway suggested. ‘It’s over the rim in the next valley so there’ll be less chance of meeting up with any of Steiger’s vigilantes. You fellas can sort the place out while I’m away.’ He smiled. ‘Make it habitable again.’
And so it was decided. The big man hitched up a wagon and set off on his two-day trek. After the two gunfighters had waved him off, Ben was all for getting started. ‘How’s about you make a start in the barn?’ he suggested, walking across to the open door.
‘As good as anywhere,’ remarked Curly, following him inside. The hound sniffed the air before settling down in its kennel out of the midday heat. Inside the barn there was plenty of tidyi
ng up to do. Ben left his buddy to it while checking out all the other buildings. Luckily only the main cabin had been despoiled by the hanging party.
Emerging from a lean-to, he made his way across to begin the onerous task of making the cabin fit for human habitation, unaware that his every movement was being followed by the hawkish gaze of Foxy Janus. The tracker had spotted the wagon driven by Gus Ordway from a distance. It confirmed the boss’s supposition that one of their adversaries would have to go for supplies.
Unfortunately, he was too far off to recognize the driver. Had he done so, the situation that followed would have been totally at variance. Janus’s primary task now was to suss out the other guy’s intentions before returning to Uvalde. He assumed that the sole occupant of the homestead now had to be Blue Creek Chisum.
Janus left his horse on the far side of a low knoll and cautiously made his way down through the rough amalgam of scrub vegetation and rocks. Great care was exercised so not to disturb any loose stones and reveal his presence. The notion occurred to the jasper’s devious mind that he might even be able to surprise and remove the varmint from the picture.
An evil grin split his weathered contours. That would sure be a feather in his cap. The handicap he faced was being unaware that Chisum was not alone. Janus had arrived on the scene after Curly Bill had entered the barn. As far as he was concerned, that particular gunslinger was now on his way to Maverick, and only Chisum remained.
Edging closer, he was about to slip across the open ground to one side of the main cabin when a low growl assailed his sharp hearing. He froze, and just in the nick of time. A large dog stood stock still, not more than twenty feet away. The brute’s acute sense of smell had detected the alien presence.
And it was looking his way.
Foxy knew that at such a distance a dog’s blurred sight could only spot a moving object. With his breath held and not moving a muscle, he waited. The dog barked twice, snarling aggressively at the unseen intruder. Its hackles rose, teeth bared as it looked towards a cluster of boulders to the side of the main shack.
On hearing the canine warning, Ben emerged from the cabin to see what had aroused the animal. Gun drawn, he looked around. ‘Hold up there, Buster,’ he called out firmly, the hound having already been renamed by Gus Ordway. ‘What’s bugging you, then?’ The dog responded with a couple more hefty barks before simmering down after being presented with another stick of jerky. Ben looked around. But nothing moved to arouse his suspicions. ‘It’s only a raccoon or skunk sneaking around that you’ve smelled, boy,’ he reassured the animal gently.
Foxy Janus cursed under his breath. In his eagerness to gain the upper hand, he had forgotten the principal rule of scouting: remain invisible and blend into the landscape. But at least he had not been spotted, and Chisum did not suspect any chicanery, although the hound’s presence put the kibosh on any chance of taking Chisum by surprise.
All he could do was play possum and keep absolutely still until the mutt’s curiosity had abated. A thin veneer of sweat tracked across his brow while he waited until the gunslinger (now turned sodbuster) had returned to his task of restoration. Then he sneaked back to where he had left his horse. At least he could now report back to the boss that Chisum was at the Jaybird all on his ownsome.
This was news the boss would want to hear pronto.
CHAPTER NINE
. . . and Blockade
‘So, my figuring was exactly as predicted,’ Steiger congratulated himself. ‘Curly Bill has gone for supplies, leaving Chisum a sitting duck.’
The gang leader rubbed his hands gleefully. He was surrounded by his men in the Burning Bush saloon. The drink was flowing as Steiger regaled his men with the financial benefits of supporting his plan for a takeover. ‘We’re all gonna be landowners, boys. I’ll have the biggest cattle ranch in the territory run by the highest-paid hands. And after what Foxy has just told us, this time we’ll make darned certain that two-bit skunk doesn’t escape. You done well, Foxy,’ he praised the trapper, slapping him on the back.
‘There’s a guard dog we’ll need to get rid of,’ Foxy cautioned. ‘The savage brute lives in a kennel near the barn.’
Steiger was not in the least bit fazed. ‘Don’t worry about that. I know exactly how to remove his bite. Set ’em up again, bartender.’
The shady rancher wanted his men all fired up for the Jaybird raid. And hard liquor would make them eager for a fight, removing any inhibitions regarding personal safety. There were bound to be some casualties in a shootout involving Blue Creek Ben Chisum. Just so long as one of them was not Web Steiger.
Ten minutes later, he called a halt to the festivities. ‘OK, boys, it’s time we let off some fireworks. Get your horses ready and make sure to pack enough ammo. We ride in half an hour. This is gonna be a thanksgiving party like no other.’
A series of uproarious hoots rang out as the men dispersed. The more sober citizens of Uvalde might well have wondered what all the commotion was about, but they turned their heads away and carried on minding their own business. That was the best policy when Web Steiger and his crew were in town. The vigilante leader’s interpretation of the law had made its mark. Only the bravest or most foolhardy, like Chico Lafferty and Amos Durham, had sought to challenge his self-appointed authority in the Nueces. And look what had happened to them.
It was an upbeat group of vigilantes that rode out of Uvalde with Steiger at their head. By his side was Squint Rizzo, who intended to be the one who fired the killing shot that would ensure his old partner caused him no more trouble in this world. What happened in the next one was of no concern to him.
Ben and his buddy were inside the main cabin when the conclave of vigilantes arrived en masse. Acting on Steiger’s orders, the gang dispersed, making full use of any available cover to conceal their presence. No point in warning the alleged trespasser that he was under surveillance.
Inside the cabin, the new owner of the Jaybird and his pal were making do with fatback and beans cooked over an open fire in the large grate that dominated the main room of the shack. It was the smoke billowing from the chimney that had alerted Steiger to the occupation of the cabin.
The simple meal would suffice until such time as Gus Ordway returned. ‘Steiger ain’t gonna sit quiet and allow us to control the shots,’ Redleg remarked while chewing on a piece of hard bacon. ‘When do you figure he’ll make another attempt to frighten us off?’
Ben considered the notion. ‘That trick we pulled in Sidewinder Gulch will have shaken the skunks up. It’ll give us some breathing space. Reckon while Gus is away we ought to go visit some of the other homesteads in the valley,’ he suggested. ‘Try and persuade them to back us in a fight against Steiger.’ He took a sip of coffee to wash down the rancid bacon. ‘But not before we’ve finish this splendid meal you cooked up.’
A grimacing face, however, told a different story that elicited a spirited rejoinder from Curly. ‘It ain’t that bad. A sight better than having to eat that dead cat Jennison shot for us after we’d fled Charlottesville. Boy, that sure was an all-time low. I can still taste it.’ He hawked out a piece of fat into the fire.
‘Guess you’re right there, pal,’ Ben chuckled, acknowledging the reminder. ‘This is a foodie feast by comparison.’ He was leaning across to refill his coffee mug when the all-too-familiar shout of Web Steiger’s stentorian voice pierced the heavy log walls of the cabin. ‘I know you’re in there, Chisum. Me and my boys have gotten the cabin surrounded.’ The vigilante boss paused to allow the dire warning and its consequences to have the inevitable effect.
The two men looked at each other. Neither had expected such a quick retaliation. It was a stark shock to the system. Ben’s proposal of canvassing support for a counter-uprising was now redundant. Yet, always the professionals, they immediately cast off any alarm to meet this unexpected danger.
Guns were palmed as they hustled over to the single glassless window. Peering out cautiously, all they could see were a dozen horse
s way over behind the barn. All of the invaders were hidden from view. And there, in the middle of the corral, lay the body of the wolfhound.
‘Looks like Steiger ain’t bluffing, Ben,’ Curly remarked. ‘And they’ve nobbled Buster with poisoned meat. What we gonna do about it?’
Before his pal could offer the vital miracle that was going to turn the tables on their antagonists, Steiger continued with his grim declaration. ‘Your lookout was a pushover, Chisum. My advice is to surrender while you’re still able. I promise you’ll get a fair trial . . .’
Ben’s anger at being wrong-footed by the wily land-grabber instigated a cutting piece of invective. ‘If’n that’s what you call vigilante law, I’d sooner take my chances in here and go down fighting.’
A raucous bout of ugly laughter echoed around the enclosure. ‘And that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if’n you don’t come out pronto. I know that you’re alone in there and that your buddy, Redleg, has gone for supplies. But he won’t get far. Don’t play the hero, Blue Creek. This is your last chance. So what’s it gonna be: a chance to walk away, or a futile death? You have one minute to decide.’
Silence thick as son-of-a-gun stew descended over the Jaybird. The participants could almost hear the ominous ticking of destiny’s clock winding down remorselessly. But that final announcement from Steiger had brought a morsel of hope to the besieged duo. ‘He obviously doesn’t cotton that Gus has thrown in with us.’ Curly asserted. ‘Or that I’m in here as well.’
‘We’re still in one hell of a pickle, buddy, but at least it gives us a slight edge, if nothing else.’ Ben held his partner’s rigid gaze. ‘Are you for surrendering . . . or do we fight it out?’
Curly’s response was to check his handgun. ‘I’ve gotten one loaded revolver and a dozen shells in my belt. What about you?’