“What are you thinkin’?” Jake asked.
Chance pointed.
“I think somebody’s out there watchin’ us, and he’s so good we can’t see him.”
“One of Seaforth’s men?”
Chance nodded.
“I saw a breed with them,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ it’s him.”
“That would make sense,” Jake said. “If he don’t wanna be seen, we ain’t gonna see ’im.”
“Well, let him go back to his major and tell him where we are,” Chance said. “It’s a good bet they’ll just wait for us tomorrow, and by then we’ll be recovered from the ordeal we had today.”
“I hope so,” Jake said. “I don’t know how many more days like this I can take.”
* * *
* * *
Seqouia sat and watched the camp, secure in the knowledge that they could not see him. He watched as they repaired the wheel on the chuckwagon and then made camp. He knew that three men were watching the herd. He also knew he didn’t have the time to ride back to Seaforth and bring him and all his men here. By then all the activity in camp would be done, and they would be on the alert.
Once he saw the two old cowpokes sit together with coffee and stare out toward him, he smiled. They knew someone was close by, watching.
He backed off, mounted his horse, and headed back to Seaforth’s Raiders. Tomorrow would definitely be the day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Carlito woke the next morning, stiff and in pain, but insisted on preparing breakfast. This time both his cousins helped him.
“Chance and I are thinkin’,” Jake said as they ate, “that if we can make the next ten miles without incident, Seaforth and his raiders will hit us.”
“Is the plan still the same?” Curly asked.
“Pretty much.” Jake looked at Carlito. “Can you shoot, señor?”
“Sí, jefe,” Carlito said, “I will shoot.”
“Curly, how’s the hand?” Jake asked.
Curly held it up, flexed it, winced, and said, “Good.”
“And you?” Jake asked, turning to face Chance. “How’re the ribs this mornin’?”
“Kept me awake for a while,” Chance admitted, “didn’t make gettin’ to my feet very easy this mornin’, but I’ll be damned if they’ll keep me from ridin’ and shootin’.”
“I got a suggestion,” Dundee said.
“What’s that?” Jake asked.
“Why don’t you let a couple of us ride on ahead and pick some of them off?”
“A couple of you?”
“Yeah,” Dundee said, “whoever’s the best shot with a rifle.”
“And who would that be?” Chance asked.
“Me,” Dundee said, with a smile.
“And me,” Taco said.
“And how many would you get?” Jake asked. “Two, three? Then the other nine or ten would ride ya down and kill you.”
“Ah, they’d never catch us,” Dundee said, “would they, Taco?”
“No, señor,” Taco said, “they would not. They would not even see us.”
“No?” Jake said. “They’d see the sun shinin’ off all those silver button conchas you’re wearin’ a mile away, Taco. After all, you keep ’em nice an’ shiny.”
“Not a good idea, boys,” Chance said.
“Let’s stick to the plan,” Jake said. “If we show them we’re not gonna give up easy, we might discourage ’em.”
“You really believe that?” Dundee asked.
“No,” Jake said. “What we’re all gonna try to do is kill the leader, that Major Seaforth. When they come, concentrate your rifle on him. If we get him, the rest will probably just give up.”
“What makes you think that?” Curly asked.
“Because,” Jake said, “he’s the only one complainin’ about his damned licorice.”
* * *
* * *
Seaforth’s Raiders camped for the night, and while they were gathered around the fire Seaforth addressed his men.
“According to Sequoia, the trail drive is still on its way here. They had some problems to deal with, including a broken wagon wheel on their chuckwagon. But our plan is still in place. So eat your fill and get your rest. Tomorrow’s the day payment comes due.”
As usual, while the men sat around one fire, Seaforth and Garfield sat at a second. No one but Sequoia ever dared to approach them. But while the breed was able to sit at either fire, it was Garfield who was the linchpin between Seaforth and his men.
“Just make damn sure nobody’s drinking,” Seaforth told Garfield.
“There’s no whiskey in camp,” Garfield assured him.
“There better not be.”
Seaforth popped a piece of licorice into his mouth, and Garfield wondered how much of the damn stuff the man had left. The smell of it was starting to gag him.
But Garfield’s respect for the Major had been renewed, candy or no candy. Seaforth wanted what he thought he was entitled to, and whether Garfield agreed or not he would—as always—back Seaforth’s play. What Teddy Garfield did not know about himself was that since he had no goals, no ideals, and no morals of his own, he was perfectly willing to support all of those things that existed inside Major Seaforth Bailey.
He drifted over to the other fire while Sequoia joined Seaforth.
“I want you up and out there early tomorrow morning,” Seaforth told him. “Make sure they’re progressing, and then come back and inform me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Sequoia . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“. . . this time let them see you.”
“Is that wise, Major?” the breed asked.
“Maybe not,” Seaforth said, “but right now that’s the way I want to play it.”
“You are the boss,” Sequoia said.
“Yes, indeed,” Major Seaforth Bailey said, “that’s what I am.”
* * *
* * *
The sky was clear, the ground was dry, all the animals were fresh, and they seemed to be moving toward trouble with no impediments.
Jake looked back at the herd, figuring they had maybe lost only a dozen head or so on the trip. He wondered what he would have done if Major Seaforth had asked for, say, a dozen head in return for the supplies. Would he have given them to him? Probably not. Jake knew he was a stubborn ol’ cuss, and there was just no way he owed Seaforth a nickel.
They were keeping the herd nice and tight, with Curly and Dundee on the right flank, Desi and Taco on the left, riding closer to the front than usual. If and when Seaforth and his men appeared, they were going to have to move fast.
Chance, however, riding drag, was still stuck at the back of the herd, and if the raiders came from ahead, it would take him a moment or two to realize, and then a few seconds to get into the fight.
If the raiders decided to come at them from either side, that suited Jake just fine. That would make for two smaller forces, rather than one large one.
But Seaforth was possibly a former military man, unless the Confederate jacket he was wearing had been bought or stolen. If he was military, there was going to be some strategy involved. Jake and Chance had both served during the Civil War, but neither of them had been an officer.
Chance was of the opinion that the Major’s insignia on the jacket had not been earned. So it was unknown what level of strategy, if any, would be implemented.
Jake’s strategy was simple. Try to do as much damage as quickly as possible, if not to defeat them, then to discourage them. Of course, he knew there was a chance the raiders could strike hard and fast and defeat them. If that happened at least he would have gone down protecting what was his.
* * *
* * *
Sequoia rode back to a point from where he c
ould see the drovers, but they could not see him. They were moving at a good speed. It wouldn’t be long before they were in range.
He turned to ride back to Seaforth and his men, but remembered that the Major had told him to let the drovers see him. He didn’t understand the reason, but he rode up to a high point from where he would be able to see them, and they would be able to see him.
* * *
* * *
Jake rode up alongside the chuckwagon, which had stopped.
“Jefe,” Carlito said, pointing.
“I see ’im,” Jake said.
He saw the man sitting on a horse at the top of a ridge ahead of them. There was no way he could tell whether the man was alone. He might have just been a scout. Or, the other eleven men might have been waiting on the other side of that ridge.
Chance came riding up alongside Jake.
“A scout?” he said.
“Looks like it,” Jake said.
“Why’s he sittin’ there where we can see him, all of a sudden?”
Jake looked at Chance.
“Orders?” Jake asked.
“So Seaforth wants us to know he’s watchin’.”
“That’s what I think.”
“You think Seaforth and his men are just on the other side of that ridge?”
“If they are, they’ll come ridin’ down at us as we get alongside it,” Jake said.
“And if not,” Chance said, “his scout will ride back and tell him to expect us.”
“Either way,” Jake said, “we’re close.”
“What do you wanna do?” Chance asked.
“Get the men in here,” Jake said. “Let’s make a slight change in the plan.”
* * *
* * *
Sequoia felt he had given the drovers enough time to see him. He turned and rode off the ridge, heading back to where he had left Seaforth’s Raiders. It would take him an hour to get there, the drovers and the herd longer than that.
That would give Seaforth plenty of time to ready his raiders.
* * *
* * *
Everythin’ ready?” Jake asked.
Curly and Dundee came to the back of the chuckwagon and looked out.
“We’re ready, boss,” Curly said.
“What about the herd?” Dundee asked. “Once the shootin’ starts, aren’t they gonna stampede?”
Jake looked at Chance, who was sitting his horse right next to him.
“They might,” Chance said. “We’ll have to leave it to Taco and Desi to try and see that they don’t.”
“That’s askin’ a lot of them, ain’t it?” Dundee asked. “Control the herd while shootin’ at the raiders?”
“Let’s hope the three of you can do a lot of damage from the wagon,” Chance said.
“And on the other hand, they might not stampede,” Jake said. “If the raiders come for us and the chuckwagon, we should be far enough away from the herd for them not to be spooked.”
“Hopefully,” Chance said.
“Well,” Jake said, “after what they’ve already been through . . .”
“Gunshots are gunshots,” Chance said. “We just better be ready.”
“What if we are?” Jake asked.
“Are what?” Chance asked.
“Ready,” Jake said. “What if we’re ready . . . but they’re not?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Here they come!” Jake shouted.
Up ahead of them there were suddenly twelve riders, coming straight at them.
Chance, Desi, and Taco rode back to the herd and drew their guns.
Curly and Dundee were inside the chuckwagon, the sides of which had been shored up with supplies—sacks, barrels, anything that could be used for cover.
It was Carlito’s job to get the wagon turned sideways, and also out of the path of the herd.
There was always the chance that a stampeding herd would actually run in the wrong direction. It was Chance, Desi, and Taco’s job to make sure they stampeded in the right direction.
Seaforth chose to come straight at them, which worked into Jake’s plan. At least they would have the herd going in the most advantageous direction.
* * *
* * *
Major Seaforth chose a place where he and his raiders would be hidden from view by a slight rise in the terrain. Only Sequoia sat at the top, watching and waiting. And when he saw the dust being kicked up by the herd, he rode back down to where the raiders were waiting.
“They are here,” he said.
“Get ready!” Seaforth shouted. “We’re riding up this hill. When we get to the top you’ll see the herd, and the drovers. I don’t want a bunch of dead cows. Fire at the chuckwagon driver and anyone ahead of the herd first. Then we’ll take the rest of them.”
They drew their guns and waited. The sound of the herd approaching was the signal to ride up the hill and, as they rode over the crest and saw the herd and the drovers, to start firing.
* * *
* * *
Jake watched as the chuckwagon broke left and, at the same time, he broke right. Behind them Chance, Desi, and Taco started firing into the air, spooking the herd into a stampede—right at the raiders.
Jake had gone from not wanting a stampede, to making use of one.
The stampeding cattle headed right for the approaching raiders.
* * *
* * *
Garfield led the charge of Seaforth’s Raiders at the approaching trail drive. Seaforth—as if he were a real major—hung back to observe as he sent his men into battle. As he watched he saw the chuckwagon turn, the remuda behind it, and the lead rider—presumably Big Jake Motley—go the other way.
And then he saw the herd coming at his men, in full stride and, immediately, he knew he had been outmaneuvered.
There was no way to recall his men.
Dammit!
* * *
* * *
The herd stampeded by Jake and headed straight for the oncoming riders. From the other side Jake could hear Dundee, Curly, and Carlito firing from the cover of the wagon.
From behind him came Chance, Desi, and Taco, their job having been done.
Up ahead, Jake saw the raiders realize what was happening and, as he had hoped, some of them broke left, and some broke right. A couple of horses panicked as the herd approached, reared and dropped their riders, and then ran off, riderless.
“Let’s go!” he shouted at the men.
They rode alongside the stampeding herd part of the way, then broke off to face Seaforth’s men. They were outnumbered five-to-four, but the horses beneath those five raiders were skittish. As Jake, Chance, Desi, and Taco approached they began to fire, which further incited the raiders’ horses. They tried to return fire, but it was difficult as they also tried to control their mounts. One by one they were dropped from their saddles by the lead flying from Jake’s and his men’s rifles.
* * *
* * *
On the other side of the herd four of Seaforth’s men had veered and were fighting their mounts. The dust from the stampeding herd filled the air like an incoming fog. Carlito, Curly, and Dundee fired into it, despite the problem with visibility. These were their orders, to lay down a rapid-fire volley, whether they could see or not.
Inside the clouds of dust Seaforth’s men realized they were being shot at. They tried to see where the firing was coming from, but by the time they spotted the chuckwagon, it turned sideways, the canvas rolled up, and rifles jutted out. Then it was virtually too late.
Two of them tried to ride at the chuckwagon, firing, while the other two turned their horses to run. But it didn’t matter. Either way they went down in the face of the rain of flying lead.
* * *
* * *
>
Jake, Chance, Desi, and Taco were firing with deadly intentions. Perhaps their shots were not particularly well aimed, but there were enough of them. They saw two men fall, and the other three men turned and rode off.
“Should we follow?” Taco asked.
“No,” Jake said, “let’s try to stop the herd before they run themselves down.” He certainly didn’t need any of those cattle losing weight on this drive.
The four of them put up their rifles and rode after the herd.
* * *
* * *
On the other side Curly and Dundee saw Jake’s plan had worked. The raiders were dead, but the cattle were still stampeding. The men ran to their already saddled horses, mounted up, and rode after them.
Carlito remained in the wagon and stayed alert, rifle ready, in case any of the men stood up.
* * *
* * *
Seaforth watched as his men scattered in front of the oncoming herd, watched them fall, victims of a hail of lead from goddamned cowpokes.
He saw that some of his men got away, and thought he recognized them. When they came riding back up the hill toward him he saw that he was right. Garfield, Sequoia, and Gus Walker had survived.
“Jesus,” Garfield said, “what happened?”
“They stampeded the herd themselves,” Walker said, before Seaforth could answer.
“And they secured that chuckwagon so it was like a little fortress,” Seaforth added. “Those damned waddies outsmarted us.”
Us? Garfield thought.
“How many of us made it back?” he asked Seaforth.
“Just you three.”
“So now we’re the ones who are outnumbered,” Garfield observed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Seaforth said, “because I have another plan.”
Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive Page 12