Mystery Herd

by Paul Lederer

  The trees, mostly scrub pines with here and there a blue spruce, grew more numerous and now formed a narrowing corridor through which the herd must pass. The land on either side of the valley was thrust up, not ruggedly steep, but several hundred feet higher than the valley floor below. Trinity made his cautious way toward the ridge above, guiding the steady bay horse through the pines. Willie Meese’s rifle rode across his saddle bow.

  ‘Do your best,’ was what Earl Bates had urged him to do, and what he intended to do. Yet what hope was there for him against a dozen or more men? He briefly let himself, unrealistically, believe that Vincent Battles may have given up, seeing that his original plan was unworkable, and taken his men and ridden away, but Trinity knew that a man like Battles would not even consider such a course.

  He would fight.

  Atop the hill rise, Trinity tried to find a spot where he could look back along the valley. The trees, scattered though they were, obscured his line of sight. Looking to the east, away from the wind, he could see sunlight glinting on the face of the river Trinity had known was there but had never seen. It meandered its southerly way toward Texas. Undoubtedly Earl meant to drive the herd along it until it met the North Platte River, which had to be its source, to ensure that his cattle had water all along the route.

  Somewhere along the river tonight, the cattle would be bedded down. Earl had said he meant them to have a short day, so it would not be long before his men began to bunch them for evening. The men themselves would be dog-tired. Keeping irritable cattle moving in a straight line when they were unused to life on the trail, was hard work. Watching the silver river flow, it occurred to Trinity that if he had conjectured all of this, so would Vincent Battles. And the best time to strike was on this first night with uneasy cattle and weary men wanting only to eat and then sleep. Trinity started his horse toward the river.

  He had to talk to Earl Bates again, convince him that he needed to keep a few men up to watch for Vincent Battles. He knew the answer he would receive. The few men he had with him would already have to divide their sleeping time so that half of the cowboys could ride night herd, keeping watchover the restless herd. He couldn’t have his men falling asleep in the saddle the next day if they had to pull a full night duty standing watch.

  There had to be a way – perhaps he could convince a few men to grudgingly volunteer to ride guard. Because Vincent Battles would come to raid the herd on this night.

  Trinity was convinced of it.

  He made his way along the ridge, moving through the soft, cold shadows of the pines. From time to time, he paused and looked back, searching the hills, the long valley for approaching riders, but he was convinced they would not come until full darkness had fallen. There was nothing to be done just then but to follow the herd along toward the river where Earl meant to bed them down for an uneasy night.

  He came upon their camp at sundown. The cattle lined along the river drank their fill looking around restlessly as if they liked none of this trail life. Weary cowboys kept them hemmed in along the river banks. There were constant attempts to break from the herd and the cow hands, on their cutting horses, were kept busy hieing the rebels back into the herd even now as dusk settled.

  The sky was deep purple, with crimson etched against the few high clouds that remained from the passing storm. Trinity walked his bay around the camp, where men were already unrolling their bedding. There was no chuck wagon – apparently Earl had based this decision on the need for speed over the men’s comfort. Cooky had not been invited along and so the men made catch as catch can meals of salt biscuits, jerky, whatever else they had managed to bring along. This could have been cause for rebelliousness, but apparently these men were used to hardship and loyal to Earl Bates. They comforted themselves with Earl’s promise of a big payday ahead. Small cones of fire flared up, dotting the meadow. These would have to be extinguished soon as complete darkness fell – one more discomfort the trail-weary men would endure, probably with much grumbling.

  Trinity led the bay to water upstream from the cattle and stood watching the river, purple silk in this light, flow past. Beyond the river a chalky white bluff, studded with stately ponderosa pines stood, the last reddish glow of day reflected dully on its face. She slipped up beside him without him hearing her.

  ‘Well, Lieutenant,’ Holly said at his elbow, ‘I thought my brother had driven you off.’

  ‘I can’t go,’ Trinity said, turning to face her. All pretense now discarded, he added, ‘It’s in the army’s best interest to see that this herd gets through to Bridger.’

  ‘Is that why you’re trying to help?’ she asked, with a touch of coyness utterly at odds with her usual brusque manner.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, studying her slightly parted, slightly amused lips.

  ‘I thought maybe you wanted to aid the Owl,’ Holly said.

  ‘There’s that, too,’ he admitted. ‘The two aren’t exclusive motives. Rather they are intertwined.’

  ‘If you are so willing to help, why haven’t I seen you all afternoon? We could have used some help with the breakouts. Earl estimates we’ve already lost a dozen head. Fortunately, my brother, whatever else he is, is a catdeman – we started the drive with fifty more steers than we have promised to deliver.’

  ‘Earl seems to know what he’s doing,’ Trinity replied, evading the question she had asked. How was he to answer her? That he suspected Vincent Battles and his men would ride down on them, if not this very night, soon, and one of Battles’s aims was to eliminate the legitimate owners of the herd so that he could claim possession of the army beef?

  ‘Well,’ Holly said, with a sudden surge of her more typical anger, ‘if you won’t tell a woman what’s going on, would you please at least explain matters to Russell – he trusts you, you know.’

  ‘Still?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Now that he knows I’m an army officer – he is AWOL, you realize.’

  Holly waved a fluttering hand in the air. ‘For now that’s the least of his concerns. He is only determined to get through to Fort Bridger with the cattle. It is a debt he owes to our father.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Russell,’ Trinity said. He knew the little red-haired girl was miffed with him, but was not entirely sure why.

  ‘This is my herd, you know!’ Holly said sharply. ‘No one else’s. I have the right to know what’s happening – even if I wear a divided riding skirt and not a pair of blue jeans.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Holly—’ Trinity said haltingly, but it was too late. She turned and stalked away before he could finish. The light was not good enough to see the flash in her golden eyes, but he was sure it was there. Someone needed to tame that girl’s emotions down a little, he considered, and then, angry with himself, he stepped toward the bay, loosened its cinch to make it more comfortable and led it back toward the dying campfires and sleeping men. Russell Bates found Trinity first.

  ‘Well?’ Russell said with a hint of truculence as Trinity slipped the saddle from the bay preparatory to staking it out on the long grass. Trinity glanced at the shadowy man beside him. He could not see the angry fear on Russell’s face, but he could sense it and detect it in the shaky resonance of his voice.

  ‘Well what? Is everyone going to start a conversation with a demand?’

  ‘I’m not demanding anything,’ Russell countered. ‘I just need some clarification. What in hell is going on, and what comes next?’

  ‘I can’t predict what comes next. I’m no seer.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Russell insisted.

  ‘Maybe.’ Trinity looked toward the settling camp. ‘Let’s move away a little, and I’ll answer your questions.’

  Russell hesitated, studying the dying camp-fires, the few men still sitting up, sipping coffee, talking in low voices, and nodded his head toward the forest verge. ‘All right. Over there.’

  When they had distanced themselves from the camp and stood isolated by the shadows of th
e night trees’, Russell again asked his question, not much less sharply than before. ‘Well? Trinity, you owe me an explanation.’

  Trinity leaned his back against a pine and answered, ‘I was sent down here for a reason, Russell. Men who had been fired from the Owl by Vincent Battles told someone that you were trying to sell infected beef to the army.’

  ‘That’s not—’ Russell objected automatically.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Trinity had to tell him. He went on to repeat the story of his discovery of the second herd hidden in Bear Valley. ‘Those were the cattle Battles meant to deliver.’

  ‘It would have ruined the Owl!’ Russell was stunned angry. ‘When I tell Earl.…’

  ‘He already knows,’ Trinity said.

  ‘You never told me you were an army officer,’ Russell complained.

  ‘Would you have let me tag along if I’d told you that? Would you have trusted me?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Russell said grudgingly. ‘I would have suspected it was me you were after.’

  ‘Yes – none of that is my business, although when we get to Bridger, I mean to put in a word for you. After all, it’s not desertion yet, it’s still the fairly minor infraction of AWOL.’

  ‘It won’t do any good – Captain Nunn has it in for me.’

  ‘He’s the post commander?’

  ‘Acting commander. Colonel Little took a month’s leave last month to visit his family in the East.’

  ‘And you asked Nunn for a compassionate leave?’

  ‘I told him my father was dying, yes. He refused to grant me leave.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem right,’ Trinity said, frowning in the darkness. ‘Tell me, what was Captain Nunn’s position before he assumed command?’

  ‘He did a little of everything,’ Russell said. ‘He was a line officer if there were hostilities; when things were calm he was a delegate to the Indian tribes. He was also procurement officer. Several other jobs—’

  ‘Procurement officer,’ Trinity said, interrupting. ‘Then Lieutenant Ross, the man who inspected the herd, must have reported to Nunn.’

  ‘I suppose so. Do you think Nunn is involved in all this – that that is why he didn’t want me coming down to the Owl?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Trinity had to say. ‘A lot of things could be. We’ll find out eventually, and when I get back to division headquarters, Nunn may find himself in a lot of hot water.’ For all Trinity knew that was one reason he had been sent to investigate – maybe Nunn had pulled some other shady deals in his time. His orders had not outlined the reasons behind the investigation, but simply ordered Trinity to conduct one. He had done his part; it was up to others with higher rank to figure out what to do next.

  As if it had only now occurred to Russell, he said, ‘If we beat Battles to Bridger – and we will – he’s lost his game. Unless.…’

  ‘Yes, unless he strikes. And he can’t have one of the Owl owners left alive to tell the story – that includes you.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ Russell said, his voice now softening apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Trinity. I’m so stupid; I didn’t have any idea what was going on.’

  ‘Your father could have told you – Dalton Remy must have discovered the plan.’

  ‘So they hanged him!’

  ‘You saw him yourself. Why else would that have been done? I also believe that your father must have left you a letter explaining matters which you could not find because it had been destroyed before you got home.’

  ‘Makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Russell said. ‘Vincent Battles was already living in the house when we got there. He could have found it. Or.…’ His voice trailed off. Trinity knew what he was going to say. Or one of his sisters did not want it found.

  Not Holly, certainly. She was riding for the Owl brand, always would. She knew what the cattle sale meant to their future prospects – a large part of what was keeping her so on edge these days. As for Millicent, whose silk-clad arm Trinity had seen drawing Battles into her room that night, perhaps she had positioned herself where she figured she could not lose either way.

  Trinity did not say this to Russell. The kid was clever enough to figure it out himself. Besides, the conclusion could prove to be wrong; it was based on no more than conjecture, and a single episode of contact between Millicent and Battles, which could have also been taken wrong by Trinity.

  ‘He’ll want to stop us soon,’ Russell said, his thoughts far away from Trinity’s own.

  ‘Yes. It’s a good bet that he’ll make his try this very night,’ Trinity agreed.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ the kid asked, now shaken.

  ‘You’re a soldier, Russell, as am I – we prepare for battle as well as we can, then wait for the enemy to make his move.’

  TEN

  It was a cold, moonless night. The wind had risen and it rattled its way through the pines where Trinity was standing watch. A chill had worked into his bones as midnight came and went. The river continued to slink past, black and sinuous. Now and then a cow bawled or a night rider rode past whistling or singing softly to calm the cattle, but for the most part the frigid night was still. Trinity’s bay horse dozed, but Trinity could not allow himself that luxury. He knew that Vincent Battles and his men were out and about on this night even though he had not caught a sign of movement, heard a whisper of sound that did not belong.

  Russell Bates stood his post not fifty yards from where Trinity had picked his own hill ridge position. Russell was motionless in the night, squatting on his heels, rifle across his knees. The kid had taken everything Trinity had to say quite seriously and so he suffered through the night as well. He was still an army man, and more important to him was the knowledge that the Owl was lost if Vincent Battles took this herd – that he, Earl, Holly would be shown no mercy if they tried to block his way. Again, without having mentioned it, Russell had placed his trust in Trinity.

  The trouble was Lieutenant Trinity Ray Tucker had little to offer in the way of assistance or even advice. Battles had not arrived with his gunfighters – Trinity’s first surprise of the night. He had been sure that Battles would strike early and hard. Someone among them must have been ent out as a scout, and the low, still-burning fires would have given the camp away. Yet Trinity had not seen, nor heard, anything of a prowling man.

  Yet, he knew he could be wrong. Once on the plains, they had seen and heard nothing of a young Comanche who had scouted and then infiltrated their camp, finding a pint of whiskey in a cavalryman’s gear. Although they had guards posted, they had known nothing of the Indian until they found him among them in the morning, holding his drunken head in his hands.

  No, there were men who were highly skilled at infiltration, and not all of them were Red men. Some among Vincent Battles’s group were surely Civil War veterans, and could have even once been Confederate spies. A man learns many skills in life – if he lives long enough. And if he lives long, he is very good at his craft indeed.

  A twig cracked behind Trinity and he looked that way, hands gripped on his rifle. It could have been a falling branch, brought down by the wind, or perhaps one trodden on by a deer in the forest. Trinity moved very slowly, shifting his position without rising to his feet. There was no way to signal Russell. Trinity stared at the darkness for long minutes, afraid to blink. Nothing moved, no shadow separated itself from the general gloom of night. No one was there – not this time.

  He fought off sleep and tried to ignore the cold embrace of the night. He shivered and cursed silently the whole night through. Dawn came so slowly, unexpectedly, that Trinity thought he was imagining it at first. It had been that long since he had seen daylight, or so it seemed. A thin band of gold showed through the ponderosa pines atop the white bluff across the river; the rest of the eastern horizon was deep blue-violet. Below him Trinity could see some movement in the camp as the cowboys rose to face another exhausting day. Trinity got to his feet, stretched cold muscles and looked toward Russell, to see how he was doing.
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  Suddenly twenty of Battles’ riders burst from the forest behind him and rode furiously down the slope. They seemed not to have seen Trinity. He went to a knee and shot at one of them, lifting the raider from his saddle. That brought a flurry of answering shots as Trinity dove for the shelter of a fallen log, but no one pursued him. The focus of the Battles riders was on the herd below and the men there who now fled, dove for their weapons or stood frozen with shock as the riders bore down on them.

  Then the firing on both sides escalated. The Owl men shot back with random intensity. Trinity saw another rider go down, saw a cowboy get to his feet, holding his chest to stagger away toward the river.

  The cattle awoke as one mammoth beast. Panicked, they milled hesitantly, not knowing which way to run. They shied away from the onrushing riders, but could not turn and cross the river where escape was blocked by the white bluff. Earl Bates had employed his own stratagem – his night riders all were deployed to the south of the herd, blocking the cattle from returning to home range. That left the herd with only one way to run – to the north, nearer to Fort Bridger, which outside of those few scattered and lost, would only be an advantage to Owl when the steers had to be gathered once more.

  Trinity recognized all of this without giving it examination. He had one job right now, and it was to try to drive the Battles gang off before … before someone could be hurt. He forked the bay and drove down on the raiders, rifle to his shoulder. He fired twice, saw one man go down, missed on the second shot, heard another rifle crack beside him. Russell Bates, his face grim, was also shooting on the run, his Winchester speaking as he charged down the slope toward the confused herd and bewildered chaos of the Owl riders.

  From the south now, in a charge that would have done an army tactician proud, Earl Bates entered the fray leading his four night riders in a full charge toward the Battles men. One of the raiders span his horse, twisted in his saddle, in obvious confusion. The herd and the river were in front of him, Earl Bates charging from the south. He stiffened with shock as he realized now that there were guns behind him as well. He seemed to be looking directly at Russell Bates when the kid fired his rifle. The hired gun’s hands flew up, he lost his grip on his rifle and toppled from the saddle as his horse made a mad dash northward. Trinity recognized the man. Dave Plimford would never trouble anyone again.