Boxley stiffened. “I guess you mean my herd’s most as fat as Katie stuff.”
“Yeh. That’s what I mean. Because they are Katie stuff, Boxley. That’s why yo’re willin’ to sell ’em so cheap. To get somethin’ out of ’em and get ’em away from this part of the country before yore new wife learns that you’ve been rustlin’ from her all the time.”
Boxley slowly set his glass down. His right forearm rested tensely on the edge of the bar, curved fingers not more than inches above the ornate gun butt on his left hip.
“You are talkin’ crazy now.” He laughed shortly. “I showed you on paper how I changed the X L brand to make a Star Boxed Cross.”
“Yeh. That was smart. But I got to thinkin’ how a K T would change over into that same brand just as easy. Just extend the two short parts of the K on out an’ it makes a six-pointed star. And if you put a foot on the bottom of the T, an’ two lines down to box it in, an’ then a straight line across …”
There was blurred motion in front of Pat, and Boxley’s holster was empty.
Pat’s body went limp all over, and from his relaxed posture he simply folded up like an accordion on the floor.
Boxley’s bullet went over his head, and Pat shot upward, the slug tearing into Boxley’s chest at an angle.
At the same moment, Ezra’s gun spoke twice.
Boxley staggered back, firing a wild bullet into the ceiling. Behind him, Thad Thompson was pivoted half-way around by the impact of Ezra’s two bullets. He went to the floor with his gun still half drawn.
Pat got to his feet and coolly shot again as Boxley desperately fought to right himself.
His second bullet drove the X L rancher’s front teeth back into his throat. Boxley fell to the floor on top of Thad.
Pat picked up his drink with his left hand and rested the smoking muzzle of his gun on the bar pointed carelessly toward the half-breed bartender. “You want any of this?”
“Madre de Dios, no!” the man ejaculated, backing away with both hands in the air.
“Then get back to the rear room an’ untie the fellow that’s there. Bring him in here.”
Pat lifted his glass and drained it as the bartender darted out to obey the order.
“I swan, I never thought about that brand-blottin’,” Ezra said placidly. “Should of, though, when I saw that fat stuff tonight. Couldn’t come from no part of the Big Bend we’ve seen ’cept the Katie ranch.”
“That’s right. I suspected it before I saw them. Boxley overplayed his hand,” Pat went on, “bein’ so eager to sell ’em so cheap. With the ranch and the gal fallin’ in his lap, he had to get the evidence of his rustling out of here fast. So, he couldn’t afford to bargain.”
“I still can’t get it clear in my head how it worked,” Ezra muttered, wrinkling up his broad forehead. “Lessee, now. A K an’ a T.” He drew a K in the air with his forefinger but continued to look puzzled. “Sounded awright when you was tellin’ it to him,” he complained. He looked around for something to make a mark with, picked up a burnt matchstick and squatted down beside the two dead bodies.
He dipped the stick in a pool of blood that had formed beneath them and carefully drew a K and a T on the floor. He stared at the letters in perplexity for a moment while Pat watched him, an amused smile on his face.
Then he nodded and extended the two short parts of the K the same distance beyond the upright line. “I see it now,” he exclaimed. “That’s the star. Now, you take the T …”
He was interrupted by the rear door being flung open and Dusty Morgan bursting in.
The young puncher slid to a stop, saying hoarsely, “I heard shootin …” He stopped to stare at Pat and Ezra. “Oh! It’s you-all,” he ended weakly.
“We said we’d meet you here,” Pat reminded him.
He came forward slowly, staring down at the two dead men. “You might of waited for me to settle with them two,” he muttered bitterly. “I wanted to see how fast Boxley’s fancy draw was.”
“Plenty fast. But it’s better this way,” Pat told him. “There’s a gal waitin’ for you across the river that don’t like killin’. That’s why I did the job for you.”
Dusty didn’t seem to hear him. He said, “I figure Boxley arranged the stage holdup to get Ben Thurston out of the way. An’ that other feller on the floor hit me over the head with a bottle an’ tied me up in the back room when they suspected maybe they’d made a mistake and I was Ben. Along with some others,” he added.
“Three others altogether,” Pat agreed. “Right now them other three are trailin’ a herd of rustled Katie stock up the river.”
“A herd of rustled Katie stock?”
“That’s right,” Pat nodded placidly. “I bought ’em from Lon Boxley just before I killed him. Made a good bargain with him too,” he added proudly, “but now I won’t have to pay anything with him dead.”
“I’m goin’ after them other three.” Dusty started forward angrily. “They were all in one gang, I reckon.”
Pat said, “We’ll all go.” He and Ezra followed Dusty out the cantina door. They mounted and galloped up the river road.
“Can’t be more’n a couple of miles away,” Pat cautioned Dusty. “When we come up to ’em they won’t think nothing because they’re expectin’ me an’ Ezra to be along. You hang back so’s they won’t recognize you, an’ I’ll circle ahead to get the trail leader. When I start shootin’, you an’ Ezra open up on the two behind. We might’s well finish up the whole gang while we’re at it … keep Miss Katie from havin’ any more trouble with rustlers for a time.”
They came up on the tail end of the slow-moving herd swiftly. “Drop back here where they won’t see you,” Pat cautioned Dusty. “You can come up fast when the shootin’ starts.”
Dusty pulled his horse down to a walk and Pat and Ezra galloped ahead. As Pat had anticipated, one of the riders was ahead of the herd acting as a pacesetter and leader, while the other two men worked the flanks and the rear to keep the slower moving cattle pushed up with the others.
While Ezra dropped into line with them, Pat spurred his horse around the edge of the herd and pulled up in the road alongside the lead rider.
It turned out to be Jake Drubber. He nodded shortly as he recognized Pat in the moonlight. “You an’ yore one-eyed pardner ridin’ with us?” he growled.
“Not far. Only to the ford across the river leading through the Katie spread to Boxley’s ranch.”
“Ford’s right up ahead there.” Jake pointed toward a break in the line of willows. “You’ve shore bought a good bunch of stock,” he added enviously.
Pat nodded. “They look good to me. You been workin’ for Boxley long?”
“A year back. Off an’ on.” Jake rose in his stirrups and turned to look back at the herd. “They’re gettin’ strung out good,” he commented.
Pat nodded. They were nearing the ford now, almost abreast of it. He said, “I don’t like a man that steals cattle from a gal.”
Jake shot him a startled glance. He blustered, “These here are X L cows.”
Pat said, “That’s a lie an’ you know it.” The ford across the river was almost directly on their right.
Jake said, “Don’t be callin’ me a liar …”
And Pat cut him off shortly, “Go for yore gun if you don’t like it.”
Jake went for his gun.
Pat waited until it was half-drawn, then killed him with a bullet through the heart.
Jake’s horse snorted and leaped sideways as his rider fell. Pat whooped loudly and turned the riderless horse down toward the ford. He whirled and rode in front of the herd, shooting into the ground in front of them and hazing them off the road to follow the horse.
He heard shooting and saw yellow flashes of flame in the night from behind. The startled animals became panicky and broke into a run, bawling with terror and swinging off the road behind their leaders across the water and through the gate which Pat had left open a couple of hours earlier.
&n
bsp; He kept his place there in the road to turn every animal across the river.
The last remnants of the stolen herd were galloping by with tails high in the air when Ezra and Dusty rode up excitedly.
“We got both them fellers that was behind,” Ezra shouted. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing.” Pat grinned at him in the moonlight. “Except ride across and close the gate on three hundred an’ seventy head of fat stock.”
Ezra’s jaw sagged. Then he waggled his shaggy head at Pat. “You had it figgered this way all the time. That’s why you left that gate open. So we could run ’em back into the Katie pasture easy.”
Pat said, “I hoped it’d work out this way.” The last frightened animal had floundered through the water and found the open pasture gate on the other side. Silence settled down upon the Rio Grande.
Dusty said, “Miss Katie will be glad to get her stock back.”
“Why don’t you go tell her about it?” Pat turned his horse toward the river. “Ezra an’ me have got a date with a tequila jug.”
Dusty remained where he was. “I better stay on this side of the Border where I belong … where there ain’t no law.” His young voice was heavy with hurt and bitterness.
Pat stopped and said, “Yore hawses are waitin’ for you at the Katie.”
“They’ll have to stay there. I’m ridin’ south.”
“Miss Katie’ll be mighty disappointed,” Pat warned him. “She’s done lost two men she was expectin’ to marry in the last twenty-four hours. It’ll go mighty hard on her if she ain’t got a man to comfort her now. An’ she needs somebody to take hold of the Katie an’ see there ain’t no more rustlin’.”
“I can’t go back,” Dusty cried out angrily. “You know why I can’t. It’s better this way. If I go back there I’ll never get up the nerve to leave again. An’ then some day … when everything looks good … I’ll be recognized for a sheriff killer.”
“Oh, that?” Pat laughed and said to Ezra, “Can you imagine that? We done forgot to tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Dusty’s voice broke.
“That you ain’t no fugitive no more,” Pat chuckled. “That gal, Rosa, killed the sheriff her ownself. You don’t have to hide out.”
“Then,” stuttered Dusty, “maybe I better … ride up to the ranch an’ tell her about the rustled stock.”
Pat said gravely, “Sounds like a good idea.”
Dusty stammered something further and spurred his horse down the bank to splash into the water.
Ezra and Pat followed more slowly. As they let their horses drink, Pat sighed and muttered, “For no good reason at all, I feel sort of old tonight.”
“We’re a couple of damn fools,” Ezra muttered disgustedly. “We ain’t got nothin’ outta this trip.”
Fading into the night silence they could hear the faint thud of Dusty Morgan’s eagerly galloping horse.
“I feel sort of good inside,” Pat Stevens said simply.
“An’ I feel sorta empty,” Ezra growled. “Le’s go see how much tequila there is left at the X L ranch. An’ then,” he added hopefully, “why don’t we clean out the rest of Boxley’s riders?”
Pat said, “We’ll do ’er … if there’s enough tequila,” and they rode on across the river.
About the Author
Brett Halliday (1904–1977) was the primary pseudonym of American author Davis Dresser. Halliday is best known for creating the Mike Shayne Mysteries. The novels, which follow the exploits of fictional PI Mike Shayne, have inspired several feature films, a radio series, and a television series.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1944 by William Morrow and Company, Inc.
Copyright renewed © 1971 by David Dresser
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-5040-2492-1
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
EARLY BIRD BOOKS
FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY
BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—
NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!
POWDER VALLEY WESTERN EBOOKS
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Available wherever ebooks are sold
Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.
Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases
Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.
Sign up now at
www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM
FOLLOW US:
@openroadmedia and
Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia
The Smoking Iron Page 15