Brotherhood of Evil

by William W. Johnstone

  She leaned forward on the seat and called encouragement to the young man seated in the saddle of a wildly plunging and bucking bronc. “Hang on, Cal! You can do it!”

  The cowboys gathered along the corral fence cheered young Calvin Woods, too. He wasn’t a top hand when it came to bronc busting, but he wasn’t bad, either.

  The big bay he was on was a particularly salty specimen. From the looks of things, he was about to go flying off the horse’s back at any second. Half a dozen times, he had already come within a hairsbreadth of losing his seat.

  Sally was so engrossed in Cal’s battle with the bay, she didn’t notice the rider coming down out of the hills surrounding the ranch headquarters. If she had been looking, she would have seen that he was a tall, lean cowboy with a rugged face and a thick dark mustache touched with gray. At the moment, his face was set in a grim, worried expression.

  He reined his paint pony to a halt just as Cal finally lost the war when the bay threw a particularly wicked jump and twist.

  He yelled and his arms and legs waved frantically as he sailed into the air. His hat was long since gone, or it would have flown off, too.

  Before he ever hit the ground, several of the Sugarloaf hands piled off the top rail and dashed forward. A couple shouted and waved their hats in the air to distract the bay. It pranced away, obviously well-satisfied. Cal crashed to the hard-packed earth with bone-jarring, teeth-rattling force. The other two ran to Cal, caught hold of him under the arms, and hauled him to his feet. They hustled him over to the gate, which another man swung open. The bay didn’t have a reputation as a man killer, but there was no point in taking chances.

  As soon as the men had Cal outside the corral, the gate was shut again, and the two cowboys who’d been distracting the bay ran for the fence while the horse chased them, clearly not putting much effort into it. As the men scrambled over the fence, the bay turned away and tossed his head arrogantly as if to say that he had showed them.

  Sally climbed down from the buckboard seat and hurried over to Cal, who was leaning over with his hands resting on his thighs as he breathed heavily, trying to recover the air that had been knocked out of him by the fall.

  “Cal, are you all right?” she asked him.

  Without looking up, the young puncher replied, “Yeah, I . . . reckon I am . . . Miss Sally. Just gotta . . . catch my breath.”

  With a grin, one of the other cowboys said, “By tomorrow he’ll have a big ol’ bruise where he lit down, but luckily that’s where none of us ’ll have to look at it!”

  “Yeah, he might’ve been better off if he’d landed on his head,” another cowboy gibed. “That’s so hard he never woulda felt it!”

  “You boys . . . are just too blasted funny . . . for words,” Cal panted. He finally lifted his head and glared toward the corral, where the bay was still prancing around proudly. “I’ll get that . . . son of a gun . . . next time.”

  “There’s real work to be done first,” a harsh voice said.

  Sally looked around, finally realizing the newcomer was there. When she saw the expression on his lined and weathered face, she immediately asked, “What’s wrong, Pearlie?”

  He thumbed his black hat to the back of his head and swung down from the saddle. “Reckon we’d better talk over to the house, Miss Sally.”

  She felt a chill go through her. Pearlie served as the foreman of the crew that worked the Sugarloaf, and as such, he was a hard worker but usually had a carefree grin on his face.

  In earlier times, he had been an outlaw and a gunman, and if things had gone a little differently, Smoke might have wound up killing him instead of hiring him. In moments such as this, when he looked like he was ready for trouble, Sally caught a glimpse of the dangerous hombre Pearlie had been—and still was, when need be.

  “All right. That’s fine.” She glanced over at one of the hands. “Brad, can you take the buckboard back to the barn and tend to the team?”

  “Sure thing, Miss Sally,” the man said as he lifted a hand and pinched the brim of his hat.

  There wasn’t a man on Sugarloaf who didn’t treat her with the utmost respect. Not only because it would have been dangerous to do otherwise, since her husband was considered one of the deadliest men with a gun on the whole frontier. Quite possibly the deadliest. The members of the Sugarloaf crew, which was plenty salty itself, treated Sally Jensen the way they did because they knew she would do to ride the river with. She might have been born back east, but her life as Smoke’s wife had taught her how to rope and ride and shoot as well as most men and better than some. Over and above that, she had sand and had proven her courage on more than one occasion. She was smart as a whip, too.

  Pearlie handed the paint’s reins to one of the other men and walked toward the big ranch house with Sally, his spurs chinking with every step. It was a beautiful day in the high country, but no one would have known that by looking at him.

  As they reached the porch, out of earshot of the other men, Sally said, “I can fetch some cold buttermilk and cornbread—”

  “Any other time I’d be mighty tempted, ma’am,” he interrupted.

  That slight breach of manners was enough to tell her just how upset Pearlie really was.

  He went on. “Right now, I need to tell you what I just saw up on Lone Pine Ridge.”

  “Go ahead,” she urged.

  Pearlie took a deep breath. “Those three fellas I spotted before are back, and I swear to you, Miss Sally, they’re up to no good!”

  Chapter 9

  Sally frowned. “Were you close enough to get a good look at them?”

  Pearlie shook his head. “No, they were up on the ridge and I was in the meadow down below, checkin’ to see how the winter grass is comin’ in. I think they were keepin’ an eye on me. My skin got to crawlin’ and my back felt like it had a target painted on it, so I’m convinced they were fixin’ to bushwhack me if I got any closer to ’em. I drifted on outta there sort of casual-like, so they wouldn’t know I’d spotted ’em.”

  “You did the right thing,” Sally said vehemently.

  “I ain’t so sure about that.” Pearlie grimaced. “It felt like runnin’ away. Smoke wouldn’t have ever done that.”

  “Smoke wouldn’t have risked getting himself killed for no good reason, either,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe, but I don’t like those fellas skulkin’ around Sugarloaf without knowin’ who they are or what they’re doin’ here.”

  Neither did Sally. It wasn’t the first time Pearlie had spotted strangers on Sugarloaf range. Some of the other men had reported seeing unknown riders in the past couple weeks, too. Those riders always disappeared whenever anyone got too close to them. It was a worrisome situation.

  She was confident that they could handle it, though. She’d had Pearlie and Cal make a survey of the herds and they hadn’t found any stock missing, so it didn’t appear that the lurkers had rustling in mind.

  It was possible the strangers were just hombres passing through the area. In each case, the riders might have been different men.

  She had broached that possibility with Pearlie, and he hadn’t agreed with the idea.

  “Looked like the same horses to me each time,” he had said, “and from talkin’ to the other fellas who’ve seen ’em, they agree. We’ve got three fellas who’re lookin’ for trouble.”

  As she paced back and forth on the porch, Sally said, “This has gone on long enough. We need to get to the bottom of it.”

  “That’s the way I see it, too, ma’am. I’ll get the crew together and we’ll go up to Lone Pine Ridge and roust out those hombres—”

  “No,” Sally broke in, shaking her head. “If you take all the men up there, those strangers are bound to see you coming. They’ll either hide, or more likely they’ll clear out before you ever get there.”

  “Well, if they light a shuck, then we won’t have to worry about ’em no more.”

  “But what’s to stop them from coming back later? We need to
lay our hands on them and persuade them to answer some questions. A job like that requires more stealth than force.”

  “So what are you sayin’ we ought to do?”

  “You can go after them, but you should take a couple people with you—Cal . . . and me.”

  Pearlie’s eyes widened. As he stared at her, he exclaimed, “Aw, he—heck, no, Miss Sally. I don’t mind takin’ Cal along—the kid ain’t near as green as he used to be—but Smoke ’d skin my hide if I was to put you in any danger.”

  “How do we know any of us will be in any danger? Those men may be harmless.”

  Pearlie’s scornful grunt made it clear just how likely he considered that possibility to be.

  “This is my ranch as well as Smoke’s. I have a right to know what’s happening out on our range.”

  “I ain’t disputin’ that, but I can find out and then tell you.”

  “I’m going along.” Sally didn’t like giving orders, but sometimes it was necessary. “That’s final.”

  Pearlie looked narrowly at her “How come?”

  “How come what?”

  “How come you’re so dead set on riskin’ your life this way? No disrespect intended, ma’am, but it seems to me you’re smarter than that.”

  Sally’s face warmed with anger. Her first thought was that Pearlie had no right to speak to her that way, but then she realized he had every right. She and Smoke had no more loyal friend than the ex-gunman. He was worried about her, that’s all.

  And honestly, she didn’t have an answer for his question. Maybe she was just feeling the restlessness that came from being stuck at the ranch for a long period of time while Smoke was gone. Their life together had been adventurous, to say the least. On numerous occasions, she had heard the roar of guns close up, smelled the sharp tang of burned powder.

  To Smoke, whether he wanted to admit it or not, such things were the breath of life. Sally didn’t crave excitement to the same extent, but after a while she began to miss it.

  “I don’t want to cause trouble,” she said. “Pick one more man to come with us. If we get close to those skulkers, I’ll hang back and let the three of you round them up. But I want to question them myself.”

  Pearlie scratched his angular, beard-stubbled jaw. Clearly he didn’t care for the idea, but he knew there was only so much he could argue with her. “All right. I reckon we can try it that way, but if it looks like there’s gonna be trouble and I tell you to hurry on back here to headquarters, you’ll do what I say, right?”

  “Of course.” Sally paused, then added, “Within reason.”

  Pearlie sighed. “I got a hunch that last part’s gonna be the problem.”

  Chapter 10

  It was too late in the day to start out on their mission, so that gave Pearlie a chance to think about who he wanted to take with him besides Cal.

  He settled on a puncher named Ben Hardy, who had been working on the Sugarloaf for a while. He was a quiet, competent, graying man who seemed like he would be coolheaded under fire, although that hadn’t really been tested since he’d gone to work for Smoke.

  Pearlie hadn’t pried into the man’s background, either. Such things were seldom done in the West, where every day was a new beginning.

  He called Cal and Hardy aside that evening and led them out of the bunkhouse to explain what they were going to do.

  When Cal heard that Sally intended to come along, he said, “Aw, shoot, Pearlie, that’s not a good idea.”

  “You ain’t tellin’ me anything I don’t already know, kid,” Pearlie replied. “You try arguin’ with the lady when she’s got her mind made up about somethin’.”

  Hardy said, “I never heard of a woman getting mixed up in something that could turn out to be gun trouble.”

  “You ain’t never met a woman like Sally Jensen, neither,” Pearlie told him. “Things have been pretty quiet around here since you signed on, Ben, but when hell starts to pop, Miss Sally is usually right there in the middle of it. She’s loaded guns for us more ’n once durin’ a siege, and she’ll put a rifle to her shoulder and blow a hole through a varmint that needs ventilatin’, too, if need be. She’s the finest lady I ever knowed, bar none. Just don’t expect her to swoon if things get rough.”

  “But we’re going to do our best to protect her, right?”

  “Damn right we are,” Pearlie snapped. “Whether she likes it or not.”

  They were up early the next morning, breakfasting well before dawn. The eastern sky was turning gray when they went into the barn to saddle four horses, including a mare that Sally liked to ride.

  She came in while they were doing that. She wore boots, jeans, and an open sheepskin jacket over a man’s shirt. Her long, thick dark hair was tucked up under a flat-crowned brown hat.

  Some folks would consider it scandalous for a woman to dress like that, but nobody would ever accuse Sally Jensen of impropriety. She had a way of making whatever she did seem perfectly normal and proper.

  Besides, the Winchester carbine tucked under her arm went a long way toward discouraging criticism.

  With her free hand, she patted the canvas pouch slung over her shoulder. “I packed some sandwiches for us in case we’re out all day.”

  “What kind?” Cal asked, ignoring the frown Pearlie directed toward him.

  “Roast beef,” Sally replied with a smile.

  “And some bear sign?”

  “I might have wrapped up some to take along with us.”

  Cal grinned. “I sort of hope it takes a while to round up those mavericks, then.”

  “You better tighten that saddle cinch,” Pearly told him, “or else you’re liable to fall off and land on your head ’fore we get halfway to where we’re goin’.”

  “Haven’t you heard? My head’s so hard any time I land on it, I don’t even feel it.”

  Pearlie snorted. “You ain’t gettin’ an argument from me.”

  Sally slung the pouch from her saddle and slid the carbine into its sheath. She turned to Hardy. “You’re coming along with us, Ben?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You don’t think you should argue about a woman getting mixed up in this?”

  Hardy said, “It’s not my place to argue, ma’am. I ride for the brand.”

  “That’s good to know.” Sally turned to Pearlie. “I understand why you’re worried about this. You think that if the three of you are having to look after me, it’s liable to increase the danger for all of us.”

  “You said it, ma’am, not me.”

  “That’s why I don’t want you looking after me. I can take care of myself.”

  He nodded. “Sure thing.” None of us believe that for a second, though.

  He and Cal would sacrifice their own lives to keep anything from happening to her. Whether or not Hardy would was still open to question, but Pearlie had a hunch he might.

  All in all, he still had plenty of misgivings about it as they all rode out a short time later.

  Lone Pine Ridge was about six miles north of the ranch headquarters. A tall, sandstone bluff, it ran for a mile or more along a bench at the base of a rocky upthrust that turned into a rugged mountain as it rose. In front of the bluff was a broad pasture that served as part of the winter range for Sugarloaf. One tree, a towering pine, grew at the bluff’s edge overlooking the pasture and gave the ridge its name.

  A fairly easy trail ran from the pasture up the bluff to the bench, but the approach to it was out in the open where anybody at the top could see who was coming.

  A higher trail led around a shoulder of the mountain, but it wasn’t as accessible. To get to it, a person had to ride up a steep, rocky slope, then follow a narrow ledge with a forty foot drop-off beside it.

  That was the way Pearlie intended for them to reach Lone Pine Ridge.

  At the base of the scree-littered slope, he reined in. “We better get down and lead these horses. Less chance of ’em slippin’ and takin’ a tumble that way.”

  “You don’t ha
ve to make it easier for me,” Sally said.

  “No such thing,” Pearlie told her. “I ain’t in the mood for a broken neck this mornin’.”

  “In that case,” Sally said with a smile, “it sounds like a good idea to me.”

  They swung down from their saddles and started up the slope, gripping their mounts’ reins. By the time they reached the top, Sally was puffing and blowing, out of breath from the exertion.

  “We’ll hold up a minute here,” Pearlie said.

  “I’m . . . all right,” she told him. “I can . . . go on . . . any time.”

  “Soon as the horses rest a mite.”

  She nodded gratefully.

  A few minutes later, they mounted up again.

  Pearlie said, “The trail’s only wide enough for one horse at a time. I’ll take the lead. Cal, you come behind me, then you, Miss Sally. Ben, you’ll be bringin’ up the rear.”

  Hardy nodded. “Fine by me.”

  Pearlie heeled his horse into motion. He had to ride only a short distance before venturing onto the ledge that wrapped around the side of the mountain. The others followed him, one at a time as he had laid out.

  The trail angled up steadily, but it wasn’t too steep. Pearlie rode with his rifle held across the saddle in front of him, ready for trouble. He didn’t expect to run into the strangers as soon as they reached the bench, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t.

  Even worse, it was possible they might run into the skulkers on the one-way trail. If that led to a gunfight and any of the horses spooked . . .

  The fall wasn’t as high as it was in many places in the rugged country, but it was plenty high enough to be fatal. Pearlie sort of held his breath as he rode.

  Nothing happened. They reached the end of the trail, where it led out onto the bench on top of the ridge, about half an hour later.

  Pearlie held up a hand in a signal for the group to halt. He leaned forward in the saddle and took a good look at the terrain in front of him. The bench was half a mile wide and stretched for a mile, like the bluff. There might be only one lone pine at the edge, but the rest of the bluff was heavily wooded. Some grass grew up there, but not enough to provide good graze, which was why they had never brought any stock up the other trail. It wouldn’t have been worth the trouble.