"Only by name and what Lisa told me. But I've an idea he's been around, under one name or another." Then we rode toward the major's ranch.
When we rode up to the ranch-house door, the major came out. When he saw Ann, he rushed toward her. "Ann? Are you all right?"
"Yes. I am. Thanks to Milo." Briefly, she explained. The major's face stiffened.
"We'll go get him," he said flatly. "Tom, get the boys together. Full marching order, three days rations. We'll get him, and we'll get those cattle, every damned one of them!"
He turned to one of the other men who had come up. "Will, ride over to Balch. Tell him what's happened, and tell him to come on over here with some men."
"I'll ride back to my outfit," I said. "Remember, if that girl's there ... she's done no harm. But we'd better move fast, because Twin Baker will."
Swinging my horse around, I lit out for the Stirrup-Iron, riding the grulla and leading the dun. They were all there in the ranch yard when I rode in. Henry Rossiter, Barby Ann, Fuentes, Roper and Harley. From the look of them, I knew something was wrong.
"You got back just in time!" Rossiter said. "We're ridin' after Balch! Last night they run off the whole damn' herd! More than a thousand head of cattle! Gone, just like that!"
"Balch had nothing to do with it." I rode between Rossiter and the others. "When was the last time you saw Twin Baker?"
Had I struck him across the face with my hat, the shock could have been no greater. He took half a step forward, his features drawn and old, staring up at me from blind, groping eyes.
"Twin? Twin Baker?" His voice shook. "Did you say Twin Baker?"
"When did you last see him, Rossiter?"
He shook his head, as if to clear it of shock. "It's been years ...years . I thought ... Well, I thought they were dead, both of them."
"Ma killed one of them, Rossiter. She killed Stan Baker when she got her cattle back. But it's the other one I'm talking about ... John, I think his name was, but they call him Twin."
"We got to get Balch," he stammered. "He stole our herd."
"I don't think it was Balch," I said. "Twin Baker got your herd, like he's been getting all the rest of the young stuff around here."
"You're lyin'!" he protested. "Twin's dead. He's been dead. Both those boys ... John an' Stan. They're both dead."
"What's this all about?" Roper demanded. "Who's Twin Baker?"
"He's a cow thief. He's the man who's been running cattle off this range for several years. He's been easing them off the range a few head at a time, keeping out of sight all the while. He's been stealing young stuff from every outfit in the basin ... And he killed Danny Rolf."
"What?" Ben Roper said.
"Danny's dead ... Drygulched, then shot in the back of the head at close range. To make sure. Maybe it was because he was wearing my red-checked shirt and Twin mistook him for me. But more likely it was because Danny found Baker's hideout."
"I thought he had gone girlin'," Roper muttered.
"He had ... Lisa is Twin Baker's half-sister. She's down there ... Or was. I advised her to get out before he killed her, too."
"John?" Rossiter said. "Twin?"
We looked at Rossiter, then at each other. He wasn't paying us no mind. He was just blindly staring off across the yard toward the hills. So I told them about finding Danny's body, about trailing him with Ann, of talking to Lisa, taking Ann home. "The major is getting a bunch together to go after the cattle, and after Twin Baker--if he can be found," I said.
"He's a gunfighter," I commented. "Lisa said he's killed several men, and that he wanted me." I looked around at them. "My mother killed Stan Baker, his twin, when they were trying to rustle some of our stock."
Barby Ann was staring at me. "Yourstock?" She spoke contemptuously. "How much stock would a saddle tramp have?"
Rossiter shook his head irritably, and spoke without thinking. "Barby Ann, Talon's got more cattle than all of us in the basin put together. He lives in a house ... Why, you could put the major's house in his livin' room!"
Now that wasn't true. They were all staring at me now. Only Fuentes was smiling a little.
"I don't believe it!" Barby Ann snapped. She'd never liked me much, but then she'd had no corner on that. I didn't think much of her, either. "He's filled you full of nonsense!"
"We'd better go if we're going," I said. "But one man had better stay here." I looked over at Harley. "How about you?"
"Joe Hinge is up. He can use a gun. Let him stay. I never did like rustlers."
Rossiter stood there, a huge frame of a man, only a shell of the magnificent young man he'd been when he rode for us on the Empty. Now he was sagging, broken.
"Here they come!" Harley said suddenly. "The major, Balch ... the lot of them!"
"Talon?" Rossiter's tone was pleading. "Don't let them hang him!"
Puzzled, I stared at the blind man. "I wouldn't like to see any man hang, Rossiter. But Twin Baker deserves it if ever a man did. He killed Danny, and he would probably have killed Ann Timberly. And he's stolen enough cattle to put you all out of business."
"Talon, you can stop them. Don't let them hang him."
Balch rode up, Roger beside him. There was no sign of Saddler, but Major Timberly was there. Ingerman was with Balch, and so were several other riders, their faces familiar.
"Balch," I said suddenly. "Recall the first time we met? Over near the cap-rock?"
"I remember."
"There was a man with you ... Who was he? He wasn't one of your boys."
"Oh, him? He wasn't from around here. He was a cattle buyer, tryin' to get a line on beef for the comin' year. He was fixing to buy several thousand head."
"Did he?"
"Ain't seen him since. He was a pleasant fella. Stayed two, three days. Rode out with Roger a couple of times."
"He said he was from Kansas City," Roger offered. "And he seemed to know the town. But he talked of New Orleans, too. Why? What's he got to do with anything?"
"I think he was Twin Baker," I said. "I think he was our rustler."
Balch stared, his face growing dark with angry blood. "That's a lot of poppycock!" he declared irritably. "He was nobody from around here."
"Maybe," I said.
"Time's a-wastin'," Roger said. "Let's ride!"
"All right." I started for my horse.
Rossiter came down off the steps. He put out a hand. "Talon! I got no right to ask it, but don't let them hang Twin Baker."
"What difference does it make to you?" I asked. "He stole your cattle, too."
"I don't want to see any man hang," Rossiter protested. "It ain't right."
"You comin' or not?" Balch asked.
"Get going," I said. "I'll not be far behind."
Angrily, Balch swung his horse. The major beside him, they rode out--a dozen very tough men.
"They could jail him," Rossiter protested. "They could hold him for trial. A man deserves a trial."
"Like the trial he gave Danny?"
At the corral I shook out a loop and walked toward that almost white horse with the black mane, tail and legs. I liked that horse, and I would need a stayer for a tough ride. I didn't think the ride would end on the Middle Concho. Twin Baker was no fool, and he would be hard to catch.
Leading the horse out, I got my saddle on him. Rossiter started toward me but Barby Ann was trying to turn him back.
"Pa? What's the matter with you? Have you gone crazy? What do you care about a no-account cow thief? Or that saddle tramp you seem to think is such a big man?"
He pulled away from her, tearing his sleeve in the process. He came after me in a stumbling run, and when I led the horse toward the bunkhouse, he followed.
"When you were a boy," he babbled, "we talked, you an' me. You was a good boy. I told you stories. Sometimes we rode together--"
"And then what happened?" I said bitterly.
"You don't understand!" he protested. "You folks had everything! You had a big ranch, you had horses, cattle, a fin
e house ... I had nothing. Folks were always saying how goodlookin' I was. I rode fine horses. I wore good clothes. But I had nothing ... nothing!"
I was listening. "Pa worked for it. He came into that country when there were only Indians, and he made peace with some, fought others. He built that ranch, he and Ma, built it with their own hands. They worked a lifetime doing it. And we boys helped, when we could."
Rossiter's face was haggard now. "But that takestime , boy!Time ! I didn't want to be a rich old man. I wanted to be a richyoung man. I deserved it. Why should you folks have so much and me nothing? All I did was take a few cattle ... Just a few head!"
He put his hand on my shoulder. "Talon, for God's sake!"
"Rossiter," I said patiently, "I suspect everybody wants to have it all when they're young, but it just doesn't work that way. Pa worked, too. Worked hard. Maybe a man shouldn't have it when he's young. It robs him of something, gives him all he can have when he's too young to know what he's got. I don't know ... Maybe I'm. a damned fool, but that's the way it seems to me."
I looked at Rossiter. "Now you go back inside. There's nothing to worry about."
Barby Ann had come closer. She was standing there staring at her father as at a stranger. She had changed, somehow, these past few days. Maybe it was the rejection by Roger Batch. Maybe it was something that had been there all the time and we were only now seeing. "Forget it, Rossiter. I don't think we'll ever catch him. He's too smart."
"He is, isn't he?" Rossiter said eagerly. Suddenly, his expression became thoughtful. "Why, sure! He's got a good start. He won't try to keep that last herd, and they'll be so busy getting it back they won't get on to the others. That will split their party. My boys will have to take over that herd and start it back. Balch and the major won't have more than eight men with them ... why, that's smart! That's thinking!"
They were words of desperation.
I got my saddlebags and threw them over the saddle, then my blanket roll. I had an idea this was going to take a long time, and I was a man who believed in preparing for all possibilities.
Rossiter, I thought, was crazy. I had not realized it until now, but he must be off his head. Nothing he said was making sense, and it was obvious that Barby Ann felt the same way.
"Pa?" she said. "Pa, you'd better come back to the house."
"He will do all right, that boy will! Have an outfit bigger'n yours someday, Talon."
"Rossiter, don't fool yourself. Twin Baker will wind up at the end of a rope, or killed in a gun battle. I don't know what you think he is but he's shown himself a thief and a murderer, and hanging's too good for him."
He stopped and stared at me, then shook his head. "You don't understand," he protested.
My horse was restless to go, as I was. Barby Ann said, "Pa? Let's go up to the house."
He pulled his arm away from her. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Talon, get him away from them. Don't let them hang him. You're a good man ... a good man. I know you're a good man. Don't let them hang him."
Rossiter spat. "That Balch! He'll want a hangin'. I know he'll want it. And the major ... he's just like all them army men. Discipline! He'll be for a hanging, too. You've got to stop them, Talon."
I put a foot into the stirrup and swung to the saddle, turning the horse away from him. "You're pleading for him? When he stole your cattle, too?"
"He didn't know they was mine. He couldn't have known." Rossiter shook his head admiringly. "Slick, though. Real slick." He peered up at me, squinting his eyes. "You don't think they'll catch him? You said that. You don't think they will?"
"Rossiter, you'd better go to the house. You need some rest. We'll find him, and if your cattle are still around to recover, we'll recover them."
He turned away from me, his head shaking a little. At the moment, I could feel only sorrow for the man. I'd never liked him. Even as a boy, when I'd often talked with him, I'd never liked him. There was always something shallow and artificial about him, something that was all show, all front with nothing behind it. Now the physical magnificence was gone, and all that remained was a shell.
Since joining his crew I'd only seen him inside, in the half-light of the house. And there had been a shadow of strength remaining. At least, there'd seemed to be. But under the sun, the deterioration was evident.
"Go!" Barby Ann said irritably. "Get out of here! It was a sorry day for us when you came here to work. It's you who's done this to him ...You ."
I just looked at her and shrugged. "When we bring the cattle back, I'll quit. You can have my time ready. I'm sorry you feel as you do."
Rossiter turned from us. "John?" he muttered. "John ..."
He turned suddenly to me. "Don't let them hang him!Don't !"
"Damn it, Rossiter! The man's a thief! He stole your cattle, he stole from everybody in the basin, and he tried to stir up a shooting war. Why the hell should you care what happens to him?"
He stared at me from his blind eyes. "Care?Care ? Why shouldn't I care?He's my son !"
Chapter 25
My horse could walk as fast as many horses could trot, and he moved right out, heading south away from the ranch. Yet I had no idea of overtaking the posse. I'd never been one to travel in a crowd, and I had noticed that too often the wrong men wind up as the leaders of groups or mobs.
It was a rough thirty-five miles and a bit more from the ranch to the cabin on the Concho, and I made a beeline for it. Shortly before night fell, I stepped down near the head of Kiowa Creek and, without unsaddling, built myself a fire and made coffee and bacon. When I'd eaten, I loaded up frying pan and coffeepot, drinking the last of the coffee from the pot itself, and I took off toward a hollow in the prairie maybe a half mile from the creek. I'd spotted this place before, and there was a seep that didn't quite make it to the surface but did green up the grass. There I staked my horse, rolled up in my blankets and, with my horse for lookout, slept like a baby until the last stars lingered in the sky.
Moving out, I held to low ground well west of Kiowa country, and I came out of the timber on Tepee Draw on the south side of the cabin. There was no smoke, no sign of life.
For several minutes I sat the buckskin, watching the house. It had every appearance of being deserted, and there was a plain enough trail heading off toward the southeast. Chancing it, I rode up.
The cabin was empty. Most of the food had been cleared out. Only a few shabby clothes remained, and a few cast-off utensils. There was some coffee on the fire that was still warm. Stirring up the coals, I heated it again and drank from a broken-handled cup while pacing from window to window.
I went outside. After watering my horse, I went back to the house. Everything that was worth anything had been cleaned out. Mounting up, I followed the trail southeast past the mountain, and after a few miles I reached Spring Creek.
One rider was ahead of me, riding easy. The trail was several hours hold. It was that long-striding horse again.
Twin Baker!
Southeast of here lay the San Saba and the Llano River country, and I knew almost nothing about it except from bunkhouse or saloon talk.
The next day, shortly after sunup, I rode down into Poor Hollow. There was a crude brush and pole corral there, big enough to hold a few head for a short stay. And from the droppings, cattle had been kept there recently as well as several times in the past.
At one side, under some trees, I found a small circle of stones where repeated fires had built quite a bed of ash. The ashes were cold, but the tracks looked no more than two to three days old.
Squatting under a big old pecan tree, I studied the corral, yet my mind was ranging back over the country. Twin Baker had evidently stolen the cattle in relatively small bunches, then drifted them by various routes to this or other holding corrals where he left them, while going back for more. There was water from the creek and enough grass to keep a small bunch. When he returned with another lot, he'd probably drive them further south and east.
Moving out of Poor Hollow t
oward a prong of the San Saba, I made camp under some trees. I fixed a small bait of grub where the smoke would rise through the leaves and dissipate itself among them, leaving no rising column to be seen. It was on fairly high ground with a good view all around. My back to a tree, I studied the layout.
I saw a huge old buffalo bull with two young cows, a scattering of antelope, and a few random buzzards. Otherwise, nothing but distance and dancing heat waves. Nevertheless, I had an eerie, unpleasant feeling at odds with the beauty of the land. I had the feeling that I was heading right into a trap.
Someplace, Baker had to have a base, a place with water, and good grazing, where cattle might be held for some time. After a rest I drifted on, taking my time. This country was more rugged, and there was a good bit of cedar.
Twice I camped. Twice I came up to holding grounds where cattle had been corraled for a time, mostly young stuff, judging by the tracks and the droppings.
It was lonely country. Several times I saw Indian sign, but it was old. There were several sets of tracks, mostly made by that long-stepping horse, but now I began to come on other tracks, lone riders or sometimes two or three in a bunch. All of them headed east.
Come daybreak, I was up on the hurricane deck of my bronc again, and looking down the trail ... And it was a trail. Yet this was what I liked, riding far in a wide, lovely country with distance all around. At every break in the hill, there was a new vista, yet the apparent emptiness of the country could fool you. And wherever a man looked, there were hidden folds of the hills that could hide an army ... or an Indian war party looking for scalps and glory.
Suddenly, there opened ahead of me a lovely green valley and some buildings. From a hill, I'd seen some adobe ruins off to the north and east of where I was ... mostly east. That was the San Saba Presidio, an attempt by the Spanish in early times to settle and administer this country. Comanches did them in, wiping out the last few priests who didn't get away ahead of time.
The buildings I now saw must be south of the old Presidio. There were only four or five, a town, if you wanted to call it that-a store, a saloon, a few cabins. Some empty, some occupied. There were some corrals.
the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) Page 19