Range Rebel (Prologue Western)

by Gordon D. Shirreffs

  Ochoa leaned his Henry rifle against the side of the cave, eyeing the dropped Spencer and the Starr far out of Dave’s reach. He drew his cuchillo and tested its edge against a dirty thumb. “Now,” he said softly, “You will not escape this time, hombre.” He came slowly forward, balancing easily on the balls of his feet, poising for a fatal thrust.

  Dave tried to get up. He sank sideways. Ochoa hooked a boot under his side and rolled him over. Dave thrust out a weak right hand and gripped the breed’s ankle, heaving up with the last reserves of strength. Ochoa cursed as he staggered back against the wall. Dave got to his feet, facing the knifer. The blade flicked out, drawing blood from Dave’s left forearm. Dave darted for the Starr but Ochoa was like a panther, smooth and sinuous as he cut Dave off from the sixgun and drew blood from Dave’s left hand.

  They circled slowly like wrestlers watching for an opening. Dave’s breath was harsh in his throat. Green, slavering fear seemed to fill his hazy mind.

  “Afraid?” asked Ochoa. “It will be quick if I choose to make it so, hombre.”

  The blade flicked out. Dave drew back. Ochoa grinned evilly. He was like a cat playing lazily with a weakened mouse. “You will soon join our dead amigo there,” he said jerking his head toward Mort Hastings.

  Dave was back against the wall. Ochoa rushed him. Dave went low and the blade clicked against the rock. It ripped through Dave’s shirt on the backhand blow. Ochoa whirled and came in fast. He tripped over Mort’s legs. Dave snatched up the bent Sharps and whirled it over his head, bringing it down with all his strength. There was the sound of a dropped pumpkin as the heavy barrel connected solidly with the breed’s skull. Ochoa sprawled back over Mort Hastings. Dave dropped the bloody Sharps and leaned against the wall staring at the smashed head of the breed. He wiped the sweat from his face and flicked the blood from his hands. He stooped and picked up his Spencer. There was nothing to fear from the breed now.

  Dave limped to the cave entrance.

  “Mick,” yelled Shorty from the brush, “did you get him?”

  Dave faded into the brush and worked his way slowly, sweat greasing the rifle in his hands. Ganoe pulled himself to his feet, holding his gut. “Mick! Mick!” he yelled frantically.

  Dave raised the Spencer slowly. There was no pity in him. Shorty jumped as the repeater bellowed. He ran awkwardly through the brush, looking back fearfully over his shoulder, screaming shrilly in his panic. He plunged out of sight in a wash. Dave sent a slug whining over the wash. Shorty staggered up the far bank and swung up on his horse, sinking the hooks home with a vicious smash. The horse buckjumped and plunged through the thick brush.

  Dave limped back to the cave and looked at Ochoa. “Thanks, Mort,” he said quietly. He gathered his gear and placed it outside the cave. He worked slowly in the humid heat, piling rocks to seal the entrance. Brazos trotted as he finished.

  Dave loaded Brazos. Ochoa’s boots had been crusted with fine yellowed mud. There was no earth like that in the big canyon. As he rode up the silent canyon he wondered where he had seen mud like that. It wasn’t until he was a mile from the cave that he remembered the soil in Ruins Canyon at the base of the cliffdwellings. That soil, if wet, would create such mud. “Probably looked for me there,” he said.

  Twelve Mile was empty of life when he rode into it. A wide cattle track showed in the wet earth. It had been a fairly large herd. He slid from Brazos and led him along, eyeing the trampled earth. He reached the rock area and was studying it when boots grated on rock. “Stand where you are! Don’t move!” a man called out.

  Dave turned slowly, raising his hands. A Mex eyed him from a screen of brush. A rifle was at hip level. “Boss!” the Mex called out.

  Boots rattled on gravel and Jesse Vidal appeared. “Yeamans,” he said. “Just as I thought. Get the boys, Chili. I’ll cover him.”

  The Mexican disappeared into the brush. Vidal rounded behind Dave and jerked his Starr from its holster. “Set,” he said, “you’ve got some talking to do.”

  Dave sat down on a rock and began to fashion a smoke. “What’s on your mind, Vidal?”

  “What are you doing in Twelve Mile?”

  “Looking for a place to light.”

  “Who was with you?”

  “I’m alone.”

  “You’re a liar, too!”

  “You talk tough with a sixgun in your hand.”

  Vidal spat. “I can handle three like you without a cutter!”

  Dave grinned. “I’ll talk about the weather.”

  “Where’s our cows?”

  ‘Hell of a ramrodder you are if you don’t know where your cows are.”

  Vidal raised the Starr. “Listen! Just after midnight last night we lost twenty head. We trailed them this far. It’s a cinch they didn’t climb these walls. Where are they?”

  Dave lit his smoke. “How should I know?”

  “Why are you staying around this country? You’ve killed two men and will swing for it. Why didn’t you pull out?”

  Dave yawned. “You’d like that,” he said, “seeing as how it was you, and not me, that killed Slim Edwards.”

  Vidal laughed. “You can’t pin that on me. Hollis is my witness.”

  “I’ll wring the truth out of him.”

  “You talk as though you were going to live to do it.”

  “I aim to.”

  Vidal rubbed his jaw with the muzzle of the Starr. “We’ll see about that. Besides, even if you talk your way out of that one, you’d still have to answer for the killing of Charlie Mitchell. Shorty Ganoe and Mick Ochoa will swear you did it.”

  “That so?”

  “Yeh! What chance do you have now?”

  Dave thought of Mick Ochoa stiffening beside Mort Hastings in the sealed cave. At least he wouldn’t be able to testify against anyone.

  Two men came out of the brush followed by Chili Vegas. Jonce Wilde and Tom Bowman, thought Dave. The shorter of the two men spoke to Jesse. “We looked through that canyon with the ruins, Jess. Tracks all over but no cows, and no way to get ’em out of there!”

  “Damn it, Tom! They must be somewhere around here! There ain’t been time for them to be driven out the south end of Twelve Mile.”

  Jonce shoved back his hat. “I still say they never left Twelve Mile. They’re around here!”

  “That’s brilliant, Jonce,” said Vidal sarcastically. “But where? They got wings maybe?”

  Bowman looked at Dave. “Maybe he knows.”

  “He’s not talking,” said Jesse.

  Chili Vegas grinned. “We make heem talk. Easy. You want me to show you, Boss?”

  Vidal shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll take him to Cup Valley and keep him there. No one will think of looking for him there. Too damned many people poking around in here. He might have friends. He must have, ‘cause he couldn’t run off all them cows by himself.”

  Dave mounted Brazos and they tied his ankles beneath the claybank and lashed his wrists behind him. Vegas took Brazos’ bridle reins and led the claybank up the canyon. The day was warm and humid. As they passed Ruins Canyon, Dave saw the tracks leading into it. Where the hell were they? He was no closer to the solution than the first day he had become interested in solving the mystery.

  It was noon when they reached Cup Valley. Dave was shoved into the shack and tied to a chair. Bowman and Vegas left the valley. Jonce Wilde heated beans and sow bosom atop the spit-scarred stove. Jesse filled his plate. “Give him some grub, Jonce,” he said.

  “Waste of food, ain’t it?”

  “Feed him, you bastard!”

  Jonce spat on the floor and filled a plate. Dave’s hands were untied to allow him to eat. Vidal gave him time for a smoke. Jonce left the shack. Vidal lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair against the wall. “You ready to talk now?” he asked.

  “Like I said, I don’t know anything about your missing cattle.”

  “Weren’t you working with Mort Hastings?”

  Dave controlled his face. How had Vidal f
ound out about Hastings?

  “Well?”

  “No.”

  “Hastings hasn’t been around. Maybe he’s with the missing cows?”

  “You’re doing the talking.”

  “I’m going to blow open this whole damned business before long. I’m gonna wring the truth outa you and Dan Edrick.”

  Dave grinned. “You’ll have a gay time wringing anything out of Dan. How do you figure you’ll make him talk? You’ll find yourself hitched to a bolt of lightning.”

  Vidal spat. “I can handle him,” he said loftily. “I’m building up a first class corrida on the Double W.”

  “What about Leslie? It’s her ranch. Maybe she doesn’t want a range war?”

  “I’m running that spread. She has to go along with Jesse Vidal.”

  “You sure rung yourself in solid. You get rid of me, hire a bunch of hard cases, and practically take over the Double W. You’re due for a comeuppance, Vidal.”

  Jesse tapped the side of his head. “I’m smart, Yeamans. I know a good thing when I see it. I ain’t goin’ through life working for thirty per and found. I’ve got big ideas. Real big ideas. Once I marry Leslie you’ll see what I mean. I’ll be a big man in the Mogollon country.”

  “Maybe she won’t marry you.”

  Vidal’s conceited face turned dark. “Yah? She will if she knows what’s good for her.”

  “I’m sure she does,” said Dave dryly.

  Vidal hefted Dave’s Starr. “Now, for the last time, will you talk?”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Vidal cocked the big double-action and leveled it at Dave. To Dave the muzzle seemed twice as big as it really was. Vidal leaned forward. “I can kill you easy, Yeamans. I won’t get held for it. You’re wanted for two counts of murder. I can say you tried to escape and I was forced to kill you. The odds are with me. Now you talk! You tell me what I want to know and I’ll free you, give you fifty gold eagles, your hoss and a chance to get out of the country.”

  Dave laughed. “You damned sidewinder! If I did know anything, and told you, I’d get lead instead of gold, and a free ride to hell instead of out of the country. You haven’t got the guts to shoot me.”

  The Starr roared. The slug whispered past Dave’s head and smashed into the wall. Vidal’s cold eyes looked through the veil of acrid smoke. “The next time I’ll aim to kill,” he said.

  A shadow moved across the window next to Vidal. The seamed, ugly face of Monte Hollis appeared. The old puncher placed a finger at his lips and shook his head. Dave looked at Vidal, stalling for time. “All right,” he said. “The cows are hidden near Twelve Mile.”

  “Where?”

  “A hidden canyon.”

  “Tell me how to get there.”

  Dave shook his head. “I’ll have to guide you in.”

  “How many head in there?”

  “Maybe five hundred.”

  Vidal nodded. “We’ll go as soon as Jonce gets back.”

  The door was kicked open. Monte Hollis jumped behind the kid, pressing a cocked sixgun behind his ear. “Drop that cutter,” he said.

  The Starr hit the floor. Vidal’s face was dead white. “You sneaky bastard,” he said. “I’ll kill you for this!”

  Hollis tossed a case knife to Dave. He cut his ankles free and stood up, stretching. He picked up his Starr.

  Hollis plucked Vidal’s fancy matched sixshooters from their holsters. “Get your cayuse, Dave. First tie this hombre up.”

  Vidal’s body shook as Dave lashed him. “You’ve signed your death warrants,” he grated.

  Monte spat. He threw the Colts out of the window. “Let’s go, Dave.”

  They got their horses and rode out of the valley. Dave looked at the older man. “Why did you do it?” he asked.

  Monte waved a hand. “I’m sick of that loco kid’s windy talk. Ever since I got you in trouble I ain’t been able to sleep, and an old bastard like me needs his sleep. I’ll have to hightail it,” he said. “He’ll kill me.”

  “How did you know I was in Cup Valley?”

  “Bowman came by the ranch. He told Miss Leslie.”

  “So?”

  “I figgered they’d kill you.”

  “I’d like to see Leslie.”

  Monte shook his head. “She knew what I was doing. She told me to get you outa the country.”

  Dave drew rein. “She knew you were coming to help me?”

  Monte looked at Dave in surprise. “Hell yes! It was her idea, sonny.”

  “Let’s go back and carajo them off the Double W.”

  “Wait! Your time will come. Right now we gotta lay low. Some of the Lazy E boys are in Shadow Valley. We heard they was heading for the Double W. This is no time to buck up against that corrida. Seems as though you killed Mick Ochoa. That right?”

  “It was him or me, Monte.”

  “I believe that all right. But they won’t!”

  They rode fast, crossing the creek, heading into the wilderness south of the watercourse. Dave glanced at the homely man with him. If Monte hadn’t showed up he would be lying dead with a slug between the eyes from his own gun.

  twelve

  DAVE AND MONTE RODE INTO A BRANCH CANYON, thickly grown with brush, north of Ruins Canyon a few miles. The nights had been getting colder and Dave knew they must break the mystery of the rustling before long, for they couldn’t live in the open through the bitter winter which was to come. Monte proved to be a skilled woodsman, working swiftly to make a brush lean-to. A shallow trickling stream afforded them water. Dave dropped a forked horn buck for much needed meat. Monte skinned the deer and they roasted enough of the venison to keep them supplied with cold food for a few days.

  When it was dark they filled their pipes and sat in the lean-to before the embers of their fire. The faint new moon was making itself known. “It’s a queer deal,” commented Monte. “Hundreds of cows vanish like wind-driven smoke. You, probably with the cleanest hands of anyone around here, charged with three murders, two of which you didn’t commit, and one in self-defense, hiding out in the brush like a ladino. Two men, working against the rustlers, meet up with Judge Lynch. It beats me, Davie.”

  Dave lit his pipe. “How about Vidal? Is he working the long loop?”

  Monte shook his head. “Hell no! Not that he hasn’t at one time or another, but he ain’t mixed up in this mess. He wants the Double W.”

  “What does he have on you, Monty?”

  Monte rubbed his nose with the stem of his pipe. “Long’s we been throwed together I might as well tell you. I jumped a paymaster’s ambulance down in the Sulphur Springs Valley last year. Got plumb away with ten thousand dollars. I was loco with drink and dead broke or I wouldn’t have done such a crazy thing. I made for the border with troopers hot after me. I got scared when I sobered up. I sneaked into the office of a marshal in a little placita near the border of Sonora and left the money. Then I met Jesse in a cantina. I needed help to make it across the border. Jesse offered it.” Monte looked into the dying fire.

  “So?”

  Monte shrugged. “I got drunk again and talked too much to Jesse. That night the marshal was shot to death and the money was taken. I was in a hell of a fix. I couldn’t talk myself out of not having the money then. I might get pinned with the marshal’s killing. Who’d believe a saddle tramp like me? Jesse got me safe over the border. I tried to shake him then but it was no go. He kept with me. Somebody had to be his amigo and he picked on me. He had plenty of dinero. I was broke. We came across the border six months later. Coupla times I tried to drift away from the kid. He’ll run his neck into a noose one of these days. But I never got a chance to vamoose. Ever time I tried to break away he would mention the payroll robbery. What the hell could I do?”

  Dave nodded. “He had the screws on you all right.”

  “Oh, he treated me okay. Seems as though he had to have one friend in the world and he had to pick on me. Times he’d listen to me, other times I had to listen to him. He’s
generous as hell at times, but, like I said, he’ll be strung up or shot down one of these days, and I’m getting too damned old for that kind of end.”

  “You ever found out who actually got that payroll money?”

  Monte glanced over his shoulder as though someone was eavesdropping. “I think so.”

  “Maybe you could clear it up?”

  Monte drew his blanket about his thin shoulders. “No,” he said quietly.

  Dave leaned forward. “You’re hiding something, Monte. Maybe I can help you.”

  “Yeh. Maybe you can at that. I helped you get away from Jess for mor’n one reason. You got the guts to fight Jesse, Edrick and the rest of ’em.”

  “Keep talking.”

  Monte glanced over his shoulder again. He was badly frightened. “You mind I told yuh Jesse got me outa Arizona into Sonora?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wa’al, there was ony one man knew about me leaving that dinero in the marshal’s office.”

  “Jesse?”

  “Yeh. We made it into Mexico, like I said. Jess was always well heeled. Cutting up big with them brown senoritas. Playin’ monte for big stakes. Drinking the best. Riding the best caballos. I cadged offa him all the time I was down there but he didn’t mind. Oh, we lived, I tell yuh. Saw all the big towns. Chihuahua. Parral. Torreon. Durango. Didn’t miss nothin’. Allus wondered how come Jess wasn’t broke. Jesse and me didn’t turn a hand. Finally Jess went broke too, or said he did. We came back across the border. Drifted up here. Jess liked the Double W. Liked Leslie too. Figgered he’d frame you, which he did, Goddamn me for a brassbound liar. Wa’al, about three days ago he wanted me to go south and get some more cows. He got the money from Leslie. I needed dinero to travel with. Broke as usual, that’s Monte Hollis. Jess was in a hurry to go somewheres. Told me to get some dinero outa his warbag. I went to get it. Down at the bottom of the bag I finds a piece of paper all crumpled up. Part of it was missin’. You know what it was?”