Marauders' Moon

by Short, Luke;

  “Look here, sheriff. I’m goin’ to ask you a favor. If what I’m about to say ain’t any of my business, just tell me.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m a cattleman down south,” Bogardus began. “We heard down there about this fight you folks have had with Winterin’ County next door. We even heard about the burnin’. From the train crew.”

  “Sure.”

  “Now here’s what ain’t any of my business. Is it true that a lot of these ranchers here in this county are aimin’ to pull out, sellin’ their places?”

  Wardecker snorted. “That’s anybody’s business. Sure it’s true. And I don’t blame ’em. Why?”

  Bogardus tipped back his hat and smiled. “Well, it’s kind of hard to explain, Wardecker. You see, it’s this way. I got a little money and I want to spread out. The way I figured it, my money would go further if I bought a place from a man willin’ to sell than if I bought from a man I had to pry loose from a place he liked.”

  Wardecker looked sharply at him. “You mean you want to buy a place here?”

  “That’s about it, if they’re worth buyin’, and they want to sell.”

  “You’ll be buyin’ right smack dead center into the middle of a feud, mister,” Wardecker said flatly, a feigned expression of wonder on his face.

  “I thought of that. I thought of it a lot. But it don’t make much difference. The way I figure it, these men over in Winterin’ don’t know me, and they couldn’t have anything agin’ me. I mind my own business and they’ll mind theirs.”

  He shrugged. “Of course, if they want a fight, then I aim to give ’em one. But I don’t see why they should. Accordin’ to what I’ve heard, it’s just you old-timers that hate each other.”

  “Any Winterin’ man hates any San Patricio man,” Wardecker said.

  “Maybe. But I aim to do it different.” He laughed. “I’m bull-headed, you might say. I want to find out for myself.”

  “If you buy a place, you’ll git plenty chance.”

  “That’s all I want.”

  Wardecker lighted his pipe again and frowned, as if trying to think.

  “Just what places is for sale?” Bogardus asked. “I’d like to know.”

  “How big?”

  “Pretty big,” Bogardus said. “If a man’s goin’ to gamble, there’s no use gamblin’ for white chips.”

  “This ain’t a gamble,” Wardecker said. “But you asked for it.” He hesitated. “There’s several sizable spreads whose owners would like to pull out. The reason you ain’t heard of them is likely because they never thought there’d be many—many—”

  “Suckers like me?” Bogardus finished for him, chuckling.

  “Suckers like you,” Wardecker echoed, grinning also. “But I’ve heard Frank Winterhoven over west say that he’d like to sell. I’ve heard Mrs. Anders over by Buck Tolleston would like to pull out if she could. Lou Hasker over at the Chain Link has been cleaned out by that bank robbery. He’d like to sell, too. Maybe Miles Kindry’s widow would, but that’s a mighty big spread. Maybe bigger’n you want.”

  “How big are these places?” Bogardus asked.

  “You’d ought to see ’em,” Wardecker said.

  “I aim to. You know a man around here I could take with me to show me around? I’d almost need him.”

  Wardecker frowned. “Every able-bodied man in town is workin’ now.” He looked up at Bogardus. “What about me? I ain’t no damn use around a bunch of well diggers.”

  Bogardus demurred. “No, I wouldn’t like to ask that, Wardecker. You’ll be busy.”

  Wardecker then chuckled softly. “When I was swore into office, I took a oath to protect the people of this county. Protectin’ means helpin’, don’t it? All right, if I help, say, Mrs. Anders to get rid of the Seven A, then I’ll be protectin’ her, won’t I?”

  Bogardus’s lean face creased in a smile. “That’s one way of lookin’ at it.”

  “All right. Let’s go get horses.” Wardecker looked at his watch. “We only got a half day left. We’ll hit for Winterhoven over west and talk to him and stay the night. Tomorrow, we’ll drift over to the Chain Link and from there across to the Seven A. That’ll take a full day. Then we’ll—”

  “But I don’t aim to take up a week of your time, sheriff,” Bogardus protested.

  “I’m glad to do a man a favor,” Wardecker said. “Come along.”

  They arrived at Winterhoven’s that afternoon. Bogardus talked with Frank Winterhoven, and rode over a section of the range with him.

  They discussed cattle and water and taxes and shelter and grass and prices, and from it all, Wardecker gathered that Bogardus was a plenty shrewd cattleman. He knew his business, and he knew what he wanted. And never once did he show a lack of interest in what Winterhoven was showing him.

  They stayed the night there, and the next morning they left Winterhoven with promises to consider his terms.

  The sheriff had told Winterhoven nothing of Bogardus’s identity, so that Winterhoven’s actions were natural and easy.

  The Chain Link adjoined Winterhoven’s place, and it was only a short ride between them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Approaching the Chain Link spread, Wardecker said to Bogardus, “Lou Hasker owns this place. He’s young, and a good rancher. He’ll be glad to pull out of here, I reckon, while he still is young, and move somewhere where his neighbors is a little whiter.” He motioned to his leg. “You see, Hasker got shot in that scrap at Bull Foot. Right here. He’s laid up in bed and he’s likely fed up with the whole business.”

  They dismounted at the bunk house. Bogardus looked over the ruins of the old house and shook his head.

  “They mean business over there in Wintering, don’t they?”

  Wardecker said they did. He led the way down to the office and knocked on the door. A voice bade him enter.

  Wardecker stepped aside for Bogardus, who had to lower his head to clear the door. Bogardus adjusted his eyes to the gloom of the room and saw a man lying in a bed in the corner.

  “Howdy, Will,” the man said.

  “Hello, Lou. How goes it?”

  “Poco-poco. How’s it with you?”

  “Good. Lou, this is Clay Bogardus, a cattleman from over south.”

  As Bogardus walked across to shake hands with the man, he observed him carefully. He was redheaded, lean, freckle-faced, with rain-gray piercing eyes, and a rather wide mouth that wore an engaging grin.

  “Glad to meet you, Bogardus. This is a hell of a way to wecome a man—from a bed. I feel like a honkytonk gal.”

  They all laughed and the redhead bade them be seated.

  Wardecker lighted up his pipe and after some small talk said, “Lou, Bogardus here is lookin’ for to buy a place. He heard about the feud, but it don’t mean much to him. I told him I’d heard you say you wanted to sell the Chain Link and pull out. What about it?”

  The redhead looked at Bogardus. “A buyer, huh? Sure, I want to pull out, Bogardus. If I can’t sell it, I’d almost give it away. I got a bellyful of this war. I’m pullin’ out before they nail my hide up.”

  “That’s what Wardecker said.”

  “Sure. You look around. I’ll send a man out with you and you can look at every foot of my range. It’s a fair range, it’s got good water, and there’s lots of it. It ain’t got a house, and it won’t have many cattle in another two months if I keep it and if I know Bannister. You still interested?”

  “Enough to look at it.”

  “Good. Will, give a shout for Frank.”

  Wardecker opened the door and called the foreman. Presently Frank entered and was introduced to Bogardus.

  He got his orders. “Take Bogardus around the place, Frank. You goin’ too, Will?”

  “Sure. Been many a month since I rode across your range, Lou.”

  “Good. Take ’em both, Frank.” And then he grinned. “And don’t lie, Frank. You don’t have to. Bogardus must be crazy to begin with.”

 
Bogardus laughed and rose. Frank showed him out along with the sheriff. Presently, as soon as the redhead heard them ride off, he got up and walked to the window. The door from the bunk house opened and Buck Tolleston stepped in.

  “Well?” Buck said, grinning.

  “You heard it, didn’t you?”

  “Enough to know he swallowed it, Webb.”

  Webb Cousins was in bed again when, toward dusk, Wardecker and Bogardus returned to the house.

  “Go get supper first,” Webb said. “A man can’t talk on an empty stomach.”

  After they had eaten, they returned to the office, which was lighted now by the small table lamp. Bogardus rolled his after-supper smoke and inhaled luxuriously.

  “How does the place stack up?” Webb asked. “Suit you?”

  Bogardus nodded. “If we can come to terms, Hasker, I think I’ll buy. I can’t see a thing wrong with it.”

  “Except the neighbors across the line,” Webb said.

  “I’ll take care of that. If you’ll give me an idea of your count, I’ll make you an offer. When I take over, of course, I’ll settle the count right.”

  Webb thought a moment. “The place as it stands is worth eighty thousand. That’s countin’ every head of cattle on the place accordin’ to my last book tally, and figurin’ them at considerable below market prices. You know why I’m doin’ that, don’t you?”

  “Because you can’t ship without a loss?”

  “Yes. Then eighty thousand. The bank holds my note for thirty thousand and they’ll give me all the time I want to meet it.” He thought a moment. “You can take over everything—my note, too—for forty thousand dollars. Or you can take it without the note for seventy thousand.”

  Bogardus said cautiously, “What terms?”

  Webb didn’t want to appear too lenient. “Those are cash terms, Bogardus. If you won’t take it, I reckon I’ll stay here and fight.”

  Bogardus got out a pencil and a piece of paper and spent five minutes figuring in silence. When he looked up, he said, “I’ll take it. I’d like a little time on ten thousand of it, if you can see it that way.”

  Webb shook his head. “Huh-uh. Cash on the barrel head. I want to get out of here and I never want to hear of the damn place again.”

  Bogardus shrugged. “All right. That suits me.”

  Webb grinned and held out his hand. “Brother, take over. When do you move in?”

  “As soon as I can. I’ll see your banker tomorrow about those notes. Then I’ll be out with cash and a notary public and a deed.”

  Webb nodded at the sheriff. “Wardecker’s a notary. Bring him out. He’ll help you with what you need in town. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. After we sign, I’ll head south and send my men up. Will you be ready to move out right away?”

  “Tomorrow, I can travel. I’ll turn the keys over to you tomorrow morning. What about my men?” When he saw Bogardus frown, he grinned. “Don’t be afraid to say it, Bogardus. The only reason they’ve stuck in this shootin’ gallery is on account of me.”

  “I’ll bring my own, then,” Bogardus said.

  Webb nodded. Wardecker and Bogardus stood up, and, after Webb had given Wardecker instructions to have Tolleston show Bogardus the books, they bade him good night and went out.

  Once they were clear of the place, Webb rose and pulled on his boots. Tolleston entered as he was doing so. Neither spoke to the other, for Buck had heard every word from beneath the open window in back. They only smiled at each other.

  Together they carried Hasker in from the well house, where he had spent the day, and put him in bed. He listened to the story of the deal with a grin on his face.

  “Good. Bannister has curled his tail just once too often,” Hasker said.

  Afterward, in his blankets in the bunk house, Webb lay there awake, trying to find a flaw in the plan. He could not, but he scarcely dared admit it to himself.

  Buck’s voice came through the dark. “Tomorrow, son, I start ridin’. And for the last time. Because if it don’t go through, we can’t ride again. If it does, we won’t have to.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bogardus rode into the Chain Link in mid-morning, alongside Sheriff Wardecker. The conference with Webb, again in bed in Hasker’s place, was brief and to the point.

  “I found everything like you said,” Bogardus said. “I’m ready to sign. I’ll take over everything—notes and all.”

  Webb sent Wardecker to call two hands to witness the deed. It was signed and witnessed and stamped by Wardecker and given to Bogardus, who counted out forty thousand dollars in Federal banknotes and gave them to Webb, who let them lie on the bed.

  “I’ll be moved out this afternoon, Bogardus,” Webb said. “So come when you like. I’ll leave the cook here. You can keep him or pay him off when you move in.”

  Bogardus thanked him. The straight-faced, casual acting of the man was something to enjoy. When Bogardus got ready to go, he put the deed in his pocket and came over to the bed to shake hands.

  “I think I got a bargain, Hasker,” he said, smiling a little.

  “That’s accordin’ to the way you look at it,” Webb said, taking his hand.

  “Watch that leg. So long, and good luck,” Bogardus said.

  Wardecker rode out with him, saying that a man who carried a deed to that much property should have some protection with him.

  Webb rose and, calling one of the hands, brought Hasker in again. Then Hasker’s remaining hands assembled in the room and Hasker told them what had happened, down to the last detail of the plot. These were men to be trusted, men who had fought with Hasker, and when they heard this plan which would enable them to revenge the death of so many of their companions, a subtle change came over them. Webb could see it in their faces. Instead of men who were sticking to an unpleasant job out of loyalty to a friend, they were men who saw a chance for revenge and a fighting one.

  Hasker told them that from now on, they were to take orders from Webb.

  “We’ve got to make a camp up in the Frying Pans,” Webb said briefly. “That camp, we hope, will have to hold about thirty men for at least a week. By tonight, I want this place deserted. More than that, I don’t want a man to ride into it again until he has orders. Now come to me for your jobs.”

  They were simple. Food had to be hauled, meat butchered, bedding and pots taken in round-up wagon, horses moved over to a corral in the foothills, and all of it done this day.

  By that evening the camp was established in a small hidden canyon of the Frying Pans. It was hardly completed before men began to drift in. Buck Tolleston had been riding once again to muster a fighting crew. But this time he had something to offer them and they came. Ranchers brought their whole outfits, deserting their spreads. Nesters, townspeople, all chosen men, all men with a score to settle, gathered here. They trickled in all during the night and none of them brought their womenfolks. It was to be war to the finish, this time.

  Webb slept that night, too, but by early morning he took Chuck Martin aside and was giving him orders.

  “Mind, I don’t say it’ll be today, but I think it will. Bannister will send a rider over to check up on us, to see if we’ve moved. I want that rider spotted. I want to know he’s been there. Do you think we can do it?”

  Martin nodded and departed.

  Men kept riding in all during that day, and Webb saw that, to a man, they came prepared for trouble. Carbines were in saddle boots that had never known a gun. Extra shell-belts, cracked and dusty, were dug up and worn. Case after case of rifle shells were brought. And, strangely, these men were quiet, sober, but it was a false quiet.

  That night Buck Tolleston rode in with Wardecker, and a council was held. Buck explained in detail what had happened during the past week, and how this plan had been worked out to perfection.

  “Wake Bannister will wait a day or so—that’ll be today, we hope—and then he’ll move in. He’ll move in with a whole crew—a crew of gun-do
gs and saddle bums and fightin’ men. We’ll be there to meet him. That’s the whole plan.”

  He named off a dozen men. “You men will guard that bottle neck to the canyon. Once they’re past you, I want the trap closed. The rest of us will be inside the bunk house behind locked doors. Wake Bannister will have his chance. He’ll surrender and hang, or he’ll fight and die. And”—Buck’s voice was calm and sober—“I hope he elects to fight.”

  He looked around the campfire. “There are five of us won’t be in the bunk house with you—Lou Hasker, Webb Cousins, Frank Winterhoven, Will Wardecker, and myself. We’ll talk to Bannister.”

  “What are we waitin’ for?” a man asked.

  “For word that Bannister has sent a man over to make sure Hasker has moved out. When we get that word, we move.”

  It came later that night. Martin rode in and reported to Buck.

  “The man was over,” he said. “It looked like Hugo Meeker, from where I watched. He got the key and went through all the buildin’s. He talked with the cook, and then he went through ’em again. I reckon he thinks we’ve gone.”

  “Did you talk to the cook?” Buck asked.

  Martin shook his head. “Not till it was dark. I laid on my belly and never moved for seven hours. Wasn’t takin’ a chance.”

  Webb grinned. “What did Meeker say to the cook?”

  “He pretended he was a gent out from town to see Hasker. He couldn’t believe he’d moved, and claimed the cook lied. But Mose stuck to his story. He claimed it was funny Meeker never saw Hasker in town, because that’s where he was goin’. Meeker bullied him around considerable, and then left.”

  Buck turned to the assembled men. “All right. We move. You know who’s to take the horses, how you’re to get in the bunk house, so’s to guard the bottle neck. One thing. No smoking. No moving around. This place has got to look deserted. One careless smoke and we’re discovered. It may be a day before they come. If it is, we’ll move back here at night.”

  They saddled up and rode out of the canyon, forty of them. It was more than Buck had counted on. Better than that, it was not a crowd of rabble raised to a fighting pitch on whisky. It was an orderly band, grim to silence.