West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels

by James Reasoner

  "Are you deaf?" Cheshire pushed his daughter behind him and stepped up to push his face close to mine.

  He wore a six-shooter at his hip, but the balled hands making fists the size of Mason jars warned how close he was to throwing a haymaker at my head. I forced myself back to the business at hand and away from his lovely daughter.

  "Sir, Marshal Toms wanted me to tell you 'bout how me and the boys from the OH found a mountain meadow filled with stolen beeves. We shot it out with the rustlers, then split up. By now, a couple dozen head of your beeves ought to be in an OH pasture waitin' for you to bring 'em home."

  "You shot it out with the rustlers?"

  I looked past the man to where Mira Nell stood with her hand over her mouth. Her voice came as a whisper.

  "I did, Miss Cheshire. We chased them varmints down."

  "You caught them? The marshal has them all locked up?"

  "Well, answer her," growled Cheshire. "I want them strung up, not in jail. They've been preyin' on my herd too long."

  "Well, sir, it's like this. We tracked 'em the best we could but lost them. One of our men's still searchin' for their trail. But we got your cattle back for you."

  Neither Cheshire nor Mira Nell said a word. The silence dragged and turned me a mite uncomfortable, which is never a good thing for a man who likes to tell stories. I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the drawing of Josiah Hanks.

  "This here's a rustler I saw workin' on stealin' the OH herd. Chances are good he was in the mountain meadow. The marshal's got a wanted poster on him, too."

  "Let me see that." Cheshire snatched it from my hand, scowled and turned to show it to his daughter. She had disappeared like smoke. "You sure this is one of the rustlers?"

  "Sure as my name's Charlie Russell," I said.

  "There's a wanted poster on this Josiah Hanks?"

  "That's how the marshal got his name, off a poster. I drew the picture, and we matched it up with — "

  "Mira!"

  The bellow took me by surprise and I took a half step back. Cheshire looked around, but his daughter had left as sudden as a rabbit spooked by a coyote. He shoved the drawing into my chest.

  "I'll cut your tongue from your head if you're lyin' to me."

  "Mr. Cheshire, you can leave your cattle in the OH pasture 'til they die of old age, if you want. I done what Marshal Toms asked and told you 'bout a rustler. That's all I was supposed to do."

  Before I spun about to leave, anxious to be on the road again in spite of maybe having a target painted on my back by some ambusher, Cheshire grabbed my coat and yanked me forward. Going for my six-gun was out of the question since it was holstered high on my hip and hidden under my buttoned up coat.

  "This picture you drew," he said, pulling me so close I smelled what he had for breakfast. "You aren't lying about seeing that man rustling my cattle?"

  "Don't know if he rustled your cattle but he surely did steal Mr. Phillips'."

  "Mira!" He shoved me back and hunted for his daughter, but she had hightailed it. I wished I could join her for a passel of reasons, not the least was the way Jack Cheshire looked like he wanted to kill something. Standing in front of him presented too good a target for his ire.

  I edged away again, ready to bolt for the door. With a tad of luck, Monte wouldn't object over much to me vaulting into the saddle and galloping away.

  "You, Russell, isn't it? Come with me. And get your hogleg ready."

  "What's got you so riled, Mr. Cheshire?" The six-shooter came free from under my coat, but the high dudgeon I faced might require more than six rounds. The rancher puffed up like the tail of a tom cat ready to fight and looked ready to whip his weight in mountain lions.

  "That's the new wrangler I hired. The one in your picture."

  The words hit me hard, more like a blow to my pride than to my gut. I had seen Hanks before, and he had been in town arguing with Mira Nell Cheshire. The details of the man's face had been hidden from me at the time by distance and shadow, but the curve of his nose and the shape of his head matched those of the rustler. Too many distractions had kept me from thinking on it until now.

  Cheshire grabbed a rifle and kicked open his front door. I followed hesitantly as he stormed across the yard and headed for the barn.

  "Get your ass out here!"

  The bellow echoed off into the distance. Whether Cheshire called to someone in the barn or me didn't matter. It got me stepping lively.

  Cheshire swung open the barn door and thrust his rifle in ahead of him. When I peered into the barn he had finished doing a count on the horses in the stalls. He glared at me. The way he pointed his rifle in my general direction made me antsy since a single finger twitch could ventilate me. I lifted my six-gun and pointed it at him. If he had lured me out here to murder me, I wanted a shot at him before I died. To my surprise, he didn't call me on targeting him.

  "She's gone. She rode out."

  "Your daughter?"

  "Who the hell else? She's gone to warn him. The two took up and sneak out to be together, I know it, I know it and I couldn't stop her. She took it into her fool head he was her one and only love."

  "She said that?"

  The way Mira Nell and Hanks had argued in town looked like anything but true love. Might be I had no idea what that meant. The only one in my life worth fighting for — or over — had packed up and left the territory along with the rest of the whores in her brothel.

  Maggie and I had never fought. Quite the reverse, but paying for what I got from her, at least most of the time, put a different twist on our relations.

  "Find her, and you're going to find your rustler." Cheshire pushed past me and stared at the cut up ground around the barn door. Something set him on one set of tracks leading to the east. He stopped a few yards off and pointed, using the muzzle of the rifle to poke something on the ground. "Here's the trail."

  I joined him. His skills made mine look puny. After he pointed out the way a rock had been turned over and the patch of ice disturbed by a horse hoof, the track stood out like a sore thumb. I walked a few paces along and looked to the horizon. The prints disappeared in the direction of another stand of pines where a sniper could easily conceal himself. The hair on the back of my neck began to tingle and stand on edge in spite of seeing nobody within sight save for Jack Cheshire.

  "You're the marshal's errand boy. You and me, we're going to fetch her back and make her tell where Josiah Hanks is hiding."

  "If he works for you, you ought to know where he is."

  "I sent him to ride along the stretch of land to the north, about where you say the stolen cattle were pastured."

  "You sent him out to steal your cattle?" The instant the words left my mouth, I regretted saying it. More than Hanks stealing the cows drifted on the wind through this part of Montana. His daughter running off with an outlaw wore even more on the rancher than losing a few head of cattle.

  Worst of all for Cheshire, he had hired the man stealing from him — both cattle and kin. "I'm not a deputy," I said, but this had no effect on him. He motioned with his rifle, herding me back to the ranch house and Monte.

  We got our mounts and began tracking. Cheshire proved as impatient as I was afeared of what we would find. Mira Nell had lit out to warn her lover the law was after him. Without knowing more what went between them, I had to worry that the girl's life was in jeopardy. Hanks might have sidled up to her for more reasons than affection. The argument I'd overheard in town warned he would throw her to the wolves at the first sign of trouble.

  Trouble rode ahead of me, hunched over and grumbling to himself. Feathery plumes came from his nose as he snorted and cursed, making him look like some human version of a steam engine. Or maybe he was a human bull ready to charge at the first sign of movement. It made me glad I wasn't wearing anything red or I would be the object of his wrath.

  We rode at a brisk walk for more than twenty minutes. Then even a greenhorn at tracking like me saw the problem stretched out on the ground.
The tracks we had followed mingled with those of another rider. Then the tracks diverted. With the hoof prints in the mud, both became indistinct. Even if there had been something distinctive about Mira Nell's horseshoes — a nick or missing nail — the imprint now got all messed up.

  Cheshire swore and looked all around.

  "The son of a bitch met her here."

  "They went in different directions," I said.

  This set off a new round of curses that turned the air blue. I made mental note of some of the saltier comments. That would make the boys around the campfire grin and maybe even laugh at the improbable family patrimonies when I got around to spinning this yarn.

  "You go that way, and I'll head this," Cheshire said, looking to the foothills. From there the land got rugged real quick.

  "That's a good place for rustlers to hide out," I said. "We might stick together and — "

  "She's taken up with a damned outlaw."

  I saw his point. If each of us followed one trail, one of us would find his wayward daughter.

  "Could be worse," I pointed out. "He's not keeping her as a hostage."

  "I'll cut his heart out," Cheshire said in a tone that chilled me more than his cussing.

  "If I'm on Miss Cheshire's trail, what do I say when I find her?"

  "Get her on back to the Triangle K. I'm giving you permission to hogtie her and drag her the whole way back if she refuses."

  I knew what I'd do if my trail crossed Josiah Hanks'. He was a man with a reward on his head. Swapping lead was a distinct possibility. The back of my neck began to tingle again, as I remembered how Marshal Toms had been cut down from ambush. That could have been Hanks.

  If he was that good a marksman, he would drop me before I got within pistol range of him.

  But Mira Nell Cheshire presented me a whole different problem. No matter what her pa said, tying her up and hauling her lovely ass back to the Triangle K posed a challenge worse than dealing with cattle thieves.

  "Ride," Cheshire said, taking his own advice.

  If I had anything to say, I'd be shouting it at his receding back.

  With a deep sigh, I set off after the second set of tracks. After another half hour, a smile came to my lips. I liked where the trail was leading me.

  "Come on, Monte," I said, patting his neck. "This is just what the doctor ordered."

  Even Monte perked up and began trotting forward.

  Chapter Twelve

  I rode slowly into town, thinking on how I spent more time here than back at the OH. A guilt pang about avoiding my duties for Mr. Phillips passed quickly, though, when my belly began serenading me. Too much time in the saddle had worn my butt down to thin slats, and wetting my whistle required more of a deluge. There wasn't a whole lot about me that didn't hurt or complain in some other way.

  Telling Marshal Toms about the claim Jack Cheshire made about his daughter's suitor might cause unpleasantness I'd as soon avoid. I had no reason to doubt the rancher's claim that Josiah Hanks and the newly hired wrangler were one and the same. His ire had been real enough to convince any jury he was right. The glimpses I'd had of both cowboy and rustler put me in the same camp. The marshal would enjoy putting a possible rival for Miss Cheshire's affections into jail, but doing so might drive the girl away. Too much depended on the depth of her affection for the rustler.

  Rather than belabor the marshal with this sorry story, I dismounted in front of Gus' Watering Hole and went inside. I coughed at the thick smoke that threatened to lift the roof. The cold outside kept it inside since the doors only opened for customers coming or going. This afternoon's business was brisk, but Gus still greeted me as he ignored other, more boisterous customers.

  "You lookin' fer a job?"

  "I've got one," I said. I pointed to the beer tap. The drawings sold to Mr. Wyatt for his newspaper allowed me to buy whiskey, but I appreciated the foamy descent of beer all the way to my belly.

  "You spend more time here than out on the range," Gus said. "I was jist thinkin' on how I could use help 'round here, 'specially when it gets busy like it is now."

  "Seems that way," I allowed. "Don't need a job as barkeep since I'd hate to show you up at your own profession, Gus. You got anything left over from lunch?"

  I worked on thick slabs of stale bread slathered with mustard hot enough to bring tears to my eyes and beef so tough it had to have rested on some cowhand's boot as recently as this morning. It was a good thing I had beer to drink. The coffee standing in a cup behind Gus looked stronger than me. A sip of that would give me what for, but the beer had to do me for the moment.

  "You happen to see Josiah Hanks recently?" I pulled out the now torn and smudged picture of the rustler and showed it to him.

  "Ain't seen that varmint. That the wrangler Jack Cheshire hired a couple weeks back when Ferddie Gonzalez got throwed when his horse stepped in a prairie dog hole and busted his neck?"

  "Could be."

  Gus heaved a deep sigh.

  "So?" He got a far-off look in his eye that needed explaining.

  "Seems folks are pourin' in from the Triangle K. You're looking fer him. I seen Miss Cheshire ride into town not two hours back."

  I about swallowed the slab of beef whole. Choking, I drained the beer to get my voice back. All the way from the mud hole where I parted company with Mr. Cheshire I thought I was on Hanks' trail, not Mira Nell's. It had made sense to me she was heading for the hills to hide out and wait for her beau while he came to town. Now that it was all laid out for me that the girl had ridden straight here, I puzzled over why I'd not considered earlier that I followed her and not worried so much about running into a six-gun wielding rustler. Too many hours in the saddle had addled my brains and made actual thinking impossible.

  "She still in town?"

  "Saw her at the general store a couple hours ago. Considerin' how her pa keeps her away from riffraff like what lives in town, I thought it strange she was here all by her lonesome. Can't say I gave it much thought, though, since I was so busy admirin' her feminine form. She is a peach," Gus said, smiling in memory.

  For a moment I worried he might ask me for the same kind of favor the marshal already had. Drawings of Mira Nell Cheshire could become my bread and butter, if I wanted.

  Somehow, doing small portraits of her for every horny man in town diminished her in my mind. I had promised Marshal Toms, but nobody else would get a drawing.

  Excepting, of course, one I might do for my own collection, though the mental picture I had of her would always be far better than anything I put down on paper or canvas. It was always that way, and it kept me working to improve my artistic skills. The day I transferred my mental picture exactly to the canvas would be the day I died. I was smart enough to figure that out. I'd heard somebody say once that the gods don't permit perfection amongst men and daring to achieve that was the worst possible arrogance.

  "A couple hours back?" I about choked swallowing the beef without chewing on it like it deserved. "She was in town a couple hours 'fore I got here?"

  "You said you was out on the Triangle K. How come her pa didn't have you escortin' her in when there's so many outlaws runnin' unchecked?"

  "That's a long story."

  "Ain't never stopped you 'fore."

  "I haven't had time to think up a conclusion yet," I said. The last dregs of the beer wasted the lump all the way down my swaller pipe, but the sandwich knotted in my gut.

  The general store was a dozen doors down the main street. Turning up my collar against the brisk wind blowing off the mountains, I made my way there taking special care not to miss Mira Nell in any of the other stores I passed. If she had come to town on a shopping binge there was no telling what she'd be spending her papa's money on. But I suspected her needs were more specific. I slipped into the general store and poked around while the owner waited on a portly woman whose sole reason for coming in was to gossip, or so it seemed. She finally bought a few yards of cloth and left.

  She turned her nos
e up at me as she passed by. Other times I would have been amused, but now I appreciated her olfactory discomfort. It had been forever since I'd doused my body in soapy water. Plowing around in the mud, chasing down cattle and shooting it out with outlaws had left me stinking to high heaven. Even the store owner, who was used to cowboys ripe and fresh off the range, coughed and rubbed at his huge honker of a nose. If that started to drip, the whole town was in danger of being washed away.

  Keeping my distance, I called out to him, "Mr. Cheshire sent me to escort his daughter back to the ranch. Said she was buyin' some supplies."

  "You ain't got a wagon," the man said. He sneezed, then used his sleeve to wipe his nose.

  It was my turn to step away from him. There's no such thing as polite behavior out on the range. What they call hygiene is saved up for when we hit town and the whores. Once in a very long while ranch hands are invited to town socials or barn dances. That's when we scrub up clean and even use sweet smellums. Mostly there's no reason to bathe, and manners can be divided into two halves. One part means everyone stays friends or at least peaceable. The other part has lead flying and men dying. That's more permanent and not what I pursue.

  "No, sir, I don't. Mr. Cheshire said Miss Mira warn't buyin' that much." This was a guess on my part. If she and Hanks intended to flee, carrying a thirty-pound sack of flour wasn't likely in the cards.

  "Nope, she bought a few things for the trail. Couldn't interest her in a slicker, though." He fished around under the counter and pulled out a yellow oilskin raincoat fit for a prince. "Rolls up real tight, good for a ground cover and with winter comin' at us like a freight train, it'll help keep you nice 'n warm."

  "Must have forgot it."

  "Seemed she had a powerful lot on her mind."

  "Why don't I go on and take that for her? Put it on the Triangle K bill."

  "Well, I don't know. You're that artist feller, ain't you?"

  "I've been known to draw a mite."

  "You work for Jesse Phillips, not Mr. Cheshire." He cocked his head to one side and fixed a steady stare on me.