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

by James Reasoner

  "You're never going back. I'll see to that!"

  Rusty and I looked at each other. The sound of the scuffle decided me. I stood up and jumped to land in the middle of the sandpit, ready for a fight with a rustler and to rescue a kidnapped damsel in distress.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hot lead whirred past my head and kicked up a tiny fountain of sand just past me. I fumbled to get my six-gun out. It took longer than I expected because I had to work my hand under not only my coat but the yellow slicker before my fingers clamped down on the walnut pistol butt. A second slug tore a piece out of my raincoat and caused me to lose my balance. I sat heavily, dragging my six-gun around and hanging onto it with both hands to steady it.

  I fired in the direction of the rustler. My slug spanged! off a rock and ricocheted around the sandy arena. Only then did I hear the girl's shrieks. Attention split between the outlaw trying to ventilate me and Mira Nell's outcry, I glanced to my left. She came at me like a freight train and bowled me over. Seated as I was, I didn't have far to fall. But she fought like a wildcat, hitting and clawing at my gun hand.

  "Don't hurt him. Don't shoot at him!"

  More lead came my way. It was a one-sided request. She wanted me to stop shooting, but her kidnapper kept up the barrage. That he might hit her instead of me caused an earthquake of a revelation. I stopped shooting, as she wanted, but I threw out my arms and circled her struggling body. With a strong kick, I rolled atop her and pinned her to the ground.

  "He'll kill you if you don't stop fighting me. I'm here to rescue you!"

  Instead of being reassured, my words caused her to fight even harder. Another bullet tore a long groove along my shoulder. Saving myself would be easy enough, but I had to protect her from the outlaw's bullets. I dropped my weight down on her. Too many nights riding herd and then trying to survive on the chow Texas Pete scared up had turned me thin as a rail. Her fear and my scrawny frame collided. She lifted me up and dumped me to one side.

  "Rusty! Don't let him shoot her. Or me. Stop him!"

  From above where we had spied on the Josiah Hanks came wild shouts and even wilder shots.

  "No, no, don't hurt him," sobbed Mira Nell.

  I finally disentangled myself from her and sat up again. Waving my six-shooter around made me feel as if I did something useful, but the shadows hid any target. I spun around on my butt and covered the crevice with a steadier aim now. Behind me Mira Nell sobbed.

  "I'm comin' down. Don't shoot."

  A loud thud, followed by muffled curses died fast in the circle of stone. Rusty dropped to his knees beside me and grabbed a handful of oilcloth. He yanked, then released it.

  "You're the luckiest cuss I ever did see. Your worthless hide's still intact. If that varmint had been shootin' at me, I'd be four lead slugs heavier."

  "If he'd shot you in the head, he wouldn't have hurt you one bit," I said. "Your head's as empty as a drum."

  "Fine way to talk. I saved your life."

  "Guard the crevice," I ordered. "Wait. Hear that?"

  "Hoofbeats. He's gettin' away." Rusty ran from the sandy pit and worked his way between the rocks, leaving me to tend to the blonde girl.

  She sobbed, face in her hands.

  "It's all right now. We run him off."

  "Why? Why couldn't you leave us alone?"

  "He kidnapped you. He — "

  "I love him. He didn't kidnap me. I went with him because I wanted. Because I love him!"

  "Back in town, the stableboy said you argued, then Hanks kidnapped you."

  "We were fighting," she said. Her face was a sight. Tears ran in muddy tracks down her cheeks. Her lips quivered and her eyes were bright and wide. "Jeremy and I fight all the time. I . . . I don't know what it is but I like that. He likes it, too, when we make up."

  "Jeremy? Is that what he called himself?"

  "Jeremy Hudson. He works for my father as a ranch hand."

  "His name's Josiah Hanks, and he's wanted in fourteen counties for cattle stealin' and who knows what other crimes."

  "No, you're just saying that. Papa told you to say that. Or he wanted you to think Jeremy's no good so you'd kill him." As she said that, a horrified expression crossed her face like a cloud blotting out the noonday sun.

  "I'm no hired gun, but you know that. I work the OH range, and it's only because I found a passel of stolen beeves that I talked to your pa."

  "You're the one who had Jeremy's picture. I recognize you."

  Beautiful women forget my face straight away. Mira Nell just proved that. She had hightailed it to warn Hanks when I had shown his picture to her pa, but she hardly paid any attention to me. In its way, this was a compliment. My art was memorable even if the artist wasn't. And that was something I could live with.

  "Rusty!" I bellowed again and got a distant reply that made me despair.

  Mira Nell smiled, then grinned broadly enough to irritate me.

  "He got away," she said.

  "You're goin' on back to your pa. He's in a state worryin' over you."

  "Jeremy will come for me. I don't want to stay on the Triangle K any more."

  "That's between you and your family."

  I took her arm and pulled the girl to her feet. She came along sullenly. We joined Rusty in the adjoining spit.

  "I swear, Charlie, I tried to stop him. He was too quick for me."

  "Runnin' down rustlers is a job for the law, not us," I said. "Go fetch our horses, and I'll watch over Miss Cheshire."

  "He's not a thief!" Mira Nell blurted. "I love him, and he's not a thief!"

  "This a picture of Jeremy?" For the hundredth time I pulled out the likeness and showed her. She nodded. This was enough for me. I tucked the sketch back into my coat pocket.

  "His eyes aren't as wide-set as that and his nose is shorter," she said.

  Beautiful women ignoring me is one thing, anyone criticizing my artwork is another. I got her on her horse and walked her out of the rocky circle back onto the trail. By the time Monte sagged under my weight and we turned back downhill, snow pellets hammered at our backs.

  Any posse chasing down Josiah Hanks — or Jeremy Hudson — would freeze off their nether regions. But that didn't concern me one whit. I wanted nothing more than to return Mira Nell to her pa and to get back to riding night herd.

  * * *

  Expecting a reward was something only Rusty Rawlins would think about. I knew Jack Cheshire wasn't likely to pony up a red cent for returning his daughter to kith and kin, but I foolishly thought he would thank us for swapping lead with an outlaw to rescue her.

  "You took long enough finding her," he raged. Cheshire grabbed Mira Nell's arm and swung her about, sending her stumbling in the direction of the ranch house door. He pointed inside and she obeyed. He turned back to us. "I ought to horsewhip you both!"

  "Mr. Cheshire, she was kidnapped by Hanks. Or Hudson or whatever he calls himself," I said. "We risked our lives rescuing her."

  "This would never have happened if you hadn't let the gang escape back in the meadow."

  "You got your beeves back," I said. "I reckon that's all you care about."

  Mira Nell peered out from around the edge of a curtain. If looks could kill, I'd be pushing up daisies. The thought crossed my mind she couldn't be much worse off with a cattle thief than her pa, not when he went on like this until he was red in the face. At times like this, strange thoughts cross my mind. His face was fiery red with anger and the snow pellets were turning to slush. A cartoon came to mind of the snow touching his skin and changing to steam. If I hadn't been so mad at how he welcomed Rusty and me, I would have laughed.

  It was just as well I didn't. Cheshire was in such a mood he would have gunned us both down for laughing at him.

  "You get the hell off my land! Don't ever show your ugly faces here again!"

  "It'll be a cold day in hell when we do that," Rusty said.

  "Be careful what you're sayin'," I told my friend. "It's gonna be real cold 'fore we get
back to the OH. As if it's not cold enough already." I met Cheshire's glare and didn't flinch. Only when he broke eye contact did I turn and mount.

  The whole way off the Triangle K land I had the twitch between my shoulder blades waiting for a bullet like the one that had laid Marshal Toms low. For all his people-hating ways, Jack Cheshire didn't seem like a backshooter to me, but there had to be more going on at the ranch for Mira Nell to up and leave with a rustler.

  "You think she was kidnapped, Charlie?"

  "Up in the hills, I did. Listening to her protest the whole way back planted a seed of doubt in my head." We rode a while farther. The wind picked up and pressed the slicker around my spare body. The raincoat was likely the only reward I would see for looking after Cheshire's daughter.

  "With the storm comin' down on us, ain't gonna need to chase rustlers," Rusty said. "All we'll need to do is make sure the cows don't starve."

  "Might be easier runnin' down rustlers," I said, looking up at the leaden sky and sheets of blowing snow. "Might be a damned sight easier."

  * * *

  "You can larrup me all day and into the night, Charlie, if I ever doubt you again." Rusty slapped his upper arms and crowded closer to the fireplace where a fire fitfully spit out sparks and not much heat.

  "What are you sayin'?"

  I hunched over the rickety table fighting to hang onto my drawing pencil. Fingers colder than icicles made that quite a chore, but the drawing was taking shape. It pained me that the subject of the drawing haunted my dreams so much I had to put her likeness on paper. Mira Nell Cheshire stared back up at me, an elusive Mona Lisa smile gracing her bow-shaped lips.

  Whether I kept it or sold it to the marshal was a question begging an answer.

  "You said trackin' rustlers would be easier than tendin' the cattle. You were right, Charlie, oh, my freezin' toes, you were right." Rusty thrust out his hands to get closer to the embers.

  "Put another log on the fire."

  "We won't make it through the night if I do that. We ain't got enough chopped up to be burnin' this soon."

  "The storm came on us 'fore you had a chance to chop more."

  "Me? It was your turn to swing that axe."

  Abandoning the drawing for a heated round of argument proved a good thing. It kept both of us alert and fought off the cold, for a few minutes. We hadn't been back at the bunkhouse ten minutes when Mr. Phillips had ordered us out to this line shack at the edge of the OH land to save as many cattle as we could. The wind had been razor-sharp for some time, but this was the first real storm of the year and it was working itself up into being a doozy.

  Conversation faded as we listened to the growing wind's howl. I gave up trying to capture every line and curve of Mira Nell's face and tucked the portrait away in my pocket. It pained me, but if it came to it, this would be fuel to keep us both warm for another few seconds. A hard gust caused the wall closest to the mountains to bow inward. Snow leaked past the cracks and drifted inside. There wasn't enough heat inside to melt this growing snow bank.

  "We should shovel it out," Rusty said after studying the growing pile. "If 'n we don't it'll turn as cold inside as it is out."

  "Feels that way to me now," I said.

  I stood and walked around, slapping myself to get the blood flowing. For a few minutes this worked, then I found I'd tracked snow everywhere. My feet turned colder because of the snow caked on my boot soles.

  "I'm gettin' another log," I said. "You stir up the fire and get it ready. No sense dyin' now."

  "You're right, Charlie. No sense dyin' now when we kin do it later."

  I opened the door. It had been put in the leeward side of the cabin, and only a little snow swirled about to land on the dirt floor. When I stepped away from the protection offered so grudgingly by the cabin, the wind about knocked me to my knees. I caught myself and hobbled to the meager woodpile. Catching up a couple logs to keep from having to return when the storm got even worse, I started back when I saw dark shapes moving through the storm.

  I'd heard stories of lost souls forever hunting for Heaven, riding the range and never being free of chasing the Devil's herd. Staring into the whiteness almost convinced me that was what I saw. Then the wind performed a curious swirl and gave me a clear view of the three riders and the dozen cattle they herded.

  Rustlers. Not even foul weather kept them from their thieving ways. They rode on without spotting me. I got back into the cabin and kicked the door shut, dropped the logs and turned to Rusty.

  "I just saw three rustlers headin' toward the mountains. They must have another hideout."

  "Let 'em steal all the cows they want. Take a gander at that, Charlie."

  He used his elbow to wipe frost off a small windowpane. I pressed close to see what interested him more than rustlers. All the starch went out of me when I saw the heifer frozen to the ground. Men stealing cattle amounted to nothing against the fury of nature.

  "You have to tell Mr. Phillips," I said. "Have him send out some boys with supplies."

  "I'm not leavin' you!" Rusty's outrage was real, but the fear in his eyes told me how easy it would be to convince him to abandon me and report the sorry conditions to Mr. Phillips. Nobody ever accused me of being sensible. From my earliest days, all I remember were relatives saying I didn't have a lick of sense.

  "I have to stay," I told him. "Wait a minute and I'll send a message back to Mr. Phillips showin' how bad it is gettin'."

  "Let him fire us both. I have to be alive and kickin' fer him to chew out my ass. And you cain't stay, Charlie. Nursemaidin' cows ain't worth your life."

  Too many things collided for me to explain the way I felt. Mr. Phillips expected me to do what I could to keep the cattle alive through this blow. But seeing the rustlers sparked something else, too. I wasn't a lawman but letting them varmints have free rein on the OH galled me. The cattle they stole weren't mine, but they'd been entrusted to me.

  I took out a piece of card stock and quickly sketched, talking a mile a minute to convince him to get back to the ranch house, then handed the drawing to him.

  "Give that to Mr. Phillips. He'll understand."

  He peered at it, then smiled ruefully.

  "Damned cow froze to the ground. He'll understand this better than anything I could say." Rusty started to tuck it away in a coat pocket, but I stopped him.

  I added a quick line of text.

  "He'll want to know why I'm still out here."

  Rusty looked at it again, frowning now.

  "I don't read yer writin' so good, Charlie. What's it say?"

  "Waiting for a chinook."

  He laughed ruefully, then plunged out into the storm. About all I could hope for if I wanted to survive was a chinook, that crazy, dry, warm wind that blows down off the eastern slopes of The Rockies for no good reason. Without it, the cattle weren't likely to last much longer.

  Neither was I.

  I tossed a log on the fire and coaxed it to a steady glow, then went outside and led Monte inside. No reason we couldn't share the warmth. We'd shared damned near everything else. We both settled down, waiting for a chinook that never came.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The storm woke me. More accurately, the lack of storm brought me upright. The wool blanket fell away from my body as stiff as a board. Snow had gotten on it during the night and frozen. No matter I had been as close to the fire as I could get, the cold inside the cabin rivaled that outside. A quick look up assured me Monte was alive and restless. Without him, I was a goner unless Rusty got back with others to help.

  I stood, knocked off more frost and walked around slapping myself until I felt halfway alive. I finally got up the nerve to look outside. At first I couldn't make head nor tail of it, then realized the snow had drifted up over the window. All I saw was the glass reflecting back because it was blocked on the outside. The cabin door yielded to a few sharp tugs. For all the whining and howling, the snow hadn't wind-drifted as much as I expected. Maybe five inches of snow on
the level, but more than one cow stood frozen to the ground in silent tribute to the fierce cold.

  I tromped out a few yards and looked up. The Montana sky was so blue it hurt to look at it. The sun shone down, but the cold remained. Something had robbed the sun of its power, although the wind had died down. Like a lighthouse beacon, I turned slowly and stared into the foothills. There might be cattle that had survived up there, caught in the lee of a hill. Cows are hardy animals and take a powerful lot of killing out on the range. A friend of mine back in St. Louis had remarked once how it was the predators you had to worry about. Wolves and bears and critters with claws and teeth. He foolishly thought grass eaters were docile.

  I learned how wrong that was the first week I worked as a shepherd and saw a ewe kick a coyote in the head. The coyote died and the ewe's lamb lived the season. And nobody in their right mind gets in front of a stampeding herd of cattle or in front of a single bull with horns so long they reach from Canada all the way down to Texas. Even polled, those horns are potent weapons.

  I stared up at the broad expanse arching from horizon to horizon and wondered how to capture that precise color. Too many times in the past I had tried. It was as foolish for me to think I could mix the right pigments for the perfect sky painting as it was for my friend to discount how fierce hooved animals could be. I could introduce him to a bison stampede, but I could never find the right sky hues.

  Monte neighed and pawed away a patch of snow to get at the tall grass beneath. I let him work to his heart's content as I tossed the last log on the fire, boiled some snow water and fixed a bowl of oatmeal. Coffee so hot it burned away the last traces of frostbite in my innards got me feeling feisty.

  By the time Monte had finished his breakfast, I saddled up and rode. What I expected never came clear to me. Too many thoughts jumbled up in my head, of rustlers and Mira Nell Cheshire and froze up cows and how Horace was likely to think I was dead by misadventure if him or others from the OH showed up and couldn't find me in the cabin. Too late it came to me I should have left a note explaining my lapse of good sense, but I wasn't going to retrace my tracks just for that now. Mixed in with all that, working over ways of composing just the right landscape occupied me more than it should. The sky and blanket of snow with the ragged mountains poking up all begged me to capture them on canvas.