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

by James Reasoner

  "Nobody's sure what went through that horse's mind, but I think he was such an outlaw that the scent of sulfur reminded him of the hellfires where he was born. The roan tucked his head between his front legs and bucked. Halliday dropped the match and hung onto the hackamore, but that roan wasn't gonna be rode, not that day or any other.

  "The horse lit out for the edge of a cliff. Halliday saw certain death racin' up on him. He dug in his spur, leaned as far to his left as he could but nothin' affected the horse and its anger at bein' rid."

  "What happened?"

  "That roan kicked hard and launched 'em out into thin air. The wranglers ridin' with Halliday watched him rip off his hat and wave it about. The cigarette never budged from 'tween his lips."

  "Did they find Halliday's body?"

  "Better 'n that. They rode on around and down to the stream below but no amount of huntin' revealed horse or rider — until one of 'em looked up into the limbs of a tall cottonwood. Halliday sat there astride that roan, the cigarette in his mouth. He looked down on his partners and said, 'Anybody got a light? The one I struck blowed out.'"

  Hanks laughed heartily.

  "You do spin a story."

  "Your turn," I said. "Why don't you tell me how you came to ride the outlaw trail?"

  Hanks stiffened and turned away. If my body hadn't been one giant ache and my hands icy lumps, jumping him to grab for my six-shooter would be possible. He stared into the storm for the longest time, then turned back.

  "I'm not a rustler and I don't steal cattle, from the OH or anywhere else."

  "I spotted you that night during the thunderstorm."

  "Wasn't me. That's my younger brother. A wild one. I followed him out west to take him back home in Fargo. The family runs a brick making business, but working the firing kiln proved too hard for him."

  "You're not a cowboy?"

  Hanks laughed and shook his head.

  "You think you're no good as a wrangler. Mr. Cheshire didn't even trust me to ride night herd. I was more a handy man around the Triangle K." He sighed deeply. "That kept me around the ranch house where I got to talk with Miss Cheshire."

  "You didn't have to kidnap her."

  "That was Josiah's doing! I've done everything I can to end his thieving ways, but he's learned to be an outlaw too good from that Ned Fenton. He's my brother and I won't stop trying to set his feet on a righteous path, but if Mira Nell asked me, I would. That would be a big decision, but I love her more than I feel obligation to my brother."

  "Her pa doesn't cotton much to you." I felt odd pointing out the obvious, but I wanted to see his reaction.

  "That's understandable. I'm no cowboy and don't know the first thing about growing cattle, but I'm a fair carpenter and can lay brick with the best of them." He coughed. "Not that there's much call for bricks out here where there're trees growing underfoot. So, I can't blame Mr. Cheshire, but that doesn't mean I don't love Mira Nell or she love me."

  "How come you two argue so much? That's not the way of love."

  "It is with us. She's got fire in her, and I fan it to a flame that'd burn up any ordinary woman. It only makes her lovelier." He heaved a sigh, then said, "It makes it all the sweeter when we kiss and make up."

  I allowed as to how the girl had said the same thing.

  "We understand each other. I might give up tracking down Josiah when the storm dies down and ask Mr. Cheshire for Mira Nell's hand. If he says no, we'll elope. We talked that over and she doesn't like the way her folks have kept her a prisoner on the Triangle K, away from town and most folks her own age. None's good enough for her, to hear her pa tell it. She's afraid he intends to send her off to Boston to a finishing school."

  "That could finish a high-spirited filly," I said, remembering my own time in a military school. I had no reason to think a girl's finishing school different much from a military school, except in what the students wore. I grinned thinking of Mira Nell with a rifle hiked up on her shoulder and walking a precise route as punishment guard duty.

  “That doesn't explain how your brother made you kidnap her."

  "It's like this, I have to get her away. Josiah's not threatened her life, but his boss has. He has it in for Mr. Cheshire, stealin' his cows first and foremost. Josiah thinks it is all fun and keeps trying to lure Mira away. If he ever did, his boss would kill her to settle the score with her pa. I can't allow that."

  "That's a mighty strange tale."

  "You're not going to keep dogging my steps, claiming I'm an outlaw, are you?"

  "There's quite a reward on Josiah Hanks' head."

  "Hanks," he said angrily. "That's the summer name my brother took. His real name's Josiah Hudson."

  "And you're Jeremy Hudson," I said. "You tell quite a tall tale yourself. Not sure it's not better 'n mine." I yawned and lay back, all the energy draining from me. Even a short story had taken the starch out of me.

  I tried to keep my eyes open but the lids sank like lead weights had been fastened to them. When I woke up in the morning, the storm had gone.

  So had Josiah Hanks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The fire warmed my numbed hands enough for me to bend my fingers. Again I wished for the rawhide gloves safely tucked in my gear back at the OH bunkhouse. Being caught in fierce winter storms shouldn't have caught me so unawares since I had lived here long enough to know better. Even in St. Louis I'd had the wit to keep gloves close by because I wanted to draw.

  Thinking on that, I got to my feet like an arthritic old man and stared out across the silent land hidden under its white. Movement at the corner of my eye made me turn and reach for the six-shooter that wasn't at my hip. I froze. A snow hare popped up and stared at me. Only the movement had alerted me to its presence, all white and camouflaged as it was. If any critter survived this winter, the hare would be at the top of the list. It had already adopted coloration to help it through to spring. When it hopped away I couldn't even follow it save by the footprints it left in the snow.

  Survival.

  The word popped up in my brain. Hanks had left me my horse and gear but had taken my pistol. That limited what I might do. If I had been loco enough to track him, I'd need my six-gun. Without it, returning to the ranch was the only thing I could do. Let Mr. Phillips know what had happened, take a ribbing from the other cowboys about being snared so easily, then go on into town and report to Marshal Toms. By the time I reached him, the gang would be long gone, Josiah Hanks with them.

  My head was clearer than the night before, but something itched away just beyond my reach. There had been something wrong with the outlaw that I couldn't pin down. I took out the almost destroyed picture of him I'd drawn and held it up to the sun. The smudges weren't as apparent when I let the sun shine through the sheet. Studying it made me even angrier at myself. Getting caught the way I had was bad, but having a rustler steal my piece was worse. Worst of all, Mira Nell Cheshire had been right about me not quite remembering the details of Hanks' face.

  That quick look I'd had at first, in the lightning with rustlers all around shooting it up and me not feeling comfortable driving a herd of cattle by myself, all excused me for getting the small points wrong. Only I'd've sworn on a stack of Bibles every detail of the sketch was as exact as I could make it. I do cartoons and small sculptures, but my portraits are supposed to capture both look and demeanor.

  "Might be he's not quite so angry," I said. Hanks had come off as a friendly enough fellow last night. His pencilled likeness carried a hint of choler. "But the nose and eyes. Damn me if the little lady wasn't right."

  I fished around under my sash and found the nub of drawing pencil shoved there. Licking the point, I set to work correcting the nose. There wasn't much I could do about the eyes without redrawing the face, but even as I worked it struck me as wrong. I knew what I'd seen.

  There was something more, something that was there and shouldn't be or the other way around. One of the Greek philosophers had come on an idea and yelled "Eureka!" I
wanted to do likewise, only that privilege was denied me since I couldn't tell what should be there and wasn't.

  I folded up the reworked picture, careful not to fold it so it tore along the creases, then rummaged through my gear for something to chow down on. There wasn't a morsel left. Not only had Hanks stolen my six-gun, he had taken my food, too.

  Weak from nearly freezing and now from not getting any food, I led Monte from the cave. He balked a mite when the cold circled him like a blanket. He shied as I tried repeatedly to drop the saddle on his back. The third try about tuckered me out. I dropped it to the ground and knelt on it, panting. As I contemplated the chances of me riding bareback, I looked up at the horse and then beyond.

  A solitary rider followed Hanks' trail back. My heart sank when I saw it was the outlaw.

  "Good morning," he called. "I see you're up and about. Want some breakfast?" He held up a pair of rabbits still in their fall brown coats, for all the good that would do them now.

  "I didn't hear any gunshots. What'd you do, club them with a brick?"

  Hanks laughed. He drew rein and slid easily from the saddle. Monte backed away at the scent of blood from the dead rabbits. It took all my strength to keep him from bolting.

  "You fetch more firewood, and I'll roast us some rabbit."

  "Why'd you come back?"

  He looked up, his face serious.

  "I doubted you could get back to the ranch on your own, all bunged up the way you were. Almost freezing to death takes it out of a man, even one used to spinning stories of men yelling in the dead of winter, then having the shout thaw out come spring so's his friends know where he is."

  "That story needs work," I said, settling down on my saddle. I watched him expertly skin the rabbits and spit them.

  I climbed to my feet to fetch more wood, but my wobbly gait defeated me. Hanks helped with the wood. He cooked and we ate in silence, the entire time me staring at him and trying to understand what I had missed.

  "What now?" I asked after we had polished off the last of the meat. It had been greasy and tough and about the best thing I had ever eaten. Those wildcats waiting to be whipped had to come back another day, but I began feeling as if I could ride without keeling over in the saddle.

  "I'll see you back where you can reach the OH, then I'm going after my brother."

  "You still expect me to believe that it was your baby brother and not you that's been rustlin' all over central Montana?"

  "Don't care if you believe or not. It's true."

  "What are you going to do when you find him?"

  "I have to convince him to leave the Fenton gang and go straight."

  "Would you turn him over to the law?" I saw how he stiffened at this.

  "He's my brother, my little brother, and I have to look out for him. Sending him to jail's not going to be anything he could survive."

  A touch of lightheadedness hit me. It was as if Hanks was talking about two people. I'd seen him rustling the OH cattle and now he went on like that had been someone else.

  "You and Mira Nell?"

  "That's harder than getting Josiah to leave the Fenton gang. Ned's got a hold on him, but it's nothing like the one Mira's got on me. I could travel to Paris or China and the pull toward her would be just as strong. How I can convince her pa of that's going to take a spell."

  "We'd better get to travelin'," I said. "From the look of the mountains, another storm is brewin'."

  "Fargo gets terrible blizzards whipping on down out of Canada, but nothing like here. If I hadn't seen the country in the fall, I'd think there was nothing but snow and frost and sharp edges on the wind."

  I felt stronger but not up to saddling Monte. As Hanks heaved the saddle up, I considered grabbing for my pistol thrust into his gun belt. It would be the act of a brave man to do that, or a foolish one. I felt weaker than a kitten. If I didn't get the drop on him straight away, it would be over for me no matter how kind he had treated me this far.

  "You need help stepping up?"

  I considered the offer, found a rock to give a boost, then flopped belly down before swinging around. The elevated view from Monte's back improved my spirits.

  "Let's hit the trail," he said.

  We rode along for a couple hours, swapping lies until we came to a patch of snow all chewed up by horses. He dismounted and studied the prints, then looked up at me.

  "Fenton didn't hightail it after all. This is his gang. A half dozen men, maybe more. I have to see if Josiah is with them."

  "The OH is a couple miles that way," I said, pointing.

  "And Fenton went that way," he said pointing in another.

  "What's wrong with your arm?" I asked, sudden revelation hitting me so hard I swayed in the saddle.

  "Nothing's wrong with my arm." He held out his right arm, then skinned back the coat sleeve.

  "Your other forearm. Show it to me."

  When he did, I knew what had been gnawing at the edges of my so-called brain.

  "You haven't been shot. I didn't shoot you?"

  "How could you? I took your iron." He pulled back his coat to show where my six-shooter still rode in his gun belt. With a quick jerk, he drew my gun and handed it up to me.

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. There wasn't so much as a scratch on his forearm. I had shot the rustler I'd taken prisoner in the forearm. Peering closer made me want to think my talents weren't going to hell. The drawing of the rustler I'd done had been accurate.

  When I showed it to Mira Nell, she assumed I flashed her a picture of this man, her beau.

  Jeremy Hudson.

  "What's wrong with you? I'm giving you back your gun."

  "Your brother's really a rustler with Ned Fenton."

  "I told you all that. Why are you just now believing me?"

  "That's more than a story to spin around a campfire. It's something to tell over a beer."

  "What are you saying?"

  "The gang's tracks are heading for town."

  "Not directly," he said. "Town's more in that direction. From the direction, they are cutting across Triangle K property on their way south. If they get to the main road, they can head to Billings. I don't know what they've been up to, unless they got snowed in, too, like we were last night."

  "Your brother might not be with them," I said. "If we warn the marshal, he can get a posse together and cut them off."

  "He might not be with them, but there's the likelihood that he is," Jeremy Hudson said. "I can't take the chance of him getting caught up with the rest."

  I took my six-shooter and balanced it in my hand. He had left himself vulnerable to my questionable marksmanship. Jeremy stared at me, challenging me to stop him.

  With a quick move, I slipped the six-shooter back into its holster. He stepped back, swung up into the saddle and rode away. A hundred yards off, he slowed, turned and waved. I waved back. We both knew what had to be done, and now it was up to each of us to do what we could, circumstances be damned.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was as cold in town as it was on the trail, in spite of the buildings breaking the bitter wind whistling off the mountains. Or it might just have been my reluctance to do what had to be done. I brought Monte to a halt in the middle of the frozen mud street and looked at the door to Gus' Watering Hole. Music blared from inside. It took a few seconds for me to recognize the tune. "One-eyed Riley" it was.

  Mary went up to her room,

  Left her door about half open,

  After giving me a hint,

  To fill all the cracks that I found open.

  I couldn't help but think on Jeremy Hudson and Mira Nell Cheshire. That might be the way with them, and like in the song a verse or two later on, her pa might consider a crime to have been committed. Chasing Hudson with sword and pistol might be the least of the cowboy's worries if Jack Cheshire caught up with him. The song ended well, if you rooted for One-eyed Riley, but the world has a way of ignoring what ought to be in favor of what is. Mr. Cheshire looked th
e sort to guard his daughter's reputation jealously.

  More than the music wafted out. Cigar smoke and laughter and the scent of spilled beer and whiskey all made my mouth water. I wanted to tell stories and drink beer and set in a corner and draw my pictures. With a quick nudge from my heels, I set Monte moving toward the marshal's office.

  Dismounting proved easier than climbing into the saddle. All I had to do was fall. I hit the ground hard and scared my horse. The sound of me groaning and the horse neighing brought Marshal Toms out. He stared down at me, then shook his head in disbelief.

  "You got to lift yerse'f outta the mud, Charlie. With my shot-up chest, thanks to you, there's no way I can give you a hand." He stood back and watched smugly. "Thinkin' on it, that advice goes for the current dilemma you find yerse'f in as well as life itself."

  "You're a prince among men, Marshal, sharin' such gems of wisdom," I said. Covered in filth, I fought to get my feet underneath. Even when I did, I teetered like I'd been a week-long bender. The trail had been long and hard for me. "I got some information 'bout rustlers to pass along that needs you to act mighty fast."

  "Don't get too much mud on the floor. I jist swept up."

  For the life of me, I couldn't see so much as a broom mark in the dirt on the floor. In deference to the marshal's newfound sense of cleanliness, I avoided the chair opposite his desk and perched on a bench under his gun rack where I could drip in peace.

  "This will sound like the mother of all tall tales, Marshal, but let me preface it by sayin' it ain't. It's the truth."

  I launched into my recitation of what had happened. Marshal Toms started out frowning, then brightened, then frowned again by the time I concluded.

  "Let me git this right, Charlie. There's two rustlers by the name of Josiah Hanks?"

  "Hanks is an alias. His true name's Hudson, I reckon, and his brother is his spittin' image. Josiah is the rustler, Jeremy works as a hand on the Triangle K for Mr. Cheshire."