Gather My Horses

by John D. Nesbitt

  The horses moved at a fast walk, and each time he looked back, he saw the dust rising from their passage and floating in their wake. Looking forward, he recognized some places and not others. The trail always looked different going one way than it did on the return, even though he had the habit of looking back at the country as he traveled.

  The farther he went along the ridge, the less hospitable the north side of the trail became, as it fell away in rock slides and steep timbered slopes. Water was harder to find up here, as it did not often cross the trail in the form of a stream, but there were places on the mountainsides where water collected in tarns and ponds. He kept an eye out for such watering places, riding from time to time to the edge of the wide back of the mountain and looking down the slope to the south. At midday he found a pool and took the horses there to drink.

  Most of the horses had finished drinking, and the sorrel was sloshing water backward with its chin, when Fielding heard a voice in back of him. He turned to see a dark-haired rider who was not wearing a hat. As the person waved, Fielding realized it was Isabel. He waved for her to come down the hill.

  “What a surprise,” he called out as she came near.

  “Lucky that I found you.” Her teeth showed as she smiled. “I just happened to look down this way, and I thought it was you with all these packhorses.”

  He saw that she was wearing a work shirt and a pair of trousers, and she had a small bag tied onto the back of her saddle. “This is a long ways from home for you,” he said. “More than a day’s ride.”

  As she climbed down from her horse, she said, “I stayed overnight in Wheatland.”

  He gave her a closer look. “What does your father think of that?”

  “I don’t know. I left him a letter saying I had to get a message to you.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  The smile faded from her face. “Tom, Leonora told me that she heard Cronin’s men were going out to look for you.”

  “Well, they found me. At least, two of them did. One of them ought to have made it back by now. Even if he wanted to keep on riding, he would have to turn in his horse.”

  She frowned. “Who was that?”

  “The sometimes cowpuncher Ray Foote.”

  An expression of distaste came over her face. “I heard he went to work for them. What was he doing out here?”

  “I think he had an idea of thrashing me.”

  “Did he get very far?”

  “Not very. After a scuffle, I told him he was in the wrong game. I took his gun from him, to keep us both safe.”

  “That’s good. And you think he went home?”

  “I hope so. He’ll do better in his own element. Big man among the punkin rollers. These others play a hard game.”

  Her eyebrows tightened. “You said two men came out. Was the other one with him?”

  “No, he showed up the next day. He spooked two of my horses over the side of a cliff, I think by throwin’ rocks. I lost both of them. Then I believe he wanted to send me over the same way.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “It was either him or me.” Fielding looked to either side. “I’d think they would have sent someone to look for him by now. That’s why I’d like to get out of these mountains today if I can.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “Neither have I, until you came along, but it’s easy enough for someone to hide out in the timber.” He looked at her horse, which he recognized as one of her father’s, and then brought his eyes to meet hers. “How about you? Are you tired, or are you ready to turn around and go right back?”

  “It’s all right with me,” she said.

  “Good. I’ll get these fellows lined up. But first, let me give you this extra gun. Don’t pull it out unless you’re sure you can use it. Do you know how to shoot one?”

  She nodded, then watched him as he took the .45 from his saddlebag and put it in hers.

  “You can hold this lead rope if you’d like,” he said. He smiled and added, “First step to makin’ you a wrangler.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she smiled and took the rope.

  He brought the dun horse around and began tying it to the back of the gray horse’s packsaddle. “I don’t know what to expect,” he said. “Maybe nothing will happen. If something does, you get out of here as fast as you can. One shot, and you light out on a run.”

  “Even if you’re hurt?”

  “Don’t stick around and gawk. If someone shoots at me, whether he hits me or not, he’s not going to want witnesses.”

  “How about your horses?”

  He brought the white horse into line and tied it. “I’ll worry about them. I’ve got fewer than I started with anyway.”

  “You lost one earlier as well, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. I’m not doin’ well in profit and loss this year, but that doesn’t mean as much at the present as getting you and me out of these mountains.” He led the bay horse around.

  She winced as she said, “Then I’m just in the way.”

  “That’s all right. You did what you thought you should. The main thing is, look out for yourself if anything happens.” He turned to fetch the sorrel, but her voice stopped him.

  “Tom, I came here because I love you.”

  He went to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her. “I love you, too, darling. We just need to get out of here all right.” He kissed her again, then released her and went for the sorrel, which was near at hand. “I’m going to lead all five of these,” he said as he tied the last horse into place. “If you don’t mind, you can ride in back. If the dust gets too thick, you can either sag back or come around up front, but I think the safest place is where you don’t have anything behind you.”

  “Tom.”

  “Yes?”

  “When you said it was either him or you—”

  He moved his head side to side. “It was their bully, George Pence. He died when he hit the bottom.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know. I just wanted to make sure I understood.”

  Back on the trail, Fielding moved the string along at a good pace. By now he was used to counting only five horses when he turned in the saddle, but he still saw the empty spaces at the end where the other two horses should be. Isabel rode a ways back, reining her horse from time to time to avoid the thickest dust.

  The trail continued going up and down and curving around, according to the lay of the land here on top. Fielding was thinking ahead about the switchbacks, when the trail went around a rock formation on the right and a man stepped forward with a rifle.

  At first glance, Fielding thought the man might be a road agent from his method of presenting himself and keeping his face in shadow, but after a couple of seconds Fielding realized that the man was Al Adler, wearing a dark gray shirt instead of his customary white. The brown gloves looked like part of his body, and the man’s whole bearing was sinister.

  In the time that it took Fielding to make the recognition, he had stopped his horse and the pack string. He raised his right hand, hoping that Isabel would heed it and not ride around to catch up with him. From the instant he had seen the rifle, he knew there was no good prospect in making a run for it, and now he hoped Isabel would stay out of sight.

  Still in the first few seconds, he took in the immediate scene. Adler had stepped out of an enclosure of gray rocks that rose from the trailside and sloped up to a height of about eight feet, leveled off, and rose again to a dome of fifteen to twenty feet. From there it sloped gradually to the ground on the left. The twisted remains of a tree long ago uprooted lay in the foreground, also on Fielding’s left, while a ways past it, standing by itself, a dead snag rose about ten feet in the air with one dead branch sticking out like a withered claw. Coming back to Adler, he saw the tops of dark green cedar trees between the first layer of rocks and the dome, which led him to believe there might be a passageway where Adler had been peeping out on the other side.

 
The packhorses were snuffling and exhaling, and dust was still drifting, when Adler spoke.

  “Good afternoon, Fielding.”

  “The same to you.” Fielding went to lower his hand.

  “Keep your arm up there for a minute.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “You are, as if you didn’t know.”

  “Did your man Foote make it back all right?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “If you’re lookin’ for Pence, he’s farther back in, waitin’ for you.”

  “I know where he is.”

  Fielding doubted what the man said. He wouldn’t have had time to go that far and back unless he had left the ranch shortly after Pence did, in which case he would not have come all the way back here to stage this meeting. “If you go there,” said Fielding, “you might want to keep an eye out for his horse. Probably wandering around with a set of broken reins.”

  “You don’t know everything you think you do,” said Adler. “But it doesn’t matter much.”

  “You’re probably right, on the last point at least. Anything I know, someone else does.”

  The tip of the rifle came up a couple of inches. “Like what?”

  “Like you say, it doesn’t matter much.”

  While he was talking, Fielding was glad not to hear anything from behind the pack string. He hoped Isabel had taken cover.

  “Enough of that anyway,” said Adler. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tuck that lead rope under your leg for a minute, and pull your gun out of the holster. Don’t get anywhere near the trigger. Hold it out at arm’s length, and drop it on the ground.”

  With slow, deliberate movents, Fielding did as he was told.

  Adler continued with his orders. “Now put both hands on the saddle horn, and come down off that horse. When you get down, come around front. I don’t want to have to shoot up everything, but I will if it comes to it.”

  The lead rope fell to the ground as Fielding rose from the saddle and dismounted. His rifle stock was out of reach on the other side of the horse, and he wished he had left Foote’s pistol in his own saddlebag. He thought of trying to turn the buckskin, but he believed Adler’s threat that he wouldn’t scruple to put a bullet through the horse.

  As Fielding came around the front of the buckskin, he held on to the reins. He could see his pistol ten feet away in the dirt, but he knew it would be fatal if he made a dive for it. Furthermore, dirt in the gun might cause it to jam.

  Adler motioned with the rifle, and the gloved hands gave an impression of complete control. “Drop the reins and step over here,” he said.

  In that instant, Fielding saw movement beyond where the man stood with the rifle. Isabel had come through the cleft in the rocks where the dark cedar trees grew.

  Fielding did not budge. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Adler’s face tensed as he said, “What part? I said drop the reins, and get over here.”

  Fielding still did not move. He heard the click of a revolver, then Isabel’s voice.

  “You’d better drop the rifle, mister.”

  As Adler turned and took a step back, still keeping an eye on Fielding, Isabel came into view. She was holding the .45 with both hands, and she stepped around so that Fielding was not in her line of fire.

  “It’s a girl,” said Adler, stepping toward her.

  “I said drop it.” Isabel held the gun pointed at him, but it wavered.

  Adler took another step. “I think I know you,” he said. Then, with a quick backhand swing of the rifle, he knocked the gun from Isabel’s hand.

  The .45 roared, and the bullet split the air as it passed a couple of yards to Fielding’s left. The buckskin jumped, but Fielding held on to the reins. The packhorses were shoving each other and trying to stampede, and both Isabel and Adler were scrambling for the fallen gun. Isabel got her hand on it, and Adler gave her a shove. The pistol clattered out of reach again. As Adler went after it, Fielding pulled the rifle from the scabbard and let the buckskin go.

  “Run!” he hollered, hoping that Isabel would remember that she was to get out of the way if a shot was fired.

  But she didn’t. She picked up a rock the size of both of her hands, raised it, and heaved it at Adler’s head. It glanced off his left shoulder but knocked him off course enough that Isabel made another try for the gun. When she did, Adler grabbed her lower leg and gave it a yank.

  As she fell on her side, Adler reached for the .45 and got a grasp on it. With the pistol in his gloved right hand and the rifle in his left, he rose and turned, locating Fielding as he did so. The Colt blasted as a concussion of air walloped the left side of Fielding’s head.

  He knew he had this one second in time, while Adler was standing in the clear. Fielding had the rifle up, and he lined the sights on the center of the dark gray shirt. Everything came together, and he squeezed the trigger.

  The Colt fired into the air as Adler jerked backward. The rifle fell at his side, and the pistol went back with his hand and then fell.

  Fielding took slow, cautious steps as he approached the man. A dark circle had appeared on the front of the shirt, and the body made no movement.

  Isabel had come to her feet and now stood by his side as she spoke. “Is this one Adler?”

  “It sure is. I didn’t recognize him at first, because he usually wears a white shirt and a brown vest. But that was just for a second.”

  “Is he the last one?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do we do, then?”

  Fielding cast another glance at the body. “I think we’ll leave him here. They’ll come looking for him.”

  “His horse is tied in back of these rocks,” she said.

  “Well, we should let it go.”

  He followed her through the gap in the rock, then around to the back of the dome. When they came to the horse, he recognized it.

  “See this?” he said. “A dark horse, with no white markings. Black slicker tied on back. This fellow Adler was fitted out for work.” Fielding untied the horse, then knotted the reins and slipped them over the saddle horn. “Whoever comes for Adler will find the horse. I didn’t think to look for Pence’s until much later.”

  As Fielding and Isabel walked back to the trail, she asked, “And now?”

  He held the rifle at his side as he looked around. “We pick up our things, gather the horses, and get going again.” He stopped and let his eyes meet hers. “Isabel, I’m sorry you had to see this.”

  “Sorry? Tom, he had every intention of killing you.”

  “Well, he didn’t get to. I have you to thank for that. I’ll tell you, I’m not used to having someone stick up for me.”

  She put her hand around his neck and said, “You do now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The song of the meadowlark made the plains seem like a benevolent place as Fielding led the two horses from water back to camp. Isabel’s full, dark hair cascaded around her shoulders where she crouched to roll up the gear tent. She pushed up from the bundle and brushed her hands against each other. Her eyes were shining as she met Fielding, close, and put her hand on his waist.

  After the kiss, he said, “If you’d like to hold these horses like a good wrangler, I can start getting them ready.”

  She gave him a lingering smile as she took the first lead rope. “This is a nice-looking one,” she said. “I like the coloring on him.”

  “It’s called a dun. Some of these others have a dark mane and tail, but this one’s got these other dark spots as well—shadowing on the neck and shoulder, dark ear tips, shadowy face, and of course this stripe running all along the back. Plus the dark hocks and barring on the knees.”

  “I like him.”

  “So do I. He’s a good horse, never gives any trouble.” He handed her the other lead rope. “Here. I’ll get a brush.”

  As he went to work on the dun, with Isabel standing close by, words came easy. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve h
ad some setbacks. This is hard business, losing three horses the way I did. Always lookin’ over my shoulder. But I got myself into it.”

  “You haven’t had much help.”

  He shrugged. “Not worth complaining about. I think I just have to accept my losses, go back to the valley, and decide on what to do next.” He met her eyes. “I don’t know what your father will say.”

  “I’m old enough to be on my own. He can’t take the key and lock me up. And besides, he knows that I know that he wouldn’t stick with you but just looked out for himself.”

  Fielding did not speak for a moment. He didn’t mind having that kind of an advantage, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. So he said, “I’ve done what I could. And going back to the other point, I think I’ve had enough of being in the middle of this whole mess. But I need to see what things look like when we get back.”

  When they had all the horses fitted out, they set off across the grassland. After coming down the switchbacks late in the afternoon the day before, they had ridden six or seven miles on a gentle downhill slope between two lines of hills. They came to water at dusk. Now in broad daylight, Fielding picked out the landmarks again and set a course across country. He led four horses and let the sorrel travel on its own. Isabel rode next to him.

  They traveled southeast, leaving the town of Wheatland well to their left. Their path took them through rolling plains country, treeless except for the watercourses. By early afternoon they came to the hills overlooking the valley, and Fielding began to feel apprehension creeping into him. When they came to Antelope Creek about a mile north of his customary camp site, they stopped to rest in the shade and let the horses water.

  Isabel crouched at the water’s edge and washed her face with small handfuls of water. When she stood, she still looked fresh in spite of several hours of sun and dust.

  She came to stand by him. “You look worried,” she said.

  “I don’t know what to expect.”

  She smiled. “I’ll talk to him first. Don’t fret.”