From out of the night came a chuckle. “You thought right, sugarplum.” Laverne Dodger limped into view, leading a lot of horses by their reins and several ropes.
“Laverne!” Della squealed, and running over, she threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him off balance.
“First these whores and now a cripple,” Jelly Varnes said. “We keep this up, pretty soon we’ll have our own army.”
“Every little bit helps,” Ben Rigenaw said.
Chancy agreed. He was elated, in that now Dodger could tend to Ollie, and Missy would have the other women for company. He could leave her knowing she’d be safe, and go after the outlaws.
He would get the herd back or die trying.
Chapter 64
The longhorns had been on the move since before dawn. They were strung out over half a mile, and the outlaws riding herd didn’t seem to care. They let the cattle mosey as the animals pleased and did nothing about the stragglers. Things no real cowboy would do. Krine and Ives were on point, the rest were flankers. Not one outlaw rode drag. The dust was too much for them.
Atop a hill to the northeast of the herd, Chancy Gantry lay on his belly and watched with keen interest.
“You should have let us hit them before they headed out,” Jelly Varnes complained. “Why let those coyotes get so far?”
“We pick the right time and the right place,” Chancy said.
“What was wrong with back near their town?” Jelly persisted.
“It was dark and we didn’t know how many we were up against,” Chancy said. “And we had to tend to the women.”
“Dang skirts,” Jelly grumbled.
“Our new boss did exactly right,” Ben Rigenaw said.
“You’re taking his side a lot,” Jelly huffed.
“We can’t all be bulls in a china shop,” Rigenaw said.
Chancy grinned. His chin was on his crossed forearms, and he was grateful to be resting. They’d ridden hard to get ahead of the herd, and had stayed ahead once they were. He reasoned that Krine would figure they were trailing behind, not out in front.
“I count nine owl-hoots,” Rigenaw mentioned. “More than I reckoned there would be.”
“They don’t worry me none,” Jelly said.
“They should,” Rigenaw said. “Krine and Ives aren’t amateurs. Krine, in particular, might be faster on the shoot than you or me.”
“Let me at him and we’ll see if he is.”
“Not yet,” Chancy said. “Not until I’m good and ready.”
“When will that be?” Jelly said. “When they reach Wichita?”
“Quit picking on him,” Rigenaw said.
“Are you his ma now?”
Chancy sighed. There was only so much of Jelly Varnes he could take. When Jelly wasn’t crowing, he was carping. “Enough of that. We should show each other some respect.”
“Respect is one thing,” Jelly said. “Licking boots is another.”
Now it was Ben Rigenaw who sighed.
“How about we use our rifles and pick them off when they come closer?” Jelly suggested.
“We couldn’t drop them all,” Chancy said, “and the cattle might stampede.”
“So?”
“So no on the rifles.”
Jelly swore. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but you’re almost as hard-nosed as Lucas Stout.”
“That’s high praise,” Chancy said. He glanced at Ben Rigenaw, who grinned and shook his head despite being as pale as paper and slick with sweat. “You should have let Laverne Dodger take a look at you.”
“No need,” Rigenaw replied.
“You still haven’t told me how bad you were hit,” Chancy said.
“Look yonder,” Jelly Varnes interrupted.
Krine and Ives had drawn rein. Krine raised an arm and waved it, the signal for the entire herd to halt. Presently several outlaws rode up the line and held a palaver, with the result that two of the curly wolves were sent on ahead.
“What do you suppose those polecats are up to?” Jelly said.
“Could be they’re scouting the lay of the land,” Chancy speculated. “Looking for water and graze.”
“It puzzles me, them not taking the main trail,” Jelly said. “That’s what we would have done.”
“On the trail they’d run into other herds,” Ben Rigenaw said. “Could be Krine wants to avoid that.”
The same notion had occurred to Chancy. “He’s afraid someone familiar with the Flying V might spot our brand and wonder.”
“That hombre doesn’t take risks if he can help it,” Rigenaw said.
Jelly was staring after the departing riders. “That’s two less for the time being. We should hit them before their scouts come back.”
“Seven to three,” Rigenaw said.
“Since when do those kinds of odds bother you?” Jelly said. “And a couple of them are hurt. See that tall one with the white on his arm? That must be a bandage. The same with that skinny polecat wearing a brown hat, only it’s his leg that looks to have been tended to.”
“It’s not the odds, it’s the daylight,” Chancy said. He’d already worked out how they were going to do it. “We’ll wait for them to bed down for the night, then slip in, kill as many as we can, and hope the rest turn tail.”
Just then Krine rose in his stirrups and waved his arm, and the outlaws set the herd into motion.
“I just had a thought,” Jelly said.
“You?” Rigenaw said.
“I’m serious,” Jelly said. “Let’s say we drive the owl-hoots off and take the herd back. There’s only the three of us. How in thunder will we handle fifteen hundred head? Those critters will drift all over the place.”
“What’s that old saying?” Chancy said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“The women can help,” Rigenaw suggested. “They can’t rope but they can ride. And Dodger too.”
Jelly Varnes laughed. “A passel of ladies driving a herd into Wichita. That would be something to see. The locals will laugh us silly.”
“Just so long as we get there,” Chancy said.
“I bet the ladies would do it if you paid them,” Rigenaw went on. “They lost everything in the fire, and hardly have a cent to their names.”
“Doves and cows,” Jelly said. “Don’t this beat all?”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Chancy said. “First we have to take our herd back.”
Jelly patted his ivory-handled Colt. “Just give us the word, trail boss, and the killing will commence.”
Chapter 65
Krine and his company of cutthroats made camp for the night well out on a flat stretch of prairie. They had the good sense to bunch the cattle. Three men rode herd while the rest settled around a fire.
Shortly before dark, the two scouts returned.
“Wish we could hear what they’re saying,” Jelly Varnes said.
Chancy had sought cover in a gully deep enough to hide their horses. He was on his belly near the top, only his head showing. Unfortunately the gully was so far from the outlaw camp he couldn’t make much out.
Jelly was beside him.
Ben Rigenaw, though, had roosted at the bottom with his back to a boulder. He hadn’t said much all afternoon.
Twice, earlier, Chancy saw Rigenaw place his hands on his twin Remingtons and look down at them as if he was contemplating something. Chancy couldn’t imagine what.
Unexpectedly Rigenaw broke his silence. “You two should make your suppers. You want to be rested and ready when the fight comes.”
“Who can rest?” Jelly said. “I’m itching to tangle with those vermin.”
“Ben has a point,” Chancy said. He was tuckered out, and some coffee would do wonders. They had enough water in their canteens.
“I can keep watch while you do the honors, boss,” Jelly said with another of his mocking grins.
“You just don’t like to cook,” Chancy said.
“There’s that,” Jelly said.
Sliding down far enough that he wouldn’t be exposed when he stood, Chancy rose and descended. He got the coffeepot, and with his canteen hanging by its strap from his arm, he moved to a convenient spot for the fire. There was plenty of dry brush. He gathered enough to last a spell, and broke some of the bigger pieces. As he worked, he studied Rigenaw out of the corner of his eye. The man looked worse than ever. Deciding enough was enough, he went over.
Ben looked up. His face was as pasty as clay and large drops of sweat dripped from his chin.
“I have a right to know how bad it is,” Chancy said.
“Do you?”
“As you keep reminding Jelly, I’m trail boss now. You practically shoved the job at me, so you have yourself to thank if I’m too bossy.”
“I’ll last long enough.”
“Let me be the judge.” Chancy squatted and nodded at Rigenaw’s bandage. “More fresh blood? You’re still bleeding after all this time?”
“I’ve always been a bleeder,” Rigenaw said. “When I was little, the doctor told my folks that I had to be extra careful not to be cut. That it’s a condition some have.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” Chancy vaguely recollected. “Most that have it spend most of their days indoors where it’s safe.”
“That wouldn’t do for me. I never could stand to be cooped up.”
“So you picked the safest profession you could think of,” Chancy said. “Cowboying?”
“I could bleed all day from a paper cut as well as being gored. Why hide from it?”
“And you became a gun hand because that’s even safer than working with cattle with seven-foot horns?”
Rigenaw laughed and said, “If you’re trying to cheer me up, you’re doing a fine job.”
“I’m trying to savvy whatever is going on in that head of yours.”
“The answer is simple,” Rigenaw said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, life is for living.”
“That doesn’t tell me much,” Chancy said.
Rigenaw gazed off down the gully as if gazing into his past. “My folks tried to keep me safe. They wanted me to stay indoors most of the time, and wouldn’t let me do any chores where I might be cut or nicked. My pa wouldn’t even let me use the pitchfork in the barn, or the ax for chopping wood.”
“You resented that?”
“I sure didn’t like it any. All the other boys were running around having fun and doing all the things boys do. But not me. Not sickly Ben. Finally when I was twelve I couldn’t stand it anymore and told my pa and ma that from then on, I’d do as I saw fit. And I saw fit to live like everybody else.”
“How come this is the first I’ve heard of it?”
“What business is it of yours or anyone else’s? It’s my problem.” Rigenaw touched the bandage. “Only a jackass tells everybody everything there is to know about himself.”
“I grant you that,” Chancy said. “But still.”
“As to your questions, I went to work at a nearby ranch. That’s how I got into the cattle trade.” Rigenaw lowered his hands to his Remingtons. “As for the guns, I couldn’t very well let myself be shot, now, could I? So much as a scratch, and I might bleed out. So I practiced and I practiced to where if I got in a scrape, I’d be the one who shot first and maybe end it before I took a slug.”
“I’ll be damned,” Chancy said.
“Now you know all you need to.”
“Not quite.” Chancy indicated Rigenaw’s side. “I’d like for you to unwrap that so I can see for myself.”
“I’d rather not.”
“What if I insist?”
“No.”
Chancy gave it to him straight. “Ben, you look like death warmed over. I need to know I can count on you in the fight.”
“Don’t fret on that score.”
“Be reasonable. What if I remove the bandage so I can examine you? Would you let me?”
“Being trail boss doesn’t give you the right to prod,” Rigenaw said. “Not about this, it doesn’t.” He paused, and his features softened. “Listen, Chancy. I appreciate your concern. I truly do. You’ll have to take my word that I won’t let you down. In fact, I might do better than you expect.”
“What does that mean?”
Rigenaw smiled but wouldn’t elaborate.
Reluctantly Chancy went back to kindling the fire. It was plain Rigenaw was up to something, but what?
He figured he’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 66
Their meal consisted of jerky and coffee and a few biscuits Old Charlie had made a few days ago and Jelly had stashed in his saddlebags to nibble on while riding herd.
Chancy kept the fire small so its glow wouldn’t alert the outlaws. “We’ll rest until midnight,” he announced between bites. “Then we move in.”
“And do what, exactly?” Jelly said. “March up to their fire, say ‘How do you do?’ and blaze away?”
“No.” Chancy had given it a lot of thought. “We’ll take the night riders first. Quietly. That will leave those who hopefully are sound asleep.”
“It’ll be a massacre,” Jelly said gleefully.
“I wouldn’t count on it being easy,” Ben Rigenaw warned. “Not with Krine and Ives to deal with.”
“You keep bringing them up like they’re special,” Jelly said.
“They are.”
“Shucks. They have to sleep, the same as everybody,” Jelly said. “We’ll catch them under their blankets.”
“Some gun sharks wake up quick,” Rigenaw said.
“Then let’s shoot them first,” Jelly said, “and the others will be candy.”
“You have an answer to everything, don’t you?”
“I try.”
“I admire a gent with confidence,” Rigenaw said drily.
“Then you should admire the hell out of me,” Jelly said.
Chancy sipped and said, “I had no idea you two could be so entertaining.” But a massacre would suit him right fine, given all the good men they’d lost, and what the outlaws had done to Ollie. He couldn’t wait to wipe out every last badman.
“Me neither,” Jelly said.
Chancy realized he had said it out loud. “They deserve it, all the outfits they’ve exterminated.”
“I bet they were all small outfits like ours,” Ben Rigenaw said.
“What makes you say that?” Chancy asked.
“Word would get around if a big outfit up and disappeared,” Rigenaw replied. “If it was a Chisholm herd, say, he’d have men scouring the prairie from Texas to Kansas and back again.”
“Yellow-belly outlaws,” Jelly spat. “Only jumping outfits they think they can whip.”
“Smart of them,” Chancy said. Whatever else could be said about Krine, the man was no dunderhead.
“You’re playing it just as smart,” Ben Rigenaw complimented him. “Smarter than Lucas Stout did.”
The assertion shocked Chancy.
It must have surprised Jelly Varnes too, because he remarked, “That was harsh. I thought you and him were friends.”
“The best,” Rigenaw said.
“What did he do that he shouldn’t have?” Jelly said. “He was cautious as cautious could be.”
“Not cautious enough. He took that polecat mayor at his word, and left the main trail. The water and grass were too much to resist. It made him forget one of the most important rules of life.”
“Which is?” Jelly prompted.
“When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
“He was only thinking of the cattle,” Jelly said
. “And of Finger.”
“Even so,” Rigenaw said, and he gave Chancy a pointed look. “A gent in his position can’t afford to be too trusting.”
“I can’t fault Stout for doing what he thought best,” Chancy said. “I’d probably have done the same in his boots.”
“And be just as dead.”
Chancy pondered on that now as he lay on his back with his hands behind his head to try to catch forty winks. It seemed to him Rigenaw was being unfair. A person made the best decisions he or she could. Sure, some were wrong. Everyone made mistakes. But how were they to know? No one could see into the future. It was only when you looked back that you saw where you had gone astray.
Closing his eyes, Chancy made a blank slate of his mind and waited to drift off. A nap would refresh him for what was to come.
Half an hour later he admitted sleep was a lost cause. He was too worked up. There would be more killing soon, with no guarantee he’d survive the night. That weighed heavily, as did the knowledge that his decisions had brought them to this point. What if his decisions, like Lucas Stout’s, were wrong? But what else was he to do? Let the outlaws get away? Let them sell the herd and profit from their slaughter of his friends? Not so long as he drew breath.
Jelly Varnes was snoring lightly but Rigenaw was by the fire, sipping coffee.
“You should try to get some sleep, Ben,” Chancy suggested as he refilled his tin cup.
“Couldn’t if I tried,” Rigenaw said. “I never can when I know there’s to be shooting. It’s not a thing to take lightly.”
They both looked over when Jelly let out with a particularly loud snore.
“He seems to be able to,” Chancy said.
“Jelly is a marvel,” Rigenaw said, not unkindly.
“I wish I had his nerves,” Chancy confessed. “Varnes never lets anything bother him.”
“You’re doing fine, Gantry.”
Chancy swallowed some coffee. They didn’t have sugar, which was a shame. He liked his coffee sweet.
“Are you open to some advice?” Rigenaw said.
“From you, anytime.”
“When we get to it, you take the small fry. Leave Krine and Ives to Jelly and me.”
Ralph Compton Outlaw Town Page 24