by Jake Douglas
‘With that thing? You’d be plumb loco.’
‘Eh, man – I’m an expert with the assegai. Even Sam there wouldn’t take me on. He’d outdo me in long range. He can drive that spear of his through a fourinch tree, and right in the knothole he aimed at, so I wouldn’t want to tangle with him that way. But he wouldn’t fight me hand to hand with assegais.’
‘Don’t reckon I would, either,’ Cutler allowed. ‘You got a ranch up here?’
‘Ay – neighbour to you. Smaller holding. I have men to run the place while I hunt. Take after the old man, I s’spose.’
‘Sounds like a nice set-up.’
Van Rensberg grinned.
‘I went back to South Africa before I came to America. I … picked up some diamonds and they’re still allowing me to indulge my sport.’
There was something in the way that the man said it that made Cutler think he hadn’t come by the diamonds legitimately.
‘Well, I’d better get down to the river and wash this filth off me. Care to try some genuine Cape brandy? I have a bottle or two left up at the house …’
‘I’ve never tasted it, but, yeah. I’d like to.’
‘Sam’ll fetch your horse. If you feel like walking, that is…?’ There was a query in Pete’s voice and he looked steadily at Cutler.
‘I guess I need the exercise.’
‘Ah.’
‘They call him Dutch Piet round these parts,’ Spain said over the supper table after Deke had told him and Karen about his meeting with the strange van Rensberg.
‘Ex-army of some sort. From South Africa, he says.’
‘Yeah. Lotta Dutchies there, I hear. Keeps to himself. Big hombre. Likes to hunt with spears.’
Cutler told them then about the man killing the wild boar in hand-to-hand combat with the assegai.
‘It’s true then, eh?’ Spain said, pursing his lips and shrugging. ‘I’ve heard talk of it. Spends a lotta time over in the Territory, too, hunting bears, they say.’
Karen seemed interested but Deke couldn’t tell her much.
‘Built like a statue and looks like one – his face I mean. His jaw reminds me of the prow of a sailing ship I saw once in Vera Cruz. Hair grows down low to his eyebrows and he has a large broken nose, What you’d call a strong face.’
‘Yes. I’ve only seen him once but I thought he was – different from other men.’ Spain looked at Karen sharply and she smiled, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘Oh, no need for jealousy, Durango! You’re quite handsome enough for me!’
‘I better be,’ he growled, the half-grin belying the frown. ‘Seems to have a deal of money.’
‘Seems to,’ Cutler agreed but said nothing about any diamonds. ‘Big spread, but the buildings are a bit different from ours – and the ranch kitchen’s a separate building – huge, with slate floors and some kind of thatching on the roof. African style he says.’
‘A slice of home,’ Durango allowed sardonically.
Then they changed the subject and after the meal, sitting out on the porch having a smoke, Durango said casually:
‘Dutch mention the Territory at all?’
Cutler was surprised at the question.
‘Not really. Said he figured it might be a problem some time for all the ranches along the river.’
‘Not for him.’
‘What’s that mean?’
Spain blew a plume of smoke before answering.
‘Word is he deals with the outlaws, lets ’em use his place as a safe trail in and out of the Territory. He’s the only one round here who’s never lost any cows to rustlers.’
Deke made a point of riding out along the line between Shoestring and van Rensberg’s ranch, which, of course he had called Assegai, the brand being a short-handled spear.
He had seen the big sprawling ranch house with its riverstone work and heavy log construction and the thatch roof that made it look so out of place here. But he wanted to get a better look at the holdings – and for some reason, felt it would be best if he wasn’t seen by Dutch Piet or his riders.
It was just a hunch, probably influenced by Spain’s rumour that van Rensberg dealt with the Territory outlaws.
It was nothing new. Deke had known plenty of Border ranchers down on the Rio who did deals with rustlers and contrabandistas, turning a blind eye when such men crossed their land on dark and dangerous missions into Mexico.
He had to remember he was no longer a Ranger – but it would be awkward, at the least, to have a neighbour who allowed outlaws to use his land for their forays along the Red River.
He wondered why Spain hadn’t looked into it? Likely because he had enough worries trying to make Shoestring pay, he supposed.
Cutler watched the Assegai ranch from high timber, still on Shoestring land, well hidden. But maybe the sun flashed from his field glasses as he focused them on a small tight group of riders heading out from the ranch yard. One man in the lead looked up, seemingly right at him, then, after a hesitation, kept riding, though he dropped back to join the others and two of them also glanced towards the timber where Deke waited.
He decided to let it go for that day but was back the following morning before sun-up, crossing the creek so that he was amongst some boulders that were closer to the trail used by the men. He didn’t need field glasses here.
The same small bunch of men rode out and he was able to follow their progress from the boulders until they split up into three groups, two pairs, three men in the other group. Deke smiled faintly: this was making it hard for him, for now he had to decide whom to follow, had to choose one out of three. He could easily pick the wrong one. But the fact that they were taking such precautions told him they were up to something.
He waited, watching. One pair rode out of sight over a hogback rise. The other pair went down to a small creek and started taking measurements that told Cutler van Rensberg was considering building a small dam – conserving water in these dry conditions was a mighty good idea.
The three other riders were out of sight when he turned to look for them and he couldn’t say just where they had gone. It was time to move out, anyway. He clambered down to where he had ground-hitched the grey and was lifting a foot towards the stirrup when the riders appeared, at three different points, covering him with their rifles.
‘What you doin’ on Mr Rensberg’s land, mister?’
The man who spoke had long legs and a chunky body. He sat his saddle easily, thumb on his rifle’s hammer. He was bearded but not as if he was growing one permanently, more like he hadn’t bothered to shave for a week or so.
‘Far as I know, I’m still on Shoestring.’
The chunky man shook his head slowly.
‘Creek loops here. You’ve crossed and re-crossed it but it’s put you on the wrong side.’
‘Well, I’m new to this neck of the woods. My mistake.’
‘It is.’
The other two closed in behind him and Cutler turned slowly, to watch them, putting his back to the grey which wouldn’t move unless he commanded it to. It gave him something solid and stable behind him – and it forced the chunky man to knee his mount out into the open so he could see Deke clearly.
‘Mr Rensberg don’t like trespassers.’
‘I’ve met him. My name’s Deke Cutler.’
‘The Ranger, Lyall,’ said a swarthy rider on Cutler’s left.
‘Not any more,’ Deke said quickly.
‘Could be. Or could be you’re up here workin’ under cover,’ Lyall said.
‘We better take it easy, Lyall,’ said the third man worriedly, a lanky ranny with a horselike face.
‘Leave this to me, Hoss. Cutler. Know that name. Used to ride the Rio country few years back. You outta the San Angelo Ranger station?’
‘I’ve worked out of there, yeah,’ Deke said warily.
‘Uh-huh. You led a raid on some fellers bringin’ up a big bunch of hosses from Mexico, at the Indio Crossing.’
The name rang bells in Cutler’s brain
.
‘The horses belonged to a rancher name of Felipe Marino, as I recall. Your bunch killed four of his men – and two women who were in the camp of his caballeros.’
‘Greaser women! There was only me and my half-brother who got out of that gunfight, Ranger! And my brother died two days later from a wound he’d taken at the Crossin’.’
‘We gave you all a chance to surrender.’
‘Eyewash! Damn Rangers wanted to teach us Border men a lesson. You shot to kill!’
‘That’s what we were paid for, Lyall. Long time ago. What’s it got to do with now?’
The chunky man grinned lifting the rifle.
‘First time we’ve met since, Ranger – you work it out.’
‘Hey, Lyall!’ shouted the lanky ranny called Hoss. ‘I don’t want no part of this!’
‘Then ride out, damn you! How about you, Leach?’
The swarthy man ran a tongue around his lips. ‘Bit chancy, Lyall …’
‘You ride out with Hoss then! This feller’s trespassin’. I just need you fellers to stick around long enough to swear he went for his gun first before I …’
He thumbed back the rifle’s hammer. Then there was a single shot and Lyall rolled backwards over his horse’s rump, his rifle discharging, setting the animal plunging.
Cutler turned his smoking six-gun towards Leach and Hoss, hoping he wouldn’t drop the Colt, because his arm felt as if it had been torn up from wrist to elbow and his thumb ached excruciatingly. He had surprised himself with the smoothness and speed of his draw, had reacted instinctively, but his arm was giving him hell with just that one shot. He had to keep a straight face, bite back the pain while he kept them covered. If they thought he couldn’t shoot again …
‘You gents aiming to buy in?’ He hoped his voice didn’t betray the fact that he was in agony. The gun started to waver and he tightened his grip, let the barrel move from one man to the other, as if he had meant it to.
They lifted their hands, holding their rifles over their heads.
‘We were gonna ride out!’ bleated Hoss. ‘You heard Lyall tell us to ride out!’
Cutler looked down at Lyall. The man was huddled on his side on the ground. Deke used a boot-toe to roll him on to his back. The bullet had taken him through the middle of the chest.
‘He dead?’ Leach asked hoarsely.
‘Yeah. You’d best tote him back to van Rensberg. Make sure you tell him exactly what happened.’
He managed to hang on until they had loaded Lyall on to his horse and they led him away from the boulders and down to the creek. Sagging against a rock, gun holstered, massaging his burning, knotted forearm, Cutler watched them ride away, wondering what sort of reaction the incident would bring from the African.
The thing was, had van Rensberg known that Lyall was a wanted man when he hired him?
Durango Spain wasn’t pleased when Cutler reported it to him.
‘Why the hell’d you have to kill him?’
‘He was going to kill me.’
Spain swore.
‘Yeah, well, you always did have a reputation as a killer. Hell, Deke, I know you wouldn’t’ve had any choice, but something like this could get back to the sheriff in Wichita Falls and he might come up and investigate.’
‘Nothing to hide,’ Cutler said.
Spain’s glance was sharp and intense.
‘Look. Out here we kind of run things ourselves. We try to keep official law right out of it.’
‘This is an ex-Ranger talking? One who earned three bravery awards from the State Governor?’
Durango Spain smiled crookedly.
‘Yeah! Kind of strange, ain’t it? But … I guess I’ve been living here long enough to go along with the way of things, Deke. Different way of life here, makes it easier. We have enough troubles what with the weather and the Injuns.’
‘Not to mention Badman’s Territory being within spitting distance,’ Deke cut in and Spain nodded gently.
‘Yeah – sure. But this is wide-open country, Deke. Real wild frontier. Being an ex-lawman don’t count for spit here – and it don’t pay to keep remembering how The Book says things oughta be done. Forget that. That’s past now, for both of us. We have to live here, so we have to adapt, live the way everyone else does. Or we ain’t gonna live here for long.’
Cutler frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. He knew what Spain meant, but he had noticed his old pard did a lot less smiling than when he had last known him.
Was he imagining it or was there some kind of veiled warning in Durango Spain’s words?
Not that he was going to think too much about it, for his right arm was taking all his attention right now. If he had to draw his six-gun again, this minute, he wouldn’t have a hope. The pain was clear up into his shoulder and neck. His ear was ringing wildly, and he felt strange in the head.
‘Think I’ll go lie down for a spell,’ he told the startled Spain abruptly and groped his way back into the house.
His heart was hammering: hell almighty, if this was how he was going to be, he couldn’t figure on lasting long in this Red River country.
CHAPTER 5
NIGHT RIDERS
Deke Cutler didn’t get much sleep although he retired early. He hadn’t been in bed long when he heard voices on the porch – and he recognized Piet van Rensberg’s thick accent.
He pulled on a shirt and trousers, grimacing every time he moved his arm, and then Karen knocked on the door.
‘Deke? Are you awake?’
‘I heard Dutch Piet, Karen – I’m coming.’
He wondered whether to strap on his six-gun but decided against it. It wouldn’t look friendly for one thing and, anyway, his arm was still too damn sore and swollen to use it. He knew what had happened before, when he had shot Lyall: he had moved too fast and corkscrewed his wrist as he turned to clear the horse. Both the old Indian and Doc Farraday had told him to avoid twisting the forearm for some time. There were still muscles and tendons to heal and there were mangled nerve-ends, too, which could easily get caught up and give him the kind of agony he was now experiencing. There was a solution to it – and he knew he was going to have to try it before long. Unpleasant, naturally, but …
In the parlour, van Rensberg and the big Samburu, with his spear, were waiting. Deke nodded and Piet did the same in reply. Sam, of course, said nothing, just stood impassively, holding his long spear. He had what appeared to be either a short sword or an unusually long and wide-bladed knife in a canvas sheath attached to the belt around his waist. Deke learned later it was called a panga, not unlike a machete.
‘Pete’s here about the man you shot,’ Spain said without preamble and Karen frowned at his lack of tact.
‘He was going to shoot me.’ Cutler looked levelly into the South African’s eyes. ‘Hoss and Leach might’ve told you that.’
‘Eh, man. They told me they didn’t know what had happened. That Lyall seemed to know you from down on the Rio and next thing you shot him.’
‘That the way it happened, Deke?’ Spain asked. He seemed tense and smoked jerkily.
Deke nodded. ‘But Lyall had cocked his rifle hammer, told the other two to ride out – but to be sure to say they saw me reach for my gun first.’
Van Rensberg smiled thinly. ‘Seems you were too fast for them to see any kind of a draw, man.’
‘I was shot in my gun arm six months ago. Bullet tore out some muscle and tendons. It doesn’t work like it should. Guess I tried a mite too hard, because I not only got my gun out as fast as I’ve ever used it, but I hurt my arm and it’s still giving me pure hell.’
‘Thought you looked like you were recovering from something. Well, Lyall’s no loss. He was a hard man.’
‘You hired him,’ Spain said tautly.
Pete’s eyes swivelled towards the rancher.
‘This is a hard land, Durango. It needs hard men to work it. I’ve seen some of your ranch crew and I’ll bet they don’t all go to church on Sundays. Like Ri
ngo, Hal Tripp, that big Jno …’
Spain sighed. ‘No, guess not. Like you say, it takes hard men. But you gonna make a stink over Lyall? What I remember about him he was pretty damn mean.’
‘He was. No, I just wanted to get things straightened out and make sure it won’t happen again.’ The cool, pale-blue eyes swept around the room and its occupants. ‘Despite what some say around these parts, I have been losing cattle. That’s why I’ve told my men to move on anyone found trespassing on my range. Lyall took things a little too far – as you did, Deke – and I’m not saying my orders’ll change, but this is just a friendly discussion to clear the air. You all willing to look at it that way?’
Karen said ‘yes’ right away and nudged Spain but Durango looked at the silent Cutler.
‘Deke…? You were the one got rousted.’
‘Be best if you put up some “No Trespassing” signs, Pete, if that’s the way you want things,’ Cutler said quietly and van Rensberg smiled.
‘Guess that’s the lawman still in you talking – but why not?’
‘Not too damn neighbourly!’ Spain snapped.
‘Long as we return each other’s stock that wanders across the line, I don’t see anything wrong.’
Karen placed a hand on her husband’s arm.
‘I think that’s friendly enough, Durango.’
Van Rensberg made a small bow in her direction.
‘I thank you, Mrs Spain. Goodnight, Durango – Deke.’ He jerked his head at Sam and the Samburu went out through the door after the big South African like a slim shadow. Karen gave a small shudder.
‘That native … frightens me!’
‘He’s an odd one,’ admitted Spain. ‘You see him anywhere around, Karen, you tell me.’
‘He’s deadly with that spear, Durango,’ warned Deke.
‘Trick’d be not to get within throwing range,’ Spain said with a crooked grin, slapping a hand against his holstered Colt.