Drifter 5

by Jake Henry

  French looked at Brit. ‘How many men do we have?’

  ‘A dozen.’

  ‘That’ll have to do. We’re leaving for Dobson the day after tomorrow. We’ll get rid of the bastard who tried to undercut me, and we’ll be waiting for that Savage bastard.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Welsh said.

  ‘You ain’t coming?’ Brit asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  Brit shrugged. ‘Okay.’

  The gun was out in a blur of movement. Welsh hadn’t even time for the shock to register on his face before the room was rocked with the gunshot. The slug punched into his chest and exited with a spray of bright-red blood painting the wall behind him. The bad-man slumped to the floor in an unmoving heap.

  ‘What the hell?’ French snapped.

  ‘I hate a quitter,’ Brit snapped as he holstered his six-gun.

  They pushed slowly north, taking their time to let the herd graze on good grass and water when it was available. No sense in losing all their condition if they wanted top dollar when they arrived.

  Savage had stopped the red roan at the crest of a low ridge where he could look over the strung-out herd. From what he could see, the drag was lagging somewhat, and he made a mental note to send a rider back to have them push up a little closer.

  His eyes drifted up to the point where Grub’s chuckwagon was rocking and rolling with all the sudden bumps and jolts of the undulating ground. Mavis sat up front beside him, hanging on with each lurch.

  Across on the far flank, Hanson had the remuda stalled. It looked as though one of the hands had changed mounts and was adjusting the saddle.

  Then something about a mile up from the point caught his eye. Between two small hills came a rider, and by the looks of it, was in a hurry.

  Savage adjusted his position in the saddle and waited and watched. He soon recognized the rider as Llano Sam.

  The Drifter came down off the grass-covered ridge and angled the roan to intersect Sam’s approach. The rider spotted Savage and changed direction.

  Both men pulled their horses to a halt beside each other. Sam’s horse had been ridden mercilessly and blew hard.

  ‘What’s the rush?’

  There was unbridled concern etched on the scout’s face. ‘You better come and take a look up ahead. You might want to bring a few of the others with you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You need to see it. Maybe you should bring the woman with some medical fixings, too.’

  Savage nodded. ‘All right. Ride over to the remuda and get yourself a fresh horse. The one you’re on is about to drop. Get one for Mavis as well, and while you’re there, tell the kid he’s coming with us.’

  The look on the scout’s face said it all, but Savage was having none of it. ‘Just do it, Sam. It’s not up for debate.’

  The scout grumbled and then swung his mount away and pointed it towards the remuda.

  Savage heeled the roan forward and cut across the point until he was at the chuckwagon. He said to Mavis, ‘Sam is going to bring you over a horse. Something’s going on up ahead and he said for you to come along and bring some medical supplies.’

  She frowned and then nodded, not wanting to ask a question the Drifter obviously didn’t have an answer to. ‘Okay.’

  He left her and rode to find Bannister who was talking to a hand out on the flank. When the Drifter pulled his horse in beside him, the cowboy pulled away and headed back along the herd.

  ‘Something’s up,’ Savage told Bannister. ‘I’m taking Sam, Hanson, and the woman with me. You’re in charge.’

  ‘Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Nope. But you might want to bring the drag up a bit. They’re strung out too far.’

  ‘I just sent Josh on back to do that.’

  ‘Good. I’ll send word back if I can. Just keep them moving.’

  When Savage arrived back at the chuckwagon, the others were waiting for him. He gave Sam and the kid a stern look and said, ‘You two will get along. I’ll not put up with any trouble from you. If there is, I’ll shoot one and hang the other. Let’s ride.’

  They travelled north for a couple of miles and when they topped a hill, looked out across a broad flat. Sam stopped his horse next to Savage’s and pointed to the scene before them.

  ‘See it?’

  He saw it all right. And when the wind gusted in their direction he started to smell it too.

  What lay before them was once the night camp of another herd. Now it was a jumbled mess of mangled bodies, smashed chuckwagon, dead cows and horses.

  Savage heard Mavis gasp as she realized what she was seeing.

  ‘Whoever done it, stampeded the herd right through the camp. Maybe three days ago. Down near the smashed chuckwagon is a feller I found. He’s stove up pretty bad.’

  ‘Kid, take Mavis and look after him,’ Savage ordered. ‘Sam and I’ll have a look around.’

  Mavis gave Savage an apprehensive look.

  ‘Just concentrate on the job at hand. Don’t look at anything else.’

  While Hanson and Mavis rode toward the decimated camp, Savage and Llano Sam started to circle the area until they found what they sought.

  The raiders had come in from the east, circled the herd, killed the nighthawks, spooked the cows, and then run them straight through the camp. They stood no hope. Savage looked down at one of the bloated beasts and saw a Triangle-A brand on it.

  ‘Any idea whose they are?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘How many men, you figure?’

  ‘Six.’

  Savage looked surprised. ‘You say six men did this?’

  ‘Six men and a thousand head of cattle.’

  Savage nodded. ‘When you put it like that.’

  After surveying the rest of the ghastly scene, they rode back to where Mavis and the kid were huddled around the battered cowhand. His face was gaunt and gray. Breaths were sucked into his lungs with the utmost effort.

  ‘How is he?’ Savage asked.

  Mavis looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. She drew up the young man’s torn and bloody shirt. The exposed skin was mottled with dark bruises. His ribcage was stoved in and his belly distended as he’d slowly bled out internally.

  The Drifter couldn’t work out how he was still alive. He figured him for not even twenty yet.

  A moan escaped his lips. It was followed by a murmur and then a wet, wracking cough. Blood spilt from the corner of his mouth.

  Savage looked up at Sam. ‘How far do you figure they could have got?’

  ‘Seeing as there’s only six of them, pushing that many cows, you could catch up with them in a day or two.’

  ‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ Hanson asked. ‘Are you going after them?’

  ‘Yeah. Sam and I will go. You two wait here until …’ his voice trailed away.

  ‘We’ll take care of it,’ the kid said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  They looked at Mavis.

  ‘He’s gone.’

  Savage reached down and touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  Silence descended across the small group for a few moments before Hanson said, ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Savage shook his head. ‘I need you to take Mavis back to the herd and tell Bannister to get some men to bury these fellers.’

  Mavis shot Savage a hurried look. ‘No. I’ll be fine. It’s not far back to the herd and I can tell Mike whatever you want me to.’

  ‘All right. Let’s ride.’

  They found the herd late the following afternoon; actually, they found a conglomeration of many herds, Triangle-A, along with Rocking-T, Circle-H, and Crossover-L.

  When they’d first discovered them, Savage thought it was a different herd, because there were more than a thousand. More like three-thousand. It wasn’t until he and Sam rode amongst them that they found the different brands.

  They pushed through the herd and up a rise on the other side. As they crested it they found ye
t more cattle. These were congregated along a broad stream lined with cottonwoods.

  On a plateau on the opposite bank, was a large ranch-house with corrals, a barn, and bunkhouse.

  Savage looked at Sam. ‘You ever heard about this place before?’

  Sam thought before answering. ‘Might be the Miller spread.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They were ranchers.’

  ‘Were?’ asked Hanson.

  Sam’s brow furrowed. ‘Yeah. They were killed two years back by a band of Comanches who come up out of Texas to do some raiding. As far as I know, no one else moved in after they was gone.’

  ‘Someone is there now,’ Savage pointed out.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out who,’ Sam said, indicating a pair of riders who’d appeared from the cottonwoods beside the creek.

  Savage reached down and took the Yellow Boy from the saddle scabbard. ‘Let’s go see what they want.’

  They headed down the slope toward the riders. The two men drew their mounts up in front of them to block their path. One had broad shoulders and a mean-looking, unshaven face, while the other was thin and pale. Both exuded trouble.

  ‘What are you saddle tramps doing here on the Colonel’s range?’ asked broad shoulders.

  Savage said, ‘We’re pushing a herd up the trail. We were over this way looking for strays that got away from us.’

  The man studied him carefully. ‘You’re a bit off the trail. It’s way west of here.’

  ‘Yeah. I figured that.’

  ‘Well, you’d best come along and see the Colonel. He’ll want to talk to you. Seeing you’re on his land and all.’

  ‘We’ll take your guns too,’ said sickly.

  Out of the corner of his right eye, Savage saw the kid tense. The Drifter shook his head. ‘Nope. I don’t believe you will. Ain’t neighborly to ask a man to pass over his gun.’

  Sickly dropped his hand to his own six-gun in a threatening gesture. ‘I wasn’t asking.’

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight, friend. If you try drawing that gun of yours, I will shoot you with this Yellow Boy I’m holding. And before your friend can get his out, the kid here will put a slug in his guts. Now, how about you take us to that colonel of yours.’

  Both looked at each other before broad shoulders shrugged and said, ‘Follow us.’

  ‘You’re on my land and you’ll pay. There ain’t no two ways about it. Those who refuse don’t last long. Damn southern trash.’

  The Colonel was a hard, embittered man of around fifty-five. He was thin and wore cavalry pants and jacket. His face was lined and his brown eyes blazed.

  The well-adorned study glowed with candle-light. Shadows of those within decorated the furniture and timber walls.

  Four of the colonel’s men stood to either side of the doorway. Savage had seen another six or so outside before they’d entered the ranch-house.

  ‘We’re just riding north with a herd,’ Savage said evenly. ‘No one told us the trail had shifted. We’ll say our apologies and get them off your land as soon as we can.’

  ‘Too late!’ he snapped. ‘Who knows how much graze they’ve eaten. No, you’ll pay.’

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?’ Hanson snapped.

  ‘I, my boy, am Colonel Augustus Kane. Brigade commander of the 5th Ohio. Brevet Brigadier General and hater of all things southern.’

  ‘What are you doing with Longhorns then?’ sneered the kid.

  Kane’s face turned red. He hissed in a low voice, ‘I will not have insubordination in my own home. Do you understand me, boy!’

  Hanson lurched a step forward before Savage blocked his path with an arm. ‘Leave it, kid. We ain’t fighting the war over again. I had enough the first go around.’

  The Drifter sensed rather than saw the men move behind him. Weapons came up to cover the three who stood before their boss.

  The mention of the war seemed to pique the old man’s interest. ‘So, you served too, did you?’

  Savage nodded. ‘South Mountain, Antietam, Shenandoah, a few other places.’

  ‘Hah!’ the old man exclaimed. ‘We whipped you bastards there, didn’t we?’

  ‘Not me, you didn’t.’

  Kane looked confused.

  ‘I started my war as a sergeant in the 6th Wisconsin. Part of Gibbon’s “Iron Brigade”. In the Shenandoah I was a captain of cavalry.’

  Surprise showed on the old man’s face. ‘But that would make you …’

  ‘A Yank. Yeah, it would. How about you, Colonel? Where’d you serve?’

  Kane gave him an indignant look. ‘I, sir, was at Shiloh, Antietam, just like you, and at Gettysburg.’

  ‘Uh huh. How much do you figure on pocketing out of this racket you have going?’

  ‘How many cows do you have?’

  ‘Around two-thousand.’

  Kane looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’ll settle for one-in-four.’

  Hanson snorted.

  Savage grinned. ‘You’re shitting me, right? I ain’t giving you five-hundred head.’

  ‘That’s your choice. But I will have them.’

  ‘Is that how you got all the other stock?’

  ‘All were handed over willingly.’

  ‘Is that what happened with the Triangle-A herd?’

  The tension in the room became palpable and the old man’s expression changed once again.

  ‘I’d watch what you’re saying, Captain. After all, you’re a guest in my house. Show a bit of respect to a fellow officer.’

  ‘I have doubts about that too.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Savage stared at him. ‘You went one battle too far, Kane. The 5th were at Antietam and Gettysburg, for sure. They weren’t at Shiloh, however. That I also know. You’re a liar. A liar and a murderer. Even if you ain’t got the sand to kill someone in person.’

  The old man turned purple and started to tremble. His mouth opened to speak but he was so enraged, nothing would come out.

  ‘Kid are they still pointing guns at us?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Kill them.’

  From outside the confines of the room it must have seemed that all hell had broken loose on the other side of the door. On the inside, however, it was much worse.

  Savage had pivoted almost one-hundred and eighty degrees. He snapped off a shot at the man closest to him. It was the last thing they’d expected for they figured they had the upper hand. That, however, gave Savage and the others a slight advantage, and the surprise on the faces of the outlaws said it all.

  The man Savage shot had his mouth open in shock. The slug from the Yellow Boy smashed through the dark opening and painted the wall behind him with his brains.

  The killer beside him was slammed back with a slug in his chest from Hanson’s gun. He crashed against the wall and left a wet trail as he slid down the solid surface.

  His second shot joined with the Drifter’s and the third killer lurched back, his reflexive jerk of the trigger sending a bullet into the ceiling.

  When they turned their attention to the fourth man they saw him and Sam rolling on the floor in a desperate struggle. Not as proficient with a gun as the others, Llano had flung himself at the man he now fought.

  Savage saw the rise and fall of the knife in Sam’s right fist. A shriek of pain echoed through the room and then the conflict stopped. Sam climbed to his feet, puffing hard. He stared at Savage and said, ‘You might want to warn a person the next time you do that.’

  Savage turned his attention to Kane, although it appeared that the men who worked for the old man had got a few shots off, themselves.

  Kane sat slumped in his chair; two bullets had hit him in his chest, and a third had opened a hole in his forehead.

  ‘Guess he got what he deserved,’ Hanson said.

  ‘Look out!’ Sam shouted.

  The first man shot by the kid was still alive and his six-gun was raised and pointed at Hanson. There was a fla
sh of metal spinning end over end and a hollow thunk as Sam’s knife seemed to sprout from the killer’s chest. The gun fell to the floor and its owner slumped dead.

  The kid stared at Sam for a moment and nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Savage inclined his head and then the sound of boots pounding on floorboards reached their ears. They turned to face the door and when it was flung open, a big man filled the frame. In his right hand was a six-gun. He saw the three men standing with weapons trained on him and made no attempt to use his own.

  ‘It’s over,’ Savage snapped. ‘Kane is dead. You and the rest have got five minutes to get gone. Anyone still here after that, I’ll find a big cottonwood and hang them for murder.

  The killer swallowed hard and backed out of the room.

  Two minutes later the sound of hoofbeats reached their ears.

  The three men walked outside and stood on the verandah. They looked about the vacated ranch yard.

  ‘This would be a good place to raise horses,’ said Sam.

  ‘I do believe the owner just left,’ Savage pointed out.

  The other two chuckled at his dry humor.

  ‘I do believe I might come back here after the drive is done,’ Sam said.

  ‘And I believe I’ll swing by and steal those horses of yours,’ Hanson told him.

  Sam snorted. ‘At least you’ll have good taste.’

  All three laughed this time and when they were finished, Savage said, ‘Come on, let’s get back.’

  Dobson

  Brit walked along the main street of Dobson, a six-gun in each hand. A light wisp of blue-gray gun-smoke floated lazily from both barrels. There was a bloody tear in the sleeve of his blue shirt over his bicep. He ignored the burning pain. He’d been hurt worse than that before.

  Across the town the sound of gunfire echoed as the two factions fought violently for supremacy.

  The scattered fighting had continued for the past hour. All of those not caught up in it were waiting outside the town for it to finish. Now the gun fire was reaching a crescendo.

  French had arrived in Dobson with ten men. Four of those were now dead. The irony of it all, French was one of them. Breen had been waiting for him with his own hired guns and French had been on the back foot from the get go.