Hang Them Slowly

by William W. Johnstone

  Wilbur pointed toward Vance. “Better check the young fella’s arm first. I think he was hit.”

  “It’s nothing,” Vance said. “Just a scratch—”

  “Yeah, I see the blood on your sleeve now,” Stovepipe said. “Looks to me like it might be more than a scratch. Get down off that horse, son, and let’s have a look.”

  “I’ll scout around while you’re doing that,” Wilbur said as his companions dismounted.

  “You can take your shirt off, or I can cut the sleeve off,” Stovepipe said.

  “Let me take it off. I don’t have that many spare shirts. Might be able to wash the blood out and mend the place where the bullet tore it.” Vance winced in pain several times during the process, but he managed to get the shirt off.

  Stovepipe snapped a lucifer to life and used the match’s flame to study the wound. It was a shallow furrow in the flesh, just deep enough to draw blood.

  “Looks like it’s already stopped oozin’ crimson. That’s good. It’ll probably be stiff and sore for a few days, but it oughta heal up just fine, so you’d never know it happened except for the scar. That is, if you don’t get blood poisonin’ from it. We can take steps to keep that from happenin’.” Stovepipe went to his horse and reached into one of the saddlebags, bringing out a silver flask.

  “Hold that arm straight out from your shoulder so I can pour some o’ this whiskey in the ditch that bullet left behind,” he told Vance. “It’ll sting a mite. Well, actually, it’ll burn like blazes, but I reckon you knew that.”

  “Just do what you need to do.” Vance lifted his arm and positioned it the way Stovepipe told him.

  Leaning closer, Stovepipe carefully poured a small amount of whiskey into the wound.

  Vance groaned. Through clenched teeth, he said, “You weren’t kidding about it burning like blazes.”

  Stovepipe put the flask in the young cowboy’s other hand and said, “Here. This Who-hit-John is good medicine from the inside, too, as long as you don’t take too much of it.”

  Vance downed a slug of the fiery liquor, then shuddered, He drew in a deep breath as he lowered his wounded arm. “You know, I don’t think it hurts quite as much now.”

  “Good for what ails you,” Stovepipe said as he took the flask, replaced the cap, and stowed it away in his pocket. “Now we need to tie a bandage around there just in case it starts bleedin’ again.”

  By the time he had done that, Wilbur returned from his check on the herd. The redhead was muttering curses under his breath.

  “The dirty sons made off with some o’ the stock, didn’t they?” Stovepipe asked.

  “Hard to say for sure in the dark, but my guess is they got about a hundred head. Probably cut them out while the others were busy with Vance and me, then headed those cows off in one direction while they stampeded the rest at the two of us. Maybe that was their plan all along. I think they attacked Vance to draw me around to this side of the herd so they could catch both of us in the stampede.”

  Stovepipe shook his head. “Nope. The graze on Vance’s arm proves they were really tryin’ to kill him. No man alive is a good enough shot to simply graze a man on purpose in the dark. They’d have killed both of you right from the get-go if they could have, and been pleased with their own selves for doin’ so. Then they could’ve driven off the whole three hundred head. But since it didn’t work out that way and you fellas put up a strong fight, they just adapted and done the best they could.”

  “Which was making off with a hundred head,” Vance said. “We have to go after them.”

  “Must’ve been close to a dozen of the fellas. We’d be outnumbered.”

  “That doesn’t matter. We can’t let them get away with Three Rivers stock.”

  Stovepipe nodded slowly “All right. Here’s what we’ll do. Vance, you figure you can ride with that wounded arm?”

  “Of course. Like I told you, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did.”

  “Then you and I will go after that bunch. Wilbur, you ride back to headquarters and let Mr. Malone know what happened. I reckon him and most of the boys will be strappin’ on six-shooters and throwin’ saddles on their horses mighty quick-like after you do.”

  “Wait a minute,” Wilbur said. “Why do I have to go for help? Vance is the one who’s hurt. Send him instead.”

  “Well, that was my first thought, but then I realized you’d be more likely to be able to pick up our trail in the dark and lead the boys to wherever those rustlers went. I’ll leave some sign to make it easier for you.” Stovepipe paused. “No offense, Vance, but I don’t know how good you are at trackin’. Wilbur’s plumb fine.”

  “No offense taken,” Vance said. “Your reasoning makes sense.”

  Wilbur said, “It always does . . . blast it. All right, Stovepipe, I’ll do like you say. It’ll mean leaving these cattle here without anybody to keep an eye on them, but I reckon going after those rustlers is more important. You think they’ll push that beef all night?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised. They’ll want to put as much distance as they can between us and them.”

  “Yeah, well, if they do stop and hole up somewhere—”

  “Vance and I will be around to spot the hideout.”

  “I was gonna say the two of you don’t need to jump them until I get back with the crew from the Three Rivers,” Wilbur said. “Wouldn’t be fair for you to hog all the fun for yourselves.”

  Stovepipe and Vance swung up in their saddles as Wilbur headed back in the direction of headquarters.

  Stovepipe took the flask from his pocket. “You need another dose of this medicine before I put it away?”

  “I’m tempted, but I’d better not. It’s possible there might be more gunplay before the night’s over, and I should have a clear head for that.”

  “Seems like you handled yourself pretty well,” Stovepipe said as they nudged their mounts into motion. “Ever been in a fight like that before on the other spreads where you’ve worked?”

  “No, not really. Not against rustlers. A brawl now and then with some other crew, like the one in Wagontongue the day I rode in, but other than that . . .” Vance’s shoulders rose and fell.

  He rode along quietly for a moment, then added, “It’s scary, being shot at like that.”

  “Durn right it is. I’ve heard fellas claim they got used to hearin’ bullets zing past their heads, but I ain’t sure I believe it. That’s happened to me quite a few times, and I sure ain’t got used to it.”

  “You make it sound like trouble follows you around.”

  “Or I follow it.” Stovepipe shrugged. “Either way, we wind up in each other’s company a whole heap.”

  They circled the herd to the other side of the pasture. Stovepipe pointed to a stretch of ground where the grass was beaten down enough that it was visible even in the moonlight. “Looks like that’s the way the rustlers headed. One thing about stealin’ cattle . . . it’s hard to move ’em very much without leavin’ some sort of trail.”

  They followed the route of the stolen stock. The trail led north toward a high ridge that marked the boundary of the Three Rivers ranch in that direction.

  Stovepipe pointed out the ridge. From where they were, it was just a thick, dark line on the horizon.

  “What’s on the other side of it?” Vance asked.

  “Don’t rightly know. Haven’t ever been up there, that I recall.”

  Vance laughed. “I thought you and Wilbur had been everywhere, judging from the stories you tell.”

  “Well . . . I reckon you could say we’ve been in the vicinity of everywhere, but there are particular spots here and there where we ain’t ever set foot. Now, I got a question for you.”

  “Sure. Anything I can answer, I will.”

  “I know it ain’t likely, but did you happen to get a good look at any of those rustlers while you was swappin’ bullets with ’em? Sometimes you might catch a glimpse of a face in a muzzle flash.”

  Vance shook his head. “No, I�
�m afraid not. Everything happened so fast. I wouldn’t be able to recognize any of them if I saw them again.”

  “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of maybe you’d seen some of ’em before.”

  “You mean at the Silver Star in Wagontongue, the day of that fight with the Rafter M bunch? I wish I could say I recognized Dax Coolidge, so the sheriff could arrest him for rustling and attempted murder, but I didn’t see him or any of the other Rafter M hands from that day.” Vance paused. “Of course, Coolidge is the only one who made a real impression. If some of the others were with the rustlers tonight, I might not have recognized them even if I saw them.”

  “Fair enough, I reckon. We’ll know ’em when the time comes, if it ever does.”

  “What time is that?” Vance asked.

  “The time when we’ve caught up to ’em and taught ’em a little lesson about how it ain’t smart to steal from the Three Rivers.” Stovepipe rested a hand on the butt of his Colt.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wilbur rode hard up to the main house at the Three Rivers headquarters. The roan’s hoofbeats drummed steadily on the ground as horse and rider approached.

  It was late enough that everybody had turned in. The main house and the bunkhouse were dark. The dogs, a pair of rangy black-and-tan mutts that were part hound, heard Wilbur galloping in and set up a loud, baying commotion. As he reined to a halt in front of the house, a light appeared in one of the windows.

  Before Wilbur could even dismount, the front door swung open and Keenan Malone stepped out onto the porch, lantern in one hand and double-barreled shotgun in the other. “Who’s there?” the cattleman demanded. He raised the lantern in his left hand so the circle of yellow light washed over the yard in front of the house.

  “It’s me, Mr. Malone. Wilbur Coleman.”

  “Coleman! You’re supposed to be out there keepin’ an eye on that herd with Stewart and Brewster.” Malone stomped down the steps to the ground. “Blast it! Somethin’s happened, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah—”

  “Is Vance all right?” Rosaleen asked before he could explain. She stood on the porch, holding a dressing gown closed around her.

  “Yes, ma’am, mostly.”

  “Mostly! What does that mean?”

  “He got grazed a little by a rustler’s bullet, but Stovepipe tended to him and he’ll be fine.”

  “Rustlers,” Malone said, followed by a curse. He swallowed the rest of the furious response that obviously wanted to come boiling out of him. “So they hit the herd, did they?”

  “Yeah. Ambushed me and Vance a while after you left. Then stampeded the herd right at us. When the dust cleared, we’d winged a couple of them and drove them off, but they took about a hundred head with them.”

  Malone set the lantern on the top step so he could hold the shotgun with both hands. “Rafter M’s gone too far this time!” he said as he brandished the weapon. “We’ll saddle up and ride over there and read from the book to Cabot and his bunch of no-account thieves!”

  “No offense, Mr. Malone, but we don’t know it was the Rafter M behind the raid. We never got a good look at any of the varmints.”

  “Well, who else could it be? We ain’t had any trouble except with Cabot’s bunch!”

  Malone always blamed Cabot for everything bad that happened, whatever it was, Wilbur thought. Cabot was the same way when it came to Malone. That deep-seated hostility didn’t really prove a thing on either side, though.

  Malone wasn’t likely to see the logic in that, however, especially when he had a burr under his saddle. To make him see reason would require another approach.

  “Stovepipe and Vance went after those rustlers,” Wilbur said. “Stovepipe was sort of counting on me taking some help back with me.”

  “You said Vance was wounded,” Rosaleen said. “He shouldn’t have gone chasing off after rustlers in the dark!”

  Wilbur shrugged. “Well, miss, like I told you, he wasn’t hurt bad. And Stovepipe figured I could pick up the trail better than Vance could.” He looked at Malone. “All due respect, boss, but it seems like going after the fellas who actually stole the stock would be better than heading for the Rafter M to raise a ruckus.”

  Malone chewed his white mustache furiously for a second before he said, “You’re right, blast it.”

  The men in the bunkhouse had realized that something was going on. Several of them approached, led by Andy Callahan, who called, “Is there some sort of trouble, boss?”

  “The worst sort. Rustlin’! Tell the boys to pull their boots on and grab their guns. We’re ridin’!”

  Aunt Sinead had come out to see what the commotion was about, too. From the porch just behind Rosaleen, she said, “I’ll get some coffee ready. You’ll need it before you ride out.”

  “Just don’t take too long about it,” Malone said. “Every minute we waste, those varmints are gettin’ farther away.”

  “Yeah, but Stovepipe’s on their trail,” Wilbur said. He’ll leave some sign for us to follow. Wherever those cow thieves go, we’ll be able to follow ’em.”

  “And I’m bettin’ it’s right back around to the Rafter M!” Malone said.

  * * *

  By the time they had been on the trail of the rustlers for a few hours, Vance was even more impressed by Stovepipe than he already had been. The lanky cowboy’s tracking abilities seemed to verge on the supernatural. Most of the time Vance couldn’t see any indication at all of where they should be going, but Stovepipe led them forward confidently.

  When the moon finally set, however, Stovepipe reined in and said, “Reckon we’d best wait for daylight in a couple hours. I hate to let those varmints lengthen their lead on us, but we risk losin’ ’em entirely if we try to track ’em in the pitch dark.”

  “I think it’s amazing you’ve been able to bring us this far,” Vance said. “They’ll have to let the cattle rest at some point. We’ll have a chance then to catch up, or at least shorten their lead again.”

  “Yeah. We’ll let our own mounts rest.” Stovepipe swung down from the saddle and arched his back to ease his muscles. “It’d be mighty nice to build a fire and boil a pot o’ coffee, but I’d just as soon not risk it. Got some jerky in my saddlebags, if you’d like to gnaw on a piece. Or maybe you’d rather just get a little shuteye.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad. We can take turns sleeping.”

  Stovepipe waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that. Fella gets to be my age, he don’t sleep as much as he used to.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “It ain’t the years so much as it is the miles, I reckon,” Stovepipe said with a chuckle. “And I’ve covered a heap of ’em.”

  They loosened the cinches on their saddles and let the horses graze. Vance sat down with his back against a tree trunk, pulled his hat brim down over his eyes, and soon began to snore softly. Stovepipe hunkered on his heels and thought for a spell.

  * * *

  Wilbur figured Rosaleen would want to accompany her father and the rest of the Three Rivers crew when they went after the rustlers, but to his surprise she didn’t even ask. He supposed she knew she would be wasting her time arguing with Keenan Malone, especially after the close call she’d had with the bull.

  Malone designated three of the older hands to remain at the ranch headquarters and keep an eye on the place. It was unlikely the raid on the herd had been designed to pull the crew away from headquarters and leave it open to an attack, but anything was possible. He was just trying to make sure no trickery was involved.

  Wilbur thought that was a good idea and would have suggested it himself if Malone hadn’t come up with it.

  Before they rode out, Wilbur switched his saddle to another horse. He had ridden the roan hard on the way back, and the animal deserved some rest. Besides, there was no way of knowing how long the chase they were embarking on might last, so it was best to start out with a fresh mount.

  * * *

  The sky gradually turned gray in th
e east. While the dim light strengthened, Stovepipe picked up several small rocks and arranged them on the ground in the shape of an arrow. He knew Wilbur would notice the sign instantly, as soon as he saw it.

  So did Vance, once he woke up after Stovepipe nudged his boot with a toe. He nodded toward the rocks. “You left that for Wilbur, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been breakin’ branches as we went along, too. He won’t have no trouble followin’ those signs, but I figured since I had the time I might as well leave him somethin’ even better.”

  “I wonder how long it’ll take him and the others from the Three Rivers to catch up to us.”

  “I imagine they’ll come along as fast as they can. Keenan Malone’s gonna be mighty hot under the collar when he hears about what happened. Only thing that old fella’s more devoted to than the ranch is his daughter.”

  “I can understand that. About Rosaleen, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I knew what you meant.” Stovepipe glanced at the sky. “It’s light enough we can pick up the trail again. We’d best get started. Want a piece of that jerky and a biscuit now?”

  “Still no coffee?”

  “We’d be burnin’ daylight.”

  “I’ll take the jerky, then,” Vance said as he reached for the strip of dried beef Stovepipe held out to him.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long until dawn when they reached the pasture. Wilbur was relieved to see that most, if not all, of the cattle were still there, just as he and Stovepipe and Vance had left them after stopping the stampede.

  “Show me what happened,” Malone ordered in a curt voice. “Just don’t take too long about it.”

  With a few waves of his hand, Wilbur sketched in the events of the night before. He concluded by pointing to the stretch of ground where the grass was beaten down. “We ought to be able to pick up the trail over there somewhere.”

  “Andy, check it out,” Malone said. “The rest of you fellas, get down off those horses and let ’em blow for a minute.”

  Callahan said, “Come on, Wilbur. You and Stovepipe are pards. You’ll know what to look for.”