Sacketts 14 - Galloway

by Galloway

  down and I figured he had the same idea I had. I rode out from the camp and he

  was a-settin' there waiting for me.

  "Figured you might like to look around," he said, and we started walking our

  horses slow, keeping to the open ground where we made less sound. Once we drew

  up to listen, and after a moment Charlie said, "Why you do that for those

  Indians?"

  "They're good folks," I said, "and this was their country. It's nobody's fault

  as to what's happened. Wherever there's open country there'll be people coming

  hungry for land, and it wouldn't have made much sense to let a lot of folks in

  Europe starve to death when there was miles and miles of unused land awaiting.

  "The Indian would have had a better deal, and should have but for a lot of

  greedy white men and because of a few scalp-hungry Indians. There was right and

  wrong on both sides. I'm doing no crying for the Indian. He made his fight but

  he never could get enough guns and ammunition and the white men kept moving in,

  but when old Powder Face came to me he came honest, and he told me who he was

  and what he'd done, and I made him welcome. I figure those boys will make good

  hands and as far as I'm concerned they're here forever."

  After that we shut up and rode on, and pretty soon we noticed our horses ears go

  up like they saw something or smelled something, and sure enough there was a

  fire, and a half dozen men around it, and one young feller had that cat hide in

  his hands and he was laughing at the way the herd took off. The rest of them

  must have been off following the herd. I figured Powder Face and Nick Shadow

  would take care of them.

  "Charlie," I said, "you shoot the first one that moves."

  When I spoke I spoke loud and you never saw a bunch of men come to stillness any

  swifter. Then I stepped down there and I looked at the tall blond ranny with the

  hide in his hands and I said, "You killed a good man tonight, a better man than

  you'll ever be. So you drop that hide and go for your gun."

  "Can I put the hide down first?"

  "Any way you like," I said, "but have at it."

  Me, I was mad clear through. They'd tried to wipe out our camp and kill us all.

  It was pure-darn luck that they hadn't done it.

  "You're a Sackett," this tall ranny said. "Well, Sackett, I'm Abel Dunn, and I'm

  going to save Rocker his job."

  He let go the hide and his hand swept down and closed over that six-shooter and

  my gun stabbed flame at him twice, so close together they looked and sounded

  like one. And he folded and went down.

  "That's for Tyler," I said. "Now old Bull Dunn warned me out of the country. You

  take Abel back to him wrapped in that cougar hide, and you tell Bull Dunn he can

  leave the country or stay, it don't make me no mind, but if he stays he better

  start goin' to Sunday School and actin' like it."

  "You talk big," one of them said. "Wait until Rocker hears about this."

  "You tell him," I said. "You just ride fast and tell him."

  "You're the one better leave. You got no more herd than nothing."

  "You wasted your time," I said. "My herd's down at the Mancos right now, and its

  all in one piece and my boys are with it. You started your victory party a mite

  too soon."

  I could see several bottles around camp so I put bullets in them, and when one

  of them thinking my gun was empty started to reach, Charlie Farnum put a bullet

  through his arm.

  Right there in front of them I shoved the shells out of that old Dance & Park

  pistol and loaded up again. And then I went in there and emptied their guns,

  dropping the shells into the fire and throwing their guns into the brush. Then I

  taken off.

  In about a minute shells began to pop and those Dunn people scrambled for

  shelter.

  Charlie Farnum and me we started east for the herd, riding together. When we

  were a few miles off we started to sing, and we sang a dozen songs before we

  shut up and left it to the coyotes.

  That Charlie Farnum had a better voice than me.

  For that matter, so did the coyotes.

  Chapter XIV

  On the second morning after the stampede, and knowing nothing whatever about it,

  Galloway Sackett headed for town.

  He chose a new route, avoiding the trail they had used, and crossing the La

  Plata well above Shalako. He stayed in the trees and brush, keeping out of sight

  until close to town, then he emerged from the woods behind the livery stable and

  rode around in front of Berglund's place.

  Crossing the street to the store he swung down and tied his horses. Inside he

  ordered rice, beans, flour, and whatever it seemed likely they would need. He

  sacked it up and loaded it on the packhorse.

  The town was empty and still. Occasionally the music box from the saloon would

  brighten the day with tin-panny music. In the distance there was snow on the

  mountains. Galloway paused in tying his pack and stared at it, thinking he'd

  like to go up there. He'd never been that high up in the mountains. It was then

  he remembered Nick Shadow's story about the gold and diamonds.

  He glanced thoughtfully toward the peaks. Now if he could just take a little

  trip up there...

  The rope came snaking from the shadows beside the store and the loop dropped

  over his head, pinning his arms to his sides. He swore at himself for

  daydreaming at such a time and made a desperate attempt to reach his gun. A jerk

  from the rope sprawled him on the boardwalk, and then another loop fell over his

  legs. He heard a laugh boom out and another rider rode out from behind the store

  leading three horses.

  He started to speak and they jerked him into the dust, dragging him a few feet.

  Then one of them walked over and drew Galloway's gun from its scabbard and

  thrust it behind his own waistband.

  Curly Dunn still wore the fading blue marks left from the bruises Flagan had

  given him, and there was a scarcely healed cut over his eye.

  "We got us a Sackett, boys. Let's take him over into the tree and give him the

  Injun treatment."

  Arms and legs held tight by the nooses, there was not a thing he could do. If he

  made a move they would jerk him and drag him, so he waited. Inwardly, he was

  desperate.

  Flagan was miles away with Nick Shadow and Parmalee. He could expect no help

  from the townspeople who were trying to stay out of the trouble, and for which

  he did not blame them. They could do nothing against the Dunns, who could simply

  burn them out and ride on. Nor had he any reason to believe they even knew of

  his situation. In any event the total population of Shalako at this moment

  numbered just five people.

  There was nobody to help him. He must not struggle, but must bide his time,

  hoping to catch them off guard. If he struggled they would only jerk the ropes

  tighter, making escape more difficult.

  Curly swung his horse and started for the trees, the others following. Suddenly

  one of them pulled up.

  "Curly, we should ought to have us a bottle. This here may take some time, and

  his sweatin' may make us thirsty."

  "All right, go get it then. You got money?"

  "I have," the other one broke in.
<
br />   "You two go an' get the liquor, but hurry back. You don't want to miss the fun.

  Alf, you loosen that rope around his legs. I want him to walk to it."

  Galloway made no move as Alf loosened the ropes. The two turned then and went

  toward the saloon. Curly grinned at Galloway. "Here's where I get a little of my

  own back. We're goin' to see how loud a Sackett can yell."

  "You'll wait a long time," Galloway said quietly.

  Curly laughed and started for the trees. Galloway had to trot to keep up. Once

  he fell and Curly dragged him several yards before he stopped and allowed him to

  rise. And then just as he was on his feet, Curly jerked him sharply so that he

  hit the ground hard. Curly laughed. "How's it feel, Sackett? That ain't nothin'

  to what's comin'. How do your toes stand up to fire? Pa tried that on a Yankee

  one time who wouldn't tell us where he'd hidden his proud-ofs. He told us soon

  enough, but pa let the fire burn for awhile just to teach him a lesson."

  They were well into the trees before Galloway saw his chance. Suddenly he darted

  to one side and ducked around a tree, taking a quick turn of the rope around the

  bole. The move was so sudden that Curly, who only had dallied the rope around

  the saddle horn was caught unawares. Curly was no cowhand, although he had

  worked cattle to some extent, and he was careless by nature. Galloway's quick

  move in snubbing the rope around the tree not only brought his horse up short,

  but gave Galloway the instant he needed. Holding the snub tight with one hand he

  hastily kicked and shook the rope loose.

  Curly wheeled his horse with a yell, but Galloway had ducked around a tree with

  others growing close beside it and it took Curly just a minute to find a hole

  through which he could guide his horse.

  Curly grabbed for his pistol but a branch interfered. Galloway shook off the

  rope and ducking around the tree, jumped for Curly. Trying to pull back from the

  tangle in which he found himself, Curly felt a sudden heave on his stirrup as

  his leg was thrown up. He started to fall and tried to grab a secure hold on the

  pommel, but Galloway hacked at the fingers and Curly lost his grip.

  He hit the ground with one foot caught in a stirrup and the frightened horse,

  backing and rearing, swung out of the trees and broke into a run.

  Galloway staggered back, caught himself against a tree and slowly recovered

  himself. The horse went racing back toward the town, with Curly bouncing at

  every jump.

  Glancing quickly around, he found Curly's pistol where it had fallen among the

  leaves. Hastily he checked the cylinder. Only three cartridges. Damn a man who

  didn't reload!

  Holding the pistol in his hand Galloway started back for Shalako, only some two

  hundred yards away. He limped as he walked for his leg had been badly bruised

  when he had been dragged over the edge of the boardwalk.

  He came into the head of the street and saw Curly's horse stopped in front of

  the saloon. Alf and the other Dunn were unfastening the rope. Berglund was

  kneeling beside Curly.

  Galloway was within forty yards of them before Alf looked up. "I want my gun,

  Alf. Take it out mighty careful and put it down on the boardwalk."

  Alf Dunn looked at Galloway. Hatred burned within him. At his feet lay Curly,

  dragged, torn and battered, injured badly, possibly dying. Always before the

  Dunns had had it their own way, and his hatred was filled with frustration and

  disbelief. This had never happened to the Dunns, it could not be happening.

  Success corrodes, and the Dunns—always brutal, always cruel, always fighting a

  hit-and-run battle—had enjoyed success. Before their enemies could gird against

  them they were gone, miles away and with no idea of returning. In those swift

  strikes at unprepared ranches or communities they had been swaggering,

  triumphant and confident. Then Curly had been whipped by Flagan Sackett, a man

  who had just gone through a punishing ordeal, Jobe had been wounded, and the old

  Bull himself ignored. Now Curly had been terribly hurt in their moment of

  triumph, and here came the man who had done it, ordering him to throw down his

  pistol. It was more than he could take. Alf said, "Pete, let's take him."

  Berglund left the ground in a long dive that carried him across the body of

  Curly and into the sparse grass beyond.

  Alf and Pete with one accord had gone for their guns. Galloway's gun came up and

  fired. Alf turned halfway around and Galloway fired a second tune. Alf Dunn

  backed up and sat down and Galloway's gun covered Pete even as Pete's gun came

  up. "Don't do it," Galloway said. "I'll kill you."

  "And if he don't," a new voice said, "I will!" Berglund, sitting up now that he

  was out of gun range, looked at the shaggy-haired big man in the faded red shirt

  and the black vest. A sheepskin coat was tied back of the saddle and there was a

  Winchester in the boot. The big man looked unkempt and almost unreal, for there

  was about him a wild savagery that was somehow shocking.

  Galloway backed off a few steps to where he could see the newcomer. "Howdy,

  Logan! Nice to see you!"

  He swung his eyes back to Pete. "You'd better take Curly home," he said, "and

  you tell Bull Dunn we want no more trouble. You brought it to us and by now you

  ought to have your belly full."

  Pete snorted. "You think the old Bull will take this? He'll come in here

  a-foggin' it, mind you."

  "His funeral. You tell him what I said. 'There's no need for all this shootin'

  and shoutin'."

  Berglund got up slowly from the ground. "You two come in and I'll buy you a

  drink." He glanced at Logan. "I take it you're a Sackett?"

  "Logan Sackett, from Clinch Mountain." He jerked his thumb toward Galloway.

  "He's a Cumberland Sackett. They're good people, too."

  At the bar Berglund poured the drinks. "I think you boys are going to straighten

  out that Dunn outfit. They were riding roughshod over everybody."

  "We want to ranch," Galloway said. "All we want is to make a home. If we get

  settled in, Tyrel and Orrin are coming up here. We'll have the whole family

  together."

  Bull Dunn sat at the table in the long house and poured his tin cup half-full of

  whiskey, then replaced the jug on the table. "Stir up that fire," he said,

  speaking to no one in particular. "I want my coffee hot!"

  An hour before, Pete Dunn had come in with the battered, half-alive body of

  Curly Dunn, and the body of Alf in which no life remained. And then, just a few

  minutes ago, Rocker had ridden in, leading the crew Bull had sent down to

  scatter the Sacketts' cattle.

  Bull didn't need anyone to tell him they had failed. His eyes swept over the

  group of men wordlessly leading their horses into the corral.

  "Where's Abel?" he asked, as Rocker swung off his horse in front of him.

  "Dead. I wasn't there when it happened."

  Bull turned on his heel and walked into the house. Now he was sitting at the

  head of the table, looking at what was left of his family and the few others he

  could trust.

  The old Bull was shaken. For the first time in years things were going against

  him, and he was sure he knew why ... because he had elected
to stop.

  Why stop? Was he getting tired? He tasted the raw whiskey, then turned the glass

  in his fingers.

  That Curly ... he couldn't do anything right. He goes into the woods with a

  tied-up man and comes out with his horse draggin' him.

  "Vern," he glanced.down the table at the sallow-faced young man, "you got it to

  do. Cut 'em down, one after the other."

  Vern Huddy batted his eyes and looked sour, but offered no immediate comment. He

  had been studying out the country and he knew what he could do.

  "That big man," he suggested, "the one Pete told of. That'll be Logan Sackett.

  He's an outlaw gunfighter. You all lay off him. He's a tiger."

  "Let's have it," Bull said suddenly, "how did they get through with those

  cattle? I want to know."

  "They had more men than we expected," Rocker spoke quietly. He was a young man

  of medium height, medium build, who carried himself with pride. "One of them, at

  least, was an Indian."

  "There were several Indians," Ollie Hammer said. "They seemed to come right out

  of the ground and they kept those cattle running straight right down to the

  river. We never had a chance to scatter them."

  "What happened to Abel?"

  "He tried to draw against a Sackett. It was Flagan, the one who whupped Curly.

  Tin-Cup and me was with Rocker going after the cattle. There was no one else

  there who could take on Sackett."

  Rocker had been toying with his cup. Now he lifted his eyes to his father. "Pa,

  we lost Abel. Curly is done up. If he lives he won't be any use to us until this

  here fight is all over. Jobe has got him a crippled arm. Alf is dead ... I

  figure we'd better rattle our hocks out of here."

  For a moment there was dead silence. Several stole looks at Bull, all were

  shocked. It was the first time any of them had dared suggest such a thing, and

  Rocker was the only one who could say it without a blow.

  "You're talkin' crazy. When did we ever run from a fight?"

  "Never. But nobody but a fool bucks a stacked deck. Pa, you don't know these

  Sacketts. There's a good many of them around the country, and when one of them

  is in trouble, they'll all come. We haven't seen anything yet."

  "Vern will whittle 'em down."

  "Maybe."

  Vern's eyes came up sharply at the implied doubt. He started to speak, then held