Talman's War (A Piccadilly Publishing Western #9)

by Neil Hunter

  The ride to the herd was long and hard. Olsen maintained a grueling pace, sparing neither men nor horses, and stops were short and few.

  With the onset of darkness the temperature dropped. A short time later it began to rain. Fine mist at first it soon increased until it was a solid, drenching downpour. It was still raining as dawn streaked the sky. The land was overall gray, cold and wet, the earth turned to mud beneath the pounding hooves.

  Weariness was deep-set in every man by the time the gathering-ground was reached, but Olsen allowed no rest. He took complete control the moment they arrived. No man was spared. Olsen drove them relentlessly. He seemed to be everywhere, giving orders, driving bunches of steers towards the tally-crew. By the end of the day every man on the gather was cursing Olsen to hell and back. Even so they carried on working until darkness and the driving rain forced them to halt. They may have hated his dominance, his orders and exhausting pace, but they were tough, hard men themselves, and one thing they admired was a man of Olsen’s breed. Olsen was their kind; he desired something and took it, he wasted no time on niceties. His was the only way to live, the way they themselves lived, and to that end they would stick with him despite the recent setbacks over Rocking-T.

  It took the rest of that day and all of the next before Olsen was satisfied that they had brought in every Boxed-O steer that was still on its feet. When the final tally had been made, Olsen found that the stampede had cost him well over a hundred steers dead and nearly forty head that had just plain vanished. Out of the whole herd it was a small number, but Olsen took every lost beef as a personal score to be settled with Jim Talman.

  That night he lay listening to the drizzling rain on the canvas lean-to under which he lay. Tomorrow the drive would get under way. Once back on Boxed-O range he would get the herd settled and then he would make the arrangements that would finally rid him of Jim Talman.

  Irritation grew in him and he found that sleep was drifting in. What was it about Jim Talman that caused him such discomfort? He stirred restlessly. Most probably it was Talman’s stubborn defiance, his total rejection of Olsen’s every move against him. The man was a damn nuisance, and as such he had to be removed. When it finally came down to it Jim Talman was just another problem for Olsen, one of many, and like any problem it had to be resolved. Quickly and efficiently. Olsen had realized this and would carry out the preparations as he would for any other problem.

  The fact that he was going to have Jim Talman killed in cold blood didn’t bother him. But this didn’t mean he would let the matter be done openly or carelessly. Despite his power, his ruthlessness, there were still lines he had to be careful about stepping over. His recent visit to Chicago had attained him a lot of influential contacts. He was known by men of power and money, and his way was clear to greater things if he honored the contracts he had undertaken and proved that he was a dependable man. He was not concerned over news of this range-trouble reaching the ears of Chicago. They knew the way of this hard land and they knew it took a hard man to keep his head above water. Range-wars were part and parcel of the cattle business. If Olsen came through they would know he was a man who could handle a crisis, and they would not baulk when the time came for more negotiations.

  Even so, Olsen realized, there would be no excusing downright murder. If Jim Talman was killed and Olsen was implicated, then he would find that Chicago would disown him quicker than water rolling off a hot skillet. Therefore, the killing would have to be planned and carried out so that he, Olsen, would be left in the clear. He had already made his mind up on how to settle the matter. All it would take to set it up would be a brief visit to town and a short talk with Howser and Jarrett. After that, when it was all over, he could resume his Rocking-T takeover, without Talman putting up resistance.

  The sound of a rider coming into camp brought him back to the present. Olsen sat up. He was fully awake and sleep seemed far away. He got up and pulled his slicker on. He crossed to the blazing cook-fire and helped himself to a mug of coffee from the blackened pot that was suspended over the flames. He sat back on his heels and drank the coffee, feeling the cold drizzle wet his bare head.

  The rider who had come in appeared on the other side of the fire and took coffee. He recognized Olsen and nodded.

  ‘The herd settled?’ Olsen asked.

  ‘Like they were never going to move again.’

  The rider drained his coffee, said goodnight, and turned into his blankets.

  Olsen stayed where he was. He took more coffee and stared into the flames of the hissing fire. Thoughts drifted through his mind in a slow stream. He wondered about the future, his stake in this growing land. He had a place now and a chance to grow bigger than any man for a hundred miles around. There was no telling what might come in the future. He still had a lot of years in him yet, and many things could happen in those years. He thought briefly of Victorene, and a faint stir of hunger rose in him as he brought to mind the youth and beauty she had, but he knew it was only the want of a man who desired a woman for the physical pleasure she could give him. His feelings for her had never gone deeper. Her strong white body had been the attraction. He regretted losing her, but only because it meant losing the special position he would have had with her grandfather. Olsen shrugged the thought off. There were other bankers who would be eager to welcome him, once he proved his worth. Once he delivered to the Chicago stockyards he wouldn’t have to worry. As for the other matter, well, there were plenty of women who would jump at the chance of favoring the bed of a man like Philip Olsen. Money, he knew, could buy a lot of things.

  Not Jim Talman though, a needling little voice reminded him. Olsen tensed.

  The thought hurt, but it was true. Nothing seemed to influence Talman. Money didn’t interest him. Olsen’s power, his strength, the size of his operations. None of these seemed to bother Jim Talman. If he was hit he simply hit back. And every man who worked for him seemed to be cast from the same mould.

  Olsen emptied his mug. We’ll see, he told himself. We’ll see who comes out on top. A couple of bullets in the back would soon change Jim Talman’s attitude. With Talman out of the way his road would be clear. And then nothing would stop him. Pushing to his feet Olsen returned to his blankets. He dragged off his slicker and lay down. His mind felt clearer now. Tomorrow the drive would get under way. He felt suddenly eager to get started. He wanted to get things rolling. He lay for a while, then drifted into a deep, restful sleep, his confused thoughts sorted out and reshaped into a cohesive pattern.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The weather seemed to have settled. The rain looked as if it was going to stop. Overcast skies made the days dark, and the constant drizzle wet everything thoroughly, the ground underfoot becoming sodden and spongy. Grass sprouted thick and green on the hillsides and flatlands.

  Sitting his saddle alongside Rem Callender, Jim watched Rocking-T’s herd meander about on the plain below them. At least there was plenty of water now, he thought, and ample grass. The rain was becoming a nuisance, but the longer it stayed the better would be the build-up of water.

  Jim hunched his shoulders beneath his slicker. He was damp and chilled, his pants below his slicker sodden. ‘You fancy coffee, Rem?’ he asked.

  Callender glanced his way. His lean face, shadowed by the brim of his hat, broke into a slow smile. ‘That is a hell of a tempting offer, Jim.’

  ‘Ain’t it just,’ Jim said. ‘Let’s ride then.’ He turned his horse towards home.

  The past few days had been long and hard. Jim had not been satisfied until his entire herd had been rounded up and moved way over to the far side of Rocking-T range, away from where it bordered Boxed-O. Jim didn’t intend to give Boxed-O any more chances at his herd. The final tally showed that Rocking-T’s loss had proved to be reasonably light. Jim didn’t want another attack on his herd. The next one might not let him off so light. It could happen, and Jim was determined not to be caught out a second time.

  Knowing Olsen the way he did
, Jim realized that by the time the man had his herd under control and on Boxed-O range, he was going to be close to the end of his patience, and as mad as hell with Jim. One of Jim’s riders had seen the Boxed-O crew leaving in a hurry a few days back. Word had almost certainly reached Olsen, and his crew was heading out to gather the herd. Jim hoped that apart from being angry, Olsen might also take some time out to realize that what he had started might not prove to be worth it. It was nothing more than a hope on Jim’s part, and he wasn’t about to put too much faith in it.

  Since Boxed-O’s last raid things had near-enough returned to normal. At Rocking-T the everyday routine began to return. Even so Jim made Ruth stay in town. He didn’t want her back at Rocking-T yet, not until he was completely certain that there would be no more trouble.

  The day after his fight with Curly Browning, Jim had ridden to town. He’d had a strong telling off from Ruth when she’d seen the battered condition of his face and body. Her words had bitten almost as hard as Curly’s punches. After Ruth’s father had patched him up Jim had gone in to see Ben Nolan. He found that the lawman was making good progress. He was still weak, but he was able to sit up. Jim had stayed a while, then Ruth had called him to eat. She’d got over her anger by then and he sat down and enjoyed a good meal. Despite his protests Ruth had made him stay the night, telling him that the ranch could manage without him for a few hours.

  On his way out of town next morning, Jim had seen Frank Spode and Victorene Olsen going into the office of Harvey Lord, Garnett’s lawyer. Maybe she was the reason for Spode’s reluctance to leave town, he thought idly. He stopped off at the store to pick up a few things and to have a few words with the Dobbs. He’d walked in to find Melanie in the arms of Albert Doubleday, being kissed in a way that explained what was going on better than any words. It made the world seem a little more normal to Jim.

  Now as he and Callender rode into the yard, with darkness falling fast around him, Jim commented on the comparative calm.

  ‘I always feel better when something’s actually going on,’ Callender said. ‘Never did take to waitin’.’

  They led their horses into the stable and off-saddled. Rubbing the animals down they fed and watered them, then picked up their rifles and saddlebags and made their way across the puddled yard and went into the bunkhouse. Jim had closed up the house while Ruth was in town. He’d had the bullet-damage put right and then he’d moved in with the crew.

  Warmth met them as they stepped inside. Stowing their gear they crossed to the glowing stove and helped themselves to coffee. The night crew were just preparing to move out and were just having a last cup before leaving.

  ‘Take it easy boys,’ Jim told them as they shuffled out.

  ‘We’ll think about you while we’re out there,’ Saintly Jones said. He had a scarf tied across his hat to stop it blowing off and his lean, boney face looked longer than ever.

  ‘Hey, Saintly, get that damn door shut,’ someone shouted from the table where a poker game was in progress. ‘It’s cold in here.’

  Saintly uttered something under his breath as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

  Finishing his coffee Jim went across and watched the poker game for a while, then crossed over to his bunk. He got out of his boots and gun belt, slid under the blankets and lay listening to the talk and laughter of the card players. He didn’t remember who won, for the next time he opened his eyes it was dawn and another day lay before him.

  This was the way it went as the next week slid by. A long, busy week as everybody pitched in, the ranch work filling every daylight hour.

  Olsen and his crew had brought the herd onto Boxed-O, and although things appeared to have quietened down Rocking-T kept a watchful eye open.

  News filtered in from town as it always had, brought in by Dicken Hodges after a visit for supplies, by a couple of the crew who had decided to ride in one night. For the most part it was just local gossip. Ben Nolan was up out of bed, starting to make a nuisance of himself. A runaway horse had caused considerable damage when it had forced its way into the town barbershop. The tale had it that the barber had been so surprised that he’d cut off the ear of the customer he’d been shaving, but as usual this part of the episode turned out to be nothing more than fanciful embellishment. Albert Doubleday and Melanie Dobbs had announced their engagement. One item caught Jim’s attention. It appeared that Victorene Olsen was getting a divorce from her husband. Jim remembered seeing her with Frank Spode, and wondered again how deeply Spode figured in the matter.

  Then he received news that interested him deeply, but which also put him on his guard from the moment he heard it.

  Breakfast was just over and horses were being saddled up in readiness for the day ahead. Spirits were fairly high, for the rain had ceased during the night and the sun was up already. It looked like it would be a good day, at least as far as the weather was concerned.

  A rider came into the yard. He rode over to where Jim stood talking with Jan Dorn. Glancing up Jim saw that the rider was one of Olsen’s. The man’s gun rig was looped around his saddle-horn. He drew rein in front of Jim.

  ‘I got a message for you,’ he said. ‘From Olsen.’

  ‘You want to step down?’ Jim asked.

  The rider shook his head. He’d seen enough of the hostile glances from the Rocking-T crew to know when he wasn’t welcome. ‘I’ll say my piece then go.’

  ‘Say it then.’

  ‘Olsen wants to talk peace. He figures it’s time for you and him to quit fighting. Said to tell you he’ll be waitin’ for you in the saloon come noon, so he can buy you a drink to show he’s on the level. And he’ll be alone.’

  The rider turned away and rode out at a pace that belied the fact that he was trying to appear calm and unhurried.

  Jim watched him go. He was trying to put his finger on the crooked card in the hand Olsen had just dealt him, but he couldn’t. On the surface the proposition sounded genuine enough. But was it? Jim wanted to believe it. He dare not. It sounded too good to be true. He had to know however. He had to go to town. He could easily be stepping into a trap, but there was only one way to find out. Only one way to answer his questions, and that was to take up Olsen’s invitation and make the ride to Garnett.

  Despite his crews’ disapproval, Jim prepared himself for the ride. He made sure that his handgun and rifle were both fully loaded.

  Near enough every man on the crew voiced his objections in no uncertain terms. They were all convinced that this sudden reversal on Olsen’s part was a fake, that he was up to something. Jim was inclined to agree, but he knew he had to go. If he didn’t Olsen would be able to turn round and say, see, I offered peace, but Talman doesn’t want it. Olsen had put Jim right on the spot, and now he was waiting to see which way Jim would jump. Jim wondered what alternative he had, and saw that he was left with a choice of two evils.

  Jan Dorn wanted to ride with Jim. It took a great deal of effort on Jim’s part to say no. This was something he had to face alone. Dorn saw this in the end, though it was still with a great deal of protesting.

  When Jim was mounted, ready to ride, Rem Callender came over to him.

  Up to now Callender had stayed well in the background, spending the time attending to his saddle-gun, a fine .44-40 caliber Winchester. Now he wordlessly slid Jim’s own rifle out of the sheath and replaced it with his own.

  ‘Bought this rifle a long while back,’ he said. ‘Got a smooth-as-silk action and a hair trigger, and she shoots straight.’ He drew his hand along the smooth-worn stock, then turned away without another word.

  This action told Jim that Callender understood the position he was in, and that there was only one thing Jim could do. It was a gesture that he appreciated, coming as it did from a man like Rem Callender.

  Drawing his horse’s head around, Jim gigged the animal into motion.

  The moment he was clear of Rocking-T the build-up of tension hit him. His body tightened until every muscle ached. He becam
e aware of every sound, of every flicker of movement around him. He had released the rawhide loop from the hammer of his holstered Colt almost before he realized he had done it. Sudden self-consciousness washed over him, but he remained openly alert, for he knew very well the kind of target he made out here.

  The sun grew stronger. The sky was washed with blue, streaks of cloud marking the paleness. A faint breeze stirred the fresh grass and the leaves of the trees.

  Jim let his thoughts dwell on Olsen’s offer. What form would it take? It was possible that Olsen had had enough. Perhaps he’d been hit harder than he was prepared for. Maybe he’d figured it was better to quit now, before things got out of hand completely.

  Perhaps. Maybe. Jim shook his head slowly. He’d find out the answers soon enough. He felt a sweat-patch forming down the back of his shirt. It was going to turn out far hotter than he had expected.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Garnett’s saloon was crowded. News of Olsen’s offer to Jim Talman had soon got around and whoever was able to spare the time was in the saloon. Whichever way it was called, today would bring a show-down between the two largest brands in the area. This meeting could settle the dispute — on the other hand it might just as well make it worse. Right now it was liable to swing either way. No one knew just how it would end, but everyone was interested. So they waited and while they waited they made use of the time to get in some extra drinking.

  On his table at the far end of the saloon, Philip Olsen had a bottle and a glass. The bottle was close to empty. On the surface Olsen appeared calm, even relaxed. In truth though he was keyed up to bursting-point. The whisky he’d downed sat heavily, and he knew he’d been wrong to take it on an empty stomach.

  He had a lot riding on what went off today. It was, perhaps, the biggest gamble he’d ever taken. If it came off, all well and good; if it didn’t, the hell with it. He’d been a gambler all his life and he’d acquired the mentality that went with it. He figured that he was due to a winning hand about now. Bad cards had been falling his way for too long. This time he had to come out on top. And he could. He’d set this up with too much care and attention for it to go wrong.