The 7th Western Novel

by Francis W. Hilton

  The dun showed signs of friskiness and a little reluctance to accept a rider after his brief freedom. When Billy’s weight hit the saddle it was moving in several directions at the same time. But Billy had other things on his mind and wasn’t in a mood to put up with such foolishness right then. He whipped off his hat and took a couple of quick swipes at the dun’s ears. When he had, the horse straightened out in a dead run, and he turned and waved to Sheff. Then he set his mind on the business ahead of him.

  He let the dun run as far as where the canyon came out on the river flat to let him work off steam. Then he reined him down and started to ease him up the slope toward the rimrock. He glanced at the sun. It wasn’t much past noon. By pushing it a little, he figured he could make the Circle 8 before sundown.

  * * * *

  The ranch buildings threw long shadows across the flat by the time Billy rode into the yard. He was pleased to notice, from the look he got as he passed the bunkhouse, that most of the riders’ gear still seemed to be scattered about. But the next thing he noticed didn’t please him much. There were two mounts tied just outside Thad’s front yard gate. Both bore the brand of the Lazy S. Jase Thornhill sure hadn’t wasted any time.

  Billy rode on up to the gate and tied the dun beside the others. As he eased out of the saddle he could hear the low fumble of voices inside. He opened the gate and walked up the path and onto the porch. Outside the door he paused to look in. Thad Harper was seated at a table in the parlor. With him were two men. Jase Thornhill and Ace Ackerman. Billy stepped quietly over the threshold.

  Thad Harper looked up as the shadow filled the door. “Billy Condo! I thought you’d gone!” There was a look of puzzlement on the old man’s face. But it was the look on the faces of the other two that drew his attention. Jase’s was flushed with anger at the intrusion. And Billy could guess why. Ackerman’s was flat and cold, and Billy noticed that the man’s right hand quivered just a little. His gun hand.

  “I forgot to draw my pay, Thad,” Billy said easily. “Thought I might need it, so I came back.” He noticed Thornhill relax ever so slightly.

  Old Thad fingered his mustache nervously. “That’s what the other boys waited around for. I’d have had to pay ’em off a little short, until Jase here came along and made me a proposition that will get me out of the hole.”

  Thornhill’s face twisted into a grin. “Yeah, Condo. I heard about Thad’s drive to New Orleans falling through. I knew it would put him in a tough spot, so—well, in spite of all the bickering and one thing or another we’re still neighbors. I can afford to buy Thad out and not get hurt. I’m taking a chance, with the markets the way they are now—but I can hold out a little while yet.”

  Billy said easily, “That’s decent of you, Jase.”

  Thornhill waved a hand airily, “Well, you know how it goes…” Then he tried to switch the subject and said, “Reckon you’ll be leavin’ the country now, won’t you Condo?”

  Billy nodded, staring Jason Thornhill straight in the eye. “Yeah,” he said evenly, “I’m leavin’ the Panhandle all right, Jase.”

  “Well,” Jase said expansively, “I guess everything turns out for the best. Nobody left with any hard feelings or anything. We’ve all had words, but—well, that’s water under the bridge, I guess. Where you aim to head for, if I’m not bein’ too curious?”

  “No,” Billy said, and his smile was a little grim, “you ain’t being too curious, Jase. Matter of fact, I’m glad you brought it up. I’m thinkin’ of a place called Abilene, up Kansas way. Ever hear of it?”

  Thornhill’s smile left his face and he glanced uneasily at Ackerman. “Abilene? No—can’t say that I have, but…”

  “Then maybe you’d like to hear a little about the place. Thad, it might be of interest to you, too. By the way, Thad, how much is Jase offering you for your cattle?”

  Old Thad’s face flushed and he looked a little embarrassed. “Why, uh, Billy…”

  Thornhill stood up so fast he overturned his chair. “That’s none of your goddam business, Condo!” he roared. “Now I’ve tried to act decent about this whole business—tried to let bygones be bygones—and you come nosin’ in here…”

  “All right, Jase, all right,” Billy said calmly. “Maybe I was a little out of line. A common cowhand ain’t got no business askin’ his betters a question like that. But,” and the sly smile crept back to his face, “I just thought Thad might like to make some kind of a comparison.”

  “Comparison?” the old man asked, sitting up and squinting at Billy. “What the hell you up to, Billy Condo? You got something up your sleeve!”

  Billy turned to Jase Thornhill. “Why don’t you tell him, Jase?”

  “Tell him what?” Thornhill asked nervously.

  “About a man named Joe McCoy who sent runners down from Abilene to get Texas ranchers to drive their cattle to his railhead where they’ll bring good prices from Eastern buyers.”

  Old Thad’s face reddened till Billy thought it would singe his mustache. “Why you son of a…!”

  But Billy’s eye caught Ace Ackerman’s hand in motion. He yelled at Thad and jumped back.

  “Look out, Thad!”

  There was a blur of motion as all four men moved, and in the next instant the house rang loud with the crashing of shots coming one after the other.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Billy shot to kill. In that split second when he saw Ackerman reach for his gun he could think of only one thing—he was up against a professional gunman. A gunman who wanted him out of the way for more than one reason. And Ackerman had started the draw first.

  The .44 seemed imbedded in molasses instead of smooth leather and it weighed all of twenty pounds. He was sure the hammer had rusted in place, the way it wouldn’t come back under his thumb. And he hadn’t recalled the trigger having such a heavy pull before—it seemed that he squeezed his hand till his muscles ached clear to the elbow before it went off.

  It wasn’t much of a surprise to find he hadn’t hit the big man’s chest like he tried. But it did surprise him that Ackerman’s gun didn’t explode until the .44 slug ripped the length of the forearm. He wanted to stand and watch the look of surprise that crossed the big man’s face, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Jase Thornhill’s hand moving up and he swung around.

  “Stop! Billy—don’t!”

  It was a woman’s voice. Mary Thornhill’s voice.

  Billy didn’t turn around until he saw Jase relax and let his gun slip back into its holster. Even then, Billy stood with his feet apart, the cocked .44 still in front of him.

  “Mary! Who the hell told you you could leave the ranch?”

  This time Mary’s anger matched her brother’s. “You promised me, Jase, that this foolishness would stop. But when I saw you and that—that big gorilla ride off in this direction I knew you were looking for trouble. I came along to put a stop to it, Jase.”

  Thornhill was shaking with rage, and humiliation. His voice was a low snarl, “Get out of here, Mary. Get out of here and get back where you belong. And when I get home I’ll teach you not to…”

  Billy’s left hand flashed out, gathering Jase’s shirt front into a bunch under his chin. He jerked the man in close till their faces almost touched, holding the .44 raised above his head.

  “So help me, Jase,” he said hoarsely, his breath whistling through his clenched teeth, “if you lay a hand on that girl…”

  Thornhill’s eyes were wild and he laughed like he was crazy drunk. “Why you bluebellied bastard! You think you can tell me how to run my affairs? I’ll do anything I damn well please—hear me, Condo? Anything! And I’ll tell you something else—I’m taking Mary with me to Abilene, and when we get there’s she’s marrying Ace Ackerman as soon as we can locate a preacher. Now take your stinking hands off me before…”

  Billy felt the roaring in his brain, saw the red mists
gathering in front of his eyes, saw Jase’s maniacal, babbling face taunting him. He brought his arm down with a jerky motion, heard the soft-hard crack of the barrel across Jase’s nose and cheek, watched the angry welt darken, then fill with blood. He let the man slip from his grasp, watched him stagger back, his face contorted with pain and surprise, and felt the surge of awful guilty satisfaction at what he’d done.

  Jase Thornhill raised a hand slowly to his face, fingers exploring gingerly. He drew the hand away, staring at the blood. Then he looked at Billy with all the desperate hate of which he was capable.

  “Condo,” he rasped, his breath coming painfully, “I’ll kill you for this—if it’s the last thing I do.” His voice faded out in a whisper and the room was silent except for the quiet sobbing of Mary Thornhill.

  * * * *

  Thad and Joe Metcalf were huddled over a table in the lamplight when Billy walked in. They looked up from the papers they’d been studying.

  “How’d it go?” Thad asked.

  Billy sank wearily into a chair, reaching in his shirt for tobacco. “Shorty’s holding them down on Wolf Creek. The cook’s moving the chuck wagon up there now so he can feed breakfast before we take off. We’ll be under way before sunrise, if everything goes all right.”

  “How many head you figure?” Joe asked.

  Billy squinted at the floor, thinking. Then he looked up, “I’d say twelve to fifteen hundred head. What do the tally sheets show?”

  Old Thad ran a finger down, the paper in front of him. “Thirteen-fifty. Probably a few mavericks in there. We’ll trail brand those as we go.”

  Billy stood to go. “I’ll ride up to join Shorty. No telling but what he might need help.”

  Old Thad looked at him. “You mean Thornhill?”

  Billy nodded. “One of the boys rode past the Lazy S just after sundown. Lights burning all over the place. Jase’ll try to get out ahead of us just for plain cussedness, And,” he added slowly, “I wouldn’t put it past him to try something to delay our start—maybe even prevent it altogether.”

  The old man drummed his fingers on the desk, staring at the lamp before him. Then he thought of something and turned to Billy. “I almost forgot—Joe here says he don’t know that country worth a damn. He says he’ll be happy to have you boss this trail herd.”

  Billy turned to Joe. “That’s mighty square of you, Joe. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re still ramrod of this outfit. All I’ll do is scout the way and tell you where I think we should camp and how far we should try to make every day.”

  Joe looked at Thad. “Fair enough by me. Any objections, Thad?”

  The old man shook his head and grinned. “You two boys’ll make out all right. Don’t worry about me, I’m just goin’ along for the ride.”

  They all laughed and Billy pulled his hat down on his head. “One other thing, Joe. Who’s got charge of the remuda?”

  “Shorty Long. He’s a good horse-wrangler, and he’ll work any way you want.”

  “Good. I just wanted to get an idea about how many each man’d have in his string.”

  “I figure about six,” Joe said. “What do you say?”

  Billy studied for a minute. He might have to count on losses from accidents. And there was no telling about the Comanche. “That’s about right. I figured around seventy head for all eleven riders.”

  Old Thad snorted. “Eleven? You forgot about me already?”

  “All right, then,” Billy grinned. “Make it seventy-five.”

  * * * *

  The moon was skitting in and out of low, fast-moving clouds when Billy sighted the herd in the valley along Wolf Creek. He skirted the herd and remuda downwind so they wouldn’t get restless and waved to the nighthawk as he passed. Somebody was hunkered over the fire behind the chuck wagon, pouring coffee from the big granite pot. Billy tied the dun to the tailgate of the bed wagon with several others and walked up to the fire. He saw the rider was Shorty Long.

  “How come you’re still awake, Shorty?” he asked, taking a tin cup from the pile and pouring coffee.

  Shorty frowned and stared down across the bedground. “I don’t know, Billy. I half expect trouble. One of the boys cut out some sick cows just after dark and drove ’em down on the flats where they wouldn’t join back up with the herd. On the way back he come past the Lazy S and saw a bunch of riders holdin’ a confab.”

  Billy shrugged. “Thornhill’s trying to get a herd on the trail, too. They’re working hammer and tongs to beat us out of here. I suppose they were just gettin’ organized.”

  Shorty set his cup aside and started to roll a smoke. “That’s just it,” he said, looking at Billy. “Too damn organized.”

  Billy looked across at him. “How do you mean?”

  “They was all standin’ around with saddle guns.”

  The coffee stuck in Billy’s throat. He dropped the cup and jumped up. “How long ago was that?”

  “ ’Bout an hour.”

  He hadn’t counted on having to take over as trail boss till morning, but he hadn’t counted on Thornhill doing this, either. “There’s ten of us here,” he began to figure out loud, “and Joe’s with Thad back at the ranch. Thad said he’d leave four others to look after the place and take care of Mrs. Harper. That makes sixteen men all told.”

  He turned to Shorty. “Can you move this herd with four men besides yourself?”

  Shorty’s mouth fell open. “You mean—now?”

  Billy nodded. “Sooner, if you can do it.”

  The horse-wrangler stood up, looking at the sleeping figures on the ground. “Why—yeah, we can move it. But…”

  “All right then, move it. Head due east.”

  “East? But I thought Abilene…”

  “So does Thornhill. We’ve got to keep him from stampeding this herd or there’ll be hell to pay. Once he gets his own on the trail he won’t play so rough for fear we’ll do the same thing. Pick the men you want, Shorty, and I’ll take the rest with me.”

  There were grunts of protest and mumbled curses as Billy and Shorty passed quickly among the blanketed figures, shaking shoulders and prodding with their boot toes. When they had been told the situation there was an orderly scramble for horses.

  Shorty Long came up. “I’ve got my four.”

  Billy nodded, then noticed the cook harnessing his mules. “Hell,” he said suddenly, “I forgot all about the wagons. Who drives the other one?”

  “The bed wagon? Limpy drives that. The old fella you’ve seen helpin’ Mrs. Harper with her garden and chickens.”

  Billy nodded. “I’d forgot about him and the cook. That makes it better. I need all the riders we got.”

  “What do you aim to do?” Shorty asked.

  Billy was untying the dun from the tailgate. “That,” he said slowly, “depends on Jase Thornhill.” He swung aboard and nodded to the others to follow.

  As they crossed Wolf Creek and started up the long slope to the ridge beyond, Billy found himself wondering just what he should do. He doubted seriously that Jase Thornhill planned anything other than just to stampede the Circle 8 herd. Mad as Jase probably was over what had happened, Billy doubted that the man would risk a fight that would cost him men. Not when he needed every hand he could get to make his own drive to Abilene. Still, you didn’t need rifles to stampede a herd, and Shorty’d said his rider had seen saddle guns among the Lazy S crew. Unless—and the thought made Billy’s blood run cold—unless Jase was so crazy mad that he planned to massacre the entire Circle 8 crew and make off with the entire herd, leaving nobody to tell what had happened.

  Billy shook his head. Jase hadn’t changed that much in six years. He’d never found Jase particularly friendly, but a man doesn’t plan wholesale murder just because of personal feelings against one person. For another thing, there were some good men with the Lazy S—or had been. They w
eren’t all Ackermans and Hardins. And a good man, no matter how loyal to the outfit he worked for, would draw a line at out-and-out murder. Fight to protect the interests of his employer and his own job, yes—but not deliberate murder. As far as stampeding a rival herd in order to get a head start on a trail drive, many an honest cowhand would put that down as good, clean fun and laugh it off. Billy shook his head again.

  From the top of the ridge he looked back. Shorty already had the herd strung out, and the leaders were across the creek and following the shallow valley in an easterly direction. He could see the wagons, ghostly blobs in the moonlight, rolling down the slope in the wake of the herd. Billy turned away and looked out across the rolling country ahead.

  To his right the land fell away in a mile-long slope down towards Wolf Creek. The creek itself wound away in a southwesterly direction, and somewhere to the left of it up ahead lay the Lazy S headquarters.

  He sat there for a while, conscious of the uneasy movement of the men beside him as they shifted their weight in their saddles, and he could feel their questioning glances upon him. They all knew by now how Jase Thornhill had tried to buy up Thad’s herd, and Billy knew it had rankled them. On the other hand, he couldn’t get it out of his mind that maybe they thought his leading them out to meet Thornhill like this was his way of settling his own personal score.

  Billy turned in the saddle and looked them over, a silent, thoughtful group, their lean faces reflecting the doubts that lay inside them. They returned his gaze unflinchingly, and he felt their unspoken question should not go unanswered.

  “I know how you boys feel,” he said suddenly. “I think I ought to tell you right now that what I’m doing isn’t because of anything that’s happened between me and Jase Thornhill. Thad Harper asked me to boss this trail herd to Abilene. Shorty Long got word that it looked like Thornhill and some of his riders might try to stampede us so’s he can get a head start. It’s my job to see that that don’t happen. As far as Jase Thornhill and me personally—well, if there’s anything he wants to settle it’ll have to wait till I get this trail to the railhead.”