The 7th Western Novel

by Francis W. Hilton

  There was no noon stop. Riders munched cold biscuits they’d stuffed in their pockets at breakfast, and those few who carried canteens guarded the contents jealously. The others were reduced to occasional trips to the water keg on the chuck wagon, much to the annoyance of the cook who had to slow down or stop to keep the men from spilling the precious water.

  It was just after nightfall that Billy rode up to Joe Metcalf at the point of the herd. “You’re going to have a time holding ’em, Joe, when they smell that water.”

  “How much farther we gotta go?”

  “Five miles. Another hour and a half at this rate. Hold ’em back as long as you can; then, when they break, let ’em go. The big job then will be to keep ’em from drinking too much all at once.”

  Joe nodded, then changed the subject. “Notice the dust behind us today?”

  Billy said, “Yeah. Saw it yesterday, too.”

  “Thornhill?”

  “That’s what I figured, anyway,” Billy told him.

  “He’ll be right behind us at Abilene,” Joe said, looking questioningly at Billy. “What do you reckon will happen then?”

  Billy felt his face tense as he turned away. “I don’t know, Joe. Not yet, anyway.”

  A little over an hour later, it was, that Billy heard the bawling of the lead steers and rode back up to the point. Joe Metcalf and three other riders had their hands full when he came up, turning back the impatient leaders that broke away from time to time.

  “They smell it now!” Joe yelled over to him.

  Billy was riding a little sorrel he’d picked from his string for just this time because of its ability as a cutting horse. He joined the others, cutting the balky leaders back into the herd.

  The water was a quarter of a mile away and the restless bawling had begun to spread the length of the entire herd. Billy looked back to see riders dashing, back and forth along the line, cutting the water-crazed animals back when they broke.

  “Can’t hold ’em much longer, I don’t think!” Will Pryor yelled.

  “Got to!” Billy told him. “They’d trample each other to death if they ran that far.”

  In spite of the cool night air, both men and horses were covered with sweat by the time the waterhole was two hundred yards ahead of the lead steers. Billy saw five break from the point at the same time and raced the little sorrel to cut them back. Just then he heard Will Pryor and Joe Metcalf yell together and he looked up in time to see a dozen steers break on the other side.

  “Let those go!” Billy yelled. “Let’s hold the rest of them together if we can!”

  The lucky steers bounded off at a shambling run, bawling triumphantly, while their disgruntled brethren in the herd voiced loud protest. The herd increased its pace, and the riders moved swiftly back and forth curbing the breakaways. The waterhole was closer now, and the leaders were only yards away from the ones that had already begun to drink. Billy rode back a little as the leaders broke for the last time.

  “Stay in close!” he yelled to the other riders. “Let ’em run, but keep ’em under control—funnel ’em in and let ’em spread around!”

  The night reverberated to the rumble of hoofs as thirteen hundred thirsty steers crowded against each other, pushing, running, tossing their horns in their fight for water. Billy sat back and watched. It had come out all right. The last of the herd was circling the hole, like so many pigs around a trough. The riders moved in and out among them, forcing the drinkers to move about to keep them from overdrinking all at once. The bedlam settled down to a contented bawling and the snuffling and splashing of water. Billy turned away and rode up to where the cook was drawing the wagons together on a knoll. The worst of the drive, he guessed, was over. Maybe tomorrow they’d cross the Arkansas, then on to Abilene. He wondered, then, if that would be the end of trouble—or only the beginning.

  * * * *

  There was laughter around the fire again that night. Tired as they were from the long, hard, waterless day, the riders sensed a break in the tension now that it was over.

  “Thad!” one of the men called across the fire, “when are we gonna practice some more of them cavalry maneuvers?”

  A roar of laughter spread around the circle and Old Thad blushed red in the firelight. “Go to hell!” he snapped; then his face relaxed as the laughter broke again, and a smile spread beneath his walrus mustache.

  Billy rolled a cigarette and reached for a stick from the fire to light it. He turned to Joe Metcalf with some comment in mind, but the look on Joe’s face stopped him.

  “Somebody’s comin’,” Joe said. “Listen.”

  The group fell silent. The sound of a shod horse came clearly through the night air.

  “Probably the nighthawk comin’ in to tell us we’re makin’ so much noise the cows can’t sleep,” somebody said.

  “That might be,” Billy said, getting to his feet, “except that the herd and remuda are on the other side of camp.” Instinctively, the group rose to its feet. Those who had unbuckled their gunbelts picked them from around their saddlehorns. The shape of a horse and rider loomed on the far circle of firelight. Then the rider drew rein and called out, “Anybody here named Condo—Billy Condo?”

  Billy stepped forward uneasily, his hand brushing the butt of his .44. “I’m Condo,” he said flatly. “Who’re…?”

  The man moved his horse closer and swung down from the saddle. Billy noticed the horse was a black, and there was something familiar about it and this man, even in the dim edge of the firelight.

  “Ed Sheff!” Billy remembered him now. He walked across to the man holding out his hand. They shook and Billy turned to Thad. “Thad, this is the man who was sent out from Abilene to get Texas herds started up the trail. Ed, this is Thad Harper, owner of the Circle 8, and that long drink of water there is his foreman, Joe Metcalf, and…”

  They sat around the fire a little longer than they intended to that night. Sheff told them he’d gone as far south as the Red before he decided to turn back. “The commission I’ll get for the herds I’ve contacted already will keep me in whisky and cigars through the winter,” he laughed.

  When the talk died down and the riders began to slip into their blankets one by one, Sheff called Billy aside. “I passed Thornhill’s herd this afternoon, about fifteen miles back,” he told Billy.

  “I knew he was back there,” Billy said noncommittally.

  “Uh—some girl, his daughter, I guess,” Sheff began haltingly, “asked me to deliver this to you in person.”

  Billy took the envelope Sheff held out, noticing that it was sealed. “She’s Jase’s sister,” he explained uncomfortably.

  Sheff gave a little laugh and slapped him on the back.

  “Well, anyway—she’s a mighty nice-looking little lady, Condo!”

  Billy smiled half-heartedly. He knew what Sheff was thinking—but let the man think it. Sheff made a point of leaving just then, so Billy would have a chance to read the note alone. As soon as he was out of sight Billy tore the letter open.

  “Billy,” it began. “Something awful has happened. I’ve got to see you tonight. I don’t dare leave camp, but I’ll be sleeping in the light wagon. Please be careful. Mary.”

  He read it over quickly, then stuck it in his pocket. He looked around the camp, quiet now, except for a snore now and then and the occasional popping of embers in the fire. It came to him that he ought to wake Thad and tell him what he was about to do. But he changed his mind. This was his business. If he got into trouble, it would involve the whole outfit.

  He took a cartridge from his belt, whittled it to a point with his knife, and wrote on the back of the envelope. “Thad—If I don’t show up by morning go on to Abilene without me. I’ll explain later.” Then he signed his name and slipped the note inside Thad’s hat where he’d be sure to find it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

 
A pale quarter-moon had risen by the time Billy spotted the Lazy S herd. That was bad. He’d hoped to make the ride before moonrise, but now he’d have to trust to luck. One thing was certain—he couldn’t expect to ride in close. They’d spot him for sure. The idea of leaving his mount behind held little appeal, but he’d have to risk it.

  Looking about him he remembered the country from the day before when they’d passed through. There was no water here, and he knew the herd would be restless. He guessed Jase had counted on following the Circle 8 herd, but he had followed just twenty miles short of a water stop this time.

  The wagons were three white splotches on a little knoll. Billy looked closely at them, hoping to find a patch of brush or even a draw that would give him cover. But there was nothing. Nothing but the gentle swell of the Kansas prairie that extended for miles in every direction, fiat and treeless. He thought again of Mary’s note and swore softly. Of all times to send for him!

  He began a wide circle to the left. The herd was a dark mass to the right of the wagons. Chances were, he figured, the nighthawks would be giving all their attention to the restless, thirsty cattle. By circling left he could put the wagons between himself and the herd, thus cutting down his chances of being seen. He rode a good six miles before he felt satisfied that the wagons would hide him, then turned toward them. Three quarters of a mile away he dismounted.

  “Far as you go, old hoss,” he said, taking his rope and putting a side-line hobble on the sorrel. He let the rest of the rope trail to make it easier to catch the horse if it grew skittish when he came back. He bent down and unbuckled his spurs, hung them on the horn. Taking out his .44 he checked the loading. Then he slipped it back in its holster, hitched up his pants, and started walking toward the camp.

  When he was a quarter of a mile away he sat down. The quarter-moon was pale, but there was still enough light to distinguish the wagons clearly at that distance. He pulled off his boots and rubbed his aching feet while he contemplated the situation confronting him. Pulling his boots back on he damned Jase Thornhill roundly for not camping in a ravine or at least near a clump of brush that would give him cover. Then he stood up and started forward again, this time walking in a wary crouch.

  A hundred yards away he stopped to listen. From beyond the wagons he could hear the occasional bawl of a restless steer. But the camp itself was silent as the grave. And a grave, he thought to himself, it might turn out to be.

  He went ahead slowly, stopping now and then to listen, letting his eyes wander over the wagons looking for a sign of movement. Now he could see blanketed figures lying asleep around the dead ashes of the fire. For a long time he stood there, but nothing moved.

  The light spring wagon with the canvas cover stood a little apart from the other two and he knew right away it would be Mary’s. He dropped quietly on all fours now, creeping ahead cautiously, eyes and ears alert.

  Suddenly he stopped. A cold chill ran up his back as a thought struck him. Suppose this was a trap! Suppose Jase had made Mary write that note! His heart began to pound against his chest and he looked quickly around the camp and at the wagons again. He was close now—so close that anybody who might be waiting for him could hit him with a pistol shot without half trying. The thought gave him little encouragement.

  There was a movement somewhere in the camp. He’d been running his eyes back and forth when it happened and he had sensed it rather than seen it. He looked back, going more slowly this time, easing himself flat on the ground and drawing his .44 as he did so. This time he saw it—a corner of the canvas cover on the light wagon raised a few inches. Billy curved his thumb over the hammer and drew it slowly back.

  The next instant he relaxed and let the hammer carefully down. The cover raised a little more and a face peered out—Mary Thornhill’s face. Billy dragged himself forward till he was only a few yards from the wagon, then looked quickly around, stood up and ran. He heard a gasp from inside as he crouched hurriedly behind the wheel, heard the canvas drop back into place.

  “Mary!” he whispered.

  There was a quick sigh of relief and, looking up, he saw the back flap being pulled aside. “Billy—in here! Quickly!”

  He stood up and pulled himself over the tailgate, letting the flap fall closed behind him. For a minute, in the darkness inside, he couldn’t see her. But he knew she was there, for he could hear her quick breathing close by, and he could smell the sweetness of her hair. Then he felt her hand on his arm, gently at first, then insistently. He reached out for her and she came into his arms, clutching him tightly, pressing her head against his chest. She drew back a little, and he could see her now, looking up at him, her lips close to his own. He bent forward to meet them and it was then that he noticed her cheeks were wet with tears.

  “Mary—what’s wrong?” he whispered as they drew apart a little.

  She buried her head on his shoulder and he could feel her trying to control the quiet sobs that shook her body as it pressed hungrily against his. “Billy, I—I don’t know where to start!” she faltered.

  He could feel her shaking gently, and he knew the tears had started again. He held her close in the darkness, letting his lips brush her hair. “Tell me, Mary. Is it about—about what Jase said about you marryin’ Ackerman?”

  His eyes were accustomed to the dark now, and as she drew away from him he could see she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, making an effort to compose herself. She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  Billy frowned. “Why would Jase do a crazy thing like that—just to spite me because…?”

  “Because he hates you? Yes. And for greed.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She tried to quiet her breathing, stifling the sobs so that she could talk. “The ranch—Dad left it to both of us. Share and share alike. Jase wanted me to marry somebody he liked—that way he could keep me around so that he’d have the use of my share, too.”

  “But why—why Ackerman?”

  “He thought that up in desperation.” She raised her face to his, trying to smile a little through her tears. “You see, I—I told him I wanted to marry you.”

  Billy caught his breath. “B-but… You—you didn’t say anything. I mean—that night, back on the creek.”

  She smiled wanly. “It’s customary, isn’t it,” she asked, “for the man to do the proposing?”

  He caught her to him then, and for a long time nothing else mattered. Nothing but the fact that she had told him all he’d wanted to know—all he’d waited and hoped for so long. At last they drew apart a little.

  “I would have asked,” he murmured, “only—only I thought you hadn’t had time to think, to make up your mind.”

  “You might have tried asking,” she whispered.

  Billy sat up. “Then, if that’s the way it is, everything should be simple enough. I’ll go to Jase, tell him I don’t want any part of his ranch—or your part, either. That should satisfy him, shouldn’t it?”

  She shook her head and the sober expression returned. “It’s not that simple, Billy. I’ve told him that. I told him I’d sign my share over to him, but he wouldn’t let me go.”

  “Why not?”

  “He hates you too much—even to see me marry you, ranch or no ranch. Besides, he said I was lying, that I’d come back at him in a court of law and try to get my share back. He said—he said that’s what you’d make me do.”

  Billy’s frown deepened. He tried to clear his brain so he could think. Mary threw her arms around him, holding him to her. “Please, Billy. Take me with you. That’s why I gave that man, Sheff, the note. I wanted you to come for me before it’s too late.”

  Billy tried to soothe her. “Now, take it easy. There’s still time. It’s a long way to Abilene. Time enough when we get there. I couldn’t sneak you out of this camp without getting caught. I’ll have a tough time getting out alone even. If Jase caught us
he’d kill us both. Besides, you can stall for time, when we get to Abilene. He can’t make you marry Ackerman against your will.”

  She began to cry softly. “But there’s where you’re wrong, Billy. He can.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “He said—he said he’d kill you if I didn’t go through with it.”

  “You—you mean you’d marry Ackerman just to keep me from…”

  She smiled up at him, biting her lip against the tears. “Do I have to tell you everything?” she whispered. “Do I have to tell you how much I love you—or can’t you figure some things out for yourself?”

  Billy sat bolt upright, every nerve tingling. Some instinct gave warning of danger.

  “Listen!”

  The sound of cautious footsteps came from outside the wagon.

  Billy laid a warning finger on her lips and crouched low inside the wagon bed. Mary was tugging at his arm, pointing to a pile of blankets. He hesitated, then nodded and lay down while she piled the blankets on top of him. Scarcely daring to breathe, he waited, unable to see a thing. His elbows were spread wide on the floor, his face flat. Against his cheek he felt the cool steel of the .44 held ready in his right hand.

  The footsteps came on more slowly. Outside the wagon they stopped.

  “Mary?”

  It was Jase’s voice. Billy felt his heart begin to pound as the anger rose within him. But he knew he was helpless. This was one time he must avoid meeting Jase Thornhill for Mary’s sake. If there was a shooting, he’d never make it out of there alive. And God only knew what might happen to Mary as a consequence.

  “Mary!” The call was more insistent this time.

  “Y-yes, Jason!” Her voice was low, tremulous.

  “I thought I heard voices.”

  “I—I was crying a little, Jase. Maybe that’s what you heard.”

  There was silence outside. Then came a rustling sound, as of something being unfolded.