“Conroy said Calvert has two sons?”
“That’s right. I don’t know their names, but they’re both around twenty years old, I’d say. I got a look at them when some of us went out there with the boss to deliver notice that he’d taken over ownership of the property. They’re plenty old enough to use a gun, and I expect they will.”
“What about younger kids? Women?”
“Hell, I don’t know,” Madison said with a trace of impatience in his voice. “We’ll just deal with whatever we find out there. It won’t be anything we can’t handle, I can tell you that. Hackberry and Russell are coming along with us, and between the four of us we shouldn’t have any problem.”
The waiter arrived with Madison’s coffee and said, “Your food will be ready in just a few minutes, Mr. Madison.”
The gunman nodded. “All right. Just make it snappy. We’ve got places to go and things to do . . . right, Joe?”
Buckhorn was taking a drink of coffee. “Yeah,” he said as he lowered the cup to the table. “It’s going to be a busy day.”
CHAPTER 18
Hackberry and Russell were waiting at the livery stable when Buckhorn and Madison got there. Buckhorn already knew the hatchet-faced Hackberry. Russell was a stocky man with a freckled face and a pug nose. He appeared to be in a bad mood, and Buckhorn soon found out why.
“The boss told me to see to takin’ care of all the horses before we rode out,” Russell complained. “I ain’t no damn livery stable hand. He oughta be able to hire some layabout to take Baker’s place until that old pelican’s able to come back to work.”
“I’m sure that’s what he’ll do,” Madison said. “He had to replace Baker on sort of short notice, since nobody could have figured on the old man getting shot last night.”
“Yeah,” Hackberry said as he glanced over at Madison. “I reckon that wasn’t the way things were supposed to work out for whoever took those potshots at Buckhorn.”
Russell said, “You boys can saddle your own damned nags. I ain’t gonna do that.”
“That’s fine,” Madison said. “You might put the same sort of burr under their saddles that you’ve obviously got under your own.”
Russell frowned at him for a couple of seconds, then abruptly laughed.
“Sorry, Yance,” he said. “I’m just used to havin’ a gun in my hand, instead of a dang pitchfork.”
The four men saddled their horses and led the animals out of the barn. Hackberry was limping a little but didn’t seem too bothered by it. The sun had turned the eastern sky golden but hadn’t quite peeked over the horizon yet. They mounted up and rode out of Crater City with Madison leading the way.
Their route was the same one that Buckhorn and Madison had followed a couple of days earlier to reach Gunsight Canyon. As they rode, Madison said, “The boss made it clear we’ve got to give Calvert and his boys one last chance to get out. He’s worried about the law getting wind of what’s going on here.”
Russell let out a disgusted snort and said, “Hell, can’t he just pay off the law? What good’s money if you can’t use it to get what you want?”
“Conroy likes to believe that deep down, he’s still an honest businessman,” Madison said with a grin. “Sure, he knows he’s sharp and ruthless, and he’ll let others do all sorts of things on his behalf as long as he can pretend he doesn’t know anything about it, but he doesn’t want to take the last step and admit that he’s a predator. There are only two things a fella can be in this world, though: a predator—or prey.”
When they reached the canyon, they found the surveyors working about a quarter of a mile from the entrance, watched over by four of Conroy’s guards. Madison reined in to talk to Neal Drake, whose crew was still down one man.
“I’ve supposedly got a replacement coming to work with us,” Drake said, “but I don’t know how soon he’s going to get here. The reply I got to the telegram I had sent from Fletcher’s Crossing didn’t say. In the meantime, we’ll just push on shorthanded, I suppose.” He looked at Buckhorn. “Unless you want to help out again, that is.”
“We’ve got another errand to run today,” Buckhorn said.
Drake shrugged and said, “Actually, we’ve gotten into a kind of routine with the men we have, so it’s not really slowing down our progress all that much.”
“The boss’ll be glad to hear that,” Madison said. “I don’t reckon you’ve had any more trouble from Thornton’s men, or else I’d have heard about it.”
Drake shook his head.
“No, it’s been pretty peaceful the past couple of days.”
“Well, keep your eyes open anyway. Mr. Conroy tried to make a deal with Thornton to put a stop to the trouble, but it didn’t work out. I’d say the fuse is burning mighty short.”
Drake’s face was grim as he said, “Leave us out of your explosions. We’re just here to do our work, that’s all.”
“That’s the way we look at it, too, but our work usually involves gunplay.” Madison gave Drake a jaunty wave as he turned his horse and nudged it into a trot. Buckhorn, Hackberry, and Russell followed suit.
“How far is it to Calvert’s ranch?” Buckhorn asked as they left the canyon.
“What used to be Calvert’s ranch,” Madison corrected him. “It’s another seven or eight miles. Just past the McChesney place . . . although you wouldn’t know that, I reckon.”
“McChesney,” Russell repeated. A leer stretched across his face. “He’s the one with the good-lookin’ daughter, ain’t he? Man, she’s sweet as deep-dish apple pie.”
Madison frowned and said, “Damn it, Russ, that girl’s not much more than a kid.”
“She’s old enough,” Russell replied in a surly voice. “Back in the hills where I come from, a gal who looks like that is already married up and has a couple of brats by the time she’s the McChesney girl’s age.”
“Anyway, they’ve probably left the country by now, so you can just forget about her,” Madison said.
Buckhorn knew that wasn’t true, or at least it hadn’t been a couple days earlier when Lorna McChesney was shooting at the survey crew from the rimrock above Gunsight Canyon. She and her father could have moved on by now.
But it would still be a good idea to stay alert while riding through the former McChesney spread.
Buckhorn could see why Madison had referred to those who tried to establish farms or ranches in this region as losers. The odds would be against them from the beginning. The ground was too arid, the vegetation too sparse. In order to support a decent herd of cattle, a ranch would need a tremendous amount of grazing area. Farming would be even more difficult. A man would have to work himself almost to death to get a cash crop out of this soil.
But it was fine country for a railroad, he thought, mostly flat and without too many gullies and washes that would have to be spanned with trestles.
Madison pointed to a little mesa off to their left and said, “We’re on what used to be McChesney’s range now. That mesa marks the northern border.”
“Why doesn’t Conroy just lease or buy the right-of-way he needs from these settlers?” Buckhorn asked. “Seems like he could do that cheaper and easier than trying to take over the whole spread.”
“You’d have to take that up with him. It’s not really any of my business.” Madison rocked along in the saddle for a few seconds, then evidently couldn’t resist saying, “But I figure he didn’t want to get mixed up with any leases because sooner or later they’re up and then the fellas who still own the land can raise the price. It’s better to know you’re not going to have that extra expense in the future.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” Buckhorn allowed.
“And by getting his hands on the whole spread, that gives him more options. Say he wants to build some sidings or some cattle pens or even move the whole route for some reason. He can do that without having to go through the whole thing again to secure another right-of-way. Sometimes it seems to me like the boss doesn’t make his mind up qui
ck enough when something needs to be done, but you can’t claim he’s not smart. He’ll figure out a way to do things that’ll wind up making him the most money in the long run.”
“What’s he going to do with all the extra range he has on his hands, though?”
Madison grinned.
“Who knows? Maybe he’ll become a cattle baron, too. Hell, he’s already a mining tycoon, owns half of a town, and is building a railroad. If he keeps this up, he’ll wind up the most important man in the whole territory.”
“Sounds like a good man to hitch your wagon to, especially for somebody who’s looking to stop drifting.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Madison admitted.
Buckhorn saw cattle grazing here and there. He didn’t spot the headquarters of the McChesney ranch, though. The route he and the others were following didn’t go past the place. They used the surveyors’ stakes as guideposts to keep them heading in the right direction.
After a couple of hours they came to a small creek where they paused to let the horses drink. Madison swung down from the saddle, stretched to get the kinks out of his back, and told Buckhorn, “This creek is the boundary between McChesney’s place and Calvert’s. Once we ford it, we’ll need to keep our eyes open. There’s no telling where Calvert and his boys might be lurking around.”
“Makes more sense they’d be on the southern edge of their ranch,” Buckhorn said. “That’s the direction the grading crew will come from, and they’re the ones Calvert threatened to stop.”
“Yeah, but he’s smart enough to know that Mr. Conroy would send someone to deal with this problem as soon as he heard about it. So he could be expecting us on this side of the spread, too.”
Once the horses had been watered and had had a chance to rest for a few minutes, the men mounted up again, crossed the creek, and continued southward across the scrub-covered range. A few small hills came in sight. Buckhorn kept a wary eye on them. Here in this flat, open country, it would be hard to ambush anybody. A man who had bushwhacking in mind would have to use any cover he could find, no matter how sparse.
Because of that, he happened to be looking at one of the little knobs a couple of hundred yards away when sunlight reflected on something metal up there.
That could mean only one thing.
Buckhorn hauled back on his horse’s reins and snapped, “Rifle on that hill to the left!”
Before any of the other men could respond, the flat crack of a shot sounded through the dry air. The bullet kicked up dust about ten feet in front of Madison’s horse. Madison started to jerk the animal around, but as he did another shot blasted. This time the slug plowed into the ground a short distance behind the four riders.
“Damn it, they got us bracketed!” Russell exclaimed. “We gotta make a run for it!”
“Hold on,” Madison ordered. “Everybody just sit still.”
“Sit still? And let ’em ventilate us as easy as you please?”
Buckhorn said, “If they wanted to just shoot a couple of us out of the saddle before we knew what was going on, they had their chance to do that. Those were warning shots. They probably want to palaver with us.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it, too,” Madison said. “Take it easy, Russ. Don’t lose your head. We’ll have our chance to burn some powder.”
“Rider comin’,” the laconic Hackberry said.
Buckhorn looked toward the hill where at least one rifleman was hidden and saw a man on horseback trotting toward them. As the rider approached, Buckhorn saw that he was a middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face and a thick brown mustache. He carried a Winchester and seemed willing and able to use it.
“That’s Calvert,” Madison said quietly. “Don’t know what he wants. Seems like the time for talking is over.”
“Damn right it’s over,” Russell said. “I’ll plug the son of a bitch—”
Buckhorn said, “If you reach for your rifle, you’ll likely be dead before you get it out of the saddle boot. Calvert’s sons are probably up there on the hill, and they’ve already demonstrated that they’re good shots.”
Ned Calvert drew his mount to a stop about twenty feet from Buckhorn, Madison, Hackberry, and Russell. He glared at them and asked in a voice that held a hint of a Southern drawl, “Where’s your boss, Madison? He afraid to come out here himself?”
“Mr. Conroy doesn’t bother with little chores like this one, Calvert,” Madison replied. “He leaves that to me and my men.”
“So stealing a man’s ranch is just a little chore, is it?”
“Nobody’s stealing anything. Mr. Conroy bought the note on your place from the bank. It was due, and you couldn’t pay it. Simple as that, and nothing illegal about it.”
“I would have been able to pay it if half my stock hadn’t been wide-looped!” Calvert shot back.
“Well, you’ll just have to take that up with the law,” Madison said. “It’s not any of our concern.” His voice hardened. “But you can do that after you vacate the property. Mr. Conroy’s been generous about giving you enough time to get off this land. Now he’s run out of patience. We’re here to see to it that you move—today.”
Calvert’s voice trembled with emotion as he said, “Nobody’s makin’ me get off this land. Me and my family have put too much blood and sweat into it. My God! My wife and I have buried two children here, and you expect us to just pack up and leave? You can go straight to hell! And that’s just where you’ll wind up if you make a move toward those guns. There are several rifles pointed at you right now.”
“Yeah, we figured that out, but no matter how good your boys are, they can’t drop all of us at once.” Madison smiled thinly. “At least one of us will get lead in you, Calvert, and you’ll die, too. And you won’t even be laid to rest next to those babies of yours. You’ll wind up in a pauper’s grave—if the buzzards don’t get you!”
Calvert’s face reddened as Madison’s words lashed at him. The string was about to run out on his temper.
Buckhorn sensed movement nearby. He turned his head just enough that from the corner of his eye he saw Hackberry’s horse edging over behind him.
“Anyway, you’re not going to do anything,” Madison went on arrogantly. “You’re a coward, Calvert, just like all the rest of the Rebel scum that came running out here after the war like the whipped dogs you are.”
That was more than Calvert could take. He yelled a curse and jerked the rifle to his shoulder. Madison’s horse plunged to the side as Calvert fired. The rancher’s bullet went wide, as did the shot that rang out from the hilltop.
Madison’s gun was in his hand. It roared, and Calvert rocked back in the saddle as the bullet punched into him.
As the same time, Buckhorn and the other men were moving, making themselves harder targets for the sharpshooters on the hill. As Buckhorn hauled the roan around, he saw that Hackberry’s revolver was out, too, but he wasn’t aiming at Calvert.
He was drawing a bead on Buckhorn.
CHAPTER 19
Hackberry was fast as a snake and just as treacherous. Buckhorn tried to twist out of the way of the shot and bring his own gun around, but it looked like he wouldn’t make it.
Suddenly, Hackberry flew backward out of his saddle like he’d been swatted by a giant hand. Blood flew from the fist-size hole that let daylight clean through him. As he flopped on the ground like a bundle of dirty clothes, a loud boom floated over the flats between the hill and the railroad right-of-way.
Buckhorn had heard that sound before.
There was no time to think about it now, though, because even though the threat from Hackberry had been ended abruptly—and with finality—more bullets were still buzzing through the air. Buckhorn felt the wind-rip of one of them as it passed by his ear.
A few yards away, Russell struggled to control his horse, which had spooked and was rearing wildly. Suddenly, the gunman cursed, clapped a hand to his chest, and toppled out of the saddle. Now riderless, the horse bolted and nearly crash
ed into Buckhorn’s roan, which leaped out of the way just in time.
That was lucky for more than one reason, because as Buckhorn was jerked aside by the horse underneath him, he saw flame spout from the muzzle of Madison’s gun. The slug whipped past Buckhorn, missing him by inches.
Madison wasn’t trying to be tricky anymore. He wanted Buckhorn dead, even in the midst of this battle. Hackberry’s try had failed, so now Madison would handle the dirty work himself.
But he had missed his best chance. Rifle bullets whistled around him, and he had no choice but to turn and flee.
Buckhorn’s gun came up, but he stopped himself before he put a bullet in Madison’s back. There was a time when he would have done so without hesitation, but these days he was a different man—or trying to be, anyway.
Instead, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret that moment of mercy, he whirled his horse and galloped after Ned Calvert’s mount, which had stampeded when the shooting started.
Calvert was still in the saddle, but he was swaying back and forth and seemed to be on the verge of falling off at any second. If he fell, and if his foot caught in the stirrup, the panicked horse would almost certainly drag him to death.
If he wasn’t dead already from the bullet Madison had put in him.
Buckhorn didn’t know if the riflemen on the hilltop were still shooting at him. He hadn’t been hit yet, so that was all that mattered. He couldn’t afford to zigzag back and forth or try any other evasive maneuvers, because that would slow him down in his effort to catch Calvert’s horse.
The roan had a lot of stamina. Buckhorn called on him for all the speed he could muster, and the horse responded valiantly. Calvert’s mount was slowing down as its panic eased. The gap between the two animals shrunk steadily.
Eventually, when they were on the outer edge of rifle range from the hill, Buckhorn drew even with Calvert. He looked over and saw that the rancher was still alive. He seemed to be only semiconscious, however, and as he hunched forward in the saddle he made no effort to slow the horse. He was clinging weakly to the saddle horn to stay mounted, but that was the best he could do.
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