It was with high good humor that Bolt heard of the raid. Frank Gillespie could do nothing alone, and Bolt correctly surmised that Sue would not allow him to leave the headquarters. The 3F was too far from that part of the range to get men on the ground at once, and his men had their orders and could reach an adequate place of concealment before pursuit could be successfully organized.
Bolt arose the following morning in fine fettle. As he prepared breakfast he made further plans. He would ride over to the 3TL and complain about losing cattle; he would learn of their raid, then offer to use his men to ride after the cattle. He
would fail to recover the herd, and he would be very regretful. This would place him in a good light with Sue. Later, after the marriage, he could restock the depleted range.
The first drive had by now reached Surprise Valley, and unless something very surprising had happened, Hopalong Cassidy and his friends were now dead or cornered and fighting for their lives. The second drive was well on its way, and by now their trail had vanished in the loose sand of the desert or the hard rock of the passes. No matter what happened, he was in the clear.
Sunlight bathed the trail as he started for the 3TL. When he came to the main road he was surprised to see a rider a short distance ahead, leading a magnificent white horse. The rider was a stubby man, grizzled and homely.
Riding alongside, Jack Bolt slowed his pace, unable to take his eyes from the led horse. "That's quite a horse," he said. "Who owns it?"
"This horse? Why, this here's Topper, Hopalong Cassidy's horse."
"I'll buy him," Bolt said. "I'll make you a good price."
"You crazy? There ain't enough money in the world to buy this horse from Cassidy."
"Well"--Bolt was reluctant to give up--"if anything happens to Hopalong, you bring that horse to me."
The stubby man chuckled. "Don't hold your breath. Hopalong doesn't let things happen to him. Why, if all the lead that had been shot at him was loaded on a ship, she'd sink right to the bottom."
Jack Bolt smiled uneasily. The man's confidence irritated him. What if the Aragons did fail to get Cassidy? What if he did come back? No matter how well a trail was covered it was
never so well done that a clever man could not unravel the skein and find out where all the threads began and ended. Jack Bolt knew--he had left Texas just a few jumps ahead of a Ranger who was some shakes at unraveling crooked trails.
Shaking off his doubts, he rode on ahead and soon came in sight of the 3TL. There was no sign of life, and then just as he was growing puzzled he saw Sue come out of the house dressed for riding. Gillespie led her horse from the barn. Bolt scowled. Was she going to town or was she going to scout around herself? That was something he did not want, and yet-- why not?
Riding together, he might advance his case much faster than in any other way. His eyes narrowed and he began to smile. That was just the ticket! To ride together!
Sue looked up as he rode into the yard. Her face was pale with worry. "We were raided last night, Mr. Bolt. I don't know how many head they got. Frank said it looked like they had stripped the range."
"Stripped it?" Bolt allowed just the right note of incredulity to creep into his voice. "Oh, no! It can't be that bad, Miss Sue! I'm sure it can't! I was just about to tell you that I lost cattle last night, too. But not over fifty head at most."
Gillespie stared hard at Bolt. "We lost plenty!" he said. "And when I can get free of this ranch I'm goin' huntin'!"
"Don't blame you," Bolt agreed affably. "I'm feeling the same way."
He turned to Sue. "You're riding--were you going to look over the ground?"
'Tes. I don't want Frank to go. He'd keep on going and maybe get killed for his pains. After all, he's the only friend we have here now."
Bolt looked offended. "Now, Miss Sue, I don't take that kindly. I've always thought myself a friend of yours, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
She was contrite. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." Gillespie turned away with disgust written in every line of him. He watched them ride off with narrowed eyes. Maybe, he reflected, he was a fool, but if Jack Bolt was an honest man, he was next in line to be Emperor of China!
Some miles to the west Joe Gamble was moping along behind two captured outlaws--the still angry cook and Car-doza with his broken leg. The leg was now in splints, and Car-doza, despite the anguish it caused him, rode with infinite patience. Once, some years back, he had been an honest cowhand. Right now he was wishing he had known when he was well off.
Gamble brought up the rear, his rifle across the saddle in front of him. He rode warily, although taking plenty of time because of Cardoza's leg and the jolting caused by a faster pace. Gamble knew very well what his chances would be if he was caught with his prisoners. The Aragons were not noted for their mercy. All were killers.
The night before, he had heard distant shots, and that worried him, as they came from the direction Cassidy had taken. After a while he cut Cassidy's trail, but his own route for Tascotal was to the south, and he did not want to ride around with his prisoners. Almost three hours later he topped a rise and halted. Before him, drifting slowly towards the west, was a huge herd of cattle!
"What in blazes!" He stared, puzzled. No riders accompanied the cattle, and they were pushing across the desert, apparently following some course of their own.
"What do you make of that, Cardoza?" he asked wonder-ingly.
Cardoza spat. "Looks like somebody messed things up proper--or else they run into plenty of trouble."
"What do you mean?"
Cardoza made no reply, and the cook stared sullenly at the big herd. Gamble spoke to his horse and they started on. Rapidly they overtook the slow-moving herd, and the first brand Gamble saw was his own ranch, the 3F. Within a few minutes he had spotted cattle from the 4H and the 3TL. Apparently rustlers had tried a big drive and something had interrupted them. Remembering the shooting of the previous night, Gamble tightened his lips. Hopalong Cassidy must have encountered this herd. There had been a fight, but where was Hoppy now?
Cardoza was doing some thinking on his own. This was the boasted big drive, come to nothing. Something or somebody had stopped it and started the cattle back home; but if so, where were Grat and the others? Where was Cassidy? Had they killed each other in the shootout?
Gamble fell in behind the herd and urged them to a faster pace. Cardoza's broken leg was tied in place and he could ride fairly well. He swung out to one side and helped, as did the cook. Both were cattlemen first, and these things were almost second nature for them.
Suddenly, as they neared the edge of the desert, a group of riders topped the crest of the pass before them. Almost at once Gamble recognized the black horse his boss always rode,
and beside him was Sue Gibson. His eyes narrowed. Jack Bolt was there too. Bolt's eyes flashed as they recognized Joe Gamble's two prisoners.
"Joe!" Dru Monaghan reined in his black. "What happened? Where did you get this herd?"
Sitting his horse, Joe Gamble told the story, only leaving out the present whereabouts of Red Connors. Seeing Jack Bolt there made up his mind on that. When Sue asked about the men, Joe shrugged.
"Don't know, ma'am. I reckon they tangled with the rustlers who were drivin' this herd. They either got killed or kept chasin' 'em, because this herd was sure enough alone and headed for home when I found 'em."
Another horseman had come quietly down the hill behind them, and now he spoke. Frank Gillespie had taken the arrival of the rider with Hopalong's horse as an excuse to ride out himself, leaving that tired cowhand to take care of Gibson.
"You said you lost cows, Bolt. I don't see any 8 Boxed H
stock here."
Voices stilled suddenly. A horse stamped, but even the herd seemed willing to be silent. Jack Bolt turned cold inside, then looked over the heads of the men between them. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
"Nothin'." Gillespie was relaxed and easy, but his right hand lay on his thigh inch
es from his gun. "Only if you lost cows, it's mighty funny they ain't here. These are all 3F, 3TL,
and 4H stock."
"Some of mine are there, probably. Anyway," Bolt objected, "we've no proof this is the whole herd. I sure lost cows
last night."
Dru Monaghan looked at Gamble and saw his eyes on Bolt. For the first time suspicion came to the 3F owner. He
looked Bolt over carefully. "Seems funny if you didn't," he said quietly. "This drive would have passed the corner of your place."
"What are you implying?" Bolt demanded.
"Nothin'." Dru Monaghan was short. "Nothin' at all. Only I'm curious."
"So am I." Gillespie persisted. He could see Jack Bolt's face hardening and the tension building up, but he was reckless of consequences. "I'm mighty curious. I reckon a few of us had better backtrack this herd and see just where these cows were driven and who was driving them."
Sue Gibson looked from one to the other, seeing the suspicion in their faces. She was suddenly angry.
"Why, what are you thinking of?" she demanded. "If you think that Jack had anything to do with this, you are as wrong as you can be. He was visiting at my home shortly before the raid, and he left in the opposite direction. You all know that country. He couldn't have circled around!"
Joe Gamble spoke for the first time. "Nobody said he had anything to do with it, ma'am. We were just wonderin' why he was so durned lucky. Anyway," he added, "we've got two rustlers, and maybe they can be persuaded to talk."
"I seen that Cardoza!" The speaker was a blunt-featured 3F hand. "He rides with Sim Aragon."
Cardoza said nothing. The cook shifted in the saddle and looked around at the gathering of cattlemen. His face was pale.
"Take me to the law," he said. "I want to talk to a sheriff!"
"He wants to talk to a sheriff," Gamble said. "Shall we let him talk before he hangs? Don't make much difference, does it?"
"Not a bit." Gillespie was staring at Bolt. "We'll get every man Jack of 'em, anyway."
"What happened to Cassidy?" Sue asked suddenly. "Where is he?"
"He started back before I did," Gamble admitted. "I figure it was him stampeded this herd away from the outlaws."
They sat silent, knowing what that could mean in the darkness. "Reckon some of us better have a look," Monaghan agreed. "Who wants to come?"
"I'll go, if Gamble will return to the ranch with Miss Sue," Gillespie said. "Should be somebody there. Anyway," he added, "Bolt will want to ride with you."
Jack Bolt's face flushed with anger. "Gillespie, you keep out of my affairs. You've talked about enough today. If you want trouble, start something!"
Gillespie smiled, but his face was cold. "Why, I reckon I'd like nothin' better, Bolt!"
Monaghan shoved his horse between them. "Cut it out!" he snapped harshly. "Gillespie, you come along if you like. Let Bolt go back to his spread. No sense havin' you two killin' each other."
He turned to Gamble. "Joe, you ride on home with Miss Sue. Stay there."
Chapter 17
Red Connors Reports.
He finally decided, the group numbered five men. Others took the cattle and started them back. Jack Bolt was suddenly left alone. Turning his horse, his face dark with fury, he started back for his own ranch. Yet within him a tiny pulse of warning was pounding. This was getting close. Why did they suspect him? And that confounded Gillespie! His eyes narrowed. When his chance came he would kill him, but not now. Not now.
What could have happened? Their big drive was ruined, the herd turned loose and his men scattered.
When he came in sight of his own ranch he saw the horses in the corral. Then the men were back! By the red-hot hinges, he would see what had happened! He would know the reason why!
They sat on the porch. Grat was tipped back in a hide-covered chair, his tough, stubble-bearded face still dusty and grim. Slim, the Breed, Bones, and Pod Griffin.
It was this last one who took his eyes, for Pod was standing wide-legged in the middle of the porch. "Sure, he was fast,"
he sneered. "He was fast, but I beat him to it and downed him. If you don't believe it, go look at him!"
Grat looked up as Bolt swung down from his horse. Bolt glared at them. "You sure played hob!" he said viciously. "What happened? How could you lose that herd?"
"Now, boss," Grat began placatingly, "it was this--"
"It was Cassidy," Pod interrupted. The realization that he had killed the great Hopalong Cassidy was big within him. In his own eyes his stature had suddenly grown enormously. Why should he take a back seat for Grat? Or for any of them? Lording it around, the way they had been! "It was Hopalong. He busted into us and stampeded the herd. It could have happened to anybody. Grat wasn't at fault; nobody was. But don't you worry, it won't happen again! Not from Hopalong Cassidy!"
Pod Griffin ached to be asked why; he was standing there, his chest swelled, his eyes glowing. Jack Bolt did not notice. He was thinking only of the lost herd.
"Sheer incompetence!" he snapped. "And as for you, Griffin, when I want talk from you I'll ask for it."
Griffin was astonished. "You talk that way to me?" He was furious. "To me?" He took a step back. Already he was thinking of himself compared to Hardin and Billy the Kid. "You been comin' it big around here too durned long, Bolt! Hereafter you speak to me like a gentleman, or--"
Jack Bolt's fury suddenly focused. "Or what?" he demanded. He faced Pod Griffin, his hands ready. "Or what, you tinhorn?"
Pod Griffin was not an intelligent man. All the way back to the ranch he had been going over and over the idea that he had killed Hopalong Cassidy. In his mind's eye he saw himself acclaimed a great gunman. At first he merely realized that he could tell his own story of the killing and nobody would know
the difference. Then he began to convince himself that Hopalong had seen him, had missed his chance. Back in his mind he knew the truth, but thinking over the times he had slung a gun and killed, he remembered that he had always been the fastest. How did he know he was not faster than Cassidy? Or Hardin, for that matter? Had he ever been beaten?
Bolt faced him along the length of the porch, and suddenly Pod Griffin knew that this was it--he had to show them. He could see their disbelief when he had told them. Now he would prove it!
"Why, you talk to me careful," he said, "or I'll kill you! I'll gun you--"
Bolt's hands flashed, and in that ghastly split-instant Pod Griffin knew the truth. It had come to him here, in this shadowed veranda smelling of old leather and tobacco smoke. In that flickering instant he saw Bolt's gun hand flash, saw the barrel sweep up, the black muzzle stare at him, saw it blossom with flame--and then he backed up slowly, sat down, and he was dead.
Grat stared at Griffin, then at Bolt. He was shocked and amazed. He had never dreamed the boss could draw as fast as that. And Griffin? He looked again. The gun had never cleared the holster.
Jack Bolt stepped back, his glittering eyes going from one to the other. "What got into him?" he demanded. "What's he been eatin'? Locoweed?"
Grat shook his head. "No, but he told us he'd killed Hopalong Cassidy."
"Killed him? Killed Cassidy?"
Bolt stared at the dead man. "Where? How did it happen? Did you see it?"
"Nobody saw it. He went back after him. Pod was sore
about the pistol whippin' Cassidy had given him, and he went back gunnin' for him. The next we knew, he pulled in here braggin' that Cassidy was dead."
"He was probably lyin'," Bolt said.
"Nope." Bones spoke up. "He sure must have done it, boss. You never saw anybody so blowed up over himself as he was. He didn't get that way by accident. Cassidy's dead, all right. I don't figure he beat him to the draw like he was tellin' us, but I figure he really got him."
Cassidy dead! Then where was Red Connors? Bolt's questions assured him that none of his men had seen Connors or any sign of him. Nor had Gamble mentioned him beyond the fact that Connors had taken part in the fight with
Pete Aragon's men. Had Cassidy's friend been dead, he surely would have mentioned it, yet he had not. That meant that Connors was alive, and if not with Hopalong, where was he?
The answer to that was one that Jack Bolt did not at all like. Red Connors was logically the one to have followed the herd that was first stolen. In other words, there was every chance that he was now witnessing the transfer of the herd to his hands from the California ranch, and so was learning what not even his own men knew--that Bolt actually owned a ranch over the state line.
Impatiently, Bolt walked away from the conversation that had sprung up among the men. He heard them removing the body of Pod Griffin, and listened to the sounds of the picks in the hard ground as they prepared a grave for the dead man. A few hours before, all had been going well, and now his whole show was breaking up. If Cassidy was dead, then the sooner Red Connors was killed, the better. Could he rely upon Aragon for that?
Carefully he took stock of the situation. The big drive had
failed, and the ranchers were alerted. The other cattle were being followed by Connors, and the very fact that Gamble had not mentioned it indicated suspicion. Gillespie had openly implied his, and Monaghan was ready to listen, as were others. The situation here indicated that he had better pull in his horns and keep very quiet, then sell out when he had a good chance.
Four hours after the bullet had struck Hopalong Cassidy, the palouse began to grow impatient. He was a horse who liked to get somewhere, and standing around cropping the sparse grass did not appeal to him. The scattered cattle had gone on by themselves, heading toward home, and the palouse wanted to be moving on.
The fallen man lay unmoving, and the horse overcame his dislike to the blood smell and moved nearer. He pawed the earth, blew irritably, then nudged the fallen man with his nose.
Hopalong Cassidy's eyes opened to find gray earth within an inch of his face. At first he lay still, not realizing where he was or what had happened. He could feel the dust under his fingers, the dull throb in his skull, and the beginning coolness of evening. Then he heard the palouse.
"All right, boy," he said quietly. "Just a minute."
the Riders Of High Rock (1993) Page 13
