He stepped out and closed the door behind him. Coker stuffed his mouth with a chunk of beef to keep from laughing. Fuller was flabbergasted. Obviously, he didn't know what to do. As poor a foreman as he was, he knew sensible orders when he heard them. Throwing the cattle back across the river would undoubtedly save a good many head from rustlers. From the ranch house a man with a glass could watch the river and see the whole length of it as it crossed the range. Nobody could possibly drive off cattle which were to the ranch side of the river.
Coker could see the idea penetrating Fuller's thick skull and could see Fuller's grudging appreciation of the tactics it implied. Coker could also see that Blaine's promise to face Ortmann had aroused the men's admiration. Moreover, what Blaine had done most successfully was to take the play away from them. Fuller had to obey orders or be fired. Once off the range Fuller was useless to the others and they would cut him out of the gang that expected to split the spoils of the ranch. Fuller was shrewd enough to appreciate all this.
While Coker disliked the work around the ranch, he also appreciated that Blaine was keeping the one man he could trust close at hand.
As soon as Fuller had left him, Nevers saddled up and rode for the B-Bar. He met Clell Miller when he was halfway there. Clell pulled up his sweating horse.
"Lud played hell!" Nevers burst out. "Neal's alive, and now when this Blaine shows up he runs to me instead of doin' somethin' about it."
some of our stuff up there. I want everything wearing our brand thrown back across the river."
Fuller started to object angrily. Squaw Peak? Why, that was away north! There would be no chance for him to organize any vigilante meeting up there! He started to object, but the logic of the move appealed to him. Those nesters were always cutting out 46 stock and butchering it.
"You givin' up that range?" he looked up from his plate.
"I'm givin' up nothing. From what I hear Ortmann an' his boys up there are makin' mighty free with our stock. Well, we'll throw our beef back across the river until we get a chance to clean them out of there. "
All eyes were on him. "We'll clean them out," he said, "or make believers of them."
"That's a sizeable job." The speaker was a long-geared man with sparse red hair. "They'll fight."
"I've tackled sizeable jobs before," Blaine said shortly, "and they fought."
There was no answer to that for they all knew the story of the mining town of Alta where three marshals had lasted a day each, and then Utah Blaine rode in and took the job. Four men had died the first week he was on the job. The leader of the bad ones going first, on the first night. Twenty-two men had been jailed that night, and two had gone to the one-room hospital with cracked skulls.
Alta, where there had been a killing every night, and where sixty-two men had been buried in Boot Hill before one townsman died of natural causes. The town where there were seven thousand belted men headed straight for the doors of Hell, and every one of them packing a gun. Two thousand miners and five thousand to rob them--and Blaine had tamed the town. It was there they started calling him Utah.
Like I said," he continued, "take your men and move up there. Work well back up in all the draws. No stock but our own, but start it for the river. Nobody works alone, work two or three together and hit both heads of Chasm Creek. Check the head of Gap mighty careful because I've an idea when they take our beef it goes over from Gap into Chalktank. Then work south. It will be slow, but throw the beef back over the river."
"You aim to talk to Ortmann?" Red asked.
"When I'm ready."
The other hands waited expectantly. "Coker, there's a busted stall in the barn, and that corral needs work. That's for you." He looked beyond the hatchet-faced warrior. "The rest of you work south along the edge of the mesa to Skeleton Ridge. You do the same thing. Throw the cattle back across the river!"
He finished eating and took a final swallow of coffee. Abruptly, he got to his feet. As he picked up his hat, he let his eyes go over the crowd. "I'm new here. New to you and you're new to me. If any of you ever have any kick coming, you come and make it. But get this between your ears. I'm runnin' the 46 and I'm goin' to run it smooth. If it gets rough, then I'll smooth her out. You boys won't have any trouble as long as you do your jobs."
He stepped out and closed the door behind him. Coker stuffed his mouth with a chunk of beef to keep from laughing. Fuller was flabbergasted. Obviously, he didn't know what to do. As poor a foreman as he was, he knew sensible orders when he heard them. Throwing the cattle back across the river would undoubtedly save a good many head from rustlers. From the ranch house a man with a glass could watch the river and see the whole length of it as it crossed the range. Nobody could possibly drive off cattle which were to the ranch side of the river.
Coker could see the idea penetrating Fuller's thick skull and could see Fuller's grudging appreciation of the tactics it implied. Coker could also see that Blaine's promise to face Ortmann had aroused the men's admiration. Moreover, what Blaine had done most successfully was to take the play away from them. Fuller had to obey orders or be fired. Once off the range Fuller was useless to the others and they would cut him out of the gang that expected to split the spoils of the ranch. Fuller was shrewd enough to appreciate all this.
While Coker disliked the work around the ranch, he also appreciated that Blaine was keeping the one man he could trust close at hand.
As soon as Fuller had left him, Nevers saddled up and rode for the B-Bar. He met Clell Miller when he was halfway there. Clell pulled up his sweating horse.
"Lud played hell!" Nevers burst out. "Neal's alive, and now when this Blaine shows up he runs to me instead of doin' somethin' about it."
L
Miller curled his leg around the saddle horn. "What you aim to do, Nevers?"
"I ain't goin' to see no outsider jump that range!"
"You think Neal is dead?"
"How should I know? If he ain't, he's gonna be, believe you me!"
Miller looked at Nevers thoughtfully. "That's an idea, ' he said, "a good idea."
"Look." Nevers came closer. "Neal may or may not be alive. If he's dead, we've got to know it. If he's alive, he's got to be killed. I ain't gonna be cheated at this stage of the game."
"Blaine ain't no cinch," Miller said.
"Afraid?"
"You know better than that."
Nevers nodded. "Yeah, I do. Forget it. I'm jumpy myself."
"What about Neal?"
"Don't let it bother you. Just you think about Blaine."
Clell Miller looked down at the older man. So that was the way it was? You never knew about a man until you got into a deal with him. This was a steal. Miller was making no bones about that with himself, and he would not hesitate to kill if somebody got in the way. But everybody knew what he was and who he was. However, they had never exactly known about Nevers. They thought they knew, but . . . Miller got out the makings. "Where's Rink?"
"Never you mind about Rink. He's got his own work to do."
So that was it! Rink had gone after the old man, Joe Neal. Well, there wasn't a better man for the job. Little leather-faced Rink with his cold eyes and his remorseless way. A fast hand with a gun and ready to kill--a sure-thing operator. He would make no mistakes.
That meant the 46 Connected range was going to be thrown to the wolves, all right. "What about Blaine?" he insisted. "What if he won't stand still for it?"
"He won't have to," Nevers said. "We're going after Blaine. We're going to corner him. No gunfights, Clell. We can't take the risk. We're all going in. You, me, Lud--all of us."
"Otten?"
"Otten's out of it. I mean, he will be after we do all the dirty work. If he tries to get in we'll cut him off at the pockets. Far's that goes, we might as well split his range too if he gets ornery."
Clell Miller looked thoughtfully at the end of his cigarette.
Nevers was like a bull. Once started nothing would stop him. Clell considered the matter. With
anyone but Blaine the steal would seem like a cinch. "Why don't we steer Blaine into Ortmann?' he suggested. "Let em kill each other off? "
"Too slow." Nevers liked the idea, though. Clell could see that. "But we might try it. Get rid of one of them, anyway. If he uses guns, Blaine will kill him. If Ortmann ever got his hands on Blaine it would be the end of Utah. " "He'd never let him. Blaine's no fool. "
"Get your boys together," Nevers advised. "I'll put a bug in Ortmann's ear. Maybe we can get them together. If we don't succeed we'll move in fast. Your outfit and my outfit, and we 11 pour cattle all over that range and hit Blaine from every direction at once. We'll cut him out of the herd, get him alone and then kill him."
"What about Mary Blake?"
"Settle that when this is over. She's nothing to worry about. " "A couple of the boys will side her--Kelsey and Timm." "Kill 'em. Get them out of it tonight. You hear, Clell?" Riding back to the ranch, Clell considered that. Nevers was right. There was no use giving them a chance to side her. Get them now. Kelsey was a good man. Too good a man to die, yet that was the way it had to be.
With Lud out of the way, Blaine left Coker in charge and rode swiftly to meet with Mary Blake. The place of the meeting was designated as a spot called Goat Camp, beyond the river. As he neared the Bench, Utah glimpsed a spot of green back under the very shadow of the cliff. There, among some ancient cottonwoods and sycamores, was a small cabin. With sharpening curiosity he realized this must be the cabin of the girl, Angie Kinyon.
He glanced at the sun. There was time for him to see Angie. He swung the horse from the trail. Before he reached the house, he saw the flowers. The place was literally banked with them, and he looked around with real pleasure. The house was shadowed by the cliff and the giant trees, and a small stream trickled past the house. Alongside the house were several fenced patches of crops. All showed careful attention and considerable appreciation for beauty as well as necessity. He rode up under the trees and swung down.
A door slammed behind him and he turned. The girl had stopped on the steps, a girl with dark hair and large soft dark
eyes. She came down the steps quickly and he swept off his hat. "I'm Blaine," he said, "the manager of the 46. You'd be Angie Kinyon."
She gave him sharp attention, seeming to measure and gauge him in one swift, comprehensive glance. "I hadn't heard there was a manager."
He explained, taking his time and enjoying the coolness after the heat of his ride. She was a tall girl, but beautifully formed, and her voice was low and throaty. As he talked, he wondered at her presence in this far place.
"You've a beautiful place." There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. "You must have been here quite awhile."
"Three years. It doesn't seem long."
She watched him, all her womanly curiosity turned upon this tall young man with the grave face and the slow smile. She had noted the two tied-down guns. She was far too knowing not to realize what they meant. Immediately she connected them with his name. She also knew better than most what an impact his presence must be making on the valley ranchers and their riders. Long before Joe Neal had any warning of what was coming, she had tried to warn him. She had watched the cattle of the 46 fattening on the rich graze and plentiful water, and she had seen the men from other ranches lingering hungrily around the edges. Their range was not bad, but it is not in many men to be satisfied with less than the best--when the best seems available.
Angie told Blaine this, of how stubborn Joe Neal was. He had wrested his range out of Apache country. Nobody would chase him from it.
"He told me he came here in '60," Blaine marveled. "How did he get along with the Indians? Surely there were a lot of them?"
"He talked peace when he could, fought when he had to. Twice all his men deserted but one, but he stayed on and fought it out."
"One stayed?"
"Yes." Angie Kinyon turned and indicated a stone slab at the head of a mound of earth under the sycamores some thirty yards away. There were flowers on the grave. "He lies there. He was my father."
"Oh." Utah looked at her curiously, this tall, lonely girl with the leaf shadows on her face. "You were here? Through all that?"
"My mother died in Texas before we came West with Joe. I grew up here, through it all. Never a week went by that first year
without a raid of some kind. The second year there were only three. Then there were years of peace, then more fighting as the Apache began to fear the soldiers and wanted to kill all white people."
"You never left?"
She looked at him quickly. "Then they haven't told you about me?"
"No. They told me nothing. Forbes told me you lived here." "You've seen him?" The quick smile on her lips brought Utah a sharp twinge of jealousy that surprised him. Was that it, then? Was she in love with Forbes? "He's fine. One of the finest people I've known."
She was silent for a few minutes and he began thinking of his meeting at Goat Camp. "I'd better go."
She followed him. "Be careful." She put her hand on his sleeve suddenly. "Utah--do be careful! They'll all be after you, every one of them. There's not one you can trust."
"Maybe we can work something out. Mary Blake has two good men, and Coker is going to stand with me."
"Mary . . . then you've met her. " Her eyes searched his face. "You're going to meet her now." "Yes. To work out a plan of battle."
"She's selfish." She said it quickly and it surprised him. He had not expected her to speak ill of another woman. "She's been spoiled."
"I wouldn't know." Despite himself his voice was cool. "She only seems to want to protect her ranch."
Angie nodded seriously. "You didn't like what I said, did you? Perhaps I should only have said something nice. It would have been wiser for me, but of no use to you. " When he did not respond, she added, "Mary is lovely, and she is like her father. Nothing existed in this world but the B-Bar for Gid. Mary is the same way. She is strong, too. They are underrating her, all of them. To keep that ranch intact she will lie, steal and kill."
"You really think that, don't you?" He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up. "Sometimes one has to kill."
She acknowledged that. "There are ways of killing. But remember what I have said. If she thought she could save the B-Bar by selling you out she would do it without hesitation."
He turned the dun stallion. "Well, thanks," he said, "but I think you judge her too severely."
i
eyes. She came down the steps quickly and he swept off his hat. "I'm Blaine," he said, "the manager of the 46. You'd be Angie Kinyon."
She gave him sharp attention, seeming to measure and gauge him in one swift, comprehensive glance. "I hadn't heard there was a manager."
He explained, taking his time and enjoying the coolness after the heat of his ride. She was a tall girl, but beautifully formed, and her voice was low and throaty. As he talked, he wondered at her presence in this far place.
"You've a beautiful place." There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. "You must have been here quite awhile."
"Three years. It doesn't seem long."
She watched him, all her womanly curiosity turned upon this tall young man with the grave face and the slow smile. She had noted the two tied-down guns. She was far too knowing not to realize what they meant. Immediately she connected them with his name. She also knew better than most what an impact his presence must be making on the valley ranchers and their riders. Long before Joe Neal had any warning of what was coming, she had tried to warn him. She had watched the cattle of the 46 fattening on the rich graze and plentiful water, and she had seen the men from other ranches lingering hungrily around the edges. Their range was not bad, but it is not in many men to be satisfied with less than the best--when the best seems available.
Angie told Blaine this, of how stubborn Joe Neal was. He had wrested his range out of Apache country. Nobody would chase him from it.
"He told me he came here in '60, " Blaine marveled. "How did he get along
with the Indians? Surely there were a lot of them?"
"He talked peace when he could, fought when he had to. Twice all his men deserted but one, but he stayed on and fought it out."
"One stayed?"
"Yes." Angie Kinyon turned and indicated a stone slab at the head of a mound of earth under the sycamores some thirty yards away. There were flowers on the grave. "He lies there. He was my father."
"Oh." Utah looked at her curiously, this tall, lonely girl with the leaf shadows on her face. "You were here? Through all that?"
"My mother died in Texas before we came West with Joe. I grew up here, through it all. Never a week went by that first year
without a raid of some kind. The second year there were only three. Then there were years of peace, then more fighting as the Apache began to fear the soldiers and wanted to kill all white people."
"You never left?"
She looked at him quickly. "Then they haven't told you about
me?"
"No. They told me nothing. Forbes told me you lived here." "You've seen him?" The quick smile on her lips brought Utah a sharp twinge of jealousy that surprised him. Was that it, then? Was she in love with Forbes? "He's fine. One of the finest people I've known."
She was silent for a few minutes and he began thinking of his meeting at Goat Camp. "I'd better go."
She followed him. "Be careful." She put her hand on his sleeve suddenly. "Utah--do be careful! They'll all be after you, every one of them. There's not one you can trust."
"Maybe we can work something out. Mary Blake has two good men, and Coker is going to stand with me."
"Mary . . . then you've met her." Her eyes searched his face. "You're going to meet her now." "Yes. To work out a plan of battle."
"She's selfish." She said it quickly and it surprised him. He had not expected her to speak ill of another woman. "She's been spoiled."
"I wouldn't know." Despite himself his voice was cool. "She only seems to want to protect her ranch."
Utah Blain (1984) Page 4
