Texas Men
Page 11
He found his saddle and bridle on a rail where somebody had tossed them, and from the former took down the rope tied to the horn. The blanket roll had been removed. Climbing into the corral he set about cutting out his horse. It seemed that everything went haywire. It was dark and the horses were skittish; they milled about in a most disconcerting manner, and Bob finally gave up trying to catch his own mount, concentrating on the animal nearest him. The noose finally settled over the neck of a stocky bay.
A sudden hoarse shout cut the stillness, then came the profane voice of Shab Cannon calling his men. Bob dragged the horse to the side of the corral and threw a half-hitch around a post. Hastily he snatched the bridle from the rail and slipped it on the animal’s head. It was too loose, but there was no time for adjustment. Seizing the saddle, he flung it on the horse, caught the end of the cinch and slipped the latigo through the ring. A hasty tug and it was tight.
Back at the cabin men were shouting, and Shab’s voice was raised in vile imprecations. Bob reached the corral gate and swung it open in time to see the whole bunch running in his direction. One of them was far in the lead.
The fellow in advance flung a shot which surprised Bob by going wide. He was so close that Lee knew he could never swing his horse and gain the saddle in time to avoid him. He turned savagely and stepped toward the fellow. As he leaped at Bob, Lee recognized Dick Markley.
“Knock me out, for God’s sake!” Dick panted.
Bob dropped the reins and swung. Dick seemed to fling himself at the moving fist; the blow landed on his chin and he went down. His hand, holding a revolver by the barrel, was extended toward Bob as he fell.
Lee seized it and flung two shots at the approaching bandits; then ran after his horse, which was moving at a slow jog along the corral fence, head held high to avoid stepping on the reins. Bob vaulted completely over the animal’s rump and, bending low, seized the reins and kicked the horse into a wild run.
Lead cut the air about him and Shab’s curses burned the air behind him; but the former missed the rapidly moving horseman, and the latter served only to speed his efforts. Bob swept around the corral, found a trail leading from the basin, and gave the horse its head.
CHAPTER XII
THE BIG DRIVE
BOB did not know where he was going, this trail being a new one to him. Provided it did not end in a box canyon, he did not care. The most important thing at the moment was to put a lot of distance between himself and the raging Shab.
As the light strengthened, he saw that he was following a well-marked gradually descending road. Presently he entered a gorge, which after a short distance debouched on a wide, hilly plain. Bob remembered the reference to the Bottle Neck and concluded that he had just passed through it. Before him was open country, and he knew he had crossed the mountain range to the valley beyond that in which Lariat was situated. Swinging to the south he rode along the base of the hills, coming in time to a road which cut through a pass above Kurt Dodd’s spread.
Late that afternoon he reached the Tumbling T. June rode out to meet him, and he told his story while his tired horse stumbled the rest of the distance to the house. “I’ll borrow a fresh horse and ride to Lariat after the boys,” he finished.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she contradicted firmly. “I’ll send for them. You’re in bad shape, Bob, between that wound and riding all day in the sun without a hat.”
“I wish you’d send for Enright and Trumbauer too. Tell them to bring every hand they can spare. June, we’ve got those rustlers as shore as I’m a foot high! Got ’em penned up in the hills with their rustled stock.”
“Unless your escape causes them to scatter.”
“I think they’ll bluff it out. They have a lot of cattle to drive, and if they leave them now they’ll lose every head. But we must hurry.”
An hour later, fed, bathed, and wounds attended to, Bob closed his eyes for a short nap. It seemed to him that he had been sleeping only a moment when June awakened him, but he felt refreshed, ready and eager for the task ahead of him.
His deputies had arrived and it was necessary that he relate for their benefit the adventures which had befallen him. He kept silent about the part Dick had played, giving them to understand that he had worked free of the ropes and had broken the lock on the door.
Dutch Trumbauer arrived with seven men, and Enright, with eleven more, appeared almost on his heels. Leaving their crews to find places on the veranda or down at the bunkhouse, the two bosses went into the living room where June, Tomlinson, and Bob and his deputies were gathered. Four rough maps were spread on the table before them.
Briefly Bob acquainted Trumbauer and Enright with the details of their search. “The boys report that in every case the trails they followed finally led to the basin where I was held. It is a central gatherin’ place. From there they drive through a canyon and a long park that narrows into what they call the Bottle Neck. Last night this time there was one more bunch to come in before the drive started. I figure that they got under way some time this afternoon. It’s bad country and they won’t move fast. They’d have to bed down their stock over night in some park, finishin’ the drive tomorrow.
“Now this is what we’ll do: Enright, you and yore eleven must hit the trail right now, crossin’ the mountains through the pass above the Kady. Cut to the left and follow the hills to the Bottle Neck. It’s marked on this map so you cain’t miss it. Post yore men on both sides of the Bottle Neck and hold them there.
“The rest of us will ride to the flat where the trails begin. In the mornin’ we’ll divide into four parties. I’ll lead one, and Ace, Deuce, and Joe will lead the others. We’ll move by four different routes to the central gatherin’ place.
“If the cattle are still in the basin, we’ll wait until they start the drive and follow them. If the cattle are gone, we’ll meet at the cabin and go after them. We’ll trail that herd and jump them at the Bottle Neck. Run ’em through and into the hands of Enright’s men. That clear?”
“Clear as can be,” said Enright. “Give me that map.”
“Remember to keep yore men hidden until they come through the Neck,” Bob cautioned him. “There may be as many as twenty of them, but you will have the advantage of position and surprise. I want them captured if possible.”
Enright got up, placed the map in his pocket, and went out to assemble his men. Presently they heard the whole Big 4 crew swing past the house at a fast lope.
“Might as well start,” Bob told the others. “We can travel together as far as that rock flat. Trumbauer, get yore men. Mr. Tomlinson, I’m sorry you cain’t get in on this. Reckon you’ll have to trust yore crew to me.”
“No one else I’d rather trust ’em to,” said Tomlinson. “June, tell the boys to saddle up.”
As Bob and his friends were leaving the house they met June coming in. She grasped Bob by an arm and detained him until they were alone. For a moment they looked steadily into each other’s eyes.
“What about Dick?” she asked softly.
“He goes free if I have anything to do with it. Dick’s been dragged into this thing. When he promised to go straight, he meant it.”
“I like to think so,” she said. “Bob, take care of yourself.”
She stood on the gallery watching as the excited men gathered in a compact body. Bob led them from the yard, flinging an arm upward in a farewell salute to her as he rode by. She answered mechanically, and when the gloom had swallowed them, sighed and turned back to the house.
Bob’s party of eighteen rode across the Tumbling T and the Kady and into the arroyo which led to the rocky flat, holding to a swift pace until the rough going forced them to a walk. It was after midnight when they finally halted in the park where Ace had found the branding fire. At Bob’s command they dismounted and pulled off their saddles, hobbling or picketing the horses in order that they would not stray. No fire was lighted, the men throwing themselves on the ground to talk and smoke and cat-nap.
“There ees many w’at you call slip between the tin-cup and the mouth,” Joe warned them. “May be they ron wrong way; then we have the fon, no?”
“Yeah. Two yeahs and a fond hope,” said Deuce fervently. “I’d shore admire to line my sights on that red-headed gent Bob’s been tellin’ about. I’d fix him so he wouldn’t hold water worth shucks.”
“Py golly, shust give me at him von shot mit Gretchen here, und I scatter him the landscape over,” swore Trumbauer. “Gretchen” was a sawed-off ten-gauge shotgun loaded with buckshot.
Deuce voiced a warning. “Fellas, you wanta be shore to keep well behind Dutch. It’s the only place you’ll be safe.”
“With the charge he’s got in that thing,” said one of Trumbauer’s men, “I’d as lief be in front of him as behind him. Some day the breech is gonna blowout and he’ll scatter hisself the landscape over.”
“If Dutch only knowed the way in, we could ’a’ all gone with Frank. That load spreads from one side of the valley to the other; Dutch could drive horses, cattle and rustlers into the Bottle Neck without any help.”
“Maybe I do it yet,” countered Trumbauer, unperturbed. “Ven der lead pegins to fly maybe you young squirts find pusiness somevere at the rear yet.”
Dawn brought a cold breakfast and preparations to move. Almost before the sun’s rays had touched the tops of the eastern hills they were on their way. By mid-morning they had reached the rocky basin, and here again a halt was called while Bob divided them into four parties.
He led his own group into the arroyo he had followed before, Trumbauer at his side, two lean Texans from Tomlinson’s spread bringing up in the rear. They met no one to challenge their passage, and at noon halted briefly in a park which Bob had previously explored. As before, he found it barren of men and cattle. A short rest and they pressed onward.
Near the entrance to the big central park they halted momentarily while Bob scouted ahead. As he had expected, the rustled stock had been driven from the basin. Signaling his men, they rode into the park, spreading out and advancing toward the cabin. A rifle spat viciously and one of the Texans clapped his hand to an arm and swore.
“Just nicked me,” he explained quickly, grinning sheepishly. “I’m more scairt than I am hurt. Let’s get that son-of-a-biscuit.”
They broke their horses into a run, heading directly for the cabin. Bob saw a man duck from the door and race for the corral behind the leanto. While the other three continued toward the cabin, Bob pulled away so as to cut into the trail which led from the corral to the Bottle Neck, determined that the man who had been left as a precaution against pursuit would never have an opportunity to warn his companions on the drive.
He caught the flash of a running horse behind a clump of trees, and swerved so as to intersect the trail where it entered the gorge. The other rider reached the point before Bob. He was riding low, stretched along the neck of his lunging horse, and Bob had the merest glimpse of him as he thundered into the narrow passage.
Bob flashed in pursuit, calling upon his horse for everything it had. He closed the distance between them rapidly, although the other held his bent-over position, urging his mount forward with every bit of riding skill he possessed. Presently horse and rider flashed around a jutting clump of rock and were lost to sight.
Bob reached the bend, turned, then reined his horse so hard that the animal crouched on his hocks, sliding. The other had pulled up behind the bowlders and Bob caught the glint of sunlight on rifle barrel even as he recognized Dick Markley.
He acted instinctively, hurling himself from the saddle straight at the threatening weapon. Bob’s extended hands found the rifle barrel, and as he landed on his feet he heaved, jerking Dick sidewise from the saddle. The weapon was torn from Markley’s hands and tossed to one side of the trail. Then they were locked in each other’s arms.
In Bob’s powerful grip, Dick was helpless. Snatching the sixgun from Markley’s holster, Bob pushed the other backwards and released him. For several seconds they stood looking at each other, panting from their exertions.
“There is no time to be lost,” said Bob at last. “Get on yore horse and head up that lateral.”
Dick gulped. “You’re lettin’ me go?”
“Yes. But take my warnin’, Dick. Get out of this bunch and stay out. We’re on their heels, and they’re done! Get up that arroyo as quick as you can. And don’t try to warn Kurt and Shab. Keep away from the Bottle Neck or I won’t be able to help you.”
He handed Dick’s sixgun to him and motioned toward the rifle. “Better hurry; if my boys find you here it will go hard with you.”
Dick stared at him for another moment, then walked over and recovered the rifle. Swinging into the saddle, he looked down at his friend.
“Bob,” he said huskily, “you—you’re white!”
Some of the bitterness within Bob welled forth. “Dick, cain’t you see what this is costin’ me? I’m a traitor to my badge—to the oath I took! This is yore last chance. If you cain’t quit on my account, for God’s sake think of June.”
To them came the sound of iron-shod hoofs on rock. Dick wheeled his horse and rode rapidly into the arroyo. Bob mounted and spurred back to meet his companions. They drew rein, eyeing him questioningly.
“Rode up one of these side gullies,” Bob explained tersely. “No time to hunt him. I’ll stay here to be sure he doesn’t ride back into this ravine. You boys go back to the cabin and bring the rest of them as soon as they arrive.”
The three turned and jogged back toward the park, Dutch Trumbauer bobbing ludicrously in his saddle. Despite his years on the range Dutch had never acquired the easy seat of the born Westerner.
An hour later the entire seventeen swung around the bend, Ace, Deuce and Joe in the lead. Bob joined them without halting their progress.
“Meet anybody comin’ in?”
“Nary a soul,” Deuce answered. “Reckon they’re all busy today. Heard yore man got away from you. You oughta got Dutch to shoot that blunderbuss up the lateral. Those danged buckshot travel in loops and spirals and can turn corners. Betcha he’d ’a’ got the jigger!”
The afternoon was half gone when the gorge widened out into a long, flat park. Ahead of them the dust hung heavy in the air.
“That’s the herd!” cried Bob jubilantly. “And ahead there where the valley narrows is the Bottle Neck. They must be near it now. Boys, spread out the width of the park. The dust will hide you from them. Close in at a lope. When you sight the drag, cut loose. Drive ’em through the gap into Enright’s trap. Get goin’!”
With shrill yips of excitement the cowboys scattered. Eager fingers found sixguns and loosened them in their holsters; rifles were drawn from saddle boots and held ready across the pommels. At a smart lope the whole line moved forward.
The dust cloud thickened, and soon they could smell the animal sweat of many moving steers. They passed a laggard or two that had escaped the vigilance of the drag, and even above the noise made by their own horses came the tramp of many feet, the sound of plaintive bawling, the clash of horns.
Off to Bob’s right Trumbauer’s shotgun bellowed, and Bob caught a glimpse through the haze of an astonished drag rider. He raised his rifle and fired. More reports sounded along the line of advancing men.
Orange flashes stabbed the dust as answering shots were flung at them; the angry whine of lead was in the air. Bob could hear his men yipping wildly as they advanced. He tried to check them, fearful that in the haze the rustlers would break through their thin line.
They were almost in the Bottle Neck now, and the fire ahead of them had doubled in its intensity. Evidently the rustlers had thrown more men in the drag to protect their rear. Bob noticed that the flashes were drawing away from the center as though the opponents were attempti
ng to reach the sides of the valley.
And then from the head of the herd came a crashing volley that echoed the length of the park. It puzzled Bob, and he checked his horse to listen. To his ears came the sudden appalling thud of hundreds of hoofs; through the thick dust between him and the Neck he caught a glimpse of wild eyes and tossing horns. The explanation of the shots came to him with a sharp chill of foreboding.
The wily Kurt Dodd had turned the big herd against his pursuers! The very cattle Bob sought to save was to be made the instrument of his destruction!
He glanced quickly to the right and then to the left, even as he wheeled his horse and sent him off at a frightened run. On either side of him men were bending over their horses’ necks, angling at full speed for the sides of the valley. No such course was open to Bob; he was squarely in the middle of the park, and long before he could reach a place of safety his panicky horse must go down beneath the pounding, grinding hoofs of the stampeded cattle.
He rode straight ahead. No need for quirt or spurs; the animal beneath him was racing onward in long, terrified leaps. Bob himself felt the stab of a mighty fear. The cattle were gaining; every time he looked over his shoulder it was to find the glaring eyes and distended nostrils nearer. He conquered his momentary panic. If he were to save himself he would need all his courage, every bit of cool wit he could summon.
Slightly to the left and ahead of him, he caught sight of a low outcropping of rock. It was pitifully small, less than a few square yards in area and rising not more than a foot above the plain, but it must serve. He had the greatest difficulty in swinging his horse even the few degrees necessary. The animal seemed to know that its only hope of escape lay in holding to a straight course.
As they approached the spot, he kicked free of the stirrups, and, holding to the horn, swung out of the saddle. His feet touched the ground, were snatched from beneath him by the force of contact. He started moving his legs in a running motion, again lowered his body, matching the speed of his stride with that of the horse. Twenty feet from the rock cluster he released his hold, and was hurled over the surface of the ground, his momentum finally throwing him and sending him ploughing through the dirt. Desperately he scrambled to the protection of the rocks, flattening himself on the ground behind the low ridge.