"Do as I say! Gott damn it! They're worth money ain't they!"
"Yeah! Sure! That's a good idea!" Syph glared at the boy. "Strip!"
"What?" Anson trembled.
"You heared me! Strip them duds!"
Anson didn't move.
"Look at him shake, Burdett! He's about ta piss all over himself."
Burdett leaned forward in his saddle. "Quit a screwing around with this little shit. Get him naked, kill him and be done with it!"
"Well, now don't get in such a hurry, Burdett. It's been quite some time since I had me a good corn hole. You ever been cornholed?"
Anson shook his head.
"You're about to be. Now strip them duds!"
Anson fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Tears ran down his cheeks. .
"Gott damn it ta hell! Strip them duds!" Syph slapped Anson across the face with the flat of the hatchet. Anson went down to the ground. He felt a hand grab the collar of his shirt and pull him up.
"Don't you pass out on me, ya little piss ant! The last piece of ass I had was a dying and I want better than that this time!"
"Drop that hatchet, you sonofbitch, or I'll kill you where you stand!"
"Now look at what ya done, ya damned fool! Ya made so much noise that ya brung up some help!"
Burdett swung his rifle toward the top of the cliff. An explosion thundered through the canyon and his headless body fell from the saddle.
Syph jerked Anson to his feet, placed his forearm around his throat and drew him back against his chest. "Gott damn it! Ya blew his head off! If'n ya try another shot, I'll cut his throat with this here hatchet! No fool'n!"
The subtle click of a cocking revolver sounded behind. Anson felt the pressure against his throat release.
"Drop it,” Collier ordered.
The hold was released and Anson bolted forward, stumbling and falling as he did.
Syph stood stiffly as Collier placed the muzzle of his revolver against the back of his neck.
"Please, don't kill me, mister. We was just a funnin' with the boy!"
Collier's voice was cold and hard. "Get down on your knees."
Syph dropped to his knees, weeping. "Please! Oh God, don't let this happen to me!"
"Where'd ya get those Indian ponies?"
"We bought em! We bought em off'n some Arapaho!"
"Is that why they have Cheyenne markings?"
"I don't know where they got em! We bought em off'n Arapoho! Honest ta God!"
Collier struck Syph across the back of the head with his revolver barrel. Syph fell to the ground, screaming.
"You're a damned liar! Arapaho range east of here, not west! Now talk or I'll shoot you in the knees and leave you here!"
"Oh, God, don't. I'll talk. I'll talk. We came out here last winter look'n fer buffs. Ran into some hard times. Started stealing shit from the Injuns.. Ya know, just to make out!"
"And that last piece of ass you had. Was she an Indian woman?"
"Yeah, sure, you know. Please, mister, I've told ya all ya wanted ta know!"
McKnight helped Anson to his feet. "Come on, Spud, let's get you and your turkey back to camp."
"My mother was an Indian!" Collier said coldly.
"What's he gonna do with him?” Anson asked.
"What should a been done long ago, Spud. Now let's go."
Anson groggily picked up his turkey.
McKnight placed Anson’s hat on his head. "Go on, Spud, I got yer gun.”
"Is he gonna hang him?"
"Seems ta me like a waste of good rope."
Anson listened to Syph’s pleas for mercy. "But how can he kill him like that?"
"It says in the Bible, boy. An eye for an eye. We're a long way from anyone else who'd say different."
There was a muffled sound of a gunshot, then another, and a third.
Anson became dizzy, then all went black.
McKnight lifted him into his arms and hurried up the side of the cliff toward his waiting horse.
CHAPTER XII
There were no markers for the shallow graves at the base of the Canadian River canyon. The crew gathered around the mounds of freshly dug sand and gravel. No one had any idea of what to say. Collier made no effort to step into the job of spokesman for the outlaws.
McKnight shuffled his boot in the dirt and cleared his throat. "I guess some'n needs to be said bout these two hombres so's we can be on our way. Well, hell, I guess I'm elected. I guess we all know there are two trails that men can follow. Sometimes it's hard to say which trail is best. Out here, it can get sort'a mixed up. It seems ta me these hombres decided that any outrage was alright because the go'n got a little tough. Well, they was wrong and they paid the price. It's a lesson we kin all learn by. Dust to dust."
"Come on, child, you need to get some rest.” Tobe helped Anson onto Collier's horse and led the animal toward camp. Soon the others, save Collier and McKnight, followed.
"What'll we do bout those ponies?" McKnight asked.
Collier sighed. "Leave em. I'm sure there's a party following. They'll soon pick them up. Anyway, we don't want to be around when they get here. This is the shits."
"Ya think we're a gonna get the blame fer stealing em?"
"No, I think these graves and the fact that the ponies were left will square us on that account. It's just that I was hoping to get in and get out without being found out until we were almost through. You can bet they'll be keeping close track of us from now on."
"Ya think we should make for the Meyers bunch?"
"No, I can't explain it. I just got a bad feeling about that outfit. I may be wrong but I still think we're better off playing a lone hand."
McKnight turned toward the camp. "Good nuff fer me, pard. You're the brains of this outfit and the Injun expert. I'll play along with you."
Collier gazed at the fresh graves. "You think the boy is going to take this badly?"
"The boy came out here to be a man and skin some spikes," McKnight stopped and turned to face his partner. "Hell, what do you expect? He's got hisself quite a lesson today. Perhaps next time he'll be a little more careful. It just might be the best lesson he ever had."
Collier looked at his feet. "Yeah, it ain't that we had much choice."
"Hang'n or shoot'n, that was our choice, pard. You know it as well as I do. Anyhows, rope is expensive and trees is skimpy in these parts."
Collier smiled. "I'll hand one thing to you. You got a way of getting to the quick of it."
"Comes from associatin' myself with the finer elements of society. Let's git,"
* * *
The first thing Anson was aware of was the gentle jostling of the wagon. He tried to pen his eyes but the light caused pain to shoot through his head. He groaned and placed his hands on both sides of his head.
"You waking up?" Tobe asked.
"Yeah, my head feels like it's about to explode.”
"You took a nasty cuff. It'll be awhiles before you're over it. Just lay there and get some rest. There ain't nothing for you to do 'cept take it easy and get well."
"Where are we?"
"Where're here and that's bout all I can tell you."
As Anson's sight slowly cleared, he could make out small forms moving along the ground. He waited until he could make out the shapes more clearly. "Tobe! Look at them! There must be thousands of them!"
"Came upon this prairie dog town over four hours ago. They're everywhere."
Highpitched barking and yipping sound filled the air. Anson laughed at the antics and appearance of the dogs. A wagon wheel rolled over a mound and sharply jolted the wagon and it's passengers. Anson grabbed his head and reclined back into his bed. "Oh! Man! I'm sick!"
"It'll pass. Be patient."
McKnight rode to the side of the wagon. "How ya doin', Spud?"
Anson groaned.
"He's got himself a surefire headache, but he'll be mending, bye and bye," answered Tobe.
"We'll be a making camp yer in a bit and you'll be
able to rest better, Spud."
Anson opened his eyes and looked up. "Where's Mr. Collier?"
"He went on ahead. Thinks we're gett'n close to buffs."
"How's he know?"
"Fresh manure in the wallows. This here whole area just smells of spikes. Collier thinks they're gone ta water."
"Look yonder, Misser Abe. Is that him?" Tobe pointed to the south and squinted for a better look.
McKnight pulled a short telescope from his saddle bag and scanned the direction Tobe pointed. "Sure enough! No one but an Injun sits a horse like that 'cept Collier."
A short time later Collier reigned up his mount. Anson sat up in the wagon.
"It's a small bunch, Abe, no more than five or six hundred. But the lay of the land is in our favor. I believe we can get within a hundred yards or so of them if we're careful."
"How fer?" Abe asked.
"Six, maybe seven miles. I think we should camp here and get ready to hit them in the morning."
"Fair 'nuff, pard." McKnight held up his hand to halt the column. He looked at Anson and winked. "Roast turkey last night and buffalo hump tomorrow! Sounds good, don't it?"
Anson smiled weakly. Food wasn't an attractive idea.
Activity in camp that evening was greater than before. The fire was larger than usual as Collier fetched out a special skillet and melted several ingots of lead for making .50 caliber reloads for their buffalo rifles.
Stub Moore prepared more beans in the pot. Bugs Burton and Axoll Mapes checked out a single tree rigging to be used for the skinning. Coolman gave knives another look while Tobe was busy gathering wooden stakes. McKnight cleaned his Springfield rifle and Collier's Remingtons. Anson wathed Collier making bullets. The lead had slowly melted into a liquid while it was left unattended until after the meal. Collier returned to the molten lead with several wooden handled bullet forms, a small dipper and a small pan of water. When the lead had become hot enough that molten liquid was forming a sort of whispy blue haze about and throughout the gray color, Collier seemed satisfied and started ladling the lead into the forms with a small dipper. When the lead had cooled enough to his satisfaction, he opened the form and allowed the newly created bullet to gently roll out into the pan of water. Collier then examined each bullet for flaws. Any not meeting his standards were returned to the melting skillet. The brass shells were then fitted with primers and filled with a carefully measured amount of black powder. The bullets were lubricated and fitted in the brass. In a matter of two hours, Collier had loaded over one hundred rounds of .5070 ammunition. The fresh rounds were placed in looped ammunition belts.
Anson turned his attention to the rifles. McKnight had a Trapdoor Springfield military infantry rifle. It was a breech loading single shot converted muzzleloader. A hinged breech block was fitted into the top of the barrel which flipped up and forward when a small side level was tripped. A large hammer was fitted on the right side of the breech that was thumbed back for firing. Collier's rifles were Remington rolling block actions. Unlike the Springfield, the rolling block hammers were mounted in the center of the rifle action behind the breech block which was rolled back with the thumb to expose the breech which was then loaded singly. Both the Remingtons were identical except for the fact that one was several years newer than the other. Both were fitted with elevated Venier sights mounted on the wrist of the butt that was flipped up and elevated to help the shooter with long range accuracy. Each gun was fitted with double set triggers, the back trigger set the action and made the front trigger a "hair" trigger that would set the gun off at the slightest touch. While the Springfield had a round barrel, the Remingtons were made with heavy octagon barrels. The pistol grip wrists of the Remingtons' walnut stocks were checkered. Each rifle weighed over fourteen pounds.
McKnight lost one of his rifles during the winter in a poker game that would limit his shooting because the barrel of the rifle would have to be allowed to cool. It was decided that since the departed Burdett would no longer need his converted military Springfield .58 caliber muzzleloader that McKnight would use that rifle as a backup gun when needed. Although a muzzleloader was much more cumbersome to load and the use of the rifle would require McKnight to carry a separate set of shooting supplies, it would still greatly enhance his shooting if the hunters were able to establish a stand.
As the evening's activities began to settle down for the night, Collier lit his pipe and approached Anson. "How are you feeling, son?"
"Much better, Mr. Collier, I feel fine."
"Do you think you will be able to go out with McKnight and me at first light? We are going to need someone to mind our horses and run some errands."
"Yes, sir. I'm sure I'll be able to help."
Collier looked up at Tobe. "What do you think?"
"I think he ought to be able to make it. He's gonna have a nasty bruise on the side of his face for a while but he seems to be in fair shape."
“I know how badly you want to go along, Anson. I guess we'll try it in the morning. Did you learn anything yesterday?"
"Yes, sir, I did."
"I hope you learned just how dangerous and unpredictable this country and some of its people are."
"I did."
"I'm not blaming you, son, for anything that happened. It could have happened to any of us. But, I've decided that old shotgun isn't enough. I want you to start carrying one of those revolvers we took off those men and if need be, I want you to use it."
I will."
"Then it's settled," Collier smiled. "Tomorrow we go after buffalo."
CHAPTER XIII
The sun was barely breaking the horizon when Anson was shaken out of his sleep. Anson was surprised that neither Collier nor McKnight seemed to be in a hurry. After a leisurely breakfast Collier gave him an old 1851 Colt .36 revolver with some rudimentary use and care instructions. Collier and McKnight mounted their horses and provided Anson a mule with a McClelland army saddle. It was seven o’clock by the time they rode out of camp. Curiosity was getting the best of him and he could hold off the questions no longer.
"How come we're getting such a late start?"
McKnight smiled. "Late fer huntin' turkeys, Spud, not fer spikes."
"But we always had our best luck hunting in the early morning, back in Missouri."
Collier shifted his weight in his saddle. "It's true, Anson, when a fellow hunts most wildlife he does have his best luck early in the morning. That's because most of those creatures are night grazers and you're trying to catch them before they settle down to rest during the day. Buffalos are different. They're more like cattle. They do their heavy grazing during the morning and evening. The trouble with hunting buffalo in the early morning is that they are more skiddish and it's much more difficult getting a stand. If a fellow waits until midmorning many of them will be dozing in the heat of the day and aren't nearly so jumpy. The idea is to shoot as many of them as closely together as possible. It cuts down on the labor and time involved skinning them."
"Don't fret thar, Spud, we know our business. Ya don't need to worry bout Collier and me gettin' our share. It's alright to ask questions. How else are ya goin' to learn?"
After several miles they glassed the surroundings on a regular basis. After six miles of searching, Collier glassed to the south and pointed toward the horizon. "There they are. They've moved some but not much from yesterday."
Anson squinted in that direction but could make out nothing.
"What do ya think, partner?" McKnight said as he glassed the animals for himself.
"Looks like they've moved up on a slight rise. That's going to make it a bit more difficult for both of us to get in position, no bigger than this group is."
McKnight handed his small telescope to Anson and went on with his conversation. Anson focused on the far horizon. After a few moments, he realized what he was supposed to be looking for. The huge bovines were scattered along a slow rise about a thousand yards from the hunters' position. Many were lying down. Others were nursin
g calves and a few bulls were making their way among the herd challenging each other and pawing the dirt. It looked like a huge group but he knew that neither Collier nor McKnight were especially excited.
"I would expect them to stay on that rise as long as this breeze keeps up from the south. Helps keep the flies from giving them troubles. If they were to move after one of us starts shooting, my guess is they'll move toward the west down the rise into that depression."
"Yea, Yea, seems likely. What cha think?"
"Why don't I dismount here and walk in. Take Anson and the ponies, swing wide to the west and see if you can setup where you think they will go. If I can get a stand going, you fellows just wait. If they move to your position, then you try for a stand. I'll either try to adjust to where I think they'll move next or make my way back to your position. If we work this right, we could get them in a cross fire and cut down a bunch of them."
McKnight nodded. "Sounds good. Let's get at it."
Collier swung out of his saddle and pulled his other rifle from it's scabbard. He carefully placed the rifles on the ground and took two heavilyladen ammunition belts from his saddle bags draping them Xfashion over his shoulders. He hung a canteen of water over his shoulder. Finally, he took his shooting sticks, a curious scissorsshaped affair made from flat pieces of wood from his saddle roll. Anson took the reins of Collier's mount and followed behind McKnight who turned his mount to the west. Anson watched as Collier walked straight toward the herd in a slightly bent over fashion.
"How close will he try to get, Abe?"
“Knowing Collier, he won't shoot until he's no more than a couple a hundred yards from them."
"Can he get that close just walking toward them like that?"
"As long as ya walk straight at them and don't get ta weaving about, they usually won't notice ya. Them critters don't see so good. Most times they'll smell ya afore they see ya. We got the wind in our favor so Collier's chances of gettin' pretty close are passible."
They worked their way toward a rise a quarter of a mile to the west overlooking a small depression. McKnight ordered a dismount at the base of the rise and ordered the horses hobbled. "Loosen their saddle riggings. It may be several hours afore we get back to them."
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