The Ellsworth Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Take them over under that oak tree,” Jock ordered.

  Quist nodded. He and Horky led the outlaws’ horses over to the tree and placed them beneath a strong limb. They held onto the reins while Chad and Fred finished making hangman’s loops. The other men rode over and surrounded the two killers, looking at them with dull, glazed eyes.

  “Earl, get some water and put out that fire,” Jock said.

  Randy sat up straight in the saddle and looked at the men standing around in a half circle. His gaze went to each one, then stopped when he fixed a look on Dub Morley.

  Dub stiffened and shifted his gaze, as if trying to avoid being noticed.

  “Dub,” Randy said, “you ought to be up here right alongside us.”

  Everyone there looked at Dub. The man said nothing.

  Jock lit his cigarette, letting it dangle from his lips. He smiled a thin smile.

  That statement from Randy only served to confirm Jock’s suspicions about Dub Morley. But he had to find out for sure.

  “What did you mean by that, Clutter?” Jock asked.

  “Dub’s on Torgerson’s pay sheet, same as us. Fact is, he’s the one told us where the easiest targets was when we first set out.”

  “That’s right,” D.F. said. “Go ahead, Kane, ask old Dub there. He’s been a spy for Torgerson ever since you set out. Ain’t that right, Dub?”

  Dub squirmed as Jock skewered him with a look.

  “Well, what about it, Dub?” Jock asked. “Any truth to what these boys are saying?”

  “They’re lying through their teeth,” Dub said. But his face was blanched like the skin of a boiled pullet and sweat streaks drooled from his sideburns like liquid worms.

  “That so?” Jock said. “Well, I’ve been watching you, Dub, and I’ve had my suspicions.”

  “About what?” Dub seemed ready to tough it out. Randy and D.F. looked down on the man with contempt as Dub squirmed like a rabbit caught in a snare.

  “Like you killing that Cross J hand, for one thing. And not being where you ought to be or being someplace you shouldn’t be.”

  “I thought that man was an Apache,” Dub said. “Or with ’em.”

  “No, you killed him because he knew you. You didn’t want him to spill the beans. Isn’t that right?”

  “No, it ain’t.”

  Jock looked at the others gathered around. “Any of you think Dub here is a murderer, same as these two we caught red-handed? We can hang three as easy as two.”

  “This is a damned kangaroo court,” Dub said. “I ain’t done nothing, Kane. Your suspicions be damned.”

  Jock waited as those around him pondered Dub’s fate, but none of them said anything.

  “Quist, what about you?” Jock asked. “You wanted an end to the killings. But Dub here is a spy for Torgerson. Should we hang him or just give him a good whipping and send him back to Torgerson?”

  “I don’t know if Dub is guilty or not. I can’t just kill a man.”

  “You’ve been mighty ready to kill me, Quist,” Jock said, a hard edge to his voice.

  “That’s different. I got a grudge against you, Kane.”

  “Well, I’ve got a grudge against these men. All three of them, Dub included. Do you ride for the brand, or don’t you?”

  Quist thought it over. “I reckon I ride for Mr. Becker.”

  “And so do we. But not Dub or these other two.”

  “I say we hang Dub, too,” Chad said. “I think he killed that Cross J hand in cold blood. And if he told these boys where to find my men and shoot them, he’s just as guilty as they are.”

  There was a low murmur of assent from the other men.

  Dub started to run, but Horky caught him by the arm, spun him around and threw a fist into his face. He fell to his knees, dazed.

  Jock reached for the rope on his saddle and shook it out. He handed it to Horky.

  “Put a loop in that, Horky, and Fred, you strip Dub of his pistol and tie his hands behind him.

  Dub started sniveling as Fred jerked him to his feet and tied his hands behind him. Fred and Horky lifted Dub into his saddle and led his horse over to Clutter and Fogarty.

  Jock spit out his cigarette and mounted his horse. He took one of the ropes, slid it over Fogarty’s head and tightened it around his neck. Then he slung the bitter end over the tree limb. He did the same with Clutter and Morley. Chad took the rope ends and wrapped them around the tree trunk behind the three men. He knotted them all together.

  “May you burn in hell, Kane,” Dub said, and then began to cry. His body shook with the paroxysms.

  Jock rode up behind the three horses and raised his arm. He slapped the rump of each one. The horses bolted out from under their riders and the three men swung from the tree, kicking as they struggled for their last breaths.

  Horky crossed himself.

  Jock dug in his pocket for the makings.

  “When they’re dead, get them down,” Jock said. “Then tie their bodies to their horses and take them back to where Torgerson is. Maybe he’ll get the idea.”

  Quist looked at Jock with something close to admiration.

  “Kane,” he said, “you’re a hard man—you know that?”

  “I’m as hard as I have to be,” Jock said, and rolled a quirly in the sudden stillness of the afternoon.

  Chapter 24

  At first, Rufus Cobb thought he was seeing a mirage. And he was, but there was more to it than a dancing mirror, a shimmering lake conjured up by the blazing sun as it scoured the plain on its long arc toward the west. For out of the phantom waters that flowed like quicksilver over the earth some two hundred yards away, he saw three horses emerge, plodding toward him like exhausted beasts of burden, humps on their backs, their silhouettes strange and misshapen as if they were not horses at all, but odd beasts as illusory as the scintillating silver waters that rose and fell around their legs.

  He rode toward them, wary, disbelieving, and saw the lake vanish like the mirage it was. He rubbed his eyes with a balled-up fist, but the horses, or what appeared to be horses, remained, stepping slowly toward him, their heads bowed low, part of their cargo dripping below their bellies, below the stirrups of their saddles. Rufus blinked and squeezed his eyes tight, then opened them quickly as if expecting the strange horses to disappear, to be gone, like the waters that never were.

  Cobb smelled death as he rode up to the lead horse. Now he knew that those were bodies tied to the horses and as he grabbed the reins of the first horse, his stomach churned and he felt bile rise up in his throat. The other horses stopped and he forced himself to look at those, too, as well as their grisly cargo.

  He recognized the horses now, but he did not recognize the men, although he knew who they were. Their faces were turned from him, facing the ground. He saw the ropes around their necks, and the stench added to his feeling of suffocation. He felt a tightness around his own neck as if it, too, were ringed by a rope, shutting off the oxygen.

  “Good Lord,” he said softly and his stomach bucked inside him, boiled with acids so that he had to turn away and fight down the vomit that threatened to rise up into his throat and mouth.

  He looked around, wanting to call to someone, but there were no drovers near him, and he knew he was alone.

  “Suffering Jesus,” he muttered. He had to think hard to remember where Torgerson might be at that late hour of the day. The horses threw long shadows on the ground as he gathered up the other reins in his hand so that he had all three animals under his control. The cattle stared at him from a distance and their ears stiffened. Some of them began to moan deep in their throats and he wondered if they were going to run as he passed them, riding toward the head of the herd where he knew Torgerson and others would be. He could not look at the dead men anymore. He had seen their faces starting to swell and bloat, the ropes so tight around their throats that their heads resembled hideous balloons. Their bowels had emptied and filled their pants, staining them as the fecal matter soaked through.
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br />   Cobb saw Ed Timmons and knew he was near the head of the herd. Ed, curious perhaps, rode out to meet him.

  “What you got there, Rufus?” Ed said.

  “Where’s Torgerson?” Rufus said.

  “He’s up yonder with Rafe.” Ed’s nose crinkled up as he smelled the scent of death. He swore under his breath. “Curt ain’t going to like this none,” he said. “That’s Clutter, ain’t it?”

  “And D.F. and Dub,” Rufus said.

  “What are them ropes doing around their necks?”

  “What the hell do you think, Ed? These boys have been hanged.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Timmons said.

  Torgerson saw them coming and called out to Rafe Castle. Castle rode toward Torgerson, but his eyes were on Cobb and the three horses he was leading.

  “What happened, Rufus?” Torgerson said. “Who are those men?”

  Cobb told him. Castle pinched his nose with his fingers as he rode up.

  “Them horses just come up on me like you see ’em, Mr. Torgerson,” Cobb said. “Liked to make me puke.”

  Torgerson rode up to each of the dead men as if to make sure that they were dead. He scowled when he saw the body of Dub Morley. His shoulders slumped in defeat and a terrible rage began to build. It was as if someone had exploded a bomb inside him. He sat up straight in the saddle and his body seemed to swell and expand.

  “Jock Kane did this,” he said. “Jock Kane murdered these three men in cold blood. He had no right to hang them. Especially Dub.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rafe said. “Jock sure did wrong here.”

  “Where’s that bastard brother of his? Where’s Abel Kane?” Torgerson roared like a madman and the men shrunk away as if they had been seared by the fire from a blast furnace.

  “He’s riding swing today,” Rafe said. “Over yonder, the other side of the herd.”

  “Somebody go get him. I want him to see this. And then I want these men buried proper. Hear me?” Torgerson’s eyes blazed with a hellish fire.

  “I’ll run get him,” Rafe said. “I know just where he is.”

  Torgerson jerked his reins viciously and turned his horse away from the dead men. He rode a short distance, then made the horse pace back and forth over the same ground, like a man walking a jail cell. He clenched his fists as if he wanted to squeeze the life out of someone and his breathing made sounds through his nose that were not unlike a bull snorting.

  The horses carrying the dead men stood hipshot, their heads drooping as if they had come back from a battle that they had lost.

  Cobb wanted to be anywhere but where he was, and he turned his head one way, then another, trying to avoid the disgusting smell of death and offal that arose from the corpses.

  Finally, Rafe returned, with Abel Kane following close behind.

  “Did you tell him anything, Rafe?” Torgerson asked.

  Rafe shook his head. “Just said you wanted to see him right away.”

  “What’s . . . ?” Abel started to speak, then saw the dead men draped over their saddles. His mouth stayed open, but no sound came out.

  “Take a look, Abel,” Torgerson said. “Take a good look. Those are your pards yonder.”

  Abel hesitated. Rafe prodded him in the back with a stiffened finger. Abel rode over and looked at the dead men, turning his head slightly as if he could avoid the smell of them. He gagged and held on to his saddle horn until he could take a deep enough breath to keep his food down.

  “Recognize them, Abel?” Torgerson said in a mocking tone. “They were all alive this morning. Laughing, joking, talking, smoking cigarettes, eating grub.”

  Abel turned away from the dead men and rode over to Torgerson.

  “Who in hell did this, Mr. Torgerson? Those were good boys. Good friends.”

  “You want to know who hanged those boys? Without a trial or anything. Just strung ’em up to a tree and made them dance until the breath was all choked out of them. You want to know? Do you?”

  “Yes, damn it. I want to know,” Abel said.

  “Your brother, Abel. Jock did this to them. He put ropes around their necks and hanged them and then sent them back here for you to see. For all of us to see what he did.”

  “That bastard,” Abel said.

  Torgerson let what had happened sink in. He watched Abel digest the full brunt of what he had seen and what he had been told. He wanted him to take it all in and let it turn his heart to the hardest stone.

  Abel drew a finger across his face under one eye. Tears were starting to spill from the lids. He gulped in air and drew himself up straight in the saddle. But his eyes were wet and his lips quivered as a quiet rage slowly began to build inside him.

  “You rode with those two boys, Randy and D.F.,” Torgerson said. “You rode with them and you ate with them and you slept next to them at night. Well, they ain’t no more. Not now. Your brother Jock hanged them in the bloom of their youth.”

  “Why?” Abel asked. “They never did anything to him.”

  “Jock’s a madman,” Torgerson said, knowing he didn’t need any hard evidence for such a claim. The dead bodies spoke loudly enough in defense of that theory. “He’s gone plumb crazy, Abel. Didn’t you tell me he almost killed you? Tried to kill you?”

  “Well, yeah, but he had good reason.”

  “Your brother’s lost all reason now. Just look at those poor men, cut down in the prime of their lives.”

  Abel looked back at the dead men, then quickly returned his focus to Torgerson.

  “What are you going to do about it, Mr. Torgerson?”

  “I’m not going to do anything about it, Abel. But you are.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. You’re going after your brother and take him down.”

  “You mean kill him?”

  “He tried to kill you.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  “If you don’t want to do it, just say so, son. I’ll get someone else to do the job. But somebody’s got to see that these poor dead men did not die and have their killer go unpunished. Somebody has to avenge their deaths.”

  Abel thought for a long moment as the silence rose up around him like a huge ocean wave. The cattle rumbled by them, giving up their scents of gas and manure and musty hides, their breaths reeking of chewed and digested grasses and mesquite berries. The aroma mingled with that of the dead men and added weight to the silence, weight and much meaning.

  “I could kill him,” Abel said, finally. “I reckon I could. He blamed me for something I didn’t do and I think he aims to kill me someday.”

  “That’s what he said, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Torgerson. He said he was going to kill me if he ever saw me again.”

  “But he won’t be expecting you to come after him, Abel. You can get the jump on Jock. You can kill him easier than he killed those men over there. One shot. One good shot. Right to the heart. And then it’s over. All of it. You’ll be free to live your life. You got a good ranch to go back to and you can marry and raise kids and cattle just like ordinary folks.”

  “Yeah, I could,” Abel said in a day-dreaming tone of voice.

  “Then go ahead and do it, Abel. And I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for your efforts. I can’t spare anyone to help you, so you’ll have to go after Jock on your own. You can do that, can’t you? You’re a grown man and you’re not afraid of your brother.”

  “No, I guess not. I’m not afraid of Jock. I just wish he had never been born, damn him.”

  Torgerson smiled and patted Abel on the shoulder.

  “Come back when you’ve done the job,” Torgerson said, and turned his horse away. He issued orders for the dead men to be buried.

  Abel rode off alone, to the west. He rode as if he were in a daze, but he was thinking hard.

  Jock had not been much of a brother to him. He was older and he had gone to the war. Then he married Twyla and their folks had died. Abel had grown up pretty much alone, not knowing his brother all that w
ell. Torgerson was right. Jock meant to kill him one day. Well, Jock had another thing coming. “That ranch is partly mine,” he said to himself, “but you’d never know it. Jock never gave me anything but a hard time.”

  Abel talked himself into killing his brother. But as he rode, he couldn’t help thinking of that bible verse. It kept thrumming in his head like a worrisome part of a song. He heard it long after he rode into the dark skies of evening and could hear the X8 cattle lowing in the distance as they bedded down for the night.

  “And Cain slew Abel.”

  Chapter 25

  The Apaches picked a good place to start cutting cows out of the X8 herd. Jock had split the herd to make it easier to circumnavigate a ranch that was in the way and avoid mixing his cattle with those grazing there, and vice versa. The X8 cattle had been making progress with good weather, averaging fifteen miles a day. Quite a feat for a herd of that size, everyone said.

  The attack didn’t amount to a hill of beans, as the drovers said later. This was because Jock had planned well, and his scouts were ready for the raid. Horky was the man who picked up the tracks and figured out what the Apaches planned to do, and so Quist, Beeson, and the others were all banded together to thwart any rustling by the Apaches.

  Jock had changed his strategy for the drive while they encircled the ranch in question, Mort Lamont’s Lazy L. The cattle were in the lead and were strung out for several miles, streaming in a long, thin line. This made it more difficult for the drovers since they could not ride swing on such a lengthy bunch, but the cattle moved faster because they weren’t stumbling into one another as they proceeded northward.

  Horky showed Quist the Apache tracks, easy to spot, because the warriors all rode unshod ponies. He also showed him and the others the line the Apaches were taking, which led to a long draw just east of the herd.

  “They will wait until the herd is almost passed,” Horky said, “and then come out of that draw, cut so many head out and run them back into the draw and out the other end. They will pick a part of the herd where there is no swing rider and the men riding drag are too far away to see anything.”