by Alan David
‘Shuddup and get out ahead again,’ Yaro snapped irritably. ‘The less you know about the details the better. You know where to make for. We’re gonna hit S & W so hard they’ll never get over it. The sooner we get this finished the better, and by the time we pull out we’re all gonna be rich men. But you’ve got to handle it the way I tell you, and stay on your toes. The opposition is tough here and we ain’t gonna find it no pushover. Now lead out, Brannigan, or I’ll ride all over you.’
Brannigan swung his mount and set off at a canter, and Yaro sat waiting for him to gain some distance, his thoughts roving over what he had planned. His lips were set in a cruel line and his nostrils flared. He was like a hungry predator that could scent its prey, and his instincts were testing all the conditions to check if the time was right for attack. For a moment he thought about Chet Manning, but soon dismissed him, for Manning would be dead within the next day or two at the latest. The chief troubleshooter no longer constituted a threat. Yaro had allowed for the failure of his three gunnies, and a sneering smile dragged at his lips as he considered the fact. None of his gang had the brains they were born with. They handled guns well, but he was disgusted by their lack of intelligence.
They rode throughout the day, angling south and west across country, and rested their mounts regularly. It was late afternoon when they heard a train whistle, and Yaro called an immediate halt.
‘I figure we’re close enough now,’ he said. ‘I don’t want any noise from here on in, is that clear? Anyone makes a sound that alerts the camp and I’ll kill him personally. Now you all stay put while I go take a look around. Brannigan, you’re in charge until I get back, and I’ll have your guts if there’s any kind of trouble.’
He handed his reins to one of the men and opened a saddlebag to get a pair of field glasses. Then he watched the gang ride into the cover of a gully. When he was satisfied that they had settled down he started forward alone, his right hand close to the butt of the deadly Colt resting in its greased holster tied down on his right thigh. He moved forward cautiously, taking pains to approach silently, and finally lay in a cluster of rocks while a Railroad guard rode by, rifle at the ready, checking all approaches. When the guard had gone he eased forward to the rim of a slope and found himself looking down at Ike Mozee’s construction camp at end of track.
Despite the lateness of the hour work was still going ahead, and he studied each section of it, from the train on the newly-laid track from which rails were being unloaded through the construction gangs and out to the graders ahead, who were working like ants to level the roadbed and prepare for the rails. He estimated that there were more than three hundred men in the camp, and they were all working. He studied the loop-line, where Mozee’s coach was standing, and saw Mozee, whom he recognised, outside it, talking to some of the gang-foremen.
Nothing escaped his intent scrutiny. He had ridden with Quantrell’s raiders during the war, fighting vicious guerrilla actions for which he had never been pardoned, and he did not know the meaning of honour or mercy. He moved his position slightly and focused his glasses upon the tents which housed the work gangs when their day was finished. He nodded. The sun was at his back so that no reflection could cause his lens to glint, and he shifted his attention to the slope on his right. He spent almost an hour checking out the camp before finally grunting his satisfaction and easing back from the rim. It took him another thirty minutes to get clear of the area covered by the Railroad guards, and then he returned to the gully where his gang was waiting.
The men were lounging around, their horses unsaddled and grazing on the thick vegetation about them. They were silent and still, aware that discovery at this stage would ruin Yaro’s plans. But they looked at him expectantly when he appeared silently at the mouth of the gully, and what little talk was going on faded quickly.
‘What does it look like, Boss?’ Brannigan asked.
‘You know what a Railroad construction camp looks like, don’t you?’ Yaro countered sullenly. Then he relaxed a little, actually grinning, and sat down upon a flat rock. ‘It’s okay. They got prowler guards riding the rim of the valley where they’re working, but they’re thin on the ground.’ He squinted at the westering sun. ‘I figure we got thirty minutes before it’s time to move on, so if you haven’t already ate then do it now. No fires and no smoking though. Brannigan, get me some cold food.’
The gully was quiet until Yaro ordered the men to saddle up. The sun was down on the western line now, and shadows were long. They rode out quietly, moving at little more than a jog, and Yaro took the lead with Brannigan, heading into the sunset, silent and thoughtful, his mind fixed upon the coming action.
Yaro knew he had to make a decisive attack against S & W. He could not afford to nibble at the organisation. He planned to hit them boldly, with everything he had, and while they were shocked by the attack he could deliver the finishing blows. He glanced back at his men. They were tough campaigners who had seen their share of horror and violence during the Civil War, and he could trust them with his life. Although he ruled them despotically there was a strange code of honour among them, and they understood one another.
Darkness came and they rode steadily across undulating country until they were several miles from the valley through which S & W was pushing its track. Yaro moved slowly, eyes squinted to pierce the night, aware of his exact position although he had only been this way once before. Then there was a guarded challenge from the cover of some rocks and he halted, identifying himself quickly. The next instant Trig Forbes came to greet him, and Yaro dismounted, an action which was copied immediately by his men. There was no noise, and Yaro could find nothing to criticise.
‘You get that gold buried, Trig?’ he demanded.
‘Sure thing. No trouble. Never set eyes on anyone. We got here some time ago and everything is ready. What time do you wanta move out?’
‘Where’s Trask? He’s in charge of the cattle. I wanta ask him some questions.’
‘He’s camped behind these rocks, and the herd is just beyond that.’
‘Okay. Let’s go in and talk to Trask.’ Yaro turned and called guardedly to Brannigan. ‘Keep the men here. Remain saddled and ready to ride. We got action coming up.’
There was some muttering amongst the men and he snapped at them like a coyote until they subsided. He trailed his reins and walked with Forbes into the rocks, and when they emerged on the other side there was the faint glow of a camp fire just ahead. Blanketed figures lay sleeping around the fire, but a couple of men were sitting by it, one of them drinking coffee. Yaro hunkered down beside them, looking into the bearded features of his trail boss, Trask.
‘Glad to see you, Boss,’ Trask greeted.
‘Sure, and I’m relieved you’re here on time. Is everything under control?’
‘Yep. We’ve got to start hazing the herd out in an hour if we’re to make your schedule.’
‘Okay. I’m leaving that side of it to you. Just get me into position before dawn, that’s all. Have you checked out your trail between here and the valley?’
‘Yeah. No trouble to get the cattle along there as planned.’
‘How many head you got?’ Yaro peered into the darkness but could not see anything of the herd.
‘Close to a thousand. You reckoned that was the size you wanted for the job.’
Yaro nodded, his face ruddy in the glow of the fire, and the white scar across his throat gleamed against his tanned face and neck.
‘Trig, go back and tell Brannigan and the others that they’ve got an hour for shuteye. Stay with them and bring them in when it’s time to leave.’
‘Okay, Boss.’ Forbes departed at once, and Yaro tried to relax by the fire. He accepted a cup of coffee, sipping it reflectively as his mind worried over the details of the big attack he had planned. But nothing could be changed now and he waited stolidly.
When Trask quietly called his dozen drovers and prepared to break camp, Yaro went back to his own men and brought them forwar
d to help with driving the cattle. There was a crescent of the moon showing in the sky, giving a ghostly light to the landscape, and they remained silent as they waited for the drovers to get the herd on its feet and moving. Then Yaro led his men ahead of the herd, in front of the point riders, and Trask rode with him. They continued through the remaining hours of darkness, moving in silence, not rushing the cattle and keeping them bunched.
There was a lightening of the sky to the East when Trask finally indicated that they were very close to the valley, and his men halted the herd.
‘Trig,’ Yaro said to his henchman, ‘take a couple of men on foot and make your way to the rim. There’ll be a couple of riders moving around. They each have a section of the rim to patrol, and they meet up at intervals to okay each other. I want them dealt with quietly. You got that?’
‘Leave it to me.’ Forbes motioned to two men, and they faded silently into the grey shadows.
Yaro moved closer to Trask. ‘You know where to locate that draw which’ll lead us down into the valley?’ he demanded in an undertone.
‘I could find it with my eyes closed. You get rid of the guards and I’ll push the herd through that draw.’
‘You got it clear in your mind what we’re gonna do?’ Yaro persisted.
‘Hell, we’ve been over it enough times. Forget about my part and concentrate on yours. You’ve got more to think about. But don’t get caught up in the cattle or you’ll wind up flatter than a pancake under their hooves. That ain’t a pretty way to die.’
‘You tell me any that is,’ Yaro countered, and went forward alone behind Forbes and the other two men.
He met Forbes on the rim, and there were two riderless horses standing with trailing reins. The riders were stretched out on the ground, shapeless figures in the slowly strengthening light.
‘We finished them,’ Forbes reported. ‘They was back from the rim having a quiet smoke. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.’
‘Manning doesn’t deserve any luck, using men like them,’ Yaro commented. ‘They wouldn’t last two minutes with us. Okay, so where is that draw we need?’
‘Over there to the left. It sure is handy.’ Forbes turned and glanced to his right, canting his head slightly. ‘Say, can you hear a horse coming?’
They froze, and Yaro caught the steady thud of a single rider approaching through the darkness.
‘Could be someone checking on the guards,’ he said urgently. ‘Two of you get into those saddles and move towards him. He’ll think you’re the guards. Take him quietly.’
Forbes and one of the others mounted quickly and turned towards the sound while Yaro and the remaining man crouched beside the bodies of the dead guards. Yaro watched intently, his hand upon the hilt of the long-bladed knife sheathed at his left side. He saw Forbes moving out, then an oncoming rider materialised, and the sound of a low-pitched voice barely reached his ears. The three riders merged into one shapeless mass, remained motionless for an interminable moment, then there was a swift movement, a muffled cry, and a figure slid out of leather and thumped upon the hard ground.
‘Stay on guard here,’ Yaro ordered, and turned back to the head of the herd. There was a reddening of the sky towards the East and he knew time was flitting away almost too quickly. Range of vision was already increasing.
‘All clear?’ Trask demanded. There were sounds coming from the cattle and Yaro hoped they would not carry to the construction camp.
‘Yeah. I figure if you start getting the cattle through the draw now we’ll be on time. Send some men through first to hold them when they hit the valley.’
‘You don’t have to tell me my job,’ Trask retorted, and Yaro grinned slightly as he turned away and went to where his men and his horse were waiting. He mounted, motioning for them to do likewise, and led them towards the rim. The sky was golden in the East and sunrise was not far off.
Trig Forbes and the two men were waiting on the rim. They collected their horses. Yaro reined up and peered into the growing daylight. Behind him he could hear the muffled thunder of the cattle moving, and fancied that the slope of the valley would prevent the sound from reaching anyone in the camp. By the time an alarm could be raised now it would be too late for anyone to organise a defence.
‘Okay, Trig, you got the dynamite. Get moving with your men and don’t get in the way of the cattle unless you wanta be stomped. Start getting into position. You know which targets have to be destroyed. The rest of us will handle any resistance. But wait until the cattle have gone through the camp before moving in.’
Forbes nodded and signalled to the men who had been assigned to accompany him. They moved off at a walk to the left along the rim of the shallow valley, and Yaro drew a long, steadying breath as he considered. It was too late now to do anything about details which might have been overlooked. The attack was about to commence and they would take it as it came.
He looked to the right and saw drovers leading the cattle into the draw which gave access to the valley floor. Now daylight was rapidly strengthening and range of vision increasing, but dawn was still not fully upon them, and Yaro realised that Trask had done a perfect job, getting the herd to this spot right on time. He saw the black mass of steers moving forward like a dark torrent, and their sharp hooves were cutting into the dust, raising it like a living banner over their heads in the clear morning air. Trask was riding drag, and lifted a hand to wave acknowledgement when he saw Yaro, who took off his hat and waved it in a pre-arranged signal. The herd was now well into the draw, and, when he peered over the rim, he saw the leaders emerging into the valley below, herded by drovers who prevented them fanning out.
‘It’s time to go,’ Yaro snapped at the gunmen around him, and took a firm grip on his reins. He edged the dun forward and over the rim, leaning back in his heavy saddle as the animal slithered down the slope. Now the sound of hooves was beginning to increase, the rumble growing as more and more cattle poured out of the narrow funnel of the draw.
Looking towards the still sleeping camp, Yaro wondered about Manning’s other guards, who should be wide awake and watching. But no sounds came from the massed tents of the construction workers, although the cooks were already at work preparing breakfast for the great number of men. He could see smoke rising from several shacks, and knew they were cook fires. Daylight was spreading, and any minute now sunlight would begin to stream across the eastern rim of the valley. The whole camp was on the point of awakening. Yaro grinned to himself, his mind twisted by the grim humour of the situation. This was going to be a rude awakening for S & W.
On his left he saw Forbes and his group of experts descending the slope, ready to move in and destroy the heavy equipment of the camp, and Yaro drew his sixshooter and cocked the weapon, glancing to the right to see what was happening with the cattle. The great bunch of them were spreading out under the guidance of the drovers, and they were still moving steadily and under control. But pretty soon now they would be stampeded into the camp, and that was the signal for which they were all waiting.
At that precise moment a sixgun boomed and flung a string of echoes across the valley. It came from the coach on the loop-line, and Yaro saw the tell-tale puff of gunsmoke which marked its position. One of the guards was alert, he thought, and bared his teeth in a grin of triumph, for on the right a fusillade of shots erupted, accompanied by ear-splitting yells and cries. The drovers were stampeding the herd, driving them furiously towards the closely pitched tents of the workers. Yaro lifted his sixgun and fired a single shot skywards. Already Forbes and the others were riding in fast, and he led his own group at a run across the fairly level valley floor. The war was about to begin in deadly earnest.
Chapter Ten
Ike Mozee had been awake in his coach for most of the night, working on his papers. He was worried about the trouble his men were encountering with the granite ridge, and had made tentative plans to ship a lot of gear around the obstruction so work could commence on the farther side while the ridge was b
lasted open. Each rail that was laid in the direction of Apache Pass was another step towards success, and everything depended upon getting to the Pass ahead of Western Pacific. It was almost daybreak, and he sat back in his chair and stifled a yawn. Getting to his feet, he fetched a cup of coffee from the blackened pot on the stove, and, after drinking it, he went out to the platform at the end of the coach and leaned against a rail there, looking towards the East, where the sky was beginning to break. There was a heavy silence lying over the valley, and he breathed deeply of the clean air, ridding his lungs of the accumulated cigar smoke which he had been breathing all night.
It was going to be another good day. The thought struck him as he glanced around, looking for sign of his guards. There were shadows clinging to the stacks of rails and ties, and the tents of the construction gangs were barely discernible, looking pale and ghostly in the growing light. He saw smoke rising from the chimneys of the various cook shacks, and sighed heavily as he mentally stiffened himself for another round of problems which would commence immediately the sun peeped over the eastern line.
A low rumbling sound caught his attention and he frowned as he glanced towards the west. It couldn’t be thunder. There were no clouds in the sky. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the farther side of the valley, stiffening when he imagined movement out there in the dark grey indistinctness. But his guards were out, completely surrounding the camp, and he knew there was little to fear. Yet the noise was growing louder and his experienced ears could not play him false. A great number of hooves were pounding the ground.
Climbing the rungs fixed to the end of the coach, he gained the roof and shaded his eyes as he tried to pierce the shadows to the West. Something was moving out there. A big black mass was coming over the ground like the shadow of a storm cloud. He looked again at the sky, expecting to see a cloud, but the heavens were clear. Yet the rumble was increasing in volume. Then he spotted horsemen moving in, travelling fast.
