Driftin' (Shad Cain Book 3)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Max Bell cleared his throat and said, “Well gentlemen, what do you say we get down to the business at hand?”

  Any number of plans were thrown out by almost everyone there except for me and the Brothers, Collins. I reckon we three were just naturally quiet folks. Growing up in those eastern mountains, there usually wasn’t anyone to talk to and nobody to talk about, so we never learned the art of it.

  When things were all said and done, they had worked out a reasonable plan, or it seemed reasonable to me. We would post three lookouts on fast horses. Two would be to the north. One man would be near the river, and the other at the base of the hills. The third would patrol the river from north to south. Either man, at that end of the valley, who saw dust of more than a few riders, was to slap spurs to his mount and head for the Adams place. That would be the Collins boys up there.

  The Adams place was made of logs and could soak up a goodly amount of lead. Half the men would be waiting there.

  If the man patrolling the river saw activity coming from that direction, he was to ride straight for the Murchison ranch where the rest of the men would be waiting. The river was my responsibility.

  Just before dark Bell rode out with a bundle of food and coffee. We’d change the guards in the morning, but it really didn’t matter, I was all right without a whole lot of company. We visited while I ate and drank lukewarm coffee. I told him I’d try to keep them off him and his bunch as best I could.

  “But if you hear a lot of gunfire and a horse coming hard at you… don’t shoot it ‘cause I’m gonna need him.”

  “Just don’t take any unnecessary chances, Shad… It’s not your fight.”

  “Anytime someone messes with my people they mess with me… and my people happen to be any honest hard workin’ folk.”

  “But when I saw what they done up at that log camp, I was committed to the last breath… That was about the most cold bloodedest thing I’d seen in a long time…. That crowd’s got some payin’ to do. A body don’t have to wear paint and feathers to be a savage… in fact, I’ve known a passel of Injuns, who were a damned sight more civilized than them that done that.”

  “To be honest with you, Max, I don’t know why I get into other people’s fights, but I seem to just barge in and start swingin’ away with both fists. Just can’t seem to help myself… probably why Angelina Ramos turned me down.”

  I had a sinking feeling that I’d just said more than I planned to or wanted to. Fortunately, it was dark enough so he couldn’t see my face because it would be a bright red for sure.

  My old pappy always told me, “Boy… you just don’t have no idea what you’re likely to say until you hear yourself say it… do you?” My old pappy knew me pretty well.

  As Bell was getting ready to go back with the others I told him, “You just have them boys listenin’ real hard ‘cause if they come across the river, I plan to make enough noise to give you a good warnin’.”

  “I’ll go smack the wax outa some ears to make sure they’re listening good.” He said as he rode off in the dark.

  When he was gone, I made myself a bed of cedar boughs and leaves. I just threw my blanket over it. It was all mighty uncomfortable, but it would keep me from falling into a deep sleep. I planned on a few hours sleep and be awake again before midnight. Dog would take the first watch.

  I was awake, but I didn’t know what woke me. All was quiet as a grave… I wished I hadn’t thought of it that way. Dog was up and looking at the river. I had chosen to keep watch near the main ford. It was several miles either way to another ford, but this was the best. And the river could be kinda treacherous in the dark.

  A hoof on stone, a saddle creak, brush against rough cloth, I could hear them coming along slow and quiet like. Dog was starting his growl, so I put my hand on his shoulder to quiet him. I took a quick check on my horse. And moved him to where I could get at him when I needed him… I listened.

  They were much nearer when I finally got a fix on them. I heard someone say “Hear it is,” and someone else told him to shut up. I wanted to wait until most of them were in the water before I announced my presence. So I waited another second and another.

  At least one was coming down the bank on the other side. I heard him splash water. Then another splash was heard, and then two more and more were lining up on the other side. The next thing I knew, a horse was coming out of the water right below me and had started up the bank.

  Pointing about where the rider should be, I pulled the trigger. I could see the white of the horse’s right eye in the instant of the flash. It reared and fell back into the water with a splash, taking another one with it. I ran left to right pulling the trigger as fast as I could get another cartridge in the chamber. I didn’t know if I was hitting anything or anybody. All I wanted to do was keep them too busy dodging lead to do any shooting of their own.

  All I knew about the river was it was a treacherous place to be even at a good ford in the dark. I ran right and then I ran left firing my Winchester all the while. There was no telling how many cartridges I had left in it, and I didn’t plan to reload there. I ran left until I got to where I had left Bud. Swinging into the saddle, I whistled for Dog and left the river at a dead run.

  Stopping about a half a mile into my run, I listened for any sound of chase, but there was none. I was sure I hadn’t done much damage there in the dark. But you never knew. I was just firing in a general direction, and running back and forth as I ran. It was a cheap trick to make them think there was a bunch of us. I couldn’t fault those boys if they hightailed it out of there. They’d ridden themselves into a trap, and they were belly deep in water and in the dark as well. They didn’t know if there were ten men shooting at them or one. Getting out was the smart thing to do.

  I rode on to Murchison’s stopping every now and then to listen. There was nothing back there, but it didn’t hurt to check. I could see a soft glow of light coming from the windows of the house. They had covered them with sacking. It was heavy enough not to let any light out, but it was back lit enough to glow from a short distance.

  “Cain comin’ in… don’t shoot a friend.”

  “Come on in, Cain…. after hearing that war goin’ on out there, I didn’t think we’d ever see you again…. How far back are they?” It was Porter Dumas asking.

  “I believe they had enough for one night… Caught ‘em in midstream and emptied a Winchester into ‘em. Don’t know if I did any damage, but they pulled back… for now.”

  “How many?” He asked.

  “Can’t be sure… There was about a half dozen in the river when I opened up, and they were still comin’ down the other bank… I never saw a flash, so I reckon no one thought to shoot back. I had the lead rider point blank, but it was dark, so I don’t know how bad he got it.”

  It turned out that Porter Dumas had been a sergeant in the cavalry, so he had a pretty good idea of what it takes to defend a position. And he had done a fine job of setting things up. But what would the likes of me know about perimeters and strategic positions. Most of my fighting had been just me against however many they sent after me. And it was almost always on the move when I could manage it. I never liked being a sitting target.

  Someone was to call me before dawn, and I’d go back to the river to see what kind of damage had been done.

  Chapter 12

  I was up well before anyone came around to wake me… I guess when they seen me up drinking coffee they didn’t bother wasting their time waking me. I’d had a good four hours sleep in a nice thick walled split log bunkhouse, so I figured to be good for a while. The coffee was good and hot and there was beef and beans enough to keep body and soul together. I was saddled and heading for the river before the sun made his appearance over the Sierra Navadas.

  It didn’t make much sense to ride right back to the ford. Those boys could have come back and taken possession of the ford. Although, I couldn’t imagine what they’d want with it. Our bunch wasn’t likely to use it to attack them. Of
course if they held the ford, they would be able to come and go as they pleased and not repeat last night’s mess.

  The sun was lighting things up real well when I reached the trees that lined both sides of the river. I was about a half mile south of the ford when I dismounted. Leading Bud with Dog walking beside me, we went the rest of the way. I like to be down on ground level at times like that. I like to look into and under things… that’s the kinda work you can’t do up on a horse’s back. But I did want to have him close in case I had to run for it.

  Looking down along the bank, I caught a glimpse of a red plaid shirt. On closer inspection, I could see an arm and the back of a man’s head partly out of the water. There was a good deal of brush and logs in that part of the river.

  I figured he must have been swept downstream by the current. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough to move a body, especially if it had done any floating at all. As it worked my way upstream toward the ford, I could hear voices from across the river. There was a good deal of cussing and yelling. My better sense told me to get back down stream and get some help. But my curiosity over ruled good sense, and I was compelled to find out what was going on.

  So I moved on toward the ford keeping well under cover as I went. The closer I got, the louder the cussing got. It seemed like someone was hurt and someone else wasn’t being appreciated for their attempts to lend aid.

  “Dang it, Farley, if you don’t hold still, we’ll never get this splint on. Now just shut up and hold still.”

  “How still could you hold if you had a busted knee and was left out here all night to die?”

  “You didn’t die, but you might if you don’t shut up. And if you don’t let us get this splint on you’ll be walkin’ stiff legged the rest of your life.”

  Another voice chimed in with, “What happened to Ritter? He never showed up last night. His hoss came in without him… we watched for him on the trail, but we never seen hide nor hair of him.”

  “Hell man… I don’t know! It was alls I could do to take care of myself. We went into the water and the whole Seventh Cavalry was waitin’ fer us on the other bank…. Ritter was in the lead, so I wouldn’t waste much time lookin’ fer him…. They was sure to cut him up good…. Not so tight…Damn it!”

  I climbed back on my horse and moved on up to the crossing. With my loaded and ready Winchester across the saddle bows, I moved out into the open. Sitting there like I didn’t have a worry in the world, I watched them till one of them looked up and saw me.

  “Howdy, boys.” I said. “Looks like there’s been a bit of a ruckus here…. Whut happened if you don’t mind me askin?”

  “We do mind, you rawhide bastard.” The one getting his leg fixed replied. “You just go off and mind your own business, and maybe we won’t have to shoot ya.” I ignored him.

  “Was Ritter wearin’ a red plaid shirt?”

  “Yeah… he always wore it… why?”

  “I found him a floatin’ an hung up in some brush ‘bout a hundred yards downstream.” The all looked at each other and did some more cussing.

  “Folks around here are gettin’ mighty edgy, so I’m headin’ up to that saloon and get me a beer and a woman before I head north.” I told them.

  The one tying the splint said, “You can forget that… the saloon’s a wreck and in the middle of the river…. and the woman ain’t open for business neither.”

  “Well ain’t that just the way my luck’s been runnin?… You know that mouthy fella’s right… red shirt… was in the lead.”

  It took them about a second and a half to catch what I was saying, and they all grabbed for their hardware at the same time. The fella standing behind Farley was in the best position to get his gun into action, so I already had him lined up for the first shot. The man tending Farley was all mighty quick getting his out of the holster, but he never got it up high enough before he let go of the hammer. All he managed to kill was the muddy bank in front of me… he never had a chance to pull that hammer back a second time.

  Swinging the rifle to where Farley was propped up, I had him dead to rights, with both hands in the air. His six-gun was laying right beside him, so I offered him a chance to get it, but he declined. So I put the rifle to my shoulder and took aim. Farley covered his face with his arms, and I pulled the trigger smashing his pistol and sending the parts flying.

  While he was still in shock I crossed the river and came right up on him. One of the others was done for, so I got him loaded across his saddle and gave his horse a whack. The second man had a busted shoulder and a hole in him. He’d be out of the fight, but he’d live. I helped him into the saddle and gave his horse a whack. I didn’t know if he’d stay on, but he was in a hazardous business.

  They’d brought two extra horses for the two missing men. I left Dog guarding Farley while I took one of the horses back to where Ritter was hung up and fished him out with his own rope. I didn’t care much whether he got a decent burryin’ or not, I just didn’t want him fouling up the river.

  The other horse, I brought to where Farley could reach the stirrup and told him, “Now, you just drag yourself into that saddle as best you can before I can count to fifty… or else I’m gonna smack this horse real good, and leave you to the wolves, coyotes, and bears… you decide.”

  At fifty, he was close enough that I gave him a little extra counting. “You think you’re pretty salty, don’t you?” He said, “Well, we’ll meet again, and I’ll have my turn.”

  “You better hope not, Farley, because I’ve been in a really good mood all morning… I’m usually kinda nasty… Now what was that you said about a ‘rawhide bastard?” With that I gave him a rap on the other knee with the butt end of my tomahawk. While he was yelling in pain, I gave the horses a slap.

  Back at the Murchison place, I gave Porter Dumas an accounting of how I’d spent my time this morning and the results of how last night’s time was spent. He seemed to think it was time well spent and swore he’d make me a corporal. These were good people Bell had for neighbors. Most had been shot at or had been doing their own shooting at one point or other in their lives. They’d crossed the prairies of Nebraska and Wyoming or fought Kiowa and Comanche in Texas and Kansas. They were survivors who never learned to turn the other cheek.

  There was a man stationed about half way between the two ranches listening for shots being fired from either place. He would then fire off three rounds, and reinforcements would head for the place that was under fire. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was simple and simple was the best kind of plan for that time and place.

  It was early afternoon when we got the signal that there was shooting at the Adams place. Five of us rode up to back them. When we got there, it was all over. It had just been a quick hit and run raid aimed at burning Adams and his family out. The raiders hadn’t expected much resistance and were surprised to lose three men and two horses in the first volley. It was over in a matter of two or three minutes from the first shots till the last.

  We collected all the artillery and ammunition they left on the field, dragged the dead horses away and buried the men. Lucky for them at the Adams place, the prevailing winds blew away from the house. It always bothered me when a good horse went down because the rider was doing something stupid… and being a hired gun was stupid.

  One of Malcolm Peter’s men took a bullet through the leg, but it didn’t hit a bone or a big blood vessel. It’d be sore as a boil, but it was cleaned out good with whiskey, so he should be all right. It was a good thing Charlie Collins saw the dust and made a bee line back to the Adams house.

  We rode back to the Murchison place, feeling good that we had weathered the first few attempts to root us out. The trouble was, there was too much land and not enough men to cover it all. All we could do was try to stretch our lookouts as thin as they could go. We put another man on river watch that night. I would take the south ford and Pete Brodey, from the Dumas ranch would take the north ford. We’d both work our way toward the main one. It was n
ear dark when I got to the ford. I knew right away I was too late. The ground was chewed up and the tracks led straight to Clay Smith’s place.

  I took off on the run, hoping to create enough of a racket to draw the help from the Murchison crowd. The tracks couldn’t tell me much more than there were up to ten horses and no less than seven or eight. I got to within two miles of the ranch when I saw the glow in the sky. Something was burning, and Smith didn’t have much he could afford to lose. He had the poorest spread in the valley.

  He’d lost his wife about a year ago in childbirth… her and the little girl baby both. He was being both mother and father to his young son, and trying to run a ranch at the same time. His buildings were well built, but there hadn’t been any repair work done in a year. The cattle were doing well, but he needed to make a drive for some cash money.

  They would most likely burn the house first and then the barn, and sure enough there went a second fire. The second one went up fast and the flames could be seen high in the sky… That was the barn.

  Slapping the spurs to Bud, he came up with a whole new speed. He continued to surprise me with what he could do. Dog was left behind, but he’d catch up. Right then, all I wanted to do was keep them there long enough for help to show up. If a man was to lose his home and his property, then he ought to at least get his pound of flesh.

  Closing on them quickly, I pulled up at about a couple hundred yards out. With the light from the fires to their backs, I could see forms but no details, but they couldn’t see me at all. They were milling around riding back and forth, the place was empty and they didn’t have anything left to do. Their next step would be to head back across the river or go attack another ranch.