Driftin' (Shad Cain Book 3)

by Lou Bradshaw

  “You think you could spare a cup of that coffee?” I asked. About that time, Dog came out of the brush. That boy looked at Dog, and then he looked at me, and I knew he wasn’t planning to be friendly.

  “You’re him, ain’t you?”

  Before I had a chance to answer, his hand was on the butt of that Colt and it was coming out of the holster. I fully expected him to be friendly, but on the off chance he wouldn’t, I was ready. He knew he had me stone cold and salted down; he didn’t even notice that I had a left hand full of tomahawk. It was up and flying before he ever cleared leather. It struck him left of center cutting through ribs as it went. He was gone before he even felt it or knew it was coming.

  I hated to have to do that because I wanted to be friendly, but I left that part up to him. Some people just make bad decisions. It wasn’t in me to waste anything, so I finished off the coffee and the bacon. Then I dragged him over to a tree and propped him against it. Going through the bedrolls and saddle bags those boys left at the camp site, I found a couple of boxes of cartridges, more than a few bottles of one kind of whiskey or another, some jerky, some bacon, and some spare pistols.

  I put stowed the bacon and jerky in my saddle bags, and everything else went into the fire… including their bedding. When those bedrolls got to burning real hot, I tossed in the cartridges.

  “Come on, Dog…. I think we need to get out of here.”

  The fireworks started before we were halfway to last night’s campsite. It was a glorious, rippin’ affair. It got so lively, I pulled Dog down behind a tree and we sat it out till the show was over. This sort of thing was why I didn’t want to bring a horse up here. A dog, at least a good dog like mine can take care of himself. I don’t have to worry about him in wild country. I don’t have to tie him up or wonder if he’ll survive if I should go down.

  When the last few reports sounded, we moved on up the slope and found ourselves laying in the grass again. Only it wasn’t quite as wet as it had been before. We lay there for the better part of an hour and a half. I didn’t expect them to come running when those cartridges started going off, but we were up here tucked away just in case. With no rifle barrel for it to blow out of, the noise isn’t nearly as loud. And it was muffled by bedrolls, saddlebags, and ashes. There ain’t anybody calling me Perfesser Cain, so I won’t make believe I know how it works… it just does.

  Finally, they came back. I’d left them a trail a bat could follow. They should have been back a half hour ago at least. I guess I’d better start leaving better trails. I counted them as they filed in, and came up with seven, which tallied with my figures. If I could get rid of a few more, I might be able to whittle them down to a manageable bunch.

  The back shootin’ boss came off his horse in a full scale hissy fit. He was stomping about waving his arms and shoving others aside. He tried to pick this or that out of the fire only to find it to be nothing but burned up trash. One of the others must have called him, for he turned toward the tree I’d propped the camp watchman against.

  The unfriendly watchman was propped against the tree so that he looked like he was asleep. The back shooter raised his leg and gave the watchman a kick. From where I was, I could only see the watchman’s lower legs and boots, so when his feet swung around with toes pointed up. I knew he was flat on his unfeeling back. The back shooter jumped back and pulled his gun, and for a few seconds I thought he was going to start pumping lead into the body. That boy was wound like a coil spring.

  Still holding his six-gun in his fist, he started scanning the hills… they all did. Then he started giving orders, and the others started jumping. Mostly they were pulling their rifles out of their saddle scabbard, at least those who had saddles were. The others had them slung by one method or another. Three horses had saddles, and one of those belonged to one of the dead men. Back shooter was telling one man what to do and pointing off toward the way we’d come up the night before.

  I imagined him to be sending the rider off to get more supplies. The grocery boy took the saddled horse belonging to one of the dead men. The devil was in me, and I just had to give him a send off. So as back shooter was giving him last minute instructions, I took careful aim. His rifle butt was sticking up from the saddle boot. Some are almost horizontal, but this one was more upright.

  Pulling the trigger, I saw the horse jump, and grocery boy nearly lost his seat. But to his credit, he stuck with the scared horse… I didn’t see anything of the rifle butt. I immediately pulled back because the trees above were being riddled with lead. I hoped they asked for at least a week’s worth of provisions because I planned to drag them all over these mountains.

  Now, figuring this up without the aid of a pencil and paper, I calculate with grocery boy gone, that left only six of them left to deal with. This business was getting more manageable by the minute. I peeked over the top of the ridge and couldn’t see hide nor hair of them. But I did see a boot sticking out from behind a tree trunk, so I sighted in real fine, so I could shoot the heel off it… I missed and got a chunk of foot instead. Lordy! That fella needed his mouth washed out with soap.

  “Let’s make some tracks, Dog.” I said, and I meant it. We’d leave tracks enough to lead them on a merry chase, and then at some point, our tracks would just stop. Then they’d have to earn it. If they were too poorly schooled in tracking to find the trail again, then I’d just have to start thinning their numbers.

  I struck a course north by north east, and left them plenty of sign. There was plenty of rough country between where I was and where I planned to take them. Those that were riding with just a blanket rig instead of a saddle were in for a rough time of it. Them with saddles weren’t bound to like much either. We walked through the brush and boulders for several miles going down and coming up.

  It was rough country and all cut up with ravines and gullies. Some of them were straight up and down, or nearly so. They’d have to circle around and pick up the trail or else leave their horses behind. And leaving their horses behind would be about the last thing they’d want to do. They were surely smart enough to know they’d never see them again or the man they left to watch ‘em… If I didn’t set ‘em loose, the bears would get ‘em or spook ‘em off.

  ~~~~~ o ~~~~~

  For the better part of two days I led them up and down, back and forth, and for good measure, I run them around in a few circles. I had them where I wanted on the third day, and was waiting behind one of those giant trees when they came into the clearing. They all pulled up, stopped and looked around.

  “Whut the hell is this place?” Someone asked.

  Back shooter said, “This is where we shot it out with a bunch of loggers…. They kinda got burnt up in a brush pile fire… heehee.” He laughed. “Don’t know how that happened…heehee.”

  “Waal, they didn’t burn all the way up ‘cause the smell like blazes…. Wheeww! That stinks… What about that, Rodie?”

  Several of the others commented on the smell. Back shootin’ Rodie was starting to say something, when I stepped out from behind the tree.

  “That’s because back shootin’ Rodie don’t know beans about startin’ a fire.” I told them.

  My rifle was pointed Rodie’s way, and he was wanting my scalp so bad, he just plum got stupid and tried to haul that six-shooter out of his holster. I let him clear leather before I pulled the trigger. When the .44 slug slammed him in the middle of the chest, the force of it flung him back, and he tumbled sideways to the ground.

  Landing on his back with his left boot still in the stirrup, he looked mighty uncomfortable laying there with his arms spread and one foot half wedged in his hung up boot. He was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long. He couldn’t move anything but his eyes and face. He was trying to say something, but his lungs were filling up with blood.

  By the time he had hit the ground, I had another cartridge in the chamber. The other five sat their horses looking at me. They knew I would shoot, and they could out gun me, but the first one wouldn
’t make it…. Nobody wanted to be that first man.

  “Now you boys can ride out of here, and I won’t even try to stop you. All you got to do is toss down all your guns… you can keep your knives. Then you get off those horses and I’ll lead you out of here.”

  “What if we don’t like your offer?” one of them asked.

  “That’s your choice, but I know most of your stuff went up in the campfire back yonder… I know because I put it in there… you’re short of food and cartridges and you’re getting short of men… real quick like…. You’ll be unarmed and on foot, but you’ll be alive.”

  “Little you know…. We got more supplies comin’ up… we sent a man down.”

  “I saw him go…. I busted his rifle to give him a start, if you remember. But he ain’tcomin’ back… If he’s lucky, he’s almost to San Luis Obispo by now. You see, the ranchers were ready for the attack… all I had to do was draw some of you off to even the odds…. I drew more than I’d hoped for.”

  “It should be all over by now… If any of those goin’ agin the ranchers survived, they’ll have to deal with the marshals or rangers or militia… or whatever it’s called here in Californy, the govner’s sendin’ down. And if that ain’t bad enough for you, there’s about fifty loggers due any day now… They’re comin’ right to this spot expectin’ their log camp to be all set and ready to go.”

  The same big mouth who had been doing the talking said, “You’re a liar!”

  Well there’s always one in every crowd to spoil it for the others. They’d had their chance, so I just put a bullet through his right shoulder. I figured he’d cause them problems with a busted shoulder. So while they were getting used to the idea that they were under fire, I disappeared around that big tree and into the brush with Dog right behind me. In just a few seconds, except for one man dead and another one cussin’, you’d never know we’d even been there.

  Chapter 18

  We came on an old Indian trail where we could make some time, so we ran for quite a spell. I knew they’d have to get that man bound up and stop the bleeding before they could start on the hunt again. So we took the advantage of what little time was allowed to put some distance between them and us.

  After running for about a half an hour, I slowed to a walk and gave them some work to do. Their job had been pretty easy up until then, all they had to do was follow the tracks I’d provided. But things were about to take a turn. The tracks wouldn’t be so easy to follow. I started to use a few old tricks to cover my trail. I started leaving only scattered tracks here and there. It was just enough to keep them coming. It would slow them down considerably but not enough to make them lose the trail.

  Little things like stopping in the middle of a trail to jump up and grab a branch. I would use the branch and go hand over hand and drop on a rock. Then moving off through the forest I’d walk on rocks and pine needles before I picked up the trail a mile or so farther along. Now if a body was to scatter pine needles over the foot impressions, they might take a week trying to pick up the trail again. But I didn’t want to lose them.

  There were times, when I wanted them to have a good trail to follow, so I’d leave one. Such was the case a little later in the day, when I’d come upon the spot I wanted. I figured to have a good three and a half hour lead on them, so that gave me the time I needed to set up a little pain for one of them.

  Taking the coil of rope, I’d almost thrown it into the fire back there on that first morning. I don’t know why I hesitated tossing it in because it wasn’t really a good rope. It had seen more than one steer and maybe even a neck or two. Who knows why a man will pick up a piece of near worthless rope, but I did, and I could use it.

  The place I’d picked was at the top of a long and steep incline. On one side there was a drop off of about twenty or so feet, and the other side was a steep wooded up slope. So they would be funneled right where I wanted them.

  It took a little bit of searching around in the woods and some tree climbing, but I didn’t have anything pressing at that moment. I used all that rope and finished it up with some thin stringy vines. There was nothing left to do but sit back and wait.

  While I waited, I moved on back into the pines and built myself a little fire for coffee and a little of their bacon. I was careful to only use dry smokeless wood.I also made sure of the wind, I wanted the wind blowing in their direction. There’s nothing like the smell of coffee and bacon to distract a man who truly wanted some of it.

  Keeping off the trail, I went back down the slope and then with Dog beside me, I ran up the hill making sure I’d left a nice clear trail. They would already be careless with the smell of wood smoke and bacon, and fresh tracks would make them even more so.

  Then we went back to the fire and had some coffee and bacon. Or at least I did. I didn’t know what Dog had for dinner, but he never seemed to be hungry, nor did he ever seem gaunt. All I could do was assume he got what he needed… he never said much about it.

  I finished the coffee and put the pan away, but I kept a little bit of bacon sizzling on a hot rock… just for a tease. When I heard them coming up the incline, I quickly scooped up some dirt and put out the fire and gobbled down those few strips of bacon. I was in position to watch my trap if it worked, and if it didn’t, I wanted to be ready to start shooting.

  They were nearing the top of the slope, and any second one would come over the top and level out. There was no talking, just the sounds of hoof on stone, creaking saddle leather, and the heavy breathing of the horses. I figured they all had saddles by this time or nearly all.

  The hat of the first man showed over the top, and the next step brought his head and shoulders into view. A few more steps and he would be on level ground. They’d have to stop at the top to give their horses a blow. If all worked as was planned, they wouldn’t have the chance.

  The second man was showing behind the first, when the first horse broke the trip vine that held the whole thing together. All that could be heard was a snap… bzzzzzz and whirrrr as the rope slid around rocks and tree limbs, and sending a forty pound chunk of wood swinging down from a tree limb. The chunk of wood swung in an arc gaining speed with each inch it traveled. The first man had no chance to move. The chunk hit him in the midsection and unseated him, sending his ragdoll body flopping back down the slope and off the edge.

  The other four were off their horses and behind anything they could find for cover. They were waiting for my next move. My next move was over the next hill and down the other side. There was still daylight and I had a hankering for some deer meat.

  About an hour later, I spotted a young buck feeding at the edge of a nice little meadow. Normally I wouldn’t shoot if I had someone dogging my trail, but I wasn’t exactly running from those hombres. I was trying my best to send them back home to their mamas in one piece, and all they had to do was throw down their guns. At this point, I didn’t even care if they kept their horses.

  I had a feeling that the range war was broken, by the way the ranchers were holed up in that log house and the built up wall of logs around the place. And there would be the cross fire from the woods. Buck had been given ample time to race back to the Adams ranch and give warning.

  There hadn’t been more than twenty five raiders in the pack, and nine of them drew off after me. There were ten able and well fortified men at the ranch. It sounded pretty fair to me. Raiding a position is one thing, but raiding a well dug in position on alert was something altogether different.

  If the raiders rode on past to hit the Murchison ranch, then the Adams bunch would follow and create a crossfire there. Glazer didn’t have the men left to overrun the ranchers. If he’d have started sooner before they got entrenched and bunched together… well maybe.

  So I cut some of the best parts from the buck and went looking for a camp site. I found a nice little canyon running back into the shoulder of mountain. There was plenty of cover and I could see a nice sloping escape running up the back. It was barely visible behind a
n outcropping. In wet weather it was most likely running full from higher up.

  Dog goes pretty much where I go, but there are some places he can’t go, so I try to make sure we don’t wind up in a place that needs hands to get out. That was another reason I didn’t want to bring a horse up here. There are just too many places a horse can’t go. If I hadn’t purposely gone where their horses could follow, Dog and I would have left them the first morning.

  I made the decision to turn south the next morning and leave these jaybirds somewhere up a creek and head back down. They were trailing me now out of pure habit… they didn’t have anyone to tell them not to. There was no body in charge.

  Now, all I had to do was walk out of here and disappear. I’d just hide my trail and leave them up here on their own. There wasn’t much fight left in them. I had a notion that when they reached the valley below, they’d just drift. They’d seen their nine man force dwindle to three and a half… three able bodied men and one with a busted shoulder.

  Morning found Dog and me walking toward the mouth of the canyon. As we drew near, Dog sensed it first and I caught it a few seconds later…smoke. That was the last thing I’d expected and the last thing I wanted. It could be an Injun fire of just some other wild man having his breakfast.

  Leaving dog behind some rocks, I moved on up toward the mouth. Looking between two boulders, I saw the fire just inside the canyon. Meat was cooking by the smell of it, and my nose told me it was deer meat. Four saddled horses stood in the shade of scraggly tree. One man was tending the fire with his back to me, and I knew the shirt and the hat but not the name. I also knew the four horses. They had followed, and now they were between me and a clear road out of here.

  That’s why us wild critters always have a back door. Backing out of there, I collected Dog and headed for the escape route. We jogged past our camp, and we kept it up until we rounded the bend that hid the lower part of the escape route. I stopped dead still as Dog ran right on past for a few yards before he stopped and waited for me. With his head turned toward me and tilted as it was it was like he was asking “what’s wrong?”