Rawhide Justice

by Ralph Hayes

  It was dark when they got a fire going and fired up some beef jerky. O’Brien had a couple of corn dodgers with it, but Cahill declined.

  ‘I went four weeks once in the mountains with nothing to eat but corn dodgers. At the end I got the corn bread heaves. I ain’t ate much of it since.’

  ‘We can get some wheat flour,’ O’Brien suggested.

  Cahill looked up at a bright moon overhead. ‘You know, it don’t get any better than this.’

  O’Brien swigged some coffee and looked over at him. ‘It beats clerking in a Kansas City bank.’

  Cahill grinned, ‘I mean it. This is what I was born for. I hope it goes on for ever.’

  O’Brien looked into his cup. ‘Nothing goes on for ever,’ he said softly.

  Cahill squinted down on him. It was unusual to hear something like that from a young man in his twenties. But O’Brien had already seen a lot of life in his young years. And death. Cahill was about to respond to that when they both heard the sound of hoofbeats coming toward camp.

  Cahill always carried a sidearm. He rose and drew a Starr .44 from its holster. O’Brien just sat there waiting. In a couple minutes a pudgy, sloppy-looking rider came into the firelight, riding a dun mare. He gave them a big grin.

  ‘Evening, strangers.’ He saw the gun. ‘No need for that, boys. I’m just a poor Bible drummer on his way to save some sinners in Wichita.’

  O’Brien shook his head, and Cahill holstered his weapon.

  ‘You almost sold your last Bible, mister. You in need of a cup of coffee?’

  The overweight drummer dismounted. His face was round and flabby and his fancy boots looked like they had been bought in Boston. He spoke in a high, squeaky-sounding voice that irritated the ears.

  ‘I would like nothing better.’ He came over and took a cup proffered by Cahill. Cahill sat back down on his saddle and the newcomer stood.

  ‘God bless you, gentlemen,’ he said in his squeaky voice. He swigged the coffee thirstily, then wiped his mouth with a sleeve. ‘Say, maybe one of you would like a copy of the Good Book.’ He looked down at O’Brien, ‘Have you been saved by our Lord Jesus Christ, young man?’

  O’Brien gave him a look that made the drummer wince.

  ‘Well. Not everybody is ready for redemption,’ the young man concluded.

  Cahill smiled. ‘Have a corn dodger. It will make your bowels move.’

  The visitor gave a half-smile. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘Don’t drop it. It could break a toe,’ Cahill added sourly.

  The drummer brought a Bible case from his mount and sat on it by the fire. He ate the corn muffin and drank the rest of the coffee. The other two men appreciated the silence. But it didn’t last long.

  ‘My name is Funk. Wesley Funk. From New Orleans by way of Abilene.’ A wry smile played over his face. ‘Who do I have the pleasure to sit with?’

  O’Brien sighed. ‘Ain’t you about finished with that coffee?’

  Funk caught his gaze. ‘Oh. Of course.’ He threw the remainder onto the ground, and set the cup down. ‘I was just wondering. I saw the hide wagon over there, and thought you might be buffalo hunters.’

  ‘What if we was?’ Cahill said.

  ‘Well, I talked to this drifter yesterday. He said he’d just seen a big herd way up north of here, by the Nebraska border. Just thought you might like to know.’ He rose and picked up his case. ‘This fellow was mighty impressed.’

  O’Brien and Cahill exchanged looks as Funk arranged the case again on his mount’s flank.

  ‘Did this boy seem pretty sure about all that?’ Cahill asked. Funk assured them that he had, a few minutes later he was gone. O’Brien poked a stick at the fire.

  ‘That’s way out of range.’ Cahill shrugged. ‘It’s just a couple days ride with the wagon.’

  O’Brien hesitated, then nodded. ‘What else we got to do? But let’s make tracks a couple hours before dawn, partner. It will give us a leg up.’

  ‘I’ll be ready to ride.’ Cahill grinned.

  Out at Whiskey Creek outside Ogallala, a scout had just ridden up outside Elias Walcott’s office. He now found Walcott at a desk, making out shipment orders. Walcott looked up at him quizzically.

  ‘Hollis. Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon. See anything worth hunting out there?’

  Hollis shook his head. ‘Just a scattering of small bunches. But I talked to a fellow that had just come up from the south. He says he just saw a really big herd down by the Dawson Flats. I thought you ought to know.’

  Walcott frowned and sat back on his chair. ‘Why, that’s halfway to Wichita! On the Kansas border.’

  ‘I know. But if the herd is big enough it would pay to go that far.’

  Walcott pursed his lips. ‘That would be two days’ ride.’

  At that moment Cyrus McComb walked in behind Hollis. He looked disgruntled. He had failed to receive a raise in pay he had expected, and which he had planned to brag about to Molly. But Walcott said that profits were down and he would have to wait. Also, McComb had had an altercation with the hunter Flannery, and Flannery had quit, meaning McComb had to recruit another man. He was in a foul mood.

  ‘McComb,’ Hollis greeted him.

  McComb cast a quick glance at him. ‘Yeah, Hollis. Listen,’ turning to Walcott, ‘them new scrapers don’t know what the hell they’re doing, Elias. They’re passing stuff on that won’t never get to the tannery.’

  Walcott arched an eye-brow. ‘Well. I’ll have to speak to the foreman.’

  ‘I talked to the foreman. I don’t think he cares what goes through there.’

  ‘Well, I’ll straighten him out, McComb. Look. Hollis here has some news for us. There’s supposed to be a big herd way south of here, down by Kansas.’

  McComb was still frowning. ‘Then let some other outfit handle it. That would be a big, expensive haul for us.’

  ‘Maybe the herd would pay for it,’ Walcott argued. ‘We haven’t had a good hunt lately.’

  McComb stood there thinking. ‘This place is driving me crazy lately. Maybe I need a good long outing.’

  Walcott nodded. ‘Then it’s settled, Hollis. Get your people ready, McComb. We’ll leave early tomorrow.’

  McComb nodded. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said curtly. Then he turned and left.

  A few hours later, just at dusk, McComb knocked on Molly Walcott’s front door. She answered it herself. When she saw who it was, her face fell.

  ‘Oh. It’s you.’

  ‘I’d like to talk a few minutes, Molly.’

  She stepped out onto the porch. ‘We can do it out here,’ she said. Her blonde hair was up in a twist behind her head, and she looked particularly good to him.

  He came close to her. ‘I been coming here too much without any serious talk by you. You keep putting me off, girl. When are you going to start thinking of me like a respectable suitor? We’re going off for a few days tomorrow, and I’d like to carry something away with me I can hold close.’

  Molly sighed. ‘I’ve tried to tell you, Cyrus. But you haven’t been listening. There will never be anything between us. You’re too old for me. I’ve been going to tell you this for some time now. I want you to stop coming by.’

  He looked as if she had slapped him in the face. His already dark mood instantly became darker. He grabbed her shoulders fiercely.

  ‘Have you been playing me along, damn you? With your flirting and cute talk! Have you settled on somebody else and kept it to yourself?’

  She shrugged. ‘I kind of thought I might wait for O’Brien to show up again here.’

  McComb’s eyes took on a deadly look. ‘O’Brien? O’Brien!’

  ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘I might be in love.’

  McComb could hardly contain himself. He threw her away from him.

  ‘You goddam man-teaser! What have you been doing with that backwoods billy? You had everybody thinking you was a good girl. And look what you was doing behind our backs.’

  ‘I sa
w him openly,’ Molly said, a little frightened of him. ‘And I have nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I think you’d better leave, Cyrus.’

  He was breathing shallowly. He raised a fist as if to strike her, but then dropped it heavily to his side.

  ‘I wouldn’t touch you now with a ten-foot pole,’ he hissed at her.

  When he was gone she stood there with a hand on her breast, her heart pounding in her chest. She was glad she’d seen the last of Cyrus McComb.

  Two days later, in a broad valley in the uppermost reaches of Kansas, O’Brien and Cahill dismounted from their horses and stared in satisfaction at the large herd of buffalo before them, about 200 yards distant. They were filling most of the large open meadow.

  ‘Is that a beautiful sight?’ Cahill grinned.

  ‘The wind is right,’ O’Brien said. ‘I’m setting up.’

  They picketed their mounts to ground stakes close to the mule and wagon, and moved forward to get themselves into position. O’Brien set up his tripod and affixed the Sharps to it. Cahill drew his own Sharps and knelt on one knee.

  The herd were grazing peacefully into a soft breeze blowing from the opposite direction. A big bull with a robe-quality coat turned and looked directly at O’Brien, but did not understand what he was seeing. His nostrils glistened in the early-morning sun, and he snorted softly.

  The herd wasn’t as big as reported, but it would offer good shooting. O’Brien knelt behind his Sharps and sighted in on a bull far on the other side of the herd. He would leave the close-side ones to Cahill.

  Then the big guns began booming out into the quiet of the valley. Again and again they roared out their message to the morning, and one by one the buffs began falling in the herd. A few began running, but most stayed. The hunters fired again and again, and finally the herd stampeded away over a low hill.

  Twenty buffalo lay dead in the high, dew-soaked grass. O’Brien could still smell the acrid odor of gunsmoke in the air.

  ‘Our best haul yet,’ Cahill called over to O’Brien. ‘We’re going to get rich, by God!’

  O’Brien smiled his rare smile. ‘A good hunt,’ he agreed.

  But at that same moment, the entire company of Walcott’s hunters was emerging from behind an outcropping of rocks, just coming in sight of the corpse-littered valley floor.

  Over at the kills O’Brien and Cahill were just taking a close look at a big bull with a fine coat of robe quality. O’Brien was kneeling down by the animal, and Cahill was still standing.

  ‘It’s a damn beauty,’ O’Brien was saying to his partner.

  Up on the higher ground near by, the wagons of Walcott’s party were rolling up behind the forerunners. O’Brien, down at the buffs, put his hand to the ground and felt it tremble.

  The first of Walcott’s hunters on the scene were McComb and a couple of other men. When McComb saw the littered valley with the herd gone, and O’Brien and Cahill in among the shot animals, his face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He swore loudly.

  ‘I don’t by God believe it!’

  O’Brien looked up now. He squinted toward the newcomers. Cahill followed his gaze.

  ‘Oh-oh,’ he muttered. ‘It’s Walcott’s party.’

  Up on the high ground McComb was fuming.

  ‘I told that bastard what I’d do if he ever ruined a hunt for us.’

  Navarro had ridden up beside him. ‘Que Diablo!’ he muttered.

  In a swift movement, McComb slid his rifle from its saddle scabbard and levelled it on the two hunters. O’Brien was almost hidden behind the bulk of the dead buffalo, so he zeroed in on Cahill first.

  ‘What the hell!’ O’Brien exclaimed, rising to his feet. ‘Cahill! Get down!’

  But it was too late. McComb’s rifle roared out loudly, and Cahill felt the hot lead hit him like a club in the chest. The cartridge missed his heart by an inch, busting his ribs and collapsing his lung as it passed completely through him. He was jerked violently off his feet, and thrown hard to the ground near O’Brien. O’Brien was stunned.

  ‘Cahill!’ he yelled out. Then he saw McComb’s rifle aimed directly at himself.

  Just as McComb’s gun roared again O’Brien dived to the ground. He felt the lead graze his left shoulder as he went down.

  Up on the rise of ground McComb was swearing again, and setting his sights once more. He found the prone O’Brien and put his sights on his head.

  Then Walcott rode up. He knocked the muzzle of McComb’s rifle aside, causing the shot to go wild.

  ‘Goddam it!’ McComb yelled.

  But Walcott was angry, too. ‘What the hell is the matter with you, McComb?’

  O’Brien was going for his mount now.

  ‘They stole our herd!’ McComb yelled again. ‘Let me take him down while we can.’

  ‘We don’t kill because somebody beats us to a herd!’ Walcott barked into his face. The other hunters sat their mounts in stony silence, watching. ‘Put that damn rifle away or I’ll shoot you myself! You’re fired, mister.’

  McComb kept the rifle raised, watching O’Brien from the corner of his eye. ‘You think I’d go on working for a man that won’t defend his territory? To hell with you, and to hell with the company!’

  Walcott looked toward O’Brien, who had retrieved his rifle and had turned to confront McComb.

  ‘Hold it, O’Brien! He’s disarming himself.’

  O’Brien didn’t care. He aimed the Winchester at McComb. But McComb slid his rifle back into its scabbard.

  ‘You going to shoot an unarmed man, Rawhide?’ he called, a glittery grin on his face.

  O’Brien hesitated, then dropped the muzzle of the long gun.

  McComb turned to Navarro. ‘You coming?’

  Navarro nodded.

  ‘See you in hell, Walcott,’ McComb said loudly.

  ‘Should we stop him, boss?’ young Dawkins asked tensely. He was sitting his mount near Walcott. Walcott shook his head.

  McComb and Navarro were galloping off over a rise of ground. O’Brien was almost ready to board the appaloosa to ride after them, but then looked over at his partner, who was still alive.

  O’Brien heaved out a breath, walked over and bent down to look at Cahill. There was a lot of blood. Cahill was making rasping noises in his throat. He tried a grin for O’Brien that didn’t work.

  ‘I knew – that bastard – would be trouble.’

  ‘Lay still. We’ll get you to a doc.’ A lump came in his throat.

  ‘Well – we had a good run, didn’t we?’

  ‘It’s been an honor riding with you, partner. Here comes Walcott. He’ll get you some help.’

  Cahill tried to shake his head. ‘I don’t need – help – I need – rest.’ Then a great rattling came from his lungs, and he was dead. O’Brien looked up. Walcott was standing over him.

  ‘I’m real sorry, O’Brien. I reckon it’s my fault. I knew McComb was no good.’

  ‘No, it’s McComb,’ O’Brien said solemnly. ‘It was always McComb. And it was always me had to deal with it. I don’t care if that bastard rides to Alaska. Or China. He’ll pay for what he done here.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Walcott persuaded O’Brien to let him bury Cahill in Ogallala and O’Brien decided to accompany the party back there for the funeral. It took place on a dull day out at Boot Hill. Walcott himself presided.

  ‘Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, for according to his great mercy he gave us a new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.’

  He and O’Brien threw a handful of dirt down onto the coffin, a gesture that was followed by a number of company men.

  O’Brien was offered his old bunk for the night, as he intended leaving early the next morning. After the evening meal Walcott asked O’Brien into his private office. When he was seated across from Walcott at his desk, Walcott regarded O’Brien seriously.

  ‘You’re going after him, ain’t you?’

 
‘That’s my plan.’

  ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’

  ‘This ain’t vengeance. I can’t do nothing for Cahill now. This thing grew up between McComb and me way before this. But this brought it all to a head. Now, it’s him or me.’

  ‘You know, young fellow, you could be the best I ever had. You could make a future here. A big future. Why don’t you let this go? McComb will get his just deserts one day soon. It don’t have to be you.’

  ‘Yes it does,’ O’Brien said.

  ‘Will you think on coming back here? When it’s over?’

  ‘That’s too much to put my head on,’ O’Brien told him.

  ‘Well I hope to see you back here some day. That’s an invitation.’

  ‘It’s appreciated,’ O’Brien told him. ‘Now, I’m going to tend to my equipment.’ They had both risen from their chairs when quite unexpectedly Molly came through the door.

  ‘Well, good evening, daughter,’ Walcott smiled a tired smile. ‘I wonder what brings you out here?’ He grinned at O’Brien.

  ‘I heard you were here,’ she said to O’Brien. ‘You said you’d stop by if you got back here.’

  ‘I was planning to see you,’ he said.

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll just leave you two and take a look at some hides,’ Walcott said. ‘See you before you leave, O’Brien.’

  O’Brien nodded, and Walcott was gone. Molly sat down on her father’s chair and O’Brien resumed his own seat.

  ‘You’re looking good, Molly.’ He smiled at her.

  She looked down. ‘Daddy offered you your job back, didn’t he?’

  O’Brien nodded. ‘Yes he did.’

  ‘And you said no.’

  O’Brien regarded her soberly. ‘Molly, things have changed. My life has changed.’

  ‘Daddy said you might go after McComb.’

  He looked down at his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry about your partner,’ she told him.

  O’Brien looked up. She seemed different, too. Maybe more mature.

  ‘Stuff happens in life. I lost my folks back in the Shenandoah. When I was just a kid. You just go on.’