by Alan Lemay
"Sometimes it looks like I'm not even doing that."
"You've made a name," she told him. "Nothing definite yet; but I guess it will be definite soon enough. People are beginning to piece things together, and add up two and two. Cowmen that are wise know the truth, I guess."
"What truth?"
"If you haven't accomplished anything else, you've astonished my father. He's said himself, over and over, he wouldn't have supposed it could be done. No question but what Cleve Tanner is shaken ; he's shaken clear down to his roots. Nobody knows what's what any more, or what will happen. People who thought a year ago that Cleve Tanner was invincible-they're saying now that he's coming to the end of his string; that if this thing goes on, Tanner will be through."
"What else do they say?"
"They're saying that the worst renegades of the trail are working together, for the first time the killers, the men who don't care if they live or die. They say they have money back of them now, and that even Cleve Tanner, with all his string of outfits, can't stand up against the everlasting raiding, and stampeding, and mysterious loss of cattle. They say he's lost twenty outfits, just because he couldn't spare the gunmen to hold the range,"
"Eleven outfits," Roper said.
"Then it was really you?"
"Those eleven outfits they speak of those were outfits roughed away from little lonely men, on pretenses that hadn't any justice or any true law. Those outfits are back with their owners now."
"But-you admit your wild bunch is behind all this?"
"Call it that if you want to. I guess there isn't anybody knows as well as you do what I'm trying to do."
She was looking at him in an odd way; her face was a pale oval, and her eyes looked curiously dark in the failing light. She said in a dead voice, "I never believed it; I couldn't believe it until now."
"Didn't I tell you about it? I told you about it before I began. I set out to break Cleve Tanner; and by God, he'll be broken! if I live."
"You know Cleve Tanner has put up five thousand dollars for your arrest?"
Bill Roper chuckled crazily. "All right. I'll put up ten thousand for his arrest. There isn't going to be any arrest, and he knows that, too."
"I can't believe it," she kept saying over and over. "I can't believe it even yet."
"You can't believe what?"
"That you're an outlaw - a wild bunch boss thrown in with the ugliest killers this range has ever seen, or any range-"
He said ironically, "Don't hardly see how I could use second rate men."
"Reports have come in," Jody said wonderingly, "from over eight hundred miles of country; they're beginning to call it a rustlers' war, a final showdown between the wild bunch and lawful men. And you-"
"What about me?"
"Oh, Billy, it's unbearable! That you you've turned yourself into the festering point of all that struggle, and hate, and lawless gunning-"
He had to grin at that, unhappy as he was. "Didn't realize I was festering," he said.
"You had everything," she said, "and you threw it away..."
He had only heard her say that once before; but, in memory, he had heard it so often since that her words had the ring of a familiar song.
It was Bill Roper who rebelled this time. "I'm sorry," he said.
Her voice lashed out at him. "You're sorry for what?"
"I'm sorry that we can't ever see things the same. I started out to get Cleve Tanner, and I'll get him, so help me God. After Tanner, Walk Lasham; and after Walk Lasham, Ben Thorpe. But when it comes to saying I had everything before I started in, I guess maybe that isn't so."
Jody said hotly, "There wasn't one thing in all the world you didn't have-or couldn't have hadbefore you chose this crazy way!"
"I didn't have you," he told her. "If I had had you, I guess I would have you yet. Things don't shift and change so easy as that not in the part of the world I know."
He was pulling on his gloves now, buttoning his sheepskin coat. In what was left of the light, the shadows lay heavy upon his face. As he stood there, he could have been Dusty King himself-the man who had broken a hundred long and weary trails; except that Dusty King had perhaps never looked so old.
Her voice came to him as if from a distance. "And when you're through," she said "what are you going to have left?"
"Far as I know," Bill Roper said, "I'm not going to have anything left. God knows I've got very little left now." He was glad she didn't know how his resources had dwindled, how close to the end he really stood.
Her voice rose sharply. "Can't you see there's no hope in this ghastly thing? Thorpe's grip is unbreakable. A hundred men-older and wiser than you'll ever be! they've gone against him, over and over again, and he smashed them all."
"Maybe," he said, "there had to be somebody who was willing to cut loose to the last dollar, to the last pony, to the last round of lead. Maybe it might turn out, after all, that this range was waiting for somebody who was willing to throw everything away."
She came close to him, and her words came through her teeth. "It's your very life you're throwing away!"
Perhaps he misunderstood her then; for he grinned. "Maybe," he said, "that would be the least I could lose; the very least of all...."
HE winter dragged out slowly. It was not marked by the interminable tedium of a three months' trail drive, for here was action, in the continual flux and flow of a struggle which had attained the proportions of a widespread war. But in other ways it carried punishment enough.
Roper's plans, bold as they were, had been well laid. He had perceived from the first that success or failure depended upon whether or not he could make his war with Tanner self sustaining. To gnaw away at the Tanner herds was one thing; to turn their captures into cash was altogether another. Roper had hoped that he could initiate his own drives to the north, but he had found this out of the question. On the other hand, the trail drivers had found themselves so vulnerable that none of them wanted to buy cattle of questionable ownership.
The Thorpe-Tanner organization did not have this problem; they took what they wanted and drove what they wanted, by means of their own trail outfits. But Roper could now only dispose of cattle for the trail through ranchers known to be scrupulous and established men.
This was the strategic purpose behind Roper's rehabilitation of the eleven outfits which Tanner had originally seized, and which Roper had now put back into the hands of their proper owners. These reestablished ranchers had not only the sympathy but the respect of everyone who knew anything about Texas cattle. Through these men Roper now had a safe and sure outlet for the cattle recovered by Dry Camp's experts, while the gunfighters under such men as Nate Liggett, Tex Daniels, and Hat Crick Tommy supplied a much needed protection until they could get on their feet.
But this method, promising as it was, was slow. Of necessity the men whom Roper backed were cowmen without assets other than their disputed claim to their ground. Sometimes by mortgage loans, but principally by silent partnerships, Roper had now obtained interests in nearly a dozen outfits. They should have been thriving outfits. But Roper found his money draining away with unforeseen swiftness, without hope of any financial return until the trail should open in the spring. Only the Mexican border operations, which depended upon Lee Harnish, continued to show a thin trickle of income through the winter months. As spring approached, Roper found himself near the end of his string.
Early in February, Shoshone Wilce came south seeking Bill Roper, and found him at the Pot Hook ranch.
Shoshone Wilce was a grim-mouthed, bottle nosed little man; his small eyes had a persistent twinkle, and usually the dry twist of his humor enabled him to ingratiate himself among men who ordinarily would not have tolerated his impudence. He was especially interesting to Bill Roper because of his notable faculty for obtaining news of a type hard to get at.
All winter Shoshone Wilce had been traveling in Bill Roper's pay, and Roper had heard from him seldom.
"I thought they must have
hung you," Roper said.
"No, but they did give me a hell of a bad cold."
"Find out anything?"
Shoshone Wilce rubbed his badly shaved chin with horny fingers. "I don't know as you're going to like this so very good, Bill."
"Let's have the bad news first -I eat it up."
"God knows there's enough of it; there ain't any other kind to be had. What do you want to know first?"
"How's Thorpe making out up above?"
"I've been all over their short grass ranges," Shoshone said. "He's holding enough cattle, between the fever line and the Canadian River alone, to last him from here out, even if he never gets hold of any more."
"How many thousand head do you think he'll have to have from Cleve Tanner?"
"I can't see he'll need any from Cleve Tanner. I saw him in Dodge City; he was throwing money around with a shovel in each hand. You know what I think? I think he can go away and forget Tanner, and write everything he has in Texas right off the books, and never know the difference, by God!"
Roper locked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Sometimes it seemed to him that trying to break Tanner was like trying to empty the Rio Grande with a hand dipper. The apparently unbounded resources of Ben Thorpe in the middle country and in the north, out of reach of the south Texas war, made up a vast reservoir which Tanner could draw on without limit.
"How is Tanner himself making out?"
"Bill, I've been all up and down the north and east part of Texas; and I can't see where we've accomplished a damned thing."
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"You know what I think?" Wilce persisted. "I think there's too many cattle in this country nowadays. I think there's more cattle in this country than the world has any use for. I don't think you can bother any man any more, just by fooling with his cattle."
"Never mind what you think. Let's have what you know."
"I nosed around and tried to find out what promises Tanner's been making for cattle on spring deliveries. I didn't learn everything. Nobody learns everything. But I got enough to total up."
Shoshone Wilce hesitated, and didn't say any more until he had got a cigarette rolled. In the middle of rolling his cigarette he went into a coughing fit, and spilled the tobacco, so that he had to start over again.
"Bill," he said at last, "Cleve Tanner's going to drive more cattle this year than he's ever drove before. In just one bunch alone he aims to deliver fifteen thousand head on the banks of the Red!"
"He's crazy!" Roper shouted. "He can't do it damn it, it's impossible!"
"Well-he thinks he can. He knows his cattle counts better than me. But I've been all up and down this country, and I don't see but what he can."
Bill Roper returned to studying the peeled poles that supported the roof, his face was expressionless, his grey eyes opaque. He heard Shoshone say, "I don't believe we've even touched Cleve Tanner; I don't believe we've scratched his hide at all."
"Well, anyway," Roper said, "the border gangs are going good. We'll go on with it, and keep going on...."
"Bill," Shoshone said, "how long can you go on, the way it's costing you now?"
"Not much farther, I guess."
"You going to have to quit?"
Roper shook his head. "I'll never quit now, Shoshone; I can't quit. While I've got one rider left with me, or no riders, I'll still be working on Cleve Tanner. But I think we're going to beat him, Wice. After all, the border gangs-we can count on them."
Roper continued to count on his border gangs for two weeks more. Then, in the middle of February, he learned that Lee Harnish was through.
The first word of difficulty came when Dave Shannon pushed a little bunch of seven hundred head through the river at Mudcat Turn, and found no vaqueros waiting on the other side. Shannon waited three days before he was forced to turn the cattle free and ride.
The complete news of what had happened never really came. What Roper learned came in bit by bit, by way of random riders who had talked with a vaquero here, another there.
Lee Harnish had been pressing south with a herd of twelve hundred head. He was two days into Mexico, and supposed that he was clear; he had never had much trouble, once he was well below the line. But now, one moonless night, a band reported as of at least sixty men struck from no place, scattering the herd, and blazing down on Harnish's riders almost before they could take to the saddle. There had been a sharp running fight as Harnish and his half-dozen boys took to the brush and the hills. Unsatisfied with seizure of the herd, the unknown band had spent three days trying to hunt down Harnish's riders.
Lee Harnish himself, wounded in the first skirmish, had had a hard time getting clear; it was not known whether or not all of his riders were elsewhere accounted for.
After an elapse of several weeks, an Indianfaced vaquero came hunting Bill Roper; he carried a written message from Lee Harnish:
"This thing is finished up. Don't let anybody tell you it was Cleve Tanners men busted into us. What hes done, this Tanner has put some bunches of Mex renegades up to landing on us, they work with the Yakis, and his Indian scouts have spotted where we make our crossings. Seems like theres anyway a dozen bands of them havent got anything else to do but lay watching those crossings, and wait us out.
"About half of them is carrying new American guns and plenty ammunition. They got our hide nailed to the fence all right and we are through."
It was a long time before Roper saw Lee Harnish again. He did not accept Harnish's statements off-hand; but when he had conferred with Dave Shannon, and others of the border men in whom he believed, he was forced to accede that the borderrunning phase of the attack on Tanner was done.
As February drew to a close, the big herds were once more being thrown together for the trail. From the eleven rehabilitated outfits in which Roper was now silent partner, a little trickle of trail cattle began to move toward the gathering grounds on the Red. The income from these sales helped a little; but the proceeds were principally absorbed by debts incurred in behalf of the individual ranches. The improvement in his situation which Roper had hoped for did not come.
It was deep into March when Tex Long quit.
Sun, wind, and sleet had turned Tex Long's face a red-gold brown, but without wrinkles; the smooth, satiny leather of his face seemed unscarred, except for that betraying dark color that bespoke the long rider. Nobody ever questioned Tex Long's guts-Bill Roper did not do so now.
"Look," Tex Long said, "look." He did not talk easily; whatever he said was matter-of-fact, even now. "I got to pull out of this game."
Bill Roper looked at him, without expression. "All right. How much you figure I owe you?"
Tex smiled. "Nothing."
A very rare flush of anger came into Bill Roper's face. "Tex, what's the matter with you?"
"You want to know what's the matter with me? I'll tell you what's the matter with me. You noticed I used very few boys?"
"Yeah, I noticed that."
Tex Long could have had six riders, or eight, or fifty only three men rode with him. But they did what they started out to do.
"When I go in with my boys, I go in because I know we got the other side beat."
Bill Roper said with asperity, "When you don't `have the other side beat' I'll get somebody else."
"This," said Tex Long gently, "is the time for you to get somebody else."
"I'd sure like to know what's busted."
"Goin' yellow," Long grinned.
"No," Roper answered. "No, Tex."
"I'm sorry, Bill. I hate Cleve Tanner like you do. But I'll be damned if I'll take good fast-shooting boys into their death."
"God damn it, I told you, you never rode with enough men!"
Tex Long said, almost sleepily, "I took with me boys I could count on, Bill."
"Let's see-" Bill Roper said "what was it I asked you to do-"
"You said I was to take back the Bert Johnson ranch."
"And you can't do i
t, huh?"
"No; I can't do it."
"In God's name, Tex-"
Tex Long made a quick, futile gesture with his hands. "We used to be able to jump down on them. We can't do that now. The Bert Johnson place is studded with rifles until a man can't take a step. Every place you'll find out it's the same. There isn't going to be anything more we can do. We went good for a while. But they got organized, now. We're through."
"Speak for yourself," Bill Roper said.
"I'm speaking for myself."
"And you want how much?"
"Nothing, I told you...."
Tex Long was only one of Bill Roper's picked gunfighters, but he was one of the best. As March drew on, Roper lost four more. He could have had men who would have gone in shooting, gone in to kill or to die; but that was not his game. He could not bring himself to a warfare of guns against guns. He was fighting a thing; he was not fighting nameless, hired cowboys who would fight for their brand, because cowboys were what they were.
Into the Big Bend, into the valley of the Nueces, Cleve Tanner had flooded such a power of gunfighters as Bill Roper would not have believed. He had supposed that he could outplace and outsmart Tanner's warrior outfits. But now his raiding forces met everywhere a stubborn resistance.
Roper had discounted the quit of Tex Long; but now other news was coming in. The Graham outfit the first of all those that the Roper men had taken - was again in the hands of Cleve Tanner; and Nate Liggett, assigned to protect Graham, had headed for the tall without even a report. Hat Crick Tommy was three weeks missing. The Davis outfit, left under his protection, had gone the way of all loose outfits, and Tanner's cowboys rode the range.
Dry Camp Pierce was almost the last to come in - of those who came in at all.
Pierce rode into the Pot Hook Camp early in April. He was the same, small wiry man he always had been-his eyes watery, his jaws poorly shaven. He rallied a little, in his old cocky way as he said to Bill, "How's it going?"
