"Thank you." We found a bench corner and sat down together. "I shouldn't have come," she said then, "but ... but I was lonely! I can't stay much longer."
"We'll eat then," I said, "and I'll ride you home." She was genuinely frightened. "Oh, no! You mustn't! I can't let you do that!"
"Are you married?"
She looked startled. "Oh, no! But I justcan't ! You must understand."
"All right ... part way, then? Just to be sure you're safely on the way?"
"All right." She was reluctant.
"I've told you my name. Milo Talon."
"Mine is Clarisa ... call me Lisa." She mentioned no other name and I didn't insist. If she did not tell me, she had her own reasons.
Her box dinner was simple, but good. There were some doughnuts that were about as good as any I'd ever eaten, and Ma made the best, yet my eyes kept straying across the room to where Ann Timberly sat.
Fuentes crossed to me with Ben Roper. I introduced them, and Fuentes said, "I think we ride together tonight,si? "
"I've got to ride along with Lisa," I said, "but only partway."
"We'll follow," Ben said, "an' you watch your step. Roger Balch didn't like his man bein' beat. He just didn't want to spend that much to win."
They drifted off a ways, and after a bit Danny Rolf joined them. The Balch and Saddler riders were bunching a little, too.
Dancing started again, and I danced with Lisa, then left her talking to Ben and crossed the room to Ann. She turned as I came up and was about to refuse my suggestion of a dance when she suddenly changed her mind.
She danced beautifully, and I did all right. I'd danced more in better places than most cowhands have a chance to, and I could get around pretty good out there, even without a horse. Mostly cowhands don't dance too well, but they don't mind and neither do the girls. The cowhands can always hold the girl while she dances.
Everybody was having a good time. I kept my eyes open, but nowhere did I see a badge. If there was law anywhere about, it wasn't at this dance, which was something to remember.
"Who is she?" Ann asked suddenly.
"Lisa? She's a nice girl."
"Have you known her long?"
"Never saw her before."
"Well! She evidently makes quite an impression!"
"She didn't cuss me out," I said.
Ann looked up at me suddenly. "I am sorry about that. But you made me very angry!"
"So I figured. And when you get angry, you really get angry."
"That was mean, what you did."
"What?"
"Bidding a quarter for my box. That was just awful."
I grinned at her. "You had it coming."
"That girl ... Lisa. How did you know which box was hers?"
"Saw her bring it in, and then when they were putting it up for bidding, she started to leave. She was afraid nobody would bid on it. I could see she was scared and embarrassed."
"So you bid on it?"
"Why not? You've got lots of friends. So has China."
"Oh ... China. She's the most popular girl around here. All the boys want her box, and most of the older men, too. I don't see what they see in her."
"You do, too," I said, grinning at her, "and so do I. She's got a lot of everything, and she's got it where it matters." Suddenly I wondered. I had been so preoccupied with the bidding and the conversation that followed.
"The man who got your box," I said, "was the lucky one."
She ignored that, then commented, "Roger Balch usually gets what he wants." Then she added, with a touch of bitterness. "Nobody was bidding against him ... at least, not for long."
"You cuss at people. How can you expect them to."
"I wouldn't want you to bid against him," she said seriously. "He's very mean and vengeful. If you won over him he would hate you."
"I've been hated before."
Suddenly, I thought of Lisa. She would be wanting to go, and she would be very apt to go alone. Fortunately, the music stopped and at that moment Fuentes was at my elbow. "If you want Tory Benton to take that girl home, say so."
"I don't," I said. Then I said to Ann. "Maybe we'll be riding the same country again. And anyway, wherever I ride, I'll be looking for you."
"She went out," said Fuentes. "Tory followed."
She was tightening her cinch and Tory was standing by, leaning against a post. What he had been saying, I did not know. But as I walked up, he straightened.
"Just wait a minute," I said to her. "I'll get my horse."
"You don't need to bother," Benton said. "I was just telling the lady. I am taking her home."
"Sorry," I smiled. "I bought the box, don't you remember?"
"I remember, but that was inside. We were inside then. This here's different."
"Is it?"
There was a faint stir in the shadows nearby. My friends or his? Or bystanders?
"You got to go through me to take her," Benton said belligerently.
"Of course," I said, and knocked him down.
He wasn't ready for it. He wasn't ready for that at all. He might have been trying to pick a fight, or maybe just running a bluff, but I'd long ago discovered that waiting on the other man could get you hurt.
My hand had been up, sort of adjusting my tie, so I just took a short step to the left and forward and threw my right from where it was. The distance was short. He had no chance to react. He hit the ground hard.
"Better get up in the saddle, Lisa. I'd help you but I'd rather not turn my back."
Benton sat up slowly, shaking his head. It took a moment for him to realize what had happened to him. Then he got up quickly, staggered a little, still feeling the effects of the blow.
"I'll kill you for that!" he said hoarsely.
"Please don't try. If you go for a gun, I'll beat you to it, and if you shoot, I'll shoot straighter."
"Does that go for me, too?" It was Ingerman.
"If you ask anybody from the Roost to the Hole, Ingerman, they'll tell you I'm always ready."
He had been poised and ready, but now there was a sudden stillness in him. From Robber's Roost to the Hole-in-the-Wall, Brown's Hole or Jackson's Hole ... all hideouts on the Outlaw Trail. Not many here knew what I had said, but Ingerman did, and suddenly he was wary ... Who was I?
Yet there was still a need to keep him from losing face.
"We've nothing to fight about, Ingerman. Maybe the time will come, but not here, not about this."
Ingerman was no crazy, wild-eyed kid with a gun. He was ice-cold. He was a money fighter, and there was no money in this. And from the way I spoke, I was trouble. Nobody had told him to kill me ... not so far.
"Just wanted to know where we stood," he said quietly. "Don't push your luck."
"I'm a careful man, Ingerman. Tory, here, was about to get himself hurt. I was trying to keep him from it."
There was a crowd around now, and two of them were Danny Rolf and Fuentes. Just the other side of Ingerman was Ben Roper.
"Mount up, Talon," he said. "We're all goin' home."
Ingerman heard the voice behind him, and he knew Ben Roper by sight and instinct. He turned away, and Tory Benton followed.
Chapter 9
The night was cool and clear, there were many stars, and the wind whispered in the sagebrush. We started riding, and I had no idea where we were going.
At first we did not talk. Behind us Ben Roper, Fuentes and Danny Rolf were riding, and I wished to listen. Nor did Lisa wish to talk, so we rode to the soft sound of our horses' hoofs, the creak of our saddles and the occasional jingle of a spur.
When we had several miles behind us, I left Lisa for a moment and rode back to the others. "This may be a long ride. No use for you boys to follow on."
"Who is she, Milo?" Ben asked.
"She hasn't told me. She came alone, and I somehow don't think her people knew she was gone ... I don't understand the situation."
We were talking low, and Lisa, some distance off, could not overhear u
s.
"You watch your step," Danny warned. "It don't sound right to me."
When they took off and I rode back to her, we started on without comment. The country was growing increasingly rugged, with many patches of timber and brush that grew thicker as we rode.
"You came a long way," I commented, at last.
The trail, only a vague one, seldom used, dipped down into a narrow draw that led to a creek bottom sheltered by giant oaks and pecans. At a stream, Lisa drew up to let her horse drink.
"You have come far enough. I want to thank you very much both for riding with me and for buying my box. And I hope there is no trouble with that man."
"There would be trouble anyway. He rides for Balch and Saddler."
"And you for Stirrup-Iron?"
"Yes."
Her horse lifted his head, water dripping from his muzzle. My own was drinking also.
"Do not be quick to judge," she said quietly, "I do not know either Balch or Saddler, but I know they are hard men. Yet I think they are honest men."
I was surprised, yet I said, "I haven't formed an opinion. Somebody is stealing cattle, however."
"Yes, I think so. I do not think it is Balch and Saddler, nor do I think it is Stirrup-Iron."
Again I was surprised. "You mean somebody thinkswe are stealing?"
"Of course. Did you think you were the only ones who could be suspicious? Be careful, Mr. Talon, be very careful. It is not as simple as you think."
"You are sure I should not ride further with you?"
"No ... please don't. I haven't far to go."
Reluctantly, I turned my horse. "Adios, then." And I rode away. She did not move, and I could still see the dark patch in the silver of the water until I went into the arroyo. When I topped out on the rise, I drew up and thought I heard the pound of hoofs fading away, the hoofs of a running horse.
I glanced at the stars. I must be southeast of the ranch, some distance away. Taking a course by the stars I started across country, dipping down into several deep draws and skirting patches of brush and timber.
Just as I rounded one patch of brush, maybe three or four acres of it, I saw my horse's head come up. "Easy, boy!" I said softly. "Easy, now!"
I drew up, listening. Something was moving out there, a rustle of hooves in the grass, a vague sound of movement, a rattle of horns. "Easy, boy!" I whispered.
At my voice and my hand on its neck, my horse lost some of his tension, and I shucked my Winchester from its scabbard and waited. Somebody out there was moving cattle, and in ranch country honest men do not move cattle by night ... not often, anyway.
They were no more than a hundred yards off, but I could not make them out, moving them southeast. I waited, and the sound dwindled. A small bunch, I was sure. Not more than thirty or forty head at most. To move in on them now would just result in getting somebody killed, and that somebody could be me--a thought I viewed with no great pleasure. And the trail would still be here tomorrow.
A thought came to me then ... Why ride all the way back to the ranch? True, I had my work to do, and there was a lot of it, but if I could find out where those missing cattle were going, it would make up for the time lost. So when I started on I was hunting a camp, and I found it, a small place alongside a stream, probably the same stream, or a branch of it, where I'd left Lisa.
The place was thick with huge old oaks and pecans, and fortunately the night was cool without being cold. I'd no blanket roll with me, nothing but my slicker and a saddle blanket. But I found a place with plenty of leaves and I bunched up more of them, then spread my slicker on the leaves and put the saddle blanket over my shoulders.
I put my Winchester down beside me, muzzle toward my feet, and my six-shooter I took from its holster and laid it at hand. I made no fire, as I had no idea how far off those cattle had been taken or whether the rider might come back by.
It was a cold, miserable night. But there had been many of those, and it was not the first time I'd slept out with nothing but a slicker and a saddle blanket ... Nor would it be the last.
Daybreak came and I got up.
Usually I carried some coffee in my saddlebags but I had none now. Going to a box supper a man usually figures there'll be coffee, and there had been. A lot of good it did me now!
At the creek I washed my face in cold water and dried it on my shirt. Then I put the shirt back on, took a long drink from the stream, watered my horse, and mounted up.
The trail was there, and I picked it up, noticed the general way it led, and rode off to the south of it. After a bit, I cut back north as if hunting for strays, and crossed the trail again.
It was getting almost to noontime when the trail led around the roll of a hill into a gap beyond which I could see more oaks and pecans, with some willows and a few cottonwoods. That gap was green, pleasant to see, and promised water. Both my horse and I were thirsty, with no drink since daybreak, but I didn't like the looks of that gap ... It just looked too good, and I'm a skeptical man.
So I kept back in the brush and reined my horse around to the north. And I worked my way up the slope, with frequent stops to listen and look, until finally I saw a place where there were trees and brush atop the hill. The trees were scrub oak and didn't look like much, but they could cover a man's approach.
Shucking my rifle, I worked up the slope, weaving in and out among the trees until I reached the top of the hill. Beyond was a valley, a pretty little place, all hid away like that, with a couple of pole corrals for horses, and a lean-to, and maybe a hundred head of young stuff. I stepped down from the saddle and hunkered up against a busted-down oak tree and gave study to what lay below.
There was no smoke ... no movement beyond the cattle, and there were no horses in the corrals. The valley was well-watered and the graze was good ... but not adequate for a hundred bead for very long. The cattle were in good shape, but I had a hunch this was just a holding place until they could be moved on.
To where? A good question.
The day was warm. I was tired and so was my horse. Moreover, I was hungry. There might be food down there, but I wasn't going to tip my hand by leaving tracks all over the place. Whoever hid those cattle here thought his hideout was unknown and secure, so I'd better leave it thataway.
I gave study to the cattle. Mostly three-year-olds or younger.
All of which brought me back to a thought I'd had before. Whoever was stealing cattle was not stealing them for a quick sale, but to hold and fatten. Give stock like this two to three years, even four, and they'd fatten into real money. And the chances were good that most--if not all--of this stock was unbranded.
I swore softly. I had work to do and they'd be wondering what happened to me. Moreover, my boss had been a thief himself ... how did I know he wasn't a thief now? That's the trouble with a bad reputation, folks are always likely to be suspicious.
A thought came to me and I studied the hills around the valley with care. If this was a holding station these cattle would have to be moved, as others had probably been moved before them. So where did they go?
A couple of places in the hills that surrounded the valley gave me some ideas, so I led my horse back a ways, mounted up and rode down the slope, still holding to cover and alert for any movement. The man who drove those cattle was probably long gone, but I couldn't be sure. Keeping far out, I skirted around the hills. It took me better than an hour to get around to the other side of the valley. But, sure enough, what I was looking for was there.
A trail, probably weeks old, made by sixty to seventy head, a trail pointing off to the southeast. Obviously it was a ride of a day or more--perhaps several days--to their destination.
No use thinking of that. I had to get back. I swung my horse suddenly and at the same instant heard the sharpwhap of a bullet past my skull. My spurs touched the flanks of my horse, and he was off with a bound. A good cutting-horse, he was trained to go from a standing start into a sharp burst of speed, and it was well he did, for I heard the sound of
another bullet and then I was dodging behind a clump of mesquite. Circling quickly about the end, I turned at right angles and rode straightaway, knowing the rifleman would expect me to appear at the other end. Before he could adjust his aim, I was behind another clump and my horse was running flat-out.
One more shot sounded, and then I was down into an arroyo. The arroyo headed straight back for the hills where I wanted to go, and from where I'd come when trailing the cattle, but I had an idea the hidden marksman knew more about that arroyo than I did. So I watched for a way up, glimpsed a steep game trail, and put my horse up the trail and over the rim and into the rocks.
Slowing down, I studied the country. Somebody had shot from cover, somebody who missed killing me only by the sudden move I'd made. Somebody who could shoot!
My way led west and north, but mostly west. I rode north, putting distance between myself and the man who had been shooting, and utilizing every bit of cover I could.
It was almost midnight when I finally walked my weary horse into the yard at the line-cabin.
A low voice spoke from the door of the dark cabin. "Where did she live, amigo? On the moon?"
Tired as I was, I chuckled. "I stumbled on some cattle moving at night. Made me sort of curious."
"I've coffee on the fire."
Fuentes struck a match and lit the coal-oil lamp. He put the chimney back in place. At the fireplace he dug a pot of beans from the coals and went to the cupboard for biscuits.
"You have something extra, amigo," he said, looking very serious. "How many were they?"
"Who?"
"The men who shot at you."
I had picked up the coffeepot and a cup, but now I stopped, half turning toward him. "Now how the hell would you know that?"
Fuentes shrugged a shoulder. "I do not think, amigo, that you would put bulletholes in your own hat ... So I think somebody has been shooting."
I removed my hat. There was a bullet through the crown on the left side. That one had been close ... very, very close!
As briefly as possible, I explained the events of the day and of the previous night, my trailing of the cattle, finding the herd of young stuff and turning away from the trail.
He chewed on a dead cigar and listened. Finally, he said, "How far away would you say? I mean, how far off was he when he shot?"
the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) Page 7
