He threw me a quick look. "So, so ... Yours?"
"The same." I paused ever so briefly. "And your young stuff?"
He put his glass down hard. "Now what do you mean by that, young man? What do you know about my cattle?"
"Nothing at all, but I've a suspicion you are losing stock. I've a suspicion that you aren't finding much that is three years old or less."
He glared at me. "You're right, damn it! Now how did you know that?"
"Because it is the same with us, and the same with Balch and Saddler." I took up my glass. "We've found very little under four years old."
He put his glass down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "It's damnable! Damnable, I say!" He gestured around him. "I live well, young man. Ilike to live well. But it costs money, damn it. It costs a lot of money, and I need every head of stock I can get. Believe me, young man, I'd say this to nobody else but you, but you're a gentleman, sir. I don't care what your job is, you're a gentleman, and you'll hold what I say in confidence."
He paused. "Ineed that breeding stock! I owe money. A lot of money. Folks believe me to be a rich man, and if the cattle I should have are out there, I am. But if they are not, and they do not seem to be, I'll lose all this. Every bit of it. And if you fail me and say I said that, I'll call you a liar, sir, and I'll call you out, gunfighter or no."
"You may be sure I'll not speak of it. Does your daughter know?"
"Ann? Of course not! Women have no head for business, sir. Nor should they have. Women have beauty, graciousness and style, and that is why we love them and why we work for them. Even a poor man, sir, wants those qualities in a woman, and his wife should have them in his eyes. Ann knows nothing of this, and shall know nothing."
"And if something happens to you? What then? How will she manage?"
Major Timberly waved a hand. "Nothing will happen." He got up suddenly. "Balch and Rossiter have lost young stock, too? That puts a different look on it. Unless ..." he paused and turned to look at me, "unless one of them is stealing from himself, too, to appear innocent. My boy, if what we assume is true, those cattle have been stolen over a period of years, stolen very carefully so their disappearance would not be noted."
My thoughts were running upon what he had said about women not understanding business. He should have known my mother. Em Talon was a quarter of an inch under six feet, a tall, rawboned mountain woman. She had been handsome as a young woman, yet I doubt if she had ever been what one would call pretty ... striking, perhaps.
Even while my father lived, she had been the one who operated the ranch. A shrewd judge of stock as well as of men, she was strongly a Sackett, which was her family name. She was a strong woman, a woman fit to walk beside a strong man, which pa had been. Yet he was a builder, and only half a rancher.
Major Timberly and I talked long, and finally when it was time for bed, he said, "Young man, if you learn anything new, come quickly to me. If you have to take action to stop this rustling, do so, and I will back you."
"That's just it, sir. It must not be stopped."
"Not stopped? Are you daft?"
"No, sir. First we must find out what is being done with the cattle. I believe they are being held somewhere, in some hidden place, some distance off. If we put pressure on the rustlers now, they'll just get off with the herd and drive to Mexico. And that will be the end of it.
"Leave it to me, Major. I think I have an idea. If you wish to get in touch with me again, I'm at the line-cabin. If I'm not there, tell Fuentes."
"The Mexican?"
"He's the best hand on the Stirrup-Iron, Major, and a solid man."
"Of course. I meant no offense. I know Fuentes well, and he can go to work for me anytime he's of a mind to."
When I was at breakfast the following morning, the major did not appear, but Ann did. She came in, looking bright and sunny in a starched gingham dress of blue and white with a kind of blue scarf at her throat.
"You and Pa talked a long time," she said brightly. "Did you ask him for my hand?"
"As a matter of fact," I said, "we talked about cattle. Didn't get around to you."
"You mean he didn't give you his little oration on women not knowing anything about business? I am surprised. He always enjoys that subject. He's a dear, but he's silly. I know more about the business of this ranch than he does, and have ... since I was twelve. Ma told me I'd have to look after him."
I chuckled. "Does he know that?"
"Oh dear, no! He'd be very upset. But he's very bright about cattle and horses, Milo. He can make money, but he can also spend it ... far too well. Even at that, we'd be doing well if it wasn't for the stock we've lost."
"Much?"
"Over half our young stuff ... and some of the best six-year-olds are gone."
Over half? Balch and Rossiter had lost almostall . Was there a clue here? Actually, the major's stock was better than that of Stirrup-Iron or Balch and Saddler. He'd brought in a couple of excellent bulls, and was breeding more beef on his young stuff, so why only half or a bit more?
That needed some thinking, but when I rode out that morning I put the idea out of my mind. The first few miles led over a wide prairie where nobody could get within two miles of me without being seen. There were a few scattered cattle wearing the Stirrup-Iron, and I started them off ahead of me. But nearing the low rolling hills I grew cautious.
Such hills are deceptive, and they offer hiding places that do not seem to be there. I had cut wide to bring back a cow with a notion for the high country when I saw the tracks--several fresh tracks, clearly defined, of a fast-moving, smooth-stepping horse.
The tracks pointed toward the hills on my left, so my eyes swept the grassy crests but saw nothing that looked to be out of place. The steeldust moved of his own volition to head a steer to the right, and I held my place there.
Suddenly, I let out a whoop and started the cattle running through the draw, yet once I had them started I swung the gray and went up the left slope at a run.
The gray topped out on the crest just as a bullet clipped past my ear, and then I saw a flurry of movement, somebody scrambling into a saddle, and a horse leaving at a dead run.
The gray was a runner, and it liked to run. Despite the quick scramble up the slope it was off and running without a word from me. I shucked my rifle, sighted on the bobbing figure ahead, and tried a shot.
I missed.
At the distance and at a bobbing target, it would have been a miracle had I not missed, but suddenly the rider whipped his horse over and vanished!
The rider was now two hundred yards off, and by the time I reached the place and saw the narrow slide that led into a wooded valley below, he was through the gap and gone. I went down it, and then pulled up.
Before me stretched a good half mile of thick brush ending in some broken hills. There was a scent of dust in the air, nothing more. The man I pursued might be in there anywhere, might be waiting for me to come on and be killed. Nonetheless, this was as close as I'd come and--
Tracks ... The earth was dusty but I found a partial one and, taking that direction, picked up another. In a moment I was in the dense thicket, dodging prickly pear and mesquite.
Another track, a broken mesquite twig, leaves just coming back into place after something had pushed through them. I followed carefully, keeping a sharp lookout to left and right. Yet an hour of search brought me nothing.
Whoever had fired at me had gotten away again. I had a hunch my luck was running out. After all, how many times can a man miss? Granted, he'd not had many good chances, but luck had saved my bacon, and such luck does not last. The odds were against me.
Dropping down in the arroyo, I rode on after my cattle, which had drifted on through a small, scattered thicket and were now beginning to spread out to graze. Once more I made my gather and started on, picking up two more head as I moved.
Fuentes was gone when I came in, but Danny Rolf was there. He was seated at the table with a cup of coffee in his
hand, yet I had the sudden impression that he had not been there long.
He looked up sharply, guiltily, I thought. Then put his cup down. "Howdy," he said. "Wondered where you was."
Chapter 15
Taking my cup, I went to the coffeepot and filled it. My eyes caught a bit of mud, still damp, near the hearth. I looked at it, suddenly every sense alert.
Mud? Where around here was there mud? I glanced out the door toward the water trough. It had not overflowed, and the earth around it was dry.
Straightening up, I took a swallow of coffee, taking the opportunity to look past the cup at Danny Rolf's boots.
Mud.
Dropping into a chair across the table, I glanced out the door again. His horse was tied on the far side of the corral, a curious thing in itself. The sort of thing a man might do who wanted to approach the cabin unseen, yet not to actually sneak up to it.
"Any luck?"
"Huh?" He was startled, obviously worried by something else. "Luck? Oh, no. Found a few head, but they're gettin' flighty. Hard to round up now, they've been drove so much."
He looked at my hat. "You're sure gettin' a good hat ruined. Better buy you a new one."
"I was thinking of that, but it's a far piece to where I can get one. Not many places this side of San Antone."
He looked at me suddenly. "San Antone? That's the wrong direction. Why, there's places north of us ... I don't think they're so far off."
Neither of us said much, each busy with his own thoughts. Danny's clothes were dusty--except for those boots. He'd been working or riding ... But where?
"Danny," I said, "we've got to go easy. Lay off the Balch and Saddler outfit."
"What's that mean?" He shot me a straight, hard look.
"They've been losing stock, too. There may be somebody else who wants trouble between us so he can pick up the pieces."
"Ah, I don't believe it," he scoffed. "What are they hiring gunfighters for? You know damn well Balch would ride roughshod over anybody got in his way. And as for that son of his--"
"Take it easy. We don't have a thing to go on, Danny. Just dislike and suspicion."
"You ain't been around long. You just wait and see." He paused. "You been workin' south of here?"
"Some ... Mostly east."
"Joe Hinge said you're needed over on the other side. He's fixin' to start cleanin' out our cattle from the Balch and Saddler stuff. If you're really good with that gun, that'll be the place for you."
"It needn't come to shooting."
He looked at me slowly, carefully. "That Ingerman, he shapes up pretty mean. An' Tory Benton ... I hear he's gunnin' for you."
He seemed to be trying to irritate me, so I just grinned at him and said, "Ingerman is tough ... I don't know about Benton, but Ingerman is a fighter. He's tough and he's dangerous, and any time you go to the mat with him, you'd better be set for an all-out battle. He takes fighting wages, and he means to earn them."
"Scared?"
"No, Danny, I'm not, but I'm careful. I don't go off half-cocked. When a man pulls a gun on another man, he'd better have a reason, a mighty good one that he's mighty sure of. A gun isn't a toy. It's nothing to be worn for show or to be flashed around, showing off. When you put a hand on a gun you can die."
"You sound like you're scared."
"No. I sound like what I am, a cautious man who doesn't want to kill a man unless the reason demands it. When a man picks up a gun he picks up responsibility. He has a dangerous weapon, and he'd better have coolness and discretion."
"I don't know what that means."
"He'd better have judgment, Danny. That other man who wears a gun also has a family, a home, he has hopes, dreams, ambitions. If you're human, you must think of that. Nobody in his right mind takes a human life lightly."
He got up, stretching a little. The mud on his boots was drying. He had gotten it somewhere not too far from here, but where? There were other waterholes ... the springs Fuentes had showed me and a couple we'd found, but they were over east. Of course, there was also the creek over there.
"Seen Ol' Brindle?" I asked him suddenly.
"Brindle? No. Hope I never do."
"Better stay away from the creek," I said casually. "That's where I saw him last."
"What creek?" he demanded belligerently. "Who says I been around any creek?" He stared at me suspiciously, his face flushed and guilty.
"Nobody, Danny. I was just telling you that's where Brindle is. Joe Hinge doesn't want any of us getting busted up by him."
He walked toward the door. "I better be gettin' back." He lingered as if there were something else on his mind, and finally he said, "That girl whose box you bought. You sweet on her?"
"Lisa? No. She just seemed to be all alone, and I didn't know anybody very much, so I bid on her box."
"You spent a lot of money," he accused. "Where'd you get that kind of money?"
"Saved it. I'm no boozer, Danny, and I'm a careful man with a dollar. I like clothes and I like horses, and I save money to spend on them."
"You fetched a lot of attention to her," he said. "You brought trouble to her, I'm thinkin'."
"I doubt it, but if I did it was unintentional."
He still lingered. "Where at did she say she lived?"
"She didn't tell me."
He thought I was lying. I could see it in his face, and I had a hunch, suddenly, that Danny had been doing his own thinking about her. Ann Timberly was out of his class, and so was China Benn. Barby Ann was thinking only of Roger Balch, and Danny was young, and he was dreaming his own dreams, and here was a girl who might fit right into them. If he had taken a dislike to me, which was possible, she might be the reason.
"If she didn't tell me, it's because she didn't want me to know. It was my feeling she didn't want anybody to know. I think she's got a reason for keeping herself unknown."
"You sayin' there's something wrong about her?" He stared at me, hard-eyed and eager to push it further.
"No, Danny. She seemed a nice girl, only she was scared about something. She did tell me that nobody knew she was there and she had to get right back."
We talked a little longer to no purpose, and he went out and rode away. I walked to where his horse had been tied. There were several lumps of dried mud that had fallen from his horse's hooves.
If he had come far, that mud would have been gone before this. The mud had been picked up somewhere not too far off... But where?
I was stirring up the fire for cooking when Fuentes came in. He stripped the gear from his horse, noticed the tracks Danny had left and glanced toward the cabin.
Standing in the door, I said, "It was Danny. Had something on his mind, but he didn't say what. Said he saw Hinge. He wants us to come in. He's going to work west of here, up on the cap-rock. He's afraid there'll be trouble."
After a moment, I said, "I don't think there will be. I think Balch will stand aside."
"What about Roger?"
Well, what about him? I thought about Roger, and those two guns of his, and the itch he had to prove himself bigger than he was. I'd ridden with a number of short men, one time and another, and some of them the best workers I'd ever come across ... Good men. It wasn't simply that he was short that was driving Roger. There was some inner poison in the man, something dangerous that was driving him on.
Fuentes changed the subject. "Found some screwworms today. We had better check every head we bring in."
"Danny wants to work this part of the range."
Fuentes looked around at me. "Did he say why?"
"No, but I've got an idea it's Lisa. That girl at the box supper."
Fuentes grinned. "Why not? He's young, she's pretty."
All true enough, but somehow the idea worried me. Danny was young and impressionable, and Lisa had been frightened of what she had done. She had slipped away secretly to go to the box supper, and that implied that somebody at her home did not want her to go?
A mother? A father? Or was it somebody els
e? For some other reason?
It was not logical that a family could be in that country long and be completely unknown. So ... chances were, they had not been here long.
They were living off the beaten track, which didn't mean too much because nearly everything out here lived far apart.
Still, there was considerable riding around. I thought about her clothes. They had been good enough--simple, and a bit worn here and there but clean, ironed, and prepared for wearing by a knowing hand.
Even if Lisa had only been here a short time, it was obvious she did not want to be found ... For her own reasons? Or because of that someone who did not want her away from home?
"Tony," I paused, "I don't want to leave here."
He shrugged. "Joe needs us. He expects trouble with Balch."
"There will be none."
"You think, amigo, that because of your talk, he will say nothing?"
"Yes, I do ... But Lord knows, I can be wrong."
We packed up what gear we had around the place and saddled up with fresh horses, yet I still did not wish to go. What I wanted was time to ride further south, further east. There were a lot of canyons in the Edwards Plateau country, a lot of places where cattle could be hidden.
Suddenly, I began to wonder. How many head had been stolen? I asked Fuentes.
"Five hundred ... Maybe twice that many. After all, whoever is stealing is taking from all three ranches, and has been taking for maybe three years."
"He's got to think about Indians."
"Si... Maybe he doesn't have to think about them, amigo. Maybe they are friends, you think?"
"Or he's found some hiding place where they won't look."
Fuentes shook his head. "The Apache won't look? An Apache would look into the gates of hell, amigo. So would a Kiowa or a Comanche."
We rode on, not talking. Organized roundups were a new thing in this neck of the woods. Usually a man, with two or three neighbors, would make their gather, sort out the brands and start a trail drive. When they got to the end of the track, they would sell the cattle they had, keeping an account of any brands from their part of the country, and when they got home they'd straighten up.
Unbranded stuff was usually branded according to the brand its mother was wearing--if there was a mother around. And if the rancher was honest. Otherwise, any strays were apt to collect his own brand, and often enough there were a good many cattle that wore no brand at all ... mavericks ... To be branded in any way that pleased the roundup crew or the man in charge.
the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) Page 12
