Quitting Time

by Robert J Conley

“Mr. Hughes,” said Colfax., “is there a decent river crossing anywhere near? Place where a few men could drive cattle across?”

  Hughes shoved back his hat and scratched his head.

  “Well,” he said, “not really. Not unless you ride up into the mountains a ways. There’s a place or two up yonder.”

  “Can we make it that far up today?”

  “And get back in time for your playacting?”

  “That’s my meaning.”

  “Not to but one of them,” said Hughes.

  “Then the other’ll keep for another time. Show me where Wheeler hangs out.”

  They were already at the western reaches of the open range that bordered Lanagan’s land and then ran into the foothills that quickly steepened into the snowcapped mountain range which cut the valley off from the farther west. Hughes led Colfax along the riverbank on a well-worn trail to a shanty dug into the side of a steep hill. That part of the structure which peeked out of the earth was made of hewn logs and daubed with mud. A thin line of smoke was rising from a stovepipe which jutted forward at an awkward angle just above the topmost log. Colfax had already noted that the temperature had dropped considerably during their short climb.

  “This is the place,” said Hughes.

  “Looks like someone’s home,” said Colfax. “How many live here with Wheeler?”

  “He’s got a wife and a couple of younger brothers.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Wife’s pregnant.”

  Colfax. glanced around. A small corral stood on the downhill side of the dugout. It was empty. He decided to check his impulse on Hughes.

  “Who do you suppose is in that house right now?” he asked.

  “I’d say just the missus. The horses are all gone. That means the men are all out riding.”

  “How far on up to where these other—small ranchers are located?”

  “Not far,” said Hughes. “That river crossing I told you about? It’s just about a mile on up ahead. Just beyond that is where the boys has all dug in. I figure we can ride on up there and look it over, cross on to the other side, then ride back down and get onto Dierks’s place.”

  Colfax bounced his heels against the black mare’s sides, urging her forward.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Just then three riders appeared on the trail above them. They were moving easy, and when they spotted Colfax and Hughes, they halted their mounts. Colfax did likewise. It was a narrow trail. The riders up above eyed Colfax suspiciously. He noticed that one of them had a hand on the butt of his six-gun. All three riders were armed with both six-guns and saddle guns. One rider, the one who appeared to be the oldest, eased his horse forward a few paces. He kept his eyes on Colfax as he spoke.

  “Rondo,” he said.

  “Howdy, Lark,” said Hughes.

  “What brings you back up to these parts?”

  Hughes glanced questioningly at Colfax.

  “We got nothing to hide, Mr. Hughes,” said Colfax.

  “I’m just showing my boss here the lay of the land, Lark.”

  “And who is your boss?”

  “This here is Oliver Colfax, Lark. I’m working for him now. Mr. Colfax, this is Lark Wheeler, and back yonder is Spud and Tommy, his brothers. This is their place we’re just passing.”

  “Colfax, huh?” said Wheeler. “I heard you was working for Tiff Lanagan.”

  “News travels fast around here,” said Colfax. He took note of the fact that the Wheelers’ horses were wet up to their flanks, as were the brothers’ pantslegs to just below the knees. They had obviously just crossed the river upstream.

  “Yeah,” said Wheeler. “Bad news. What exactly is it you do for old Lanagan—Colfax?”

  “Wheeler,” said Colfax, “I’ll tell you straight like I’d tell anyone. Lanagan thinks there’s rustling going on. I agreed to check into it. If I find it, I’ll try to stop it.”

  “That ain’t all of it,” said Wheeler. “He told you that it was me doing it, didn’t he? And you’re up here poking around my place to see what you can see.”

  Colfax sighed audibly. He pulled the makings out of his pocket and began to roll a cigarette.

  “He told me it was you, all right,” he said. “You and the others on up the hill. I told him that I wouldn’t act on just his say-so. I said I’d look for myself.”

  Colfax poked the finished cigarette between his lips and fished the tin matchbox out of his vest pocket. He lit the cigarette and replaced the box. There was a long moment of tense silence as Colfax puffed smoke.

  “That sounds fair enough,” said Wheeler. “Poke around all you want to. We got nothing to hide from you or Tiff Lanagan or anyone else.”

  “Then maybe you wouldn’t mind if I asked you a few questions,” said Colfax.

  The door to the dugout opened just then, and a young woman stepped out into the cool mountain breeze.

  “Lark?” she called. “Lark, dinner’s on. We got company?”

  Lark Wheeler looked at Colfax a moment before answering.

  “Two extra,” he called back. Then he glanced at Colfax and Hughes and said in a lower voice, “Put your horses in the corral.”

  “Mrs. Wheeler, the dinner was excellent,” said Colfax, as he pushed back his chair from the table.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Hughes. “Thank you kindly.”

  Mrs. Wheeler blushed slightly as she began clearing the table. She was young. Colfax estimated twenty or twenty-one years at the most. Pretty. Not beautiful but pretty. And she certainly wasn’t spoiled. She was likely a good wife for a cattleman, he thought.

  “You said you had questions, Colfax,” said Wheeler. “Now’s your chance.”

  “All right. Lanagan says your herd has grown too fast. Says it’s not natural. Can you explain that growth?”

  “Sure. Like everyone else, I pick up mavericks. Hell, even Lanagan and Dierks pick up each other’s mavericks. Probably even some of mine. That’s part of it. I’ve also made a couple of runs out since I moved in here and bought a few more head. Lanagan never come around to ask. I could have showed him the bill of sale.”

  Colfax glanced toward Mrs. Wheeler.

  “Do you mind if I smoke in your house, ma’am?” he said.

  Mrs. Wheeler blushed once more. Colfax guessed that she was not accustomed to chivalry.

  “Why, no,” she said. “Not at all.”

  He rolled a cigarette and offered the makings around the table. Hughes accepted them, as did Lark Wheeler. Spud passed them on, and young Tommy took them. Colfax’s eyes rested for a moment on Tommy. Something seemed amiss, but he couldn’t quite fasten it down. Tommy rolled himself a cigarette all right, then passed the makings back to Colfax with a grin.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Colfax passed around the tin matchbox, and while it made the rounds, he spoke again.

  “Lanagan believes that you brought in the bunch uphill to help you steal his cattle,” he said.

  “That son of a bitch,” said Spud.

  “Shut up, Spud,” said Wheeler. “I know some of them boys from back in New Mexico, Colfax. We worked together down there on a couple of big ranches. Rondo here was one of them. I didn’t bring them here, though, and we ain’t working together.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on this rustling business?”

  “None that I care to voice, Colfax,” said Wheeler. He took a deep drag on his smoke. “I mind my own business.”

  “Have you lost any cattle?”

  “No.”

  Riding up the trail behind Rondo Hughes, Colfax tried to analyze his conversation with Lark Wheeler. Wheeler was sullen but open enough, it seemed. The second brother, Spud, was worse than sullen. He was surly and quick-tempered. Then the young one, Tommy, was—what? Colfax couldn’t figure him out. He seemed, well, young. Only Lark Wheeler had done any real talking, and Colfax wondered if he had learned anything at all from Wheeler’s talk. Wheeler had invited him to look around. That spoke well for the ma
n. Either he had nothing to hide, as he claimed, or he was awfully confident of his ability to cover his tracks. And of course he had denied all of Lanagan’s accusations. He would have done that, guilty or innocent. Two things particularly puzzled Colfax: Wheeler’s refusal to offer an opinion on the rustling, and his open admission that he had not suffered any from it. If he was guilty, would he not offer up the opinion that nothing was really going on? If innocent, why not express his opinion? And then his admitting to Colfax that he had lost no cattle had seemed almost like a challenge. Why, if others were losing cattle, had Wheeler not lost any? But if he was guilty and knew that his answer would sound suspicious, why didn’t he lie and claim to have lost some like the others?

  A shot rang out ahead and startled Colfax out of his thoughts. Hughes’s roan whinnied and reared in fright, but Hughes managed to stay in the saddle. He pulled in the reins and fought to get the animal back in control. Colfax halted his black mare and pulled his Winchester out of its saddle boot. He levered a shell into the chamber and searched the hills ahead. Then a shrill voice called out from somewhere up above.

  “Rondo Hughes. Rondo. If you brought that killing man Colfax up here with you, then you both of you just turn right around and ride back on down where you come from.”

  Chapter Five

  “Denny? Denny, that you?” shouted Hughes.

  “Get down off your horse, Mr. Hughes,” said Colfax. “Now.”

  Colfax had already dismounted and moved off the trail. Hughes swung his leg over the saddle and stepped down.

  “Never you mind, Rondo,” came the voice. “You just mount back up and do like I said, or I'll put a hole in you, so help me God I will.”

  Hughes dropped the reins and stepped up ahead of the roan in the trail.

  “Denny,” he said, “I know that’s you. You ain’t going to shoot me. Hell, boy, we ain’t after nobody. Just looking around. Talking.”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “Tell him,” said Colfax.

  “Denny, I’ve got Oliver Colfax down here with me.”

  “Just what we figured. You get the hell out of here. I’ll drop you both you come any closer.”

  “Mr. Hughes,” said Colfax, “get the hell off the trial.”

  Hughes hesitated only an instant, then stepped quickly off the trail, pulled his six-gun out of its holster and looked back over his shoulder at Colfax.

  “What now, boss?” he said.

  “Where is he, Mr. Hughes?”

  “Well, I got a pretty good idea. There’s a spot up there. We get back out on that trail, he can see us, but we can’t see him.”

  “Can we get around him?”

  “Not easy, we can’t.”

  Colfax studied the trail ahead and the surrounding hills. The sound of the river rushing down toward the valley below seemed suddenly almost deafening. Damn it. he thought. Not yet. It’s too early. I don’t even know what’s going on around here. I don’t want to kill anyone yet.

  “Rondo?” came the voice, and Colfax was momentarily surprised that the voice could be heard so clearly over the roaring voice of the waters. “Rondo, y’all can’t set there all damn day.”

  He’s right, thought Colfax. I’ve got things to do elsewhere.

  “Denny,” he shouted. “This is Oliver Colfax. Can you hear me?”

  There was a slight pause before Denny returned his answer.

  “I hear you.”

  “You come on down here on this trail and talk to us.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “How many men have you killed, Denny?”

  Denny was silent, so Colfax continued.

  “Well, I’ve lost count, boy. Now I didn’t come up here to kill anyone, but if you don’t do like I say, I just might change my mind, and if I decide to kill you, Denny, you’re as good as dead.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I just want to ride up on to the crossing and over to the other side. Then I’m going back down again. That’s all.”

  “Well,” said Denny, his voice this time barely audible to Hughes and Colfax, “I guess there ain’t no harm in that.”

  “I’m waiting, Denny,” called Colfax.

  “Okay. I’m coming on down. To talk. Okay?”

  Colfax smirked inwardly. It was sometimes handy to have possession of a reputation for notoriety such as his. Sometimes. He could hear Denny scrambling down from behind some rocks. Soon he saw the man, rifle in hand, appear on the trail. Colfax, holding his own Winchester in his right hand, stepped out in view. Denny stood still, staring in awe at the famous killer there before him.

  “Mr. Hughes,” said Colfax, his voice low and calm, his eyes on Denny, “would you step out here and make the introductions?”

  Hughes stepped to the edge of the trail so he wouldn’t be directly between Colfax and Denny. He still held his six-gun in his right hand, but his hand was hanging down at his side. He looked from Colfax to the other man.

  “Mr. Colfax,” he said, “this is a—uh—a friend of mine, Denny Doyle. Denny, this is Mr. Oliver Colfax here.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Doyle?” said Colfax.

  Denny Doyle shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other while looking mostly at the ground.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  “Mr. Doyle,” said Colfax, “are Mr. Hughes and I trespassing on your private property?”

  “Huh? Well, no?”

  “Then why did you fire on us?”

  “I never meant to hit nobody. Hell, Colfax, I’m a pretty damn good shot.”

  “That’s true,” said Hughes. “If he’d a wanted to drop me, he’d a done it.”

  “All right,” said Colfax, “then why were you trying to run us off of this public road?”

  “Well,” said Doyle, “I was kind of—elected. The boys said for me to do it.”

  “The boys?”

  “Yeah. The other—ranchers up here with me.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Doyle looked from Colfax to Hughes, then back down at the dirt between his boots. He was young. Colfax judged him to be in his mid-twenties, about the same age as Hughes. And he had the look of a cowboy, all right, though one who had seen some hard times. Colfax would hardly have graced the man with the term “rancher.”

  “Well, damn it, Colfax,” said Doyle, “they said that Tiff Lanagan had hired you to come up here and wipe us out. We’re just defending ourselves.”

  It’s the same old tune, thought Colfax, but then, I guess I can’t really blame them. Not after the life I’ve led. Time was they’d have been right. If a man hired Oliver Colfax, someone was going to die. He let out an audible sigh.

  “Mr. Doyle,” he said, “Mr. Hughes and I did not come up here shooting nor intending to shoot, and even when you fired on us, we did not shoot back. Now do you suppose we could all ride on up to the crossing together? I’d like to meet your friends—the other ranchers.”

  “Yeah,” said Doyle, “well, I guess so.”

  The ride up to the crossing was short, as Hughes had said it would be, and soon Colfax found himself in the midst of a hastily constructed community of dugouts, lean-tos, a couple of tents, and brush and log corrals. The structures were scattered seemingly at random on both sides of the river, but on the north side, waiting by the side of the trail upon which Colfax and Hughes rode with Doyle, five armed cowboys stood waiting, their faces and postures belligerent. The three riders halted their mounts within ten feet of the waiting cowboys, but Doyle quickly dismounted and moved with his horse over to the other side. For a long, tense moment, no one spoke. Then the silence was relieved by the man standing in the center of the group of cowboys. He was looking at Colfax as he spoke to Doyle.

  “Denny,” he said, “we told you to turn them back or kill them.”

  “I know, Youngblood,” said Doyle, “but, well, they said they didn’t come up here to fight. Colfax there, he said he wanted to meet you.”

  “I bet he did,” sai
d Youngblood. “Colfax, you murdering son of a bitch, you just rode into your death trap.”

  “Hold on,” said Hughes. “Y’all don’t need to go killing anyone.”

  Youngblood turned his gaze on Hughes for the first time.

  “I’m surprised at you, Rondo,” he said, “riding with someone like that. You should’ve stayed up here with us.”

  “Or in the stable,” said Denny Doyle.

  “Well,” said the cowboy standing to Youngblood’s immediate left, “we going to kill them?”

  Colfax decided that he had let this potentially volatile conversation go unchecked long enough.

  “Mr. Youngblood,” he said, “you seem to be in control here. There are six of you over there and two of us. You can kill us if that’s what you’re determined to do. Now I’m not sure of Mr. Hughes’s abilities, but I know that I can kill two of you, maybe three, before I go down. You’ve obviously heard of me, so you know I’m not lying. And you, Mr. Youngblood, will be the first I drop. So what’s it going to be?”

  “He said he just wanted to talk to us,” said Doyle, a nervous tremble in his voice.

  “So talk,” said Youngblood.

  “I’m investigating rustling for Tiff Lanagan,” said Colfax. “I’ve looked over the Lanagan spread, stopped to talk with the Wheelers, now you. I’m going on down to meet Dierks next, unless you stop me here.”

  Colfax paused, but it was apparent to him soon that neither Youngblood nor any of his cohorts intended to say anything, so he continued.

  “I don’t know anything,” he said. “I’m looking, and I’m asking.”

  “Asking what?” said Youngblood.

  “Do you believe that there are rustlers operating around here?”

  “Hell, no. That’s Lanagan’s excuse to try to run us out of here. He wants it all for himself. Don’t want no competition. There ain’t no rustlers around here.”

  “Did you bring cows in here with you when you came?”

  “A few. Mostly we picked up mavericks.”

  “Where do you keep your herd?”

  Youngblood glanced around his group of surly cowhands and shot a quick look in Hughes’s direction before he answered.

  “We run them down on the prairie, open range, same as Wheeler, same as Dierks, same as old Lanagan himself.”