by Nathan Jones
Most good ranchers only used the whip for noise to direct their cattle, cracking it close to their heads to get them to go a different way. But if he wanted to be confident the Hendricksons' well-trained animals would stampede out of this gully and to where their owners were waiting to round them up, he needed to give them a reason.
So, little as he liked it, he began applying the lash to the flanks of the cattle.
Bawling in surprise and distress, the animals bolted through the camp towards the safety of the grasslands, making bandits shout and dive to avoid being trampled. A few animals stampeding at the back was enough to get the rest moving as well, so Skyler turned his attention to the horses and gave them a few licks of the whip to get them moving, too.
He also yelled like a madman, further spooking the animals. And nearly getting himself thrown out of Buster's saddle as the gelding reared and bolted after the others. He held the saddle's pommel in a death grip with one hand, using the other to crack the whip and keep the animals at an all out run out of the gully.
Bandits were cursing and scrambling out from under the flashing hooves of the panicked animals, still struggling to figure out what was going on as he passed by them in a flash with the horses. One, quicker on the uptake than his buddies, had the presence of mind to snatch his gun out of its holster and point it Skyler's way.
With the bullwhip in hand he couldn't go for his own gun, even if he'd had time, so he lashed out with the whip itself. Hoping as he did so that skill honed by countless hours of practice with the thing back home hadn't faded over the last two years.
It hadn't. The man bellowed in pain as the tip sliced across his forearm, sending the gun flying out of his hand. He joined the other bandits in diving out of the way, clutching his arm and cursing up a storm.
Randall was bellowing orders to stop the escaping animals, although he himself was on the ground with his men. By the time the bandits recovered enough to try to head the animals off it was too late; the stampede was already past. Which left them no choice but to sprint in pursuit hoping to catch up.
The bandits also, predictably, began shooting. At Skyler, of course, who ducked down in the saddle and guided Buster farther forward in the herd of panicked horses to put more of them between him and the flying bullets.
Shockingly, Randall's gang also opened fire on the animals themselves. There was probably no rational thought going into the decision to shoot at their own horses and captured cattle; it was either spite, keeping their enemies from having what they were being deprived of, or just that their blood was up and shooting things was what they did.
Either way he heard a few horses scream, and when he glanced back he saw a couple had gone down, thrashing in pain. The sight made him grit his teeth, and he turned back and yelled some more to keep the horses around him bolting.
Not that they needed too much encouragement, under the circumstances.
They hit the choke point at the eastern end of the bowl, and the next moments were a terrifying confusion of tightly pressed horses surging against each other as they all tried to get out of the gully at once. Skyler lost hold of the bullwhip as he scrambled to clutch the reins in both hands, clenching his teeth around a bellow of pain as his legs in the stirrups were nearly crushed or yanked in unnatural directions. All he could do was press them tight to Buster's flanks and hope he got out of the gully before he was crippled for life.
Even more alarming was the feel of the saddle's girth strap straining, to the point he could hear it creaking even over the noise of screaming horses and pounding hooves. Forget being crippled; if the saddle came off he'd end up trampled to death beneath tons of horseflesh. All he could do was hunch low against Buster's back, legs an agony and cinch squealing, saddle starting to slip dangerously to one side.
Then the horses directly in front of him sprang away from each other, the ones crushing him on either side following moments later, and they were out of the gully and thundering across the rolling grassland.
Two shadowy shapes on horseback resolved out of the darkness, Lisa and Uncle Bob, and converged on the panicking animals from either side. With the ease of years of expertise they began herding them together and turning them in the direction of the ranch.
Skyler unslung his rifle from his back as he smoothly directed Buster to the rear of the herd, getting to work driving the animals forward at the quickest pace he could manage in the dark. Aside from herding animals at night, something he'd rarely done except during an emergency, it almost could've been five years ago again, working alongside Lisa and her dad to manage their combined herds.
It was a nice feeling. He'd missed ranching, especially with his oldest friend. So many fond memories.
A shouted warning from Fernando somewhere behind him, along with the sharp crack crack of gunshots, whipped Skyler's head around in time to see a mounted figure burst from the mouth of the gully, now a hundred yards back. He could only guess he'd missed one of the horses in the confusion, and a bandit had managed to catch it and mount up in pursuit of the livestock.
Skyler started to wheel to deal with the threat, but the bandit was already veering off to one side, kicking his animal to a literally breakneck pace in the dark, to dodge the ambushing homesteader's shots. That put him dangerously close to the rancher directing the livestock on the left flank, who if they'd been back in Trapper's valley would usually be Lisa.
Whether by accident or intent, Randall's thug was in position to quickly ride her down and put a bullet in her back from behind. And Skyler, who'd just veered right to hurry along a few lagging cattle on that flank, was out of position to do anything about it.
He tried anyway, raising his rifle and struggling to get the bandit in his sights. But with the enemy low in the saddle, and half a dozen running animals between them, he couldn't get an easy shot. Even worse, the man veered closer to the stampede as if hoping that his gunshots would spook them and make them more unmanageable, which put him between Skyler and Lisa.
If he tried to take out the bandit now, he might be the one shooting her in the back.
But however dubious his friend's marksmanship, she was a terrific rider. She veered away the moment she realized the danger, wheeling with a speed and precision that would've been difficult for Skyler and Junior to match in daylight. Before her attacker could respond to her sudden change of direction she was able get several shots off at him, each muzzle flash briefly illuminating features set in fierce determination.
And either by miracle or hidden talent, her third shot connected and the bandit gave a shrill shriek and slumped out of his saddle.
Even more impressively, barely missing a beat the young woman urged Nibbly in pursuit of the riderless horse as it bolted and, after a few attempts, managed to snag the reins. Then she was veering back to her position on the left flank, herding strays back into the group.
Skyler shook himself out of his shock, relieved at how the dangerous encounter had ended, and got back to work urging the animals to a faster pace, before they slowed down to the point that the rest of Randall's gang could catch up to them on foot.
A few hundred yards later, a last backwards glance confirmed that the bandits had broken off their pursuit at the mouth of the gully, and weren't even trying to follow the escaping animals on foot. Skyler let himself breathe for the first time in minutes and whistled a signal to his friends, letting them know it was safe to slow down and get the animals in better order for the final stretch to the ranch.
Actually getting the livestock back into the burned barn, which was still the most secure structure for them in spite of the lack of a roof and damaged walls, turned out to be a challenge. The horses and cattle weren't thrilled about the smell of char, and on top of that were still more than a little jumpy about being goaded into stampeding twice already that night.
In fact, it took so long that Skyler started getting a little jumpy himself. About the time when the bandits could've reached the ranch at a hard run, he left his friends
to the frustrating task and rode out to search the darkness for signs of the enemy. He didn't see any bandits, although after a few minutes he intercepted Fernando returning from his task of covering their backs.
Skyler whistled to let the man know he was friendly as he trotted over to meet him. “Made it clear without trouble?” he asked the homesteader.
“Nothing aside from twisting my ankle a bit running in the dark,” Adalia's cousin replied cheerfully. “The bandits were still cursing up a storm at the entrance to the gully when I left.” He slapped his leg, voice turning victorious. “So now I've got a new pistol and a horse! Bandits should come to Lone Valley more often!”
It was hard to be amused by that. “I'll start celebrating once we get the livestock secure in the barn, and we've made it through the night without the bandits coming for them. Speaking of which . . .”
“Gotcha,” the man replied, tone still light. “I'll go help the Hendricksons wrangle the animals.” He started off, calling enthusiastically over his shoulder. “And pick out my new horse, eh?”
Chapter Thirteen
Low Point
Incompetent buffoons. Simon was surrounded by incompetent buffoons.
Of course, like any real leader he'd resigned himself to the fact that his people were going to be stupider and less skilled than he was. Otherwise they'd be in charge. Even so, he couldn't help but seethe at how he'd given his boys the Hendrickson livestock on a silver platter, and they'd managed to completely bungle it.
His plan had been perfect. Leave his gang in the gully last night after the kid chased them off, then sneak back to the ranch on his own just before dawn and hide in the barn. Then a day of waiting in a comfortable bed of hay while the ranchers wore themselves out on useless sentry duty, not to mention lulling themselves into a false sense of complacency as nothing happened.
And as a bonus he got to overhear a surprising amount of the conversations between Graham, Hendrickson, his womenfolk, and the Mexican farmer they'd hired. Useful information that should've made it easy to fight off any attempts by the ranchers to retake their lost cows and horses.
Sticking admirably to the plan, at sundown his boys had crept as close as they could to the barn, ready to gather up the escaping livestock as they ran out into the grasslands. All Simon had needed to do was open the barn doors, open the stalls, light a conveniently placed lantern and toss it into the hayloft, mount one of the horses the ranchers had conveniently left saddled, and then raise a ruckus that combined with the growing flames made the animals panic and flee out into the yard.
At that point it was simplicity itself to ride out with the stampede, then keep it moving well out of gunshot of the ranchers in their defensive emplacements. All the way to where his boys waited to hem the animals in and steer them towards the gully. It had all gone off without a hitch, almost all the animals herded to temporary corrals in the bowl, ready to be driven off in the morning to some other place to sell.
Westward, probably, since things were hot for him and his boys to the east at the moment.
At that point Simon had considered the job done. They were safe in their gully with their fortune in cattle and horses, a place so easy to guard even idiots could do it. Or so he'd thought.
He could understand Kristy's brat sneaking up on them in the thicket. The place was an ambush point custom built by nature itself, and admittedly it had been a mistake to stay there after the first raid on the ranch.
But this gully? There were no easy approaches! You'd have to be completely blind to miss someone sneaking up on it, but somehow Franco and Deadeye (the most ironic name ever!) had let Graham waltz right into their camp to free their animals and then spook them. And none of Simon's other people had seen a blasted thing the whole time.
Then, to top it all off, they'd let Trapper's adopted spawn ride right out of the gully with the livestock!
A fortune in cows and horses, secure in one of the most defensible locations for miles, lost because his people couldn't find their peckers with both hands and a map. And to add insult to injury, the ranchers had killed one of his men and taken all his horses!
It was a disaster, and there was no excuse for it other than that his gang was as worthless as dung on his boot. They'd taken out entire convoys before, and now one kid and an adorable little family with all the menace of puppies had bested them twice.
And Trapper! The losses stung bad enough, but having them be connected to that miserable POS was unbearable. Simon hated him so much . . . he hated them all!
But hating some withered old mountain man down in Utah wasn't going to do jack for keeping his men in line. They were looking positively mutinous at the moment, and if he gave them time to stew on this loss things were going to get bad fast. Best keep them occupied with useful work.
So he cleared his throat sharply. “We need to spring Lobo.”
Franco, hunched across the fire gnawing on an entire haunch from the goat, looked up balefully. He spat a bit of gristle into the fire before growling, “Not our horses, old man?”
Well that wasn't good. Granted, the big ugly SOB almost never called him “boss”, but at the moment his boys needed more reminders that he was in charge, not less. “Our horses are back on the ranch, locked down with the ranchers' animals. I doubt we'll fool them with the same trick twice, so if we want our mounts back we'll have to attack the ranch directly. We'll need as many fighters as we can get for that, so springing Lobo's the next move.”
“Aren't they keeping him at the ranch too?” Tram demanded. “Horses or Lobo, it's the same thing.”
Simon waved airily. “Nah, the kid ran him into town last night. They're keeping him at that store, Hancock's Mercantile, pretty much unguarded. Depending on secrecy to keep him from getting rescued.”
“Overheard that while hiding in the barn for your brilliant plan, did you?” Franco taunted, tearing another bite out of his goat haunch.
He bristled. “My plan went off perfectly,” he snarled. “We got the animals without a hitch, didn't we? It wasn't until we were back here, with you on watch, that Graham snuck right in and things fell apart.”
The big man slowly stood, looming over the fire. “You trying to pin this on me, old man?” he said softly.
Simon also stood, keeping his hand close to his pistol the entire time. “Anyone else caught with their pants down here?”
Franco cursed. “Forget Lobo, forget the horses. We can steal more somewhere that's not on guard. I'm out.”
The statement was met with grunts of agreement from most of the men. Only Tram and his buddy Nils sat silent, staring at the fire.
Simon looked around at his men; this was a delicate situation, he was going to have to proceed cautiously. “You want to bail just before we win our biggest score in years?”
“Say what, now?” The big thug laughed harshly. “What's the definition of insanity, old man? You'd have to be as crazy as Lobo to think that after all the mucking things up you've done here, while we foolishly followed your so-called leadership, that suddenly you're going to get it right next time.”
“Why not?” he demanded, raising his voice to address all his men. “We've taken on worse threats than some kid and a family of cowpokes. Convoys, small settlements, even posses sent to hunt us down.”
“In that case best of luck, old man.” Franco turned to the others. “I wouldn't call any of your sorry hides valuable, except for as a bounty maybe, but you all know better than to throw your lives away chasing Randall's stupid vendetta. So if you're done losing everything with him, let's go.”
Without another word the big man gathered up his few remaining possessions and headed west out of the gully. Grumbling and shooting baleful looks Simon's way, most of the rest of his men followed. Only Tram and Nils remained, still staring into the fire as if it held the mysteries of the universe.
“Go on then, leave!” Simon shouted after the others. “Fewer people to share the loot when we get back that livestock and our horses!”
No one so much as glanced back, so he spat in disgust and turned back to the fire. “We're better off without those mad dogs, you ask me,” he told his remaining men. “I appreciate your loyalty.”
Tram shrugged as if he was neither confirming or refuting that. “I'm sticking around to spring Lobo. After that, we'll see.”
Oh, they certainly would. Simon glanced at the ropes they'd used to pen in the captured cattle. They looked pathetic just hanging there across empty ground, as if mocking him, and he grit his teeth against a fresh surge of bitterness.
His plan had been brilliant, requiring daring, audacity, patience, and cunning. To say nothing of a solid knowledge of how livestock behaved. Then Graham had just waltzed in and done the same thing as if this was all a joke. As if the world just went out of its way to help him succeed, and he'd never faced loss or had to sacrifice anything to get where he was.
The same way Trapper had waltzed in and taken Simon's convoy from him ten years ago, freeing them from Sangue slavers as if it was all a joke. Taking Kristy from him and turning her against him. Turning him into a pariah, cast out by the people he'd worked himself half to death to get across the badlands to a new life in Texas. Ungrateful, selfish, pathetic cowards, the lot of them.
Well not this time.
He may be down to three men, assuming he could spring Lobo from an unguarded store whose owner thought his prisoner's location was a secret, but that wouldn't stop him from getting his revenge on Graham. The world might hand that little skid mark everything he wanted, but Simon had learned the lessons in life to get what he wanted.
He could be patient. He could be cunning. He'd show the world he was more than a match for the rotten luck it piled on him, that it couldn't keep everything from him. And once he'd put a bullet in the kid's skull, he'd head on down to Utah and let that blond slut know what he'd done to her son, in lieu of getting some payback with her, too.
Then, after he'd taken everything from Trapper, after ten long years of waiting he'd finally put a bullet in that miserable old mountain man.
