by Jory Sherman
"Get him, Matt!" Frank Stamps hollered above the rest, his voice climbing to the high registers.
"Come on, Cord!" Dennis Whitaker yelled.
"Get him, Big John!" from one of Roumal's men.
Matt knew he was losing the battle. He was hard-pressed to gain an advantage under the savage onslaught. Big John was like a man with his second wind, like a hurt animal fighting for its life. He seemed to be everywhere at once. The only thing that saved Matt from getting disemboweled was Big John's blind fury. He wasn't striking with precision. Matt recognized this as a last-ditch attempt to throw him off and he quickly took advantage of Big John's carelessness.
Matt held his ground on one of Big John's rushes, then turned sideways like a matador caping a bull. He locked Lathrop's knife arm under his and shoved his knife into the man's belly, twisting it upwards. The knife-point struck bone and a great gasp of air was expelled from Lathrop's chest. Matt pulled his knife free and stabbed again, burying the blade to the hilt in the other man's side. He pushed harder and felt Lathrop's body jerk in a spasm of pain.
Big John staggered away from Matt, mortally wounded. Matt's hand pulled his own knife free and he released his grip on Lathrop's arm. Panting for breath, he watched as Big John fell to the ground, his eyes glazing over with the frost of death.
"I—I, uh," Big John stammered, then died, before he could form the word on his lips.
Matt raised his bloody knife in salute, then drove it into the ground, cleansing it of blood as he jerked it back out. He shoved the blade in its scabbard and heaved wearily up the knoll.
"Get the cattle into Virginia City, Bobbitt," he said. "Turn these men over to Paris Pflouts to hang. Frank Stamps and I'll ride in ahead of you, set the price. Settle up with everyone and take out your share. There's a ten dollar bonus for every man here."
A cheer went up from the men he had gathered the night before.
"Thanks," Matt said, and walked down the other side of the knoll, Frank Stamps following him, holding out his gunbelt and pistols.
* * *
The two hundred head of cattle loped easily up the ranch house road, smelling feed. Matt Cord flanked one side of them, Frank Stamps the other. For a long time they had been seeing the sun-mirrors talking in the hills. To Stamps it meant nothing. To Matt it meant a great deal. On the other side of the Gallatin he had taken his own heliograph out of the saddlebags and done some talking himself. He hoped it had done some good.
He had gotten $25 a head for the cattle in Virginia City, the men had been paid off and Roumal's bunch hanged, those that had still been alive. Now, that business was over, except one part of it that remained unfinished. That would come later. He just hoped that Ted and Addie were all right. Tex, too.
Roumal's trail had faded, even though Matt had tried to track him from the Gallatin Valley. Under other circumstances, in another time or place, he might have gone after the outlaw. Vengeance was such a shallow, empty feeling after all. Big John Lathrop had proved that to him. The man had nothing left, but he fought on, a man to the very end. At least that was more than Roumal had been. He had deserted his men when they needed him most. Yet Roumal would die too. Age would get him, or a bullet. Matt didn't care which anymore. He had other concerns on his mind.
Next to him rode a lad who reminded him of himself when he was younger. Frank Stamps had seen much for his years, but he was as young as the land that spawned him. He could grow and survive if he had the right kind of roots. Matt looked at the lad and wondered if he could be, if not a father to him, at least a brother. Every boy needed one or the other. Something in Stamps touched Matt Cord and he remembered a time, long ago, when he and Luke used to pretend they were cowboys, drawing wooden pistols and shooting at Indians, outlaws. It had all seemed so innocent, then, but the reality of the make-believe world had come all too soon. Indians had taken his father and mother away. Outlaws had killed his brother. Frank was grown, but it might not be too late to teach him that a gun was just a tool, like any other. It had good uses and bad.
Now was the time to teach Frank such things. Before he became confused and was tempted to take Roumal's path. Frank had already killed a man. It was an honorable use of the gun, but still, such power could corrupt a man, a young man, especially. Matt watched Frank Stamps as they rode along. He was a fine lad.
He was hoksheela chistala, a little boy. He could, Matt thought, become a brother to replace the one he had lost.
"Are we going to run these into the far pasture?" Stamps asked, as they passed through the grazing fields.
"No, Frank. Up past where the house used to be. You stop off at the cave and I'll take 'em the rest of the way."
"I don't get it. You gonna run them into the woods back there? You'll never find 'em."
Matt was silent. They passed the charred ruins of the house and pushed the cattle up the back slope. Tex came out of the cave and waved. Matt waved back. Ted came out, followed by Addie. "Ho, there!" Ted yelled.
"Be back in a while, Ted!"
"All right, Frank, leave me with the cattle."
"You're the boss, Mister Cord."
"Tell the others I'll be along directly."
Puzzled, Frank rode over to the cave and dismounted. The cattle continued up the slope until they disappeared, finally, in the convolutions of gullies, Matt hieing them on until he, too, disappeared.
Talking Horse and his warriors were waiting for him.
"These cattle are for you, my friend," Matt told the Sioux. "For your people."
"You did not kill Little Red Fox." It was a statement.
"No, the other white man did. I killed him."
"We misunderstood. We are grateful. Talking Horse thanks his white brother."
"Go in peace, brother."
"We go in peace, Cord." Talking Horse said his white man's name for the first time.
The Indians turned, at a signal from Talking Horse, and began driving the cattle toward their camp three or four sleeps away. Matt watched them go, a slight sadness washing over him. Talking Horse had been a good friend, but their trails would probably not cross again. He had called him by his name, Cord, not by the name he had been known among the Sioux: Long Blade. Matt sat on his horse until Talking Horse stopped and gave a final wave. Matt waved back, then turned his horse towards home.
There would be building to do, perhaps two houses this time, instead of one. Ever since he had carried her unconscious body from the fire, and more so since Virginia City, he hadn't been able to get Addie Malone out of his mind. After all, he considered, she must have had some good qualities for his brother to have loved her. In fact, the more he gave it thought the more convinced he became that she had many good qualities. Besides, a woman was something every ranch needed. And Addie, he had to admit, was a very beautiful woman.
He rode down the slope and saw her. She was standing by herself, away from the others, waiting for him. As he drew closer, she lifted her hand to wave at him.
Slowly, a bit self-consciously, he lifted his hand and began to wave back.
About the Author
Jory Sherman began his literary career as a poet in San Francisco’s famed North Beach in the late 1950s, during the heyday of the Beat Generation. His poetry and short stories were widely published in literary journals when he began writing commercial fiction. He has won numerous awards for his poetry and prose and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in Letters for his novel, Grass Kingdom. He won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America for The Medicine Horn. He has also won a number of awards from the Missouri Writers Guild, and other organizations. Sherman was a book producer, packaging books for many major publishers. His CHILL series of mysteries, published by Pinnacle, appeared in 14 countries. He has published more than 400 books since 1965, more than 1000 articles and 500 short stories. In 1995, Sherman was inducted into the National Writer’s Hall of Fame. Literary critics consider Sherman to be among the top 5 of western writers, according to Dale Walker, historian. Warren French, fo
rmer professor of literature at the University of Florida, wrote that: “Jory Sherman has a strange and powerful knowledge of language and an almost perfect ear.” Sherman continues to write novels and short stories as well as conduct writing workshops. He received the Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award in 2012 and is the 2013 recipient of the Owen Wister Award for Lifetime Contributions to Western Literature. www.jorysherman.com
Also available from Western Fictioneers
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THE LAWMAN, by New York Times bestselling author James Reasoner, is the first novel in a new series from the Western Fictioneers, West of the Big River. These are brand-new, original short novels inspired by real-life characters and actual events from the exciting, colorful history of the American frontier, written by today's leading Western authors including Robert J. Randisi, Michael Newton, Jackson Lowry, Frank Roderus, Bill Crider, Matthew P. Mayo, James J. Griffin, and many others. Don't miss any of these action-packed short novels that showcase the best of the American West!
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West of the Big River:
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The Traditional West
The classic American Western returns in this huge collection of brand-new stories by some of the top Western writers in the world today.
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Collections of 4 award winning western stories in each volume
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Wolf Creek:
Here you will find many of your favorite authors, working together as Ford Fargo to weave a complex and textured series of Old West adventures like no one has ever seen.
Book 1: Bloody Trail
Book 2: Kiowa Vengeance
Book 3: Murder in Dogleg City
Book 4: The Taylor County War
Book 5: Showdown at Demon's Drop
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Book 7: The Quick and the Dying
Book 8: Night of the Assassins
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The Western Fictioneers Library
RAW DEAL AT PASCO SPRINGS by Clay More
LEAVING KANSAS by Frank Roderus
JUDGE ON THE RUN by Clay More
RANGER'S REVENGE by James J. Griffin
REACHING COLORADO by Frank Roderus
DEATH STALKS THE RANGERS by James J. Griffin
A ROPE FOR SCUDDER by Clay More
DEAD MAN'S GUN AND OTHER STORIES by Ed Gorman
GUN FOR HIRE by Jory Sherman
FINDING NEVADA by Frank Roderus
THE CAST-IRON STAR AND OTHER WESTERN STORIES by Robert J. Randisi
THE TRAIL BROTHERS by Troy D. Smith
STAMPEDE AT RATTLESNAKE PASS by Clay More
A DISGRACE TO THE BADGE AND OTHER WESTERN STORIES by Ed Gorman
Coming Reprints in The Western Fictioneers Library
HOME TO TEXAS by Frank Roderus
BUZZARD BAIT by Jory Sherman
CHARLIE AND THE SIR by Frank Roderus
DOUBLE-DEALING AT DIRTVILLE by Clay More
IRON HEART by Jory Sherman
JASON EVERS: HIS OWN STORY by Frank Roderus
POTTER'S FIELDS by Frank Roderus
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, J. AUBREY WHITFORD by Frank Roderus
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