Mustang (A John Cutler Western Book 5)

by H. V. Elkin

  “I say what happens on my range, Cutler.”

  “If that’s the way it’s gonna be, you might as well get out that whiskey because I’m not workin’ here.”

  “You mean to tell me, you come all the way down here to do a job and you’ll go all the way back without bein’ paid just because you don’t want to take orders?”

  “That’s what I’m tellin’ you. You said something about my lookin’ like I needed the money. Like I say, I hear real good. But I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the job. I charge a big price because I’m worth it. When most folks dig deep into their wallets to pay me, they got to believe I’m worth it and not interfere. Maybe for some men, the money has a hold on ’em, and they’ll do anything to get it. I ain’t one of ’em. You call in an expert, then you step aside and let the expert do his job, and you don’t go meddlin’ into the way he does it. I’ll get that mustang without killin’ it, and I’ll get the rest of the herd too. But, Harmon, if I’m gonna do that, you’re gonna stay out of it unless I tell you to do something. Then you’ll do exactly what I say and no more. Now have we got a deal or don’t we?”

  Harmon twirled his coffee cup around on its saucer. Then he said, “You got a deal.”

  “So I can figure you heard everything I just told you.”

  “I said you got a deal.”

  “And you won’t go and forget about it after I get started.”

  “I don’t go bade on my word.”

  “Okay. Then leave the whiskey right where it is. When the job’s done, I’ll have some of it, and some of Chase, too, probably. But until then, I’m workin’.”

  They shook hands on it.

  “I guess you’re the right man for the job,” Harmon said. “You need anything to get started?”

  “Just someone to show me around. Someone who knows the lay of the land and the habits of the herd.”

  “Don’t figure you want that to be Tom.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I can do that,” Baker said.

  “No, Dave,” Harmon said. “Most of the time, they’re on my range somewhere. It oughta be one of my boys.”

  “I’ll do it,” Ellen said.

  Cutler looked at her hard for a moment. Then he said, “Good.”

  Ellen looked down from her bedroom window at Cutler’s wagon in the moonlight. She was angry with herself for the way she was feeling. But she had never seen another man get the better of her father or Chase. And there had been something about the way Cutler had accepted her as his guide for the next day, almost like he considered she was probably as good as any man would be for the job. She was not used to that and, because of it, she felt less in control of the situation than she did at other times.

  He would be sleeping in that wagon now. She wondered what he was like when he was asleep, or when he was just waking up. She wondered if anything made him mad. Even when he hit Chase with all that power, there did not seem to be a lot of anger in it.

  Then there was the way he had just gotten up to get the coffee pot himself. A lot of little things about the man intrigued her. They intrigued her because they were not like any other man she had ever known before. And she could not figure them out.

  She began to wonder what it would be like to ride with him tomorrow. What kind of a horseman he would be. Would he be equal to that wonderful horse of his? What would they talk about? Would they talk at all about anything except Mesteño?

  She stomped her foot in exasperation. What the hell difference did any of it make? There was just a job to be done, and nothing else mattered. Not one damned thing. She hurled herself into bed, then got even more angry with herself because she could not get to sleep.

  The mule Emma paced around the corral. Something about Kate was making her restless. She went over and nudged her partner with her muzzle. Kate walked away to the other side of the corral, her nostrils flaring and looked toward the hill.

  On the hill, once more silhouetted in the moonlight, was the mustang stallion, still as a statue and watching.

  Chapter Four

  They rode in silence.

  Cutler kept his mind on his work, looking at the land, potting water holes, draws, brushy areas, high country, places where mustangs might be found, places they would avoid, places they would run to when chased. His partner for the moment, Ellen, rode beside him and occasionally a little ahead. He did his best to keep thinking of her as nothing more than his guide, a person whose value was based on the map in her head and her knowledge of the herd. He did his best to forget what an attractive looking girl she was. As far as he could tell, she did not want to be looked at that way, and that was her right. He did his best to ignore the way he felt in his body. When spring came, his blood stirred more than usual. And if spring happened to coincide with times when he was not drinking, it was that much worse ... or better, depending on the circumstances. Right now he thought he ought to ignore it and concentrate on the work at hand.

  Ellen kept her eyes intent on the horizon and looking for things she could point out to him to make it clear she was with him on business.

  “That’s where we tried the surround,” she said.

  “With snow.”

  “Our mistake.”

  Cutler nodded. “Mesteño’s too. One he won’t make again.”

  “Anything in particular I can show you?”

  “What?”

  “About the land.”

  “We’re lookin’ for mistakes Mesteño hasn’t made yet.”

  “Don’t know about those.”

  “We’re lookin’ for Mesteño himself, his range, his habits. When you’re after a mustang stallion, it’s best to know him better then he knows you before you meet face to face.”

  She racked her brain to think of something to tell him so that he would make no mistake about her being a worthy, and equal, companion. But it was hard to think. Was it the springtime? Or the way he rode his horse? Or the way he reacted to her, exactly the way she thought she wanted, as though she was just another cowhand?

  How could you get to know a mustang stallion before you met him face to face? The horse had been running on her father’s range for years now, and in all that time they had never learned enough about the horse to capture him. Mesteño seemed to learn more about the ranchers in all that time than any of them had learned about Mesteño. Ellen would not care to admit that out loud to Cutler, though, for some reason.

  “In what way,” she asked, “could you get to know him?”

  “Tell me all you can about him.”

  “Didn’t Dave do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What more do you want from me?”

  “How you see it.”

  “I think I see it the same way Dave does.”

  “Guess you know Dave pretty well, then, him bein’ a neighbor and all.”

  “Well . . . neighbors aren’t too close together around here. I mean, the spreads are pretty big.”

  “Well, I know you and Dave both want the horse to stay alive, like your pa does.”

  “No, not like Pa does. Pa’s lookin’ to make money off Mesteño somehow. He’d be worth a lot if he could be broke.”

  “But that ain’t you.”

  “No. I just can’t bring myself to seein’ Mesteño dead. I don’t know why though. Not anymore than Dave does, probably.”

  It should have ended there. You felt the way you did just because that was the way you felt. That sort of thing was just accepted around here. But she could see Cutler was still thinking about it. Another thing that made him different. But what did it matter? Did he think he could get to know the horse he was after by knowing how the people felt about the horse? That did not make much sense. Suppose she thought she knew Cutler based on the way Tom Chase saw him? Maybe Cutler was really just passing the time until there was something he could see to do. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to know Ellen better.

  “I don’t know why Dave’d want the horse alive,” he said. “He’s
a rancher and he’s lost horses just like the others. All a rancher’d care about is gettin’ his own horses back, and gettin’ rid of any threats to his property. By rights, Dave shouldn’t care if Mesteño died.”

  Ellen was confused. Again, what did it matter?

  “Dave says his grandparents was slaves,” Cutler said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Says they come from Africa on a slave ship. Herded here, they was, like horses.”

  She looked at him now. She was interested. But his thoughts had gone elsewhere already. He was squinting up toward a rise. Then he looked around at the land that surrounded it. He seemed to be seeing things and hearing things she could not. He motioned for her to dismount. She raised her eyebrows, ready to protest, not wanting to take any directions from him. But he put a finger to his lips, then smiled in a way that put her at ease. She shrugged and got down. He pointed to some brush, then to her horse, as he dismounted, too. She tied her horse to the brush. But he did not tie his horse. He said very quietly, “Stand, Apache,” then crept softly up the rise and lay flat on the ground looking beyond where she could not see. He looked back at her and with two motions of his hand indicated she should come to him and stay down. She crouched and moved up the rise and flopped down near him.

  The horses were in the valley below. Cutler counted nineteen altogether, a large group as mustang herds went. Most of them were near a water hole. The lead mare was drinking with her yearling colt and the other mares waited their turn. Cutler knew it was the lead mare, simply because the other horses were waiting. There was a definite order in which the herds drank, always starting with the lead mare and her offspring, always ending with the stallion himself.

  The lead mare was a medicine hat, so called by the Indians because its head and chest were covered by spots shaped like a war bonnet and shield. There was a great superstition that still survived about such horses. It began with the Cheyenne who thought such horses sacred and invulnerable in battle, a superstition that was carried on by settlers who came to believe in their magic because of the reckless, and therefore charmed, life of the Indian who rode one. Maybe there was something to it. Most superstitions seemed to spring from some reality. The legend might grow and become distorted in the telling and retelling, but somewhere at the base of it there usually remained some grain of truth. If it was true, it was one way to explain the invincibility of the stallion. Maybe a part of his power rested with his lead mare.

  The mare and her colt finished watering and stepped back. Another mare took their place at the water. Some deer were grazing near the band, taking advantage of the stallion’s known ability to sense if there was any danger around.

  The stallion was busy. He was mating with one of the mares. The sight made Ellen uncomfortable. Cutler knew this but said nothing. He guessed it might be the season for all kinds of animals. And he grinned so she could not see him.

  He thought about the story of the ranch hand and the boss’ daughter who were leaning over a corral fence and watching a stallion mate with a mare. The ranch hand told the girl he’d like to be doing that himself. The girl said that would be okay with her, that she didn’t mind if the mare didn’t. It was always good for a laugh in the bunkhouse. Cutler supposed it was natural for the story to come to mind as he lay there with Ellen watching the horses. But after the humor of it passed, he wished he had not thought of it.

  The stallion finished, and the mare trotted off to claim her place in the lineup of mares waiting for their turn at the water hole.

  Mesteño lifted his head and sniffed the air, his small foot at the end of a thin leg pawing the ground slightly. He was a beautiful animal, all right, and it was easy to understand why anyone who ever got a chance to see him in daylight would not want him killed. He was dun colored with a black flowing mane, black tail and hoofs and a dark line running down his back. Black rings circled his legs. He must have come from generations of untamed horses to have markings like that. And he must have inherited the accumulated wisdom and instinct of those generations about staying free. Cutler knew he had his work cut out for him.

  Cutler turned over on his back and stared up at the clear sky. “See what you mean,” he whispered.

  She stayed on her stomach, uncomfortably near him, leaning closer to hear him. “What?”

  “I can see why nobody’d want that horse killed. Don’t think I could trust anybody that did.”

  “I never saw him this close. And usually it was dark.”

  “Then it was the idea of the horse you wanted kept alive.”

  She wrinkled her forehead a moment. “Yes, I guess so. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Not one damned thing.”

  He turned back on his stomach and watched the herd.

  “Can you get him now?” she asked.

  “Not a chance in hell,” he said.

  “But we’re so close.”

  “What?”

  “I mean to the horses.”

  “Try it now, and they’re sure to get away. There’re two places out of the valley, and we can’t cover both of ’em. Even if we did, they’d just come back up over this hill. And next time we come, if they was here, they’d have a sentry up here watchin’ for us. We wouldn’t even get this close.”

  “But they wouldn’t be here, would they?”

  “Why not?”

  “I mean, if we scared them away from here, it might be a long time before they ever came back to the same spot.”

  “It don’t work that way,” he said. “No matter how many times you chased ’em, they’d almost always come back to the startin’ point. Same way you chase the stallion, and he’ll keep circlin’ inside his home range. Might be a pretty big area, but he’ll stick to it if he can, and if you know what his range is, you know a lot of the places he won’t be.”

  “Where?”

  “All the places outside his range.”

  “Then why don’t we get ’em runnin’ and get the idea of what their range is?”

  “’Cause we’d be better off not to put them on their guard about where they are right now. This ain’t the best place to get ‘em, but it ain’t the worst either. We plan it right, and we can cover those two ways out and the hill here. We plan it wrong, and there’ll be a sentry keepin’ this place safer for them than it is right now.”

  They watched the mares water, then finally the stallion. When he had finished he trotted around the edges of the valley as though he was doing guard duty.

  “A time like this’d give us the best chance,” Cutler said. “When we’re ready, after they’ve watered is the best time.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked, a new respect in her eyes that she did not know was there.

  “Well, after they water, their wind is shorter and their muscles are stiffer. Chasin’ ’em might not be so bad as it could be.”

  “How bad can it be?”

  “Oh, hell, a mustang’s been known to travel a couple hundred miles a day, and that’s more’n your average ranch horse could handle. Apache there, he could maybe do it, but there aren’t many horses like him.”

  “He is a beautiful animal,” she said. “I’ve only seen one better.”

  “Better than Apache? Where?”

  “Right down there,” she said, pointing to Mesteño who had stopped his guard duty and was looking over the herd.

  For a moment, Mesteño seemed to be looking up at Cutler and Ellen. They stayed perfectly still, resisting the impulse to duck out of sight which would have alerted the stallion, and the breeze was blowing up from the valley so that was in Cutler’s favor. Even though that same breeze would make it difficult for the horses to hear Cutler and Ellen, they kept silent. Mesteño did not shift his gaze for a long time, and when he did, he went into action, beginning to move the herd.

  “They movin’ out now?” Ellen asked.

  “Probably. Up to high ground where they’ll feel safer, and more comfortable ’til they lose their winter coats, and where the flies won’t b
other ’em so much.”

  “Cutler,” she said, “we’re on high ground.”

  He said nothing, watching the stallion nipping at the flanks of some of the mares, shaking his head in the herding motion. The lead mare started straight for the rise.

  “Cutler,” Ellen said, “we’d better get out of here.”

  He only reached over and put a hand on her shoulder to keep her still, and he felt her tremble. He thought it was because she was afraid.

  “There’s still time,” he said. “Wait.”

  She settled back down. If he could stay with the herd stampeding toward them, she could, too. Anyway, it was not fear that had caused her to tremble when he touched her.

  Cutler did not think the herd would make it all the way up the rise because he saw Mesteño was racing now to reach the medicine hat lead mare. He veered in front of her, wagging his head, and she got the signal, leading the other mares single file in an arc away from the rise toward one of the valley openings. The herd was soon headed full speed towards the exit. But now the stallion was again racing around the edge of them, reaching the opening first and turning them back.

  “Has he gone crazy?” Ellen asked.

  Cutler shook his head. “Acts like he knows what he’s doin’. And it looks like the medicine hat knows the routine now, too.”

  The stallion kept the herd moving in the same pattern, back and forth across the valley floor, for half an hour. Then it ended as suddenly as it began, the herd came to a stop, and Mesteño stood off to the side surveying them. He looked proud.

  Ellen looked at Cutler. “What was that all about? Is that a case of the man showin’ his superiority over the women again?”

  Cutler smiled. “Well, it does that all right, but I don’t think that’s the main reason. I don’t know, I never saw anything like it before. Never heard of anything like it either. But, if I read Mesteño right, that was a drill. He’s keepin’ the mares in shape, teachin’ ’em they can run faster than they thought even right after they watered.”