by Steve Hayes
The tracker nodded. ‘All horse other side of cliff. In canyon like box. They find water hole near rocks. No hurry to leave.’
‘How big is the entrance to the canyon?’ Devlin asked Tall Tree.
‘Not so big. Wide as small river maybe.’
Devlin turned to his men. ‘Boys, we’ll block it off with rocks and trees an’ whatever else we can find. That way, we won’t have to worry about losing any of the mares when we round ’em up. Nice work,’ he said to Tall Tree. ‘I’ll see you get a bonus.’ He stepped into the saddle and motioned for his men to do the same.
The Apache looked questioningly at Gabriel. ‘Not know bonus.’
‘Extra money. More than what he promised you.’
‘Why?’ asked Tall Tree. ‘I just find horse like he want.’
‘It’s his way of rewarding you. He knows how hard it was to track in this kind of terrain.’
The tracker absorbed Gabriel’s words. Then, straight-faced, he said: ‘Think I find mares too soon. Wait another day, maybe two, get bigger bonus.’
‘Tall Tree,’ Gabriel said, grinning. ‘There’s a lot of white man in you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
On entering the box canyon Gabriel and Tall Tree left Devlin and his men deciding where to build a barricade and quickly climbed to a ridge. From here they could see the herd gathered about the spring at the closed end. The water welled out from under some boulders, forming a shallow pool that minerals kept discolored.
Through his field glasses Gabriel identified Devlin’s mares among the wild mustangs, but could not see Brandy. As if reading his mind, Tall Tree nudged the gunman’s arm and pointed to a rocky ledge jutting out halfway up the cliff. Gabriel focused the glasses on it and felt his pulse quicken as he saw the Morgan standing there, proudly keeping watch over his herd.
‘Go tell Mr Devlin that his mares are safe,’ Gabriel told Tall Tree.
‘You stay here?’
‘For a spell, yeah.’
‘Wise,’ Tall Tree said, smirking. ‘Hard work build wall in sun.’
‘Get out of here!’ Gabriel aimed a kick at the young Apache. But he dodged it and, laughing, hurried down the slope, nimbly jumping from rock to rock. Gabriel couldn’t help chuckling. Once you understood how the Apache mind worked, you realized they had a wonderful, dry sense of humor.
Meanwhile, Devlin had divided his men into two groups: one lined up across the narrow entrance, ready to drive the horses back if they made any attempt to escape, while the others collected all the available dead wood and rocks with which to build the barricade. Devlin himself pitched in. He ordered Tall Tree to do the same, but the young Apache disdainfully refused. Trackers did not carry rocks. And after telling Devlin that his mares were safe, Tall Tree sat on a rock and smoked.
The men soon ran out of material on the floor of the canyon. Now they were forced to climb the steep slopes and pry larger rocks loose, so that they rolled down and piled up at the bottom. It was back-breaking work, made even harder by the broiling sun, and every hour Devlin switched the groups around to give each man a rest.
Shortly, Gabriel returned and joined the work force. As he labored in the blazing sun he caught Tall Tree smirking at him. ‘Keep grinnin’ like that,’ he warned the Apache, ‘and I will make strong medicine so that an owl leaves you an evil sign.’ Owls were the worst kind of bad luck and Tall Tree lost his smirk. Descending from the rock, he began working feverishly to win back Gabriel’s approval.
By mid-morning the barricade was almost finished. Standing about six feet high, it had branches poking up along the top to discourage the horses from trying to leap over it. Finally, only a few more rocks were needed. Devlin impatiently yelled for the men on the west cliff to hurry. It was a mistake. A new hand named Tobler suddenly lost his footing and fell in the path of a boulder bouncing downhill. His scream brought the others scrambling to his side. He lay there writhing and groaning, his leg bent unnaturally under his body. His co-workers carried him down to the floor of the canyon. Here, Devlin had two men hold him still while he straightened out the leg. Tobler screamed in agony and fainted from the pain. Devlin bound the leg tightly between two straight branches and had him placed on a crudely constructed travois, which was tied behind his horse. He then told Tall Tree to take Tobler to Santa Rosa, adding, ‘Tell Doc Carstairs to fix him up good an’ charge everythin’ to me. Understand?’
Tall Tree nodded and rode off with the injured Tobler.
Devlin then ordered the rest of his men to get mounted. Exhausted, they trudged grumbling to their horses.
‘Men could use a rest,’ Gabriel said.
The hard-headed rancher bristled. ‘I don’t pay men good wages to take rests, mister. I pay them to do as they’re told.’
‘Tobler did as he was told, Mr Devlin, an’ got his leg busted.’
‘Not my fault if some damn fool gets careless.’
‘Responsibility starts at the top,’ reminded Gabriel.
‘Dammit, you telling me how to run my show now, gunfighter?’
‘I’m tellin’ you,’ Gabriel said gently, ‘that if some weary ’poke gets careless with his rope an’ causes one of your mares to break its leg, you’ll have to shoot it. That what you want?’
Devlin quietly seethed, but he couldn’t deny Gabriel’s logic. Striding over to his men, he grudgingly told them to take a short break. Grateful, they found what little shade existed, covered their faces with their hats and sacked out.
Devlin then rejoined Gabriel, who sat against a rock chewing on a piece of jerky, and began rolling a smoke. Finished, he offered the makings to Gabriel, who shook his head.
‘You don’t like me much, do you, Moonlight?’
‘Ain’t given it much thought, Mr Devlin. But I’d always heard you had a reputation for treatin’ men fair and honest.’
‘And you’re taking it upon yourself to remind me, that it?’
‘Caution’s the way,’ said Gabriel.
Devlin laughed disgustedly. ‘Coming from a shootist with your reputation that’s pretty ironic.’
‘Just ’cause I spent most of my life makin’ mistakes, Mr Devlin, don’t mean I can’t change my ways.’
Devlin had no comeback. He smoked in silence for a few moments. Then his impatience got the better of him. Rising, he stepped into the saddle, told his men to get mounted and pulled his rifle from its scabbard.
Gabriel immediately wheeled his horse in front of the burly rancher, blocking his path. ‘You won’t need that.’
‘Don’t push me,’ Devlin warned angrily. ‘You said your piece. Now get the hell out of my way.’
Gabriel didn’t move. ‘We’re dealin’ with broomtails, Mr Devlin – not Johnny Reb.’
‘What we’re dealing with,’ Devlin said, bristling, ‘is eight of my best broodmares. I paid a fortune for those horses and I’m not taking the chance of your stud goin’ berserk and bitin’ or maiming one of them.’
‘Then let me go in first an’ slap a loop on him,’ Gabriel said. ‘Once he’s out of your hair you won’t have any problem roundin’ up your mares.’
Devlin glared at Gabriel, trying to rein in his temper. All around him his men nudged their mounts closer, hands on their guns, ready to back their boss.
‘You really want it to come down to gunplay?’ Gabriel said. Though he spoke softly there was a dangerous edge to his voice and Devlin, veteran soldier that he was, knew when to retreat.
‘Easy, boys,’ he told his men. Taking out his fob watch, he checked the time then said to Gabriel: ‘Got thirty minutes. You ain’t throwed a rope on that black devil by then we’ll take him my way. You too, if you cause any trouble.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
From his rocky ledge, Brandy saw Gabriel riding up the canyon toward him. The Morgan reared, his shrill whinny alerting the herd of danger. Racing down the steep slope, he herded all the mares together and wheeled to face his former master.
Gabriel rode within a short dista
nce of Brandy. Then reining up, he hooked his leg over saddle, rolled a smoke and flared a match to it. ‘Don’t know why I’m tryin’ to save your life,’ he said to the Morgan. ‘Anyone with a speck of brains would just let Devlin shoot you an’ save everybody a lot of fuss.’
Brandy pawed the iron-hard dirt and snorted defiantly at Gabriel. Behind the red-eyed black stallion, the herd milled around nervously.
Gabriel sighed. ‘Reckon there’s no easy way to do this, is there?’
Again the Morgan reared up, forelegs pawing at the air, and uttered a squeal of defiance.
‘Figured not.’ Gulping a last lungful of smoke, Gabriel exhaled slowly then flipped the butt away and unhooked his lariat from the saddle. ‘Might as well get to it.’
He twirled the rope above his head and flicked a loop at the stallion. But Brandy was already rushing him and the rope spanked him on his withers and fell to the ground. Gabriel yanked on the reins, trying to avoid the Morgan’s charge. The agile cowpony obediently crabbed sideways. But he wasn’t quick enough. Brandy was already on him. Ramming him with his chest and shoulder, the Morgan knocked the lighter pony off its feet, spilling Gabriel from the saddle.
Gabriel landed hard. Winded, he looked up and through the swirling dust saw Brandy charging down on him. He rolled aside, barely avoiding the stallion’s hoofs and sprang to his feet. Recoiling his rope, he swung onto his pony and waited for Brandy to charge again.
Brandy quickly obliged. This time the cowpony didn’t need any urging from Gabriel. At the last instant he nimbly sidestepped the onrushing Morgan, and Gabriel neatly flicked his loop over Brandy’s head. In the same motion he wrapped the rope around the saddle horn and pulled the pony back on its haunches.
The rope snapped taut, jerking Brandy off his feet. He landed on his back with a thud that echoed off the canyon walls. Squealing with rage, he scrambled up and prepared to charge again.
Before he could, Gabriel spurred his pony off at an angle, tightening the noose around Brandy’s neck and pulling him off balance. The Morgan stumbled and fell to his knees. He struggled to get up but again was pulled over by the ever-tightening rope. Enraged, he rolled over and sprang up, at the same time throwing his weight against the rope. The lighter cowpony, even with Gabriel’s added weight, was jerked off its feet.
Down it went, hurling Gabriel from the saddle. He hit the ground with stunning force. As he lay there, dazed, he heard pounding hoofbeats rushing toward him and knew it was the Morgan out to kill him. He rolled aside, avoiding the trampling hoofs, and scrambled behind a pile of rocks.
Half choked by the rope around his neck that was still attached to the saddle horn, the Morgan wheeled and rushed at Gabriel. Before he reached there he ran out of rope and was yanked back onto his haunches. His weight and momentum broke the cinch around the pony’s girth and the saddle was ripped from its back. Glad to be out of the battle, the pony trotted off toward the barricade.
Gabriel ran around the rocks, keeping them between himself and the enraged stallion. Seeing the trailing saddle gave him an idea: scrambling over two boulders that were separated by a narrow space, he stood on the other side taunting the Morgan, goading it into charging him again.
Unable to pass between the rocks Brandy leaped over them to get at Gabriel. As he did, the trailing saddle became snagged in the narrow space. The rope went taut, jerking the Morgan backward in mid-air and slamming him to the ground. Momentarily winded, he scrambled to his feet and looked around for Gabriel. Seeing the man standing nearby, the stallion lunged for him but again was pulled up short by the rope. Trapped and half choked Brandy stood there, rope burns on his proudly arched neck, trying to regain his breath.
‘Brains is the way,’ Gabriel calmly told the panting horse. He sat on one of the rocks, took out the makings and rolled himself a smoke. ‘Trouble is neither of us was gifted much in that department.’
He paused as he heard horses approaching. Turning, he saw Devlin and his men riding toward him. Realizing he’d run out of time, Gabriel flipped his smoke away and went to meet the irascible horse-rancher.
Devlin reined up, his men behind him, and surveyed the scene. ‘Reckon you got that rope on him,’ he said to Gabriel. ‘So I’ll keep my end of the bargain.’
‘Never figured otherwise.’
‘One thing, though – I ever catch that black devil near my mares again, I’ll shoot him. Understood?’
Gabriel nodded grimly.
‘OK, boys,’ Devlin gestured to his men. ‘Cut out the mares an’ drive ’em back to the barricade.’
‘Why not take ’em all, boss, mustangs too?’ suggested one of the riders. ‘Once they’re broken you can always sell ’em to the Army.’
‘Good idea,’ began Devlin.
‘Not the mustangs,’ Gabriel interrupted. ‘They belong to Brandy.’
‘Dammit, there you go again,’ Devlin raged, ‘tellin’ me what to do.’
‘Right is right, no matter who tells you,’ Gabriel said. He made no move to draw his Colt but there was the same dangerous edge to his voice that had made Devlin back down earlier.
Not this time, though. This time Devlin made a stand.
‘Mister, I’ve led men into battles I knew we couldn’t win, an’ I’ve spat in death’s face more times than I got a right to. So knowin’ you can put a hole in me faster than I can wink don’t scare me one iota. Way I see it, I’m already living on borrowed time.’ Without taking his eyes off Gabriel, he added to his men, ‘Boys, wages I pay you don’t include taking a bullet, so if any of you want out I’ll hold no grudge.’
The riders stirred uneasily in their saddles, but no one rode away.
‘I appreciate that, boys. Make your play,’ Devlin told Gabriel. ‘Otherwise, mount up and take that damn stallion of yours out of here.’
Behind Gabriel, the Morgan nickered softly.
Gabriel turned his head a fraction, enough to see Brandy watching him from nearby. All the rage had faded from his dark eyes, replaced by a curious look of trust – as if the stallion was expecting Gabriel to back him up.
Amazed by the Morgan’s audacity, Gabriel faced front and prepared to draw, when someone called out his name.
Everyone turned and looked in the direction of the barricade. A slim, dark-haired young girl in jeans and a sun-faded denim shirt had just climbed over it and was now running toward them. As she ran she waved her arms and again called out Gabriel’s name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gabriel acknowledged Raven with a quick wave then turned back to Devlin. ‘No gunplay while the girl’s here. Agreed?’
‘Goes without saying,’ Devlin said. ‘But find out what she wants an’ then send her on her way, pronto.’
Gabriel waited for Raven to run up to him. ‘What’re you doin’ here, scout? I told you to wait for me at the hotel.’
‘I know. But I saw Tall Tree in town. Said you were here an’ had found Brandy. So I rode out to see if he was all right.’ Seeing the grim faces on the men around her, she added, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothin’.’
‘Then why’s everybody look so angry? Does it have anything to do with Brandy?’ she asked when no one answered.
Gabriel put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the barricade. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘That’s an order,’ he added when she didn’t move. ‘Get out of here!’
Raven angrily knocked his hands away. ‘You got no right to boss me around!’
‘Got every right. I’m your guardian. Now do like I say. Git.’
Ignoring his command, she stepped around him and approached the Morgan. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, rubbing Brandy’s muzzle. ‘Why’s everybody mad at everybody?’
The stallion snorted and jerked his head away, revealing the rope burns on his neck.
‘Oh no, look at you,’ Raven exclaimed. ‘You’re all raw and bleeding. How could you do that to him?’ she said, addressing everyone. ‘What’s he ever done to you to be treated so cruel?’
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‘Little lady,’ Devlin began.
‘Shame on you,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘You’re a horse-rancher, Mr Devlin. You’re supposed to love horses.’
‘I do,’ he said lamely. ‘But I got a right to protect my mares, from him or any other stallion tries to steal ’em.’
‘But you got no right to shoot him,’ Gabriel said. ‘Or take away what’s his.’
‘You want those damn mustangs so bad,’ one of the hands said, ‘then buy ’em from Mr Devlin. He found them. He’s got a right to do whatever he wants with ’em.’
‘Forgettin’ Tall Tree, ain’t you?’ Gabriel said. ‘He’s the one who found the mares, not your boss.’
‘Is that what this ruckus is all about?’ Raven said, ‘a bunch of measly broomtails?’
‘They ain’t measly to him,’ Gabriel said, indicating Brandy. ‘He risked his life fightin’ that leopard stallion for the right to run free with ’em.’
‘Yeah, an’ if I agree to let him loose,’ Devlin said angrily, ‘you know damn well what’ll happen next: some night he’ll be right back tryin’ to steal my mares again. See my point?’ he said to Raven. ‘My back’s against the wall.’
Raven thought a moment. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Mr Devlin. You let Brandy an’ them mustangs go free an’ I’ll give you El Tigre.’
‘Raven—’
‘Don’t worry, Gabe, I know what I’m doing.’ Turning back to Devlin she added: ‘You said you’d been chasin’ him for years now. That means you must want him pretty bad. Well, here’s your chance.’
Devlin hesitated, obviously eager to own the leopard mustang, but….
‘Is it a deal or not?’
‘I want the horse,’ Devlin admitted. ‘But I’m not sure I want him enough to run the risk of that black devil stealing my mares again.’
‘That’ll never happen, mister.’
‘How can you be so sure, little lady?’
‘’Cause I’m taking Brandy an’ the mustangs away from here.’
‘And just how you planning on doin’ that?’
