Raining Trouble

by Randall Sawka

  “You don't have to ask me twice.” Once Dunn turned his horse in the direction of the small town. Ward pulled up beside him and they picked up the pace.

  The town of Barlow stood in the middle of dozens of ranches and farms. While not the biggest town in the state it had all the basics, food, shelter, and plenty of trouble. The main street curve mimicked the river flowing fifty yards to the east. Houses of all shapes lined the half dozen side streets.

  An old man sat on a chair leaning against the shaded wall of the small livery stable. His clothes were a bit dirty and his hat was tattered. He raised the brim of his hat when he heard horses approach. He stood up slowly, his back bent at a thirty-degree angle.

  He looked at Ward straight in the eye. “What do you want?”

  Ward smiled broadly. “Howdy, Chatter. Good to see you.”

  The old man mumbled and took the reins off the two big horses. “Get off, then.” Chatter lived in the loft above the livery stable. He said little and a cowboy passing through gave him the nickname Chatter many years ago. Nobody remembered his real name.

  “Lots of oats and a good rub down,” said Once.

  Chatter mumbled and spat as he led the horses into the stable.

  Ward and Once climbed the three steps onto the wooden sidewalk. The shade under the overhanging roof proved refreshing. They passed the barbershop and the dry goods store. A young woman and her son walked out of the store as they passed. The boy smiled as he popped a candy stick into his mouth.

  Seconds later the two men pushed though the bat wing doors of Harold's Saloon. Harold waved from behind the bar where he poured shots of whiskey for two men. Only a couple of the tables had occupants. Ward chose a table against the far corner. Both men sat with their backs to the wall. Keeping a close eye on the other customers and the door proved easy from where they sat.

  Harold held up two fingers. Ward nodded. Harold smoothly filled two mugs with beer and slid them along the bar to the redheaded barmaid.

  The barmaid grabbed both handles with one hand and placed them on a tray. With efficient long strides she delivered the beers and gathered up the money from Ward.

  “Thanks, Barb,” Ward said as he placed a healthy tip on her tray. “These will hit the spot on a day like this.”

  “Enjoy Ron, Once.” The waitress dashed to a table where one of the poker players held up an empty glass.

  Once Dunn took a long drink. “That's just fine.” Once held up two fingers at Harold. “The next two are on me.”

  Ron laughed and took a cool drink. “You sure can put that stuff away, big man.”

  The second beer went down as easy as the first. Dunn wiped his mouth and looked out the dusty window. “Reckon we'll arrive at the Scrum ranch well after sundown.”

  Ward replied, “That's perfect. We'll find a spot with good cover where we can keep an eye on them.” Ward gestured to a poker game near the tired old piano. Poker came easily to Ward. He always wore a smile on his face and the other players had difficulty determining whether he had a good hand or was bluffing. Conversely, his keen observational skills helped him spot weak hands and cheaters.

  “Have a look at the man in the black hat.” Ward's frowned. “He's dealing from the bottom of the deck. But, I think the short fellow across from him has spotted it.”

  The man in the black hat dealt five cards to each of the four players. He picked up and organized his cards with a confident look on his face. The look on his face took on an edge of concern when he looked over his cards at the shorter man. The shorter man never picked up his cards. Instead, he starred at the dealer.

  The dealer said, “mister, it's hard to play this game without looking at your cards.”

  The shorter man's eyes dug into the black-hatted man. “That grin on your face will disappear if that ace of diamonds that was on the bottom of the deck shows up in your hand.”

  Black hat had been threatened before. “You're seeing things, fella. Just play cards.”

  The smaller man never took his eyes off black hat. “I'm wondering, would the rest of you in this game like to see what's in his hand before we throw any money in the pot?”

  The other two players looked at their dwindling piles of chips and then at the big stack in front of Black Hat.

  “I think we all would like to have a look at his hand,” said the cowpuncher to Black Hat's right. He dropped his cards on the table. Moments later the man opposite him did the same.

  “I'll do no such thing.” The dealer moved the cards into his left hand and grabbed for his six-shooter with his right.

  The man across from him also reached for his gun. The two shots sounded as one, both hitting their targets.

  Black hat doubled over. His left hand, still clutching the cards, covered the hole in his chest.

  The shorter man never saw his bullet hit the target as Black Hat's shot passed through his right eye and out the back of his skull. Both men slowly collapsed onto the wooden floor. Dead.

  “Damn, what a mess.” Harold rolled his eyes. The bartender put down a glass and walked over to two men leaning against the end of the bar. He spoke to them and the men nodded hardily. They grabbed the two dead gamblers and dragged their bodies outside and tossed them onto the street. When back in the bar Harold handed the men a handful of rags and a pail of sawdust. The men mopped up the spilled blood and sprinkled the sawdust over the stained wood floor. Two fresh drinks waited for each of the men at their spot at the bar.

  The two remaining gamblers divided up the money on the table and added it to their stacks.

  Ward and Dunn finished their drinks and got up from their chairs. As they passed the poker table two more men took the seats vacated minutes earlier.

  The sun had edged downward but the heat remained as Ward and Dunn walked into the livery stable. The horses looked good, Chatter always appreciated good horseflesh. They tossed six bits at the old man and mounted up.

  At the edge of town Ward adjusted his hat brim. “I'm thinking we should use the trees north of town for cover.”

  “Makes sense. I figure Scrum will have plenty of lookouts around his spread. No point in riding up in the open and tasting lead.”

  “It'll take twice as long but we should arrive after sunset. That'll allow us to move in close without too much trouble.”

  The ride through trees kept both the riders and their horses cool. A few scratches from branches were a small price to pay for the safety of the cover. As dusk approached the two men rested against a tree in a small meadow. A spring provided cool water for all and grass was plentiful for the horses. The meadow sat nearly a mile from one of the hills overlooking Scrum's massive ranch. A cloak of darkness an hour later invited the two friends to hike up the back of the hill and find a good vantage point.

  Halfway up the hill Dunn nudged Ward on the shoulder. “Ron, wood smoke.”

  Ward also smelled it and analyzed the situation. A crescent of hills like the one they were climbing edged much of Scrum's land. The natural barrier provided both security and a natural fence to keep the cattle and horses confined.

  Ward and Dunn edged to their left, the direction from which blew the smoke blew. Through a shield of trees they spotted two men on the ledge overlooking the fat man's ranch. The men had built a rock barrier around their small fire. The fire illuminate the two men sitting beside it drinking coffee.

  “Won't be using that spot,” said Dunn.

  Ward smiled “Let's climb.”

  With painstaking care the two men climbed along an animal trail, watching constantly for movement and avoiding dry branches and leaves. They saw no Scrum hands as they arrived at a grouping of small bushes at the crest of the hill. An outcropping blocked their view of the two men below. Through the tangled branches they studied the area. A small grove of trees on a lower plateau sat one hundred feet to their left. Access to the plateau took them through thick brush. Several times they crawled on their stomachs under heavy brush. Half way there a snake slithered in front of
Dunn. He froze as the snake stopped and locked eyes with him. The visual showdown lasted several minutes. It seemed the snake was in far less of a rush to escape the cramped surroundings. Eventually it cocked its head, turned its glance forward, and scurried on its way. Heavy trees surrounded much of the plateau. Several openings in the branches provided an excellent view of the Scrum ranch. Just visible in the thick darkness was a small cave at the back of the plateau. Overhanging trees obscured the view. The only accesses were either through the tight animal trail or by chopping through the brush.

  Ward scattered dry twigs and leaves over the last twenty feet of the trail.

  With the surveillance position and camp selected Ward's eyes looked upward. Dark grey rain clouds approaching from the direction of the Scrum ranch. Heavy dampness in the air had already suggested, rain was on the way.

  “Lets collect fuel and head for the cave,” said Ron. “The wind will blow the smoke away from the lookouts to our left and the ranch.”

  “No sense freezing if we don't have to.”

  They found a good supply of dry wood in the underbrush. They ducked low as they made several trips to the cave. Once Dunn brought a final large armload of fuel as the first raindrops dotted the ground. He dumped the wood with the rest at the back of the cave. With several larger logs they constructed their own shield to prevent someone spotting the flames unless they came directly into the cave.

  The strong coffee from the pot on the fire tasted good. Ward refilled his tin cup. “I'll take first watch. You catch some shuteye. I'll wake you in a few hours.”

  Once nodded. He tossed a couple more sticks on the fire and spread out a ground cover just inside the cave. The second blanket covered everything except his head and right hand, which stuck out near the pistol resting on the edge of the ground cover.

  Ron Ward sat just outside the cave under a lip of rock. The growing storm created a curtain of rain above him. His two big hands surrounded the tin cup holding hot coffee. He did more listening for approaching trouble than eyeing the Scrum ranch. In a few hours the rising sun would afford a better view of the ranch below. Ward resisted looking back at the inviting fire. The rain already restricted his view of possible approaching gunmen. One glance at the fire would temporarily blind him to anything happening in the darkness.

  The constant rain gave everything a good soaking and a fresh smell.

  Two hours later Once took the watch and Ward slept for three hours. At four-thirty in the morning Ward again sat watch and Once rested for three more hours.

  The sun briefly showed through the downpour. Within twenty minutes it gave up the battle and hid behind the wall of water. Once rose from his sleep. He made fresh coffee and handed a cup to Ron. “Anything happening?”

  “A few ranch hands, hidden in slickers, walked to and entered the cookhouse.”

  “The smell of the cookhouse is almost too much to resist.”

  The two friends patiently watched from the ledge no more than forty yards from the Scrum ranch, happy for the small cave and overhanging ledge protecting them from the rain that was now coming down in sheets. At mid-day two Scrum men walked out of the bunkhouse carrying field glasses. They stood on the covered porch that circled the main house and meticulously searched the surrounding hills. Ward and Dunn sat back in the shadows while the two men scanned the area. Ward had his own field glasses and watched the Scrum hands carefully. As he was in shade, no sun reflected off the lens, potentially giving away their position.

  The cowhands ended their search and were greeted by plates of food from the cook. For the remainder of the morning only typical ranching activities took place on the expansive spread. Men led two young colts out of a barn and into a small corral. Attempts were made to repair fences on a couple corrals, but the weather brought that to a quick end, the men disappearing in to the bunkhouse. Ward estimated nearly five hundred head of cattle contently grazed on the wet grass.

  Once pointed at the ranch house veranda where two men again scanned the hills for trouble. “Scrum doesn't take chances.”

  “That's why we're here. Eventually he will slip up. Then we pounce.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was no sign of the ranch owner for most of the day. Then, late in the afternoon, just before sundown, a cowhand banged on the door of the large ranch house. A woman answered, spoke briefly to the cowhand, and closed the door.

  The cowhand walked to the barn and locked his eyes on the rain-filled sky to the south. Barry Scrum exited his house and slowly descended the steps. He joined the cowhand and they both focused on the heavy bank of grey-black clouds closing on the valley.

  Ward and Dunn also studied the blanket of clouds. Dunn shook his head. “That's one big storm on the way.”

  “Scrum looks interested in it, but not exactly concerned. Figure he's up to something?”

  “I do. He's gathering men together.”

  Twelve men huddled around Scrum just inside the barn door. The big man pointed towards the hills occupied by Ward and Dunn.

  Ward gripped his Winchester. “He might have spotted us.”

  Without warning a Scrum cowhand pulled out his six-shooter and fired twice in the air. He then waved a hand as if requesting someone to come closer. Two more shots rang out, but not from the cowhand. The two men on lookout on the hill next to Ward and Dunn stood up and waved back. They picked up their rifles and walked down the worn winding path and joined the others in the barn.

  “Quite a meeting,” drawled Dunn. “Seems you're right. There's something happening.”

  The crowd of cowboys dispersed and split into two groups. The larger group mounted horses and rode towards the cattle grazing in the open rangeland. They slowly herded the cattle towards the bottom of the hill opposite the spot where Ward and Dunn sat.

  The smaller group opened gates and herded all the young horses into two large corrals well away from the barn. Two large gates facing the pastureland beneath Ward and Dunn were swung open. Men hauled out four sections of fence and extended the gates further into the pastureland, forming a large 'V'.

  Ward scratched his two-day beard. “They're preparing that big corral for a good sized herd. Interesting.”

  Four of the cowhands gathered around their boss outside the largest barn. An older man walked out of the barn with an armload of slickers. He handed one to all the riders. Scrum talked and the men listened carefully. Finally he gave a hint of their action by pointing to the trail leading to the Cochran spread.

  The sun set just as the grey underbelly of the approaching giant storm clouds neared. The rainfall intensified. The drops seemed as big as boulders, almost making a sound when they hit the soil.

  A tall man sat on his horse at the front of the group of four riders. Scrum walked up to him and said a few words. He slapped the rump of the horse and the riders started towards the pass. Scrum had a happy spring in his step as he walked towards his house. As he slammed the door the sky opened up further. The rain bouncing off the ground.

  “So much for staying dry in the cave,” grumbled Once Dunn.

  “The challenge will be following those riders through mud soup. Let's get to our horses before they reach the end of the passage.”

  With the heavy rain for cover Ward and Dunn quickly reached their horses. They sat fifty feet away from the narrow passage from which the Scrum hands would exit. The branches above them did their best to deflect the downpour.

  Both Ward and Dunn were excellent trackers. Knowing which direction the riders turned when they exited the passage just made following them easier. In the heavy rain they would have to stay close. The tracks would wash away quickly. The riders exited the passage and rode west. Ward or Dunn followed and glanced backwards regularly. They knew that Scrum was ruthless as well as clever and may have a man hidden in the area.

  The Scrum riders maintained a steady course directly west, riding side-by-side on the open pastureland. Ward now had a good idea where they were heading and what they were up to. />
  A few miles later bright bolts of lightening illuminated the Scrum hands. Ward and Dunn reigned in their horses a bit, putting more space between them. Twenty minutes later the Scrum men slowed down and spread out. Ward and Dunn veered off to the northeast so the mountains gave them backing as the flashes of lightening lit up the valley. Out in the open range they could easily watch the Scrum men still riding straight west.

  Ward said, “This is Cochran land and I'm guessing they're planning to steal some steers.”

  “Mighty clever. They know there's little chance that a small rancher like Cochran could patrol his spread properly in this weather. Heck, after this rain the tracks will be gone.”

  The Scrum cowhands brazenly rode into the Cochran herd and gathered thirty cows. They guided them towards the same trail from which they had come. The cattle resisted moving in the thick mud. The thieves whipped and yelled at the cattle but the going was slow.

  “I have an idea,” said Ron.

  Ward and Dunn moved as swiftly as the sloppy ground permitted. Even with the moist footing they moved well ahead of the handful of cattle rustlers.

  The same grove of trees as before hid their horses while Ron and Once trudged directly into the canyon pass. About a quarter mile in, Ward found what he was looking for. The canyon walls in this area contained hundreds of rocks and boulders. At their feet rested a few rocks that had lost hold further up the hill and tumbled onto the pass.

  “This'll do nicely,” said a soaked Ron Ward. “Let's make sure those cattle never arrive at the Scrum’s spread.”

  The two friends pried lower rocks and small boulders off the wall and placed them on the trail. They moved cautiously at the end as the higher rocks began to slide down on their own. They stood back while rain and gravity loosened the soil on the sides of the passage dumping dozens of rocks and trees on the trail. The tumbling mass formed a rock wall tapering down from one side of the trail. The angle of the obstruction simulated a rockslide with a minimum height of five feet.