Raining Trouble

by Randall Sawka

  “That will do.” grunted a soaking wet Dunn.

  Ron pointed up the slope. “Plenty of cover up there.”

  Ward and Dunn climbed the slippery slope and perched on a large blonder solidly held in place by large roots from the trees that provide some cover from the rain. They waited as the relentless storm continued. The howling wind and rain proved the only sound until they heard the first bawls from the cows trudging up the pass.

  With rifles at the ready, Ron and Once spied the first steer. Water streamed off its nose and mud covered its legs. More cattle appeared through the wall of rain. Soon the trail filled with cows, the lead ones nearing the rock barrier.

  The Scrum men followed the herd in single file. With no concern of any cattle straying they rode with their heads down to protect their faces from the driving water.

  Ward and Dunn sat patiently until the last of the riders was in sight. The trailing rider grudgingly kept glancing back, likely under orders to watch for anyone who may have spotted them rustling the cattle.

  The lead cows came upon the rock barrier and stopped. The cows behind it cried loudly, as if passing on word of the situation. It didn't take long for the area to fill with stationary cattle.

  “Now what the blazes is going on,” yelled the lead rider. He grudgingly lifted his face into the driving rain so he could see what happened. He squinted as he peered forward but the rain and thirty head of cattle blocked his view. A younger cowhand beside him also looked forward, raising a hand to block the rain.

  The older rider turned to his younger partner. “Kid, go see what's going on.”

  The younger man swore but knew his place and lifted his leg to get off his horse.

  “That's far enough. Stay on that horse,” said Ron Ward in a calm voice. “Anyone who reaches for iron will be taking their last breath. Hands up.”

  All of the Scrum riders looked up in the direction of the voice but could not see Ward and Dunn tucked into the trees. They all slowly raised their hands into the air.

  “That's good, very good,” continued Ward. “Each of you slowly grab hold of the butt of your rifles and guns and drop them on the ground.”

  The five looked up at the trees. None were happy to be caught red-handed with stolen cattle. The rider furthest away from Ward and Dunn wondered if it might be only one man in the trees. In the blowing rain he knew his movements were a bite obscured.

  He slipped his left foot out of its stirrup and eased his hand towards the Winchester in his scabbard. He grabbed the rifle and rolled off the horse opposite Ward and Dunn. He stood behind the big animal for cover.

  Once leaned towards Ward. “I'll get him, Ron.”

  Ward nodded and addressed the four riders still on their horses in a calm voice. “Now, you four might think your friend there had a good idea. Before you decide to try the same thing why don't you watch my friend's skill with a rifle.

  The rider behind the horse looked behind him for cover. He only saw a bank of mud with scattered trees and brush. The trail behind him tempted him but without cover he wouldn't make five steps before a bullet found him. He knew his horse provided the best cover. Only his legs were exposed. He moved forward and hid his legs as best he could behind the horse’s legs.

  Once Dunn's booming voice found its way through the heavy rain. “Mister, that was a mistake.” Once analyzed the situation. The rain obscured his vision a bit but he still glimpsed part of the rustler's leg and right boot. Shooting the horse would expose the man. Once Dunn deplored killing horses. He directed his rifle in front of the horses face.

  Dunn fired. The horse reared back, its front legs lifting off the ground.

  The rustler ran to the rear legs of the horse. He never made it. Dunn's second shot hit the man's right thigh. The man crashed to the sodden ground. “Sometimes an injured man is more dangerous than a healthy one”,” thought Once Dunn. He kept his rifle trained on the wreathing man. The man rolled back and forth. On the third roll he pulled his rifle out of the mud and fired three shots in the direction of Ward and Dunn. The third shot glanced off the tree beside Once Dunn and nipped his right shoulder.

  Dunn had seen enough. He lifted his weapon and fired. The bullet tore into the man's chest. The rustler's rifle dropped into the mud and he gasped for air. Moments later he died.

  The four remaining riders looked behind them at their dead friend.

  The rider at the front waved his hands. “Easy now, don't shoot.” The four remaining riders unbuckled their gun belts and dropped them on the ground. With slow movements they pulled their rifles out of their scabbards and tossed them on the ground as well.

  “That's better, much better,” said Ward. “Now get off those horses on this side and move a little closer.”

  The riders climbed down and moved nearer to Ward and Dunn. The lead rider winced as he looked up to the trees as Ward and Dunn moved into the open. I know you two, just can't come up with names.”

  “We're Ron Ward and Once Dunn,” Ward said. “I want you to remember those names and tell that skunk Barry Scrum that he hasn't seen the last of us.”

  The taller rider sneered. “You two best put those guns away and hightail it out of these parts. Scrum never gives up. He’ll track you down and kill you both if you keep messing in his business. He’s a serious man.”

  Ward replied, “tell that serious rattlesnake that we fear no man. As for you thieves, stake those horses and carry your friend’s body to Scrum land. Your horses and weapons will be here in the morning.”

  “Don’t think for a minute this is over, mister,” shouted the tall man as he tied his horse to a tree.

  The others Scrum hands picked up the dead man and pushed past the cattle. They climbed over the stone and dirt pile and disappeared into the wall of rain. Once Dunn slid down the slope and followed them until certain they would not return.

  Ron Ward worked his way down the hill and moved the cattle twenty yards down the trail in the direction from which they had come. He then crouched behind the highest part of the pile of rocks. A Shadow grew in the wall of rain. He stood when he saw that it was Once Dunn. “Are we rid of them for the night?”

  “They won't be coming back but they sure weren't happy about carrying the dead man with them. They dropped the body as soon as they left the pass and piled rocks on top so coyotes wouldn't get at it.”

  “Good. Let's get the cattle back to the Cochran ranch.” Ward handed Dunn one of the thin tree branches he had cut down and trimmed of smaller branches. Using the branches as whips, they coaxed the cows back the way they had come. Progress slowed as the water level in the lower areas of the passage reached knee-high. Still, they pushed on.

  Outside the pass they retrieved their horses and mounted up. Still the wet ground made progress slow. An hour later they arrived at the Cochran spread. They herded the cattle to a spot under some trees at the south end of the ranch.

  Ward looked at the dark ranch house in the distance. “It's close to sunrise. We'll stay as dry as we can under these trees. When we see a light go on in the house we'll let the Cochran's know what happened.”

  Ward and Once sat under a heavily branched evergreen tree. The thick foliage absorbed some of the water. Even under the protection of the tree the rain had damped the wood too much to allow a fire.

  Two hours passed before a lamp lit up the small window of the Cochran house like a beacon. Fatigue did not stop the two friends from quickly hopping onto their horses and riding up to the house. Smoke billowed out of the chimney and the smell of frying bacon made Once Dunn's stomach ache for a meal.

  They drew close to the house and Ward's horse whinnied. Almost at once a curtain drew aside and Jed Cochran's head peered out. He watched warily. A relieved look filled his face when he recognized friends approaching. He opened the door and walked out onto the small veranda. “Didn't expect to see you too so soon but it's nice to have you back.”

  “Ok if we put these horses in the barn, they've had a rough, wet night?” a
sked Ron.

  “Of course. Breakfast is ready in twenty minutes. Come in when you're done,” replied Jed.

  Over bacon, eggs and fried potatoes Ward and Dunn relayed the story of Scrum attempting to steal Cochran's cattle.

  Jed Cochran shook his head. “We've had quite a few head disappear and didn't know for sure who took them. I always suspected Scrum but could never prove it.”

  Ward and Dunn warmed themselves by the stove and then made their way out to the loft of the barn. Here they caught up on their sleep.

  ***

  The four Scrum hands, despite their fatigue from the long walk, ran the last fifty yards to Scrum's house. The tall man pounded on the door nonstop until Scrum opened the heavy oak door.

  Scrum looked at the drawn faces and empty holsters of his men. “Let's go to the cook house. You can get some grub and tell me what happened.”

  The five men sat at a long table. The four men ate their first meal in half a day. Scrum ate his second breakfast that morning. The tall man relayed the story of how two men trapped them in the pass and sent them on foot back to the ranch.

  “Did you get any names?” Scrum filled his mouth with potatoes.

  “Yup, they call themselves Ward and Dunn. Ward is a tall fellow. Dunn is a mountain of a man.”

  Scrum frowned. “Heard of them. Not men to take lightly.”

  “We'll keep two men on patrol around the clock,” said the tall man.

  “Make it three.” Scrum got to his feet and mumbled curses as he walked across the cookhouse and faced a map of his enormous property.

  The tall man gathered three men. “Get fresh horses and keep a close eye on the ranch. We'll have someone relieve you in four hours.”

  The three men walked to the door and swung it open. The wall of rain greeted them as they lifted the collars on their slickers and pushed on out to the barn.

  A couple of Scrum’s most trusted and older cowboys sat quietly at a table. They long ago learned not to disturb their boss when he's deep in thought.

  At the opposite end of the table a young cowboy shuffled restlessly.

  Barry Scrum spit into a spittoon in the corner. A line of juice remained on his bottom lip. He wiped it off with a checked hankie. He faced the table full of cowhands. “Men, we got trouble. We're trying to build our herd but Ward and Dunn are in our way.”

  The young cowhand, named Coulter, interrupted his boss. “I say we track them down and feed them some lead.”

  Scrum allowed himself a smile. “Kid, you want to face Ron Ward, a man with one of the fastest gun hands in the west, or Once Dunn, he's as strong as a bull and fearless?”

  “Boss, they're just men and a bullet will stop any man.”

  Barry Scrum patted the young man on the shoulder. “I like your willingness to fight, but we have to handle this carefully.” He walked back to the map and pointed at an area at the extreme eastern end of his ranch. “We'll deal with Ward and Dunn soon enough. Right now we're going to finish what we planned to do last night, this time at the Kelly spread.”

  Two other young men sat down beside Coulter. Scrum walked up to that end of the table. The boards creaked as he leaned his heavy hands on the top of the table. “It's time we gave you three something interesting to do.”

  “Ready, boss,” replied a beaming Coulter.

  “That's fine. All I need you to do is deliver a message and make a pickup for me. Saddle up and head over to the Kelly ranch. He owes me six hundred dollars from poker. Tell him to pay up now or hand over his land and stock.”

  “What if he won't cooperate?” inquired Coulter.

  Scrum slapped his holster. “You've got guns. Make it clear that if he doesn't pay right now you'll burn down his buildings and take the cattle anyway. Show him that the Scrum ranch means what it says. Now go.” Scrum pointed to the door.

  The rain eased to distant showers. The grass smelled fresh as the three riders secured the saddles onto their horses. They mounted up and headed straight east. The Kelly ranch, small compared to Scrum's, sat on the south side of a meandering creek.

  The rains had built the creek into a fast-moving but shallow divide. The shallowest part now stretched twenty feet across. The horses hesitated. After a few steps they discovered that the water only rose two feet up their legs.

  Coulter led the men behind some trees about a quarter mile from the Kelly house. He turned to face the two young men riding with him. Coulter was twenty one and knew the other two were seventeen. He took command. “Hank, you're good with a rifle. Why don't you circle around those trees and find a good spot where you can watch the front door. Chuck and I will go up to the door and have a talk with them.”

  “Right.” Hank Forrest tried to sound confident. His stomach felt in knots. He had learned to shoot straight hunting rabbits. He had never pointed his weapon at a man. In ten minutes Forrest had moved slowly through the trees. Forrest found a large stump thirty yards away from the house that provided good cover. The Winchester rested comfortably on the aging wood. He kept his hat off and his head low as he aimed the rifle at the cabin door. He saw movement inside the house through the window to the right of the door.

  Inside the house a dog barked. Jack Kelly instinctively moved to the front window and peered out. He gripped the stock of his rifle that always leaned against the small section of wall between the door and the window.

  The two riders rode directly up to the house. They dismounted and flipped the reigns of their horses around the railing of the porch.

  Kelly didn't recognize them. With rifle in hand he opened the door and walked out. “Passing through?”

  Coulter sneered at the man at the top of the two stairs. “This ain't no social visit. My boss, Barry Scrum, sent us to collect on your gambling debt.”

  “He gave me six months to pay. It's only been three weeks.”

  “Things have changed. Now, pay up.”

  “Scrum knows I can't pay him until I fatten up my herd and sell it in the fall.”

  “We got our orders,” said the second Scrum hand, his hand slowly closing on the handle of his six-shooter. He saw Kelly raising his Winchester. “Mister, you best keep that rifle pointed down. We aren't alone.”

  Kelly looked around. A glint of light from Hank Forrest's rifle caught his eye. Forrest noticed that his position was given away and crouched down behind a stump.

  Rose Kelly walked out of the house and stood silently behind her husband. She lightly gripped his left arm.

  “Talking's over. Now pay up,” demanded Coulter.

  Jack Kelly scowled. “I've had enough of Barry Scrum and of you.” Kelly lifted his Winchester. At the same time the second Scrum hand reached behind his back and grabbed a whip. He lashed out at Kelly. Jack Kelly leaped to his right and dropped to the porch floor as a rifle shot rang out from the woods. The long whip snapped as it sailed over Kelly's head. The thin tip of the whip caught Mrs. Kelly in the neck. It drew blood, but the cut wasn't very deep. Kelly's rifle was under him. He pulled out his handgun and pointed it at Coulter. Two more shots rang out from the trees. The first shot sent a bullet into the chest of Jack Kelly.

  The rancher dropped his gun and leaned on his set arm. Before his eyes closed for the last time he saw his wife lean over him. Forrest's second bullet hit her in the temple. She slumped unmoving to the porch.

  Hank Forrest ran out from the trees. “I was aiming at the fella. She leaned right in front of the bullet.”

  All three Scrum riders stood silently in front of the two bodies. Coulter scratched his chin. “Let's ride. Scrum will know what to do.”

  The two Scrum hands at the bottom of the porch climbed onto their horses and turned them towards the Scum ranch. Hank Forrest vanished into the trees in the direction of his horse. This time he paid little attention to where he stepped. Leaves and branches crunched under his feet.

  Chapter Eight

  At the Kelly house the sound of a squeaking board caught the ear of Coulter and the other rider. They tu
rned around to see a woman in her early twenties leaning over the two bodies. Tears ran down her face. “You murdered my parents. I heard you say you worked for Scrum. You and Scrum will get yours, I promise.”

  Coulter and the other man wheeled their horse around and galloped towards the house.

  Young Donna Kelly picked up her father's hand gun. She ducked behind the porch railing and aimed at the approaching riders. She fired three shots over their heads.

  The two riders stopped. The man beside Coulter pulled out his gun and aimed at the porch.

  Donna Kelly ran along the railing. She jumped over the railing at the end and bolted into the trees behind the house.

  Forrest ran out of the trees and stood beside the other Scrum hands. “What happened?”

  Coulter said. “Their daughter took a couple shots at us. Let's track her down.”

  The three men ran around the house. The small footprints were easy to follow in the wet soil. The tracks led into the trees a short distance away. As the trail led deeper and deeper into the trees the path narrowed into almost a tunnel into the thickest section of the forest.

  The Kelly girl's tracks changed from her small shoes to knee and hand marks. The men would have to crawl on their belly to fit into the hole.

  Coulter pointed to the short, narrow animal trail. “Hank, you're the smallest of us. Go see if you can track her down.”

  Forrest knelt down and pushed half his body into the tunnel. Two shots rang out. The bullet sailed past his head. He let out a yelp and backed out. “There's no way I can make it through there without taking a bullet or two.”

  “She's gone,” said Coulter, scratching his head as he looked at the thick brush extending for several hundred feet. “Let's go.”

  The three Scrum riders did not know that Donna Kelly had no choice but to stop a short distance from the entrance to the low path. Fifteen feet along the trail it curved sharply to the right and narrowed between two rocks.