Raining Trouble

by Randall Sawka

  Ward reached back for one more handful of grass. He ducked his head down to the cotton rag as a shadow closed in. He dipped his head further as the rifle butt swung towards him. The blow grazed his temple. He fell to the ground, dazed but conscious.

  The short, powerfully built man swung the rifle again. This time Ron deflected the blow and jumped to his feet swinging. The first punch caught the shorter man on the forehead and the second blow missed to the left. The Scrum hand dropped his rifle and lunged at Ward, grabbed him and slammed him to the ground.

  The shorter man landing on top of him. “You're about to learn what happens when someone tries to fight me.” Blows rained down on Wards chest and face. The cowhand trapped Ward’s right hand against the ground with a knee. Thinking he had his opponent’s stronger hand secured the man reached behind his back and pulled out a long knife.

  “Mister, you’re nothing. I’m going to mark you up for messing with the Scrum ranch.” He swiped the knife at Ward’s face.

  Ward turned his head sideways. The knife missed his cheek by less than an inch. Ward had trained himself to have two equally powerful hands and grabbed the man’s right wrist with his left hand.

  Ron Ward twisted the hand to his left. The Scrum hand momentarily stared at Ward in shock at his opponent’s strength. The Scrum hand adjusted his position, compensating for the pressure. The left knee’s weight reduced slightly. Ward pulled his right hand free and swung his fist with all his might at the cowboy’s face. The blow crashed into the man's jaw. He dropped to the ground. Ward flipped on top of his opponent, drew back with his big fist and let fly. The shorter man moved forward with the speed of a rattle snake. He wrapped his powerful arms around Ron and rolled on top. Ward used the inertia to keep rolling. The two men maintained a grip on their opponent with one hand and landed punch after punch with the other. Ward felt a stream of warm blood run down his face from a cut over his right eye. The Scrum hand continued landing blows. Ward gave as many as he received.

  As the fight moved within ten feet of the trees the Scrum hand rolled against a small stump, a protruding branch digging into his bicep. He screamed in pain. Ward took advantage and punched the man twice in the left temple. The blows knocked out the shorter man.

  Ward got part way to his feet and looked around. The old building blocked the view of the fight from the other cowboys working in the area. Ron dragged the man into the trees, tied him to a tree and gagged him. The man woke up and glared at Ward, mumbling incoherently.

  Ward slapped him in the face. “Now, don't be a sore loser.”

  Chapter Ten

  Time grew short for Ward as he scurried back to the second old wooden building. Again he piled up dry material and constructed a fuse out of twisted cotton. As he finished darkness arrived. He struck a match and lit the fuse on the second building. He crawled to and lit the other fuse. With both fuses burning strongly he passed the dazed Scrum hand and bolted into the woods.

  Ward's horse lifted its head as he approached. Ward jumped into the saddle. The horse loved to run and carried Ron Ward quickly to the edge of the trees at the far end of the Scrum ranch.

  In the moonlight Ward saw small puffs of smoke rise from behind the two old buildings. He kept his horse close to the trees as he raced to the designated meeting place. There he remained on his horse and waited for the next part of the plan to play out.

  Flames licked up the dry boards on the back of the buildings Ward had lit. Soon the fire shot up from the old wooden roofs.

  The man preparing the evening meal in the cook house looked up from the potatoes he had been pealing. His eyes grew wide when he spotted the flames. He grabbed a wooden spoon and a large pot and ran out the door of the vacant cookhouse. He pounded the spoon against the pot and yelled, “Fire, fire.”

  The riders at the far end of the ranch had already spotted the flames and raced back to the ranch. When he saw the Scrum riders race past him Once Dunn ignited the large pile of brush half a mile east of the ranch house and galloped off to join Ron Ward at the designated spot near the largest herd of cattle.

  Barry Scrum ran out of his house and barked orders to the gathering crowd of men. “Get buckets and put out that fire.”

  “Which one, boss?” asked a cowhand pointing to the giant fire blazing half a mile away.

  Scrum growled and swept a hand towards a group of men on his right. “You four stop the building fires, and make sure you wet down the ground around them so they don’t spread to the other buildings. The rest of you put out the one at the trees.”

  “It’s getting worse,” shouted a cowhand at the back of the group. “To the east.”

  Bart Sheridan had lit in several places the long pile of brush. The night sky magnified the growing flames.

  “Men, divide up and put out those fires before I’m ruined. Go, go.” Scrum grew agitated and leaned against a post on his veranda.

  The men stumbled around for a moment. Some gathered buckets and splashed the water onto the now engulfed buildings. Within minutes they determined that the structures could not be saved and concentrated on dousing the small fires catching on the nearby grass.

  The rest of the men grabbed shovels and raced to the two fires near the trees. While low, the eighty-foot long fire set by Bart Sheridan gave Barry Scrum the most concern. He could not tell from the great distance that it was well clear of the trees.

  At the far end of the ranch Ward, Dunn, and the others busied themselves searching for Scrum cattle with clear signs on the brands that the steers had been stolen from the Cochran, Sheridan, or Kelly ranches.

  A steer kicked at Tom Sheridan as he walked behind it. The hoof grazed the rancher's leg but did little damage. “Why you're one of mine. There's no call to kick at me.” He slipped a rope around its neck and pulled it out of the herd and into the growing collection of cattle in a small vale on the edge of the Scrum land.

  Ward and Dunn, working on horseback, smoothly guiding six more steers into the group. Bart Sheridan sat on a horse at the top of a small hill watching for Scrum hands.

  At the bottom of the hill the herd of cattle that had been stolen by Scrum grew to near one hundred head. They worked quickly and the herd continued to grow in size.

  Bart noticed that one of the eight men battling the biggest fire climbed onto a horse and race towards the Scrum ranch buildings. This was the signal Ward told him to watch for. Young Sheridan pointed his horse downhill and raced toward the herd of stolen cattle.

  Tom Sheridan rode up to Ward and Dunn. “Not bad. I'm guessing we have ten percent of that thieve’s herd.”

  Ward watched Bart Sheridan approach and turned his attention to the building dark clouds above. A few drops had landed on him and he felt the moisture growing in the air. “Here comes Bart.”

  Bart stopped in front of the Ward and Dunn. “A Scrum hand raced back to the ranch before the fire was out.”

  Ward said, “I'm thinking Scrum and his men have discovered that the fires were just distractions. Time to move.”

  The young Scrum hand jumped off his horse before it had completely stopped. He ran up to his boss. “We've got the fire under control, but there's something about it.”

  “Spit it out, boy.”

  “The fire is wide from a distance like this, it seems to be a thin row of brush well away from the trees. Not much chance of it doing much damage.”

  Scrum looked at the two old buildings now just two piles of smouldering ash. The hot pieces of wood sizzled in the increasing rain. “Gather the men and get out to the herd. They're stealing cattle.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man turned to the handful of men standing around the burnt buildings. “Let's go check the herd.”

  The other cowhands threw on their slickers and gathered near the barn where eight other hands saddled horses. The near dozen men raced to the herd in the now heavy, driving rain.

  Ward and the others had quickly moved the cattle away from the Scrum herd and into a small valley. As expected,
Donna rode out from the shadows. She and Ward rode side-by-side to the left of the herd. Dunn and Tom Sheridan stayed well back of the herd, rifles in hand. They watched for approaching trouble and were ready to deal with it.

  Ward looked at Donna through the steady rain and smiled. “You sure you can get us to this secret meadow of yours?”

  “Blindfolded,” replied a confident Donna. “It does go through some lowlands that will be very wet, though.”

  The Scrum hands reached the herd twenty minutes later. In the dark they could not judge the size of the herd but saw some partly washed away hoof prints leading away from the Scrum ranch. The rainstorm reached full strength and quickly made the tracks more and more obscured. The riders knew the general direction and followed at a slow pace in the slippery mud.

  Half a mile away, Donna Kelly held her hat brim down as the wind picked up. Like the others, she felt the slowing of the horses as the powerful animals strained to lift their hoofs out of the deep mud. The cattle slowed more than the horses, bawling into the wall of water as they inched their way forward. Several cows thought the effort too much and stopped. Ward, Bart, and Tom secured ropes around their necks and pulling them forward. Most resisted for a time but all eventually fought through the bog situated half way though the pass leading to the meadow. Any cattle left behind would lead Scrum's men directly to them after sunrise. Two hours later the last of the cattle were guided into the tree-lined trail leading to Donna Kelly's meadow. The deep tracks created by the horses and cattle quickly filled with mud and washed away. Soon the driving water filled the low-lying bog to over four feet, creating an area of water that no rider could cross. It's level raised by the minute. An hour later Scrum's men followed the tracks on the higher ground but lost site of the tracks in the lake-like lowlands. The water not only reached the belly of the horses but also loosened up the soil. Two of the Scrum horses bucked and hesitated. One stopped, all four legs stuck. The Scrum hands wrapped ropes around the stuck horse and tugged it loose by pulling it with other horses. Now lacking footing or a trail, all the riders returned to the higher ground on Scrum land. They rode slowly back to the warmth and hot coffee in the cookhouse.

  In Donna's meadow the herd of cattle milled around the perimeter under the cover of overhanging trees while Ward and the others ducked into heavier cover. Tom and Once stood watch part way down the trail.

  Both Barry Scrum and Paul Cook ignored the driving rain as they inspected the charred remains of the small buildings. The few remaining hot coals long put out by the pounding water.

  “You thinking the same thing I am?” asked Scrum.

  Cook focused on the black snake of burned cotton. “The fuse is simple, but effective. It led to the tinder-dry boards under the eaves on the side of the building away from the driving water.” Rain poured off the flat brim of Paul Cook’s hat as he cocked his head and looked at the barn thirty feet away. “If they wanted to burn you out they could just as easily set fire to the barn full of horses and hay and your house. It’s a diversion.”

  “How many head?”

  “The boys got out there within thirty minutes. If they weren’t picky I suspect they could have led off half your herd without a track remaining in this rain.”

  “No.” Scrum shook his head. “They were picky. I don’t see them rustling, not them do-gooders. Those men should have been more careful when they covered up those other brands.” Scrum spat into a puddle. “I can't afford to lose any more cattle. Get the men to do a count.”

  “It'll be tough in this weather.”

  “I didn't say it would be easy. I'm paying them to work; get them to work.”

  Cook gathered all of the cowhands and they met the ones already out at the herd. The footing in the low areas was treacherous. Twice horses balked at riding through the mud, one fell over when it quickly turned around. The rider splashed into the rain-soaked turf. As Scrum feared, his herd was depleted. The estimate was ten percent, or one hundred and fifty head.

  Those one hundred and fifty cattle grazed peacefully under the trees surrounding the meadow. The group of ranchers rested under a heavy tree, free from the falling rain.

  Once said, “I figure losing this many cattle will cut Scrum's profits in half.”

  “He won't be happy,” added Tom Sheridan.

  “That's good. A desperate man can make mistakes,” said Ward. “We'll just have to take advantage.”

  Donna sat on some tree bows next to Ward. “So, you're not done with Scrum?”

  “Men like Scrum don't learn lessons easily. He needs to be taught how to treat people. I aim to be the one to teach him.”

  Once Dunn had been watching the trail leading to the meadow. He shook the water off his slicker as he walked up to the small fire under a big tree. “The rain has soaked the trail and washed away the tracks. The cattle are safe here.”

  “That's fine,” said Ward as he turned to Donna. “This is your spot in the woods. Any other way to get someplace dry?”

  Donna pointed to a narrow opening between the thick trees. “That trail will lead us to my family ranch. Ride takes about twenty minutes.”

  “Lead the way, Donna,” shouted Bart and Tom together.

  The group rode slowly through the winding trail. The Kelly house stood silently in the dark, wet night. Ward glanced at Donna several times when lightning lit up the area. She kept her head up and wore a look of confidence that impressed Ward.

  Soon the horses munched on oats in the barn while hot coffee, bacon and eggs warmed the riders in the ranch house.

  Donna Kelly sat in her usual chair at the table. She slowly sipped coffee as she listened to the others relive the events of the evening. Her eyes fixed on Ron Ward several times. He had worn the same smile most of the evening, even when pulling a cow out of a mud hole. Briefly they locked eyes. Ever the gentleman, Ward diverted his eyes before the others at the table noticed the unspoken communication. Donna built her own smile and looked shyly away.

  The next morning the hot sun filled the meadow holding the cattle near the Kelly ranch. The steers had moved away from the shady perimeter and chewed the fresh grass.

  The small ranchers, along with Ward and Dunn, wandered through the healthy cattle double-checking the brands. All had clear indications that they previously belonged to one of them.

  “It sure looks like these are our cattle. Any idea on how we can make double-sure?” asked Tom Sheridan.

  “There's only one way,” responded Dunn.

  They selected one of the steers and led it down the trail to the Kelly ranch and into a building beside the barn. They slaughtered the cow and removed the skin. On the back of the hide the original Sheridan brand clearly showed.

  “Right, let's sort them out and get them back where they belong.” Ward climbed onto his horse. “Make sure to renew the brands once they are back on your land.”

  ***

  While the small ranchers sorted the cattle Barry Scrum sat on the prize roan he won in a poker game the year before. His expansive land stood before him, wet and cool. He quickly calculated that the lost cattle represented a loss of fifty percent of his net profits for the year.

  He mulled over stealing the cattle back or riding in and talking to the sheriff. He eliminated both ideas. His mistake had been in hiring cowhand who didn't brand carefully. No, the cattle were gone. Still, he contemplated more options.

  “Got it,” said Scrum calmly to his horse as he realized the answer to his lost revenue was locked in his safe at home. The big roan turned towards the white corral across from his house.

  Paul Cook and Al Gregg leaned against the railing watching their boss approach. The heavy rancher climbed down from his tooled saddle and put his arm on the shoulder of his two most reliable workers. “Got a job for you two. I want you to find that Kelly girl and kill her. Once she's out of the way I have a note that entitles me to the family ranch and all the cattle. It should about cover my losses.”

  “How do you want it done? asked
Gregg.

  “Don't care. As long as the authorities find the body and the death can't be traced to me.”

  Two days later the clouds built earlier in the afternoon. Ward and Dunn patrolled on the low hills that divided the Cochran and Kelly ranches. From the high ground they had a good view of most of both ranches. Donna Kelly and Bart Sheridan rode up from the Kelly ranch.

  Donna handed Ron a basket. “Here's some freshly made biscuits for you two. I gave Bart some of the books Pa had.” Donna patted her horse. “Storm here hasn't had a good ride in a couple weeks. I'm going to ride to the Sheridan ranch with Bart. I'll be back in less than two hours.”

  Once already had a piece of biscuit in his mouth. “Be careful.” Crumbs flew as he spoke.”

  “We will,” replied Bart.

  On a heavily treed hill nearby Paul Cook and Al Gregg sat under a tall oak watching Donna Kelly and Bart Sheridan ride away from Ward and Dunn.

  “It took two days of watching them, but now we have our chance.” Al Gregg sneered. “This should be easy. That boy can't outrun a bullet.”

  “They're riding straight to the Sheridan place”, said Cook. “We'll take them at the top of the trail where it parallels the river.”

  Cook and Gregg climbed onto their horses. They pushed their mounts to make it to the trail where it skirted the winding river.

  They saw Bart and Donna about half a mile down the trail. Gregg walked into the woods and found a large thin branch. “Ha, this'll slow them down. We're too close to the others to use guns.”

  Bart and Donna rode side-by-side down the trail. They drew close to the thicket of berry bushes hiding the two Scrum hands.

  Gregg stood closer to the trail and heard the horses splashing through the puddles formed by the previous night's rain. The shadow of Donna's horses drew even with the bush, signaling Gregg to strike.

  The whip lashed out. Donna’s horses raised its front legs in fright when the whip sailed past its eyes. Gregg swore when Donna fell backwards as the branch closed in on her head. She tumbled off the horse and crashed to the ground.