“A man has to groom now and then,” Rawley said, noting Chaw’s unkempt beard.
“Only if he don’t stay out on a good ol’ cattle range,” Chaw pointed out. “Them dogies don’t give a damn about how you smell or look, and that’s a fact.”
Rawley grinned over at his pard as their horses loped toward the hamlet. “I don’t care what you say. I see that you got no dislike of town now.”
“Damn it, Rawley!” Chaw sputtered. “I never said I didn’t ever want to go into no towns. I just growed tired of living in ’em.”
Rawley grinned and settled into the saddle. It was a five-mile ride from the Circle H Bar before they crossed the limits of Duncan, Texas. He took advantage of the time to keep Chaw riled up with plenty of remarks about the older man’s attitudes toward civilization and other people in general.
When they reached their destination, the pair found that the town was a small place with a combination of rickety adobe and frame buildings. A blacksmith, livery stable, jail, the Deep River Saloon, and a general store, whose owner also acted as the town barber, made up the small commercial district that formed a short main street. The residences were in a sort of disorderly arrangement behind that part of the prairie burg.
“Ain’t much of a town,” Rawley remarked. He’d hoped it might have been at least close in size to the place where they’d been sheriff and deputy.
“It’s got a saloon, ain’t it?” Chaw asked.
“Yep.”
“Then it’s a mighty fine town,” Chaw insisted. “At least it’s all the town I need.”
Rawley laughed as they came to a stop in front of Big Ed MacWilliams’s place. They stepped out of their saddles and tied the horses to the hitching rail.
Big Ed, in his usual place on the porch, looked at them from his chair. “Howdy. You’re the fellers off the Circle H Bar, ain’t you?”
“That’s right,” Chaw said coldly. He hadn’t liked Big Ed when he’d first seen him in the Hawkinses’ living room the day the association was formed. As far as Chaw was concerned, the large man represented the worst type of town people.
“I remember you,” Big Ed said. “You’re the helpful ones, ain’t you?”
“We try to be,” Rawley said. He wasn’t quite sure what Big Ed meant by the question, but it didn’t seem delivered in a particularly friendly manner.
“I ain’t good with names. I’m Ed MacWilliams. Folks around here call me Big Ed.”
“I’m Rawley Pierson and this here’s my pard Chaw Stevens,” Rawley said.
“Where’s Tim?” the saloon owner asked.
“He’s with his pa at a meeting over to the Double Box spread,” Rawley answered.
“Sounds like them ranchers is plowing ahead with their plans for an association,” Big Ed said.
“You can count on that,” Rawley said. “Matter o’ fact, they’re about ready to shake and sign on it.”
“That must mean they’re real serious,” Big Ed said.
Chaw pointed to the interior of the establishment. “You got whiskey in there, mister?”
“I do,” Big Ed answered.
“Then we’ll go drink some,” Chaw announced. “C’mon, Rawley.”
Rawley followed the little man inside. They went straight to the bar, and Chaw banged on it. Roy Patton, the bartender, came over and waited to hear their pleasure.
“Whiskey,” Chaw said. “The bottle and two glasses.”
“Coming up pronto, gents,” Patton said. He fetched what was ordered and came back, setting it all down in front of the whiskered oldster. “That’s four bits in coin or a dollar in paper.”
“How much will a Confederate dollar get me?” Chaw asked, eyeing the barkeep carefully.
Patton said nothing. He simply looked into Chaw’s face without changing his expression.
Chaw was persistent. “There was a time and a place when that money was good enough.”
“The time and place ain’t here or now,” Patton said.
Chaw nudged Rawley. “Give him a Yankee dollar.”
Rawley paid up and grabbed the bottle, pouring them each a glassful. He raised his own. “Here’s to fast horses and perty women.”
“Just a minute!” Chaw protested. “You’re always drinking to the same thing.” He thought a moment. “Here’s to perty horses and fast women.” He cackled and drank.
Rawley appreciated the taste of the liquor even if it was cheap and unaged. “It’s been a while since we eased back.”
“That is has,” Chaw allowed. “I reckon the night after we turned in our badges and rode outta Benton was the last time. That’s been over two weeks.”
“If we get on any trail drives, we’ll go a hell of a lot more’n two weeks without any relaxation,” Rawley said. “A feller can go a month or so then without having any fun in town.”
“But he’s out in the open country, Rawley!” Chaw exclaimed. “And a man don’t need whiskey when he’s working hard and free with nobody breathing down his neck but a damn trail boss. All he’s got to do to keep the peace is put in a good day’s work.”
“That’s right enough. But there’s also Injuns and rustlers too at times,” Rawley pointed out.
Chaw chuckled. “Well, pard, that’s the spice in that bowl o’ soup, ain’t it?”
“Pour us another drink,” Rawley said.
They quickly downed that one and served themselves a third. Rawley felt a tug on his arm, and turned to see that a saloon girl had joined them. He tipped his hat. “Howdy.”
“Howdy,” Rosalie Kinnon said. “Will you buy a girl a drink?”
Chaw looked across his friend at her. “We’ll give you one out of our own bottle,” he said testily. “I don’t like paying for a glass half filled with water when I slide money across a damn bar.”
“We aim to keep the customers happy here at the Deep River,” Rosalie said with a smile. She snapped her fingers at Patton. “Bring me a glass, Roy.”
Patton obliged. Rosalie pushed the glass toward Chaw. “Fill ’er up!”
Chaw did as she asked. “Just ’cause I made a gentlemanly offer don’t mean you got a claim on this bottle.”
Rosalie knocked the drink back in a quick swallow. “I don’t need watered-down stuff, mister. I can drink likker as good as any man.”
“I’ll give you another if you’ll drink it slow,” Rawley said.
“Sure, mister,” Rosalie replied. She liked the handsome stranger. He had a nice smile and an easy manner. And he didn’t smell bad either. She was always more comfortable with cowboys who’d taken the trouble to bathe before hitting town. “My name’s Rosalie.”
“Howdy, Rosalie,” Rawley said. “I’m called Rawley and this is my pard Chaw.”
“Howdy, miss,” Chaw said sullenly.
Rosalie ignored the older man. She moved closer to Rawley. “You looking for a good time?”
“Sure,” Rawley said. “After I’ve had a few drinks.”
“Then I’ll come back and see you later,” she said, winking. “I don’t want to hog your whiskey.”
“You won’t!” Chaw said. “I’ll see to that personal, missy.”
Rosalie brushed up against Rawley with her hips before she walked away.
“I’m glad I’ve aged past all that,” Chaw said. “When I think o’ the trouble and money and time I’ve wasted on women, it pure makes me sick.”
Rawley thought of Nancy. She’d been in his mind quite a bit, but sometimes a man’s needs were handled better in an upstairs room with a saloon gal. “You shoulda got married, you ol’ goat.”
“I could have,” Chaw said. “I was a real good-looking feller when I was young.”
“You were, huh?”
“Yeah,” Chaw said. “As a matter o’ fact, I was better-looking then than you are now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The gals was always after me,” Chaw said smugly. “Back when I was a Johnny Reb—and I still am one—more ’n one lady said I was the best-looking so
ljer in General John B. Hood’s division.”
“Ain’t that the outfit that scared most damn Yanks to death ’cause they was so ugly?” Rawley asked, Suppressing a grin.
“Who tole you that?” Chaw demanded. “Why we was the best-looking fellers that wore rebel gray. Why we was—”
“All right, Chaw,” Rawley said. “I was just funning you.”
“Imagine that!” Chaw said after he took another drink. “Accusing General John B. Hood’s boys o’ being ugly! A couple might’ve been close, but I reckon the worse of ’em was at least tolerable.”
Rawley poured himself some more Whiskey, then turned and looked outward at the barroom. He quietly surveyed the tables, noting the various drinkers and card players. He nudged Chaw. “There’s some hard-cases in here.”
Chaw took a quick look. “Yeah. You’re right. Guns is wore low and they look like, they might use ’em for a living, huh?”
“I reckon it takes a coupla ex-star-packers to figger that out,” Rawley said. The years he’d spent as a lawman had given him a pretty good ability to sort out troublemakers when he walked into a dangerous situation, or even a quiet saloon like the Deep River.
“I wonder what they’re doing around here,” Chaw said. “You wouldn’t think Big Ed pulled in enough money to keep a pistolero payroll, would you? And even if he did, why’d the big sumbitch want or need one?”
“You don’t suppose they got anything to do with them hooded fellers, do you?” Rawley asked.
Chaw shook his head. “These boys ain’t spent much time outdoors. From the look of ’em, I’d say they stick around here perty close. And I noticed a coupla of ’em hobnobbing with that feller Big Ed.”
“Maybe they’re his boys after all,” Rawley said.
“What the hell for?” Chaw asked.
Rawley shrugged and turned around to give the bottle some more of his attention. The liquor was warm in his belly and he felt a glow from it. A man, whether working for the law or a rancher, needed time to knock back a few drinks now and then to get the kinks out of his mind and let his body relax a bit.
Rosalie Kinnon sided up to Rawley. “Ready for that good time yet?”
Rawley grinned, feeling a little drunk. “I’m getting there.”
Rosalie looked over at Chaw. “What about you? Hannah ain’t busy.”
“Well, I am!” Chaw said. “With this here bottle.”
Rawley started to laugh, but a masculine voice interrupted him. “C’mon with me, Rosalie.”
Rosalie turned and looked at Curly Brandon. “I’m with this gent right now, Curly.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled the girl roughly to him. “No you ain’t.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Rosalie demanded. “Leave me be!”
Rawley, feeling agitated by the man’s brashness, stepped back from the bar. “I was fixing to buy the little lady a drink.”
“Ain’t nobody asking you nothing,” Curly sneered. “So don’t say nothing.”
Rawley’s stubborn nature came to the surface. “The lady obviously wants to be with me, and I like her comp’ny. So move on.”
Curly shoved Rosalie away. “Nobody tells me to move on.”
“Now is that gospel truth?” Rawley said with a lazy grin. “I swear that I just did. In case you didn’t hear it the first time, I’ll say it again. Move on.”
Curly moved with an explosive speed as he stepped forward and threw a punch. But Rawley, set and ready, went under it and came up with an uppercut that caught Curly full on the jaw.
Curly’s eyes went blank and he stumbled back, falling to the floor. Hank Delong made a sudden appearance from the side, charging straight into Rawley. But Chaw intercepted him with a vicious kick that caught the side of his knee. Howling, Hank hopped away, and Rawley finished him off with a vicious sideswipe that spun him around and dumped him to fall beside Curly.
The room was suddenly quiet. Rawley and Chaw, with pistols drawn, stood ready for action. Their quick but careful glances around the room showed no more troublemakers moving their way.
Big Ed MacWilliams stood by the door flanked by Shorty Clemens and Joe Black. He smiled and walked over to Rawley. He motioned for Shorty and Black to take care of the fallen men.
Big Ed took a pull off his cigar. “I’m right embarrassed that something like that happened in my place.”
“I hope you don’t lose no sleep over it,” Rawley said. He and Chaw reholstered their irons.
“I just might,” Big Ed said. He looked over at the bartender. “Roy, give these boys a drink on the house. That’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rosalie walked up. “That damn Curly started pushing me around, Big Ed. And for no damn good reason.”
“I’ll take care of Curly,” Big Ed said. “You go ahead and entertain Rawley Pierson here.”
Rosalie smiled. Once more she moved close to Rawley. “You, said you wanted my comp’ny. Here or upstairs?”
“Upstairs,” Rawley said. “Fighting gets my blood up.”
Chaw watched the couple head up for the rooms on the second floor. He poured himself a drink, and wisely turned around to keep an eye out on the scene before him. He drank slowly, noting that the two men who had been panhandled by Rawley and him were sitting at a table. Chaw loosened the Colt in his holster, his growing tenseness overcoming the effect of the whiskey. He still hadn’t relaxed any when Rawley and Rosalie came back down.
“Let’s go on back to the ranch,” Chaw said.
Rawley nodded. “We might as well since you drank the last o’ the likker.” He patted Rosalie on the rump. “I’ll be back, hear?”
“You bet!”
The two men walked easily but tensely toward the door. Once outside, they quickly got into the saddle. Instead of riding directly out of town, they circled around to the back of the business district, then set out onto the Diablos on a route nobody would expect them to take. There was no sense in giving any potential bushwhacker an advantage.
“I’ll tell you something,” Chaw said seriously. “There’s more going on in that Deep River Saloon than can be seen on the surface.”
“I think so too,” Rawley said. “Them two jaspers was set on us. They was real businesslike about it.”
“Hell, that was easy to see,” Chaw said. “They didn’t even act mad after it was all said and did. Normal brawlers would’ve gone to gunplay. Them boys is professionals. I’ll wager they even got a extry dollar or two for jumping us. And another thing I’ll bet on is that it’s Big Ed that calls their play.”
“Yeah,” Rawley agreed. “I can tell you one thing for sure, though. There’s a hell of a lot of strange things gonna happen before we ride off this Diablos Range.”
“Yeah,” Chaw said thoughtfully. “Strange and dangerous.”
Seven
The five outfits running cattle on the Diablos wasted no time in following the agreements of their association. The ranches—the Circle H Bar, Lazy S, Diamond T, Double Box, and Flying Heart—all entered into the spirit of their consolidation with grim determination.
The main thrust of the organization was to bring all herds together into one large group for the drive to Kansas. This would make guarding the cattle easier, although a chance of mixing the animals was a possibility. The ranchers decided it was worth the risk of somebody losing a few head.
“It’ll all work out in the end anyhow,” Zeb Hawkins pointed out to his friends. “And let’s face it, boys. A few head is gonna get mixed up with some others. It’s gonna be more’n a month afore we’re ready to head north.”
They all agreed with Zeb, realizing that worrying over who owned certain cattle had to be put in the background while they concentrated on the important job of the inevitable roundup and branding that had to be done.
By concentrating all their resources in a communal effort, not only would the brutal work ahead go more quickly and efficiently, but in case of attack, there would be a better chance of finally t
racking down the raiders to their lair. But Fred Blevins of the Double Fox remained pessimistic.
“They’ll start fighting us in differ’nt ways, boys, and prob’ly get their edge back in this game,” he said. Then he quickly added, “But maybe we’ll be on our way to Kansas by that time.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” Fred Blevins said. “The situation is just like Zeb said. It’s gonna take over a month o’ quiet grazing, to fatten them critters up enough for the drive north.”
“You’re forgetting something else that’s in our favor,” the Diamond T’s Doak Timmons quickly pointed out. “By getting together, we can work with short-handed crews a hell of a lot better.”
Zeb Hawkins summed it up but without modesty. “My idea o’ forming this cattleman’s association was a damn good one! Now that we all agree on that, let’s stop jawing and get this here roundup started.” Following a planning session on the Double Box, a composite work crew, a total of fifteen men in all, rode out on the Diablos and began gathering the drifting herds, moving them toward a central spot just north of Doak Timmons’s Diamond T at a place called Rattlesnake Arroyo.
When they came across strays, the crew picked them up as well, adding them to the growing crowd of cattle as they concentrated on the difficult task that faced them.
After a day and half of riding, herding, reherding, and chasing, a sizable crowd of bawling cattle had been assembled around the huge gully. A fire of hot coals had been built up, and the branding irons of the Circle H Bar, Lazy S, Diamond T, Double Box, and Flying Heart grew glowing red in the awesome heat.
It was old Zeb Hawkins who, as he usually did, got things moving after everyone had instinctively settled down when the rounding-up was finished.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Ropers! Get your lazy butts to work!” Zeb bellowed. “Them calves ain’t gonna sashay over on their own to get branded!”
Rawley Pierson and Tim Hawkins formed one of the roping teams. Riding into the herd with their lariats ready, they looked for unbranded calves. Rawley spotted the first one. Honing skills that had lain dormant for nearly three years, he cut the young animal loose from his mother, driving him out of the bovine crowd. A quick toss of the rope and the calf was dragged to the fire. Jim Pauley and Duane Wheeler off the Circle H Bar grabbed the animal and wrestled him to the ground.
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