There was nothing. Had the man just fired in the air as another of his playful pranks? It couldn’t have been one of our men because you didn’t fire guns around resting cattle unless it was an absolute emergency. And the nearest cattle to my house were the Herefords. Besides, it had come from much closer. It had sounded like it had been right in my backyard.
I kept laying there looking, but there was nothing to be seen: no movement, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing. Finally I cautiously opened the door and crawled out onto the back porch. When nothing happened I stood up and walked toward the corral and the barn. All appeared as it should have been.
I was about five yards from the corral when I saw it. I went up to the fence and looked over. There, laying on the ground, was my bay gelding. The clouds broke for a moment and, in the moonlight, I could see he’d been shot through the head. It made me sick, that poor horse just stretched out there. If I ever caught the bastard I’d make him regret this one act.
I was about to fire three shots in the air, which was the signal for those at the big house to come to me, when I suddenly heard the sound of hoofbeats. In another second Ben and Hays came jolting to a halt. Ben said, “We heard a shot. At first we weren’t sure so we taken time to saddle horses in case a chase was needed.”
I just pointed over the corral fence. I didn’t say anything.
From atop their horses Ben and Hays could easily see the bay. Ben said, “Aw, hell!”
And Hays said, “Sonofabitch! What a goddam waste of a good horse. I’d like to skin that bastard alive.”
I said to Hays, “Ray, go back to the headquarters corral and bring me that roan colt. I’m leaving tonight before that cocksucker can kill any more livestock.”
Ben said, “Justa, I ain’t got no quarrel with you taking off tonight, but that colt ain’t but a two-year-old. That’s a hell of a trip for that young animal.”
I said dully, “That roan is a long two. He’s a coming three. The trip will harden him and steady him down. Besides, he’s fast as hell and he’s used to me. Ray, go get the roan.”
Ben got down and joined me at the fence. We both looked at the bay for a moment or two. Ben said, “What would make a man do something like that? All right, he’s out for you. That don’t mean he’s got to kill your horse.”
“Likely he saw me paying special attention to the bay this afternoon, grooming him and such. Then when he saw me coming back from the big house with those two sacks of supplies, he figured I was leaving and it would be the bay I’d be riding.”
Ben shook his head. “That sonofabitch is just mean clean through. I never heard of such.”
I just shrugged. “I’m probably lucky he didn’t shoot the packhorse. Maybe he didn’t realize that’s what it was.”
“And you’re going tonight?”
“Yeah. Get the other side of Blessing anyway. Let’s go in the house and have a drink. You’ll send a couple of hands over tomorrow to drag that bay out?”
“Yeah,” Ben said.
By now the bay was being nuzzled curiously by the packhorse. I went around to the gate of the corral and went in and led the packhorse into the darkness of the barn. If the killer was going to have a shot at him he’d have to get mighty close.
We went in and got a bottle and a couple of glasses and sat down on the back steps. I poured out and we said, “Luck,” and then knocked them back. Ben said, “Well, I reckon you’ll be glad to get this settled.”
“I just feel lucky it happened while Nora was gone. It would have driven her crazy.”
“It ain’t done you much good so far as that goes.”
I said, “I just want one shot at the bastard. Just one.”
Ben said, “He’s got it all on his side. He can pick the time and place and ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.”
“He’ll have a hell of a time surprising me on the bald-ass prairie, especially when he ain’t going to know which way I’ll turn next. That way he won’t have much chance of getting ahead of me to lay an ambush. I ain’t exactly going to ride in a straight line.”
We sat there drinking and talking and keeping a sharp lookout. It wasn’t long before Ray Hays came riding up with the roan colt. I directed Ray to take him on into the barn. Ben helped me to lug my pack out. Once inside the barn I shut the doors and then lit a lantern. I gave the colt a small bait of oats while I saddled him. He was jittery, looking around at me with wide eyes and flared nostrils while I smoothed on his saddle blanket and then threw the saddle over his back. Ben and Ray were strapping the packsaddle to the chestnut. When they had it cinched up they loaded on my pack, and then Ray took a lariat rope and threw a diamond hitch over the outfit to hold it in place. It ain’t just everybody that can throw a diamond hitch, but it is the only rigging that will guarantee to hold a pack securely in place. Ben had found some soft rope, and he cut off about ten feet and tied it to the chestnut’s halter for a lead rope.
I got the roan bridled and then tied my slicker behind the saddle and tied on my saddlebags. Lastly, I rammed my rifle home in its saddle boot. I said to Ben, “Leaving like this I ain’t going to get a chance to go to the bank. First thing in the morning have Norris wire two thousand dollars to the First National bank of El Campo to be held in my name until arrival.”
“You going into a town that soon?”
I shrugged. “What choice do I have? I ain’t got over forty or fifty dollars on me.”
Ben said, “That’s about what I got.” He took out his billfold and handed it to me. “Just in case.”
Hays said, “I got five bucks, boss.”
“You better keep it,” I said. “Might be a long time before you get another such sum.”
We turned out the lamp, and opened the barn doors, and led the horses out. Ben said, “Hays is going to ride as far as Blessing with you.”
“Whatever for?”
“If he shoots he can’t get you both and he’ll give his position away to the one that ain’t hit. So I don’t think he’ll shoot if there’s two of you.”
I shrugged and swung in the saddle. Hays had already mounted. I said, “Whatever you think.” Then I reached down and briefly shook hands with Ben. “See you.”
“Take care.”
Then Hays and I were loping off into the night. The packhorse got on to his role mighty quick, and trotted up alongside of us so that there was no pull on my arm.
We rode the distance into town without incident. I set us a pretty slow pace, wanting to save my horses as much as I could. I’d added a sack of oats to the packhorse’s burden, but I figured both he and the colt would be glad later on.
Neither Ray nor I had much to say. Just about everything that could be said had been said and now it was a question of handling whatever was to come next.
We’d left the ranch about nine-thirty, and we got into Blessing just before eleven. The town was pretty well shut down. Only Crook’s and one other saloon were still going strong. They generally lasted until a little after midnight, or later if there was enough business. Ray and I headed directly for the telegraph office at the railroad depot. It was at the very north end of town. We pulled up on the west side away from the tracks. I said, “Ray, why don’t you go on down and get yourself a room at the hotel. No use in your riding back to the ranch tonight.” I didn’t want to say I didn’t want him taking the risk of being mistaken for me in the dark, cloudy night.
“Aw, boss, I slept myself out today. I couldn’t close my eyes under threat of hard work.”
“Well, then, go on down to Crook’s and drink until they close up and then go to the hotel.”
“Well, I might could do that.”
I smiled faintly. I hoped I was never on hand to see Hays turn down a drink. The shock might kill me. “Tell Crook I said to charge it to the ranch’s account.”
“I’ll just stay here and mind your horses until you get back.”
I swung to the ground. “I ought not be but a minute.”
I went into the l
ittle office and nodded to the night telegrapher, a man named Perkins. He said, “Howdy, Mistuh Williams.”
I nodded. “Mister Perkins.”
Then I got a telegraph blank and wrote out a short wire telling Nora that I’d been called out of town on ranching business but I was absolutely certain I’d be back in time for her homecoming. I told her to have a good time and enjoy herself and not to bother to write as I wouldn’t be there to get her letters. I signed it with love, gave it to Mister Perkins, and told him to send it for morning delivery and to charge it to our account.
Ray was waiting placidly when I went back out. I swung aboard the colt and Ray handed me the lead rope for the chestnut packhorse. I reached my hand out and we shook briefly. I said, “I’ll see you.”
“Boss, don’t fun around with this feller. You get him in yore sights finish the bid’ness.”
“Oh, I don’t plan to treat it like a joke. I got to get kicking, Ray. Ya’ll don’t worry.”
Then I turned my horse and loped away. I wanted away from all those buildings which furnished such good hiding places. In a few minutes I’d cleared the town and was out on the open prairie. I turned northwest and picked up the little road that led to the Mexican settlement of El Campo, which was about twenty-five miles away. I could have gone due west but I wasn’t going to take a straight path to anywhere. Besides, I knew there was nothing between me and El Campo but flat prairie, but there was some rough country some fifteen miles distant if I’d headed due west.
I took my time, just easing along. The chestnut stayed right up alongside of the colt. I didn’t even need the pack rope. We were going deliberately slow. I couldn’t be sure if my would-be assassin had seen me leave or not. I wanted to give him plenty of time to catch up. I took it slow until about three of the morning. I figured I’d covered about eight miles. Finally, in a place where the grass wasn’t overly high, I got down and commenced to make camp. I unpacked the chestnut, more to relieve him of his load than anything else as I didn’t need anything out of the pack. I got the packsaddle off him, then took a lariat rope and tied it to his halter. I tied a knot in the other end of the rope, then dug a hole in the ground with my Bowie knife, put the knotted end in there, and pounded the earth back in the hole. It didn’t sound like much, but I’d tethered many a one like that and I knew it would hold this old, wise cow horse.
I wasn’t as sure about the colt. So when I had him unsaddled and unbridled, I took another lariat rope and tied one end to his halter and the other to the horn of my saddle. I’d be using my saddle as a pillow and if he got to feeling frisky and went to pulling he’d wake me up right quick.
Lastly I got my slicker out, spread it on the ground, and then unrolled my bedroll atop it. I put my rifle and my revolver on my bedroll along with a canteen of water and a bottle of whiskey. I wasn’t hungry, having had supper such a short while before.
I looked back in the distance toward Blessing. There wasn’t anything to see except prairie. There was an occasional mesquite tree or stunted post oak, but they were too far away to provide anyone cover for a shot. Ordinarily I would have slept away from where I had picketed my horses, and if I’d made a fire, away from that. But I didn’t think the man was that close on my heels or that ready to do anything. Besides, the colt was still jittery. He needed another day or two to get used to the trail.
I took off my boots, had a pull of whiskey out of the bottle, and then settled down to get some sleep. I was tired, but I was having a hard time closing my eyes. It all felt passing strange. I guessed I’d been sleeping in a bed too long. I looked up at the sky. The stars were starting to disappear and the moon was long since gone. It was no more than two, two and a half hours until dawn. I knew I’d better get what sleep I could. I took another pull off the bottle, then rammed the cork home and settled back with my eyes shut.
I came awake next morning with a start as my head thumped to the ground. For a second I couldn’t think where I was, and then I looked around and saw that the fidgety colt had pulled the saddle out from under my head. The sun was good up and I got out my watch and saw, with some astonishment, that it was nearly nine o’clock. I couldn’t remember when I’d slept so late. I rolled out of my bed, got up, and walked up the picket rope until I had the colt by the halter. I backed him until he was standing back by his saddle so he’d get the idea that when he felt the least resistance on a picket rope he was supposed to stop. On the other side of my camp the chestnut was grazing contentedly, still within the limits of his tether.
I set out to make a breakfast. I unrolled my pack, found the beef brisket, and cut off several pieces. I’d just eat it cold. I didn’t want to make a fire, and anyway, there wasn’t anything around to burn except dried cow manure and I ain’t real partial to that kind of fire.
So I just made a plate off the oilskin, slicing some bread off one of the loafs and peeling an onion and cutting it in half. Having no fire I had to do without coffee, but it wasn’t the first time. I wasn’t all that partial to coffee like most range men I knew. I just made do with water until I’d finished my meal. Then I had a drink of whiskey and lit a cigarillo and smoked while I watched my back trail. Again not a thing was to be seen except a few cattle dotting the range here and there. I took my time. I wasn’t going anywhere and wasn’t in any hurry to get there. But after a while, I roused myself, did up my pack, and brought in the chestnut. He took the packsaddle with the same curiosity he’d shown before, but showed no confusion when I loaded the pack on his back. I untied him from the picket rope, coiled it, and tied it to my saddle. Then I got the lead rope and put it on the chestnut’s halter, letting it drop to the ground. He’d stand there through a hailstorm ground-reined like that.
Then I got the roan colt saddled and bridled, and packed my loose gear in the saddlebag and coiled the other lariat rope and tied it to the other side of the saddle. Finally I swung aboard. Immediately the colt got a hump in his back. He was feeling frisky, out of that corral and off on some adventure. I let him crow-hop a few times just for his own enjoyment before I pulled back sharply on the left rein and brought his head back until it was nearly resting on his left shoulder. He stopped. I said, “Can’t buck very well like that, can you? Well, listen, my young friend, after about a week of this you won’t feel so playful in the morning. So just you behave and you and I will get along fine.”
I rode over and took the chestnut on lead and started off. I figured El Campo was some seventeen or eighteen miles away. I could have made it easy in one day, but by the time I arrived the banks would be closed and I didn’t want to spend the night in a town. I would just take it easy, watch my back trail and ahead of me and on both sides, and get my outfit used to the trail.
We ambled along, taking our time and taking care to be on watch. I knew there was a little creek somewheres ahead and I figured to make a nooning there—or more exactly, about a two-o’clocker since I’d gotten so late a start that morning. The sun was up in a cloudless sky and it was blazing hot. I was looking forward to the coolness of the creek because I knew it was lined with trees that would give shade. I also knew that it would make an excellent ambush since I’d have to cross it sooner or later on my way to El Campo and there would be plenty of cover for an ambusher to hide in until I was almost on top of him. Maybe then he’d throw down on me and let me in on who wanted me dead.
But I wasn’t all that ready to find out just yet, so I turned my horses almost due west, riding parallel to the creek, which I figured was still some two or three miles off. If someone had been watching my trail he would have expected me to take a direct route to El Campo, and would have ridden on ahead to take up his position at the most likely spot he’d thought I’d cross the creek. But I was going to go upstream at least a mile or two. It would add distance to my trip to El Campo but it would throw my bushwhacker off.
Finally I turned back northwest. My horses were getting thirsty and I was getting ready for a cup of coffee and maybe some beans and a can or two of peaches.
There would be plenty of downed wood around the creek for a fire, and since I wasn’t trying to hide my whereabouts, the smoke would make no difference.
Somewhere around two o’clock I caught sight of the tops of the trees lining both banks. The little stream was known as Caney Creek, why I didn’t know because, so far as I knew, nobody thereabouts was named Caney. It started somewheres up near Victoria and finally emptied into the Colorado River to be carried down to the gulf.
I rode on, going slower and slower and searching the trees for any sign of movement. Finally, about a hundred yards away I pulled out my revolver and proceeded even slower, riding somewhat hunched over in the saddle. Both the colt and the chestnut had smelled the water and wanted to forge ahead. Only by making it clear to the colt that we’d get there but at my pace was I able to control the two animals.
At fifty yards I dismounted and, holding the colt by the bridle, began to circle toward my left. I was still heading toward the creek, but the method of my approach was keeping both animals partially between me and the tree line. The chestnut wanted mightily to go straight to water and was pulling away from the colt. I finally had to reach up over the saddle and give his lead rope a good hard jerk before he fell back in with the direction of the colt. The tree line came closer and, looking over the backs of the horses, I could still see no sign of movement.
Finally we were in amongst the shade of the trees, mostly mesquite with here and there a willow and a few stunted oaks. I untied the lead rope from the saddle horn of the colt and let the packhorse run on down to water. Then I loosed the cinch of the roan and took the bit out of his mouth so he could drink and graze in more comfort. After that I sat down in the shade for a few minutes, lit a cigarillo, and took a hard look around. Wasn’t a sound to be heard except the gentle swish of the soft breeze through the trees or the quiet murmur of the slow-running creek water or the occasional rasp of a cicada locust. I was wondering if maybe I’d been too careful in my departure and maybe my man hadn’t seen me. If so, the trip was all for nothing. But I was quite confident that he’d pick up my trail sooner or later and be hot after me again.
Gunpoint Page 6
