Shoot-out at Split Rock (6 page)

"It'll mean a longer an' harder drive, but that'll be better than losin' men scrappin', an' it's possible Chisholm didn't pick the best path after all. Now, go an' get them steers started."

Notwithstanding Jeffs approval, Sudden did not feel too comfortable. The step he had suggested was dangerous and might well plunge the expedition into all kinds of difficulty. On the other hand, there was the chance that it would dislocate Rogue's designs on the drive, and this had been his main reason. That Dale was one of the outlaw's men he felt sure, and he was relieved by the thought that he had now declared himself.

The new plan was not to be put into operation immediately, and dusk found them camped again on the trail they had been following. They had another visitor that evening. The herd had been bedded down, four men left in charge, and the others were grouped around the fire awaiting Peg-leg's intimation that supper was ready, when a figure materialized out of the gloom and came toward them, right hand raised, palm foremost.

"Evenin', folks," greeted a high, reedy voice. "Saw yer fire an' it made me feel kind o' lonesome."

"Step right up, friend," the foreman called out.

The man came on, movmg with the easy, tireless stride of a redskin. His tattered doeskin garments, raccoon-skin cap, and moccasins proclaimed that he was a trapper.

"Sit an' eat," the foreman invited.

"Thankee," the stranger repUed. "But I pay my footin'."

He lifted the long gun from his shoulder and proffered the carcase of a small deer slung upon it. Jeff protested, but the visitor would not listen. When the food arrived he ate so wolfishly that even in a land of large appetites he knew it must be remarked.

"You gotta excuse me, friends," he said, "but you have one damn fine cook, an' I've bin livin' on straight meat an' water for most a week; run right outa meal, salt, an' coffee."

"I guess we can fix you up," the foreman said. "Goin* fur?"

"Makin' for the nearest settlement to trade my pelts for supphes," the stranger explained. His name, he said, was Tyson, and his story a common enough one in those days. Just a tale of ravaged cabin, a murdered wife and children, and another blood debt to the shrieking painted devils who had wrecked his life. He told it quite simply in his high-pitched voice, without passion, but in his eyes smoldered a hatred which only death would quench.

The foreman questioned him regarding the country for which they were heading, and the chances of getting the herd through.

"Middlin' slim," he said bluntly. "You'll have a man-size job to make it. Steers is bringin' real money at the railhead, an' it's knowed that herds is comin' up from Texas. The Nations is lousy with bad men, hide hunters, rustlers, outlaws of every sort, an' they ain't likely to overlook a bet o' that kind. Then there's the Kiowas an* Commanches from the headwaters o' the Red River; they're watchin' the traU mighty close."

"S'pose we turned west for a piece an' then cut our own road north?" Sudden queried.

Tyson grinned. "She ain't a bad idea—^might diddle 'em," he admitted. "But you gotta mind you don't hit the Staked Plain—^no water and' as hot as Hell's gridiron—an*

if yore cows git tangled up with a herd o' buffler you can wish 'em goodbye. Allsame, I'd say it's yore best bet."

Soon after midnight, Sudden—having done his turn of night-herding, returned to camp and sought his blankets. He had not fallen asleep when he heard the low, musical but melancholy hoot of a dwarf owl. Since there were no trees or bushes in the vicinity, the presence of the bird was sufficientiy remarkable to call for investigation. SUp-ping from beneath his covering he crawled cautiously in the direction from which the sound had come. Again he heard it, and smiled; clever as the imitation was, he felt sure it was the product of a human throat. At the side of a small hummock he stood up, drew his gun, coughed shghdy, and instantly moved.

"That you, Sandy?"

"No, it's Green."

A shadow detached itself from the side of the hummock.

" 'Lo, Jim, I was wantin* a word with one o' you,'* Rogue said, and then, abruptly, "Why did you shoot up my man. Dale?"

"How in heU was I to know you owned the Double O brand?" Sudden retorted.

"I don't," the outlaw chuckled, "but you mighta guessed how it was. Bad luck he had to bump into you."

"I'd say he was plumb fortimate," Sudden retorted. •'Next time he starts to pull a gun on me he won't get off with just a busted arm."

"It looks like you mean to doublecross me, Jim," Rogue said harshly.

"Doublecross nothin'," was the reply. "I never joined you, an' I don't owe you anythin' but a bad name an' a prospect o' swingin' for a crime you committed,"

The savage intensity of his tone seemed to impress the other and when he spoke again the rasp had gone from his voice:

"That's so. I got you in bad, but I did what I could to get you clear. I liked you, Jim, an' when you consented to join the S-E I reckoned it meant..."

"That I was ready to be what you had made me—an outlaw," Sudden finished bitterly. "Well, it mighta been

—I was undecided—^but when it came to shcx)tin' old men from cover ..."

"I had nothin' to do with that, Jim."

"You were around when it happened.**

"I'd gone. I knew afterwards, but it was no part of my plan.'*

"Then who did it?**

"I don't know who fired the shot, but Navajo fixed it. I had trouble with him over that—an' other things. He's gettin' uppity."

The cowboy was silent, considering. Somehow he believed Rogue was telling him the truth. Ruthless ruffian he imdoubtedly was, yet he possessed a streak of something—^bravado, it might be—which made him scorn a He as the resort of a coward. He had been frank over the killing of Judson, when he need not have been. The husky voice broke in on his thoughts:

"Must be gettin' tired holdin' that gun, Jim; there ain't no manner o'need."

Shame swept over Sudden as he slipped the revolver back into its holster. "Sorry, Rogue," he said. "I wam't noticin'."

"Shucks," the outlaw said, and there was a weariness in his tone. "I don't blame you for playin' safe, boy. I'm takin' it I can't count on you an' Sandy?"

"That's correct," Sudden told him. "We ain't neither of us bitin' the hand that feeds us."

"Bite on this, boy; I've passed my word to bust Eden's drive an' I'm goin' to do it."

"An' I'll fight you till hell freezes." Sudden smiled, and shoved out a fist. "No hard feelin's. Rogue, but that don't go for yore followin'. SabeT'

The bandit gripped the hand heartily. So this strange compact between men who were to war, one against the other, was sealed. The intruder melted into the shadowed plain and Sudden crept back to the camp, his miad full of the man he had just left. For the interview had surprised him. He had gone to it expecting reproaches, threats, even attempted violence, and foimd none of them. That the outlaw was of a superior type he now recognized and wondered what trick of Fate had set his feet to tread the crooked path of crime. He had given his promise to

his employer and would do his best to fulfil it. As to who this might be, Sudden could make no guess; Sam Eden's outspoken nature and quick temper would earn him enemies enough.

His thoughts veered to the dark, sinister face of Navajo, the man who—according to Rogue—had "fixed" the attempted murder of the cattleman. Was it a misguided effort to help his leader, or was the fellow playing a hand for himself?

Five

The days oozed by, days of long, lazy hours in the saddle under a scorching sun. Jeff was too good a cowman to hurry the herd but he took care that the animals were healthily tired and ready for sleep when they reached the camping place: from twelve to fourteen miles a day was a good average.

"Everythin' is goin' too shck—it ain't natural," Jeff grumbled, pacing behind the wagon. "Just when yo're feeUn' careless an' contented is the time Lady Luck chooses to give you a kick in the pants."

The cattieman pulled a wry face. "If you was lyin* here you wouldn't think it was all so hunky, you ol' death's head," he repUed. "How're the new men pannin' out?"

"Green an' Sands is awright but I don't like Lasker," Jeff said bluntly. "Does his work but..." He did not finish. "Wish I knowed who put that pill in you, Sam."

"You ain't thinkin' it was one o' the outfit, are you?"

"Fm in the dark," the foreman admitted. "Sands or Lasker could 'a' done it—they weren't in camp or with the cows."

"Forget it,** Eden said irritably. "Tm here, ain't I? Why should any o' the boys want to crab the drive? I figure it was a war-whoop, the one that got away from Green, likely; Injuns never let up when it's a case of evenin' a score."

"Dessay you're right, but Fm—wonderin'," Jeff insisted. Quickening his pace, he rode after the herd. As he passed the remuda, he spoke to Lasker:

"We must be near Injun country now. Best not let yore bosses stray far toni^t. You can have help if you want it."

The wrangler nodded sullenly. *'I can manage," he said.

*'Been this way afore?" Jeff asked.

"Nope, it's new to me," the man replied. "What do you make o' that sky?"

The foreman's gaze followed the pointing finger. On the northwest horizon great masses of cloud were piling up— thunderheads and moving rapidly toward them. The cattle ahead of them, bawling incessantly, appeared nervous and frightened. One glance was enough for Jeff,

"Hell's dehght!" he spat out. "If she breaks well have one busy time. Keep them broncs together an' close to the herd. Tell Peg-leg to watch out."

He spurred his horse along the line, yelling directions. The drag men were ordered to hurry up their charges, and then the foreman shot ahead to stay and turn the leaders.

"Git 'em bunched an* mill in* before the storm starts,*' he said. "It's our on'y chance o* stoppin' a stampede, an* a slim one at that."

Carol cantered up. "What can I do, Jeff?"

"Race for the wagon an' git inside," he said, and when she protested that she wanted to help, added, "You'd on'y be another worry, girl, an' Sam'll want you with him."

She obeyed without another word, and Jeff went to assist the point riders, who, with shouts and quirts, were turning the head of the herd upon itself, driving the frightened beasts back to meet those still coming on. Fortunately, the cows were now "trail-broke" and having nearly completed the day's journey, were too tired to be obstreperous.

The foreman's maneuvre proved successful and by the time the storm actually reached them the cattle were massed, stiU moving, but slowly and in a circle. The sky was now black with great rolling waves of cloud, the sun had gone, and both men and beasts shivered in the breath of an icy wind which bit to the bone. Then came a flare of white flame which ht up the whole plain, a shat-

termg peal of thunder, and a volley of frozen rain. Madly the riders circled the herd; if they could hold them under the first onslaught there was a chance. The clashing of horns, squeals of scared steers, shouts and oaths of dripping, darting horsemen were added to the pandemonium Nature had already provided.

Smarting from the sting of a myriad icy pellets, dazzled by the incessant flashes of hghtning which played on their horns and backs Uke a phosphorescent flame, and crazed the deafening explosions overhead, it was inevitable that the poor beasts should make some effort to escape. Sudden saw the movement just in time and spurred the big black headlong in the path of the culprits. Half a dozen shots across their noses sent them wheeling again from the new danger, and with Sandy's help, they were soon back in the herd, to stand, heads down, tails to the tempest.

Soaked to the skin and chilled to the marrow, the riders watched their charge as a miser might his gold. Anxious eyes scanned the sky, and it was with rehef they saw the storm was passing. The glare of the lightning and cannonade of the thunder were lessening, the hail had become a cold rain, and on the horizon behind the scurrying, inky clouds, was a gleam of reappearing brightness. The foreman wasted no time.

"Git 'em goin', boys," he ordered. "An' push "em algng."

Two or three miles were covered and their eyes were gladdened by the sight of trees in the far distance. They knew the line of foUage indicated a river.

"Reckon that'll be the Red," Sudden remarked to Sandy.' "I'm wonderin' what that damn storm has done to her—r it must 'a' come from the headwaters." - ' .

"She'll be high," Sandy predicted. "We got oS too light in that flurry—bound to be a hangover."

Their fears proved to be well-founded, for when, a little later. Sudden and the foreman—who had ridden ahead —^halted on the bank of the river, they saw that the storm had indeed left what Sandy had termed a "hangover.'* Jeff's face fell as he surveyed the swift-moving, eddying torrent, murky with the red sediment which stained the timber and dnftwood along the banks and gave the river its name. He shook his head.

"She's all of six hundred yards acrost an' with the drift

that means swimmin' near twice as fur, an' she's carryin' too much sand," he said. "We'll never make it as the' cards lie."

"Better play it safe, ol-timer," Sudden agreed. "These streams, I've heard, rise an' fall in a day."

He was studying the groimd; there were cattle tracks in plenty.

"S'pose them jaspers in front of us beat the floodwater, but I'm guessin' they didn't cross here," he remarked.

"They may still be on this side—further downstream," the foreman suggested. "The trail forked a few miles back. WeU, we gotta wait, whether Sam likes it or not."

The bedding-down of the herd on a small plateau well away from the river gave no trouble, thanks to the speU of sunshine after the storm, for cattle will not lie on wet grass. The wagon was drawn up beneath some tall pines, and the cook was busy with his pots and pans when a horseman rode in from the gloom. Sudden, watching the leaping flames of the big fire, stepped forward.

"This Sam Eden's outfit?" the new arrival queried, and then, peering from his saddle, "But of course, it must be, unless yo're riding for someone else. Isn't your name Green?"