Talon & Chantry 07 - North To The Rails (v5.0) (14 page)

The Talrims and Rugger in this…and who else?

But the message? What did it mean? 2 Butes was obvious enough, and it was their next stop. After that they were going to Big Timbers, though not in one long drive. And at Big Timbers there were Kiowas.

Rugger was apparently telling the Talrims their direction of travel, and warning them about the Kiowas at Big Timbers. But what else? Despite himself, Chantry was worried. There might be some other meaning which he did not grasp, some other reason for the message.

When the two riders had disappeared over the ridge in the direction of Clay Spring, he rode out of the willows and followed the herd.

The drive to Two Buttes was an easy one, and Chantry rode the drag all the last half. They bunched the cattle on the plain north of the Buttes, avoiding the breaks along the canyon that lay just to the south.

Twice during the last part of the drive they saw Indians. Two of them sat on a ridge watching, apparently unworried about being seen. That night the camp was quiet.

“What do you think, French?” Akin said at last. “Will they tackle us?”

Williams shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. From what I hear, that passel of Kiowas shapes up like a war party, and if they want beef there isn’t any closer than we are. The same goes for scalps. They know they’ve tackled my drives a couple of times with no luck, so that may steer ’em off, but I doubt it.”

“I think we’re in for a fight,” McKay agreed.

Chantry sipped his coffee, listened to the talk, and watched Rugger. When he had finished eating, Rugger strolled over to where Kincaid was repairing a broken bridle. For several minutes they talked in low tones, and nobody seemed to be paying any attention. Williams was lying on his back, his hat over his eyes.

Rugger and Kincaid were two of Williams’ boys…did Williams know what was going on? Was this a part of a plan? The Talrims had kept pace with them for days, and Chantry was sure they were Williams’ ace in the hole. A shoot-out at the last minute; and with Chantry dead the cattle belonged to Williams.

Suddenly he remembered the girl Sarah…where did she figure in all of this? Did she know that Paul was dead? Had she given up whatever she was trying to do?

She had wanted Tom Chantry dead because then only one man would stand between her and what she wanted, and that one man had to be French Williams. Yet French professed to know nothing about her…or was it Paul? Had he ever mentioned Sarah’s name to French?

He suddenly said to French, “We’ve never talked about your background.”

Williams’ eyes were level and cold. “And we are not planning to,” he said.

“I was thinking about Paul,” Chantry went on. “We need not talk about it, but you had better do some thinking about it.”

“I do not know anyone named Paul.”

“And there was the girl named Sarah,” Chantry continued.

Williams stared at him. “Sarah? Sarah and Paul? It can’t be.”

“Those were the names. They spoke of killing me, and then added that there would be only one man left. Williams, the only thing you and I have in common are those cattle. If both of us die before we get to the railhead, who gets the cattle?”

The cynical amusement was gone from Williams’ eyes. His face looked drawn.

“You wouldn’t have gotten to Dodge,” he said, “so the cattle would belong to me. And if I died…no, it is absurd! I can’t believe it.”

“Sarah would be nineteen or twenty,” Chantry said; “Paul a few years older.”

“And Paul is dead? The Kiowas killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is over,” he muttered, half to himself. “That will be an end to it.”

“I don’t think so,” Chantry insisted quietly. “The girl was the stronger one. She was the one who was pushing hardest. Without her I don’t believe Paul would have done anything; nor do I believe she will quit.”

Williams stared at Tom. “I thought they had forgotten me,” he said. “Now they find me again, and it is for this!”

They were alone—the others had gone out on night guard, or were asleep. “I wanted to go back some day,” Williams said gloomily. “It is not a place to forget. My boyhood was there, and where a man has lived as a boy…he has feelings for it.”

“My first home was out here somewhere,” Chantry said. “I never knew exactly where…I think it was over east of here. You know how it is…plains are plains; and afterward my mother never would talk about it. Pa was well-off until that norther wiped him out and we had to move into town.”

“I always wanted to go back,” Williams said. “I had a good time as a boy.”

“You can always go back.”

“You have much to learn, my friend. No one ever really goes back, for when you return you are not the same as when you left, and everything is different, and strange. You look about where everything ought to be familiar, but nothing is right. I know, my friend. But still I did want to go back.”

“What have Sarah and Paul to do with it?”

Williams shrugged. “Perhaps nothing. But I do not think there is much to go back to if they have come so far to kill me.…Yes, I know them. They are the children of my cousin. With me, they are the last of our line. My father always told me I should avoid them.…They were no good, he said, and he should know, for he came of the same family.”

“What about your mother and father?”

“Dead. My mother died when I was very small—my father only a few years ago. My mother was lovely…she came of an old, old line. My father was a common soldier who rose from the ranks to become an officer. That is not an easy thing to do in the French Army. As a boy he dreamed of going off to India, of becoming a general.

“Actually he served in Africa, and lost an arm there. He came home then, married my mother, and bought a farm…call it an estate if you will. His own family he did not like, and he avoided my mother’s family as well.

“They had refused to sanction the marriage until it became obvious that my mother would refuse to obey, and then they sanctioned it, but unwillingly. Later, after my father was visited by some of France’s foremost military men, their attitude changed, but he was a proud man and would have none of it.

“He had the devil’s own temper, and my own was like it. When I was not yet sixteen the arrogant nephew of an important man demanded that I hold his horse, and I refused. He attempted to horse-whip me, and although he was three years older and larger, I pulled him from his horse and gave him a beating. I thought I’d killed him, so I went home and put a few things together to run away.

“My father came to stand in the door. He asked me about it, and I told him. He said that if I wished to stay he would face them beside me, but I refused. Then he offered me a dozen gold coins, but I knew they were all he had, and I refused that too. Finally we split them, and I shook his hand and left. I never saw him again.”

“That was in France?”

“Yes.”

“But the name Williams? It doesn’t fit.”

“It was a name I took when I needed a name in a hurry, that’s all.”

“What do you think our chances are now with the Kiowas?”

“You can never tell about Indians. They might attack, and they might not. They might try to stampede the herd, and then get us one by one as we try to round them up. This is a war party, hunting trouble. The other tribes who pulled out knew that, and did not want to be involved. If we put on a bold face we might ride right through them.”

“I’m going into their camp,” Chantry said.

French stared at him. “You’re crazy.”

“I’ve heard that an Indian would never kill a man who came willingly into his camp. Maybe before or after, but never in camp unless he is brought in as a prisoner.”

“Yes, but you just might find an Indian who didn’t think that way.”

“In the meantime, you boys can drive the cattle right on…by going east.”

“I know where Dodge is.” Williams threw his cigar into the flames. “If you’ve got nerve enough you might bring it off, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it.”

Chantry got to his feet. “I’m turning in.” He paused for a moment, and then asked casually, “How much do you trust Rugger?”

“Rugger? He works for me, but I don’t trust anybody. Including you.”

“You don’t have to trust me. You know what I’m doing, and what I’m after.”

“What about Rugger? Why do you ask about him?”

“You figure it out. He’s your man.”

When Tom Chantry stretched out in his bed he looked up at the sky and started to think about what he would do next, but somehow he fell asleep.

The fire crackled, then hissed as a few drops fell. It began to rain quietly and, without waking up, Chantry burrowed deeper into his bedroll.

Chapter 15

T
HE CAMP WAS quiet as the men climbed out of their bedrolls in the morning, packed them up, and stowed them in the chuck wagon. The rain had stopped, but the sky was gray and thunder rumbled in the distant hills.

French Williams, Chantry noted, avoided him, as if he regretted having talked so much the previous evening. Chantry took only coffee for breakfast, saddled up, and the herd was moving before the night guard had finished breakfast.

Undoubtedly the Kiowas knew of every move they made, and would be discussing the sudden shift from driving east to pushing the cattle north to the Big Timbers. Sun Chief had told him a good deal about the Indian ways, and it was this that had decided Chantry on riding into the Kiowa camp.

He would wait until almost the last minute so that his ride to the camp would take him only a little time. During that time he would be in danger…every yard he gained would be a yard won.

Nobody talked, and the cattle did not seem interested in grazing. They seemed to want to move on, and by now they were well broken to the day’s travel, except for a couple of well-known bunch-quitters, and they could be watched.

McKay dropped back beside Chantry. “We’re goin’ on past the bend of the Clay,” he said. “Frenchy says we’ll be drivin’ sixteen to eighteen miles today.”

“The Clay? Does it swing this far east?”

“Uh-huh, an’ then it points right north for the Republican.”

McKay rode on and the herd moved ahead steadily, occasionally trotting. Obviously Williams was hoping to drive far enough so that he could hit the Big Timbers early in the day. By mid-morning they crossed the Santa Fe Trail, cut deep with the marks of freighters’ wagons and the countless pack trains that had come this way.

Once, far ahead on a knoll, they saw two mounted Indians watching them, but it was not the Kiowas Chantry was considering today. He drew up, mopping the sweat from his forehead and watching the cattle go by. He was thinking of the note left by Rugger and picked up by the Talrims.

2 Butes…Big Timbers…Kiwas at Big Timbers…What did it mean? Merely that their next stop was to be Two Buttes?, and that they were headed for Big Timbers from there? Or did the message mean something else? Apparently the Talrims were watching the herd and would know where it was going. Perhaps the last phrase was the important one
Kiowas at Big Timbers.

Was it a warning? Or was it a suggestion that if anything was to be done it must be done before the Kiowas could beat them to it?

Did they plan to kill him? Or to steal the herd?

If it was killing they wanted, it would certainly be best for them to wait and see if the Kiowas would not do it for them, and if nothing happened at Big Timbers there was still a chance to do what they wanted, and even blame the Indians for it.

If it was the herd they wanted, they had best steal it at once, before the Kiowas could act. But three men could not take a herd from this crowd unless they had some others working with them.

Was this a move planned by French Williams himself? Still, he had seemed genuinely puzzled over Chantry’s comment on Rugger.

Chantry let the herd move on ahead. He was riding the blue roan, and if trouble developed its speed would put him into the action without delay; and by riding well back he was able to survey the entire herd as well as the hills around.

Chantry decided he must watch Rugger. If anything was to happen the man’s actions would betray him. He let his eyes range the hills, and sweep the draws on either side, as much at least as he could see of them.

The country was deceptively open-looking, but there were draws on either side, the beds of intermittent streams, that would make good places of concealment for an ambush.

He suddenly thought of Bone McCarthy. Where was
he?
Had he simply pulled off on his own? Had he been ambushed perhaps to meet the same fate as Paul?

Several times during the morning Chantry saw Rugger and Kincaid meet, confer briefly, and return to their jobs. It was nothing to be remarked…it happened a dozen times a day during such long drives, but now his mind was alert with suspicion.

Sun Chief fell back beside him for a short time. The Pawnee had proved a good hand on the drive, working along with the herd in between brief scouting forays into the hills.

Alone on an isolated knob, Chantry stood in his stirrups and let his eyes range the country. The feel of it was coming back—this was the land where he had been a boy, and certainly the place could not have been far from here.

This was a land where a man could grow, where he could build. He found himself wishing he could have known it as the Indians had. He glanced again toward the herd. Rugger and Kincaid were together again.

He was turning his mount to ride back to the drag when he saw the black, muddy trail where a party of riders had gone down the draw to his right. Swinging his horse, he rode down to read sign. There had been perhaps five or six riders, and they must have gone by only minutes before he had reached the crest of the knoll.

Honest men did not avoid a trail drive. They would ride down to pass the time of day, at least. He tried to single out tracks, but he saw no evidence of the Talrims. But all were shod horses, and by the length of their strides they were good stock, running stock.

Tom Chantry skirted the knoll and cut down along the slope, not heading for the drag, but for French Williams, who was riding point. Williams turned as he approached, no welcome in his eyes.