the Riders Of High Rock (1993) (15 page)

Concealing his irritation, Jack Bolt removed his hat and followed Sue into the house. After all, he told himself, there was no hurry. Sim Aragon would take care of Cassidy, and then he, Bolt, would have a free hand here and a lot of time. Gibson could stay out of the way or he would put him out of the way. This sudden change of plans suited him. There was no reason why he should not marry, and who could he find more

attractive than Sue Gibson? And also she had a big ranch. Or would have when her father died.

The shooting that had taken place when Connors and Gamble raided the 8 Boxed H had done something to him. He was too smart to relish getting shot at. After all, why take chances when everything could be had without them? He had been a top gunman, and still was when it came to that, but what did anyone get by being a gunman? All one became was a target for every cheap reputation hunter who drifted through the country. It was a position he did not relish.

He had his own spread in California, but why not get the 3TL, too? It could be had, and easily. Sue Gibson would welcome his attentions, he was sure. A smooth-talking man, he found her alert and suspicious, but an evening of quiet, friendly talk had removed most of it, or so it seemed. Gibson had not liked his being there, he could see that, but the old man had said little, and he had been polite enough.

Gibson looked up as he entered, and Bolt saw a coldness come into his eyes. Nevertheless, Bolt smiled and spoke genially. "How are you tonight, Mr. Gibson? I thought I'd ride over and pay you two a visit. I am afraid I haven't always been a good neighbor, but when a man is down I like to help all I can."

"Thanks." Gibson spoke shortly, his eyes going to Sue. He was puzzled. What did his daughter see in this man?

"Heard anything of Hopalong?" Sue asked. "We've been worried."

"No"--Bolt measured his words with care--"I've heard nothing. You mustn't be worried, though. After all, both he and Red are drifters, and they are fighting men. It gets into the blood of such men and they never stop drifting and fighting. That Bar 20 outfit have always been troublemakers."

Gibson bristled. "Trouble for rustlers and thieves!" he retorted. "They've always been on the side of the law!"

Bolt shrugged. "You know them better than I do," he admitted. "Nevertheless, nobody can know if they have always been on the side of the law. And there has been plenty of killing, regardless. Some people say it has been needless killing."

"That ain't so!" Gibson exploded. "I won't have you comin'

here runnin' down my friends!"

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I spoke too hastily." Nevertheless, Bolt saw a faint line of worry between Sue's eyes and realized that he had obtained the result he wanted. If he could undermine their trust in Hopalong he would be going far toward getting rid of the two--or, at least, in creating a doubt as to their intentions and actions. Such a doubt was enough to build on, he knew. Jack Bolt did not hope to convert Gibson, although he might make the older man waver in his loyalty. It was Sue of whom he was thinking.

Far from a handsome man, he was somehow attractive, and he was clever enough to give himself an air of quietness and to listen with respect when Sue talked. There was more flattery in his attitude than in any of his speeches. Jack Bolt had learned that it sometimes pays to be subtle.

Sue made coffee and they talked. He led her to speak of things close to her, and listened with attention and interested comment. When the opportunity offered, he did his own talking. "This country is growing, Sue, and it is becoming civilized. The old law of the gun and the noose must go. We need homes, schools, churches here, and we can have them, but before we can have peace we must be rid of those men who cling to the old way of doing things. Take Cassidy, for example; I have no doubt that he is, or has been, a fine man. I have no doubt that

he has done a lot of good, but this is a time for due process of law, for order. Once a man establishes a pattern of action like Cassidy, he cannot change. Frankly, I admire the man, but he is a relic, a relic of a day that is gone. We must have peace on

the range."

Despite herself, Sue listened and found her doubts growing. How could such a man as Bolt be in league with rustlers? Hating the thought of guns and killing, she was all too ready to be convinced. Several times she stole a look at the man's profile. There was something about him that repelled her, and yet, she told herself, that was unfair. Every man deserved a chance. "I'll never believe any bad of Hoppy," she said. "I've known of him for too long a time. I've known too many good things he

did."

"No doubt he has done good things, and no doubt he is, in

his own way, a good man, but they say this Missouri outlaw

Jesse James has done some good things, too. That didn't keep

him from shooting down a schoolboy during a bank robbery.

Shooting him down when he was carrying books and doing no

more than trying to get out of the street.

"I know nothing against Cassidy," he continued smoothly, "but he is too free with his fists, too free with a gun. Right now he is off in the hills chasing men and hunting for trouble. He believes they are cattle thieves. But are they? Will they ever have a trial? Or will he shoot them down when they try to

defend themselves?"

A cool wind stirred across the veranda, and Jack Bolt got to his feet. "You deserve the best, Sue. You could be anything you wish, and in this country there will be need of fine women as well as strong men. We need such people if we are to build the kind of world we want here."

Long after he was gone she heard his words in her ears,

and she walked restlessly in the ranch yard, or sat on the porch and worried. Hopalong remained in her mind, as he always had, but now her doubts had increased and she was no longer sure of herself.

Where was Hopalong? Gone somewhere with an idea of finding their missing cattle. That was what she knew and what she had heard. Would he find the cattle? And would there be killing?

She looked again towards the west. She had never gone far in that direction. Her father had often told her of the wild country beyond the mountains and along the California line and she had heard many stories of the earlier days here when the wagon trains had gone over the Applegate Cut-Off. How could Hopalong Cassidy hope to find any cattle driven into that wilderness of mountain and desert?

Her father was asleep when she returned to the house, and she looked at him for a long time. These were trying days for him. He was a man who had lived in the saddle, and he was now chained to a bed. Yet he was better, and soon he would be riding again. Knowing how many cattle seemed to be gone, she wondered how he would feel when he began to ride over the hills.

Faint and far off she heard a shot, then another, and several in a bunch. Running to the door, she stared off towards the northwest from where the shots had come. A hinge creaked and she saw Gillespie standing in the door of the bunkhouse, his face pointed towards the distant shots. He turned suddenly and went back inside. In a minute he was out, rifle in hand.

"What is it, Frank?" she asked quickly. "Where are you going?"

"Going?" His face was savage. "We're losin' more cows, that's what it is! They are runnin' 'em off now!"

"But what can you do, Frank? One man alone?" "I can kill at least one of the dirty thieves!" he said bitterly. "Don't go, Frank. Don't leave us alone. I'm afraid." He hesitated, looking longingly towards the northwest. But in the vague light of the stars and the reflected light from the door Sue's face was drawn and pale.

"All right," he said reluctantly, "but we're losing cows." It was noon the following day before they knew the worst. The range had been swept clean. Not only on the 3TL but on the 3F and the 4H spreads as well. Some time during the night a carefully planned raid had hit the three ranches and started what must have been a thousand head of cattle moving--and by daylight they had completely disappeared.

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Ml rom the ridge above their camp Hopalong Cassidy scouted the wide plain of Duck Flat by means of his glasses. At a rough estimate, no less than six hundred head of cattle were grazing in the range of his vision, yet the sparse grass could not possibly feed such a herd for long. Obviously this was but a way station on the drive, and the cattle would be moved before long.

To the south the flat widened out into a broad valley, but in that direction Hopalong could see what appeared to be riders who moved ceaselessly to prevent any cattle from drifting south. To the north the flat narrowed to a channel that was scarcely a half-mile wide, and through that channel the cattle would be driven. From what Gamble and Sourdough had told him, north of there lay Surprise Valley, and the California state line. For a long time Hopalong Cassidy studied that channel and its rocky walls. He took the glasses from his eyes and considered the situation with care.

He was a thoughtful man and knew very well that a few minutes of thinking often saved no end of trouble. An intelligent man never took an unnecessary risk, and Hopalong had long since learned the foolishness of moving without careful consideration.

It was not enough merely to recover this herd. The real necessity was to discover where the previous cattle had been taken and who was behind the stealing. Yet there was no reason to allow all these cattle to get away. His problem now was to discover how to save part of the cattle while letting the remainder of the herd go through so it could be followed.

Somewhere nearby would be the ranch that was the destination of the cattle. Watching the distant, faint blue smoke that marked the rustlers' camp, Hopalong was suddenly startled to see a bunch of horsemen emerge from the mouth of the very canyon down which they had come on the previous night. These riders pushed on across the valley, and Hopalong turned his field glasses upon them.

The riders were closer than the camp, and while he could make out no features, he could see the men were heavily armed. This would probably be Sim Aragon.

Hopalong's eyes narrowed with speculation. Then Aragon had followed, and had undoubtedly seen their tracks. Had he discovered their turnoff into the branch canyon? It was improbable, as the floor of the canyon at that point was rock washed bare of sand. Hence he probably believed them somewhere in the valley. Only by the good fortune of taking the branch canyon had they avoided being set upon by Sim and his riders.

Now the rustlers outnumbered them by at least three to one, too great odds to meet in any open combat. If they fought at all, it must be from shelter and with a good getaway planned. Yet fighting in that way could only delay the end, not change it. The arrival of Sim Aragon and his riders altered the whole

situation. The best thing, then, was to let the herd go through and follow it.

The sun was rising, although it was not over the mountains behind him as yet. The rocks on which he lay had lost most of their nightly chill, and the sky was growing clearer. Shielding the glass to forbid any possible reflection, Hopalong again studied the distant camp. Within a half hour the riders would reach the camp. Give them another half hour of conversation, mutual recriminations, and argument, and it would be at least an hour before they were in the saddle and moving.

Sliding off the rock where he had been watching, Hopalong descended the steep path he had found and in a few minutes was beside the fire.

Red Connors grinned as he approached. "Better grab your cup, Hoppy; this is the best coffee I've had in months!"

"And the last you'll have on this trip!" Gamble said grimly. "This is the end of our grub."

"We'll find some," Hopalong said. "In fact I was thinking about that very thing."

He explained then what he had seen from above, outlining the lay of the land and the probable line of departure to be taken by the cattle and the rustlers. He also told them of the arrival of the other riders and his conviction that these were Sim Aragon and his men.

"We could stop the herd at that channel," Hoppy said. "We might hold it there, though if they stampeded it through we'd have to give up. That's probably what they would try. They've enough men to keep that herd moving while some of them scouted around and shot it out with us. We'll not gain that way."

"How about the grub?" Red interrupted. "We can't go on without it."

Hopalong explained briefly, and as he talked the other two men began to grin. Hurriedly completing their light breakfast, they broke camp and mounted up. Hopalong led off, taking the route by which they had come, retracing their ride back up the canyon and to the plateau across which they had advanced to the canyon.

"There's a high red butte," Hopalong explained, "that stands out by itself. We can find their camp by that."

The red butte kept showing itself from time to time as they headed south. By the time they reached the cliff opposite it, Red had sighted his glasses on the camp beyond.

"The bunch is gone," he said gleefully. "Only one man there, breakin' camp. We'll have to hurry."

Gamble had scouted ahead. "Looks like a deer trail here," he called softly. "Let's go."