A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (6 page)

‘
You
stop out here and keep watch on the Countess’s room, Billy,’ Ben
Thompson suggested. ‘The rest of us’ll take a look around outside.
Could be that feller’s still around.’

‘
He
wants catching, whoever he is,’ declared one of the poker players,
‘abusing a for-real lady that ways.’

‘
Maybe
you’d best have one of your deputies come over and stand guard for
the rest of the night, sheriff,’ Thompson continued.

‘
I
will,’ Lansing agreed, always willing to oblige, or
ingratiate himself, when dealing with influential
visitors.

‘
If
that feller was big enough for Arnaud’s missus to mistake him for
Mark Counter,’ Billy drawled, ‘I should have your man tote along a
ten-gauge scattergun.’

‘
I
t’d be best,’ Ben agreed. ‘Come on. Let’s go look
around.’

‘
They’ve gone,’ Mark said, walking slowly back to the bed.
‘I don’t know how you got in on the deal, Libby, but I’m surely
grateful for what you’ve done.’

‘
There
wasn’t any other way,’ the blonde replied. ‘I heard you and her
fussing and figured to cut in. Time I’d got to my door, you’d
thrown her out. Way she acted, I guessed what she aimed to
do—’

‘
She
said she’d go tell her husband I’d tried to make love to her, only
I figured she was bluffing.’

‘
I
didn’t. After she went into her room, I grabbed my clothes
to make it look right and came here. Way you kept arguing, I was
thinking she’d come out and see me. Boy, you’re sure hard to get in
to see.’

‘
You
called the play right, though,’ Mark said, wondering how to break
the news of what he had heard in the passage.

‘
Sure,’
answered Libby. ‘They found us in bed, everything looking like we’d
been there since we came in tonight. When
they find the key in the alley,
they’ll reckon the “feller” dropped it as he lit out.’

‘
Likely,’ Mark replied.

Going to the window, the big
blond looked out. After a short time, the lamp
’s light glowed and the men came
into the alley. He saw one of them bend and pick up the key. Behind
him, the bed’s springs creaked. Turning, he saw Libby leaning over
and reaching beneath it in an attempt to locate her discarded
nightdress. Finding the garment, she sat up.

‘
What’s
happening?’ Libby inquired, for Mark had swung back to the
window.

‘
They’ve found the key and’re looking around,’ Mark told
her. ‘Libby, Billy Thompson’s out in the passage right now and the
sheriff’s sending along one of his deputies to keep watch outside
her door for the rest of the night.’

‘
Which
means I’ll have to stay put,’ the woman said calmly. ‘If I go, they
just might start figuring I only came in to save your
hide.’

‘
That’d
be Lansing’s kind of figuring, for sure,’ admitted Mark. ‘I’ll bed
down on the floor.’

Libby did not comment straight
away. Coming to Mark
’s rescue in such a manner had not been easy. Yet she had
not been unaware of his rugged masculinity during the short time
she had nestled against him. Never a promiscuous woman, she had
been faithful to her husband through their years of marriage.
However Trader had been dead for many months and she felt an urge
to make love. Trader had always told her that she must live her
life if anything happened to him and not tie herself to his memory.
Sucking in a deep breath, she looked at the big Texan. Maybe a
youngster like him would not wish to share a bed with a woman of
her age.

‘
That’s
up to you,’ she said in a challenging manner.

‘
I
figured you’d want it that way,’ Mark drawled.

‘
If
word of this gets out,’ Libby remarked, ‘my name’ll be ruined
around town no matter where you sleep.’

‘
Yes,
ma’am,’ Mark agreed. ‘Which it’d be a real shame for that to
happen.’

‘
Hell,
I don’t care about it happening,’ Libby stated. ‘Not as long as
I’ve done something to deserve it.’

‘
In
that case, ma’am,’ Mark said, taking the nightdress from her hands
and placing it on the chair, ‘I’m right honored to be of
service.’

Raising the
chanter of a set of bagpipes to
his lips, Colin Farquharson glanced to his right at the Ysabel Kid
then left to Dusty Fog. They nodded their agreement and all turned
their eyes towards the range ahead of them. Some thirty horses
grazed on the grama grass about half a mile from the trio’s place
of concealment amongst a grove of post oaks. It was not Mogollon’s
band.

Much as Colin had hoped to
commence his quest to catch the
manadero,
the band of mustangs located by the Kid
had taken priority. It was a
manada de hermanos,
a band of brothers. In other words, a
number of young stallions—not necessarily from the same sire—that
had been driven from their original family groups by the
jealous
manaderos
and had collected together for companionship or mutual
protection. A
manada de hermanos
offered a larger return for effort than a
mestena,
a family band of
mares and young horses. With luck, the majority of the stallions
would be suitable for Army remounts, or to swell the number
required by the OD Connected.

Knowing that Jeanie would go
along with his wishes, the Scot had not mentioned his intentions
regarding Mogollon. Instead, he had accompanied his companions to
their base camp and spent the rest of the day preparing for the
capture of the
manada de hermanos.

After discussion with her
mesteneros,
Jeanie had decided
that the stallions would be in the vicinity of the
Caracol
de Santa Barbara. So
the men had ridden to that enclosure—every major trap had a
name—and made preparations for the
corrida
which, they hoped, would drive the
manada
into the
figure-eight formation of the sturdy log walls.

Experience had taught mustangers
that the ordinary circular type of corral did not meet their
requirements when gathering in a large bunch of horses. So the
gourd or
caracol,
snail-shaped, enclosure had come into being. Either of them
prevented the horses from doubling back out of the gate as
frequently happened when a round or lane pen was used.

Selecting the location of a
catch enclosure was of considerable importance. In preference, it
would be on the bank of a creek at a point where horses regularly
crossed. Failing that, wood or scrub-covered hollows, or canyons
with sides the horses could not climb served equally well. If
possible, the entrance would face the direction from which the wind
blew with the greatest regularity. Given a wind that blew towards
the corral, the dust stirred up by the
manada
would roll ahead of them and partially
obscure the entrance until it was too late to be
avoided.

With the
Caracol
de Santa Barbara and its surroundings
made ready, Jeanie had laid her plans for the
corrida.
All the party had known that
enforcing their will upon the mustangs would be anything but easy.
More than on any other
corrida
dealing with a
manada de hermanos
called for concerted action on the
part of all concerned—and not a little luck.

The Kid had warned that one of
the stallions was acting as
manadero,
which did not surprise his audience. Even after it
had been driven from its position of leadership by a stronger
rival, a deposed master-stallion would try to take over another
band. Failing to gather mares, the
ex-manadero
would join a bachelor group. Like all
herd-living animals, horses maintained an orderly society in which
every individual knew and, unless it could improve its station by
physical means, kept its place. So, as long as its strength held
out, the retired
manadero
would often dominate its companions.

Unfortunately, the domination
a
manadero
managed to establish over a
manada de hermanos
was never as strong as upon the
members of a
mestena.
Although generally subservient to their leader’s will, once
fright set them to running, the stallions would scatter more
readily than the mares and offspring of a
mestena.

With that in mind and being
short-handed, Jeanie had utilized her small force in a manner which
had brought nods of approval from the listening men. When they had
ridden out at dawn on the day after seeing Mogollon, every man knew
the part he must play in the work ahead of them.

No domesticated horse, burdened
by a rider, could hope to run down and catch healthy, unencumbered
mustangs, but they had to travel fast over a long distance. So no
extra weight could be carried. Instead of using a heavy range
saddle, each of the party sat on a sheepskin pad held in place by a
single girth to which was attached the leathers of plain brass
stirrups. The whole rig weighed a little over three pounds. To
further reduce the horse
’s load, a hackamore with a bosal and reins
replaced the full bridle and metal bit. While light and
serviceable, such an outfit demanded a high standard of
horsemanship from its user.

Accompanied by Dusty and the
Kid, Colin had circled the area in which the
manada
was grazing. The Scot had a special
and important part to play in the
corrida.
Early in his association with the Schell
family, it had been discovered that the music of a set of
bagpipes—brought to Texas for a kinsman but so far
undelivered—produced an adverse effect upon horses unused to the
sound. That aversion had been put to good use in starting
the
manadas
moving.

‘
Go to
it,
amigo!’
Dusty suggested, controlling the eagerness of the
small
bayo-cebrunos
^xii
gelding he had selected instead of
using his paint stallion that day. ‘Start up that caterwauling and
let’s see if we can get them headed the way we want them to
go.’

Holding down his inclination to
defend his native music, Colin started to blow into the
chanter
’s
mouthpiece and the skirl of the pipes rose hauntingly. On hearing
the alien sound, the horses in the
manada
swung to face it. So far they were not
frightened, for it came from a sufficient distance to pose no
threat. However they paced restlessly, heads tossing and ears
pointing towards the trees. Letting out an explosive snort, the big
black
manadero
advanced a few steps in an attempt to form a better
impression of what was causing the droning, wailing noise. Although
a fair way past its prime, the stallion still looked menacing and
savage.

‘
He’s a
mean one,’ drawled the Kid. ‘Just look at that off ear. It’s damned
near been chewed off his head.’

‘
That’s
one horse we’ll be lucky to take alive,’ Dusty answered, studying
the tattered ear and scarred body. ‘And he’ll be damned little use
if we do.’

‘
They’re moving off,’ the Kid said.

While not frightened, the
manada
had clearly decided
that they did not care for the strange noise. So they loped off
without haste, going in the direction of the valley which held
the
Caracol
de Santa Barbara concealed in a draw.

‘
Just
like Jeanie figured,’ Dusty drawled. ‘That gal’s a living wonder at
mustanging. Let’s show ourselves.’

Curiosity compelled first one
then another of the
manada
to swing around and look at the post-oaks. Seeing the three
riders appear, they cut loose with snorts of real alarm. This was
no strange, but possibly harmless sound, it was a genuine menace.
More of the
manada
turned, studying the human beings. Then the
manadero
let out an
ear-shattering whinny. Twirling around fast, the horses which had
been looking at the approaching riders joined their companions in
flight.

‘
Now!’
Dusty snapped, giving the
bayo-cebrunos
a heel signal which changed its walk to a
gallop.

‘
Yeeah!’ screeched the Kid and his strawberry roan increased
its pace.

A quick thrust turned the
bagpipes to hang by their cord behind
Colin’s back. Knowing what would be
required of it, the wolf-gray
bayo-lobo
horse between his legs sprang forward to keep
level with the Texans’ mounts.