Galloway (1970) (13 page)

Ollie Hammer rolled a cigarette, touched the paper with his tongue and folded it over. "Maybe you're cuttin' a wide swath, Bull. These Sacketts have the name of bein' rough."

"So are we. On'y we're rougher and meaner. I got Vern comin' in and when he gets here he'll take to the hills and clean up anything we left over. ... As for the stampede, we blame it on the Utes."

He downed his whiskey and refilled the glass to the halfway mark, then took a gulp of the black coffee.

"We done this before, and you all know what to do. I want nobody seen. And get this into your thick heads. We ain't outlaws no more ... we ain't renygades ... so when you go into Shalako or any other town, you act like gents. If you can't hold your liquor, don't drink.

"Get this--" Bull Dunn pointed with a stiff middle finger, "some folks are goin' to complain ... let 'em. But if we mind our p's an' q's we'll end up with a good many folks on our side.

"Now they can't have more than three men on the night ridin' job, and three ain't goin' to stop any herd of near two thousand head. If we can stampede those cattle right over their camp, so much the better ... we might just take out a Sackett in the process.

"But remember this. I want nobody seen! An' Curly, as soon as ever this is over, you ride hell bent for election back here, get you a fresh horse and go on over to Rossiters' place. Tell 'em your horse spooked a couple of times, and you think there's Indians about. Rossiter will likely get up, but you offer to set up with a rifle.

"Above all, if one of them Sacketts should show up over there, you be friendly.

You put yourself out to do it. And you act the gent, see?"

When all had scattered, Bull Dunn drained his glass, gulped another cup of black coffee, then stretched out on his bed. He was not worried. His outfit had scattered or rustled herds across seven states in the past dozen years and nobody had ever caught up with them yet. Of course, there was a lot of places where they could not return, but they had no idea of going back, anyway.

This place he liked, and here he was going to stay. He chuckled in his beard.

More than one old-time cattleman had rustled a few head and then put on the coat of respectability, and so could he ... and he would enjoy it, chuckling all the time at how he had fooled them.

Curly worried him. Rossiter was too shrewd a man to fool, so as soon as ever Curly was married up with that Rossiter girl, they'd have to do something about Rossiter. In this rough country with half-wild horses and cattle, with dangerous trails and rough winters, a lot of people disappeared. He was tired of moving, and this was the best country he had found. Right here he would stay.

The Sacketts' herd moved north and then turned east. In the mountains, their horses grazing nearby, the Dunns played cards, slept, or talked in a desultory fashion as they waited.

Galloway Sackett saddled a horse to ride into Shalako. With a trail herd coming there'd be more hands to be fed, and they would need more grub.

Far to the east, at a stage stop not far from Pagosa Springs, a big man on a sorrel horse rode up to the hitch rail and dismounted. The hostler, his team ready for the incoming stage, glanced at the horse.

"That's a mighty fine animal, but you're riding it hard."

"I got a ways to go." The big man with the shaggy hair had a bullet hole through his flat-brimmed hat, and he wore a low-slung gun, tied down. "You got a horse you want to swap? I'd want as good a horse as I'm trading."

"Only one around is a strawberry roan over in the stable. I don't know if the owner would swap or not. But he might sell. He's in a poker game and he's losing ground fast."

The big stranger walked across the hard-packed yard. He wore a beat-up sheepskin coat and striped pants. His boot heels were run down. He walked into the stable, glanced at the horse, then untied the knot and took it outside where he walked it around a good bit. When he retied the horse he walked back. He took the stub of a cigar from his pocket and put it between his teeth. He lighted up, then squinted over it at the hostler. "That man in there? He's surely losin'?"

"He was unless it's changed in the last five minutes. Mister, you'd not go wrong on that horse. It can run and it can stay."

"I figured it. Wffl you hold mine for me? I'll be comin' back through in a few days. I got me a little business to tidy up ... family business."

The big stranger walked into the stage station. In one corner of the room near the ticket window three people were sitting, concerned with their own affairs, luggage on the floor beside them. At the other end of the room was a bar and there were several tables. A poker game was going on at one of them.

The big man walked to the bar and ordered a beer, and taking it in his hand, strolled over to where the game was being played. The owner of the horse was immediately obvious.

His brow was beaded with sweat and he was peering at the cards he held close to his chest. Two of the players had dropped out of the hand, and the two remaining were obviously card sharps. The big man knew both of them by sight but it was none of his affair. A man who played poker should not play unless he could pay, and if he played with a pair of card mechanics it was his tough luck.

The man with the diamond scarf pin tossed two chips into the pot. "Up twenty," he said. The other card sharp did likewise.

"Now wait just a minute," the loser said. "I'll raise the money. I'll--"

"I'll let you have twenty for your horse," the gambler with the scarf pin suggested.

"And I'll give him thirty-five," the big stranger said. "Cash on the barrelhead."

The gambler looked up his eyes level. "You were not invited into this discussion," he said pointedly. "Mr. Liggitt and I were discussing a business deal."

"And I put in my bid," the stranger said, and he was not smiling.

"Look here!" Liggitt objected. "That's a fine horse! That horse is worth a lot of money!"

"He's worth what I say he is worth," the gambler replied harshly. "And you've got just two minutes. Put up, or shut up."

"My offer at thirty-five stands," the big stranger said.

The gambler's gaze was deadly. "I am getting a bit tired of you," he said. "Just a little tired."

"Wait a minute!" Liggitt said. "I'll take that bid! Thirty-five it is."

The gambler's eyes remained on the big man's. "I told you," he said evenly, "that I was--"

The gambler was not really a gambler. He was a man who played with marked cards and loaded dice, and when he used a gun he did not gamble either. Suddenly a little warning bell was ringing in his ears. This big man was too confident, too ready ... and he wasn't worried. Not the least bit.

"Give him the thirty-five," the gambler said, "and let's get on with the game."

The big man thrust his hand into his pocket and the gambler went for his gun. By ordinary standards he made a good try. The only visible gun on the big man was in a holster on his leg, his right hand was in his pocket.

The stranger drew and fired ... drew a gun from his waistband with his left hand and shot the gambler through the third button of his vest There was a moment of silence and the acrid smell of gunsmoke. Liggitt slowly pulled back from the table, his face a sickly white. "I'll be goin'," he said.

"I guess I'll be goin'."

"Wait." The big man put thirty-five dollars on the table. "A bill of sale for one strawberry roan with a white stocking and a Rafter Open A brand."

"The game's over. There's no need for me to sell."

"You agreed. You taken my offer." The big man looked around. "I leave it to you all. He taken my offer, didn't he?"

It was unanimous. Liggitt looked around, sweating. Reluctantly he made out the bill of sale and picked up the thirty-five dollars.

"That horse is worth a lot more," he protested.

"That he is," the big man agreed, "so I suggest that as long as the game is over, and nobody knows how it would have turned out, you take half of what's on the table."

The other gambler recovered his voice. "Like hell!" he said. "I won this fair and square! I--"

The big man's smile was not pleasant. "My friend," he said, "my advice is to let well enough alone. If you get half of this it will give you a roadstake, and that's more than you're entitled to. Now don't make me start reading from the Book. You ain't even very good at what you've been doin', so let it ride."

The gambler sat back carefully. "All right," he said to Liggitt, "fifty-fifty."

The hostler had come in and was standing near the door. "I put your saddle on the roan. I'll hold your horse for you until you come back."

"Thanks."

The big man watched while Liggitt and the other gambler split what was on the table, then he turned and went out, his spurs tinkling softly as he walked.

There was a silence when he left, then the gambler sighed. He looked over at the hostler. "Did you know that man?"

"No, sir, but I seen him before. I seen him a couple of times. That was Logan Sackett."

The gambler looked at his hands, they were trembling. Then he glanced at the body of his partner. "You damned fool!" he said softly. "You poor damned fool!"

The sound of hoofs pounded away into silence, and the bartender came around from behind the bar. "Jim," he said to the hostler, "you take his heels."

Chapter
XIII

The weather turned off hot, and riding to the windward of that herd was plain murder with the heat coming off their bodies in a wave. Nobody wanted it much or long, and me no more than the others.

Me or Shadow held to the point a good part of the time for we alone knew the trail. It was work. The cattle had turned ornery with the heat and just plain didn't wish to travel, nor to be guided when they did travel.

They seen the mountains yonder and wanted to hole up in some of those shady canyons close upon a running stream, and I felt as they did, but necessity demanded we march along.

The Indians who had followed us along the Mesa Verde cliffs disappeared. Maybe they'd come to a place where it was no longer possible, and maybe they had something else in mind. I hoped they weren't figuring on a scrap. It was too blamed hot.

The way ahead was narrowing down some and beyond there it widened out with a lot of broken country to north and south, and the Mancos River ahead. Pulling up I let the herd roll by and waited for Parmalee to come up.

First time I ever saw him look dusty. But only a mite. He reined in and we let them go by, and he said, "We'll water this side of the Mancos? Didn't you say there was a creek?"

"If there's water in it."

"If not, then the Mancos."

Parmalee had his rifle in his hand, and he pointed with it. There were Indians coming, right down the slope from Mesa Verde, but this was no raiding party.

There were only seven ... no, eight of them.

It was Powder Face.

"Hold it," I said to Parmalee, "these are the Indians I hired."

Powder Face stopped and the others gathered around him. Two of them were mere boys, not over fourteen. "We come work if you see proper."

I started to welcome them and then had a hunch. "Powder Face," I said, "you can do us more good if you hold off until night.

"I think," I added, "somebody is going to try to stampede our cattle, and steal them. Once everybody is in camp, three men will be on guard, then when the night is half gone they will sleep, and three more will ride. I want you to hide out, then move in at night and help guard the herd.

"This herd," I added, "is your winter meat as well as ours, and it is meat for many seasons. If the cattle are driven off, I cannot feed you."

"We watch," he said. "You ride."

Like smoke they were gone, leaving nothing but a scattering of tracks. To anybody who watched it would have seemed they had tried to beg beef and we had turned them away.

We bedded the herd down on a little branch about five miles west of the Mancos, with good grass all around. They grazed for awhile, then lay down. Parmalee, Munson, and the two Tyler boys taken the first night-herd, with me, Nick Shadow and Charlie Farnum, a breed, taking the second.

It was one of those still, beautiful nights when a body could hear a stick break a half-mile away. I didn't hear anything. I was dog-tired and wanting a bath and so hungry I couldn't finish my grub. I just went and crawled under my soogan and was asleep in no time.

Parmalee woke me up at one o'clock. "We stood it another hour," he said, "as it was quiet. The wind's coming up, so be careful."

Tugging on my boots I said, "See anything of those Injuns?"

"We won't, will we?"

"Prob'ly not. They're probably off in the. Woods fast asleep." But I was joking and Parm knew it. Those Indians were out there, and they were hearing and seeing everything.

Squatting by the fire I tried to blink the sleep from my eyes while pouring a cup of coffee. It was hot, and black as the hinges of hell, but it tasted good.

I picked up a chunk of sourdough bread and some jerky and chewed on it while waiting for Shadow.

He was a sullen man on being awakened in the night and wanted to talk to nobody.