the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) (17 page)

"Danny," I said, "we've got to go easy. Lay off the Balch and Saddler outfit."

"What's that mean?" He shot me a straight, hard look.

"They've been losing stock, too. There may be somebody else who wants trouble between us so he can pick up the pieces."

"Ah, I don't believe it," he scoffed. "What are they hiring gunfighters for? You know damn well Balch would ride roughshod over anybody got in his way. And as for that son of his--"

"Take it easy. We don't have a thing to go on, Danny. Just dislike and suspicion."

"You ain't been around long. You just wait and see." He paused. "You been workin' south of here?"

"Some ... Mostly east."

"Joe Hinge said you're needed over on the other side. He's fixin' to start cleanin' out our cattle from the Balch and Saddler stuff. If you're really good with that gun, that'll be the place for you."

"It needn't come to shooting."

He looked at me slowly, carefully. "That Ingerman, he shapes up pretty mean. An' Tory Benton ... I hear he's gunnin' for you."

He seemed to be trying to irritate me, so I just grinned at him and said, "Ingerman is tough ... I don't know about Benton, but Ingerman is a fighter. He's tough and he's dangerous, and any time you go to the mat with him, you'd better be set for an all-out battle. He takes fighting wages, and he means to earn them."

"Scared?"

"No, Danny, I'm not, but I'm careful. I don't go off half-cocked. When a man pulls a gun on another man, he'd better have a reason, a mighty good one that he's mighty sure of. A gun isn't a toy. It's nothing to be worn for show or to be flashed around, showing off. When you put a hand on a gun you can die."

"You sound like you're scared."

"No. I sound like what I am, a cautious man who doesn't want to kill a man unless the reason demands it. When a man picks up a gun he picks up responsibility. He has a dangerous weapon, and he'd better have coolness and discretion."

"I don't know what that means."

"He'd better have judgment, Danny. That other man who wears a gun also has a family, a home, he has hopes, dreams, ambitions. If you're human, you must think of that. Nobody in his right mind takes a human life lightly."

He got up, stretching a little. The mud on his boots was drying. He had gotten it somewhere not too far from here, but where? There were other waterholes ... the springs Fuentes had showed me and a couple we'd found, but they were over east. Of course, there was also the creek over there.

"Seen Ol' Brindle?" I asked him suddenly.

"Brindle? No. Hope I never do."

"Better stay away from the creek," I said casually. "That's where I saw him last."

"What creek?" he demanded belligerently. "Who says I been around any creek?" He stared at me suspiciously, his face flushed and guilty.

"Nobody, Danny. I was just telling you that's where Brindle is. Joe Hinge doesn't want any of us getting busted up by him."

He walked toward the door. "I better be gettin' back." He lingered as if there were something else on his mind, and finally he said, "That girl whose box you bought. You sweet on her?"

"Lisa? No. She just seemed to be all alone, and I didn't know anybody very much, so I bid on her box."

"You spent a lot of money," he accused. "Where'd you get that kind of money?"

"Saved it. I'm no boozer, Danny, and I'm a careful man with a dollar. I like clothes and I like horses, and I save money to spend on them."

"You fetched a lot of attention to her," he said. "You brought trouble to her, I'm thinkin'."

"I doubt it, but if I did it was unintentional."

He still lingered. "Where at did she say she lived?"

"She didn't tell me."

He thought I was lying. I could see it in his face, and I had a hunch, suddenly, that Danny had been doing his own thinking about her. Ann Timberly was out of his class, and so was China Benn. Barby Ann was thinking only of Roger Balch, and Danny was young, and he was dreaming his own dreams, and here was a girl who might fit right into them. If he had taken a dislike to me, which was possible, she might be the reason.

"If she didn't tell me, it's because she didn't want me to know. It was my feeling she didn't want anybody to know. I think she's got a reason for keeping herself unknown."

"You sayin' there's something wrong about her?" He stared at me, hard-eyed and eager to push it further.

"No, Danny. She seemed a nice girl, only she was scared about something. She did tell me that nobody knew she was there and she had to get right back."

We talked a little longer to no purpose, and he went out and rode away. I walked to where his horse had been tied. There were several lumps of dried mud that had fallen from his horse's hooves.

If he had come far, that mud would have been gone before this. The mud had been picked up somewhere not too far off... But where?

I was stirring up the fire for cooking when Fuentes came in. He stripped the gear from his horse, noticed the tracks Danny had left and glanced toward the cabin.

Standing in the door, I said, "It was Danny. Had something on his mind, but he didn't say what. Said he saw Hinge. He wants us to come in. He's going to work west of here, up on the cap-rock. He's afraid there'll be trouble."

After a moment, I said, "I don't think there will be. I think Balch will stand aside."

"What about Roger?"

Well, what about him? I thought about Roger, and those two guns of his, and the itch he had to prove himself bigger than he was. I'd ridden with a number of short men, one time and another, and some of them the best workers I'd ever come across ... Good men. It wasn't simply that he was short that was driving Roger. There was some inner poison in the man, something dangerous that was driving him on.

Fuentes changed the subject. "Found some screwworms today. We had better check every head we bring in."

"Danny wants to work this part of the range."

Fuentes looked around at me. "Did he say why?"

"No, but I've got an idea it's Lisa. That girl at the box supper."

Fuentes grinned. "Why not? He's young, she's pretty."

All true enough, but somehow the idea worried me. Danny was young and impressionable, and Lisa had been frightened of what she had done. She had slipped away secretly to go to the box supper, and that implied that somebody at her home did not want her to go?

A mother? A father? Or was it somebody else? For some other reason?

It was not logical that a family could be in that country long and be completely unknown. So ... chances were, they had not been here long.

They were living off the beaten track, which didn't mean too much because nearly everything out here lived far apart.

Still, there was considerable riding around. I thought about her clothes. They had been good enough--simple, and a bit worn here and there but clean, ironed, and prepared for wearing by a knowing hand.

Even if Lisa had only been here a short time, it was obvious she did not want to be found ... For her own reasons? Or because of that someone who did not want her away from home?

"Tony," I paused, "I don't want to leave here."

He shrugged. "Joe needs us. He expects trouble with Balch."

"There will be none."

"You think, amigo, that because of your talk, he will say nothing?"

"Yes, I do ... But Lord knows, I can be wrong."

We packed up what gear we had around the place and saddled up with fresh horses, yet I still did not wish to go. What I wanted was time to ride further south, further east. There were a lot of canyons in the Edwards Plateau country, a lot of places where cattle could be hidden.

Suddenly, I began to wonder. How many head had been stolen? I asked Fuentes.

"Five hundred ... Maybe twice that many. After all, whoever is stealing is taking from all three ranches, and has been taking for maybe three years."

"He's got to think about Indians."

"Si... Maybe he doesn't have to think about them, amigo. Maybe they are friends, you think?"

"Or he's found some hiding place where they won't look."

Fuentes shook his head. "The Apache won't look? An Apache would look into the gates of hell, amigo. So would a Kiowa or a Comanche."

We rode on, not talking. Organized roundups were a new thing in this neck of the woods. Usually a man, with two or three neighbors, would make their gather, sort out the brands and start a trail drive. When they got to the end of the track, they would sell the cattle they had, keeping an account of any brands from their part of the country, and when they got home they'd straighten up.

Unbranded stuff was usually branded according to the brand its mother was wearing--if there was a mother around. And if the rancher was honest. Otherwise, any strays were apt to collect his own brand, and often enough there were a good many cattle that wore no brand at all ... mavericks ... To be branded in any way that pleased the roundup crew or the man in charge.

Years ago, down in east Texas, a man named Maverick had traded for a bunch of cattle, and never bothered to either count or brand them. Then, when an unbranded cow crittur was seen on the range, somebody would be sure to say, "Oh, that's one of Maverick's!" Hence, the name for unbranded stock.

All was quiet at the ranch when we rode in. We had brought few cattle, as we wished to move right along, and those few we turned in with the lot on the flat. Joe Hinge was in the bunkhouse when we walked in. He looked up, his surprise obvious. "Wasn't expectin' you fellers? What happened?"

"Didn't you tell Danny to have us come down? He said you were ready to move west after those cattle?"

"Well, I am ... just about. But I surely didn't send Danny for you, nor nobody else. I figured the first of the week--"

Well, I looked at Fuentes, and he at me. "Danny said you wanted us," Fuentes commented. "He must have misunderstood you."

Ben Roper came in. "Seen anything more of Ol' Brindle?"

"He's over there. You want him, you can have him. He's got a few friends scattered around in that brush just about as mean and ornery as he is."

Irritated, I walked to the door. What was Danny up to? I heard Fuentes make some comment about it to Hinge, but my thoughts worried at the problem like a dog over a bone. He had given us ... or so it seemed ... misinformation, so he could have the field to himself. I had wanted a few days more over there.

Well, I swore a little, thinking of the ride I'd been planning over to the east and south. I wanted to find those missing cattle, and I had a hunch. Now it would be days, perhaps weeks, before I got over there again.

Ben Roper came out, rolling a cigarette. "What's up?"

I told him.

"Ain't like Danny," he said. "That's a pretty good lad. Good hand ... works hard. Maybe you're right about the girl. He's been talkin' about her ever since the dance." He grinned at me. "No tellin' what a young bull will do when he's got somethin' on his mind."

He lit the cigarette. "Anyway, you'll get some good grub. Barby Ann's upset, too, and when she's upset, she cooks."

He looked at the glowing end of the cigarette. "That there Roger Balch was by ... Stopped a while at the house. She's been upset ever since."

"How far is it to San Antone?" I said, changing the subject.

"Ain't never been there from here," he said doubtfully. "Maybe a hundred mile. Could be more." He glanced at me. "You goin' to light a shuck? Hell, man, we need you!"

"Just thinking."

Squatting on my heels, I took up a bit of rock and drew a rough outline of the cap-rock in the sand, as I thought it was ... over west of us.

San Antone was the nearest big town, but it was a long way off ... several days' ride. Between here and there was a lot of rough country, and some plains-rolling hills and the like. There were streams, enough for good water even if a man didn't know where other waterholes lay. But a drive of young stuff over that route ... stuff as young as some of it was ... was unlikely. A man would be apt to lose half his gather, one way or another.

Wherever those cattle were, it was between here and there, and I'd bet it wasn't more than twenty miles off, somewhere down there in the Kiowa country. He would need water ... Young stuff will drink a lot while growing ... And he'd need somebody just to hold those calves ... unless he had a lot of water and mighty rich graze.

I looked at what I'd drawn, but it wasn't enough. It told me nothing. There were several blank spaces I had to fill in. I needed to talk to somebody who knew the country, somebody who wouldn't be curious as to why I wanted to know. Better still, somebody from whom I could bleed the information without him even being aware I was trying.

Straightening up, I hitched up my gunbelt and was turning back toward the bunkhouse when there was a call from the house. "Looks like you're wanted," Ben Roper said.

Barby Ann was on the steps, and I walked toward her. Ben went on into the bunkhouse. She looked white and strained. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and her hands trembled a little. "Talon," she said, "do you want to make five hundred dollars?"