the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) (25 page)

Henry Rossiter had engineered the steal, but we knew there'd been four other men waiting to drive the cattle away ...four .

Ma shot one, Henry Rossiter got away, and she turned two men loose in the Red Desert in their underpants with no boots. Somehow, in all the excitement, nobody ever gave any further thought to the fourth man.

Twin Baker ...

Chapter
23

"Danny ... He was a nice boy ... Why, oh, why did Twin kill him?"

"He's been stealing our cattle, Lisa. He probably thought Danny had tracked him down. Or maybe he thought Danny was me ... Danny was wearing a shirt of mine."

She was frightened ... anguished. Her teeth gnawed at her lower lip until I thought it would draw blood.

"Get away, Lisa. Get away now. Go to Major Timberly and tell him all you know ... Go now. Don't stop for anything, or Twin may kill you, too."

"He wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't."

"You know nothing of the kind. I said you should get away, and you must." I paused, suddenly curious. "How long have you been here, Lisa?"

"In this place? Oh ... five months. Almost six. My father died and I came to Twin. He was in San Antonio on business. He had an address there, and I had no other relatives. He was very kind, and he brought me here.

"I loved it ... at first. Then it was so lonely, and he'd never let me go anywhere or ride out, unless I went south. Then one day, when I was riding south, I met a drifter ... He'd been working up north--said he hated to leave because they were having a box supper at Rock Springs Schoolhouse."

She paused. "He rode on, but I kept thinking about what he said. Then Twin left for San Antonio ... He said he'd be gone for several days, so I decided to go."

"I'm glad you did. Now get your things and get away. If anything has happened to Ann ... Have you told me the truth, Lisa? You know nothing about her?"

"Honest! I know nothing ... Except he did pack some food to take away, and there is that old cabin."

She started off, and I spoke quickly. "One more thing, Lisa. Where does he keep the cattle?"

She hesitated, then shook her head quickly. "I won't tell you. Anyway, I don't know they were stolen. He says they are his. He told me he would be one of the biggest cattlemen in Texas soon."

"All right, Lisa. But ride! Don't wait any longer!"

First I had to know that Ann was not up there in their cabin. Lisa offered no argument when I took the lead ropes on the horses from her. She just stared at me, her eyes wide and empty.

I rode up to the door and stepped down. The house was empty. A large kitchen-living room, two bedrooms--painfully neat. In his bedroom, Twin's clothes were hung neatly, his boots polished. There were a couple of store-bought suits in the closet, some white shirts, and there were three rifles. All in excellent shape, all fine weapons.

Mounting the dun, I led the other horses to the corral. No saddles.

I turned up the Middle Concho. My eyes searched for tracks. He was less careful of his trail up here. Apparently, this was a place where no one ever came. It was off the beaten path. So there were tracks, and I followed them at a gallop. Suddenly they veered and went up a draw.

On the bank of the draw, under some pecan and hackberry trees, I saw an old adobe. There was a pole corral nearby, obviously little used. Grass had grown up around the place, and the roof of the adobe was sagging. Already the outside walls showed the effects of wind and rain. It must have been very old.

Drawing up in the shadow of a tree, I studied the house. Then I looked all around. I was very uneasy, for I had a hunch Twin Baker might not be as far away as would seem to be the case. He might be inside the adobe there, or he might be waiting up behind those rocks across the Concho.

Stepping down, I trailed the reins and took my rifle. On second thought, I loose-tied my horse for a quick escape--if need be. Somehow, Twin was tied in with the Kiowas ... Suppose they were watching? I'd no wish to tackle a bunch of renegade Indians.

Finally, I took a chance and walked directly across to the house. The door was closed, a hasp in the lock. I spoke softly. "Anybody there?"

"Milo?" It was Ann's voice, the first time I'd ever heard a tremble in it.

Lifting the hasp, I opened the door. She was tied to a chair, the chair tipped slightly back so that if she struggled at all, even moved, the chair would fall back with her head in the fire.

She might then wriggle free of the chair, but scarcely without catching her hair on fire.

Swiftly, keeping my face toward the door, I cut her free. She stood up, almost fell, then tried to soothe her wrists and arms where the tightly-drawn ropes had left deep marks.

"He said if I screamed, the Kiowas would come. He said he might trade me to them for a horse ... He hadn't yet decided, he said."

"Do you know him?"

"I'd never seen him before. Not his face, at least. He came up behind me and warned me that if I moved, he'd kill me. And I think he would have done it. It was very dark when we got here, and he did not take the blindfold off until we were in here and I was tied. Then he went away."

Her saddle was in the corner. "Ann? I'm going to have to ask you to carry your own saddle, and to saddle your own horse. I must have my hands free."

"All right."

We went quickly out, and I carried my rifle at the ready, poised for a quick shot.

Nothing happened.

She saddled her horse and mounted. Her rifle had been on her saddle but he had left no ammunition. Fortunately, it was a .44 calibre. She loaded it with ammunition from my saddlebags.

As she did so, I took a quick look around. No man left so little sign of his presence as this Twin Baker. The only thing ... and it might be nothing ... had been a little dried mud near the hearth, not unlike the mud that Danny had left in the line-cabin. Of course, there were places aplenty along the Concho and up the draws where a man might get mud on his boots.

Whatever was to be done now must be done with Ann in a safe place. But, my mother having raised no foolish children, I did not go back the way I had come. In Indian country, that could be the last mistake one made. Even Lisa might have had a change of heart and be waiting back there with a Winchester. For me.

I am not a trusting soul. All of us, me included, are sadly, weakly human. We can all make mistakes. We can all be sentimental about a brother or sister, even when you know they are doing wrong. We can also be greedy, and I preferred not to tempt anybody too much.

What we did was take off up that draw--which pointed almost due north--then top out on the plains and continue north, staying in the open as much as possible. Liveoak Creek was on our right. Some scattered trees and brush lined it, so I kept wide of the creek with a ready rifle for trouble.

Nobody needed to tell me that Twin Baker was as good as they come with a gun. His shooting, often under adverse conditions, had been good, mighty good. That I was was alive was due to a series of accidents, none of them due to my brains or skill. By this time, he must be exasperated and ready to try anything.

Chapter
24

We rode steadily north. It was a good thirty-five miles to the Timberly ranch and Ann's horse was fresh. My dun had done some traveling but I had the grulla for good measure. So we set a good pace, moving right away from there.

Meantime, I'd had a sudden hunch, and one that might be good for nothing at all. Ann was quiet. She was undoubtedly worn to a frazzle, with the riding and the worry over what was to become of her. Now she was just going through the motions. I knew she wanted to be home and resting ... So did I.

What worried me was that it had been too easy. We just didn't stand to have that much good luck. If Twin Baker came up on me, I had to win the fight that was sure to take place. Ihad to win. Because otherwise, Ann would be right back where she had been.

Something else worried me, too. He had some kind of a tie-up with the Kiowas, or a renegade bunch of them, and if they spotted us they'd be scalp-hunting. That hunch I had was no more than a hunch, but suddenly I'd begun wondering about that man who had been with Balch and Saddler the first day I'd seen them--the man who had looked familiar, but whom I couldn't find a name for.

Since then, I had seen him nowhere around, and he had not been at the box supper. Could be, I'd remembered him from a glance or two when ma and us had first came up on those rustlers. So he might be Twin Baker. The chance was a slim one, and I couldn't see that it helped any. So maybe I had seen him? What then?

When Ann and I had ten miles behind us, I spotted a waterhole off to one side. It was likely just a place that had gathered rainwater from the latest storm, but it was a help. We walked the horses over and let them drink. Meanwhile, I switched saddles from the dun to the grulla. If I was going to have to run, I wanted it to be on a fresh horse, although as Ma had said, the dun would go until it dropped.

"Milo?" Ann's voice was tremulous. "Do you think he will follow us?"

There was no sense in lying to her, and I'd never been given to protecting womenfolks from shocks. Mostly, they stand up to them as well as a man, and it's better for them to be prepared for what may come.

"He's got to, Ann. He's got four years of stealing behind him, and a rope if he's caught. But mostly he doesn't want to spoil everything now he's so close to having what he wants. He's got to find us and kill us, but he doesn't have much more time. I just hope he doesn't get back and find out what's happened until we're safe out of the country."

"Will Lisa tell him?"

"I don't know. She may run, like I advised, but the chances are she won't. She's got no place to go, and usually a person will accept a known risk rather than blaze off into the unknown. She thinks she knows him, and she trusts in that."

With the horses watered, we started on. Now we let them walk, saving them for a run if need be, and letting them get used to having a bellyful of water. I glanced at the sun ... Time was running out. But if darkness came, we might not be found. Not that I had much faith in that.

Where were the cattle? Twin Baker had driven them off to the south, somewhere, and when he made such a drive he was usually, Lisa said, gone all day. Cattle would move at two and a half to three miles an hour, and he would ride back a little faster. Figure fifteen miles, and maybe less.

My eyes never stopped, yet I could see nothing but the wide plain with scattered yucca or bear grass, occasional buffalo bones and no sign at all of Indians.

Ann came up alongside me. "Milo? Who are you?"

The question amused me. "Me? Here I am. This is all I am. I'm a sort of drifting cowboy, moving from ranch to ranch, sometimes riding shotgun on stages ... Anything to make a living."

"Have you no ambition? Is that all you wish to be?"

"Well, I sort of think about a ranch of my own, time to time. Not cattle so much as horses."

"Father says you are a gentleman."

"Well, I hope I am. I never gave much thought to it."

"He says you have breeding, that no matter what you seem to be, you came from a cultured background."

"Don't reckon that counts for much out here. When a man rides out in the morning, all they expect of him is that he can do his job--that he can ride, rope a little, and handle stock. A longhorn doesn't care much whether you know who Beethoven was, or Dante."

"Butyou know who they were."

"My brother sets store by such things, and so did Pa. Maybe I take more after Ma. She knew cattle, horses and men. She could read men like a gambler reads cards, and she could shoot."

Ann was looking at me.

"Ma sang some. Didn't have much of a voice, but she knew a lot of old Scotch, English and Irish songs she'd learned back in those Tennessee hills she came from. When she was a girl she had no more than eight to ten books. She grew up onPilgrim's Progress and the writings of Sir Walter Scott. She rocked me to sleep singing 'Old Bangum and the Boar,' 'Bold Robin Hood' and 'Brennan on the Moor.' And Pa, he could speak three or four tongues. He used to quote Shakespeare, Moliere and Racine at us sometimes. He told us wild tales about the first Talon to land in America. He was a pirate or something and sailed clean around the world to get here."

I paused. "A mighty hard old man, by all accounts. Had a claw for a right hand, a claw he'd made himself after he lost his hand. Came to Canada and built himself a home up on the mountains in the Gaspe ... A place where he could see a wide stretch of sea ... Lived his life out there, they say."

"Milo?" She was looking at something.

I had seen them, too. Riders ... three of them, all carrying rifles.

"Ride easy now," I warned her. "Sometimes talk is enough ... or a bit of tobacco."

"I've never seen you smoke!"

"I don't, but Indians do. So I carry a sack of tobacco, just for luck. Use it on insect bites sometimes." We rode slowly forward, and then suddenly Ann said, "Milo ... the man on the gray horse! That's Tom Blake, one of our men!" She stood in her stirrups, waving.

Instantly, they started toward us. They were wary of me, although two of them had ridden to the box supper with the major and Ann. When we met, Blake wanted to know where Ann had been. After I had explained, Blake looked at me carefully. "You know this Twin Baker?"