The Taylor County War (13 page)

Slapping the spurs to their horses,
both men headed toward him.

“What’s all the shooting for?”
Wesley asked, glancing anxiously around.

“I been hollering, but you all
didn’t hear me. I figured to signal up Eddie too.” Billy looked
past them. “Here he comes.”

“What’s the hurry?” Tobias scanned
the surrounding countryside. “I figured some Kiowas had got after
you.”

Billy grinned. “No sir. I found
sign of about fifty head.”

“What’s so special about that?”
Wesley asked.

“They were being driven.”

“Son of a bitch. Rustlers.” Tobias
shucked his Sharps buffalo gun from the saddle boot and checked the
load. “Where were they headed?”

“Tracks were headed due east. I
followed them for a spell and they turned south.”

Tobias chewed at his bottom lip.
“Hartman’s spread is that way.”

“So is the Crown W,” Billy
said.

The old man shook his head. “I have
a hard time believing either of those men would rustle.”

Eddie Benton spat a stream of brown
liquid. “I don’t know about that Hartman feller. I’ve heard talk of
him.”

Wesley frowned. For someone who was
supposed to be a grub line rider, Benton sure knew an awful lot
about the folks in these parts. They sat in silence for several
moments.

“Show me those tracks, Billy, and
let’s get after ‘em.” Tobias jammed the stock of his Sharps against
his thigh and rode with the barrel in the air.

“Yes, sir.” Billy turned his animal
and headed south. The rest of them followed.

***

The dust cloud became obvious long
before they caught up with the cattle.

Wesley shucked his Colt and loaded
the sixth chamber. Sometimes an extra bullet came in handy. No
matter what happened, he was going to keep an eye on Eddie Benton.
Ira was paying him to keep his father alive, and Wesley had no
qualms about killing folks who needed to be shown the error of
their ways.

Riders appeared suddenly from the
dust cloud. Gun shots rang out.

The old man’s horse stumbled and
went down, tossing Tobias headfirst. Wesley cursed and fired a
round at the riders even though he knew they were out of range.

Billy unlimbered an 1866 Henry and
began popping off shots as fast as he could work the lever.

Wesley jumped to the ground and
turned Tobias over, checking him for wounds. He wasn’t bleeding
anywhere, but the fall had knocked him out cold.

Wesley slapped him several times
across the face. After a moment, the old man’s eyes fluttered open
and he sat up.

“Keep him covered, Billy.” Wesley
sprang into the saddle and charged headlong toward the rustlers. He
put the reins in his teeth and drew a second Army Colt, firing with
both hands. The riders broke and scattered before his
onslaught.

Holstering his guns, he chased them
for a few hundred yards, trying to get close enough to identify
them, but to no avail. The riders had too much of a head start and
the dust cloud made identification impossible.

The thought of leaving Tobias in
such a precarious position with Eddie Benton around caused him to
slow his horse and spin around in the direction he’d come from.
Besides, he wasn’t getting paid to round up rustlers.

“Did you get any of them?” Tobias
asked. He patted the shoulder of his dead horse.

Wesley pulled his animal to a halt
and eyed the old man who still sat on the ground. A large goose egg
had formed on the left side of his forehead.

“Naw. Couldn’t tell who they were,
either.”

“Damn.” Tobias pounded a fist into
his palm.

Wesley glanced around. “Where’s
Eddie?”

“He started off to round up the
cattle. I was waiting on you to get back.” Billy cleared his throat
and nodded in the direction of Tobias.

The old man didn’t notice Billy’s
nod. Apparently, Billy had concerns about leaving Tobias alone as
well.

Hoof beats sounded and Wesley
glanced over his shoulder. Eddie rode up, leading a sorrel mare
that was already saddled.

“Where’d you find her?” Tobias
asked.

“Mixed in with the cattle. Figured
you could use it.”

“Much obliged.” Tobias climbed to
his feet and groaned, placing a hand to his lower back and
grimacing.

“We must have got one of them,”
Billy said. “Did you see any bodies lying about?” He took the reins
from Benton and studied the brand on the mare’s hip.

Eddie shook his head and spat some
brown liquid onto the ground.

“They must have carried him off,”
Wesley said. “Recognize the brand?”

“Never seen it before. You?” Billy
handed the reins to the old man and turned to his own horse.

“It’s a Texas brand, I think,”
Wesley said. He noticed Eddie eyeing him with a skeptical gaze, but
didn’t comment on it.

Tobias grasped the saddle horn and
climbed onto the sorrel. The mare pranced a little at first, but
then settled down.

Once mounted, they rounded up as
many of the cattle as they could and started them in a westerly
direction. Eddie rode point while Tobias and Billy took up flanking
positions. Wesley rode drag, eating all the dust, and was reminded
why he’d sworn off the cattle business.

He popped the cork on his canteen
and took a long swill. Wesley watched Tobias for a moment, but the
old man seemed to be getting along well despite his fall. Billy
glanced his way, waved an arm and rode toward him.

“Did you notice Eddie doing any
shooting earlier?” Wesley asked.

Billy frowned and rubbed his chin.
“Come to think of it, I don’t rightly recollect. He had his gun in
his hand, but I can’t say if he was shooting it.”

“I can’t either. There was too much
happening to pay much attention.”

“I guess we’re going to have to
watch him closer than we thought.” Billy removed his hat and swiped
the back of his hand across his forehead.

“I reckon. I’ve seen him somewhere
before, I just can’t place him.”

“Is he a gunman?”

“I don’t know,” Wesley said. “He’s
someone I should know, and that’s what scares me.”

***

The clomping of hooves and the
squeak of ungreased wheels grew gradually louder. Wesley Quaid
pulled the hammer back to half-cock on the Army Colt conversion and
rolled the cylinder the length of his forearm, listening to the
music the gun made.

The sun had just dropped over the
horizon but twilight still lingered. He squinted his eyes toward
the approaching buckboard but couldn’t make out the identity of the
driver.

“Hallo the house!”

The door behind Wesley opened and
the kerosene lantern on the table guttered.

Tobias Breedlove stepped onto the
porch. “Ira? That you?”

“It’s me, Pa.”

“Light and set, boy. Supper’s over,
but I’m sure Sen Yung can scrape something together for you.”

Ira pulled the buckboard to a halt.
He set the brake and climbed down. Doffing his hat, he ran his
fingers through his thinning hair and then opened the gate. “I’ve
already eaten. I just wanted to stop by and see how things
were.”

Wesley lowered the hammer on the
Colt and set it on the table. Then he turned his attention to its
completely disassembled twin.

Ira stepped onto the porch.
“Earning your keep, Quaid?”

“I reckon.” Wesley wiped the
cylinder a final time and began reassembling the Colt. He glanced
from one Breedlove to the other. According to talk around Wolf
Creek, neither of these men saw exactly eye to eye. They seemed to
be off to an amiable start tonight, though.

“Doing too good a job, if you ask
me.” Tobias rubbed at the knot on his forehead. “Won’t hardly let
me out of his sight.”

“Good. What happened to your head,
Pa?”

“He decided to head-butt the ground
after taking a flying leap from a horse’s back.” Wesley reattached
the barrel to the cylinder and locked it into place. He didn’t
bother looking up.

Ira grinned and glanced from Wesley
to his father. “You all right, Pa? What happened?”

“I’m fine, just old and sore. We
nearly caught up to some rustlers, but they got away.”

Ira adjusted the gold cufflinks at
his wrists. “You couldn’t tell who they were?”

“No such luck.” Wesley worked the
hammer a few times and spun the cylinder. Then he opened the
loading gate and began dropping .44 cartridges into the Colt.

“You told me before you like to
keep those things clean,” Ira said. “You weren’t kidding.”

Wesley shrugged. “A gun’s nothing
more than a tool, but it has to be kept in good working order.”

“Speaking of the rustlers,” Ira
said. “Where’d you catch up to them?”

“Billy picked up their sign east of
here, but we trailed them a ways south before we caught them,”
Wesley said.

“East? That’s where Rogers’ Rolling
R is,” Ira said. “You figure he’s behind it?”

“I got my suspicions,” Tobias
said.

Ira nodded. “Rumor has it that
Rogers was in town today. He had a discussion with both Marshal
Gardner and Sheriff Satterlee.”

Wesley chuckled and shook his
head.

Tobias cleared his throat, drawing
Ira’s attention. “When you coming back out here to take over the
ranch, son? I ain’t getting any younger.”

Ira’s mouth worked several times
but nothing came out. Finally, he clamped his teeth together. “I
told you a thousand times. I’m not going to nursemaid cows all my
life.”

The old man’s gaze hardened.
“Dammit, son. I built all this for you.”

Ira spun on his heel and stomped
across the ranch yard. He yanked the gate wide open and stalked
through it, without bothering to close it.

The buckboard rattled away into the
growing darkness.

Tobias stood watching as the night
swallowed it up. Then he looked at Wesley. “Hard headed little
bastard. Got it from his mother.” He gazed skyward for a moment.
“God rest her soul.”

“If you say so,” Wesley said. For
some reason, he had different ideas about where Ira had inherited
the Breedlove stubborn streak, but didn’t figure on arguing with
the old man.

Once the squawking of the wheels
had been faded, Tobias stepped inside the house without uttering a
word.

Left alone in the night, Wesley
dumped his gun cleaning materials into his haversack that was a
remnant of times gone by and slung it over his shoulder. After
blowing out the lantern, he headed to the bunkhouse.

***

The door creaked shut and Wesley
Quaid opened his eyes. Soft snores emanated from across the
bunkhouse. Yet someone had just left. Who?

Wesley threw back his blankets and
sat up. In the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows, he
could just make out Billy Below’s sleeping form. He knew it was
Billy because the man was lying on his stomach. He suppressed a
chuckle. It must hurt like hell to get shot in the posterior, as
Billy had called it.

After slipping his boots on, Wesley
eased to the door and opened it a crack. A figure rounded the
corner of the ranch house. He returned to his bunk and shoved a
Colt into the waistband of his pants. Before he left, he confirmed
his suspicion. Eddie Benton’s bunk was empty.

Benton. There was something about
that name that seemed familiar. Shaking his head, Wesley left the
bunkhouse and trotted across the ranch yard. He pulled up short at
the corner of the main house.

The unmistakable figure of Eddie
wearing his unkempt clothing shut the gate and then jogged away
into the night.

Wesley cat-footed it to the gate
and slipped through between the rails. He lowered himself to a
crouch and crept forward. Wherever Eddie was going couldn’t be far,
or else he’d have taken a horse.

Wesley headed toward some brush off
the edge of the trail that led to the ranch. He heard the
unmistakable sound of horse blowing nearby and froze. The last
thing he wanted to do was spook a horse and give himself away.
There’s no telling how many people Eddie could be meeting out
here.

The full moon slipped out from
behind a cloud. Two men appeared in the dim illumination. Wesley
bit his bottom lip and dropped to the ground. He could barely make
out their voices and eased closer.

“The old man and a couple of his
riders nearly caught some of the boys red-handed. Wilcox took a
slug in the arm. I want you to make sure that doesn’t happen again,
Benton.”

Wesley stopped, listening. There
was that name again. Benton. Yet why would a fellow conspirator
call Eddie by his last name?

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve got too much riding on this
for it to go south now, you hear me?” The speaker was a youngish
man, probably in his mid-thirties with a head full of dark hair. “I
intend to own this country.”

Could this be Andrew Rogers? Was he
the man behind the rustlers? Back at the line shack he had ridden
away before Wesley could get a good look at him. Wesley crawled
forward and froze when both men turned toward him. His heart
skipped a beat.

“You hear something?” Eddie
asked.

“Probably just a rabbit.”

“You’re right, Andrew. I’m just a
mite on edge.”

“What for?”

“I think that Wesley Quaid feller
is suspicious of me.”

“Don’t worry about a man like
Quaid. He can be paid off.”

Wesley frowned. What kind of man
did they think he was? Once he sold his gun, it stayed sold.

“Anyhow. I’ve got some gunnies
riding to the ranch in a few days. When they get there, we’re going
to wipe the T-Bar-B off the map.”

“You gonna let me know so I can
vamoose?”

“No. I want you on the inside to
make sure old man Breedlove catches one. Shoot him in the back if
you have too. Do I make myself clear?”

“You bet, Andrew. You know I’ve
never had no problems doing your dirty work.”

The man clamped Eddie on the
shoulder. “I know I can count on you, Benton.”