CHAPTER XXIV ON THE TRAIL

After breakfast the following morning Ridley and his companion saddled their horses to ride back to Highbank, where they would wait for the trail boss. As they finished cinching up, Big Tom strolled into the corral and smilingly watched them.

"I suppose you want Mac to bring you a check, as usual?" queried Ridley, swinging into the saddle.

"This is th' one time I'd rather have cash," replied the foreman. "With cash, in th' next week, I can make a quick turnover."

"Cash it is," said Ridley. "Gold or bills?"

"Make it bills," answered Big Tom. "I'm glad I met you boys—come up again next year. If yo're lookin' for good cattle then I'll have plenty."

"Then I reckon we'll be here. So-long."

"So-long," replied the foreman, watching them ride away. As they dropped from sight over a rise he smiled cynically and went back to the ranchhouse. Pausing at the door, he looked out over the range in the direction of the northwest section and the Double X, and slowly turned his head, his gaze passing along the horizon, behind which lay Gunsight, Green Valley, and the SV ranchhouse.

"I said it easy," he growled. "Me throw over a couple of hundred head of mavericks to Arnold, an'[327] split up th' rest four ways? It makes me laugh! An' when I hit Nelson he'll wonder what kind of brains he really has got. There's a jolt comin' to this section, an' it'll be Big Tom that springs it. About one week more an' I play my hand!"

Four days passed and then, in the afternoon of the fifth a great dust cloud appeared far down the Highbank trail. Fraser discovered it and called Big Tom from the ranchhouse. The foreman glanced south, told the puncher to ride off and get the herd started, and then hurried to his horse, sprang into the saddle, and rode toward McCullough's sign. He had hardly more than gained the regular trail when he saw seven men riding toward him at a good pace, and no second glance was needed to identify the one who rode in the middle and slightly ahead.

The trail boss was a character to demand attention wherever he might be. Over the medium height, he was so heavily and solidly built that he appeared to be well under it when standing alone; he had the barrel-like chest that stands for strength, and his sloping shoulders were a little rounded from a careless saddle seat of many years. His rugged face was brown, the skin tough as parchment, and the faded blue eyes peered out in a direct, unwavering gaze between lids narrowed by the suns and winds, rains and dusts of a life spent in the open. His head was massive and the iron-gray hair, falling almost to his shoulders, gave it a leonine appearance. He wore no chaps, for his riding took him into few thickets and there was no reason for him to bear their discomforts. His clothing was simple[328] and loose: black, heavy, woolen trousers thrust into soft, high boots with moderate heels, and bearing no spurs, for he depended on his quirt; a blade, woolen vest, buttoned at the bottom, from an upper pocket of which protruded the well-chewed stem of a pipe; a heavy, faded, blue flannel shirt, open over the bronzed, hairy chest and throat; a faded blue kerchief, knotted loosely about his neck; a heavy, gray sombrero, moderate in height of crown, but with a wide brim. He rode a Cheyenne saddle, devoid of ornamentation, its housings covering the horse from rump to withers, and the reins of the bridle, contrary to the prevailing fashion of that southern range at that time, were short. A .44 Winchester lay in its sheath under his right leg; a braided hair lariat was coiled at the pommel; a heavy, plain six-shooter rested in an open holster; and behind him was rolled the everlasting yellow slicker. He rode a magnificent bay horse whose spirit was shown in every movement, and which would follow him about like a dog. Over all was dust, gray, thick, impalpable dust.

"Hello, Huff!" he bellowed. "Come down to see if I got lost? Join up with us; I'm figgerin' that Triangle herd may be up at this end of th' crick, an' if it is, it's got to move. Them long-laigged cattle of mine ain't had a drink since yesterday mornin', an' they'll shore rush that crick. We'll have some cuttin' out to do if th' other herd is in their path. How 'bout it?"

"You can pull up, then," replied Big Tom. "They're well to th' south of th' bunkhouse—you got plenty of room for ten times that little bunch yo're so peart about I heard they are th' leavin's of four Greaser ranches."

[329]

"Glad to learn they ain't there," said McCullough.

"They're such leavin's an' scourin's," smiled one of his companions, "that I'm advisin' Mac to double th' night guard while he's within' forty miles of this bunch of ranches."

"We'll count that Triangle bunch right away," said the trail boss. "Where's yourn?"

"It's on its way," answered Big Tom. "It'll be on hand soon enough. Goin' to count that, too, tonight?"

"Shore. An' throw 'em together, an' bed down on Clear River, so we can get a two-hour jump-off in th' mornin'. Is th' Double X holdin' its bunch in th' same old place?"

"I reckon so," replied Big Tom, and soon they passed the Triangle ranchhouse, where Hank Lewis rode forth to join them.

"Get yore boys, Lewis," shouted the trail boss. "We'll count that herd right away."

"They're with it now," replied Lewis, as he drew nearer. "Glad you brought some of yore boys along—I'm short-handed for quick work."

It was not long before they reached the herd and it was slowly crowded into a more compact mass, and became wedge-shaped. McCullough, one of his men, and the two foremen stopped before the point, the trail boss and Huff on one side, the others not far away and facing them. The herd started slowly forward, narrowing to an animated ribbon which flowed between the two pairs of counters and kept them busy. McCullough and Lewis counted on knotted strings fastened[330] to their pommels, Huff used his fingers to check off the tally, fifty head to each digit, while the fourth man threw a coil of his rope over the pommel of his saddle at each hundred. The counting was finished well under ten minutes and the results compared. Lewis said five hundred and five, the other three announcing five hundred and six.

The Triangle foreman laughed. "Here is where I get paid for a missin' cow."

"Three to one bein' good enough for me," replied the trail boss, grinning, "I says you do. It's worth that to see you again; an' what's a cow between friends?" He turned in his saddle. "You might move 'em up closer to th' trail, boys," he shouted, and added with a chuckle, "they'll disappear when my long-laigs come along."

His prediction was justified, for the long-legs, having run the last mile or two with the scent of water in their red nostrils, poured into the creek and soaked themselves inside and out. By the time McCullough and his group reached the scene, the Bar H herd was crossing the trail. The counting was gone over again, the tallies agreeing to a single cow, and the Bar H herd was allowed to join the strangers along the creek. In due time the enlarged herd was thrown back on the trail, and when the Triangle five hundred joined it they were, indeed, swallowed up.

The trail boss and Big Tom rode off to the Triangle ranchhouse, figured for a moment and then exchanged cash for a receipt. The foreman shoved the bills into his pockets and went with McCullough back to the herd,[331] picked up the squad, and had the Double X contingent counted before the trail herd reached the river.

As the herd came along it made a fine sight for a cowman to look upon, the cattle strung out for three-quarters of a mile in length and spread well out on both sides of the trail, well watered and fed, and making under these conditions four miles an hour. The chuck wagon, drawn by four mules, rolled far ahead of it, the caviya of a hundred and thirty saddle horses to one side and also ahead. Each of the two point men was followed by four swing men, five to a side, and they had nothing to do now but look out for stragglers and to keep local cattle from joining the invading host. The bed ground was well chosen and the night promised to be a good one, notwithstanding that clouds were forming and the moon would be more or less obscured.

After the Double X contingent had joined their trail mates for the long journey and the great herd had bedded down, half of the trail outfit, together with the punchers from the ranches, headed for town, McCullough electing to remain with the herd. Big Tom and Lewis shook hands with him and returned to their ranchhouses, riding together part of the way.

Just before they separated Lewis looked up. "I heard that Arnold was ridin' today—one of th' Double X boys met him at th' trail. I reckon it must feel good to be in th' saddle again after such a long siege in bed."

"I'm bettin' it does," smiled Big Tom. "I had a dose of it when I was a young man, an' once is shore a-plenty."

"He must think so, for he's aimin' to ride to town[332] every day, an' spend some of his time gettin' acquainted with Dave an' his friends. Well, I'm leavin' you here. Good night."

"Good night," replied Big Tom, riding on with a sinister smile on his face.

The following morning was cloudy, which suited the Bar H foreman, who had a long ride ahead of him. He opened the south door of the ranchhouse, looked out and caught sight of a movement near the right-hand corner. A full-grown rattler was crawling slowly across a sand patch, and the foreman watched it idly. Then he grinned.

"Wonder how good my gunplay is these days?" he muttered, and his Colt leaped from its holster and roared. The snake writhed swiftly into an agonized coil, its flat head moving back and forth, its tongue darting angrily, and its rattles buzzing steadily. Huff growled at himself and fired again. The flattened, venomous head sank down, twisting and turning on the writhing coils.

"H—l!" growled the marksman, walking slowly forward for a closer look, which showed him that his last shot had cut through the vertebra and half of one side of the neck. It was good enough, and he turned and walked along the side of the house. Passing a window, he suddenly stopped and looked closely at the ground just under its sill, where boot prints were plainly visible. Before doing anything else he reloaded his gun, and then followed the prints with his eyes until the corner of the house cut them from sight. He stepped back until he could see the bunkhouse door to learn if anyone[333] was coming up to investigate the shots, and his gaze followed the prints straight toward it until they became lost on harder ground. No one being curious about the shooting, he went back to the window and peered in. He could see nothing because of the curtain, and had about decided that he had enjoyed secrecy the night before, when a sudden thought struck him. The interior, being dark now, was not right for a test, and he went around to the door, opened it, threw up the other shades, and hastily returned to the window, where he smothered a curse as a small hole in the curtain let him see quite plainly. Again returning to the house, he closed the door and slipped his extra Colt into the waist-band of his trousers, where one side of his open vest covered it, put on his coat and, going out the rear door, sauntered toward the bunkhouse, his eyes finding and losing the boot marks as the trail passed over varying ground. Before he reached the house his four men emerged from it and began the regular, humorous, morning wrangle as to preference in the use of wash basin and towel. They grinned at his approach and he smiled in return, his eyes missing nothing in their expressions, and it was Fraser at whom he looked longest when he spoke.

"Throw my saddle on th' big bay, Bill," he smiled pleasantly. "I'm goin' up to Sherman to fatten th' balance at th' bank. I may be back tomorrow night, but if I hear of any cattle that can be got cheap I may go on an' look 'em over. You boys have plenty of supplies, but if you run short go up to Dailey. If he's got any cigars, get a box—I reckon we can afford that[334] much of a celebration, in view of that herd. But don't drink too much. You know why."

Fraser got the saddle from the storeroom and went out to put it on the foreman's best horse. As he came out of the door he nodded toward the north. "There's Mac's sign already; he must 'a' passed around Gunsight. He's well on his way."

The others looked at the faint thickening in the air beyond the town and past the east end of Pine Mountain, where the dust from four thousand cattle rose heavenward.

"He's a wise bird, gettin' to th' crick last night," commented Carson. "He's been movin' since dawn; an' I bet he's glad it's cloudy, with that dry stretch ahead of him."

"Shucks!" snorted Dahlgren. "Thirty mile of dry trail ain't nothin'."

"Not much," admitted Carson; "but, still, it's better cloudy than boilin' under th' sun."

"I reckon Mac ain't thinkin' as much about it bein' cloudy as I am," smiled the foreman, turning to take the horse Fraser was leading to him. He had asked Fraser to get and saddle his horse in the hope that the puncher would stand on his dignity and, perhaps, provoke a quarrel, out of which anything might come; but Fraser paid no attention to the request, unusual as it was, and grinned as he stepped back.

"It's fifty miles to Sherman, an' I'd ruther have it cloudy, all th' way," smiled Big Tom, mounting. "Well, so-long, boys!" and he was off.

He chose the trail over Pine Mountain, not so much[335] for its saving in miles, but because it gave him a high, distant point from which to look back over his trail, and it avoided the Doc's shack and Gunsight as well. Reaching the top of the mountain, he turned and closely scrutinized the trail, finding nothing to bother him; but he was bothered, nevertheless, and he determined to pay as much attention to the trail he covered as to that which lay before him. Setting out again, he went well to the west of Gunsight and struck the Sherman trail ten miles beyond the town.

Back on the Bar H, Fraser was thinking. He had been doing a lot of it the last week, and he had not been alone in it. When his foreman had ridden off he leaned against the door and watched him until he was lost to sight. Dahlgren and Carney passed out, joked with him and went to the corral, soon riding off to the south. Dick Carson passed out a little later, paused, retraced his steps and leaned against the other door jamb.

"Wonder if yo're thinkin' th' same as me?" he quietly asked.

Fraser looked at him closely. "I don't know; I'm thinkin' of a gamble," he replied, hooking a thumb in an armhole of his vest.

"Shore; so am I," nodded Carson, carelessly. "This here range is shot full of holes, for us."

"It is," admitted Fraser. "We been driftin' them mavericks for three years—an' now they're goin' to be throwed back, branded, an' th' rest cut four ways. How are we goin' to stop it?"

[336]

"I'm figgerin' on driftin' myself; but I hate to drift alone, an' empty-handed," growled Carson. "I come down here to work for Huff, for fifty a month, an' pickin's. I've been gettin' th' fifty—but there won't be no pickin's, less'n I run some off with me. I'm tired of this blasted country, anyhow. Why, I'd ruther take chances, like Nevada, than go on this way down here. H—l!" he snorted in angry disgust. "I'm sayin' I fair itches to gamble," he added.

Fraser shifted to a more comfortable position.

"What do you think th' boss has got in his pockets right now?" he asked, cynically.

"A big, fat check, that won't do him nor us any good," replied Carson.

"Check!" Fraser laughed sarcastically. "Check? He allus used to have a check, after delivery; but he ain't got one now. He's got bills, wads an' wads of bills. Quite some over six thousand, I reckon, in bills. I saw his pockets bulgin', an' I wondered why he didn't take a check, same as usual. I wanted to make shore, so I did some scoutin' up around th' ranchhouse last night—I saw 'em. Wads, an' wads. I was shore tempted."

Carson was looking off toward Pine Mountain, an evil expression on his face, and he moved restlessly. "There's only one reason for that," he muttered, and turned to his companion. "Are you still thinkin' of a gamble?" he demanded, all thought of cattle out of his mind. "Th' herd money is shore worth while—what you say about it?"

"I was sort of turnin' it over in my head," Fraser[337] admitted "It's a lot of money; a powerful lot of money for one man to tote."

"It'll still be a lot of money if it's split in two," suggested Carson. "Do you figger he's goin' to bank it? All that cash? Why didn't he take a check? Why did he change, just when things was gettin' worse down here all th' time?"

"I don't know; but he's allus been purty white to me."

"Has he been three thousand dollars' worth?" asked Carson, smiling evilly. "I'm figgerin' he's lettin' us hold th' sack, that's what I'm figgerin'. An' if he don't come back, who's goin' to sign checks for our pay? We're losin' our share of all them mavericks. There won't be no nice bunch of cattle goin' up th' trail for us fellers, not now. But there's one whoppin' big bunch of cash goin' up a trail for us, if we go after it. How's yore nerve? What's th' use of playin' for buttons, when there's bills to be had?"

"If I reckoned he was goin' to bank that money I wouldn't touch it, not if I was shore he was comin' back to stick with th' ranch," muttered Fraser. "But I reckon he's throwed us down. I reckon we're holdin' th' sack, all right. An' if he aims to keep it, then we has as much right to it as he has. Cuss him! he's chicken-livered! Come on: I'm with you," and he led the way into the house to get some of his personal belongings.

"He's got a start on us, an' a cussed good hoss," growled Carson as they hastened to the corral. "We can't save nothin' by cuttin' across, neither."

[338]

"No, we can't; but we can take a lead hoss apiece," said his companion, "an' ride without carin' what happens to th' ones we start on. He won't be pushin' hard—he don't like hard ridin', he thinks too much of his hoss, an' he ain't got no reason to be in any great hurry. He's serene as a snake full of birds, chucklin' at how easy it is."

Down on the southern part of the ranch, in a draw, there was another conference, where Dahlgren and Carney also were mourning the deplorable state of affairs on the range.

"Three years' work gone to blazes," grumbled Little Tom, resentfully. "I'm near on th' prod."

"Gettin' near on th' prod ain't worth nothin'," replied Dahlgren. "It's gettin' on one, a good one, an' stayin' with it, that counts. I figgers we still got a lot of interest in them mavericks, an' I'm dead shore there ain't nobody watchin' 'em this side of th' Double X line."

"There's a lot of 'em away south of there," said Carney. "There's a couple of herds hang out closer to th' water hole in West Arroyo. I've seen 'em often when I rode that way. We could round up near three hundred, hold 'em in that blind canyon till evenin', an' then run th' whole bunch over th' Double X southwest corner an' get 'em well away tonight. It's cloudy, an' there won't be much moon showin'—just enough light to see what we're doin', an' not enough to show us up for any distance. Th' four of us can swing that herd in bang-up style—an' Big Tom won't never catch us, once we get into th' Snake Buttes country. An' what's[339] more, I know where unmarked cattle can be sold, with no questions an' at a fair price. Th' game's up for us, down here, anyhow."

"You aimin' to let them two in on this?"

"I'd ruther let 'em in on it, an' swing more cattle, than have 'em trailin' us tomorrow. An' four ain't too many for drivin' through th' Buttes."

"I don't like splittin' 'em four ways," growled Dahlgren, but he grudgingly gave his consent "All right. Go up an' feel 'em out, while I start roundin' up. Don't give nothin' away before you know how they feel about it."

"I'm off. They wasn't goin' to ride out till late, an' mebby I'll catch 'em at th' house," and Carney was off like a shot. He was not gone long, and when he returned he spread out his hands expressively.

"They've pulled their stakes, I reckon," he reported. "Their blankets an' 'most everythin' they owned, of any account, was gone. My extra gun is missin', an' our stuff is spread all over th' place. I rustled some supplies, an' found they had been there, too. Let 'em go!"

"Cussed glad of it; now it's halves, instead of fourths," replied Dahlgren, cheerfully. "Come on; let's push this work. Don't get any more branded cattle than you can help; but we ain't goin' to waste no time cuttin' any out."

Up on the Sherman trail Big Tom was swinging along within ten miles of town when, passing a particularly high, abrupt hill, he turned out, rode along it and, dismounting, went up on foot until he could peer[340] across the top of it. He did not have long to wait, for soon two horsemen appeared far back on the trail, where it crossed a wide, open space. Going back to his horse, he led it into a thicket and tied it to a bush, took his rifle and returned to the hill top, where he chose cover close to the bank at the trail's edge, and settled down comfortably to wait.

As the two riders drew nearer he recognized them by their ensemble, and by the way they sat their saddles, and it was not long before he could make out details. They were riding hard, both keenly alert, peering along the trail ahead of them. Nearer and nearer they came, pushing ahead at a fast, hard pace, eager to overtake him before he reached the town. Sweeping past the steep bank, they shot around a bend and went on.

Big Tom watched them until they had passed from sight, and then arose and nodded. "It's a good thing for you that you missed me!" he growled. "I hate to lose th' pay-roll money; but what's got to be done has got to be done. My interest in Sherman has plumb faded. Now for a smash at Nelson that'll hurt him to his dyin' day, d—n him!"

Darkness had fallen on the range and the night riders of the west section of the Double X were Slim Hawkes, Tom Wilkes, and Cimarron, who had the first shift. They were back on the old three-shift plan and would be off duty at half-past eleven. Cimarron had ridden south and had reached the end of his beat, the north side of a shallow arroyo. He softly gave the night's signal and, receiving no reply, decided to wait for a[341] while, for Slim was due to reach and stop at the other side of the arroyo at any minute. He could faintly discern the outlines of objects at quite a respectable distance and wondered how soon the moon would break through the filmy clouds. Suddenly he listened closely and thought he detected the noise made by a herd. Slime's signal came faintly to him and he replied to it with a double one. In a few minutes Slim loomed up out of the dark.

"Are you hearin' that, too?" asked Slim in a whisper.

"I am," replied Cimarron. "That's a herd, an' there's work for me an' you. It's comin' up from th' south, bearin' a little west, I reckon. How do you figger it?"

"West, bearin' a little north," answered Slim. "But it's shore comin' from our range, which is enough for us. I'm askin' no questions tonight. Th' last time I sung out Nevada shot me up. I'm doin' my talkin' tonight with my gun. An' I'm hopin' it's Nevada, personal: I owe him somethin'."

"Don't separate, or we'll mebby shoot each other," growled Cimarron. "If we hit 'em from this side we'll mebby turn th' herd so it'll stampede back where it belongs; an' if it does, th' fellers on th' other side will have plenty to do for a couple of minutes, an' give us a chance to get to 'em. It's closer. Are you ready?"

Slim loosened his left foot from the stirrup and then lay forward along the neck of his horse, Cimarron doing likewise; and then the two animals moved forward at a walk, innocent of any silhouetted figures sticking up in the saddles. Louder and louder grew the sound and[342] soon the two clinging riders could plainly distinguish the rattle of horns from the hoofbeats. A few minutes more, and then a mounted figure became vaguely outlined. The herd was being moved at a walk, possibly to avoid greater noise until it was well across the Double X line, and now its bulk could be guessed at.

The herder leaned forward suddenly to scrutinize two moving blots he barely could make out against a rise of ground behind them, and the movement was the beginning of the end, for him. A sudden stream of fire poured from the left-hand blot and he slid from his saddle without a sound. The blots let out yells and dashed for the front ranks of the herd, which wheeled like a flash and thundered across the range over a course at right angles to the one which they had been following. The two night guards spurred towards the place where they hoped to come in contact with other rustlers, but found no one to oppose them, and they then set out to follow the herd. Far ahead of them they saw two flashes, followed at certain, agreed-upon intervals by another and then a fourth. Cimarron fired once, counted twelve and then sent two more shots into the air as close together as he could make them, which left nothing to be desired on that score. When he and Slim neared the herd again the moon shone down faintly and let them see what they were doing.

"Where'd you get 'em?" yelled Matt Webb. "There ain't a brand on 'em, that I can see; an' I can see plain enough for that."

"Where do you suppose we got 'em?" retorted Cimarron, "from Europe?" He rode at one end of[343] the front rank and had the satisfaction of seeing it falter.

"I see a Bar H mark!" shouted Rich Morgan. "An' they're stoppin', thank th' Lord!"

In another ten minutes the herd started milling and soon afterward became sensible.

"I say we have been made a present of some of Huff's pets," chuckled Rich. "He says mavericks take title from th' ranch they're on; an' I'm gamblin' these are on th' Double X!"

"If they was ours I'd say to let 'em wander," spoke up Cimarron. "Seein' as they ain't, I reckon it'll save a lot of work if we beds 'em down an' keeps 'em together. I'll go on in an' let Lin know, so he can turn out th' off shift. We shot somebody out near that dividin' arroyo between Slim's section an' mine; you might take a look out that way. Slim's hopin' it was Nevada; but I'm sayin' mebby he'll be surprised when he finds out who it is."

"I'm guessin' right about th' outfit he belongs to, anyhow," replied Slim. "An' I'm not goin' in till I sees which one he is. Comin', Matt? I'll ride out with you."

Leaving Cimarron to go to the bunkhouse for the off shift, Slim and Matt rode rapidly toward the scene of the fight, and when they reached it they saw a figure on the ground. Dismounting they bent over it, and then looked at each other.

"Dahlgren!" breathed Slim.

Matt nodded. "They wasn't waitin' for their mavericks to be split four ways," he said, covering the up[344]turned face with the dead man's sombrero. "They was stealin' a march on Big Tom while he is up in Sherman. Well, anyhow, he was on th' rustle—an' there ain't no harm done. Go on in, an' get yore sleep. As to th' herd, I reckon Arnold has got th' best title to it—but that's for Lin to say. If he does throw 'em over to th' SV it'll save Big Tom th' shame of doin' it hisself. Good night."