8
Tor Stark sat at a table next to the far wall in the Hogback. He sat alone, and he sipped whiskey. He rolled himself a smoke and lit it, taking a deep lungful of smoke and exhaling it slowly, watching the heavy cloud drift up and away. He took a sip from his glass, and then he saw Abel Harrington approaching. As Abel pulled out a chair, Stark heaved a long sigh. “You’re late,” he said.
“I had a little trouble getting myself started this morning,” Abel said. “But what the hell? I’m here, ain’t I?” He reached for the bottle. There was a second glass already on the table waiting for him, and he poured it full. “This oughta help,” he said. He put the bottle down and lifted the glass for a long drink of the brown liquid. He put the glass down and said, “What’s up, Tor?”
“We got us a job to do,” Stark said.
“What kind of job?”
Stark leaned forward and kept his voice low. “Rounding up some cattle,” he said.
“Where and when?”
“Out at the Circle X,” Stark said. “Just as soon as we finish up here.”
“In the broad daylight?”
“That’s how the boss wants it.”
“We gonna move the cattle over onto Zig Zag range like last time?”
“We’re gonna move them onto Zig Zag range, all right,” Stark said, “but then we’re going a little bit farther.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and stubbed his cigarette out in the tray that was provided on the table.
“How’s that?” said Abel.
“You know that blind canyon way up on the northern range of the Circle X? Well, we’re going to drive the Circle X cows over onto the Zig Zag, and then we’re going to drive them north, and when we get on up there, we’re taking them back across and into the canyon.”
“That don’t make no sense,” said Abel. “We going to drive them right back onto the Circle X?”
“That’s right. That blind canyon is a rough place to handle cows in. Ole X. has had it blocked off by a short piece of fence. He never uses it, and he’ll never look for his own damn stole cows in there either. ’Specially if we repair the fence after we run the cows through.”
Abel gave a shrug. “Hell, I guess I don’t need to understand as long as I get paid.”
“You’ll get paid all right,” said Stark. “The same as always. Let’s get moving.” Stark picked up the whiskey bottle he had already paid for and carried it with him as he made for the front door. Abel finished off his one glass, got up and followed Stark. Outside at the hitching rail, Stark tucked the bottle into the saddlebags and climbed up on his horse’s back. Abel mounted his animal, and the two riders rode easily out of town, in the direction of the two large ranches.
“Cy,” said Slocum, “has this town got more than one lawyer?”
“Nope. All we got is ole Burly Baker. I guess that’s how come he’s piling up so damn much money. Makes me think I shoulda took more schooling.”
“Well, hell,” Slocum muttered.
“What you asking for?” said the sheriff.
“Oh, nothing much. I just had me a notion about consulting me a lawyer over something, but I met that son of a bitch this morning, and I don’t think I like him very much.”
“Oh, Burly’s all right, I guess, for a lawyer. Them bastards is all alike from what I can tell. They’d sell their own mama’s homestead out from under her, take their commission, then beat her out of the profits.”
“I believe that,” said Slocum.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Holbrook said. “What the hell do you want with a lawyer? I know something about the law. Maybe I could help you out.”
“I don’t think so,” Slocum said. “Forget it. It ain’t important.”
“Say, you wasn’t thinking about asking for a legal opinion on what I told you about being stuck on my posse, was you?”
“I said forget it. It ain’t important.”
“It sure ain’t. I was right about that. You’re stuck, and that’s that. Any lawyer would tell you the same thing. Only thing is, he’d charge you for giving you his opinion. That’s all. And that’s all it would be, too. A damned opinion.”
“Fuck you, Sheriff Holbrook,” said Slocum.
Tor Stark and Abel Harrington arrived at the place where the Zig Zag and the Circle X came together, the boundary line with no fence. They had made it all the way without being seen. They sat for a long moment looking out onto the range, and they saw no cowhands around. “Let’s go,” said Stark. They rode onto the land owned by X. Jones. They rode for an hour before they spotted any cattle, but then they saw at least a hundred head grazing contentedly. “Come on,” Stark said. “Let’s take them.” For a time, they worked as hard as honest cowboys, circling the herd, keeping all the cattle together, and at last starting them moving in the direction of the Zig Zag. “Whenever anyone misses this bunch,” Harrington yelled at Stark, “it sure won’t be hard to track them.”
They were moving north on Zig Zag range when Stark spotted a cowboy. At first the cowboy was just looking at them. Likely, thought Stark, he thinks that we’re Circle X hands taking some of our cattle back home. They moved closer, and the cowboy started riding toward them. Stark waved, as if everything were all right. The cowboy kept coming. As soon as he thought he had a good shot, Stark pulled his Henry rifle out of the scabbard on the side of his horse and raised it to his shoulder. The cowboy saw what he was doing and pulled up hard, turning his horse. Stark fired, and the cowboy jerked in the saddle. He rode on a little ways, then slipped off the horse’s back and fell hard to the ground.
“Tor,” Abel yelled from his position across the herd. “Tor, do you think he was alone?”
“Keep your eyes open, Abel,” called Stark. “There might could be one more out here with him.”
Abel hauled out his own rifle and cranked a shell into the chamber. From then on he was busy keeping the cattle moving along together and watching for any cowhands who might show up. On the other side of the herd, Tor Stark was doing the same thing. They moved along slowly and steadily and warily like that for another twenty minutes or so before Harrington spotted the second cowboy. He was dead ahead. The shot would have been about the same for either Harrington or Stark. Harrington raised his rifle, but the cowboy turned and rode hard, heading back toward the ranch house.
“Tor,” Abel called out.
“Stop him,” yelled Stark.
Both men rode hard after the cowboy, abandoning the herd of stolen cattle. The cowboy topped a rise and disappeared from view, but the two outlaws kept riding hard. They reached the top of the rise and spotted him again. The distance was still great between them, but as Stark continued in pursuit, Harrington stopped his horse and dismounted. He flopped himself on the ground and took careful aim. He fired, and smiled as he saw the cowboy drop from the saddle. Stark kept riding. When he reached the fallen cowboy, he stopped and looked down at the body with the gaping hole in its back. He turned and rode back to his partner.
“That was a good shot, Abel,” he said.
Harrington was just settling down in his saddle again. He looked at Stark and smiled. “I can usually make them like that, if I settle down real good first.”
“Let’s get back to them cows,” said Stark.
It was well into the afternoon, and Slocum and Holbrook were riding toward the meeting of the small ranchers at the Roberts spread. They had been riding in silence for a ways, when Slocum at last spoke. “Cy,” he said, “just what the hell is it we’re supposed to be accomplishing by this damn meeting?”
“Hell, I done told you that.”
“Well, tell me again, damn it.”
“All right, Slocum,” Holbrook said. “We’re going to make sure that all the ranchers is there, first off. Then, just in case we’re wrong about what’s going on, we’re going to kinda size them up, you know.”
“What the hell can you tell about a man by sizing him up?”
“You can tell a lot,” said Holbrook. “Damn it. Finally, we’re going to tell them all the same things what we told the big boys. To keep their heads cool. That we suspect that some third party might could be behind all this, and we don’t want no one jumping the gun on us. We don’t want a damn range war to get started whether it’s between Jones and Yates or it’s Jones and Yates together against the small ranches. You get it?”
“I got it,” said Slocum.
When they arrived at Roberts’s house, it was obvious from the number of horses, wagons and buggies around the place that most everyone was there. They dismounted and hitched their horses. As they walked toward the house, young Charlie met them.
“They’re all inside waiting for you,” he said, and he led the way to the house and opened the door. Holbrook and Slocum followed him in.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” said the older Charlie Roberts. “Slocum.”
“You got them all here?” Holbrook asked.
“Every damn one,” said Roberts.
“Good,” Holbrook said. “We might as well get started and not waste any more of anyone’s time than we have to.”
Roberts called for attention, and Holbrook stepped forward. Everyone stopped what he was doing to pay attention. They had some inkling of what the sheriff was up to, but no one was totally certain, and everyone was curious. Holbrook started out by introducing Slocum as his deputy, and Slocum scowled at the thought. Then the sheriff told the crowd about the trouble on the two big ranches. The reaction was about what he expected, about the same as he had initially received from Charlie Roberts. He let them laugh and sneer for a short while. Then he calmed them down again.
“I know that none of you got no love for ole X. Jones, nor any for Sim Yates neither,” he said. “But I’m here to tell you that if serious trouble gets started up between them, you’re all going to be drawn into it, like it or not.”
He went on to explain to them how both ranchers had at first blamed each other and were ready to ride over with guns blazing. He told them how he and Slocum had managed to hold them back and explain their theory to them and at least seem to convince them.
“You see,” Holbrook said, “what we believe is that a third party, as yet unknown, is at the bottom of all this. I don’t know what it is he wants, but it’s pretty damn obvious that he wants trouble between the two big ranchers and to blame it on you boys.”
“Sheriff,” said one of the men gathered there, “how come would somebody want to see us in a big fight?”
“I can’t answer that, Zeke,” said Holbrook, glancing toward Slocum. “Not till I know who it is behind all this.”
Slocum had been leaning on the back wall. He straightened up and took a few steps forward.
“It could be a couple of things,” he said, “and it might help if you boys was to think about them for a while. If a range war was to get started, there’d be a winner and a loser. The winner would be weaker than he was whenever it started. The loser might not even still be around. In this case here there’s three of you involved. I have an idea that whoever the loser would be, as soon as it was all said and done, the war would start up again between the two that was left. After two wars, the winner would be considerable weakened. One way to figure it all out would be to just wait it out and let the wars start. When it’s all over with, we’ll know who was behind it, but it will be too late then.”
Charlie Roberts came forward then. “All right,” he said. “What is it we think about?”
“Who might want you men out of business? Who might want your range? Same with the big boys. Who’d want them out of the way?”
“That’s easy,” said an old-timer in the crowd. “We want the Zig Zag and the Circle X shut down, and the Circle X and the Zig Zag wants us out of here.”
“You’re right,” Slocum said, “but it’s too easy. You got to think beyond that, ’cause whoever this is wants all of you out of here. You got to go beyond your old feuds with Yates and Jones. There’s someone else in this fight, and it’s someone you ain’t thought about yet.”
“Someone else,” someone muttered.
“Who the hell could it be?”
Lizzie Roberts took advantage of the lull in the meeting to offer coffee all around. Slocum thanked her and took a cup. Most everyone did. Finally Holbrook tried to get control of the meeting again. Roberts saw what he was doing and got up to help. Slowly the crowd quieted down.
“I’m going to tell you all just how I’m looking at this thing right now,” the sheriff said. “I’m thinking that the one we’re looking for could be anyone. Now, I don’t believe that it’s you boys. Someone’s trying to make it look that a way is all. At least, I don’t believe that it’s you boys as a bunch.”
“What do you mean by that?” said the old-timer.
“I mean that it could be any one of you acting on his own. Someone in the group who’s madder than the others for whatever reason.”
The crowd grew boisterous again, and Holbrook and Roberts had a time getting them to quiet down this time. At last they did, and Holbrook went on.
“I didn’t say that it was one of you,” he said. “All I said is that I got to think like that. It could be one of you. Then again, it could be one of Sim Yates’s cowboys or one of X. Jones’s. Then again, it might be someone in town.”
“Or someone out of town who’s hired someone to do his dirty work,” said the old-timer.
“It could be,” said Holbrook.
Slocum stepped up again. “Keep your eyes on strangers,” he said. “If you see anyone or anything suspicious, report it to the sheriff. The main thing is—don’t start no shooting. Don’t shoot at anyone unless he shoots first.”
Riding back toward Guadalupe, Holbrook asked Slocum, “How do you think our meeting went?”
Slocum shrugged. “We said what we went out there to say.”
“Well, I think the boys took it all pretty well,” Holbrook said. “I think they understood all right.”
“They understood us,” said Slocum. “That don’t mean that they’ll do what we asked them to do. Watch the saloons. See if there’s any fights started, and see who starts them. See if there’s any more shooting. It’ll take a few days before we find out if they really listened.”
“Yeah,” said Holbrook. “I reckon.”
“If it takes us much longer than that to figure this thing out,” Slocum said, “it won’t much matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll all be trying to kill everyone else.”
