‘Now you’re quite sure that you can manage all right, Charlie?’ Mrs. Loving asked as she sat in the stagecoach waiting to leave the town of Graham, county seat of Young County, Texas. ‘If you can’t, I’ll—’
‘I’ve all I need,’ Goodnight replied hurriedly. ‘I only wish that there was more I could do for you.’
‘You’ve done too much for me already,’ the woman smiled. ‘With forty thousand dollars, I can live comfortably in Austin.’
The forty thousand dollars represented Loving’s full share of the partnership’s money. Under different conditions, much of the profits would have gone to help with the fulfillment of Goodnight’s dream. Knowing the precarious nature of his scheme, the rancher could not ask Mrs. Loving to risk losing everything by sharing in it. Sure she would have agreed willingly, but Goodnight wanted to see her settled comfortably and with sufficient funds to maintain her family. With that in mind, he had turned over the money and planned to stake everything he owned to make his dream come true. If he failed, he had no dependants and could easily start again.
With further assurances that he could manage and final condolences, Goodnight stood back and allowed the stage to move off. Watching its departure, he felt a touch of satisfaction at having done the right thing.
After the coach had passed out of sight, Goodnight turned. The past was over and done with. Down in front of the Demon Rum saloon stood the future.
Tall, heavily set, bald, John Chisum leaned against the hitching rail of the saloon and watched Goodnight walk towards him. It would be several years before Chisum attained his title of ‘The Cattle King’ but he dressed at the height of his fortunes in much the same manner as he did while waiting for Goodnight—like a saddle-bum. A cheap old Woolsey hat was thrust back on his hairless dome, while his cotton bandana, hickory shirt, patched levis pants and scuff-heeled boots were the cheapest money could buy. If he was noticeable for anything, it was the fact that he did not wear a gun, an unarmed man being something of a novelty in Texas at that time. Most of the time his face held an expression of disarming joviality calculated to make a person feel well disposed to him. Apart from his cold, shrewd eyes, he looked amiable and completely trustworthy. Most folk failed to notice the eyes until too late.
‘Got her off all right, Charlie?’ Chisum said.
‘Yes,’ Goodnight answered shortly.
‘Ain’t nobody can say you didn’t do right by her,’ Chisum commented. ‘Say, thanks for sending those four boys out to hold the herd while my crew come to town for a spell.’
Although Goodnight had not sent his men to meet Chisum with that purpose in mind, he did not debate the point. Wanting to see Mrs. Loving started on her journey to Austin, he had given the arrival of the other rancher and cattle scant attention. With his late partner’s widow on her way, he had time to spare for the work in hand.
‘Let’s go out and look at the cattle, shall we?’ Goodnight suggested.
‘Well,’ Chisum answered in a hesitant manner, throwing a look to the saloon. ‘I was figuring on going in. The boys like to have ole Uncle John buy ’em a drink when they’re in town.’
‘There’ll be time for it,’ Goodnight stated.
‘Shucks, the herd’s held not half a mile out,’ Chisum said. ‘’Less you want to cut it right now, you can see it easy enough from the edge of town.’
‘I just want to make sure where it’s held,’ Goodnight replied. ‘Let’s go.’
Neither of the ranchers noticed a rider coming along the street from the east, nor a man pointing them out to the newcomer. Walking in the opposite direction, they passed the building that housed the sheriff’s office and jail. While making for the edge of town, Goodnight raised a point which puzzled him about the other’s arrival.
‘Pitzer moved fast to pick up eleven hundred head and bring them here already, John.’
‘He’s a good boy and a fast worker,’ Chisum replied cheerfully; which was not how he had thought of his younger brother a couple of weeks earlier. ‘Cattle’re easy enough to come by.’
‘Yeah,’ Goodnight agreed in a noncommittal tone.
‘If your boys can handle them, they might’s well take them out to your herd right off,’ Chisum suggested. ‘That’ll give ’em all time to get settled together afore we start the drive.’
Halting by the last building of the town, Goodnight looked across the open range to where a large bunch of cattle was grazing under the care of his four men. He considered Chisum’s words, knowing them to have wisdom. The more time the steers had to become acquainted with his own stock, the less trouble there would be when the drive to Fort Sumner started. From the noise inside the Demon Rum saloon, few of Chisum’s hands would be ready to resume work that day. So his own men could either hold the herd where it was until morning, or ease it over to where the Swinging G’s bunch were waiting to start the journey.
Although the men heard the sound of the approaching horse, neither gave it any attention. As Goodnight opened his mouth to say that he would have Chisum’s stock taken and added to his own herd, something happened to prevent the words being spoken.
‘You’ve got some of my cattle in that herd!’
Anger crackled in the voice that sounded from behind the two men, sufficient to cause them to turn even without the implication of what had been said. Facing them was a girl, stabbing an accusing finger in the direction of the grazing cattle and glaring in a hostile manner at Chisum.
Tall, slender, with a figure fast ripening into full womanhood, the girl made an attractive picture seated astride a line-backed bayo-tigre gelding. Her blonde hair was tucked under a battered white Jeff Davis Confederate campaign hat, the brim of which threw a protective shadow on to her pretty, tanned face. She wore a short rawhide jacket over an open-necked blue shirt and levis pants hanging cowhand style with the cuffs outside her high-heeled riding boots. Around her waist hung a military-style weapon-belt with a Cooper Navy revolver butt forward in the open-topped holster at its right side.
At any other time Goodnight might have regarded the girl’s choice of clothing with mingled disapproval at its lack of femininity and appreciation for its charm. Her opening words, however, drove all such thoughts from his head and he slowly turned his eyes in Chisum’s direction. Something in the bald rancher’s manner gave Goodnight a hint of suspicion.
‘How about it, John,’ asked Goodnight, ‘do you have any of this young lady’s cattle with your herd?’
‘Brother Pitzer’s brought eleven hundred head at least, Charlie,’ Chisum answered, looking his most guileless. ‘You know I’ve not had time to look ’em over yet. Could be that maybe a couple or so of her’n’s strayed in if the boys drove the herd across her land.’
‘A couple or so!’ the girl spat out. ‘They run off a bunch of over a hundred that we’d gathered and were holding. Damn it! I saw them do it!’
Studying the girl’s face, Goodnight doubted if the righteous indignation on it could be assumed to give strength to a lie. So he gave his attention once more to the other rancher. Goodnight knew that the incompetence of Chisum’s younger brother had caused the loss of a large herd on its way to Young County. On receiving the news, Chisum had stated his intention of rectifying the situation. He ordered Pitzer to return and gather sufficient of his Long Rail or unbranded stock to replace the lost cattle. Despite the vast numbers of longhorns roaming the unfenced Texas ranges, Goodnight had been surprised when Pitzer returned so quickly. If the girl was telling the truth—and there seemed to be no reason why she should lie—the rapidity with which Chisum’s brother had collected the replacement herd was explained.
One thing Goodnight knew for sure: the girl’s allegation had to be investigated and prompt action taken if it be true. Too much was at stake for Goodnight to be involved, even indirectly, in the theft of cattle.
‘It’s easy enough settled, John,’ Goodnight said. ‘You’ll have the herd cut and the young lady can point out any of her brand that she sees. We’ll need help to do it.’
‘Some of my boys’re down to the Demon Rum saloon,’ Chisum answered reluctantly, although only a man who knew him real well would have noticed the change in his voice.
Goodnight was such a man, so he said, ‘We’ll go and fetch them.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ the girl announced.
‘To a saloon?’ asked Goodnight.
‘I’d go to a saloon, a hawg-ranch, or any other damned place to get those steers back!’ the girl assured him hotly. ‘We’d gathered them to sell to a buyer and need the money they’ll bring real bad.’
‘Come with us then,’ Goodnight offered. ‘You say that you saw the men who took the steers?’
‘I sure as hell did. It was up in the Wallace Valley three days back. My hoss’d gone lame and I was headed for the house to get another when they come.’
‘You’d know the men if you saw them again then?’
‘I sure will, Colonel Charlie.’
‘How come they let you see ’em?’ asked Chisum. ‘Cow thieves ain’t often so all-fired obliging.’
‘I got hid up among the black chaparral in a draw afore they saw me,’ the girl explained, directing her words mainly in Goodnight’s direction. ‘Couldn’t see who they was when I heard them coming, ’cepting we don’t hire that many men, and a-foot I sure didn’t figure to stand in plain sight to find out.’
Which proved to the listening men that the girl, young as she was, knew how to act when alone on the range. Goodnight could see no reason for her to be lying about the theft, yet felt puzzled by at least one thing and sought to have the problem solved.
‘How did you know who owned the cattle and who I am?’
‘Feller back along the street told me who you was and pointed you out when I asked him about the herd. Which same’s why I come here afore going to see the sheriff. My pappy’s told me plenty about you, Colonel Charlie.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘You likely do, Colonel. He’s Darby Sutherland. My name’s Dawn.’
‘Darby Sutherland, huh!’ Goodnight grunted. ‘I know him.’
‘Why didn’t your pappy come instead of sending you, gal?’ Chisum inquired.
Clearly Dawn Sutherland’s friendly feelings and trust did not extend to Chisum. She lost the smile and expression of pleasure which had crept to her face at Goodnight’s words. Drawing her lips into tight, unsociable lines, she answered the taller rancher’s question.
‘’Cause he got stove up when a hoss threw him and isn’t back on his feet yet. I’d’ve gone straight to see Sheriff Carlin, only I figured that Colonel Charlie’d do right by me.’
‘And I will,’ Goodnight promised. ‘Let’s go and get your men, John.’
‘Sure,’ Chisum agreed, beaming in his most winning manner at Dawn. ‘I’m’s keen as you are to get this straightened out.’
If Dawn’s expression was anything to go by, Chisum had failed by a good country mile to win her over. Swinging from her saddle, she walked at Goodnight’s side with the bayo-tigre following her on loosely held reins. As he accompanied them along the street, Chisum tried to make light conversation but failed. While his face and voice remained placid and friendly, his eyes took on a wolf-cautious, almost menacing glint.
Judging by the noise rising from inside, the Demon Rum saloon was doing remarkably good business considering that the day had advanced only a little beyond noon. Its band played in blaring opposition to laughter, shouts and a continuous hum of conversation. Outside, horses lined the hitching rails and stood hip-shot awaiting their owners’ return. Dawn secured her bayo-tigre gelding in the only place available, next to a big, shapely bloodbay stallion. Beyond it were two equally good animals, a paint as fine as the girl had ever seen and a magnificent white that looked as wild as a free-running mustang despite the low-horned, double-girthed saddle on its back. The saddles attracted no interest, being well made but of the normal Texas fashion and carrying the absent owners’ bedrolls strapped to the cantles.
Under different circumstances the girl would have spent time admiring the fine-looking horses and Goodnight might have found at least one of them of considerable interest had he noticed it. Wanting to regain possession of her father’s cattle, Dawn contented herself with a swift glance while knotting her reins to the hitching rail. Then she joined the ranchers on the porch. For a moment she wavered before the entrance. Since her earliest days, she had been taught that a ‘good’ woman did not enter saloons. Only for a moment, though. Then her purpose in coming to Graham over-rode her prejudices. Setting her face grimly, she followed the ranchers through the batwing doors.
Once inside the barroom, Dawn found herself wishing that she had left the visit to Goodnight. Slowly the talk died down as every eye turned to the new arrivals. Dawn could sense the cold hostility of the garishly dressed women present and knew that they resented her invasion of their domain. However, in the company of two prominent members of the ranching community, she had little to fear from the saloon’s female employees.
Naturally the appearance of a girl dressed as Dawn was could be calculated to attract attention. While the women drew their own conclusions about what had brought her into the saloon, the cowhands speculated on why Colonel Charlie had allowed Dawn to accompany him inside. Being a gentleman in the strictest sense of the word, he would not bring a young woman into a saloon as a joke or merely to let her see what the inside of one looked like.
Seated at the left of the room, two men watched the arrival and guessed at what it meant. The taller of the pair wore all black clothing, from his Stetson hat, through bandana, shirt, levis pants and down to his boots. Even his gunbelt was of black leather, carrying a walnut-handled Dragoon Colt butt forward in the holster on its right side and an ivory-hilted James Black bowie knife sheathed at the left. Such an armament did not go well with his apparent youth and Indian-dark, almost babyishly innocent handsome features. Yet a closer examination of his eyes, red-hazel in color and with a reckless, alien wildness glinting in them, would have led one to believe that the weapons were anything but an affectation.
Compared with his somberly dressed and somehow dangerous-looking companion, the other man hardly rated a second glance; on the surface. He would be at most five foot six in height, his dusty blond hair a contrast with the raven-black locks of the dark youngster. Good, regular features, but not eye-catching in any way, held strength and inner power if one cared to look. While the black Stetson, hanging from the back of his chair, scarlet bandana, grey shirt, levis pants and handmade boots were expensive, he contrived to make them look like somebody’s cast-offs. They tended to hide the well-developed muscular physique under them. A matched brace of bone-handled 1860 Army Colts rode butt forward in carefully designed cross-draw holsters. They were good guns, carried at the correct position and angle to permit rapid use, yet they failed to add to their wearer’s stature.
‘That’s the gal we saw back on the Wallace, ain’t it, Dusty?’ asked the dark young man, shoving back his chair as if to rise.
‘Sure looks like her,’ the small blond answered. ‘Stay put a-whiles, Lon. I want to hear what’s up first.’
Coming to a halt in the center of the room, Goodnight looked around but failed to locate Pitzer Chisum. Nor did he know any of the men who had helped deliver the suspect herd.
‘Get some of your crew over here, John,’ Goodnight commanded.
‘Sure,’ Chisum answered. ‘They ain’t all on hand, mind.’
‘We’ll make do with them you can raise and my boys,’ Goodnight told him.
‘Targue!’ Chisum called. ‘Come on up here. Bring Keck, Venner and Alden with you. That’s all of ’em who’re here, Charlie.’
‘Looks like we called it right, Dusty,’ commented the dark youngster as four men rose from a table and made for Goodnight’s party. ‘What’ll we do?’
‘Amble over quiet-like and listen to what’s being said,’ his companion replied, showing no surprise at being asked for advice.
‘Where’s Pitzer?’ Chisum asked his tall, lanky, hard-looking segundo.
‘Him and most of the boys went down to Sadie’s place,’ Targue answered. ‘They hea—’
‘Them’s the three who took my cattle!’ Dawn ejaculated, pointing at Targue’s companions.