Two
The next morning had gotten warm enough to drive away all the chill of the previous night by the time Morgan Barlow was into his third hour of the day’s tracking.
He could have gone a lot farther and faster, but he was wary in case the rustlers had decided to hold up for one reason or another. If he did something thoughtless, like riding blindly into an ambush, his initial plan of getting at least a respectable number of the bastards before he went down himself would fail miserably. So Morgan did his tracking with one eye on the trail and the other on the far horizon looking for trouble. At various times he even came to a complete halt, to do nothing more than listen. But all he heard was the buzzing of insects and the calls of wild birds across the prairie.
Toward noon the appearance of the hoof prints gave ample evidence that the herd had been brought to a halt. The tracks of horses led away from the area. Morgan surmised the rustlers had stopped, but he couldn’t figure out why. The cattle hadn’t gone far enough to need rest and a feed. Another check of the surrounding ground showed him that a half dozen or so of the outlaws had galloped off in one direction for some reason or another. He decided to break off himself and see what had attracted them away from their original intent.
He had only to go a bit past a mile when he spotted an isolated farm. Loosening his Army Colt in its holster and the Colt revolving rifle in the saddle boot, Morgan rode slowly toward the small place. As he drew closer, he could tell some serious trouble had occurred. A couple of corpses, swelling in the sun like Sam, were sprawled on the ground.
Morgan halted and dismounted, pulling the rifle free. A glance at the dead men showed they definitely did not belong to the farm. These were fellows who made their living packing irons and using them. They sure as hell weren’t hardworking sodbusters. One was a Mexican, and the other had the low-life looks shared by hundreds of border desperados. No doubt the pair were members of the gang of rustlers. Morgan walked slowly toward the farm, leading his horse while keeping the rifle ready.
“Hello, the house!” he yelled out. After getting no response, he tried again. “Hello, the house!”
He continued his slow movement until he reached the front of what really wasn’t much more than a sod cabin. But it boasted a stone chimney. The crude building was bullet-pocked and the front door had been shot up so bad that it sagged on the one surviving leather hinge.
“Drop the iron!”
Morgan was startled by the voice, but he wisely and quickly complied, tossing the Colt rifle to the small porch. “I’m just stopping by,” he explained. This could be a dangerous situation. Those two rustlers rotting under the sun hadn’t committed suicide. Someone had shot them dead, and that someone undoubtedly lived on the farm.
Morgan turned his head and could see a young boy peering at him from around the side of the place. The kid held a LeMat revolver.
The youth said, “Don’t you move, damn your hide!”
Morgan nodded. “I ain’t moving, boy. You live here?”
“I do,” the kid answered.
“Well, don’t you fret about me. You and me has gone through the same thing.”
“What’re you talking about?” The gun-toter stepped into view and approached him.
“Well, yesterday—” Morgan stopped talking. He could see it was a girl in her late teens dressed like a man. Despite her masculine attire, it wasn’t hard to see the prettiness in her face. She had green eyes and dark auburn hair that was pulled back into a bun. “Howdy, miss.”
“Save your howdies,” the girl said testily. “Just tell me how come you ended up here standing in front o’ my house.”
“I was starting to tell you that my own place was hit while I was away. My brother got killed,” Morgan said. “They took my cattle too. I trailed ’em up to a spot a ways back, then saw that some of ’em had broke aloose and come this way.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”
The girl nodded. “No wonder they ain’t been back. I didn’t know they had a herd with ’em.” She frowned in puzzlement. “You figuring on getting the herd and taking it back to your spread all alone?”
“That’s pretty much what I’d like to do,” Morgan said.
“You must have a lot o’ faith in yourself,” the girl said. “Or you don’t care what happens to you.”
“That’s it,” Morgan said coldly.
“Was it a big herd?” she asked.
“There’s only twenty-five head. Anyhow, like you mentioned, I don’t think things’ll work out that good for me,” Morgan said. “So I ain’t figuring on getting ’em back.”
“You want to do some killing,” the girl said in a tone of pronouncement.
“I do.”
“And you don’t care much what happens to you while you’re tending to it.”
“That’s the name o’ my game,” Morgan answered. He wiggled his hands. “Can I put ’em down?” he asked. “I’m Morgan Barlow. My place is north o’ here off Olson Creek.”
The girl looked at him carefully, and decided for sure he wasn’t one of the attackers. “Yeah. Drop your meat hooks ifn you want.”
“What’s your name, girl?”
“I’m Anna Lee Pickett.”
Morgan pointed out to where the two dead men lay. “Looks like you come out ahead on this one.”
“I buried my pa and my uncle,” Anna Lee said. “You’re all alone here?” Morgan asked.
“I am,” she answered in a firm voice. “Them dead galoots out there are part o’ that bunch that shot us up. I’m leaving ’em to rot like the goddamned coyotes they are.”
“I can understand ’em hitting my place,” Morgan said. “We got that herd. What brought all this about?”
“I don’t know,” Anna Lee said. “Pure meanness, I reckon. A couple of ’em come in here looking for water and I gave ’em some. The next thing I knew they was back with their pals and started all this trouble for no damn good reason.”
Morgan knew what had happened. The pair who got the water had gone back and told the others about the girl. Maybe the whole bunch hadn’t come back for her, but most had. No doubt they got a reception they hadn’t expected. After losing a couple of men, the leader probably ordered his men to forget the fun and get back to business.
Anna Lee asked, “So you ain’t figuring to get your cattle back?”
Morgan shook his head. “I’m gonna have to settle on getting as many o’ them rustlers as I can. So I’m tracking the gang. It looks like they headed for Mexico.”
“You could prob’ly kill ’em all and get your herd back as well if you had some help,” the girl said. “Yeah. But I ain’t got any,” Morgan said.
“You do now, Morgan Barlow,” Anna Lee said. “I just reckon I’ll go along with you. I want to shoot a few more o’ them low-life sons of bitches myself. And I could help you with them cattle if we find ’em. Particularly if there’s only twenty-five.”
“I gave up on the cattle. And as far as dealing with them outlaws, I could probably do better by myself,” Morgan said. “But thank you just the same.”
“I can help you out!” she said defiantly.
“I think not,” Morgan said. “You oughta be in the house there crying your eyes out.”
“I already done that,” she said. “There ain’t no tears left now.”
Morgan slipped his rifle back into its boot. “It’s nice of you to want to help, but it ain’t a smart thing to do.”
“You’re forgetting something real important, Mr. Barlow,” Anna Lee said. “I know what they look like. Do you? I reckon not if they hit your place while you was away.”
“I’ll settle for going after anybody around my herd,” Morgan said.
“They might have sold off them cattle by now,” Anna Lee said. “If so, you won’t know one o’ them jaspers from anybody else.”
Morgan shook his head.
Anna Lee brought up the LeMat and aimed it at the stone chimney. “See that dark part near the top?” Morgan glanced up and could barely make it out. “Yeah. I see it.”
“Looky.” She fired a shot, the bullet splattering that part of the structure. “Pick out something else.” Morgan looked around. “Give that farthest dead man a head shot, Miss Anna Lee.”
She took careful aim, then fired. The rotted corpse twitched as the skull exploded under the force of the ball. “And I do know what the sons of bitches look like!” she snapped.
Morgan was thoughtful for several moments. The girl could be right. The rustlers might have very well already disposed of the herd. He spoke reluctantly. “All I want you to do is point ’em out.”
“Wait up while I get my horse and gear,” Anna Lee Pickett said.
“I’ll saddle your horse for you to save time,” Morgan said. “Where is it?”
“In the corral behind the house,” she answered. “The saddle is in the shed there. I’ll be right out.” She hurried through the ruined door.
Morgan went around the soddy. He had expected a plow horse, and was surprised to see a roan that looked like it might be a respectable member of a good outfit’s remuda. He found the saddle, blanket, and reins. Morgan went to work preparing the animal. By the time he finished, the girl was standing at the corral fence with a blanket roll and saddlebags. Morgan noted that she’d added a Henry repeating rifle to the LeMat as she joined him and attached her belongings on the roan.
“Where’d you get that?” Morgan asked pointing to the lever-action rifle.
“My pa was an unreconstructed Reb,” Anna Lee said. “The Yank that owned this didn’t agree with his opinions.”
“I assume there was an argument o’ some sort,” Morgan remarked.
“If you think o’ shooting your way out of an ambush and killing some bushwhacker as an argument, then I reckon they had a disagreement,” Anna Lee said.
“I served with Bobby Lee in Virginia,” Morgan said. “Was your pa in the army?”
Anna Lee shook her head. “He was mayor of our hometown. When the Bluebellies came, he was kicked outta office. That’s how come we ended up out here.”
“You didn’t work this farm with that roan, did you?”
Anna Lee shook her head. “Nope. We sold the Percheron we had on account o’ we was getting out o’ here and back to town living.”
“Sounds like your timing was off,” Morgan said. “Sure was,” Anna Lee said. She led the horse out and forked the saddle as easily as any man would. “Now which way do we go?”
“Back up to where they left the herd to come over here,” Morgan said getting into his own saddle. “I’ll track while you keep an eye-out for anybody that might want to put a stop to our little job.”
“I’ll do that, don’t you worry,” Anna Lee said.
“And when we catch up with them jaspers, you let me decide what to do,” Morgan said.
“I thought we agreed they needed killing,” Anna Lee said.
“They do, but you ain’t gonna help me out no more than to point ’em out,” Morgan said.
“Now just a minute, Mr. Morgan Barlow!” Anna Lee snapped. “They killed my kin too. You can’t forget that I lost a father and an uncle and you a brother, That’s two to one in my favor.”
“Just ’cause your loss runs deeper, don’t let you be the ramrod,” Morgan said.
“It gives me some weight,” she insisted.
“You’ll do as I say, Miss Anna Lee.”
“We’ll see about that! “
“You just bet we will,” Morgan retorted. He began to feel he’d made a mistake bringing her along even if she was the only one in the world who could point out the killers to him.
They rode back to the spot where the herd had been held up while the raid was made on the Pickett farm. Morgan pointed south. “They’re headed that way toward Mexico.”
“Then that’s where we’re going, ain’t it?”
“That’s it.”
The pair began tracking with Anna Lee keeping an eye on the horizon. She scanned in a complete circle, even jumping up to stand in the saddle now and then.
Finally, Morgan said. “You be careful. If that horse gets spooked, you’re gonna fall on your—” He harrumphed. “You’re gonna get throwed.”
“I been riding horses all my life,” Anna Lee said. “And I been throwed before too.”
“Anyhow,” Morgan argued. “It ain’t ladylike.”
“Let me tell you something,” Anna Lee said. “I am a Texas lady through and through.”
Morgan looked at her in the men’s clothing and hat. “Oh, you are, are you?”
“That’s right,” she continued. “And you’ll find out when we camp out tonight and ever’ night. You sleep on one side o’ the fire, and I sleep on the other.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And as far as my riding goes, I could show you a thing or two,” Anna Lee said. “If we find a bush or something, I’ll show you how I can jump.”
“No you won’t,” Morgan said. “We got work to do.” He decided that he definitely didn’t like the girl. He thought about ordering her away, but he knew damned well she either would refuse to go or would just trail after him.
“Can’t we move no faster?” she asked.
“No!” Morgan’s irritation came to the surface. “How come you wear men’s clothes?”
“I do a man’s work, so I’ll wear a man’s duds if it suits me,” Anna Lee said defiantly.
“You’d be a lot prettier if you dressed up like a girl,” he said.
“Pretty is as pretty does,” Anna Lee retorted.
Morgan decided it would be best if he shut up and talked to her only when it was absolutely necessary. The pair continued their quest in silence for most of that day.