Mike Grotten backed it. He lived with two cowhands and a Ute halfbreed named Pete who could do everything a white cowhand could do and better except speak English. His English was a living torture.
Mike didn’t like the set-up on his frontier ranch right at that moment and he hadn’t liked it all winter. He liked the fact that his brother had turned up with something like three thousand head of cattle, but he hadn’t liked the responsibility of wintering them. For one thing, he hadn’t been prepared and the cows had had to find their own food on the range. His hay would not have stretched to a hundredth part of a herd that size. So he knew some good beeves had died out there in the snow. These animals had never known snow. Maybe half of them were dead out there now. Sure they would drop some hardy calves, the cows that had survived, but that would not compensate them for the tremendous losses.
Another thing he didn’t like were the men Dice had brought in here. Mike was a man who liked comparative solitude and wherever he went now there seemed to be a Kansas bravo under his feet. When the first snows had come they had constructed some sort of a shack about fifty yards from Mike’s house. They had done it in a slovenly fashion under Mike’s tuition and they had lived in it like the hogs they were. They fed on a straight diet of cow-meat, because there was little else to be had. Mike normally shared his own shack with the two hands and the Ute ‘breed. Now his brother and his brother’s boss, Forster, were added. And Mike didn’t like Forster. Mike was no fool, but he was a simple and straightforward man, even though a not particularly honest one. Link Forster was too smooth by far for him, too educated. And Mike resented the way Dice meekly took orders from him. Maybe Forster had been his superior officer but that had been in a war that was over and done with. In Mike’s opinion Dice was twice the man Forster was, did twice the work and, in all justice, those cows out there in the snow were Dice’s, not Forster’s.
In appearance Mike was taller than his brother Dice, more finely made, but similar in the lines of his face and the way his hair receded from a high forehead. They had the same thrusting nose and the sharp way of looking at a man once he had their attention.
At this moment, early in the morning, Mike was standing at the window looking out over the sheltered valley which he had claimed for himself the year before. And meant to hold against all men. One day Mike was going to be big, the biggest man in the country.
Suddenly, he became aware of a sound.
With an exclamation he started for the door, opened it and ploughed into the snow of the yard. By God, it was true. What he had heard was the dripping of water. With eager eyes, he watched the water dripping from the roof of his cabin. He ran back into the house.
“Dice, Dice,” he shouted, “git yourself outa there.”
Dice’s face appeared over the edge of the high-drawn blankets.
“What is it?”
“Get into some duds and come see.”
Hastened by the urgency of his brother’s voice, Dice threw off his blankets and started pulling on his pants. Within a few minutes, he joined his brother in the yard. His face lightened.
“By God,” he cried, bursting out of his usually somber character. “She’s come. It’s a real thaw, Mike.”
Forster and the other three men came stumbling from the cabin. Forster looked like a man who had been handed a bag of gold when he heard the news. Being cooped up all through winter with what he judged to be a bunch of primitives had been almost more than he could bear.
“How long before we can get the cows out of here?” he demanded.
“Anybody’s guess,” said Mike. “A month, two months, depends on if this thaw holds.”
“But we can find out how we stand, how many animals have survived.”
“Sure. Feel like a ride, Dice?” Dice nodded. “Injun, catch up a couple of ponies and we’ll see if they’re strong enough to hold us.”
The halfbreed went to collect his rope. After breakfast, the two brothers rode out. It was hard going and the horses didn’t like it, the best they could do was jump their way through snow that came up to their bellies. It was a hard core for men and beasts and they didn’t cover much ground that day. However, they saw enough to know that the Texas longhorns, ever adaptable, had somehow managed to scrape some sort of a living from under the snow. Sure, a good many had died, but a good many had lived. Just the same, Mike reckoned that a good many had drifted south before the snow and were now down below either the New Mexico or Texas lines. The comparative warmth of the valley had kept those that had stayed. They were lean and almost gentle after their ordeal of hardship, but they were alive.
“Well,” Mike said, as they surveyed a bunch of animals in a protected rincon that was covered with no more than a foot of snow, “you won’t make your fortune out of this bunch, Dice, but then you didn’t make much investment in the first place.”
“How many survived is the question.”
“I could only guess.”
“Say it.”
“Fifteen hundred at the most.”
“Christ, the captain’ll act crazy when he hears this.”
“Who cares?”
Dice shot his brother a reproachful look. He didn’t like to hear his captain criticised.
“We’d best get back and tell him.”
They wheeled their horses and started back.
Forster was there to meet them in the yard, huddled in a blanket because he had no winter clothing. Even before they could dismount, he demanded: “Well, how’ve we done?”
Dice swung down from the saddle heavily. His face was somber.
“You ain’t going to be too pleased, I guess, captain.”
“What’s wrong, man?” There was a worried note in Forster’s voice.
“Well, Mike can only make a guess. It’s no more than a guess, remember.”
“How many do we have?”
“Mike reckons no more than fifteen hundred.”
Forster’s voice rose to a shriek—
“Fifteen hundred! You mean we’ve been through all this . . . you mean . . . My God, fifteen hundred!”
Mike almost grinned.
“They didn’t cost you nothin’,” he said. “It’s all profit.”
“Profit! Do you realise I have to pay all those men down there. A dozen men. They aren’t in this for pennies. When they’ve had their share, I’ll have nothing left.”
Mike did grin this time.
“And don’t forget you pay me for the range.”
“Pay you for the range,” Forster shrieked. “Pay you for snow and ice? You pay a man for grazing. You don’t call this grazing, do you?”
Mike thrust back at him—
“Maybe fifteen hundred cows have lived on my land. You pay in cash or kind.”
Forster went white, frowning, not knowing what to say. Then he demanded through his teeth: “How many cows?”
“We’ll say two hundred for me and you throw Dice’s share in with mine. He’ll leave ’em with me.”
“You bastard, Grotten. You think you have me over a barrel.”
The grin dropped from Mike’s face. Looking at him, Dice knew the word ‘bastard’ had done it. If Mike had been wearing a gun he would have shot Forster then.
“Take it easy, Mike,” he said. “The captain didn’t mean anything. It’s been a shock. I said he’d take it hard.”
Mike threw the line to the halfbreed, stared first at his brother and then at Forster before stamping off into the cabin.
“You shouldn’t have said that, captain,” Dice said.
“To hell with the pair of you,” Forster snapped. He turned to the corral, caught himself a horse, saddled and rode off through the snow down the valley. Dice was troubled. He had hoped to get through the winter without a show-down between his brother and the captain. He saw that the men who had been gathered outside the lower cabin were now making their way through the snow toward the upper. In their lead was Sholto. Dice didn’t move.
When Sholto was near, Dice said conversationally, “Well, Sholto, it looks like the thaw’s on us.” It seemed that all the men started to talk at once. From out of the gabble that went on, Dice made out that they wanted to know what was going to happen now.
He gave them a good looking over. They looked terrible. It seemed the only things they had kept clean during the winter were their weapons. He knew their guns would be well-oiled and their knives sharp. But, for the rest of them, they were an unshaven, dirty bunch of layabouts. Grotten hated the idea of sharing the dwindling profit from the cows with them.
He looked Sholto squarely in the eye and said: “Things don’t look so rosy, Sholto. Mike and I looked over what’s left. It’s been a hard winter. There’s been losses.”
“Losses?” Sholto growled. “What the hell do you mean-losses?”
“For God’s sake, man, you don’t think Texas longhorns can survive in this northern climate, do you?”
Cowdrey pushed up alongside Sholto.
“All we know is, we put a lot of work and riding’ in on this an’ we want somethin’ back for it.”
“You’ll get something back,” Grotten promised him. “But it won’t be as much as we hoped. It’ll be the same for all of us.”
Sholto said: “I bet it won’t be so bad for you an’ the captain.”
“You’re free to think what you like,” Grotten said. “But my advice is: wait till the snow clears and we can see what we’ve got.”
“How long will that take?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
There was some more talk and then the men went grumbling back to their cabin. Grotten didn’t like it. He felt sure there was going to be trouble. Mike came out of the cabin and stared after them.
“I don’t like the way things’re going, Dice,” he said. “I don’t like your damn captain and I don’t like that crew of hardcases. The sooner they’re off my land, the better.” He shot a hard glance at his brother from under his heavy brows. “Where do you stand if there’s trouble between me and the captain?”
Dice knew that question would come and had dreaded it.
“I don’t know, Mike,” Dice said. “I thought we’d come to this sooner or later. I’ve been with the captain a long time. You’re my brother. I’ll do all I can to prevent a clash.”
Mike looked fierce.
“All you have to do is get us our share and clear that bunch out of here.” He walked back into the cabin again. He sat on his bunk, building a smoke, wondering how much use his three men would be if it came to a showdown with the Kansans. Not much, he thought – they were outnumbered badly and they were cowmen not fighting men. It was the old story. If you want anything done properly, you had to do it yourself.
* * *
McAllister let the thaw do its work before he suggested that Sam try sitting a horse. The creek was full and free-flowing, full to the top of its banks, snow was falling from the laden trees, slowly color was coming back into the scene from their cabin. Black patches appeared on the ground; the black slowly turned to green; the first shoots appeared and the horses started to pick up as they ate their fill. They heard birds again, they heard the bark of deer in the timber. Sam didn’t need any second bidding when McAllister saddled one of the Indian ponies for him and gave the animal a preliminary ride. The little mustang kicked and sun-fished the kinks out of its back, then he was ready for Sam to ride. McAllister slapped the hull on the canelo and they rode out of their little rincon out into the big country beyond.
Every spring showed itself and men and horses felt good. The sky was clear and a weak sun showed itself. They rode slowly over a shoulder of hill and came to a deep wide valley.
They halted their horses and drank in the scene.
“Good country, Rem,” Sam said. “A man could raise cows here.”
McAllister pointed.
“Somebody did.”
Sam’s eyes followed the pointing finger. The Negro squinted to focus on a distant moving object. He made out the distant cattle, all longhorns, feeding slowly along in the valley below.
“They’s considerably gaunted down,” he said.
“So’d you be,” McAllister reminded him, “hoofing your feed from under the snow.”
“Look yonder,” Sam said idly. “An overslope.”
McAllister saw a small straggle of cattle come out from a thicket almost immediately below them. Perhaps a half-dozen animals, all busy filling their empty bellies after the hard winter. He saw that their ears bore the overslope mark, the same as that used by Colonel Struthers. Not a surprising coincidence; there were only so many earmarks. But he said, for some reason he didn’t understand, “Let’s ride down and take a look.”
They rode slowly down the slope and neared the cows. Suddenly, as one animal turned its left flank on broadside to them, Sam halted his horse and gave an exclamation of pure astonishment. McAllister saw it at the same time and also halted. The two men looked at each other.
Sam said: “Who would of believed it? That’s the colonel’s brand, all right.” The Flying S stood out bold and firm.
“There could be two brands the same,” McAllister said. “This is a long way from home. Different branding organisation.”
Sam thought. “They’re all marked the same.”
“Cow there’s gettin’ around to droppin’ a calf.”
“There’s some northern critturs here,” McAllister said. “See yonder. Bearin’ another brand, too.”
Some more cattle were drifting out of the brush. They bore an undercut earmark and a brand that looked like a Lazy G.
“What do you reckon, Rem?” Sam asked.
“I reckon these’re our cows.”
“Me, too. See that big brindle steer? I know him like I know myself. Did ever two fellers have luck like it? We winter in the hills and spent all the time thinking up ways of finding them cows and there they is not five miles off. It’s a Goddamn miracle.”
“Let’s get out of here,” McAllister said, “before we’re spotted.’
Sam reined his animal around and said: “Let’s go.” They rode back up the slope, found cover and surveyed the scene once again. They had a problem on their hands and they knew it. They’d found the cows, as Sam said, by a miracle. Now they had to get them back. Who had possession of them? Was it the men who had stolen them? How strong were they? McAllister and Sam were in a weak position. There were only two of them, they were low on ammunition. It could be that they were faced by an impossible task.
“So what do we do now?” Sam wanted to know. “Get the law?”
“Do you know if there’s any in this neck of the woods?”
“No, I reckon I don’t. But I have ole Boss’s papers on me. I can prove the cows is the colonel’s.”
“Well, that’s somethin’.”
They discussed their problem a little, then rode north along the rim of the valley, keeping to the best cover they could find, watching the valley, finding more and more cattle as they went. McAllister wished he had glasses with him so that he could see their brands. An hour later they came in sight of smoke and a little later spotted a cabin nestling down in the timber. A short way off was another structure also with smoke coming from it.
“We don’t know that the cows belong to the houses,” McAllister said, “but the chances are they do.”
They tied their animals and went down a little to have a closer view. In the next hour, they learned that there were at least a dozen men down there. That seemed to make their minds up. No outfit this size would carry so many men normally. It seemed conclusive that here were the men who had stolen the herd. This was the secret hangout of the Jayhawkers.
“Wa-al,” McAllister opined, “I reckon we found ’em, Sam.”
They went back to their horses and rode home. When they ate their meal that evening, Sam said: “I don’t know what the hell we do now, but I reckon we just don’t go in there an’ brace them jaspers.’
“No,” said McAllister. “But it don’t mean we can’t whittle ’em down some.”
Sam gave him a look.
“You aim to do somethin’ crazy?” he said softly.
“Yes,” McAllister told him, “that’s what I aim to do. Surprisin’ how often bein’ crazy pays off. Thing is the other feller always expects you to act sensible.”
Sam said a little dubiously: “Feller could git hisself killed dead bein’ overly crazy.”
McAllister nodded.
“It could turn out that way, but all he has to do is not get in the way of no bullets.”
Sam didn’t look convinced.