Time grew short for Ward as he scurried back to the second old wooden building. Again he piled up dry material and constructed a fuse out of twisted cotton. As he finished darkness arrived. He struck a match and lit the fuse on the second building. He crawled to and lit the other fuse. With both fuses burning strongly he passed the dazed Scrum hand and bolted into the woods.
Ward's horse lifted its head as he approached. Ward jumped into the saddle. The horse loved to run and carried Ron Ward quickly to the edge of the trees at the far end of the Scrum ranch.
In the moonlight Ward saw small puffs of smoke rise from behind the two old buildings. He kept his horse close to the trees as he raced to the designated meeting place. There he remained on his horse and waited for the next part of the plan to play out.
Flames licked up the dry boards on the back of the buildings Ward had lit. Soon the fire shot up from the old wooden roofs.
The man preparing the evening meal in the cook house looked up from the potatoes he had been pealing. His eyes grew wide when he spotted the flames. He grabbed a wooden spoon and a large pot and ran out the door of the vacant cookhouse. He pounded the spoon against the pot and yelled, “Fire, fire.”
The riders at the far end of the ranch had already spotted the flames and raced back to the ranch. When he saw the Scrum riders race past him Once Dunn ignited the large pile of brush half a mile east of the ranch house and galloped off to join Ron Ward at the designated spot near the largest herd of cattle.
Barry Scrum ran out of his house and barked orders to the gathering crowd of men. “Get buckets and put out that fire.”
“Which one, boss?” asked a cowhand pointing to the giant fire blazing half a mile away.
Scrum growled and swept a hand towards a group of men on his right. “You four stop the building fires, and make sure you wet down the ground around them so they don’t spread to the other buildings. The rest of you put out the one at the trees.”
“It’s getting worse,” shouted a cowhand at the back of the group. “To the east.”
Bart Sheridan had lit in several places the long pile of brush. The night sky magnified the growing flames.
“Men, divide up and put out those fires before I’m ruined. Go, go.” Scrum grew agitated and leaned against a post on his veranda.
The men stumbled around for a moment. Some gathered buckets and splashed the water onto the now engulfed buildings. Within minutes they determined that the structures could not be saved and concentrated on dousing the small fires catching on the nearby grass.
The rest of the men grabbed shovels and raced to the two fires near the trees. While low, the eighty-foot long fire set by Bart Sheridan gave Barry Scrum the most concern. He could not tell from the great distance that it was well clear of the trees.
At the far end of the ranch Ward, Dunn, and the others busied themselves searching for Scrum cattle with clear signs on the brands that the steers had been stolen from the Cochran, Sheridan, or Kelly ranches.
A steer kicked at Tom Sheridan as he walked behind it. The hoof grazed the rancher's leg but did little damage. “Why you're one of mine. There's no call to kick at me.” He slipped a rope around its neck and pulled it out of the herd and into the growing collection of cattle in a small vale on the edge of the Scrum land.
Ward and Dunn, working on horseback, smoothly guiding six more steers into the group. Bart Sheridan sat on a horse at the top of a small hill watching for Scrum hands.
At the bottom of the hill the herd of cattle that had been stolen by Scrum grew to near one hundred head. They worked quickly and the herd continued to grow in size.
Bart noticed that one of the eight men battling the biggest fire climbed onto a horse and race towards the Scrum ranch buildings. This was the signal Ward told him to watch for. Young Sheridan pointed his horse downhill and raced toward the herd of stolen cattle.
Tom Sheridan rode up to Ward and Dunn. “Not bad. I'm guessing we have ten percent of that thieve’s herd.”
Ward watched Bart Sheridan approach and turned his attention to the building dark clouds above. A few drops had landed on him and he felt the moisture growing in the air. “Here comes Bart.”
Bart stopped in front of the Ward and Dunn. “A Scrum hand raced back to the ranch before the fire was out.”
Ward said, “I'm thinking Scrum and his men have discovered that the fires were just distractions. Time to move.”
The young Scrum hand jumped off his horse before it had completely stopped. He ran up to his boss. “We've got the fire under control, but there's something about it.”
“Spit it out, boy.”
“The fire is wide from a distance like this, it seems to be a thin row of brush well away from the trees. Not much chance of it doing much damage.”
Scrum looked at the two old buildings now just two piles of smouldering ash. The hot pieces of wood sizzled in the increasing rain. “Gather the men and get out to the herd. They're stealing cattle.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man turned to the handful of men standing around the burnt buildings. “Let's go check the herd.”
The other cowhands threw on their slickers and gathered near the barn where eight other hands saddled horses. The near dozen men raced to the herd in the now heavy, driving rain.
Ward and the others had quickly moved the cattle away from the Scrum herd and into a small valley. As expected, Donna rode out from the shadows. She and Ward rode side-by-side to the left of the herd. Dunn and Tom Sheridan stayed well back of the herd, rifles in hand. They watched for approaching trouble and were ready to deal with it.
Ward looked at Donna through the steady rain and smiled. “You sure you can get us to this secret meadow of yours?”
“Blindfolded,” replied a confident Donna. “It does go through some lowlands that will be very wet, though.”
The Scrum hands reached the herd twenty minutes later. In the dark they could not judge the size of the herd but saw some partly washed away hoof prints leading away from the Scrum ranch. The rainstorm reached full strength and quickly made the tracks more and more obscured. The riders knew the general direction and followed at a slow pace in the slippery mud.
Half a mile away, Donna Kelly held her hat brim down as the wind picked up. Like the others, she felt the slowing of the horses as the powerful animals strained to lift their hoofs out of the deep mud. The cattle slowed more than the horses, bawling into the wall of water as they inched their way forward. Several cows thought the effort too much and stopped. Ward, Bart, and Tom secured ropes around their necks and pulling them forward. Most resisted for a time but all eventually fought through the bog situated half way though the pass leading to the meadow. Any cattle left behind would lead Scrum's men directly to them after sunrise. Two hours later the last of the cattle were guided into the tree-lined trail leading to Donna Kelly's meadow. The deep tracks created by the horses and cattle quickly filled with mud and washed away. Soon the driving water filled the low-lying bog to over four feet, creating an area of water that no rider could cross. It's level raised by the minute. An hour later Scrum's men followed the tracks on the higher ground but lost site of the tracks in the lake-like lowlands. The water not only reached the belly of the horses but also loosened up the soil. Two of the Scrum horses bucked and hesitated. One stopped, all four legs stuck. The Scrum hands wrapped ropes around the stuck horse and tugged it loose by pulling it with other horses. Now lacking footing or a trail, all the riders returned to the higher ground on Scrum land. They rode slowly back to the warmth and hot coffee in the cookhouse.
In Donna's meadow the herd of cattle milled around the perimeter under the cover of overhanging trees while Ward and the others ducked into heavier cover. Tom and Once stood watch part way down the trail.
Both Barry Scrum and Paul Cook ignored the driving rain as they inspected the charred remains of the small buildings. The few remaining hot coals long put out by the pounding water.
“You thinking the same thing I am?” asked Scrum.
Cook focused on the black snake of burned cotton. “The fuse is simple, but effective. It led to the tinder-dry boards under the eaves on the side of the building away from the driving water.” Rain poured off the flat brim of Paul Cook’s hat as he cocked his head and looked at the barn thirty feet away. “If they wanted to burn you out they could just as easily set fire to the barn full of horses and hay and your house. It’s a diversion.”
“How many head?”
“The boys got out there within thirty minutes. If they weren’t picky I suspect they could have led off half your herd without a track remaining in this rain.”
“No.” Scrum shook his head. “They were picky. I don’t see them rustling, not them do-gooders. Those men should have been more careful when they covered up those other brands.” Scrum spat into a puddle. “I can't afford to lose any more cattle. Get the men to do a count.”
“It'll be tough in this weather.”
“I didn't say it would be easy. I'm paying them to work; get them to work.”
Cook gathered all of the cowhands and they met the ones already out at the herd. The footing in the low areas was treacherous. Twice horses balked at riding through the mud, one fell over when it quickly turned around. The rider splashed into the rain-soaked turf. As Scrum feared, his herd was depleted. The estimate was ten percent, or one hundred and fifty head.
Those one hundred and fifty cattle grazed peacefully under the trees surrounding the meadow. The group of ranchers rested under a heavy tree, free from the falling rain.
Once said, “I figure losing this many cattle will cut Scrum's profits in half.”
“He won't be happy,” added Tom Sheridan.
“That's good. A desperate man can make mistakes,” said Ward. “We'll just have to take advantage.”
Donna sat on some tree bows next to Ward. “So, you're not done with Scrum?”
“Men like Scrum don't learn lessons easily. He needs to be taught how to treat people. I aim to be the one to teach him.”
Once Dunn had been watching the trail leading to the meadow. He shook the water off his slicker as he walked up to the small fire under a big tree. “The rain has soaked the trail and washed away the tracks. The cattle are safe here.”
“That's fine,” said Ward as he turned to Donna. “This is your spot in the woods. Any other way to get someplace dry?”
Donna pointed to a narrow opening between the thick trees. “That trail will lead us to my family ranch. Ride takes about twenty minutes.”
“Lead the way, Donna,” shouted Bart and Tom together.
The group rode slowly through the winding trail. The Kelly house stood silently in the dark, wet night. Ward glanced at Donna several times when lightning lit up the area. She kept her head up and wore a look of confidence that impressed Ward.
Soon the horses munched on oats in the barn while hot coffee, bacon and eggs warmed the riders in the ranch house.
Donna Kelly sat in her usual chair at the table. She slowly sipped coffee as she listened to the others relive the events of the evening. Her eyes fixed on Ron Ward several times. He had worn the same smile most of the evening, even when pulling a cow out of a mud hole. Briefly they locked eyes. Ever the gentleman, Ward diverted his eyes before the others at the table noticed the unspoken communication. Donna built her own smile and looked shyly away.
The next morning the hot sun filled the meadow holding the cattle near the Kelly ranch. The steers had moved away from the shady perimeter and chewed the fresh grass.
The small ranchers, along with Ward and Dunn, wandered through the healthy cattle double-checking the brands. All had clear indications that they previously belonged to one of them.
“It sure looks like these are our cattle. Any idea on how we can make double-sure?” asked Tom Sheridan.
“There's only one way,” responded Dunn.
They selected one of the steers and led it down the trail to the Kelly ranch and into a building beside the barn. They slaughtered the cow and removed the skin. On the back of the hide the original Sheridan brand clearly showed.
“Right, let's sort them out and get them back where they belong.” Ward climbed onto his horse. “Make sure to renew the brands once they are back on your land.”
***
While the small ranchers sorted the cattle Barry Scrum sat on the prize roan he won in a poker game the year before. His expansive land stood before him, wet and cool. He quickly calculated that the lost cattle represented a loss of fifty percent of his net profits for the year.
He mulled over stealing the cattle back or riding in and talking to the sheriff. He eliminated both ideas. His mistake had been in hiring cowhand who didn't brand carefully. No, the cattle were gone. Still, he contemplated more options.
“Got it,” said Scrum calmly to his horse as he realized the answer to his lost revenue was locked in his safe at home. The big roan turned towards the white corral across from his house.
Paul Cook and Al Gregg leaned against the railing watching their boss approach. The heavy rancher climbed down from his tooled saddle and put his arm on the shoulder of his two most reliable workers. “Got a job for you two. I want you to find that Kelly girl and kill her. Once she's out of the way I have a note that entitles me to the family ranch and all the cattle. It should about cover my losses.”
“How do you want it done? asked Gregg.
“Don't care. As long as the authorities find the body and the death can't be traced to me.”
Two days later the clouds built earlier in the afternoon. Ward and Dunn patrolled on the low hills that divided the Cochran and Kelly ranches. From the high ground they had a good view of most of both ranches. Donna Kelly and Bart Sheridan rode up from the Kelly ranch.
Donna handed Ron a basket. “Here's some freshly made biscuits for you two. I gave Bart some of the books Pa had.” Donna patted her horse. “Storm here hasn't had a good ride in a couple weeks. I'm going to ride to the Sheridan ranch with Bart. I'll be back in less than two hours.”
Once already had a piece of biscuit in his mouth. “Be careful.” Crumbs flew as he spoke.”
“We will,” replied Bart.
On a heavily treed hill nearby Paul Cook and Al Gregg sat under a tall oak watching Donna Kelly and Bart Sheridan ride away from Ward and Dunn.
“It took two days of watching them, but now we have our chance.” Al Gregg sneered. “This should be easy. That boy can't outrun a bullet.”
“They're riding straight to the Sheridan place”, said Cook. “We'll take them at the top of the trail where it parallels the river.”
Cook and Gregg climbed onto their horses. They pushed their mounts to make it to the trail where it skirted the winding river.
They saw Bart and Donna about half a mile down the trail. Gregg walked into the woods and found a large thin branch. “Ha, this'll slow them down. We're too close to the others to use guns.”
Bart and Donna rode side-by-side down the trail. They drew close to the thicket of berry bushes hiding the two Scrum hands.
Gregg stood closer to the trail and heard the horses splashing through the puddles formed by the previous night's rain. The shadow of Donna's horses drew even with the bush, signaling Gregg to strike.
The whip lashed out. Donna’s horses raised its front legs in fright when the whip sailed past its eyes. Gregg swore when Donna fell backwards as the branch closed in on her head. She tumbled off the horse and crashed to the ground.
Her back landed on firm soil but her head slammed into a mud hole. She spotted Cook and Gregg out of the corner of her eye. She quickly closed her eyes hoping to convince them that she was unconscious.
“I got the girl,” shouted Gregg. “You grab the boy.”
“Got him.” Cook jumped out and took hold of Bart's arm. The tracker had strength and Bart winced as his foot strained in the stirrup against the pressure.
Bart felt his only hope was to ride. “Go, Topper,” yelled Bart. His horse burst forward, dragging Paul Cook for thirty feet. The tough tracker held on tight and Bart sank lower and lower to his left to increase the pressure on Cook’s grip with his right arm. At thirty feet a root grabbed Cook's left foot. Cook winced in pain and released his grip on Sheridan.
Thoughts of helping Donna Kelly filled Bart Sheridan's mind. He touched his six-shooter, of little use against the rifles of the two Scrum men. His heart sank knowing he could do nothing. Had Donna been able to escape? How well did she know the area?
Bart pushed the horse to its limit despite the winding trail.
Al Gregg raised his Winchester and fired off two round. This caught the attention of Ron Ward and Once Dunn who were casually riding to the Cochran ranch.
“It's trouble,” Ward said, “and it's coming from where Bart and Donna were riding.”
Their strong horses quickly bought Ward and Dunn to the spot of the shooting. Donna Kelly's horse stood quietly in a small clearing nearby. A few small footprints, clearly those of Donna, showed on the wet ground near the outline of where she fell. Two sets of larger prints were in the same area. Three sets of horse tracks led away from the area. One set at high speed. The boot prints of the man walking back to the other were staggering but clear.
Ward wore a grave look. “I suspect the two Scrum hands took Donna. I'm guessing Bart got away.”
Once shook his head. “We should never have let them go on their own.”
“It's bad. I think Scrum is desperate, too desperate to think clearly. If he harms Donna it'll be the last thing he does.”
The two friends steered their mounts down the narrower path. They moved quickly despite the overhanging branches and stumps. Twice they jumped fallen logs without slowing down. The path of the two riders turned northeast and followed a growingly steep cliff alongside a river.
“Easy now,” whispered Ward. “Too fast around one of these bends and we could face a wall of flying lead.”
The path remained unoccupied for the next quarter mile. Around the next bend Ward's hand shot up signaling Once Dunn to stop. Ward and Dunn dismounted and tied their horses to some shrubs.
Keeping low, they peeked around the corner. They saw the two Scrum hands looking up the face of a cliff on the opposite side from the river. Donna Kelly hung from rocks jutting out of the cliff, her feet just out of the grasp of the men.
“Get down from there,” shouted Gregg. “Heck, why don't we just shoot her?”
“Don't want to draw more attention to ourselves,” replied the experienced tracker. “She likes this cliff so much, when we get our hands on her we'll take her to the top and make sure she has a fall.”
Gregg cackled like a witch. “I like that. I sure do.”
“She's trying to climb, Ron. What's the move?” Once Dunn's voice was barely a whisper.
“Their attention is on Donna. Let's move,” replied an equally quiet Ward.
With guns drawn, Ward and Dunn moved slowly along the trail, keeping close to the thin shadow at the bottom of the cliff.
“Your time on Earth is done, lady,” said Cook. “Just come on down before we shoot you where you’re at.”
Donna again looked at Cook and Gregg. Her eye moved down the trail and caught sight of Ward and Dunn moving closer. She returned her focus to Cook and Gregg so she didn't give away the position of Ward and Dunn. “All right. Don't shoot, I'm coming down.” Donna turned sideways, solidifying the position of her right foot on the thin rock jutting out of the cliff. She bent her right knee so the two men ten feet below her thought she was about to take a step down.
Without warning she pushed off with all the power she could with her right leg. Both Scrum hands gasped as Donna Kelly's body sailed towards them, her arms spreading at the last second. Her forearms crashed into the faces of the two men.
Paul Cook, a powerfully built man, staggered backwards a couple steps, but stayed on his feet. His friend Gregg lost his balance and fell backwards. He and Donna Kelly tumbled down the bank leading to the fast flowing, deep river below.
Gregg and Kelly rolled over rocks and low brush growing out of the bank. Two-thirds of the way down Donna grabbed some brush as she rolled over it. The strain on her arms was nearly unbearable but she held on.
Gregg rolled to the water's edge, his legs in the water. He stopped himself by digging his fingers into the muddy soil. “Why you no good troublemaker. You almost killed me. I can't swim.” Gregg gripped the handle of his six-shooter and pulled it out of the holster. He aimed the weapon towards Donna Kelly. “Only a low-down skunk shoots a defenceless woman.” Ron Ward's calm voice floated down from the trail.
Gregg snarled. “You're getting yours, mister.” Gregg's gun fired twice at Ward as he jumped onto the slope and slid down the bank sitting up. The bullets sailed well over Ward's head.
Ward held both his Colts as he slid down the hill. Halfway down the slope he dug the heels of his boots into the damp soil. This brought him to a halt.
Again Gregg fired. This time the lead sang as it shot past Ward's face. Ward waited no more and fired. Both bullets hit Gregg in the forehead sending him flopping backwards into the river, his body lifeless. The body's silent trip down the river ended at a dead tree jammed in the river bottom.
Ron slid the rest of the way down the slope and embraced Donna. “Are you all right?”
“I am now that you're here.” Donna kissed Ron.
Ron and Donna grabbed tree branches as they climbed up the embankment. Near the top Ron pointed to Once Dunn and Paul Cook. “Looks like Once has had enough of that big tracker.”
Dunn and Cook squared off on a wider part of the trail, circling each other with fist at the ready.
Cook wore his usual serious face. “You might be big, mister, but I make a habit of winning.” With lightning-like speed Cook stepped forward and slammed two quick lefts onto Dunn's face. Dunn absorbed the solid punches, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The bigger man stepped backwards.
“Seems you're not as stupid as you look,” Cook told Dunn. “You back away and I won't hurt you no more.”
Cook had just finished his sentence when Once Dunn struck. Dunn dashed forward like a striking cougar, his right hand a blur as it plowed into Cook's stomach. He followed it up with a short left to Cook's cheek. Dunn smoothly stepped back again. He kept his fists up and his concentration solid.
“I'll give you that one.” Blood trickled out of Cook's mouth. He spat on the ground. “Yes, I'll give you that one.”
The two exchanged short punches designed to measure distance more than cause damage. Cook's foot slipped off a rock and his body sank to the left. Once Dunn moved in but found a fist closing in on his jaw. He swept it aside with the palm of his right hand but a short right caught him in the left ear. Dunn absorbed the punch and slammed three lefts squarely on Cook's nose. Blood poured out and Cook staggered.
Once Dunn stepped backwards onto slightly higher ground. Cook had faked that he lost balance once. Dunn felt no urge to get fooled again. As Dunn had thought, Cook was faking and struck quickly.
The smaller man bolted forward and wrapped his powerful arms around Dunn's waist and tried to drag the bigger man to the ground.
Dunn kept his legs spread and the men remained upright. His vice-like hand gripped Cook's neck and pushed his head back as his other hand pounded punches onto Cook's face.
Cook absorbed over a dozen blows before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his face a bloody mess. Dunn grabbed Cook's gun from his holster and emptied it. He tossed it in the air and it landed in the river with a splash. “Can't have a skunk like you shoot us in the back as we leave.”
Ron and Donna joined Once Dunn standing over the beaten Paul Cook. The Scrum hand wiped some of the blood from his face and staggered to his feet.
Ward walked right up to Cook and pointed at the body in the river. “All right, here's what we’ll do. You carry the body of that coward back to Scrum and tell him that this isn't over.”
“I'll look after Al's body, he was a friend of mine,” Cook's words were barely discernible through his swollen lips. Still, the tough man managed a smile. “You're a fool, Ward. You've got the better of Scrum a couple times but he always wins in the long run.”
Cook staggered down the trail to the gentler slope above Al Gregg's body. He dragged his friend out of the water and dropped him on the bank. He stared in the direction of the deep area of the river that held his six-shooter. He shook his head and picked up Gregg. He walked around the bend of the river towards their horses.