THE LYNUHING
CLAY ROBERTS, the stock-detective, slipped into Mescal quietly and was met by John Ringe and Coconino Williams. After leaving town with them, he dropped out of sight. According to the gossip in the basin, he was making his headquarters with Big John on the Santa Bonita.
Though the trouble that had been so freely predicted would follow his coming had not materialized, there had been no noticeable lessening of tension among the homesteaders and small ranchers. Even Harvey Hume and his friends, who felt that violence could and should be avoided, shared the general feeling that something would happen to end the uneasy calm. On succesive Sundays, following the service at Elder Whitman’s, the Mormon contingent had spoken of little else. Webb Nichols, and several others, had urged taking a firm and united stand and making their decision known to Ringe and his associates. The Humes had mustered support enough to defeat the proposal; but no one saw in this refusal to take action any reason for relaxing his watchfulness.
The weather had turned warm and the lower passes and the Ledge were free of snow. Usually, it meant an outbreak of rustling. But there were no reports of stock being run off. It was incredible, and to no one more than to young Harvey. “There’ll be rustling this spring, and we’ll hear of it any day, now,” he often told himself.
He was so sure of it that whenever he saw a neighbor riding in he fully expected him to be bringing that very news.
This afternoon, he was down at the milking corral, repairing the gate that an amorous bull had knocked down, when his uncle Virgil rode across the unfenced range that lay between their places. Being next-door neighbors, so to speak, they saw a great deal of each other. But Virgil had so little liking for the saddle that he always drove over, though it meant coming around by way of the road, unless he had something urgent on his mind.
He’s heard something! Harvey thought, as he waited. Virgil was so heavy it took a big horse to carry him. He grunted as he got down.
“Well, it’s happened!” he announced. “Caney’s done what he threatened to do! He’s brought in sheep!”
Harvey’s mouth lost its tightness. “I thought you had some important news—”
“About Roberts?”
“Yeh.”
Virgil shook his head. “What I’m tellin’ you is important enough! Where’s Caney goin’ to run sheep? He can’t put them on his own range unless he gits rid of his cows. He’s got as many head as I have, and less graze. I couldn’t put sheep on my place.”
“How he manages it is up to him,” Harvey declared complacently. “I know there’s feeling against sheep, but if he wants them, I guess that’s his business. He’s far enough away so that what he does won’t hurt us.”
“Harvey, how can you stand there and talk like that?” Virgil demanded irascibly. “You got good sense in you about most things. Why are you so dumb about this? You ought to know it won’t be no time before them sheep will be beyond bounds. They don’t want to swarm on that Government land between Caney’s and the Santa Bonita line! Ringe has leased that range, and he won’t stand for trespassin’. If they’re turned back in that direction, they’ll drift west and be on Nichols’s range. Whichever way they go, there’s shore to be trouble. And I mean trouble for all of us! I think Caney knows it and is doin’ it deliberately!”
Harvey began to see the matter in a more serious light.
“That could be his way of forcing our hand,” he said. “If Ringe’s punchers catch the sheep trespassing and club the heads off a bunch of them, some folks will get worked about it. I don’t know what we can do, Virgil; it would be a waste of breath to try to say anything to Shad.”
They discussed the matter at length. Both were of the same opinion as to what would happen if the sheep were driven on Webb’s range.
“He’ll go gunnin’ for Shad, shore as yo’re standin’ there!” Virgil asserted. “If he don’t git him the first time, he’ll keep at it till one or t’other of ’em is killed. I’m for Webb, first and last, in any argument he has with Caney. I reckon he can take care of himself. But if they start blazin’ away at each other it’ll be their own private fight, no matter how it turns out. That won’t be the case if Ringe gits into it.” The brawny man shook his head soberly. “Wait till Big John hears there’s sheep just across his line!”
“Caney knows exactly how Ringe will feel. It may make Shad a little careful. After all, Virgil, if he’s put what money he’s got into sheep, he can’t afford to have them killed, no matter what his game is.”
Virgil rolled his shoulders noncommittally and had no immediate answer. But after thinking it over, he said, “You may have somethin’ there, though he’s the kind who’s always ready to bite off their nose to spite their face. How’s yore mother?”
“She’s fine,” Harvey told him. “She’s been churning all afternoon. We’re getting a good price for butter. If I could get someone to help her, I’d buy some more milkers.”
Virgil nodded. “Butter shore brings in a few dollars. But I ain’t complainin’; we’re gittin’ ahead slowly.”
Harvey asked him about his family as they gathered up the tools.
“Ever’body’s fine, Harvey. Josie is goin’ back to school for the spring term. She’s the only one from down this way attendin’ at Willow Crick, so Mary has to fetch her back and forth. Four miles is too far for her to hoof it. Have you seen the new teacher?”
“I’ve seen her in town. She was in the drugstore one day when I was in. Mr. Stoddard introduced us. How is she making out?”
“Josie is crazy about her. She never wanted to go when Miss Krumbine was teachin’; now, she can’t git there early enough. From what I gather, this Stoddard girl has got the whole school wrapped around her finger.” Virgil chuckled. “Josie says that big lad of Caney’s and Webb’s boy Verne are sweet on the teacher.”
“If that’s the case, it may not turn out to be as amusing as you think,” said Harvey. “Mix a little jealousy and calf love into the hatred those boys hold for each other and you’re apt to have an explosion.”
They walked back to the barn and sat down in the doorway. They had been there ten minutes or more, when Virgil stood up to get a better view of the horseman who was moving over the road in their direction. The main road across the basin ran by Harvey’s house. Just beyond his place it put out one fork to the northeast and upper Willow Creek, and another in the direction of White Pine. As a consequence, he saw someone passing a dozen times a day.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s Frank Dufors. I thought I saw him goin’ by early this mornin’. I suppose he’s got somethin’ important on his mind.” Virgil’s tone was sarcastic. “Accordin’ to Webb, Dufors was all set to put Roberts in his place, but he didn’t git the chance to do any biowin’. Roberts didn’t bother to go near him. That must’ve burned Dufors.”
Harvey let it pass without comment. “He sees us,” he said. “Looks like he’s going to turn in.”
The deputy sheriff jerked a nod at them and jogged up to the barn. His manner was not too friendly. “Have you heard the news?” he asked, without getting down.
“What news?” Harvey inquired casually.
“About what happened at Parley Scott’s place last evenin’.”
Harvey and Virgil said no. Dufors regarded them with a smirking contempt. He knew the stand they had taken, and he relished being the one to reach them first with the news.
“It’ll make the two of you change yore tune!” he predicted. “You’ve got a lot of folks to believin’ there wouldn’t be any trouble if they just held in a little. You won’t git no one to swallow that after this. Roberts and most of Coconino Williams’s crew rode into Parley’s place about seven o’clock last night and took three men out of his house.”
“Rustlers, eh?” Virgil inquired calmly.
“Yeh, rustlers! But Roberts and that bunch didn’t have no legal right to bust into a man’s home. That’s what has got me riled. If they can get away with that they can do it to anyone. It could be yore turn next if—”
“Wait a minute,” young Harvey put in. “How did Roberts happen to know the men he wanted were hiding there? Some stock been rustled?”
“That’s what they say. Roberts laid a trap for Salazar, and the fool walked into it.”
“So, it was Mescalero Joe!” Virgil observed. “Who was with him?”
“A couple of breeds. Roberts was hid out in Little Cochinilla Wash and movin’ around just enough to let ’em know he was there. They got past him and cut out a bunch of Williams’s steers. They started hazin’ ’em up to’ard the hot springs so as to give Roberts the slip. That’s just what he figgered they’d do, and when they got to the springs, they ran into Williams’s punchers. They dropped the cattle and made a run for it, after some shootin’. Parley says Salazar told him they’d shaken off all signs of ’em, just about sundown. That’s why Parley agreed to take him in. I reckon Roberts joined up with the rest of the bunch, when he heard the shootin’, and picked up Salazar’s trail.”
The failure of the Humes to grow excited over his tale angered Dufors. “But I tell you again it ain’t Joe Salazar and the other two I’m talkin’ about! A man’s home is his castle, and even a law officer has to have a warrant, or purty near know what he’s doin’ before he can search a man’s house!”
His voice had risen so violently that it brought Harvey’s mother to the kitchen door. After looking out and seeing who was doing the talking, she went back to her work.”
“Is that what Roberts did—search Parley’s house?” Harvey asked.
“It’s what he threatened to do!” Dufors exclaimed. “And he’d have done it if somebody hadn’t found three hot broncs in the corral just then. Parley knew the jig was up, so he told Joe and the others to come out.”
The Humes digested his tale silently for a few moments. “You’re all worked up over this, Dufors,” said Harvey. “I don’t believe anyone else is going to take it so hard. It strikes me Roberts used his head. Someone could have taken a shot at Parley, or slapped him around; he knew he was sheltering rustlers who had been caught red-handed. He wasn’t hurt any, I take it.”
“No—o,” Dufors admitted reluctantly. “But it’s the principle of the thing that sticks in my craw!”
“The principle that you can hide a thief under yore bed and it’s nobody’s business?” Virgil demanded thinly. “That’s the kind of talk we used to swallow. It doesn’t go down so easy today. Mebbe Caney and some others will feel as you do about this business, but I figger it’s the best thing could have happened. It makes it plain enough that it’s the rustlers, not us, the Association and this man Roberts are out to smash. What did they do with Mescalero Joe and his friends?”
“I don’t know!” Dufors growled. “They rode off with ’em.”
“Wal, ain’t it yore business to find out? Yo’re the law.”
“Don’t try to tell me off!” the deputy sheriff snapped. “What do you think I been doin’? I saw Williams, and I had it out with Roberts. They claimed there was nothin’ they could tell me. Bill Rowan, Williams’s foreman, was the only one who’d talk. He says they gave Joe and his pals a good hidin’ and turned ’em loose.”
“You believe it?” Virgil asked.
“Not for a minute! Rowan and the rest of ’em are just puttin’ themselves in the clear. But it ain’t up to me to do anythin’ further till I got more to go on.”
Virgil’s smile was anything but respectful. “I figgered you’d be careful,” he observed dryly.
What had happened to Mescalero Joe Salazar and his two partners did not remain a mystery for long. The storekeeper at White Pine took a day off and went hunting. He found what he was looking for where Cochinilla Wash and Little Cochinilla ran together. It was a favorite thoroughfare for rustlers moving down from the Desolations and Hurricane Ledge to ply their trade in the basin. His story spread rapidly, and a score of sightseers went up to view the grisly scene. The flapping buzzards and circling crowd led them to the spot.
Webb Nichols stopped at Harvey’s place on his way back. He wore a grim look. “It’s just as Adkins said—the three of ’em hangin’ there in a row! You know that big cottonwood the lightnin’ hit a couple summers back?” Harvey nodded.
“That’s the place! It was a terrible sight! Parley got sick to the stomach and threw up.” Webb shook his head pessimistically. “I don’t know what we’re goin’ to do, Harvey! Some of us pullin’ one way and some the other. They could’ve strung Parley up as easy as not.”
“But they didn’t, Webb. That’s what you want to remember. We’ll be all right if we mind our own business and get the idea out of our heads that we owe these rustlers any favors.”
Webb regarded him closely, wondering if this was Harvey’s way of telling him he knew about the help Steve Jennings had received.
“Rubbing out that bunch won’t stop the rustling,” Harvey continued. “Salazar was just small fry; it would be different if Steve Jennings had been strung up.”
Webb tightened a cinch strap that wasn’t in particular need of tightening. There was cold hostility in his narrowed eyes when he straightened up. “They’ll never take Steve that way—not if he has half a chance to put his hand on a gun. What’s behind yore throwin’ him up to me? This is the second time you’ve done it.”
“Don’t get excited; nobody’s throwing him up to you,” Harvey replied, placatingly. “It’s well known that Steve was in the basin about ten days ago. Some of Ringe’s crew missed picking him off by inches. His horse was killed, and he was wounded. Somebody patched him up and gave him a mount. I’m not curious about who it was. In fact, I’d rather not know. But after what happened at Parley Scott’s, the man who befriends Steve, or any of his gang, won’t be making things tough only for himself but for all of us.”
He knew more than he cared to say. He felt he had gone far enough however. This was the first time he had talked with Webb since Caney had brought in his band of sheep. He had but to mention it to change the trend of the conversation immediately. What Webb had to say about the sheep was strong and to the point.
“Caney shouldn’t have done it,” Harvey agreed. “We’re all with you on that, Webb. Have you seen anything of the sheep?”
“No, and I don’t want to! The first time I catch ’em on my range, I’ll turn ’em back! The second time it occurs, I’ll kill every last one I can fire a slug at!”
Webb seemed to be well informed as to where Shad had purchased his sheep and how he had got them to his ranch.
“He went up across the Utah line to Lost Wagon and bought ’em from Hausman. I reckon the dirty sneak figgered he might be stopped if some of us got wind of what he was doin’, so he drives ’em in durin’ the night!”
Harvey had never seen Webb Nichols so aroused. The longer they talked, the more venomous he grew.
“By grab, I never expected to see anythin’ eye to eye with Ringe, but I’m with him when it comes to sheep!” Growling, he swung up into the saddle. “If Shad Caney wasn’t the skunk I been sayin’ he is for years, he’d never have done this!”
“It’s a raw deal,” said Harvey. “But you don’t want to do anything foolish.”
“Hunh!” Webb snorted. “I’ll do whatever’s required!”
Harvey finished his chores before he went to the house. His mother was cooking supper. She came from hardy stock, and though she was nearing sixty, hard work and years of struggling to make both ends meet had not soured her. What education Harvey had he had received from her.
“What was Webb Nichols so excited about?” she inquired. “Shad Caney’s sheep?”
“The sheep and what was done with those rustlers.”
Martha Hume had found life so stern that the lynching of the three men failed to disconcert her.
“It’s too bad such things have to be; but it was bound to happen, Harvey. The pity is that those who are really to blame will never see it that way. I mean Virgil and all the others who gave men like Joe Salazar good reason to believe they had a free hand with their thieving.”
She was far more concerned about the sheep.
“I’ve known Shad Caney for thirty years, and he’s always been a vicious, vindictive man,” she said. “The money he’ll make out of grazing a small band of sheep won’t amount to anything. All it will do will be to make trouble.”
“Virgil says Webb will kill Shad over this.” Harvey took a cooky from the jar and munched it thoughtfully. “I don’t like to say it, Mom, but that’s the way I see it too—unless Caney gets into trouble with Ringe first.”
“I don’t put much stock in that,” his mother declared, as she began setting the table. “I don’t believe that man is mad enough to risk a fight with John Ringe. As for Webb killing him, it could be the other way around as well as not. I wouldn’t put it past Shad Caney to have planned from the start to use the sheep as a bait to draw Webb into a trap. Thank the Lord, you’ve got a level head on you, Harvey! Trying to get along with folks is better than hating them and settling your arguments with a gun. I could never stand losing you the way I lost your father!”
Frank Dufors and the undertaker drove past the house the next morning. They cut down the bodies of the rustlers and took them into Mescal, where they were buried at county expense. Dufors indulged in a lot of talk about bringing charges against certain parties and asking for warrants. But he made no arrests, and everyone knew there’d be none.
It was taken for granted that word of what had happened at the entrance to Cochinilla Wash had traveled to the far reaches of the Desolations and the Ledge. There were some who said certain hardy individuals like Steve Jennings, Utah Sims, and Slick Carroll would feel called on now to make a raid just to prove that the fate that had overtaken Mescalero Joe and his two companions could not deter them.
If so, Steve and the men he ran with seemed to be taking their time about it. Though the big outfits had almost finished the spring branding there were no reports of stock being driven off. Harvey rode down to White Pine and had a talk with Eph Adkins, the storekeeper. Eph’s store was all there was of White Pine.
“I don’t hear nuthin’ special,” Eph declared. “Roberts comes in now and then. I reckon he’s watchin’ the store. He’s heard Steve and the rest of ’em sneak in here sometimes to buy a little grub. He’s a sorta friendly cuss.”
“I’ve never seen him,” said Harvey.
“No? Wal, he’s tall, gaunt, kinda youngish, and nice lookin’, yuh might say. Yuh don’t git much talk out of him, but he’s got a pair of gray eyes that bore right into yuh.”
It was Eph’s unwritten rule never to wait on a customer till the talk had been exhausted. As a result, little happened in Magdalena Basin that failed to reach his ears. But he kept a system of checks and balances on his conversation and always insisted on getting a little more than he gave. He brought up the matter of Shad Caney’s sheep and what was likely to come of it. He had his own opinion, which he kept to himself, and tried repeatedly, and without success, to draw out Harvey. He gave up in disgust, finally.
“If Webb is keepin’ his lip buttoned it’s all right with me,” he grumbled. “I figgered yuh might have heard what he’s goin’ to do about it. Let’s see yore list!” There were only three items on it.
“I kin fix yuh up with the flour and the nutmeg but I can’t let yuh have the molasses. I got half a barrel of the dang stuff and it’s fermented on me! Yore ma would fire it back if I sold it to yuh.”
Harvey had driven over. He carried the sack of flour out to the wagon. Eph followed with the empty molasses jug and the nutmeg.
“Get in!” he urged. “I’ll untie the hosses for yuh.”
“Eph, you’ve been around a long time and can size things up,” Harvey remarked. “Is there any grounds for thinking we’ve seen the last of the rustling?”
“No! Of course we ain’t seen the last of it! But Roberts has raised the ante, Harvey. That’s the only reason things is quiet right now. The game appears to’ve got a little too steep fer some of the boys.”