Eileen Duffy walked out to the porch when she heard Billy Atkins’s shrill whistle from the hayloft in the barn announcing riders approaching the front gate. Nowadays it could mean a raiding party as well as guests calling. She shielded her eyes from the late-afternoon sun to pick out the three figures approaching the gate from the north. At first, she did not recognize any of the three, but as they came closer, she took a longer look at the one in the middle, and she was certain that she had seen someone who sat a saddle the way he did. Tall, but sitting easy and relaxed as his body rolled rhythmically with the lazy lope of the bay horse he rode, it could be only one person. Lem had told her that Cord would return, but she had found it difficult to believe that he actually would.
Behind her, her mother stepped out on the porch to see. “Who is it?” Muriel asked.
“Cord Malone,” Eileen replied, taking care not to show any emotion. “Looks like he’s finished that important business he said he had to fix, and he’s got somebody with him.”
“I declare,” Muriel said, “I never thought we’d see him around here again, but thank the Lord he’s back. Stony and Lem need all the help they can get.”
Standing at the corner of the corral, Lem Jenkins peered out toward the gate, having also heard Billy whistle. His eyes not as sharp as Eileen’s, he squinted in an effort to identify their visitors. In another minute, he recognized the rider between the other two, and he made no effort to hide his emotions. His face broke out in a wide grin, happy to see the troubled young man who had left the Triple-T on a trail of bitter vengeance. He did not recognize the two with him, but two more guns would surely be welcome. He walked out a few yards in front of the corral to be sure Cord saw him. Up at the house, Eileen saw the three riders turn toward the corral and Lem, instead of coming directly to the porch where she and her mother stood. Registering slight irritation at that, she turned to her mother and said, “I’m going to the barn. I wanna know if they’ve come to help, or just blowing through like the useless tumbleweeds most of them are.”
“I’m going with you,” Muriel said. “I want to know, too.” She followed Eileen down the steps. The two women arrived at the corral to join Lem at the same time Cord and his friends pulled up at the corral. Billy Atkins joined them a minute or two later.
“Danged if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes,” Lem greeted Cord.
“Heard you were havin’ some trouble,” Cord replied, then immediately shifted his attention toward Muriel and Eileen. “I’m right sorry to hear about Mike. He was a good man.”
“I hope you’ve come back to help,” Muriel said. “Lem and the boys are doing the best they can to keep the Triple-T from being stolen right out from under us, but they’re up against a vicious gang of murderers.”
“I have, ma’am,” Cord said. “I’ve come back to do what I can to help, and I brought Bill Dooley and Birdie Summer with me.” He glanced at Eileen to find her gazing intently at him, only to avert her eyes when they met his.
Lem didn’t allow him time to think about Eileen’s lack of a greeting. “Well, partner, I knew somewhere along the line you’d show up here again, and I’m mighty glad to see you.”
“I had to return your rifle,” Cord said.
“Well, step down,” Lem said. “Did you take care of that thing you left here for?”
“No, but that can wait till we take care of the problem we have here right now.” He and his two friends dismounted. Lem and Billy both stepped forward to shake hands with the new arrivals. “I reckon we’d best unload some of this jerky and supplies we’re haulin’ on our saddles. Dooley and I can go grab a bed in the bunkhouse.” He turned again to Muriel. “I’d be obliged if Birdie could stay in the house with you and Eileen, ma’am.”
His request was met with looks of astonishment from mother and daughter. Eileen responded, “Why can’t he stay in the bunkhouse?”
“It wouldn’t do,” Cord replied. “Birdie’s a girl.”
His simple statement caused all four of the Triple-T to turn in surprise to stare at the now embarrassed young woman. Muriel, as shocked as the others, still managed to quickly respond, “Please excuse our rudeness, Birdie. We were so busy seeing Cord again that none of us took notice of you and your friend. Of course you can stay in the house with us, and welcome.”
Dooley, seeing the awkward moment caused by Birdie’s appearance, was inspired to ease the situation. “Yes, ma’am, and I’m really an old lady. Have I got to stay in the bunkhouse with these jaspers?” The comment served his purpose, and everyone laughed.
One in particular took a much closer look at the blushing young girl. Eileen berated herself for not noticing at once that Birdie was female. At first glance, she, like the others, had thought Birdie was a boy, maybe a little frail, but short hair and a boy’s clothes were all she had noticed. Upon closer inspection, however, she now became aware of the fine, delicate features of her nose and mouth, her smooth face, and the soft blue eyes. Damn! she thought. She’s older than she looks and pretty, too. She looked quickly back at Cord, interested now in his manner with the young girl. Exactly what was their relationship? she wondered. There was no way she could tell by his actions, causing her to complain to herself, The same old blank expression on his face.
“I reckon I shoulda told you right off,” Cord said, feeling somewhat contrite for not pointing out something that he thought would be apparent, forgetting his impression the first time he had seen Birdie. “She’s already showed me that she’s handy with a gun, but it was just Dooley and me that figured on helpin’ out with the trouble with the Roman-Three. Birdie’s just thinkin’ about gettin’ to Ogallala, so she came along with us.”
“I’m not in any particular hurry to get there, though,” Birdie volunteered, “so I’d be glad to help out here any way I can.”
“Good,” Lem said, “Muriel and Eileen can probably use the help, and we’re always happy to welcome pretty young girls.” He hoped his comment would make up some for mistaking her for a boy.
“Here,” Billy spoke up then, his interest having been immediately aroused, “let me take care of your horse for you.” With a huge smile on his face, he stepped up to take the mare’s reins. “You must be kinda tired if you’ve been ridin’ all that way from . . .” He hesitated then, realizing no one had said where they had started out from.
“Rawhide Buttes,” Dooley supplied for him, “and she ain’t complained a whimper on the whole trip. Like Cord said, she sure came in handy with that six-gun she’s wearin’.”
She just sounds like the perfect little angel, Eileen thought, but to Birdie, she said, “I’ll help you carry your things up to the house. You can use my old room. I’ll sleep with Mama.”
When Eileen and her mother left to escort Birdie back to the house, Cord turned to Lem to be brought up to date on the situation with the rustlers. “It’s gotten to be pretty much a cat and mouse game,” Lem told him. “What the bastards are doin’ is splittin’ up and hittin’ the herd at night. Right now most of our cattle are feedin’ along Blue Creek, along the northern boundary of our range. So the rustlers will come down off the Roman-Three and cut into the herd, and we have to drive ’em off. But there ain’t been enough of us, so when we try to chase after ’em, some more of their gang rides in and cuts the tail end of the herd off, and so far we ain’t been able to stop ’em from drivin’ large numbers of our cows back to their range where they’re waitin’ to brand ’em.” He shrugged helplessly then. “We don’t know nothin’ else we can do. We just need a lot more of us to match up with their gang.” He nodded toward Billy. “Me and Billy will ride night herd up at Blue Creek tonight, when Stony and the others come in to get a little sleep.”
“Just the two of you?” Cord asked.
“Like I said before, there ain’t but five of us altogether, so some nights we have to ride shorthanded. With you and Dooley here, we’ll have a couple more to watch the herd—still ain’t as many as we’re facin’, but it’ll help.”
“Yeah, hell yeah,” Dooley replied at once. “We’re ready to go tonight.”
Cord thought Lem’s words over for a few minutes before deciding how best he should be used. When he was satisfied that he could be most effective riding alone, he told Lem and Dooley what he proposed to do. “If it’s all right with you, take Dooley with you and Billy, and I’ll ride alone to see if I can keep the bunch that tries to drive off the drags from the rest of the herd.”
“I ain’t sure that’s the smartest thing to do,” Lem responded. “You’d be in trouble up to your ass if they found out you were workin’ all by yourself.”
“Then I reckon I’d better be careful,” Cord said.
“I reckon it’s your neck,” Lem said. He liked the sound of one man out there working alone while the rustlers’ concentration was on cutting out part of the herd. He meant it when he told Cord it was a risky thing to do, but he had seen the determined man in action before. He might be successful in thinning out the rustlers, and that would greatly increase the Triple-T’s chances of saving their herd. “Let’s get you and Dooley settled in the bunkhouse. Then we’ll get some supper and head up Blue Creek.”
“That sounds good to me,” Dooley commented, “especially that supper part.” He was looking forward to working cattle on this side of the law, eager to see if he could successfully make the switch.
• • •
Halfway up Blue Creek, they met Stony, Blackie, and Link on their way back to the ranch. “Put you to work already,” Blackie called out when they reined up to talk.
“Lem don’t let new hires lie around the bunkhouse,” Cord answered.
“That’s a fact,” Lem said with a chuckle. “Gotta make sure they earn their bacon.”
They talked for a few minutes, Stony passing on any information of sightings of the raiding Striker gang. “Maybe you’ll have a peaceful night,” he said. “That sky don’t look too good, like we might get some rain, or a little more snow. Maybe Striker’s men won’t take a chance on the weather turning bad. The only folks we saw today were three coyotes snoopin’ around the old burnt-out line shack, and we pinned them down in the creek for a while before we let ’em go.” He laughed then when Lem didn’t get the joke at once, as evidenced by his frown of concern. In another second, Lem chuckled as well. “Like I said, maybe you’ll have a peaceful night,” Stony went on. “Ol’ Striker mighta gave his boys a night off to go into town.”
“I doubt that,” Lem said. “We’ll see you boys in the mornin’.” He gave his horse a little nudge with his heels and started out again.
Riding up the western side of Blue Creek, they came to a wide valley, bordered on one side by a low mesa and a low line of hills on the other. This was where they found most of the cattle. “It’ll be gettin’ dark before much longer,” Lem speculated. “Might as well build us a fire near the head of this valley. It’s as good a place as any. Then we’ll start takin’ turns ridin’ night herd. That’s the way we usually do it.”
When Billy and Dooley left to look for firewood on the bank of the creek, Cord told Lem what he planned to do. “I know it’d be good to have four of us to watch for rustlers, but I’m thinkin’ I’ll do more good if I ride on off alone. I’ll find a place across the valley in that line of scrubby hills where I can hide my horse and see what happens. Maybe I can catch some of ’em when they ain’t lookin’.”
“You be careful, Cord,” Lem warned. “These boys are playin’ for keeps.”
“So am I,” Cord replied as he turned the bay’s head toward the already darkening border of trees along Blue Creek. He asked the bay for a gentle lope after he crossed over the creek and began to search the rugged hills beyond for a spot that suited him. The place he picked was a narrow ravine that sloped up to the top of a ridge. The light snow that had fallen the night before was still evident in the shadow of the ravine, having been shaded from the day’s sun. It caused Cord to apologize to the horse for not building him a fire. “We’re both gonna have to stay outta sight for a while.” Leaving the horse tied to a clump of sage, he climbed up the ravine to the top of the shallow ridge, where he had a pretty good view of the valley in both directions. He expected the unwelcome visitors to come from the north since that was the direction of the Roman-3. Nothing to do now but wait, he thought as he pulled the collar of his heavy coat up around his neck. Shortly after darkness set in, the rain started, a cold, miserable rain that prompted him to break out his rain slicker and pull his hat down low over his forehead. Stony’s comment came to mind then, and he wondered if there was really much chance of the rustlers showing up on this night. On the other hand, he considered, it might be the perfect night to steal someone’s herd.
• • •
“Same place they was this afternoon,” Lou Suggs reported when he rode to the back side of the first of a chain of three buttes on the western side of Blue Creek and dismounted.
“I figured they would be,” Mace replied. “How many men?”
“Three,” Lou answered, “just like always. They’ve got ’em a fire built, and right now they’re just settin’ around tryin’ to stay dry, and most likely tryin’ to decide which one of ’em has to risk his neck ridin’ night herd.” His remark brought a few chuckles from the eleven men standing around Mace.
“Three,” Mace repeated. “Reckon it was that scar-face son of a bitch—the same three that shot Sykes and Bo?” He was still smarting a bit from having reported to Harlan Striker that he had not found the three that afternoon.
“Hell,” Lou said, “I couldn’t tell who it was. Couldn’t see that good in the dark and the rain and whatnot.”
“All right,” Mace directed. “It’s time to do a little cattle drivin’. Bart, take five men and go on down along that line to the last hill yonder. You know what to do. Get in behind the cattle and start the whole damn herd runnin’ toward the head of the valley. The rest of us will take care of those three settin’ by the fire.” He was tired of picking away at small portions of Willard Murphy’s cattle. It was time to go to war now, since they had brought in that hired gun, and time to kill the drovers and finish the Triple-T for good. In spite of Striker’s concerns about attracting the attention of the law, Mace was of the opinion that nobody really knew or cared if there was a range war going on in the empty prairie north of Ogallala.
In the saddle then, seven of the thirteen men started out along the base of the hills, circling around to come up from behind the three seated around the campfire. When within one hundred yards of the herd, Mace started the shooting, aiming his rifle at one of the three men around the fire. Because of the difficulty of aiming accurately while riding a galloping horse, he missed all three, but his aim was good enough to kick up a double handful of burning branches in the fire, sending the three men scrambling. There followed an explosion of gunshots as every one of the outlaws fired their weapons, starting an instant stampede.
Diving into the gully to take cover, Lem and his partners strained to see from whence the shooting came. In the chaos of the initial moments of the stampede, with the air filled with thunderous gunfire, it was difficult to determine the point of attack as all three tried to hold on to their frightened horses. But soon they saw the line of riders cutting into the terrified cattle, and they began to return fire. “They’re pushin’ ’em up the valley!” Billy cried out.
“Get after ’em,” Lem yelled, “or we’ll lose the whole damn herd!” But the rifle fire kicking up dirt around the gully made it suicide to even think about climbing in the saddle. The best they could do was to take what shots that were presented by the rustlers darting back and forth as they pinned the drovers down.
“By God, they ain’t just after the cattle. They’re out to kill us,” Dooley shouted. “If you’re gonna steal the whole herd, you ain’t gonna want no witnesses left to talk about it!” Unnoticed behind them, a line of six riders moved up from the rear of the frantic cattle—unnoticed except for one lone man.
Scrambling down the ravine to get to his horse, Cord thought the same as Dooley. He could see that the Roman-3 gang had split in two, with half driving the cattle, and the other half intent upon murdering the drovers. The thought hit him hard at that moment, one that had not occurred to him before. Although he had not known either for any length of time, two of those pinned down in that gully were the closest friends he had, Lem Jenkins and Bill Dooley. In the saddle then, he raced after the riders circling the gully, formulating his plan as he rode. In the chaos of dust kicked up by the startled cattle mixing with the now steadily falling rain, combined with the dark, it was difficult for one rider to identify another, so he would use that to his advantage. Selecting his first target, Cord pulled the bay up beside Lou Suggs.
“Keep throwin’ lead at that gully!” Lou shouted to him. “Don’t give ’em a chance to aim!”
“Right,” Cord answered and, with his rifle leveled at Lou’s gut, pulled the trigger, knocking the rustler out of the saddle. He kicked his horse hard then to catch up with another of the riders.
Bart Smith pulled up short when he saw a riderless horse gallop past him. He looked around him from left to right to see if he saw anyone on foot. “Who’s on the ground?” he called out to the rider catching up to him in the swirling cloud of mixed dust and snow.
“I don’t know,” Cord answered as he closed the distance between them.
“It’s damn hard to tell who’s who in this mess,” Bart complained. “You couldn’t recognize the devil himself if he was to ride right up to ya.” A few seconds later, as Cord drew up close to him, Bart was suddenly startled. “Who the hell are you?”
“The devil,” Cord replied as he pulled the trigger with his rifle leveled at him. He turned the bay’s head then and cut through the swirling mass of cows to the other side of the herd. He worked his way clear of the stampeding herd just as the leading cows reached Blue Creek. Circling back the way he had come, he almost ran into another rider, who was firing his pistol into the air in an effort to prevent the cows from veering away from the water. The rider yelled at him for help in steering the wild mass of beef into the shallow creek. It was the last sound he made on this side of the divide between the living and the dead.
Hunkered down in the gully, Lem, Billy, and Dooley fought to hold out against the circle of Roman-3 riders assaulting their position. The gully offered adequate protection from those shooting at them, but they were helpless to stop the theft of their cattle as long as they remained pinned down in the gully. Of the three, only Billy had been hit, having caught a rifle slug in his shoulder. Not so fortunate, all three had lost their horses to the outlaws’ bullets. Their plight was not all one-sided, however, for Lem and Dooley had each emptied one of the saddles. Both of the victims had been hit as the last of the crazed cattle had swept past the gully, leaving Mace and his assassins more easily targeted.
Realizing he was more vulnerable now that he could not use the swirling cattle for cover, Mace shouted for his men to go after the cattle and forget the three men in the gully. As he dug his heels into his horse’s sides, he encountered two riderless mounts trailing off behind the herd, casualties that had to have been caused by someone other than the men trapped in the gully. A new sense of alarm gripped him now, since he and his men had been unsuccessful in killing the three he had pinned down in the gully. There was someone else moving in behind his men, and the thought that he had ridden into a trap leaped to his mind. Maybe the Triple-T had hired on more than the three he had encountered at the line shack to fight the Roman-3. It came back to his memory that he had not remembered having seen any of the three before that day. He was sure he would have remembered the one with the scar across his forehead. How many more had Willard Murphy’s foreman hired? And how many of his own men were left? At this point, he had no way of knowing. Suddenly the thought of a band of avenging killers working their way up behind him and his men took precedence over taking a herd of cattle for Harlan Striker. Maybe it was time to think about staying alive and to hell with the cattle.
He whipped his horse mercilessly as he fled past the rear half of the stampeding cattle when they were slowed by the creek crossing, straining to see clearly in the cloud of dust, snow, and water swirling about him. Off to his left, he saw one of the riderless horses, which caused him to flog his rapidly tiring horse even more. Then all of a sudden a form took shape in the darkness before him, heading straight for him, appearing to cut him off. Mace didn’t hesitate. Whipping his rifle around, he fired, and the rider doubled over in the saddle as his horse bolted to miss Mace’s. In the confusion of the moment, while he struggled to control his horse, and attempted to cock his rifle, he almost collided with the other horse. As it veered away, so close that he could see the wounded man holding on to the saddle horn with both hands, he recognized Johnny Dukes, one of his own men. Stupefied, Mace hesitated a split second before pumping another slug into Johnny’s chest, preferring not to chance any of the others finding out who had shot him. His senses told him now that the raid on the Triple-T herd had gone wrong and saving his life was now the number-one priority. There was no need for further speculation. He wheeled his weary horse away from the cattle and fled along the tree line that bordered the creek. They had ridden into a trap. He was convinced of that now. There was nothing for them but to escape while they could, every man for himself. Striker was going to need more men to fight the added numbers of the Triple-T. A few dozen yards behind him, Ben Cagle saw him head toward the creek, and being of like mind, he set off after him.
The cattle were well up in the northernmost portion of what was considered Triple-T range by the time Cord caught up with the leaders. Keeping well within the body of the herd to keep from being seen by the rustlers, he worked his way up to overtake the outlaws attempting to guide the leaders. If I don’t turn them pretty soon, they’re gonna be off our range, he thought. I’d better work fast while nobody can see very far in this mess. With that in mind, he kept pressing forward until he finally caught sight of the point men. There were two of them, one riding alongside the lead cattle, the other about thirty yards behind him. Both men seemed inclined to follow the direction already taken by the frightened beasts, firing an occasional shot in the air to keep them moving.
Cord slowly closed the distance between himself and the rearmost of the two rustlers. With the air not so congested from the swirling dirt and snow as that in the tail end of the mass of churning hooves, darkness was the only cover he could count on. He was bent upon surprising the outlaw as he had the others, but the man turned to see him when he was almost even with him. “Ben?” he called.
“Yeah,” Cord answered.
“The hell you are!” the rustler exclaimed a moment later when Cord drew closer. With his pistol already drawn, he quickly aimed it at Cord and pulled the trigger to discover he had been careless in counting his shots while discharging his pistol into the air before. The last sound he heard was the dull click of a firing pin on an empty chamber before Cord’s rifle slug knocked him out of the saddle. Cord looked quickly up ahead at the man’s partner, but he did not look back at the sound of the rifle, evidently thinking it just another shot to keep the cattle moving.
The trick now was to get the lead rider to help him turn the herd back upon itself. Cord figured it would be a lot easier than trying to turn them alone, and he had already seen that the sound of a gun would not get the man’s attention. So he closed the distance between them slightly and began to yell at him. After almost a full minute of yelling, the rustler finally looked back at him. When he did, Cord immediately started waving his arm toward the right, yelling, “Turn ’em!” Without thinking to question the signal, the rider pulled up to the lead cow’s nose and began shooting around its hooves. Behind him, Cord did the same on the cows following close behind. In a short time, their combined efforts proved effective to turn the stampeding herd and head them back the way they had come.
Once the cattle turned back on themselves, they were further slowed down when they came to the creek again, this time heading in the opposite direction. It finally occurred to the rider ahead of Cord what had happened. He turned to shout at the shadowy rider behind him, “What the hell are we doin’? We’re drivin’ ’em back the way we just came!” When there was no answer from his partner, he pulled up short to wait for Cord to catch up. It was then that he realized that the two of them appeared to be alone, and there should have been at least five or six bringing up the rear of the drive. “Where the hell is ever’body? Is that you, Mace?” He didn’t wait for an answer, for in the next instant he saw Cord’s face. His automatic reflex was to shoot, but Cord’s rifle was already trained on him. He rolled out of the saddle as the .44 slug ripped into his midsection. Suddenly the valley was quiet, Striker’s remaining men having fled in the opposite direction from that taken by Mace, convinced that superior numbers had overwhelmed them.
Back at the gully, the three Triple-T cowhands realized it was safe to come out of their defensive position. The tidal wave of crazed cattle had swept past them and the shooting had ceased altogether. Even the rain tapered off. Lem did what he could to tend to Billy’s shoulder wound, while Dooley took his .44 Colt and put the two horses still alive out of their misery. “That’s just a damn shame,” Dooley lamented. “I was gettin’ to where I was kinda fond of that horse.”
“Well, we’re on foot now,” Lem said, “and I ain’t sure if we lost the herd or not.” He paused then to peer out into the darkness. “It ain’t gonna be too much longer before daylight. I wonder how Cord made out. There was a helluva lot of shootin’. I hope he didn’t get shot.”
“That boy has a way about him,” Dooley said confidently. “He’ll show up directly. Then we’ll find out what happened after we drove those bastards off.” It was a little while yet, but his prediction finally proved to be valid, for Cord called out to them from the darkness.
“Dooley! Lem! Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, we hear you,” Dooley answered. He turned to give Lem a wink.
“I’m comin’ in, so don’t go shootin’ at me,” Cord called again.
“We ain’t makin’ no promises,” Dooley joked, greatly relieved to hear his young friend’s voice again.
In a few minutes’ time, a large form materialized out of the darkness as Cord walked his bay gelding into the shallow valley, leading four riderless horses. He pulled up before them and looked around their embattled gully and the carcasses of three horses. “Damn,” he muttered quietly, then observed, “Looks like you fellers need some horses. I reckon it’s a good thing I rounded up these strays. We’ve got some cattle to drive back home, and I don’t know how good you fellers would be on foot.” Noticing Billy’s empty sleeve, he asked how bad it was.
“Ain’t nothin’ in it broke,” Billy replied. “The bullet musta just hit meat, but Lem made me stick my arm inside my shirt till we get back to the ranch where he can give it a better look. I can ride, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”
“Good,” Cord said, “’cause we need to get those cows movin’ back down Triple-T range. What’s left of those rustlers musta took off, ’cause there ain’t no sign of any of ’em I can see right now. But I don’t advise us to wait around to see if they decide to take another turn at us.” He released the reins of the four rustlers’ horses. “Pick you out a horse and we’ll go get our cattle.”
• • •
After following Blue Creek, which ran roughly north and south for half a mile, Mace veered sharply to the north, heading in the general direction of the Roman-3. It was not until he left the tree line that he became aware of someone on his tail. At once alarmed, he pressed his already tired horse for more speed, a command the horse could no longer obey. Instead of increasing its speed, the horse began to falter, finally slowing down to a weary walk, no matter the flogging and cursing it endured. Mace was forced to dismount, and he could hear the sound of hoofbeats drawing steadily closer. Frightened now, with the image of the man with the scarred forehead seared on his brain, he drew his rifle from the saddle sling again. Using the weary horse for protection, he laid the rifle across the saddle, stood behind it, and waited. In a few moments, the rider appeared out of the fading darkness, riding head-on into the fatal ambush. When the rifle spoke, the rider was hit in the chest, causing his horse to run out from under him, dumping his body heavily to the ground.
“Ha!” Mace shouted gleefully. “You chased after the wrong man this time.” To be sure of his kill, he pumped another round into the motionless corpse. Still not certain, he hurried to stand over the body, only to draw back in alarm when he discovered the lifeless face of Ben Cagle staring up at him in eternal shock. Shocked as well, Mace felt his knees go weak for a moment. He had killed two of his own men on this ill-fated night. His first impulse was to look quickly around him to see if anyone had witnessed his latest assassination, even though he was sure there was no one else.
It’s his own damn fault, he thought, anxious to excuse his acts of cowardice. Come riding up on me in the dark like that, he should have had better sense. The problem facing him now was what to do next. The night sky was even then melting away to a lighter shade of gray, and looking back over the way he had run, he could see no sign of anyone else trailing him. While deciding what best to do, he took a look at Ben Cagle’s horse. A sorrel with white markings on the legs, it was not in much better shape than his own. Both horses needed rest. He took another long look back behind him, wondering just how many men might be scouring the prairie on both sides of the creek with the notion of finishing the job they had started. “I can’t stay here,” he decided aloud, but he was not sure which way he should go—back to the Roman-3 to face Striker’s wrath—or strike out for parts unknown? It occurred to him that he had no idea how the rest of the men had fared, or how many had survived. Two he had done for himself, and he had seen two other empty saddles. Of course, he told himself, those two might have been casualties for the other side. It was all perplexing to the simpleminded outlaw, and for want of a better alternative, he decided to go back to the Roman-3 and hope their casualties were not as severe as he feared. He took the time to relieve Ben Cagle of his gun belt, which he hung on the saddle horn. Then he searched his pockets for any money he could find. Lastly, he took a hard look at his late partner’s hand-tooled boots, but decided they were too small for his feet. Feeling a little more secure, since there was still no sign of anyone pursuing him, he took the reins of both horses and started walking toward the Roman-3.
Far behind him the large gang created in Mace’s imagination had thoughts only of moving their cattle back to a safer location near the Triple-T headquarters. It was a task not easily accomplished by four men—one of them wounded. Events of the night just passed would be remembered and referred to by local ranchers as the Second Battle of Blue Creek. While not on a scale of the first, when army troops attacked a village of two hundred and fifty Sioux over twenty years before that date, the nine bodies found later were hardly insignificant.