The Drifter Page 11

The slow-elking party had made no great attempt at hiding their sign. Even so, with the short grass and everything, it would take a man who knew how to read sign to follow the tracks. Waco rode easily, his eyes on the way the grass was crushed down, the tips pointing in the direction the men travelled. He looked ahead at the broken country which they were approaching and brought his horse to a halt.

  ‘Boss-lady,’ he said, reaching down and drawing the rifle from his saddleboot. ‘You’d best head back for the spread, or get back to the rear of the bunch and stay there.’

  ‘Why’ she asked, bristling at his words.

  ‘They might be laying for us.’

  Braden swore under his breath. He’d not thought of the men they were following waiting for them in ambush. The girl, riding at the forefront of the party, would have formed the first target. She looked first at Braden, then at Waco, and without another word went to the back of the party.

  They followed the sign for about a mile, going slowly and with every member of the BM party alert for trouble. Then Waco stopped his horse looking down at the tracks with more care than he’d shown before. He swung from his horse to bend over and examined the surrounding area.

  ‘Tracks go on that ways,’ Darkie said impatiently. ‘Headed towards the Mormon country.’

  Waco looked as if he was going to make some reply. Then he stopped, swung afork his big paint, winked at Braden to prevent the foreman saying anything and rode forward. He turned in his saddle and warned the others to keep their fool horses set off the tracks as much as they could and rode on. He could see nearly every part of this business now and knew that it could become deadly dangerous if things went wrong.

  ‘Hold it!’ he hissed, bringing the others to a halt. ‘Keep the hosses here. Darkie, get them out of sight. The rest of you come with me.’

  The men obeyed Waco without a thought as to his right to give them the orders. They dismounted, allowing Darkie to lead their horses away and followed Waco as he darted forward following the line of tracks. Faintly they heard the sound of approaching horses and Waco waved to the sides of the tracks. The party split up, half going to either side and taking cover.

  Beth slid down behind the rock where Waco was kneeling, holding his rifle. She watched his face, seeing how old, hard and strong it looked. It was no longer the face of a friendly cowhand, but of a grim, masterful and determined man. She held down her interested and excited questions for the sound of hooves were coming nearer all the time.

  A dirty-looking Indian wearing cast-off white man’s clothing and nursing a Springfield ‘73 carbine that looked as if it might have been taken from one of Custer’s men after the Little Big Horn battle, came into view. Behind him came half a dozen soberly dressed, well armed Mormons, riding slowly but with some caution. They appeared to be following the same tracks as Beth’s party, but were headed in the opposite direction.

  ‘Hold it up, gents!’ called Waco as the men came alongside the ambush position taken by the cowhands. ‘We’ve got you surrounded.’

  The Mormons brought their horses to a stop, hands dropping towards their hips but freezing as they saw that Waco told the simple truth. The bearded man who rode at the head of the party asked:

  ‘Who be ye?’

  ‘We’ll do the asking, seeing’ how we got our guns lined,’ replied Waco. ‘I tell you, we ride for the BM. Light down and talk this out with us.’

  The Mormon made no attempt to accept Waco’s offer. They remained on their horses, with their hands resting on their guns. Their leader looked at Waco as the young Texan stepped from behind the rock, followed by the girl.

  ‘What do you here. This is close to being our land.’

  ‘Likely,’ agreed Waco. ‘But these rifles make us tellers, not askers. Climb down and talk, it’ll be easier on us all.’ The Mormon leader looked first at Waco, who lowered his rifle, then at the girl as she came to join him. There was no treachery planned, the girl showed that the Gentile cowhand was willing to talk. He would never have risked letting her come out if shooting was planned.

  ‘We will talk,’ he said and dismounted.

  ‘Put the guns down, boys,’ called Waco. ‘Now, friend. You tell me all about how you found cattle butchered, the hides gone and started to trail the men who did it.’

  The Mormon shrugged. ‘You appear to know as much about it as I do.’

  ‘Why’re you following these tracks?’ Beth snapped angrily. ‘They lead to—’

  ‘They don’t, boss-lady,’ Waco interrupted. ‘This lot’re pointing back the way we come, right to where I stopped and that great expert at reading sign, Mr. Darkie White took over the sign-reading for us.’

  ‘Texas’s right, Beth gal,’ Braden grunted. ‘I saw it but he wigwagged me not to say anything.’

  ‘Sure, our set finished and this bunch carried on, so I just kept quiet ‘n’ watchful, back-lining this lot. Didn’t know if we’d meet you gents, but I was on the look out.’

  ‘How did you know that hides were missing?’ asked the Mormon.

  ‘They took our’n. So I figgered they’d have your’n, too. Why’d a man who’s been slow-elking take the hides with him?’

  ‘Steer hides bring in money,’ Beth pointed out, pleased that she’d found a thing Texas did not think of. ‘And they wouldn’t want the hides to be found—’

  ‘Sure, they wouldn’t want the hides found. So they tote along the only one thing that’d prove they’d butchered your stock,’ finished Waco, even as the girl saw what he was getting at.

  ‘All but one of our hides was taken,’ remarked the Mormon. ‘And that one didn’t carry a brand,’ guessed Waco.

  His guess was a meat-in-the-pot hit. That showed from the expression which flickered briefly across the Mormon’s face:

  ‘How do you know?’ he asked.

  ‘Only reason they’d leave the hide behind. A green hide’s not light, they wouldn’t want to tote weight along that wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘These are strange doings, Gentile,’ said the Mormon thoughtfully. ‘How do you explain them?’

  ‘Figger that tonight there’s going to be some moving, or real soon. Your hides are brought and hid on the BM place and our’n turn up on your land. What I want for you—’ Waco stopped speaking and turned to the girl. ‘I’m sorry, boss-lady. It’s not for me to give orders.’

  ‘It surely isn’t,’ she replied, smiling. ‘But don’t let that stop you now. I’ll copper any bets you want to make.’

  ‘Thank you ‘most to death, ma’am,’ drawled Waco, and she poked her tongue out at him. ‘I want you to send two of your men to the BM with us, friend. And I want two of your boys to go to the Mormon place, boss-lady. Way I see it them skins’ll be hid close to the house both times, so there’s no chance them being missed by the law when they come.’

  ‘You are a man of intelligence, Gentile,’ said the Mormon. ‘There are many of your people, and of mine, who would have started to shoot as soon as they met.’

  ‘Somebody figgered on that, too. They allowed you and us’d likely all be following the sign, would meet up and start throwing lead. Which same’s why they left the gut laying out there in the open, boss-lady. They wanted men to find the cattle and fast. Hoped that we’d meet up with these folks coming to look for their’n and start to throwing lead.’

  ‘Who’d want that?’ Beth asked without thinking. She could have bitten her tongue off as soon as she said the words.

  ‘Boss-lady, I’m real wonderful, but I ain’t got to where I can work miracles just yet. How’d I know who’d be behind it?’

  Beth made a mental note that it was time Texas did some digging to teach him proper respect for a lady.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ve been following the wrong set of tracks—now I aims to get on the right set and follow them to the end.’

  Beth looked hard at Waco, listening to his soft drawled words. She knew just what he meant and did not like the sound of it. There were at least eight
men involved in the butchering, she guessed. If the ranch crew got on the trail and found the men there was going to be shooting, killing, and she did not want that.

  ‘All right,’ she said grimly, eyeing the cowhands. ‘Fun’s over. If you’ll tell off two of you! men, Elder, we can head back for the BM.’

  ‘How about me, boss-lady?’ Waco asked mildly.

  ‘Well, you can do as you like. But you don’t go after that bunch alone and none of the boys are going, or the Mormons. You’d need some help to get those eight men and you’re not getting it.’

  ‘Sure I need help. I’d need about two troops of worthless Yankee cavalry to help. But I wasn’t fixing to paint for war yet. I just want to find out where those slow-elkers are at,’ drawled Waco, then turned to the Mormon. ‘Can I use your Injun and take one of your men along with me to show them where—’

  ‘Take Joshua. he’s a good Indian. I would take your word for anything you find. Unless you want a man along also.’

  ‘Less of us the better. I’d admire to have the Injun to help read sign. It won’t be easy from where the two bunches met up.’

  ‘I’m going with you, Texas.’ said Beth in her most determined tone.

  Waco gave in. He’d not known Beth long but he knew that tone. When it came a twenty mule team would not budge Beth Morrow from her decision. He whistled and his paint came to him, Darkie followed, bringing the other horses with him. The young Texan mounted and waited until the girl told Darkie and Angus to go with the Mormons.

  The two parties separated and at the place where the two sets of tracks came together, Waco and the Indian stopped. Beth gave her orders to Braden, who left unwillingly. He knew the girl was in good hands, but wanted to get at the bottom of this mystery.

  Waco and the Indian dismounted, they examined the grass with care and then both mounted. They separated and started to ride in a circle, using the place where Beth sat her horse as an axis. The first circle was about a hundred yards in diameter. They met, shook their heads, then made a second circle fifty yards larger. The young Texan halted his horse, removing his hat and waved it. The Indian and Beth converged on him and he indicated tracks of a large body of men.

  ‘Old blanket trick,’ Waco explained, in answer to Beth’s question. ‘Spread down blankets, move the hosses on to them. Lay three more in line, hoss gets to the end, you move the first one up and spread it. The blanket spreads the weight of the horse and doesn’t leave no sign. It’s slow, but it works.’

  ‘But why did they do that—!’ began Beth.

  ‘Ugh! Plenty talking squaw you got there, white brother,’ grunted the Indian. ‘You not beat her enough.’

  Beth chuckled but Waco’s face flushed red. It was the first time in his life he had ever blushed and could not think of a reply. He started the horse forward along the tracks as Beth saw the young man’s face.

  They followed the sign on, leaving Beth’s ranch and heading across country. The girl frowned, she knew where they were heading. They saw no sign of human life on the ride and there were few cattle even though this was good grazing land.

  ‘We’re making for Mr. Von Schnabel’s ranch,’ she said.

  ‘He may be in on it then,’ replied Waco. He was puzzled, the name meant something to him. He was sure of that, but could not say where or when he’d heard it before.

  Beth nodded. She could see that Von Schnabel might profit from trouble with her ranch. The German had made her a good offer for her place, but she refused it and the subject was never mentioned again.

  ‘The house is at the foot of that slope,’ she went on.

  They left their horses. The girl took a pair of powerful field-glasses from her saddle-pouch and joined the two men as they advanced on foot up the slope. They flattened at the top of the slope and looked down at the Von Schnabel ranch house. It was much the same in appearance as the BM, the layout roughly the same, the house and the bunkhouse separate buildings. Several men lounged around by the corral and the girl focused her glasses on them. She gave her full attention to a bunch of men who were obviously not cowhands. One caught her eye and she felt a thrill run through her. He was a smallish man, wearing buckskins and moccasins. A black cigar was between his teeth, a mere stub and even as she watched he took it from his mouth. The gap between his teeth showed plainly as he laughed at some comment made by one of the other men. He extracted another cigar, lit it from the stub and smoked on.

  ‘The small man with the missing tooth,’ she whispered and gave Waco the glasses. ‘You wait until I tell Darkie and the others.’

  Waco studied the ranch with some care. He examined the men, seeing that they were mostly gunhands or skinhunters. He also saw the five men he’d caught on the attempted stage hold-up, but they meant nothing to him.

  Nodding to the others, Waco backed off. The Indian looked at him as they returned to the horses. ‘Tell the Mormons, red brother,’ he said. ‘We’ll go into town tomorrow and tell the law.’

  Waco and the girl left the Indian and rode across country, making for the BM ranch. It was coming on dark and the girl rode near his side. She brushed against him, her hand reaching for his. His arm went around her and lifted her to his saddle. Their heads came close together, their lips meeting in a long kiss. Then he shook his head.

  ‘This’s no good, boss-lady. You don’t know who I am, where I’m from, or any lil ole thing about me. I might be a—’

  ‘You’re the man I love,’ she replied. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

  The two horses moved on side by side, the girl in Waco’s arms. They talked as they rode, but the subject of steer butchering was never mentioned.

  The following morning Beth, Waco and Johnny rode for town. During the night Waco’s guess proved to be right. Three men rode up, leading a packhorse and carefully hid the Mormon steer hides in the woodpile at the back of the cook-shack. They moved well in the dark and it was almost a pity that Braden, Windy and the two Mormons watched their every move.

  It was late afternoon as they rode across the cattle-bridge over the Colorado and along the deserted street. Waco was feeling uneasy, his memory fighting to break through the fogs as he looked at the town. There was no one in sight on the streets who might finally have helped jolt his memory. The livery-barn owner was absent, so they tended to their horses, taking their time with it.

  ‘Best leave them in the corral,’ said Beth, looking into the barn. ‘All the stalls are taken,’

  The horses went into the big, empty corral and then Beth turned. Her face suddenly lost all its colour.

  Jack Hatch came walking around the corner of the livery-barn and she heard footsteps from the alley which lead from the street to the rear of the building.

  ‘Texas!’ Hatch yelled. ‘Turn and fill your hand.’

  Waco, unarmed, his rifle still in the boot on his saddle, turned to face the other man. Hatch grinned. Johnny wore a gun, but wasn’t good with it, the girl wore a .36 Navy Colt, rechambered for metallic cartridges, but she never showed if she could use it. This was the chance he’d wanted ever since the Texan beat him at the BM. With a grin which was pure hate Hatch dropped his hand, to bring his Colt from leather.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOME OF DRIFTER SMITH’S KIN

  THEY came from the east. Four trail-dirty, unshaven young Texas men afork leg-weary horses, riding by the rear of the Twin Bridge Saloon.

  Lynn Baker stood by the door and watched the four men ride by. What she saw worried her, for they were such men as she’d got to know among the fast guns of the Wild Bunch.

  The first man was a giant, even in this land of tall men. Even afork his seventeen-hand blood-bay stallion his great height showed. He was a handsome, very handsome, man. Under his costly white JB Stetson, now dust covered and stained, showed curly golden blond hair. The face, even with the stubble of a few days, was almost classically handsome, but it was a tanned, strong face with no sign of weakness about it. A scarlet silk bandana was tight rolled around his throat, flo
wing long ends over the costly, made-to-measure tan shirt. His brown levis were also tailored to him and his boots were expensive. Around his waist was a brown buscadero gunbelt, a true fast man’s rig, with matched ivory-handled Colt Cavalry Peacemakers in his holsters. He sat his plain Texas saddle with easy grace, a light rider for all his size. His bedroll and rope were slung from the saddle and a Winchester rifle’s butt showed from under his left leg.

  The second rider was astride as fine a looking horse as Lynn had ever known, a seventeen-hand white stallion. A huge, beautiful, yet somehow wild-looking creature, and the rider fitted such a mount. He was a tall, lithe-looking, black-dressed Texan. The stubble on his face appeared to make him look even younger than lie was. His face was innocent-looking, dark and handsome, yet there was a look about him that was both wild and alien. His black clothes, from hat to boots, offered no change in colour. Around his waist was a black gunbelt; butt forward at the right was a walnut-handled old Dragoon Colt and an ivory-hilted bowie knife was sheathed at his left. From his saddleboot rose the hilt of an exceptionally fine Winchester.

  The third rider was smaller than the others, not more than five foot six, she guessed. He was quietly dressed, inconspicuous, hardly noticeable in such company as he rode with. He was handsome enough, strong looking, with a black Texas style JB Stetson hat shoved back from a shock of dusty blond hair. His clothing was good, but somehow he did not show it off like the handsome giant, or the black-dressed boy. Not even the gunbelt, with the butt-forward, white-handled guns in the holsters, made him stand out any more. He rode a huge paint stallion not an inch smaller than the blood-bay or white. It was not the sort of horse one would expect so insignificant a man to be riding. Yet he sat his horse with that undefinable air which marked a tophand from the rest of the herd. From under his leg showed the butt of a Winchester carbine.

  The last rider was tall, as tall as the black-dressed boy; slim, pallid and somehow studious looking, even with the stubble on his face. Yet there was a lithe power about him that did not go with such a face. He rode a big black horse, his clothing that of a working cowhand. His brown coat had the right side stitched back to leave clear the ivory butt of the Colt Civilian Peacemaker in the gunfighter’s holster at his side.