Goodnight's Dream (A Floating Outfit Western Book 4) Page 5

  ‘I’m still going to the bar,’ the rancher announced flatly. ‘And I’m still too tired to walk around you.’

  Gulping down something that seemed to be stuck in his throat, Crutch moved hurriedly aside. Without even another glance at the man, Goodnight continued his leisurely stroll in the direction of the bar. Although a spectacular-appearing act, the rancher knew it to be comparatively safe. With so many men watching him, Crutch would be unlikely to take the chance offered by Goodnight’s back. Nor did he. Moving with considerably more than usual speed, the loafer passed through the batwing doors and into the night.

  The sergeant major let out a low sigh of relief, then nodded to a tall, swarthy, black haired member of his Battery. Finishing his drink, the soldier made for a side door and went out. If Goodnight noticed the incident, he made no mention of it. Instead he made a start at relieving the tension which he sensed still hovered in the background, caused by the nature of the song that had sparked off Crutch’s protests.

  ‘We’ve had Dixie,’ the rancher told his men. ‘Now let’s have Yankee-Doodle, shall we?’

  Led by John Poe and Rowdy Lincoln, the Texans roared out a lusty—if not over-musical—response to their boss’s request. Even Austin joined in. With the cook’s coldly menacing eyes on him, he could do nothing else. Their spirited rendering of Yankee-Doodle worked and the supporters of the Union accepted it in the right spirit. After which a good evening’s fun was had by all.

  For all his having taken a full share in the revelry, Goodnight was clean, tidy and barbered next morning when he went to face the Army’s cattle-buying commission. Nor did his face show the deep worry he felt over his partner’s worsened condition. Much as he had wanted to stay at the hospital in case Loving recovered from the coma, Goodnight had forced himself to attend the meeting. He had arranged to be notified if there was any change, then went to the building where the commission met.

  On entering the room, he found General Vindfallet—commanding the New Mexico Territory army posts—Colonel Hunter, the Fort’s commanding officer and the two majors from the previous day seated at a table. In the room also were two civilians whom Goodnight remembered having seen watching the herd’s arrival.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen,’ Goodnight greeted.

  ‘We understand,’ Vindfallet replied. ‘May I say how sorry we all are to hear of your partner’s decline.’

  ‘This’s Mr. Wednesbury and Mr. Hayden of the Mutual Land & Cattle Company,’ Hunter introduced, indicating first the taller then the second dude, who nodded their response. ‘Now, gentlemen, shall we get down to business?’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ Vindfallet answered.

  Blandly overlooking the comment, Hunter told of the Army’s future requirements. With some eleven thousand Indians on the New Mexico reservations to be fed, considerable numbers of cattle would be needed and the Government was willing to pay well to fill their requirements. Watching his competitors, Goodnight saw their faces register slight annoyance on hearing that only steers would be bought. He could understand their feelings, but knew that the Army had made a wise decision and one beneficial to the Texas cattle industry. Hunter’s mention of the price the Army would pay drove all such thoughts from Goodnight’s head. Long schooled in poker playing and dealing with Indians who could read correctly the slightest facial expression, Goodnight needed all his skill to prevent his interest showing.

  ‘That’s a fair price,’ Hayden remarked.

  ‘It’s a damned fine price,’ Vindfallet put in. ‘How about it, can you fill our needs?’

  ‘Of course,’ Wednesbury stated.

  ‘I can,’ Goodnight went on.

  ‘Will your partner be recovered sufficiently to do so?’ Hayden asked. ‘We’ve all heard of Oliver Loving’s ability in handling cattle; it is matched only by your ability as a scout.’

  ‘What you’re trying to say,’ Goodnight answered calmly, ‘is can I handle the drives without Oliver. I hope I don’t have to; but if the need arises, I can. I know the trail as well as any man and have had sufficient experience with cattle to handle them. Have you gentlemen similar knowledge?’

  ‘Our trail managers have. They worked with Jubal Early during the War.’

  ‘Didn’t you have some trouble last night, Mr. Goodnight?’ Hayden continued when Wednesbury stopped talking.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ the rancher answered.

  ‘You had to draw a gun on a man.’

  ‘That was no trouble.’

  ‘The man was objecting to your men singing Dixie,’ Hayden said.

  ‘That wasn’t why I drew on him,’ Goodnight corrected. ‘The incident was over, ended by two non-coms from the Fort, before he tried to pull a gun on me. I did no more than necessary to stop him shooting me.’

  ‘We’ve heard of the incident, Mr. Hayden,’ Hunter injected.

  ‘To save further questioning on that line,’ Goodnight went on. ‘I rode with Captain Cureton’s Rangers throughout the War.’

  Nods of approval came from the listening soldiers. The fame of Cureton’s Rangers had extended beyond the borders of Texas. Without their handling of the Indian situation, both the Union and Confederacy would have faced considerable difficulties with the various hostile tribes.

  ‘The War is over, gentlemen,’ Vindfallet put in. ‘Right now, our concern is not with who fought on which side, but arranging to supply beef for the Government. And deciding whether you can deliver it to us.’

  ‘We can,’ Hayden declared firmly.

  ‘So can I—’ Goodnight began.

  ‘We’ll have fifteen hundred head here by the end of July,’ Wednesbury interrupted. ‘All steers. And can follow them up at regular intervals as needed.’

  ‘Will you have sufficient cattle to keep up a supply, Mr. Goodnight?’ Hunter inquired.

  ‘In addition to my own ranch, I’ve an arrangement with John Chisum to fill my needs,’ Goodnight answered, wondering if he should go on with the scheme he had planned.

  Before the rancher reached a decision, there was a knock on the door and a young lieutenant looked inside.

  ‘Could Mr. Goodnight step outside for a moment, sir,’ he asked.

  ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ Goodnight said, standing up.

  After the rancher had left the room, the men looked at each other. Hayden coughed, then said, ‘Our men will be selected, not a pack of roughnecks.’

  ‘I haven’t heard any complaints against Goodnight’s crew,’ Hunter pointed out. ‘They were rowdy, but did no damage that wasn’t more than amply paid for.’

  ‘They’re rebs—’ the veterinarian put in, still smarting as he thought of how two of them had addressed him.

  ‘They’re civilians,’ Hunter corrected. ‘You can’t bawl them out and expect them to take it like buck-privates.’

  ‘I’d say the matter is not the behavior of the men when they get here,’ Vindfallet put in, ‘but whether they can bring the cattle in. The civil authorities can deal with how they behave on arrival.’

  Hearing the low mutter of approval from the commission, Wednesbury and Hayden knew their first line of defense had collapsed. Then the door opened and they waited for the resumption of the discussion.

  ~*~

  With a sinking heart, Goodnight walked over to where the post surgeon was waiting. The rancher knew what message the other brought, even before the doctor told him that Loving had died.

  ‘How was it?’ Goodnight asked.

  ‘He was in no pain. In fact he recovered consciousness just before he died. He asked me to tell you something—’

  ‘Yes—?’

  ‘He said, “Make your dream come true, Charlie”,’ the doctor answered.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Goodnight said.

  ‘Are you all right?’ the doctor inquired.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ the rancher replied and turned to walk slowly back in the direction of the room from which he had come.

  Thoughts churned at Goodn
ight as he approached the door. However, as he opened it, he reached his decision. It was the one to be expected from Charles Goodnight—whom the Comanches called Dangerous Man—and which he knew his dead partner would have approved of. While his scheme might sound wild and impractical, he felt certain that he could carry it out. So, although nothing showed on his face, he was seething with excitement as he returned to the commission.

  ‘If you want, we’ll cancel the meeting until tomorrow,’ Vindfallet offered on learning of Loving’s death.

  ‘No,’ Goodnight answered.

  ‘These gentlemen have offered to deliver fifteen hundred head to us by the end of July, Mr. Goodnight,’ Hunter said. ‘What do you say to that?’

  ‘I’ll have three thousand head here, by the first week in July,’ Goodnight replied. ‘And I’ll put up any sum of money you ask for as bond against my doing so.’

  Half an hour later, Hayden and Wednesbury entered their room at the hotel. Hurling his hat angrily on to the bed, the bigger man let out a savage course.

  ‘So Goodnight got the contract, Stu,’ Hayden said philosophically. ‘It could be good for us.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘When he can’t make it, none of those other beef-head bastards will try.’

  ‘Where do we stop him? Here, before he leaves?’ asked Wednesbury.

  ‘No thanks!’ Hayden snorted. ‘We’re going to use better men than that lard-gutted Crutch you paid to stir up trouble.’

  ‘How was I to know some damned blue-belly’d take the Texans’ side in it?’ Wednesbury protested. ‘At least Crutch had the sense not to come back here.’

  ‘That’s about all he did right. He didn’t start trouble with the Texans, or scare the cattle so that they ran and were lost.’

  ‘Maybe something stopped him from doing it,’ Wednesbury said.

  Only the word should have been ‘somebody’, not ‘something’. In return for their part in giving him a booster for arrival to Fort Sumner, Major Lane had told his sergeant major to make sure the Texans received fair treatment and were not troubled by the local inhabitants. Not only did the non-com attend to the former condition, he took steps to insure against the latter. When Crutch had left the saloon, he was followed by ‘Gypsy’ Smith of the Mountain Artillery Battery. At first the soldier had thought that Crutch intended to go home. When the man left town on foot, Smith followed and wondered what was taking him in the direction of the bedded-down cattle. Maybe Smith had never been a cowhand, but he knew enough about animals to figure what would happen if somebody started firing off a revolver close to the sleeping longhorns. Seeing Crutch draw his weapon, Smith had moved fast. Instead of making use of his Army Colt, the soldier had slid out his knife.

  Feeling the clip-point of a Green River blade prodding at his back, Crutch forgot his idea of stampeding the herd and laying the blame on a drunken Texas cowhand working off spite against the Yankees. He was aware, even without Smith’s comments on the matter, of his fate if news of the attempt became public. Being a realist, he knew his social standing to be low around Fort Sumner. Several people would be only too pleased to see him run out, if nothing worse. So, on being dismissed by the soldier, he had wasted no time in gathering his few belongings and taking his departure. He went without visiting the two men who had made him such tempting offers for his assistance in stirring feelings against the Texans.

  ‘Comes morning we’ll head for Throckmorton,’ Hayden decided after a brief discussion. ‘We’ll be there in time to decide our next move.’

  ‘What’s it likely to be?’ Wednesbury wanted to know.

  ‘Something better organized than anything we tried here,’ Hayden promised. ‘We’ll make damned sure that he never gets here with that herd of cattle.’

  Chapter Five

  You’ve Got Some Of My Cattle In That Herd

  ‘Now you’re quite sure that you can manage all right, Charlie?’ Mrs. Loving asked as she sat in the stagecoach waiting to leave the town of Graham, county seat of Young County, Texas. ‘If you can’t, I’ll—’

  ‘I’ve all I need,’ Goodnight replied hurriedly. ‘I only wish that there was more I could do for you.’

  ‘You’ve done too much for me already,’ the woman smiled. ‘With forty thousand dollars, I can live comfortably in Austin.’

  The forty thousand dollars represented Loving’s full share of the partnership’s money. Under different conditions, much of the profits would have gone to help with the fulfillment of Goodnight’s dream. Knowing the precarious nature of his scheme, the rancher could not ask Mrs. Loving to risk losing everything by sharing in it. Sure she would have agreed willingly, but Goodnight wanted to see her settled comfortably and with sufficient funds to maintain her family. With that in mind, he had turned over the money and planned to stake everything he owned to make his dream come true. If he failed, he had no dependants and could easily start again.

  With further assurances that he could manage and final condolences, Goodnight stood back and allowed the stage to move off. Watching its departure, he felt a touch of satisfaction at having done the right thing.

  After the coach had passed out of sight, Goodnight turned. The past was over and done with. Down in front of the Demon Rum saloon stood the future.

  Tall, heavily set, bald, John Chisum leaned against the hitching rail of the saloon and watched Goodnight walk towards him. It would be several years before Chisum attained his title of ‘The Cattle King’ but he dressed at the height of his fortunes in much the same manner as he did while waiting for Goodnight—like a saddle-bum. A cheap old Woolsey hat was thrust back on his hairless dome, while his cotton bandana, hickory shirt, patched levis pants and scuff-heeled boots were the cheapest money could buy. If he was noticeable for anything, it was the fact that he did not wear a gun, an unarmed man being something of a novelty in Texas at that time. Most of the time his face held an expression of disarming joviality calculated to make a person feel well disposed to him. Apart from his cold, shrewd eyes, he looked amiable and completely trustworthy. Most folk failed to notice the eyes until too late.

  ‘Got her off all right, Charlie?’ Chisum said.

  ‘Yes,’ Goodnight answered shortly.

  ‘Ain’t nobody can say you didn’t do right by her,’ Chisum commented. ‘Say, thanks for sending those four boys out to hold the herd while my crew come to town for a spell.’

  Although Goodnight had not sent his men to meet Chisum with that purpose in mind, he did not debate the point. Wanting to see Mrs. Loving started on her journey to Austin, he had given the arrival of the other rancher and cattle scant attention. With his late partner’s widow on her way, he had time to spare for the work in hand.

  ‘Let’s go out and look at the cattle, shall we?’ Goodnight suggested.

  ‘Well,’ Chisum answered in a hesitant manner, throwing a look to the saloon. ‘I was figuring on going in. The boys like to have ole Uncle John buy ’em a drink when they’re in town.’

  ‘There’ll be time for it,’ Goodnight stated.

  ‘Shucks, the herd’s held not half a mile out,’ Chisum said. ‘’Less you want to cut it right now, you can see it easy enough from the edge of town.’

  ‘I just want to make sure where it’s held,’ Goodnight replied. ‘Let’s go.’

  Neither of the ranchers noticed a rider coming along the street from the east, nor a man pointing them out to the newcomer. Walking in the opposite direction, they passed the building that housed the sheriff’s office and jail. While making for the edge of town, Goodnight raised a point which puzzled him about the other’s arrival.

  ‘Pitzer moved fast to pick up eleven hundred head and bring them here already, John.’

  ‘He’s a good boy and a fast worker,’ Chisum replied cheerfully; which was not how he had thought of his younger brother a couple of weeks earlier. ‘Cattle’re easy enough to come by.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Goodnight agreed in a noncommittal tone.

  ‘If your boys can
handle them, they might’s well take them out to your herd right off,’ Chisum suggested. ‘That’ll give ’em all time to get settled together afore we start the drive.’

  Halting by the last building of the town, Goodnight looked across the open range to where a large bunch of cattle was grazing under the care of his four men. He considered Chisum’s words, knowing them to have wisdom. The more time the steers had to become acquainted with his own stock, the less trouble there would be when the drive to Fort Sumner started. From the noise inside the Demon Rum saloon, few of Chisum’s hands would be ready to resume work that day. So his own men could either hold the herd where it was until morning, or ease it over to where the Swinging G’s bunch were waiting to start the journey.

  Although the men heard the sound of the approaching horse, neither gave it any attention. As Goodnight opened his mouth to say that he would have Chisum’s stock taken and added to his own herd, something happened to prevent the words being spoken.

  ‘You’ve got some of my cattle in that herd!’

  Anger crackled in the voice that sounded from behind the two men, sufficient to cause them to turn even without the implication of what had been said. Facing them was a girl, stabbing an accusing finger in the direction of the grazing cattle and glaring in a hostile manner at Chisum.

  Tall, slender, with a figure fast ripening into full womanhood, the girl made an attractive picture seated astride a line-backed bayo-tigre gelding. Her blonde hair was tucked under a battered white Jeff Davis Confederate campaign hat, the brim of which threw a protective shadow on to her pretty, tanned face. She wore a short rawhide jacket over an open-necked blue shirt and levis pants hanging cowhand style with the cuffs outside her high-heeled riding boots. Around her waist hung a military-style weapon-belt with a Cooper Navy revolver butt forward in the open-topped holster at its right side.

  At any other time Goodnight might have regarded the girl’s choice of clothing with mingled disapproval at its lack of femininity and appreciation for its charm. Her opening words, however, drove all such thoughts from his head and he slowly turned his eyes in Chisum’s direction. Something in the bald rancher’s manner gave Goodnight a hint of suspicion.