Mark of the Hunter (14 page)

“Cord!” Stony Watts replied, hardly believing his eyes. “Where the hell did you come from?” He paused to explain the obvious to Blackie. “It's Cord!”

“Damned if it ain't,” Blackie replied. “Watch yourself you don't catch a bullet. We've got three rustlers pinned down in the creek.”

“And they ain't stuck so much as a finger outta there,” Stony said. “I'm afraid if we don't run 'em outta there, they'll hole up till dark and slip out when we can't see 'em.”

Cord climbed on up to join them. “I swear, Stony, you've already run one of 'em out, you damn fool.”

“We have? How do you know?”

“Me, damn it,” Cord replied. “I was in that creek. Now I'll show you how to get the other two out.” He stood up at the top of the knoll and yelled out toward the creek, “Dooley! It's all right. You can come outta there now. The shootin's over.”

Totally confused for a moment, and still slow on understanding, Stony stared at Cord in disbelief. It took Blackie to state the obvious. “You mean that was you down there we was shootin' at?”

Cord nodded slowly. “You've got a strange way of treatin' folks who come to help you. That's for damn sure.” He watched the creek until Dooley and Birdie appeared on the edge of the bank, leading the horses up.

“I swear,” Link said, “it's a good thing ain't none of us a better shot, ain't it? We thought you were the bastards that burnt the line shack down.”

“I reckon,” Cord replied. “And it's a good thing I recognized Stony's big butt just before I pulled the trigger because I thought you three were rustlers.”

“Well, if that ain't somethin',” Stony crowed, finding the incident humorous now that no one had been shot. “I didn't think we'd ever see you again. Who's that you got with you?”

“That's Bill Dooley,” Cord said. “He's a good hand with a rifle. He came along to see if he could lend a hand. The other one's Birdie.”

Blackie turned serious for a moment. “You heard about Mike?” he asked.

“Yeah. I ran into Slick up at Rawhide Buttes in Wyomin' Territory. He told me, and that's why I came back—figured you'd need some help.”

“That yellow dog,” Stony slurred. “He didn't waste much time hightailin' it outta here when the shootin' started.” His scowl turned immediately back to a smile then. “Boy, I'm mighty glad to see you, though, and that's a fact. This bastard Harlan Striker just showed up with a few head of cattle, figurin' he was gonna take himself a herd offa the Triple-T. He brought in a bunch of hired guns to rustle our cattle and change the brands. Calls hisself the Roman-Three, and it don't take a genius to figure out where that name came from.” When Cord didn't appear to understand, Stony showed him. Using a stick as a pencil, he drew on the ground. “Here's our brand, the Triple-T.” He drew the brand, TTT. Then he drew one horizontal bar across the bottom. “Burn one bar across the bottom and you've got III, a Roman three. That's his brand.”

“It don't get much simpler than that, does it?” Cord remarked. “How are Muriel and Eileen gettin' along—you know—with Mike's death? Are they all right?”

“As well as anybody could be after their husband and daddy is shot down by a gang of murderers,” Stony said, bristling with the thought. “And Striker's got us outnumbered pretty bad. Ain't but five of us, not countin' Slop, and Striker's got fifteen men, and all of 'em handy with a gun.”

“I reckon he ain't got but thirteen now,” Cord said. “Some of his men jumped our camp last night.” Stony grinned when he heard it. “And with me and Dooley, you've got two more.”

“I'm likin' it better all the time,” Blackie said. “Maybe we've got a better chance of holding on to Mr. Murphy's cattle. He's over there in Ireland and don't even know somebody's trying to run him outta business.”

“This feller, Striker, knows what he's doin',” Stony said. “Mr. Murphy hadn't been gone but about a week when Striker showed up on our north range. First thing he did was to go after Mike. We figure he thought if he rubbed out our boss, all the hands would just take off and leave him to take over the cattle. When we didn't run, he just tried to pick us off one or two at a time till we all got too scared to stay. They got ol' Art Hundley when he was ridin' night herd, but Slick is the only one that run off scared.”

Cord looked back toward the creek where Dooley and Birdie were standing, holding the horses. Turning back to Stony, he said, “Get your horses, and come on down to the creek. I need to tell Dooley and Birdie what's goin' on.”

•   •   •

“What in the hell did you do,” Dooley asked when Cord came striding down from the knoll, “talk 'em into surrenderin'?” When Cord didn't answer right away, Dooley questioned, “You didn't tell 'em
we
surrendered, did you?”

“They'll be along in a minute,” Cord said, “soon as they get their horses. Then you can meet your new partners, President . . .” He glanced at Birdie. “Who'd you say?”

“Hayes,” she supplied, “Rutherford Hayes.”

“Yeah, him,” Cord said. Serious then, he told them how close he had come to shooting Stony in the back. “Maybe, if we quit tryin' to kill each other off, we'll have enough guns left to keep this fellow, Striker, from stealin' all Will Murphy's cattle.” He turned to see Stony and the other two ride up and dismount.

“I reckon we didn't give you much of a welcome to the Triple-T, did we?” Stony greeted Dooley and Birdie.

“At least it was a warm welcome,” Blackie added.

“Well, the only harm done was a lot of cartridges wasted,” Dooley replied, grinning, “most of 'em yours.”

“No matter,” Stony said. “We're damn glad to get your help.” He stepped forward and offered his hand. Dooley grasped it and pumped it up and down vigorously. When he let go, Stony turned and offered it to Birdie. He couldn't help wondering at the fragile complexion and soft hands of the boy. It caused him to look more closely into the frank open face staring back at him. “Dang, you're a girl. . . .” His voice trailed off. “I swear, I thought you were a boy.” Remembering his manners then, he quickly tried to back out of the hole he was in the process of digging. “Excuse me, miss. I just wasn't payin' close attention.”

“That'll be the first time Stony ain't paid close attention to a lady,” Blackie commented. “My name's Blackie, and this other feller's Link. We're mighty glad to see you folks, and I'm sorry we tried to kill you, but things has been kinda touchy around here lately.”

“That's right,” Stony added. “Ever since Mike was shot, we've pretty much pulled the trigger first and asked questions later.” He fixed his gaze on Cord then and motioned toward Birdie with his eyes. It took several times before Cord caught on and quickly shook his head. Stony nodded understanding, looked back at Birdie, and smiled. He was brought back to the problem at hand by Cord's next question.

“How are you handlin' the situation with the five of you against Striker's gang of outlaws?”

“The best we've been able to do is to have three of us watchin' the cattle as best we can durin' the day. We figured we'd better leave at least two men at the ranch in case Striker's men make a run at Mr. Murphy's or Mike's house. Lem Jenkins and Billy Atkins are stayin' there today. Of course, Slop's always there, so the three of 'em take care of the chores with Muriel and Eileen doin' a lot of the work.”

Cord thought about that for a few moments, getting the picture in his mind, so he could decide how he could be most effective. It seemed obvious to him that the first concentration should be toward reducing the odds. “When are they doin' most of the rustlin', at night?”

“That's right,” Stony answered. “So they don't make as good a target, I reckon, but they ain't shy about workin' in broad daylight, either. When they work in daylight, they keep riders out pretty far for lookouts—makes it pretty hard to sneak up on 'em to try to get a shot at 'em.” He shrugged and chuckled. “We thought we'd caught some of 'em without their lookouts this mornin' when we saw you.”

“I kinda got an idea that they keep a lookout on the ranch,” Blackie commented, “see where we're goin' in the mornin'. Then they go to some other part of our range and work on our cattle without havin' to worry about us showin' up.”

“Yeah,” Link piped up. “And if we all split up to try to cover more of our range, it'd be one man against however many they had in that place.”

Armed now with a pretty complete picture of how the attempted takeover had progressed since Mike Duffy's murder, Cord would have to think about how best he could be effective in the range war. The first thing to be done, however, was to take Dooley and Birdie to the ranch to get Birdie settled in with the other two women, and make Dooley familiar with the men he was to work with. Since the Triple-T was losing stock every day, Stony decided they couldn't afford to leave the section around the upper end of Blue Creek unguarded, so he suggested that Cord should go on to the ranch and get settled in while he, Blackie, and Link continued on.

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.”