Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (16 page)

 
          
“Not
a bit,’ responded Larry, and added the entirely irrelevant remark, “Say, Don, I
hope yu get her.’

 
          
“I
hope yu get sense, yu chump,’ drawled Green. “Do yu s’pose a girl like that
would look twice at me? ‘Sides, I ain’t got
no
time
for women. When this little tangle is straightened out, I gotta job that looks
like keepin’ me busy for a long time.’

 
          
“If
it’s one that two can tackle, deal me a hand,’ Larry said quickly.

 
          
“Thank
yu,’ said his friend, and meant it.

 
          
“Shucks!’
came
the ready reply. “I can keep my eye on that
foreman’s job thataway. S’long. It’s me for the hay.’

 
          
He
slid into the gloom, leaving the older man still perched on the rail of the
corral. Though he had not known it, the boy’s light words had left a sting
behind them. The cowpuncher’s eyes turned involuntarily to the still-lighted
windows of the ranch-house. Was it possible that a girl like that could ever
come to care for such a man as he? The idea seemed absurd, and yet he dallied
with it. The feel of her arms round his neck, though it had been necessary, and
he knew she had hardly been conscious of what she was doing, remained an
ever-present memory. The picture of a settled home, with a wife, and perhaps
kiddies, was a powerful temptation to one who had spent years of his life as a
wanderer, and alone. But he thrust it aside with an almost savage laugh at his
own folly.

 
          
“I’m
gettin’ soft,’ he muttered. “An’
there ain’t no moon neither
.’

 
          
But
he looked again at the ranch-house before he turned to seek his pillow.

 
          
THE
Frying Pan ranch lay to the west of the Y Z, the two ranges being separated by
a narrow strip of broken country difficult to cross. But there were one or two
gaps in the barrier in the shape of level stretches, one of them not far from
the cabin where Bud had been done to death. For years the desirability of
fencing these openings had been admitted by both owners, but nothing had been
done, though the line-riders cursed the omission almost daily.

 
          
The
Frying Pan outfit had been busy for a week or more rounding up a herd to be trail-driven
east to the nearest railway point of shipment. The result of their efforts,
some five hundred head of cattle, was now gathered on an expanse of good grass
only a few miles from the ranch-house, awaiting the final selection. It was a
still, dark night, only a few stars were visible, and the animals were settling
down contentedly. A lone rider, moving spectral-like on the outskirts of the
herd, was intoning monotonously an utterly unprintable ballad. Suddenly
came
the howl of a coyote, and the rider pulled up and
peered into the darkness. The sound seemed to come from ahead of him; a moment
later came an answering cry which appeared to emanate from behind him.

 
          
“Funny,’
he muttered. “Must be a couple of
‘em :
even a coyote
couldn’t cover the ground in time.
Them
sweet accents
didn’t sound just alike neither. Gimme half a chance, yu prowlin’ thieves, an’
I’ll hang yore grey hides on the fence.’

 
          
He
loosened his pistol in the holster and rode slowly on. Presently the blurred,
indistinct mass of another horseman loomed up in the darkness, and the cowboy’s
right hand instinctively went to his gun.

 
          
“That
yu, Lucky?’ he asked, and when no answer came, he added, “What’s eatin’ yu?
Ain’t afraid
yu’ll
catch cold in yore insides if yu
open that hole in yore face, are yu?’

 
          
A
low chuckle came in response and the blur waved an arm. A faint swish followed,
and ere the cowboy could dodge the danger a loop dropped over his shoulders and
he was yanked suddenly from his saddle. Even in the act of falling, however, he
snatched out his gun and fired two rapid shots into the air. A second later a
crashing blow from a pistol-barrel laid him senseless. Other riders instantly
appeared out of the gloom.

 
          
‘Grit
a move on,’ said one of them. “Cut out as many as we can handle an’ start the
rest in the other direction. We gotta hustle; we shall have the whole darn
crowd here soon, now this blamed fool has given the signal,’ and he kicked the
unconscious boy viciously in the ribs.

 
          
With
the expertness of men who knew their job the raiders got to work. A portion of
the now uneasy herd was separated from the main bunch and driven in a
north-easterly direction. It does not take much to turn a herd of contented
cattle into a torrent of mad, unreasoning fear, a fact the rustlers were fully
aware of. No sooner were the stolen beasts sufficiently far away than two of
the riders returned, and with shouts and flapping saddle-blankets soon
stampeded the already scared herd, sending it thundering olindly to the shout.
They had barely accomplished this when madly pounding hoofs brought another
horseman on the scene.

 
          
“Charlie, where in ‘ell are yu?’ he called. “
I heard yore
signal. What’s up?’

 
          
Then
he suddenly grasped that something was wrong, and with an oath, he jerked out
his gun and fired. The spit of flame stabbed the darkness, and one of the
raiders cursed. His companion, dropping his blanket, appeared to lift something
from his saddle and raise his arm. Then came a peculiar
twang,
and the cowboy gasped and almost fell from his horse. But the instinct of a man
who spends nearly all his waking hours in the saddle came to his aid, and
gripping with weakening knees, he whirled the pony and headed for the ranch.

 
          
“
He won’t never
make it,’ said one of the raiders. “Did he
git yu?’

 
          
‘Creased
my shoulder, blast
him !
An’ it’s bleedin’ like
blazers, but it can wait; we gotta punch the breeze. C’mon.’

 
          
Spurring
their mounts in the direction taken by the rest of the band, they vanished in
the night.

 
          
Meanwhile
the gallant little cowpony, with its almost senseless burden, made unswervingly
for home, and as though it understood the need for haste, never slackened speed
until it slid to a stop in front of the bunkhouse door. One of those within,
hearing the patter of hoof-
beats,
came out to see who
was arriving. His shout brought the others. The senseless form, drooping over
the saddlehorn, was lifted down, carried into the bunkhouse and laid on a
bench. One of the men raced to fetch the boss.

 
          
“Why,
it’s Lucky, an’ he’s got an arrow through his shoulder,’ cried one. “What in
‘ell’s doin’?’

 
          
Leeming,
the owner of the Frying Pan, hurried in. Who is it, an’
what’s
the trouble
?’ he asked.

 
          
“It’s
Lomas, an’ it shore looks as if there’s trouble aplenty,’ replied Dirk Iddon,
his foreman, who was bending over the wounded man.

 
          
Cutting
away the shirt and vest, he laid bare the wound, and disclosed the arrow buried
to the feathered end in the white flesh, with the vicious barbed point
protruding from the back.

 
          
“That’s
a ‘Pache war-shaft,’ he commented.

 
          
With
deft tenderness, he snapped the shaft just below the feathers and turning the
hurt man on his side, gripped the head of the arrow and drew it gently from the
wound, which was then sponged and bandaged with care and thoroughness which
would not have discredited a professional healer. Dirk had doctored many hurts,
and some community lost a good physician when he ran wild and drifted to the
West.

 
          
“He’s
shore livin’ up to his name, Lucky is,’ remarked he, regarding his handiwork
with satisfaction. “
Couple o’ inches lower
down an’ it
would’ve been through the lung. As it is, he’ll be as good as new in two-three
weeks. How the ‘ell he stayed on that hoss beats me.’

 
          
The
sick man’s eyes fluttered and opened; he made an effort to sit up, only to sink
back wearily. Dirk handed him a tot of whisky, holding it to his lips.

 
          
“Tell
us what happened, Lucky, if yu can,’ he said.

 
          
The
strong, raw
spirin,
and the sound of the familiar
voice of his foreman brought the cowboy back to consciousness, and gave him
strength to speak.

 
          
“Injuns,’
he said. “
Stampeded the herd.
They musta got old
Charlie. I heard shootin’ an’ bumped right into ‘em; think I nicked one.’

 
          
He
sank back exhausted, oblivious to the tumult his information had aroused. Every
man was furious, but the anger of Job Leeming exceeded them all. A shortish,
choleric man, his violent outbursts of temper had made “the impatience of Job’
a byword in the district. For the rest he was a square dealer and a good employer.
At the moment he was almost beside himself.

 
          
“Jump
to it, boys,’ he cried. “Hosses an’ guns for all o’ yu. Cook—where’s than
blasted cook? Oh, here yu are. Why in ‘ell don’t yu come when I call yu? Rustle
some grub, pronto, an’ then look after Lomas. We’ll get these murderin’ dogs if
we have to foller ‘em to the Pit.’

 
          
“Shore
we’ll get ‘em,’ said Dirk. “We’ll bring enough scalps to make Lucky a ha’r
bridle.’

 
          
In
less than fifteen minutes a dozen men were racing for the spot where the herd
had been. They soon reached it, and scattered to search for the missing cowboy.
It was Dirk who happened upon the huddled, prostrate form; at his call, Leeming
and the others came scampering up. The foreman knelt and examined the injured
man, his fingers encountering a sticky smear of blood across the forehead.

 
          
“Show
a light, somebody,’ he said.

 
          
The
flame of several manches revealed the extent of the damage.

 
          
“Roped
him an’ knocked him cold with a gun,’ stated Dirk. “He ain’t hurt bad—his head
must be made o’ granite, I reckon. I’ll do what I can.’

 
          
Under
his ministrations the patient came to, and in a faltering voice confirmed the
foreman’s theory of what had taken place. “I thought the blamed sky had dropped
on me,’ he said. “I shore saw all the stars there is.’

 
          
Held
in the saddle by another of the outfit, he was also despatched to the care of
Cookie at the ranch-house, and having attended to the wants of his wounded,
Leeming now felt that he was at liberty to take up his own affairs. Here a
difficulty presented itself. Even in the faint light of the early dawn it was
possible to see what had happened, and Dirk, who had been carefully scanning
the tracks, summed up the situation.

 
          
“They’ve
gone nor-east with a bunch o’ cattle, headin’ for Big Chief, an’ they stampeded
the rest o’ the herd in the opposite direction.
Chances is
,
they’ve left four times as many as they lifted. What yu aim to do about it?’

 
          
“We’ll
have to split,’ Leeming said. “Yu take five o’ the boys an’ follow the ‘Paches;
the rest of us will round up the herd. I’d come with yu, but we can’t both
leave the ranch, an’ yo’re too darned good at readin’ sign to leave behind. How
many do yu figure they got?’

 
          
“Tidy
bunch—near a hundred, I guess,’ Dirk replied. “Means one thing—they’ll travel
all the slower with that lot; we oughtta come up with ‘em, spite o’ the start
they got.’

 
          
“Shoot
every one o’
the durn
copper-coloured thieves when yu
do,’ snorted the other, adding a string of lurid oaths as he turned away to
commence the wearisome task of collecting the scattered herd. To describe him
as an angry man would be putting it very mildly indeed. At least a week’s work
destroyed in a single night, and all to be done again, to say nothing of the
probable loss of about five-score valuable beasts; for though he would not
admit it even to himself, Job had little hope that his steers would be
recovered. He knew but too well the wildness of the country, and the many
hiding-places it afforded a cunning predator.