the Rustlers Of West Fork (1951) (24 page)

"An' it is time we were movin', all of us."

Hopalong got to his feet. "Let's go!"

Leaving money on the table, they went out to their horses. There was plenty of snow on the ground, but the air was warmer. Nevertheless, it promised to continue cold, so Hopalong led the way to a store where they each bought sheepskin-lined coats and gloves.

Hopalong restocked on .44's, as did Johnny. Mesquite had thoughtfully appropriated all the shells on the two men he had killed at Turkey Springs, so he had plenty of ammunition. With a showdown imminent and no time to waste, Hopalong led the way straight across the plains, pointing for Coyote Peak and the pass. The black was a good horse and somewhat rested, and he moved right out on the trail.

Mesquite and Johnny rode alongside, and three pairs of eyes swept the country from the high slopes of the mountains to the long, flat levels of the snowcovered plain.

South of them things were not standing still. Avery Sparr had returned to the Circle J in a driving fury. Framson, Byrn Lydon, Leven Proctor, and the Piute headed out at once and began rounding up cattle. All of them were pleased, although secretly. They were men of small imagination and the idea of stealing a ranch had been too big for them. Now that Sparr had relinquished the idea they all felt better because of it. Rustling was something they understood, and all were good hands when necessity forced them to be.

Moreover, they knew where most of the cattle were to be found and within a matter of hours had bunched a herd of several hundred head. These they started south toward the crossing of the Gila. If they could get this herd to Mexico they would have a nice stake coming, regardless. Yet it was Anse Mowry, on the ranch with Sparr, who voiced another thought. "That Cassidy come out here to pay a debt, didn't he?" he questioned suddenly. "Didn't Bizco say something about fifteen thousand dollars?" Avery Sparr turned his head slowly. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully, "he did, at that. But maybe he paid it to Jordan."

"Mebbe, but I doubt it." Mowry grinned wolfishly. "Fifteen thousand. That's a lot of money, Sparr."

The big gunman nodded. "Fifteen thousand!" he muttered. It was a lot of money. It was enough money to make him forget his failure here. And he wanted Cassidy, anyway. Suddenly he began to think.

Hopalong Cassidy would come back to the Circle J. He would most certainly come here, and while Avery Sparr had no doubts about handling him alone, he had no idea of trying it. No, the thing to do was be careful, lay a trap for Hopalong and let him blunder into it. Mentally he checked off the men he would have, and began planning their placement. As he planned, he felt a sharp feeling of satisfaction.

This time he would get Cassidy, and this time he would clean up all the loose cattle he could find without combing the breaks. But Hopalong Cassidy had upset his plans, and it was Hopalong he wanted.

The plan when made was good. In fact, it was foolproof. When Hopalong rode into the yard at the Circle J he would be finished, and no matter from which direction he approached, the path would be bristling with rifles. "How yuh like it, Anse?" he said, with satisfaction. "Perfect!" Mowry's eyes glinted. "Only one thing. If he's still alive when they quit shootin', I want to walk out an' fire the last shot! And I want him to know it!"

An hour later, with the men gathered around him, Avery Sparr quietly laid out the whole plan for them and checked every man on his duties. As he talked, Leeds, a dozen yards away, was unloading supplies, bought several days ago, from a heavy wagon, carrying them into the storeroom under the eyes of the Mexican woman. Fixing a piece of broken harness was young Billy Leeds. Passing by the corner of the house, en route to the blacksmith shop for a punch to make a hole in the leather, Billy overheard a few words. Stopping near the porch, he listened quietly to the talk, and then walked on. When he returned, he was bubbling with excitement. To leave now would be to attract attention and suspicion, not only to himself but to his father. This was the last thing young Billy wanted; what he did want most of all was to warn the man who had killed the Apaches on that day east of the Canadian.

He fidgeted and worried until his father noticed it and glared at him. "What the tarnation's the matter?" he demanded angrily. "If you got nothin' to do, help me with this stuff!"

As Billy grabbed a box and started for the storeroom with it, Leeds glanced at the dispersing knot of men. What were they about now? Whatever it was, it was no good to know about it. The faster he got away from the Circle J the better he was going to like it. Yet from Billy's actions and his suppressed excitement he knew the boy had something on his mind, so he hurried to get the wagon unloaded, and as they rolled out of the yard he turned to Billy.

"Now what are you fussin' about, kid? You got something on your mind." He spoke not unkindly, and Billy looked quickly at him. He was never sure about this man who was his father. Old enough to know the mission of the men who came and went in the night around the ranch, he also knew that his father permitted it. He was aware that nothing his father could do would make them stop, and although ashamed of his father for not standing up to them, he understood how he must feel. To stand up to them meant to die or get beaten, and after that, what would have changed? "That bunch"-Billy was not sure how his father would take it "they figger to kill Hopalong. I heard "em talkin" of it!" Leeds sat silent.

Cassidy had come to them when they needed help, and he had asked no questions, nor hesitated. Besides, he had already taken a hand in this game. "You know what they planned?"

"Uh-huh. I heard it all."

"They'll be comin' soon," Leeds said. "I doubt if they'll come by Injun Crick, although they may. We'll stop at the cabin corral an'

I'll git a horse for you. Then light out for that peak west o' Cooney Tank. From there you can watch all three trails. When you spot "em-an" be sure it's them-ride like blazes an' head "em off. But mind you, son, don't rush up on 'em sudden. Not them kind of fellers. You're liable to git your stomach full of lead."

"How will I see from up there?" Billy protested. "It's too far!" "Not with this it ain't."

Leeds drew a long marine telescope from under the seat. "Sparr give me this to watch for riders who might be needin" horses fast, so I'd have "em ready. Now we'll put it to some good use. But mind you, son, watch out for any of Sparr's fellers.

They'd shoot you quicker'n a wink!"

How does news travel in the range country?

Men have triea to explain it with such terms as the "grapevine"-meaning that one man told another and he still others, and each of them told more, and so on, until the word was passing from mouth to mouth among thousands of people.

Perhaps this is the explanation, but whatever it is, the range country knows, as does the veldt of South Africa, the bush of Australia, and the jungles of the Amazon, that once one man knows a thing, all know it. In all the far and secret places the news moves, or perhaps it is not news, but only a feeling of portent, a feeling of something imminent.

For days the stories of the happenings at Alma, at Horse Springs, and on the Circle J had been going the rounds. How it traveled so swiftly no man could say, but Sim Thatcher knew all the stories, and on that day he gathered his hands on his home ranch. "If Hopalong needs help," he said flatly, "we'll give it to "From what I hear," the old-timer said dryly, "I don't think he'll need it. Not more'n those two lobos he has helpin" him."

Alma remained quiet. Horse Springs remained quiet. Goff was missing from his old hangout at Clifton's, although just where he had gone nobody knew. At the shack where Hopalong had made the crossing guard cook for him, Arnold Soper at last found Johnny Rebb. He found him sitting alone on the steps, whittling. Soper rode up and swung down. "Good man!" Soper said. "I've been hunting you!"

Rebb looked up without comment. He had never liked Soper and never trusted him. Johnny Rebb was a man born out of his time. He was the perfect type of the feudal retainer of the old days in the Europe of castles and men at arms. If bravery is a virtue, then Rebb was not without it. If loyalty is a worthy thing, then Rebb was worthy, for he had loyalty, even if to the wrong man and at the wrong time.

To Johnny Rebb the cause was nothing, the man everything. He was a born henchman, a born follower.

Despite his utter cruelty, his coldness, his willingness to kill, Avery Sparr had a strain of free-handed generosity, and once in a casual and thoughtless moment he helped a woebegone youngster who had crossed the plains with an outfit of freighters.

He fed him. He staked him to a horse (stolen), a saddle (likewise), a gun (the original owner had been too slow on the draw), and a few dollars. Sparr had gone his way, and Johnny Rebb had teamed up with an older man to collect buffalo bones. While hunting, Johnny practiced with the six-gun and proved to have a natural dexterity, which, coupled with unusual speed of hand and eye and days of practice, soon gave him considerable speed.

Of this speed his partner knew nothing, hearing the shooting but not seeing it, as Johnny Rebb was self-conscious. When the bones were sold and the season was over, with ill-advised confidence the older man tried to gyp Joey. Words led to words, and the wrong words led to guns. The older partner died suddenly, his shocked surprise mirrored in his eyes. He had never managed to start his draw.

Law and order was a new thing in this vicinity, but already was taking itself quite seriously. The town marshal came to arrest Johnny Rebb. His successor was a more sensible man, and Rebb finally left town when he chose. In the following two years five men lost arguments with Johnny Rebb, bringing his total to seven, none of whom had managed to get a gun free of a holster. And then he met Avery Sparr again.

He met him as Avery was robbing a bank, recognized him despite the mask, and when his companions were shot down, Johnny Rebb took up the battle, joined Sparr, and left town with him. Avery Sparr remembered Johnny when the occasion was mentioned, and he knew a priceless loyalty when he found it. Since then, each had stood over the other and protected him in bitter gun battles.

But of this Soper knew nothing, and it is doubtful if it would have mattered. An educated man, a cunning man, even a very smart man, Arnold Soper was morally nearsighted. He was firmly convinced not only that every man had a price, but that the price was cheap.

"This show's about over," Soper suggested carefully, lighting a long black cigar. "We're washed up here. Or Sparr is."

Johnny Rebb shifted his boots but said nothing.

"People know now that he's not on the level. He's made too many enemies. Not even I could save him.

"Cassidy and his friends will be on the ranch soon.

Maybe he'll die there and maybe he won't.

Regardless of that, it will not be the end of trouble, but the beginning. Avery Sparr tried violence and it won't work. Only one man can get this ranch nowonly one!"

"You?"

Johnny Rebb looked up mildly.

Possessed of loyalty, Rebb was also possessed of suspicion, and the chief object of his suspicion for a long time had been Arnold Soper.

With that in mind, Rebb had trailed him more than once. He had known about the men in Turkey Springs Canyon but waited to see what developed. He had known about the secret conferences between Goff and Soper.

"That's right. I am the only one. I can get this ranch, and I can hold it. I can get possession legally, and I have been working on that angle for a long time. But I shall need a good man to help me, and a man to run the ranch after I get it. As you know, I am no cattleman. As to the market, I am at home.

I know prices, and I can sell beef. I know nothing of raising beef or breeding cattle. And you do."

Johnny Rebb crossed one knee over the other. He had an idea what was coming, and he was ready for it. Yet he waited, wanting to hear the man out.

"I need you, Johnny. Together we can make money. Together we can get rich. You could even become a partner, and there's a vast chunk of land here, and we could reach out and take in Sim Thatcher's ranch.

We can do things together."

"Yeah," Rebb agreed, "mebbe. But what do I have to do to git in on all this?" He picked a blade of dry brown grass, not covered by the snow.

"Where do I fit in?"

"We could have this ranch, Johnny, but there are a couple of men in the way. One of those men is Hopalong Cassidy."

Rebb looked up.

"An' the other?"

"Avery Sparr."

Johnny Rebb chewed reflectively on the grass blade. Not one instant did he give to considering the suggestion or what it might or might not mean to him. He thought only of how foolish Sparr had been to use a man like Soper, even for a little while. Such men were not to be trusted. He spat finally, then said, "No."

Soper stopped in mid-stride. First, he was astonished, and then he was angry. He was astonished because he could not understand anyone being as shortsighted about his own interests as Johnny Rebb; second, he was angry because Johnny Rebb was literally his own last chance. He could not face Sparr alone. Of course, if Sparr made a run for it, there might be a chance, but there were things taking place of which Soper knew nothing.

He did not, for example, know that Sparr's decision was already made. "No?" he demanded.