War on the Cimarron (18 page)

He heard the captain say, “If he is dead, you'll pay through the nose, Corb.”

There was jangling of the bridle chain and the muffled sound of a shod horse turning on hard-packed ground. Frank, hunkered down on the edge of the porch roof, his boots slowly slipping, saw a dark form pull out from beneath him.

“All right!” Corb shouted to his men. “Up the stairs!”

Frank leaped then. He arced out from the porch, feet first, at the moving horse below him. He landed astride the horse's rump just behind the saddle, and the horse almost went down, caught itself and came up.

Frank wrapped his arms around the captain and yanked him over to one side, pulling him out of the saddle.

The captain yelled, “Corb!” and then Frank brought up his fist in a tight arc that ended behind the captain's ear. He slumped out of the saddle, and Frank grabbed at the reins as the horse reared and Corb yelled, “Out here, you fools! Out here!” and shot.

Frank fought the horse down, then, lying low across his neck, roweled him savagely. The horse streaked off in the darkness, and the crowd hanging back on the edge of the yard began to shout. One man shot, and then it was taken up by others. Frank headed for the cottonwoods. A horseman loomed out of the darkness shooting, and Frank palmed up his gun and shot blindly. His horse rammed into the other horse, stumbled, and Frank pulled him up. Now the whole night was alive with shooting, and Frank prayed for the shelter of the barn. He achieved the corner of it just as a dozen slugs slapped into the timber at the corner, and he was safe.

He dodged the horse around the corral, jumped him over the watering trough and then sent him into the trees and pulled him over at right angles and headed off through the timber. Already close behind him was the sound of the first of his pursuers.

The army had grain-fed horses, Frank remembered, and he smiled. They'd have to ride hard to catch him tonight, let alone set eyes on him. And next time there wouldn't be a traitorous woman to betray him.

Chapter XV

Frank, hungry and dog tired from covering up his trail so thoroughly that even the Indian trackers from the post couldn't follow him, spotted Barnes's herd next noon. It had been thrown off the Chisholm and was being loose-herded on the flats beside a feeder creek of the Canadian, some eighteen miles below the post. The fact that the cattle were being loose-herded was proof enough that Otey had reached Barnes with the word to be on guard, but if he needed more proof there was the tent beside the chuck wagon. The army quartermaster never received herds this far out from the post, so the tent could mean only one thing. They were waiting for him.

He put his horse out of the timber, and the first rider saw him and pulled up to wait for him. Frank identified himself, and they started out together for the tent. It was a warm spring day with the tall grass stirring under the fitful wind, and Barnes's herd looked well fleshed. His own steers would be taking on flesh now, Frank thought bitterly, and then he put it out of his mind. There were other things to worry about.

Approaching the tent, the rider gave a hail. Out of the tent poured Otey, Barnes and Red. Red let out a whoop of joy that made the grazing cattle raise their heads in lazy inquiry, and then Frank slipped out of the McClellan saddle and confronted them.

Red pounded him on the back, and Otey, for once unable to talk, pumped his hand while Barnes pumped the other one. And then Frank caught sight of Luvie in the tent door. Her face was unsmiling as she came toward him, and she was biting her lower lip.

She stopped before him and said, “I guess there's no use telling you how sorry I am, Frank.”

“No, I don't reckon there's any use,” Frank said. “It wouldn't do any good.”

Luvie said, “But there in the house you said it didn't matter.”

“What I said in the house and what I say here are two different things,” Frank murmured, no anger in his voice. “I agreed with you in the house so I could get you out of there. I don't have to agree with anything out here. You're free. So am I. It's quits.”

“Frank,” Luvie said, “I'm sorry.”

“I heard you.”

“I'll make it up to you any way I can.”

“There ain't any way,” Frank said. “You tolled me to the house so Corb could take me. It just happened you believed he didn't aim to kill me, only jail me. You did it because you wanted to help your dad. All right, I believe you. Let's let it ride.”

“But, Frank, I'm not like that! I wouldn't—”

“You're sorry for yourself,” Frank said. “You're scared every time you think what might have happened. You'll get over it, though. And you'll pull some knotheaded trick again to get me into trouble, like stealin' your dad's bail money. The only difference is I won't bite on a note again. Get it through that pretty little head of yours that I'm tryin' to help your dad, not you. He was kind to me once and got in a jam for it. I'll try to get him out of it—if you'll keep out of it!”

“Easy, boy,” Barnes said, his voice troubled. “She's sorry. Don't rub it in so.” He came over to stand by Luvie, and she put her small hand in his. There was humiliation and grief in her face, and she didn't meet Frank's eyes.

“Sure,” Frank said, his eyes glinting. “She's sorry. She's pretty too, and I'd like to see more of her. Only I can't crowd my luck much further, so I better quit seein' her before I'm carried out on a shutter.”

Luvie made a small gesture with her hand. “I deserve it all, Frank. Thanks for telling me.” And she turned and went into the tent. Gus, lying on a cot inside the tent after his forced ride of last night, waved to Frank and Frank nodded to him. Barnes went in with Luvie, murmuring something, and Frank walked over to Red and Otey.

“You can be a tough devil, Frank,” Red murmured.

Frank's eyes were still smoldering. He looked at Red and nodded. “You'd be tough, too, if she'd invited a whole town in to shoot at you.”

Barnes came out then, his face troubled. He mopped his brow and came up to Frank, shaking his head. “I'm sorry you feel about Luvie the way you do, Frank.”

“Listen,” Frank said, anger making his voice ominous. “I don't feel any way about Luvie, Barnes! Let's don't talk about her again. I'd like to help you, because you're the only man in this whole damn Nations that tried to help me. I pay back my debts. If you don't like it, I can ride out of here.”

“Forget it, forget it,” Barnes said mildly. He looked around him. “There's some shade by the wagon. Let's talk over there.”

They filed over to the chuck wagon and sat down in the grass. Frank pulled a hay stem and chewed on it, and for a long moment there was an awkward silence.

Otey broke it. “Well, Corb's done all he can to Frank, Barnes. It looks like you're in for it. He warned Luvie, and I reckon he'll carry out his threat.”

“I don't mind losin' a herd,” Barnes said grimly. “I want a crack at him.”

“You won't get it,” Red said.

“Why not?”

“You tell him, Frank,” Red said. “I reckon you've got it figured out the same way I have.”

Frank nodded. “The Indians'll work on you. Not him.”

“Unh-hunh,” Barnes said in thoughtful assent. “Another raid.”

“Only this time they'll shoot. They'll pick a fight, kill as many men as they can and scatter your herd from hell to breakfast.”

“You think so?” Barnes said, his eyes suddenly alert. “Why?”

“I'll tell you why,” Frank said grimly. “I've seen this thing buildin' up, Barnes. Corb is safe here just as long as he can keep cattlemen like me under his thumb. He's made a couple of tries for me and he's missed. And there are fifty trail bosses and small cattlemen that are watchin' me, hopin' I'll win and knowin' for certain I won't. If I knock Corb over, they'll swarm into these reservations, and Corb won't be able to stop 'em. So he's got to down me, and now he's got to down you too, because you helped me. You understand that much of it?”

Barnes nodded, his intent gaze on Frank's face.

“Then he's got to use his Indians,” Frank said.

“Why?”

Frank said, “Because he's got to lick you, and he figures that's the one thing you can't fight. You'll be scared to, because if you fight them we got an Indian uprising on our hands.”

Barnes didn't say anything for a full half minute. “It's like that, eh?” he murmured, and Frank nodded.

None of them spoke for a while, for they realized without having to put it into words what it meant. It meant a pack of whisky-filled, murdering Cheyennes on the warpath. It meant that every white man, woman and child would have to seek the protection of the garrison, and it meant that additional troops from the Department of the Missouri would be sent out to reinforce Fort Reno. It meant days and nights of fighting, of pillage, of anxious hours of waiting, before white supremacy was once again established. And it meant building from the ground up everything that had been done on the reservation. It was this last thought that prompted Otey to say, “It's been comin' to a head for years. Maybe if it happens, this country can start out with a clean slate.”

“Without coyotes like Corb,” Red murmured.

Barnes's honest face was puzzled. He was trying to reduce all this to its simplest terms.

“You mean,” he said finally, “I got to let Corb shoot up my crew and steal my cattle through them tame Indians of his, and if I fight him I'm liable to start an Indian war?”

“That's it,” Frank said.

Barnes's jaw clamped shut with a click. “I'm an American in an honest business, I reckon. And I'll fight for it. I ain't the one that let Corb come in here and buy his Indians with whisky. I ain't the one that's half starved these Indians until they're mean. And I ain't the one that's let things get to such a hell of a state that an honest man can't speak his mind.” He looked at Frank. “I'll fight.”

“Remember what it means,” Frank said.

“I know what it means!” Barnes said. “Hell, I fought Comanches half my Life. I'll fight these damn Cheyennes the other half of it!”

“It might be a match that'll touch off the whole powder keg,” Frank said.

Barnes stood up, his face red. “That suits me too.”

Red came to his feet. “Hell, we may be invitin' trouble,” he said. “But if we can save this herd, let's do it.”

It was Frank who pointed out that the Indians, following age-old custom of their race, were not night fighters. So if there was a raid on the cattle it would be this afternoon, for by night driving the herd could be in the government-issue corrals by daylight tomorrow morning.

Barnes nodded, walked out and bawled to the nearest rider, “Ed, bring the boys in!”

When the whole crew of eight men was gathered around the chuck wagon Barnes told them what was expected. The statement that they might have to fight the Indians brought a smile from every man in the crew. As trail men they had suffered long and patiently under the insolence of the Indians who demanded beef for the use of the trail through their reservations. But a stern government, fearing Indian trouble, had forbidden them to retaliate. This now was an invitation to settle an old grudge, and not a man accepted Barnes's offer to ride off with full pay.

“Then scatter and keep watch. At sunset throw the herd together and we'll start the drive,” Barnes said.

Afterward Frank took a blanket and slept under the wagon during the long uneasy afternoon when everyone else in camp, Luvie included, mounted guard.

An hour before dark the cook called supper for half the watch. Frank was wakened and ate with the first shift. Barnes and Luvie were both absent, and Frank wolfed down his food along with the silent crew, anxious to avoid her. Halfway through eating, Frank remembered Gus and took a plate of food and started for the tent. As he entered he saw Gus standing up, drawing his knees high in experiment. When Gus heard Frank he wheeled, and they peered at each other in the half gloom of the tent.

“Here's some grub,” Frank said.

Gus took it, nodding his thanks, and Frank started out again.

“Frank.”

Frank paused and regarded him.

“That still hold about you shovin' me out of the Nations soon's I can ride?”

“It holds.”

“I can ride,” Gus said. “Tonight.”

“How's your side?”

“All right. Good enough to ride. I want to.”

Frank nodded and went back to the fire. Most of the crew had ridden out to relieve the others, but Frank stayed until Barnes and Luvie and Red and Otey rode in to eat. Luvie didn't look at him. She was quiet, her face sad, and she unsmilingly accepted Red's small attentions to her. Barnes took a tin plate, filled it with grub and sat down to eat beside her.

Frank came up alongside him and squatted by him. “Can I buy a horse from you, Barnes?”

“Nope,” Barnes said, his mouth full. “I'll give you one.”

“It's for Gus. He's headin' back for Texas.”

The horse wrangler, who had brought in the remuda, was eating across the fire, and Barnes called to him to saddle an extra horse. Frank should have gone then, but he wanted to make sure Gus left. Presently Gus came out with his empty plate, drank a cup of coffee standing in the shadows, then looked at Frank.

The horse wrangler came up, leading a hammerheaded blue roan carrying a worn-out saddle with a sack of grub tied behind the cantle.

Frank boosted Gus into the saddle, and Gus bit his bloodless lip to keep from crying out. But once he was in the saddle the pain eased out of his face.

“You can stay if you don't think you'll make it,” Frank said.

“I'll make it,” Gus said.

Frank stepped back. “All right. My promise is still good. If I lay eyes on you in this country again I'll hunt you down like I would a lobo.”