Guardians of the Sage (18 page)

There was an apparent contradiction there that struck Montana at once. He could smile over Graham's letter, but his fears were not allayed. The days that immediately followed brought no new threat from above the North Fork, and a dozen times Jim wondered if their inactivity had any connection with news from Washington.

Quantrell did not come to the Box C again. One evening Brent rode over to Lance Morrow's place. He came back with word that Quantrell had been there, talking to the old man. He claimed to have had an offer from Stall and Matlack for his property.

“He told Lance that he'd turned it down,” Brent informed them. “Claims he'll never sell out to the Bar S.”

“Don't you believe it!” Montana scoffed! “He'd sell out in a hurry if he got an offer—and the price was attractive. I'd have to see the offer in writing before I'd admit he had one.”

Crockett disagreed with him.

“That's go in' pritty far, Jim,” he argued. “I ain't got no love for Quantrell, but I'm not go in' to let that run away with my judgment. If they could grab Quantrell's place it would be just puttin' on the vise a little tighter. I've never said nothin' but I've wondered once or twice if somethin' like that wouldn't happen. I don't see why you figure they wouldn't make him an offer. What's your argument?”

“Dollars and cents! I never knew Henry Stall to give a man a profit when he had the whiphand. Quantrell's got some water, but it's hard to get at. He's been frozen out of the Big Powder. It just don't make sense to me, Dan.”

“Just the same it would be a blow to us if Quantrell sold out,” Crockett murmured glumly. “It would be pritty discouragin'. First thing you know someone else would be takin' the bait. You got to give the devil his due, Jim. Think what you will about the man, but if he sticks with us we got to be big enough to appreciate it.”

Jim let it go at that. Despite all that had happened he could see that Dan still had some faith in Quantrell. Undoubtedly the others had, too.

“If you talk loud enough and long enough you certainly can fool a lot of people,” he summed up to himself.

With Gene gone there was more work for all hands. A brief hour of relaxation after supper and they were ready for bed.

One evening late in the week Jubal Stark rode in. There was an air of being the carrier of important news about him.

“Well, I guess they're at it ag'in,” he declared. “They're runnin' off our stock now.”

Crockett put down his Bible.

“You mean that, Jubal?”

“Course I mean it!” his visitor exclaimed with asperity. “They cut out ten or twelve head of Quantrell's yearlin's yesterday. To-day they were in my stuff. I jest thought I'd warn you as I have the others.”

Mother Crockett came into the kitchen. Jubal was her cousin. His news had to be repeated to her.

“What you said the other day about leavin' here in a covered wagon, Nancy, is jest what we'll be do in', I reckin,” Jubal declared. “They burned down my house and now they're runnin' off my stock. I tell you things is gittin' desperrit. Hits all right to talk about the Lord havin' his vengeance, but I don't figger we're supposed to let another outfit rob us blind.”

“But what makes you so certain the Bar S got your yearlings?” Jim asked. He knew he was venturing on dangerous ground in putting the question to a man as bitter and excited as Jubal Stark. He saw him bristle with indignation.

“Don't you come any of that on me, Jim!” he exclaimed angrily. “I wouldn't put any thin' past that bunch! Old man Stall is out to break us, and he don't care how he does hit!”

“He'll run you out if he can, but he won't steal your cattle.”

Crockett shook his head hopelessly.

“I don't know, Jim,” he said. “It's hard to believe, but who else could be doin' it?”

“It's up to us to find out. Give a rustler a little rope and he'll trip himself every time.”

He felt nothing was to be gained by voicing the suspicion that was surging through his mind. He had been waiting for Quantrell to show his hand. Here was his play. As Montana put together the pieces of the puzzle that had been intriguing him for days he knew there could be little doubt of it.

“They'd likely run me out of the valley if I said what I'm thinking,” he admitted to himself. “It's a case of catching Quantrell with the goods now.”

The following day Joe Gault reported that the rustlers had taken toll from him. It happened repeatedly. The men met one afternoon at Lance Morrow's ranch. Montana went with Dan. He was not surprised to find Quantrell there, talking as loud as ever.

A dozen men spoke. Everyone accused the Bar S. They were in no mood to listen to anything to the contrary.

“You were told to wait until they brought the fight to you,” Quantrell declared, his eyes seeking Jim. “Well, it's here now, ain't it? You got what you were waitin' for. “What are you goin' to do about it?”

“There's only one thing to do,” Joe Gault called out. “We got to hit back. Cattle can be raided north of the Fork just as easy as below.”

“That's plain talk,” Jubal Stark said. “It's what we should do. Them that thinks so step this way I”

Some hesitated, but it was only for a moment or two, until Dan and Montana stood alone.

“If you feel they're right—that it's the thing to do—you join 'em, Dan,” Jim advised. “I don't want you to hold back on my account.”

The others were listening.

“No,” Dan said thoughtfully, “I'm not ready for that yet. I never rustled another man's stuff, and I ain't agoin' to begin now. I've fought cattle thieves before and wiped 'em out without turnin' rustler myself. You know where the law is in this country; it ain't on our side. If I catch a man with one of my steers in his possession I'll know what to do; so will you. We got to sleep on our rifles and ride these rustlers down. We can do it if we pull together. Until we've tried it and failed we shouldn't be thinkin' of turnin' thief.”

They were the sanest words that had been uttered there, and although Quantrell decried them and Jubal Stark insisted on fighting fire with fire, the meeting broke up with the understanding that, for the present, as many as could would meet every evening at Jubal's ranch and ride until dawn.

It was a victory for Crockett, but Jim felt they were wasting their time. Quantrell was a party to their deliberations and could easily avoid them.

True to what Jim had predicted to himself, they rode for three nights without encountering anyone. Quantrell and some of his men rode with them. It seemed to have the desired effect; no more stock was run off.

Dan was about to congratulate himself on their success when the rustlers moved across the Reservation. The blow fell heaviest on the Box C.

“They must have got fifty head of my best yearlin's,” he computed after a careful checking. He returned to the house and refused to speak to anyone. By supper time he had himself in hand.

“I reckon I was wrong, Jim,” he said. We've got to give them the same medicine they're givin' us. You can't say I haven't been patient. I wanted to be fair, but I'm at the end of my rope.”

“A rope is what we ought to have around their necks,” said Brent.

“I know how you feel,” Jim declared. “You're fighting the Bar S so it's only natural for you to lay your troubles to them; but I'm no more ready to believe right now that Henry Stall would run an iron on another man's stuff than I was a week ago. He might cheat you legally, but this is just a cut beneath him. I'm not going to say anything more. You do as you think best, Dan, and I'll string along with you.”

They were out day and night now, working in shifts. It was no easy task for two or three men to ride herd in an unfenced country like that and see everything.

In the early afternoon, after they had been in to water, the cattle would move back into the hills. You couldn't keep them in sight always.

Early the following week, Montana was on the day shift with old Ben. Taking it for granted that the cattle were safe enough out in the open, he had left Ben on the Skull and climbed the rocky saddle that fell away to the Big Powder on the west and the Skull to the east. Stretched out in the mahogany brush, he had an unobstructed view of the country east and west. Below him was a steep cutbank.

A faint breeze rustled the sage. The blue sky was cloudless. His horse grazed a short way off.

It was a day for dreaming. He was not roused out of his lethargy until he caught a brief glimpse of four horsemen to the north. They were on the same ridge with him and moving his way.

It was enough to make him sit up alertly. They were too far away to make recognition possible.

“This may be interesting,” he mused. “If they aren't trying to hide out they'll get off the ridge before they get down this far.”

Although he continued. to scrutinize the hills and the draws, he failed to get another glance at them. Twenty minutes passed, time enough for them to have hove into view.

“They must be down below,” he thought. He crawled up to the edge of the cutbank and scanned the country beneath him. He quickly located the four men. They were following an old cow trail through the high sage. In a few moments he recognized Quantrell, Shorty and two others who had been among the bunch at the mine that day. The trail they were following would bring them directly beneath him in ten to fifteen minutes.

Montana could not repress a grunt of satisfaction. His suspicions were rapidly crystallizing into fact. Four men, off their own range, skulking through the brush was almost circumstantial evidence enough to convict, with things as they stood.

Their manner was tense and furtive. They were almost below Montana when Quantrell raised his hand and called a halt.

“We'll hole up here for an hour,” he said. “After we hobble the horses, we'll climb this bank and layout.”

With the odds four to one against him, Jim knew he had to make his presence known while the advantage of his position was still in his favor.

“Come on, sit steady!” he called out. “And mighty careful with the hands!”

The gleaming of his rifle barrel told them where to find him. Quantrell's mouth fell open in dismay for a moment.

“You're taking a mighty big chance, aren't you?” Jim drawled chillingly. “You're a long ways from your own range. Can't be looking for strays to-day.”

Quantrell found his tongue. “Don't give me any of your lip!” he bellowed. “We got tipped off that we might find a couple of Bar S hands down this way. Reckon we almost found one.”

It won a mocking laugh from Montana.

“The next time you get tipped off to anything you want to have witnesses,” he said. “Now you turn your horses toward the Powder and get across. If you don't move fast enough to suit me, I'll find a way to hurry you up a little.
Vamos, señors!
”

They went. Three hundred yards away, Quantrell glanced back. “I'd like to pick him off up there I” he growled. “I wonder how much he heard?”

“Enough,” Shorty muttered viciously. “We sure stubbed our toe that time. The quicker we git him the better off we'll be.”

“You said it I” Quantrell agreed. “The best thing we can do is to start talkin' about it before he gets the chance. We can circle back east of the creek below Stark's place. We'll stop there and chin a little. Montana can't prove any thin'.”

Jim watched them until they were across the Big Powder.

“There goes your rustlers,” he muttered. “If they'd only gone on a quarter of a mile instead of pulling up right here, I'd have caught them red-handed. . . . I wonder what Dan's going to say about this.”

Crockett was too surprised to have anything to say for a few moments.

They talked for an hour.

“It gets to this,” Jim concluded. “Quantrell has set us at each other's throats. I happen to know that his outfit got Billy Sauls. I didn't say anything at the time, but the day after Jubal Stark's house burned, I trailed a rider almost to Quantrell's range before I lost the tracks. Every move he's made has looked queer to me. Look at his outfit. How can he afford to hire seven or eight men?”

“It don't look right,” Dan admitted.

“I'll say it don't. If I could have got off that bank this afternoon without giving myself away I would have had proof enough for you. I tell you, Dan, you don't know for a fact that Bar S has ever had a man south of the North Fork. Quantrell has always been rushing you into trouble. While you were fighting each other he was going to run off with the cream. He's been doing just that. The nights he rode with you no stock was run off. When he had you scouring the country south of the Fork he slipped down into the Reservation and did his stuff. It was a pretty safe game.”

“Well, I don't know what to think,” Dan declared. “I want to be right this time. You said something about knowing that his bunch got Billy Sauls. You mind sayin' how you know?”

“It's breaking a confidence to tell you, but I know it's safe enough with you. I told you why I went to the Needles. Well, I got the information I was after. Old Thunder Bird's story would convict them in any court.”

Montana's patience was wearing thin. He crushed his cigarette between his fingers and tossed it away.

“You say you don't know what to think, Dan,” he went on. “Well, I'm asking you—do you believe Quantrell was way down in the Reservation, on your range, looking for a Bar S man in the middle of the afternoon? Hobbling their horses and laying out! Laying out for what? Why did they want to hole up right there? You know why! Your steers were just below the saddle!”

Dan communed with himself for a moment.

“There ain't nothin' else to think,” he said gravely. “He's guilty as hell!”