Slaughter's way (15 page)

To!'' replied the cowhand, giving the old Cavalry answer to an order. He whirled his horse and galloped back along the line toward the drag.

At the flank of the herd, seated on the box of his chuck wagon and allowing the four-mule team to pick their own way, Coonsldn, Slaughter s fat, jovial Negro cook, watched Alvord's approach and ran the tip of his tongue over his dry lips.

"Lawsy me, Mr. Earp,** he said to his pet skunk which lay on the seat at his side. "I surely hopes yoimg Burt here ain't bringing us no bad news. I is so dry that tf I wanted to send anybody a letter—alius figuring I knowed anybody's can read if I could write—I'd have to stick the stamp on with a pin I's so dry."

Despite his hopes, Coonsldn did not expect Alvord to be racing his big spot-rumped Appaloosa stallion back to the herd just for the thrill of feeling the wind on his cheeks as the horse galloped. Most likely there was bad trouble ahead, and Coonsldn could only think of one kind of trouble worse than they had at the moment. Only he did not want to think of it.

Leaving the drag. Slaughter headed to the point, swinging dear of the herd and waving Alvord dovm to hhn. The young scout did not draw rein until he reached his boss's side. From the look of it, the Appaloosa had been hard run and the Indian, a dark, tall, biurly yoimg man, showed unusual signs of concern. Most folks would have read nothing on Alvord's face, but Slaughter knew his scout.

"^How is it?" Slaughter asked.

*^ad."

That figured, happen a man knew the cattle business, the ways a trail scout worked, and Burt Alvord, as well as Slaughter did.

^'Spring still there?" asked Slaughter, having drawn down his bandana.

"Yep," agreed Alvord, who did not talk much, but then, neither did his boss unless there was something useful to say. "Water looks mighty clear, sweet and aU tempting."

"That's bad news?"

''Nope. There's a bunch of Mexican hard-cases squatting by it/'

"Squattingr

**Right at the edge of the water, tents set up and cook mddng frijoles, tamales and all the frills/'

When Burt Alvord started throwing words aroimd wholesale like that, a man who knew tdm got worried. There was something bad wrong at the water hole.

^s huh?'' Slaughter grunted.

^Sure. About twenty of 'em, Td reckon. Their boss is a feller called Hernandez, real haciendero in his dress. Told me real polite he'd let me water my hoss if I paid out five dollars."

For a moment neither man spoke, then Slaughter said quietly, "Only about twenty of tibem?"

*Tep—and a Catling gun."

Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Slaughter show any smprise at the words, or how hard the news hit him. It almost seemed that he had long since become blas6 about having folks block his way with Catling guns. Nor did ignorance of what a Catling gun might be cause his attitude. Slaughter had seen Catling guns in action during the war and knew their deadly power. The Catling gun was one of the earliest truly successful automatic weapons, with a miurderous firepower in skilled hands.

Yet he spent no time in futilely cursing the luck which caused the only water within fifty or more miles, water he must have for his herd, to be guarded by a Catling gun. He spent no time in idle conjecture, neidier wondering where the Mexicans obtained such a gun, nor what their reason for waiting at the spring might be. The latter query did not arise. Slaughter knew damned well what the reason for waiting undoubtedly was. Alvord's remark about the request for payment before being allowed to water his horse gave Slaughter his answer.

*'Co cut a fresh horse out, Burt," Slaughter ordered. "And tell Yoimg Sandy to snake back out of tihe remuda. Did you rile them up down there?"

"Figured you'd want to be the one who did that," 117

Alvord answered, proving that while he might lack formal education, he was capable of thinking for himself.

While waiting for Alvord to change horses, and his favorite mount to be brought up by the wrangler. Slaughter rode to the point and gave Burton the news. For a moment the segundo did not speak, but he realized the gravity of the situation and finally asked what his boss aimed to do.

"Go and see this Hernandez hombre, learn what he wants. Keep the herd moving until sundown, Tex. I ought to be back then or soon after."

Burton nodded his head. While Slaughter's words had told him very little, he had heard all he needed to know. As segundo, Burton's main work consisted of keeping the herd moving. The handling of other problems could be left to his boss.

After changing his saddle onto the back of his big black stallion. Slaughter rode away from his herd. With Alvord at his side, he headed across the range in the direction of the distant Central Springs. These lay some ten miles ahead and, traveling slowly as they were, the cattle would not reach the area imtil at least noon the following day.

The springs came into view a good two miles across the flat, featureless land of the basin, a haven of green grass with a few trees offering welcome shade, and the sun glinting on the water of a fair-size lake. One glance told Slaughter that the Army maps had not lied. He coidd rest up his herd by the springs, rebuild the cattle's strength down there before making the final, and not nearly so rough, miles to the Came River.

Only before he could do so, he had to get by that squat, deadly httle .45 caliber, five-barreled Catling gun which stood on its tripod ready for use, by the small tented camp at the edge of the lake.

Slaughter studied the gun as he rode forward. Although basically the same as the type he had seen and, on an occasion when one fell into his troop's hands, fired, the gun in the Mexican's hands was a newer, improved model. It was Hghter in weight, mounted on a tripod

instead of the cumbersome artillery carriage. So it would be able to turn swiftly to cover the surrounding area, or be easily moved to a fresh position should an approach be made from an angle the gun could not cover where it stood—such as from behind the wagon at the right of the camp. The gun did not use the old-fashioned straight tube magazine, but one of the new-fangled, round Accles Positive Feed types which were so much more efficient.

Two men stood by the gun, one near a box containing, unless Slaughter missed his guess, spare loaded magazines; and the other holding the firing handle which was on the rear, not at the side, as on the older models. One look told Slaughter where the gun came from. He knew enough about the Mexican Army to recognize its artillery uniforms, even when they were as tattered, unkempt and dirty as those worn by the gunners. Most likely the two men were deserters from the Mexican Army and had brought along their gun to be a lucky charm in their new way of hfe.

Alongside the gunners, some seventeen swarthy, hard-faced Mexicans stood in a group fingering their weapons. They were a dangerous-looking bunch, wearing fancy duds far too expensive for them to be honest men, and all armed with at least one handgun, a knife and either a rifle or carbine. A man would have been hard pressed to find a meaner, more villainous-looking bunch of bad Mexicans even if he searched all his life. The men were typical bandidos, merciless as a weasel in a chicken-house and cold-blooded as any diamond-back rattlesnake.

Only one of the bunch stood out as not being the normal bandido type. He was tall, slim, elegantly dressed and looking at ease in his charro finery, which none of the others did. Despite his fancy, silver-fiUgree decorated clothes, there was something hard, iron-willed, imperious and deadly about his handsome face. He did not wear a knife, but the Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker, with its ornate Tiffany grips that so many Mexicans favored, hung ready for a fast draw at his right side. The gunbelt and Colt did not look like ornaments.

The tall man must be the leader of the bunch. Such a man, showing Spanish-Creole blood, would never accept orders from cheap scimi like the others. He stepped forward, ahead of the rest, as the two Texans approached his camp.

''Move slow and easy, Burt," Slaughter warned.

^We taking them now?**

"Nope. Just making talk/'

''Saludos, senores" the slim Mexican greeted, his voice well modulated and educated. 'Tou come from the trail herd, no?"

"We're from it," agreed Slaughter.

'Tour young amigo did not say he rode for a herd," the Mexican went on, nodding to Alvord but speaking to Slaughter. While speaking, the man studied how Slaughters gun hung and drew his own conclusions. Either the Tejano wanted folks to think he was un hombre malo, and a real bad one, or he was fully capable of making the best possible use of the gun rig's advantages. Somehow the Mexican did not reckon that he faced a man who would try to make people believe him to be something he was not. He wore the gun, and could use it well.

"Didn't need to tell you," Alvord grunted, jerking a thumb in the direction of one of the men who looked more evil and Indian-like than the rest. "Yom: Yaqui there was out and spotted our herd coming. He came back here on the nm to tell you I was headed in and rode scout for the herd."

A flicker of admiration crossed the Mexican s face; and he might have felt flattered to know that Alvord had hardly spoken that much at one time since leaving Texas.

"You have quick eyes, senor. There are few who could have found the sign left by Aquila as he rides scout."

Alvord did not reply. He reckoned he had talked more than enough for one spell, so sat back to leave the rest of the whittle-whanging to his boss.

"I figure to water and graze my herd down here,'* Slaughter said.

*With all the pleasure in the world, amigor replied the Mexican, his voice holding none of the condescension it held while speaking to Alvord. When addressing Slaughter, the man spoke as to a social equal. *'There is only the matter of payment for the privilege.'*

*'This here's open range— ^*

*'And, as your people say, possession is nine points of the law. As you see, I, Luis Hernandez, my little toy and my men have the possession.''

"You-aU ever see three thousand head of thirsty cattle when they get the scent of water?" asked Slaughter quietly. "They'll stomp your possessions a good six inches underground."

Which was true enough, as far as it went. The trouble was it did not go far enough, not by a good country mile.

^Tossibly, senoT^ Hernandez agreed. ^Except that the wind blows from your herd to the springs and is not likely to change. Also, much as I would regret the action, if they advance without my receiving due payment, I will be forced to let my Kttle toy handle the matter. How many of yoiu* cattle, or your men, would reach the water then, senorF'

"Why you—1" Alvord began, his right hand moving toward his hip.

"Hold it, BurtI" Slaughter snapped, shooting out a hand and catching the scout's wrist.

"It is well you stopped him, senor^ Hernandez said, after snapping an order to his men not to shoot. "One so eflScient as a scout should not die young, and I would not deprive you of a useful man. But die he would have had he drawn, for I am the fastest man with a gun in Mexico."

"You ain't in Mexico now," Alvord growled.

"Cut it, Burt," Slaughter ordered. "Ride back and tell Tex to start bedding down the herd."

For a moment Alvord sat sullenly silent and on the verge of mutiny. He did not want to leave his boss alone in the hands of those murderous bandidos. Then he gave an angry growl, swung his horse aroimd and rode back in the direction he and Slaughter came.

"A hotheaded young man,'' Hernandez said, watching the young scout ride away. "He must respect you a lot to obey, when he wished to stay here and keep you from harm at the hands of we treacherous greasers— that is what you call us, is it not, senorF^

Slaughter did not reply, although he could have said that he never used the word himself. Way Slaughter looked at it, one did not dislike a man because of his race, skin color or rehgion, but for what the man himself was and did. However, he kept his views on the matter to himself, for at such a time as faced him now, he beheved in coming straight to the point, saying what needed saying in as few, short and plain words as possible. That way everybody concerned knew exactly where they stood.

"I aim to water here, mister.**

*'And so you shall. For three dollars a head on aU your cattle and a dollar a day grazing for each day you stay here. I will be generous and not make charge for your remuda or your men."

"I've never let any man force me into paying good money for something that's free for aU, and I don t aim to start now."

"Have it your way, senor^ Hernandez said coolly. *'There is a full moon tonight and the open land around here shows as plain as day. We could see and hear you coming at least two miles away. You may think to rush us in tile night, but I beg you not to try. Few of your men and none of your herd will be alive at the end of it."

There was nothing more for Slaughter to say. So he said it. Turning his horse, he was about to ride away when Hernandez spoke again.

^Senor, that is a fine horse. I can admire good breeding in man, woman, or animal. Take it to the lake and let it drink its fiU."

For a moment Slaughter thought of refusing. Then he decided that there was no sense in making the horse suffer, for the black had been on as short rations as the rest of the outfit. Swinging down, he led the horse to

the water and allowed it to sink its muzzle down into the clear spring. Much as he would have liked to drink. Slaughter made no attempt to do so. Not that he was any less thirsty than his horse. He longed to fill his belly with that sparkling water, after rationed mouthfuls from a sun-baked keg on the chuck wagon, but it was not Slaughter s way to drink unless all his hands had the same right.

"That's a ver fine horse, gringor

On tinning toward the speaker. Slaughter read the signs and allowed he might soon be in trouble. Hernandez had not accompanied him to the lake but stayed with his Catling gun s crew, pointing out the direction in which the herd lay. However, Slaughter was not alone and had not been unescorted to water his horse.

The man who addressed Slaughter stood some twenty feet away. Stocky in build, with an evil, knife-scarred face, the man was a different proposition to Hernandez. No gentleman, barely human in his depravity, the man was a killer without any of his leader's saving graces. Standing spraddle-legged before the rancher, the bandidx/s right hand caressed the hilt of a fighting knife sheathed at his side. He was clearly on the peck and hunting trouble. A group of the other men stood around in the background, watching their amigo face the grim-faced Texas rancher.