Slaughter's way (3 page)

One of the trio who had accompanied Big Tag to and from town, and who still smarted under the stigma of failure, dropped his hand toward the butt of his Colt and studied Slaughters back. Chisiun saw the start of the move and deliberately turned his back on the scene, placing the stove pipe deed-container behind the chow box he used for a seat. None of the other men moved, either to assist their colleague or to warn Slaughter. The man's gun came from leather and started to line—

The flat bark of a rifle soimded from among the bushes on the slope overlooking Chisum's camp. A scream left the would-be killer s lips as a bullet smashed his shoulder. Dropping his gim, the man spim aroimd and went down.

Ahnost before the echoes of the shot bounced back, Slaughter whirled to face the camp and demonstrated for everybody's satisfaction how Big Tag came to die of the case of slow. The ivory-handled Colt bliuxed from Slaughter's holster, its hammer drawn back imder a well-trained thumb and the index finger ciu-led imder its drawn-back trigger, while its muzde lined with disconcerting accuracy on Chisum's back. None of the Long Rail men moved, except for the wounded would-be killer, who went down and rolled in agony on the ground.

Slowly Chisum turned to face Slaughter. Give him his due, for all his many faults Chisiun had sand to bum; or a considerable faith in the belief that Slaughter would not shoot down an imarmed man. Whichever reason, courage or belief, Chisum showed no fear as he looked at his wounded man and then to the bore of Slaughter's Colt. The Colt aimed so it would plant a bullet in the vicinity of Chisum's pet navel, and with its trigger depressed a simple lifting of the thumb was all that was needed to send a .45 bullet home.

"Had me back turned to it the whole danged time, John," Chisum said mildly, lifting his guileless face to

the other mans. **That boy and Big Tag was bunldes. But he ought to have known it'd be Slaughter s way to leave a man up on the rim watching your back."

'Teah,'' Slaughter agreed, 'lie ought at that.''

Holstering his Colt, Slaughter turned once more. This time nobody made a move, or even as much as batted an eyelid as he retiuned to his horse and swung into the saddle. Even the cook stood immobile, forgetting to stir and ignoring the stink of binning stew that rose to his nostrils.

For five minutes after Slaughter moimted and rode out of sight over the rim, nobody made a move. Then Chisum gave an angry snort, turned to the cook and jerked his head in the direction of the moaning, wounded man.

"Patch that damned fool up!" Chisum ordered, **Then get him the hell out of my sight."

The Cattle King had no use for failures, and his man had failed. If the attempted murder had been realized, Chisum would quite happily have gone into a witness box and perjured himself blue in the face swearing that his man's gun went oflE by accident as he took it out to clean it. However, the try failed and the wounded man s usefulness to Long Rail ended from that moment.

*'How about that damned town, boss?" one of the men asked, although without the usual enthusiasm his kind showed when speaking of terrorizing a small town.

"Herd looks a mite restless," Chisum replied. "We're likely to need all hands to watch it for a couple of days. Be too far by Blantyre to hand it its needings then. Well call in on the way down trail."

Strangely, though not siuprisingly to Chisum's way of thinking, his "warriors" did not raise objections. The excuse about the herd being restless made a good face-saver and they all knew that they would not return as a bunch but in dribbles as their pay ran out. So it appeared that the redemption of Blantyre could be forgotten and next year the Long Rail's route would be such as to avoid passing the town and that proddy Texan's land.

Once over the rim and out of sight of the camp, 17

Slaughter rode to where a roan and an Appaloosa horse stood tied to the breeze, their reins dangling before them and holding them as eflEectively as if they were staked down and hobbled. For a few minutes he chewed meditatively on his imlit agar, then saw Washita Trace and Burt Alvord coming toward him, each with a Winchester rifle tucked under his arm.

"^^ary a move, John,'' Trace remarked.

**Didn't reckon there would be, Wash," Slaughter repHed.

It had never been Slaughter's way to take foolish and unnecessary^ chances. A man would have been worse than foolish to ride into Chisum's trail camp and deliver such a message without a couple of good rifles to cover his back. So, while Slaughter rode dowTi the slope and held the attention of the Long Rail's crew. Trace and Alvord moved in on foot, unseen by the trail hands, and took cover to watch for any treacherous moves.

Knowing Burt Alvord, who had fired the shot which had saved his Hfe, Slaughter felt siuprised that the Long Rail man came off wi^ no worse than a bullet-busted shoulder. Of course, the weak twenty-eight grain load charging the ""old yellow boy's" flat-nosed bullets tended to give poor accuracy at an>1'hing but short ranges, which could be the most likely reason that the man still lived.

'Want me to trail 'em for a spell, boss?^ Alvord asked

"Nope."

Slaughter might have gone on to explain that among the mail he collected in town had been a letter from the commanding oflBcer at Fort McCleUan, down on the New Mexico-Arizona Hne and close to the Mexican border. The letter confirmed an order for three thousand head of cattle to be dehvered as feed for the reservation Apaches. While there were other ranches closer than Slaughter's place, their owners preferred to chance the longer drive to Kansas where a much higher price might be obtained for their stock, rather Sian chance the difficult journey to the fort.

The rancher did not trouble to explain, for one sim-18

pie word satisfied Burt Alvord; in fact, the simpler the words the better the dark, young Indian liked them.

For a time the three men rode in silence, then Washita Trace broke it with a chuckle.

"Reckon Chisum might learn how his own beef tastes this trip, John,"' the foreman remarked.

"Not as long as there's a head of any other spread's among them," Slaughter guessed. **Comes morning. Wash, I want every man out sweeping the southern end of the range."

"Got the order, huh?"

"We got it."

"rU start the boys come sunup. Ain't no point in leaving temptation in Chisum's way when he comes through."

CHAPTER THREE

Tte Missing Hundred Head

The morning after his visit to Chisum's camp, John Slaughter had breakfast with his blond-haired, pretty and shapely little wife, then went to the cook shack where Coonskin, his Negro cook, served breakfast to the hands. The fat, jovial ex-slave, wearing a coonskin cap instead of the traditional chefs hat, oflFered his boss breakfast, for he could never reconcile himself to the thought of Slaughter living on a woman s cooking.

'']ust ate,'' Slaughter replied. "Come down to talk with the boys. Say, you make sure the chuck wagon and bed wagon are ready to roll, you hear me now?"

^'Ah hears you good, boss," Coonskin agreed. ''Y'all sure ya don't want no breakfast?"

"Nope."

With a sniff, Coonskin turned and disappeared into the sacred groimd of his kitchen. Sure, Mrs. Slaughter was a real nice lady who always had a friendly word for a man, and never thought to come in his kitchen prying around. She even asked his advice and swapped recipes v^th him. But it sure didn't seem right fiiat Mr. John should be deprived of proper victuals. Anyway, once they got on the trail, Coonskin would be able to put things right.

"Tell you, Mr. Earp," the Negro said to his unusual pet as it lay curled up imder a table by the stove. "We'll soon feed Mr. John up again and set him up until the next time we goes on a drive."

Not knowing of his cook's thoughts. Slaughter got down to business. Gathering the cattle would not be diflBcult v^th experienced hands such as the J.S. crew. The spring roundup had not long been over and his

cattle would not have^pKt up into small foraging groups, for the grass was good and cows tended to hang together as long as they could. So Slaughters men would collect the small, scattered herds, bring them together on the flat open plain down by the lake a mile from the main house and cut out the required nmnber of beef steers needed to fill the contract.

To avoid possible misunderstandings. Slaughter decided to gather the stock grazing in die area through which Chisum would drive his herd. Naturally he would start his men gathering on the southern range, for the Long Rail's herd came up from the south. Even with good hands driving the herd, Chisiun was unlikely to make more than ten miles a day, so it would be at least two days before he crossed liie J.S.'s south line. By that time Slaughter's hands would have moved aU their cattle from the lower ranges and could keep ahead of the advancing trail herd.

Quickly and concisely Slaughter gave his orders to the men. Not that they needed long-winded explanations; each of the fifteen regular hands was an experienced cowhand and knew his work.

While the hands ate their breakfasts, Insomny Sam, the nighthawk, aided by the day wrangler. Young Sandy, brought in the remuda, driving it from the range and into the big corral before the bunkhouse. Sandy was a tall, skinny youngster learning to be a cowhand while working at the menial task of wrangling horses; and living for the day when he made a hand, was given his own mount—^few Texans used the word ^'string'' for their allotted work horses—and was allowed to handle cattle. Bounding from his old horse, Sandy ran toward the gate of the corral and prevented any of the remuda breaking out again. His heart was full of joy, for his hero, Texas John, had said he could go along with the trail herd to Fort McClellan.

Insomny Sam was a short, spry, leathery old-timer with a whiskery face and an aged hat that conservative opinion stated weighed a good two pounds heavier than when new and could be smelled across a wide room, but in the tradition of the true Stetson had

weathered many a storm, lost any trace of its original color, yet still maintained its shape. He had ridden in Ole Devil Hardin's Texas Light Cavalry during both the Texas War of Independence and the Mexican War, and profanely asserted that had he been in the outfit during the War Between The States it would have been Grant who handed his sword to Lee at the Appomattox Courthouse. At some time in his past Insomny had heard of insomnia and decided he suffered from it. So he retired from being a cowhand and became Slaughters nighthawk, handling the remuda or other chores during the dark hours and catching up on his sleep in the daytime.

"Wish them yahoos'd hurry up,** Insomny complained. "Ain't nothing worse for my insomny than getting sunlight on the eyeballs."

'They're coming now," Sandy replied, watching the cowhands burst from the bunkhouse and head toward the corral. He gave a sigh and thought ahead to the day when he would be one of those happy-go-lucky hands instead of a danged, no-account wrangler.

Carrying their ropes, the cowhands approached the big corral and climbed on its rails. There were getting on for a hundred horses in the corral, for each man had a mount consisting of a couple of circle horses, used for covering the distances when gathering in cattle on a roimd-up and general work which did not call for special training, a cutting horse, one trained for roping, a night-horse and two or three younger animals in various stages of training, as well as the man's personal horse. Apart from his personal animal, the rest belonged to the ranch. On being hired, a hand was shown his mount, but the boss did not insult his inteUigence by offering advice about the nature of the animals, for to do so would hint at a lack of confidence in the hand's ability. While he worked for the ranch, the hand kept his mount. If the boss changed an allocated horse, the hand knew he was being given a hint that his presence was unwelcome and that he should quit

On arrival at the corral, each man had to decide 22

which of his mounts best suited the first stage of the day's work, spot the selected horse among all the others, then catch and saddle it.

To avoid spooking the remuda and tiring the horses before the start of the day's work, the cowhands used either the hooley-ann or the overhand toss when throwing their ropes. Neither throw looked as spectacular as the butterfly, body-spin, ocean waves, or other fancy whirls performed by trick-ropers in Bill-Shows,* but had the advantage of being accxurate, did not scare the horses, and cdlowed several men at a time to be catching their horses without disturbing the remainder of the remuda.

Man after man on the trail studied the gently moving remuda, picked out his horse, then tossed his rope, whirling it up over his head and sending the loop sailiag out to drop gently over the head of the selected animal. Once the horse felt the touch of the rope, it allowed itself to be led from the corral and saddled.

After saddling their horses, and riding out any bed-springs the animals might have in their bellies, the men headed across the range, riding south to make a start on the roundup. Pausing only long enough to tell Young Sandy where to deliver the remuda at noon and to allow the hands to change horses. Slaughter followed his men; for it was Slaughter s way never to tell a man to do a job unless he knew he could do it himself.

Slaughter, Washita Trace and the fifteen hands rode as a group at first, sticking together xmtil they reached the stream which formed the ranch's south line. At the stream Slaughter swung to the right, half of the men following him, while Trace took the rest to the left. After separating, the two parties followed the stream bank, man after man dropping out at intervals until the entire crew stretched in a long line along the banks and pointed their horses north.

While riding north again every man kept his eyes

^Bill-Show: Wild West Show of the kind made popular by Buffalo Bill Cody.

open for signs of cattle. Once a cow, bull, calf or steer had been seen, it was gathered in, kept mo\dng ahead of the line, headed toward the rendezvous Slaughter selected that morning before leading his men to work.

The hands picked up cattle in ones, twos, small herds, it made no never-mind to them. All were gathered and shoved ahead, chased out of their comfortable Httle niches, prevented from returning to their unhindered life of feeding and sleeping. Some of the cattle picked up would be allowed to return to the range, others were due, in the course of time, to fill the beUies of the Apaches in the hope of keeping those savage and cunning fighters at peace with die white-eyed brothers and contented on their reservations.