Trail Hand (16 page)

I took out some cigarette paper and walked slowly up to his window where a sign read Luis B. Jacobs, Station Attendant. Acting once more as if I owned the place, I rolled a cigarette and struck a match on the sill. “Howdy,” I said. “You Jacobs?”

“That’s right,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

“Davies sent me.”

“That so? Don’t believe I know you,” he said, glancing up at the mention of Davies’s name. I leaned over the sill and blew some smoke into the room.

“No reason you should,” I agreed, tossing away the match. “I’m new here.”

“So what do you want?” he asked abruptly.

“Look, bub, I’m just following orders. Davies said to check with you and see if you’ve got anything new for him.”

“He ain’t paid me for that last bit,” Jacobs replied angrily. “This ain’t as simple as it seems, you know. I take a lot of risks.”

That cinched it. I was on the right track.

“Look, all I know is what I was told to do. You got a problem, take it up with Pierce,” I said. I was just playing along, sort of shooting for effect, but I’d definitely struck a nerve. His whole expression changed as he slumped back in his chair. Pierce must really be a hard one to contend with, I thought grimly.

“All right, all right. Tell Mister Davies nothing’s come through here or gone out since that last message I gave him…the one from McFarlen.” Jacobs started sweating and tugged nervously at his ear.

“Nothing from those
mejicanos
?
” I asked.

“Nah. She ain’t sent nothin’ for some time.”

That “she” caught me by surprise.

“She ain’t, huh? Say, by the way, now that you mentioned it, I’ve always wondered how you fellers figure out if it’s a guy or a gal talking, what with all that clicking?” I offered him some tobacco, which he refused.

“You mean if they don’t mention it outright?” he asked.

I just nodded.

“Well, since there ain’t many women operators around, after a while you can tell by the sender’s touch. Now, on the other hand, if a man’s sending a message for a woman you can sometimes pick up on the kind of phraseology women use. ’Course, that only comes with my kind of experience.” He was calming down some, regaining his composure. “Just between you and me,” he added, “Iought to get more respect for what Ido.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” I nodded.
“Always thought this job was pretty complicated myself.”

“Darn’ tootin’ it is,” he said boastfully.

“And I’ll bet an expert like you could even tell if a message came from a wife talking to a husband, or say a girl talking to her uncle?”

“Sure as hell could. For example, I know those last few messages to Davies came from a woman, and that she was usin’ the same dispatch office as the earlier ones sent by that chili-dippin’ brother-in-law of McFarlen’s down south.”

Now I was really puzzled. Who could it be?

“Thought I heard Pierce mention something about a daughter or niece, or something,” I said.

“Not so’s I know,” he said, scratching his head. “But it could have been, though. See, I picked up what went on between the Mex and his greaselovin’ brother-in-law, McFarlen. The messages from the girl to Davies came later, but they didn’t have no name on them.”

“So how’d you know they came from the same place.”

“Easy. Same operator. Kinda like readin’ a signature.”

I’d been lucky enough so far, and didn’t want to spoil things, so I decided to cut it short.

“Mister Davies told me to tell you to sit tight and keep quiet. But, look, don’t talk to no one unless I tell you, and, in the meantime, I’ll see what I can do about your pay. But don’t expect too much,” I added. “Like I said, I’m new here.”

“All right, I’ll see ya later,” he replied. Jacobs turned back to the keys as another message came in and I left with more questions than before.

For the next three days I camped out in the hills north of the 4 Box Ranch, watching the goings-on from hiding. Whenever riders left the ranch, I’d follow, but inevitably they’d simply ride the fence line, or head back into town for supplies. On two separate occasions I spotted Luke Pierce riding my Morgan and had to restrain myself from repaying his favors with a head shot.

Finally, on the fourth day, a couple of riders left early, seemingly going about their usual rounds. After about fifteen minutes, however, one of the men split away, taking a different trail from any previously used, north up into the hills.

I followed him for two and a half hours until coming to the front of a high rock face where he’d suddenly and completely disappeared. I rode up and down the path, searching, for about twenty minutes until finally returning to the spot where I’d lost him. I sat there studying the wall, trying to spot the entrance to what had to be a hidden cañon. There were a few gaps in the wall that all ended in solid rock and several tree trunks that seemed too large to move.

I cursed my luck and was just about to call it quits when I spotted a hawk diving down on a sparrow. Both flew at top speed straight through
the trees, yet neither came back out. Not one to distrust Mother Nature, I refused to believe they’d both flown blindly into a solid wall, and a closer inspection confirmed my suspicions.

It was a beautiful job of disguise, one so clever even old Ali Baba and his Arabs would have been proud of it. Two large clumps of trees grew in opposite curves forming an arch. The middle three trees had been hollowed out, dug up, and replaced in the same spot. From a distance the thick green cover growing down from the end trees hid the fact that the whole middle section of trees was dead.

There was a large rope and pulley affair tied to some clusters of rock located on both sides of the wall. When tripped from a lever hidden in a notch in the wall, the balance was sprung and the rocks dropped, pulling the middle section of tree trunks up, roots and all. It was like one of those castle drawbridges Ma had described when she read to me about Arthur and Lancelot.

Behind the door was a long passage leading out into a blind cañon. There I found green pasture, a line shack at the far end, and a herd of Spanish EH brand horses grazing contentedly.

So far nobody had spotted me. The smart thing to do now would be to hightail it straight back to the McFarlen Ranch, and then over to the sheriff ’s. That would have been the smart thing, but instead I decided to snoop around the line shack.

I suppose I knew, deep down, that simply recovering the herd for
Don
Enrique and his relatives, the McFarlens, was the important thing, and that it would be sufficient to clear my name, but I had a more personal score to settle. I wanted
to be able to prove conclusively that Davies and Pierce were behind the rustling. Men had died and many other lives placed at risk because of the greed of these two men. I wasn’t about to let them get away with it.

Sneaking around the side of the shack, I listened for a while to the three men inside. I was on foot holding my hand over the roan’s mouth to quiet him down while I eavesdropped. It never occurred to me that anyone would bother to build a back door to such a small cabin.

“Hold it right there, mister.” The voice was deep but not nearly as commanding as the
click
from the hammer being pulled back on the revolver. “What are you doing here?”

“Relax,” I replied. “I’m looking for Curly, Curly Edwards.” I turned around slowly. It was a quick gamble. His was the only name I’d overheard them use and I had to say something. “You can put it away,” I said, gesturing toward his gun. “Luke Pierce sent me to help out.”

“We’ll see about that. Now move.” As we rounded the front, the other two cowboys came out the door. “What’s up Jeff? Who’s this?”

I recognized Curly’s voice. As expected, he was bald as an egg.

“That’s what I’d like to know. Says Pierce sent him. You know him?”

“Never saw him before. How about you, Andy?” He was addressing the cowboy I’d followed into the valley.

“Nope. And Pierce never said nothin’ to me about expecting anyone to show up, neither.”

“Of course not,” I answered. “I just hitched up. Been on the run and had to stay low. Came out
here ’cause I used to ride with Luke a few years ago back, in West Texas.”

They looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Constant reference to Pierce’s name had created some doubt in their minds, so I quickly answered their questions with enough assurance to make my story convincing.

“Think about it. How else would I have been able to find my way in here?” I asked. “And look here,” I said, pointing to the brand on the roan. “Pierce himself picked this one out for me. Haven’t even had time to switch him over to the Four Box yet.”

That seemed to cinch things for them, at least for the time being. They holstered their guns and the one named Andy went back into the cabin.

“Just one question. What were you doin’ sneakin’ ’round the side of the shack?” Jeff asked. He apparently was the cautious type.

“Like I said, I’m on the run. I don’t know you boys, so I thought I’d better check things out before knocking on a strange door. Wouldn’t you?”

“Guess so. All right, come on in. Want some coffee?” he asked, seemingly convinced.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

After a couple of hours of small talk I got enough details out of them to learn Davies was finally planning his big raid. In spite of the loss of the herd, the McFarlens still hadn’t been convinced to sell, and Davies had run out of patience. When a person has both money and the power it brings, there comes a time when he begins to feel almost god-like. Or at least so I’ve been told. Davies apparently no longer worried about appearances or consequences. I learned
the attack was planned for sometime soon, but none of the three cowpokes knew exactly when.

My chance to break loose came when Curly and Andy got up to do a once around look-see.

“That reminds me, Curly,” I said. “Luke wanted me to ride with you. Said you could show me the layout.

They all seemed easily impressed that I was on a first name basis with Pierce.

“That’s why I asked for you first, remember?”

“That’s right, he did,” Jeff added helpfully.

“OK with me,” Andy added. “I’ve had more than enough saddle time lately.”

“Great, let’s go,” I said, quickly figuring that one on one odds outside were better than three to one inside.

We mounted up but managed to ride only about 200 yards before we closed with a large group of armed riders.

Even if he weren’t riding my Morgan bay stallion, I’d still have recognized Luke Pierce. My height, my color hair, and twin Remington .44s worn cross-draw style, pistol butts forward. He had my Henry in the saddle scabbard, but was also carrying a Sharps rifle in his right hand.

Pa’s advice to me as a boy after I’d busted knuckles with Billy Watson suddenly came back to me. “You may not like it, but remember, Son, iffen you are forced to fight, hit first and hit hard.” The problem now was how to do that against so many.

We cantered straight up to the group, stopping directly in front of Pierce.

“Howdy, Luke,” I said calmly.

He stared back at me, and then over to Curly, puzzled.

“Who the hell is this, Pierce?” asked a big redheaded man riding just off to his left. He was about six feet and wore a brown hunting jacket over a vest. There was no waist gun visible, but, when he turned to the side, I noticed twin shoulder holsters.

“I don’t know, Mister Davies,” Pierce replied. “Never saw him before.”

“Luke, you might not recognize me, even though you are riding my horse, but I’m sure you’ll remember a friend of mine,” I said, looking the group over.

“Yeah, and who might that be?” he asked.

“A little Indian boy who’s now lying in a grave near a town called Buffalo Grove. One who’s only crime was trying to keep some cowardly backstabbin’ thieves from taking his horse.” I looked over at Davies. “You see, Brett, aside from bushwhacking honest men for you, Luke here gets a kick out of holding children from behind while his old friend Reynolds stabs them dead.’ Course, now that we finally met up, Reynolds won’t be doing that any more.”

“You know you’re gonna die for that,” muttered Pierce angrily.

“Well, Luke, you tried once and failed,” I said calmly. “Funny how things have a way of catching up on a feller. You’re gonna die, Luke, just like your friend Reynolds did. I’m going to see to it. And that goes for you, too, Davies.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Davies replied angrily. “Take care of him, Pierce.”

Luke dropped his reins and he swung the Sharps rifle upward. He apparently had grown to trust that Morgan, who was usually a pretty calm
riding horse. Usually, that is, but not always. Sprout had spent over a month helping me teach that stallion a variety of Kiowa tricks, and the kid was about to get his revenge.

At the sound of my whistle that Morgan started bucking like a Missouri mule sitting on a beehive. The heavy weight of Pierce’s rifle helped throw him backward off the bay, and every horse nearby was either kicked or spooked into a frenzy.

Three riders immediately toppled over sideways, and, as I galloped past, Davies was knocked from his saddle by my outstretched forearm. The chocolate roan reacted to my spurs in a flick, darting forward through the gap created by the stallion’s antics. We raced away with the Morgan in full pursuit, responding to my whistles.

I rode out through the pass, hesitating only long enough to spring the pulleys. As soon as we broke out of the trees, I jumped horses. The
vaqueros
call it the leap of death, and Kiowas learn it as children. At a full gallop the rider comes out of his stirrups and jumps over to a second horse running alongside. It has to be timed just right or the rider can easily break his neck.

The roan had been a good steady mount and, much to his credit, stayed right up with us the whole way, but I wanted to be riding that Morgan stallion. I knew what he was capable of in a pinch, and with that gang on my tail I was going to need all the lead time I could get. I knew there was no way Davies would hold back now. He would go after the McFarlens and take what he wanted, and there was no one around strong enough to stop him.

I had to reach the ranch in time to warn them. McFarlen needed to prepare for the attack, and I was determined to let him know where the herd was hidden, or die trying.

I was between the horns and the wall. Brett Davies and his bunch were after me, and somewhere ahead was a group of
vaqueros
coming my way, just itching to lynch me. Even so, I was now so mad none of it mattered to me. I’d made a promise to Rosa Hernandez and I aimed to keep it.