The Devil's Roundup Part 10

Burt looked from his brother to Saber, and then to Keno Charlie. He shrugged and said: "h.e.l.l, I just asked."

"I think," Saber said seriously, "that I just might have a job for you. A little monotonous and lonely maybe. Might even be a little risky in spots, but if you want it, it's worth sixty a month and found."

Willie Kerry became all caution. "Wait a minute, John... I don't know about this. We had two men before and didn't....

"All right," Saber said. "Can you leave your place and do it for me?"

Willie shook his head.

Saber turned to Burt Kerry and asked: "You're Cardigan's foreman... you got a man he can spare?"

"There's no arguin' with you," Burt said, and shoved his beer gla.s.s toward Keno Charlie for a refill.

"What kind of a job is this?" Phil wanted to know.

Saber took him by the arm, and the four of them crossed to a corner table and sat down. Saber sc.r.a.ped sawdust with his boot until he had a pile, then formed it into rough hummocks to model the surrounding country. He marked the roads with his fingertip, indicating the boundaries by a series of s.p.a.ced finger marks. "We've been rustled for years," Saber ex plained. "We've cleaned out three bunches over a period of years, but some other bunch just moves in. Now here's my place. It runs from a mile south of the high road clear to the breaks that let down onto the flatlands. This is Wes Cardigan's Sunrise spread." He pointed to a scooped-out place depicting a large upper valley. "Down near the desert's edge is Jesse Dulane, Willie's father-in-law. Old man Rynder and Jim Hawk's place is over here ...to the east a bit. Willie's got a place above me in the breaks, but the main trouble is a little farther on, just before the land lowers into the flatlands." He raised his head and called: "Hey, Charlie... bring us another round of beers, will you?

"Now," he went on, "1'm not trying to sell you a pig in a poke. Go into this thing with your eyes open and keep them that way. 1 have a cabin up in the breaks, and I'll set you up there above Willie's place. They've kept that country busier than the old Goodnight Trail, moving stock through. Now we've a good railroad here and loading pens, but there's one outfit that drives their cattle. They cut across the tip of my place and go out the south end through the canon. I'm not asking you to fight my wars for me. Just look and remember what you see. We have the rope, and we'll use it when the time comes."

"I'm stone broke," Phil Stalker said. "I'll take the job, but I'll need a little stake." He took his brush jacket between his thumb and forefinger and held the thin cloth away from his body.

Keno Charlie arrived with four schooners of beer balanced on a tin tray, and Saber waited until he went back behind the bar before touching Burt Kerry on the arm.

"Take him over to Rutherford's store and see that he gets outfitted. Put it on my account."

"h.e.l.l!" Burt protested. "1 just got my beer!"

John Saber sighed as if he were long accustomed to this, and Burt sc.r.a.ped back his chair, then stopped, half raised out of it.

The saloon door had opened, and a large, heavy-browed man entered. Two men followed closely behind. Willie Kerry and Saber turned to give them a heavy, friendless stare, and John's foot hastily erased his sawdust drawing.

Sam Bray leaned against the bar, his men strung out behind him, and said: "Gettin' cold out. Be snow in another week."

"We're ready for it," Saber told him.

Bray's dark brows knotted as he dropped his eyes to the pile of disarranged sawdust. He gave Phil Stalker a quick, searching glance, and his eyes narrowed. A sudden interest rose in his beefy, lined face. He turned and bellied against the bar.

Saber nudged Burt Kerry again and said quietly: "Get on with what I told you."

Kerry and Stalker went out together.

Rutherford's store was three doors down the street, and they entered it, navigating through a maze of hanging harness and stacked dry goods to come up against the counter. Phil Stalker made his clothing purchases and went into Rutherford's back room to change. He selected a heavy coat and a pair of sheepskin chaps, then gave his attention to the firearm counter. He examined a dozen handguns before taking a worn single-action Remington in .44 caliber. He scorned the hip holster, taking instead a skimpy holster that he placed under his left armpit.

Burt Kerry watched this with some amus.e.m.e.nt. "Saber will love you for that. He swears by them danged things."

"Some men swear at them," Phil said. He took a used Winchester from the wall rack. "it wouldn't make much dif ference where 1 wore a gun," he added. "1 ain't fast, and with winter clothes on it'll be a lot easier to carry in a shoulder rig." He signed the chit, and told Rutherford: "I'll be back after this stuff later."

"No hurry," Rutherford stated. "It'll get paid for just the same."

Saber and Willie Kerry were waiting on the saloon porch. Phil halted before them, still cradling his rifle. Saber gave him a close, critical inspection, his eyes pausing on the bulge under Phil's left arm. He said: "Willie will get you a horse from Harris. He'll show you where the cabin is on his way home. If anything comes up.. .contact him. He'll get the word to me."

Stalker nodded, and walked with Willie to the end of Comanche Street. Harris's Livery Stable sat back from the road, and Kerry went in, coming out in a few minutes with a compact bay.

"What about my horse?" Phil wanted to know.

Willie grinned. "John will take it with him. The poor critter looks like he could stand six months of winter feed."

Bob Harris came from the restaurant across the street, a small, peppery man, and took his seat by the stable's arch. He watched Phil saddle the bay and said: "Stealin' one of my horses, Willie?"

Kerry winked at Phil. "You don't call that pigeonbreasted nag a horse, do you?"

Harris rose to his fighting best and waved a finger under Willie's nose. "I'll have you know," he shouted, "that that animal came outta Dixie Sweetheart who beat Harry Buck's chestnut four years ago!"

"Better talk a little louder," Willie remarked. "1 don't think they can hear you down by the depot."

Harris sputtered. Phil swung into the saddle. Willie gathered his reins, and mounted.

"Who's gonna pay for the use of that horse?" Harris wanted to know.

"Saber," Willie said, and added: "You're gettin' pretty sa.s.sy lately, Harris. You better quit talkin' that way to me, or I'll stop givin' you my old razor blades."

They swung back up the street then, stopping before Rutherford's store while Phil made up a roll and started lashing it behind the saddle.

Sam Bray had come from the saloon with his two men, and they teetered on the edge of the boardwalk, watching Stalker.

"We got company," Willie murmured, and nodded his head, swinging Phil's attention around.

"They supposed to be somebody?"

Willie shrugged. "You could say they was in the cattle business, only we ain't proved it yet."

Stalker gave the men a bold-faced study. "They don't look so tough to me."

Willie grinned, and pulled at the lobe of his ear. "You know," he drawled, "I was just like you once.. .mule-headed and smart, too. Why, 1 knew it all. When I was eighteen, 1 thought my of man was the stoopidest person in the state of Texas. But when 1 got to be twenty-one, 1 was amazed at what he'd learned in three years."

Stalker gave him a quick grin and mounted. "Let's go," he said.

They rode out.

Hondo lay in a scooped-out bowl with high hills bracketing it on three sides, the higher mountains rising majestically beyond. High on the road, the desert seemed small and barren, lying off in the distance. Willie halted to rest the horses. He fashioned a smoke, his long fingers working over the paper until it was formed, then handed the tobacco sack to Phil Stalker. Although the sun stood high, a nail-sharp chill hung in the air, and Willie unrolled his heavy coat and slipped into it. He removed his gun belt, rebuckling it over the coat.

Stalker watched this and remarked: "You're a cautious man."

"I got a wife, and a daughter not a year old," Willie said. "I aim to live long enough to see her cut her first tooth."

Stalker swung his eyes over the country. The road wound before him, switching back and forth against the mountains, driving higher into the land beyond. "Wild country," he said.

Willie nodded in agreement. "Wes Cardigan's got the plum ...a rich, high valley that runs for miles. Saber owns the most land but a lot of it is badlands. 1 got nine hundred acres of my own up in the breaks." He waved a hand to the right where the hills fell away to the desert's edge. "Sam Bray owns that. Not enough water on it to fill a bird bath, but he's built himself a nice herd."

Stalker asked: "You think he's night riding?"

"Never been able to prove it," Willie admitted. "We cut his herd now and then, but never found a thing. It's got us puzzled."

"Who around here's losing stock?"

Willie shrugged. "Everyone except Cardigan. Park Rynder's Pipe, Dulane's Anchor, the Leaning Seven... they all claim to have lost."

Stalker drew on his cigarette, then spun it away from him, and mounted. He said: "Looks bad for Cardigan, don't it?"

Temper and a proud stubbornness washed into Willie's face, but he clamped his lips together and swung up. He meant to move out, but the thing on his mind prodded him to speak. "Stalker, Cardigan's Sunrise wouldn't steal a blade of gra.s.s from no man. All of us owe Wes Cardigan something. Don't ever voice an opinion like that again."

"Sure," Phil said evenly. "I'm new here, and 1 just said what I thought. 1 meant nothing personal by it, and 1 didn't accuse your friend. However, if 1 actually suspected him, neither you nor the whole country could keep me from speaking my piece. You understand that?"

Willie stared at him for a long moment and Stalker's eyes never wavered. He was, Willie decided, a man ready to shake hands or fight on the slightest pretense. Somehow this pleased him, for he said-"We'll get along."-and rapped the horse into movement.

Talk seemed to come easier for both of them after that. It was as if they had reached out and felt each other's muscle and seemed satisfied with what they found.

Willie halted, and pointed to a large rabbit sitting thirty feet away. Phil shifted his rifle, but Willie shook his head, and drew his long-barreled .44. The shot split the stillness. The rabbit flopped twice, then lay still.

"Be good for supper," Willie said, and dismounted to retrieve the small animal.

The road at this point ran between sweeping grades, flattening to a small plateau. Willie picked the rabbit up by the ears, grinning, and skirted the larger rocks.

A clear voice said: "You ought to be more careful with your shooting."

Stalker swung his head at the sound. Willie pulled his gun with a speed that startled Phil. The rider sat above them, a rifle across the saddle, a small figure bundled tightly in a dirty sheepskin coat.

Willie shoved his gun back into the holster and said half crossly: "Come on down outta there, Anna. You ought to know better than to scare a man like that."

Phil looked again and saw that it was a girl. She lifted the reins, disappearing for moments at a time behind the boulders, then came out on the road and stopped six feet from them. Willie mounted and handed the rabbit to Phil.

Anna Bray said: "Who're you? 1 never seen you around here before."

Willie introduced him.

Anna said: "Oh. Another one." She was a pretty girl with large eyes, and a full, sad mouth. She watched Phil Stalker with a half-wistful expression and asked: "What do you want to go up there and live for?"

"Why. ..1...," Stalker began.

Willie slid his voice in, cutting him off. "What's the matter, Anna? Having trouble at home?"

"1 always have trouble," she replied, and glanced over her shoulder as if she expected to be followed. She lifted the reins. "It's been nice seeing you again, Willie... you, too, mister."

"Wait!" Willie said. He moved his horse closer to hers. "Anna, 1 don't mean to b.u.t.t in, but if things get bad, you can always come to us or Saber."

"I'm all right," the girl insisted. "It's just that sometimes 1 get lonesome, that's all." She gave Phil a wan smile, then her eyes clouded with some thought. "You ought to leave the country, mister."

"What's the matter, Anna?" Willie asked.

A fear crossed Anna's face, and she said quickly: "Nothing, nothing. Good bye, Willie... good bye, mister."

She wheeled the horse, and shortly the sound of running hoof beats faded into nothing.

Willie sat, his hands folded on the saddle horn, puzzlement on his face.

Phil said: "She certainly is strange. She talks like she don't have good sense."

"She's got good sense," Willie a.s.sured him. "She's just scared of her own shadow, that's all. Her old man beats the skin off her every chance he gets, and don't ask me what for, 'cause 1 don't know." Willie let out a long, ragged breath. "We're just killin' time here."

They moved off, following the road as it bore deeper and higher into the land.

II.

They raised Cardigan's ranch after three hours of riding. Willie took the horses into the barn while Phil loitered by the well. Wes Cardigan came out of the house and stood on the front porch, a big man, nearly fifty, with roan hair and a full mustache. Willie introduced Phil Stalker.

Wes Cardigan said: "Seems like you can smell my wife's cooking for ten miles, Willie."

They washed at the kitchen sink and seated themselves at the big, oval table. Lila Cardigan moved around the kitchen. Phil thought that she was a singularly beautiful woman with a full figure and pale blonde hair. She gave Stalker a guarded attention, then seemed satisfied at what she read, laughed, and entered into the small talk.

With the meal ended, Wes shoved his plate back and lighted a cigar. He fingered his mustache. "Snow in a few days. 1 can feel it in the air."

"A man gets all kinds of aches and pains when he gets old and stove up," Willie said, and pulled his face into a smooth mask.

Cardigan looked at him for a moment, then glanced at his wife, and, when she laughed, his face broke, and he chuckled. "d.a.m.n' young Indian. Got a wife and a young 'un and still you run all over the country."

"Business," Willie Kerry told him, and reached for the coffee pot.

Cardigan shook his head sadly, positive the world was coming to a bad end and opined: "Why the devil you people can't live in peace is beyond me. All the time pickin' the other fella apart. You get a few head of cattle lifted and you start peekin' in your neighbor's window to see if he's tannin' the hide. There's always been a certain amount of sundownin' ...there always will be. It's like sweat. You wash it off, and it comes right back."

Phil Stalker sifted tobacco into a brown paper. "They say that Sunrise beef hasn't been touched." He wiped a match alight in the dead silence, then lifted his eyes slowly and locked them with Wes Cardigan's.

Cardigan waited a moment, then said softly: "A statement like that could get a man in trouble."

The young man flipped the spent match into his saucer. "Whether it does or not remains to be seen. However, it was just a statement, not an accusation. 1 didn't make it up... just repeated it to you."

Cardigan's face lost some of its hostility, and he relaxed. "That's right, you didn't make it up, but you can't blame a man for bein' touchy." He let out a long breath. "No, 1 haven't lost a blasted head, and it's got me worried. Dammit, with all of my friends bein' rustled I feel slighted when 1 get left out."

Willie slapped his leg and stood up. "Time to be movin' on," he said, and went into the hall to get his coat.

They trooped outside, and Wes Cardigan went with them. He blew out his breath, watching it appear frosty in the biting air. "Come back in a few days, Willie. My three boys'll be home from that military school, and they'll want to see you."

"I'll do that," Willie said.

They swung up and rode out of the yard. An hour's easy ride carried them to Cardigan's fence, and they cut into the higher land, angling always toward the badlands. There was little talk between them. Stalker kept swinging his head from side to side, cataloging the terrain in his mind for future reference.

They cut through a high pa.s.s, and Willie stopped, pointing to a low cabin and outbuilding less than a mile away. "My place," he said with considerable pride. He pointed to a split in the distant hills. "Follow that and it breaks out on a small, high valley. Right over the rim the land cuts into a deep canon that leads out onto the flatland. That's where Saber's cabin is. There's plenty of supplies there."

Stalker followed the pointing arm and nodded. He said: "Is that where they're driving them through?"