The Devil's Roundup Part 11

"Yep," Willie said. "Bray sure don't ship out of the railhead in Hondo."

"1 wonder why?"

"You find that out," Willie told him, "and you can consider that you've earned your money."

"Anna Bray said something about me being another one. What did she mean by that?"

"John hired a couple of men before you," Willie said.

"What happened to them?"

Willie shrugged. "Got too tough for one, 'cause he quit. The other one we ain't found yet...but his horse came back."

Phil Stalker scratched the back of his head. "A cheerful thought."

"So long," Willie said. "Don't get caught asleep." He grinned to ease some of the seriousness from his words. He cut down into the valley, disappearing a few minutes later among the rocks.

Stalker rode slowly through the land, and two hours later sighted the cabin near the end of a small valley. The sun was low in the sky; long shadows fell among the rocks. To the left of the cabin and down into a narrow canon, the land split, forming a sheer wall that led to the flatlands miles beyond. He envisioned the land shaped as a gigantic bottle with the higher peaks marking the outline. He was the stopper. The thought gave him little comfort.

There were the hundred small things a man has to do when he moves into new quarters, and he spent the next two days rearranging things to suit himself. He cleaned out the nest of whisky bottles from under the bunk, and scrubbed the acc.u.mulated grime from the floor. Finally he removed the art decorations that cluttered up the walls.

True to Wes Cardigan's prediction, snow fell on the third day, at first only a thin blanket with gray skies that blotted out the half-warm sun. Toward evening of the third day it came down thicker, and soon a six-inch layer rounded the contours of the land, bringing with it a silence more m.u.f.fled, more shrouded than he had ever known.

After the evening meal, he stretched out on his bunk, filled with the thoughts that solitude sp.a.w.ns. Sounds drifted to him, gently at first, then he sat upright as he caught the lowing of cattle in the canon. He had no light burning, so he rose in the darkness and dressed. A few minutes later he went to the lean-to barn after his horse, the heavy Winchester cradled in his arm.

The snow stopped as he worked his way to the lower levels leading out of the canon, and he had little trouble picking up the broad trail, even in the faint night light. Two hours of slow traveling brought him out of the hills and onto the flatlands where he could no longer track because the hard ground held no snow.

He was no Westerner, but he was not a fool, either, and he soon had a fair count of the herd. He had little difficulty separating the pony tracks and knew that he faced four riders should he overtake them. Their fire made a bright spot in the distance, not more than a mile away. He rode straight for it at a trot. He halted at their picket line about twenty yards from the fire and dismounted, cradling his Winchester in the crook of his arm. Sam Bray stood up, a great bear in his long fur coat. The three men with him remained seated, but alert.

Phil entered the ring of light and looked from one to the other, letting his eyes linger longest on Anna Bray who sat hunched against the cold, nursing a cup of coffee.

"You're a little out of your pasture, ain'tcha?" Sam asked. He glanced at the two men hunkered down near the fire.

"That's a fact," Phil admitted. "But it is such a fine point that I knew you wouldn't argue about it. Since the herd you pushed through tonight pa.s.sed through Leaning Seven range, 1 thought 1'd take advantage of the boss' rights and cut it, in case any of our steers got lonesome and joined up with yours."

"You got gall," one of the men said.

"Be good, Finley," Sam cautioned. "This young sprout is within his rights." He grinned at Phil, and jerked a thumb at the scowling man. "That's Finley Henshaw, my foreman. He's a little proud and touchy... you gotta forgive him." Bray's voice was heavy with friendliness. "You just go right ahead and look all you want to, sonny. They're all my cattle, registered to me, and 1 ain't got a thing to be afraid for you to see. Anna!" he shouted. "Go get a lantern for mister what's his-name here to see with. You! Herman! Go with this sprout and see that he don't get lost."

The thin cowpuncher rose, and threw his plate on the ground, grumbling something under his breath, but he took the lighted lantern Anna handed to him.

Sam Bray's eyes glowed as if from some inner joke while Phil walked around the fire to join Herman. Anna Bray b.u.t.toned her sheepskin coat. Sam's rough voice sailed out: "Where the h.e.l.l you goin'?"

She moved her head slowly until she looked over her shoulder at the scowling man. "With them," she said tonelessly. "1 can use the fresh air."

Phil saw the urge to refuse vault into Sam Bray's face, but something held him, and he turned, showing them his back. They moved off into the night with only the bobbing lantern sending a puddle of light ahead.

He worked until midnight, going through the small herd slowly. They were all shorthorns and gave him no trouble. He examined each hip, reading the brands, Herman at his elbow holding the lantern and Anna making a shadow shape behind him.

Phil indicated that he was through, and Herman asked sarcastically: "You satisfied?"

"Yes," Phil admitted. "But there seems to be a great deal of irregularity in your branding. On some of the steers, the Cloverleaf brand is small.. .not more than four inches across, while on other steers it is eight and sometimes ten inches. How do you account for that?"

"You'll have to ask the boss," Herman said. He walked back to the fire ahead of Phil and Anna. The girl shot Phil a troubled glance, but he appeared to ignore her and followed the stringy cowpuncher.

Finley Henshaw had rolled up in his blankets, but Sam Bray still sat before the fire nursing his pipe. His hairy face was unreadable as he looked from his daughter to Stalker. "Everything suit you?"

Phil nodded.

Bray grunted: "I thought it would."

"There is something, though." Phil's voice was innocent. "I worked for a cattle outfit up in Wyoming last year, and they're very careful about their branding in that part of the country.. .but apparently you're not. 1 noticed all sizes. In fact, some of the artistry is very crude."

Sam's face settled, and he said with deceptive softness: "When a man uses the word `artistry,' he's talkin' about a runnin' iron. Some men could twist that into bein' called a rustler."

Phil glanced over his left shoulder and found Herman studying him with a naked wariness. Anna's dark eyes showed a sudden alarm and that made up his mind for him. He shifted his body until the muzzle of the Winchester was pointed at Herman's breastbone and said: "Stand over here where 1 can keep an eye on you."

The man hesitated a moment. Phil worked the lever with a practiced speed. Herman got to his feet and stood by Sam. Bray placed his hands evenly on his knees. "You're just askin' for trouble, sprout."

"No trouble," Phil a.s.sured him. "Just a friendly call." He nodded to Anna and said: "Please bring me my horse."

The old man's eyes turned brittle, and he said quickly: "Anna, you stay still. You don't wait on n.o.body unless I say so."

"You'd better say so, then," Phil advised. He watched Bray and Herman. Henshaw still slept on; he made no move. Phil glanced at him-then took two steps toward him and jerked the blanket away.

The move took Henshaw completely by surprise. He tried to lift the gun he held c.o.c.ked in his left hand, but Stalker swung the heavy barrel of his rifle in a downward arc, leveling the man without losing his advantage over the other two. Henshaw fell back, a long gash across his forehead. The blood ran off of his face onto the ground.

Sam Bray looked at the man without sympathy, then turned his angry eyes back to Phil Stalker. He said: "You can be rough on a man for nothin'."

"Depends on what you call nothin'." There was no give in the young man's face, and Sam nodded to his daughter.

The girl moved away, returning a moment later with his horse. Phil swung up, still covering them and backed out of the firelight.

He raised Willie Kerry's small ranch house just as a faint sun peeked over the rim of the land. Wood smoke spiraled up sluggishly in the still air, and the feeling of snow was stronger. He hailed the cabin, and dismounted by the log pole barn as Willie stepped out of the door, a wide smile across his blunt face. "If it ain't the young man of the mountain," he said. "Come on in. My wife's just settin' the table, and you look like a man that's tired of his own cooking."

A night without sleep had left Stalker a little frayed around the edges, and he followed Willie inside without comment. Louise Kerry was an uncommonly pretty girl with long brown hair done up in a bun. The baby sat at the table in a homemade high chair, gleefully flinging mush around the table and yelling happily at the top of her lungs. Louise smiled at Stalker and hastened to quiet her daughter. When some semblance of order was restored, they sat down to a meal of wheat cakes, long slices of bacon, and a platter full of fried eggs.

Willie stuffed his mouth full, chewed rapidly, and remarked: "I notice blood on your rifle barrel. You club a skunk?"

Phil said quickly-"In a manner of speaking..."-and told him of his nocturnal adventure.

Willie listened to this with a growing respect, while Louise shot him amused glances. "This pleases Willie, Phil. He and Henshaw have been blood enemies for over a year now. The man caught me swimming in the spring above our place and made a nuisance of himself. Willie got his gun and went hunting for Mister Henshaw. Fortunately John Saber and Jim Hawk intervened in town and cooled his hot head off before they could meet up."

Stalker glanced at Willie, then said: "After seeing him pull his gun, I'm not inclined to think of Henshaw sympathetically." He added: "We can just put the b.u.mp on the head down as part payment for the breakfast." He pushed back his plate, and reached for the coffee cup. "Anyway, Willie, we ought to tell Saber about this.. .the other ranchers, too. I have a few opinions about branding I'd like to air."

"All right," Willie agreed. "Give me the day to get them all together. You can come over here around sundown tomorrow night, and we'll go in together."

"Fine," Phil agreed, and got up from the table. He thanked Louise again for the meal and praised her cooking. He took the baby and held her aloft, much to her delight.

Louise was surprised. "She don't cotton to strangers as a rule. She's like my husband. If he likes you, then he'll do anything for you. If he dislikes you...well, he'd just as soon punch you in the nose as look at you."

Willie snorted at this, and went to the barn to saddle his horse. Phil placed the baby back in her high chair. "I can't figure that Bray girl out. When I was cutting that herd last night, she went along, but she didn't say anything... just stood behind me all of the time like a shadow. It gave me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s, 1 can tell you that." He shook himself away from the thought and moved toward the door. "I'll be getting along, and thanks again for the meal."

He joined Willie in the barn and saddled up without a word of conversation. There was something in the young man's manner that didn't need talk to bolster it. He knew where he was going, and his movements were short and positive. He swung up and said-"See you tomorrow night."and rode from the yard, angling toward his cabin high on the rim.

He spent the rest of the next morning riding and looking and the afternoon in a dreamless sleep. He woke when the sun was low against the edge of the land, heated a pan of water for his shave, and idled away fifteen minutes debating whether to sport a mustache like Saber or not. He studied his upper lip from several angles, then removed the hair with many practiced strokes.

The weather had turned nippy, and the air still carried the promise of snow, so he rolled his heavy coat and fur chaps to tie behind the saddle. He hid the rifle in the rafters, taking only his short-barreled Remington in the spring shoulder holster.

The horse bucked when he first mounted, and he put up with it for a half a dozen long-legged hops, then reined her into obedience and turned toward Willie Kerry's ranch. The sun was fully down and only a faint grayness layered the world when he came into Kerry's yard. The buckboard was before the door, hitched and ready to go. Stalker, after putting his horse in the lean-to, climbed onto the buckboard. Kerry and his wife had come out, and Kerry held the baby while she mounted. Then the three pa.s.sed greetings back and forth, before settling down for the long ride to Leaning Seven.

There were four buckboards and one surrey at John Saber's front porch. The lamps on the bottom floor shafted light onto the snow-covered yard, and talk and laughter sailed out as they turned into the yard. Willie and his wife went into the house. Phil turned to the barn with the team and, after putting the horses in stalls, returned to the house.

He spent fifteen minutes shaking hands and meeting people he had never seen before, but who seemed to know him. Park Rynder leaned against a far wall, old and wrinklefaced. Jim Hawk, his son-in-law, talked with him, a tall man with a grave mouth and eyes. Cardigan and his blonde wife were there. Saber's wife came in with a large tray of cookies and spoke softly to Louise Kerry. She was a small woman with shy eyes.

Jesse Dulane collared his son-in-law in the corner, and Willie laughed at one of the old man's rough jokes. Dulane was short with eyes that drew into slits when he laughed. Phil met Jim Hawk's wife, Mala, a tall, willowy girl with red hair and serious gray eyes. It was a pleasant room filled with pleasant people, he decided as he listened to the babble of the voices, soaking up the warmth of their friendship.

John Saber decided that they had had enough and pounded on the table for order. The talking died out. The women grouped together along the far wall, and the men became all business.

"Folks," Saber said seriously, "you know what luck 1 had with the last two men 1 hired to cruise the breaks for me. I'll tell you all now that 1 expected the worst when 1 hired this young man, but I'm wrong, and I want you to hear me say it. The saying that you can't tell the horse by the bridle certainly applies in this case. Willie told you all what happened, how Phil buffaloed Henshaw. That proves something about the man to me. The boy thinks he's found something of value to us, and, by golly, if ever anyone deserved a listen...he does."

Saber sat down suddenly, and Phil Stalker was shoved out on his own. He took a piece of paper from his coat pocket and said: "No one has to tell you that you're losing stock, but I don't believe any of you can tell me where they're going." Phil leaned forward, placing both of his hands on the table edge. "I think I have the answer, a brand changer. By chance, the selection of your individual brands has opened up a brand changer's paradise."

"By G.o.d!" Jesse Dulane said, and the talk went around the room in a low hum.

Phil held up his hand, and they quieted. "Men, there are two distinct breeds of cattle thieves... the rustler and the brand changer. The rustler will steal a dozen, or a whole herd, and drive the h.e.l.l out of them until he's put distance between himself and the former owner. He's a one-shot artist and doesn't stay long in one section of the country. Usually some irate cattleman stretches his neck."

He wiped a hand across his mouth and went on. "The brand changer works a little different. He works a country with brands he can doctor, sifting a few head at a time, and then drives the whole bunch to a market many miles away, and in the end he makes a lot of money."

He took a pencil from his coat pocket and beckoned them into a loose half circle around him. He drew the Leaning Seven, the Anchor, and the Pipe. Then he drew the Cloverleaf, Bray's brand. Going over the others again, he added the lines that made a cloverleaf out of each of them.

Jesse Dulane swore in a high, thin voice. Cardigan's mouth turned severe. Old Park Rynder's eyes showed a sudden temper, and the younger men grew sober-faced. There was a silence in the room as they digested this.

Cardigan said: "That's clever, Phil, but pretty thin. It leaves a lot of questions unanswered. 1 can see now why Sunrise beef hasn't been touched.. .it'd be too hard to blot my brand, but again, if he worked all those over with a running iron, then they wouldn't be uniform."

"That's what I'm driving at," Phil said. "They aren't uniform. 1 noticed that last night and got to thinking about it. That's why he drives them over the mountains at night, so no one can see the brands in the daylight. How long do you think he'd last running them up the loading chute at the Hondo siding with some of you fellas sitting on the top rail looking on?"

They chewed it over a minute, then Cardigan said: "It's the piece we been looking for, all right, but I dislike the thought of riding on a man."

Willie Kerry spoke up. "There's where your two men went, John. They cut the herd, just like Phil did, and, once they saw the blotched brands, Bray couldn't let them go. One he must have bought off. The other fella is layin' out there in the rock somewhere with a bullet in him."

Saber stood with his head down, studying it out. He was the leader. They awaited his decision. "It figures," he admitted. He turned to Phil and declared: "They had it all set up for you too, son...Henshaw laying in his blankets with a gun, pretending to be asleep. Probably the same way they worked it the last time. You made it because you smelled a rat and jerked that blanket off. 1 don't think you'd better go back up there."

They were unanimous in that opinion. They crowded around the table, all talking at once, until Jesse Dulane pounded for attention. "By G.o.d!" he shouted. "We'll ride on that varmint and burn him out!"

"You're an old fire-eater," Jim Hawk told him. "1 had a posse after me once with nothin' on their minds but hemp justice, and 1 didn't like it. I'm for goin' to the sheriff with this."

It divided their opinion like the stroke of a knife. Some wanted immediate action; others wanted the sheriff to handle it. Phil Stalker waited and listened, gauging the seriousness of it, then rapped for order.

They stopped, and looked at him. He said: "1'm trying to be a lawyer, and the first point of law is justice. You won't give Sam Bray justice with a torch and a Winchester."

Jesse Dulane's eyes sparkled." You do all right with a Winchester."

"That's so," Phil agreed. "But I was in trouble. We can't prove Bray killed that rider of John's. We can't actually prove in a court of law that he rustled your cattle. You men fought to bring peace to this country, and that means a fair trial. A man is innocent until he's proven guilty. That's the law, and law and order is the only way."

Cardigan said in a heavy voice: "1 move we take this to the sheriff."

Dulane held out for an immediate hanging, but Rynder was swayed, partly from the memory of his son-in-law, but mostly because he was a just man. Saber stood solidly behind Stalker for an appeal to the law. Gradually dissension died, and a few minutes later Jesse Dulane grinned and allowed that the country was going to h.e.l.l, but he'd go along because he didn't want to get lonesome.

It was a cue to the women, and they rose. Then they were all talking again, and it seemed to Phil Stalker that they had never mentioned rustling.

The buzz in the room grew, and he was pulled into the conversation. Over in the far corner there was hearty laughter, and Jesse Dulane's-"By G.o.d."-but Phil decided he liked the sound of it and wondered how he had ever lived for twenty years without these people.

III.

Hondo's main street was slick with frost and rough with frozen ruts. Rooftops were glazed white and sparkled in the early morning sun as Phil Stalker and John Saber turned onto it and dismounted before the arch of Harris's Livery Stable. They cut diagonally across the street to the sheriff's office. Finding the front door unlocked, they entered. The room was chilly and raw, and Saber opened the door of the pot-bellied stove and kindled a fire. He fed it wood until it glowed, and a damp warmth flooded the room. Somewhere in the rear cell block a drunk wailed about "these prison walls" in an alcoholic tenor. Saber smiled, then straightened when Harms came from his room, pulling his suspenders over his fat shoulders.

"What's so important that a man will get out of a warm bed and ride fifteen miles?" Harms wanted to know.

"1 want a warrant sworn out for Sam Bray," Saber said, getting immediately to the point.

"Well, now," Harms hedged. "I don't know. You got evidence against the man?"

Phil Stalker repeated his story, and Harms heard him through. He said: "Sonny, was I to arrest Bray, 1 wouldn't be able to hold him on that amount of evidence, let alone get a conviction. And if 1 turned him loose, then this country wouldn't be safe for you."

Saber's mouth flattened, and he rolled a smoke to collect his thoughts. "You won't make an arrest, then?"

"Dammit, John," Harms said testily, "you was a U.S. marshal for nine years. You know where a lawman stands and where he don't stand."

Saber recognized the truth of it. "Of course," he said. "Thanks anyway, Sheriff."

They went out and stood on the boardwalk, suddenly with nothing to do and no place to go.

Phil said: "1 suppose it'll be the torch now?"

"You object?"

"h.e.l.l, yes, 1 object!" Stalker said. "Law is law. Cut one corner and then you'll cut another. Pretty soon it'll get bad enough to where they send a Texas Ranger in and clean it out." He shook his head. "We'll have to do it some other way. I'll go back up there and prowl around. Maybe 1 can turn up something."

"Maybe you can turn up dead, too," Saber said. "You better stay around the ranch house. We'll find some sort of a winter job for you."

Stalker shook his head. "You hired me for that line shack. if you don't want me up there any more, just say so, and I'll ride out and find some other job."

"Oh?" Saber said. "What about those clothes and stuff? You must be in to me for a hundred dollars anyway."

"Then I'll send you the money when 1 get it," Phil said. "1 either finish the job 1 started, or you can go to the devil."

Saber stared at the boy for a moment, then began to chuckle.