The Free Range Part 24

That first night they marched ten miles, and, as before, found the water-holes polluted by the cattle which take delight in standing in the mud, and thus in a dry country work their own destruction by filling the springs.

The next day the sheep cropped fairly well, although the sun was terrific and no more water was discovered. Nightfall found them becoming nervous and uneasy. They milled a long while before they bedded, and more of them than usual stood up to watch.

Not a rider had been seen all day. Through the baking glare there had moved a cloud of suffocating dust, and under it the thirsting, snorting, blethering sheep, with the dogs on the edges and the men farther out at regular intervals along the line.

After supper some of the men slept, for it was not planned to start the sheep until midnight, as they needed the rest, being footsore with long traveling. It was calculated also that they would reach the ford at the Big Horn by shortly before dawn.

But the sheep would have none of it, and moved and milled uneasily until, in order to save the lambs that were being crushed in the narrowing circle, Sims gave the order to resume the march.

The night "walk" of sheep is a strange thing. First, perhaps, rides a shepherd, erect and careless in his saddle, the red light glowing from the tip of his cigarette; and beside his horse a collie-dog, nosing at objects, but always with ears for the sheep and the voice of his master.

Then come the sheep themselves, with cracking ankle-joints, clattering feet, m.u.f.fled blethering, a cloud of dust, and the inevitable sheep smell. Perhaps there is a moon, and then the herders must watch for racing cloud-shadows that cause stampedes.

Such was the picture of the Larkin sheep that night, only there was no moon. They started at ten, and Sims sent Miguel forward to walk before them, so they would not exhaust themselves with too fast traveling. On the move the sheep seemed more contented.

It was perhaps one o'clock in the morning that Larkin, in company with his chief herder, spurred out far in front of the advancing flock to reconnoiter. The sheep would be within approaching distance of the ford in a couple of hours, and Bud wished everything to be clear for them.

Nearing the Big Horn, Sims suddenly drew up his horse, motioning Bud to silence. Listening intently, they heard the voice of a man singing an old familiar plains song. The two looked at each other in amazement, for this was one of the "hymns" the cowboys use to still their cattle at night, the time of the most dreaded stampedes. It was the universal theory of the cow country that cattle, particularly on a "drive," should not be long out of hearing of a human voice.

So the night-watchers, as they rode slowly about the herd, sang to the cattle, although some of the ditties rendered were strong enough to stampede a herd of kedge-anchors.

"Cows here?" said Sims. "What does this mean, boss?"

"It means that we're beaten to the ford and will have to hold the sheep back."

"Yes, but who's driving now? This is round-up and branding season."

"I don't know, but between you and me, Sims, I'll bet a lamb to a calf that the rustlers are running their big pickings north. There are some mighty good heads at the top of that crowd, and they have taken advantage of the deserted range, just as we have, to drive their critters."

"By George! You've hit it, boss!" cried Sims, slapping his thigh. "Now, what do yuh say to do?"

For a long minute of silence Bud Larkin thought. Then he said:

"Here's my chance to get those rustlers and at the same time benefit myself. There can't be more than a dozen or fifteen of them at the outside. Ride back to the camp, Simmy, and get twenty men, the best gun-rollers in the outfit. Tell anybody that's afraid of his hide to stay away, for the rustlers are top-notch gun-fighters."

"But what'll yuh do with a thousand cattle on yore hands?" demanded Hard-winter in amazement.

"I'll tell you that if we get 'em," was Bud's reply. "As I see it, we can't do without them."

The plan of campaign was somewhat indefinite. The last intention in the world was to frighten away the cattle by a grand charge and a salvo of young artillery. With great caution the sheepmen approached near enough to discern the white cover of the cook-wagon, when it was seen that the whole herd was slowly moving toward the ford, the singing rustlers circling around it.

Bud told off a dozen of his riders and instructed each to pick a man and to ride as near in to him as possible without being seen. Then, at the signal of a coyote's howl twice given, to close in and get the drop on the rustlers, after which the remainder of the body would come along and take the direction of things.

Sims was put in charge of this maneuver, and was at liberty to give the signal whenever he thought circ.u.mstances justified it. It was a strange procession that marched toward the ford of the Big Horn--first fifteen hundred head of calves and young steers, guarded by unsuspecting rustlers; then the knot of sheepmen and the dozen riders closing in on their quarry, and, last of all three miles back, eight thousand sheep clattering through the dust.

For what seemed almost half an hour there was silence. Then suddenly came the far-off, long-drawn howl of a coyote, immediately followed by another.

Bud set spurs into his horse, revolver in hand, the remaining eight men at his heels, and made directly for the cook-wagon, where he knew at least one or two of the outfit might be sleeping.

The drumming of the horse's hoofs could now be plainly heard from all sides, and a moment later there was a stab of light in the dark and the first shot rang out.

After that there were many shots, for the rustlers, keyed up to great alertness by the hazardness of their calling, had opened fire without waiting for question or answer.

Bud, as he dashed up to the cook-wagon, saw two men crawl out and stand for a minute looking. Then, as their hands moved to their hip-pockets like one, he opened fire. At almost the same instant the flames leaped from their guns, and Bud's hat was knocked awry by a bullet that went clean through it.

Meantime the man who had been riding beside him gave a grunt and fell from his saddle. One of the rustlers doubled up where he stood.

Larkin, to avoid crashing full into the cook-wagon, swerved his horse aside, as did the others. The horse of the man who had been shot stood still for a moment, and in that moment the rustler who remained standing gave one leap and had bestridden him.

Bud saw the maneuver just in time to wheel his horse on a spot as big as a dollar and take after the man in the darkness, yelling back, "Get the others!" as he rode.

It was now a matter between the pursuer and the pursued. Pounding away into the darkness, heedless of gopher-holes, sunken spots, and other dangers, the two sped. Occasionally the man ahead would turn in his saddle and blaze away at his pursuer, and Bud wondered that none of these hastily fired bullets came near their mark. For his part he saved his fire. It was not his idea to shoot the rustlers, but rather to capture them alive, since the unwritten law of that lawless land decreed that shooting was too merciful a death for horse- or cattle-thieves.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A moment later there was a stab of light in the dark and the first shot rang out.]

But Larkin found, to his dismay, that the horse of the other was faster than his own, and when they had galloped about a mile he had to strain his eyes to see the other at all. He knew that unless he did something at once the other would get away from him.

He lifted his revolver and took careful aim at the barely perceptible form of the horse. Then, when the other fired again, Larkin returned the shot, and almost immediately noticed that he was creeping up. At fifty yards the fleeing man blazed away again, and this time Bud heard the whistle of the bullet. Without further delay he took a pot-shot at the rustler's gun arm and, by one of those accidents that the law of chance permits to happen perhaps once in a lifetime, got him.

After that the rustler pulled up his failing animal to a walk and faced him around.

"Hands up!" yelled Larkin, covering the other.

The answer was a streak of yellow flame from the fellow's left hand that had been resting on his hip. The bullet flew wide as though the man had never shot left-handed before, and Bud, furious at the deception, dashed to close quarters recklessly, not daring to shoot again for fear of killing his man.

This move broke the rustler's courage, and his left hand shot skyward.

His right arm being broken, he could not raise it. Larkin rode alongside of him and peered into his face.

It was Smithy Caldwell.

Quickly Bud searched him for other weapons.

"What're yuh goin' to do with me, Larkin?" whined the blackmailer. "Don't take me back there. I haven't done nothin'."

"Shut up and don't be yellow," admonished Bud. "If you're not guilty of anything you can prove it quick enough, I guess."

"I saved your life once," pleaded the other. "Let me go."

"You saved it so you could get more money out of me. Think I don't know you, Caldwell?"

"Let me go and I'll give you back all that money and all the rest you've ever given me. For G.o.d's sake don't let 'em hang me!"

The cowardice of the man was pitiful, but Bud was unmoved. For years his life had been dogged by this man. Now, an openly avowed rustler, he expected clemency from his victim.

"Ride ahead there," ordered Bud. Caldwell, whimpering, took his position.

"Put your hands behind you." The other made as though to comply with this command, when suddenly with a swift motion he put something in his mouth.

Instantly Bud had him by the throat, forcing his mouth open. Caldwell, forced by this grip, spat out something that Bud caught with his free hand. It was a piece of paper. Larkin slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and released his clutch. Then he bound Smithy's hands and started back toward the scene of the raid.