“Strays?” Les repeated. “Even the claybank with the saddle?”
“Yes, sir. That there is one rambunctious critter. Threw its rider and lit out to see the world.”
“It doesn’t look very rambunctious to me,” Les said.
Dee inadvertently saved me by waving me on. “We’ve detained you long enough, Mr. Walker. Give our regards to your employer and her son.”
“Will do.” I touched my hat brim and smiled and rode at a walk in order not to arouse suspicion. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I already had. I was tempted to look back but didn’t until I had gone half a mile. They were riding west.
Lesson learned. I swung farther south to lessen the chance of running into someone else. The change of clothes would not fool someone who had seen me up close. Or had seen me on Brisco.
The day waned and a few stars blossomed. My stomach growled, but it could growl all it wanted.
Along about midnight I encountered a herd of LT cattle. They had bedded down over a wide area, and from a distance reminded me of nothing so much as squat tombstones. I immediately drew rein and listened.
On trail drives cowboys riding night herd often sang to the cows to keep them calm. These cows were on their home range, and there should not be any such need. But there still might be a night guard.
And there was.
I heard him humming, not singing. He was north of the herd and coming around it in my general direction. Quickly dismounting, I opened a saddlebag and took out the item I needed. Silence was called for. Holding it in my right hand and Brisco’s reins and the lead rope in my left, I walked toward the rider.
I saw the night herder before he saw me. He had stopped humming. I waited until he was quite close and saw that his chin had drooped to his chest. I greeted him with “Are you awake or asleep?”
The cowboy gave a start and reined up. His hand swooped to a revolver, but he did not draw it. “Who’s there?” he blurted.
“Jack,” I said, doing my best to imitate Jack’s voice. I started toward him, wishing the hat’s brim was wider.
“Jack Walker?” the cowpoke said, taking his hand off his hardware. “Where in hell have you been? Mrs. Tanner came out to the cookhouse at supper and she was mighty upset that you boys weren’t back yet. She sent Bart Seton and some others to the canyon to find you.”
“Long story,” I said.
“She was worried you might have met up with those Texas Rangers. I never met a nosier pair of gents in all my born days.”
“It’s their job to be nosy.” I was not quite near enough. Another five or six steps should do it.
“Do you have a cold? You don’t sound quite right.”
“Same as always.” I let go of the reins.
“Barker is riding herd with me. I can have him rustle up some coffee.”
“No need,” I said. By then I was next to his horse. I grabbed his leg, yanked it free of the stirrup, and heaved. He squawked as he went over, scrabbled madly for the saddle horn, and missed. He landed on his back and promptly rolled up onto the balls of his feet and clawed for his revolver, but by then I was around the horse and behind him, and had a short wooden handle in each hand. His hat had fallen off and I slipped the wire over his head and around his neck in one quick flick. He reached for the wire. They always reach for the wire instead of reaching for me, giving me the second I needed to plant both feet and pull on the handles with all my might.
The cowboy tried to stand up, but I kneed him in the spine. Gurgling and spitting, he continued to claw at the wire, which had dug a quarter inch into his flesh and was digging deeper. He would do better to grab for my wrists, which he presently did, but I was braced, my wrists and elbows locked, and all he could do was pluck frantically at my sleeves. It had no effect. Bit by bit I garroted the life from his body. When he was finally still, I slowly straightened. I was caked with sweat and breathing hard.
There was no sign of the other night herder. Usually they circled on opposite sides of the herd. I had a few minutes before he came around to this side.
Squatting, I went through the cowpoke’s pockets. He had close to two hundred dollars on him. No wonder the LT hands were so devoted to Gertrude Tanner. She was paying them better than any other outfit in Texas.
I tried on his hat, which had a nice, wide brim, but it was too small. Throwing it aside, I lifted the body and draped it over his saddle. I used his own rope to tie him on, and gave the horse a swat on the rump. Off it went, bearing its grisly burden.
I put the garrote back in my saddle and palmed my boot knife. I climbed on Brisco and circled the herd, holding the knife next to my leg.
The other cowboy, Barker, was singing “Rock of Ages,” of all things. He was more alert and jerked his pistol the moment he saw me.
“Who’s that?”
I resorted to the same trick. “Jack.”
He lowered the revolver but not all the way. “Where in hell have you been? Mrs. Tanner was fit to have kittens.”
“So I’ve heard.” I did not look at him but at the ground. Since there was no moon, the ruse should have worked. But suddenly he pointed his revolver at me again and I heard the click of the hammer.
“Hold it! You’re not Jack!”
I smiled, and did not stop. “No, I’m the parson. Couldn’t you tell? Peace be unto you, brother. Didn’t I see you at Lloyd Tanner’s funeral?”
Confusion rooted him for the few moments it took me to bring Brisco alongside his horse.
“Reverend Storm? I don’t understand. Why did you just call yourself Jack and why are you wearing his hat and vest?”
“So I could do this,” I said. Lunging, I thrust the knife into his belly, burying the blade to the hilt, while at the same instant I seized hold of his wrist and pushed the muzzle of his revolver into his belly. I didn’t expect him to squeeze the trigger. It must have been a reflex. The revolver went off, the shot muffled some but not enough.
Barker stiffened. He stared at me in puzzlement, then slumped from the saddle, dead as dead could be. The knife slid free and warm blood splashed my hand.
Some of the cows had stood up but none ran off. They were fat and lazy, these LT cattle.
I gazed in the direction of the ranch buildings. They were miles away yet. I deemed it doubtful the sound would carry that far, but taking things for granted in my profession was an invite to an early grave.
I dismounted, wiped the knife clean on his pants, and slid it back into my boot. I tried on his hat. It fit, but it, too, had a short brim. I kept the one I had.
Sixty more dollars went into my saddlebags. I tied Barker onto his horse, swung the horse toward the ranch, and gave it a slap.
Two more accounted for, and a lot more to go.
Chapter 20
Most jobs I get in and get out fast. I have to, because once I start to earn my pay, tin stars butt in and do their best to stop me.
This job was different. I was not being paid. What I had in mind, I was doing on my own. It was strictly personal, and as such, I was free to take liberties I would not ordinarily take.
Killing the cowboys was not enough. I wanted Gertrude to know I was on the loose. I wanted her to know I was coming for her. She was formidable, but she was human and it was bound to affect her nerves.
With that in mind, I rode past the bunkhouse, past the cookhouse, and on past the stable. Several horses in the corral perked up, but none whinnied. I did not stop until I came to the main house.
All the lights were out, as well they would be at that hour. Sliding down, I tied the packhorse and the claybank to the rail. When Gerty saw them she would know I knew about the silver vein. She would send riders to the canyon. They would return with the news that her precious silver vein was buried under tons of rock and dirt. It should make her mad as hell.