“Needed two to handle the branding,” Danny replied. “Anyways, there’s two of you, too.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“Tommy Fayne.”
Hearing Danny’s reply, Schatz growled something inaudible but Stocker spoke to cover the sound.
“Allus figured you for a ‘saint,’ Tommy.”
“Reckoned I’d never get enough money saved to marry Mousey by sticking to cowhand’s pay,” Tommy replied.
Relief hit Danny as he heard Tommy’s response. While the youngster’s voice sounded a mite strained and odd, it held nothing to make the other men suspicious. If they noticed the difference, they would put it down to his nervousness at becoming a cow thief. More than that, the youngster had given the one reason which might turn a loyal cowhand into a cow thief; Stocker had seen at least two other hands go the same way.
Everything appeared to be going the right way, Danny decided—then Schatz, still smarting under his defeat at Danny’s hands, damned nigh blew the whole thing into the air. A nasty snigger left the big hard-case at Tommy’s words.
“So you’re fixing to marry that——” Schatz began.
“Call him off, Turk!” Danny interrupted before the other could finish his insulting words. “If he doesn’t stop, I’ll muzzle him. And you watch the cattle, Tommy, we don’t want to lose ’em now.”
The low-spoken warning prevented Tommy spoiling the business at hand. Like Danny knew, the youngster tended to get a mite hot-headed where Mousey was concerned. Normally Danny would have regarded the loyalty to a feller’s gal as being praiseworthy and expect one to defend his sweetheart’s honor; but he did not want Tommy tangling with Schatz until after they had finished their business.
Stocker also appeared to desire peace. Being a businessman, if one engaged in an illegal business, Stocker had an eye on his profit and loss account. While he would be paying Danny double the price given to the more naïve local hands, Stocker figured the young cowboy would be worth it. Even in the darkness he could form some idea of the quality of the stock Danny brought for sale. The cattle appeared to be two to three-year-old animals, ideal for marketing and most likely Danny Forgrave knew where more of them could be gathered. So Stocker did not want trouble.
“Go get the lantern, Dutchy,” he ordered. “And leave Tommy be, we don’t want any fuss. No offense meant, Tommy.”
“None took, neither,” Danny answered for his young friend. “You sounded a mite edgy when we rode up, Turk.”
“So’d you be in my place. It don’t do to take chances.”
“Sure admire to be working with a careful man,” Danny drawled. “We’ve only brought twenty head this time.”
“Mind if I look ’em over?” asked the rancher.
“Feel free,” replied Danny.
Clearly Stocker had the cow stealing business well organized. On his return from the clump of trees Schatz carried a bull’s-eye lantern and directed its light on the “stolen” stock. While a longhorn was dangerous to a man afoot, one could approach the animal while riding a horse without any great risk. Closing on the twenty head, Stocker examined their running iron brands in the light of the lantern. Watching the two men, Danny felt tension mounting on him but held it in check. His right hand rested on the butt of his off-side Colt, for if Stocker discovered the sleeper brands under the cattle’s bellies Danny reckoned he would need a gun in a hell of a hurry. Across at the far side of the small bunch of cattle, Tommy felt sweat trickle down his face. The youngster twisted restlessly in his saddle and looked toward Danny; but his nervousness attracted no attention for Stocker and Schatz had become used to such a reaction from the cowhands they dealt with when handing over the stolen stock.
After checking each animal in turn, Stocker nodded and Schatz closed the front of the lantern. The rancher rode to where Danny sat his sabino and nodded in approval.
“They’ll do, Danny. We can use more stuff like this, and I’ll keep paying you ten dollars a head—only don’t mention it to anybody else.”
“You figure a fair profit for yourself, Turk,” Danny replied.
“Hell, they don’t cost you anything. And I’ve overheads to meet out of my end,” the rancher objected.
“Likely. Want Tommy and me to lend you a hand to move them?”
“Nope. You’d best not be out too late, you don’t want to get Buck Jerome all suspicious.”
Danny had not expected finding the hideout for the stolen stock to be so easy and was not wrong, however, a man always liked to try to smooth his path if he could. So he went on with something he must not forget to ask.
“How’ll I let you know when I’ve some more for sale?”
“Go to the Cattle Queen. If I’m not there, leave word with Miss Ella. Say you’ve found some of my strays and want to deliver ’em. She’ll pass the word to me and I’ll meet you here at around midnight the following night.”
“Mighty obliging lady, Miss Ella.”
“Sure,” the rancher agreed, then went on just a shade too quickly. “She don’t know a thing about what I’m doing. When you go in ask her for the envelope the man left and she’ll give it to you. You’ll find the money for this lot in it. Only don’t mention any names.”
“I won’t,” Danny promised. “See you, Turk.”
Turning, Danny rode to where Tommy sat waiting for him at the rear of the bunch of cattle. Just as he reached the youngster, Danny heard the drumming of hooves. Somebody was riding through the night, coming in their direction at a fair speed. One thing Danny knew for sure. The newcomer would not be bringing news of joy and good cheer for him and his young friend.
“Coming from town,” Tommy said in a low voice, showing again how clear-headed he could be.
“Get set for trouble,” Danny replied, swinging his horse to face the suddenly alert and suspicious Stocker and Schatz.
“Stacker!” yelled the fast-riding shape as it drew closer. “Danny Forgrave’s a Ranger. Get him!”
Chapter 13 HOLD HER UNTIL I GET BACK
BUSINESS WAS SLACK IN THE CATTLE QUEEN. ONLY Wally Stirton, boss of the Rafter O, a few of his hands and a handful of townsmen used the bar room. Calamity Jane and Mousey sat at a table clear of the men, idly talking and waiting for customers to arrive. Phyl crossed the room and came to a halt by the two girls.
“Aren’t your fellers coming in tonight?” she asked.
“Don’t look like it,” Calamity replied. “It’s gone nine now and no sign of them. They’d’ve been in afore this if they was coming.”
“Things are always quiet on Wednesdays,” Mousey went on.
At that moment the batwing doors opened and a man entered, halting just inside to look around. Yet he did not have the watchful caution of a hard-case gun fighter who might find enemies inside and wanted his eyes to grow accustomed to the bar’s lights after coming from the darkness. Glancing at the door, Calamity stiffened slightly; recognizing Jake Jacobs, the pedlar who sold information to peace officers. For a moment Jacobs stood at the door, then he walked forward in the direction of Phyl and the other two girls. Calamity felt Jacobs’s eyes studying her with more than normal care. Maybe he recognized her, although she doubted it. As far as she knew, the pedlar left Austin before she arrived, but he might remember her from some other town. Calamity decided she must find out what brought the man to Caspar.
“Where’s the boss, Phyl?” Jacobs asked, giving Calamity another long, searching look then turning to the buxom redhead.
“Up to her office. You want to see her about something important?”
“She’ll think so.”
Phyl studied the man for a long moment. Knowing that Ella was preparing to ride out and visit Stocker, Phyl did not wish to disturb her boss. However, Phyl knew that Jacobs often brought news of importance and so decided to take him upstairs.