XI“Half a hour and nary a sign uh Kipp.”Tad shoved his watch back in his overall pocket and swung into the saddle. He mentally berated himself for letting Kipp out of his sight. Here on strange ground, on a dangerous mission, he had thrown away his only vantage when he allowed the sheriff to go on alone. Kipp had as much as admitted that he had been playing a crooked game. What was to keep him from adding one more misdeed to those of the past?A shot from the brush, well aimed, and no one the wiser. These LF men were playing a desperate game for big stakes. They would not hesitate to kill a cowpuncher to gain their ends and avoid detection. Capture, for them, meant life imprisonment. Kipp admitted being on friendly terms with them. His every action showed plainly that this was not the sheriff’s first trip into the Pocket.With these annoying thoughts to bear him company, Tad rode on, rode with a .45 in his hand and his eyes scanning every blurred shadow beneath the cottonwoods. The big hand that held the gun did not shake. There was not a trace of fear nor weakening in the keen eyes that swept the trail ahead. He faced his future without flinching, with splendid disregard of the heavy odds against him.Years before, Goliad and the Alamo had known such men. They came from that heroic stock that followed Moses Austin to the Brazos River. No braver men ever lined sights amid spattering bullets than these Texans. So, as his sires had faced their enemies, so now did this son of Texas ride his trail.The ears of his horse twitched forward. The animal halted and Tad was on the ground, crouched in the animal’s shadow. Ahead in the trail gaped the pit that had trapped Kipp. On the edge of the black hole lay a hat. Kipp’s battered old felt.A moment’s cautious search proved the pit empty. Tad left his horse in the brush, removed his spurs and chaps, and, Winchester ready, slipped on afoot, avoiding the main trail as much as possible.Voices and the creak of saddle leather. Tad crouched in the shadow to put the approaching riders against the skyline. He could hear them talking now. Bill and his companion, bound for town. They spoke in low tones, barely audible to the listener.“Black Jack’s carryin’ this too —— far tuh suit me, Bill. I draws the line at murder, sheriffs especially. Once clear uh these bad-lands, I’m quittin’ the flats. Kipp’s plumb right, he’s holdin’ a paw full uh jokers, even if he dies a-holdin’ ’em. No more breeds fer me. They’re too danged coldblooded. Wait a minute while I tighten my cinch. This hoss swells up like a poisoned pup when yuh saddle him.”The two halted but a few feet from where Tad crouched. One of them swung to the ground.“Supposin’ we skirt town complete, pardner?” suggested Bill. “If we warns Fox, we gotta go through with it er shoot it out with that buzzard. We know too danged much tuh be let run loose over the range. I ain’t cravin’ none tuh match myself with Luther Fox. He’s lightnin’ with a gun. Say we drifts east from the edge uh the Pocket?“Let this spread hold the sack. Black Jack ner Fox wouldn’t consider us if they was in a tight. That breed ’ud kill us the same as he aims tuh kill Kipp and Pete Basset and that short waddie. Say, them two kin shore scrap, mister. Only fer Slim a-lendin’ a hand, me’n the Apache would uh bin whupped neat. My hat’s off to ’em. Dang me if I don’t hope they gits away.”“Fat chance. The Injun is comin’ out in Black Jack. I wouldn’t give two-bits Mex. fer their chances.”They moved on, leaving Tad grinning in the darkness. The thought of Shorty and the others being in danger but made the lanky puncher the more cool. He waited impatiently until the two riders were out of sight, then moved on at a swifter gait.The lighted windows of the cabin showed ahead. Tad crept forward with the stealth of an Indian. A few moments and he was at one of the windows, peering inside the cabin.Shorty, Pete, and Kipp sat side by side, propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. Kipp’s head sagged forward on his chest for he was still unconscious.In spite of the bruised and blood-caked condition of his face, it was visibly apparent that Shorty’s left cheek bulged with a huge wad of tobacco. Even as Tad looked, a brown stream shot forth from the bruised lips of the little puncher.“Missed him, Pete,” he grinned. “Gotta raise my sights. The range is plumb long and that spider’s crawlin’ kinda zig-zag like he was dodgin’. Bet another nickel on the next shot.”“Better put in the next few minutes sayin’ yore prayers,hombre,” said Black Jack, crossing to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “A man as near the end uh the trail as you gents are, had orter be lookin’ fer a shallow crossin’.”“Injun,” said Shorty in his soft drawl, “when I’m cravin’ ary advice, I’ll ask fer it.”Another brown stream that barely missed the breed’s boot.“Owe yuh another nickel, Pete. That danged spider got plumb outa range. If yo’re honin’ tuh be of any he’p around here, Whiskers, herd that insect back this way.”Pete Basset, marveling at the little cow puncher’s superb nerve, thrust aside his worries and smiled faintly. Even the guard at the door eyed Shorty with approval.Slim, of the broken arm, groaned less loudly as he watched Shorty scan the dirt floor for another spider.A queer lump rose in Tad’s throat as he looked at Shorty’s battered features and saw the split lips twist in a grin.“The —— li’l’ ol’ game rooster,” mused the big puncher, racking his brain for a plan of attack.Kipp groaned feebly and opened his eyes. Black Jack, a cup of coffee in his left hand, leered into the sheriff’s pain-shot eyes.“Mebbe so that rap between the horns brung yuh around to some sense,” he said, fixing Kipp with narrowed gaze. “Had ary change uh mind while yuh was asleep?”“No.”“Yo’re forcin’ my hand, mind. I’ve gone too far tuh do any back-trailin’ in this game and you know it. I’m killin’ off these two gents because they know too much. They come a-huntin’ trouble and they got it, a hull bellyful. I sent word tuh Fox that you’d be killed. That was a lie. I’m keepin’ yuh here till that Basset deal is closed and I sell out tuh Fox. Then I’ll turn yuh loose, and me’n these boys is driftin’ to fresh range. I’m leavin’ yuh to settle with Fox if yuh got the guts tuh go through with it. I’ll be a long ways gone so yuh can’t do me no harm, but you kin make it hot fer Luther.”Black Jack chuckled at the cleverness of his plan. He drained his coffee at a gulp.“Want tuh be hung er shot, you two?” he asked the other two.“Yonder comes another spider, Pete,” said Shorty, ignoring Black Jack. “What’s the odds I don’t hit ’im?”But a moment before, while Black Jack was talking to Kipp, Shorty had looked up at the window and square into the eyes of his partner. Yet he had given no sign that he had seen Tad, save that his left eyelid had dropped in a covert wink. He did not glance again at the window lest he betray Tad’s presence. He guessed that Tad was alone and was waiting for the right moment to open the attack. Shorty felt sure that Black Jack would put up a fight, even if Tad’s gun covered him. He had seen men of Black Jack’s breed before.Death, to the breed, would be preferable to capture. Slim could still use a gun and the guard would fight. The light would be shot out and Tad would not shoot into the darkened room lest he hit a friend. It was a situation that would require generalship.“——, Black Jack,” put in the guard. “Hangin’s a lot uh bother. Let’s knock ’em on the head and throw ’em in the river. If their carcasses wash ashore, there’s no bullet holes in ’em and nobody tuh blame. They was drownded crossin’ the river, savvy?”“Mebbe yo’re right. We’ll pack ’em to the river like they are. Time enough tuh cut the ropes off ’em when we’ve got ’em knocked out. Slim, keep a eye on the sheriff while we’re gone. I’ll pack the little ’un.”Black Jack, his black eyes hard as flint, lips set in a thin line, stooped to lift Shorty.A brown streak of tobacco juice shot out, catching the breed squarely in the eyes. With a howl of pain as the stinging nicotine blinded him, the outlaw leader sprang erect, hands to his eyes.A shot, accompanied by tinkling glass. “Stick ’em up!” bawled Tad.The man bending over Pete whirled, shooting from the hip at the window. Tad’s shot caught the outlaw in the shoulder, spinning him about.“Watch the jasper on the couch, Tad!” yelled Shorty, rolling across the floor in twisting flops and striking the legs of Black Jack, who was groping for the table where the lamp stood. Cursing in a monotone, his eyes blinded and hot with pain, the half breed fell across Shorty’s form.Tad, gun in hand, sprang through the doorway. Black Jack shot desperately at the least sound, and Tad felt the air of a passing bullet. Tad leaped forward, the high heel of his boot crunching the breed’s gun hand into the dirt. The small bones cracked sickeningly and Black Jack cursed as he groped for the gun with his left hand.A streak of fire from the bunk. Slim’s bullet tore through the crown of Tad’s hat. Tad’s gun roared, tearing the .45 from Slim’s hand.“Both wings busted,” snarled Slim, and followed the statement by a string of curses.The other man was in a heap, whining and begging.“Kill the yaller coyote,” yelled Slim. “Kill the howling ——! Fight, you —— polecat!”Tad was on top of Black Jack now, his long arms swinging like flails as the breed fought like a trapped cougar. A terrific swing and the breed went limp.The powder smoke was stifling. Every man’s ears rang from the roar of the big calibered six-shooters. Slim was shrieking curses and begging some one to kill the wounded outlaw who put up so tame a fight.Tad cut Shorty’s ropes first.“Thanks, Ox,” grinned the little puncher. “Gimme that rope and I’ll tie that Injun. Where’s yore men, big feller?”“I come with Kipp. Quit a runnin’ off at the head, runt, and tie up that black-muzzled skunk afore he comes alive and makes me kill ’im.”Pete and Kipp were quickly freed. They grinned their thanks and set to work silencing Slim and the other man.“Pete,” grinned the jubilant Shorty, “meet up with my ol’ Tad pardner. Homelier’n a muley cow, but we can’t all of us be han’some. Yuh done got here jest about time, feller. The Injun was kinda goin’ on the notion that all good cow hands was dead ’uns and was rearin’ tuh convert me’n Pete. I owes Peter twenty cents, Taddie. Bein’ kinda nervous inside, I missed that —— spider every shot. I ain’t so good as I used tuh be at——”“Fer gosh sake, dry up, runt,” grumbled Tad. “Yuh dad-gummed li’l locoed idjit. Snuk off on me and overmatched yorese’f, didn’t yuh? I’d orter ’a’ let yuh git yore needin’s.”With a snort of disapproval, he turned to Kipp.The sheriff had moved to the open doorway and was staring with thoughtful eyes into the night. He turned as Tad’s hand rested on his shoulder. Together they stepped outside.“That —— hole ketched me, Ladd. The fall knocked me out and they had me foul when I come to. I done my best, which was a —— of a pore showin’.”“No man kin do more’n his best, Joe. It’s over now, let’s fergit it.”Tad shoved out his hand, but Kipp shook his head.“It ain’t over fer me, Ladd. I got my work cut out fer me. When I’ve done that work, I’ll shake hands if yo’re still in the notion.”“Meanin’ Fox and you locks horns?”“Partly that. When we bring this herd up outa the brakes, Fox’ll know that his game is lost. It’ll be either run er shoot it out, and he ain’t the runnin’ kind. It’ll be me er him, that’s all. The range is too small tuh hold us both.”Tad nodded.“I’m layin’ my bets on you, Joe.”“I’m obliged, pardner.”They turned and entered the cabin.There followed half an hour of cross-questioning the outlaw who had begged for mercy when he had been wounded. They learned that there were no more men to be accounted for. Tad told of the conversation he had overheard between Bill and his companion.“Then we got clear trail ahead,” said Kipp. “Bill’ll pick up the gent at the rimrock, bein’ they’re sorter pardners. We might as well bed down and take it easy till mornin’. We’ll take turns standin’ guard. There’d orter be beds out under the trees so’s them as ain’t on guard kin rest. Come daylight, we’ll take the herd out and I’ll take the pris’ners tuh Hank’s place.”This plan met with hearty approval. Not a man there but needed rest. Tad took first guard.Black Jack, conscious now, had lapsed into a sullen silence. His black eyes were opaque, his bearded features expressionless. No amount of questioning could open his thin lips.“That’s the Injun in him,” grinned Shorty as he and Pete followed Kipp outside in search of beds.“My work is done, Sheriff,” smiled Pete Basset when Shorty was out of earshot. “I’m giving myself up to you. I’m ready to go back to Deer Lodge.”“Better wait a day er so, Pete. I’m too danged busy tuh fool with yuh right now. Keep yor gun fer a spell. It may come in handy. Fox’ll have men with him when we meet up with him at the lone cottonwood to pay off yore dad’s note. This show ain’t over. Till it is, yo’re plumb free, savvy?”“That’s white of you, Sheriff. I’ve had a hunch for a long time that you were in cahoots with Fox and his gang. Black Jack’s recent talk clinches that suspicion. Also, it’s plain that you’re breaking with the LF. I want you to know that I’m for you.”Beyond the cottonwood grove near the corrals, Shorty was jerking the saddle from his tired horse and staking the animal out where the grass was high. He sang as he worked:“Parson, I’m a maverick, jest runnin’ loose an’ grazin’,Eatin’ where’s the greenest grass and drinkin’ where I choose;Had tuh rustle in my youth an’ never had no raisin’;Wasn’t never halter broke an’ I ain’t got much tuh lose;Used tuh sleepin’ in a sack an’ livin’ in a slicker;Church folks never branded me, I don’t know as they tried,Wisht you’d say a prayer fer me and try tuh make a dickerFor the best they’ll give me when I cross the Big Divide.”
“Half a hour and nary a sign uh Kipp.”
Tad shoved his watch back in his overall pocket and swung into the saddle. He mentally berated himself for letting Kipp out of his sight. Here on strange ground, on a dangerous mission, he had thrown away his only vantage when he allowed the sheriff to go on alone. Kipp had as much as admitted that he had been playing a crooked game. What was to keep him from adding one more misdeed to those of the past?
A shot from the brush, well aimed, and no one the wiser. These LF men were playing a desperate game for big stakes. They would not hesitate to kill a cowpuncher to gain their ends and avoid detection. Capture, for them, meant life imprisonment. Kipp admitted being on friendly terms with them. His every action showed plainly that this was not the sheriff’s first trip into the Pocket.
With these annoying thoughts to bear him company, Tad rode on, rode with a .45 in his hand and his eyes scanning every blurred shadow beneath the cottonwoods. The big hand that held the gun did not shake. There was not a trace of fear nor weakening in the keen eyes that swept the trail ahead. He faced his future without flinching, with splendid disregard of the heavy odds against him.
Years before, Goliad and the Alamo had known such men. They came from that heroic stock that followed Moses Austin to the Brazos River. No braver men ever lined sights amid spattering bullets than these Texans. So, as his sires had faced their enemies, so now did this son of Texas ride his trail.
The ears of his horse twitched forward. The animal halted and Tad was on the ground, crouched in the animal’s shadow. Ahead in the trail gaped the pit that had trapped Kipp. On the edge of the black hole lay a hat. Kipp’s battered old felt.
A moment’s cautious search proved the pit empty. Tad left his horse in the brush, removed his spurs and chaps, and, Winchester ready, slipped on afoot, avoiding the main trail as much as possible.
Voices and the creak of saddle leather. Tad crouched in the shadow to put the approaching riders against the skyline. He could hear them talking now. Bill and his companion, bound for town. They spoke in low tones, barely audible to the listener.
“Black Jack’s carryin’ this too —— far tuh suit me, Bill. I draws the line at murder, sheriffs especially. Once clear uh these bad-lands, I’m quittin’ the flats. Kipp’s plumb right, he’s holdin’ a paw full uh jokers, even if he dies a-holdin’ ’em. No more breeds fer me. They’re too danged coldblooded. Wait a minute while I tighten my cinch. This hoss swells up like a poisoned pup when yuh saddle him.”
The two halted but a few feet from where Tad crouched. One of them swung to the ground.
“Supposin’ we skirt town complete, pardner?” suggested Bill. “If we warns Fox, we gotta go through with it er shoot it out with that buzzard. We know too danged much tuh be let run loose over the range. I ain’t cravin’ none tuh match myself with Luther Fox. He’s lightnin’ with a gun. Say we drifts east from the edge uh the Pocket?
“Let this spread hold the sack. Black Jack ner Fox wouldn’t consider us if they was in a tight. That breed ’ud kill us the same as he aims tuh kill Kipp and Pete Basset and that short waddie. Say, them two kin shore scrap, mister. Only fer Slim a-lendin’ a hand, me’n the Apache would uh bin whupped neat. My hat’s off to ’em. Dang me if I don’t hope they gits away.”
“Fat chance. The Injun is comin’ out in Black Jack. I wouldn’t give two-bits Mex. fer their chances.”
They moved on, leaving Tad grinning in the darkness. The thought of Shorty and the others being in danger but made the lanky puncher the more cool. He waited impatiently until the two riders were out of sight, then moved on at a swifter gait.
The lighted windows of the cabin showed ahead. Tad crept forward with the stealth of an Indian. A few moments and he was at one of the windows, peering inside the cabin.
Shorty, Pete, and Kipp sat side by side, propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. Kipp’s head sagged forward on his chest for he was still unconscious.
In spite of the bruised and blood-caked condition of his face, it was visibly apparent that Shorty’s left cheek bulged with a huge wad of tobacco. Even as Tad looked, a brown stream shot forth from the bruised lips of the little puncher.
“Missed him, Pete,” he grinned. “Gotta raise my sights. The range is plumb long and that spider’s crawlin’ kinda zig-zag like he was dodgin’. Bet another nickel on the next shot.”
“Better put in the next few minutes sayin’ yore prayers,hombre,” said Black Jack, crossing to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. “A man as near the end uh the trail as you gents are, had orter be lookin’ fer a shallow crossin’.”
“Injun,” said Shorty in his soft drawl, “when I’m cravin’ ary advice, I’ll ask fer it.”
Another brown stream that barely missed the breed’s boot.
“Owe yuh another nickel, Pete. That danged spider got plumb outa range. If yo’re honin’ tuh be of any he’p around here, Whiskers, herd that insect back this way.”
Pete Basset, marveling at the little cow puncher’s superb nerve, thrust aside his worries and smiled faintly. Even the guard at the door eyed Shorty with approval.
Slim, of the broken arm, groaned less loudly as he watched Shorty scan the dirt floor for another spider.
A queer lump rose in Tad’s throat as he looked at Shorty’s battered features and saw the split lips twist in a grin.
“The —— li’l’ ol’ game rooster,” mused the big puncher, racking his brain for a plan of attack.
Kipp groaned feebly and opened his eyes. Black Jack, a cup of coffee in his left hand, leered into the sheriff’s pain-shot eyes.
“Mebbe so that rap between the horns brung yuh around to some sense,” he said, fixing Kipp with narrowed gaze. “Had ary change uh mind while yuh was asleep?”
“No.”
“Yo’re forcin’ my hand, mind. I’ve gone too far tuh do any back-trailin’ in this game and you know it. I’m killin’ off these two gents because they know too much. They come a-huntin’ trouble and they got it, a hull bellyful. I sent word tuh Fox that you’d be killed. That was a lie. I’m keepin’ yuh here till that Basset deal is closed and I sell out tuh Fox. Then I’ll turn yuh loose, and me’n these boys is driftin’ to fresh range. I’m leavin’ yuh to settle with Fox if yuh got the guts tuh go through with it. I’ll be a long ways gone so yuh can’t do me no harm, but you kin make it hot fer Luther.”
Black Jack chuckled at the cleverness of his plan. He drained his coffee at a gulp.
“Want tuh be hung er shot, you two?” he asked the other two.
“Yonder comes another spider, Pete,” said Shorty, ignoring Black Jack. “What’s the odds I don’t hit ’im?”
But a moment before, while Black Jack was talking to Kipp, Shorty had looked up at the window and square into the eyes of his partner. Yet he had given no sign that he had seen Tad, save that his left eyelid had dropped in a covert wink. He did not glance again at the window lest he betray Tad’s presence. He guessed that Tad was alone and was waiting for the right moment to open the attack. Shorty felt sure that Black Jack would put up a fight, even if Tad’s gun covered him. He had seen men of Black Jack’s breed before.
Death, to the breed, would be preferable to capture. Slim could still use a gun and the guard would fight. The light would be shot out and Tad would not shoot into the darkened room lest he hit a friend. It was a situation that would require generalship.
“——, Black Jack,” put in the guard. “Hangin’s a lot uh bother. Let’s knock ’em on the head and throw ’em in the river. If their carcasses wash ashore, there’s no bullet holes in ’em and nobody tuh blame. They was drownded crossin’ the river, savvy?”
“Mebbe yo’re right. We’ll pack ’em to the river like they are. Time enough tuh cut the ropes off ’em when we’ve got ’em knocked out. Slim, keep a eye on the sheriff while we’re gone. I’ll pack the little ’un.”
Black Jack, his black eyes hard as flint, lips set in a thin line, stooped to lift Shorty.
A brown streak of tobacco juice shot out, catching the breed squarely in the eyes. With a howl of pain as the stinging nicotine blinded him, the outlaw leader sprang erect, hands to his eyes.
A shot, accompanied by tinkling glass. “Stick ’em up!” bawled Tad.
The man bending over Pete whirled, shooting from the hip at the window. Tad’s shot caught the outlaw in the shoulder, spinning him about.
“Watch the jasper on the couch, Tad!” yelled Shorty, rolling across the floor in twisting flops and striking the legs of Black Jack, who was groping for the table where the lamp stood. Cursing in a monotone, his eyes blinded and hot with pain, the half breed fell across Shorty’s form.
Tad, gun in hand, sprang through the doorway. Black Jack shot desperately at the least sound, and Tad felt the air of a passing bullet. Tad leaped forward, the high heel of his boot crunching the breed’s gun hand into the dirt. The small bones cracked sickeningly and Black Jack cursed as he groped for the gun with his left hand.
A streak of fire from the bunk. Slim’s bullet tore through the crown of Tad’s hat. Tad’s gun roared, tearing the .45 from Slim’s hand.
“Both wings busted,” snarled Slim, and followed the statement by a string of curses.
The other man was in a heap, whining and begging.
“Kill the yaller coyote,” yelled Slim. “Kill the howling ——! Fight, you —— polecat!”
Tad was on top of Black Jack now, his long arms swinging like flails as the breed fought like a trapped cougar. A terrific swing and the breed went limp.
The powder smoke was stifling. Every man’s ears rang from the roar of the big calibered six-shooters. Slim was shrieking curses and begging some one to kill the wounded outlaw who put up so tame a fight.
Tad cut Shorty’s ropes first.
“Thanks, Ox,” grinned the little puncher. “Gimme that rope and I’ll tie that Injun. Where’s yore men, big feller?”
“I come with Kipp. Quit a runnin’ off at the head, runt, and tie up that black-muzzled skunk afore he comes alive and makes me kill ’im.”
Pete and Kipp were quickly freed. They grinned their thanks and set to work silencing Slim and the other man.
“Pete,” grinned the jubilant Shorty, “meet up with my ol’ Tad pardner. Homelier’n a muley cow, but we can’t all of us be han’some. Yuh done got here jest about time, feller. The Injun was kinda goin’ on the notion that all good cow hands was dead ’uns and was rearin’ tuh convert me’n Pete. I owes Peter twenty cents, Taddie. Bein’ kinda nervous inside, I missed that —— spider every shot. I ain’t so good as I used tuh be at——”
“Fer gosh sake, dry up, runt,” grumbled Tad. “Yuh dad-gummed li’l locoed idjit. Snuk off on me and overmatched yorese’f, didn’t yuh? I’d orter ’a’ let yuh git yore needin’s.”
With a snort of disapproval, he turned to Kipp.
The sheriff had moved to the open doorway and was staring with thoughtful eyes into the night. He turned as Tad’s hand rested on his shoulder. Together they stepped outside.
“That —— hole ketched me, Ladd. The fall knocked me out and they had me foul when I come to. I done my best, which was a —— of a pore showin’.”
“No man kin do more’n his best, Joe. It’s over now, let’s fergit it.”
Tad shoved out his hand, but Kipp shook his head.
“It ain’t over fer me, Ladd. I got my work cut out fer me. When I’ve done that work, I’ll shake hands if yo’re still in the notion.”
“Meanin’ Fox and you locks horns?”
“Partly that. When we bring this herd up outa the brakes, Fox’ll know that his game is lost. It’ll be either run er shoot it out, and he ain’t the runnin’ kind. It’ll be me er him, that’s all. The range is too small tuh hold us both.”
Tad nodded.
“I’m layin’ my bets on you, Joe.”
“I’m obliged, pardner.”
They turned and entered the cabin.
There followed half an hour of cross-questioning the outlaw who had begged for mercy when he had been wounded. They learned that there were no more men to be accounted for. Tad told of the conversation he had overheard between Bill and his companion.
“Then we got clear trail ahead,” said Kipp. “Bill’ll pick up the gent at the rimrock, bein’ they’re sorter pardners. We might as well bed down and take it easy till mornin’. We’ll take turns standin’ guard. There’d orter be beds out under the trees so’s them as ain’t on guard kin rest. Come daylight, we’ll take the herd out and I’ll take the pris’ners tuh Hank’s place.”
This plan met with hearty approval. Not a man there but needed rest. Tad took first guard.
Black Jack, conscious now, had lapsed into a sullen silence. His black eyes were opaque, his bearded features expressionless. No amount of questioning could open his thin lips.
“That’s the Injun in him,” grinned Shorty as he and Pete followed Kipp outside in search of beds.
“My work is done, Sheriff,” smiled Pete Basset when Shorty was out of earshot. “I’m giving myself up to you. I’m ready to go back to Deer Lodge.”
“Better wait a day er so, Pete. I’m too danged busy tuh fool with yuh right now. Keep yor gun fer a spell. It may come in handy. Fox’ll have men with him when we meet up with him at the lone cottonwood to pay off yore dad’s note. This show ain’t over. Till it is, yo’re plumb free, savvy?”
“That’s white of you, Sheriff. I’ve had a hunch for a long time that you were in cahoots with Fox and his gang. Black Jack’s recent talk clinches that suspicion. Also, it’s plain that you’re breaking with the LF. I want you to know that I’m for you.”
Beyond the cottonwood grove near the corrals, Shorty was jerking the saddle from his tired horse and staking the animal out where the grass was high. He sang as he worked:
“Parson, I’m a maverick, jest runnin’ loose an’ grazin’,Eatin’ where’s the greenest grass and drinkin’ where I choose;Had tuh rustle in my youth an’ never had no raisin’;Wasn’t never halter broke an’ I ain’t got much tuh lose;Used tuh sleepin’ in a sack an’ livin’ in a slicker;Church folks never branded me, I don’t know as they tried,Wisht you’d say a prayer fer me and try tuh make a dickerFor the best they’ll give me when I cross the Big Divide.”
“Parson, I’m a maverick, jest runnin’ loose an’ grazin’,Eatin’ where’s the greenest grass and drinkin’ where I choose;Had tuh rustle in my youth an’ never had no raisin’;Wasn’t never halter broke an’ I ain’t got much tuh lose;Used tuh sleepin’ in a sack an’ livin’ in a slicker;Church folks never branded me, I don’t know as they tried,Wisht you’d say a prayer fer me and try tuh make a dickerFor the best they’ll give me when I cross the Big Divide.”
“Parson, I’m a maverick, jest runnin’ loose an’ grazin’,
Eatin’ where’s the greenest grass and drinkin’ where I choose;
Had tuh rustle in my youth an’ never had no raisin’;
Wasn’t never halter broke an’ I ain’t got much tuh lose;
Used tuh sleepin’ in a sack an’ livin’ in a slicker;
Church folks never branded me, I don’t know as they tried,
Wisht you’d say a prayer fer me and try tuh make a dicker
For the best they’ll give me when I cross the Big Divide.”