The First Day of Eternity, page 10
Cody took the Winchester out of the dead man’s hands, then relieved him of his gun belt and handgun. He searched his pockets for money or anything else of value, then he left the body where it was before he returned to the Village Tavern where he found Morgan and a small gathering of spectators waiting. They all stared at him with his spoils from the encounter. Especially wide-eyed was Burt Rayford’s young clerk, Hal. “Come on,” Morgan said to Cody. “Let’s go get the wagon and get back to the ranch.” Buying new clothes for Cody could wait. He felt pretty sure Cody didn’t want to answer any questions. When they got back to Stevensville Supply, they found all their purchases were loaded and Burt had their bill figured up.
“We heard what sounded like a rifle shot that was followed by some shots from another weapon a little while ago,” Burt said. “It wasn’t too far away. Hal went down the street to see what it was. Glad to see it didn’t have nothin’ to do with you folks.”
“Somebody havin’ some problems, I reckon,” Morgan remarked. “Let’s see what you came up with.” While Morgan went over Burt’s figures with him, Cody dropped Crowder’s weapons in the wagon, climbed up on the driver’s seat and waited for his brother. “Was that the fellow you had the run-in with the first time you ate at the Tavern?” Morgan asked when he climbed up and took the reins.
“Yeah, that was him,” Cody said.
Morgan didn’t say anything else until they drove past the last building in the town, but he was thinking plenty. He thought that maybe he should tell their father that his youngest son had absolutely been effectively trained to be an Indian warrior. “I see you came back with a rifle and a sidearm, so I reckon that last shot was the one that done him in.”
“Right,” Cody answered.
Morgan hesitated but felt like he had to ask, “Did you take his scalp?”
Cody stared at him, puzzled. “What in the world would I want his scalp for?”
“Just askin’,” Morgan replied with a smile of relief. There was one thing more that Morgan was curious about, however, so he asked, “When we walked out of that saloon, you knocked me off my feet.”
“Yeah,” Cody said, “sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Morgan quickly replied. “I think you saved my life.” He shrugged and said, “At least one of our lives, I expect. But how did you know that shot was coming?”
“I don’t know,” Cody answered honestly, “I just did.” He was unaware that a tiny glint of the midday sun briefly flashing on the barrel of a Winchester rifle had triggered reflexes that were natural to him.
CHAPTER 9
The days that followed the attempt on Cody’s life in town were spent in familiarizing himself with the boundaries of Triple-H property. He wanted to make sure he knew what was Hunter land and what was open prairie. Sometimes he worked with some of the other men on various jobs, getting to know them. For him, the jobs were generally learning experiences because he had no experience as a cattleman. He was aware that the men were always glad to have his help and appreciated the fact that he made no pretense of knowing what was best when it came to the cattle. It was on one of these days that he decided he wanted to ride alone. On this particular day, he told Morgan he wanted to ride down the valley to the southernmost boundary of Hunter land. Morgan told him that the actual boundary was a little creek that fed off the Bitterroot River and it was a natural place for cows to cross over to Kincaid land. With the recent escalation of the trouble between the Hunters and the Kincaids, Morgan had moved the portion of the herd that was grazing there away from that area. Cody said he would check to see if any of the cattle were drifting back to that creek. So he rode directly south until he had passed the last of the small groups of cows that had broken off from the larger herd. According to landmarks Morgan had given him, he figured he must be somewhere in the neighborhood of a mile from the creek, so he continued in that direction.
* * *
Albert Bradshaw pulled the big bay gelding to a stop when he reached the creek that served as the northernmost boundary between Kincaid’s land and Hunter’s. They were still getting occasional Triple-H strays that found their way back to this creek, even though Hunter had pulled most of his cows back onto Hunter land. Albert had his mind set on the reward Emmett offered for that Indian sniper Duncan Hunter had hired. He knew it was going to be a real competition between a few of them to collect that fifty dollars. And the bragging rights would be worth more than the money. He figured he only had two competitors to worry about, Bo Dawson and Slick Wilson. They split up to go in search of the Indian, and both Slick and Bo had laughed when he picked the boundary creek. Let them laugh, he thought. I got a feeling he’s gonna be snooping around the boundary looking for a target.
He crossed over the creek and guided the bay up the bank on the Hunter side and waited there for a few minutes in the trees that lined the creek. He looked a long time in one direction, then about the same time in the other, thinking the Indian might be riding that circuit. He decided to ride on over deeper into the Hunter range. Maybe Hunter had put the Indian to work tending cows. That might not be good, Albert thought, unless he could catch him off by himself after some strays because Emmett said he wanted to see a body for proof of the killing. “Let’s just go see how good my hunch is,” Albert said and gave the bay a kick with his heels, then immediately jerked the reins back hard, backing the horse into the trees again. There he was! The Indian! And he had almost ridden right out in front of him. Did he see him in the trees? If he did, he gave no sign of it as he loped on past, his attention on a little bunch of stray cattle on their way to the creek.
Shaken at first by the sudden appearance of the man in buckskins, he realized that his hunch had been dead on the money and he had been handed an easy fifty dollars. He drew his rifle from his saddle sling and gave his horse a kick of his heels again. He went after his target, keeping his horse in the cover of the trees. He hoped the Indian would stop before going into the creek after the cows but decided he would take the shot moving, if the Indian didn’t stop. It would be a much easier target standing still. Everything seemed to be going the way he wanted, for his target pulled his horse to a stop before going into the trees after the cows.
Cody pulled his horse to a stop to see which way the strays he chased were going to head, upstream or downstream. In the next moment, however, his natural reactions took effect when he heard the distinct sound of a rifle chambering a cartridge. He didn’t take time to think but dropped to the side of his horse and signaled him to go. He heard the snap of the bullet as it passed over Storm’s back at about the height of a man seated in the saddle. He heard the sound of the second shot after Storm had charged into the trees beside the creek. Cody pulled himself back up in the saddle and guided the big dun down along the edge of the water, causing the group of five cows to scatter and charge up out of the creek to startle Albert. Not sure where his target was now, Albert turned his horse around to discover Cody behind him, waiting. Two quick shots from the Henry rifle slammed into Albert’s chest, ending his chances in the fifty-dollar contest.
Cody could not be sure how his father, or brothers would prefer he treat the body of the man he had just killed. He could leave it where it lay, on Hunter property. So if his friends came looking for him, they would see he had been killed where he was not supposed to be. But what if his friends never came to look for him? He decided to load the body over the saddle with his weapons and everything else intact. Then he led the horse back across the creek to Kincaid property and gave him a smack of his hand. He wondered if the horse would find its way home as he watched it trot away. He would have led the horse back to the Kincaid ranch, but it would have been a long ride there and back to the Triple-H. And he would have been too late for supper. Since it was apparent that the man who had taken a shot at him had been alone, Cody turned his attention back to the five stray cows that were now standing and watching him. He rode over to check the brands they were wearing. And when he confirmed the brand was the Triple-H, he started herding them back toward the rest of the Hunter cattle.
* * *
When Cody returned to the ranch it was just about time for supper, so he thought he should tell Morgan what had happened on the south end of the range. He found him in the barn unsaddling his horse. “Did you ride all the way to the creek?” Morgan asked when he saw Cody come in.
“Yep, I rode to the creek,” Cody answered. “Found five Triple-H cows there, so I drove them back with the others. I had to shoot another one of the Double-K riders, though.” Morgan looked upset at once, so Cody quickly explained, “He took a shot at me and this was on our side of that creek, so I shot him.”
“I swear, it looks like there ain’t gonna be no end to this little war they’ve decided to have,” Morgan complained. “But you’re all right. How’d it happen? Did he call you out or just took a shot at you?”
“He just decided to shoot me,” Cody replied. “I didn’t even know he was around until he shot at me. I figured I wouldn’t give him another chance. He might notta missed the next time he tried.”
“I expect we’d best tell Pa and Holt about it,” Morgan said. “I hate to give Pa one more thing to worry about, but he needs to know. Supper’s ready now, so I’ll go to the house to eat, then I’ll come to the main house and we’ll talk about it. Maybe I’ll have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie if Pansy’s made one today. Can’t nobody beat her when it comes to bakin’ pies. Don’t you ever tell Edna I said that.”
Cody laughed. “I’m gonna keep that one in the bank in case I need it one day.”
* * *
Cody ate supper that night in the kitchen with his father and brother Holt. Pansy filled a plate for herself and sat down at the table with them. They always ate in the kitchen except when Morgan and Edna and the kids joined them. On those occasions, they ate at the big table in the dining room. And Pansy ate with them in the dining room, too, but she was constantly up and down whenever a serving bowl became empty or someone needed coffee. Although Duncan Hunter hired Pansy as a cook and housekeeper, he saw no need to treat her like one. Consequently, she often commented on their discussions if she happened to find them interesting, or if she thought they were missing the point on the subject they were dissecting. On this particular night, she found the subject certainly interesting, but definitely disturbing as well. Cody had been shot at by a Double-K sniper. He, in turn, killed his would-be assassin, and they were all glad that Cody had prevailed. Duncan was naturally concerned for the safety of his three sons as well as that of the crew of men and boys who worked for the Triple-H. But all they talked about was the range war that they feared was coming and training their army to fight Double-K’s army. It was at this point that Pansy felt obligated to comment.
“I know you boys don’t really want the men to get ready to go to war with Double-K’s crew, do ya?” she asked while she filled their coffee cups. “Most of the men workin’ for Ralph and Emmett Kincaid were weaned on a Colt .45.”
“What you say is true, Pansy,” Duncan said. “But I don’t see any way to avoid a fight with the Kincaids.”
“I think you’re missin’ the main point here,” Pansy insisted. All three Hunters paused to give her their attention as she took a kitchen knife and started slicing a freshly baked peach pie. Morgan glanced at Cody and shook his head to remind him not to tell Edna. “That fellow today went after Cody, ’cause he thinks Cody’s an Indian,” Pansy continued. “That makes three of their men killed by this same Indian. Maybe they heard about that fellow in town that went after the Indian, and the Indian got him, too.”
“That may be so, Pansy,” Morgan said, “but Kincaid won’t know who killed that one today.”
“But I betcha he’s gonna guess that it was the Indian you hired to ride his range and pick off his men,” she came back. “I expect he’s gonna have some of his gunmen sneakin’ around here lookin’ for the Indian. If you get rid of the Indian, maybe Kincaid won’t stalk our men out on the range.”
“Damn if that ain’t a good idea,” Holt japed. “We can just hang Cody in the center of town and that’ll take care of our problems.”
“Buy Cody some new clothes,” Pansy said, ignoring Holt’s attempt at humor. “Then the Indian will go away.”
“Maybe the Indian should just go away,” Cody declared. “Seems like I ain’t caused nothing but trouble ever since I hit this part of the country.”
“I swear,” Holt exclaimed, “do you really hate to wear white man’s clothes so much that you’d rather leave home than take off those buckskins?”
“Almost,” Cody declared. “I think a lot of what Pansy says is true. They could easily get the idea that I’m a sniper that we’re payin’ to scare some of their men off the range.”
“You’re still missin’ the main thing here,” Pansy insisted. “It they think you hired a special killer to start snipin’ away at their men, then they’re likely to hire themselves a special killer, too.”
“Or just put a price on Cody’s head,” Morgan said, “and with that gang of outlaws they’ve got workin’ their cattle, that oughta give their men something to do in their spare time.” He looked at Cody and shook his head. “We need to go to town tomorrow, and not come back without those working clothes for you this time.”
* * *
“What tha hell . . . ?” Otto Ross drew out slowly and pulled his horse to a stop when he saw the horse standing in the trail before them with a body draped across the saddle. He automatically looked all around him before moving forward again.
“That looks like Bradshaw’s bay,” Slick Wilson said when he pulled up beside Otto. Like Otto, he took a cautious look around, even though they could see there was no concealment for ambush anywhere close around. After a minute or two, they decided there was no danger in proceeding, so they rode slowly up beside the bay gelding in an effort not to cause it to run. Slick took hold of the bay’s reins and looked at the head hanging down beside the stirrup. “It’s Albert all right. Looks to me like he mighta found the Injun.”
“I swear,” Otto said. “He didn’t scalp him or nothin’. Didn’t even take his weapons. Just threw him on his horse and sent him home.”
“He almost made it back to the ranch house before he stopped here,” Slick said. “I reckon that weren’t all just braggin’ when Albert said he knew where to look for that Injun. Too bad he found him.”
“Sure is strange that Injun didn’t take Bradshaw’s rifle or his .45. Didn’t take his cartridge belt or nothin’ else. I don’t reckon he took his money, if he had any,” Otto said. “Maybe we oughta check to see if he was carryin’ any.” Then something else caught his attention. “Damn, Slick, look at his rifle.”
Slick, who had already started to try to get to the dead man’s pockets after Otto mentioned money, paused to look at the rifle in Bradshaw’s saddle scabbard. “What about it?”
“It’s turned around backward in the saddle sling,” Otto answered. “Ain’t that some kind of warnin’ sign that some Injun tribes send their enemies? Means they’re gonna be comin’ after ’em or something.”
“I don’t know,” Slick answered. “I ain’t never heard of nothin’ like that. Only thing I ever knew about Injuns is they’ll take everything you got, includin’ your hair.”
“Well, I heard it somewhere,” Otto insisted. “I didn’t make it up.”
They dismounted so they could try to get into Bradshaw’s pockets without taking him off his horse. It proved to be somewhat difficult, even though his body had not started to stiffen up yet, but they persevered rather than go to the trouble to take him off and put him back on again. For their efforts, they were awarded one dollar and fifty cents each. “Well, let’s take him on in and tell Emmett he’s short another man,” Slick said. “That’ll tickle him.”
Emmett Kincaid was walking across the yard on his way to the cookshack when he saw the two riders approaching the barn leading a third horse. He stopped when he saw the body lying across the saddle. “Who is it?” Emmett yelled, the muscles in his arms already tensing in anger at the thought of losing another man.
“Bradshaw,” Slick yelled back. Emmett stood there and waited until they rode on in.
“What happened?” Emmett asked when they rode up to him.
“Don’t know, Boss,” Otto answered. “This is the way we found him, layin’ across his saddle about three miles back. We don’t know where he was coming from. When he left this mornin’, he said you told him to pick up any strays he found around the boundary creek.”
“Right,” Emmett replied. “He thought it was about time we checked that creek again. Was he shot?”
“Yep, looks like two in the chest,” Slick answered.
“About three miles from here?” Emmett asked. “Somebody shot him three miles from this ranch house?”
“I don’t know how far from here he was when he got shot,” Slick told him. “We found him about three miles away, but we found him just like that, layin’ across his saddle. So whoever done it loaded him on his horse and that’s where he ended up.”
This was not news Emmett wanted to hear. He knew where Bradshaw had gone that morning. Albert had asked him to let him scout that area because he had a strong feeling the Indian rode along that creek when he was searching the ranch’s southern pastures. He convinced Emmett that he had a better chance of spotting the Indian alone than if they sent a hunting party. Bradshaw had been right when he thought he knew where to find the Indian, but it looked like he was unlucky to have found him. “He was a good man,” Emmett reminded himself to say for Slick’s and Otto’s benefit. But he obviously wasn’t good enough to avoid being outsmarted by a savage Indian and resulting in the Double-K losing one more man. “Take him on into the barn and we’ll dig him a grave after supper,” Emmett said and went to the cookshack.
