Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1202
Lance thought with all his might. It was a situation in which he wanted to make good. But the fact that these old cattlemen, who had fought rustlers and Mexicans for over a score of years, put the responsibility up to him and Starr seemed more stultifying than inspiring.
“Starr, what hour of the night will that highway be most free of traffic?” asked Lance.
“About three in the mawnin’ thar’s a quiet spell. Sometimes fer two hours not a darn car goes by.”
“That will be the time the thieves will load,” concluded Lance.
“I agree. And even then it’s pretty risky. Old-time rustlers wouldn’t be that brazen,” said Stewart.
“Boss, we gotta deal with a new breed of criminal,” added Starr.
“Like as not the drivers of these trucks won’t be regular range characters. These men will be city crooks, stealing cattle as a blind. They are gangsters. Probably hop-heads.”
Stewart’s leonine head swept up and he transfixed Lance with penetrating eyes.
“Cowboy, I heard you use that word hop-head less than an hour ago?” he queried, sharply.
“Yes sir... You — you may have,” replied Lance, startled. But despite his qualm he kept his head. “I can explain it.”
“Very well. Go on. What’s a hop-head?”
“It’s the name underworld characters give to men addicted to opium or heroin. They smoke or eat opium. Heroin they mostly inhale by smelling from the back of their hands. It’s a powder.”
“Wal, the hell you say, cowboy?” ejaculated Nels. “Them hop-heads must be kinda tough nuts, eh?”
“Brutal killers. No mercy! No respect for law. Rats, the police call them.”
“Boss, they’ll shoot if they’re cornered, an’ if they have machine guns, it’ll jest be too bad,” interposed Starr.
“They must be ambushed, or at least surprised,” went on Lance. “They’ll be waiting or driving along slow at the place nearest the highway — most convenient to pick up the cattle.”
“Thet’s less than forty miles from where we’re talkin’,” said Starr. “I spotted the blackest bunch of cattle on my way oot. I can drive fairly close. We’d hev to walk the rest of the way.”
“I was going to suggest that,” resumed Lance. “But not to drive too close. These raiders, whose job it is to round up the cattle, could hear a car.... They will be mounted — acquainted with the range — probably living on it.”
“In cahoots with the truck drivers. Pard. You said a mouthful.”
“Reckon he did thet same little thing,” observed Mains, in dry subtlety.
“Wal, Gene, the kids ain’t so pore,” said Nels. “If yore through eatin’ an’ talkin’ let’s go. When we git down thar on the flat we can figger the rest.”
“What’s the hurry, Nels?” asked Stewart.
“Wal, I ain’t trustin’ them hop-haids to wait till mawnin’. Why, I reckon they’d jest as lief rob us in broad daylight.”
Soon after that the five men, armed to the teeth, passed down the road in Starr’s car, driving without lights. They had reached the village, passed the main street, when approaching Mains’ house, Sidway’s keen eyes, accustomed to the dark, espied two mounted riders close to the fence.
“Hold it, Ren,” he whispered.... “There!... Down the walk past Mains’ house. Two horsemen!... They’re moving.”
“My gosh, I see them,” replied Starr. “Gone now. Listen. ... Heah them hoofs? Good fast trot.”
“Boys,” interposed Mains, “it ain’t nothin’ to see hawsemen around heah. They ride up bold as hell an’ then again they sneak up like Injuns. Bonita’s the reason.”
Lance bit his tongue to keep from bursting out with the news that he had seen Bonita’s dark form glide across in front of a yellow-lighted window. To his mind neither the riders nor the girl had moved without significance of secrecy. Lance resolved to make up to this pretty señorita for two reasons.
“Drive on, Ren,” said Stewart, presently.
Below the village some few hundred yards Starr steered off the road down the slope. In the dark he had to go very slowly, a procedure difficult to accomplish on account of the grade. A vast dim emptiness stretched away under the stars. Far down, double pin points of light, moving along, attested to the presence of a car on the highway. Lance asked Stewart how long that road had encroached upon his range.
“Six or seven years, if I remember. Used to bother old-timers. But that feeling has gone into the discard with the cattle business.”
“It’ll pick up again and be better than ever,” declared Lance.
“Ren, stop every little way, so we can listen.”
It was a silent night, not yet cooled off from the day’s heat. The rustle of sage and the low hum of insects accentuated the silence. Stars were growing brighter in the darkening blue. Gradually the men ceased talking. Once down on the flat Starr had easier driving. Presently he ran out of the sage into the wash where on the sand and gravel the going was smoother and almost noiseless. Starr must have halted a dozen times at Nels’ order and the five had listened intently before Lance heard cattle bawling.
“Reckon we’ve come fur enough. What say, Gene?” queried Nels. “Let’s pile oot.”
“I think I know about where we are,” said Gene, peering about in the gloom. “Still pretty far from the road, that is, where this wash goes under. But the road curves in to the west.”
“Cattle all aboot,” observed Nels. “An’ they ain’t skeered, thet’s shore. Let’s mosey on till we heah somethin’.”
Guardedly and slow, with senses alert, the men zigzagged through the sage, working southwest. Grazing and resting cattle grew more numerous. After what Lance believed was several miles’ travel Nels halted them near a rocky mound.
“Fur enough, till we heah or see somethin’. You cowboys climb up thar.”
The eminence appeared to be rather long and higher toward the west. Lance signed to Ren that he would climb the far point. He did not, however, get to do it, for a hist from Starr called him back. Lance joined Nels and Stewart who stood under Starr.
“... Aboot a mile from the highway,” Ren was saying, in guarded voice. “Three big double lights comin’ from Bolton. Trucks. They’re close together. Movin’ slow.”
“How do you know they’re trucks?” asked Stewart.
“Cars an’ lamps an’ such hev been my job fer a year an’ more, Boss. These belong to trucks, an’ you bet the ones we’re expectin’. Jest creepin’ along. An’ thet’s a level road.”
“How fur away?” queried Nels.
“Cain’t say. Mebbe three miles, mebbe six.”
“Nels, down along here about even with where we are now there are several benches that run close to the road and break off in banks. It would be a simple matter for trucks to be backed up against these banks and loaded. In some places you wouldn’t even need a platform. And my cattle are tame.”
“Wal, we’re some sucker cattlemen,” drawled Nels, and sat down with his back to the bank. “Set down an’ let’s wait fer Starr to find oot somethin’. Sidway, you got sharp ears. Go off a ways an’ listen. It’s a still night. Listen fer cattle thet air disturbed.”
Lance did as he was bidden, conscious of growing excitement. These ranchmen evidently gave him credit for more and wilder experience than he had had. He felt that he must rise to the occasion. Presently there would be some sharp and critical work for all of them and he nerved himself to cool hard purpose. From time to time he heard Starr’s low voice.
It was some time, however, fraught with suspense, before Lance’s range-trained ear caught the faint trample of hoofs and occasional bawl of cattle. Whereupon he ran back to report.
“Good!” declared Stewart. “How about you, Starr?”
“I reckon I heahed but wasn’t shore. I am now. Not so all-fired far, either.... Boss, jest wait, I’m watchin’ them trucks.”
Starr did not speak again, and the others listened intently. The faint sounds of moving cattle augmented. Presently the cowboy whispered sharply: “Boss, the trucks hev stopped — jest a little to the right of us.... Lights go out!... No, by damn — the trucks air turnin’... backin’ off the road this way, or I’m a born fool.”
“Wal, look like it’s all set,” said Nels, getting up. Stewart followed his example.
“Them rays of light flash across the highway,” went on Starr.
“‘Pear to be linin’ up.... Fust lights gone out!...”
“Come down, Ren. We’ll be moseyin’ along.... Danny, you come with us. Gene, you go with Sidway. Work straight down to the road an’ foller along it. We’ll aim to slip up behind the hombres who’re doin’ the rustlin’.”
In another moment Lance was gliding cautiously along at Stewart’s heels. They progressed fifty steps or more when Stewart halted to listen.
“But Nels didn’t say what to do!” whispered Lance.
“It’s a cinch we’ll break up the raid. But our object is to capture at least one each of the riders and drivers.”
Lance silenced his misgivings and conjectures, and transferring his rifle to his left hand he drew his gun. Stewart, he had observed, packed two guns, and Lance thrilled at the way he wore them. So different from the movie bad men! They stole along slowly, avoiding the larger sagebrush, careful not to scare cattle, listening at intervals. The hum of a motorcar off to the east distracted Lance’s attention from the now audible moving herd. Presently he saw the lights and he and the rancher watched them grow and pass not far below, and go on out of sight. That car was making fast time. No doubt it did not see the trucks. Soon Lance followed Stewart out of the sage upon the highway, black and glistening under the stars.
“We’re farther this way than we thought,” whispered Stewart. “That bunch of cattle are down to the road.... Hear that?... We’ve got to hand it to these truck rustlers for nerve. Right on the highway! Not leary of noise.”
“To hell with the ranchers, eh?” replied Lance, with a little husky laugh. He felt the heat throb in his pulsing veins.
“They wouldn’t put a guard out, as the old rustlers used to.... Let’s hurry along.”
Stewart strode so swiftly that Lance could not hear anything while they were moving. But presently they halted; the trample of hoofs and bawl of cattle became plainly audible. On the third halt Lance distinctly heard the thump of hoofs upon a board floor.
“ —— !” swore Stewart. “Loading already! Won’t that make Nels snort? It should be getting hot over there. But Nels would move slow.”
After another hundred steps or so Stewart led off the highway into the sage. Lance divined that the rancher wanted cover to drop behind in case the truckmen flashed their lights. Nevertheless it was not long before Stewart went down on all fours to crawl. This was tremendously exciting to Lance. The thump of solid hoofs on wood drowned all the other sounds except an occasional snort or bawl. The cattle were being moved with amazing celerity and little noise.
“Beats me,” muttered Stewart, then crawled on. They had scarcely gotten even with a point opposite, where a high black bulk loomed up squarely above the horizon and marked the position of the trucks, when huge glaring lights gleamed out of the darkness. Lance flattened himself beside Stewart. A low fringe of sage on their right saved them from detection. But Lance’s throat contracted. A harsh low voice, a sudden bursting of an engine, into whirring roar, a grind of wheels left no doubt that a truck was starting. It moved quickly down to the road, and turned so that the lights swerved to the right, leaving the men in darkness. Then the truck stopped and the driver called. Stewart jerked Lance to his feet, whispering: “We’ve got to move. Careful now. Keep your head.”
His voice, his presence stirred Lance as nothing else had ever done. Stewart ran along the sage and up on the road to the truck. Lance, sharp-eyed and tense, kept at his heels. The engine was purring. Reaching the front of the car Stewart jerked open the door and commanded: “Hands up!”
Lance over Stewart’s shoulder saw the big gun go prodding into the driver’s side. “Agg-h!” he ejaculated, and lifted his hands off the wheel.
A quick grating footstep on the other side of the car caused Lance to crouch. A man came swiftly round the front.
“Beat it, Bill — we’re held up!” rasped the driver.
But this man cursed and swept up his arm. Lance having him covered, had only to pull the trigger. His shot preceded the others only by an instant. Lance saw his action violently break, his gun burst red. A crash of bursting glass, a thud of bullets preceded Stewart’s staggering away from the truck to fall. The driver, with hoarse bellows of alarm, shoved his power on so quickly that the cattle in the truck banged against the gate. Then the truck roared down the road.
The horror that gripped Lance at Stewart’s fall nearly overcame him for a moment. Then strident yells, the flashing of lights and roaring of engines added to his fighting fury. Nimbly he leaped beyond the broad flares. And as the second truck whizzed down upon the road he emptied his gun at the front of the first one. The splintering crash of glass, the lurching of the car, the loud yells told that his bullets did some execution. Both trucks gained the road. As they roared on shots rang out from the bank. Then Lance, resorting to his rifle, aimed above the red rear light of the last truck, and sent ten shots after it. Lowering the hot rifle he stood a moment, shaking, wet with cold sweat, realizing all shots had ceased. He caught a clatter of rapid hoofs, the crowding of cattle, then a ringing voice:
“Hey, over there,” called Nels. “What’n hell was yore hurry?”
“Nels! Come — quick! Stewart’s...” yelled Lance hoarsely.
“Keep your shirt on, cowboy,” intercepted the cool voice of Stewart. Then Lance saw his tall dark form against the lighter gloom.
“Oh — Ste — wart. I was afraid,” gasped Lance.
“Hello. Where are you, fellers?” shouted Danny Mains, and then followed Starr’s cheery voice. “Busted, by thunder!”
“Here,” called Stewart. Presently the three loomed on the road.
“Gene, you let ‘um git away,” protested Nels, hopping mad.
“Trucks vamoosed in spite of us. How about the riders?”
“Wal, we was creepin’ up behind, all set, when you opened up the ball.”
“Did you identify any of them?”
“Hell, we didn’t even see them. Slick an’ fast ootfit, Gene. Makes me more curious.”
“I ain’t so damn curious as I was,” growled Danny Mains, enigmatically.
“Pard, you shore done a lot of shootin’,” declared Starr, peering into Lance’s face.
“Here’s what happened,” explained Stewart. “Sidway and I got here just as that loaded truck came off the sage. When it turned on the road, we jumped and ran. It stopped. I opened the door and stuck my right gun in the driver’s ribs. He yelled in spite of that. Then his pardner came running. Bill, the driver called him. Bill sure saw me. For he came up with a gun. I threw my left on him but it struck the car door, low down. Sidway shot this fellow — broke his aim — or sure as God made little apples he’d have killed me. At that he hit me. His bullet knocked me flat.”
“Gene! You shot? Whar? Not a body hit?” exclaimed Nels.
There was a moment’s silence, during which the cold began to creep into Lance’s marrow.
“Don’t know where,” returned Stewart, calmly, as he felt of his body and shoulders. “I’m bleeding. Busted glass cut me. That hombre saw my body outside the door and believe me he threw his gun on it. But Sidway’s shot knocked him off. Maybe the bullet didn’t hit me at all. Maybe it did, because I’m bleeding all over my face and head.”
“Aw, then it cain’t be serious,” declared Nels, with relief. “An’ Sidway hit this hombre?”
“Bored him plumb center,” replied Stewart, grimly. “He stood just inside the light. I saw him drop like a sack. He’s lying here somewhere.”
Starr produced a flashlight and with the two men began searching the immediate space, while Lance fought the strangest, most sickening sensation of his life.
“Heah!... Daid, I’ll tell the world!” rang out Starr. “Lousy-lookin’ little bastard! One of them hop-haids.”
“Search him, Ren, and drag him off the road.... Sidway, you’re too damn good a shot. Dead men tell no tales.”
“Wal, if you ask me, our new cowboy is a man after my kind. Gene, don’t call him fer shootin’ fast an’ straight.”
“I was kidding. But at that I wish Sidway had only crippled him... . What’d he have on him, Ren?”
“Automatic tight in his mitt.... Watch. Knife. Cigarettes.... An’ this wad of long green. Fellers, will you look at thet! A hundred dollar bill on the ootside!”
Lance gradually dragged himself closer to the trio, and discerned Starr on his knees beside the dead man, a slack spare figure, terribly suggestive, showing in the flashlight a crooked visage, ghastly in hue and contortion.
“Wal, you lousy hop-haid,” broke out Starr, in genial levity, “bumped up agin the wrong hombre, didn’t you?... Lay hold, Danny, an’ help me haul him over heah.”
The cold grip on Lance’s internals slowly lessened; and he helped it pass by a desperate effort to conceal what he felt to be his squeamishness before these ranchers. He thought he could get by in the dark.
“Sidway must have stung more than this hombre,” Stewart was saying to Nels. “He shot the front glasses out of both cars. And he sure cut loose with his rifle as they drove away. I heard the bullets hit that last truck.”
“Wal, thanks to him, it didn’t turn oot so pore. Mebbe thet money will more than pay fer the cattle they rustled.”
“Boss, reckon I’ll hev to drive back to Bolton in the mawnin’ an’ report this execution to the sheriff,” said Starr, joining them.
“Yes. And I might have to see a doctor.”
“Lemme look.” Starr flashed his light upon the side of Stewart’s face which he turned for inspection. Lance saw with concern that the rancher was bloody enough to have been struck by a load of shot. The cowboy wiped the blood off, and peering closer he ran his fingers over Stewart’s cheek and temple and neck. “Hell! You ain’t been shot atall, Boss. Jest a blast of glass, I reckon.... Leastways I cain’t find any bullet hole.... Gosh, I’m glad them glass bits missed yore eye.”
