Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1276
“What’s the use to camp near Turkey, then? A better plan will be for you boys to pretend to drive to town, but come back after dark, and next day before sun-up we’ll sneak down to Turkey.”
Even this plan failed to trap the keen rustlers, as did also the hiding-out down in Turkey Canyon. No sooner had the Huetts returned to the necessary harvesting than the rustlers made off with the largest steal Huett had ever sustained. Abe reported the loss, which he estimated two days later from a broad cattle-track heading down towards the Tonto.
“Sell that Turkey herd or see it fade before your very eyes,” warned George Huett to the raging rancher.
“Dad, I’ve a hunch that outfit will come back,” said Abe, ponderingly. “They must have a safe sale for stock.”
“Safe! If we trailed them and recognized every stolen steer, what could we do?” retorted George. “We have no brand. We’re an easy mark for those buzzards.”
“Boys, time was when our losses were less than what it’d have cost to hire a dozen riders. But that day has passed. My method never stood the test of years — I’m bound to admit that. All the same, I won’t change.”
“It’d be wiser to weaken. Sell out or hire cowboys,” advised George.
“Weaken? Hell no!...Grant, do you side with George?”
“I sure do, Dad. I hate to go against you. None of us ever did before. But this is getting too tough to stand. Maybe it never occurred to you to think how we boys need money. You never give us any money. And we’ve sure earned wages, if no more...Well, you could sell that Turkey bunch for twenty dollars a head. Nigh on to ten thousand head. Almost two hundred thousand dollars!...We’d all be rich, and you’d still have the Sycamore herd.”
The amazing stand from the youngest son, heretofore the least asserting one of the Huetts, hurt Logan deeply and precipitated one of the few quarrels he had ever had with them. The argument did not end there. George and Grant took it to their mother and Barbara. When, to Logan’s consternation, his women-folk promptly and vigorously took issue against him, for the first time in any serious stand, he discovered grievous doubts of himself, of his unchangeable passion and will. He argued, stormed, raged, all to no avail. He was wrong. Then, as a last straw, Barbara appealed to the silent Abe and won him over. The Huetts’ house was divided against itself.
The truth overcame his rage with himself and vexation with them. He sat down in his big chair and leaned his head on his hands. Lucinda came to touch his shoulder with sympathy.
“Folks,” he said, laboriously, “allowing you’re right, you don’t see it from my side of the fence. I’ve spent my life — the best of it — fighting odds in this canyon...Lack of money and help first — then the meat-eaters, and cold, wet, heat, drought, ignorance of farming — I had to learn — and a thousand other troubles, the last and worst of which is the cattle-thief. For nearly thirty years I’ve fought these odds — and now I’m rich in stock — with my life’s ambition in sight... You ask me — and I acknowledge its justice — to quit now, to weaken in the face of a few lousy rustlers. I won’t do it! Dammit, I’d lose every head of stock in Turkey Canyon rather than show yellow...But this is what I will do. As soon as I can count thirty thousand head, I’ll sell, divide the money equally among you, and go back to civilization to live...That’s all. I’m boss here. And what I say goes.”
Huett did not sell a single head that year, and thus avoided leaving the Turkey Canyon herd unprotected. He sent Grant, with Lucinda and Barbara, to town for supplies. They took their time about this trip. Upon their return Huett marvelled anew at what a little visit outside would 48 for women. He did not need civilization, and in fact was better in mind without contacts with men. The times had changed, but he did not change. Lucinda looked rested and averred that it had been good to go, but better to come home. Barbara returned rosy and fresh, handsomer than ever, raving about airplanes and motion-pictures. Logan had never seen either, and was amazed. He asked Grant one question: “What’s the price of cattle?”
“By golly, Dad. I — I forgot. I sure forgot to ask,” replied Grant, mortified at his laxness.
“For the land’s sake! What did you do all the while?”
“I bought all on your list,” replied Grant, stoutly.
“Well, I’ll see. The wagon looks loaded all right.”
Abe looked with affectionate regard from Barbara’s radiant face to Grant’s. “Wal, Dad,” he drawled, “reckon I’d better go next time — or lose my girl.”
Barbara joined in the laugh, but she blushed becomingly. Huett made the mental reservation that she should be marrying one of his sons soon; and he could not see, as Lucinda averred, that Abe had the inside track. Pity there were not three Barbaras!
October was in its last golden decline. With November came the first snows, and the movement of cattle ceased. Huett and Abe took to the woods and the game trails. Of late years game had gradually grown harder to find. There were plenty of deer and turkey far back in the forest, when once Sycamore Canyon and its adjacent ridges had been overrun with them. Hunters from the railroad towns had grown in number from year to year. Huett and Abe encountered some of these that season, roaming around, shooting at every rustle in the brush.
“Son,” he said to Abe, as they rested on a log, “I reckon I’m unreasonable. But I don’t like the new order of things. All these tenderfoot hunters banging around. Elk protected by law. Open season for deer and turkey one month. Forest under Government supervision.”
“Dad, you think only of your one object in life,” replied Abe. “The President of the United States was thinking of our children’s children when he made this a forest reserve. It’s a good thing. We don’t obey the laws any more than the Stillmans or the other backwoods people. We kill meat when we want it. But these laws were not made for natives who, live in the woods.”
“Humph! Why didn’t he make laws against rustlers?”
“There are plenty of laws to govern cattle-thieves, but who can enforce them way out here in this canyon country? It’s up to us, Dad.”
“Reckon I’ve owned these woods too long,” said Logan, as he gazed lovingly down the timbered swale, where the noon-day sun shone on patches of snow coloured with russet oak leaves and scarlet maple. The great silver spruces vied with the yellow pines for supremacy over the forest glade. The aspens, almost wholly denuded of their golden, fluttering leaves, stood out white-trunked against the dark-green background. Windfalls massed on the ridge, and there was down timber everywhere. The air was cold, though the sun felt warm upon Logan’s bare head; the old forest tang of pine was thick in his nostrils. The truth came to Logan that he hated to share this wilderness with anyone but his own.
“I reckon it’ll last during my day,” replied Abe, thoughtfully.
“Abe, you know we’re going to live in town eventually. I wonder now.”
“That’ll be fine for the women, and for Barbara, when she has youngsters. But I’ll spend half my time in these woods. When you sell our stock, Dad, keep Sycamore for me.”
“For you and me, son.”
They picked up their turkeys and venison, and went on down the ridge towards home. Huett had a strange thought that troubled him. More than twenty-five years ago he had taken Abe on his first hunt up that ridge. They had never missed a year since; but there would come a hunt together, perhaps this present one, that must be the last. Huett threw off the vague, sad presage.
The Turkey Canyon herd had got beyond handling by so few riders. It had multiplied exceedingly. Every spring rustlers tore down the fences to let the cattle stray into ravines and work out on top. That fall it would have taken an army of cowboys to prevent the theft of straggling steers and yearlings, but such loss’ was so insignificant that Huett could only guess at it; his sons never told him.
One night Abe did not come home from his scouting. It was not unusual for him to stay away overnight during the hunting season, but this was early October. Logan was concerned, not for Abe’s safety, because he knew that Abe had no equal in the Arizona woods, but for fear of the long-expected cattle raid.
“Where’d you see Abe last?” asked Huett.
“He waved to me from the rim above Turkey Wash. The sound point,” replied Grant. “He made signs. The most I could make of them was that he’d got track of something down Turkey. His last signal I took to mean he’d come home.”
“But suppose he doesn’t return?” queried Logan.
George and Grant pondered for a while, and at length were in accord about the wisdom of waiting until the next day, and if Abe did not return then, of taking up his trail froth the point where Grant had last seen him. Lucinda and Barbara grew worried and would not go to bed. Finally, late in the evening Huett went outside with his sons and listened. The autumn night was solemnly quiet; them George, keen-eared, voiced a warning whisper. The group froze stone-like. Presently soft, padded footsteps caught Huett’s ear — he knew that quick tread. In another moment Abe loomed up on the porch...
“Howdy. Stayed awake late for me, huh? Just as well, for I shore would have rustled you out.”
“Yes, we’re up, son, and what else is up?” rejoined Huett, again his relieved and confident self.
“I reckon you’ll think hell is up,” said Abe frankly. “Cattle raid?”
“Nope, not yet. But we’re in for a humdinger.”
“Forewarned is forearmed, you know. Come out with it,” replied Huett, gruffly.
“Dad, Jim Stillman and his brother, with Tobe Campbell, and two more men I didn’t know, are going to raid us.”
“Five of them, eh? Well, not if we see them first!” Logan replied grimly.
“All my hiding out for them wasted time!” ejaculated Abe, in disgust. “They didn’t come down through the woods. They came up the road from Pine, and made no bones about piling right down into Turkey. I sneaked up as close as I could get. They camped in an open spot and weren’t afraid of a bright fire, but at that I heard a little and guessed a lot...Would it surprise you to learn Tobe Campbell was Hillbrand’s right-hand man?”
“Wal, son, nothing can surprise me about that coyote,” Logan drawled.
“It’s so, and Campbell had taken hold of that Stillman outfit. Tobe is the meanest and the slickest of that Campbell bunch...Tobe had to give it away that he was Hillbrand’s man. I heard him. Jim didn’t have the guts to hold out against this, and they got together right then and there. I heard your name, Dad, and mine, and something about Sycamore. Tobe drew a map on the ground. I jumped at conclusions, and made up my mind about their deal hours before I found out. They sat there talking till long after midnight — didn’t drink anything but coffee. Anybody could have told there was a big deal on...Sure, Jim Stillman shook like a leaf...They were all excited except Tobe. He was cool and bright, like a coiled, greasy rattler.”
“Ahuh. And what’s his big deal?” queried Logan, sharply. “Campbell aims to drive Sycamore.”
“Sycamore!” exploded Huett. George smacked a hard fist in his palm, and Grant, who seldom used expletives, swore lustily. Then Logan found his tongue.
“Abe, if you’re not loco, that Campbell hombre is. Drive Sycamore? I never thought of such a thing. It couldn’t be done.”
“Yes, it could. Bold deal, you bet — but practical to a rustler like Hillbrand. Slow drive up Sycamore before dawn. Some rider will go up and open our gate. They’d have two thousand head climbing out before we got you...You know, it’s quite far to where our road starts up the slope. They figured we might not hear a slow drive. When we did come out — as Tobe is figuring — they’d smoke us up from the slope, and once on top with all the cattle they could drive, they’d be jake. They’d have all the advantage. A couple of men could hold us back and kill us if we tried to get out up the road. The others would drive the cattle hell bent on, once down in the Tonto...And, Paw, we could never prove those unbranded tattle belonged to us.”
“My God! Just like that,” ejaculated Huett, with a snap of his fingers.
“It might have been just like that, Dad,” retorted Abe, cool and hard. “But I got on to them. Tobe Campbell will sever turn that trick. And some of them won’t get out of Sycamore.”
“George, how’ll we meet this deal?” queried Huett.
“Dad, this Tobe Campbell always was a crafty hombre. If he put a couple of his outfit close to the cabin here they could kill us or drive us back while the rest stole the cattle.”
“I thought of that,” spoke up Abe, quietly. “We won’t be in there when it gets light enough to see. But Maw and Barbara will. And when the fight begins they can shoot out the window as fast as they can pull the trigger.”
Huett nodded his shaggy head in approval of that. Plenty of rifle shots would help. “And do you reckon we ought to hide out — let them make the drive up here?...I don’t like that plan.”
“Neither do I — so damned much. But what’re we gonna do better?” rejoined Abe, dubiously.
“It won’t do to waste time. After all, my objection to your plan must be the idea of my stock being driven up here. Campbell’s outfit will be behind them, and might make a drive up the road in spite of us.”
“Dad, they’ll walk the tattle, two riders behind, two on each side of the herd, and one — who you can gamble will be Tobe Campbell — out in front. He’ll open the gate.”
“Foxy Tobe!” ejaculated George, scornfully. “If we should happen to wake up he’d be out of gunshot.”
“Abe, figure the deal quick,” said Huett, realizing the imperative need of prompt decision.
“All right,” replied Abe, in quick eagerness, showing that he was ready. “Dad, you stay here in the cabin with Mother and Bab. Keep your eyes peeled. Have your rifles and six-guns loaded, with plenty of shells on hand. When the ball opens, shoot, whether you’re in range or not...George, you and Grant hide in the cow-shed. Don’t let the cattle be started up the road. Don’t wait for me to shoot. I’ll go up, chain that gate so it can’t be opened pronto. Then I’ll work down on the rocky point that sticks farthest out in the canyon. I can cover every place from there. If they drive up under the west wall, well, the ball will be over without any of you getting a dance. But they’ll probably drive up the centre. That means a thousand-yard shot for me — pretty far for a moving target. My main object in taking that stand, though, is to make sure Campbell doesn’t climb the slope below the road. You know there’s only one place. He’s sharp enough to know it...I reckon that’s all.”
George and Grant went round the cabin to their quarters. Huett did not speak to Abe before they returned, rifles in hand, buckling on gun-belts. In the cool starlight they appeared formidable.
“Paw, it’s been comin’ a long time,” said Abe significantly. The three tall forms vanished in the gloom of the corrals.
A dull, fiery pang gnawed at Huett’s vitals. After the many stealings of the rustlers, the consequent pursuits, the running encounters, brushes, and escapes, there was to be a crucial fight. Huett had always longed to get it over with, but now that the hour had come he had a dreadful premonition that one or more of them might be killed. He felt this the darkest hour in his spiritual life as well as: — his physical career as a cattleman. Huett gazed down the weird, opaque canyon and cursed it with all the passion a strong, man could feel in a moment of intense bitterness and regret. He had loved this wilderness valley, he had spent more than the better half of his life there; his early dream, his ambition, his love of Lucinda, and the days of toil and defeat, the coming one by one of his sons, the blessed gift of little Barbara, the years of rain and shine, of struggle and victory — all were inextricably, hopelessly woven of these complex, fateful fibres.
Then, almost magically it seemed, his old practical habit reasserted itself — the habit of facing an obstacle: so powerful had it grown that this rustler raid and the ruts that had seemed so fearful were discounted. Logan paced to and fro until a faint grey showed over the black forest to the east. Dawn was not far away. No doubt the rustlers were already on the move. He went back into the cabin.
“Luce — Bab, wake up,” he called.
They were asleep, having lain down fully dressed, and both voiced the same query.
“Abe’s all right. He got home long ago. We’re in for a fight with that Stillman outfit. Tobe Campbell has thrown in with them. They’re going to try to drive Sycamore.”
Logan was to learn what a pioneer’s daughter could say in the hour of greatest stress. He thrilled to his marrow.
“Tobe Campbell!” exclaimed Barbara, in hot amazement. “Why, that hombre made violent love to me — called his brother Jack a low-down, worthless backwoods loafer — begged me to marry him. And now he sneaks up here with those outcast Stillmans to rob us!...The damned rotten lousy Tonto villain! I hope Abe shoots one of his pop-eyes out!”
“You’ll get that chance yourself, maybe,” he replied. “I’ll want you and Luce to do some shooting when they come. Abe’s idea is for us to shoot as much as we can whether we see any rustlers or not.”
“I hope we come right close,” snapped Barbara, viciously. “Dad, it’s just hideous to think that after all we’ve endured — now when we’ve earned peace and rest, we must fight for our cattle and our very lives.”
“Hideous is right, Barbara...No, Luce, don’t strike a light. It’s daybreak now. We’ll be able to see pronto.”
The open door and window let in the grey gloom. Logan placed a table under the window, and piled it high with firearms and ammunition. He made sure the guns were loaded.
“Stand here and don’t talk,” whispered Logan, taking his rifle. “I’ll watch from the door.”
He peered out. The rims of the canyon were black, the space between grey, with outlines of trees and walls dimly showing. Straining his ears, Logan listened for sounds. At last he heard a light thud up in the woods, probably the fall of a pine cone. It quickened his sense. There was a strange, oppressive silence mantling the forest. By looking back at the east he could discern the almost imperceptible brightening and spreading of the light.
