Страница 37 из 52
“That horse now,” Langer asked carefully, “did it have a white star between the eyes?”
Gary was surprised. “Why, yes! Matter of fact, it did! You know him?”
Slagle let go of the boot and stomped his foot to settle it in the boot. “Yeah, feller we seen down the road a ways. Big black horse.”
Slagle and Langer walked away from camp a ways and stood talking together. Jeeter was worried. Jim could see that without half trying, and he studied the man thoughtfully. Jeeter Dirksen was a small man, quiet, but inclined to be nervous. He had neither the strength nor the toughness of Slagle and Langer. If Gary learned anything about the cattle it would be through his own investigation or from Jeeter. And he was growing more and more curious.
Yet, if these were Double A cattle, and had been stolen, why were they being driven toward the AA ranch, rather than away from it? He realized suddenly that he knew nothing at all about Red Slagle nor his outfit, and it was time he made some inquiries.
“This Double A,” he asked suddenly, “you been ridin’ for them long?”
Dirksen glanced at him sharply, and bent over his fire. “Not long,” he said. “It’s a Salt Creek outfit. Slagle’s segundo.”
“Believe I know your foreman,” Gary suggested, “I think this was the outfit he said. Hombre name of Mart Ray. Ever hear of him?”
Jeeter turned sharply, slopping coffee over the rim of the cup. It hissed in the fire, and both men looked around at the camp. Jeeter handed the cup to Gary and studied him, searching his face. Then he admitted cautiously, “Yeah, Ray’s the foreman. Ranch belongs to a syndicate out on the coast. You say you know him?”
“Uh huh. Used to ride with him.” Langer and Slagle had walked back to the fire, and Dirksen poured coffee for them. “Who was that you rode with?” Slagle asked.
“Your boss, Mart Ray.”
Both men looked up sharply, then Slagle’s face cleared and he smiled. “Say! That’s why the name was familiar! You’re that Jim Gary! Son of Old Steve Gary. Yeah, Mart told us about you.” Langer chuckled suddenly. “You’re the scary one, huh? The one who likes to keep out of trouble. Yeah, we heard about you!” The contempt in his tone stiffened Jim’s back, and for an instant he was on the verge of a harsh retort, then the memory of what lay behind him welled up within, and bitterly he kept his mouth shut. If he got on the prod and killed a man here, he would only have to drift farther. There was only one solution, and that was to avoid trouble. Yet irritating as it was to be considered lacking in courage, Langer’s remark let him know that the story of his fights had not preceded him.
“There’s no call,” he said, after a minute, “to go around the country killin’ folks. If people would just get the idea they can get along without all that. Me, I don’t believe in fightin’.”
Langer chuckled, but Slagle said nothing, and Dirksen glanced at him sympathetically.
All day the herd moved steadily west, but now Gary noticed a change, for the others were growing more watchful as the day progressed, and their eyes continued to search the surrounding hills, and they rode more warily approaching any bit of cover.
Once, when Jeeter rode near him, the little man glanced across the herd at the other riders, then said quietly, “That was no ghost you saw. Red rode up there on the hill, an’ there was tracks, tracks of a mighty big black horse.”
“Wonder why he didn’t ride down to camp?” Jim speculated. “He sure enough saw the fire!”
Dirksen grunted. “If that hombre was the one Red thinks it is, he sure didn’t have no aim to ride down there!”
Before Gary could question him further, Jeeter rode off after a stray and cutting him back into the herd, rode on further ahead. Jim dropped back to the drag, puzzled over this new angle. Who could the strange rider be? What did he want? Was he afraid of Slagle?
A big brindle steer was cutting wide of the herd and Jim swung out to get him, but dashing toward the stream, the steer floundered into the water and into quicksand. Almost at once, it was down, struggling madly, its eyes rolling.
Jim swung a loop and dropped it over the steers horns. If he could give the steer a little help now there was a chance he could get it out before it bogged in too deep.
He started the buckskin back toward more solid ground and with the pull on the rope and the struggling of the steer, he soon had it out on the bank of the stream. The weary animal stumbled and went down, and shaking his loop loose, Gary swung his horse around to get the animal up. Something he saw on the flank made him swing down beside the steer. Curiously, he bent over the brand.
It had been worked over! The Double A had been burned on over a Slash Four!
“Somethin’ wrong?”
The voice was cold and level, and Jim Gary started guiltily, turning. Then his eyes widened. “Mart! Well, for cryin’ out in the night time! Am I glad to see you!”
Ray stared. “For the luvva Pete, if it ain’t Gary! Say, how did you get here? Don’t tell me you’re drivin’ that herd up ahead?”
“That’s right! Your outfit, ain’t it? I hired on back down the line. This steer just got hisself bogged down an’ I had a heck of a time gettin’ him out. You seen Red an’ the boys?”
“Not yet. I swung wide. Get that steer on his feet an’ we’ll join ’em.”
Yet as they rode back, despite Ray’s affability, Gary was disturbed. Something here was very wrong. This was a Slash Four steer with the brand worked over to a Double A, the brand for which Ray was foreman. If these cattle were rustled, then Mart Ray was party to it, and so were Slagle, Langer and Dirksen! And, if caught with these men and cattle, so was he!
He replied to Ray’s questions as well as he could, and briefly, aware that his friend was preoccupied and thinking of something else. Yet at the same time he was pleased that Ray asked him no questions about his reasons for leaving home.
Mart Ray rode up ahead and joined Slagle and he could see the two men riding on together, deep in conversation. When they bedded down for the night there had been no further chance to talk to him, and Gary was just as well satisfied, for there was much about this that he did not like. Nor was anything said about the midnight rider. When day broke, Mart Ray was gone. “Rode on to Salt Creek,” Red said, “we’ll see him there.” He glanced at Jim, his eyes amused. “He said to keep you on, that you was a top-hand.”
Despite the compliment, Jim was nettled. What else had Ray told Slagle? His eyes narrowed. Whatever it was, he was not staying on. He was going to get shut of this outfit just as fast as he could. All he wanted was his time. Yet by midday he had not brought himself to ask for it.
Dirksen had grown increasingly silent, and he avoided Langer and Slagle. Watching him, Jim was puzzled by the man, but could find no reason for his behavior unless the man was frightened by something. Finally, Jim pulled up alongside Jeeter.
The man glanced at him, and shook his head. “I don’t like this. Not even a little. She’s too quiet.”
Gary hesitated, waiting for the cowhand to continue, but he held his peace. Finally, Gary said, speaking slowly, “It is mighty quiet, but I see nothin’ wrong with that. I’m not hunting trouble.”
“Trouble,” Jeeter said dryly, “comes sometimes whether you hunt it or not. If anything breaks around this herd, take my advice an’ don’t ask no questions. Just scatter dust out of here!”
“Why are you warning me?” Gary asked.
Jeeter shrugged. “You seem like a right nice feller,” he said quietly. “Shame for you to get rung in on somethin’ as dirty as this when you had nothin’ to do with it.”
CHAPTER THREE: Boss of the Slash Four
Despite his questions, Jeeter would say no more, and finally Gary dropped back to the drag. There was little dust, due to the rains, but the drag was a rough deal for the herd was tired and they kept lagging back. Langer and Slagle, Jim observed, spent more time watching the hills than the cattle. Obviously, both men were as jumpy as Dirksen, and were expecting something. Toward dusk Red left the herd and rode up a canyon into the hills.