the Rider Of Lost Creek (1976) (6 page)

Lance walked his horse toward the dying fire, his rifle in his hand. Had they killed Mort? Had his ride of more than a thousand miles been for nothing?

In that time, so much could have happened; Lance had so little real understanding of the problem. The wire, he felt, had only been the match that had lighted the fuse, for the trouble must have been long in developing. Neither Lord nor Steele were men to settle for second best, and to the cattleman in Texas his way of life was the only way.

Years before the Texas ranchers had settled here, gathering vast acres when the value of land was nothing or existed only in the minds of visionaries. They were empire builders, sure of their own rightness, their own place in the march of progress. And then* empires were of grass and
beef but
the possession of these was nothing without water.

Nesters were men who came in and plowed up the grass they needed, who settled on water holes or springs they had come to regard as their own. And a small rancher was to them a species of thief, a man who, having no cattle or very few, increased their small herds with a vagabond branding iron. At the same time, the big ranchers were rarely scrupulous about what cattle they branded.

Often the small rancher did not even own a bull.

He let his cows roam the free range, profiting from the bulls owned by the big ranchers ... So there was at least a basis for much of the big ranchers" argument.

Wire was to change all that It was to fence in range, to deny water holes to those who did not possess them, and deny free access to range bulls. The cattlemen who could afford to would now buy better bulls and improve the breed.

Lance knew something of the story of Lost Canyon.

The canyon had been avoided by most of the big ranchers because of its proximity to Mexico, and because it had been for some years a hideout for cattle and horse thieves. The year-round springs were a lure, but the few times cattle had been left mere they had disappeared. Yet both Lord and Steele considered that the canyon belonged to them . . . They had just not taken final possession. And when one of them tried, they would settle it between them.

Mort Davis had moved in, settled on the land, and brought in his cattle from Mexico. He was a tough man who would stand for no nonsense. Both Lord and Steele were irritated. Each had tried in his own way to push Davis off, but Mort Davis had been pushed before and stood his ground. Only when Steele and Lord began to fence across his
opening and
to import
gunmen had
Davis sent for help. And only, Lance knew, when Mort's own hands had been driven off ... or
killed
, like Joe Wilkins, who occasionally worked for Davis.

Lance rode slowly toward the fire, keeping to the deepest shadows along the edge of the brash.

Suddenly, from near the flames, he heard the bark of Mort's old Sharps .50, and the several shots fired in reply.

Lance glimpsed movement near a tumbled adobe wall. Quickly touching the buckskin with his spurs, Lance charged and leaped the wall, firing into the group as he went over, racing on a dead run for the flaming house.

A man loomed up before him, pistol cocked to fire. It never did. Reins in his left hand, Lance fired the Winchester like a pistol at almost point-blank range.

The man's eyes widened in the horror of death, and he toppled back as Lance's horse went by, bullets whistling about Mort was crouching in the shadows near a bulky corral post, and Lance leaped from his horse, sending the animal dashing into the doubtful shelter of a small barn.

Turning as he lit, Lance began firing as fast as he could work the lever on his rifle. He saw men break and run for their horses, and he nailed one of them. He saw another stagger. Dropping the Winchester, he came up with both guns, firing
them
alternately.

Then the firing ceased, and sudden quiet descended.

Lance began to thumb cartridges into his guns, one at a time. Roistering them, he picked up his Winchester and reloaded.

Mort Davis got up slowly, stiffly. "You sure take your time, Lance
... He said, grinning.

"Why couldn't you have been here when the fight started?"

"What? And deprive you of all the fun? You old wolf, you don't need help. You just want somebody to talk to.
Thats
what comes of living alone, Mort Davis."

The dark-bearded man clapped Lance on the shoulder.

"Lance, I'd nobody else to turn to. When I heard the Brockmans were comin' in, well. . .

I'm all right with a Sharps, Lance, but I'm no match for their kind."

"They're good . . . very good
... Lance agreed seriously. "Are you sure they're here?"

"No .. . just heard it"

"Who were those fellows?"

"You got me. Could have been some of Steele's men, or Lord's."... He scratched the stubble on his jaw.

"Let's have a look."

A gangling sixteen-year-old strolled down from the rocks. He carried a duplicate of his father's Sharps.

Three men had been left behind, and with the man Lance had killed further out, it came to a total of four. It had been a costly attack, but they should have known better than to tackle Mort Davis.

"Don't look like anybody I know
... Mort commented. "Course, they been hiring new hands."

"Pa
... The boy said, "I seen this one in Botalla, trailin' with Bert Polti."

Lance studied the man's face. It was not one of the men he had previously seen.

"Mort
... Lance said slowly, "if the Brockmans are in it, who are they riding with?"

The older man shrugged. "I don't know. Abel used to work for Steele, one time, but he took to hang*in around Tana, and die old man let him go. Abel Brockman didn't like it much, either."

"It doesn't look right
... Lance said. "Everybody is talking about Steele and Lord, and even they are talking fight talk, but so far the only fighting I've seen seems to come from Polti's men. They jumped me in town, and without any reason that I know of."

"You watch them Brockmans
... Mort warned. "They work as a team and they've got it worked out to a science.

I mean, they always corner you so's you can only get one at a time under your gun.

"They're tough and they're mean, and they hunt trouble.

At one time or another they've been into ever1 fuss there's been that I know about. They like the extry pay, but it ain't that so much as mat they just like trouble."

Lance glanced around. "They didn't leave much, did they? Is there any place you can hole up for awhile?"

"Well, we got us a little cave back yonder.

We lived there for a spell before we built the house, and we're used to makin' do. I mean, we never had much, so we're used to doin' without If we can keep this land we can be well fixed in a year or two, with me and the boy
workin
' it ourselves."

"You'll keep it
... Lance said quietly, "or else I made a long ride for nothing."

Mort Davis had done much to make the west a fit place in which to live, and he was getting old now and deserved the rewards of his years. Neither the big outfits nor any gang of outlaws were going to drive him out if Lance could prevent it "Who knew that Sam Carter was to meet me"..."... Lance asked.

"Nobody I know of. He's a puncher who started a little herd over west of here. He was just settin' down to supper with us when the shootin' started and I asked him to find you."

Lance described the nature of his trouble in Botalla, and added an account of his run-in with Tana Steele, "I'd given a purty to've seen that
... Mort said, chuckling. "She's had her head for a long time.

Drives that buckboard like a crazy woman! But she's quite a girl. She can ride anything that wears hair, and she will! Best lookin' woman around here, unless its Nita Riordan."

"She's the woman who runs Apple Canyon?"

"She is. She runs that shebang all by herself.

Well, almost. She has that big Yaqui around, and nobody wants any part of him."

They talked a little longer while Lance helped Mort and his son carry what was left of their goods to the cave. It was a good position, hard to approach and easily defended.

"You hole up and stay out of trouble, Mort I've got some riding to do."

It was very late and Lance was dead tired, but he had managed to catch a little sleep before the trouble started, and he needed more information before he could begin to understand what was happening here. He must talk to Lord and Steele, and try to stop trouble before they could begin a shooting war.

Four men had died, but not one of them was in any sense a key character in the drama. They were simply men who carried guns and used them for hire. And dozens more could be found to take their places.

Yet Sam Carter was now dead, and no country could afford to lose such men: A cowpuncher who had gumption enough to set up for himself and to fight for what he believed in. No man such as Mort Davis would turn aside from an honest way.

On the inspiration of the moment, Lance turned the buckskin and headed for Webb Steele's outfit.

He could . lose nothing by talking to Steele, although the role of peacemaker was not one to which he was accustomed.

Yet if peace were not made, the two cattlemen were going to blunder into a war from which neither could gain.

That idea turned him thoughtful. If not them, then who?

The two old fire-eaters were ready for war, and yet neither seemed to have actually done much but blow fire and brimstone. What had been done was done by other parties. Who was paying them, and who stood to gain if the two big outfits slaughtered each other?

Mort?

Lance hesitated over that... How well did he know Mort, after all? The man had saved his life.

He seemed to be an honest rancher. But suppose he was not? Or suppose he had been, and had recently taken a dishonest step to grow rich quick?

Or quicker?

Lance was well into the Steele ranch yard before a man with a Winchester stepped from the shadows.

"All right, stranger! Keep your hands steady. Now step down easy-like and walk over here."

Lance obeyed without hesitation, carefully keeping his hands in sight in the light from the ranch house window.

As he approached, the other man stepped farther from the shadows a slender, wiry man whom .

Lance instinctively liked. Obviously a cattleman, he had the mark of the range upon him, a face seamed and brown, yet kindly beneath the sternness.

"Who are you"..."... The man demanded.

"Name of Lance. Riding by and figured I should drop in and talk to Steele."

"Lance"..."... Something sparkled in the man's eyes. "You the gent had the run-in with Miss Tana?"

"I'm afraid I am that man. Is she still sore?"

"Lance
... The older man chuckled, "as sure as I'm Jon Weston, you've let yourself in for a packet of trouble. When that gal rode in here, she was fit to be tied! You got a nerve to come here after that! I'll be surprised if she doesn't shoot you on sight."... Then his manner changed. "What do you want to see Steele about?"

"Stopping this war. It doesn't make much sense."

"What's your dicker in this? A man doesn't do nothin' lest he's got a stake in it somewhere."

"What's your job here, Weston?"

"Foreman. Why?"

"What's the ranch figure to make out of this war? And what will you make from it?"

"Grief, an' trouble an9 headaches, an' not a cussed thing else.
We got all our punchers guardin' fence when they should be handlin cows.

We're losin' cattle, losin' time, and losin' wire. I never knew anybody to gain anything from a range war, anyhow, but the old man's not about to be backed down by anything or anybody."

"My feeling exactly. I don't like it either. My own angle is Mort Davis. Mort's a friend of mine. And, Weston, I mean to see that Mort keeps his place on Lost Creek. He'll keep it if we have to plant a few bodies around every tree on the place."

"Think you're pretty salty, do you"..."... Weston suggested, but there was a glint of understanding in his eyes.

After all, he and Mort Davis might have been cut from the same mold. "Well, maybe you are."

"I've been around, Weston, but that cuts no ice.

You and me can talk. You're an old trail hand and you're a cattleman, and you're too smart to let pride blow this country wide open. Just what have you got against Mort Davis?"

"Nothin". He's a sight better hand and a whole lot better man than lots of them ridin' for this here ranch right now. I know what you mean, but I don't make the rules for this ranch right now. Webb does ... or Tana."

"There's been killing enough
... Lance replied, "I don't want any more."

"You mean Joe Wilkins?"

"I mean Wilkins and Sam Carter"