A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (13 page)

Neither of them spoke as they passed
out of sight from the camp. On reaching the edge of a small stream,
Mark set down the buckets. Turning, he scooped Libby into his arms
and lowered his head as if to kiss her. In bed the previous night,
she had responded with passionate eagerness. Instead of repeating
her reactions, he felt her body stiffen violently and strain back.
Surprise and anger showed on her face as she twisted her head
away.

‘
Let me
go!’ Libby hissed furiously. ‘What the hell do you think I
am?’

Immediately, grinning broadly,
Mark lifted her gently back to arms
’ length. Setting her on her feet, he took
his hands away and watched her clench her fists.

‘
Until
noon today, I’d’ve said a real nice lady and a right smart
woman.’

‘
Only
what?’ Libby challenged, drawing back her right fist a
little.

‘
Now
I’m starting to wonder.’

‘
Because I slept with you?’

‘
That
ended well afore noon and did nothing to change my thoughts about
you,’ Mark drawled. ‘It was pleasurable, only I don’t figure you’d
do it regular—or even again with me.’

‘
Then
why—?’ Libby gasped, letting her hands drop to her
sides.

‘
To
prove it for certain to both of us,’ Mark explained, picking up the
buckets. ‘And to try to stop you doing something real
foolish.’

‘
How do
you mean?’

‘
With
Tam Breda. Keep on acting like you’ve been doing since you learned
about him joining the State Police and you’re likely to run him off
for good.’

‘
Is
that any of your never-mind?’ demanded Libby.

‘
Maybe
not,’ admitted Mark. ‘’Cepting I like you and Tam both. Did you
figure to ask him why he joined, or just aim to keep acting mean
’n’ ornery ’cause he did it?’

‘
Do you
know why I’m acting this way?’

‘
’
Cause you reckon Tam helped gun down your
brother.’

‘
The
hell I do!’ Libby protested, so vigorously that Mark’s grin grew
broader. ‘I know he wasn’t mixed up in that. Say, did Tam tell you
why he joined while you was going for the horses?’

‘
Yes,’
Mark replied. ‘Only I’m not going to tell you.’

‘
Will
you go and ask him to come down here to me?’

‘
No,
ma’am,’ Mark refused. ‘You’re going to have to eat crow and ask him
to come yourself.’

‘
Damned
if you’re not a meaner cuss than I figured,’ Libby smiled. ‘Come
on, I’ll eat that crow.’

Despite the conversation, Libby
showed no sign of carrying out her promise on their return to the
camp. However, she gave Breda the pick of the food and paid
attention to him. Telling Mark and a
mestenero
that they had volunteered to wash the
dishes, she slapped a hand to the pockets of the Levi’s pants she
had donned for the journey.

‘
Damn
it!’ Libby ejaculated. ‘I left my handkerchief by the stream. How’s
about coming with me to fetch it, Tam?’

‘
That I
will, lassie,’ Breda agreed.

‘
Why
did you join Davis’s bunch, Tam?’ Libby asked as they walked
through the woods side by side. Her right hand found and gripped
his left.

‘
He
needed a man to run the law in Kerr County.’

‘
Why
you? You know what kind the State Police are.’

‘
You’ve
just answered your own question. Don’t you reckon it’ll be easier
for folks with somebody like me running things—and picking fellers
for the Ranger companies’s’ll be needed after Davis and his
bunch’ve been run out of office?’

‘
It
would!’ Libby enthused. ‘If you wasn’t there, some lousy soft-shell
or pocket-lining carpetbagger
would
be.
I’ve
been acting
loco
all day, Tam.’

‘
I’ve
always loved you, Libby lass,’ Breda declared, taking her arm and
turning her to face him. ‘I know it’s not long since Trader died,
but I was thinking—’

‘
Tam!’
Libby put in, her voice strained and eyes blinking
worriedly. ‘I slept with Mark last night.’

Before she returned
Breda
’s
declaration of affection, or allowed him to go further, she wanted
to be honest with him. Searching the tanned, rugged features, she
could detect no condemnation or revulsion at her
confession.

‘
You’d
not’ve done it while Trader was alive. Nor if we’d met and I’d
declared myself to you yesterday. And, not a week back, I slept
with April Hosman up in San Antone.’

Libby stared without speaking
for several seconds. Another potential victim of the Flores
brothers
’
vengeance, saloon girl April Hosman had remained in the Schell
family’s care until the deaths of the
bandidos.
During that time, she and Libby had
become good friends. Once able to leave in safety, April had stated
that the outdoor life was not for her. Returning first to Fort
Sawyer, she had gone on to find employment in San
Antonio.

‘
Did
you enjoy it?’ Libby asked at last.

‘
Will
you be riled if I say “yes”?’ grinned Breda.

‘
I
don’t know what I’ll be,’ Libby admitted. ‘But I for sure know what
I’ll do if it ever happens again.’

With that, Libby twisted free. Walking
a short way, she came to a spot where the bank of the stream rose a
few feet above the water. As Libby sat down with her legs dangling
over, Breda joined her and slipped his arm around her
waist.

‘
April
and me had supper,’ the Scot said. ‘Talked some about Jeanie,
Colin, what’s been happening. That’s how I knew where to find you
and headed down this way to do it. We talked some about you, too. A
whole heap about you, I reckon. Next morning April said a kind of
strange thing.’

‘
What
was that?’ Libby inquired.

‘
She
said she’d been wondering all night if it’d been her or you I was
with,’ Breda answered and his left arm connected with the right
behind her neck. ‘I know which
I’d
sooner it’d been.’

‘
Which?’

‘
Was we
engaged to be married, I’d show you.’

‘
You
can buy me the ring later,’ Libby breathed and allowed herself to
be lowered on to her back. ‘Only I’m from Missouri. I’ve got to be
shown.’

Standing at
the mouth of a draw, Colin
studied the range ahead of him with the aid of Dusty’s field
glasses. Scattered in concealment in front of him, half a
dozen
mesteneros
waited for the signal to commence a
corrida.
Out beyond the
mesteneros,
Mogollon’s lathered
and leg-weary
manada
moved uneasily. In between snatching up mouthfuls of grass,
the mustangs threw nervous glances about them. Only the big
chestnut stallion retained any semblance of its former alertness.
Examining the
manadero,
Colin concluded that its capture was still anything but
certain despite the events of the past four days.

A gloomy band of mustangers had
returned to the camp after the first abortive attempt to capture
Mogollon. About the only good thing any of them could say had been
that at least the
manadero
was not kill-crazy. If it had been, Colin would not be
alive.

There had been many methods by
which the stallion might be caught discussed that night. In times
of a water shortage, hanging
‘scarers’, pieces of rag fixed to flap and blow in
the breeze, at all but one of the remaining drinking holes would
frighten the
manada
and bring it to the waiting
mesteneros.
There had been too much rain for that to
work. Felix had told of capturing one of a band, fastening a dummy
rider on its back and turning it loose. When its companions saw it
coming, they would run away. It followed them until all were
exhausted, at which point the
mesteneros
moved in. Unfortunately none of Mogollon’s band
could out-run the
manadero.
An old Comanche Indian trick had been to turn loose a
stallion near the
mestena
and catch the
manadero
as it fought with the potential rival. Jeanie had
warned that, when tried on Mogollon, it had run until clear of the
men, turned and killed the other stallion. Neither Jeanie nor Colin
would allow the Kid to try to ‘crease’ Mogollon. While a bullet
raking across the spinal nerve would knock a horse unconscious for
long enough to let it be secured, the margin for error was so
slight that more animals were killed than taken by the
method.

At last it had been decided that
they would try to
‘walk down’ Mogollon’s band. To do that, riders working in
relays followed the
manada
day and night, giving the mustangs no rest nor time to
drink and graze. A
manada
always travelled in a circular route on its home range. By
keeping to the inside of the circle, the men doing the ‘walking’
covered a shorter distance than the mustangs and at a more even
pace. Their horses also received adequate rest, food and water, so
kept in better condition than the
manada.

For four days, Colin, the Kid,
Bernardo and Carlos had taken turns to keep after
Mogollon
’s
band. It had been hard, exacting work, but at last the time had
come when they would make the final effort at catching the
manadero.

‘
It’s
lucky that Libby and Mark got back with the rest of the men,’ Dusty
remarked from his place at Colin’s right side. ‘We can use their
help.’

‘
That’s
the living truth,’ agreed the Kid to Dusty’s right. ‘Damned if ole
Mogollon don’t look like he could take another four days’ “walking
down”.’

‘
There’s Jeanie’s signal now!’ Colin put in as a sparkle of
flashing light showed at the far side of the range.

‘
We’d
better get to our horses,’ Dusty suggested. ‘Bernie and the boys’ll
be making their move soon.’

Each of the trio had his best horse
waiting with a double-girthed saddle and a new rope on the horn.
Running to the animals, Dusty, the Kid and Colin gathered up the
trailing reins, then mounted. Even as they were riding to the mouth
of the draw, they heard Bernardo cut loose with a ringing
whoop.

Leaving their hiding places, the
six
mesteneros
charged towards the
manada.
Yelling like drunken savages, they held their
ropes ready to be thrown. The tired mustangs fled from the new
menace, with Mogollon bringing up the rear and urging the slower
animals to greater efforts. Bernardo’s party did not attempt to
close in on the mustangs at first, but acted as if trying to drive
them towards the hill where Jeanie, Mark and Felix were
waiting.

‘
It’s
working, Dusty!’ Colin ejaculated. ‘There he goes now!’

Following the tactics it had
used on the first
corrida,
Mogollon tore to the front of the
manada.
On reaching the leading mare, the
manadero
started to force her
around. As if realizing that its tired band could not hope to
escape in a bunch, Mogollon made a rearing, skidding, hoof-flailing
turn. It gave a piercing, screaming whistle that caused the other
mustangs to scatter.

Horses fled in all directions,
while Bernardo and his men swept in to make what captures they
could. Everything seemed to be in a state of chaos and confusion
but the
mesteneros
mounts were still fresh and not tired by a long period of
continuous harrying.

Racing back the way it had come
during the brief chase, Mogollon burst out of the wild mill. Always
before the refusal to be driven had brought it safety. Following
their orders, the
mesteneros
allowed the
manadero
to go, concentrating on the rest of the band. Each man had
three ropes and hoped to make a catch on all of them. Striding out
at a pace not much slower than at the start of the ‘walking down’,
the chestnut stallion approached the draw which hid Dusty, the Kid
and Colin.

‘
Now!’
Dusty hissed, freeing his rope and shaking out the loop.

Made excited by the commotion,
the three big horses responded eagerly to the heel-signals of their
riders. Bursting from their place of concealment like pigeons
leaving a shooting-trap, Dusty
’s paint, the Kid’s white and Colin’s
bayo-lobo
spread out like the
triple prongs of a fan. Like the
mesteneros’
mounts, the three big horses had done
little work that day. Encouraged by their riders, they sped to cut
off Mogollon’s escape.