Lone Star 03 (2 page)

“Hell, he ain't no greaser,” another said. “He's some kind of a Chinee.”

“By God, you're right, Ossie,” the strawboss agreed.

Another of the Lazy G hands said, “Hell, he won't give us no trouble.” His face twisted into an ugly grin. “I ain't seen a chink yet that was any good in a fight, lessen he had him a butcher knife or a cleaver. But I say we just don't pay him no mind, and finish what we come here to do.”

“I'm with you, Fletch!” another of them seconded. “Go on, Snag. Tell him to get outta our way so we can get on with the rat-killing!”

When Snag did not speak at once, Ki broke the silence. He said calmly, “I now have three of your names to give to your foreman. I'm sure that Clem Petty would want all your names, so if you others would like to introduce yourselves—”

“Well, lah-di-dah!” Fletch broke in with an exaggerated simper. “This here chink talks just like a dude!”

“Claims he's gonna tell Clem on us, too,” Snag said. “Now don't that scare you fellows?”

“It don't spook me, Snag,” Ossie said. “How about you, Miller?”

“Oh, I'm about to pee my pants, I'm so scared,” replied the man whom Ossie had addressed. He turned to the cowhand who had not yet spoken. “Pete, we ain't heard from you. How about it?”

“Whatever you aim to do, count me in,” the fifth man said.

From the corner of his eye, Ki saw an almost imperceptible movement of Snag's hand. He gave no sign that he noticed the strawboss, but gazed instead at the prisoner, whose eyes had been moving from one to another of his captors, but who could not speak because of the bandanna that gagged him.

“Perhaps if I knew why you are preparing to kill this man, I might not consider you murderers,” Ki suggested. He still did not look at Snag, but kept his eyes on the prisoner.

“Now that ain't one goddamn bit of your business, chink,” Stag retorted. “You're just going to shut up and set right where you are while we finish what we come here to do.”

Snag swept his revolver from its holster as he spoke. Ki said nothing. He sat motionless, staring at the threatening muzzle of the strawboss's pistol.

When he finally spoke, Ki's voice was disarmingly gentle. He said, “You do not need to threaten me with your gun. You are five and I am one. And as you can see, I have neither rifle nor pistol.”

Ki was careful not to say that he was weaponless, even though he was sure that the Lazy G men would have laughed at the simple devices he was carrying.

“By God, that's right,” Pete said. “He ain't got a gun of no kind. Hell, Snag, we can do whatever we got a mind to. The Chinee won't give us no trouble.”

Ossie spoke/up. “Shit, Snag, we ain't gettin' noplace listening to this chink. He's a slick talker, I give you that, but let's do what we come here for and get it over with.”

“Are you sure that is what you should do?” Ki asked Ossie. “By hanging that man”—he nodded toward the prisoner—“ you make yourself into a murderer. Unless you can prove to a judge that you were justified in killing him, prove that he is indeed a cattle thief, the law will hold you guilty.”

Snag said quickly, “The law's got to catch us first to do that. And for all we know, you and that fellow over there's in cahoots. Both of you could be rustlers working together, the way you're sticking up for him.”

“You're talking good sense now, Snag,” Fletch said. “Maybe we better string him up with the young one. If we done that, we wouldn't have to worry about no witnesses.”

“And what do you think Miss Starbuck would do if you were to kill one of her men?” Ki asked. “She would not forgive that, any more than she would overlook your trespassing on Starbuck land to hang a man who might be innocent.”

“By God, Snag!” Miller said quickly, “I'd plumb forgot who this chink says he's working for! Now listen, I don't wanta get on the wrong side of anybody named Starbuck!”

“Me neither,” Pete seconded. “What I've heard about that Starbuck woman, she can be a real hellion!”

“Hellion or not, we come here to hang a rustler,” Snag told his companions. “Now let's do it and quit worrying about it! We know damn well we're right! No Starbuck nor nobody else is going to do nothing, after we're finished!”

Ki saw that he must play for time, and not just to let the tempers of the Lazy G hands cool down. He'd learned a psychological quirk that had saved him several times in the past. When a man who was not accustomed to gunplay drew a weapon, he was very conscious of its weight during the first few seconds it was in his hand. Then, as he became used to holding the gun, his muscles adjusted to its heft, and he would let the weapon wander off target.

“Well, chink?” the strawboss demanded. “You got anything else to say for yourself before we go ahead?”

“I have said nothing for myself, and will not speak of my own feelings,” Ki replied in a totally unruffled voice. “I have spoken in behalf of this man you brought here to kill. I ask you again, why are you doing this?”

“Because the sneaking son of a bitch is a rustler!” Fletch put in. “Damn it, Chinaman, if you're who you claim to be, you know damn well that when a rustler's caught he gets strung up from the closest tree!”

“I also know that rustlers work in gangs,” Ki said. “There would have been a fight between you and a gang, if there were rustlers anywhere close by. I have been close to this place for quite some time and have not heard shooting.”

“Well, we ain't been in no gunfight,” Snag admitted. “But that don't change things one way or the other. We caught this snake sneaking around and he's getting what he deserves.”

“Perhaps it is my stupidity which keeps me from understanding,” Ki said apologetically. “But I am puzzled. A moment ago you said you knew your prisoner was a rustler. Now you tell me that you only caught him sneaking around.”

“Ah, shit!” Ossie exploded. “All of us has been around ranches long enough to tell a rustler when we see one!”

“But how?” Ki asked again. “How can you say a man is a thief unless you have caught him stealing? Was this man driving some Lazy G cattle away?”

For a moment the cowhands exchanged glances, and then Snag said to Ki, “He didn't have no steers when we nabbed him. But we got all the proof we need that he's a rustler, all right.”

“If you have proof, suppose you tell me what it is,” Ki suggested. “So far you've said nothing that proves anything.”

“All right!” Snag snapped. “Ossie, show this damn pesky Chinee what we found in that rustler's saddlebags.”

Ossie turned around in his saddle, rummaged in the leather bags behind it for a moment, then came up with an iron rod about eighteen inches long. One end of the rod terminated in a short, tapered curve. The other end had been bent into a ring. Ossie held up the length of metal for Ki to look at.

Ki had recognized the metal object at once. It was called a “running iron” by the cowhands, because with a little skillful manipulation by an expert, the burned-in lines of a brand on a steer's hindquarters could be run together to change the brand's meaning.

The letters
O
or
C
could be transformed into the numbers 8 or 6 or 9, and
C
could also be made into
O
or
G;
7 into 9 or 4;
D
or
P
could be altered to become
B; V
turned into
N, M,
or
W;
or a symbol could be added to turn a letter brand into a letter with a slash, line, or circle. There were any number of changes that an expert running-iron user could create.

Brands were often changed when cattle were sold, but almost equally often, a new brand was simply added beside the old one. In an economy based on cattle, brands were generally the only identification steers had, the only way by which their ownership could be established. All ranches registered their brands at the nearest county seat, and the county authorities saw to it that a record of the brand was forwarded to the state territorial capital, where all brands were also registered.

“Well?” Snag asked Ki. “You satisfied now? If you're the foreman of the Circle Star, you know damn well that here in Texas it's against the law to even
carry
a running iron.”

Ki nodded thoughtfully. He knew that the law cited by Snag did indeed exist; mere possession of a running iron drew a minimum sentence of five years in prison for the man having it. However, he'd been watching the prisoner's face while he and the Lazy G crew talked, and the pleading he'd seen in the man's eyes could not be ignored. Ki knew the look of guilt, open as well as disguised, and his sixth sense told him that the eyes he'd looked into were not those of a guilty man.

“What you say about the law is true,” Ki admitted, watching Snag without letting his attention be noticed. “But it does not automatically make a rustler of every man who has a running iron. Even if it did, the man must be brought before a judge and a jury and be legally tried and convicted. It is not the same thing as catching a rustler in the act of stealing cattle.”

“Aw, to hell with that shit!” Fletch growled. “We ain't got time to fool around with the law! It's too damn slow!”

“But it is the law,” Ki pointed out gently.

“Look here, chink, we got as much respect for the law as you have!” Miller said. “Except it's like Fletch just told you, it takes too long. We'd lose two days taking this rustler to the county seat. We'd have to stay there a day or two while he was being tried, then it'd take us another two days to get back! We got work to do!”

Ki asked in his softest voice, “Tell me, Miller, would you feel the same way if you were sitting there with a noose around your neck, waiting to be hanged?”

“Now what the hell kinda question is that?” Miller asked.

“A fair one,” Ki replied.

“Damned if it is!” Fletch snorted. He turned to Snag. “Well? How about it, Snag? Has everybody got cold feet, or are we going to string up this worthless cattle-rustling bastard?”

“If you still feel like doing it, we will,” Snag said. He looked from one to another of the Lazy G men. Fletch nodded at once, so did Miller. Ossie inclined his head after a moment of hesitation.

Pete said, “I was about to change my mind, but if the rest of you're set on going ahead, count me in.”

“That's settled, then,” Snag told them. He went on, “You already got your rope on him, Fletch. Take the slack outta the noose and toss the other end over that mesquite limb.”

Fletch toed his horse up beside the prisoner, whose eyes had grown increasingly fearful as he watched and listened to the discussion that was to decide his fate. The Lazy G man pulled the noose tight and tossed the free end of the rope over the one branch of the mesquite that was sturdy enough to hold a man's weight. He was starting back to join the others when Snag spoke.

“Damn it, get his hands untied from his saddlehorn! If they're still fastened, the rope won't pull him off the horse! Ain't you never strung up a rustler before, Fletch?”

With an angry look at the strawboss, Fletch untied the pigging-string that secured the prisoner's hands to his saddlehorn. While he was still pulling the knot of the pigging-string when retying the man's hands, the victim struck.

Chapter 2

With his hands bound, the accused prisoner had no weapon except his head. As Fletch was raising his head after examining the pigging-string to make sure the knot was tightly cinched, the prisoner arched his back and butted Fletch in the jaw. The unexpected impact almost sent the Lazy G man from his saddle, and the prisoner kicked frantically at his horse's flanks, trying to get the animal to move. Belatedly the horse started off, but with no guiding hands on its reins, it ran directly toward the other men from the Lazy G.

Ossie, Miller, and Pete closed in around the hapless prisoner and grabbed his arms. Fletch spurred up to join them. Snag did not move to help them, but kept his attention on Ki. During their long discussion, Snag had allowed the muzzle of his revolver to sag, as Ki had expected he would, but now he brought it up to threaten Ki once more. He did not give Ki his full attention, but darted his eyes away from time to time, watching his men lash the prisoner's arms behind his back, tighten the noose of the lariat, and toss its end over the limb again.

Ki had been waiting for an opportunity to create just such a diversion without getting shot himself. He used the moments when Snag's attention was distracted to drop one hand to his waist and free the loose knot that held in place the
surushin
he wore instead of a belt. By the time Snag's eyes were on him again, Ki was once more sitting motionless.