Stampede at Rattlesnake Pass (2 page)

Elly looked at her brother in amazement.
"Sheep? You want us to become sheep farmers? Pa would turn – " She
bit her lip as she realized what she had said. "I mean, we’ve
always been cattle ranchers."

"Then maybe it’s time to change, Elly. The
way I see it, we can breed sheep for meat and wool and keep half
the range for the beef." He held his hands palm upwards. "We have
to do something real different if we are to survive all this."

Elly puffed her cheeks. "I guess so. I just
never thought of anything as different as that. But you are talking
about a drive, now? Surely we don’t have enough men to drive half
the herd. That would be two thousand head."

"We’ll hire more men." He flashed her a
smile of encouragement that for a moment seemed to have the humor
that she remembered him having in abundance before the shooting.
"What say you go and get Bill Coburn and whichever of the boys he
can bring in and I’ll feed them the deal." Again the smile played
across his lips, then:

"Go on, little El," he said with a wink,
using his old term of affection for her. "Yucatan will have the
coffee rustled up by the time you get back."

Bill Coburn had been Ben Horrocks’ ramrod
for nigh on twenty years and knew just about everything there was
to know about ranching. He was a bow-legged old puncher with
thinning hair and a posture that looked as if he could be poured
into a saddle. He sat uneasily on the leather settee on the
opposite side of the bay window from Saul. Beside him, looking
equally uneasy, as if he feared dirtying the seating, sat Johnnie
Parker, the Rocking H wrangler, a sandy-haired, good-looking young
man of about twenty years.

Both men seemed slightly uneasy, but for
different reasons. Bill never felt sure how to talk to his employer
Saul Horrocks, and had to admit to a slight prejudice about him
having taken off for a couple of years after his mother Elizabeth
Horrocks had died from a fever. He sympathized with him all right
for having lost his pa and getting shot up, but he somehow doubted
that he had the ability to make the ranch work. As for Johnnie, his
unease was caused by the fact that Elly Horrocks was standing
pouring coffee for them and he was studiously trying not to look at
her. When she finally handed him a cup and saucer it was all he
could do to not let it rattle too much.

Elly smiled to herself then sat on the chair
beside her father’s old roll-top desk. Yucatan stood by the door,
arms folded in front of him.

Saul Horrocks was frank. He laid his cards
before them as to the precarious situation that the ranch was
in.

"So you see, boys, we have no choice. We
have to diversify and start building a name for sheep in these
parts." He hesitated a moment, then asked: "Unless either of you
can think of some other way out of this mess?"

Bill placed his cup and saucer on the floor
by his feet. "Sheep?" he repeated in disbelief. "I never thought I
would end up chasing sheep." He gave a shrug of resignation. "But
if that’s what we have to do, then so be it. So first you need us
to move half the herd to Silver City? That’ll be a tall order with
just five men."

"Then hire another three or four. They’ll
get paid at Silver City."

"It’ll take at least a couple of days to get
ready."

"That’s all the time you’ve got. The bank
will foreclose in two weeks. Silver City is about sixty miles from
here, so it’ll take several days if you push them hard. Coming back
will be quicker, of course."

Bill sighed and rose to his feet. "Reckon I
had better get onto it right away then." He tapped Johnnie on the
shoulder. "Come on, boy, you go tell the others what’s happening
while I head into Tucksville and try to do some hiring. The way I
see it, we’ve got to make this work or we’re all out on our
ears."

Johnnie saw Elly start to gather cups and
saucers. He swiftly scooped up Bill’s cup and saucer from the floor
and carried them over to the table. "Let me take that tray, Miss
Elly."

She thanked him and led the way past Yucatan
to the kitchen. Once there Johnnie deposited the tray on the table
then turned as she willingly fell into his arms and they kissed
passionately.

"We need to tell your brother, Elly," he
whispered as they parted.

"I know, but not yet. Not when we face
losing the Rocking H." She brushed invisible dust from his sleeve.
"You help Bill get that herd sold then we’ll see."

Johnnie’s face creased into that roguish
smile she loved so much. "Elly, if it means we can be together I
reckon I can become the best damned sheepherder since Joseph
himself in the good book."

* * *

Jeb Jackson was a proud man. A rich man who
had built up the Double J spread through hard endeavor, business
savvy with a streak of ruthlessness tempered by a measure of fair
play. Now in his prime, at least in his own estimation, he wanted
someone to share the fruits of his toil and success; someone who
could give him companionship and more – help him establish a
dynasty to pass his wealth to.

And he had set his sights on Elly Horrocks –
if she would have him.

"Damn it, Jeb!" he exclaimed to himself as
he stood looking at the full length mirror in the dressing room
adjoining his bedroom, struggling to tie one of the fancy French
bow ties that he had sent from New Orleans. "You are all fingers
and thumbs – and you’ve made a fine hash of it."

With a curse he pulled it off yanked open a
drawer from which he drew out a fresh bandana instead. He knotted
it about his neck, immediately feeling more comfortable. "What do
you think you are playing at? Dressing up like some city slicker to
try and impress the girl?"

He swiveled right and left to assess his
reflection. In truth, he had to admit that he was not displeased
with himself. Hard work and being careful with his vices had
enabled him to keep a trim enough figure, and he had been fortunate
enough to have kept his hair, in both quantity and color. He ran a
finger across his equally dark moustache then picked up his Stetson
and made for the door.

He thought of what he was going to say as he
rode alone along the trail towards the Rocking H.

Poor old Ben Horrocks, he thought. He never
had much luck, poor fella. And his son Saul; how happy Ben had been
when his prodigal son came home – only for Ben to get shot through
the heart and Saul to get backshot and crippled. Effectively it had
left Elly Horrocks, the best-looking girl this side of the Pintos,
more or less alone to run the ranch while her brother was nursed
back to health by that Mexican friend of his, Yucatan.

"I’m going to try and change all that," he
mused to himself. Then with a grin: "I’ll take her away from all
that care."

But as he rode up the main Rocking H trail
towards the ranch-house he noticed that there seemed to be
something odd about the place. There were men going about their
business, but he surely didn’t recognize them all. He knew
virtually all of the cowhands in the area, but a couple of these
were vaqueros from south of the border. A voice inside his head
told him that preparations were being made for a trail drive. It
was an impression confirmed by Cookie O’Toole, the grizzled old
Rocking H grub-wrangler, who had once worked on a drive for Jeb. He
was busily stocking up a chuck wagon with barrels, cooking
utensils, and supplies of sourdough, pork belly, beans, and bags of
coffee.

"Odd time to be mounting a drive, Cookie,"
Jeb commented as he drew to a halt by the wagon.

"Needs must, I reckon," replied Cookie,
removing a worn old Confederate cap and wiping his brow with the
back of a ham-like forearm. "Boss man says we have to start chasing
sheep instead of critters if we want to stave the bank thieves
off." And he turned his head and spat contemptuously in the
dust.

Jeb dismounted and produced a couple of
cigars from his vest. He proffered one to Cookie and clipped the
other between his lips. "Sheep in this area? That may not be
popular with some of Saul’s neighboring ranchers. Tell me
more."

Over their cigars the old cook told as much
as he knew, ever since the day of the bushwhacking, which had so
shocked and horrified the territory. He told him all that he
himself had been told by Bill Coburn and Johnnie Parker without any
feeling of disloyalty, for his past dealings with Jeb Jackson had
always shown him to be a straight-shooter, a man you could
trust.

At last Jeb took a final puff on his cigar
and ground the butt out under the heel of an expensive boot. "I
sure wish you luck, Cookie. Reckon I best go and have a chat with
Saul. Maybe I could help out as one neighbor to another."

A few moments later as he tied up to the
hitching post, then mounted the steps to the main door of the
ranch-house Jeb Jackson allowed himself a half smile.

So they were finding it all a bit difficult?
That was good, he thought. At least it would be a good time to put
forward any proposition he might have.

He tapped on the door and waited for the
sound of feet crossing the hall towards the door. As he saw the
door handle move he cursed himself for not having the foresight to
bring flowers. His mouth creased into a smile as the door opened
and he felt his heart speed up at the sight of the woman he wanted
to be his wife. Then it skipped a beat when she smiled back – a
polite smile, but without any warmth. He knew it was going to be
hard.

CHAPTER TWO

Johnnie Parker had been blessed with high
good humor, which was just as well, he thought, considering that he
was riding drag to a two thousand head drive. He grinned to himself
behind his bandana, which was pulled up over his face leaving only
a narrow slit between it and his turned down Stetson for him to see
out of.

"Liars, the whole danged lot of them," he
announced to the back of the bay’s head. "If I had my way I would
take every one of those darned Eastern dime novelists and make them
walk behind a herd like this, instead of spreading lies about the
romance of riding the range. All you get is dust, dry eyes, and
wagonloads of dung."

And as he thought about how thirsty he was
his mind jumped ahead with joyous anticipation to the delight of
savoring the first cup of Arbuckle’s coffee that Cookie would have
ready for them when they eventually bedded the herd down for the
night. It was after mid-afternoon and as usual at this time Cookie
had gone on ahead of the herd to find a suitable spot to have their
meal ready when bed-down time came.

They were on the third day out from the
ranch and had made a steady fifteen miles per day along the trail.
Good open land it was, too, so that the long procession could be
coaxed along without feeling too nervous, which was always a
potential problem when there were a few frolicsome steers in the
bunch.

"We’ve gone well, feller," Johnnie informed
the bay. "We should get to Silver City tomorrow, then you and me is
going to wet our whistles real well. You with some of that sweet
Silver City water, and me with a bucket of cold beer from the
Busted Flush Saloon." He chuckled behind his bandana. "And Cookie
will probably sit himself in some corner with that chimney stack
pipe of his and drink a couple of glasses of milk, like he always
does. The old fool thinks we all believe that he doesn’t drink hard
liquor, but we’ve all seen him lace his milk and his coffee with
good red eye tonsil paint."

He turned his attention to the undulating
drag end of the herd, where all the footsore steers, the infants,
and the lazy critters gravitated to. He kicked his heels and urged
the bay towards a couple of stragglers, coaxing them to speed up
with a couple of flicks of his rope.

"What do you think of that Bill Coburn, eh
feller? Telling me that I had promotion from wrangler to drag
rider." He turned and waved to the young Mexican vaquero who was
trailing about a couple of hundred yards back with the remuda.
"Hey, Emilio, keep up there or you’ll miss out on supper."

The young Mexican waved back, although
Johnnie doubted whether he had actually heard him. He turned his
attention back to the herd that loomed ahead of him half hidden in
the cloud of sand and dust that eight thousand hooves were kicking
up. Screwing his eyes up he could dimly see the two flank riders
about a third of the way up the herd, one on each side, and another
third of the way he made out the two swing men. All of them were
moving up and down the sides, blocking critters from cutting loose
or just meandering away from the main body.

"Old Bill did well to hire these fellers,"
Johnnie informed his bay. "They all seem to know their stuff and
there is no way we could have managed with just the five Rocking H
crew. Two of them don’t have much sense of humor, but hell –
neither does Cookie."

In the far distance at the head of the herd
he could just make out Bill Coburn’s characteristic riding posture
as he and Skeeter Carson rode point on each shoulder of the herd.
He watched as Bill moved inwards, simultaneously signaling for
Skeeter to move outwards to begin turning the herd to the right in
the direction of the Pintos foothills.

"Looks like we’re heading towards
Rattlesnake Pass, feller," he informed his disinterested bay. "It’s
a dismal rocky place that I can’t say I cotton to. Especially if
there really are rattlers around there. Last thing we want is for
some snake to spook these critters." And with a shiver he turned
his mind to more attractive thoughts.

The mental image of Elly Horrocks appeared
in his mind, just as she was a few days before, naked and beautiful
as ever as they made love in her big brass bed. And she had
certainly been passionate, almost violent in her love-making, like
a wild animal. Then afterwards, as they lay spent together she had
confessed that she had been angry.