Talon & Chantry 07 - North To The Rails (v5.0) (18 page)

Once more he was alone with the cattle…and then he saw why the others had fled. Riding toward him in a long array, was a line of at least fifty Kiowa braves.

Ahead of them they were driving several hundred head of cattle.

Wolf Walker rode toward him, a dozen braves close behind. He stopped in a swirl of dust.

“We come. We help. We drive wo-haws for friend.”

“I thank you,” Chantry said.

Slowly the herd bunched again. From somewhere came Old Brindle and stepped into the lead, and the cattle moved off slowly. From out of the draws other bunches of cattle came, driven by Kiowas. By nightfall the cattle all seemed to have been gathered.

But Tom Chantry was worried. Where were French Williams and the others? Williams himself was an uncertain quantity, a man he had never trusted completely. Helvie, McKay, Gent, and Akin had all seemed good men, and dependable.

Behind it all, he was sure, were the operations of Sarah. She must have found and employed the Talrim brothers, and she must have recruited the others to help her…she would know what arguments to use. If what she wanted was ownership of the cattle, she would have clear title once he and Williams were out of the way.

But now there seemed no way she could win. The railroad was only a few miles away, and the Kiowas who guarded the cattle were fighting men, not to be trifled with. Chantry recalled what she had told Paul about not paying the men who helped her, and he was sure she had something of the sort in mind now.

She was not the sort to give up easily, but what could she do?

She must believe that the cards were all in her hands. She probably had French Williams a prisoner, or had killed him. And perhaps she still thought that Tom Chantry was trapped in The Hole.

Some of the outlaws who had been driving the cattle might have gotten in touch with her, but that he doubted.

What would she do now?

The cattle would be delivered at the railhead, placed aboard cars there, and shipped east. It began to look as if Sarah was whipped, and French Williams, too.

And then he remembered that at the railhead were the men who had killed his father. What was he going to do about that? And what did they plan to do?

Chapter 19

T
HE RIVER WAS not far off now, and the railroad followed it. He pointed the way, occasionally glancing back to see if any enemies were in sight, but he trusted the Indians to alert him to any danger. This was the short-grass country, blue grama, buffalo grass, and some needle grasses. Patches of prickly pear appeared now and again, and yucca, often called soap weed from the Indians’ use of it, dotted the plains.

The cattle, seeming to sense the river with its abundance of water, moved steadily onward, and the Kiowas proved efficient herdsmen, working with the cattle as if born to it. They were magnificent horsemen and managed their quick ponies without effort.

Twice Chantry glimpsed antelope, and once a small bunch of buffalo, moving southward, away from the river. Suddenly, from far off, he heard a train whistle.

The Kiowas drew up to listen, and even the steers lifted their heads, staring wild-eyed, at the unfamiliar sound. A thin trail of smoke showed in the sky.

They topped out on a low rise and the river lay before them, and somewhat to the east of north, they saw a cluster of buildings and a train, its locomotive giving off the smoke he had seen.

There was a sudden flurry of action near the town, men running, and mounted men beginning to assemble.

Wolf Walker came up to Chantry. “They see us,” he said grimly. “Think we come for fight.”

“Hold them. I’ll ride ahead.”

He started down the slight slope at a canter to meet the horsemen. He was nearly at the town when he came up to them, two dozen men armed and ready to fight.

“Take it easy, gentlemen!” he said. “Those Kiowas are driving my cattle for me.”

“Like hell!” blustered a huge bearded man. “This here’s a squaw man—he’s one of them!”

“I’m not one of them, and I am driving these cattle from Cimarron to load on the steam cars. Rustlers scattered my herd and the Kiowas helped me gather them and drive them on. They have been very helpful.”

“I don’t believe that!” the big man exclaimed. “I—”

Chantry swung his horse to face him. “My friend,” he said, “I am losing patience with you. If you say that again you’d better have a gun in your hand.”

The man started to speak, then stopped, but his eyes were ugly.

“Hold your horses, Butler,” another man said. “Sparrow told me about this man. He’s the one that stock buyer is waitin’ for. This here’s Tom Chantry.”

“Chantry!” Suddenly Butler was all confidence. “You’re the one that took water from Dutch Akin! Well, by—!”

“Mr. Butler,” Chantry interrupted, “you are right. I am the man who refused to fight a stranger against whom I had no animosity. Under the same circumstances I would do the same thing again.

“However, a few miles back along the trail you will find two men who attempted to take my cattle, Rugger and Koch. You will find them dead. I’m afraid their intentions caused me to develop some animosity very quickly, and you are now creating the same situation. If I were you I’d throttle down while you are still in a condition to do so.”

He turned to the other man. “Thank you, sir, for speaking up. I need a few good hands to take my herd and bring it in. The Kiowas would prefer not to come into town.”

“I’ll help.” The man turned in his saddle. “Joe? How about you, Bob and Sam? Want to help this man?”

Chantry rode back with them and cut out a dozen steers. “Take them,” he told the Kiowas, “but wait until I return.” And he rode on to the town.

There was little enough there—a dozen flimsy shacks, two dozen sprawling tents. Saloons, dance halls, general stores, a barber shop, horse dealers, stock buyers, and two hotel tents, as well as the private cars on sidings.

Chantry swung down in front of the big tent with a General Store sign and went inside. He said, “I want twenty blankets, twenty new hunting knives, and twenty packets of tobacco.”

“You a trader?”

“No,” he replied, “just a man paying off a debt.”

A voice spoke behind him. “There are other kinds of debts. They all have to be paid.” It was Sparrow.

“I have met your Mr. Earnshaw. A fine gentleman, and a lovely daughter.” Sparrow studied him thoughtfully. “Mr. Chantry, I understand you and Miss Earnshaw are to be married?”

“We have discussed it.”

“Fine…fine. I am glad to hear it. And then you will be going back east?”

Chantry hesitated.
Was
he? “I don’t know,” he said. “Temporarily, perhaps.”

“If you stay here there will be problems.”

“Why not? There are problems everywhere.”

“These are different. I understand you killed two men on the trail?”

“It was necessary. I did not wish to do it.”

Sparrow was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Have you heard that the men who killed your father are here, in this town?”

“I heard it.”

“You intend to do nothing about it?”

“That was long ago, Mr. Sparrow. I believe that circumstances will make them pay far better than I could. If they leave me alone, I’ll not disturb them.”

“You are right, I think,” Sparrow said, “in saying that circumstances can make them pay. For one reason or another, all of them have suffered.”

“You know them?”

“Yes.”

Chantry turned abruptly. “I must ride back to the Indians. These are presents to pay them in some measure for what they have done. These things will be useful to them.”

“You amaze me, Mr. Chantry. Only a few weeks in this country, and the Kiowas, one of the bloodiest tribes on the plains, come to your assistance.”

“It was because of my father. Long ago when I was only a boy we lived out here. The Kiowas were always welcome on our ranch, and during bad times we fed them, although I suspect we could little afford it. We never had much, you know. And just when my father had built a herd that could make him wealthy, he was wiped out by a norther.”

Sparrow was silent. After a moment he said, “Your father was a good man. Those men who killed him little knew what kind of man he was, and they must not kill you.”

Chantry smiled. “They won’t. I’m quite good with a gun, you know.”

Sparrow’s eyes were bleak. “Yes, I was afraid of that. You have your father’s hands and his eyes.” He put a hand on Chantry’s sleeve. It was a sudden, uncharacteristic gesture, and it startled Chantry.

“Please. Don’t carry it any further, Tom. Don’t kill anyone else. A man can go too far with it.”

“Thanks,” was Tom Chantry’s only reply.

O
N A HIGH rise, with the sun growing lower in the sky, he presented his gifts to the Kiowas.

“You have helped me,” he said. “That I cannot repay. I give you these small things to show you that I value your friendship. I hope nothing ever comes between your people and mine.”

“We go,” Wolf Walker said.

“Go. One day I shall come to see you again. I shall come to your lodge.”

“You will be welcome. My fire is yours.”

He watched them ride away, straight backs dark against the sunset.

He swung his horse and rode back to town. Back to the haunts of men, the bargaining places, and the risks that attend living among rough and violent men. But he was at home now. This was his country.

And now he must see Doris. He must tell her of his plans.

The lights were on in the town. The great tents glowed with the lights inside, and black shadows moved across their canvas walls. Music came from within, and the click of poker chips and a roulette wheel.

Men leaned against the lamp posts topped off with lanterns, or thronged the muddy streets, churned by hoofs and boots. Horsemen rode by; other horses stood three-legged and sleepy at the hitching rails. He led his horse to a place near where he had bunched his cattle, and picketed it on good grass.

A man came out of the darkness and stood near him. It was Mobile Callahan.

“I figured you were dead,” Chantry said.

“No. I’ve been about my business.”

“Which is?”

“Keepin’ folks off your back.”

Ignoring the remark, Chantry asked, “Where’s Bone? Did he make it?”

“Yeah. The cattle carried us west. We figured we’d better sit tight, after roundin’ up a few. There was trouble brewin’ here, and we knew you’d want Earnshaw and his girl looked after.”

“You were right. What danger are they in?”

“They’re close to you? That makes it enough. There’s some folks don’t give up easy, and one of them is that she-cat Sarah.”

“She’s here?”

“She’s here all right, and the Talrims are with her. And they ain’t all. She’s teamed up with two other galoots. Seems they are the ones who killed your pa.”

“There were three.”

“Two now. Only one of them’s got some boys as mean as he is.”

He listened to the music, heard a loud laugh and the jingle of spurs, hard heels on a boardwalk…the only stretch of walk in town, in front of the general store, the biggest hotel tent, and a gambling place.

“Where is Earnshaw?” he asked.

Callahan nodded toward the siding. “Private car, yonder. He came west with a friend of his, a railroad man.”

Chantry turned to go. “Watch your step,” Callahan warned. “They know you’re in town. They know they’ve got to kill you.”

“Where’s French?”

“Nobody has seen him. The word is that he pulled his men away from you, figured you’d never get the herd in without him, and then he would have the herd if the Kiowas didn’t get it. I heard that some of his boys didn’t want to leave you, but he took them anyhow.”

“I hope that’s right. I liked those boys.”

Chantry walked back to the street. He stood for a moment against the side of one of the frame buildings, looking up and down the street. It was crowded, any of those men might be the ones who sought him. He stepped out from the shadows and made his way between the scattered tents toward the siding where the private cars waited. Lights showed from their windows.

He studied the layout with care, but no one seemed to be about. Fifty yards or so away were a dozen empty boxcars and some flatcars, and beyond them the stockpens and a loading chute.

After a moment he crossed the open space to the nearest of the private cars and, grasping the handrail, swung up the steps to the platform at the rear. The door was of frosted glass, and he rapped gently.

The door opened and a white-coated Negro showed him into a comfortable lounge of plush-covered furniture, crystal chandeliers, Venetian mirrors, looped and fringed draperies, and antimacassars.

Doris Earnshaw was seated on a sofa, a book in her hand. At the sound of his voice she rose hurriedly and came to meet him.

For a moment she looked at him in astonishment. “Tom! How you’ve changed!”

He grinned. “I need a bath,” he said. “I just got in off the range.”

“But…but you’ve
changed!
You’re bigger, older, browner…everything!”

“Part of it will wash off. Out where I’ve been, having a bath isn’t a simple thing.”

Earnshaw came in. “Tom! Am I glad to see you! How are the cattle!”

“We brought most of them in. Around two thousand head, give or take a few.”

“What did you pay for them?”

He explained as briefly as possible. “When the herd is ours?” Earnshaw said. “It all seems unbelievable.”

“Out here,” Chantry said, “almost everything is.”

Earnshaw listened as he told of the beef situation and the conditions in the area. “I can get twenty-two dollars a head for your stock right now, if they are in good shape,” he said. “What would you say to a quick sale right here, then buy another herd to ship east to our own plant?”

“Fine.”

He was thinking of the street out there, and what remained for him to do. “I’d prefer that you two stay in the car,” he said, when Earnshaw had finished outlining his plans. “Let me handle the outside business. This is a pretty rough place.”

“I gathered as much,” Earnshaw said dryly. He gave Chantry a quick, searching glance. What is thus I hear about you?”