Goodnight's Dream (A Floating Outfit Western Book 4) (22 page)

Dusty also guessed at the reason behind the
brittle, wary tension shown by the cowhand. Ever since Loving’s
death, Spat had wondered if his motives and personal courage were
in question over the incident. Although nobody had even hinted as
much, Spat still wondered if things might have gone differently had
he stopped to help his boss and Sid defend the cave. So Dusty had
noticed a growing tendency for the cowhand to get touchy at the
slightest hint, even one made unintentionally, that he might be
showing undue caution in times of danger.

‘
You did the right thing,’ Dusty told
him. ‘If there’d been shooting, we’d’ve wasted time and risked the
herd coming out to check on it. Besides, this way we can likely
track him to where he’s going and find out why he’s hanging
around.’

‘
You want
me
along?’

‘
Way I look at it, this’s more than a
one-man chore. And, anyways, you must be able to read sign better
than I can. You sure can’t be any worse at it.’

‘
And I know where to start to
look.’

‘
Sure. Let’s go.’

With that Dusty allowed Spat to take the lead
and they rode across the range. Clearly the cowhand had gathered
considerable experience in such work; no great surprise, as even
those Texans who did not fight on one side or the other during the
War gained knowledge of stalking and using concealment against the
various enemies which existed in the State.

Keeping to cover as much as
possible, Dusty followed Spat to the place where the cowhand had
seen the man. Despite Spat’s ideas on the matter, Dusty felt
certain that the intruder had been Scroggins. No deserter—fond as
he might be of the cavalry’s
arme-blanche—
would retain such an obvious piece
of military
equipment as a saber. The weapon would attract too much attention
his way.

‘
He come from that way,’ Spat said,
halting and pointing to the south-west. ‘Herd’s down there, but
maybe two miles off.’

‘
Likely he could find some place to
watch us from without much chance of being seen.’

‘
Not closer’n half a mile,’ Spat
protested.

‘
That’d be close enough for him to see
how we’re doing,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘And if he’s been around since
the day of the stampede, he’ll have a fair idea how well we’ve
done.’

‘
Where do you reckon he’s
going?’

‘
To tell his pards and his boss what
he’s seen. Let’s see if we can find out, shall we?’

‘
I’m all for it,’ Spat growled. ‘We owe
them stinking sons-of-a-bitch something for all the extra work
they’ve caused us.’

Setting their horses moving, Dusty and Spat
headed to the north. For all his earlier comments, Dusty could read
sign well enough to figure the man they followed had gone out of
his way to avoid being seen. After covering something over a mile,
however, they found that he had put aside his caution and rode
along openly.

‘
Likely he’d not be expecting anybody
up this way,’ Dusty commented, ‘with us getting all our cattle from
the south and west.’

‘
If him or his pards know cattle,
they’d figure that,’ Spat replied. ‘We combed this section for
steers in the first place, to save doing any more brush-popping
than we had to.’

‘
Maybe he’s not expecting being seen,’
Dusty said. ‘But we can’t count on it. From now, it’s us who use
the cover.’

The country through which they travelled
offered itself ideally to unseen movement, being broken up by draws
or gullies and dotted with clumps of trees. While they found little
difficulty in following the tracks, they could not do so at better
than a walking pace.

‘
This’s no good,’ Dusty remarked after
a time. ‘We’ll take too long to catch up to him unless we can go
faster. I don’t want to get too far from the herd, just in case it
isn’t the feller I think it is.’

‘
We can’t go faster and read his sign,’
Spat pointed out.

‘
No,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Say, are there any
caves up this way big enough for two or three men and their horses
to hide in?’

‘
Never come across one, and I know this
section pretty good.’

‘
Uncle Charlie doesn’t have a line
cabin up here?’

‘
Never needed one. Hey though! There’s
an old mustangers’ camp about two mile off, on Bluegill Creek. Just
a shack, a barn and a corral, all of ’em in poor shape. Cattle
don’t get up that ways often enough for us to bother
rebuilding.’

‘
That’d be a good place to try looking,
though,’ Dusty decided. ‘Far enough from the herd to cut out the
chance of any of the crew coming around. But close enough for them
to keep an eye on how we’re doing. We’ll head up that ways and take
a look.’

‘
What if he’s not there?’ Spat
inquired.

‘
Then we’ll get back to the herd as
fast as we can,’ Dusty replied. ‘We’ve got to give Uncle Charlie
enough time to get ready for trouble.’

Nodding in agreement, Spat changed direction
and selected the shortest route to the old mustangers’ camp. They
rode at a faster pace, but still used caution. Which proved to be
fortunate for them.

Coming to a halt, Spat pointed to
horse-tracks crossing the route they took and joining a well-used
trail ahead. To Dusty, the story stood plain enough. Whoever had
ridden that way had made a roundabout route from watching the herd.
Probably he had taken a different line each day, once beyond the
point they were approaching. By doing so, he would avoid leaving
too plain sign of his presence in the vicinity of the cattle.

Advancing with even greater care, Dusty and
Spat climbed their horses up a slope. According to the cowhand, the
valley on the other side ran parallel to Bluegill Creek. Dusty knew
better than to ride blithely over a rim under the prevailing
conditions. So he and Spat slowed their advance and looked over
before showing themselves fully. Two riders came through the trees
on the opposite slope, men Dusty had good cause to remember. At a
sign from the small Texan, Spat withdrew from the rim and Dusty
joined him.

‘
One of ’em’s the feller I saw, Cap’n!’
the cowhand stated.

‘
It’s Scroggins right enough,’ Dusty
agreed. ‘And Turner with him.’

‘
What’re we going to do,
Cap’n—’

‘
Hide and jump them when they come
close enough. I reckon that they can tell us some interesting
stories, asked right.’

Swinging from their saddles, they led the
horses behind some nearby bushes. While securing his reins to a
branch, Spat looked at Dusty and asked, ‘How do we play it,
Cap’n?’

‘
I want at least one of them alive,
both if we can,’ Dusty replied. ‘So we’ll Injun up on to the rim
and try to find places where they’ll go between and throw down on
them as they pass.’

Quickly Dusty completed the fastening of his
horse. If he had been riding the paint, merely letting the reins
dangle would have been enough. Less certain of the dun gelding, he
took no chances. With the horse secured, he slipped the carbine
from its boot. Owning only a single-shot Enfield muzzle-loader,
Spat had not carried it along from the ranch house. However, he had
his holstered Colt to fill his needs. If his small companion’s plan
of campaign worked, there would be no need for the long-ranged,
somewhat cumbersome rifle.

On reaching the head of the rim, they peered
over cautiously. From all appearances, Turner and Scroggins
intended to stick to the trail which repeated passages to and from
scouting the herd had formed. Dusty opened his mouth to tell Spat
they would make their ambush where they were. The words were never
said. Bringing their horses to a halt, the proposed victims turned
and looked back in the direction from which they had come.

‘
Scrog, Al!’ called a voice and a man
appeared on the opposite rim, urging his horse down to where the
pair waited. ‘You’d best come back. The boss’s headed down to see
us.’

‘
Who’s he?’ Spat whispered.

‘
Luhmere,’ Dusty
answered. ‘Spat,
amigo,
we’re in luck.’

‘
Do we take ’em?’ asked the
cowhand.

‘
Not from up here,’ Dusty decided. ‘As
soon as we let them know we’re about, they’ll either fight or run.
Nope, there’s only one thing to do.’

‘
I’m game for anything,’ the cowhand
stated.

Dusty doubted if Spat would be game for what
he was going to order, but went ahead just the same.

‘
Go get your horse and head
back—’

‘
Back!’
Spat growled, his voice rising above the whisper
it had employed up to that moment.

‘
Hold it down!’ Dusty hissed. ‘Yeah. Go
back to the herd and ask Uncle Charlie to send some of the
boys.’

‘
Damn it!’ Spat began. ‘If you reckon
all I’m good for—’

‘
You did the right thing with Oliver
Loving!’ Dusty snapped back. ‘So, for the good Lord’s sake do it
right now. You know this range, which I don’t. So you can get there
and back faster than me.’

‘
What’re you planning to
do?’

‘
Trail along after them—’

‘
We could both go.’

‘
That’s no answer, Spat. There’re three
of them we know about, likely another one at least brought the word
about the boss coming. And I reckon he won’t be travelling alone.
That makes too many for us to handle without counting a whole heap
too much on luck favoring us. No, we play it my way.’

At any other time Spat would
have admitted that Dusty made right good sense. Only the memory of
how he had gone for help and left two friends to die fighting the
Comanches caused him to argue. Yet he could see no wavering on
Dusty’s face and so gave in. Nor did the fact that Dusty was
Goodnight’s nephew affect Spat’s decision. He knew the
big
man at his side had
a fighting reputation second to none and the ability to plan well.
More than that, Dusty was picking the part he could handle
best.

‘
I’ll be back with the boys, Cap’n,’
Spat promised.

‘
And I’ll be waiting,’ Dusty replied.
‘Take my dun and ride relay. I can handle the trailing best
a-foot.’

Slowly, reluctantly, Spat followed Dusty from
the rim. Already the other men had started to ride back up the
opposite slope and were almost at the top. So Dusty was eager to
get after them. In case he should lose them, he asked for and
received instructions on how to locate the deserted mustangers’
camp.

‘
Can’t I—’ Spat continued, after
finishing his description.

‘
No!’ Dusty stated firmly and took a
box of bullets for his carbine from the dun’s saddle pouches.
‘You’re doing the only thing that’ll help. Now move out and don’t
stop to pick daisies on the way.’

Giving a resigned shrug, Spat freed and led
off the horses. He took a final look at Dusty, hoping to see signs
of a change of heart. None showed, so he swung astride his mount
and led the dun away with him.

Watching the cowhand go, Dusty wondered if he
should have collected more bullets for his revolvers. The paper
cartridges used in the 1860 Army Colt did not travel well, stuffed
into a pocket, being liable to rupture and ruin in the event of
violent movement. Loading with loose powder and ball was possible,
but far too slow to perform in the heat of a gunfight. So he
figured that he had made the right decision and could rely on the
carbine’s twelve-shot load backed by a full box of fifty metal-case
bullets.

Carbine in hand, Dusty turned his thoughts to
following the men. Already they had passed over the other rim and
gone from sight. For all that, he advanced with care and made use
of whatever cover he could find. Going up the opposite slope he
found that the trio had gone beyond his range of vision. He did not
try to catch up with them, knowing that to do so a-foot and wearing
cowhand boots—designed for riding, not hiking—would be impossible.
Nor was there any need to take such measures. According to Spat’s
description, the trail along which the men were riding led to the
deserted mustangers’ camp and had, in fact, originally been made by
them. So Dusty could follow it with the expectancy of discovering
his quarry at the end.

There were numerous times as he walked that
Dusty cursed his boots. Yet he did not allow the increasing ache in
his feet to wipe away his caution. He saw no sign of the trio but
at last the camp appeared through the trees. Set on the banks of a
small stream, in the open bottom of a valley, it consisted of the
buildings Spat had mentioned. Beyond the stream, the wooded land
started again. All of the trio’s horses stood before the cabin but
none of the men were in sight. From what Dusty could see, it would
be inadvisable to let the other side enter the cabin. Both it and
the barn had been built to last and, while dilapidated, offered
mighty effective defensive positions.

Continuing his cautious advance, Dusty
decided on a change of plan. Instead of waiting for his companions
to arrive, he would attempt to slip up unseen and capture the trio.
Doing so would not be easy, but was preferable to letting them and
whoever was coming have the cabin to hide in when Goodnight’s men
arrived.