Killing Halfbreed (13 page)

Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea

All we do, crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see.

“Dust in the Wind”

          - Kansas

No two ways about it, life on the ranch was lonely.  Most of my time, I spent planning.  Thirty head of cattle don't exactly take a lot of effort to keep up with, and they had plenty of grass for grazing.

I found my brother's branding iron in his storage shed, so the first few days I kept pretty busy, branding each one of the cows.  After that, it was just a matter of letting them roam the land, fattening themselves up for the winter.

In the spring, my plan was to head them up the trail a bit and merge with a bigger rancher's herd going the same way.  In a large group, my little herd would be much safer on the cattle trail.  At the end of the line, where it met the railroad, I could sell each head for about $10.  By spring, there'd probably be at least 10 new calves, which I would leave behind.  Then with the profits from the sale, I could hurry back and buy some more for $6 a head from that rancher over in Rio Perdido just as I'd done before.  With any luck I could have between 70 and 80 head of cattle by next summer, and within a few years, I could have a sizeable herd.

That was a long time in the future though.  I'd do well to focus on today.  Winter was coming on and the cattle would soon need shelter.  Ben had started building some shelters, so I set myself to finishing them.  It didn't take long until I had more than enough room for my few cows.  I went ahead and built some more, making ample room for the extra cows I expected to have next year.

This winter would be kind of lean, since I would have virtually no income, so I had to spend quite a bit of my time hunting for my meat.  I didn't want to kill any of my herd for food if I didn't have to.  I could take some of my hunted meat into town and trade it for some vegetables every now and then.  I found the people of Cottonwood got tired of beef sometimes.

It soon became markedly apparent just how key to the area my brother's property was, including the other three ranches.  My brother had begun developing the large fresh-water spring on his ranch into a larger holding pond to be able to water more cattle.  From the amount of water coming up from the spring, and the shape of the land around it, I realized his ranch would be capable of supporting very large herds, as long as the grass held out.  Even then, some water from the spring could be diverted for irrigation purposes.

I also knew the springs on the other ranches didn't compare in quality to this one.  It seemed strange that none of the other ranchers had claimed it for their own.  What was clear to me was that whoever controlled this spring, controlled the main water supply for the valley. 

I understood better one day when some of Dunagan's hands rode over to collect some of their stray cows.  Cattle from all three ranches constantly wandered to Ben’s spring to drink, but I hadn't ever worried much about it.  There was plenty of water for all the herds, and my little group of cows certainly wasn't going to drink it all.

Not all of Dunagan's hands were as hostile toward me as Hartford's or Logan's.  I was careful with them anyway.  I asked Dunagan’s men why no one else had ever claimed Ben’s spring before.  Warily, they answered me.  Said it was because the Big Three were friends and none of them wanted to have an advantage over the others.  They’d all agreed to share it.  My visitors sternly informed me that this had been the situation until my brother had butted in and staked his claim.

I asked them if Ben had ever prevented anybody's cattle from watering there, and they admitted he hadn't, but said it was only a matter of time before he did.

Byers, the newspaperman, had told me a lot of this, but I’d never realized just how critical this spring actually was.  My brother's presence had rankled many of the people in the area, if for nothing else, because of the water situation, and that on top of the rustling rumors.  No wonder he and Jessica had kept to themselves.

I set about making other improvements to the property, fixing up the corral and the cabin.  I also worked on enlarging the watering pool fed by the spring.

Things progressed uneventfully for several weeks.  I had trouble sleeping most nights.  If I wasn't plagued by anxiety over Ben's fate, then nightmares about that creaking noose fueled my insomnia.

One dark night, I decided to ride the ranch’s perimeter.  The moon was mostly hidden by clouds, occasionally peeking its silvery face out from behind them.  My thoughts regressed to Ben, as they so often did.  I wondered how many times he had ridden this ranch just as I was doing, breathing in the crisp night air.

I wondered where he was….if he was even still alive.  I was having more and more doubts with regards to that possibility.  After this much time, if he hadn’t bugged out for some other parts, he really couldn’t be alive.  If he’d known I was coming to Cottonwood, he’d have come back by now for sure.  But if he was dead, God forbid, then Jessica was probably killed too, and who would be evil enough to murder a woman?  A scoundrel like that was hard to find, even out west.

The moon sneaked a gleam through a break in a cloud, and my eyes locked on some peculiar tracks in the earth ahead and to my right.

Fresh cattle tracks, intermixed with the prints of several shod horses who, by the looks of it, were ushering the cattle north.  Rustler tracks.

And the cattle were probably mine.

We'd had a light rain the day before, but the tracks were untouched, and since rustlers usually preferred to operate in the dark, I figured they must have passed by earlier this same evening.

From the looks of it, they'd stolen about five of my cows.  While that wouldn't be much to one of the big guys, it was a big chunk of my herd.  I had no choice but to follow.  This could be the break I'd been waiting for.  I felt certain Ben's disappearance had to have something to do with the rustling going on.

I progressed slowly, as the moon kept ducking back behind the clouds, withholding its light from my path in a frustrating game of celestial peek-a-boo.  Every time it disappeared, I had to stop and wait for fear I might accidentally veer off the trail.  What I lost in time, I'd just have to make up with determination.

I hadn't gone far when I saw the outlines of a few figures on horseback against the horizon.  They saw me about the same time.

They immediately fired off some shots, and dust kicked up on both sides of me.  I dug my heels into my Mustang's side and we were off like lightning in search of cover behind some rocks.

The moon fell behind another cloud, making the darkness total.  I heard pounding hooves.  A rider was bearing down on me.

I fired, and he did as well, but we both missed.  I reached cover and stilled my gun.

The others didn't let up though, which I considered unwise, given the level of blackness enshrouding us.

One of them yelped in pain. 
Idiots.
 They were firing blind and hitting each other.

"Listen, you no good thief!  We've got you pinned.  Just give it up before we come in after you!"

It was Bill Hartford.  I couldn't believe my ears.  What was he doing out here? Was he rustling my cattle? What could he possibly gain from that?  My little herd wouldn't even make a dent in his.  Was this his way of getting revenge?

I called back out to him, "It's you who's the cattle thief, Hartford!  I was tracking some rustlers who took some of my cattle.  You telling me it’s just coincidence you're here at the end of the trail?"

"Is that you, Talbot?  I'll be durned!  I knew one of these days I was going to catch you red-handed.  Well, we got you now, don't we, boy?"

"Listen up, Hartford.  I’ll say it again.  I'm not rustling nothing.  I've been trailing a couple of thieves who took about five head of mine since the ridge just west of my cabin.  Now, what's your game?  Why are you out here on my property?"

"Your property?  Ha!  That's a rich one.  Way I hear it, it’s the bank's property now.  You really expect me to believe that some rustlers are going to be interested in taking just five head of cattle?  What self-respecting rustler would waste his time with that?"

"Don't know, but it's the truth.  Take it or leave it!"

"Well, I certainly ain't taking it!  We're out here tracking rustlers too, all the way from the other side of the valley.  It’s kind of funny how all this stolen cattle seems to head for secluded areas on
your
property.  A little too funny if you ask me.  I'm done talking, boy.  Are you coming out or are we going in after you?"

"Hartford, for the last time, I didn't take any of your danged cattle!  Or anybody else's for that matter.  Now, if you want to come in shooting, that's your prerogative, but you'll be coming in blind, in the dark, and I'll hear you long before you get here.  If you want to risk your tail on a blind assault, that's fine with me, but if I were you, I'd keep going further down the trail and see if you don't find the real thieves!"

There was some muttering among Hartford and his men.  His frustration was clear in his answer.

"I ain't gonna risk my hide on the likes of you, Talbot.  I know you're handy with a gun, but come daylight I'll go fetch the sheriff.  We know where to find you."

“Name’s Halfbreed, not Talbot.”

“
What?
”

“Name’s Halfbreed, not Talbot.”

“Whatever.  It’s all the same to me.  Just pick which one you want on your tombstone!”

The thundering sound of retreating hooves faded off into the night.  It appeared the moon would remain hidden behind the clouds for a good while, so I decided to make camp.  In the morning, I’d take up pursuit of the rustlers again.

Hartford wasn't the one responsible for my missing cattle, and his threats didn't faze me none.  Whoever took his livestock were the same ones responsible for taking mine.  He'd already been hunting my hide, so nothing had really changed from my perspective.  Tomorrow, I'd find the tracks and set out again.           

***

The next morning, I picked up the trail and tracked the rustlers for most of the day.  Late in the afternoon, I pulled my horse up next to a creek.

The sun was beginning to lower itself in the sky.  Everything was bathed in a beautiful, golden glow, which warmed my soul.  I dismounted to take in the full view of the valley and the river running next to me.

Sunsets always inspired me.  That golden light made me long for something.  What for exactly, I've never been sure, but it always made me want to travel to someplace just over the horizon.  It evoked in me a sad, nostalgic feeling, as if something besides the day was coming to an end.  On some of my more morbid days, I imagined it was my life that was coming to an end, which brought to mind all my regrets and things left undone.

I had just bent over to scoop some water from the river for a drink when two gun shots rang out, one right on top of the other.  I wasn't sure where one of the bullets went, but the other zinged by my ear.  The rifle cracks scared my horse off down the trail faster than you could sneeze.

I threw myself behind a large rock and waited.  The shots came so close together, they had to have come from two different shooters.  I’d put the rock between me and the shooter who almost clipped my ear.  I had no idea where the second guy was.  I just hoped he wasn't behind me.

With no more shots forthcoming, I figured both shooters must be on the same side of the enclave.  They could be up to 100 or 200 yards away and still be accurate with a good rifle.

Considering
my
rifle had galloped off with my horse, I knew I had to wait these guys out, keeping watch they didn't circle around behind me.  So, I settled in for a long wait.

"Sheriff!"

Sheriff McCraigh looked up to see Pick Johnson hurrying up the street to meet him.  Pick was normally unkempt, but today he looked like he'd been rolling around in a mud pit.  By the time he caught up to McCraigh, he was out of breath.

"Hey, Sheriff!  I gotta tell ya Cappy came across some strange tracks a couple of days ago.  Looked like a couple of riders and about thirty or forty head, but they were up over the ridge, an’ they usually ain’t no cattle up there.  He thought they might be rustler tracks, but he didn't see who made ‘em.  Figured I oughta come an’ let you know, so's you can invest’gate."

"Cappy saw 'em, huh?  Why didn't Cappy come and tell me this himself?" McCraigh asked, not disguising the sarcasm in his voice very well.

"He don't like coming to town much.  You know that.  Keeps to himself."

"You know, Pick, I don't think Cappy’s real.  I think you made him up for some ungodly reason.  Now, do you wanna show me where these tracks are, or are we gonna keep playing games?"

"Tarnation!  I swear this whole town's plum loco. I tell ya, I done lived and worked with Cappy every durn day fur I dunno how many years.  I'm plenty sick an' tired of hearing people say idiot stuff like ‘at.  Why, I got half a mind to tell ‘im to come on down here in person and interduce hisself to y'all!"