Killing Halfbreed (22 page)

I spent all the next day trying to brand as many cattle as I could, but working by myself, it went mighty slow.  By sundown, I was beat and had only managed to brand a total of about thirty-five head.  My mood worsened as I realized my efforts were probably for nothing.  Around these parts, not many people would respect my brand if they came across it.  Still, I had to do it if I wanted to be considered a legitimate rancher and not a rustler of other men's cattle.

I was not looking forward to riding the range all night, shivering in the cool air.  I had it to do, though.  The rustlers might come back.  If they did, I wouldn't fall for their tactics again.

Again, around midnight, a group rode in from the west.  I waited them out, suspecting another diversionary trick.  Then, a second group came in from the northeast.  The unmistakable sound of shod hooves clipping rocks told me there was a third group behind me to the south.

How many of them were there?

I couldn't decide which group to pursue first.  Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, all three groups faded into the blackness, and I saw no more sign of them for the rest of the night.

In the morning, I located their tracks.  Each group had gotten off with about ten head of cattle or so, totaling another thirty.  Clearly, my improvised strategy hadn't worked.

This war was certain to put me on the losing end very shortly if I didn't get help soon.  So, I decided to head for Rio Perdido.  There was always a fair supply of rough hands and other vagabonds there who could be hired for any kind of work for the right price.

Somebody obviously felt threatened by my newly enlarged herd and wanted me broken.  It didn't take much in the way of brains to see that whoever it was, they were probably the same person, or persons for that matter, who had killed my brother.  That person apparently had a strong relationship with the rustlers.  Of everyone I knew, only Jim Dunagan and Bill Hartford seemed like they would be in a position to gain if this land became available again.  I didn't think Jim would be capable, but I wouldn't put it past Hartford.  Still, who knew for sure?  I needed proof before I could accuse anyone.

Rio Perdido was a waste of time.  Word had already reached there about my supposed "exploits" in Kansas.  There weren't as many men to choose from as I’d hoped anyway.  I headed back alone.

That night, I positioned myself atop a ridge with a good view of most of the vale and waited with my rifle.  I was through playing games with these men.

Around eleven o’clock, the first group of rustlers came in from the east.  As soon as they were within range, I squeezed off a shot and was rewarded with a shout of surprise.  The dark outline of a man tumbled from his saddle.

Two other groups rushed to the aid of the first from different directions, and I shot a second man off his mount.  Seeing they were sitting ducks, the rustlers turned tail and raced out of range as fast as they could, disappearing into the dark.

I didn't know if I'd killed any of them, but at least I'd made them think twice about raiding me.  I figured it was probably a safe bet they wouldn't return the same night, so I turned in for some desperately needed sleep, content with my first small victory over the invading forces.

In the morning, I searched for sign of the riders, and found blood stains on the ground in two places.  There wasn’t a lot of it though.  It could mean anything, but I'd bet I'd only winged them.

My body was still giving me some loud complaints concerning exhaustion, so I decided to sleep most of the afternoon in order to be rested for the long night that awaited me, because I knew they'd be back in force.

I woke in a fog, but some strong, black coffee helped pull me out of my grogginess.  I took a quick cursory ride around the immediate area and to my dismay found the rustlers had come while I'd been napping and gotten off with another twenty head — in broad daylight, no less.

This revelation depressed me more than anything else up to that point.  They were apparently watching me night
and
day.  They knew what I was doing and when.  My hopes for maintaining my herd were running out fast.

These were the most brazen rustlers I'd ever heard of.  Obviously emboldened by a knowledge of my social situation in town, they knew no one would come to help me.  It was more evidence that somebody local was behind all the rustling in the valley.

I would not give up.  I wouldn't quit till they killed me.  I’m like a bulldog sometimes.  When I get my teeth sunk in something, I don’t let go.

I dug in for the night on another high point overlooking the vale, a different one from the ridge I'd been on the night before.

Almost immediately after the darkness had grown complete, they started firing.  Somehow, they knew exactly where I'd positioned myself, in spite of my attempts at stealth.  Several rifles from different directions pinned me in my hiding place behind some large rocks.

They couldn't quite get at me from their vantage points, but neither could I do much of anything, except stay as low and hidden as possible.  The shooting continued sporadically for hours, keeping me trapped behind cover.  In the meantime, other rustlers whooped and hawed down in the vale, and I understood their game for the night.

The group armed with rifles was keeping me holed up while another bunch raided my herd and did as they pleased — and I was powerless to stop it.

Nothing I could do until they gave up for the night.  Come morning, I was astounded to see they'd stolen about two hundred and fifty cows.

I had to find some way to beat them at their own game and fast.  They'd successfully taken about a third of my herd, and I didn't even know who they were.

It wouldn’t be long before they'd robbed me of everything.  I was no fool.  With that many cattle leaving a trail, I could track them without much problem, but it would be awfully risky.  As well organized as they were, I didn't think I'd get very far going that route.  They'd probably wait on their back trail and ambush me before I even knew what hit me.

No, my best bet was to try and get them when they came back.  I didn't know how, but there had to be some way.  There had to be. 

My whole body was taught as a bowstring.  Tension could be fatal out west.  A man had to remain calm in situations like this if he wanted to keep his head.  I built a fire and boiled myself some rich-smelling joe to take my mind off things for a spell.  The air didn't seem so cold today at least, more of a cool breeze, which I relished and breathed in deeply.  As I began to relax, a plan formed in my mind…

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy.

She'll beat you if she's able.

You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.

"Desperado"

           -The Eagles

Pick Johnson had been more than happy to give me what I'd asked for.  Especially since I’d paid cash.  He'd bitten down on the gold eagle I handed him just to make sure I wasn't cheating him.  Feisty old bugger, but at least he didn't ‘give a dad-blamed hoot what the townsfolk said,’ as he put it.  Pick said he didn't put much stock in rumors anyway and had no problem helping me out.

I carried the packages back to my ranch with a smile on my face for the first time in days.  I even dared to whistle a bit.  If everything went my way, these rustlers would see just what one man could do to defend what was his.

Pick had sold me several packages of dynamite and a plunger switch to set them off.  My plan had been vague up till the moment, but now, I had to be very precise.  If I miscalculated or planned badly, I might blow my one chance to stop them.  They wouldn't fall for this twice.

I took care to conceal my actions in case I was still being watched.

Riding quickly around the interior of the ranch, I scouted for a location I could use.  Finally, I saw the perfect place.

It was a little box canyon with two narrow entrances, one on each end, tall enough and secluded enough to be able to set the trap successfully.  I could wire all my dynamite bundles without running out of wire.

I set one bundle at the northern entrance to the canyon.  I hid it between two rocks right in the entranceway.  Then, I ran a wire from it up to a position on the eastern canyon wall, where I hoped to be overlooking everything.

The second and third bundles, I squeezed underneath a huge mass of piled boulders and other debris perched on the edge of the eastern canyon wall, right at the southern entrance.  When those exploded, it would rain down a small avalanche on whoever was moving through the narrow passage below.  Then, I ran wire from those up to my lookout position.

I had chosen my lookout to be purposely deceptive.  It held a good view of the entire canyon, so I could easily watch whatever happened below.  It was also surrounded by large rocks, so if the rustlers repeated their trick of the night before, I would have cover from any fusillade they might want to send my way.

The deceptive aspect was that I had purposely chosen a spot which was overlooked by several others higher up on the rocky slopes behind me.

I doubted the rustlers would be able to resist locating themselves in those places in order to take potshots at me.  Let them, because that was exactly what I wanted them to do.  I'd be protected by the surrounding rocks and still be able to observe what was happening in the canyon while under fire.

Searching around, I picked the spot where I thought they'd be most likely to take up position and I stuck my last bundle of dynamite behind some rocks there.  Again, I ran wire from it down to my lookout spot.

To finish my trap, I rounded up about a hundred head of cattle and herded them into the canyon.  I blocked off both entrances with some brush to keep the cattle in.

Now, I just had to wait.  I'd covered the wires as best as I could with dust and pebbles.  A person would really have to look hard to spot them.

I'd left the majority of my cattle out on the range unprotected, but from past experience, I felt like these men were trying to get at me personally, to mess with my head, my confidence.  I was betting on them leaving the other cattle alone in order to strike a more powerful blow by taking the ones right under my nose. 

As night approached, I settled down to wait, letting my rifle stick out from between the rocks, leaving no doubt as to where I was.  Darkness came and I didn't have to wait long.  They were getting bolder each night, coming earlier and earlier, which actually made me glad.  I always got antsy when I had to wait a long time to surprise somebody.

Some riders approached cautiously from the north, a larger group than normal.  I hadn't been expecting that many.

They stopped well away from the canyon.  For a moment, I thought they weren't going to take the bait, but then some of them split off and rode around to the south end.  Both groups would approach from opposite sides simultaneously.

When they were still about a hundred feet away from the canyon, the shooting started.  Sure enough, other rustlers had taken up position above me on the cliffs.  I ducked behind my cover and waited as bullets ricocheted off the rocks.

They weren't letting up.

I was disappointed to see that not all the shooters were in the same place, so some of them would get away, but one group had planted themselves right where I'd expected.

Down in the canyon, both groups drew closer, faster now that I’d been driven to cover.

I waited.  Acting prematurely would spoil my efforts.

Just a few more feet.

Overhead, the bullets flew, singing off the sides of the rocks around me.  The northern group was now right smack dab in the middle of that entrance to the canyon.  The southern group had just reached the end of their passage, and was about to enter the canyon.

My mouth was dry as cotton.  I pushed the plunger and held my breath.

Instantly, three simultaneous explosions roared upward, their deep bellows echoing off the canyon walls in a deafening crescendo.  I heard screams from both above and below.  Then, the shooting stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Peering through my rocks down into the canyon, I saw the bodies of three men and their horses strewn on the ground in front of the northern entrance.  Alive or dead, I couldn't tell.

One man was still mounted.  He appeared dazed and was circling slowly with his eyes shut and hands clamped over his ears.  I was surprised his horse hadn't stampeded away.

The southern entrance was similarly chaotic.  Large rocks had tumbled down mercilessly and crushed at least two or three men.  Several others were racing away from the canyon in a panic.  They wouldn't be back soon.

I didn't dare poke my head up to see what damage I'd done on the cliffs above me, though I knew I'd done some.  There were still some live rifles up there, but from the sporadic nature of the shots, I figured they were just covering themselves to get away as fast as they could.