Slaughter's way (9 page)

Slaughter opened the door and stepped out on to the porch, thrusting the Colt into his waist band. Behind him, Bess had drawn her own conclusions from the hound's actions. She knew the rider to be a friend and one who might need lighting into the house, so returned to their bedroom, collected the lamp and hurried to her husband's side.

"Boss!" Biut Alvord yelled, bringing his lathered, leg-weary Appaloosa to a halt before the house. **It's Chisiun!"

Drawn by the sound of the fast-running horse, Insomny Sam rode up and John Slaughter tiuned to the old man. 'Tend to Burt's horse, Insomny," he ordered,

^"1—in my bedroll," Alvord gasped, dropping from the saddle.

"I'll get it," Slaughter promised. "What's wrong widi Chisum?"

"He's coming with twenty men in the morning, fixing to get back the himdred head."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nobody Makes A Fool Of Me Twice And Lives

Burt Alvord felt puzzled as he trailed along behind the Long Rail herd in the late afternoon. He had been following them from varying distances ever since they'd left the J.S. trap down on die south line and had been imseen and imdetected all the time. While he did not profess to be a top cowhand, Alvord knew enough about cattle and trail-driving work to wonder what Chisum's game was.

For the first couple of miles after passing through the watching circle of J.S. rifles, the Long Rail men kept their cattle moving at a good pace. Then, as they slowed down to a more normal trail walk, their scout made a circle around the herd as if to check that nobody was following them. Although the scout at one time passed within a hundred yards of the hidden Alvord, he did not detect the young man s presence and, apparently deciding that Slaughter was showing no further interest in the Long Rail's activities, headed back to the herd and reported to his boss.

Shortly after the scout's return, Alvord saw eight men, worldng in pairs, leave the winding line of cattle and ride off across the range in different directions. None of the cattle had broken out of the line, so the men could not be hunting for strays. With that thought in mind, Alvord left the herd and followed one of the pairs, selecting a high point from which he could watch their activities without them knowing he did so. The men acted like cowhands working a circle on a roundup, riding along and checking on any place where hidden cattle might be.

A rare grin creased Alvord's face as he watched 65

the search. The Long Rail hands were welcome to look for cattle in this area, for it had been very thoroughly combed by his boss's roimdup crew. All the Long Rail men were likely to get were saddle blisters, fresh air and exercise for their horses.

After searching for a time, the Long Rail pair appeared to reach the same conclusion, for they swung their horses and headed back to the herd Following them from a distance, Alvord watched their return to the herd, where Chisum galloped up to speak with them. Even at that distance, Alvord could see the news brought in by the hands did not please the Cattle King. It would seem likely that Chisum hoped to save his face—and his three hundred dollars—by collecting a further hundred head of Slaughter's stock and adding it to his herd. Only Slaughter had acted first by having his hands sweep the trail-drive area and clear out all his stock.

Chisimi then yelled some orders to his men, but Alvord was too far behind to hear what was said. However, he could see what happened and guess at the command given by the Cattle King.

The men around the herd closed in, bunching the cattle and causing them to increase their speed, instead of allowing the animals to make their own pace and graze as they ambled along.

Although folks talked of a cattle drive, only rarely was any actual driving done. A certain amount of driving might be necessary to get the cattle oflP their home range, but once beyond famihar groimd the animals were for the most part contented to head in whatever direction the hands pointed them and to walk along from ten to twelve miles a day, grazing as they went, under good conditions.

Instead of allowing the herd to behave in a normal manner, the Long Rail hands kept it bunched all day, keeping up a more rapid pace, which puzzled Alvord. It did not seem to fit all he had heard about the Cattle King that Chisum would deliberately hold his herd to such a pace, causing them to miss food and maybe lose valuable weight, without a real good cause. Yet, for the

life of him, Alvord could not see any reason for the hurrying of the herd.

Long Rail made around sixteen miles during the day, according to Alvord's calculations, and passed over the J.S/s north line before they reached a bed ground. At sundown the hands brought their herd down to a stream and let the animals water on its banks. From the leg-weary way in which they stood, the herd would not need much watching during the night, nor be overeager to go anyplace the following day.

At that point in his thoughts, Alvord began to see the light and form a vague idea of what might lay behind Chisum's actions. Alvord had not failed to notice that the Long Rail's scout rode oflE in a south-westerly direction during the afternoon and had not returned to perform his usual function of selecting the herd's bed ground. The J.S. ranch house lay roughly to the southwestern point of the compass from the spot where the scout left the trail drive.

Alvdrd decided it might pay him to move close enough to the camp so that he could hear what the trail crew talked about. If his suspicions should prove to be correct, his boss might find his information most interesting.

Many men would have thought twice before attempting to move in and spy on Chisum's private conversation. If one was caught in the act, certain death would be the penalty. Yet Alvord felt he could take a chance. Bom with Kaddo blood in his veins, Alvord had stalked Indians and come through it alive. He reckoned he ought to be able to repeat the process with white men.

Waiting until after dark, he left the Appaloosa downstream half a mile from the camp. He could rely on the horse to stay around and not roam too far as long as it had water and good grazing, nor would it make any noise to give away its presence. The horse had been well trained by its previous owner, a Cheyenne war chief with a fair assortment of prime white scalps on his coup stick; all taken from grown men's heads with not a woman, boy or gray-headed oldster's trophy among

them. Burt Alvord bought the horse with a flat-nosed .44 Winchester bullet, planting it into the till between the Cheyenne's eyes at the end of a deadly stalking game. Giving him his due, that Cheyenne knew how to train a horse, and Alvord had never let it forget its learning.

So he left the horse on a loose hobble, leaving the saddle on and his rifle in its boot. A mission such as he aimed to go on did not call for a rifle, and he reckoned to be better than fair with his Army Colts.

While the hands bedded down their herd, the Long Rail's cook and his helper set up camp. By the time Burt Alvord came drifting down out of the night, they had the wagons unhitched, a fire going and stew and coffee both bubbling on the flames. The cook's aide had turned the crew's sleeping rolls out of the bed wagon and they were piled on the ground waiting for the hands to come and collect their owna.

Taking advantage of every bit of cover, Alvcrd moved toward the camp. He passed the tethered-out hne of night horses and came to a halt in the shadows at the end of the bed wagon, studying the scene before him.

For a time nothing happened. There was none of the goodnatured cheerfulness shown by Slaughter's men about the Long Rail trail crew. They squatted around the fire, eating their food in surly silence and watching each other with cold and alert eyes. Chisum perched on a chuck box among his men, looking about as happy as a gun-shot buzzard and casting glance after glance into the darkness.

The sound of an approaching horse came to Alvord's ears. He gave a low hiss of annoyance, for the horse was closer than he liked to think about, coming through the night toward the camp, and headed toward the line of night horses. Just as Alvord thought of moving off to safety, one of the men from by the fire rose and walked toward the bed wagon. To move now would mean being detected by tibe man, but to wait might make it too late to avoid the approaching rider. Alvord did not panic. Standing like a statue, he watched the man root among

the bed rolls, take one up and walk to the fire carrying it

There would be no time to slip away now. The rider was too close for that. Gripping the tail board of the bed wagon, Alvord swung himself up and into the shelter of the vehicle. Moving his feet cautiously, he felt his way through the spare saddlery, a couple of kegs of ready-made horseshoes for temporary repairs if needed, and the other stuff the wagon carried. Then Alvord flattened himself down alongside a comfortable bed at one side of the wagon.

After tending to his horse at the picket line, the newcomer walked toward the camp. From the soft-footed manner in which the man moved, Alvord figured him to be the scout returned from wherever Chisimi had sent him.

Not knowing that every word spoken around his fire was being overheard, Chisum looked at his returning scout who slouched from the darkness and set down his saddle on its side, then walked forward to take a cup of coffee from the cook.

"How about it?" asked Chisum, barely giving the scout a chance to sip at the steaming-hot coffee.

"Slaughter s got his petalta on a nice level piece of ground 'bout a mile from the house. His crew were cutting out stock Hke it was going out of style when I got there. They've split out a fair nimiber for the trail and are holding 'em separate."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Cookie, you go dig that barrel of whisky out of the chuck wagon, the boys've done real well today and I figure they deserve alii'drink."

Giving the Cattle King a calculating glance, the cook rose and went to his wagon, fetching out a full keg of whisky and setting it up on the table formed of the lowered tail board supported by a couple of stout stakes. Eagerly the hands headed after the cook, throwing aside their coffee in a manner which would have broken Mr. Arbuckle's* heart had he been there to see it.

^Arhuckle's coffee was one of the most popular brands sold in the West.

TDid I ever tell you about that time ole Frank's boss^ feller who had him afore he come to me, got married?" Chisum asked as his men gathered around 5ie fire nursing their mugs of whisky.

The Long Rail hands all looked at each other and exchanged nudges and winks. Uncle John was getting set for one of his fun-making sessions, so they could expect free liquor and plenty of laughs. Not one of the men thought of other times when he gathered them around, set them drinking and laughing at his stories. On those previous occasions the men mostly wound up in some dangerous situation right after, one they would have avoided happen they'd been left free to think it over.

^ell us about it, boss,** suggested the hard-case who had taken over the late—possibly but not probably— lamented Big Tag's place as segundo.

"Well this here feller was reservation agent for the Waco Injuns, and he went and married up with « schoolmarm who had a fair bit of money of her own. Anyways, on the wedding night ole Frank goes up to his boss and asks him what he had to do now the feller was married. 7^st carry on like as usual, Frank,' says the feller. So early next morning old Frank comes into the bedroom, puts a cup of Java down on the chair by his boss, goes round, slaps his wife on the rump and says, *A11 right, gal, time you-all was headed back to the tipi.'"

The hands all bellowed their laughter, for Chisum had a wonderfully deadpan delivery and might have made a fortune as a comedian on the stage. He knew the secret of telling a funny story was not to begin by saying, "Did I ever tell you the joke about—"; for doing so built up a resistance among the listeners and gave them a feeling of "All right, let's see how funny it is." By dropping a story out as if it actually happened, one could get more laughs with less effort.

While his men sat and drank the raw whisky, Chisum went among them, telling jokes, laughing his infectious laugh, slapping a shoulder here, dropping a word there, until every one of his men thought him to be a prince of good fellows. At last one of them, after laughing

until tears ran down his cheeks at an unprintable story, made the remark Chisum had been waiting for.

**By cracky, Uncle John/' he said, wiping his eyes with a grimy hand. "Ain't never met a man as could make folks feel as happy as you do."

"It's a mortal pity everybody don't feel the same way," Chisum replied.

"Who don't like you. Uncle John?" the man growled, lurching to his feet and spreading his fingers over the butt of his low-tied gim. "Anybody here as doesn't Hke Uncle John, get up on your hind legs and say so."

Nobody moved to take up the challenge, for they were aU filled with the warm, whisky-inspired glow of good feeling toward the Cattle King.

"It ain't anybody here," Chisum put in, looking benevolently around the circle of men about the fire.

"Then who is it?" asked the segundo, taking his cue with the ease of a top-grade actor.

"That damned Texas John Slaughter."

"Slaughter!" spat out the first man to openly voice his devotion to his boss. ^^Why that short-growed, piebald-haired runt. I'd've blowed him to lil' bits this morning, only he had us under his guns."

"I'd sure like to get him where he didn't have rifles covering him," another of the crowd declared, forgetting that when John Slaughter threw out his challenge at their trail camp on the day he'd killed Big Tag that nobody knew—up to that time—^he had rifles covering his back.

"It could be done," Chisum remarked.

The next fifteen minutes were devoted to various members of the Long Rail crew delivering their opinion of Slaughter and carrying it only in the breadth or scope of the speaker's imagination. All in all, at the end of fifteen minutes Slaughter had been thoroughly cursed, and the men were worked up to fair head of steam.

"Let's ride over there tonight and bum the Long Rail on every last son of that lousy J.S. crewl" one man yelled.