Walt Coburn

“ Not a word passed their clamped jaws as they rolled to the water’s edge and under the feet of Shorty’s horse.
The horse, frightened, lashed out at the struggling forms. A shod hoof struck Bill in the ribs and with a groan, he relaxed his grip. Rolling free of the horse’s flying hoofs, Pete staggered to his feet, aiming a kick at Bill’s face. The stocking-clad heel caught Bill on the cheek. With a last effort, the outlaw clutched Pete’s leg and wrapped his arms about it, jerking Pete off balance and bringing him to the ground. ”

“ Well-built horse corrals, branding shute and branding pen beyond. A well-irrigated alfalfa patch, blooming and ripe for cutting. A small blacksmith shop surrounded by mowers, rakes, and two round-up wagons. Everything neat and orderly, rare indeed, for a cattle ranch.
The ranch house and adjacent bunk house were whitewashed, and climbing the walls were masses of morning glories. Wild rose bushes, pink blossoms wet with the early morning dew, lined the gravel walk that led to the doors. All around were the tall cottonwoods.
“Gosh!” whispered Shorty, and removed his hat.
Tad followed suit. ”

“ Shorty grunted.
“Look out!” called Pete in a hoarse whisper, as his horse lunged forward in the water in an effort to climb on top of the floating horse.
Now indeed, the situation was critical. Shorty ducked beneath the striking forefeet of Pete’s horse and with every ounce of his strength, jerked at his hackamore rope. Pete did likewise. The melee of struggling horses and men drifted apart. To the left, a narrow ribbon of light cut the dark wall of the bank.
“The trail, thank ——,” muttered Pete and, with a jerk that seemed to tear the ligaments in his arm, wrenched at the hackamore rope. ”

“ Something in Fox’s bearing silenced her usually ready tongue.
“Better drift, Ma,” mumbled Hank.
She turned her horse and rode away. The old horse, headed on the homeward trail, voluntarily quickened his pace and she gave him rein.
Hank licked his dry lips and stared at Fox who had taken the .45 from its holster and was spinning the cylinder, his eyes on a solitary horseman who had quit the herd and was riding toward the lone tree.
“That will be Joe Kipp,” said Fox, his voice flatly emotionless. “For a man who has spent his life in the saddle, he sits a horse badly.” ”

“ Kipp shot Tad a covert glance, laden with suspicion. Did the cow puncher suspect him of lying in wait for Fox? But Tad’s homely features were guileless. They rode on in silence.
In telling this story, Tad felt that he was accomplishing two purposes. He was perhaps giving the nerve-racked sheriff a new grip on his ebbing courage and self-control. Likewise, he was explaining to his own conscience, his reason for breaking one of the unwritten laws of the cow country. The law that says a man shall tend to his own affairs and leave the affairs of his fellow men strictly alone. ”

“ Midway between the tree and the herd, Joe Kipp came on, his horse at a running walk. Fox, riding to meet him, halted for a moment to call over his shoulder to Hank.
“A man may be a scoundrel, Basset, but still not be a coward.” ”

“ No braver men ever lined sights amid spattering bullets than these Texans. So, as his sires had faced their enemies, so now did this son of Texas ride his trail.
The ears of his horse twitched forward. The animal halted and Tad was on the ground, crouched in the animal’s shadow. Ahead in the trail gaped the pit that had trapped Kipp. On the edge of the black hole lay a hat. Kipp’s battered old felt.
A moment’s cautious search proved the pit empty. Tad left his horse in the brush, removed his spurs and chaps, and, Winchester ready, slipped on afoot, avoiding the main trail as much as possible. ”

“ Fight, you —— polecat!”
Tad was on top of Black Jack now, his long arms swinging like flails as the breed fought like a trapped cougar. A terrific swing and the breed went limp.
The powder smoke was stifling. Every man’s ears rang from the roar of the big calibered six-shooters. Slim was shrieking curses and begging some one to kill the wounded outlaw who put up so tame a fight.
Tad cut Shorty’s ropes first.
“Thanks, Ox,” grinned the little puncher. “Gimme that rope and I’ll tie that Injun. ”

“ No amount of questioning could open his thin lips.
“That’s the Injun in him,” grinned Shorty as he and Pete followed Kipp outside in search of beds.
“My work is done, Sheriff,” smiled Pete Basset when Shorty was out of earshot. “I’m giving myself up to you. I’m ready to go back to Deer Lodge.”
“Better wait a day er so, Pete. I’m too danged busy tuh fool with yuh right now. Keep yor gun fer a spell. It may come in handy. Fox’ll have men with him when we meet up with him at the lone cottonwood to pay off yore dad’s note. This show ain’t over. Till it is, yo’re plumb free, savvy?” ”

“ Tad and Shorty, unwilling spectators, were heartily wishing themselves elsewhere.
A mother cat will face a dog fifty times her size in defense of her young. Face him without fear. Men call it mother instinct and there is in this life no more courageous, more self-sacrificing, nor more beautiful trait. Not a man there but respected Ma Basset for the stand she took, Joe Kipp included.
“Ma’am,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the ground, “I don’t reckon I blame yuh none fer the way yuh feel. But yo’re plumb wrong about me gunnin’ fer Pete Basset. No matter how the play comes up. ”

“ I tell yuh now, I can’t be crowded no more. I’ll tell the whole —— miser’ble story!”
“Like —— you will,” came the sneering reply, low pitched, calm, distinct. “You’ll play yore string out. When we clean up the Basset deal, you kin go. Not till then. We need yore protection.”
Kipp’s reply came in a hoarse whisper, indistinguishable to the listener hidden in the brush.
A coarse, jeering laugh came from the other man in reply. A match flared to light a cigaret and Tad recognized the black-bearded face of the half-breed, Black Jack. ”

“ Hank nodded, then looked at Tad. “Reckon I’d best tell Joe about Pete?” Tad pondered this a moment, then: “Might as well. Can’t do no harm, Hank.”
“Pete’s aimin’ tuh swim the river from yon side uh the Narrers and come into the Pocket, Joe.”
“——!” Kipp’s eyes filled with pain.
“He’ll never make it, Hank. Even if he crosses, there’s a man watching the trail from the river. He’ll be killed, shore.”
“Then I reckon I’ll be goin’ along with yuh, Kipp,” said Tad. “Shorty went with Pete. If Shorty gits killed, all —— can’t stop me till I downs every last man that’s mixed up in this. ”

“ Tad had swung aboard his horse and sat slouched in the saddle, watching Fox.
“Get the cattle and I’ll be satisfied,” replied Fox. “Yonder’s the trail. Basset’s home ranch lays at the foot of that hazy peak. You should make it by daylight tomorrow. Follow this trail till you come to the lone cottonwood, where the trail forks. Take the right hand trail.”
Shorty swung open the pole gate and Tad hazed the horses into the open. ”

“ Look here, if yo’re figgerin’ that Joe Kipp is mixed up with Fox and ain’t square, yo’re plumb wrong. Joe’s honest, bank on that. I’d bet my last steer on it.”
“Mebbe so yuh done bet ’em already, and lost ’em,” laughed Tad.
Hank smiled bitterly.
“I reckon not, Ladd. Does ol’ Joe look like a crook er a cow thief tuh you?”
“No, Hank. If ever a man had honest eyes, it’s Kipp. A right nice ol’ feller from what me’n Shorty seen uh him. How long has this Fox pole cat bin clutterin’ up the range around here?” ”

“ Shorty felt sure that Black Jack would put up a fight, even if Tad’s gun covered him. He had seen men of Black Jack’s breed before.
Death, to the breed, would be preferable to capture. Slim could still use a gun and the guard would fight. The light would be shot out and Tad would not shoot into the darkened room lest he hit a friend. It was a situation that would require generalship.
“——, Black Jack,” put in the guard. “Hangin’s a lot uh bother. Let’s knock ’em on the head and throw ’em in the river. If their carcasses wash ashore, there’s no bullet holes in ’em and nobody tuh blame. ”

“ Tad handed over a thin sack with a pinch of tobacco in the bottom.
“Gimme butts on ’er, runt. It’s the tailin’s uh the last sack uh what was once a full caddy uh smokin. Fer which yo’re still owin’ me for yore half uh the price. Say, what ails that sheriff, I wonder? He like tuh busted a ham-string when yuh joshed him about that Fox feller. Shorty, there’s somethin’ danged queer about the whole deal. Raisin’ a li’l’ ol’ ruckus in yonder saloon ain’t no penitentiary offense. The way that ol’ sheriff took on, a man’d thought we’d killed a few folks. Is them bars yonder solid?” ”

“ Come to do the dirty work of that pole cat, Luther Fox! Gun toters, by the looks of yuh. You seen the sign on the cottonwood?”
“Yes’m, but we ain’t——”
“Shetup! Quit interruptin’ a lady. Hank, watch that big gent, he’s got a mean eye. Dim as the light is, I kin see it. You there, little feller, keep them hands where they belongs. There’s eighteen buckshot in both these barrels and I’m takin’ a rest across this boulder. Come to git them cattle that’s due Fox?”
“Yes’m. But we ain’t cravin’ no trouble ma’am, leastways, not with women-folks. Joe Kipp, the sheriff, ’lowed that we should come.” ”

“ Kipp’s eyes were fixed on a battered alarm clock. The half hour was up. Tad would be starting. Even if he had a gun to fire a signal would only be putting Black Jack on guard. Tad would come cautiously. Fate would decide.
A calculating gleam flashed in the breed’s eyes. Documentary evidence to a criminal is a dangerous weapon. Dead men may tell no tales, but a written statement is as a voice from beyond the grave.
“Looks like yuh hold all the winnin’ cards this deal,” he said flatly. “Yuh shore out-figgered Fox when yuh planted them papers in yore safe tuh cover yore trail. ”

“ Shorty, his swollen eye a sickly green, tanned face perspiring and red from suppressed emotion and embarrassment, gazing beseechingly at his partner. Tad, his homely, rough-hewn features wreathed in an infectious grin, holding aloft the huge granite-ware coffee pot.
“Shucks, Hank,” muttered Ma Basset in an undertone of relief, “them two boys ain’t no badmen. Why that pore little feller is nigh scared tuh death. Don’t suppose he ever hurt a livin’ thing in his hull life. ”

“ I hope yuh come out winners, Kipp.”
“Yet yuh won’t trust me tuh go alone?”
“Not when Shorty’s needin’ me, no.” Again an uncomfortable silence fell over them, unbroken till they reached the edge of the bad-lands.
“There’ll be a man on guard farther along this trail,” said Kipp. “If I ride up alone, he’ll let me pass. If you come along, there’ll be shootin’ and we’ll lose a horse apiece and go back afoot. Will yuh trust me to go that far by myself? I’ll signal yuh from that bald knoll when I’ve cleared the trail.”
Tad pondered this for a long moment as he searched Kipp’s eyes. ”

“ Ma Basset shoved a second pan of biscuits in the oven and closed the door thoughtfully. Then she straightened.
“Help us, Hank? I’m afeered not. The cattle’s gone, that’s all. They’re good boys, like as not, but they can’t make a herd uh cattle outa a handful uh sore-footed cows and wind-bellied calves. No, we’re beat and beat bad. But we ain’t hollerin’, neither of us. If only our Pete boy was back home, I’d feel as chipper as a meadow lark. But the thought uh him cooped up in a prison cell, kinda takes the warm feelin’ outa the sunshine, somehow.” ”

“ The big walloper pesters me continual when there’s women folks around.”
Shorty was the color of an Indian blanket by now. Tad, grinning widely, winked at Hank.
“Tush, son,” smiled Ma Basset. “Now don’t you pay no attention to him. He’d orter be ashamed uh hisself, tormentin’ a boy half his size. You boys hurry on now and tend to yore ponies. The key to the gate hangs on a nail on the gate post. Unsaddle and turn yore hosses into the pasture. There’s blue-joint grass and water a-plenty there. I’ll put the biscuits and eggs in the warmin’ oven. ”