Part 29 (2/2)
Whispering Smith, with the cowboys, took the rough country to the left, and Kennedy and his party took the south p.r.o.ng of the Cache Creek. The instructions were to make a clean sweep as the line advanced. Behind the centre rode three men to take stock driven in from the wings. Word that was brief but reasonable had been sent everywhere ahead. Every man, it was promised, that could prove property should have a chance to do so at the Door that day and the next; but any brands that showed stolen cattle, or that had been skinned or tampered with in any way, were to be turned over to the Stock a.s.sociation for the benefit of owners.
The very first pocket raided started a row and uncovered eighty head of five-year-old steers bearing a mutilated Duck Bar brand. It was like poking at rattlesnakes to undertake to clean out the gra.s.sy retreats of the Cache, but the work was pushed on in spite of protests, threats, and resistance. Every man that rode out openly to make a protest was referred calmly to Rebstock, and before very long Rebstock's cabin had more men around it than had been seen together in the Cache for years. The impression that the whole jig was up, and that the refugees had been sold out by their own boss, was one that no railroad man undertook to discourage. The cowboys insisted on the cattle, with the a.s.surance that Rebstock could explain everything. By noon the Cache was in an uproar. The cowboys were riding carefully, and their guards, rifles in hand, were watching the corners. Ahead of the slowly moving line with the growing bunch of cattle behind it, flourished as it were rather conspicuously, fugitive riders dashed back and forth with curses and yells across the narrow valley. If it had been Whispering Smith's intention to raise a large-sized row it was apparent that he had been successful. Rebstock, driven to desperation, held council after council to determine what to do.
Sorties were discussed, ambushes considered, and a pitched battle was planned. But, while ideas were plentiful, no one aspired to lead an attack on Whispering Smith.
Moreover, Williams Cache, it was conceded, would in the end be worsted if the company and the cowmen together seriously undertook with men and unlimited money to clean it out. Whispering Smith's party had no explanation to offer for the round-up, but when Rebstock made it known that the fight was over sending out Du Sang, the rage of the rustlers turned on Du Sang. Again, however, no man wanted to take up personally with Du Sang the question of the reasonableness of Whispering Smith's demand. Instead of doing so, they fell on Rebstock and demanded that if he were boss he make good and send Du Sang out.
Of all this commotion the railroad men saw only the outward indications. As the excitement grew on both sides there was perhaps a little more of display in the way the cattle were run in, especially when some long-lost bunch was brought to light and welcomed with yells from the centre. A steer was killed at noon, everybody fed, and the line moved forward. The wind, which had slept in the suns.h.i.+ne of the morning, rose in the afternoon, and the dust whirled in little clouds where men or animals moved. From the centre two men had gone back with the cattle gathered up to that time, and Bill Dancing, with Smith, Stormy Gorman, and two of the cowboys, were heading a draw to cross to the north side of the Cache, when three men rode out into the road five hundred yards ahead, and halted.
Whispering Smith spoke: ”There come our men; stop here. This ground in front of us looks good to me; they may have chosen something over there that suits them better. Feel your guns and we'll start forward slowly; don't take your eyes off the bunch, whatever you do. Bill, you go back and help the men with the cattle; there will be four of us against three then.”
”Not for mine!” said Bill Dancing bluntly. ”You may need help from an old fool yet. I'll see you through this and look after the cattle afterward.”
”Then, Stormy, one or two of you go back,” urged Whispering Smith, speaking to the cowboy foreman without turning his eyes. ”There's no need of five of us in this.”
But Stormy swore violently. ”You go back yourself,” exclaimed Stormy, when he could control his feelings. ”We'll bring them fellows in for you in ten minutes with their hands in the air.”
”I know you would; I know it. But I'm paid for this sort of thing and you are not, and I advise no man to take unnecessary chances. If you all want to stay, why, stay; but don't ride ahead of the line, and let me do all the talking. See that your guns are loose--you'll never have but one chance to pull, and don't pull till you're ready. The albino is riding in the middle now, isn't he? And a little back, playing for a quick drop. Watch him. Who is that on the right? Can it be George Seagrue? Well, this is a bunch. And I guess Karg is with them.”
Holding their horses to a slow walk, the two parties gingerly approached each other. When the Cache riders halted the railroad riders halted; and when the three rode the five rode: but the three rode with absolute alignment and acted as one, while Whispering Smith had trouble in holding his men back until the two lines were fifty feet apart.
By this time the youngest of the cowboys had steadied and was thinking hard. Whispering Smith halted. In perfect order and sitting their horses as if they were riding parade, the horses ambling at a snail's pace, the Cache riders advanced in the suns.h.i.+ne like one man. When Du Sang and his companions reined up, less than twelve feet separated the two lines.
In his tan s.h.i.+rt, Du Sang, with his yellow hair, his white eyelashes, and his narrow face, was the least impressive of the three men.
The Norwegian, Seagrue, rode on the right, his florid blood showing under the tan on his neck and arms. He spoke to the cowboys from the ranch, and on the left the young fellow Karg, with the broken nose, black-eyed and alert, looked the men over in front of him and nodded to Dancing. Du Sang and his companions wore short-armed s.h.i.+rts; rifles were slung at their pommels, and revolvers stuck in their hip-scabbards. Whispering Smith, in his dusty suit of khaki, was the only man in either line who showed no revolver, but a hammerless or muley Savage rifle hung beside his pommel.
Du Sang, blinking, spoke first: ”Which of you fellows is heading this round-up?”
”I am heading the round-up,” said Whispering Smith. ”Why? Have we got some of your cattle?”
The two men spoke as quietly as school-teachers. Whispering Smith's expression in no way changed, except that as he spoke he lifted his eyebrows a little more than usual.
Du Sang looked at him closely as he went on: ”What kind of a way is this to treat anybody? To ride into a valley like this and drive a man's cows away from his door without notice or papers? Is your name Smith?”
”My name is Smith; yours is Du Sang. Yes, I'll tell you, Du Sang. I carry an inspector's card from the Mountain Stock a.s.sociation--do you want to see it? When we get these cattle to the Door, any man in the Cache may come forward and prove his property. I shall leave instructions to that effect when we go, for I want you to go to Medicine Bend with me, Du Sang, as soon as convenient, and the men that are with me will finish the round-up.”
”What do you want me for? There's no papers out against me, is there?”
”No, but I'm an officer, Du Sang. I'll see to the papers; I want you for murder.”
”So they tell me. Well, you're after the wrong man. But I'll go with you; I don't care about that.”
”Neither do I, Du Sang; and as you have some friends along, I won't break up the party. They may come, too.”
”What for?”
”For stopping a train at Tower W Sat.u.r.day night.”
The three men looked at one another and laughed.
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