Trouble Shooter (1974) (8 page)

"All right. We know that. But there's something mighty fishy about all this. I think these cattle weren't branded because, like I said, somebody wasn't too sure of his title to them or if he might not run into a counterclaim. I think he waited to be sure, but now the wait has been long enough, these steers are mostly from four to six years old, the unbranded ones, I mean, and he needs money.

"For all we know, these steers do belong to somebody else. In fact, there's a girl in town now with a cowhand who is trying to locate the old PM brand. It disappeared--the buildings, the cattle, and the owner. So I think we'd better wait and see what

happens. We'll put the branded steers in the outer corral where they can be seen, but not many of them."

The work was hot and hard. There was no letup until noon, and by then they had done very little. Their entire morning netted them but six more head, for the cattle had already begun to dodge into the deeper brush.

Taking the afternoon off from the work in the chaparral, Hopalong and Pike went to work to throw up a hurried corral where it could be seen near their camp. They expected no visitors for a few days, and by that time they would drive a few of the tamer, younger cattle or some of the older branded ones to this corral. To aid in the task of driving, they built a chute of poles from the opening in the chaparral to their outer corral. This would prevent any but the wildest steers from breaking away. By the end of the day they had the corral almost completed and part of the line from the chaparral to the corral. They utilized the brush and trees along the way wherever possible. The job was essentially patchwork, but it had no lasting purpose and would serve all immediate needs.

By nightfall, when they gathered up their tools and headed back for the wagon, they were dog-tired. Pike grinned at Hop-along. "Never figured you did this kind of work. I thought you were mainly a rider."

"I have been," Hopalong admitted, "but on the range a man has to turn his hand to a bit of everything."

Sarah's face was flushed from bending over the fire, and she looked up, her eyes lighting with pleasure to see them coming in together. She looked quickly at Pike, and Hopalong

caught the expression in her eyes. Sarah Towne might have been worried over her husband returning to his old stomping grounds, but now she was no longer.

"We've had visitors," she said, "and they'll be back. They said they would spend the night with us."

Both men looked up sharply, waiting for her explanation. "It was that pretty girl we saw in Kachina, Pike. Her name is Cindy Blair. She was with a man named Taylor, who works for her."

Hopalong Cassidy relaxed. That was better. He had been afraid it might have been Tredway or Saxx. Either of them would have been suspicious and might have nosed around too much. Hopalong's one hope was to gather most of the cattle back in the brush so they would have well over the required five hundred head before Tredway even dreamed of it. That way they could exact payment from him promptly. Thus far, most of their work had been on corrals and patching up. They had managed to complete more of that than they had expected, but they had done little toward gathering cattle.

They had scarcely begun to eat before they heard the sound of horses and Cindy rode in with Rig. She walked at once to the fire while the cowhand removed the saddles and picketed the horses. She glanced quickly at Hopalong and smiled. "It's good to see you," she said quickly. "If I was short the other night, please forgive me. I was not thinking. My immediate reaction was not to like you because you were working for Tredway."

"Think nothing of it." He made room for her on the log beside him. "What's happening in town?"

"Not much. They are still making inquiries about that old man's death, but they've about given it up as an accident. There's a lot of talk around town, however. Some of it about you."

"Me?" Hopalong looked at her carefully. "What sort of talk?"

"Mostly wondering what was between you two. Several people saw you with him."

'Talking over old times," Hopalong said quietly, and changed the subject. They talked easily after the first few minutes and Hoppy relaxed against the log where he had been sitting and told several stories of the old Texas days while Rig and Cindy listened. She was more than an uncommonly attractive girl, he discovered. She was gifted with a good deal of common sense and more than a little knowledge of the ranching business. After a while, though, he found her looking at him strangely, as if trying to remember something.

"Peavey," he said suddenly, "knew Pete Melford."

"What?" Cindy looked up. "The old man who died." ~ "I talked to him. I didn't learn much. He knew that Pete was a rancher. What else he knew I have no idea. Tredway came in then and we were interrupted. Old Peavey looked like he saw a ghost, and when I looked up, it was Tredway he was looking at. Tredway called him out with some yarn that somebody wanted to kill Peavey. That was the last time I saw him alive."

"You think Tredway killed him?"

"He may have and may not, but one thing I'll gamble on. He knew him before and liked him none too well."

"Then Tredway saw him talkin' to you?" It was Pike Towne speaking. "I wouldn't call that a favorable sign, my friend."

Hopalong Cassidy shrugged. "No, I wouldn't either. If Tredway had some reason for keeping Melford's past existence a secret, he wouldn't want me around. Nor," he added, more quietly, "my friends here." He nodded to Cindy and Rig.

"You want to remember, Taylor, that hombre I sighted in the brush was shooting at you. He'd waited for a chance, and somebody had told him you were going to be there."

Miles away, in the big ranch house on the Box T, Bill Saxx faced his boss across the table. His eyes were cold and curious. For three years now he had been foreman for Justin Tredway, and before that he had ramrodded a tough bunch of freighters for him, and he had learned more than a little of the man. Tredway possessed a cold, intelligent brain. He was without scruple. He was utterly ruthless when he started after anything or when anything crossed him. He was himself dangerous, Saxx knew. He also knew, or believed, that Tredway would not hesitate to shoot a man in the back if he felt it was the best way. Bill Saxx knew a good deal about Tredway. He never turned his back on him. He told himself now that he never would.

"The boys are kickin', Colonel. They want their money. You owe 'em four months' wages now."

"They'll get it. Tell them not to worry about that!" Tred-way's manner was brusque. "Cameron and this man he has helping him are on the job. They'll get those cattle out, or some of them. I've got a market for them right now at twenty dollars a head. That will more than pay them all I owe."

"They don't have much confidence in that," Saxx objected. "You know what happened when we tried gettin' those cows out. We didn't have much luck."

"Cameron's worked in the brush, and I think he's a cowman. He'll get them out."

Saxx shifted in his chair. "Sure. Maybe they will. The boys sort of had another idea. Not that it would pay their wages, you'd still owe 'em that, but they want money and they want it bad."

"What idea?"

Saxx hesitated, knowing how dangerous it was to suggest anything to this man. Tredway had his own ideas and he was cunning. Usually he was far ahead of you on any idea that was suggested. He seemed to think of everything.

"The payroll for the Taggart Mine," Bill Saxx suggested cautiously.

Tredway stiffened and his face flushed. An angry reply came to his lips, yet even as it formed he stopped it. The Taggart payroll was more than thirty thousand dollars, and he knew as well as anybody did when that payroll was due.

Thirty thousand! Split six ways it was still five thousand apiece, and if he went in as leader, he could demand and get a bigger cut. He sat without replying to Saxx's suggestion, thinking it over, the possible method, the getaway, the chances of being seen.

"It could be done," he replied cautiously, "but only if it was handled properly."

Bill Saxx relaxed slowly, but within him a suspicion arose, a suspicion that had long lain dormant within him, brought to

fresh life by the comparative ease with which Tredway accepted the idea of crime. "Yeah," he said, "the boys figure that payroll must run to twenty thousand dollars."

Tredway hesitated, then realized the first necessity was to impress them with his superior knowledge and planning ability in this field as well as ranching. "Thirty thousand," he said quietly. "I know."

He did not add that old habit had stayed with him and he almost automatically gauged such things, tested and examined them. He did not tell them all he knew, for that could wait. "Unless you planned carefully," he suggested, "you could never swing it. Don't think they haven't considered the possibility of a holdup and what to do in case. They do think of it, and they have plans."

"Such as?" Saxx was watching him alertly. Had the boss been ahead of them on this, too? Had he led them into the suggestion? Or had his thoughts been running with theirs?

"Dead Horse Pass," Tredway replied, smiling a little. "Every time the stage goes through that pass, old Tom Burnside is perched in the rocks up above with a Winchester. Winter or summer, he never fails."

Bill Saxx felt his mouth go dry. That was their plan, to hit that payroll when it came through the pass on the stage. It looked like a sitting duck, whereas had they attempted it, they would themselves be sitting ducks for one of the most deadly old manhunters in the West!

There was only one bit of cover in that pass, and it was no shelter from a rifleman on the cliff above. He could have picked

them off one by one, and he could have killed them all! But who would ever have dreamed that Burnside would be up there in the rocks?

"How does that come?" Saxx demanded. "I don't get it." "Tom Burnside is Patterson's father-in-law," Tredway replied. 'When he resigned as deputy down in Cochise County, Patterson invited him to come live with him. Tom wouldn't do it, so Pat offered him this job as a guard on the pass. It was a sort of pension, but he tells me the old man just lives in hopes that some outlaws will try a stickup there so he can justify his job. The old boy has ranged every foot of it, knows just how to hold his sights to kill at any spot, and has tried them all."

Bill Saxx relaxed slowly, worrying. That had been partly his idea. If the boys learned about Burnside, they wouldn't think much of his planning. He looked at Tredway with new respect. "All right," he said, "if not the pass, then where?"

"Just beyond that patch of woods on the Picket Fork. The trail crosses the stream, goes into the woods, then out of them. Just beyond the stream on the right side of the road is part of an old wash, mostly filled with blow sand now, but go back from the trail about sixty yards and there's a deep spot under a bank where a man could conceal his horses. The men could lie in the grass of that filled-in place, all but one."

"What about him?"

"He would come right down the road toward them in plain sight. When he got fairly close, he would hold up a letter to be posted. The stage would pull up to take the letter, and then the boys would close in around it. There wouldn't be a chance in the world of a slipup, and not a shot fired."

Saxx shook his head admiringly. No question about it, the old man was good. The driver might be suspicious going into the pass, and he might be a little suspicious in that patch of woods, but out there on the level? Never! And men were always hailing down the stage to give the driver an order for supplies to be filled by the return stage, or letters to be mailed. It was a cinch.

"Sounds good all right." Saxx leaned over and picked up the can of tobacco and rolled a smoke from it. As he rolled it he turned the whole matter over in his mind. It was quicker money than punching cows, and even if this Cameron did manage to work the cattle out of the pear forest, it would still only be chicken feed. "How about the split?" he asked.

Tredway laid his hands on the table. "Split? One third to me, the rest to the boys."

"One third?" Saxx exclaimed. "That's crazy, boss! An' you do nothin' at all? The boys won't go for it!"

"Then forget it or try it yourself," Tredway replied shortly. 'I haven't told you all I know, and by yourselves you'll all wind up dead or in prison. I want one third or no dice."

Bill Saxx leaned back in his chair, scowling. "I'll have to talk it over with 'em. They wanted you in, an' figured you could help. They figured on an even split all around."

"On a basis of twenty thousand dollars? That's unchanged. All I want is ten thousand above the twenty you knew of. If it happens to be less than ten, I'll settle for whatever it is. If it happens to be more, we divide equally."

It was fair enough, Saxx decided reluctantly. Tredway's knowledge had already saved them from being shot down by

Tom Burnside, and there was no telling what else he knew. Tredway had the confidence of all the bigwigs around, and often had dinner with Patterson, who was superintendent at the mine. "I'll put it up to them. I think they'll do it."

At the door he paused. "What about that Cameron, boss? He looks plumb salty. Think he's on the dodge?"

"I wish I knew," Tredway replied honestly. "He has me puzzled."

"What about them out there?"