[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The number staggered her. She knew the Indians had run off some cattle, but
this was more than "some." "Do you think the Indians are responsible?" She was
incredulous. "But what would they do with that many? I thought they only stole
what they needed to eat."
"That's what they've done in the past," Benteen said.
"It's for sure if they're stealin' to sell or trade for goods, somebody's
puttin' 'em up to it." Ely shook his head. "It isn't like 'em to do things on
this kind of scale. A dozen head of cattle would keep them supplied with
firewater all winter, and probably a couple of warm blankets, too."
"Maybe it isn't the Indians," Lorna suggested.
"It's Indian sign we've been cuttin'," Ely said.
"Remember when Shorty was delirious from the fever?" Lorna turned to Benteen.
"He mumbled something about a white man."
"I asked him about it later," he admitted. "When he was blacking out, he
thought he saw a white man riding with the Indians, but he was sure he had
just imagined it.
"What if he didn't?" she asked.
"What white man would be riding with Indians?" Ely didn't put much stock in
the idea. "For that matter, what white man would the Indians let ride with
them?"
For a long minute his questions went unanswered. "There might be one," Benteen
offered finally with a thoughtful look.
"Who?" Ely frowned.
"That ex-buffalo hunter up on the Missouri that's been trading with the
Indians. His name's Sallie. Bull Giles knows him." The last was added
absently, his mind already running ahead.
"Bull knows him?" she repeated. Benteen had said it as if it meant something,
but she didn't see any significance in it.
It was possible there wasn't any, but Benteen was recalling the scene in Fat
Frank's place when the renegade's name had first been mentioned. Bull Giles
had been there with Loman Janes. Janes was the Ten Bar foreman. The Ten Bar
needed water and range. In Texas, Judd Boston's tactics had been to overstock
and drift off a few head of his father's cattle. The aim had been to put his
father in a financial bind, which had ultimately worked. Was he making a
similar but more subtle play here in Montana for part of the Triple C range?
Benteen tried to dismiss the thought with a vague shake of his head. It
wouldn't work-not with the Canadian beef contract he had. This five thousand
head was a substantial loss, but he could financially weather twice that
number. It would merely set back his timetable of expansion. Besides, Bull
Giles was working for his mother.
"Is that coffee any good?" His arm curved naturally around Lorna's waist. "I
could use a cup."
"It's Rusty's coffee, if that answers your question." She wasn't concerned
that he hadn't told her what he was thinking or explained the reference to
Bull Giles. The situation had changed. She was confident that, in time, he
would tell her. It was Ely's presence that had kept him silent, not hers.
Page 174
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
As they walked to the fire, Woolie was playing a melancholy version of
"Shenandoah" to show Webb how the harmonica was supposed to sound when it was
played right. When the last note wavered into the night, Webb eagerly wanted
his turn. Lorna couldn't help smiling at the way he tried so hard to copy
Woolie, right down to wiggling his hand, but he was either sharp or flat and
never on key.
"Why don't you give it up?" Zeke protested. "You said you was gonna make a
first-rate roper out of him, Woolie. He sure can't hurt a man's ears with a
rope."
"Wanta bet?" Woolie laughed. "Go get the rope I made ya, kid, and rope that
critter over there."
The plaited rope was shorter and narrower than what the cowboys used. It was
little-boy-sized, especially for Webb. The cowboys had been instructing him in
the rudiments of the art of roping for over a year. He had the idea, although
most of the time his coordination was not all that good.
Encouraged by the rest of the cowboys, Webb got his rope and set out in
pursuit of an unusually slow-running Zeke. The quiet scene was destroyed by
shouts and laughter and misthrown loops. Arthur tried to join in the fun, but
he kept tripping over cowboys' legs.
So much attention was focused on the little boy chasing the bowlegged cowboy
that the restless stirrings from the remuda went unnoticed. With coffeecups in
hand, Lorna and Benteen were standing to one side of the fire, laughing with
everyone else at the antics of their sons.
The vaquero Ramon shouted a warning, breaking across the laughter to bring the
camp alert. Benteen heard the pounding of hooves and the snorting whicker of
panicked horses an instant before the remuda plunged out of the gloaming and
charged into camp. He felt Lorna's instinctive movement toward the children
and grabbed her, throwing her out of the path of the stampeding horses.
Whipping off his hat he waved it wildly at the herd and whistled shrilly
between his teeth to divert them. The ones in front shied from him, but they
were crowded by the others. It was a churning mass of horseflesh and dodging
cowboys.
"Indians!" someone shouted. "They're running off the cattle!"
Shots were being exchanged opposite Benteen's position. It was the side
closest to the herd, which meant the men were firing at the raiders and being
fired on. The first rush of the horses had passed, leaving gaps that would
allow him to cross to the fight.
Stampeding the remuda had been a diversionary tactic to create chaos in the
camp while the cattle were run off. Benteen sent one glance at Lorna, huddled
tightly against a wagon wheel. Her gaze was frantically searching the
confusion for Webb and Arthur. He was saying a silent prayer for them himself,
but he knew his men. They would have put the boys' safety over their own
lives.
"They got the boys out of the way. Don't worry about them!" he shouted to
Lorna. "Just stay where you are."
Waving his hat at an oncoming horse, Benteen dodged forward when it shied. He
managed to run through the tangle of bedrolls and saddles, trying to keep one
eye on the loose horses and the other on the fight in progress.
"Grab some of those horses!" he shouted to Vince Garvey. They couldn't let all
the horses scatter, or they wouldn't be able to mount a pursuit.
The camp was crossed. Benteen reached the four cowboys, returning the gunfire
of a fleeing band of Indians. He was conscious of the weight of the pistol in
his hand without being aware he'd drawn it. The hat was back on his head. The
air was tainted with the smell of gunsmoke. He had time to snap off two shots
before the raiders were out of range.
Automatically he reached for more bullets to reload. "Start throwin' saddles
on those horses!" He threw the order at the camp, but a half-dozen cowboys
were already doing that very thing. Benteen glanced to see who was with him as
he pushed new bullets into the empty chambers. Barnie was nearest him. Both
turned simultaneously, heading for the horses at a running trot. "What about
Page 175
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the boys? Do you know if they're okay?" Benteen asked as he shoved his pistol
back in its holster.
"Saw Zeke scoop up Webb. I think Rusty grabbed the little tyke," Barnie
answered. "One of them raiders with the Injuns had a beard and a buffalo
coat."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]