But she was gone.
She had been standing near the wagon, but she must have slipped behind it, and from there she had ducked into a draw where she’d had her pony tied.
“She’d figured on it all along,” Gates said.
“She’s going to meet him,” I said, “and you can bet they’ll come back here.”
“What’ll we do?” Gates was asking himself that question as much as anybody else, but I answered him.
“You’ve got a choice. You can stay here and wait and fight, or you can try running. If you stay, the thing to do is have only one man in the open. Give your wounded men rifles, and let a couple more get into the wagon, too. Then the rest of you get down out of sight, and when they come up, cut them down.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Then you’ve got to run. Look,” I went on, “the Half-Circle X moved their herd this afternoon. You can start off, lose your tracks in theirs. It won’t keep them off you long, but you can buy yourself some time.”
“And you?”
“We’ll cut out our bunch and pull out. You lend us one man to help. You’ll want somebody to pick up your money after we make our sale, anyway. That way Kelsey might follow us, or he might follow you.”
There was nothing very good about the plan, but it was the best I could think of. There had been a lot of cattle moving over the grass, and following one herd wouldn’t be too easy. And not even Caxton Kelsey would be wanting to bust into a strange Texas herd and get himself shot at in hunting for us.
Ordinarily we couldn’t have done it in twice the time, but I’d noticed that a good many of our brands were grazing on the slope of the draw, and all I wanted at this point was a hundred head or so. If I could get that many into town and sell them, I could pay off for the herd. The rest would be so much gravy.
Reluctantly, Gates agreed, and even as he spoke, Jim was already moving. We rounded up about a hundred and fifty head and started them over the grass. We went due north and away from town, and drove the cattle down into a draw that curved around toward the bed of the Smoky Hill River.
We saw scattered cattle and a few cowhands rounding them up and pushing them back into the herd, but nothing else. We bunched the cattle in a hollow of the hills and, leaving Jim and the old man to hold them, I skirted the town and rode to the Drovers’ Cottage.
Most of the cattle buyers were in the saloon. There were a lot of cattle around Abilene that year, and I wasn’t expecting top prices. The stock we had cut out were mostly fat steers, in better shape than those that had been driven over the Chisholm Trail, and in much better shape than stock held on the prairies around Abilene. It had been a stormy year, cold and wet much of the time, and the grass had grown coarse and washed out. To the east it was much richer, and our stock had moved slowly for the greater part of the drive.
The bartender at the Drovers’ directed me to Bob Tarlton, a tall, well-setup man in his late thirties. He was cool, handsome, and business-like. Briefly, I explained about my steers, how they had come up the Shawnee Trail where the grass was excellent and where there was no end of water.
He heard me out, and then said, “You understand there’s no shortage of cattle? The market is glutted. You’d be well advised to drive north or west, and graze your stock until the market is better.”
So I put my cards on the table, and he listened, smoking his cigar and looking out the window as I talked. I told him about the trouble in the Nation, and why I had to pay off right then. When I finished he turned around, gave me a straight, measuring look, and said, “Let’s ride out and have a look.”
When he stepped into the saddle he was packing a six-shooter and carrying a Winchester. He rode well, and there was no nonsense about the man. He rode around the cattle and through them, and he could see I’d told him true, that the stock was in good shape.
“All right,” he said. “I make it a hundred and forty-two head. Is that about right?”
“I haven’t counted them,” I said frankly, “but that’s about what I’d say.”
“I’ll give you sixteen dollars a head, and take delivery at the stockyards in Abilene.”
“It’s a deal.” I thrust out my hand, and he took it.
He lit a cigar. “Your name is Chancy? What are your plans?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve got some working capital now. And I still own five, six hundred head of mixed stuff. I figured to move west, find myself a place of my own, and go to ranching.”
“Have you thought about Wyoming? It’s a good country, and there’s water and grass.”
I rode up to Jim and said, “All right, let’s roll ’em.”
Jim skirted the cattle, bunching them up and starting them moving. I rode point with Tarlton.
“It’s a beautiful country,” he said, “and if you were so inclined we might discuss a partnership. If you’re going to ranch, you’ll need capital.”
There was sense in that, but somehow the idea of partner had not occurred to me. I was used to going it alone, and I told him so.
“Frankly, that’s what I like about you,” he said. “Ranching in this western country needs a man who can make decisions. You say you’ve got better than five hundred head. Well, prices on cattle are down right now, so suppose we figure your cattle at twenty dollars a head? That figures you’ll be coming in with a capital of ten thousand dollars and your work. I’ll match it with ten thousand and agree to contribute five hundred head of good breeding stock within the year. You’ll make the drive west, find the land, build whatever we need.”
There it was, laid out for me. It was the kind of chance a young man rarely got, and I’d done too little to earn it, it seemed to me.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I told him.
“I know enough.” He glanced over at me. “News travels fast in this country. We’d heard about the shooting back in Indian country before you ever got here, and before you mentioned a word of it to me.
“Hickok told me about how you came to him with the hat story. He liked it, and so did I. It showed you had respect for the law, and how you would use your brains to save a fight if you could. Your cattle are in good shape, and I think you’re just the partner I want.”
We rode on into town and turned the cattle in at the stockpens. Then we went to the bank together and I collected my money and paid over the thousand dollars to the old man. “You tell Noah Gates I’ll be coming after the rest of my cattle,” I said. “I am going ranching in the western lands.”
Jim and I squatted on our heels along the stockpens and talked it out. “I’ll need you, Jim,” I said, “and I’d like to have you along. I figure you could take up some land close by, and work for Tarlton and me until you get going with a spread of your own. Fact is, I’ll start you with a few head and you can register your own brand.”
“Have you forgotten Caxton Kelsey?”
“Not even a little bit. That’s a bronc I’ve got to ride when the time comes. Meanwhile,” I said, “I’m not going to let worry over him rule my life. It seems to me that if a man is going to get anywhere in this life, he’d better start for somewhere, and have something definite in mind.”
“Do you know Wyoming?”
“No, but I’ve heard talk of it. One of the teamsters with a freight outfit I drove for soldiered up thataway, and had a lot to say about it. He was in the Wagon-Box Fight up yonder on the Bozeman Trail.”
“You’ll need some hands.”
“I figure half a dozen good men. You keep your eyes open, and I’ll do the same. I want men who savvy cattle, but who are willing to fight if need be.”
“Well,” Jim said dryly, “most of the broke cowhands around Abilene are from Texas and they cut their teeth on six-shooter steel.”
In the Drovers’ Cottage that evening over supper we drew up the papers, such as they were. A handshake would have done for either of us, but if anything happened to Tarlton he wanted it clear and clean for his heirs, back east.