The Ox stared at him, an ugly expression in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, but you just called me a liar.”
“That’s right. I did call you a liar.” He put up a hand. “Now don’t be a damned fool and go for your gun. I’m a whole lot faster than you and a much better shot, and you’d be dead before you cleared leather.
“You boys bought yourselves a packet, d’you know that? If you’re going to try to get away with something, why don’t you pick on some greenhorns?”
The Ox was wary. He did not believe Orrin Sackett was faster than he, but neither did he want to be mistaken. It was a simple case. If he was wrong, he was dead.
“My brothers, William Tell and Tyrel, are two of the fastest men alive when it comes to handling six-shooters. I’m only a shade less good.
“Just a moment ago, I had a notion to let you go ahead and draw so I could kill you.”
The Ox stared at him. “Then why didn’t you if you’re so fast?”
Orrin smiled. “Because I’d miss the pleasure of whipping you with my fists,” he said. Orrin rested both hands on the pommel of his saddle. “You see, Ox, you’ve always been big, you’ve always been strong, you’ve always been able to either frighten or outmuscle anybody whose trail you crossed. So the truth is, you’ve never really had to learn to fight. You’ve never had to get up after being knocked down. You’ve never had to wipe the blood out of your eyes so you could see enough to keep fighting.”
“You’re not really a fighter, Ox, you’re just a big, abnormally strong man who has had it all his own way for too long.”
The Ox smiled. “Maybe I don’t have to know how to fight,” be said. “I just take hold and squeeze, and they scream. You can hear the bones break, Sackett. I will hear yours break.”
Orrin looked around again. “Now where were you when the stampede started?”
The Ox pointed across the plain. “Over there. Tyrel Sackett was riding drag. That’s why I am sure he is dead.”
“What d’you mean?”
“They hit us on the flank, more than halfway back, and there was no way Tyrel could get out of there.”
“Then I’ve misunderstood. I didn’t know it was that way.” Orrin paused. “What kind of a horse was Tye riding?”
“It was that line-back dun he favored. I remember that because he let Brandy — ”
“Who?”
“The kid — Isom Brand was his name. We called him Brandy. He wasn’t much. Some farm kid they taken up with. Anyway, I remember Tyrel rode the dun because he let Brandy have that little black.”
Orrin was thinking. If Tyrel was on the dun, there was a chance. That line-back dun was a cutting horse and as quick on his feet as a cat.
If any horse alive could get out of the way of that stampede, it would be the dun.
For an hour he rode back and forth across the grassy plain where the herd had been when the buffalo came. He found the remnants of a body churned into earth, but there was no way of telling who it had been.
By nightfall, working farther and farther to the west and south, they had rounded up nearly five hundred head, among them the old brindle steer who had been the leader of the herd.
“One more day,” he said by the fire that night. “Just one more day, and then we leave. We’ve no more time.”
“I wonder,” the Ox said, “what become of the Indians? The ones who were, as Tell put it, ridin’ in our shadow?”
Orrin reached for the coffee pot and filled his cup, then several others. He put the pot down and looked across the fire at the Ox. “Something new has been added,” he said pleasantly. “What Indians?”
The Ox explained. “Tell, he left meat for them a time or two. I never saw them myself. I don’t reckon he did, either.”
“That dead man?” Shorty asked. “Could he have been an Indian?”
“No, he was a white man. He was wearing boots. We found the heels.”
It had to be one of them. Which one?
Chapter XIV
Orrin Sackett was a careful man. He knew what he had to do, and he wanted to be about it, although, even more, he wanted to hunt for his brothers. Yet whatever else he was, he was a Sackett, and the Sacketts finished the jobs they started. Also, Tyrel and Tell, if alive, would know what he was doing and where he would be.
It was that certainty of each other that had helped them through many difficulties. They had set out to deliver cattle, and he would persist in the delivery. If Tyrel and Tell could, they would follow on and join up, and they might even be on ahead somewhere, waiting.
The situation was puzzling. The Ox was here, and they had seen what were the remains of at least one other man. According to the Ox, there had been seven, including the Chinese cook, so where were the other five?
One man could disappear easily, two almost as easily, but five, widely scattered men?
He turned his horse and rode back to the carts. The Ox rode alongside, saying nothing.
The country around was pretty wide open, and scanning it as they rode, he could see herds of antelope, most of them a mile or more away, and a good many buffalo, moving as they usually did in small herds that made up the larger group, feeding as they moved.
He could see nothing else. The antelope and buffalo moved as if no man was near them, and he was sure there was no one out there.
The mountains, if such they could be called, had to be the answer. Before they left the country, he was going to make one sweep through those hills. He knew he could see little in that time, but there was a chance, particularly if he brought an extra man or two.
Baptiste was with the carts when they rode up, his rifle at hand. Nearby, the cattle were gathered, grazing peacefully, seemingly glad to be back together again. Across the herd he could see Charlie Fleming coming in with a small bunch of cattle. Highpockets and Shorty were at the carts, both hunkered down by the fire with cups of coffee in their hands.
Haney looked up as Orrin swung down. “We’ve about cleaned her up,” he said, “unless you’re of a mind to take the carts south, set up a new camp, and round up what went on south.
“I saw cow tracks down thataway, so we know some went on south with the buffalo.” He paused. “Odd thing. Shorty an’ me, we come down into a low place over yonder, and we came up on about three hundred head, all bunched and pretty, all wearin’ the Sackett road brand.”
Orrin was filling his cup. He sipped his coffee. “See any tracks?”
“Uh-hub. Two riders, one of them carryin’ mighty light. Fresh tracks, Mr. Sackett, like those cattle had been bunched within the last few hours.”
“Nobody around?”
“Nobody. It doesn’t make sense. A body would think they had been bunched a-purpose and just left for us.”
“No use looking gift horses in the teeth. You brought them in?”
“You’re durned right! The way I figure it, we’ve got a shade over nine hundred head.”
“Good enough. We’ll move out for the northwest tomorrow. We’ve lost a couple of hundred head, but we will just have to take the loss and run.”
“You aimin’ to look for Tell an’ them?”
“Something’s wrong, Haney. Five, six men missing with no sign, but somebody bunched those cows for us.”
“Yes,” he added, “you and me are going to take a ride into the Turtles. We couldn’t cover the place in a month or more, but we can scout for tracks. If we see anything, we’ll check it out. Otherwise, we’ll get on with the job.”
Fleming left the herd, bunching them a bit more as he circled back to the fire. He stepped down from the saddle.
“See any tracks?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, and cows are scarce, mighty scarce.”
“We pull out tomorrow,” Shorty said.
Fleming went to the fire, squatted on his heels, and held his cup, staring into the fire for a long minute. Then he filled his cup, avoiding the eyes of the Ox, who was staring at him.
“Good bunch of cattle,” Fleming commented. “Makes a man want to get into the cow business.”
Orrin threw the dregs on the ground. “Fleming, you come with Haney and me. Shorty, you stay close to the wagons with Baptiste unless you see some of the stock straying too far. But keep a rifle handy.”