Those men were gathering stolen cattle, and I waited, trying to think of a way to recover them. The distance between us was so very, very small. The law is a thin line, a line that divides those who would live by rules with men from those who would live against them. And it is easy to overstep and be upon the other side. Yet I’d known many a man in the west who had made that step, only to see the folly of his ways and step back. In a land of hard men living rough lives, they found it easy to understand such missteps and to forgive. There were the others, like Henry Rossiter, who wanted the rewards without the labor, who, to get them, would take from others what they had worked hard to gain. It was the mindless selfishness of those who had not come to understand that all civilization was simply a living together, so that all could live better.
Why I did such a damn fool thing, I’ll never know. But suddenly I rode out from my shadow and into the sunlight of the plain. There’d come a time when I’d lie awake and sweat with the realization of what I’d done, but it came to me to do it, and I did. I rode right out there, and one of the riders close to me turned to stare.
The others … and there were three others now … kind of drew up and looked.
But they were scattered out from one another, and too far off to make out faces. When I rode up to him, I saw a stocky man with a barrel chest and a square, tough face.
“Point ‘em north,” I said. “We’re takin’ ‘em back.”
“What? Who the hell are you?”
“Milo Talon’s the name, but that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we point these cattle north and start them for the Concho, where they were stolen.”
He stared at me. What I was doing made no sense to me, so how could it make sense to him? He was puzzled and worried. He glanced toward the others, then toward the shadows of the bluffs I’d come from, like he was expecting more riders.
“No, I am alone. The posse is still a few miles off and they won’t get here for a while, so you boys get a break. That posse is in a hangin’ mood, and I’m giving you boys your chance. You know who Balch is … Well, he’s with that posse.
“To get any money out of these cattle you’ve got to drive them and then sell them, and you can’t drive them fast and you can’t sell them anywhere near fast enough.”
The man looked stupefied.
“Looks to me like you’ve got a plain, simple choice. You help me drive these cattle north and you can ride off scot-free. But give me an argument and all of you hang.”
The other riders were coming around the herd toward us.
“How do we know there’s any posse?” asked the man. I grinned at him. “You got my word for it, chum. If you don’t like my word, you’ve got some shooting to do. If I win, you’re dead. If I lose, you’ve still got a mighty mean posse to deal with … Either way, you lose the cattle. You just can’t drive this big a herd with any speed, and you can’t hide it.” “What the hell’s goin’ on?” The speaker was an older man, his mustache stained with tobacco juice. “Who’s this hombre?”
I grinned at him. “Name’s Milo Talon. I was just suggesting you boys could make your stars shine brighter in the heavens was you to drive this herd north to meet the posse.”
“Posse? What posse?”
“A very hard-skulled gent named Balch, and with him, Major Timberly and some other riders. These are their cattle, and Balch is a man with a one-track mind when it comes to rustlers. He thinks in terms of r’s … Rustlers and ropes.” A redheaded cowhand chuckled. “There’s another r got those beat all hollow …
Run!”
“Try it,” I suggested, “and you just might make it. On the other hand, you might lose … and that’s quite a loss. You win, or you get your necks stretched. Was I you, I’d not like the odds.”
“You got you a point there,” the redhead agreed. “I’ve got another one, which I was pointing out to your friend here. There’s no way you can drive a herd fast enough to get away from a posse … So you’ve lost the herd, anyway. Do it my way and you’ll still lose the cattle, but the posse will shake you by the hand and thank you. Then you ride off, free as a jaybird.” “Milo Talon, huh?” The older man spat. “Well, Milo, I don’t know you from Adam, but you make a kind of sense.”
The redhead shook his head, grinning. “He’s got too much nerve to shoot, ridin’ down here to talk the four of us out of a herd of cows. Mister, you got more gall than one of these here lightnin’-rod salesmen I hear about. You surely have.”
“Look, boys,” I said, “conversation is all right. You boys surely do carry on with the words, but meanwhile that posse gets closer. Now I want this herd pointed north before they see you, else my arguments may come to nothing.” “What’ll we tell Twin?” asked the older man.
“To hell with him!” the redhead said. “He offered us fifty bucks apiece to drive these cattle to San Antone. My neck’s worth more’n fifty bucks to me. Come on, boys! Let’s move ‘em out!”
They swung around, turning the cattle, stringing them out toward the crossing of the Llano. Me, I mopped the sweat off my face with a bandana. As long as I had a Sackett for a mother, I was glad I had a smooth-talking Frenchman for a pa. He always told me that words were better than gunpowder, and now I could see what he meant.
We strung out the herd and pointed them north, and I rode up to take the point.
28
Two hours north of the Llano, we raised a dust cloud on the horizon and, shortly after, the posse topped a rise and started down the slope toward us. The redheaded puncher pulled up short. “I just remembered! I got a dyin’ grandmother somewhere’s east of Beeville! I’m takin’ out!” “You run now, and they’ll start shooting,” I said. “Hold your horses, boys. Let me handle this!”
“Last time somebody said that he was reachin’ for a hangin’ rope,” said the redhead. “All right, mister, you do the talkin’, an’ I pray to God you use the right words!”
Balch and the major were in the lead, and right behind them was Ann. Riding beside her was Roger Balch. I rode out to meet them. “Here’s your cattle, or most of them. These boys offered to help with the drive until we met you.” “Who are they?” Roger Balch demanded suspiciously. “I never saw any of them before!”
“They were just passin’ through,” I said glibly, “headin’ for San Antone. They helped me make the gather and the drive.”
“Thank you, men,” Major Timberly said. “That was mighty nice of you!” “Major, these boys were in quite a hurry, and I talked them into helping. Now if you could spare the price of a drink—“ I suggested. “Surely!” He took out a gold eagle. “Here, boys, have a couple on me. And thanks … Thanks very much!”
“Don’t mind if we do,” the older man said. He spat, glancing at me. “Sure is a pleasure to meet an honest man!”
“See you in San Antone!” I said cheerfully. “I’d rather see you hanging out there than here!”
They trotted their horses away, and we started the herd again.
Ann rode over, followed by Roger. “We were worried,” she said, “really worried.
Especially after we saw the buzzards.”
“Buzzards?” My expression was innocent.
“Father found a dead man. He had been shot. It wasn’t you.”
“I noticed that,” I commented, dryly.
“There’s been some shooting in Menardville, too,” she added. “What d’ you know? Is that up yonder near the Presidio? Nothing ever seems to happen where I’m riding. Looks like I missed out all along the line.” Ann glanced at me sharply, but Roger didn’t notice. “That’s what I told Ann,” he said. “You couldn’t have been involved, because your messenger said you’d talked about the shooting right after it happened.”
Fuentes had ridden alongside. “Talked to an hombre at the saloon. Said he’d never seen anything like it. Like shootin’ a brace of ducks, one right, one left. Picturebook shooting, he called it.”
“What about Twin Baker?” Balch demanded.
“Gone. His sister said he often went to San Antonio, so that’s probably where he is.”