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Show fe yuan BEEF tW? J'' J) VHAR.OLD CHANNIN6 WIR . LEW BURNET ha I returned from Wyoming to southern Texas In 187S, to take a job at trail boss (or TOM ARNOLD, AR-NOLD, owner of the Cross T. Tom tells Lew that he Is moving bis herd to Wyoming, Wyo-ming, and that he wants to stock Lew's ranch there. He offers Lew a share in partnership with STEVE and JOY ARNOLD, AR-NOLD, his son and daughter. Lew refuses, re-fuses, because be does not wish to be associated with CLAY MANNING, Joy's fiance. Lew agrees to take Tom's herd to the Indian agent at Ogaliala. Lew Is aware of some undercurrent of treachery, treach-ery, possibly Involving Steve Arnold, Clay Manning, a new band, ED SPLANN, and four men whom Lew met earlier. CHAPTER V Clay Manning and Ed Splann followed the galloping animal in to the nearest fire, where Splann caught his forelegs In a loop and threw him expertly. This huge bearded fellow was a cow hand all right, Lew admitted. But there was something else. Watching, while the hot Cross T Iron was run on the steer's shoulder, he felt again the strain of Clay Manning's unnatural silence, sitting his horse there close saying nothing. He turned his gaze up the valley and saw Tom Arnold coming from the creek-bottom trees and paused then with his eyes fixed upon the pole fences of the dipping chute, like two wide-open arms reaching out for an eighth of a mile. Then Clay Manning said idly, "What took you to the rims this morning?" "The view," he said, his eyes still speculating on the dipping chutes. "Always did like it from up there." "That all?" Clay's voice was roughly edged. "I'd like to know." "Clay," he said, "you've got nothing noth-ing against me. You don't like my coming back to be trail boss for Tom, sure. But It's only because trailing has been my business these years. You'll still be Tom's foreman and segundo on this trip. If the Cross T ever gets north, Clay, we'll have to work together. That's a fact." He saw his plea have a strange effect in the blue eyes, troubling them with a hounded look. And it seemed to bring Clay out into the open for an instant. Bitterly he said, "Lew, there's more happened here than you know. I can't make any promises." He closed his mouth on that. "All right," Lew accepted. "There's something I do know. From the rims I could see herds going north while we're not even ready. There's a faster way to do this branding if you want to try. Trick I saw worked last year." "How's that?" "Use the dipping chute. Roping's too slow. We could run this whole bunch through by dark tonight." ' Ed Splann had flipped his loop free from the branded steer and had turned toward them. He brought his horse to a stop close beside Clay's in time to hear this last talk. He leaned forward in his saddle. "What kind of schoolboy game is that? What's the matter, Burnet, can't you use a rope?" Lew looked at him steadily, saying say-ing nothing. Somehow in this man he saw a trouble center on the Cross T. There was a surly sureness about him, more than the arrogance of brute strength. He wondered again why Clay would tolerate his sort in the crew. Then, as if made more bold and sure by that silence, Splann goaded, "Leave him try his schoolboy trick! Come on, Clay." Suddenly this early morning's calm decision to keep things running run-ning without trouble was gone. He understood that he was being ribbed into a fight. It was what Splann wanted, a showdown. It might as well come now as later. He swung his horse to get Clay from between them. But in that ame instant, incredibly fast, a gun was in the man's right fist. There was no smokiness in his eyes now. They were only a cold, hard gray, unblinking. "Now you," he began, but Clay's quick warning cut him off. "Careful, Edl Somebody's coming!" com-ing!" It was Tom Arnold pounding toward to-ward them, his horse flung forward In a rush that swept along a dust cloud when he stopped. "What the hell's going on here?" He glared at Eplann's drawn gun. With a hot violence unlike him in a crisis he blazed, "Clay, is this all you've got to do?" He swung his angry stare. "Lew, what's wrong?" "Little argument, Tom. Nothing much." "Weill What about?" "Difference of opinion mostly. Had an idea we could hurry up this branding by usine your dipping chute. You build your fires alongside, along-side, push the animals through and run the iron on them as they pass. I've seen it work." Arnold considered It, the anger going go-ing out of him. "Well, Clay," he asked, "what's the objection?" "Not my method, that's all." "Maybe not. But if Lew's seen it work let's give it a try. Anything to make up time." Clay hesitated. Beside him, Splann moved his horse closer. There was a little silence. Then Clay shook his head. "Tom, I'll tell you. If von want to switch foreman right now instead of on the trail that suits me." Tom Arnold spoke quietly. "There's no call for cussedness, Clay, that I can see. But it's your choice. Lew, take the job." He swung his back to them and rode off. Clay Manning turned in his saddle. sad-dle. Something had happened to him in that moment of giving up his leadership of the Cross T. There was a grimness added to him that had not been there before. Without temper he said, "Lew, I'm going north with this herd for a reason that you understand. But not as your segundo. Either you or I'll end up in full charge." Beside him, suddenly, Splann kicked their two horses forward. "Come on, Clay, come on!" Like any captain leading an army troop, a trail boss needed a lieutenant, lieuten-ant, his segundo. And since Clay had refused Lew hunted up one man in the Cross T that he could count on absolutely. When Rebel John Quarternight's white head appeared among those riders darting in and out of the dust cloud he rode over and waved him to a stop. "John," he said, "I've taken over the herd. We're going to push this branding along." He explained his way and added, grinning with the strong affection that he had for this man, "No argument argu-ment now. I've heard it. I'll take no talk from a pullet like you!" It was John Quarternight who had taught him all he knew about cattle, most of what he knew about men a straight-backed, sturdy old warrior, war-rior, close to seventy now, with de- . . ., A quietness came over him and there was nothing that Lew wanted to sav. ceivingly mild blue eyes and a drooping mustache turned yellow by the sun. His full life went into the past as far as the war for Texas independence, up through the Rebellion Re-bellion and after that the Apache days. He chuckled. "No, got no argument. argu-ment. I'm beginnin' to think maybe we'd see Ogaliala next Christmas! It's plain disgraceful pokin' irons at cows through a fence. But we'll give her a try." He swung his horse. "Build your fires, son. I'll tell the boys." Lew's wave brought Quarternight around to him. He yelled above the rattle of horns slashing at the fence logs and the bellowing din: "Takes two hands for this, John!" The old man stepped down beside be-side him and grabbed a hot iron, shaped like a cross, with another bar on top to make the T. They worked from opposite ends of the penned steers, meeting in the middle. mid-dle. It was a choking job. Cottonwood Cotton-wood made clouds of smoke. The rancid odor of singed hide filled the air. Over them a midday sun poured down a breathless heat But the longhorns were moving, ten by ten In endless parade. In half an hour's time Lew waved Joe Wheat and Ash Brownstone down to relieve himself and Quarternight. Arnold jerked a nod at the work. He looked as if a heavy weight had been lifted from him. There was humor in him again. "Man's never too old," he said, "to learn a new wrinkle! You'll have this job done by dark." A quietness came over him and there was nothing that Lew wanted to say. Then Arnold said strongly, "Well, no complaint! A man loves a woman, raises a family and builds a ranch that about completes the account, I guess." He turned back and laid the book on top of others in a wooden box. "Only one more thing I'd like to see. There's a paper pa-per in this, signed and legaL I'm storing the box in Joy's wagon. Not crowding fate any, but things hap pen. If that comes to me before we reach Ogaliala you look in this book." Time had come to set the guard. Night shadows had slid like a blanket blan-ket off the high rimrock. Out beyond be-yond the firelight four thousand long-horns long-horns made a black pool, watered and contented now, ready to bed down. Lew dropped his tin plate and cup into Owl-Head's wreck pan. He understood un-derstood well enough that trail custom cus-tom allowed a crew to draw for their turns at night riding. First watch from eight until eleven was always the best choice. No man wanted to break his sleep in the middle and so hated the second guaVd from eleven until two. From two until dawn was only a little better, the whole day being ahead then with these early-morning hours tacked on. But for his own reason this trip he had decided to set the watch deliberately. de-liberately. He wanted Clay and Splann and Steve in separate guards. He made a cigarette in brown corn shuck paper and stooped for a burning stick end. With the light up close he looked across at lank Joe Wheat "Joe," he said, "I'm picking you to lead the first watch." All of the faces ringed around the fire lifted toward him. There was a tight silence. Then Ed Splann, his huge shape sprawled off, half hidden, hid-den, growled out, "How about let-tin' let-tin' us cut cards for turns, Mister Boss? Ain't that the usual caper? Cut for choice and choose our own watchmates, that's what." Then Lew said, "Well, Clay, we might as well understand something at the start. You've been a foreman fore-man long enough to know what the job means. Plenty of times come along when you don't stop to explain your orders. I don't intend to. Like the way I'm setting this guard." He brought his eyes around the ring of faces and stopped on Splann' s surly stare. "If anyone here can't take my say-so he'd better quit right now." He held that stare for a moment, saw its cold, hard steeliness and understood un-derstood what he saw. "All right," he said and turned again to Wheat. "Joe, you'll take first guard with Clay and Neal Good. I'll take second; sec-ond; Steve, I want you to ride with me, you and John. That leaves the tag end for you, Ash, with Charley Storms and Ed Splann." Ash Brownstone, Quarternight and Joe Wheat were the old men of this crew, all of them dependable. Thus he had one trusted hand in each of the three guards. "I'm going in to the house, Lew," Steve said, and looked off somewhere some-where before he asked, "You riding rid-ing in?" Lew shook his head idly. "No, guess not." Yet he watched the quick turn of Steve's shoulders with a frowning interest. And afterward, when he heard his horse race off toward the creek woods, he said quietly to John Quarternight, "Wouldn't hurt to stand double guard for a little while. Let's ride." Mounted, he held to the darkness, keeping clear of the longhorns, and then drew to a halt off on the barren, bar-ren, empty plain. He saw old Rebel John sitting up high in his saddle, smelling the wind for trouble, and said, "Wait." It wasn't long. Moving slowly, a horse circled out from the creek growth, shielded by the dark. Later Lat-er its hoofbeats . struck up a faster pace, aiming for the short row of lights that was Ox Bow town, five miles away. Angry and bitter with this knowledge knowl-edge that Steve was making a sneak. Lew sat rigid, listening, until Quarternight said, "That boy never could cover his tracks!" "He's got no good business In town, John not now." Off in the east the first lonely gray of dawn was spreading upward from the plains. The black pool of four thousand longhorns had risen, held by the last guard of the night. As casually as that, as if this might be only a half day's drive to the railroad, the Cross T moved into its march of twelve hundred miles. It was the usual start, no better nor worse than he had expected. He watched backward over the repeated re-peated melees, yet took no hand. Both men and beasts needed to get the fight out of their systems. After the noon meal Lew told Owl Head, "Keep on due north and you'll find a tank for your night camp. Raise a smoke to lead us in." He rode over to Joy's wagon seat She bad on a white muslin dress and one of Steve's broad-brimmed bats. But the sun had burned her, and she looked tired and hot She smiled up at him and yet she couldn't hide what he knew. The wagon had no springs. Jolting along this rough ground, she was taking even more punishment than a man in his saddle. "All right?" be asked. "I'll get used to it" she said. Hour by hour through a breathless breath-less afternoon the blunt arrowhead grazed forward, leaving a mile-wide swath of barren, dusty earth where it had passed. With the disputes for places settled the animals moved quietly now, and on either side the swing men closed up in little groups to ride and talk. (TO BE CONTINUED) |