Читать книгу Settling The Score - George McLane Wood - Страница 24

Chapter Eighteen

One summer day, Jeff spied a right fetching young girl in town, and he asked Jim Budgher, the mercantile storekeeper, who she was. Sally Jones, the Methodist preacher’s only daughter, he was told. Sally was the prettiest girl Jeff had ever seen, and he was smitten at once with Sally. Now he had a very good reason to ride into town ever Sunday and attend the Methodist church.

Early the next Sunday morning, Jeff was up and dressed. Cookie had fed him while Bo had saddled his horse. Jeff told the boys he was going into town. He didn’t tell them anything else. He’d gone to the early Methodist church service. Jeff was greeted by the pastor and introduced to the congregation as the owner of the JN Ranch. Jeff could hardly keep from staring at Sally as she played the piano for her father. Jeff fell in love. After the second service, the pastor stood by the front door, thanking Jeff and everyone for coming and inviting them to come back to church next Sunday. Jeff promised he’d be back. Afterward, he wished he’d dared to say hello to Sally, but he was just too nervous to do it.

Several days later at daybreak, Smitty rode into the ranch and told Jeff, “Somebody’s stolen some JN steers, boss. It appears they’ve drove ’em across the Saber and then headed ’em due west.”

“When?”

“Sometime yesterday evening late, to early this morning, best I could tell from their cow pies.”

“Get Bo and two more men, saddle us a horse plus a spare, and we’ll go get ’em back.” Jeff strapped on two .44 Navy Colts and checked the ammo. He set his flat-crowned Stetson squarely on his head, collected his new Winchester .44 carbine, and went to the corral.

Mounting, Jeff swore to the men, “Nobody steals from us and lives to brag. Let’s ride fellers.”

The five cowmen lit out, waded their horses across the Saber, and then followed along the south side of the river at a blistering pace. At noon, they caught up with the rustlers. Bo said, “I count eight men.”

“Me too,” answered Smitty.

“Those our cattle?”

“They’re carrying the JN brand, boss,” answered Smitty.

“You can see that far, Smitty?”

“Yep.”

“Damn!” Jeff answered.

“Okay, here’s what we do. Bo, you, Smitty, and me, we go in like troopers, low in our saddles, firing both our Colts repeatedly. You two men, y’all hang back a bit, bring up our rear. Don’t let ’em get you in their pistol range. Use your long guns. We’ll give no quarter unless they throw up their hands. Otherwise, kill ’em, every last mother’s son.”

The three Virginians did as they’d trained; they rode toward their enemy low in their saddles, firing, and recocking and firing their Colts, four rustlers fell at once, two made a run for it, and rifle fire from the cowboys behind them cut both rustlers down. Two rustlers threw up their hands; at the same time, somebody fired and one of the rustlers caught a bullet in his belly. It was over. Bo disarmed the lone rustler and tied his hands behind him. Smitty hopped off his horse and knelt and said a few words to the dying outlaw. He stood and motioned to Jeff.

“He admitted rustling our cows, boss.”

“Did he mention before he died what they was gonna do with our cattle?” Jeff asked.

“Said he was rustling them because his foreman told him to.”

“Did he give you the foreman’s name?”

“Yeah, he called him Lester Willis. Says he’s the foreman of the JM Ranch, west of here.”

“That’d be Jornett Murphy, wouldn’t it, Jeff?”

“Yep! It sure would.”

“And I’ll wager Jornett sent Willis’s men to rustle our cows, boss.”

“You’re probably right, Smitty.”

“There’s no way anyone can change our JN brand into Murphy’s JM brand without people noticing the difference, can they?”

“I don’t see how it’d be possible, Bo.”

“So what was Willis gonna do with our cows?” Bo asked.

“Sell ’em in Mexico? They was for sure on the right side of the river for that,” Smitty declared.

“Let’s see what the other fellow has to say,” Jeff said.

“Okay, fellow, where were you going with our cattle?”

“We found ’em on this side of the river. We was returnin’ ’em to you.”

“Yeah, but you was going in the wrong direction!”

“We musta been confused.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Nobody, mister.”

“Okay, hang him for rustling. That cottonwood tree right over yonder, that’ll do,” Jeff replied.

“Hey, you can’t hang me, mister, you gotta turn me over to the sheriff in Jasper.”

“We caught you stealing our cows. You’re gonna hang.”

“Please, I was just following orders, mister.”

“Whose orders? Whose orders? One last time! Whose orders?”

“If I tell you his name, he’ll kill me, mister, sure as hell.”

“If you don’t tell me his name, I’ll sure as hell hang your sorry butt.”

The poor fellow was scared. Scared, too bad. He wouldn’t say anything more. So Jeff and his men hung the man from the cottonwood tree.