Buzzard Bait Page 2

  Addie Malone looked at the men's faces as they rode back and forth. She shuddered inwardly, not willing to give them the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. Ever since the murder, Luke's brutal murder, she had known her own life was in jeopardy. She was determined, however, not to be brutalized in any fashion by these rough men who killed for pleasure, who plundered from better men because inside them was a weak core more animal than human.

  "You think Roumal'd like her?" asked Oren when Big John rode up by the buckboard.

  "Shut up, Oren!" Lathrop snapped.

  "Yeah, Bull'd like her," said Carl.

  "You too, Carl. Keep your mouth to itself!"

  The son ducked away from his father, his smile fading away to a dark frown.

  The girl shivered in her seat, wondering what lay ahead, now that she had heard such talk. Addie wondered who Roumal was and why the older man had been so set on keeping his sons quiet. It was something to keep in the back of her mind. She knew that they were worried about Matt coming after them. She also knew that they had good cause for worry. Luke had not been like Matt at all. He was a gentle man who usually let people take advantage of him. Matt was not that way. He was gentle, too, but he was firm in a way that most men weren't. He knew how rough the west was, and had become a part of it. His brother, Luke, had been a follower. Matt was a leader. She had known them both a long time. Her brother, Ted, had grown up with them. Yet he was more like Luke, a quieter, more tolerant man. He liked to work with the land, with building things. That's why he and Matt had made a good team. Matt was a man who looked ahead and worked to make a living, backing his ideas up with a manliness that impressed her. Ted was a follower too, but knew that men like Matt were needed to make a deal stick. The C Bar M had been their dream, a family dream, and they were all a part of it—or had been until these men had come along and killed Luke.

  The buckboard moved out, Oren cursing at the team. She watched Carl ride off to the west, Ross to the east around the herd, as Big John drove the cattle ahead, toward the Powder.

  The sky blazed with a rude sunset that marked the coming of night. Again, Addie Malone shuddered, but the bucking of the wagon cloaked her fear as she thought of Luke, and how he had been killed.

  Chapter Three

  Matt searched until he found the tracks of his three outriders, the men who had been with his brother Luke. There would be no trouble picking up the trail of the stolen herd. Two hundred cattle cut a wide enough swath in prairie country. The chuck wagon would make the rustlers even easier to follow. He wanted to make sure that Addie had escaped. Maybe his men, Bud Byrd, Chet Roberts and Bob Searles had gotten her away when the trouble had started. His brother might have stayed behind to cover their getaway and so paid the price.

  His hands were riding toward the Crazy Woman. They had ridden fast at first and then slowed down. Their tracks told him that. They had obviously been fleeing for their lives. If Addie were with them, all right. If not, then he would have to control his anger. There were only three horses, however, and none of them seemed to be carrying any extra weight. A muscle in his lean face began to twitch as he felt the anger building in him.

  He overtook the three men the next day. By their hangdog looks he knew they were not happy to see him. They had camped in a grove of cottonwoods by a dried-up streambed. There was no fire, no coffee on. They had left the scene of Luke's tragedy without provisions.

  Matt swung down from the saddle and looked at each of the men. Bud, a heavyset man with a thickening beard, looked back at him with rheumy eyes. Chet, tall and lanky, looked down at his dusty boots and kicked at the dry earth. Bob Searles leaned against a cotton-wood, a cynical look on his bitter face. They had been hired in Ft. Laramie on the previous drive. Good men, but not fully set to the ways of the C Bar M. The spread was as new to Montana Territory as they were, so Matt could hardly blame them. He did want answers, though.

  "I won't say anything," he said, "just now. Tell me what you can and we'll go on from there."

  The morning had taken on a brazen look, uncertain of its mood as Matt looked at the sky and felt the earth warm up under his dust-caked boots. It was coming on to the month the Sioux called the Moon of Chokecherries Turning Black, August. He didn't know the exact date. It had been what the Oglala called the Moon When the Cherries Turn Black when he had left Ft. Laramie.

  Chet was the first to speak.

  "I guess we thought it was Indians, we be Colorado men and all. The Utes gave us some hard times back there until the settlers came. We were far out and the herd was a long ways away from the wagon where Luke and Miss Malone was. There was a lot of dust and all." He finished awkwardly and there was a long silence while Matt looked at the other two men he had hired to drive his herd.

  "Bud?" he asked, looking into the bulky man's watery blue eyes.

  "It was like Chet said. We was a long ways off and the herd was giving us trouble. These men came up shooting and hollering. Like they was waiting for us. They looked like a bunch of Injuns or raiders. We thought there was a bunch of them. They threw down on Luke and roped him."

  "Recognize who they were?" Matt asked quietly.

  "We recognized them," said Searles, his lip curling in contempt. "The same as what braced you back in Laramie. Bull Roumal's boys."

  Matt reflected on that for a moment.

  "We thought Bull had a bunch more there," offered Chet. "They were shooting their pistols off like it was a party."

  "And you didn't help?"

  The three men looked away from him.

  "Hell, it was a terrible thing. The cows was wandering off and they had us dead on if we'd of rushed them. Miss Malone was right in front of one of them. They had your brother roped around the shoulders. They saw us and was just waiting for us to come on."

  Searles walked over to Matt and drew his pistol.

  "We tried to fire at them, but half the caps didn't go off and the others were weak, so we knew we didn't have a chance. We had a rain the day before and our powder was still wet."

  "How many were there?" Matt asked.

  "We figured four, that we could see," said Chet. "They had your brother. We thought they might let him go. There was no sense in stirring up more trouble than there was. If they just wanted the cattle, well then, why get killed over a few head?"

  "Did you see what they did to Luke?"

  Chet and Bud turned their faces away from Matt Cord.

  "We saw," said Searles. "We didn't want to look, but they made a lot of noise about it."

  "What did they do?" asked Matt, his voice low.

  "The kid dragged him a lot with his rope. I don't know what they did. They took out after us and we had to light a shuck. We figured the girl was safe if we made ourselves scarce. Luke was done for. He was dragged pretty bad."

  "You and Bud agree with that?" Matt asked, directing his question to Chet.

  "It was that way, Matt. We figured Roumal was around, waiting. Our guns misfired to beat hell."

  "Keep them clean and oiled," Matt crisped. "They could mean your life or a friend's."

  "Did—did your brother . . . ?" asked Bud.

  "They hung him," answered Matt. "Addie is with them now, I reckon."

  "Damn!" muttered Bud.

  "You want to go after them or light a shuck back to Colorado?" Matt looked at each of them, his face noncommittal.

  "We're with you," said Chet. Searles and Byrd nodded.

  "You ain't mad?" asked Chet.

  "Let's get on their trail. Those cattle mean a lot to people up in Alder Gulch. They'll be needing beef this winter."

  "How many are we after?" asked Bob Searles.

  "Three, maybe four. Addie Malone is the problem. I figure we're four days behind them now. There are dozens of canyons along the Bozeman where they can hide a small herd like that. I'd like to catch them before they duck us."

  "We're with you," said Bud Byrd, his eyes clearing up.

  "We've also got to warn Ted Malone, my partner. If R
oumal's in this, he'll go after the whole herd. Ted's got Jess Goff with him at the ranch and that's it."

  "You know those men that jumped us?" asked Chet.

  "The Lathrops, I figure. The kid with the light hair is the one I wanted to drop back there in Laramie. I should have. A hothead. If there were four men, I don't know who the other might be. Roumal. Where is he right now? Maybe getting ready to take the herd at the C Bar M."

  "They was the ones," said Byrd. "The old man seemed to be callin' the shots."

  "Yeah, Big John," said Searles, "that's who it was." He shuddered as he said it and looked off in the direction of the Bozeman trail as though making up his mind.

  "We're awful hungry," said Bud, after a moment.

  Matt walked over to Bud, first.

  "Let's see your pistol and rifle," he said. He turned to Chet and Bob. "Break yours out, too," he told them. When he had finished his inspection, he stepped back. The guns had been cleaned and were loaded. He nodded his head in satisfaction.

  "We'll shoot a rabbit along the way," said Matt, going for his horse. "Let's try and make it to the Crazy Woman before dark."

  The four men mounted their horses and rode west, back to the Bozeman Trail. Ahead of the others, Matt searched for the tracks of the cattle along the route. It was just before dark when he cut the sign of a lone rider west of the trail. He dismounted and studied the track for a long time while the three cowhands fidgeted in their saddles. Hunched over, he took a close look. He stood up, glad there had been light enough left to see. In an hour the sun would be over the Big Horns to the west and it would be dark.

  "We'll cross the Crazy Woman in a while," said Matt, climbing back up on his mount. "Let's get to it. Fan out and see if you can't scare up a couple more rabbits for supper."

  Bud made a face.

  "We had that for lunch," he said.

  "Well, it's not likely we'll find any beef along here. Now if you want to ride up close to the Black Hills and try for buffalo," Matt said, "then go right ahead."

  Bud shook his head and spurred his horse while drawing his pistol.

  Matt kept his eyes moving over both sides of the trail looking for an ambush spot. He wasn't looking for rabbits. There had been no cattle tracks, only the lone horseman's. A shod horse carrying weight, moving slow. It would be one of the Lathrops, but which one? The light-haired hothead? The old man? The dark-haired brother? They'd take the herd up the Crazy Woman, skirt the fort and probably cross the upper fork of the Powder. A thousand places to hide two hundred head up there. A thousand places to ambush a man. Four men.

  The tracks were at least three days old. There was probably no reason to worry. But that wasn't what made Matt ride west of the trail. He was looking for the other tracks, to find the pattern. He disappeared from view of the others and kept moving in the direction of Tensleep.

  Ten minutes later he found what he was looking for. The herd had passed that way, the wagon too. He found another set of hoofprints belonging to a lone horse. He kept riding west. Another horseman on the left flank. There was the pattern. The wagon and one other man were driving the herd. The two flankers were lagging behind, probably crisscrossing every few miles. Matt felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.

  They were expecting him to follow!

  He rode back to the Bozeman at an easy gallop. The herd had to follow the water, but he didn't. He thought he could figure out where he could head them off. It wouldn't be on the Powder, but either at the Tongue, the Rosebud or the Little Bighorn. They could cut back into the Bozeman Trail at any of those points, but he'd bet money it would be between the Rosebud and the Little Bighorn. The beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind.

  He heard shots and figured the boys had a rabbit or two on the run. More shots a little later. Then, a single shot. "Well, they got at least one," he said aloud to himself.

  They camped at Crazy Woman Creek with two rabbits on wood spits over a fire dugout. The meat crackled and dripped on the fire. Bud, always the hungry one, did the cooking while the others munched on berries they had found growing in the thickets, berries the Sioux had missed that summer.

  "See any more sign?" Chet asked Matt, while they were eating the rabbits.

  "They're heading up the creek to the north fork of the Powder," he replied.

  "Where they goin'?" asked Bud.

  "My guess is they're heading for the C Bar M to get the herd there. Hook up with Bull Roumal somewhere between the Yellowstone and the Gallatin."

  "Around Bozeman Pass," offered Searles.

  "Maybe. I think the Lathrops have realized their mistake. If they didn't figure it out for themselves, Addie Malone told them about Luke and me. They're watching their back trail and I think they're hoping to get another crack at me."

  "What are we going to do?" asked Bud, nervously.

  "They've got cattle to slow them down, so we cut the time from three days to two days already. That's how far we're probably behind them. We leave early in the morning, don't stop at Kearny and we gain a day, maybe two."

  Matt got a stick and began to draw in the dirt next to the fire. He drew the Bozeman Trail, the rivers ahead.

  "Here's where I figure they'll come back to the trail." He drew an X between the Rosebud and the Little Bighorn. "I'll be waiting for them."

  "What about us?" asked Bud, the practical coward.

  "Boys, let's forget about what happened back there with Luke. You got jumped for fair and didn't know how to get out of it. I'll bear you no grudges. But, Ted's going to need you at the C Bar M. He'll need the information you're going to give him along with your pistols beside him. Jess Goff's the only man there right now. They don't expect trouble. Far as Ted knows, Roumal's still in Colorado. I don't know what he's doing out here but I picked up talk back in Laramie. He's been cutting some kind of a swath out here. Some of the talk said he was hooked up with Henry Plummer up at Gold Creek and Virginia City. Bad bunch."

  "Yeah. I heard of them," said Bud.

  "Well, you've got to get to Ted and warn him. Roumal may be on the Gallatin now, in fact. He may be watching the ranch, waiting for Lathrop to show up. Be careful when you go in."

  "We will," said Chet.

  Searles looked at Matt.

  "I can't figure out why we were driving two hundred head in when there were over 600 head bought back in Laramie besides them," he said.

  "All right," said Matt. "You boys deserve an answer to that. You may not like it, but if you think about it, it makes good sense in this country. We've got a thousand head or so at the C Bar M. Those miners at Alder Gulch and Virginia City near starved to death last year. We'll drive that beef in there just before snowfall and sell it on the hoof. The two hundred head were never going to the C Bar M, nor to the Gulch."

  "They weren't?" asked Searles. "Then where was they goin'?"

  "Up the Rosebud to where it meets the Yellowstone."

  "Why you said they were headed that way now. I don't get it," said Chet.

  "That's why I won't need you boys. Those cattle are a present for my friend Tashunka Wawogala, Talking Horse. He and his band are camped up that aways. The buffalo have been shot out from under them and I'd like to see them raise beef. Their sun is setting awful fast and I think Talking Horse knows it."

  "Damn!" muttered Bud. "We been driving a herd of cattle for the Injuns!"

  "Maybe that's why you're still wearing your own hair," said Matt quietly.

  Chapter Four

  "That's right," said Chet. "You lived with these Oglalleys for a time."

  "About four years," admitted Matt. "But they're getting restless. The gold brought too many white men onto their hunting grounds. They can see their land being eaten up by men who don't care about the earth."

  "Aw, hell, if they can't hang onto it, they don't deserve it," said Searles.

  Matt stood up and tossed the stick into the fire. A muscle rippled in his lean cheek. He took a deep breath.

  "We'll get started early. We'l
l go together as far as the Rosebud. Then you ride hard for the ranch and tell Ted to hold on until I get there."

  "All right, boss," said Chet.

  "I'll take the first watch. You can toss a wet rock to see who's next." Matt walked upstream a ways and found himself a spot where he would make no silhouette in the moonlight. The voices of the men carried to him for a time and then faded away.

  He was attuned to such surroundings. The solitude had been a part of his life for a long while now. The Oglala had taught him much. His friend, Talking Horse, had taught him the Sioux beliefs and they had seemed sensible, more sensible than most of the white man's. The Indians believed that all things were alive, even the stones of the earth. They respected nature and did little tampering with it. They would never uproot a tree and always apologized for taking poles down for their lodges and travois. They thanked the game they killed and knew of the endless cycle of life in all its forms. They knew that nothing could be taken away without penalty. Whatever was taken must be replaced someday. The grass that the antelope and the buffalo ate was composted by their own tribe's bodies. All of the creatures of the earth were their brothers—except the inexorable white man. It was a tragedy being played out, Matt knew, and the Indian, whose land this was, stood alone and surrounded at the center of it.

  His reverie was broken by the sound of a rifle crack. Instinctively, Matt ducked and slid into the shadows behind a tree. The ball whistled by. Close. He drew his revolver and crouched. He tried to discern where the shot had come from, but in the darkness he couldn't be sure. The scent of black powder wafted to his nostrils and he knew that the shooter had been close, perhaps less than fifty yards away, upwind.

  He listened. It would be hard for a man to move on such a still night and not make any sound. A hunter, Matt knew that the ears were often better than the eyes for discovering the presence of game. The moonlight splashed the night shapes of nature with silver. It was eerie, quiet. Too quiet. Matt strained his ears to hear what he must hear. But he didn't move. He didn't make a sound.