J.T. Edson
Running Irons
Chapter 1 BAT GOOCH’S MISTAKE
THERE WERE MANY TYPES OF MARKS BY WHICH THE ranchers of the old west established ownership of their cattle, ranging from straightforward initial or number brands to John Chisum’s Long Rail, a line burned along the animal’s side from rump to shoulder.
A box brand had a square outline around letters or numbers; a connected brand meant that one of the letters in it touched the other; barbed brands carried a short projection from some part of them; a bench brand stood on a horizontal bracket with legs extending downward like a bench; a drag brand carried lines sticking downward from its bottom; should a brand have a small extension from each side it was said to be “flying”; a letter suspended from or connected to a quarter circle bore the title “swinging”; a tumbling brand meant that its letters leaned over at an oblique angle; a walking brand bore twin small extensions like feet at its lower extremities; a rafter brand sheltered under an inverted V-shape; a forked brand carried a small V-shaped prong on one of its sides; a running brand meant that flowing lines trailed from it; a bradded brand had a large termini; a collection of wings without a central figure bore the title “whangdoodle.”
A red-hot branding iron alone served the purpose of applying such a mark of ownership to a man’s stock. This consisted of a three-foot-long iron rod with a handle at one end and a reversed facsimile of the outfit’s chosen brand at the other. Such a branding iron, when heated correctly and applied to the animal’s hide, left a plain, easily read sign by which all men knew who owned the critter bearing it.
While riding the range on their lawful occasions cowhands often toted along one of their outfit’s branding irons so as to be able to catch, tie down and mark any unclaimed stock they came across. It might be a grown animal overlooked in earlier roundups, or a new-born, late-dropped calf running at its mother’s side. Either way the application of the outfit’s brand set the seal of ownership upon the animal and added more potential wealth to the cowhand’s ranch. So a cowhand who carried his outfit’s iron was regarded as being a good worker, industrious and a man to be most highly commended.
But when a rider carried a rod without a stamp-head upon it, man, that was some different. Known as a running iron, such a rod could be used to change the shape of a brand, or for “venting,” running a line through the original mark so as to nullify it, then trace another brand upon the animal—done legally this was known as counter-branding and was used when a critter be wrongly branded or sold after receiving its owner’s mark. So a man carrying a running iron was not thought of as being praiseworthy or commendable. Folks called him a cow thief.
For almost six months past the range country around Caspar County, Texas, had been plagued by cow thieves. Stock disappeared in numbers that were too great to be put down to inclement weather or the depredations of cougar, wolf or bear; besides, not even the great Texas grizzly ate the bones of its kills and no sign of animal kills led the ranchers to blame
Of course there were ways and ways of striking back. Vic Crither’s hiring of Bat Gooch struck most folks as going maybe a mite too far, even against cow thieves. Few bounty hunters ever achieved a higher social standing than Digger Indians and the Digger was reckoned as being the lowest of the low. Bat Gooch had a name for being worse than most of the men who hunted down fellow humans for the price their hide carried. For all that, Bat Gooch came to Caspar, called in by the mysterious, but highly effective prairie telegraph. Crither let it be known that Gooch would receive a flat wage for prowling the Forked C’s range and a bonus of two hundred dollars each time he brought in a proven rustler—alive or dead.
The threat appeared to be working, for Gooch had ridden the ranges of the Forked C each night during the past fortnight without finding any sign of the cow thieves who preyed on the other ranches. While Vic Crither felt highly pleased with his strategy, the same could not be said for Gooch. So far his trip did not meet with his idea of the fitness of things. The potent quality of Gooch’s name appeared to have scared the cow thieves from Forked C and not a single two hundred dollar bounty had so far come his way.
Being a man who liked money and all the good things it brought, Gooch decided, although he had never heard of the term, that if the mountain would not come to the prophet, then he would danged well go right out and find it for himself.
So it came about that on a clear, moonlit night Bat Gooch left the Forked C range and rode into the Bench J’s domain. There was something about Gooch which warned of his chosen field of endeavor; a hint of cruelty and evil about his dark face and strangely pale eyes; the perpetual sneer on his lips, that silent way of moving, all hinted at something sinister. He wore dark clothing of cowhand style and Indian moccasins on his feet. In his saddleboot rode a Sharps Old Reliable buffalo rifle with a telescopic sight, but no bison had ever tumbled before its bullets. An Army Colt hung at his right side, a sheathed bowie knife on the left of his belt. Men had died through each of his weapons. In many ways Gooch was a man ideally suited to his work. He could move in silence through the thickest bush; shot well and possessed that rarest ability of being able to squeeze the trigger and kill another human being without a single hesitative thought. In addition to keen eyesight and excellent hearing, Gooch possessed a nose as sharp as a hound dog’s.
On this occasion it was the nose which served him first. For four hours he had been prowling the Bench J land, eyes and ears alert for any sound that might guide him to a cow thief engaged in illegal operations. Once found, the cow thief would die and be taken on to the Forked C’s range where his body commanded a price of two hundred dollars. Yet, though he searched with care and used a considerable knowledge of the working of cow thieves to direct him, Gooch found no sign during the first four hours.
Then it happened!
The wind carried a scent to him. Not the pleasant aroma of jasmine or roses, but one just as sweet to Gooch’s keen nostrils. Raw, acrid and unmistakable it came, the stench of singed hair and burning cow hide as a branding iron seared its irremovable mark on to an animal. Yet no sound followed the stench. No sudden bleat of pain such as one heard when a brand was applied in normal circumstances. Not that folks branded cattle by night under normal circumstances—especially on a range troubled by cow thieves.
Two things were plain to Gooch: first, from the stench of burned hide somebody had just branded an animal upwind of him; second, the fact that the branders worked at night and took the trouble to muffle the branded critter’s head and stop its bellow of pain told that they had good reason for not wishing to attract attention to themselves. Add one and two together, and the answer came out as a chance of picking up at least two hundred fine old U.S. dollars over and above Gooch’s regular wages.
Keeping his big, wild-looking dark roan horse to an easy walk, its hooves hardly making a sound in the hock deep grass, Gooch rode up wind like a blue-tick hound going in on a breast-scent instead of running the line by the smell on the ground. Faint sounds came to his ears, then he saw a small glow of light flickering through the bushes and down a slope ahead of him. Once again his nostrils detected the smell of burning flesh and he brought his horse to a halt. Swinging from the saddle, he moved forward on foot. The big horse followed on his heels, stepping with all the silent caution of a whitetail deer in hard-hunted country. Give Gooch his due, he could train a horse and the roan ideally suited his purposes. Moving silently through the bushes, man and horse came into sight of a scene which did Gooch’s money-hungry heart good to see.
At the foot of a small hollow six hundred dollars worth of cow thieves worked at their trade. The ground at the bottom of the small basin was clear of bushes, although its sides and the range around was liberally dotted with them and offered good cover which hid the light of the fire from all but the closest inspection. If Gooch had not
