Jeff wiped away another tear. “Yes, sir, I was sort of afraid of that. I was hopin’ I was wrong, though. Me ’n Burt, we was goin’ to go into town this Friday on our day off. We was goin’ to buy me a French harp and Burt was goin’ to teach me to play it. You should hear him. Burt is just real good at playin’ the French harp. He can play most ...” Jeff stopped, and choked back a sob. “That is, he
“The men who did this,” Matt said. “How many were there, and which way did they go?”
“They was only two of ’em. They was waitin’ over there behind them rocks. When we come up, they shot Burt off his horse afore either one of us even seen ’em. Then they both come out from behind the rocks and they throw’d down on me. I prob’ly should’a fought back, but they had the drop on me. They took mine and Burt’s guns with ’em when they rode off with the cows.”
“They took the cows, you say?”
“Yes, sir. Fifty of ’em, I’d say.”
“Which way did they go?”
“That way,” Jeff said, pointing west. “Of course, that’s about the only way they could go with them. Couldn’t go south ’cause that way is the Injun reservation. They couldn’t go north, ’cause there ain’t no water that way, an’ them cows was already a-gettin’ plenty thirsty when me ’n Burt was herdin’ ’em. And they couldn’t go back east, ’cause that’s back toward the main part of the ranch.”
“I’m going to help you put Burt’s body on his horse. You take him back to Mr. Frewen. Tell him I’m going after his cattle and the two men who took them.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeff said. “You be careful ’round them two, Mr. Jensen. I mean, I know you are a gunfighter an’ all, but them two don’t fight fair. Like I said, they just rose up an’ shot Burt without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
Matt didn’t like the use of the term “gunfighter” but he didn’t challenge Jeff. “I’ll be careful,” is all he said.
It took a few minutes to drape Burt’s body over the back of his horse and to use Burt’s lariat to tie him onto the saddle so he wouldn’t slide off on the ride back to the big house. Matt made certain that the body was very securely tied, because he knew that if it fell off, Jeff probably would not be able to get him back onto the horse.
Then, when Burt was secure, Jeff swung into his saddle and started back.
“Jeff, I’ll find the ones who did this,” Matt promised.
“Yes, sir, I’m sure you will, and I’ll appreciate that,” Jeff said. “Only, it ain’t goin’ to bring Burt back.”
Matt watched Jeff for a moment, then he mounted Spirit and started off in the opposite direction. It wasn’t hard to track the rustlers. The fifty head of cattle left a trail of footprints and cow plops that was even better than a series of painted arrow signs.
Matt caught up with the cattle thieves in less than an hour. There were two of them, both wearing yellow kerchiefs, and both wearing hats that had yellow hatbands. Because they were concentrating on the cows they were herding, neither of them saw Matt. About half a mile ahead was a good, wide, clear stream of water. Matt recalled that Jeff had mentioned that the cattle were already thirsty, so he knew that was where they were going. Detouring around the herd, he rode hard and reached the stream before the two rustlers and their cattle arrived.
He was waiting just out of sight as they rode up.
“Get all of ’em up here, Zeke. Let’s get ’em watered, then get on. The quicker we are out of here, the better I’ll feel,” one of the two men said. The man who called out was average size in height and weight, distinguished by a terrible red scar that streaked down the left side of his face, starting on the forehead, coming through the eyelid which also bore the scar, then down across his cheek before turning back up, like a fishhook at the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t have to worry none about gettin’ ’em up here,” Zeke said. Zeke had a full, very dark beard. “They’ve done got a whiff of the water. They ain’t no way we could stop ’em, even if we wanted to.”
“Ha! You got that right.”
The two rustlers rode up to the stream together, let their horses water, then moved to one side to watch as the fifty cows hurried up, then spread out along the bank to begin drinking.
“Woowee! Look at them bastards drink, Clem. Now I would say that is one thirsty bunch of cows,” Zeke said.
“Have you got a count? How many is there?” Clem asked.
“They’s fifty-three of ’em.”
“Ha! And seein’ as we get a dollar a cow, that’s fifty-three dollars we can split,” Clem said.
“Yeah, and don’t forget the guns we took off them two cowboys. They ought to bring five or ten dollars apiece, anyway.”
“Next time we go into town, I’m goin’ to get me a bottle of whiskey and the best lookin’ whore I can find,” Clem said. “What are you going to do next time you go to town?”
“I’ll tell you what he is going to do next time he goes to town,” Matt said, suddenly appearing from behind a large outgrowth of sagebrush. “He is going to hang. Both of you are.”
“What? Who the hell are you?” Zeke shouted. He started for his gun.
“No, don’t do it!” Matt called, but Zeke continued with his draw.
Matt waited until the last moment, hoping Zeke would come to his senses, but he didn’t. Matt had no choice but to shoot, and his bullet hit Zeke in the forehead. Zeke pitched from the saddle, dead before he hit the ground.
Clem may have had a notion to draw as well, but seeing what happened to Zeke, he threw his hands up.
“No!” he said. “No, don’t shoot! I ain’t drawin’ on you!”
