sheriff was ever passed up by the Rangers and his company had received no letter from Simmonds.
“Well, you’d best do something,” growled Jerome, “otherwise I’m going to.”
“I thought this business today showed you what happened when folk take the law into their own hands,” remarked Soskice. “Crither’s attempt hasn’t been any too successful, has it?”
“I won’t be doing it by using a hired killer,” Jerome answered, coming to his feet. “Let’s go, boys.”
After watching Jerome, Danny and Tommy depart, Simmonds gave a grunt. “Buck sounds a mite peeved. He’s no fool either and as tough as they come. I sure hope them cow thieves hold off for a spell.”
“How about that new cowhand?” asked Soskice.
“His story sounded all right to me,” the sheriff replied.
“Why not telegraph Ysaleta and check up on him?” the lawyer suggested. “And don’t look so pained, the county will pay.”
“Yeah, likely it will,” Simmonds admitted. “Clyde, you go down to the telegraph office and send a message to the sheriff at Ysaleta, ask him what he knows about a feller called Danny Forgrave. The answer might make interesting reading.”
Chapter 8 MISS WATSON STUDIES DANNY FORGRAVE
“I DON’T RECKON HE’LL DO A DAMN LOT FOR US,” Jerome growled as he left the sheriff’s office with Danny and Tommy. “Not unless the cow thieves start branding the stuff out on Main Street.”
“Why’d you elect him then?” Danny asked.
“Damned if I know,” the rancher admitted. “This’s a poor county and there were few enough who wanted to take on the office. Being sheriff’s a thankless chore and don’t pay more than eating money. Reckon Farley looked about the best of a bad bunch at election time. Let’s go grab a meal at the Bon Ton, then take a drink afore we ride out to the spread.”
“How about Sammy and Pike?” asked Tommy.
“I’ll see about their burying afore we pull out,” Jerome promised.
“I mean what’re you fixing in to do about them getting burned down that way, boss,” growled the youngster. “We ought to see the Forked C bunch and——”
“I’ll be seeing Vic Crither,” the rancher promised.
“It was through him that they got made wolf bait!”
“Choke off that talk, boy!” Jerome warned. “Vic handled things the way he saw them and he sure as hell didn’t tell Gooch to prowl our range.”
“He ought to be——!” Tommy began hotly.
“Simmer down, boy,” Jerome said quietly. “Vic made a mistake in bringing Gooch in, but he never sent that bounty-hunting skunk on to our range, or told him to gun boys down like that.”
“Sammy and Pike were my pards——”
“I know. And they were good boys, too, even if they did go out with running irons by them. But it won’t bring them back to start a shooting fuss with the Forked C. All that’ll do is get more folks killed. We’ll get the same as is happening up in Shelby County and while we’re fussing the cow thieves’ll steal us blind.”
“You’re right in that, boss,” Danny put in. “I’ve seen a county that’s been torn apart by a range war. The buzzards were the only ones to profit by it.”
Jerome looked at Danny with interest. Knowing cowhands, the rancher had not expected support from that quarter. There was something puzzling about the tall blond stranger. Sure he looked and acted like a drifting cowhand, a wild, irresponsible young cuss no different from thousands of others who followed the longhorn trade. Yet he seemed capable of thought; the question about why Simmonds was elected sheriff proved that; and now he talked sense and peace instead of reaching for a gun and panting for war. It said much for Danny’s acting ability that he had so far managed his true nature and played a part well enough to fool so shrewd a man as the rancher.
“Just you listen to Danny, Tommy,” Jerome grunted. “It’s the first time I ever heard a cowhand say anything that made sense—and I’ve been one. Let’s go eat a bite.”
While walking toward the Bon Ton Cafe, leading their horses, the three men saw a bunch of riders entering town. The newcomers came fast, making a fair racket and all showing signs of being in high spirits.
“Rafter O’s coming in,” Tommy remarked. “Hey, that must be their mean ole bay Joey Jones’s leading.”
“What’s so special about the bay?” Danny asked, studying the riderless horse led by one of the approaching cowhands. It was a fifteen hand, light washy bay animal with a roman nose, little pin ears crimped at the tips and pig eyes, with the general air of a mean one about it.
“Nobody’s ever rode it,” Tommy explained. “So Rafter O do tell.”
“Never yet been a hoss as couldn’t be rode,” Danny stated.
“And never a cowhand as couldn’t be throwed,” Jerome countered. “If you’re fixing to take that bay on, don’t. I saw it one time at Rafter O. It’s a suicide bucker and how it’s not killed its fool self, or some danged fool rider, I’ll never know.”
With that the rancher led the way to the Bon Ton where they left the horses at the rail and entered the room to sit at a table by the door. Even as they ordered a meal, a group of the Rafter O men entered and came toward the Jerome table. Danny figured the stocky man in the lead to be boss of the outfit and his guess proved to be correct.
“Howdy, Wally,” Jerome greeted.
“Hi, Buck,” replied Wally Stirton. “How’s things?”
“Could be better.”
“They always could. Losing much stock?”
“Lost more than that,” Jerome said, knowing the story would come out sooner or later. “Gooch cut down Sammy and Pike last night.”
Silence fell on the group of cowhands at the words. While there might be considerable rivalry between the different ranches, most of the hands felt a certain kinship to their fellow workers, especially when one found himself in difficulties. Gooch had never been liked by the free-and-easy cowhands and it might have gone hard for him if he did not already lie dead at the undertaker’s shop.
“Where’s Gooch at now?” asked one of the Rafter O hands coldly.
“Taking a rest on a slab at Gustavson’s,” Jerome answered.
“I figured he’d get around to doing it sooner or later,” grunted the speaker, for Gustavson was the local undertaker.
“Who got him?” Stirton inquired.
“That’s what we don’t know,” admitted Jerome and told the listening men of his findings on the range.
Knowing cowhands, Jerome figured he had best tell all he knew rather than wait until rumors spread across the range and stirred up bitterness. He did not hide anything, even the fact that his two men had been using running irons when cut down, nor did he excuse Gooch’s act on those grounds. Angry mutters rose among the listening men, but all were directed at Gooch and not the bounty hunter’s employer.
Danny took advantage of Jerome’s speech to study the Rafter O hands. Six in number, they looked like any other bunch of cowhands one might find working on a Texas spread. Three of the six looked to be around Tommy’s age and appeared to be badly shaken by what they heard. Danny decided to cultivate the trio in the hope of learning something.
The food came and Danny ate well after a couple of days on his own fixings. When finished, he returned to the Cattle Queen with Jerome and Tommy, after tending to their horses. Already the hitching rail showed a fair crowd inside and on entering the bar room Danny saw that business had picked up. Jerome left the younger men to join a group of prosperous-looking citizens gathered at a side table. For a moment Tommy stood looking around, then led Danny to where Mousey sat with the big buxom brunette.
“Hi, honey,” Tommy greeted. “Where-at’s Dora?”
“Upstairs,” Mousey replied. “She’s taking it bad about Sammy.”