cattle.”
“Or me,” Danny admitted. “Say, Ed, I’ve been kicking a fool notion around in my head. Let’s make sure we can identify our stock by running a small Bench J where it won’t show, say under the animal’s belly.”
“You’ve got a right smart notion,” the foreman grunted.
Once down in the hollow where two men died, the three cowhands set to work and branded the stock. While Tommy held the cattle, Danny cut out each animal in turn and led it to where Lyle kept a fire burning and the running irons heated to a glowing cherry-red. Showing his riding and roping skill, Danny put the captured animal down. Lyle hawg-tied it and then burned a prominent Bradded S on the animal’s left hip and traced a smaller Bench J under the belly where it would escape notice unless specifically searched for. In range terms, a brand was “something that won’t wash off,” so the cattle carried a mark of legal ownership as well as the cow thieves insignia.
The hidden brand, known as a “sleeper” became a standard weapon in the war against cow thieves in Texas and more than one light-fingered, wide-looped gent met his just deserts through Danny Fog’s “fool notion.”
Hard work and skilled handling saw all twenty head branded before darkness fell. With the preparations made, Danny and Tommy left Lyle to carry out the next part of their business; meeting Stocker and selling their “stolen” cattle.
“Good luck,” the foreman said as they parted.
“We’ll likely need it,” Danny answered with a grin.
Turning his horse, Lyle headed back in the direction of the ranch to report to his boss that all had worked out satisfactorily so far. Danny and Tommy moved the cattle a couple of miles from the hollow which held such painful associations for the animals, then halted to wait out the time until midnight.
“Do we take ’em tonight?” asked Tommy as they mounted their horses ready to make for the rendezvous.
“Nope. Not unless we have to. I want them all, from top to bottom, not just Stocker and his bunch.”
“All?”
“There’s more than just Stocker involved,” Danny told him. “All we do is ride up, deliver the stuff and pull out. Then I’m going to trail Stocker to where he hides it. Once we know that, we can move.”
“You’re the boss,” grunted Tommy.
Shortly after midnight the two young men drove their twenty head of cattle toward the rock shaped like the clipped point of a bowie knife.
“Just act natural, Tommy, boy,” Danny warned in a low voice.
“I’m as nervous as a hound-scared cat,” the youngster groaned back.
“That’s how you should be,” Danny replied with a grin. “This’s the first time you’ve ever done any cow stealing. Can’t expect you to act easy on it. Just follow my lead though—and don’t spook.”
As they drew closer to Bowie Rock, the two young men saw a pair of shapes ride into view from a clump of scrub oaks at one side of the outcrop. Coming closer, the shapes turned into a recognizable Stocker and his bulky foreman, Schatz. The burly man’s right arm looked unnaturally white but Danny realized this to be caused by a bandage around the place where his heel stamped into flesh.
“Hold it!” Stocker growled suspiciously. “There’s two of you.”
“Needed two to handle the branding,” Danny replied. “Anyways, there’s two of you, too.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“Tommy Fayne.”
Hearing Danny’s reply, Schatz growled something inaudible but Stocker spoke to cover the sound.
“Allus figured you for a ‘saint,’ Tommy.”
“Reckoned I’d never get enough money saved to marry Mousey by sticking to cowhand’s pay,” Tommy replied.
Relief hit Danny as he heard Tommy’s response. While the youngster’s voice sounded a mite strained and odd, it held nothing to make the other men suspicious. If they noticed the difference, they would put it down to his nervousness at becoming a cow thief. More than that, the youngster had given the one reason which might turn a loyal cowhand into a cow thief; Stocker had seen at least two other hands go the same way.
Everything appeared to be going the right way, Danny decided—then Schatz, still smarting under his defeat at Danny’s hands, damned nigh blew the whole thing into the air. A nasty snigger left the big hard-case at Tommy’s words.
“So you’re fixing to marry that——” Schatz began.
“Call him off, Turk!” Danny interrupted before the other could finish his insulting words. “If he doesn’t stop, I’ll muzzle him. And you watch the cattle, Tommy, we don’t want to lose ’em now.”
The low-spoken warning prevented Tommy spoiling the business at hand. Like Danny knew, the youngster tended to get a mite hot-headed where Mousey was concerned. Normally Danny would have regarded the loyalty to a feller’s gal as being praiseworthy and expect one to defend his sweetheart’s honor; but he did not want Tommy tangling with Schatz until after they had finished their business.
Stocker also appeared to desire peace. Being a businessman, if one engaged in an illegal business, Stocker had an eye on his profit and loss account. While he would be paying Danny double the price given to the more naive local hands, Stocker figured the young cowboy would be worth it. Even in the darkness he could form some idea of the quality of the stock Danny brought for sale. The cattle appeared to be two to three-year-old animals, ideal for marketing and most likely Danny Forgrave knew where more of them could be gathered. So Stocker did not want trouble.
“Go get the lantern, Dutchy,” he ordered. “And leave Tommy be, we don’t want any fuss. No offense meant, Tommy.”
“None took, neither,” Danny answered for his young friend. “You sounded a mite edgy when we rode up, Turk.”
“So’d you be in my place. It don’t do to take chances.”
“Sure admire to be working with a careful man,” Danny drawled. “We’ve only brought twenty head this time.”
“Mind if I look ’em over?” asked the rancher.
“Feel free,” replied Danny.
Clearly Stocker had the cow stealing business well organized. On his return from the clump of trees Schatz carried a bull’s-eye lantern and directed its light on the “stolen” stock. While a longhorn was dangerous to a man afoot, one could approach the animal while riding a horse without any great risk. Closing on the twenty head, Stocker examined their running iron brands in the light of the lantern. Watching the two men, Danny felt tension mounting on him but held it in check. His right hand rested on the butt of his off-side Colt, for if Stocker discovered the sleeper brands under the cattle’s bellies Danny reckoned he would need a gun in a hell of a hurry. Across at the far side of the small bunch of cattle, Tommy felt sweat trickle down his face. The youngster twisted restlessly in his saddle and looked toward Danny; but his nervousness attracted no attention for Stocker and Schatz had become used to such a reaction from the cowhands they dealt with when handing over the stolen stock.
After checking each animal in turn, Stocker nodded and Schatz closed the front of the lantern. The rancher rode to where Danny sat his
“They’ll do, Danny. We can use more stuff like this, and I’ll keep paying you ten dollars a head—only don’t mention it to anybody else.”
“You figure a fair profit for yourself, Turk,” Danny replied.
“Hell, they don’t cost you anything. And I’ve overheads to meet out of my end,” the rancher objected.
“Likely. Want Tommy and me to lend you a hand to move them?”
“Nope. You’d best not be out too late, you don’t want to get Buck Jerome all suspicious.”
Danny had not expected finding the hideout for the stolen stock to be so easy and was not wrong, however, a man always liked to try to smooth his path if he could. So he went on with something he must not forget to ask.
“How’ll I let you know when I’ve some more for sale?”
“Go to the Cattle Queen. If I’m not there, leave word with Miss Ella. Say you’ve found some of my strays and want to deliver ’em. She’ll pass the word to me and I’ll meet you here at around midnight the following night.”
“Mighty obliging lady, Miss Ella.”
