Returning to the horses, he was attempting to hoist one of the dead men across the saddle of a very nervous horse when he heard riders behind him. Expecting to see more Double T men, he drew his carbine and stood behind his horse. As the riders came nearer he recognized two of the ranchers who had brought Murphy’s body into Lodgepole. The newcomers also recognized him and slowed their mounts to a walk.

  ‘What in the hell happened here?’ asked Bill Sutton.

  His companion, George Norton looked at the deputy suspiciously but said nothing.

  ‘Two men from the Double T jumped me at the creek,’ Connell explained. ‘I shot one, but someone with a rifle over there in the trees, put a bullet through the one in the red shirt. Do you know them?’

  Sutton looked at the closest dead man. ‘His name’s Jesse Quinn. He’s no loss – liked to think he was a gunman.’

  ‘The other one’s name is Willing, or something like that,’ Norton volunteered. ‘I’ve seen him at round-ups. He’s no loss either.’

  ‘Seems like you and someone else did this district a big favour, Connell,’ Sutton said.

  ‘There’s one thing I need to clear up, gents. What sort of rifles are you carrying?’

  Slightly puzzled they produced the long arms they each had on their saddles. Sutton had a Henry .44 rim fire in a rawhide loop on his saddle horn and Norton had a Winchester .44/.40. Connell explained about the shell he had picked up and asked if they knew anyone who had an 1876 Model Winchester. Both shook their heads.

  ‘Those Winchester Express calibres are a bit out of the price range of us small ranchers,’ Norton told him. ‘Now, what are you going to do with these dead hombres?’

  ‘If you’ll give me a hand to get them on their horses. I’ll take them to the Double T.’

  Sutton was aghast. ‘If you go to the Double T with two of Raymond’s dead cowhands, you might not come out again. That four-eyed sonofabitch is likely to shoot you when he sees that Quinn was shot in the back. Take the bodies to town and let McLeod break the news to Raymond.’

  ‘It’s a long ride,’ Connell argued.

  Norton agreed. ‘It is, but at least you’ll live to get there. You might think you’re the law around here, but Raymond and the other pair run the whole show. McLeod takes their word for everything. If one of them was to shoot you – and that’s on the cards – he’d just cook up a story and the sheriff would go along with him.’

  Sutton added, ‘There have been two small ranchers lynched around here and we believe that men from all three ranches were involved. There could be more than a dozen murderers on those three spreads and if they thought you were getting too close, your life would not be worth a plugged nickel.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning,’ Connell told them. ‘If you’ll give me a hand in getting this pair across their saddles, I’ll take my chances with McLeod. Tell your neighbours what happened here too. There are bound to be some wild stories flying about.’

  Crossley-Hunt knew that Jensen was hiding something when he started discussing the imported bulls. The ranch manager was going to great lengths to avoid discussing the deal in any detail. He seemed to recall little about the transaction and maintained that most of it had been arranged between the English company and a livestock agent based in Chicago. He suggested that the company man should call in at Loeb Livestock in Chicago on his way home if he wanted to be fully briefed on the importation details.

  Though he already knew the livestock agent’s address, Crossley-Hunt made a careful note of it for Jensen’s benefit. The latter pretended that he was not worried, but inwardly he was fighting down panic. He cursed Connell silently for he was sure that he had sown the seeds of suspicion in the company man’s mind. The knowledge that Chico had missed killing Connell also did little to improve his humour. He left the office and walked out to the kitchen. ‘Prudence,’ he bellowed.

  The little woman appeared nervously at the door with a broom still in her hands.

  ‘Get Ed Adams to see me. Don’t stand there like a lost sheep. Get moving.’

  The woman looked panic-stricken, turned and hurried away.

  Ten minutes later the foreman strolled in. ‘You wanted to see me about something, Ollie?’

  ‘Where’s Chico?’

  ‘Hell, I don’t know. It was McLeod hired him, not us. He could be in Lodgepole getting drunk by now.’

  ‘Send a couple of the boys out and find the ugly little coyote. Tell him I have an urgent job for him.’

  Adams looked at his boss shredly. ‘The boys might not find Chico. He comes and goes as it suits him. But do you really need him? Some of us reckon he led the posse around in circles when we were looking for Schultz’s killer. I wouldn’t trust that sneaky varmint as far as I could throw him. What can he do that I can’t? I don’t mind earning a bit of extra money on the side.’

  ‘Would you kill a man for two hundred dollars?’

  Adams gave a slight chuckle. ‘Hell, Ollie, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, I’d kill him for practice but two hundred bucks would be nice.’

  Suddenly Jensen felt better. He had Chico stalking Connell and Adams would be after Crossley-Hunt. His secret would be safe and the rustlers of Alder Creek would be blamed.

  Unaware of the plot against him, the company man saddled a horse. He wanted to get away from the unfriendly atmosphere at the ranch and the friendliest face he could imagine was that of Mary Coulter.

  The foreman let Crossley-Hunt ride away and hurried to his horse as soon as his intended victim was out of sight. He would be easy to track and the country into which he was headed afforded ample spots for an ambush.

  The company man steered straight across a mile of open, grassy flats and set his mount up the steep ridge to the west. The higher ground was rocky and barren and partially covered in stunted pines and cedars. There was no feed or water there and the cattle rarely ventured over it. The ridge formed a natural barrier between the Diamond R and the ranches along Alder Creek. As his mount climbed higher, the rider could see miles of open grassland below him, dotted with the tiny forms of grazing cattle. He remembered then what Connell had told him about the country being overstocked. Though the stock he had passed were in good condition, he knew that things would be different when snow covered the bit of dry, brown grass that still survived. He did not need much experience with cattle to know that the Diamond R had a big part in the overcrowding of the open range.

  Once over the ridge, he began the descent into the valley of Alder Creek. More timber grew on that side and he could not see any buildings, but a column of smoke rising above the dark green of the pines indicated the location of the Coulter ranch. He tried to convince himself that his visit was strictly business but found himself hoping that Mary would be home.

  Adams had been trailing at a distance but once his intended victim was on the other side of the hill, he urged his horse into a gallop to bring him into closer range. When he saw the chimney smoke, the foreman guessed where Crossley-Hunt was going and turned his mount along the top of the ridge. He knew the country well and now intended a short cut that would take him ahead of the Englishman. For half a mile he followed the ridge line and then turned down the slope. He took things more slowly then and the fallen pine needles muffled the sound of his horse. Eventually though, he found the spot he was seeking.

  A spur ran off the main ridge descending where Alder Creek looped toward it. A rider following the worn path beside the stream would pass within a hundred yards of the spur’s lower slopes. He could conceal his horse behind a screen of pines and bushes and would have open ground between his position and the creek’s edge.

  There was no hint of a wind and the horses were unlikely to scent each other and betray the ambush with a whinny of greeting. Carefully Adams eased a cartridge into his rifle’s breech, checked his sight settings and settled down to wait. He knew that the wait would not be a long one.

  It seemed no time at all before he glimpsed movement among the trees and a short time later, Crossley-Hunt rode into his sights.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Connell’s entry into town with two dead men in tow certainly gave its citizens a new subject for conversation. Some just stared as he passed but others followed him along the sides of the street hoping to learn more about the strange sight.

  Roberts saw him coming and hurried outside. ‘Connell,’ he said almost as though he did not believe his own eyes. ‘What in the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m delivering a couple of dead men to town. Where’s McLeod?’

  ‘He ain’t here. I think he’s out at the Wineglass with Coventry. What happened? Who are they?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get inside. Now, where do I put the late lamented until McLeod can see them?’

  ‘Bring them round the back. There’s a shed we can lock them in. I know they ain’t likely to get out, but I don’t want curious folks getting in.’

  ‘I know them fellers,’ one of the onlookers said. ‘That’s Quinn and Willing. They work for the Double T. The brand’s there on the horses.’

  ‘Well they don’t work there now,’ another told him. ‘Looks like they had some rustler trouble.’

  The two deputies worked quickly, first securing the bodies and then unsaddling the horses before turning them loose in the sheriff’s corral.

  Pushing away curious onlookers, Roberts ushered Connell through the back door of the building and following him inside, locked it. Then, turning to the new deputy, he demanded, ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Connell explained the situation and a look of disbelief came over his colleague’s beefy face. He thought it too much of a coincidence that two different men, unknown to each other, could be shooting at the dead men at the same time. He plainly disbelieved Connell’s guess that the bullet that killed Quinn was intended for himself and the dead man might accidentally have moved into the line of fire.

  Minutes later McLeod came bustling through the door. ‘What’s this about a shooting?’ he demanded, as he placed his black hat on a wall rack.

  Again Connell repeated the story and again his account was greeted with disbelief. He eyed the new deputy suspiciously. ‘Are you sure you didn’t shoot Quinn in the back while he was running away?’

  ‘Damn sure. He was hit by a .45/.75 and I have the shell to prove it. My .44/.40 would not have made an exit hole the size of the one in Quinn even if it had gone right through. Those express rifles are for big game and long-range shooting.’

  Roberts asked, ‘Should I get one of the locals to ride out to the Double T and tell Joe Raymond?’

  ‘Yes,’ McLeod replied. ‘Tell anyone who wants to go that it is worth a dollar. But don’t give the messenger too many details. There’s a lot about this that we don’t know yet.’

  Crossley-Hunt was steering his horse around a pine sapling and the slight change of direction was enough to throw off the rifleman’s aim. The bullet that should have knocked the company man from the saddle clipped a lock of mane from his horse’s neck. The startled animal gave a sideways jump and the rider’s leg became entangled in the sapling. A branch swung into Crossley-Hunt’s face and he was dragged from the saddle as the frightened horse bounded away. He hit the ground hard and was temporarily winded but instinctively he took the precautions that his army experience had taught him. He rolled sideways down the creek bank.

  Adams was not sure that he had scored a hit as he did not hear the distinctive sound of the bullet striking that a body hit usually produced. He saw Crossley-Hunt roll over the edge of the creek bank, but thought that the force of his fall might have given him the necessary impetus. The rifleman worked the loading lever of his carbine and sighted on the creek bank. If his target showed, he would be waiting.

  Gasping for breath, the company man slid down the creek bank, but was able to stop himself before slipping into the water. He drew his revolver from its holster then crawled along below the level of the bank not daring to peer over it until he found cover behind a small bush that grew on the upper edge. He took a couple of deep breaths, removed his hat and cautiously raised his head behind the leafy screen. His view of the hillside was obstructed by the foliage before him and he saw no sign of his attacker. Fifty yards away his horse had stopped after treading on the fallen reins but he would have to cross too much open ground to get to it. He decided to wait until he saw the rifleman’s next move.

  Adams thought he had hit the Englishman but was not sure. He decided to wait a little longer, leaving the riderless horse where it was for bait. If the company man was uninjured or slightly wounded, the foreman thought that his quarry would try to reach his mount to make his escape. If nothing happened in the next few minutes, he would approach and check on the result of his shot.

  In his years on India’s North-west Frontier, Crossley-Hunt had been shot at many times by hostile tribesmen and was more experienced in such situations than his attacker. The mixture of impatience and curiosity had been the downfall of many a Pathan sniper so he lay still, watching and waiting. The range was too long for his revolver and it was safer to let the shooter come to him rather than vice versa. He knew that a man moving was the one at a disadvantage, so he waited.

  Adams, in the minutes that passed, convinced himself that he was being unnecessarily cautious and stole from his position. But he moved carefully and stayed under cover as much as possible. Halfway to the creek bank a loose rock rolled out from under his foot and bounced down the slope. It betrayed his presence but brought no hostile response.

  The sound alerted Crossley-Hunt and he was concerned to see that the man with the rifle was approaching from an unexpected angle and would see him in a few more steps. Firing double-action, he triggered three quick shots. At least one took effect and the Diamond R foreman was twisted a little to the side as the bullet struck him. But he remained on his feet and, firing his carbine from the hip, replied with a shot that kicked dirt in his opponent’s face. Then he felt the effect of the wound to the thigh and retired behind a convenient stump.

  Crossley-Hunt also rolled sideways to the better cover of a slight bend in the creek bank. Quickly he flipped open his revolver’s loading gate and one by one, punched out the empty shells, replacing each with a fresh cartridge from his ammunition pouch.

  Adams had a fleeting glimpse of a target and fired a hasty shot that came too close for comfort. Crossley-Hunt fired back quickly, one shot going wide and the other thudding into the stump that protected his opponent. The foreman took another chance, exposing himself momentarily and ducking behind cover when the company man shot at him. He had been counting the Englishman’s shots. ‘You’re empty,’ he shouted triumphantly, and began a limping run at his man, firing the carbine from the hip as he approached.

  Crossley-Hunt ignored the inaccurate shot and took careful aim as Adams advanced, working the loading lever for a killing shot. Firing single-action, he placed his first shot in the centre of the foreman’s chest. His face a mask of shock, Adams seemed not to believe what was happening. He was trying to fire his rifle again when another bullet struck him in almost the same place and he pitched forward on his face.

  Cautiously, the company man advanced keeping his gun trained on the fallen man. With his foot, he carefully moved the Winchester out of his adversary’s reach although he knew that it was probably an unnecessary precaution. Even before turning the body over, the company man knew who it was: the Diamond R would need a new foreman.

  He was reloading his revolver when he heard horsemen approaching. Uncertain as to the identity of the newcomers, he grabbed the dead man’s carbine and stepped back to better cover below the creek bank. Two riders rode out of the trees, Ben Coulter and his son, Bob.

  Ben looked at the Englishman and the dead man nearby. ‘We heard shooting. What’s going on here?’

  Crossley-Hunt indicated his English revolver. ‘You could say it was a family disagreement. One Adams just met another. Our trusted foreman just tried to kill me. I knew he didn’t like me but didn’t expect that he would resort to murder.’

  ‘He was always a mean cuss,’ Coulter said. ‘He’s no loss except to Ollie Jensen. He’ll have to do his own dirty work now.’

  ‘Are you implying that Jensen could be behind this attempt?’

  The rancher leaned his hands on the saddle horn. ‘Ed Adams didn’t have too many original ideas of his own. Ollie Jensen usually pulled his strings. Have you been upsetting Jensen about something?’

  Crossley-Hunt looked puzzled. ‘I can’t recall any disagreement that warranted a murder, but I doubt that he’ll be pleased by the result of this afternoon’s work.’

  ‘Joe Raymond on the Double T will be a lot less pleased,’ Coulter told him. ‘Not real far from here yesterday, Tom Connell had a run-in with two of Raymond’s men. Tom shot one and some unknown but public-spirited citizen, let daylight into another. There’s been a regular epidemic of lead poisoning around here in the last few days but I’m glad to see that the other side are now taking the casualties.’

  ‘I’d better get going, Coulter. I have to take Adams’s body back to the ranch.’

  The rancher shook his head. ‘Don’t do that. Take him to Sheriff McLeod in town. You need a few witnesses around you, because you’re not dealing with the most upright of citizens. Come home with me and have a square meal. Then we’ll deliver old Ed here to the sheriff. It will be an all night ride but I’ll guide you there. I’ll send young Bob to the Diamond R with a note from you so that Jensen will be in the picture.’

  Mickey Lonsdale and Noah Hutchins were worried men. They had just heard of the deaths of the two cowhands who had not returned to the Double T the previous night. Quinn’s death disturbed them the most.

  Lonsdale’s face suddenly looked older than its twenty-two years and a frightened look in his darting eyes showed that he was close to panic. ‘I’m seein’ Raymond tonight and snatching my time,’ he said. ‘They’re catchin’ up with us. You and me, Noah, we’re the only ones left. If we stay around here we’ll end up like Cutler and Schultz and Quinn.’

 

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