The floating outfit 62, p.7
The Floating Outfit 62, page 7
“Does Rusty admit to be happily married?” Stone inquired as if he felt the answer might be in the negative.
“He does!” the ash-blonde stated firmly. “I’ve told him he is.”
“None of which is helping us find out what was happening in that trail count,” Margaret pointed out with mock firmness. “And I still want to know.”
“Where’s that fool Rolf at?” Stone inquired instead of complying with what had been more a demand than a request for information.
“He’s off having himself a rabbit hunt,” Margaret replied. “And stop trying to change the subject. It won’t work.”
Although having been trained for the task of acting as a guide for its mistress, the big Chesapeake Bay retriever still retained its inborn instincts for hunting and was allowed freedom to do so when not required for its main duties. However, such was its intelligence that it never allowed the same traits to interfere with its work when it had the harness made as an aid to being handled strapped on.
“They came and asked if any of their boss’s stock had slipped into the herd,” Stone claimed, yielding to the inevitable and hoping to avoid arousing any anxiety by offering an explanation for the incident less serious than the truth. “So, as I was figuring on making a trail count anyways, I set it up to let them see and cut out any there might be. There wasn’t, so they thanked us for doing it and headed back to tell their boss.”
“And Kiowa went after—with—them to make sure they didn’t get lost?” Margaret said sardonically, having had everything that took place described to her by Steffie.
“Something of the sort, honey,” Stone declared with what sounded like pure veracity, although he formed the uneasy suspicion that it was not being received that way by either of the women. He had already come to know that his wife was a very discerning woman and well-versed in all aspects of life in cattle country, and he knew he was now receiving further confirmation of it. Since he still did not want to tell the truth for what he considered to be the best of motives, he concluded that there was only one honorable way of avoiding the issue for a Southron gentleman: make a passable excuse and get away fast. “Oh, blast it! I just realized I forgot to tell Waggles something, so I’d best go do it right now.”
“Men!” Margaret snorted, but a smile played on her lips as she heard the sound of her husband riding away at a fair speed. “From what you told me, Steffie, that bunch wanted to cut the herd and my dear husband dissuaded them, probably with Kiowa’s sneaky help, but he decided to make the trail count to let them save face and avoid trouble with their boss.”
“I wish Rusty had that kind of tact,” the ash-blonde stated, having no doubt she had heard the correct explanation.
“Don’t worry,” Margaret replied. “I’m sure you will soon have him that way.”
“It’s good of you to see me this late in the day, Counselor,” Waggles Harrison asserted as the man he had come to visit in Child City, seat of Spanish Grant County, waved him and his equally travel-stained two companions into chairs on the other side of a large and tidy desk.
“That’s all right, Mr. Harrison,” Edward Sutherland replied, his Bostonian voice revealing just a trace of a Scottish burr. He was exuding the joviality that endeared him to most people who came in search of his legal services but had frequently caused his opponents in a court case to underestimate his ability until too late. Short and giving the impression of being chubby although his rotundity was produced by rubber-hard flesh, he had a sun-reddened face that seemed far more ingenuous than was the case. Waving a seemingly languid hand toward the door to his office, he went on, “I would have had to go in to the sitting room where my dear wife is holding a gathering of the good ladies in the Betterment of Child City League, and this gives me an excuse to put it off.”
Despite the fact that Stone Hart had taken a hurried departure from the interrogation by his wife, the business he had gone to discuss with his segundo could not be carried out that day. Although it did not supply information about the location of the four ranches that had been formed when the property that gave the area its name was divided up following the death intestate of the original owner, the map they were using indicated that they were within the bounds of Spanish Grant County and that its seat was still too far away to be reached that afternoon. Therefore, it was not until the following morning that Waggles set off to have a meeting with the lawyer whose letter had informed Stone of his inheritance.
Bearing in mind the incident with the men claiming to be working for the AW ranch, and despite Kiowa Cotton’s having returned toward sundown to say they showed no sign of returning to try to make further trouble, it had been decided that the segundo should not travel unaccompanied. He had selected Peaceful Gunn to be one of his companions, and with the agreement of the other regular members of the Wedge crew—one of whom would have been the other choice—decided to reward Thorny Bush’s hard work and diligence throughout the journey by making him the other. Regardless of the paucity of other details given on the Army map of Arizona Territory by which Stone had guided them on the latter stages of the journey, they had had no difficulty finding the town, but the time was half past seven in the evening when they arrived at the office that was in the house owned by the lawyer.
“Well,” Sutherland said, having examined the letter that Stone had given to Waggles. “In what way can I be of further service to Mr. Hart?”
“We’d like to know the setup in the county, among other things,” the segundo replied, deciding that the jovial-looking—yet, he deduced, remarkably shrewd—lawyer could make a useful ally in the event of trouble forced upon the Wedge. “You see, the only map we’ve got is shy on just about everything ’cepting the shape of the old Spanish grant and how the town here’s right smack in the middle of it.”
“I can certainly help you there,” Sutherland declared, and went to collect a rolled-up sheet of paper from an umbrella stand alongside a big filing cabinet. He unrolled it and held it flat by placing on it a couple of lumps of pyrite-streaked rock already on the desk. As he was doing so, he continued jovially, “I know they’re only fool’s gold, but I like to look at them and think what might have been when my wife bought them if they really had been genuine nuggets. Do any of you gentlemen have the pleasure of being married?”
“Not me,” Waggles stated definitely, and medium-size, miserable-looking, heavily mustached Peaceful Gunn—who was armed with two Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker revolvers as well as a massive bowie knife, which he claimed were carried only to ensure that his pacific desires were respected—gave an equally vehement declaration of bachelorhood. “And Thorny here’s a smidgen too young to make it.”
“And aim to stay that way,” Bush declared with considerable heat, despite being still somewhat overawed by the luxurious surroundings neither his home nor any other place he had been could equal.
“So did I, once,” Sutherland said with a wry grin.
“Then why’d you get hitched—sir?” the youngster inquired before he could stop himself, adding the honorific in case he had caused offense.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” the lawyer admitted with a grin. “And still does, except when the better half decides to have the Ladies Betterment of Child City League around. They talk worse than a bunch of senators and congressmen trying to think up more ways to get cash from their supporters.”
“That’s women for you,” Thorny growled. “The way they talk—!”
“The way you talk, you’ll be riding the blister end of a shovel when we get to the spread,” the segundo warned, noticing that the lawyer appeared amused by the youngster’s words. Then he looked at the map and found it to have more details than the one he had previously seen. “This is more like it.”
“It was drawn up by a survey team of Army Engineers after the old don died intestate and nobody came forward to try to claim the grant,” Sutherland replied. “The federal government had never been too happy about so much land in the U.S. of A. being owned by one man, a Mexican national at that. Only, it hadn’t been considered good policy to chance riling the Mexican government by trying to dislodge him. And, with him dead and nobody else able to claim it, they decided they didn’t want it all in a single person’s hands again. So they took advantage of the geography allowing them to split it into four roughly equal-size parts with natural boundaries to delineate one from another. They were offered at public auction, and although I suspect it wasn’t meant to happen, that was how Cornelius Maclaine got his part. Did you ever meet him?”
“Can’t say as I ever had the pleasure,” Waggles admitted, remembering the less-than-flattering way in which the man they were discussing had been mentioned by his boss.
“You haven’t missed anything,” the lawyer asserted, drawing the correct conclusion from the emphasis given to the last word of the reply. “I trust your boss won’t mind me saying that?”
“He said about the same thing,” Waggles confessed without hesitation. “Fact being, he allowed he was tolerable surprised that he got left the spread.”
“In my opinion, although I wouldn’t care to be quoted verbatim or any other way on it,” Sutherland intoned in his most impressively legalistic fashion despite there being a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, “the only reason Maclaine did so was that he couldn’t take it with him or think of a way to stay on it. He neither said, nor did I feel it incumbent upon me to ask, why he left it to Mr. Hart. He certainly didn’t give me the feeling he was doing it out of affection for a kinsman. His manner changed and his tone became more serious as he went on, “Now, how can I help you further?”
“Who runs the spreads?” Waggles asked, since the map did not give such information. Having noticed the frank way in which Maclaine had spoken, he had concluded that the question would not be regarded as out of order. “And, if you don’t object, what kind of fellers are they?”
“Just so long as everybody knows what I say now will only be personal opinions,” the lawyer said, but the segundo and older cowhand were aware that the warning was directed at their young companion, even if he did not. “Starting at the top and east, Patrick Hayes has the Arrow P. A New Englander, Massachusetts at a guess. He was one of the first to get his bid accepted and seems to know his business about running a ranch, although I don’t know where he got his know-how. To the west is what its owner calls the Vertical Triple E on account of his name being Egbert Eustace Eisteddfod, and he sounds like he originated in Illinois. Claims to be Welsh and talks it, but not on Yum Kippur, I would say. In spite of his name I’ve never seen him in church, and most Welsh folks I’ve known tend to be religious. He was another of the first in. His friend and his Cornelius Maclaine corralled the one below on the west, using the C Over M as his brand. Feller called Loxley—sounded New York—!”
“‘Sounded’?” Waggles queried.
“He got the other at the same time,” the lawyer elaborated. “But he died recently and it went to a cousin, Wilson Eardle. I’ve heard that the aforesaid Mr. Eardle was a major with the New Jersey Dragoons in Arkansas and took over the ranch a few weeks back. From what Shoey Dobson—he’s town blacksmith and a damned good one—told me while he was making the branding irons at his forge, Mr. Eardle intends to swap the brand from the L Scissors to the AW. I’ve not seen him so far.”
“All those gents sound like they’re Yankees,” the segundo drawled.
“They are, but so was Maclaine.”
“The boss said so, allowed how Uncle Cornelius disowned his momma ’cause she married a Johnny Reb and raised her only son to be the same.”
“The war’s long over, Mr. Harrison.”
“There’s some—Gray ’n’ Blue both, I’ll admit—who don’t count it that way. How about around this way?”
“We don’t have too many Southrons around the county, but I’ve never heard of hostility with and from those who are. Why did you ask?”
“Everybody who rides for the Wedge wore the Gray in the War, or sides that way,” Waggles answered. “Would that be cause for making fuss with us ’cause we’re settling down here?”
“Not that I can visualize,” Sutherland estimated with a certainty that made the segundo assume he had already given the matter considerable thought. “And not from the townsfolk in particular. We all draw most of our living from the ranches, and your crew will be adding to it.”
“How’ll the other three ranchers feel, us moving in?”
“If they’ve any sense, they’ll think you’re an improvement on Maclaine. Anybody would be, comes to that.”
“Was there any fuss between him and them?” Waggles asked.
“He didn’t get along with anybody, but just out of his ordinary cross-grained nature,” Sutherland answered. “But there was never any active hostility between any of them as far as I know, and a thing like that wouldn’t have stayed a secret for long. Do you have any reason for asking?”
“Not ’specially,” the segundo lied, but with the bland-seeming veracity that made him such a capable poker player. “It’s just we’d like to know the lay of the land, seeing’s how we’re moving in permanent ’stead of just coming to collect cattle to make a trail herd. Is there any trouble with cow thieves hereabouts?”
“None that I’ve heard of,” the lawyer replied. “And I wouldn’t say any of the ranchers would try it against the others. Going by what little I know on the subject, there’s none of the brands which could be easily changed into any of the others.”
“I’d say you know more than a little,” the segundo praised, and he was genuine in it. Knowing the theft of cattle by one spread from others was frequently a bone of contention, he had been visualizing the way the local brands would appear and discounted the possibility on account of what he deduced. xvii “Anyways, as we’ll be coming into town on paydays, how about the great seizer?”
“Amon Reeves is town marshal and sheriff combined, seeing as the county isn’t rich enough to run to both. He wore the Blue, but you’ll find he’s a fair man and not like Wyatt Earp and those other Kansas fighting pimps. You play square with him and hold the pay-night fun and games within reasonable bounds and he’ll do right by you no matter which side you rode on during the war.”
Considering what he had learned, Waggles remembered that the New Jersey Dragoons were one of the Yankee outfits against which the Texas Light Cavalry were in contention during the War Between the States. He wondered whether the newly arrived rancher might still harbor a bitter hatred against Southrons from something that happened in those days. That could account for why he sent men on a mission that he knew, or was told by Jeremy Korbin, could lead to gunplay and the scattering of a herd belonging to a Johnny Reb. However, sensing that Bush was getting restless and also not wanting to outstay his welcome with the lawyer, he decided against taking the matter up with the lawyer at that time.
“Well, I reckon we’ve taken up enough of your time,” the segundo said. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you always so friendly with newcomers?”
“I am with clients,” the lawyer claimed with a smile. “And don’t get too grateful until after you’ve seen the account for this meeting I’ll be sending to your boss. Do you know, the last time I sent one to E. E. Eisteddfod, he came asking why I’d billed him for two consultations. I replied, ‘Have you forgotten you came back and asked if you’d left your pen behind?’”
“Am I right in reckoning Sutherland is a Scotch name?” Peaceful inquired dryly.
“It’s Scottish,” Sutherland corrected with a smile. “Scotch is a whisky.”
“Which being, and the good ladies wouldn’t object,” the mournful-featured cowhand said, “as we’ve finished and all this chin-wagging’s give’ me a thirst, I don’t suppose you’d care to show us someplace in town where we could have some of that same whisky to wet our throats? Just so we don’t get billed for a consul—whatever you called it—for taking us to where it’s at.”
“Aye,” the lawyer assented, sounding more Scottish than at any other time during the interview. “I think I can do that.”
Chapter Eight – We Haven’t Settled the Rules Yet
“HEAR ME GOOD and keep this in mind all the time we’re in there, boy!” Waggles Harrison growled as Counselor Edward Sutherland was leading him and his two Wedge companions toward the front entrance of the Arizona State Saloon. “We all know as how Texas is the biggest and best damned place in the whole wide world and there’re no cowhands anyplace as good as us Texans. Only, don’t you go telling it when we get in there. We’re just taking a couple of beers afore we start back for the herd and don’t want to get into a fuss.”
Reading the name of the establishment, the sign for which was lit by a couple of lanterns, the segundo of the Wedge had commented that the selection struck him as being a mite premature. Admitting that this was the case, the lawyer replied that the owner, Angus McTavish, was living up to the Scottish reputation for being “canny with the bawbees,” since he knew the choice would not need alteration when that status within the Union was achieved.
While talking, having studied the number of cow ponies standing hip-shot and fastened to the hitching rail outside the building and its closed neighbors—their own had to be left across the street after being led from Sutherland’s home, regardless of every cowhand’s hatred for walking when it was possible to ride—Waggles had decided that the caution he had given was called for.
“I’ll mind it good, Pappy,” Thorny Bush promised.
“You’d better, boy,” the mournful-featured older cowhand warned in a doleful tone of voice that seemed to quaver with anxiety. “’Cause I’m a man of peace and don’t never take to having it spoiled by trouble ’n’ fussing.”
“My daddy allus told me you was just that, Peaceful,” Bush claimed with a grin. He took no offense at either of his companions referring to him as “boy”; the way it was said implied they figured he’d right soon grow up and make a hand. “Fact being, he allows how you’d allus back off a good two inches from it if the river hadn’t riz over the willows and there was no real easy crossing to hand.”
