Robertson - Rustlers in the Sage

Copyright 2018 Donald L. Robertson

CM Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are a product of the authors imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, or events, is completely coincidental.

Cover Design by Elizabeth Mackey

Editing by Melissa Gray

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T he man sat erect on the worn-out buckskin. His binoculars enlarged the dusty activity playing out on the valley floor. Four cowboys were busy branding a small herd of cattle. After watching for a few minutes, he dropped the binoculars into his saddlebags, stepped down from his horse, and, leading the animal, walked back toward the thick pines silently disappearing into the tall trees.

* * *

The sun was low in the west, about to drop from sight, when an average-looking, down-on-his-luck cowboy rode into the ranch yard. The ranch matched the horse and cowboy, a little rundown. He rode to the watering trough near the barn, stepped down, and loosened the cinch on his horse. The buckskin dipped thirstily into the water.

What can I do you for, Mister? asked the man who had been watching him ride in.

Names Holt Kincannon. Hope you dont mind me watering my horse.

An old brindle hound came strolling up and began sniffing at Holts boots. He leaned over and scratched the dog behind his ears.

Call me Ike. The dogs name is Brownie. Friendliest old hound youre ever goin to see. Mr. Maser gave him to his daughter, Carolyn, Miss Maser, when she was little. I swear shed do anything for that old dog. The older man nodded toward Holts horse. Never turned away a thirsty horse or a hungry cowboy. Looks like your buckskins seen better days.

Traveled quite a distance. Any work to be had around here?

Brownie turned and ambled back into the shade of the barn, circled a couple of times, and dropped, with a groan, into the soft dirt.

Another voice, gruff, coming from behind Holt, said. Not for you, Kincannon.

Recognizing the voice, Holt turned to see Jesse Savage, a cold and vicious rustler he had arrested when he was a deputy sheriff in Texas. When did you get out, Savage?

Makes no matter. Ive been lookin forward to this day way too long. I plan to pound your holier-than-thou face right into this here dry dirt.

Savage stood at least three inches taller and carried fifty pounds more than Holt. He had a long scar across his left cheek and a front tooth was missing, causing a slight lisp when he talked. His belly battled with his waistband, trying to escape.

Savage, Ike said, you know the boss dont like fightin here at the ranch.

Therell be no fighting, Ike, Holt said. Let me water my horse, and Ill be on my way.

Youre gonna be on your way after I finish with you, Savage said, his right arm already swinging for Holts head.

Holt moved slightly to his right, Ikes blow hammering nothing but air. Holt stepped in and drove a powerful right jab straight at Savages chin. It connected, and the bigger mans eyes rolled back. He collapsed to the ground, his body sprawled out like a rag doll.

The buckskin raised his head from the trough and glanced at the unconscious man, then went back to drinking.

Ike shook his head, laughing. Id never expected that. The mans got the weakest jaw Ive ever seen, and him bulling his way around here like hes somebody.

With the sound of the blow, a man and woman came running from the house. Arriving at the scene, the woman looked at Savage, still out on the ground, and turned to the man with her. Trent, you know I dont allow fighting on this ranch! She turned back to Holt. Who are you?

Holt touched his hat. He couldnt help but admire the fire of the young woman standing in front of him. Maam. Im Holt Kincannon. He grinned at the flashing green eyes. I was looking for a job, but I reckon Ive burned that bridge. Ill finish watering my horse and be on my way.

She looked down at Savage again, whose fingertips were starting to twitch. Mr. Kincannon, this ranch turns no man away from the table, but youll have to speak to my foreman about a job. She indicated the man with her. Trent Lyles.

Holt smiled at her. Thank you, maam, and your name?

A little flustered at his asking, she said, My name is Carolyn Maser. Youre on the Lazy M Ranch, Mr. Kincannon.

She turned, her skirt rustling as she strode back to the house. Holt watched her go, then turned to the foreman. Mr. Lyles, I guess my question about a job should be directed to you.

Trent Lyles was a big man, similar in size to the man in the dirt, but without the belly. He carried heavy shoulders and arms over a slim waist. Call me Trent. He looked down at Savage, who was just now shaking his head and trying to rise. We just might have an opening.

When Savage regained his feet, he threw an evil look at Holt, then turned to Lyles. You dont want to hire him. He was a deputy sheriff in Texas.

Lyles looked at Holt. Is that true?

It is. Thats why Savage, here, has a burr under his saddle. I arrested him for rustling. He was lucky none of the ranchers caught him, or hed been tree fruit.

Thats a lie. I aint never rustled a head of beef in my life, Savage said.

Lyles held up his hand to Savage. I dont think Ive ever met a man that hasnt dropped a loose loop over a cow or two. Savage, you know the bosss rule about starting a fight. Get your gear and get off the ranch.

You cant fire me, Savage blustered. I know

Lyles took a step toward Savage. You know the rules. Now, git!

Savage stood frozen in place for a second, then wheeled and marched off to the bunkhouse.

Lyles turned back to Holt. Holt, if youre looking for a job, youve found it. Thirty a month and all the hard work you can stand. Stow your gear and come up to the house for supper. You might give that horse of yours some oats and let him rest for a while. He looks worn-out.

Thanks, Holt said. He is. Weve come a far piece.

Lyles turned to Ike. Show him the tack room, and then introduce him around to the boys.

Ill do er, Ike said to the foremans back. Come on.

After stowing his tack, Holt moseyed over to meet the men in the bunkhouse.

One of them stuck out his hand. Im Stony Pitts. I was outside and saw the fight, if you can call it a fight. I dont think Ive ever seen anyone drop like Savage did. He deserved it. Glad to have you here.

Thanks. Lucky punch. He noticed Stonys two guns and pointed at them. You good with those?

Stony smiled. I get by. You hungry?

You have no idea. Ive been living on hard biscuits and jerky for the last week. I could take a bite.

The other cowhands, as soon as they were introduced to Holt, headed toward the house, with Holt, Stony, and Ike right behind. One young, skinny hand seemed extra vigilant as he crossed the yard toward the house. When he was halfway across, Brownie burst from the barn, racing toward him. The younger man took off at a dead run with Brownie angling for an intercept. The cowhands who were with him were roaring with laughter.