CHAPTER XV
THE CATTLE-SHEEP WAR
Next morning before dawn a determined and desperate band of men rodefrom the Star Circle Ranch, under the leadership of Mart Cooley. Whiteyand Injun were wise enough not to show themselves, Whitey fearing notonly that they would be forbidden to go, but that they would be senthome. This would be mortifying, to say the least. But if he were notforbidden--well, we all know the kinds of excuses with which we ease ourconsciences.
While this was going on in Whitey's mind, Bill Jordan was sleeping atthe Bar O. But had Bill known whither his joke on Whitey was leading theboys, it is likely that he would not have slumbered so peacefully.
So they waited until the warlike expedition had disappeared on therolling prairie, and then they followed at a distance. And that waseasy, for Injun could have tracked that mass of horses' hoofprints inhis sleep.
Most of the time Injun and Whitey were out of sight of the cattlemen.So in order to make this story run right along, it is necessary to tellwhat happened to the men while the boys were absent, all of which Injunand Whitey heard about afterwards.
It was well along in the forenoon when in the distance a mass of movingdots, with moving specks on its outskirts, indicated a flock of sheep,and spurring their horses to a gallop the men dashed toward it. And Iregret to say that when the flock was reached, the gallop did not end.The men rode straight through that bleating, panic-stricken mass, on theedge of which two hysterical collies vainly tried to exert control oftheir charges. The cattlemen were looking for the shepherd.
Some distance beyond the flock, or where the flock had been, for thesheep were now rushing across the plain, was a two-horse, canvas-toppedwagon, with a stove-pipe protruding through the top at the back. Foryour sheepherder does not sleep on the ground like the cowboy, butprefers a sheltering wagon. When the men reached this shelter, therewas no one in sight. As they reined in, one of the leaders called, "Comeout of there, you black-hearted dog!"
There was no response. Twenty guns were drawn from their holsters. Therewas a moment's pause, and the guns were raised. But the curtains of thewagon were drawn, and a figure appeared and descended to the ground. Theguns were held suspended in the hands of their surprised owners--forthey faced a woman.
The lynching party drew the line at killing the woman--though she didnot know that--but they did not draw the line at making her talk. Shewas a half-breed, and she spoke English very badly, but with a gunthrust in her face, she spoke enough.
And from what the frightened creature gasped out, and from what MartCooley figured in his mind, this is what was learned: Knowing that thecattlemen would seek revenge, but would first round up their scatteredherd, the sheepmen had had time to act. They had driven almost all theirsheep to the home ranch of the big owners, thinking they could beprotected better there. They had gathered all the men available, andthese were at the ranch, awaiting an attack. The woman's flock was toofar away to be driven in, and she had been left in charge because thesheepmen had thought that the cowmen would not harm her.
With this knowledge gained, the party wasted no more time on the womanor on her scattered sheep, but started off for the bigger game. WhenInjun and Whitey arrived on the spot, the woman had nothing more to say.She possibly felt that she had talked enough. Besides, she was busysmoking a pipe and waiting for the clever dogs to gather the scatteredflock. But the ground was like the page of a book to Injun, and he readthere, much better than the woman could have told him, that the sheephad been scattered, and the direction in which the men had gone.
Donald Spellman, the manager of the sheep ranch, was a clever, daring,and resourceful man. His ranch house was situated at the head of anarrow canyon, or coulee, that led up into steep, barren hills downwhich no horse could go. Into this pocket he had the sheep driven bythousands. Across the narrow entrance his men had built a heavybarbed-wire fence that was not visible from the foothills. In thedaytime the pass could be defended from the ranch house. At night, withthe sheepmen stationed in the hills, an attempt to break through thatwire fence would be more than dangerous. And this was the situationagainst which Mart Cooley led his determined band.
It was at the end of a hard day's ride, and, late afternoon, when thecattlemen arrived in sight of the enemies' stronghold. They had circledthe plains to the west, and ridden down in the shelter of the hills, toavoid coming within rifle range of the house. These western hills wererocky, and at their end a growth of firs, scrub oak, and brush gave thelynchers shelter. They were four or five hundred yards from the house,which was in plain view.
Mart Cooley, Walt Lampson, Buck Milton, and a couple of ranchmen stoodin this natural screen and took in the situation.
"Sheep must be up in that coulee," said Walt.
"Sure," Mart replied. "They c'n wait. That there house is sure in a goodspot. If it'd bin planned for a fort it couldn't be better." He stoodand silently regarded the house, his eyes narrowed more than usual. "Howmany men d'ye s'pose they've got in there?" he asked finally.
"Reck'n they could scrape up 'bout twenty-five, in th' time they'vehad," Walt answered.
"An' some o' 'em shepherds, an' rotten shots, an' they's fifty o' us,"Buck put in. He was eager for action.
"Well, I come here t' fight, an' I'm paid for it," said Mart Cooley."But if we go after 'em in th' open an' th' daylight, they'll get a lotof us. We'll wait till night."
"Suits me," said Walt Lampson. "I don't want no sheepman t' get me."
There was a puff of smoke from the house, and a bullet whined over themen's heads. They dropped to the ground. The lynchers raised theirrifles and emptied them, but not at the house. Back of it and to theleft was a raised water tank, and into the lower part of this the shotswere directed. As the men wormed their way back through the scrub, andaround the hill, thin streams of water began to trickle from the tank.
"If we have t' stick 'round awhile, we'll leave 'em some thirsty,anyhow," said Walt.
Volleys of harmless shots had followed their creeping course, for atfive hundred yards it is hard to hit an object on the ground--especiallywhen it is protected by scrub.
Under cover of the steep hills the cattlemen waited for night. There wasno sign of attack from the hills. Evidently the sheepmen were keepingtheir forces in the house during the daylight hours. After a brieftwilight the night fell, cloudy and very dark. And Mart Cooley hadformed another plan.
One of the men knew the lay of the canyon. Its only practical outlet wasthat guarded by the sheepmen. But a short way up the canyon there was aspring in the hills, which found its outlet in a narrow stream thatended in a small waterfall at the edge of a cliff. Mart figured on hisforce entering the canyon, stampeding the sheep, and driving them overthis waterfall. It was as simple as it was cruel, but you may havenoticed that it takes clever people to think of simple things, and MartCooley was proving almost as clever with his mind as he was with hisguns. For Mart also figured on the effect on the sheepmen's nerve whenthey found their herds gone, and their water from the tank giving out.
Under cover of darkness Mart led about fifteen men around the hill,which they skirted, and, giving the ranch house a wide berth, made theirway toward the mouth of the canyon. There was only one thing to guidethem on their course. Where the western hills raised their heightstoward the sky, their outline showed darker than the surrounding night.From this wall of black, Mart's force steered a diagonal course thatwould lead to the center of the canyon's mouth. Once in the canyon, outof range of the house and among the sheep, lanterns and fires wouldprovide light enough for the men's purpose.
It is not likely that there was an idea of poetic justice in the mindof Mart Cooley; a thought that in stampeding the sheep he was repayingthe sheepmen in their own coin for stampeding the cattle, repaying themwith the death of the victims added as interest.
The plan seemed to be working out easily--too easily. Then, from one ofthe foremost rider's mounts, came the shrill neigh of a horse in pain,and the thudding of the animal's hoofs as it
shied violently, for it hadcollided with the barbed wire fence. This was Mart's first intimationthat there was a fence, but he had no time to think that he had beenmatched in cleverness by Donald Spellman, for things began to happen.
First came the sound of a cowbell. At intervals along the lower strandsof barbed wire bells had been hung. Next came a volley of shots, fromthe hills, which had been sought by the sheepmen under the cover of thenight. They were firing toward the sound of the bells. The firing wasnot well-directed, but it was steady and dangerous.
It is doubtful whether the attackers could have cut their way throughthe fence, handicapped as they were, but they had no chance to try, forjust then a third thing happened. A cloud-obscured moon had beenclimbing the eastern hills, and at that moment the clouds parted and theentire valley was bathed in moonlight.
The light was peaceful and beautiful, but it brought a deadly effect.Not only did it reveal the cattlemen to their enemies in the hills, butto those in the distant ranch house, as well. The cracking of rifles wasalmost continuous in that fatal triangle, in which the sheepmen formedtwo points, and the cowmen the tragic third.
As the trapped fifteen rushed their mounts toward the shelter of thewestern hills, drawing farther away from their eastern enemies, theywere forced to a nearer approach to the ranch house, to run the gantletof its concealed sharp-shooters. A galloping horse, with its rider, doesnot offer an easy mark; fifteen of them, the objective of twenty rifles,form a better target. And when Mart Cooley's followers reached theshadows of the farther hills, they did not number fifteen, but eight.
It was into this party of flying horsemen that Injun and Whitey werecarried bodily. As darkness had come on, the boys had ridden cautiouslyin the tracks of the advancing party. They had been attracted by thesound of the shots, and approached as near as they dared, to witness thebattle. They were near the corner of the hill when the terrified horsesdashed toward them, and to avoid being run down they had spurred theirponies ahead and were swept along with the flying riders.
Well, Mart Cooley had made the mistake of not figuring on the clevernessof Donald Spellman, and the result of this was not only to make himfurious with himself, but to add to his, and to all the other men'sdesire for revenge. All thoughts of starving the enemy out were lost,absorbed in a lust for killing. The excited men paid no attention to theboys. It is doubtful if they even saw them.
Mart took his forty-odd men back to the firs and scrub oaks at the lowerpoint of the western hills, and there they stretched out in the brush,and prepared to bombard the ranch house. The moonlight was now Mart'sfriend instead of his enemy. The sheepmen were divided. Those on thehills would come in range of the cattlemen's rifles if they attempted tocross the moonlit valley, and in the meantime they were harmless.
A number of volleys were fired into the house, not at the windows, butbeneath the window ledges. When men are besieged in a house they mustfire from the windows, kneeling by them. Several of the cattlemen'sbullets tearing through the wooden wall of the house had caught thesekneeling figures, and the fire from the place, never accurate, began toweaken. Mart had another purpose in view, but of that he said nothing.Possibly he was mortified by the failure of his sheep raid.
Knowing Injun and Whitey as you do, you can imagine that they got asnear to this dangerous situation as they could. No one ordered them backbecause no one noticed them. But they fired no shots. The wish to killany man, no matter how vile, filled no part of Whitey's young life. Itwould be hard to answer for Injun. Hard to tell what the blood of allhis fighting forefathers was prompting him to do.
But Injun couldn't fire a shot if he wanted to. You may remember theWinchester that had been presented to Injun at the Bar O Ranch. He hadleft the gun at home. Injun knew nothing of the modern silencer, but hehad one of his own--his bow and arrows. When he had started out inpursuit of the horse-thief, whom he supposed to be Henry Dorgan, Injunhad carried these. No explosive gunshots for him. He expected to have towork silently.
While most of the men had their eyes and the sights of their guns fixedon the house, Mart Cooley kept his eyes on the sky. But despite thisMart noticed that no shots came from two figures near him, and lookingcloser he saw the crouching Whitey and Injun, the latter with his bowand arrows. Mart was about to speak to them, when a cloud crossed themoon. Mart gave vent to an oath of satisfaction and started forward.Then he thought of something, came back, and grasping Injun by the arm,dragged him forward with him.
It was a large cloud that obscured the moon, so there was a long periodof darkness. Whitey stayed where he was. He wondered whether Mart Cooleywould come and drag him forward, and rather hoped so. He wonderedwhether this darkness would give the men on the hills a chance to jointheir fellows in the ranch house. And Whitey also wondered where BuckMilton was. He hadn't seen him with the party. But Buck was lying outthere on the plain; that is, the mortal Buck was. The other Buck wasprobably with his friend Tom.
At last Whitey's curiosity could hold him back no longer, and he creptforward to the front line of men, keeping well to one side. They hadceased firing, the house was dark. And the sheepmen there had ceasedfiring too. Their only marks had been the flashes of the cattlemen'sguns, and those showed no longer.
All the men were hushed, as though in expectancy. Whitey peered into thedarkness, as they were doing. The cloud's ragged edge showed at thelower half of the moon, and the ranch house could be dimly seen. Fromhalfway between it and the men a small light appeared, flickered for amoment, then rising in the air described a graceful half-circle andalighted on the ranch house roof. Another, another, and then othersfollowed. Injun was firing lighted arrows.
The moon came forth, and a volley of shots was poured from the ranchhouse toward the spot from whence the arrows had come. A volley from thecattlemen penetrated the walls of the house. Whitey trembled for Injun,out there in No Man's Land. He need not have trembled, for that youngperson was safely crouching behind a boulder.
For the first time Whitey noticed that a breeze was stirring. Just as inthe night when you light a match a breeze springs up to put it out, sonow wind seemed to come to fan those burning arrows on the ranch houseroof. Whitey watched, chilled but fascinated. The men around him were inthe whirl of a fight. He was a spectator; one who saw other men beingforced out of a trap to their deaths. The arrows burned like tinder.Whitey did not know that they were soaked in oil, brought along for thepurpose of firing the house.
There had been no rain for a week, so the roof was dry, and soon narrow,snake-like lines of flame began to creep across it. Whitey thought ofthe feelings of the imprisoned sheepmen, knowing what was going onoverhead, but helpless to prevent it. It seemed that they surely mustmake some effort. Both sides had ceased firing. Then an idea occurred toWhitey. Why did not the sheepmen escape from the back of the house? Avolley of shots from the other side of the valley seemed to answer thequestion. Under cover of the darkness Mart Cooley had sent half his mento a point that commanded the rear of the ranch house. Their shotssounded continuously for a moment and told a plain story. The sheepmenhad tried to escape from the back, and had failed.
These shots told another story. Why were they not answered from thehills? Because the hill men had joined their fellows in the ranch house.All were cooped up there, making their choice of deaths; by fire or bybullets. Anything would be better than the fire. Why didn't they dosomething? Whitey found himself growing impatient with these doomed menwhom he never had seen.
Something was stirring on the ranch house roof and glitteredoccasionally in the moonlight. The cattlemen watched it intently. It wasthe head of an axe, forcing its way through from beneath. The cattlemenlaughed. When the wielded axe had formed a sufficient opening, the headand shoulders of a man appeared in it, and his hands followed,supporting a bucket of water. Twenty of the attackers' rifles weredirected toward the roof, but at an order from Mart Cooley they werelowered. Mart raised his rifle, fired a single shot, and the man'sfigure disappeared through the opening, the bucket falling
from hishands and pitching down over the edge of the roof.
THE MAN'S FIGURE DISAPPEARED THROUGH THE OPENING, THEBUCKET FALLING FROM HIS HANDS]
"Now they know what kind o' shootin' t' expect when they come out," saidMart.
So Whitey knew why Mart alone had fired. It was to add to the fears ofthe sheepmen--if that could be done. Anyway, no other man appeared atthe opening in the roof.
Whitey watched the flames creep up and down the roof, growing higher asthey stole along. He saw them flicker over the eaves, lap the walls ofthe house, and finally clasp it like a red, flaring robe. But Whitey didnot think of the fire in those terms, but as a thing of horror, ofdeath.
You, who have followed the adventures of Whitey, know that he had beenin situations in which he was threatened with death. But then he hadbeen upheld by excitement; by the necessity of protecting himself. Andhe had even faced death, but then he had come on it unexpectedly, in thecase of the hanging train robbers. This was a different matter; waitingto see men burned out and shot down. And it is small wonder thatWhitey's nerves quivered, that the burning house began to dance beforehis eyes, and that he buried his face in his arms, to shut out thesight.
It is unlikely that Walt Lampson had thought of Whitey, until he chancedto see this action. Then he spoke, and not unkindly.
"You'd better get back there behind the hill, kid," Walt said. "Thisain't no place for you."
And so Whitey rose, and returned to where Monty was tethered, and hewas not ashamed of the fact that he stumbled as he walked. But Injunstill crouched out behind the boulder. There was no quivering of hisnerves. The only fear he might have had was that if he returned he wouldbe sent to the rear; and he was too wily to take a chance. So most ofwhat followed was seen by Injun, and heard about by Whitey.
There came the time when the surviving sheepmen could no longer remainin the house. Like a wise leader, Donald Spellman divided his forces,and ten crouching figures emerged from the front of the house, and tenfrom the back, and were outlined against the flames, as they scurriedaway. How they were harried and followed and shot down would not makepleasant reading, and what happened to those who were captured it is notnecessary to write, as you will remember what the cattlemen had sworn todo at their meeting.
After this, if there had been any who doubted Mart Cooley's skill as agunman, they doubted no longer. And it was the misfortune of DonaldSpellman to come under Mart's aim. Or perhaps it was his good fortuneto be mortally wounded by a bullet, instead of ending his life as didthe captives. But Spellman had something to say before he died, and hesaid it to Walt Lampson.
"You got us," he gasped, "an' you got us right. An' I only got one thingto tell you, an' to tell you quick. I didn't plan that cattle stampede.It was a dirty trick."
"Who did?" Walter asked eagerly.
And Spellman answered that question with the last words he ever spoke.
It was at this time that Injun, still crouching behind his boulder, sawsomething like a miracle--a dead man coming to life. The man had fallenat the first volley, and the fight had swung past him. And now he rose,and stole hastily on his moonlit way. Injun watched solemnly. He had nomind to give a warning, and probably get shot for his pains. He mighteven have admired the trick, if he had not had a closer view of therunaway, who was Henry Dorgan.
When Injun discovered this, he was solemn no longer. He reached for hisbow, but there was no arrow to fit in it. The last had been shot at theranch house. Injun watched Dorgan disappear into the night, and saidbitter things--in the Injun language.
So ended the last of this engagement in the cattle-sheep war, except forone incident. The cause of it all was still to be dealt with--the sheep.And here was another picture that Whitey fortunately missed. A tragicpicture, seen from the hills at dawn, as the white, panic-strickencreatures, crowding, bleating, and complaining, were forced through thecanyon to the bed of the narrow, shallow stream, on their way to theopening in the cliffs, through which the brook fell in a tiny waterfallover the edge of the precipice. These innocent instruments and victimsof the greed and passions of man!
These things happened, my friends. Let you and me, and all of those wholove America and the West, send up a silent prayer to the Creator thatthey are of the past, that they may never happen again--to leave suchharrowing pictures in the minds of men.