Sunset Pass (1990) Page 3

  "How does he do that?"

  "Wal, he scares most of them. Some he has bumped up with his fists. An' several punchers he's driven to throw guns."

  "Kill them?"

  "Nope. They say he just crippled them. Ash shoots quick an where he wants."

  "Most interestin' cuss--Ash Preston," said Rock lightly.

  "Son, this is what worries me," went on Winter with gravity. "It'll be some different when Ash Preston butts into you. No matter how easy and cool you start--no matter how clever you are--it's bound to wind up a deadly business."

  "Thanks, old-timer. I get your hunch. I'm takin' it serious and strong. Don't worry unreasonable about me, I've got to go."

  Chapter 3

  Trueman Rock was not one of the cowboy breed who cared only for pitching, biting, kicking horses. He could ride them when exigency demanded, but he never loved a horse for other than thoroughbred qualities. And sitting on the corral fence watching Leslie's white favourite, he was bound to confess that he felt emotions of his earliest days on the range.

  "Wal, True, did you ever see the beat of that boss?" asked Sol Winter for the twentieth time.

  Rock shook his head silently. Then, "I'll take him, Leslie, and consider the deal a lastin' favour."

  "Mrs. Dabb has been wantin' this hoss, didn't you tell me, Jim," asked Winter.

  "Wal, I reckon so. She has been out here often. But I don't think Mrs. Dabb really cared about the horse so much. She just wanted to show off with him. But today there was a girl here who loved him."

  "Who was she, Jim?"

  "Thiry Preston. She passed here today with her dad an' some of the boys. She just petted the hoss while the other Prestons walked around talkin'. Never said a word. But I seen her heart in her eyes."

  "Speaks well for her," replied Rock, as he slid off the fence and approached the animal. If this beautiful white horse had appeared desirable in his eyes upon first sight, what was he now? Rock smoothed the silky mane, thrilling at the thought that Thiry's gentle hand had rested there. "Leslie, I'll come out in the mornin'. I want a packhorse or a mule. Here's your money. Shake on it."

  "I'll throw the pack-horse in to boot," replied Leslie.

  "Sol," Said Rock, thoughtfully, as they retraced their steps toward town, "do the Prestons come in often?"

  "Some of them every Saturday, Thiry about twice a month."

  "Pretty long ride in from Sunset. Sixty miles by trail. Reckon the Prestons make a one-night stop at some ranch?"

  "No, They camp it, makin' Cedar Creek, where they turn off into a flat. There's an old cabin--belonged to a homesteader. Preston owns it now. Thiry was tellin' me they'd fixed it up."

  "Queer how all about these Prestons interests me so," said Rock.

  "Not so queer. Leavin' Thiry aside, they're a mighty interestin' outfit," returned Winter. "It's wild, perhaps, to let yourself go over this girl all in a minute. But then, wild or no it might turn out good for Thiry Preston."

  "Sol, why is her face so sad?"

  "I don't know. I've asked her why she looks sad--which you can see when she's not speakin', but she always makes herself smile an' laugh then."

  "It's for me to find out," said. Rock.

  It was nearly noon the following day when Rock had his pack outfit ready for travel. Leslie came up presently with the white horse.

  "Black leather an' silver trimmings," said, the rancher, admiringly. "Never seen him so dressed up. An' the son-of-a-gun is smart enough to know he looks grand."

  "He's smart, all right," agreed Rock, with shining eyes. "Now we'll see if he'll hang me on the fence."

  The white horse took Rock's mount easily, pranced and champed a little, and tossed his head.

  "Good day and good luck, rancher," said Rock, lifting the halter of the pack animal off a post. With that he headed down the road which the Prestons had taken the preceding day.

  Several hours' ride out of the town, Rock reached the top of a long slope and there halted the horses.

  A 30-mile gulf yawned wide and shallow, a yellow-green sea of desert grass and sage, which sloped into ridge on ridge of cedar and white grass. The length of the valley both east and west extended beyond the limit of vision, and here began the vast, cattle range that made Wagontongue possible. Lonely land! Rock's heart swelled. He, was coming back to the valleys and hills that he now discovered he had loved.

  An hour's ride down the slow incline brought Rock into a verdant swale of 50 acres surrounding a pretty ranch-house. Here Adam Pringle had lived.

  The barn and corrals were closer to the road than the house. Rock saw a man at work under an open shed. The big gate leading in was shut. Rock halloed, whereupon the farmer started out leisurely, then quickened his steps. It was Adam--stalwart, middle-aged, weather-beaten settler.

  "True Rock, or I'm a born sinner," shouted Pringle.

  "Howdy, Adam! How's the old-timer?" returned; Rock.

  "I knowed that hoss. An' I shore knowed you jest from the way you straddled him. How air you? This is plumb a surprise. Get down an' come in."

  "Haven't time, Adam. I'm rustlin' along to make camp below. Adam, you're lookin' good. I see you've made this homestead go."

  "Never seen you look any better, if I remember. Whar you been?"

  "Texas."

  "Whar you goin'?"

  "Sunset Pass."

  "Cowboy, if you want work, pile right off heah."

  "Thanks, Adam, but I've got a hankerin' for wilder country. I'll try Preston. Think he'll take me?"

  "Shore. But don't ask him."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm advisin' you--not talkin'," returned the rancher, with a sharp gleam in his eye. "Stay away from Sunset, Pass."

  "Adam, I just never could take advice," drawled Rock. "Much obliged, though. How you doin'?"

  "Been on my feet these two years," returned Pringle, with, satisfaction. "Been raisin' turnips an potatoes an' some corn. Got three thousand haid of stock. An' sellin' eight-' hundred haid this fall."

  "Losin' much stock?"

  "Some. But not enough to rare aboot. Though there's more rustlin' than for some years past. Queer rustlin', too. You lose a few haid of steers, an' then you never hear of anyone seein' hide nor hair of them again."

  "How's Jess Slagle? I used to ride for Jess, and want to see him."

  "Humph! Slagle couldn't make it go in Sunset Pass after the Prestons come."

  "Why not? It's sure big enough country for ten outfits."

  "Wal there's only one left, an' thet's Preston's. Ask Slagle."

  "I sure will. Is he still located in the Pass?"

  "No. He's ten miles this side. Stone cabin. You'll remember it."

  "If I do, that's no ranch for Jess Slagle. Marshland, what there was of it fit to graze cattle, salty water, mostly rocks and cedars."

  "Your memory's good. Drop in to see Slagle. An' don't miss callin' heah when you come out."

  "Which you're thinkin' won't be so very long. Huh, Adam?"

  "Wal, if it was anyone else I'd give him three days--aboot," replied Pringle, with a guffaw.

  Toward sundown Rock reached the south slope of the valley and entered the zone of the cedars. He halted for camp near a rugged little creek.

  He was on his way before sunrise the next morning, and about noon he halted before the cabin that he knew must belong to his old friend and employer, Jess Slagle. Rock rode into what was a sorry excuse for a yard, where fences were down and dilapidated wagons, long out of use, stood around amid a litter of stones and wood.

  Dismounting, Rock went to the door and knocked. The door opened half a foot to disclose a red-haired, homely woman in dirty garb, more like a sack than a dress.

  "Does Jess Slagle live here?" asked Rock.

  "Yes. He's out round the barn somewheres," she replied.

  As Rock thanked her he sew that she was barefooted. So Jess Slagle had come to squalor, and poverty. Who was the woman? Presently Rock heard the sound of hammer or axe blows on wood, and he
came upon Slagle at work on a pen beside the barn.

  "Howdy, Rock! I knew you were in town. Range Preston rode by this mornin' an' passed the news."

  This gaunt man was Slagle, changed vastly, no doubt like his fortunes. The grasp of his hand was rough, hard, but lacked warmth or response.

  "Jess, I'm sure surprised and plumb sorry to find you--your condition so--so different," began Rock, a little uncertain. "What happened? How'd you lose out?"

  "Well, Rock, I had hard luck. Two bad years for water and grass. Then Dabb shut down on me. Next I sold some cattle, put the money in a bank, an' it busted. Then Preston moved into the country--an' here I am."

  "How in the devil did you get here?" demanded Rock bluntly.

  "Right off I made a mistake," returned Slagle. "Preston was keen about my ranch in the Pass. He made me a good offer. I refused. He kept after me. I had some hard words with his son, Ash, an' it all lead to a breach. They kept edgin' my stock down out of the Pass an' that way, then, an' in others, I fell more in debt. I had finally to sell for about nothin'."

  "To Preston?"

  "Sure, No one on the lower range would take it as a gift. It was a poor location, if any other outfit rode the Pass."

  "Ahuh! Then as it stands, Preston about ruined you?"

  "No, Rock, I couldn't claim that. Gage Preston never did me any dirt that I actually know. When I went to him an' told him his outfit was drivin' my stock off grass an' water he raised the very old Ned with his sons, in particular Ash Preston, who's sure rotten enough to taint the whole other twelve Prestons."

  "So this Ash Preston is rotten?" queried Rock deliberately, glad to find one man not afraid to voice his convictions. "Then what happened?"

  "Well, the old man stalled off a shootin' match, I reckon."

  "Have you ever met since?"

  "Lots of times. But I've never had the nerve to draw on Ash. I know he'd kill me. He knows it, too."

  "What do you mean by rotten?"

  "Mebbe it's a poor word. But did you ever see a slick, cold, shiny rattlesnake, just after sheddin' his skin, come slippin' out, no more afraid of you than hell, sure of himself, an' ready to sting you deep? Well, that's Ash Preston."

  "Ahuh! I see," rejoined Rock, studying the other's face. "Glad to get your angle. I'm goin' to ask Preston for a job."

  "I had a hunch you were. I'm wishin' you luck."

  "Do you aim to hang on here?"

  "Thank God, I don't," replied Slagle, with feeling. "My wife--she's my second wife, by the way--has had a little money an' a farm left her in Missouri. Were leavin' before winter sets in."

  "Glad, to hear you've had a windfall Jess."

  Rock kid been two hours leisurely climbing the imperceptible slope up to the mouth of Sunset Pass. It was mid-afternoon. At last he entered the wide portal of the Pass, and had clear view of its magnificent reach and bold wild beauty. The winding Sunset Creek came down like a broken ribbon, bright here and dark there, to crawl at last into a gorge on Rock's left. The sentinel pines seemed to greet him.

  They stood, first, one, isolated and stately, then, another, and next two, and again one, and so on that way until at the height of the Pass they grew in numbers, yet apart, lording it over the few cedars on the level bench, and the log cabins strange to Rock, that he knew must be the home of the Prestons.

  Slowly he rode up and entered the beautiful open park. The road cut through the centre and went down the outer side. Rock had a glimpse of gardens, corrals, fields, and then the purple pass threaded with winding white. Some of the cabins were weathered and grey, with moss green on the split shingles. Other cabins were new.

  Just then a hound bayed, announcing the advent of a stranger in the Pass. Rock, having come abreast of the first cabin, halted his horse.

  The door of this cabin opened. A tall, lithe, belted and booted man stalked out, leisurely, his eagle-like head bare, his yellow hair waving in the wind--Ash Preston.

  Chapter 4

  "Howdy, stranger! Off the trail?"

  The omission of the invariable Western "Get down and come in," was not lost on Rock.

  "Howdy to you!" he returned. "Is this Gage Preston's ranch?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'm on the right track. I want to see him."

  "Who're you, stranger?"

  "I'm Trueman Rock, late of Texas."

  "Rock--are you the Rock who used to ride here before we came?"

  "Reckon I am."

  Ash Preston measured Rock, a long penetrating look that was neither insolent nor curious. "You can tell me what you want with Preston. I'm his son, Ash."

  "Glad to meet you," said Rock pleasantly. "Do you run Preston's business?"

  "I'm foreman here."

  "Reckon my call's nothin' important," returned Rock easily. "But when I do call on a cattle man I want to see him."

  "Are you shore it's my father you want to see most?" asked Ash.

  "Well, I'm callin' one Miss Thiry, too, for that matter," rejoined Rock. "But I'd like to see your father first."

  "Miss Thiry ain't seein' every rider who comes along," said Preston. "An' dad ain't home."

  "You mean you say he isn't home to me?" queried Rock deliberately.

  "Wal, I didn't expect you to take it that way, but since you do we'll let it go at that."

  "Excuse me, Preston, if I can't let it go at that," he returned coolly. "Would you mind tellin' me if any of the other ten Prestons are home?"

  There the gauntlet went in the face of Ash Preston. Still he did not show surprise. Whatever he might be when drunk, when sober as now, he was slow, cold, complex, cunning. He was flint, singularly charged with fire.

  "Wal, Rock, all the Prestons home, if you're so set on knowin'," returned Ash. "But there's one of the thirteen who's advisin' you to dust down the road."

  "Reckon that must be you, Mister Ash?"

  "An' that's shore me."

  "Well, I'm sorry. But I'm not takin' your hunch, Ash Preston. I'll stay long enough, anyhow, to see if the rest of your family is as rude to a stranger as you are."

  In one sliding step Rock reached the ground. And at that instant heavy boots crunched the gravel.

  "Hey, Ash, who're you palaverin' with?" called a deep, hearty voice.

  Ash wheeled on his heel, and without answer strode back into the cabin, to slam the door. Then Rock turned to see a man of massive build, in the plain garb of an everyday cattleman. Rock perceived at once that he was father to Thiry and Range Preston, but there seemed no resemblance to Ash. He might have been 50 years old. Handsome in a bold way, he had a smooth hard face, bulging chin, well-formed large lips, and great deep grey eyes.

  "Stranger, I reckon Ash wasn't welcomin' you with open arms," he said.

  "Not exactly. You're Gage Preston?"

  "Shore am, young man. Did you want to see me?"

  "Yes. He said you weren't home."

  "Doggone Ash, anyhow," replied the rancher, with impatient good humour. "Whenever a cowpuncher rides in hyar, Ash tells him we've got smallpox or such like. He's not sociable. But you mustn't judge us other Prestons by him."

  "I was tryin' to argue with him on that very chance," said Rock, smilingly.

  "Hyar, Tom," Preston called, turning toward a lanky youth in the background, "take these hosses. Throw saddle an' pack on the porch of the empty cabin. Wal, stranger, you're down, so come in."

  Rock had not noticed that the next cabin, some distance away under the pines, was a double one of the picturesque kind, long, with wide eaves, a porch all around, and ample space between the two log structures. Evidently the second cabin was a kitchen.

  "Reckon it'll he pleasanter sittin' outside," said Preston, and invited Rock to a rustic seat. "What'd you say your name was?"

  "I didn't say--yet," laughed Rock. He liked Preston.

  "Thiry didn't tell me either," went on the rancher. "But I know you're the young fellar who was polite to her an' made Ash huffy."

  "Yes, I am. It wasn't much, certain
ly nothin' to offend Miss Thiry's brother."

  "Aw, Ash was drunk. An' he shore ain't no credit to us then. Young man, say you didn't lose any time trailin' Thiry up," went on Preston quizzically, with a twinkle in his big grey eyes.

  "Mr. Preston, you--I--I--" began Rock, somewhat disconcerted.

  "You needn't lie about it. Lord knows this hyar has happened a hundred times. An' don't call me mister. Make it plain Preston, an' Gage when you feel acquainted enough. You're not trying to tell me you didn't foller Thiry out hyar."

  "No--not exactly. I came to ask you for a job."

  "Good. What'll you work fer?"

  "Reckon the same as you pay any other rider. I'm an old hand with ropes, horses, cattle--anything about the range."

  "Wal, you're hired. I'm shore in need of a man who can handle the boys. I run two outfits. Ash bosses the older riders. If you fit in with the youngsters it'll shore be a load off my mind. But I gotta tell you thet no young man I ever hired struck Ash right. An' none of them ever lasted."

  "Preston, if I turn out to be of value to you, will you want me to last?" queried Rock, and this was the straight language of one Westerner to another.

  "Wal, I like your talk an' I like your looks. An' if you can handle my boys an' stick it out in the face of Ash, I'll be some in your debt."

  "I don't know Ash, but I can take a hunch, if you'll give it."

  "Wal, Ash sees red whenever any puncher looks at Thiry. He cares fer nothin' on earth but thet girl. An' she's awful fond of him, She's never had a beau. An' Thiry's near twenty-two."

  "Good heavens! Is her brother so jealous he won't let any man look at her?"

  "Wal, he wouldn't if he could prevent it--thet's daid shore. An' far as the ranch hyar is concerned he does prevent. But when Thiry goes to town accidents happen, like you meetin' up with her. Thet riles Ash."

  "In that case, Preston, I'm afraid Ash will get riled out here. For I reckon the same kind of accident may happen."

  "Hum! Hum! You're a cool hand to draw to. What'd you say your name was?"

  "I haven't told you yet. It's Trueman Rock, late of Texas. But I used to ride here."