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Subject: {ASSM} Audry04 (MF, violence)
Date: Sun, 9 Jan 2000 23:10:01 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Audry04.ans" begin>
Audry
Cattleman's Woe
A Tale of Romance by The Star (1)
I spotted the vultures circling the draw. Curious, I turned my
horse in that direction. Probably a deer had been caught by
coyotes.
What I saw turned my stomach.
A mare and a colt were lying at the edge of a small clearing,
their bodies distended with the gasses of decomposition. We'd
just turned them out into the south range a few days before.
Both had been healthy and frisky-and the colt showed unusual early
promise. Now they were both dead.
The big birds lumbered off at my approach-but not too far. I
wouldn't be taking their dinner anywhere. And I wouldn't be
staying.
Both animals had been shot. Close to $200,000 worth of
horseflesh, wasted by a deer hunter, trespassing on posted land.
The ground didn't show much by way of tracks. The grass was long
and green. Any sign of someone passing through it would have been
eradicated within a day. I looked for a place where a hunter
might have waited-and finally found it, and the casings from a
couple of rifle bullets. That was odd... I couldn't identify the
rounds, right off.
A little more work, and I found a spot where a large, 4-wheel
drive vehicle had parked. It had to have 4-wheel traction to get
where it had been. And there was an oil stain, from a leaky seal,
on the grass and dirt. The tires had been large, 'all terrain'
types.
I was supposed to be checking on the horses in the south range.
Well, I'd better see if this varmint was still around, or there
wouldn't be any horses on the south range. Following the trail of
broken sagebrush and occasional tracks on bare soil, I soon
followed him to the county road that goes through the southern
part of the ranch. He'd cut the fence to get out, but had patched
it back.
A thought occurred to me, and I re-patched it, with a special
little twist that I'd recognize. If someone came through there
again, I'd be able to tell. An hour later, I found where he'd
done the same, coming onto the ranch, and again put in my 'tell-
tale'.
Then I rode home.
Home is the ranch headquarters for our spread, the Steele Ranch,
about twenty miles south of Sisters, Oregon. Surrounded by the
Willamette National Forest, we have grazing rights on roughly
60,000 acres of forest land, in addition to the 48,000 acres we
own outright. My great-granddad had 'filed' on the ranch before
the national forest system existed, which was how we managed to be
a private hole in the Forest Service donut.
When I was a kid, growing up on the ranch, we were thirty miles of
bad gravel road from Sisters, but the county and state had teamed
up to put in a new chip-seal road that made it lots easier to get
to town. We had hopes that someday we'd also have a better route
to Bend, which was really closer, as the crow flies. That way we
could get to a 'real city' for shopping or an occasional night on
the town.
Our ranch had three houses, as well as a bunkhouse for the single
cowboys, and a big trailer that Gerry, our only married hand,
lived in. The 'big house' was grandma's place, though Audry and I
were taking it over, with grandma's enthusiastic connivance. Our
son, Zack, was the apple of grandma's eye and she wanted him right
there where he could be spoiled properly.
Mom and dad had a home of their own, a couple of hundred yards to
the west. And Uncle Rick and Aunt Elin, Audry's folks, lived in a
house a few hundred yards north.
Grandma said Audry and I needed our own place, and she had plenty
or room-and wouldn't be around forever either. (I don't believe
that. That remarkable woman will outlive us all, and be a randy
old slut 'till the day she drops.)
Steele ranch is not the usual operation for eastern Oregon. That
is, we don't raise Herefords and pigs, growing alfalfa hay if we
have enough water, and wheat with whatever allotment we can get.
Rather, we grow hay for our own use, and raise Black Angus
breeding stock and show horses as our sources of income.
Our horses are world famous-among those who really know the
competition equestrian scene. We breed and train horses for the
arena events, dressage and jumping, as well as the grueling three-
day event. One of our horses can easily bring $100,000-the best
ones two or three times that. If the horse is not up to mom's
standards, it is sold into the riding stable market, after being
gelded if a colt. The mares aren't 'fixed', they just aren't
registered or given 'papers'.
Mom was a world-class equestrienne. And Audry and I still are-
both of us having won gold medals in the Olympics. Audry and I
know horses, and riding. Mom has a special gift: She knows when a
horse and rider are right for each other. She's a hell of a
trainer of both horse and rider, too. Her gift, really, is the
secret to the success Audry and I have enjoyed.
~~ * * * * ~~
Audry came out on the porch, when she heard me ride up, little
Zack in her arms. It was meal-time, and he was greedily sucking
away at one of Audry's lovely breasts.
"Didn't expect you until late tonight, Rob," she said.
After I'd kissed her as thoroughly as I could with the baby
between us, I replied, "I ran into something. Cinder and her colt
were shot."
"Oh, no! They were doing so well, too."
"Looks like a deer hunter or poacher. Guy in a big 4x4 cut the
fence and came in, staked out a spot, and banged away at whatever
came along. Cut the fence in a different place to get out."
Audry understood immediately. Since so many 'city people' were
buying the 4x4 'sport utility vehicles', they had to prove their
machismo by running them off road over any land that took their
fancy...private, posted, fenced... none of that seemed to matter
any more. And the law took a dim view of ranchers shooting
trespassers.
That night, we told our parents and grandma what I'd seen. We'd
all be going armed around the ranch again. Rifles on the western
saddles, and in holders just inside barn doors. Our pickup trucks
held gun racks and they'd have rifles in them, too.
The ranch was 'posted' as plainly as humanly possible. Our
boundary fences had signs every hundred yards, "Private Property.
No Hunting. No Trespassing." We made every effort possible to get
all our stock off the leased grazing land before deer season
started, too.
Even so, we'd get the hunters who were too illiterate to read the
signs, or too arrogant to believe them. When we caught them on
the ranch, we'd make a citizen's arrest, confiscate their weapons
and billfolds, and summarily remove them from our property. If
they complained, we'd offer to hold them for the sheriff to take
them to jail. (A couple did. We tied them up in the barn, and
called the sheriff-who sent out a deputy late the next morning to
collect them. They were then carried off to jail, booked, and
released on bail a day later. Of course, they then had to find a
way back to pick up their vehicles, which we left on the county
road-locked, with the keys inside.)
The billfolds were turned over to the sheriff, along with signed
trespass complaints. If they asked for the rifles back, we'd give
them to the sheriff, who gave them to a friendly ATF (Alcohol
Tobacco and Firearms) agent. Otherwise, the rifles stayed on the
place-that's how we got the weapons for inside the barn doors.
It's not that we weren't friendly, or good neighbors. Anyone who
had the courtesy to come and ask was allowed to hunt on our ranch,
if he looked like he knew the difference between a deer, and a
horse or cow-usually after being offered a drink, and some advice
about where we'd seen the most deer recently. Several of my
fraternity brothers were annual visitors. We've even had two or
three hunting parties at once camping at the spring in the little
draw-about a quarter mile from the house-during deer season. They
could have hunted public land, but they enjoy our place. And
respect our ranch and our stock.
(One of our 'regulars', coming back almost every other year, is a
friend of mom's family, from Virginia. He'd come here to look at
a jumper he wanted to buy for his daughter. The dinner
conversation had turned to the deer season. When he'd expressed
an interest, I took him out, and helped him 'luck' into a huge
Mule Deer buck, with eight prongs on each antler. He was hooked
and came back whenever he could.)
That night, Audry welcomed me back home. Even though I'd only
been gone a day, we thought it was fun to have a welcome home
celebration whenever either or both of us had been gone.
Truthfully, it was just an excuse to fuck like minks.
That night, I had a special treat, because I got to suck Zack's
'leftovers' from Audry's delightful breasts.
Her shape had nearly returned to its previous spectacular form.
Her tummy would need another couple weeks of sit-ups, but she'd be
there right away. Her hips were slim as ever. Only her breasts,
still feeding our son, were larger than normal. They were lots of
fun in bed, but I knew they hurt her, bouncing when she went over
the jumps.
When I'd finished my snack, we were both breathing heavily and,
with whimpers and little moans, as well as pushes and tugs, Audry
pulled me over her and sucked me in. Though she'd given birth to
our son not long before, she was hot, wet and tight around me.
And her muscle tone allowed her to squeeze me and caress me until
I was frantic.
Of course, I'd been petting and kissing everything in reach
myself, latching onto one of those amazing breasts-jutting into
the air even when she was on her back-and sucking for all I was
worth.
Audry bucked and convulsed and seemed to try to throw me off her
body, while her legs were wrapped around me, and her heels on my
butt were pulling me in as far as I could go. I couldn't take
much of it and fired that shot right into her, splashing against
her cervix, while she shuddered and came with me.
My mate, my woman...my wife. Audry. For me, there had never been
another, and never would be. Besides being beautiful and a
fantastic lay, she's bright and caring, a great mother, and loving
wife.
And usually able to beat me in the arena events!
~~ * * * * * ~~
Losing the mare and her colt was a blow, but the family was
philosophical about it.
Until we started losing cows, too.
Then we knew we had a problem.
They all followed the same pattern. Someone cut the fence and
drove onto the ranch, shot up a couple of animals, and left.
Uncle Rick talked with the sheriff.
He obviously didn't have the manpower to patrol our ranch. But he
would put out some feelers about strangers who kept coming back.
With the resort areas at Sisters and Bend and the ski resorts at
Mt. Batchelor, it was hard. We were looking for someone who might
stay in one of those, but wandered around away from the resort in
a large 4x4-probably a 3/4 ton to 1 ton pickup.
Meanwhile, I wandered up to the Warm Springs Indian Reservation.
A good friend from school, Gary Butler, was on the tribal council
and might be able to help.
"Hey, Rob!" he greeted me, when I walked into his office at the
KaNeeTa resort the Indians have built. "Where's Audry?"
"Left her home this trip, Gary," while I pounded his back. We've
been friends a lot of years and don't get to see each other nearly
enough. "We have a son now, you know..."
"Yeah. That's what I heard. Congratulations! With any luck, the
little guy will look like his momma."
"Thanks, toad face. Anyway, I just wanted to touch base on
something."
"Next time bring her. Better yet, you stay home and just send her
along. She's not only lots nicer, she's a hell of a lot better
looking."
"No argument there-except I wouldn't let her alone around you.
Without me there to protect her..."
We shared a laugh of friendship.
"Rob, you've got to spend the night. Mary will kill me if she
doesn't get to cook you a dinner, at least."
"I dunno, Gary. I kind of said I'd see you and get right home...
We have a bit of trouble going on."
Instantly serious, Gary asked, "What kind of trouble?"
"Well, we've got a poacher. But he only kills, he's not looking
for meat. He's not a rustler, in the normal sense. Just every
week, or two, or three, he comes in and shoots some of our
animals."
"Deer hunter?"
"That's what we thought at first. But he doesn't shoot at deer.
Only our stock."
Gary was well aware that our stock wasn't just range beef.
"That's bad," he agreed. "How can I help?"
"We think our guy is a city type. Maybe moved out here, but city
bred. He drives a big 4x4. I think it's a one-ton pickup, but
could be wrong. He seems to come around every couple of weeks-but
any day of the week, not just weekends. And he has a funny
rifle." I showed him the brass from one of the shootings-they'd
all been the same.
Gary laughed at that. "Nothing funny about those: Probably the
most common bullet in the world. This came from an AK-47. There
are millions of them. The Russians made them first, then the
Chinese, then the Czechs... Anyway, the weapon and the bullet are
real common."
"Oh... Well, what I wanted is that you ask the folks here at
KaNeeTa to keep their eyes open for a repeat customer who drives a
big 4x4 - and has a rifle. I'd sure like to find out who this cat
is and why he's picking on us... Of course, if I could get him to
stop, that would be nice, too."
"Yeah. I see that. OK Rob. Come on home. Mary will give you
dinner and a bed and call Audry to explain why you're delayed. We
can kick it around... I'll even feed you some fancy wine while we
do." He stopped grinning, then smiled serenely. "You know I've
been on the wagon for the past three years?"
"Mary told Audry. That's great, Gary. I'm happy for you. In
fact, I'll just drink coffee, if it will be easier?"
"Nah! I'm around alcohol all the time. I'm in charge of the
resort operation for the tribe now. We pump out a lot of booze,
believe me. So giving you a drink won't bother me."
"Super. Let's get over to your place, so Mary can call. Audry
has the sweetest spirit of any woman I've met. But grandma can be
a terror, if you aren't where you're supposed to be."
Laughing, Gary took me home, where Mary pampered me something
awful.
"Mary, you're too much! When are you going to leave this ne'er-do-
well and come live with me?"
"Just as soon as you get rid of Audry, Rob!"
"OK. Peace."
We were really good friends. As soon as Mary called Audry to tell
her she wouldn't turn loose of me until the morning, Audry
demanded to know when she was going to bring the kids to the ranch
for a visit. After some more girl-talk, Mary went into her
kitchen and started banging things around.
It was a chance for Gary and me to chat.
"You know, Rob, I have an idea."
"Last one was when you first saw Mary, right?"
Laughing, he said, "How can I concentrate on your problem, when
you do that to me?"
"OK, Gary. It'll be hard, but I'll try to be good."
"ANYway... You know, we have our own Boy Scout program here?"
"No, I hadn't heard about it. No reason to, I suppose."
"We're under the national program, but we're allowed to include
our own cultural stuff, too. It works great. Teaches citizenship
and a look at a whole lot of practical skills-as well as more
useful techniques for living in the woods than most of our kids
are taught by their dads."
I nodded.
"The point is, we keep the senior scouts a year longer than
normal. We have a half-dozen 18- and 19-year-old boys still in
our explorer post. It's a place to hang out and something to do.
We use them a lot for search and rescue in the mountains and the
more rugged parts of eastern Oregon. Occasionally they'll also
work on the fire lines, if there is a big forest fire...
"My thought was, maybe I'd lend you these kids for a couple of
months. They can kind of patrol your ranch and see what they can
find. You'd have to feed them-it wouldn't be cheap-and get them
to town from time to time, to see their girl friends. But it
might just be a way to help."
I was enthusiastic. "If they'll help move the cows and horses
around from time to time, we'll even pay them a little." I got a
thought of my own. "If their girls can work on horseback, they
could be part of it...?"
Gary looked disgusted. "You have a really dirty mind, Rob. Our
girls are good girls. They wouldn't want to do anything like
that!"
Which prompted a yell from the kitchen: "What time warp have you
been living in, Gary? Rob, only one of those guys is going with a
girl from off the reservation and she's from another ranch. All
those kids would jump at the chance. Of course, you'll have to
have separate camps for boys and girls... to start with..."
I laughed hard. What a solution!
"I had in mind having the kids in pairs. We can start them with
boys together and girls together. That won't last long, I think.
We'll have to make sure they pay attention to what's going on
around them, though."
Mary winked at Gary. "Rob, leave that to me. I'll take care of
it."
I gave Mary a big hug, and shook Gary's hand. "OK, old friends.
Let's set it up."
The next day I returned to the ranch, and brought the family up to
date. Dad and Uncle Rick were enthusiastic about the idea. We'd
feed the kids well, both in provisions for out in the weeds and
good food when they were back at the ranch headquarters.
We brought in a trailer with two nice bedrooms, as a place for
them to sleep on a real bed once in a while. Of course, they
could go into town every week or two, if they would prefer that.
The horses we bred were larger, but a bit more 'delicate' than the
normal cow pony. We'd found, though, that the 'culls' from our
breeding program made very good stock horses. So we'd offer to
'pay' the kids with a horse of their own, from our 'range stock'.
The Warm Springs Indians really do have a strong ethical sense and
raise their kids to high moral standards. However, teenage
hormones are the same, regardless of race. So Indians seem to
marry young... Or maybe I'm just getting older.
Mary came to visit us a couple days later. She and grandma and
Audry talked at length about what we were trying to do and the
'ins and outs' of how we'd do things. Then they worked out all
the details with Uncle Rick.
All of these kids, including the girls, could shoot. They'd all
grown up hunting deer, and shooting varmints. And they were all
well trained to be careful with firearms, including the idea of
not taking a shot if they weren't sure of the background-that is,
where the bullet would impact eventually.
Less than a week after I'd gone up to see Gary, ten kids assembled
at the ranch headquarters. There were six boys, and four girls.
They were all excited about the idea of working for us and really
excited when we told them they could each earn one of our ranch
horses for their own.
Each kid had his own tack and camping gear. And several had
brought their own horses. (That was great. We would need the
additional mounts as pack animals.)
We were a bit crowded that evening, when we fed everyone around
grandma's table in the big house and then put them all up in
whatever beds we could find. (Two of the girls slept in Audry's
old bed in Aunt Elin's house and one of the boys slept in my old
bed. The rest were in the trailer, the big house, and the
bunkhouse.)
We explained in detail what we were facing and what we wanted them
to do. We wanted to know who was doing this and just what he was
doing.
If he could be caught without any danger to the kids, that would
be optimum. However, we stressed that we did not want any of them
to put themselves in any danger whatsoever.
Then we went over a big map of the ranch and divided it up into
sectors for each team.
Right from the beginning, two of the girls insisted that they be
teamed with their boyfriends. The other two girls were a team,
but their boys were the team in the sector beside theirs.
The remaining two boys shrugged and teamed up. They hoped their
girls would join them later.
In the morning, we all went out to the corral, where Uncle Rick
had assembled the 'ranch' horses. Rick had not included horses
that he didn't feel could stand up to the mountains, and the hard
work they were likely to get. The kids were awed.
One of the girls, Kathy, turned to mom and said, "You're really
going to give me one of these?" Mom nodded. "Wow! My brothers
will turn green!"
The kids walked into the corral and chose a horse each. Kathy led
a couple around, and looked closely at several before she chose
one. I agreed with her choice, a big mare, with a strong build
and gentle though roguish disposition. That horse would carry her
rider all day, through any kind of country.
Everybody saddled up, loaded up the pack horses, and headed out.
Since we knew the ranch best, each team had one of us along to
show them their territory. Gerry, our hand, Uncle Rick, Dad, me,
and mom each led a team of kids. We'd stay out for two days and
show them their boundaries, and the landmarks to keep track of.
Our other two hands were mostly in the leased grazing anyway.
They'd just spend extra time there, to keep the best eye they
could on that part of our herd.
Each of us, including the kids, had a rifle in a saddle scabbard-
except mom, who rode English no matter what. Her rifle was an M-
16 carbine that hung muzzle down from a sling on her back.
Uncomfortable, but that's the way she insisted on doing it.
We started by making the kids familiar with the perimeter fence in
their sectors. Then we rode the borders of their allotted areas
with them. For most of us, the process took two full days. I
took three. We also showed them where horses liked to go and
where the cows tended to congregate. And we pointed out ambush
and shooting points that covered those spots.
So far, our enemy had used a vehicle. Thus, we spent a lot of
time talking about possible vehicle routes in and out of the
sectors.
We pointed out good places to camp, while emphasizing the
importance of keeping fires hidden. No one knew if this guy was
around at night or not.
We all enjoyed the beauty of that part of Oregon.
Each team had a battery-powered radio. But the country was too
rugged for them to be of more than limited use. In extreme
emergency, they could get to the highest place they could find and
call the ranch. If we were lucky, someone would hear.
~~ * * * * ~~
The next ten days were an idyllic vacation for the kids. The
weather was good and they enjoyed the new scenery-and the
proximity of their girl friends. Understanding our problem, the
teams all waited until after the weekend to go to town. (The two
guys whose girls were teamed with them magnanimously waited until
all the others had enjoyed a break.) One of the boys, whose girl
hadn't come along originally, brought her with him when he came
back. That was OK, we just sent the girl to ride with the other
two girls.
Then our enemy struck again. One of the teams heard shots and
raced to the top of a ridge overlooking the area the shots came
from.
Below them, they saw a black GMC pickup, one of the big ones. A
guy wearing glasses was just getting into it. The vehicle moved
slowly away as they watched, rolling towards the county road,
almost a mile away.
Being on top of the ridge, they called in with their radio. After
calling for about five minutes, Aunt Elin heard them and took
their message, including their location and the direction of the
pickup.
Nobody was close enough to get to the place the pickup would reach
the road. We would have someone near our own driveway, though, to
try to get a plate number if he came out that way.
Grandma took her battered little Toyota, and pulled it around in
our ranch driveway entrance. Then she stood by the mailbox, as if
she was checking our mail. But no one came by except the mailman,
so she came back to the house.
Two young steers had been shot. It wasn't too great a loss, as
they were both 'culls' from our Angus breeding program. Even so,
we didn't welcome it. We were able to salvage the carcasses and
they fed our 'kids patrol' some pretty good steaks most of the
next month.
A week later, the kids in the adjoining sector heard shots one
morning. Coming down a dry wash, they came upon a guy in glasses,
with a rifle under his arm. The girl in the team had her weapon
up and ordered the guy to drop his rifle. She had a downhill shot
and wasn't sure what was beyond the him. So when he moved
suddenly, she didn't shoot. That was costly.
The guy swung the rifle to his hip and shot twice. The first shot
took the girl in the leg. The second cut the air where her
boyfriend had been a moment before.
The boy had sense enough to shuck his rifle from the scabbard and
roll off his horse when the first shot rang out.
He tried to hit the man who'd shot his girl, but couldn't get a
decent shot at him. There was a lot of automatic fire returned at
them. One of their horses was killed. Wisely, both kids stayed
down, not willing to wade into it.
When it was all over, the boy bound his girl's leg, helped her
onto her horse, and led them to the top of the ridge, where he
called for help.
Dad and I-the whole family, really-were pretty pissed off. Sure
we lived in the west. But it was years ago that the last of the
'Wild West' had vanished. We'd handled Schwartz, when he tried to
ambush Audry and me. Earlier, we'd handled Marston. But those
were aberrations. That wasn't supposed to be the way things were.
Now we had another shooter, who apparently targeted our ranch, and
who didn't hesitate to shoot people. This was the third one! It
was just too damn much!
The sheriff agreed.
We stopped to see him after we dropped the girl at the hospital.
Fortunately, she would be fine. But her wound was painful, and
would keep her from riding much for several weeks-which was more
painful to her and to her boyfriend than anything else.
The only motive for the attacks, as far as we could see, was
revenge. The three families who had attacked us before, because
they saw us as impediments to their social aspirations, were
completely discredited and too busy trying to salvage their
financial status from the ruins to bother us. None of this was
logical. But terrorist acts seldom are. And that's what this
was; terrorist acts against our family.
Our sheriff requested assistance from other law enforcement
agencies to determine exactly where the three families were
located. They all drew a blank. As far as anyone could tell,
they were all too busy trying to rebuild their fortunes and
restore their social standing to be concerned with us.
But they couldn't account for the Schwartz boys...
We knew all about one of them. His bones rested on a knob in the
national forest overlooking our ranch. We urgently requested
information about the other one.
John Schwartz was the outlaw of an outlaw family. Before he
turned sixteen, he'd gotten into it with his dad, who finally told
him to either do as he was told or get out. The kid got out;
moving in with an uncle in northern California. The uncle had a
large vegetable farm, just south of Redding.
After three years, the kid had started to come on real hard to his
cousin, who'd just turned 13. His uncle told him to knock it
off... He refused, they argued, and he left again. This time for
Colorado, where he sold lift tickets at a ski resort.
He was always something of a loner, not by choice, but because he
liked to drink. When he did, he rapidly got really obnoxious.
Sober, he had opinions he held very strongly, even though his
reasons were half-baked at best and often inconsistent. Not a
combination to make a big lout into a popular guy.
No one knew where he was.
We had a pretty good idea.
John Schwartz was really pissed off!
His latest girl had left town while he was at work, cleaning out
the cash he'd stashed in his hidden spot in his closet.
It never occurred to him that it was because he'd beat the shit
out of her the night before, blacking both eyes and cracking a
rib. She wasn't the type to go to the law-she just cleaned him
out and left town.
He had a payment due on his Jimmy truck. Well, it would be late.
Tough shit! What did the damn finance company expect? That he
wouldn't eat?
His next day off was Tuesday. With Gloria gone, he might as well
go up to the hills and shoot another cow-maybe he could get one of
those fancy horses this time. Those assholes had fucked with his
family. And they'd been behind his brother's disappearance, too.
They had it coming.
That little cunt thought she had the drop on him last week. Shit!
He knew she was too hoity-toity to really shoot him. He hoped
he'd drilled her through the chest. She was too dumb to live and
deserved what she got. Her boyfriend-a worthless fuckin' Indian-
had panicked and hadn't known what to do. If he'd been on the
ball, John would have been dead meat.
John laughed at the memory. The little shit had probably wet
himself.
Feeling better, he threw a couple of blankets in his truck and
called the answering machine at work, to tell the boss he would be
gone two days, instead of the one he had off. The boss would be
pissed but wouldn't fire him-help was too hard to come by. He
called in, didn't he?
John would drive out to the ranch, find a secluded spot to spend
the night, and see if he couldn't get himself a horse the next
morning.
Everybody at the ranch was pretty pissed off, too. Gary and Mary
and another dozen adults and teens joined us. We were all
patrolling vigorously, loaded for bear. By then it was late in
the summer and the hands, with a couple of teens helping them,
were rounding up the cattle, to bring them back to the home ranch
before deer season.
John found himself a narrow canyon in the side of a large hill
that he could drive right into, but that had some cottonwoods and
aspen, and a little creek. He pulled his pickup off to the side
of the trail that led into it and made a fire by the creek. He
often slept in his truck, but it was such a nice night, he'd just
sleep on the soft flat dirt near the creek.
During the night, he thought he heard the sound of horses. Maybe
it was his dreams.
In the morning, he climbed the side of the draw and looked around.
In the next little valley beyond the finger he was on was a horse,
wandering around, feeding on the grass. He looked around, but not
up. He didn't see anyone and thinking, 'This is too easy!' he
shot the horse, then returned to his camp.
He didn't see two figures on horseback, on the mountainside far
above him.
The two kids were amazed and sickened by what they saw. The guy
casually shot a horse, then strolled back to his camp. Looking at
the camp through their binoculars, they could see that he was a
real slob. His fire could easily have spread. And he just threw
his trash wherever.
As they watched, he stretched out on his filthy blankets and went
to sleep.
We got the radio call right away. I'd been out, helping the hands
gather the cows for the short drive to the ranch. Audry called
me. "Rob. I think the kids have found him."
I asked them for the location again, until I was certain I knew
exactly where they were. When I realized that he was camped right
on the trail, I grinned. It was not a friendly expression.
"What are you going to do, Rob?" Audry demanded, fairly urgently.
"Why, I'm just going to give him more cows than he can handle," I
said.
Dad and Uncle Rick were called. They rapidly arranged the
volunteers along the sides of both fingers that bounded the little
canyon our enemy was sleeping in. They took the head of the draw,
where the trail crested out of it, themselves.
With the hands and four of the teens-two of the girls said they
couldn't shoot anybody, but they wanted to participate-I started
moving the cattle from the leased range. In a couple of hours, we
had the herd well on its way. Just as I saw the mouth of the
draw, Uncle Rick called to tell me our guy was awake and moving.
We were a half-hour away with the herd.
John Schwartz was awakened from his nap by the sound of hooves
again. This time, a lot of hooves. Sitting up, he couldn't hear
anything and decided it was a dream.
He was too much of a city boy to understand how the ground carries
sound better than the air.
John thought it was time to see if any more of our stock was
around to be shot at. So he started to climb the other slope, to
see what might be on the opposite side of the other finger. When
he was near the top of the slope, a shot rang out, and the tree in
front of him sent slivers flying. Dropping, and slipping, cussing
like a sailor the whole way, he rolled to the bottom of the slope.
Maybe it was time to get the hell out of there, he thought. But
when he approached his pickup, two shots rang out. One destroyed
his windshield and the other blew out a front tire. Then another
shot hit the dirt right by his shoes.
He ran up the draw, by his fire. Alongside the open trail-that he
was too stupid to recognize as a trail-was a log. He lay down
behind it, on the side away from the shots-putting his body right
in the trail.
When the lead cows, all full-grown Black Angus, were in the mouth
of the draw, we stampeded them. I hated to do it, since it would
run off several hundred dollars worth of meat, but it was worth
the effort.
The herd bounded up the draw and stomped John pretty thoroughly,
before he could drag himself over the log that was 'shielding'
him.
Right behind them with my cowboys, I was pleased to see that his
rifle was lying in the trail, broken. It was an AK, just like
Gary said.
Dad called down from the ridgetop, when we pulled up by the
pickup, "He's behind that log, by his rifle. He's a polecat, so
be careful with him."
Riding up to the log, five rifles leveled at it, I commanded him
to come out.
"Can't," I heard from behind it.
"Do or die," I said, coldly.
"Can't. Legs busted."
"Crawl, fucker! If I don't see all of you, we start shooting into
that log until we've shot it to splinters."
With a groan, John heaved himself over the log. I'm surprised he
could. His legs were a pulverized mess. And he'd taken a few
hooves in the ribs, both back and front, too.
He just lay there and glared at us.
I put a couple of the kids to work changing the tire on his
pickup.
"What's your name?" I demanded.
"Fuck you," he said.
I kicked him in a knee, the pain causing him to pass out. I had
one of the kids dump some water on him.
When he was awake again, I said, "What's your name?"
"I said: Fuck you."
He had more guts than sense... I guess we knew that. I calmly
kicked him again. In the ribs this time, where I'd break
something, but not cause him to pass out. I was wrong. He passed
out. Ribs broke, though.
While he was out, I searched him. I took a large knife from his
back, between the shoulder blades. And another knife from his
belt. His boots were clean, and he didn't carry a handgun on him-
there was a big .357 magnum revolver in his truck though. Looked
like it had never been fired-or cleaned.
His billfold gave his name-proving it was a revenge thing.
Why those eastern assholes couldn't learn from their mistakes was
beyond me.
We sent the kids off to round up the cows and shag them on to the
pasture. Two of our own hands went along to supervise them. Dad,
Uncle Rick and I stood over our captive.
"You know, Rick, there's nothing I hate worse than a man who is
such a coward he only fights from ambush. Unless it's a man who
only ambushes cattle... or girls."
"Know what you mean. We used to hang horse thieves. This guy is
worse. He stole 'em by shooting 'em... By my way of reckoning,
that means hangin's too good for him."
"Kinda thought that, myself, Rick. I sorta thought we'd maybe
drag him a ways, then just leave him."
"Drag him by the neck?" I asked. John's face, pale from his
injuries, went white.
"Not a bad idea. But this polecat ain't goin' nowhere."
"True. Do we just leave him?"
"Not a chance. He'd come back, if he survived. We'd best turn
him over to the sheriff."
Carefully, we made sure he had his billfold and keys. We did take
his knives, pistol, and rifle-wouldn't want him attacking our
stock or hands.
Cheerfully, dad said, "Stay put, John Schwartz. We'll have the
sheriff out here to pick you up..."
"By the way," I told him, pointing, "your brother is on top of
that knob, two ridges over. He tried to shoot me. I shot
better."
John's face turned white again. "You're not going to leave me
here, like this?"
"Why not? We'll tell the sheriff where to find you."
What with one thing and another, it was three days before any of
us 'remembered' to call the sheriff. John had managed to drag
himself into his truck. For some reason it wouldn't start. He
didn't have the strength to check under the hood, where the
ignition wires were loose enough they wouldn't make connections,
but not so you could tell just looking at them.
The deputy drove him to the morgue in his own pickup.
We sued his estate for the value of the stock he'd killed. All we
ever got out of it was his pickup truck.
Mom's family, Virginia 'old money' patricians, made a point of
having their lawyer pass on to John's parents that we'd string up
any Schwartz kin on our place. We were really tired of fucking
with them. They got kind of excited and wanted to know about the
younger son. The lawyer didn't know. He only knew about his
instructions to pass along the message that we'd had it with their
family.
He did add that he would be passing the message to the Olsens, in
Chicago, too. Their friends in Virginia had disappeared.
(1) Cattleman's Woe is the fourth in the series of Audry stories.
(c) 1998 by EXTAR International, Ltd. All rights reserved.
<extar@hotmail.com>
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