Cat Yancey

 

 

The lion tracks in the soft sand of the river bar were only minutes old. The dragging left hind paw proved the cat was the stock killer he had been after for months. He was crafty and never made a mistake that would put him in line with a man’s rifle sights.

He knew the huge tom’s tracks even without the dragging leg which was no doubt due to an encounter the cat had lost with a big muley buck or bull elk. That also explained why the cat had taken to killing beef calves instead of deer and elk. Local ranchers had put a two hundred and fifty dollar price on the tom’s head and he intended to collect it.

Jason Yancey preferred the remote canyons and timbered ridgelines of the Colorado Rockies to anything remotely resembling a town. He had taken to hunting mountain lions and wolves for the bounty at an early age. He had worked cattle, but a single cat bounty was worth three to six months of a cow hand’s wage. This tom was worth nine months, and he didn’t have to work sixteen hours a day and take orders from anyone to do it. Most everyone knew him as Cat, Cat Yancey.

He moved the buckskin slowly along the cat’s trail that followed the river bank for several hundred yards. Then, sensing he was followed, the cat had suddenly left the easy travel of the sand bar for the rugged incline of the mountainside. The cat was moving toward the narrow gap of Spruce Pass where the trail would be quickly lost in the rocks and thick cover of evergreen needles. Yancey continued to move up the pass hoping for a look at the cat and maybe a lucky shot.

It was the lowing of cattle on the move that first caught his attention. His concentration was split between the dangerous rocky footing his horse was picking his way through and glancing around for the cat. At first, his mind didn’t register the sound and it took several seconds to change thoughts from the cat to the sound of cattle.

The upper end of Spruce Pass was high open country, just below the sparsely treed shale slides of the timberline. There wasn’t supposed to be any cattle up here. It had been over a year since the last cow had been moved over Spruce Pass. Yet, the wind carried the sound of cattle.

Yancey pulled the buckskin to a stop and strained his ears into the wind. Silence held for several minutes and then it came again. There was no mistaking it; cattle were moving up the narrow rough trail of Spruce Pass. The cattle were being pushed, he could tell by their disgruntled mooing. Cows would never wander up that trail on their own; they would have to be forced to go up the pass. It didn’t make sense. Why would someone be driving cattle over this crack in the mountain?  

None of the area ranchers had this mountainside as part of their range. It was too rugged and there wasn’t enough grass to keep an elk calf alive, so why move cattle up here? He prodded the buckskin on, he didn’t know why, but he was going to find out.

The crack in the mountain that was unofficially called Spruce Pass began 3000 feet below at the river. The pass was fairly wide at the bottom where it met the river bar; it steadily narrowed as it went up. Natural forces at one time had split the granite mountain, leaving a natural passageway that bighorn sheep had used for centuries to access the river. At the top, where it broke over to the west side, it was a mere hundred feet wide, just a chute of hard packed granite.

Once it reached the summit of the ridge it spilled out over the west side of the mountain range into thick forests of spruce and fir. From there it was an easy ride down to the green valley and the settlement that sprawled along a rushing stream. The settlement had started with a gold strike that eventually petered out; it was forever after known as Pauper Meadows.

The closest town to Pauper Meadows was Central City, forty miles to the south. It served the Colorado gold country the way Brown’s Hole served the Green River country of Wyoming. It was a place for outlaws to hide and illegal trade to be carried on away from the eyes of any lawman.

He had never been to Pauper Meadows, but his father had. Arliss Yancey was an outlaw, in particular a cattle thief. He made no excuses for what he was. However, he kept his son out of the business. It was the only thing he knew how to do, but he didn’t want his son to live the miserable life of an outlaw. They lived alone in the mountains where Arliss conducted his business, and Jason collected cat and wolf bounties.

He knew some of his father’s friends and business associates. There were others he never met. Those the old man knew in Pauper Meadows were strangers to him. There was also a man who rode to the cabin under the cover of darkness, the two would meet outside, and then the man would ride away. 

His father was eventually caught by Harold Kinsdale, a hard-nosed rancher known to be death on rustlers. He and his men had caught Arliss in the act of rustling and strung him up. Cat had found his father’s body the next day, brought him home, and buried him behind the cabin next to his mother.

He lived in the shadow of his father’s criminal legacy. He was not an outlaw himself and had never stolen a thing in his life, yet he was constantly held in suspicion by all those who had known of his father. He was the son of an outlaw and was never thought of as his own man. He was quick to stand up to anyone, no matter their importance. He was fast with a six-gun and deadly with a rifle. He backed up for no man.    

The cattle on Spruce Pass could be something as simple as someone pulling stakes and heading for the better grazing on the west side. Then again, honest ranchers didn’t use Spruce Pass because they didn’t know about it. That left the final choice and that would be cattle thieves, and the last thing he needed was cattle thieves operating in his backyard.

Reining his horse up the grade, he came to the trace of a bighorn trail that would bring him above the cattle. From there he could see who was behind the cattle without being seen himself. He knew this country better than any man alive, every rock, trail, and spring. Only his father had known it as well. One other man knew of the trail; the shadowy figure who visited at night that he had only seen against the starlight. He would know it.

A half-hour later he was bellied out looking down on the narrowing rock walls of the pass. The clattering of hooves echoed up to him and the unmistakable chink of iron horseshoes on rock. The first steer came into view followed by another; each wore the HK brand of Harold Kinsdale. He counted ten head and then a lone rider, with a bright red kerchief around his neck and mounted on an HK gelding, followed behind them. He knew the man; it was Kinsdale’s Foreman, Marv Dent.

This was a long ways from Kinsdale’s range. The big rancher owned a lot of land and grazed across a lot more that wasn’t his. This mountain was not part of that. He was not particularly fond of Harold Kinsdale and liked Marv Dent even less. Kinsdale had a reputation for being a hard man, yet an honest one who was known for dealing fair and square. He never cheated on a deal and he never let a cattle rustler go free. Marv Dent was just a tinhorn.

He watched Dent push the cattle up and out of sight. The nagging question remained; why would Kinsdale’s foreman be driving cattle over this remote unknown pass?

Two days had gone by since Cat watched Marv Dent push the cattle up Spruce Pass. He still wondered at the reason for Dent’s actions. Was he following his boss’ orders, or operating his own little business on the side? Why would Kinsdale have his man moving such a small number of cattle up into that country?

Kinsdale was a big rancher running better than a thousand head and he sold at the stockyards like everyone else. The only way it made sense was if Dent was stealing his boss’ cattle. How else would Dent know of that obscure little pass leading to an outlaw hole? It wasn’t any of his business and he really didn’t care if Kinsdale got robbed blind, except if rustling was going on he would be the first man they came looking for.

It was just before noon when the men rode up to his cabin. He was sitting inside when the hoof and tack sounds of moving horses came to him through the trees. He picked up his Winchester and casually stepped through the open door and watched them come on. The three riders pulled up in a line in front of the cabin.

 With the rifle resting on his right shoulder, he made a quick sweep of the riders. Harold Kinsdale was in the center with a man to either side. He knew Kinsdale, but he didn’t know the others. Cat’s hat was pulled down over his brow making it difficult for the men to read his eyes.

The men remained mounted, carefully studying the lone man in front of them. This was no time for brash moves; Cat Yancey might be young, but he was deadly. Kinsdale was tough, but hadn’t lived as long as he had by being a fool. 

Cat lifted his chin slightly, “Help you men with something or you just out for a ride?”

Kinsdale shifted in his saddle, his hard eyes locked on the face below him. “I’ve been losing cattle.”

Cat shrugged, “And that concerns me how?”

The cattleman’s face began to redden, “Yancey, you know full well how!”

Pursing his lips Cat shook his head, “Nope, can’t say I do.”

“At least fifty head of good cattle are gone and we followed a bunch of tracks right into your neck of the woods here. They weren’t more than two, three days old. It’s only natural that I’d want to come and talk to you about it.”

A taunting grin crept across Cat Yancey’s face. “Now, and I may be mistaken, but that almost sounds like you‘re accusing me of having something to do with those cattle going missing. Now, you wouldn’t be saying that I took those cattle would you?”

The red in Kinsdale’s face deepened to the point Cat thought his head would explode. “You know damn well what I’m saying. Your old man was a cattle thief proved and hanged. Like father like son, I always say. You’re living out here all alone avoiding town and everyone in the country. That’s mighty suspicious to me. Yeah, I’ll say it; I think you stole those cattle.”

Cat never moved, the only change was the grin disappearing from his face. “I don’t like towns or the people in them. And yeah, the old man was a cattle thief. You should know you hung him.”

“You’ve got that right; I personally put the rope around his neck. We caught him dead to rights, or at least Marv caught him, and we took care of business.”

“Kinsdale, I’m not arguing the point. The old man chose his trail and paid the price for it. If I was in your boots, I’d probably have done the same thing. Now, we come down to this. I’m not my old man, I’m not a thief and I take exception to being called one. I’ve always heard that Harold Kinsdale was hard as flint, but that he was a man on the square.  Now, I know you’re upset, but you need to turn around and ride out of here before you talk yourself into a problem. Maybe you need to give these things some serious thought before you go any further.”

Kinsdale glowered at him, “Things? What things?”

“Like, why was your foreman pushing ten head of HK cattle over Spruce Pass?”

Kinsdale’s face dropped, “What? Marv’s on a cattle buying trip for me. He has been for the past three days.”

“You always take cattle on a buying trip?”

“Of course not. What exactly are you getting at?”

“Two days back, I saw Dent push cattle over Spruce Pass to the west side. Couldn’t figure out why he’d be doing that. Only three men know of that pass, me, my pa, and another rustler he worked with, a man I never laid eyes on but he knew the country. You might want to take a long think about all that.”

“I never heard of any Spruce Pass.”

“Like I said, only three men know, or knew of it, so why does Marv Dent?”

“Where does it go to?”

“Pauper Meadows.”

“Pauper Meadows! That’s an outlaw hangout.”

“Yup.”

Kinsdale studied the ground in front of him, “That doesn’t add up.” Then his head came up and his eyes locked on Cat’s. “Then again this might be your way of throwing me off your trail. Blame it on a man who’s not here to speak up for himself. I’d trust my foreman before I’d trust the son of a no-account cattle thief.”

Cat met the old man’s stare, “You have it your way, but the next time you come here you’d better be holding a six-gun, ‘cause I’m done talking.”

Cat brought the Winchester off his shoulder and dropped the forearm in his left hand. “Now, you’ve called me a thief and a liar, I believe you’ve about worn out your welcome here.”

“We’ll be back alright and I’ll bring the same rope we used on your old man.” The three men turned their horses and broke them into a lope back the way they had come. 

Harold Kinsdale might be a lot of things, but one thing was for sure, he was a man of his word and Cat knew he’d be back. The time had come to take a ride over Spruce Pass and down to Pauper Meadows and find out what Marv Dent was up to.

The mountain range loomed up behind him as Cat rode slowly toward the rough-board row of buildings. Beyond the buildings the white caps of the fast moving stream reflected in the morning sun. A corral on the far western end, fairly removed from the town, held a good number of cattle. Angling the buckskin toward the corralled cattle he rode directly to it. Pulling up he studied the mix of brands among the thirty head in the holding pen. Ten head wore the HK brand. He heard a distant shout and looked back over his shoulder to see a man walking toward him.

“Those cattle are for sale, young man, if you’re interested.”

Cat nodded toward the man, “Nice looking bunch, real good stuff. HK, don’t believe I recognize that brand. That outfit around here?”

“Not anymore. Fella rode in here a few days back, said he was done with the cattle biz and was selling the last of ‘em. Always a call for eatin’ beef around here. I know a good deal when I see one so I bought ‘em. Figure to turn a bit o’ profit. You lookin’ to buy ‘em? Make you a mighty good deal.”

“Nope, just curious about the brand.”

The man stiffened. His eyes flickered back and forth as he touched the tip of his tongue to his dry lips. “They ain’t rustled if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

Cat grinned, “Wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“’Cause, they ain’t. In fact a fella over in the saloon knew the gent who was selling ‘em and vouched that they was his cows.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yeah. I don’t want no rope around my neck, I’m an honest stock trader. You go on over and ask for Judd, he’ll tell you.”

Cat wasn’t fooled; he knew the man was a trader in stolen livestock. He didn’t care about that, but he was interested in meeting this Judd. Cat nodded, “I am a might thirsty, maybe I’ll just head on over that way.”

Reining the buckskin around he made his way to the saloon indicated by the man. Tying the horse off to the rail he went inside. Except for a few loafers hanging around the room wasn’t crowded. Stepping up to the bar he looked at the silent barman. “Man name of Judd in here?”

“You drinking or asking questions?  Questions don’t pay the bills.”

Reaching into his pocket, Cat dropped a pair of coins on the bar. “Whisky – and Judd?”

“Why?”

“Why do I want whiskey? Oh, probably because I like it.”

The bar man rolled his eyes back, “No, why do you want Judd? You look too young to be a lawman.”

“How about an old family friend? He told me to look him up.”

The barman filled a glass as a man stepped up to Cat’s left. “I’m Judd; don’t recall you at any of the family socials.” 

Judd studied the young man for a long moment, and then tilted his head as if in recognition. “By chance is your name Yancey?”

“Depends.”

“Your pa Arliss Yancey?”

“He was, he’s dead now.”

“Figured as much. Haven’t seen him in a year or so. Fancy you coming in here; it’s like old home week. Yance’s old partner was in here a few days back selling cattle. Hadn’t seen him in coon’s age either.”

Cat motioned for the barman to give Judd a drink. “Would that old partner happen to be a man name of Marv Dent?”

Judd shook his head, “Don’t know any Marv Dent. I’m talking about Frank Jones, your pa’s old partner.”

“Tell you the truth I never met him. Is he the one brought in those HK cows?”

“That’s him. Both Frank and your pa were friends of mine. We did a bit of work together, if you know what I mean. You in the business like your old man?”

Tossing down the drink Cat shook his head, “I hunt cats for a living. Ranchers pay better for a dead mountain lion then I can get for a rustled cow and there’s no chance of ending up on the end of a rope.”

Judd grinned, “Smart man. Is that what happened to Yance?”

“Yup.” 

“Word of advice son, watch that Frank. Yance was better with a gun and his head than Frank ever was. If Yance’s dead and Frank’s not, I’d bet a dollar to a knothole that Frank set him up for the fall to cover for himself.”

“Thought Frank was your friend.”

Judd chuckled pleasantly, “Well, there’s friends you invite into your home and can turn your back on and not worry about it. That was Arliss. Then, there’s those you might turn a quick deal with but watch every second, even when you’ve got a glass back at full tilt. That’s Frank.”

“By chance, this Frank character, is he about six-foot, blond hair and a mustache?”

“Yeah, he looks like that. Likes to wear bright red kerchiefs.”

“Sounds an awful lot like Marv Dent.” He grinned at Judd, “They just may be the same man.”

“Looking for Frank for any particular reason?”

“Let’s just say I’m not taking a rope for him.”

Judd nodded, “Sounds reasonable.”

 “I thought so. Well, burning daylight.” He turned and walked out, mounted, and headed back for Spruce Pass.

He intended to ride straight for Harold Kinsdale’s house. “I’ll save them the trip,” he muttered under his breath.

 

The afternoon was giving way to evening as Cat rode into Kinsdale’s yard. His hired men were putting up their gear and heading for the cook shack in a strung out line. The third man in the line was Dent. Harold Kinsdale came out of his house and walked directly up to Cat. “You’ve got your nerve Yancey, riding right up to my house.”

“What are you? The Queen of England and I have to have an appointment?”

“I don’t like you Yancey and I don’t like you on my place.”

“That’s fine, I don’t like you either, but this ain’t no social call Kinsdale. Call that no good foreman of yours over here.”

Kinsdale glared hard at the young man, but the glare was mixed with curiosity. “He moved his eyes away from Cat and picked out Dent, “Marv, come over here.”

With the confident swagger of a man who figures he’s holding all the cards Dent broke away from the direction of the cook shack and came toward his boss. “Yes sir, Mister Kinsdale, what do you need?” He tossed an angry look at Cat.

Kinsdale pointed a hard calloused finger at Cat. “Yancey here says you were moving some of my cattle over the mountain a few days back. I told him you were on a buying trip for me. You want to set him straight Marv?”

Dent bobbed his head arrogantly, “Just like Mister Kinsdale said, I was buying cattle.  So, what are you trying to do here? Throw suspicion off yourself maybe?” The look of hate in Dent’s eyes did not match his calm for the benefit of his boss appearance.

Cat squared around to face him, “Then why are there ten head of HK cattle standing in a pen over at Pauper’s Meadows?”

Dent’s eyes reflected fear as his hand moved down toward his holstered .45. “I don’t like where you’re headed with this Yancey.”

Without moving his eyes off of Dent, Cat directed the next statement to Kinsdale. “You might like to know that Marv Dent isn’t his real name. It’s Frank Jones and he used to rustle cattle, your cattle, with my old man.”

Dent’s voice came out in a hoarse scream, “You’re a liar!”

“It’s a simple matter to find out Kinsdale. Let’s take a ride over there and have a look, and while we’re at it we can have a talk with Judd.” Cat paused to read the effect the name had on Dent’s face. “You know Judd; he was a good friend of Pa’s . . . and yours.”

Dent’s hand dropped for his gun. He was crazed with anger and the fear of his true identity being exposed. It was a clumsy draw. 

Kinsdale barely managed to clear himself of the guns as the two men drew on each other from six feet apart. Dent worked back the Colt’s hammer like a man with a broken hand and pulled the trigger. The bullet kicked up dirt six feet behind Cat. Cat fired once, the bullet hitting just above Dent’s buckle. Dent screamed in pain and fired a second shot that missed. Cat lifted his pistol higher and fired a second shot that dropped Dent in his tracks.

Kinsdale’s eyes were wide in shock as the echoes of the gunfire resounded around him. Men came on the run, all stopping short and staring at the body of Marv Dent lying in front of them. As one their angry eyes shifted from the body to Cat who held his gun steady, yet pointed at no one in particular. They then turned their attention to their boss, expecting an explanation as he moved back toward them.

With a slight tremor in his voice the cattleman looked at Cat, “That was insane. Only a lunatic would pull a gun over a disagreement that could be so easily resolved.”

Cat glanced at the men in front of him and then at Kinsdale. “You might say that only a guilty man would have acted in such a rash manner wouldn’t you? An innocent man would have stood his ground, accepted the offer to ride over and clear himself. Then again, killing men to cover for himself is what Frank Jones does best.”

The rancher stared at him in silence for a long moment. “All that you just said, I mean about Marv or Jones or whatever his name is, is that true?”

Cat glared at the man, remembering the accusations leveled at him on their last encounter. “Seems like you’d be able to add this up for yourself.”

“Seriously Yancey, I want to know. Have I been the biggest fool in the state or too blind to see what was right in front of me for years?”

Cat’s first reaction was to tell Kinsdale to go with both ideas. He was both blind and a fool, stuck in his own stubborn, self righteous wagon rut. Then he thought better of it.

“Every word Kinsdale. Pa had a partner that I never saw. He came and went in the dark. They would go off and rustle cattle, move them over Spruce Pass, and then a couple days later the old man would come home alone. I was wondering why your foreman was moving cattle over that pass. A couple of days back I took a ride over to Pauper’s Meadows where I found your cows corralled with a bunch of other rustled stock. I met a man who knew my old man and his partner, Frank Jones. It turned out that Dent was really Jones.”

“But Marv was the one who pointed us to your old man. Claimed to have caught him red handed stealing my cattle.”

“Were you closing in on the source of the rustling at the time?”

“Actually, we were. It was someone close and we set a trap for him and we caught your old man.”

“Jones was your man. He knew you were getting too close, so he double-crossed Pa so that you’d hang him and put himself in the clear. I won’t argue that a cattle thief deserves to be hung. My old man was guilty. No one forced him to be an outlaw and he got what most outlaws get in the end. With my Pa out of the way, Jones was then free to keep everything for himself. He kept on stealing your cattle, figuring you wouldn’t be looking anymore since you obviously killed the rustler involved. Jones also figured if it ever came down to you getting wise to more rustling, he could just lay the blame on me.”

Kinsdale nodded, “It was him who set me to thinking you were a thief as well.  When I found more cattle missing he was quick to say you were taking after your old man. All the while the real thief was right under my nose. I must be getting old and stupid.”

Kinsdale took a deep breath and then stiffened his back. He looked Cat directly in the eyes and held out his right hand. “I pegged you wrong son, and I apologize . . . for everything I said.”

Cat took the hand in the spirit of reconciliation it was offered in. It took a lot for a big man like Kinsdale to swallow his pride. “No hard feelings. Like I said before, you’re a hard man, but a man on the square.”

Kinsdale nodded, but still clearly embarrassed. The corner of his mouth turned up in a slight grin. “Interested in a job son?”

“Thanks, but no. Don’t cotton much to taking orders or working for another man when I can work for myself.”

Kinsdale broke into a full grin, “Yeah, me too. Now, you said those cows of mine were where?”

“Come on by first light tomorrow I’ll take you over there. While we’re in Pauper Meadows, there’s an outlaw named Judd you might want to have a word with. You can tell him that HK cattle need to stay on their own side of the mountain.”

“I’ll be there . . . and thanks.”

Kinsdale stood silent for a moment and then added, “I’m having some lion trouble up in my high pastures, happen to know of a good cat hunter?”

Cat laughed, “Just so happens I do. We can talk about it going over Spruce Pass.”