Dead Trouble by Jake Douglas Page A

slopes and dark-green timber beyond.  
    ‘That’s the Territory yonder,’ Deke said thoughtfully. ‘Our line comes closer to it than I thought.’  
    ‘Nice country. Here. What do you think?’  
    Cutler dismounted and went down on to one knee, examining the tracks. They were the size of a saucer. He sat back on his heels and thumbed back his hat.
    ‘He’s a big’n, a black, I suspect, and heading for the Territory.’
    Excitement glinted in van Rensberg’s eyes.
    ‘Hear that, Sam. A big one! A worthy trophy, Deke?’
    ‘Can’t say. He might have a coat all tore-up from fighting. He’s got a limp, anyway.’
    Pete frowned swiftly.
    ‘He’s hurt?’
    ‘Might have a thorn in his foot or a stone’s worked into his pad. Won’t improve his temper.’ He squinted at the man. ‘You’re not going after him with that short spear?’
    ‘The assegai? Only way to do it to my way of thinking. My strength and cunning pitted against his.’
    ‘You prick him with that and he’ll tear your head off, then rip up the whole damn county in a bad mood.’
    Van Rensberg drew himself up, taller than Deke by a few inches.
    ‘Eh, man, I don’t let wounded game slink away to die in agony. I have my pride and honour. If I happen to wound something, I chase it down until I can put it out of its misery. No matter how long it takes or how dangerous it is to me!’
    Cutler stared at him as he straightened and reached for tobacco and papers.
    ‘Take my advice. Take along a shotgun loaded with solid slugs.’
    The South African didn’t seem to think there was any cause for humour. The way his thick lips clamped, Deke figured the man was mighty mad, fighting to control it. He realized then that Pete had taken his words as a criticism of his courage and dedication to hissingular way of hunting and it had stung him.
    ‘I’ve been fighting and killing wild game for many years, Deke. I’m willing to listen to warnings about how dangerous a certain animal can be, but I will not change my main style. If I get into trouble, Sam will use his spear.’
    ‘Judas, Pete. You don’t know what bears are like! This is only a black but they can be plenty mean. If you should happen to run into a grizzly, say around eight feet tall …’
    He let the words trail off: van Rensberg was becoming even more excited at the prospect of meeting such a formidable animal.
    Deke Cutler left them and rode back to Shoestring land. He hipped in the saddle once and saw they were climbing through the timber across the river in Badman’s Territory – or The Nations as a lot of men called the place up here.
    Shaking his head, he rode back to the dry wash he had been using for practice with his six-gun.
    He was almost back to his old form, fast fluent actions that placed the bullets where he aimed. And he was able to manage it without more than a dull ache in his wrist and arm.
    He figured he was now about ready to tackle the worst that this Red River country could throw at him. And that included the wild men who inhabited the Territory.
    It was time to go to work and really pull his weight around here.
     
    After shooting six egg-sized stones off the top of a rockat the end of the dry wash, the Colt empty and smoking, feeling comfortable in his hand now, he heard the horses coming.
    It was too late to reload and he had the notion that this trio of beard-shagged, dirty-looking riders had waited until this moment to make their appearance.
    Thev had guns out, two with rifles, one with a six-shooter . They stopped their mounts a few yards from where he stood, his grey nearby with trailing reins. He had been working on the animal so that it didn’t shy or spook at gunfire, bringing it a little closer to his gun each day. Now he reckoned he could shoot from the saddle and the animal wouldn’t flinch. His own rifle was in its scabbard but on the far side of the horse.
    He allowed he had been in less dangerous situations than this one.
    Deke nodded