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Monday marked the first day of spring roundup on the Triple C. By tradition, the north range was the starting point. It was a fact known to any and all, and one that Lath Anderson counted on as the four-wheel-drive truck traveled along a dirt back road, its lights out. Clouds shrouded the moon, turning the night pitch black. A high-powered rifle rattled in the gun rack behind his head. The case with the infrared night scope lay on the seat beside him.
“This is crazy.” Rollie crouched over the wheel, peering into the blackness ahead of them. “I can’t see where I’m going.”
“Just keep aiming for that butte straight ahead.” Lath pointed to the landmark, discernible only by the faint star-glitter that outlined it.
“What butte?” Rollie grumbled. “I don’t see why the hell I can’t turn the headlights on. As of yesterday, the whole crew is over on the north range. You said yourself they wouldn’t finish up there until Thursday at the earliest.”
“Just the same, there’s no point in advertising ourselves.” He leaned forward, expectantly scanning the blackness ahead of them. “Slow down. We should be coming up to the gate.”
“How can you tell?” Rollie muttered, dryly sarcastic, and reduced speed.
Lath chuckled. “You’re worse than a bitchy old woman. Next you’re gonna be wantin’ to stop somewhere and ask for directions.”
“Very funny.”
“You know, what we really need is a couple pairs of night-vision goggles,” Lath mused idly, all the while closely watching the side of the road. “I had me some once. Man, they were wild.”
“What we need is some light.”
The slow-moving clouds rolled past a corner of the moon. The sliver of light gave shape and form to the surrounding landscape, glinting on the metal of a fence gate. Lath hee-heed a laugh and punched Rollie’s shoulder.
“’Ask and ye shall receive,’ brother. That’s all you gotta do,” he declared.
But Rollie didn’t think God had any part in their night’s venture. He swung the truck off the road and stopped in front of the gate. Lath hopped out, unlatched the gate, and dragged it open, waving Rollie through. As soon as the truck cleared the gateposts, Lath left the gate standing open and scrambled back into the cab.
“Head for the base of that bluff over there,” Lath told him, pointing to their right. “There’s always a bunch of cattle bedded down in that grassy gulch.”
“How do you know?” With more of the moon shining down to light the way, Rollie set out toward the spot.
“Because I been scouting this while you’ve been off playing in the coal pit every day,” he added the last on a note of derision. “Ma wants some beef for the table, and I aim to see that she gets it—and take a few pokes at the Calders while I’m at it.”
The roughness of the uneven ground made for slow going. After what seemed an eternity to Rollie, they arrived at the bluff and maneuvered the truck into position to block the gulch, formed by an outreaching foot of the high bluff.
Somewhere around a half dozen cows with young calves lumbered to their feet, snuffing in alarm. Two stood their ground to eye the intruders warily while the rest trotted to the back of the gulch.
“Was I right or what, little brother?” Lath lifted the rifle from the window rack, attached the night scope, then loaded the ammunition.
“I don’t see any steers.” Rollie judged, mainly by the calves mothering up with grown cows.
“No, but if it’s the same bunch, there’s a couple of heifers that’ll make good eatin’.” He climbed out of the truck and leaned atop the hood, using it for a stand. Rollie moved out of the line of fire, coming around to the passenger side while Lath put his eye to the scope and scanned the choice of targets. “This is better than a shooting gallery.”
He picked out a cow, took aim and squeezed the trigger, the sharp report echoing off the bluff walls. A dark shape crumbled to the ground as a calf bawled. Confusion reigned, the bunched cattle rushing about in panic, seeking escape. There was none.
Lath fired again, then again. Rollie saw a second animal stumble to its knees. For an instant, he was too stunned to react. The rifle cracked again, breaking that grip of surprise.
“What the hell are you doing, Lath?” Another cow crashed to the ground while the second one struggled to rise. “We haven’t got room in the back of that truck for more than one carcass, not with that winch back there. Have you gone crazy?”
Lath never took his cheek away from the rifle. “What’s the fun of stealing one of Calder’s beeves if he don’t find out about it?”
Buzzards glided in lazy circles along the thermals rising from the bluff. More were on the ground, some too gorged from their feast of dead flesh to do more than flap their wings and lumber out of the riders’ way while others roosted in the trees.
Flies swarmed over the bloated carcasses, the hum of their beating wings a steady drone that filled the grim scene. The heat of the noonday sun intensified the stench of rotting flesh. Ty’s horse snorted and tossed its head, not liking anything about this place.
Neither did Ty as he stared at the carnage before him, a cold anger welling. “You said they’d been shot?” he fired the question at the middle-aged cowboy Mike Summers.
“I didn’t check all of them, but I’d say so,” Mike replied stiffly. “We saw the buzzards circling, then found that calf, hobbling on three legs, half-dead with fever—hell, he was so weak, Shane and me walked right up to him. That’s when we saw the bullet hole. We figured the buzzards were waiting for him to die. Then we smelled this.” He nodded at the bodies of the slain cattle, frozen in death and partially mutilated by scavenging vultures and coyotes. “It was deliberate, Ty. There ain’t much doubt of that. I wish to hell I could get my hands on the bastard that did this.”
“We will,” Ty stated in a hard, flat voice. “First, we’ll need to file a report. Ride back to camp and call the sheriff’s office on the mobile phone. Get him out here.”
