Chapter 5 - THE BRANDS UNDER THE BRANDS
5
Wilmer ordered a brand inspection before sunrise.
Normally nobody stopped a moving herd to study three thousand hides.
Brands were recorded at assembly.
Trust passed downward.
But Katrina no longer trusted anything not personally checked.
They selected twenty suspicious steers from Cross Tie portion.
Mud and winter hair hid details.
Wilmer heated branding iron—not to mark, only warm hair and scrape carefully around old scars.
Under a fresh Cross Tie mark, one steer carried remnants of another.
Circle B.
Another:
Lazy R.
Another:
Bar Seven.
Rebranded cattle.
Illegal.
Mateo cursed.
Wilmer looked sick.
“How many?”
They inspected fifty.
Seventeen suspicious.
If proportion held, more than a thousand could be stolen.
Not hundreds.
A thousand.
Katrina remembered Pike’s words.
Cross Tie doesn’t own half those cattle.
The cattle drive itself was money laundering with horns.
Hale had combined stolen herds under legitimate trail papers.
Kansas sale would convert stolen cattle into clean cash.
Then why poison crew?
Because men eventually notice brands.
Quinn did.
Wilmer might.
Small ranchers might track.
The blizzard gave opportunity to destroy drive and blame weather/disease/rustlers.
Insurance pays claimed legitimate owners.
Hale sells cattle separately.
Witnesses scattered or dead.
Elegant criminal plan.
Except Katrina refused to die quietly.
Wilmer said:
“We turn south.”
“To Fort Griffin?”
“Yes. Army and federal marshal.”
Doctor Vance agreed.
But turning three thousand cattle plus sick camp through rough terrain announced move to Hale.
He had scouts.
They needed deception.
Katrina suggested splitting.
Wilmer stared.
“Worst thing in trail drive.”
“Exactly.”
Hale expects you protect entire herd.”
“Split means easier theft.”
“Also means he must choose.”
Divide into two groups.
Smaller legitimate Double H cattle and suspected Cross Tie cattle?
No.
That reveals evidence.
Instead random split.
One herd north-west as decoy under Wilmer.
Another south with Mateo.
Which holds sick men?
Katrina’s group.
Hale likely targets wagon train because evidence.
Then Wilmer said:
“You’re not bait.”
Katrina raised eyebrow.
“I have Quinn’s notebook.”
“Exactly.”
“If Hale knows, he follows.”
“No.”
“Trail boss—”
“No.”
She stepped close.
“You hired me because I can lift flour.”
“I hired you to cook.”
“Then let me cook the bastard.”
Jeb laughed from bedroll.
Wilmer glared.
Jeb shut up.
They designed plan.
At dawn, Wilmer would move 1,800 cattle north-west with most healthy riders, appearing to continue trail.
Mateo would take 1,200 south with wagons, sick men, Katrina, doctors, smaller guard.
At night, Wilmer would turn east and circle toward Fort Griffin separately.
Hale forced to divide rustlers or choose target.
Page six and notebook went with Katrina.
Original ledger evidence.
But she made copies by hand first.
Three copies.
One with Wilmer.
One Doctor Vance.
One hidden in flour barrel.
Her father taught redundancy too.
“Never keep all good knives in one drawer.”
Before departure, Katrina questioned Pike further.
“Where is Silas Hale?”
“Buffalo Hollow.”
“How many men?”
“Forty.”
“More?”
“Rail crew bought.”
“Law?”
“Deputy marshal named Creel.”
Corrupt.
Fort Griffin might also have compromised men.
“Who can we trust?”
Pike laughed.
“No one.”
Katrina slapped him.
Not hard.
Enough.
“That answer is why men like Hale win.”
Pike stared.
“Give me a name.”
He thought.
“Reverend Josiah Kane.”
“A preacher?”
“At Red Mercy mission. Used to be Texas Ranger.”
Where?
One day south-west.
Could send messenger.
Eli volunteered.
Too young.
Katrina objected.
Eli said:
“I’m fastest on pony.”
True.
He carried copy of evidence and note:
Get to Fort Griffin. Find honest marshal. Cross Tie herd stolen. Hale plans mass theft.
Eli rode.
Katrina watched until snow swallowed him.
Then wagons moved south.
Sick men moaned.
Jeb insisted riding wagon seat beside her.
“You’re terrible company.”
“So are you.”
He smiled weakly.
“Fair.”
By afternoon, smoke behind.
Not campfire.
Prairie grass burned.
Hale’s men set fire despite wet ground? Dry patches under snow could burn slowly.
More likely wagon fire.
A scout returned.
“Rustlers hit Wilmer.”
Katrina stopped.
“How bad?”
“Don’t know.”
They could not turn.
That was plan.
Keep moving.
Hale wanted them react.
By dusk, three riders appeared distant behind.
Following.
Katrina asked Mateo:
“How many?”
“Three visible.”
“More unseen.”
“Yes.”
They camped in ravine.
No large fires.
Bell and Vance treated men.
Improvement.
Jeb could walk.
Several others ready to ride next day.
Poison wore off.
Hale’s window closing.
That meant he might become desperate.
At midnight, Katrina heard movement near supply wagon.
She reached knife.
Shadow.
Jeb.
“What are you doing?”
“Pissing.”
“Near flour?”
“Wind direction.”
He grinned.
Then whisper:
“Someone else here.”
Katrina froze.
A second shadow moved behind wagon.
Jeb lunged.
Man ran.
Katrina pursued around wheel.
He collided with Mateo.
Captured.
One of their own cowboys.
Cal Morris.
Double H rider.
Not on ledger.
They searched him.
Flint.
Oil-soaked cloth.
He planned burn wagon.
Evidence and food.
“Who paid you?” Mateo demanded.
Cal shook.
“No one.”
Katrina pressed knife point into wagon wood beside his head.
“Try again.”
“Hale.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“For?”
“Burn chuck wagon.”
“And?”
“Kill Foster if I could.”
Jeb stopped smiling.
Katrina felt strangely calm.
Her name had moved from question mark to target.
“What about sick men?”
Cal looked ashamed.
“Leave them.”
“In snow?”
“Yes.”
Death by exposure.
No bullet required.
Katrina asked:
“Where is Hale now?”
“Coming.”
“When?”
“Before dawn.”
“How many?”
“Twenty riders.”
Mateo swore.
They had maybe eleven men able to fight.
Katrina looked at ravine.
Wagons.
Cattle.
Terrain.
She had no military training.
But she knew slaughterhouse flow.
You do not fight a bull by meeting horns.
You move where animal cannot turn.
The ravine narrowed north.
Steep walls.
Only wide entrance south.
Hale approaching from north? Scouts behind = north-east.
Could use cattle.
Longhorn herd nearby restless.
Jeb understood her gaze.
“No.”
“What?”
“You’re thinking something ugly.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They woke riders.
Moved wagons into narrow barrier.
Bell protested moving sick men.
No choice.
Katrina had cooks pour bacon grease and water onto frozen slope near northern approach, making treacherous mud and ice.
Not a trap to kill; slow horses.
Then moved a small group of cattle into ravine mouth.
If rustlers charged, horns create chaos.
At predawn, hoofbeats.
Hale came.
Silas Hale rode at front.
Tall.
Elegant even dirty.
He called:
“Miss Foster!”
Katrina stood behind wagon.
“I hear you got something belongs to me.”
“Coffee tin?”
Laughter from his men.
Hale smiled.
“Ledger.”
“Belongs to dead cook.”
“Dead men don’t own paper.”
“Neither do thieves.”
His smile faded.
“Give it over. You and the men walk.”
“Walk where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Without cattle?”
“Not your concern.”
Katrina shouted:
“Funny thing about cooks!”
Hale frowned.
“We count portions!”
Her voice carried.
“And your cattle count don’t match your brands!”
Several rustlers shifted.
Maybe not all knew scope.
Hale barked:
“Shut her up.”
Riders advanced.
Then Katrina slapped skillet with iron rod.
A signal.
Cowboys released held cattle.
Thirty longhorns surged into narrow ravine.
Not stampede, but enough.
Rustler horses panicked.
Ice under hooves.
Men scattered.
Mateo’s riders fired warning and defensive shots.
Chaos.
Hale retreated.
One rustler fell, crawled away.
No slaughter.
Katrina wanted escape, not battle.
They pushed wagons south.
Hale recovered quickly.
He would follow.
Then distant gunshots sounded ahead.
South.
Another force.
Katrina’s heart sank.
Blocked both directions?
A rider appeared on ridge.
Black coat.
White beard.
Raised rifle.
“WHO’S KATRINA FOSTER?”
She stared.
“I AM!”
“ELI TURNER SENT ME!”
Reverend Josiah Kane.
And behind him rode twelve armed men from Red Mercy mission and nearby ranches.
Eli had made it.
Relief hit so hard Katrina nearly sat down.
Kane shouted:
“FORT GRIFFIN KNOWS!”
Hale heard too.
His men began withdrawing.
Not all.
Hale himself turned north.
Escaping.
Katrina watched him go.
Jeb said:
“Let him.”
“No.”
“We got help.”
“He killed Quinn.”
“Yes.”
“He poisoned forty men.”
“Yes.”
“He stole cattle from ranchers who may be starving.”
Jeb looked.
“What’re you saying?”
Katrina mounted a spare horse.
“I’m saying I’m tired of letting men leave the kitchen before they pay.”
Wilmer might call it foolish.
Maybe.
But Hale was headed toward Buffalo Hollow.
Toward records.
Money.
Rail line.
If he reached it, he could burn evidence and disappear.
Katrina turned to Josiah Kane.
“You still a Ranger?”
He smiled.
“Not officially.”
May you like
“Good enough.”
Then they rode north.
