“The Dirty Creek Gang,” Daniel Easterly said breathlessly. “You were the toughest, baddest varmints ever to stick up a stagecoach or rob a train. How big was the reward on your head, Mr. Carson? I bet it was a pile of money.”

  “I never paid much attention,” he said. “And stop calling me that.”

  “Call him Clay,” Joe Easterly cut in. “Or Carson. He’ll answer to that, but you’ll give him a great big swole-up head if you keep on calling him Mr. Carson.”

  “If that’s all right with you, Mr.—” He caught himself. “If you want it that way, Clay.”

  “He wants us to ride with the gang. Lemuel Jones is gathering everyone who rode with him on our last job.”

  “Wait a minute,” Carson said, sitting straighter in the saddle. “Jones never said anything about your brother. Just you.” He looked hard at the boy in the dark. Every twitch Daniel Easterly made twisted another beam of starlight around. So much silver had to add ten pounds to the burden his horse carried.

  “I want to ride with y’all again, Clay. You know it. Punching cows is decent work, but it gets mighty dull.” Joe looked torn by indecision now, when he had been raring to go a few minutes earlier. Carson guessed it all had to do with his kid brother.

  “Except for tonight,” Daniel Easterly said. “Tonight’s not dull because we—”

  “Just you, Joe. Not both of you,” Carson said firmly, cutting off Daniel. This was between him and Joe, the ones who had risked their lives in the Fort Worth robbery.

  “There won’t be any need to cut Daniel in.”

  When Easterly spoke, that set off a new round of explanation. It ended with Daniel saying, “He’s right, Clay. I want to ride with the gang. There’s no call on wanting the gold.”

  “Did Joseph ever tell you about it?”

  “He never did that, Clay. All he ever mentioned were the times you made a big haul, like that mail car robbery outside Topeka.”

  “Joe always knew how to spin a tale.” Carson was hard-pressed to remember how much they’d taken from the mail car. It hadn’t been that much.

  “Both of us or neither,” Joseph Easterly said.

  Carson began to get antsy. The Double Diamond ramrod would get anxious about the herd before long. Carson wanted to be as far away as possible. Dealing with the unwanted younger brother was best done out of sight—and range—of Henry Gregson and his other cowboys.

  And if Lemuel Jones didn’t like it, let him deal with the Easterly brothers.

  “How far do we ride into the canyon before we can climb to the rim on a trail?”

  The Easterly brothers didn’t budge. They put their heads together and argued over something Carson couldn’t understand.

  “Are you coming? I said you both could join the gang.”

  “We’ve got to finish out the night, Clay. I promised.” Joe Easterly sounded contrite.

  “Finish what?” Carson was nearing the limit of his patience.

  When the Easterly brothers told him, he almost exploded. He’d never heard of such a thing and wanted no part in such a far-fetched scheme.

  Only … he had no choice if he expected the brothers to ride alongside him.

  Carson turned his head slowly, making sure no shadows were moving along the canyon wall. He didn’t like being this far in, with only two half-truths and a mess of promises. His gut, which had saved him more than once, tightened like a noose.

  “You two’ve gone loco,” he muttered. “That’s the damnedest thing I ever heard. And I’ve been drunk in El Paso.”

  Daniel shifted in his saddle, reins twining nervously around one glove. “It ain’t as wild as it sounds, Clay. Casimir’s been brewing this for months. Got charts and brands and everything drawn up like a general fixin’ for war.”

  “A war against what? Cattle honesty?” Carson spat. “You’re swapping brands under cover of night and calling it logistics. That’s rustlin’ with extra steps and a coat of polish.”

  “It ain’t rustlin’ if the cows belong to both outfits,” Joe added. “At least that’s how Casimir tells it. Him and Bailey—they’re both running short on paper brands and long on unbranded calves. They meet somewhere in the middle. Both sides get a fatter herd for the spring count.”

  “And both get to lie better when the drovers come knocking.” Carson rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Swappin’ herds in the dark, changing ear notches, shaving brands to resemble one another? That don’t sound legal. That sounds like hell with a haircut.”

  “We didn’t make the plan,” Daniel said quickly. “We’re just following orders.”

  “No, you’re not,” Carson growled. “You’re volunteering. Big difference.”

  Silence pooled around them. The cattle were quiet again, murmuring low in their sleep, tails flicking lazily at invisible gnats. Farther down the canyon, a coyote let out a short, yipping laugh. Carson half suspected it was aimed at him.

  “How many men know this?” he asked finally.

  “Not many,” Joe said. “Just Gregson, a few of Casimir’s top hands, and Bailey’s men at the far end. It’s why Gregson’s been so on edge. Every new rider makes him sweat bullets so he keeps the crew as small as possible.”

  “He doesn’t want many to know how he’s swapping his diseased cattle for healthy ones.”

  “That’s about the size of it, Clay.” Joe looked uneasy. “Truth to tell, herding sick cows gives me the willies more than rustlin’ healthy ones.”

  Carson mulled that over. “And if you two vanish now, Gregson starts counting and asks why his numbers don’t add up.”

  “He’ll ride out after us for sure,” Daniel muttered. “He’s got a long memory and a mean streak.”

  “I don’t care if he’s got a memory like a telegraph wire. I ain’t bedding down with a pack of cow crooks.”

  “But you’ll bed down with the Dirty Creek Gang?” Joe asked, a smirk curling on his lips.

  Carson glared at him. “I never said I was smart. Just consistent.”

  The stars wheeled overhead, bright and cold, looking down on them like disapproving judges. Somewhere behind them, a stray calf bawled in its sleep. Carson’s horse snorted and pawed the ground, anxious to move.

  “You ride with me at first light,” Carson said at last. “But you’re telling Jones this mess yourselves. I’m just the mailman.”

  Joe grinned wide, relief clear on his face. “You got it, partner.”

  Carson turned his horse. “Don’t call me that yet. I still might change my mind.”

  They began riding back through the canyon, the shadows growing deeper with every step. Carson didn’t speak. He had questions stacking up in his mind like poker chips in a crooked game—and every single one was betting on trouble.

  He’d find out what Casimir was really playing at. And if this scheme went any deeper than swapping brands and herds under moonlight, he’d make damn sure he wasn’t around when the law came sniffing.

  As for Daniel Easterly … he wasn’t sure yet if the kid was a fool, a follower, or something worse.

  But he’d find out.

  Come hell or high water, he’d find out.

  CHAPTER 13

  “I’ve heard some loco things in my life, but this one’s the worst,” Clay Carson said.

  “We didn’t think it up,” Joe Easterly said. “But I convinced Casimir that it was the only way to keep the ranch going. If he loses this herd, the bank will foreclose on all Double Diamond property. He’ll lose the ranch, since the past couple years haven’t been too good, either.”

  “It’s nothing like Lemuel Jones would ever do. He’s a lot smarter, but Mr. Casimir’s back is up against the wall. He doesn’t have any choice,” Daniel chimed in.

  “He can destroy his herd and take the loss,” Carson said. “Texas fever will spread through the entire Panhandle if any of those infected cows get free.”

  “We call it splenic fever,” Joe said uneasily. “It’s nothing to do with Texas. It’s just something that’ll kill a cow and can come whooshing down from anywhere.”

  “An entire herd,” Carson said, his ire rising. “It doesn’t matter what you call it, the fever’ll take down every last cow across the entire range. It’s more infectious than foot-and-mouth disease.”

  “Let Bailey worry on how right it is,” Daniel Easterly mumbled.

  “Why do you think you can get away with swapping your herd for his? The Three Squares cattle?”

  “We spent the last week running the brand on all Double Diamond beeves. All we need to do is fill up a meadow with our sick cows, then drive out the Three Squares. We can take our sweet time running that brand to Double Diamond.”

  Carson frowned. “I saw cattle with Casimir’s brand. They trailed the main herd.”

  “That’s the smart part of the plan,” Daniel said proudly. “I told them to leave a few with our brand, so if somebody came along and noticed, they’d see Double Diamond. All them cattle were at the far back of the herd, ’bout where you’d spot ’em.”

  “Like I did,” Carson said glumly. ”Only I saw the rustled cattle, too.”

  “If it fools a fellow as smart as you, Clay, as smart as Joe claims you are, that means this will work.” Daniel Easterly beamed.

  Carson shook his head. This sounded crazier by the minute. A diseased herd wasn’t anything to trifle with, but he understood destroying every last cow meant disaster for the Double Diamond brand. Such wholesale destruction, as necessary as it was, meant an entire year without income. Worse, the next few years would be sparse, too, unless Casimir had plenty of money to buy breeding stock from other ranchers with uninfected cattle.

  From what Joe said, the rancher was barely hanging on during good years. This would ruin him and the Double Diamond ranch.

  Desperation did strange things to men, turned once-honest folks into schemers.

  “It’ll work, Clay. Honest,” Joe said.

  “There’s nothing honest about it.”

  “As if the Dirty Creek Gang wasn’t a bunch of outlaws. We did worse,” Joe said, his dander up now. The bravado in his words rang through. Mixed in with the bluster came a hint of guilt. Joe Easterly robbed banks and trains and shot up men unwilling to part with their valuables, but a core of honesty showed through when it came to cattle.

  Carson admitted that they had, but he added, “We weren’t stupid about what we did. Lemuel planned things down to the last detail.”

  “Except for the last robbery.”

  Carson glared at Joe.

  “If you don’t want to join up again, tell me. I’ll ride away and you’ll never see Wylie, Turner, or me again. Lemuel’s not long for this world, so none of us will see him after this ride, unless we visit his grave.”

  “You didn’t mention Simon,” Joe said.

  Something about the way he spoke caught Carson’s attention.

  “You know where Potter is? Jones wasn’t sure, and I haven’t had any luck tracking him down, not that I’ve spent much time trying. Finding you was more important, since you were close at hand.”

  “Help us move the herd into Three Squares pasture and we can ride straightaway to fetch him. He’s not that far off. You and him were always best friends.”

  Carson couldn’t dispute that. He and Simon Potter had gone on more drunks, chased more women, and raised more hell than any three of the others in the gang. They ragged on each other endlessly. A casual observer might think they hated each other’s guts, but that wasn’t the case. Sam Wylie thought they disliked each other, and Billy Turner had mentioned it, too.

  It was simple why they appreciated each other. They both enjoyed the arguments. Pitting logic against logic carried more enjoyment for them than the usual talk around a campfire among the others.

  Somehow, they felt more like brothers than friends.

  If Joe was right and Simon was close, that changed things. Simon had a steady hand with a revolver and a quicker mind than most, not to mention a way of reading a room that could cool trouble before it started—or pour kerosene on it, if that’s what the situation called for.

  Where Carson avoided people, Potter sought them out. Carson knew he got morose too much. Potter always joked and found the bright side. Their arguments carried the same patterns, light versus dark. Each gave the other what he lacked.

  Potter had a crazy optimism that was blind to pitfalls. Carson studied every detail, hunting for the points of weakness. Where Potter assumed success, Carson worried about failure.

  “If I help out, will you tell me where Simon is and tell your brother to hightail it?”

  “No!” Daniel Easterly piped up. “Please, Joe. You’re my big brother, but you’re not scotching me riding with the famous Dirty Creek Gang.” He swung about in the saddle and glared at Carson. His pale eyes took on an inner glow like some feral animal. “And Clay Carson. I want to ride with you, Clay. I want to ride with the gang that’s done it all.”

  “Not everybody’s suited for the owlhoot trail,” Carson muttered. His confusion caused him a moment of weakness. When he spoke, he ended with a small curse directed more at himself than the Easterly brothers. He agreed to Daniel joining the gang and to help move the diseased cattle.

  He tried to tell himself this wasn’t much different from rustling, only instead of driving the herd off and selling it right away, he was helping to swap it. That hardly seemed to be stealing, even if he replaced contagious, dying cattle with healthy ones.

  “Decide quick, Clay. Henry’s ridin’ this way,” Daniel Easterly said.

  “Hightail it,” his brother said sharply to Carson. “We can’t explain you being here.”

  “Your ramrod and I exchanged pleasantries earlier, mixed with a few ounces of lead,” Carson said. “I’m more’n happy to make myself scarce.”

  He bent low and galloped for a stand of junipers along the stream. When the trees shielded him, he drew rein and waited to see if he’d been seen. His heart pounded so loudly that he worried the ramrod could hear it, even fifty feet away.

  “What are you two doin’ lollygaggin’? You got a herd to move before sunup.” Henry Gregson sounded more worried than angry.

  “Are you having second thoughts about this, Henry?” Joe Easterly let his horse move around so the ramrod’s back was to the stand of junipers where Carson hid. This prevented even a chance sighting.

  Carson grinned. Easterly was always the best at decoying law dogs and laying false trails. He had a second sight about what might betray them and what was the best way of getting away after a holdup. Once he had even joined a posse hot on the gang’s trail. Within half a day, Joe had convinced them to follow a false spoor, letting Lemuel and the rest waltz away scot-free.

  Carson tried to remember how much they’d made off that bank robbery. It hadn’t been much. A hundred dollars each? He shook his head sadly. That kind of take was too common for their thefts. That’s what made the Fort Worth robbery so special.

  Lemuel had never told how much gold had weighed him down during his escape, but Carson had seen him lugging two heavy canvas bags. He wished the split would bring him five hundred dollars. More. That kind of money was worth some frustration. Even participating in a harebrained scheme like the one that the owner of the Double Diamond ranch had dreamed up.

  “It’s what Mr. Casimir wants, so that’s what I want and what you’ll do. Did you find the break in the canyon wall, Daniel?”

  “Yes, sir, not a half mile farther up the canyon. It opens onto Three Squares grasslands. Only there’s a problem.”

  “What?” Gregson barked the question.

  “There’s more head in our herd than in Bailey’s. We swap ’em all and he’ll see right away something’s wrong.”

  “Daniel’s right, Henry. Even Bailey’s not dumb enough to have three hundred head grazing one night and then find five hundred the next morning. Whatever else you say about him, he can count.”

  “We put all our cows into that pasture. Don’t let a single one stray. They’re all infected.”

  “What about the few head still carrying Double Diamond brands?” Joe Easterly worked the details out by reciting everything aloud. Carson wanted him to shut up. The longer the ramrod lingered here, the more likely he was to figure out someone spied both on him and the wild-ass plan to substitute sick cattle for fit ones.

  “Shoot them before they get into the grazing area. Leave the carcasses in the canyon. Do I have to do all your thinkin’ for you?”

  Joseph Easterly started to give the ramrod a piece of his mind, then held his tongue. He gestured for his brother to keep quiet, too. Henry Gregson snorted, sawed at his reins, and then galloped away, heading back down the canyon to cut out the Double Diamond–branded cattle.

  “He can be one vexin’ cayuse,” Daniel Easterly said. “We’re well rid of him.” He let out a satisfied sigh. “We’re gonna be ridin’ with Lemuel Jones real soon, brother. Real soon.”

  “You’ll be strung up by your necks from a tree if you don’t get moving,” Carson said as he rejoined the two cowboys. He circled the area, sizing up the herd. “Where’s that notch in the canyon wall?”

  “This way!” Daniel let out a whoop and galloped off.

  His brother and Carson traded looks, but neither said anything. The same thought ran through their heads about such behavior.

  Carson went deeper into the herd of sleeping cows and began using the end of his lariat to whack a few bovine rumps. The animals protested and moved to get away from such punishment. That was good enough to convince others to join them. In a few minutes, he and Joe started the slow migration of the diseased cattle up the canyon.

  He spotted the break in the canyon wall right away. The first hint of dawn lit the distant horizon, sending pale light angling through the notch and lighting their way. Carson got ahead of the herd and turned them toward the exit. That was all it took. The cattle soon smelled fragrant blue grama and moved on their own now.

  “Hey, Joe. Joe!” Daniel waved his hat in the air. “Head ’em up in that direction, away from the other beeves.”

  Carson saw the smaller herd already working on an early breakfast of the succulent grass. He rode toward Daniel to form up the Three Squares cattle and keep them apart from the infected animals now pressing through the notch leading back to the canyon.