Dutch Cassidy's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Dutch loaded the calf into a borrowed cart and drove out at first light. He carried Shelly's gold in his coat and a plan in his head. The men he had robbed camped near a ranch a half day's ride off. Ride in openly and they would shoot him before he spoke. So Dutch decided he would not ride in as a thief. He would ride in as a buyer. He reached the ranch by noon. A weathered barn stood behind fenced corrals, its timber worn gray and red. Cattle grazed in the pens, sturdy animals with short horns and heavy shoulders. Three men worked near the gate. Dutch knew them. They had lost a calf two nights back, and they were the ones who would want him dead. Dutch left the calf tied in the cart at the edge of the road. He walked in with empty hands and the gold held out in plain sight. "I came to buy stock," he said. "And to make right a wrong." The oldest man stepped forward. He had a rifle across his arm and did not lower it. He looked at the gold, then at Dutch's face. Recognition crossed his eyes. "You're the one took our calf," he said. "I am." Dutch's mouth went dry. "It's in the cart yonder. I brought it back. And I've got coin to pay for a dozen head, fair." The man studied the bar a long moment. A rancher short of cash did not turn away good gold. He lowered the rifle an inch. "You cost me two nights' worry," he said. "That'll add to your price." Dutch nodded. "Name it." They haggled at the corral fence while the other two men fetched the calf from the cart. The old man took the gold and weighed it in his palm. He counted out cattle against it, then added two head as his penalty. Dutch did not argue. He shook the man's hand. "You ride in here again," the old man said, "you ride in as a neighbor. Not a thief." By dusk Dutch drove ten head down the road toward his farm. The calf he had stolen stayed behind. In its place walked real cattle, bought fair, no rope and no theft trailing them. His chest felt light for the first time in days. Then the lead cow balked and lifted its head. Dutch followed its stare. On the ridge above the road stood a dark shape, broad-shouldered and heavy with fur, horns sweeping wide. A buffalo. Behind it, the ground moved. A whole herd crested the rise, thousands of pounds of muscle turning down toward his road. Dutch's ten head bolted. They scattered off the road into the brush, bawling, driven wild by the sight. He had bought his herd honest. Now, before he could get it home, the herd was breaking apart in front of him.