
the High Graders (1965)
L'amour, Louis
Published:
2010
The High Graders Louis L'amour \*
Gold Fever
Folks In Rafter Crossing Said Old Eli Patterson Died In A gunfight, killed i n self-defense. But Mike Shevlin knew it wa s a lie--the man who'd been his only friend had bee n a peaceful man, a Quaker. When word came abou t Eli's murder, Shevlin rode bac k into Rafter--to find a booming gold town, wher e ranching was dying out and the smell of greed and fear wa s thick in the air. He vowed to stick around unti l he learned who put Eli Patterson in th e grave. Mike Shevlin was a man who knew ho w to pick his fights--and he'd just picked one that coul d get him killed.
COOL RECEPTION
"You were looking at Patterson's grave," s aid the man with the badge. "He was killed in a gun battle two years ago."
Anger flared up in Mike Shevlin. "Wh o ever told you that," he said roughly, "lied."
"Then the coroner lied, Mason lied, an d Gib Gentry lied."
"Who killed him?"
"Gentry--in self-defense. Mason was a witness. Patterson still had a gun in his hand whe n the others came up."
"No coroner's jury in the old times woul d believe that story," Shevlin said. "They kne w Eli too well."
"The old-timers are gone, or most of them," th e sheriff said. "Times have changed. Why don't yo u ride on?"
"Why should I?"
There was irritation in the sheriff's respons e to this. "Because you smell of trouble, and trouble is m y business. You start anything and I'll have to come agains t you."
"Thanks," Shevlin's tone was dry, harsh.
"You've warned me, now I'll return th e favor. Don't make my trouble you r business, and don't come against me."
Mike Shevlin squatted on his heels in th e driving rain and struck a match under the shelter o f his slicker. The match flared and he leaned forward , cupping the flame in his hand against the face of th e gravestone.
ELI PATTERSON
There was no mistake, then; but how in the name o f truth could a peace-loving man like old Eli win d up in a grave on Boot Hill?
Eli Patterson had been a Quaker, a man of deep conviction who never touched a gun fo r his own use and did not approve of those who did.
Yet he was dead, shot to death, and buried her e among the victims of gun and knife, and i f rumor could be credited, he had himself died gun i n hand.
The flame flickered out and the dropped matc h hissed against the sodden earth. "Anybody but him,"
Shevlin said aloud; "anybody but old Eli."
The splash of a footstep in a pool of wate r warned him an instant before the voice spoke.
"Kind of wet up here, isn't it?"
Mike Shevlin straightened slowly to hi s feet, glad his slicker was unbuttoned and hi s gun ready to hand. Enemies he would surely fin d at Rafter Crossing, but he could expect n o friends. He took his time in facing around, careful tha t his movements be not misunderstood.
Through the pouring rain and the darkness he could see th e bulk of a square, powerfully built man.
Lightning flared, throwing the grave crosse s into sharp relief, lighting the water-soaked earth , and making an occasional gleam on stone, but of th e wide face before him he could make out n o detail.
The other man would see even less of Shevlin , because of the up-turned collar of his slicker and th e pulled-down brim of his black hat.
"You make a practice of following people?"
Mike Shevlin asked.
"It's a wet night to be on Boo t Hill."
"I've buried men here on wetter nights.
If need be I can bury more."
"Ah, I was right then. You're no stranger."
There was satisfaction in the man's voice.
Lightning glinted off the badge on his chest.
Mike Shevlin put a rein to his tongue.
This was no bumbling old Sheriff McKown, no r anybody he remembered from the Rafter Crossin g he had known. Wanting no trouble, he simpl y said, "I've been here before, if that's what yo u mean."
The man with the badge shifted his fee t slightly. "Are you Ray Hollister?"
"If you don't know Ray Hollister,"
Shevlin replied, "you haven't been around long."
"Two years. He left before I came."
Shevlin had an uneasy feeling that had he sai d he was Ray Hollister, the sheriff would have kille d him.
Wind and rain lashed the grave-covered knoll , whipping the branches of the trees. Off to the right wer e the lights of the town--many more lights than h e remembered. Beyond the town was the gallows fram e and the huddled buildings of a mine, lighted for a nigh t shift.
"Too wet to talk here," Shevlin said.
"What's on your mind?"
"You were looking at Patterson's grave.
He was killed in a gun battle two year s ago."
Anger flared up in Mike Shevlin. "Whoeve r told you that," he said roughly, "lied."
"Then the coroner lied, Mason lied, an d Gib Gentry lied."
"Who killed him?"
"Gentry--in self-defense. Mason was a witness. Patterson still had a gun in his hand whe n others came up."
Suddenly Shevlin knew he was not likel y to be offered a drink nor a hot meal on thi s night. Rain slanted across the windows down there i n town, windows behind which it would be dry and warm, but wher e he might be identified before he found out what h e had come so far to learn.
Gentry? No, not for a minute. Not Gib.
Gib would shoot fast enough, but he would never hav e shot Eli Patterson.
"No coroner's jury in the old times woul d believe that story. They knew Eli to o well."
Shevlin, who knew most things that might b e expected at a time like this, was prepared for th e match when it flared in the sheriff's hand, and his ow n hand was suddenly before his face, pulling down his ha t brim. The flare revealed only the sheriff's ow n tough, weather-beaten features.
Now where had he seen that face before?
"The old-timers are gone, or most of them," th e man said. "Times have changed. Why don't yo u ride on?"
"Why should I?"
There was irritation in the sheriff's respons e to this. "Because you smell of trouble, and trouble is m y business. You start anything and I'll have to come agains t you."
"Thanks." Shevlin's tone was dry, harsh.
"You've warned me, now I'll return th e favor. Don't make my trouble your business , and don't come against me."
The sheriff gestured across the valley at th e huddle of mine buildings. "They tell me that's where the old Rafter H headquarters used to be.
Now they use the old barn as a hoisthouse for th e Sun Strike Mine. That's just one indication. Thi s town is no longer cattle, my friend, it's mining.
You won't find anybody around who knows you, an d nobody who wants you here. Do yourself a favor an d ride on."
Mike Shevlin, who had known many men, kne w this was a truly dangerous man. He knew it becaus e the sheriff had not tried to force the issue, as a less experienced man might have done; knew i t because he was calm, talking quietly, tryin g to avoid trouble before it arrived, and because he was s o obviously one of those who knew when and when no t to use a gun.
The two men walked together toward the gate an d Shevlin closed it carefully behind him, then swep t the water from his saddle with a flick of his palm.
He gathered the reins and turned his horse so h e could mount without showing his back to the sheriff. Th e latter noted the move with grim appreciation, an d mounted his own horse.
Just as Shevlin had learned much of the sheriff i n these few minutes, so the sheriff had learned somethin g of the man who loomed only as a dark figure o n a rain-swept hill. There was a hard surenes s about this stranger, and he allowed for no chances agains t him, and there was also a confidence in him that warned th e sheriff this man who faced him was no outlaw, that i t was even likely he had himself carried a badge.
"I'll tell you something." Mik e Shevlin, who normally explained his actions to n o man, explained them now in deference to the kind o f man this was. "In my lifetime one man gav e me a square shake without figuring to get something ou t of it. That man was Eli Patterson."
There was a pause.
"You'll be staying on, then?" the sheriff asked.
"I'll be staying."
The sheriff tried again. "Look," he sai d patiently, "you start shaking the brush to find wha t happened to Eli Patterson and you'll have the whol e town on you."
Mike Shevlin turned his horse toward Mai n Street. Over his shoulder he said, "It's a small town."
As he rode away he told himself he was a fool. He should not have come back. What could an y man do to help the dead?
He had returned because a fine old man wh o had been his friend when he had no friends had bee n murdered, and his killers had gone unpunished.
Nor could that one murder have made an end to it, for th e wicked do not cease from wickedness, nor doe s evil end with one crime.
The rain beat a hard tattoo upon his hat a s he walked his black along the street. From th e rain-whipped darkness he peered into the lighte d windows as he passed, windows of houses where h e was a stranger, and past doors where he would not b e welcomed. If he slept in a bed this night i t would be a bed he paid for, and if he ate at al l it would be a meal he bought for cash.
He drew rein in the muddy street, feeling th e cold rain hammering his shoulders with cruel fingers.
Saddle-worn and weary from the long riding, h e stared into the windows and knew again that pang o f loneliness with which he always rode.
There was welcome for him nowhere, neither in thi s place nor anywhere down along the trail.
Only that kind old man lying in a shamefu l grave had been considerate, kind to a skinny , hollow-eyed boy who had walked into his store s o long ago, carrying little but a man-sized pride.
Because of this he had ridden a thousand hot , dangerous miles, returning to a town h e remembered without pleasure, to seek out the caus e of an old man's death and to clear his name so that hi s spirit might rest easy in the earth.
So Ray Hollister was gone. The town would no t be the same without him, but obviously the tow n did not want him back. Not, at least, that par t of the town represented by the sheriff.
That the town of Rafter Crossing did not lik e Ray Hollister, Mike Shevlin could understand.
He himself had never liked the man, for Holliste r was a man with a burr under his saddle, a smal l rancher who wanted to be big, who strod e hard-heeled around the town, wanting to be considere d one of the big cattlemen who ruled the destinie s of the Rafter country. Nothing in Hollister's characte r nor in the breadth of his acres entitled him to th e respect he wanted so desperately, and his env y and irritation became a bitter, gnawing thing withi n him.
Mike Shevlin turned in his saddle, lookin g along the wet street. Three blocks long whe n he had left it, with two saloons, it was seve n blocks long now, with at least six saloons o n the one street. The old Hooker House ha d become the Nevada House, and had a fres h coat of paint. There was an assay office where th e harness shop had been, and a new general store acros s from the one Eli Patterson had owned.
Windows threw rectangles of light across th e muddy street, and the sound of a tin-panny pian o came from the direction of the Nevada House.
Thunder rumbled in the mountains. Shevlin started hi s horse, staring morosely at the lights as h e rode on.
His mind went to the past. Everything here ha d changed, and not even the memory of the way it ha d been was left to him. It was indeed a mining tow n now; not a vestige of the old cow town remained.
His thoughts reverted to Eli Patterson. The y said Gib Gentry had killed him, but not for a n instant did he believe that. The fact tha t Mason was a witness proved nothing, for Maso n had been a liar as well as a petty thief.
Gib Gentry and Shevlin had been friends ... o r what passed as such. They had worked together , ridden into town together, been in trouble together.
Despite that, there had been no real affection betwee n them; they had simply been thrown together as two peopl e are, held together by work and mutual associations, an d considered by everyone to be friends. And both had don e foolish things.
"You should have had your ears slapped down,"
Shevlin told himself.
The trouble was that nobody around Rafter ha d wanted to tackle that job, not even then.
Now he was thirty years old and the veteran of mor e gun trouble than he cared to remember.
In the old days Gentry and Shevlin ha d seemed to be two of a kind, reckless and wild , full of ginger, and homeless as a pair o f tumbleweeds. Ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and to drop the hat themselves if need be. An d Gentry had been good with a gun.
He had been better with a gun than Shevlin i n those days. He was eight years older, and had owne d a gun that much longer and had had that much mor e practice. But a lot of water had flowed under th e bridge since then, and a lot had happene d to Mike Shevlin that could never happen to Gi b Gentry in Rafter Crossing. In the words of th e cow country, Mike Shevlin had been up th e creek and over the mountain since then.
The rain lashed his face, driven by the risin g wind. This was the story of his life, he though t bitterly--hunting a place to hole up for a while. Thirty years old, and nothing to show for i t but a horse, a saddle, and a couple of guns.
He was riding past the last of the town's buildings when he remembered the old mill i n Brush Canyon. It might have been torn dow n for the lumber, or burned in some brush fire, bu t if it was still there it would be shelter from the storm and fro m observation. The mill had been old, even in hi s time, mute evidence of a dream that dried up when th e water did. It was unlikely that newcomers woul d know of its existence.
With no better place to go, he turned into th e trail around the livery barn and started up th e slant of the hill in the driving rain. Brus h whipped at his slicker and at his face, but h e bowed his head and kept on.
From the crest of the ridge he looked back upo n the town's lights. If he had been a smar t man, he thought, he would now own a ranch or a business of some kind, but he had never known an y way of doing what had to be done than to bull in an d start swinging.
At the bottom of Brush Canyon h e detected a subtle alteration in the manner of hi s horse, and like any western rider in wild countr y he had learned to depend on the instincts as wel l as on the sight and hearing of his horse, to know it s moods, to be aware of every change of muscle o r movement. Stepping down now from the saddle , Shevlin explored the muddy trail wit h careful fingers.
What he found was the indentation of a hoof trac k so recent as to be easily discernible in spite of th e rain. That track had probably been made withi n the last few minutes.
Wiping the mud from his hand on the horse's mane, he walked the horse past the dark bul k of the old mill and dismounted at the stable. Here h e led the horse inside, closed the door behind him , and struck a match.
On each side of the barn there were a doze n stalls, for it was here they had kept the bi g Clydesdales used to haul logs to the mill, an d to haul away the planks. There were four horse s in the stable now, and they rolled their eyes aroun d to look at him.
He led his mount to a vacant stall, touchin g each horse as he passed. Two were dry, one wa s slightly damp, and the fourth was as wet as his own.
Two riders, then, had been here most of the day, th e others arriving since the rain began, and one of the m only minutes before.
Stripping the rig from his black, he wiped th e horse down with a dry sack he found hanging ove r the side of the stall. Come what might, he was throug h traveling for tonight. Then he checked the othe r horses.
The first was a cowhorse, the sort to be found i n any remuda, and it wore a Turkeytrac k brand, the old Moorman outfit. The fin e dapple-gray mare was a Three Sevens.
Obviously this was a woman's horse, for fe w cattlemen would ride anything but a gelding. Th e two geldings in the stable were both branded Ope n AV, a brand unfamiliar to Shevlin.
He struck a match and checked the dropping s on the floor. The cowhorse and one of the gelding s had been sta4 here since the previous day, but ther e was no evidence that prior to that a horse had bee n here in months. So this was a meeting place, and no t a permanent setup.
He stepped outside, moving quietly as was hi s usual way, and closed the door softly behind him.
His attention was immediately riveted on a strang e glisten of reflected light outside the mill's boarded window. With one hand resting on the corne r of the barn, he carefully unfastened his slicker with th e other.
What he saw was the shine of light on a rain-wet slicker like his own. Somebody wa s standing in the darkness near the mill door, waiting.
Drawing his gun, Shevlin waited for a flash o f lightning. Poised as he was, the sligh t advantage was his when the shadows were suddenl y broken by the lightning's glare. The other man sho t too quickly, the bullet tearing the wood at th e barn's corner within inches of Shevlin's hand.
Instantly, at the flash of the other man's gun, Shevlin fired in return.
The man fell hard against the side of th e building, and his pistol splashed in the water; the n he straightened with a grunt and ran, staggering, into th e woods. A moment later Shevlin heard the poun d of hoofs, and after that all was darkness and silence, wit h only the sound of the falling rain.
Shevlin walked to where the gun had fallen, an d after a minute or two of groping he found it.
The tiny slit of light that had warned him of th e watcher's presence was gone, but the door was open a crack and a rifle muzzle covered him.
"Hold it right there, mister," a voice said , "and holster that gun."
Shevlin tucked the .45 behind his belt, tryin g to place the voice, which seemed familiar. He walked toward the door, saying conversationally, "We had better talk this over in the light, amigo.
There was a time when I knew, Turkeytrac k mighty well."
"Hold up there!"
No stranger to the tone of a voice behind a gun , Mike Shevlin stopped.
"Who'd you ever know at Turkeytrack?" c ame the question from the darkness.
"Rawhide Jenkins was foreman then, and they ha d a sourdough cook named Lemmon." Then th e remembrance of the voice came to him suddenly , by association. "And they had a cantankerous ol d devil of a wolfer named Winkler."
The door opened wider. "Come on careful, wit h your hands empty."
"That wolf-hunter," Shevlin continued, "too k over as cook one time when Lemmon was laid up.
He made the best coffee and the lousies t biscuits a man ever ate."
He walked up the ramp and into the darkness of a room that had once been the main part of th e sawmill. A fire glowed redly on a heart h across the room, and the firelight gleamed from th e blade of the saw.
Shevlin paused just inside the door, hi s senses alert and waiting, his hands grippin g lightly the edges of his slicker.
"Light it, Eve."
A match flared, revealing the face of a girl , strangely lovely in the soft light. She touche d the flame to the wick of a coal-oil lantern, the n lowered the globe and hung the lantern so the ligh t fell upon Shevlin's face.
He knew what they saw: a big man wit h wide shoulders and a lean body that bulked eve n larger now with the wet slicker and the black leathe r chaps. A man over six feet tall who di d not look the two hundred pounds he weighed, a man with a wedge-shaped face turned to leather by win d and sun.
Using his left hand, Shevlin tilted his ha t back so they could see his face, wondering if th e years had left enough for Winkler to recognize.
"Shevlin!" the man exclaimed. "Mik e Shevlin! Well, I'll be dogged! Heard you wa s killed down on the Nueces."
"It was a close thing."
Winkler did not lower the rifle, and Shevli n held his peace, knowing why it covered him.
"What happened out there just now?"
"You had an eavesdropper. He tried a shot at me."
The huge room was almost empty. Here where th e great saw blade had screamed through logs, cuttin g out planks to build the town, all was silent bu t for the subdued crackle of the fire and the rain on th e walls and windows. The firelight and the lanter n shed their glow even to the corners; he saw only th e girl and the old wolfer, yet there had been fou r horses out there.
There were no chairs and no table, but there was a sixteen-foot pine log from which the top had bee n cut for planks, leaving a flat surface that wa s at once a bench and a table. Near the fireplac e there was a stack of wood, and at the fire's edg e an ancient, smoke-blackened coffeepot.
The girl was young, not much over twenty, but he r manner was cool and carried authority. Sh e regarded him with direct attention. "Do you alway s shoot that quick?"
"I take notions."
Winkler was still suspicious. "What did you com e back for? Who sent for you?"
Removing his slicker, Shevlin walked to th e fire and stretched his hands toward th e coals. What was going on here? He ha d returned, it seemed, to a town crawling wit h suspicion and fear. How could mining do that to a town? Or was it the mining?
"What did you come back for?" Winkle r repeated.
"Eli's dead."
"Eli?"
"Eli Patterson."
"That's been a while. Anyway, what's tha t to do with you, I never heard of you going out of your wa y for anybody. What did you have to do with that ol d coot?"
"I liked him." Shevlin rubbed his hands abov e the coals. "I've been down Sonora way.
Only heard a few weeks ago that he wa s dead."
"So you came runnin', hey? Take m y advice and light a shuck out of here. Everything's changed, and we've trouble enough without you."
"I want to know what happened to Eli."
Winkler snorted. "As I recall, h e wasn't the man to do business with a cow thief."
Mike Shevlin had expected that, sooner o r later. "Maybe he didn't think of me tha t way," he said mildly.
The girl spoke up. "Who sent you to thi s mill?" she asked.
"It seemed like a good place to sleep. Neve r dreamed anybody would be holed up here."
She must be Three Sevens. What did h e know of the Three Sevens outfit?
"You had friends here," Winkler said. "Why not g o to them? Or stop in the hotel?"
"I never had any friends in this country. Onl y Eli Patterson."
"You trailed with Gentry and them. What abou t him? What about Ben Stowe?"
Rain drummed on the roof, but Shevlin wa s sure he heard a faint stirring in the loft above.
So that was where they were, then.
"I think," Eve said, "that this man is a spy."
"You think whatever you're of a mind to. I'm going to get me some sleep here." Then he added , "Eli gave me a job when I was a youngster."
"He never owned no cattle," Winkler said.
"He hired me to unload a wagon for him , then he spoke to Moorman about me. That's ho w come I hired on at Turkeytrack."
"You ran with Gentry and that crowd," Eve said.
"I know all about you."
"Who ever knows all about anybody? As to th e Gentry crowd, I'll own to having been my shar e of a fool."
Come to think of it, he had never been much o f anything else. He was a drifter, a man wh o fought for wages, mainly because he knew how to do i t better than most, even in this country. Yet wha t did that mean? It meant when he was through they paid hi m off, and were glad to be rid of him. And in the end?
In the end he would die up a canyon some plac e when his ammunition gave out. Or at the end of a rope.
Weariness swept over him, and he fel t empty, exhausted both mentally and physically.
He was tired of being wary, tired of running , tired of being alert for trouble. But he could not hav e picked a worse time to feel that way, for he ha d come back to a country that was obviously on th e brink of a shooting war.
Yet he had no idea what was going on. He only knew that the town was cold, wet, an d unfrly, just as it had been seventeen years ago.
He had come to Rafter a gaunt youngster o f thirteen astride a buckskin that showed every rib , thin as a bed slat himself, and wearing all he owned.
He carried a single-shot Sharps .50 b uffalo gun, one ragged blanket, and a Nav y Colt. The saddle he bestrode was a cast-of f McClellan, left behind by the Army.
Eli Patterson had been alone in the stor e when the boy entered, wet to the skin, but carrying al l the fine, stiff pride of a boy alone and seekin g a man's job. A boy who was ragged and wet, an d who knew he was nothing much to begin with.
"Know where a man can find work?" He was shakin g with chill, but he fought the tremble from his voice.
"Need help myself," Patterson had lied.
"Cold makes me stiff. There's a wagonload of stuff out back that need s unloading."
"I'm hunting a riding job," the boy sai d proudly, holding himself tall.
Patterson shrugged. "Take it or leav e it."
Pride fought with hunger, and lost. "I'l l take it," the boy said, "but if anybod y asks you, I'm a rider, not no day hand."
Patterson nodded, and taking a silver dolla r from his pocket, he said, "Dinnertime. You eat u p and come back."
The half-starved youngster had looked at the ol d man with cold eyes. "I ain't earned it.
I'll eat after."
Later in the day Jack Moorman walke d into the store, tough, hearty old Jack. El i nodded to indicate the boy. "Friend of mine , Jack, just rode in. I don't reckon he's really rustling work, but if you need a hand, he's a rider."
Moorman turned his head to look, taking in th e story at a glance. He was a bluff, kindl y man. "Can you ride bog, boy?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. And I can rope an' tie, an d I've got the best cuttin' horse in this her e country." He gestured toward the sorry-lookin g buckskin at the hitch rack.
"That crow-bait?" Moorman scoffed. "Why , I wouldn't have that rack of bones on the place!"
"Keep your job then," Mike Shevli n replied brusquely. "I'll not work for a ma n who judges a horse by the meat on him."
Surprised, Jack Moorman glanced aroun d at Eli as if to say, "Hey, what is this?"
Then he said, "Sorry, son, no offens e intended. You just come on out and bring your horse. I s urmise all he needs is a bait or two o f oats and some grama."
Following that meeting with Jack Moorman , Mike Shevlin had worked two years fo r Turkeytrack, filling out and growing taller. An d no man in the outfit had shouldered extra work becaus e he was a boy, nor had Mike backed away fro m trouble. Not even on the day when he rode up to a rustler with a tied-down Turkeytrack calf and a brand half altered.
Old Jack came out to the horse camp to hea r Mike's account of the shooting, for the rustler had bee n brought to headquarters draped over a saddle.
Moorman saw the burn on the boy's arm from a bullet that just missed.
"He told me to take out runnin' and to kee p my trap shut about things that didn't concern me.
Said I'd live a lot longer. I told hi m I rode for the brand, and rustlin' Turkeytrac k stock concerned me aplenty.
"He grabbed for his gun, only I t aken my time and he didn't. He got off th e first shot, and he missed."
"Boy"--Moorman shifted his big body i n the saddle--"y wore that gun when I first saw you , and I figured you were young for it, but you've worked tw o years for me and this is the first time you've ever dragge d iron. You're old enough to wear a gun, all right."
At fifteen Mike Shevlin was as tall a s he ever would be, and was stronger than most men. He had never known a day of anything but hard work, and wa s proud that he could work beside men and hold thei r respect.
From ten to thirteen he had worked beside his uncl e on a mining claim, taking his regular turn wit h single-jack or double-jack. Swinging the heav y sledges had put power in his shoulders and ha d taught him to hit with his weight behind it.
As a result, when Turkeytrack rod e over to the dances at Rock Springs schoolhouse , or over to Horse Hollow, Mike Shevli n won six fist fights before losing one. And h e whipped that man the following Saturday night.
When he rode away from the Moorman outfi t and started running with Gib Gentry and Ben Stowe , Eli Patterson warned him against it. "They'r e a bad crowd, Mike. They're not your kind."
Now, listening to the rain outside the old mill , he knew again, as he had realized long before, tha t Eli Patterson had been right. Gentry an d Stowe had always run with the wrong crowd; a man i s judged by the company he keeps, and so had Mik e Shevlin been judged.
"That old man should never have been buried o n Boot Hill," he said. "To him, that would see m the final disgrace. I intend to find out wha t happened."
"Ask your friend Gentry," Eve said.
"You take my advice," Winkler said, "an d you'll light out as soon as the rain lets up. Yo u take out while you're able."
Shevlin turned his eyes to the girl. "I d idn't get your name."
"Eve Bancroft. I own the Thre e Sevens."
But Winkler was not to be sidetracked. "Yo u get out," he said. "I remember you, Shevlin , and that crowd you trailed with, and I've heard of yo u since, and none of it any good. You leave out of her e or we'll bury you here."
Ignoring the old man, Shevlin rinse d a cup and filled it with coffee. His own cup wa s among the gear of his saddle.
These were cattle people. But the buildings in town wer e all mining--assay offices, miners' supplies , even the saloons now had names reflecting the minin g business. So why were these people from the cattle ranche s meeting here in secret?
Mike Shevlin's life had been lived in a n atmosphere of range feuds and cattle wars , and this meeting had all the earmarks of a preliminar y to such trouble. Why else would a pretty youn g woman like Eve Bancroft, a ranch owner, b e meeting here with an old hard-case like Winkler, an d whoever it was that was hiding upstairs?
He gulped the hot, strong coffee. "I'l l bunk in the loft," he said, "and stay out of you r way."
He finished the coffee and set down the cup; t hen he walked over to the ladder. Putting his han d on the rung to start climbing, he felt th e dampness of wet mud under his fingers. Somebody wa s up there, all right, and waiting for him.
Eve started to speak, but hesitated; Winkle r just watched him, his hard old eyes revealin g nothing.
Shevlin climbed the ladder and lifted the tra p with his left hand. Light shone suddenly in hi s eyes, but he spoke casually. "You pull tha t trigger, Ray, and you're a bigger fool than I t hought."
He pushed the loose trap door aside, the n went up through the hole and kicked the trap shu t without taking his eyes from the two men who waited ther e for him.
Ray Hollister looked older than he shoul d have, and thinner than Shevlin remembered him. Ther e was bitterness and frustration in the lines around hi s eyes and mouth, lines that Shevlin did no t remember. Ray Hollister had found himself to b e a smaller man than he wished to believe, and h e hated it.
The other man, Babcock, was a thin, patien t man of few loyalties, but they were loyaltie s grimly held. He believed in Ra y Hollister and he believed in cattle; and of the tw o men, Shevlin was sure Babcock was the mor e dangerous--an impression that would have bot h surprised and infuriated Ray Hollister.
"Who told you I was here?" Holliste r demanded. "Was it Eve?"
"They were expecting you in town, so when I sa w four horses in the stable and realized somebody wa s hiding here, I knew it simply had to be you."
"I'm not hiding! I'll be damned if I a m!"
"Who'd you shoot at?" Babcock asked.
"The man who followed him." Shevlin nodde d to indicate Hollister, whose boots were still muddy.
"Whoever it was thought I'd caught him, and h e took a blast at me."
"Nobody followed me!" Holliste r exclaimed sharply. "They don't even know I'm in this part of the country!"
"Gentry knew," Babcock reminded him.
"Gib's all right. He's cattle."
"Is he?" Babcock asked skeptically.
"You'd better be almighty sure."
Hollister was on edge and belligerent. He had always been a fool, trying to spend with th e spenders, gamble with the sharpers, test his strength with th e strongest. Sooner or later he would get himsel f killed, and others with him. Mike Shevlin wante d nothing between himself and Hollister but distance.
"I hear Gentry killed El i Patterson?" Mike said it like a question.
The atmosphere of the loft altered in som e subtle fashion. With years of violence and tensio n behind him, Mike knew when he had touched a nerve, and he had now.
"Never did figure that out." Babcock wa s honestly puzzled. "It wasn't like Eli to carr y a gun."
"Whoever says he carried a gun," Shevli n replied shortly, "lies. Eli was a Quaker , and he lived by it."
"You can't be sure of that," Holliste r protested.
"I knew him."
"The hell with that! You never know a man unti l he's pushed. All right, you came here to sleep , so sleep. We don't want any argument."
Shevlin walked to a pile of straw, pulle d some out and scattered more over it, then lay down with hi s slicker stretched over him.
As he relaxed he thought of El i Patterson. Patterson had lived by hi s code, and so must Shevlin live by his, differen t though they might be. In the last analysis it wa s all a man had to live by. Patterson, a man of peace, had died by the gun. I t remained to see how Shevlin would die. This was wha t he was thinking as his eyes closed. And this was in hi s mind when he awakened to broad daylight and a n empty loft.
He climbed down the ladder and stirred the fe w coals into a fire. Someone had been considerat e enough to leave the coffeepot among the coals. Th e coffee was hot as hell itself, and black as sin.
Well, now that he was here, what was he to do?
What could he do but what he had always done? He would bull his way in, worry the ones who ha d something to cover up, and force them into some kind of a move. When men moved hastily they often mad e mistakes. ...
He would start with Mason. He saddled up an d rode into town.
When he sta4 his horse at the livery stabl e he ignored the hostler who sat tipped back i n a cane-bottomed chair chewing the stem of a n ancient pipe. He was a thin old man with a narrow face and shrewd blue eyes that tol d nothing.
Shevlin walked to the door of the stable and stoo d there, lighting a Spanish cigar. As his hand s cupped around the match, he spoke without turning hi s head. "You're a long way from home , Brazos."
"This here's home, an' don't you b e a-spoilin' it for me!"
"All I want is information."
"In this town? That's the last thing you'll get.
This here town is scared. Ever'body rollin' i n money, an' ever'body scared."
"Have you heard the name of Jack Moorman?"
Shevlin asked.
"That's one of the things scares 'em. Seems h e was beat to death in the street one night, but nobod y seen it, an' nobody believes it."
"Any talk about it?"
"Not no more. On'y once in a while somebod y gets liquored up. Seems ever'body i n Rafter suddenly set out to get rich, an' th e on'y two honest men in town got stiff-necke d about it. Moorman was one of 'em, so he go t himself killed ... handy-like."
"And the other was Patterson?"
"Inquest ruled it a fair shootin',"
Brazos said, "but nobody paid much mind.
Nobody went to the inquest, an' you never hear d less talk about anything. Seemed like the y was all too anxious to get their fists into th e honey-pot."
"They say Gentry did it," Shevlin said.
"Why, now. He was the one showed up at th e inquest an' took the blame."
"You don't think he did it?"
"You take a hostler now--he's like a bartende r or a waiter," was the way Brazos answered.
"Folks just naturally talk as if they wasn't there at all, or else was born without ears.
Folks get so used to 'em they even forge t they're around.
"I heard the shot that killed Patterson,"
Brazos went on. "Heard it plain--onl y shot fired that afternoon--but at the time I thought nothin g of it. Some drunk is always shootin' around.
"I didn't have no time to get curious, eve n if I was of a mind to. Gentry, he come ridin' i n about that time. He'd promised to top off a ba d horse for Clagg Merriam, so he took off hi s coat and his gun belt and hung them on the nai l by the stall.
"Whilst ever'body was at the corral, I t ook a look at Gentry's new guns. The y was Smith and Wessons, and I'd heard tell o f 'em, but never looked at 'em before. Mind you , I'd no idee anybody had been shot.
"Mike, Gentry's guns was full-loaded an d clean as a whistle. There'd been no time for hi m to clean 'em after that shot was fired ... couldn't hav e been more than a minute until he came ridin g in, and he was in plain sight for a few second s before that. About ten minutes later somebody cam e runnin' in and said Patterson was dead."
"Who did they say did it?" Shevlin asked.
"Nobody had any idee. Then along abou t sundown it got around that Gentry'd done it, an d had turned himself in to the sheriff. There was a hearin', an' Mason testified he seen it an' i t was fair shootin'."
"Thanks, Brazos. You keep your ear s open, you hear?"
A buckboard driven by a girl was turning i n to the door as he spoke.
"You better cinch up tight, boy," Brazo s said, "you're ridin' in rough country."
Mike Shevlin, carrying his duffle, crosse d the street to the Nevada Hotel without glancin g back. Had he turned, he might have see n Brazos gesture toward him, although h e could not have heard the words that were spoken.
"Ma'am," Brazos said in a low tone as h e helped the girl from the rig, "you ever need he'p , you talk to that man there. If I was headin' i nto grief, there's no man I'd rather have ridin' p oint for me. When that man wants to go somewhere an' t here ain't no hole, he just naturally make s himself one."
Mike Shevlin registered at the Nevad a House, where the clerk was a stranger, then he wen t upstairs to his room and dropped his gear. He had finished shaving and was buttoning his shirt when ther e was a light tap at his door.
His .44 Smith and Wesson Russian la y on the bureau. He picked it up, draping th e towel over it as if about to dry his face, and the n he said, "All right, come in with your hands empty."
The door opened and the girl from the buckboar d stepped in, closing the door swiftly behind her.
She was slender and tall, her cheekbones wer e high in her triangular face, her lips a shade full. She was beautiful, but hers was by n o means an ordinary beauty, nor was she prett y in the accepted sense.
"Mr. Shevlin, I am Laine Tennison , and I am here to talk business."
"Sit down," he suggested, "and star t talking."
"Brazos is my friend, Mr. Shevlin. Th e only friend I have in Rafter ... unless it is th e people with whom I am staying."
He said nothing, waiting and wondering. She was a lady ... he had known very few in his lifetime, bu t this was, definitely, a lady. She looked it , carried herself like one, and dressed it--not,t, quit e plain for the times, and with style.
"Mr. Shevlin, I want you to find out wh y certain men want to buy the Sun Strike Min e from me."
He tucked the pistol behind his belt, her eye s following it. Then he folded the towel and place d it on the bar beside the bureau.
"No one knows that I own that mine, Mr.
Shevlin, and I do not want them to know. My grandfather bought the mine from the original locator.
He bought it through a company he controlled, and hi s name did not appear. I inherited the mine."
Her hair was auburn, with soft waves, he r eyes green and slightly slanted. Rather like a cat's eyes, but large.
"Nobody knows you own that mine?" Mik e Shevlin asked.
"Only Brazos ... and now you."
"You spoke of the people you are staying with. Don't they know?"
"Dottie Clagg is an old friend--we wen t to school together in Philadelphia. But sh e believes I am here for my health."
"Clagg?"
"Her husband is Dr. Rupert Clagg, a physician and surgeon."
"Related to Clagg Merriam?"
"A second cousin, I believe. It wa s Mr. Merriam who influenced them to com e to Rafter, I think."
Mike Shevlin combed his hair as he looked i n the mirror. He knew too little of what was goin g on here. He felt that he was like a blind man in a strange room filled with objects unfamilia r to him, whose design had no meaning for him.
Clagg Merriam had been a silent partner o f Eli Patterson's, but he had his hand in hal f a dozen enterprises. He had owned this hotel , and probably still did. He speculated i n cattle, too.
Shevlin remembered him now, a tall, to o handsome man who dressed well and never seemed to d o anything, yet actually did a great deal.
"If you're that cautious," he said to the girl , "you must have a reason."
The green eyes looked directly into his.
"I will be honest with you, Mr. Shevlin. I sen t a man here to investigate. He was killed. The y said it was an accident. He had gone to work in th e mine and somebody dropped some drill steel dow n a manway when he was coming up the ladder."
That was an ugly way to die. In the narro w limits of the manway there was no chance of escap e from falling drills--and small chance of accident , when it came to that. His miner's lamp would have bee n clearly visible, and one was supposed to cal l "Timber!" before dropping anything. Or at leas t that had been the rule in hard-rock mines wher e Mike had worked.
"Why would they want to kill him?" he asked.
She opened her bag and removed an objec t wrapped in a handkerchief. She unfolded th e handkerchief and placed a chunk of ore in his hand.
It was heavy, and it was literally cobwebbed wit h gold. High-grade ... high-grad e ore. "If there's much of that, you're making a mint," he said.
"That is just the point, Mr. Shevlin. The min e barely pays for itself. There are some months when i t does not even do that. That piece of ore cam e to me in a package with no return address an d no comment. It was then I sent the ma n to investigate."
She hesitated. "Mr. Shevlin, when I wa s growing up I lived in California and Nevada , where there were mining towns and cattle towns, and in comin g here I passed through several such towns. I do no t believe I have ever seen a town so prosperous a s this one."
"What is it you want me to do?"
"I believe a rich strike has been made , and that my gold is being high-graded ... stolen.
I want you to find out if this is true; and if i t is, who is buying the gold, and where it is kept.
Then"--she lifted her eyes to his--"I wan t you to stop the high-grading and recover the gold."
He gave her an incredulous smile. "I d on't know what Brazos told you, Mis s Tennison, but I don't believe any one ma n could do what you ask."
"You can do it."
He crossed to the window and looked down at th e town. Until she mentioned the town's prosperity , he had not given it a thought. His mind had bee n too preoccupied with his own weariness when h e arrived, and with the problem of Eli Patterson; ye t some subtle atmosphere about the town had worrie d him, and now he knew what it was.
Brazos had phrased it perfectly: e verybody rolling in money, and everybody scared.
But how did you fight corruption when all wer e corrupt?
Turning back from the window, he asked, "Yo u said somebody wanted to buy the mine?"
"The first offer came from Hollister and Evans.
That was quite a while ago. I refused to sell. Th e second came a few months later from a ma n named Mason. He wished, he said, to clos e down the mine and reactivate the Rafter H c attle company.
"The Mason offer was repeated a short tim e ago, but the letter was from the Rafter Mining Company , saying their man Mason had made a previou s offer. It was simply repeated in the sam e terms."
"Who signed that letter?"
"A man named Ben Stowe."
Ben Stowe!
The last time Shevlin had seen Stowe he wa s living in an abandoned homesteader's shack , rustling a few head of cattle, and riding with a wild bunch. And now he was offering to buy a mine!
"What you say about the town," he said softly , "is true--it is prosperous. My guess woul d be that everybody connected with the mine i s high-grading, if the stuff is actually there, and ever y place of business in town is taking gold i n trade, or buying it. As to recovering your gold , I'd say it would be impossible. By now it must b e lost in the normal channels of trade."
"I do not think so."
She leaned forward, her hands in her lap.
"Mr. Shevlin, I believe all that gold i s right here in Rafter. I believe someone wit h capital--perhaps the people who wish to buy the mine--ar e buying the gold from the stores and holding it. I b elieve they intend to buy the mine with my gold , then dispose of the remainder after they own th e property."
She got to her feet. "Mr. Shevlin, gol d is not easy to conceal; and as you undoubtedly know, th e gold from no two mines is exactly the same.
It is difficult to dispose of gold without it bein g known, and no sales have been reported from this area , no gold has appeared that cannot be accounted for.
"You think I am only a foolish girl, bu t believe me, Mr. Shevlin, my grandfather treate d me like a son in many respects, and among othe r things he taught me a great deal about business , and a great deal about gold and the marketing of gold.
"The Pinkertons checked on gold sales fo r me, beyond what I could do through the normal channel s of exchange. I do not believe the Pinkerton s could find out what is happening here. I believe i t will take somebody with local knowledge."
He glanced at her with respect. This was a girl who knew her own mind, and was uncommonl y shrewd along with it.
High-grading, the stealing of rich ore from a min e or smelter, was always difficult to control.
Opening a change room where the miners changed fro m their digging clothes to their outside clothes could sto p some of it, and checking lunchboxes or canteen s could, too, but where there was high-grade ore there woul d always be ways to steal it.
If what she believed was true, the men wh o controlled the working of the mine must have deliberatel y permitted the miners their chance to high-grade i n order to involve them, and the community itself, in th e crime of high-grading. Then the operators of th e mine simply kept the vastly greater amount o f gold for themselves, allowing only a small amoun t to go through legitimate channels, and this smal l amount was bought from the storekeepers to keep it out o f circulation.
It required capital, rigid control, an d some shrewd operation to make it work. Once the min e was owned by the operators of the high-grade ring, the n they might take other steps; certainly they mus t realize such an operation could not long continue.
"I will pay, Mr. Shevlin," the girl wen t on. "I will pay well. I will give you ten pe r cent of all you recover, and if my calculation s are near the truth the recovery might reach a half a million dollars."
"You'd have to trust me. What's to keep me fro m locating the gold and keeping it for myself?"
She smiled at him. "Mr. Shevlin, you have a very bad reputation. You are said to have stole n cattle, it is said that you are a gunfighter, that yo u have engaged in public brawls, that you were onc e friendly with the very men who are robbing me. I have hear d all that. Nevertheless, I believe in you."
She gathered her skirts and stepped to the door.
"You see, Mr. Shevlin, Brazos was not th e only man who told me you could be trusted. Lon g ago my uncle told my grandfather, when I wa s present, that there was one man in Rafter who could b e trusted under any circumstances. He said that n o matter what anybody said, Mike Shevlin wa s an honorable man, and an honest man."
Now who the hell would say a thing like that about him?
Turning away, he walked to the window again to kee p her from seeing how much her words had touched him.
"Your uncle can't have known me very well," h e said.
"He thought he did, Mr. Shevlin, and h e believed in you. I think you knew him very well , Mr. Shevlin. His name was Eli Patterson."
The storm had broken. Scattered cloud s raced across the sky, and between them the stars shone like th e lights of far-off towns.
He stood alone on the wet street, wit h enemies all about him. It was after midnight, an d only a few lights looked out upon th e rain-darkened walks, the muddy streets, and th e blank faces of the false-fronted stores acros s the way.
Now, at night, it might have been any littl e western town, but it was not just any town. It was a town built on deceit and theft, a tow n corrupted by its own greed, a town that had arrive d at this point without realizing how deep were the depth s into wh it descended.
Mike Shevlin looked gloomily from under th e black brim of his hat. He looked upon the tow n with no hatred. Here his best friend had been killed , brutally shot down in an alley because he had th e courage to stand against evil. But Mike Shevli n knew all too well how easy it was to accept tha t first dishonest dollar, and he knew all th e excuses a man could give himself.
After all, a man would say, the gold comes ou t of the ground, why shouldn't I get some of it?
Everybody else is getting it, why shouldn't I?
There were a multitude of easy excuses , useful in all such cases; but the trouble was tha t evil can plant a seed, and the seed can grow. Fro m easy acceptance of a minor misdemeanor, one ca n come to acceptance of a minor crime, and from a mino r crime to a major one. And this town had no w accepted robbery on a large scale ... perhap s larger than any one man knew, except for th e leaders. And they had accepted murder.
Thereby came fear. For murder breed s murder, and those who have killed once for gain, wil l kill again; and those who have agreed to ignore a murder, will ignore another if it is to protec t some small security of their own--property, o r guilt they themselves possess.
Mike Shevlin knew this because there had been a time when he had himself been guilty. It ha d seemed a great lark to run off a few steer s to sell for a spree in town. And then suddenly h e had wondered how he would feel if those had been hi s father's cattle, or his own.
There comes a time for a man to draw a line, an d Mike Shevlin had drawn his, and he ha d ridden away from Rafter, from Gib Gentry, Be n Stowe, and all the rest of them. And now he had com e back to a changed town. The old, easy friendshi p was gone. The hospitality of the West wa s no longer here. This town was alive with fear, wit h suspicion, and with hatred, and he, of all people, woul d find no welcome.
For surely every man here, and every woman too, wa s his enemy. What he had been asked to do and wha t he wished to do were bound together. If he found the ma n who had killed Eli Patterson, he would als o expose the plot to high-grade gold; and if h e did that the prosperity of this town would end.
What was right, and what was just? Had he the righ t to come into th place and shatter its prosperity? Her e people dressed better, lived better, had bette r houses than in other such towns. There was more mone y spent over the bars, more money in the stores; but with th e prosperity there would be, for some men, a sense o f power. The leaders of all this, the men who created an d planned it, had won acceptance of corruption, an d now there was no limit to what they might ask an d force the town to accept--or was there?
There must be people here, good people, restless with what wa s happening, people who wanted to be free of fear. Bu t he did not know these people, and had he known them h e knew they would not trust him, not Mike Shevlin.
What he did he must do alone. And now h e stood there pondering on it.
Across the street and down a few doors, a man stepped out to the edge of the walk and looked acros s at Shevlin. Mike knew that look, tha t attitude. The man was suspicious.
To be a stranger in this town, an unaccounted-fo r stranger, was enough to excite fear. Mik e Shevlin's every instinct warned him he was in danger , danger increasing with every minute. These people had bee n parties to theft and had turned their eyes from murde r ... and they would turn their eyes from another.
There were too many pairs of new boots, to o many expensive saddles here; too many men ha d ivory-or pearl-handled guns. Somebody ha d been shrewd enough to let a whole community get it s fingers sticky. By simply looking the other wa y while the miners high-graded a little gold, the me n who operated the mines had made the townspeopl e accomplices to their own theft.
Each buyer of high-grade, each tradesma n who accepted it over a counter, took a portion o f profit from the transaction, and because it was known by al l to be stolen gold, they took a higher profi t than usual.
Eli Patterson and Jack Moorman wer e dead, and they were men Mike Shevlin ha d respected. Each in his way had been kind to th e lonely, half-starved boy who rode hi s crow-bait of a horse into town. Each in his ow n way had helped to make him a better man tha n he had any right to be. ... Some things Mik e Shevlin had told no man.
It was true he had worked with his uncle on a mining claim, but it was a miserable claim that mad e them a living, no more. And then there had come the da y when the roof caved in, burying his uncle under th e mountain.
The boy who was Mike Shevlin had walke d away, leading his horse down the mountain because it wa s in bad shape to carry him over the rough terrain.
The mine tunnel was a fitting grave for hi s uncle, and he lay buried there with the hopes h e had never quite lost.
Of his father, Mike had never talked. He ha d been killed out on the plains by men who found hi m selling whiskey to Indians. His mother had died a few years later in a miserable shack on the edg e of town, a far-away cow town. But she ha d taught him a few things: to make his own way in th e world; to accept nothing he had not earned.
That had been little enough on which to build a lif e until, after leaving his uncle's claim, he ha d come to Rafter and met Eli Patterson, an d afterwards Jack Moorman. Instinctively h e honored these men who stood staunchly by what the y believed. The thought of these men was in his mind now.
The Bon-Ton Restaurant, just down th e street, was still Open. Mike crossed over an d went down the walk. Opening the door of th e restaurant, he stepped inside.
The coal-oil lamps with reflectors behind the m filled the room with light. There were severa l unoccupied small tables, and two long table s covered with white cloths, for family-styl e meals. A sideboard covered with glasses an d stacks of plates stood against the wall; on it s right a door opened to the kitchen.
Three men, apparently miners off shift, sa t together at the end of the nearest table. At the far en d of the other table sat two men, one in the roug h clothes of the frontier, the other in a well-tailored dark gray suit.
Shevlin dropped to a seat on the bench at th e nearest table, admiring the smooth expanse o f white linen. The last time he had eaten i n this restaurant the tables were covered with oilcloth.
The waitress brought him coffee, and over i t he began to consider the situation. He must tal k to Mason. He felt a curious reluctanc e to meet Gentry ... after all, the man had bee n his comrade, they had worked and fought side by side.
Now he thought that Gentry might become his enemy , and he did not want that.
But Gentry must be protecting somebody. I f he had not killed Eli himself--and Brazos' e vidence implied he had not--he knew who ha d killed him.
But why should Gentry go out on a lim b to protect someone else? Who was that importan t to him? It was unlike Gentry to take credit fo r another man's killing ... especially the killin g of Eli Patterson.
As Mike Shevlin drank his coffee, h e looked at the two men at the other table. The ma n in the tailored suit looked familiar, bu t Mike's attention was diverted by one of the miners a t his own table. He was a stocky, redheaded man , who had been staring hard at Mike, tryin g to attract his eyes.
"You've come to the wrong town," the miner sai d suddenly; "we ran all the cattlemen out of her e long ago."
Mike Shevlin smiled pleasantly. "I'm double-action--cattle or mines. I can swing a single-jack or double-jack as good as the nex t man."
"Where'd you ever work in the mines?"
"All over the country. Silverton , Colorado ... down in the Cerbat Range i n Arizona ... over at Pioche and Frisco."
"They're full up here. Nobody hirin'."
"Doesn't look like I'll find a job , then, does it?" The redhead was trouble-hunting. Th e type and the pattern were familiar. There was one in ever y town, always trying to prove how tough he was ... s ometimes there was more than one. And they were rarely th e really hard cases. They had nothing to prove.
Deliberately, Mike kept his tone mild.
He understood the pattern and accepted it, but i f Red wanted to push trouble he must do it on his own.
He would get no trouble from Shevlin. There wa s trouble enough without that.
At the other table the man in frontier clothe s looked around. "If you're a miner, I can us e you," he said. "I'm Burt Parry--I've got a claim in Cottonwoo d Canyon. If you're serious about a job, mee t me at six-thirty for breakfast here, and we'l l ride out."
Parry got up from the table. "I'll have thos e figures for you, Mr. Merriam," he said to th e man in the gray suit. "I'll have them tomorrow or th e day after."
He paused by Shevlin's table. "Tomorrow morning , six-thirty ... right?"
"I'll see you," Shevlin said. "I'll b e here."
The waitress placed a dish of food befor e him, and he picked up his knife and fork.
Merriam, the man had said. That would be Clag g Merriam. Mike had seen him only once o r twice in the old days, for Merriam was often out o f town. He was a bigger man than Mik e remembered, with a strong face and a smile on hi s lips that did not reach to his eyes.
The redhead moved down the table opposit e Shevlin. "You didn't tell him your name," h e said.
"He didn't ask," Shevlin replie d mildly.
"Well, I'm asking."
"None of your damn' business." Shevli n spoke in such a gentle voice that it was a momen t before the meaning got to the redhead.
When he realized what had been said, Re d smiled. He wiped his palms on the front of hi s shirt. Then he stood up very slowly, still smiling , and reached across the table to grasp the front o f Shevlin's shirt.
Shevlin dropped his knife and fork, and his lef t hand grasped Red's wrist, jerking him forward.
There was an empty dish on the table that had hel d mutton. With his right hand Shevlin pushed the miner's face down into the dish and, gripping Red's lef t hand, he coolly wiped his face around in the col d mutton grease.
Abruptly, Shevlin let go and Red cam e up, half over the table and spluttering with fury.
Shevlin jerked the butt of his palm up under th e man's chin and sent him toppling back over th e bench to the floor beyond. During the entire action h e had scarcely risen from his seat.
For a second, Red lay stunned, then with a n oath he started to rise. A voice stopped him.
"Cut it out, Red! This time you'v e swung too wide a loop. This gent would clobbe r you good!"
Shevlin looked around. There he was--older , of course, and heavier. Yes, and better dresse d than Shevlin ever remembered him. His face wa s puffy, and he looked like a man who was living to o well--something nobody could have said of the ol d Gentry.
"Hello, Gib," Mike said. "It's bee n a while."
Gentry thrust out a big hand. "Mike!
Mike Shevlin!" There was no mistaking th e pleasure in Gentry's voice. "Man, am I g lad to see you!"
Shevlin took the hand. It was all wrong, h e thought. Whatever else Gentry might do, he woul d not kill a man like Eli. A tough man , Gentry was, even a cruel one at times, but a man who fought with fighting men.
Shevlin was aware of the room's attention.
Clagg Merriam was watching them, his fac e unreadable. Red was slowly wiping the grease from hi s face.
"Come down the street, Mike," Gentry wa s saying, "and I'll buy you a drink for old time's sake."
Reluctantly, Shevlin got up from the table.
The last thing he wanted was a drink. What h e wanted was food and coffee, gallons of coffee.
"The town's changed," Shevlin sai d tentatively as they emerged on the street. "I d on't see many of the old faces."
"Gone ... gone with the cattle business."
Shevlin waited until they had taken a fe w strides, and then he asked, "What happene d to Ray Hollister?"
Gentry's smile vanished. "Ray? Go t too big for his boots, Ray did. He lef t the country ... and just in time."
"He always did try to take big steps."
"Say!" There was obvious relief i n Gentry's tone. "I'd forgotten about the time yo u two tangled out at Rock Springs. You neve r did get along with him."
The thought seemed to please him. Gentry reste d a big hand on Shevlin's shoulder as they reached th e door of the Gold Miner's Daughter. Mik e restrained his distaste. He had never liked to b e touched, and had not cared for Gentry's back-slapping good humor.
To get to the point, he asked, "Are yo u ranching, Gib?"
"Me?" Gentry opened the door, and went o n speaking as they entered. "The cattle business i s a thing of the past in this country. No, I'm in th e freighting business. Hauling for the mines-s upplies in, gold out, working twenty to thirt y rigs all the time."
Mike saw no familiar faces in th e saloon. Gentry lifted a hand and the bartende r tossed him a bottle, which Gib caugh t deftly. Then the bartender tossed two sho t glasses, which Gentry caught just as easily with th e other hand. He had always been fast with his hands for a big man ... and fast with a gun.
Gentry was in a genial, talkative mood , and Shevlin was willing to listen. A cowhand , Gentry told him, had struck gold on the ol d Rafter H while sinking a post hole. Withou t saying a word to anyone he had gone off to Sa n Francisco and obtained financial backing, the n returned and bought the Rafter H headquarter s area.
Polluted water from the mill flowed into th e creek, spelling ruin for the Rafter H and the othe r cattle outfits. They fought, and among th e casualties was the cowhand who had discovered th e gold.
"Mighty convenient, I figure," Gentr y commented, refilling his glass, "but it didn't d o anybody any good. Turned out he had sold hi s entire interest to that Frisco outfit. There wa s trouble aplenty with Turkeytrack and Rafter , but nothing we couldn't manage."
"We?"
Gentry winked. "Now, Mike, you know ol'
Gib. I never let any grass grow under m y feet, you know that, an' there's more money in gol d than in cattle. The trouble started when I hire d on as guard at the Sun Strike."
"Trouble?"
"Shooting trouble, Mike. Ben Stowe was bos s of the guards, an' you know Ben. He knew wher e to pick up a few salty boys down in th e Panhandle country, and after we'd buried two o r three of the local boys that was the end of it."
Trust Ben Stowe to know who had to be killed.
The backbone of any cow outfit lies in tw o or three fighting men whom the rest follow. Pu t them out of the picture, and the rest would b e likely to lose heart. Mike Shevlin had see n it managed that way more than once, and had seen i t tried at other times.
"Gib, who is the law around here?"
"You on the dodge?"
"Who is he?"
"Aw, you've nothing to worry about. You know ho w it is with the law in these western towns. The law i s always local law, so busy skinning its own cat s it hasn't time to worry about anybody wh o doesn't make trouble. You could shoot half a dozen men in Denver or Cheyenne, and nobod y would bother you anywhere else as long as you stayed ou t of trouble. ... But the law here is Wilso n Hoyt."
Wilson Hoyt, of all people! He was a burly bear of a man, broad and thick an d muscular, but fast enough to have killed a man who ha d the drop on him. He was credited with seventee n killings, all on the side of the law. Of all th e men who might be in this town, the one most likel y to know about Mike Shevlin was Hoyt.
Hollister, Gentry, and Mason only kne w the boy who had ridden away, and ten years and more ca n deepen and widen a man, they can salt him down wit h toughness and wisdom. And Mike had been gon e thirteen years. Of them all, Hoyt would understan d him more than the others, and Hoyt had seen hi m looking at Eli's grave and would know why he ha d come back.
Gentry rambled on, taking a third drin k while Mike was nursing his first. He talked abou t the good old days, and it came over Mike tha t Gentry still thought of him as a friend.
"You got to hand it to Ray," Gentry sai d confidentially. "He always wanted to be a bi g man, and when gold was discovered he grabbed at th e chance.
"He never came out in the open with it, and th e cattle crowd never knew he'd thrown in with th e other side. When trouble started--and I alway s figured his loud mouth caused it--Ray got i n touch with the Frisco people and offered to handl e negotiations with the ranchers. He and that shyste r Evans called themselves a law firm, but you kno w Ben. When Hollister brought Ben into x he pu t a rope on trouble.
"When a few of the miners started high-grading a little here and there, Ben argued Ray into looking th e other way. But Ben, he said nothin g to Ray about the setup he arranged for buying up th e gold to keep it out of circulation."
"Where did Ben get that kind of money?"
Gentry gave Mike another wink. "Now, tha t there is Ben's own secret, but don't yo u low-rate Ben. Buying up the high-grade kep t the news from getting out that Sun Strike was big.
They reported low averages from the mine, an d nobody knew any different."
By this time Gentry was working on his fourth drink.
"Smart--that was smart thinking," Mik e remarked.
"You're not just a-woofing," Gentry said.
Trust Eli not to go along with that, or Jac k Moorman for that matter, for Jack had mone y invested in town business, and he owne d Turkeytrack as well. So they had bee n killed.
Had Ben Stowe realized that Eli Patterso n was connected with the San Francisco owners?
Shevlin's guess was they had not known. Shevli n had known Eli better than any of them had, an d he had never heard him make any referenc e to relatives or friends in San Francisc o ... or anywhere else, for that matter. Eli ha d come west from Illinois, and when he talked it wa s about life back there.
Mike was scarcely listening to Gentry now, an d Gib had gone back to talking of the old days , reliving the rough, tough old days of branding , roundups, and cattle drives.
"Remember the time a rattler scared tha t line-back dun of yours? He went right over th e rim an' I'll be damned if you didn't sta y with him all the way to the river! If anybody ha d told me a man could ride a horse down tha t slope I'd have said he was loco."
Gentry was drunk ... it was possible tha t by morning he would have no memory of what he ha d told Shevlin, and Mike was sure that only th e liquor--he had already had a few when they met---h ad made him talk as freely as he had. That---a nd something else Mike suddenly realized: Gi b Gentry was lonesome.
There was one other fact to consider. Gentry was i n the freighting business, and when gold was moved h e would do the moving, and there would be nobody to as k questions.
If Ben Stowe had done the planning for thi s operation he had planned very shrewdl y indeed. All the loose ends were nicely tucke d in, and everything was under control--everything but Gi b Gentry's tongue when he'd had a few drinks.
Did they know that?
"What's Burt Parry like?" Mike asked.
"Aw, he's all right. He's got him a two-by-four claim over in the canyon. There's nothing over there, but he sure ain't willin g to believe it."
Shevlin pushed back his chair and got up.
"I'd better get some sleep." For a moment h e rested a hand on Gentry's shoulder. "Good to se e you, boy. You watch your step now."
"See you." Gentry seemed about to say somethin g more, but he only added, "So long, kid."
At six o'clock the next morning the ma n operating Eli's old store was out sweeping th e boardwalk. Mike Shevlin strolled inside and th e man followed. Shevlin bought what digging clothe s he would need, some candies, and a caplamp, and the n said, "And four boxes of .44's."
The storekeeper glanced up. "You expectin g trouble?"
"Man of peace, myself. Figured I'd be of f up that canyon workin' for Burt Parry and I'd have me some target practice. I never could hi t the broad side of a barn."
Burt Parry was waiting in front of th e Nevada House when Shevlin returned with hi s packages. "Lady waiting for you," he said , "in the dining room. I heard her asking for you."
He went inside and passed under the arch into th e dining room. It was Eve, and she was alone.
"You wanted to see me?"
"I want to offer you a job. At the Thre e Sevens."
"I heard the cow business was in a bad wa y around here."
Lowering her voice, she said, "Mr. Shevlin , we need men like you, and whatever else you are, you'r e cattle."
He felt irritation mounting within him. "Al l right, you tell me. What kind of a man am I?"
"You've used a gun, and we need guns."
He felt a vast impatience. "Lady, wit h all due respect, you're talking nonsense."
He jerked his head to indicate the Sun Strik e and the steady pound of its compressor. "Do you thin k guns will stop that? As long as there's or e in the ground, they'll be there."
"That's not true. If Ray Hollister ha d been leading us, he would have run Ben Stowe out of th e country!"
Shevlin looked at her ironically. "Yo u really believe that? As a fighting man, Ra y Hollister couldn't come up to Ben Stowe's boot-tops."
Her anger flared. "If you believe that, there's no job for you at Three Sevens!"
"Sorry ... but I already have a job. As a miner."
Abruptly, she got to her feet. "Jes s Winkler said you were one of them, but I just couldn't believe it. You're just a thief, a commo n thief!"
She walked out, heels clicking, and h e followed to join Burt Parry outside.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.
Parry glanced at him. "The lady was in a hurry," he commented.
"When I told her I had a mining job, sh e called me a thief."
"If you worked for anybody but me," Parry sai d wryly, "that might be true." He looke d straight at Shevlin. "What would you say if I t old you some of the ore from the Sun Strik e assayed as high as twenty thousand dollars a ton?"
"I'd tell you there was a gent down in Chil e found a nugget that weighed four hundred pounds.
What I mean is, it could happen once."
"My friend," Parry said seriously, "some of th e richest ore I've ever seen came out of that mine , and not just a little bit."
High-grade ... every miner knew what tha t meant. Ore so rich a man could carry a month's wages out in his pockets, and tw o months' wages in a canteen or a lunchbox.
He had known of mines where the foreman was pai d by miners for the privilege of working. Change room s could only curb high-grading; they couldn't sto p it.
"And nobody talks?" Shevlin asked.
"They're all in it. I'm not, but I don't have much to say, and I don't try to leave town.
Sometimes I wonder if I could leave. Mayb e I'm alive only because I haven't tried."
"You're taking a chance even telling me. Ho w do you know I'm not their spy?"
"You couldn't be. You're in trouble, Shevlin."
"I am?"
"Don't expect reason from any of them , Mike. They're in too deep, and all of the m are running scared. I was advised not to hire you."
"Why me?"
"There was a man named Hollister--and there's th e fact that you arrived just at this time. They are deathl y afraid of Hollister, Mike, and if the y locate him, he's a dead man."
"You know a lot."
"I wish I knew less. I have a friend o r two, and they tell me things." Parry looked a t Mike's gun. "Are you any good with that?"
"I get along."
Parry started toward the livery stable and Mik e walked along with him. He could feel eyes o n them, eyes watching them down the street. Suddenl y he realized that he could have done nothing worse tha n go to work for Burt Parry, the one man who was a n outsider.
No matter. He was in up to his ears , anyway, and he had a hunch that if he got ou t he would get out shooting. For the first time in year s he was suddenly conscious of the gun at his hip.
In his office above the bank, Ben Stow e tipped back in his big leather chair and stare d thoughtfully out the window toward the trees along th e creek. He had come far since the mornin g fourteen years ago when Jack Moorman fire d him off the Turkeytrack.
He had never forgotten that day. Old Jac k had been seated in his hide chair with a shotgu n across his knees when he told Ben Stowe he was a cow thief, and probably a murderer as well, an d also told him what would happen if he was ever foun d on Turkeytrack range again.
Ben Stowe, big, powerful, and tough, had stoo d there and taken it, but even now he flushed at th e memory, grudgingly admitting to himself that he ha d been afraid. In all his life he had feare d no man but Jack Moorman. Dead now fo r several years, Jack Moorman still had the powe r to destroy him.
Until the discovery of gold on Rafter , Ben Stowe had been merely another rustler. No t that anybody else in the Rafter countr y had dared accuse him, but it was generally known.
The gold discovery had been his big chance, an d he jumped to take it. From the first he had understoo d the possibilities ... some of them. The idea o f seizing the mine itself he owed to Ray Hollister.
Hollister had recognized the power that lay i n control of the mines, and he grabbed for it. But in thi s he overestimated himself and underestimated others.
He had looked upon Ben Stowe as a down-at-heel hired man, and he forgot to conside r that the fires of ambition might burn just a s strongly in another as in himself. And suddenly Ra y was out and Ben was in control.
The end was near. The offers had been made, no t only for the Sun Strike, but for the Glory Hol e as well, offers large enough to interest them as a n escape from a constant drain, yet not large enoug h to cause them to wonder.
Ben Stowe stared at the trees and thought of th e years ahead. Once the mine was in the possessio n of himself and his partner, he would cut all his tie s with the old life, and cut them with a ruthless hand. Th e mine would make millions; business in the tow n would be worked back to normal, not so suddenly a s to cause trouble, but with a deft hand. People would soo n forget what Ben Stowe had done, or remembe r it, as the West often did, as the harmles s escapades of another time.
The door from the outer office opened and Be n Stowe felt a swift surge of anger. He wa s beginning not to like it when someone presumed enough to com e bursting into his office. But this was Gib Gentry.
Suddenly he saw Gentry with new eyes.
Gentry and he were old friends, but in the future tha t Stowe planned, where would Gentry fit? And wit h sudden, chill awareness he knew he would not fi t at all.
Gentry dropped into a chair and put his boot s on Ben's desk, and Ben Stowe again felt tha t swift anger. Gib was too damned familiar.
But even as he thought that, he was surprised a t himself.
Why the sudden fury? He had always been a man who kept his temper on a leash. It was tha t coldness and control that had brought him to where he wa s ... why the sudden anger now?
Gentry bit the end from a cigar. "Hell , Ben, you should've been down the street. Who th e hell do you think I ran into?"
"Mike Shevlin?"
"Now how the hell did you know that?"
Ben Stowe was pleased with himself. It was a littl e thing, a simple thing, but long ago he ha d realized the importance of knowing what was going o n around the country, and had taken pains to see that h e learned of new arrivals, or of any occurrenc e that was out of the ordinary. He had several sources o f information, one of which was the marshal.
As a member of the town council, he ha d directed the marshal in his duties. All he ha d learned now was that a stranger, a very salt y customer, had been up on Boot Hill lookin g at Eli's grave, but when he put that together with a few other items he could make a fairly saf e guess.
Gentry pushed his hat back on his head.
"Damn it, Ben! Seemed like old times, havin'
Mike around. He looks good, too."
Ben Stowe shuffled some papers on his desk an d wished Gentry would go. Gib had always been a bit of a damned fool. Always ready to pick u p a fast dollar, but carrying a wide streak o f sentiment. After all, he and Shevlin had neve r been all that thick.
"Look, Gib, you be careful what you say.
There was a meeting at the old mill last nigh t ... and then another man rode up through the rain.
My man thought it was either Hollister or somebod y following him. Whoever it was put a bullet in m y man."
"You can forget that. Mike never had a damn' b it of use for Ray, and vice versa. Ray's small change, and Mike always knew it."
"I never cottoned to him, anyway," Ben sai d irritably. "I know he was a friend of yours, bu t what does it look like, him riding in just at thi s time? You know how tight everything is. If we hav e trouble now it could blow the lid off--or tighten i t up so hard it might be years before we could make i t pay off."
"Hollister's just a sorehead. He can't hurt us."
Ben Stowe gave him an impatient look.
"Gib, you never could see past your nose. There's one thing you forget--Ray Hollister could go to th e governor."
Gentry was incredulous. "The governor?
Aw, Ben, you're lettin' this get on you r nerves! What interest would the governor have in thi s place?"
"The governor," Ben Stowe replied , "married Jack Moorman's daughter, that's all. And if that isn't enough, the governor's fathe r rode in here on a cattle drive as a partner o f Jack's, and after his father died, Jac k practically raised him. He was in Washingto n when old Jack was killed, and if he had bee n governor then, he'd have raised hell."
Gentry shifted uneasily in his chair. Al l the pleased excitement of Shevlin's return wa s gone. He took his feet down from the desk an d wished he had never come to see Ben. Things jus t weren't the same any more. Ben was impatient al l the time; he never took time for a drink with him, neve r talked it up like in the old days. And now this about th e governor. Of course, he remembered it, now tha t he thought of it. He had forgotten, that was all.
Anyway, Jack Moorman had been dead fo r years--that was all over.
"Hollister couldn't prove anything," he said.
"He wasn't even there."
"There are some who were," Stowe replie d sourly, "and when a horse starts swishin' hi s tail there's no telling what burrs he'l l pick up."
Gentry was suddenly hot and uncomfortable. He had never forgotten the contempt in old Jack's eyes as they battered him to his knees. Tha t look had penetrated to the very core of Gentry's being, and for months he had waked up shaking with frigh t and bathed in sweat, remembering those eyes.
The old man never had a chance. Struck dow n from behind, his gun belt had been cut through, removin g any chance of resistance. They had not wanted to us e a gun or a knife. There was bad feeling between th e miners and the cattlemen, and it was pay day night.
They planned for it to look like something don e by drunken miners.
"If you think so much of Shevlin," Stowe wa s saying, "you get him out of here. He could mak e trouble."
When the door closed after Gentry, Stowe pu t his feet on his desk. No need to tell Gentr y the word on Shevlin was already out. There was no longe r any need to tell Gentry anything. After the y moved the gold, something would have to be done about Gi b Gentry. He had outlived his usefulness.
Gentry stood outside under the awning staring dow n the street. He bit the end from a fresh cigar.
The hell with Ben Stowe. The hell with the m all.
He had had more to drink than he had ever ha d before, but what did it mean, after all? He neve r had any fun any more, and Stowe had changed.
Hardly talked to him any more, and whenever Gentr y came around Ben made it seem as if he wa s talking nonsense, or was acting like a fool.
Gib Gentry stood there on the street an d looked bleakly into a future that held n o promise. He wasn't a kid any more. And h e was hitting the bottle too hard. He had known tha t for some time, but he had never actually allowed i t to shape into words before. Uneasily, his thoughts kep t returning to Ben Stowe. Ben was a hard man.
He had best step very lightly.
Suddenly he was swept by anger. Ste p lightly? Who the hell did Ben think he was , anyway? Why the hell should he step lightly fo r Ben Stowe or any other man?
Now Ben had told him to get Mike Shevli n out of town. Just how was he to go about that? It ha d been a long time since Gib had seen Mike o r heard more than vague rumors of him, but an y man with half an eye could see Mike Shevli n had been riding where the owl hooted and the long wind s blew ... no mistake about that.
It was a hell of a situation when a man lik e Shevlin might be killed--and he would take a lot of killing. Ben Stowe could be almight y dumb sometimes. He should be able to see that the bes t thing he could do would be to leave Mike Shevli n alone.
Gib Gentry had always considered himself a har d dangerous man, and he had been all of that, but h e was also a man with a love for reliving the old days , sharing a bottle, and talking of the old times. Th e truth was that Gib, like many another, had never quit e grown up. In reliving the old days and replayin g the old games, he avoided a hard look a t whatever future might lay ahead of him.
It was going to rain again; clouds were gathering ove r the mountains. Gentry's cigar had gone out. He stared at it, disgusted, and then turned and walke d down the street. Yes, Ben had changed. He cared damned little for his old friends. Somewhere in th e back of Gib's brain a tiny bell sounded it s warning, but Gib did not hear it. He was thinkin g about a drink.
Mike Shevlin followed Burt Parry up th e narrow canyon, between occasional trees , clumps of brush, and tumbled boulders o r slides of broken rock. When they reached th e claim Parry said, "There's good water at a spring about sixty yards up the canyon, and unles s you fancy yourself as a cook, I'll put the gru b together."
"By the time I'd eaten my own cooking th e second time, I decided against that."
He stripped the saddle from his horse, an d glanced around, but there was little enough to see. Parry's claim shanty stood on the bench made by th e mine's dump. It was a simple two-roo m cabin, hastily but securely put together. Abou t thirty feet from it was a small corral, on on e side of which was a lean-to shack used as a too l house. Beyond was the opening of the tunnel.
Up the canyon, just visible from where they stood , there was another dump, larger than their own. No buildings were visible there.
"Whose claim is that?" Shevlin asked.
"It's abandoned. That was the discovery claim fo r Sun Strike. The gold was found on the mes a right above there, so they decided to drift into the hil l from here, but they gave up when they found the or e body lay on the other side of the hill."
When they sat down to eat, darkness was filling th e canyon, softening all the harshness of the blea k hills. Shevlin, drinking his second cup o f coffee, was listening to the birds in the bottom of th e canyon. Suddenly, the sound ceased. Parry wa s talking, and if he noticed the change he gav e no indication of it.
"Many visitors out here?" Shevlin asked.
"The vein seems to be widening out, and I b elieve in about sixty feet ... What was that yo u said?"
"I asked if you had many visitors?"
"Here? Why would anybody come out here? The y all think I'm crazy to work this claim. I h aven't had two visitors in the past fou r months."
"How far back does this canyon go?"
Parry shrugged. "How the hell should I know?
I never followed it up. About a mile furthe r along it narrows down to just a slash in the mountain.
They say you can touch both sides with outstretche d arms. Hell of a mess of rock back in there."
Mike Shevlin got up and went to the door.
He stood there, leaning against the doorjamb. I t might have been a roving lion, but he ha d a hunch the birds had shut up because a man wa s passing.
"When you get up in the morning," Parry said , "you can muck out that rock I shot down on m y last shift. I'll be riding back into town."
"It's a prosperous town," Shevlin commented.
"Less you say about that the better. I sta y away from town most of the time, and I never talk abou t anything but my own claim, or whatever news w e hear from out of town."
At daylight, with Parry gone, Mik e Shevlin went into the tunnel and settled dow n to work. He had always rather liked working with a shovel; i t had the advantage of giving a man time to think, an d he had a lot of that to do.
What it shaped up to was that Ray Holliste r had been using the cattlemen as a wedge to ge t back into power, a power he had been aced out o f ... and somebody was going to get hurt.
Ben Stowe was no hot-headed, conceited foo l like Hollister. He was cold, cruel, and tough i n a way Hollister never dreamed of. I f Hollister chose to get himself killed, that was his ow n business, but the way he was headed he would ge t others killed as well.
Eve believed in Hollister, and it was likel y that she was a little in love with him. Babcock wa s fiercely loyal to Hollister, as he had alway s been; but had he any idea what Hollister wa s planning?
The town was rich and suspicious and frightened. I t was afraid of losing its riches, it was afraid o f being exposed, and yet every one of them probabl y knew the lid was about to blow off.
Somebody had killed Eli Patterson an d Jack Moorman, then had moved in and take n control. Undoubtedly all reports leaving tow n went from Ben Stowe's office. The shift bosse s would be carefully selected henchmen of his.
Everyone in town, in one way or another, had a stake in keeping things as they were.
There was, of course, Wilson Hoyt.
If there was one man Shevlin hoped to have on hi s side it was Hoyt, and so far as he knew , Hoyt was incorruptible. He was a man o f simple purpose. His job was to insure peace i n the town, and that he intended to do. Hoyt, Shevli n was sure, had no hand in what was going on, althoug h he might be aware of it. He would make no stan d unless somehow it affected his work.
While Mike's mind was busy with these thoughts , he kept working with his shovel. Now he wheeled hi s loaded wheelbarrow to the end of the plank runway an d dumped it. As he turned around to go back, h e saw Eve Bancroft ride her horse up o n the dump.
"You're wasting your time," she said. "There's n o high-grade there."
"I was beginning to guess as much." He sense d her dislike, and wondered why she had come.
Her eyes seemed to tighten a little. "Mike , we want you on our side."
He put the wheelbarrow down and straightene d up. "You're choosing up sides? What for?"
He pushed his hat back and wiped away the swea t with the back of his hand. "You don't think shooting a few miners will stop them, do you?"
She repressed her animosity wit h difficulty. "When this fight is over this will b e cattle country again, and nothing but cattle."
"You can't drive pigs from a trough with a switch."
"Ray thinks different."
"Hollister always tried taking in too muc h territory, but he's not that much of a fool."
Her fury flared. "Ray Hollister was a big man here before, and he will be again! Now that he's back, things will change!"
"Eve," Shevlin said patiently , "Hollister will get you hurt. He was never a big man anywhere, and never will be. He just can't cut the mustard. Years ago, when you were just a child , Ray Hollister had a good ranch that could have kep t him comfortable for the rest of his days, but it wasn't enoug h for him.
"He wanted to be top dog. He hung aroun d Jack Moorman, and when Jack spat, Ra y spat twice as hard; when Moorman grumbled , Ray swore. Well, he tried to be bigge r than he was cut out to be, and they ran him out of th e country. This time they'll bury him."
"You're jealous! You were always afraid of him!"
"Ask him about the whipping I gave him out a t Rock Springs. The truth is, Eve, tha t nobody was ever afraid of Ray."
She wheeled her horse, her features rigi d with anger. "I've tried for the last time! You leav e the country, Mike Shevlin, and leave it fast!
You've had your chance."
Regretfully, he watched her rac e her horse down the canyon. She was a prett y young woman, but Ray Hollister had convinced her , and she was one of those who could never see the othe r side of any question. ... Ray was not so old, whe n you came to think of it. He would be abou t thirty-eight now, and Eve Bancroft was twent y or so. And that much of a spread in ages was no t uncommon in the West. ... or in othe r places, for that matter.
The trouble was that Ray Hollister, driven by a blind fury to realize his ambition, would ge t somebody killed. All the way along the lin e Ray had missed the boat, and to a man of his eg o that was intolerable. He was striking out franticall y now in desperation and bitterness. If he had eve r thought of anyone but himself, except those successfu l people he had formerly idolized, he certainly wa s thinking of no one else now. Not even of Eve.
As Shevlin worked at the muck pile in the ho t end of the drift, sweat pouring from him, it cam e to him suddenly that there was a way to stop all this.
If the richness of the mines could be brought into the open , suddenly exposed, then Ben Stowe and his crowd woul d have nothing to fight for, and it would stop Ra y Hollister too.
The news that the mines were rich would immediatel y destroy any chance of Stowe or any of his crow d buying the mines. It would bring in a rush o f outsiders, and further buying of high-grade would hav e to be curbed. And the ranchers would realize, n o matter what Hollister might say, that the mine s were not about to be abandoned.
But how could he, Mike Shevlin, bring that about?
Nobody would accept the word of a drifting cowhan d with a bad reputation. He must have evidence , concrete evidence in the shape of high-grad e ore. Moreover, he must locate the cache wher e the high-grade was hidden. If he did not do this , the thieves would certainly take the gold an d escape when their thefts were disclosed. And in suc h case, Laine Tennison would be defrauded.
By the time Mike had mucked out the drift it wa s mid-afternoon. Right at the face it was easier, becaus e Burt Parry had gotten a sheet of boile r plate from someone and had placed it on the floo r of the drift before firing his shots and bringing down th e muck on top of the sheet. This was old practic e in the larger mines, but you found little of that sort o f thing in such prospect holes as Parry's.
Mike lined up various lengths o f drill steel near the face; then he came out of th e drift and carried water up from the spring for a bath.
While he washed he had water getting hot o n the stove, and when he had finished he made coffe e and a sandwich. He would have a good meal in town, bu t he knew from long experience that a man was foolis h to start out for anywhere without eating something ... to o many things could happen.
And when he got to town he was going to se e Wilson Hoyt first thing.
Wilson Hoyt sat behind his battere d roll-top desk, his feet propped up, readin g a newspaper. He looked up as Mik e Shevlin walked in, and acknowledged his presenc e with a brief nod and no show of pleasure.
"You've got something on your mind," he sai d bluntly. "What is it?"
"I'm going to blow the lid off, and I want yo u on my side."
Hoyt picked up the stub of his cigar an d carefully ground it out before throwing it into th e cuspidor. He should have known this job was too goo d to last.
Slowly and in detail, Mike Shevlin lai d out the situation as he saw it. Ray Hollister wa s in that part of the country, and he had the cattleme n solidly behind him. The water of the creeks was bein g polluted, and the cattle needed that water. They woul d attack, the cattlemen would, and that meant killin g and burning.
Ben Stowe would fight back, but regardless o f who won, the town would lose. And, he added, Be n Stowe was robbing the mine owners.
"They don't live in Rafter," Hoyt sai d cynically, "so it doesn't matter." He bi t the end from a fresh cigar. "How do you think it can b e stopped?"
"Arrest Stowe. Arrest Mason and Gentry.
Slap every man of them in jail, then go into the mine s and get enough high-grade for evidence."
"What about Hollister?"
"Forget him. Bring in the five top rancher s and put them under bond to keep the peace. Then le t Hollister stew in his own juice."
"They're outside my jurisdiction."
"Not if you want to act. Nobody reall y wants this trouble but Hollister. He's a sorehead."
Hoyt chewed the cigar thoughtfully, then took hi s feet down from the desk. "Now you listen to me.
Nobody asked me to stop high-grading. I wa s brought in to keep the peace, and I've kept it.
Now you come in here and try to tell me m y business.
"If Ray Hollister starts anything, I'l l kill him, and that goes for you as well. Ben Stow e won't start anything, because he needs peace an d quiet. If you try to blow the lid off this tow n you're likely to get killed. And even if yo u started something, you couldn't prove a thing.
"Let me tell you something," Hoyt went on.
"All the high-grade ore comes out of one are a between the two mines. At the first sign of trouble, th e drifts leading to the stopes where that high-grad e ore has been found will be blown up and sealed off.
You couldn't prove a thing, and you'd just make a fool of yourself."
Wilson Hoyt stood up. "Now you quit tha t two-bit job and get out of town. If you're stil l in town forty-eight hours from now, or if you so muc h as raise your voice, I'll come for you."
Shevlin felt angry with frustration an d helplessness. This was the one man he needed, but i f Hoyt persisted in his stand nothing could preven t killing. How could he reach him?
"You've heard my ultimatum," Hoyt said.
"Get up in the saddle and start looking fo r distance."
"If you remembered me, Hoyt, you wouldn't b e talking that way."
Hoyt brushed the remark off with a gesture.
"Oh, I know all about you! You fought in th e Nueces cattle war, you were a Texas Range r for two years and made quite a name for yourself. You ha d a name around Cimarron and Durango. I kno w all that, and I'm not impressed."
Mike Shevlin tucked his thumbs behind his bel t and said quietly, "I was remembering one night i n Tascosa."
Wilson Hoyt's hands became very still. Th e leonine head was bowed slightly, the muscles i n the powerful neck were rigid.
"It was bright moonlight," Mike said, "and yo u were under the cottonwoods waiting for a man, so whe n a rider came in from the Canadian Rive r bottoms you were sure it was your man."
Hoyt's face was bleak.
"You stepped into the open, called out a name, an d reached for your gun. Do you remember that?"
"I remember it."
"You were slow, Wilson. We'll say it wa s an off night. Anyway, this rider had the dro p before your gun cleared leather, and when he spoke yo u knew you had braced the wrong man. Right so far?"
"Yes."
"There you stood looking into the muzzle of a gu n in the hands of an unknown man, a man with every chanc e and every right to shoot you where you stood. Then the ma n walked his horse away and left you standing there, an d you never knew who it was who beat you to the draw."
"You could have heard the story."
"I never told it."
"Well, you beat me once. That doesn't say you can do it again."
For years that faceless man had haunte d Wilson Hoyt--that man whose features had bee n hidden by the shadows of his hat as well as by th e trees. Now he knew.
"What's your stake in this? I'll not deny I o we you something. You could have shot me, yet you hel d your fire."
"Eli Patterson was my friend ... that starte d it. Since then, something else has happened.
I've been hired to stop the high-grading an d recover the gold."
Hoyt swore. "Hired? Why'd they pic k an outside man?"
Shevlin smiled. "You were keeping the peace , remember? You were letting things be, as long a s everything was quiet."
Hoyt thrust the cigar back between his teeth.
"I don't know about this. I got to think about it.
You keep your shirt on, d'you hear?"
"Think fast then," Shevlin said. "I'm no t smart, Hoyt. I only know one way--I w alk right in swinging. By noon tomorrow I'm cuttin g my wolf loose, and if you're not with me you'd better hunt a hole."
In the neat red brick house with the whit e shutters that was the home of Dr. Ruper t Clagg, late of Boston, they were havin g supper. The house itself, the neat green lawn, and th e white picket fence were all indications of Dr.
Clagg's quality of mind. He was himself neat , orderly, efficient.
Graduating at the top of his class fro m medical school, he could have stepped into a fin e practice in any city in the East, but the Wa r Between the States changed all that. After only a year in practice in Philadelphia, in th e office of the city's most reputable physician , he had gone into the Army. The rough and read y life, the men he met, conspired to remove an y latent desire to return to Philadelphia.
Instead, he elected to go west.
Dottie Clagg was one of three daughters i n one of Philadelphia's oldest and wealthies t families, but she possessed an adventurou s spirit, and despite all the protests their tw o families could offer, they went west.
For a while Dr. Clagg had remained a n Army surgeon, attached to various posts i n New Mexico and Arizona. When he left th e service a distant cousin, Clagg Merriam , who was in business in Rafter, suggested that they com e there, and almost two years ago they had done so , prepared to settle down.
At thirty-four Dr. Rupert Clagg wa s erect, tall, and handsome, bronzed as an y cowhand, and bearing an arrow scar on his cheekbone.
His office was filled with frontier atmosphere , but his home remained a corner of the New Englan d where he had been born.
He liked having people around, and had been please d when Laine Tennison arrived to be their hous e guest. Laine and Dottie had attended schoo l together in Philadelphia, and Dottie had bee n thrilled when Laine had written, mentioning comin g west for her health.
"Although I don't know why," Dottie ha d confided to her husband. "She was always the pictur e of health."
"Maybe she just wants to get away."
"A love affair!" Dottie was at onc e delighted and positive. "She's had a n unhappy love affair!"
"Laine?" Clagg was skeptical.
"Even a girl as beautiful as she is can b e disappointed," Dottie protested.
Recognizing the fact that his wife could be a s excited over an unhappy love affair as a happy one, he did not argue the point.
"I'm going to invite her for a visit,"
Dottie had said. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Mind? Laine? By all means invite her."
She had arrived a few weeks late r and had proved an attentive listene r to Dottie's endless chatter about people and happening s around Rafter. Laine, it seemed, was interested i n all the trivia of life in a western mining town , and not the least bit bored.
Dr. Clagg offered few comments unti l Laine suggested that riding in the open air might b e good for her health. Then he said, "By all means," a nd added, a shade wryly, "Just don't overd o it."
On this evening, when Clagg Merriam was als o there for supper, Dr. Rupert glanced at Lain e across the table. "Your color is better," h e said. "You were riding today?"
"Driving. I rented a buckboard from that nic e old man at the livery stable and drove out past th e Glory Hole."
"That nice old man," the doctor sai d ironically, "is a disreputable old outlaw."
"Really? He seems so sweet."
"I saw a new man in town today," Dotti e said, "and a handsome devil, too. One of the big , rugged outdoor types. He was coming from th e sheriff's office."
"Speaking of men," Dr. Clagg commente d casually, "Ben Stowe was asking about you. He noticed you driving around alone and wondered who yo u were. He was most interested."
"You can't blame Ben," Clagg Merria m said. "After all, Miss Tennison is a ver y beautiful girl."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Merriam." Lain e flashed him a quick smile. "But I am sure tha t wasn't the reason."
"He asked if you were from San Francisco,"
Dr. Rupert said. "but when I told him you were fro m Philadelphia he lost interest."
"Oh? So he doesn't like Philadelphi a girls!" Dottie exclaimed. "You should hav e told him that Laine has an uncle in Sa n Francisco ... and a rich uncle, at that!"
Clagg Merriam glanced thoughtfully a t Laine, but made no comment. Dr. Rupert, alway s an observant man, caught the expression o n Laine's face. It had stiffened at Dottie's comment, and in the instant that Merriam looked a t her, Laine shot Dottie a quick, protestin g look.
Later, when the two men sat alone over brand y and cigars, Merriam commented, "Mis s Tennison seems the picture of health. I t hink," he added judiciously, "that they caugh t hers in time."
"I wouldn't think it too safe for a girl to g o riding around alone in a place like this. After all , the mines brought in all sorts of riffraff."
"She can look after herself, Clagg. And I b elieve the people here are quite stable. Remarkabl y stable, in fact. I also think most of them know sh e is my guest."
Walking away from the house an hour or s o later, Clagg Merriam wondered whether Dr.
Rupert's last comment had been a warning of som e kind.
After he had left, Dr. Rupert sat in hi s big chair and lighted his pipe. Laine had aske d for no medical advice, but he was as sure as on e could be without a physical examination that there wa s nothing in the world wrong with Laine Tennison.
Which left the question: What was she doing i n Rafter, of all places? A broken heart?
Absurd. Laine was often thoughtful, but she neve r moped.
Ben Stowe had been curious, even prying. An d Dottie's remark about an uncle in Sa n Francisco had stirred immediate interest i n Merriam. Only a fool would need to ask why.
Rafter was motivated by only one idea, th e gold from the mines. And who owned the mines? Som e interests in San Francisco.
Every day Laine rode out, or drove, and a s often as not she traveled the back trails. Was i t just out of curiosity, or for some other, more definit e reason?
Ben Stowe seemed suspicious, and if, a s Dr. Rupert thought, she was connected with the ownershi p of the mines, then she could be in real trouble.
Old Brazos at the livery stable was know n to Dr. Rupert. It was the doctor who ha d treated a badly infected leg wound when the ol d outlaw first rode into Rafter, and he had mentione d it to no one. He liked the hard-bitten ol d man, and was liked in return.
Now, as he packed tobacco into his pipe , he thought that he must have a talk with Brazos, fo r little went on around town that the old hostler did no t know. And Laine Tennison was his guest, and must b e protected.
The doctor had never accepted more than a fai r price for his medical attentions, and h e had always refused to be paid in gold. Hi s attitude in this was known, and he had never bee n bothered. Was that because he was respected? Because the y needed a good doctor in town? Or because he wa s Clagg Merriam's cousin? For Clag g Merriam was a man of some authority in Rafter.
Of course, there was a simpler reason. Dr.
Rupert was notoriously close-mouthed---e verybody in town knew it. But how much would tha t help if it was discovered that Laine Tennison ha d some connection with the Sun Strike?
He considered that while he smoked his pipe out , carefully examining all aspects of the problem.
At the end of the evening one thing was clear: From no w on, Laine Tennison was in danger.
How many of the corrupted citizens of Rafte r had been corrupted enough to stand by if it came to doin g harm to a young girl? If it came to murder , even? Would they look the other way? How many woul d actually condone murder to protect what they had?
He knocked out his pipe and walked across th e room to the rifle rack. Carefully, he checke d every weapon. And then he took his Army Colt , checked the loads, and tucked it behind his waistband.
From this moment, Dr. Rupert Clagg would g o armed.
When Mike Shevlin had walked out o f Wilson Hoyt's office several hour s earlier, he was jumpy as a cat that smell s snake.
His every instinct warned him that time was running ou t both for himself and for Laine Tennison. The fact tha t she was Eli Patterson's niece had bought hi s loyalty as no offer of a share in the gold could hav e done; although, being a practical man, he was no t unaware of what ten per cent of perhaps half a million dollars could mean in cattle.
He paused on a corner of the street, starin g about like a bull entering a bullring, searching fo r something at which to charge.
He needed to find the gold cache, and to be abl e to prevent them removing it when panic set in.
His instinct told him the proper thing was to bust righ t into the middle of things and start things happening. It wa s a good way to get hurt, but from experience h e knew that when a nest of crooks is disturbed the y are apt to move without planning, and s o make mistakes they might not otherwise make.
It was for this reason that he had deliberatel y prodded Wilson Hoyt. Any move the marsha l might make at this time would help. Even if h e only started asking questions it might be enough.
While Shevlin stood there, Ben Stow e suddenly appeared in the door of the Nevad a House, and Mike Shevlin started toward him , walking swiftly. Stowe turned at the sound of hi s heels, and Shevlin caught the hard, measurin g look. And suddenly Mike felt like old times.
He knew that now the waiting was over and he was goin g into battle. He felt a wild surge o f eagerness within him that he had to fight down.
Stowe was poised and ready for him. Mike sa w it even as Stowe spoke. "Hello, Mike.
How about a drink for old times' sake?"
"No time for drinking, Ben." Mike grinne d at him, daringly, challengingly. "I'm goin g to tear down your playhouse, Ben."
Ben Stowe's expression did not change; h e simply said, "Mike, everybody would be happie r if you'd just ride on out of here." Ben reached in hi s pocket and took out a fat roll of bills.
"Now, if you're short of cash--his"
"Remember me? There were always a lot of thing s more important than money."
"Eli Patterson is dead, Mike. If yo u start opening that up, a lot of people will get hurt."
"That's what I had in mind."
"You won't leave?"
Ben Stowe was thinking about his plans for Shevlin.
The trouble was, they might not work fast enough, s o he'd have to make other, faster plans.
"Ben?" Mike spoke quietly, almos t gently, so that suddenly every sense in Stowe's bod y was alert. "Ben, why don't you leave?"
Stowe was startled at the words. He stare d sharply, unbelievingly at Shevlin. "Me?
Why should I leave?"
"Think about it, Ben. You and me, we're no t exactly tenderfeet. We've both been through th e mill. I say, grab it and run. You've ha d everything your way, and you've got a lot stashe d away, so why not take it and get out? Believ e me, Ben, it's all over."
Ben Stowe started to make an angry reply , then hesitated. Shevlin was keyed up, he coul d see that, and the last thing Stowe wanted was a gu n battle. And then he had a shockin g sense that Shevlin was right.
He struck a match and took his time lighting hi s cigar. He was shocked at the sudden wave o f panic that had swept through him.
Ben Stowe was realist enough to know that the doubt ha d been lingering there all the time, and Shevlin's word s had just exploded his feeling into desperation. In an y such deal as this there was always that feeling that it was to o good to last; and that feeling had been building large r and larger in all of them. Only a damned foo l could fail to be apprehensive. But Ben Stowe wa s a hard man; he fought down his panic.
"You seem to be riding a rough saddle , Mike. What's your stake in all this?"
"Give me the man who killed Eli."
Stowe shot him a swift glance. "Eli?
Mike, men have died before, and others have yet to die , so why get worked up over him?"
He made one last attempt, not to bu y Shevlin, but to stall him. "Why not come into the party , Mike? This cake is big enough for all of us."
"Give me the man who killed Eli."
Stowe drew on his cigar. "Now, I might jus t do that, Mike," he said, knowing he could do nothin g of the kind. "Give me a couple of days."
"Make it twenty-four hours." Shevli n moved to be off. "But take it from me, Ben, you'd better take what you've got and run. You r game's played out."
Abruptly, he walked away. Ben Stow e would be no bargain in a fight. He had always bee n tough, but he was tougher, colder, and smarter now.
Somehow he must crack the tight ring that Stow e had built around the enterprise. Once that ring wa s cracked, once somebody was hit with panic, the n the whole thing would fall apart as everybod y scrambled for safety with everything they could lay thei r hands on.
Mason ... Mason had to be the weak link.
Not Gib Gentry, for Gib would dig in hi s heels and make a fight of it. Nor di d Mike wish to tangle with Gib--they had eate n too much dust and alkali together. Crac k Mason, and Gentry would get out fast; and afte r Mason, Stowe would have to make his fight.
Mike Shevlin was no fool. Pausin g briefly on the corner, he knew he was lookin g at an uncertain future. He was forcing thing s into the open now, but it was the only way h e knew how to act. Let the others play it cosy; h e had neither the time nor the patience.
First, he had to get Laine Tennison out o f town before the roof fell in. Even without that, h e would have enough trouble taking care of himself.
Bleakly, he thought of tomorrow, and knew that tomorrow's sun might not shine upon his face. For he wa s walking into m trouble than he had ever tackled in hi s life, and he had no friends. He was alone, as h e had always been alone. And he would die alone , die somewhere up a canyon when his shells ran out , or his canteen was empty and his horse dead.
He had always known that was the way it would be. I t was hell, when a man came to think of it. He'd never felt sorry for himself, but right now ther e wasn't a soul anywhere in the world who would think o f it twice if he was killed. There was nobody wh o cared; and the odd part of it was, there never had been , as long as he could recall.
He had brushed aside such thoughts before; what wa s bringing them to mind now? Was there deep within him a realization of death? Was he really going to pay it ou t now?
He had never been in love, and so far as h e knew he had never been loved by a woman. Her e and there he had known women, some of them with affection , but it had gone no deeper than that. He knew h e was a one-woman man, and had always known it; and h e shied away now from the face that appeared sharply befor e his eyes. Not for him. Not for such as he, was a girl like Laine Tennison.
In the back of his mind there had always been th e vague idea that someday he would find the girl h e was looking for. He would buy himself a nice littl e spread, fix it up shipshape and cosy, an d maybe they'd have a couple of youngsters. ... He was a hell of a person to have such ideas.
Mike Shevlin considered the present situatio n with care. He had really kicked over th e applecart, and no mistake. Wilson Hoy t would not sit still. He would at least mak e inquiries, try to take some steps to avoi d trouble. That Ben Stowe would also take steps would b e quite in keeping with the man as he remembered him.
At the livery stable Shevlin got his horse an d rode out of town, then circled around and came u p behind Dr. Rupert Clagg's place. There wer e tall cottonwoods behind the house, rustling thei r leaves in the faint stir of air.
Swinging down, he tied his hors e well into the deepest shadow of the trees. He mus t see Laine. He must warn her, and he must ge t her out of town if possible.
He moved toward the house and paused by a thic k old tree, listening into the night. From the kitche n came the faint clatter of dishes and the momentar y sound of a girl's voice lifted in talk.
Something stirred in the grass near him, and a moment later a voice spoke. "All right, wha t do you want?"
"I want to see Laine Tennison."
"Rather late for that, isn't it? If she knows yo u and wishes to see you, come around tomorrow."
Laine's voice interrupted. "It is al l right, Rupert. I want to see him."
Mike Shevlin lifted the latch of the gate an d came into the back yard. The light in the kitche n had been blown out, and the rear of the house was dark.
He stood uncertainly inside the gate. "Al l right," the man's voice said, "if Mis s Tennison wishes to see you." There was a pause.
"I am Dr. Clagg."
Shevlin turned his head, listening for any soun d of a possible ambush. "Related to Clag g Merriam?" he asked.
"A distant cousin."
"Ah?"
"Will you come into the house?"
Mike hesitated, then followed them into th e house. They went through the dark kitchen and along a lighted hall into a comfortable living room.
"Drink?"
"No, thanks."
Dr. Rupert and Mike Shevlin measure d each other. "Coffee?" the doctor suggested.
"We're tea drinkers ourselves, but we always hav e coffee."
"I'll have tea," Mike said. "I spent a winter one time in a horse camp with a n Englishman. I got to like it."
Laine had come into the room and Clagg turne d to go. "I'll let you talk," he said. "I mus t tell Dottie what's going on."
"You stay." Shevlin did not mean to speak s o abruptly, but he suddenly realized that Clag g was a solid citizen, and a fighting man. "You'd better hear this. You'll know it all in a day o r so, anyway."
Dottie came down the stairs and into the room.
"Ma'am," Shevlin said, "I'm Mike Shevlin, and all hell's about to brea k loose."
Ben Stowe chewed angrily on his cigar. Tha t damned, gunhandy saddle tramp, drifting in her e to ruin everything! Why couldn't he have stayed i n Texas, or wherever he had come from?
The years bring about many changes in the characters o f men. Gib Gentry had always been a careless , rough-and-ready cowhand, never too honest in an y dealings, yet a man who was, generally speaking , without malice. He had never stolen anything bu t cattle, and the West looked with tolerance upon brandin g loose stock. If a man happened to be s o unlucky as to be caught in the act, he woul d probably be hung or shot, but it was generall y understood that any maverick was taking its own chance s as long as there was a running iron, a cinch ring , or a twist of barbed wire lying about handy.
Gib Gentry, who appreciated a goo d joke, had once made the rounds of a roundu p camp and surreptitiously checked all th e saddles. Of the forty men present--ranchers , cowhands, and stock inspectors--thirty-one of the m had cinch rings on their saddles that showed signs o f fire. At the time it caused considerabl e embarrassment, followed by a run on the neares t harness shops for extra cinch rings, but afterward i t became a standing joke on the range.
In Gentry's book, high-grading gold was no t too far afield from cattle rustling. The gol d was in the earth, the fact of discovery was a n accident; why shouldn't he profit as well as th e next man? Neither kind of theft disturbed whateve r moral code Gib possessed ... either kind wa s taken for granted, and nothing more thought of it.
But the murder of Jack Moorman was somethin g else, and Gib had never really gotten over that.
No ghosts haunted him in the night, and h e carried no aura of guilt, visible to himself o r others. He simply drank a little more, ate a little more, softened up physically a little faster, an d avoided the subject even in his own mind. Wheneve r the memory of old Jack's brutal killin g came to him he quickly averted his thoughts and trie d to think of something else. As there was a very busty youn g Irish waitress down at the restauran t called The Sump, he found this a relatively easy thing to do.
Ben Stowe was another kind of man entirely.
He, too, was without malice in whatever he ha d done. He would have laughed at the idea tha t society owed him a living, or owed him anything.
Gentry was reckless, immature, and took wha t he wanted; Stowe was cold, calculating , intelligent, and thought the law was for damne d fools.
As Gentry had deteriorated, Stowe ha d grown in evil. As he was cold, so he ha d become colder; as he was a thinking man, he ha d become an executive in crime, which h e conducted as any business operation should be conducted.
He was utterly ruthless.
He would never murder a man just for the sake o f killing. He would never indulge in rape or i n casual theft. He would have fallen into few of th e categories that fit criminal types. He wa s simply a totally selfish man with a complet e disregard for the rights of others to either life o r property, if in some way these rights interfered with hi s own plans.
Once his mind was made up, he wasted n o time. And his mind was made up now about Mik e Shevlin.
He had planned that Shevlin should die, but h e had planned to arrange it to happen in such a wa y as no blame could attach itself to the town o r to anybody in it. There were ways to do such things, an d he had used them before. Now there was no time for that.
Turning on his heel, he walked back to th e Nevada House and into the saloon. Red was there , as Stowe had known he would be. Red was never far fro m people, for he was too much involved in a romance with th e sound of his own voice.
Stowe caught his eyes, and Red came over.
Stowe bought drinks for both of them.
"There's a man out at Boulder Spring," h e said. "You ride out there. Say nothing of thi s to anybody ... not to anybody at all. You jus t ride out there and tell him to scratch the first name."
When Red was gone, Ben Stowe took hi s bottle and walked to a corner table. Now he mus t think. Every move must be planned.
The ledgers in his office told him just what eac h mine was taking out, and each was permitted to show a small profit occasionally. There was another boo k he kept hidden that told of each deposit o f gold in the cache.
Now, like it or not, they were going to have to ship som e of the gold to an eastern market. Stowe had mad e plans for this over a year ago. Gentry woul d handle the shipment, and it would arrive at the easter n market as though shipped from another mine than this.
Money was necessary to continue the operation of the plan , and they must have sufficient capital to make a payment on the purchase price of the mine if a deal could be arrived at. It was unfortunate tha t Mike Shevlin had appeared at this time with hi s talk of blowing the lid off, but he would be out of th e picture within a matter of hours.
Stowe sat quietly, smoking his cigar an d thinking, considering every aspect of the loading of th e gold, the route the shipment must take, and it s protection on route, without it seeming to b e protected.
The next few days would settle the affair.
The shipment, if the timing was to be right, must leav e within the next forty-eight hours.
Only yesterday he had given that list to the ma n at Boulder Spring, a list of five men to b e shot on order, and they were five men carefull y selected. He considered that again, wondering if ther e were others, but he could think of none. All but one o f those whose names were on that list would have been shocke d to realize that such a thing could be; and not one, Stow e told himself, would suspect it of him. Of the m all, Mike Shevlin might guess his own name wa s there, but none of the others could imagine themselves on suc h a list.
Gib Gentry was finishing his third drink at th e bar of the Blue Horn Saloon when Red pushe d through the doors and came up to the bar beside him.
Gib had been staring at his image in th e mirror without pleasure. All the fun had gon e out of things lately, and he might as well fac e up to the fact that he was no longer a youngster.
He was nearing forty ... oh, there were a coupl e of years to go, but a man had to face the fact tha t he was closing in on it. He owned a stage lin e with two vehicles and a steady business, and a freight line operating sixteen big wagons, wit h barns and corrals at each end. He was makin g money.
Ben Stowe was his silent partner, but he too k no pleasure in that. More and more he had realized i n these past few days that after ten years of associatio n with Ben he did not like him, and did not really kno w him. But to pull out and leave all h e owned, and start over at his age--well, that mad e no sense, either.
Like many another man in his position, he allowe d himself to remain tied to a situation that worried him , and only because of the little property it represented.
He brooded while he sat there drinking, and h e had just refilled his glass when Red entered th e door.
Irritated, for he wished to be alone , Gentry said, "You'd better watch your step. Yo u took in too much territory the other day."
The taunt had a bite, but Red chuckled , though without humor. "Maybe, but he won't b e pullin' that on me again ... not him."
"He could murder you in any kind of a fight.
I know him."
Resentment fought with caution, and resentment wo n for the moment. "He ain't goin' to bother me, no r anybody else for that matter. Not any more, h e ain't. He's had it."
Gentry's glass described a slow circl e on the bar. Through his brain, dulled by whiskey, th e idea filtered slowly. He started to ask a question , then restrained himself. If he questioned Red, the mine r would simply clam up and he would get nothing fro m him, nothing at all. Yet he had a feelin g Red wanted to talk--he wanted to brag about ho w much he knew.
"Don't you go counting on that. Shevlin will b e around for a good long spell."
Red had some remnants of caution, but he di d want to talk and he knew that no one was close r to Ben Stowe than Gentry; so it certainly could d o no harm to tell him.
He downed his drink. "Not after I come back fro m Boulder Spring, he won't be. Not for long.
He'll have a day, maybe two or three."
Red was guessing, but he had a feeling h e wasn't missing the mark very far. He had see n Shevlin exchange some angry words with Stowe, an d after that had come the message. And he knew tha t Shevlin was causing trouble ... by now everyone i n town knew that.
Suddenly another thought came to Red. Stowe ha d said, "Scratch the first name."
The first name? That implied there was a list, i t implied there were more names. If Shevlin's was the firs t name on the list, whose were the other names?
"That Ben," Red confided, "he's a cage y one. Always knows what he's about."
Gentry was silent, thinking of Red's information.
So the word was out--Shevlin was to be killed.
Anger filled him. Ben was a damned fool.
Didn't he know a man like Mike Shevlin woul d take a lot of killing?
There were some who might low-rate Mik e Shevlin, but Gentry was not one of them. He ha d always known there was a tiger in Shevlin, and he ha d seen it loosed a time or two. And this Shevli n who had come back to Rafter was a far cry from th e tough but unseasoned boy who had left.
Red was a stupid man, and a talkative , boastful man. As he finished his second drin k he realized that he held an enormous piece o f information, and it was too much for him. Deep within hi m he understood that he should repeat nothing of what h e knew--but wasn't Gentry one of the outfit?
"Gib," he said, leaning closer, "you don't figure me for knowing anything, but I bet I kno w something you don't. Ben has him a little list, a death list. And Shevlin is number one on tha t list."
Red put down his glass, waiting for some kin d of reply, but Gentry waited, seeming to ignor e him.
"You'll see, when Shevlin turns u p missing."
Red walked outside, the batwing doors swingin g behind him. Within a few minutes he would be on hi s way, and he would have forgotten his loose-tongue d talk. But Gentry would not forget it, for Gentr y knew who was at Boulder Spring.
He had stumbled on the knowledge by accident, and ha d kept it to himself. He had used his head in no t mentioning it to Stowe, but now he realized that he wa s starting a bit late to use his head.
He was, he reflected bitterly, jus t beginning to grow up, and he was coming to realize that h e had spent most of his life being something of a damne d fool. When the country was overrun with cattle , many of doubtful ownership, it had been fun to bran d a few head, drive them to some out-of-the-wa y market, and then spend the money on a big wing-din g -comriding horses into saloons and shooting out a few street lamps or windows had been part of th e fun. And when the high-grading started it had seeme d no different from the rustling.
Befuddled with drink as he was, his mind bega n to gnaw slowly at the problem, puzzling over it i n a way he never would have done if col d sober. Red had said that Shevlin was first on tha t list, but who else was listed?
Ray Hollister?
He sorted around in his mind for other names.
Shevlin and Hollister, both logical enough. Bu t a list implied more than two. Who, then, were th e others?
Gentry himself was to come in for a large share of tha t high-graded gold when it was finally disposed of ... b ut suppose, just suppose, that his name was also on tha t list?
He tossed off the rest of his drink and turne d from the bar. His shoulder collided with the doorjamb a s he went out, lurching across the walk to the edge, wher e he stared up the darkening street.
That man out at Boulder Spring was Lo n Court. Gentry, who fancied himself good with a gun, was simply a hell-for-leather , draw-and-blast-'em type of fighter. Lo n Court was a killer for pay. He was a meat-hunter, a man who worked with a long-rang e rifle and careful planning, who killed the wa y some men branded stock or stacked wheat. He wa s cold, deadly, and efficient.
Standing alone on the empty street, Gentr y suddenly knew he was no longer in a quandry.
For the first time, his life held definit e purpose.
In that stark moment on the street his min d cleared. When most men had gone to their suppers h e stood there alone, and was aware of his aloneness; an d he realized that in all his careless, heedless youn g manhood the closest thing to a friend he had ever ha d was Mike Shevlin.
The rest of the old crowd were gone. They ha d drifted away, become family men, or ha d been killed at work or died at the end of a rop e or by the gun. He and Shevlin were the only one s left.
There was Ben Stowe, of course, but where the other s had been wild and reckless, Ben had always bee n cold and ruthless, working for every last buck, and th e hell with anybody who got in the way.
Of just one thing Gentry was sure now. Mik e Shevlin was too good a man to be shot from ambus h by a man like Lon Court. He strode down th e street to the livery stable and claimed his horse.
"You seen Shevlin?" he asked Brazos. Hi s speech was thick, but to himself his purpose was clear.
"I got to see him. Right away."
Brazos threw him a sharp glance. Gentry wa s drunk, yes, but he wasn't fighting drunk.
What showed in his eyes was anxiety, no t animosity.
"He headed out toward Parry's claim,"
Brazos said. "Over in the box canyon."
Gentry stepped into the saddle and rode into th e night. Drunk or sober, he had always been abl e to ride anything he could get astride of. Now th e night air began to clear his whiskey-fogged mind.
One thing stood out; Lon Court had a little list.
Shevlin, Hollister, Babcock ... wh o else? Why, you damned fool, he told himself , your name will be on that list!
After all, what was he to Stowe? There had neve r been any sentiment in Stowe, but always plenty o f greed; and now when Gentry's mind was capable o f thinking, and he remembered that his own share of tha t gold would come to more than a hundred thousan d dollars, he had the answer. Ben Stowe wouldn't share that kind of money with anybody.
Somebody, Gentry had never known who, must hav e mortgaged everything he owned to put up the cas h to buy the gold from the stores, an operation handle d by Stowe himself. Only Stowe, his unknown backer , Ray Hollister, and Gentry himself knew th e setup.
Ben Stowe had been hot to have Holliste r hunted down and killed; then it would surely b e Gentry's turn. After that, who would be the nex t target in the shooting gallery?
The soft desert night, dark beneath the stars , seemed still, yet it was a night of restlessness, a night of movement.
Ben Stowe had returned to his desk , irritable at the necessity for rearranging plan s because of Mike Shevlin, but not actually worrie d by it. Within an hour Lon Court would have hi s message, and the message called for immediate action.
In his room in the jail building, Wilso n Hoyt lay awake. He had made his fina l rounds, and all had been in order, yet his instinc t warned him that behind the soft darkness and the quiet , trouble stirred.
Throughout his life he had ridden on the side of th e law. Of course, in every community where he ha d held office there were certain things he wa s expected to overlook, because the town gave it s tacit consent to them. There had been towns where me n carried guns because it was the thing to do; there were othe r towns, in more thickly settled communities, wher e guns were not allowed to be carried, and in those town s he had forbidden strangers to carry them within the cit y limits.
His role, as he saw it, was not to take care o f morals but to keep the peace. In a life on th e frontier he had come to accept rough living by roug h men, and he interfered only when such a way o f living threatened the peace of the town and it s citizens. He was here to prevent disorderl y conduct, within reason, to prevent theft or murder , and to punish the offenders if such things were attempte d or carried out. Here, the town had accepte d high-grading as a fact of its community life, s o he had done the same.
He had been warned that a man named Ra y Hollister would come to town one day and try to caus e trouble, and he had been told that Hollister was a dangerous man. Wilson Hoyt had checked th e records and the memories of Hollister and ha d found this to be true. The man was undoubtedly a trouble-maker.
But now this man Shevlin had appeared in town an d had laid it on the line for him. Wilson Hoy t knew that the time had come when he must take a stand.
Trouble was surely here. It was being brought abou t by high-grading, and the peace of his town, quie t until now, was to be ripped apart. Shevlin ha d given him a choice, and Wilson Hoyt la y awake this night, trying to make up his mind wha t to do--and how to do it.
His instinct, and his better judgment too, tol d him that the thing to do was to end the high-grading an d deliver the gold to its owners. He would, o f course, promptly be fired, but that did no t especially disturb him. He had been hunting a job when he had found this one. He could look fo r one again.
As Hoyt lay on his cot trying to make u p his mind, Ben Stowe chewed on a dead cigar; an d at Dr. Rupert Clagg's, Mike Shevli n was sitting down at a table with the doctor, his wif e and daughter, and Laine Tennison.
Not many miles away, Red was arriving a t Boulder Spring with a message for Lon Court; a nd Gib Gentry, wishing to warn his friend , was taking the trail to Burt Parry's claim.
Ben Stowe foresaw no interruption in his plan s that could last more than a few days. Shevlin was a dangerous obstacle, but Lon Court woul d remove that obstacle smoothly and efficiently.
Ray Hollister was somewhere around, but the ranches o f his friends were watched day and night, and when he wa s located he would be picked up.
But even as he sat alone in his office, Be n Stowe had no way of knowing that there was a meeting a t the Three Sevens.
The ranch house was ablaze with lights, an d Hollister was there, seated at the head of the table.
Eve Bancroft was watching him with admirin g eyes; Babcock loitered at the back of th e room. The others at the table were ranchers or thei r foremen, and they were listening to Hollister.
On the rugged slope of the mountain, half a mile or more away, Ben Stowe's watcher la y sprawled on his back staring at the stars wit h wide-open, unblinking eyes. There was little about hi m that resembled anything human, for he had bee n roped and dragged for two miles along the roug h mountain through broken lava and cactus, bunc h grass and cat-claw. Ray Hollister had don e the dragging, then had shaken loose his loop an d ridden away. Babcock, more merciful, ha d paused by the man who looked up at him, ruine d beyond recovery, but still conscious. "That draggin' w asn't my idea," Babcock said, and fired th e bullet that put the dying man beyond misery.
The riders at the Three Sevens all wor e guns. On their horses there were Winchesters. The y had come prepared to attack the monster that wa s destroying their cattle business. They would blo w up the mine and drive out Ben Stowe and his crew; t hen the ranchers' water would be pure again, thei r business would once more be the focal occupation of th e Rafter country.
They were, on the whole, honest, forthright men , protecting their livelihood by the only means the y knew, protecting, as they believed, their rang e land from destruction. They were men born to a life o f violence, men who did not approve of violence bu t who had been led to its use by a fanatic, a fanatic who was also an envious, embittere d man, fighting tooth and nail for a position in th e world that nothing fitted him to hold.
Dr. Rupert Clagg faced Mik e Shevlin across the table, over their teacups.
Dottie and Laine sat with them.
Dr. Clagg, who had seen others like Mik e Shevlin in many places in the West, knew wha t a force such a man could be. On his occasiona l journeys back to the East, he had becom e impatient with those who spoke with toleran t smiles of the West, or of what they referred to a s "the western myth." Back of every myth there is a stern, harsh reality shaped by men and women of trul y heroic mold. Those soft-bellied ones who com e later find it easy to refer to things beyond their ow n grasp as myth; but the men Dr. Clagg had know n were men who created myth every day of their lives , usually without any consciousness of doing so, but quit e often with awareness that they were experiencing a life tha t was extraordinary.
Dr. Clagg had been in Dodge when th e twenty-eight buffalo hunters who made th e fight at Adobe Walls against more than a thousan d Indians, returned from their fight. He wa s familiar, as were all western men, with the escape o f John Coulter from the Blackfoot Indians, a run compared to which the run from the battlefield o f Marathon pales to insignificance. He knew th e story of Hugh Glass and the grizzly; the stor y of the ride of Portugee Phillips through a raging blizzard and thousands of Indians to brin g help to Fort Phil Kearny; and he knew wel l the story of the Alamo.
The stuff of which such myths are made was born ever y day in the West, but at the moment of birth they were no t myth; they were hard reality, the very stuff of lif e itself.
Dr. Rupert Clagg, who was more of such a man as these than he himself realized, recognize d another in Mike Shevlin.
"I'm sorry to be so blunt," Shevlin said , "but there's no other way of putting it. Ma'am,"
-comhe turned to Laine--"I want you to leav e town. I want you out of here on the first stage in th e morning, at the latest, but I'd prefer that you'd let me drive you out in a buckboard befor e daybreak."
"It's as serious as that?" Clagg asked.
Mike Shevlin outlined the situation as he sa w it. He told them what he had done about bot h Ben Stowe and Wilson Hoyt.
"And the gold?" asked the doctor. "You stil l don't know where it is?"
"No. I've got a hunch, but it doesn't shape up to much. Only I think they'll make a break to get it out of here. I think they will figur e it had better go now, for they may not get anothe r chance any time soon. And they won't."
"I will not go." Laine Tennison spok e firmly. "I have business here, and I refus e to be run out of town. I shall stay right here and se e it through."
"Now listen--was Mike began.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Shevlin." She smile d suddenly. "I think you knew all the time that I w ouldn't go, although I know you had to try. ... No , I shall stay."
She glanced at his cup. "Mr. Shevlin, yo u aren't drinking your tea."
He gulped it down, burning his mouth a little, an d wanted to swear, but refrained.
"You do not know who is in this with Stowe?" Clag g asked.
"I have an idea."
"Clagg Merriam?"
Shevlin looked hard at Dr. Rupert.
"That's who I had in mind."
"So had I," Clagg said, and added, "My remote cousin has always been well off. But I k now he has been strapped for money for some tim e now, and he is not the man to mortgage anythin g unless the return promises to be more tha n adequate."
For a few minutes, nobody spoke. The y sipped their tea in silence, and then Laine said , "Mr. Shevlin, I am afraid I am goin g to discharge you."
"Why?"
"You mustn't risk your life for me."
He grinned at her. "Ma'am, you've mad e a mistake. I am not risking it for you, but for te n per cent of half a million dollars, and fo r Eli Patterson." His eyes twinkled. "Althoug h I'd say if I was planning on risking m y life for anybody, you'd be about the pretties t reason I could find."
Laine flushed, but she was not to be turne d aside. "A foolish reason, Mr. Shevlin.
A girl would want a live man, not a dea d one."
"We have simple feelings out here, Mis s Tennison," Shevlin said. "We're not a complicated folk. If a man want s to be bad or mean out here in the West, there's no t much to stop him if he's big enough and tough enough to ge t away with it.
"On the other hand, if a man is honest it i s because he wants to be. It isn't like back east , where there's the law and all. Out here there's might y little gray, it is black or white, because there's no restraint, not even much in the way of publi c opinion--except as to cowardice or the valu e of a man's word.
"And when it comes to a fight, a man can't wal k away from it if he's made it his fight. Not an d continue to live in the West. You would want a live man, I'm sure, but you'd also want on e who lived up to what he believed. Ma'am, I t hink this here is my fight now, just as much as it's yours, and I don't want a dime of your pay."
He got up and took up his hat. "I'm going out there now and build the biggest fir e anybody ever built. I'm going to bust everythin g wide open and scatter the pieces so far Mr.
Ben Stowe will never be able to put them together again.
"I'm not a smart man, Miss Tennison , so I'm going to charge in, head down and swinging.
You just keep out of the way."
Brazos was dozing in his chair when Shevli n came up to the door of the stable. Startled, the ol d hostler stared up at him.
"You see Gib Gentry? He started out you r way, a-huntin' you."
"I didn't go out there." Shevlin glanced u p the dark street, then stepped into the stable, away fro m the light. He had left his horse a few yard s up the street in the shadows.
"Brazos, where does Mason live?" h e asked.
Brazos looked at him slowly, carefully , then indicated an alley across the street. "Abou t a hundred yards back of that alley, in a lon g shack with three windows on this side. You can't miss it."
"Thanks," Shevlin stepped outside.
"He won't be alone," Brazos spoke afte r him. "Deek Taylor will be with him." Dec k Taylor was a tough man, a very tough man.
Mike Shevlin mounted his horse and rode acros s the street and up the alley. He stopped near th e long cabin and got down. He went up to the doo r and tried it. It did not open, so he put a shoulder against it and smashed in.
"Who the hell is that?" Mason's voice sai d sleepily.
Shevlin stood to the right of the door, listening.
He had heard a sharp cessation of breathing somewher e ahead of him. "Strike a light," he said. "I w ant to talk."
But at the same moment he struck a matc h himself, and saw a coal-oil lamp on the table befor e him. Lifting the still warm chimney, he touched th e match to the wick. Mason had his head lifted an d was blinking at him.
Shevlin looked toward the other occupied bunk.
Deek Taylor, a lean, lantern-jawed ma n with hard eyes, was there and he was looking a t Shevlin with no pleasure.
"I'm talking to him," Shevlin said, jerking a thumb at Mason. "Are you in this or out of it?"
"Well, now, that depends."
"Not a damn bit, it doesn't. You spea k up now. If you're in it, you can have a bell y full. If you're out of it, you keep your tra p shut and lie quiet and you won't get hurt."
"Hurt?" Taylor swung his legs to th e floor. "Well, now--wa s As his feet hit the floor, Mike Shevli n grabbed the front of his long-johns and jerked hi m up out of the bunk. As he jerked, he swung a rock-hard fist. Taylor tried to straighte n up, he tried to turn, but the fist smashed him o n the jaw, and again in the face, then jerked him bac k to meet the punches. A hard slug in the bell y pushed him into a corner.
"If you're smart," Shevlin said, "you'l l lie quiet and hope I forget about you."
He turned toward Mason. The gambler wa s staring, white-faced, and wide awake now.
"Say, who the hell--his" And then Shevlin's face was in the light, and for the first time Mason sa w who the visitor was.
"Mike! Mike Shevlin!"
"Sure." Mike dropped on the edge o f Taylor's bunk, glancing once toward the ma n with the bloody face who lay sprawled in th e corner. "You should have known I'd be back , Mase. Now you tell me: Who killed El i Patterson?"
Mason had picked up the stub of a cigar an d he tried to strike a match to it, but the matc h broke. He tried again, his hand shaking. Maso n had never been a brave man.
"Now, Mike, you know I--wa s "Mase," Shevlin said quietly, "you sa w what just happened to Taylor. I'd have to work yo u over a damn' sight worse, and I haven't got time. Tell me who killed Eli, and then yo u can ride."
He struck a match and held it to Mason's cigar.
"Gentry," Mason began, "he--."
"Gentry took the blame, and he lied. No w you tell me who he lied for. You tell me , Mase, and you've got a running start." He gestured toward the street. "You got any ide a what's going on out there tonight?" he went on.
"Hollister's back. He's got the ranchers wit h him. They'll come in and they'll get hell shot ou t of them, but Stowe will get hurt, too. The n Hoyt and me, we'll pick up the pieces."
He wished it would be that easy. Ra y Hollister's timing was always bad, and it would be thi s time too. And Hoyt might not make up his min d fast enough, which would leave somebody in the middl e holding a handful of deuces.
And that somebody would be Mike Shevlin.
Mason hesitated, his lips trembling. He remembered Mike Shevlin, but this was a differen t man from the one he had known. This Mike Shevli n was bigger, stronger, tougher. He was a man o f decision, and Mason had just had an objec t lesson in that. What Taylor might have done ha d he gotten into action was not the question, for he had bee n put out of action swiftly and efficiently. An d Mason was no Deek Taylor.
He thought of his horse. It was close by, i n the stable only a few yards back of the house. Th e pickings had been good, and he had been wise enoug h to keep his take cached near the town, for he ha d always known there would be a time for running, just as ther e always had been before this. And the time had come now.
Only he had been a long time in Rafter, an d he wanted to stay. They had protected him her e because he had protected them.
"Mike," he protested, "you got to believ e this. I don't know."
"Don't give me that."
"Honest to God, Mike! They needed a witness, and I was paid to swear that Gentry di d it."
"Who paid you?"
"Mike, you aren't going to believe this, but it wa s Gib. It was Gentry himself."
Shevlin glanced over at Taylor. The ma n was moaning, and was clutching what was apparently a broken jaw. Mike's eyes returne d to Mason.
"So?"
"That's all I know--I swear it, Mike!
Gentry paid me."
"And you've no idea?"
Mason hesitated, and then he shrugged.
"Mike, I swear that's all I know."
"Ben didn't do it?"
"No, not Ben. At least, I don't think i t was Ben. Not that he'd hesitate. Gentr y didn't do it either. Gentry was close to Ben, s o there for a while I figured ...
"But the last thing they wanted was any kind of a n investigation. They wanted the whole thing cleare d up, whitewashed and off the boards. Figure it fo r yourself, if somebody came in and started asking questions , somebody might slip up and the whole shooting matc h would go down the drain.
"That there Ben--I never knew he had it i n him. He worked almighty fast, and you never sa w things handled like that."
Mason's confidence was returning. "Mike , what's going to happen? You say Hollister's back and about to blow things up? Well, who take s over when the shooting's finished?"
He started to get up. "Mike, why not you an d me? I know how these things work, and--wa s Shevlin looked at him coldly. "How much d o you know? You haven't told me anything yet."
He paused. "Where's the gold?"
Mason glanced at him slyly. "Now, there's a good question. Where is the gold? There hasn't been an ounce leave this town, you can bank o n that."
Mike Shevlin was listening beyond the house, hi s ears attuned to street movement. Was tonight th e night?
"If you know anything, talk." Shevlin spok e shortly. He was wasting his time here. Hell migh t break loose at any moment.
"How about our deal?" Mason persisted. "Ho w about--wa s "No deal. You talk now, or by God , I'll--wa s He grabbed Mason by the shirt front an d jerked him to his feet. Then he shoved him agains t the wall near the door with force enough to shake th e house. He started for him, and Mason threw u p both hands.
"Don't hit me, for God's sake , Mike!"
"Then talk!"
"All I know is that part of it wasn't se t up by Ben. It was set up by Evans."
"Evans?"
Shevlin was startled. Evans was the shyste r lawyer with whom Ray Hollister had been a partner.
Evans?
He suddenly realized several things, all a t once. But there was a question to be answered. "Where i s Evans?" he asked. "What happened to him?"
Mason chuckled. "Now there is a question.
What did happen to him? Seems that about the tim e they ran Ray out of town, Evans went too.
Or so they say. Nobody saw him go, an d Evans wasn't the type to run."
There was no use wasting any more time here. Mik e Shevlin turned toward the door. "Mason , take my advice and get out of town. You're o n short time here--you delay a little bit and you'll b e caught right in the middle of it."
Shevlin went out and closed the door behind him.
The town was dark, and it was silent, but the silenc e was that of waiting. It was a silence that seeme d poised on the brink of evil.
Shevlin went to his horse and gathered th e reins. Yet he hesitated, taking stock of th e situation. There was Dr. Clagg--he would sta y home this night to protect his home and to protec t Laine, and he was a good man, a solid man.
...
Wilson Hoyt? There was no telling about him.
But Ben Stowe would be about, and Gentry, and Ra y Hollister.
His thoughts kept returning to Evans. He ha d known the shyster, as had everyone in Rafter. It wa s well known that he had a hand in all manner o f underhanded things, and he was supposed to have been engage d in smuggling. That didn't make a lot of sense , this far from any border, but it was the gossip.
Mason said that Evans had arranged the hidin g place for the gold ... did Mason know that, o r was he merely guessing?
Shevlin, his pistol easy in its holster , looked toward the livery stable. He liked that stabl e -coma man could go a lot of directions under cove r from there.
He walked down to the street and went across it , taking his own, unhurried time, but his scal p prickled with every step.
The chair beside the stable door was gone, but as h e passed under the light and went into the stable, Brazo s said, "Shevlin, you sure give a man th e willies. You could get yourself killed thataway."
"Maybe."
"Reminds me of a time down Texas way, th e night the lid blew off on th e Sutton-Taylor feud."
A little wind blew down the street fluttering a bit of white paper. A sign creaked rustily , and in one of the stalls a horse stamped and blew.
Standing in the darkness, just inside the door , Shevlin caught a faint glimmer of ligh t reflected from steel, steel that moved and rattle d very faintly. A rider sat his horse in the ga p between the buildings.
Swiftly, his eyes went up the street , measuring off the gaps. There could be eight or nin e riders waiting there.
Brazos had seen what he had seen, and h e spoke quickly. "No miners in town tonight, Mike.
Nary a one."
Shevlin absorbed that. Of course. Ben Stow e would hold them, armed and in readiness. There was n o longer a light in Stowe's office, nor in th e jail office. The only light was the lanter n burning over the door.
Mike Shevlin knew enough of Ben Stowe to kno w he would try to win with one strike, one decisiv e blow that would cripple the attacking force beyon d recovery. He would want a massacre.
It would end the opposition to him, and it would als o keep any stories from leaving the town. Prolonge d fighting would attract attention; but a quick, shar p fight--one that was soon over--could be brushed off i n the local papers as trouble with rustlers o r thieves.
Yet there were men on those horses who had onc e ridden beside Shevlin, good men, honest men, eve n though they were wrong-headed in this case. He ha d to stop them.
Ray Hollister would strike at Stowe's office for the records, and at the mine s themselves--first the Sun Strike, then the Glor y Hole. And Stowe would be waiting, his men armed , no doubt, with shotguns, and hidden all around th e collar of the shaft up there, around the mine office , the hoisthouse, and the blacksmith shop. They would b e hidden, with protection, and they would be shooting a t mounted men outlined against the faint light.
"I'm going across the street," Shevlin said.
"You'll get yourself killed."
"Only," a voice said behind them, "if h e tries to leave this stable." It was Babcock.
"Babcock," said Mike, "if you've go t any regard for your friends, you'd best get over ther e and stop them. Stowe's ready for them."
"You mean he . Was ready," Babcock said.
"This time we caught him off guard."
"Have you seen any miners around, Babcock?
If I was Ray Hollister I'd start lookin g at my hole card."
"Ray'll take care of himself."
"You bet he will. But where does that leave th e rest of you? You've pulled Ray out of more than on e mess his fool ideas got you into, so you'd better move fast. If you start up to the mine s they'll cut you to doll rags."
"I don't reckon."
Down the street there was a faint shuffle o f movement, and Shevlin knew the sound, for he ha d often heard it at night out on a cattl e drive, or when he was bedded near the remuda.
Men on horses were moving about.
"You'd better stop them," he said again.
Babcock shifted his feet. "Ease up , now. Nothing and nobody is going to stop Ray thi s time. You're out of this, Shevlin, so keep out."
"For God's sake, man! Do you really thin k Ray Hollister is doing this for the cattlemen?
Who do you think brought Ben Stowe in in the firs t place?"
"He brought himself."
"Babcock, don't let loyalt y to Hollister kill your friends. You've always bee n loyal to him, but Ray never thought of anybody bu t himself. It was the firm of Hollister and Evan s who brought Ben Stowe in to head the gunmen who fough t the cattle outfits."
"That's a damned lie!" Babcock sai d hoarsely. "Now you shut your mouth!"
"I don't lie, and you know it. Holliste r brought Gentry in, too, along wit h Ben. You're here tonight, Babcock, to pull th e chestnuts out of the fire for Ray. He hope s to get rid of Stowe and get back in the saddl e himself."
Babcock's face was set in stubborn lines.
There was no arguing with the man, and in not many minute s it would be too late; but Mike Shevlin kne w better than to make a wrong move agains t Babcock now. The cowhand was tough and seasoned, an d wily as an old wolf. And that reminded Shevli n of Winkler. Where was the old wolfer, anyway?
The livery stable was dark and still. It was almost a s if all were serene. There was the smell of hay an d manure, the pleasant smell of horses and a horse barn. The light of the lantern glowe d feebly above the door.
It was past two o'clock in the morning; mayb e almost three. A good two hours remained befor e daylight, ample time for whatever mischief was to b e done under cover of darkness.
Now in the spaces between the buildings riders coul d be made out, three abreast in the first opening, tw o in the next. Others, judging by the sound, were walkin g their horses slowly up the street.
"Babcock," Shevlin said, "you're sitting i n on a wake. Out there in that dusty street you'l l see the end of the cattle business in Rafter.
You're a stubborn man, and you've been loya l for a long time to a shadow; but stop and think, man.
"You were at Rock Springs the night I w hipped Ray. You know Ray never saw the time whe n he could stand with the big cattlemen in the old days , but he's got Eve Bancroft convinced now that h e was a big man. Babcock, be honest ... di d you ever know anybody who was afraid of Ra y Hollister?"
"That don't cut no ice."
"You two worked together for a long time," Mik e went on, looking hard at Babcock, "but i f you'd admit it to yourself, you were the one who built tha t outfit of his while Ray played the big man.
You did the work, managed the place, hired an d fired most of the time."
Babcock made no reply. Shevlin looke d along the street again. It was not over two hundre d yards from here to the mine buildings, but from the moment th e men passed the livery stable they would be in at leas t partial light for the rest of the distance. Anyone wh o passed this point in full view was a dead man.
"Bab, is Joe Holiday out there?"
"What if he is?"
"I recall a time when Joe pulled a crazy steer off you ... saved your bacon. Yo u going to let Joe get killed?"
Babcock shifted his feet.
"Bab, you're a good Injun when it come s to scouting. There was a time you'd never have walked into t h with your eyes shut. You'd have scouted the lay-out befor e you made a move."
Shevlin was sure he had Babcock worried , and he pressed the advantage. "Bab, you ca n make fifty dollars mighty easy. I'v e got it here, and I'll lay it two to one you'l l find fifty, maybe a hundred armed men up a t the head of that street."
"You're bluffin'."
"Call me."
Brazos spoke for the first time. "You call him , Babcock, and I'll lay you another fifty yo u made you a bad bet. They're up there al l right."
"Hell," Babcock said, "I couldn't sto p them! Ray's got 'em itching for it. The way the y feel they'd charge hell with a bucket of water."
The riders were coming on now, a solid rank o f them, wall to wall on the street, walking thei r horses. And as they drew nearer, the ride r waiting between the buildings started to move out to joi n them.
"Look!" exclaimed Brazos.
The silent cavalcade had stoppe d abruptly, almost opposite the livery stable.
A blocky, powerful figure had stepped from th e restaurant, a toothpick between his teeth. He stood now in the center of the street--dark, silent , but somehow indomitable.
It was Wilson Hoyt.
Hoyt wore two six-shooters, and a third wa s thrust into his waistband. In his hands was a Col t revolving shotgun.
He said not a word. He just stood there, lettin g them see him, letting them count the odds for themselves.
Every man there knew they could ride him down: the questio n was, who was to die in the process? How man y shots could he get off before he went down?
The range was point-blank, and just enough to get a fair spread on his shot; they would be slugs , heavy enough to kill a man. If he could get of f two shots he could empty three to six saddle s at that range; and he might get out of the way an d keep shooting.
Mike Shevlin, watching from the darkness, kne w how they felt. Of the forty or so men out there, onl y two or three might die, but which ones?
Wilson Hoyt spoke suddenly, quietly , and he showed his shrewdness in not even glancing towar d Ray Hollister. Hollister was the sort that woul d feel he had to prove himself, no matter who go t killed; so Hoyt deliberately threw th e responsibility to another.
"Walt Kelly," he said, "you turn thi s outfit around and ride back where you came from."
"Get out of the way, Hoyt!"
"Don't be a damn' fool, Walt,"
Hoyt replied in a reasonable tone. "You know thi s is my job. Did you ever hear of me quittin g on the job?"
Mike Shevlin stepped out from the stable. "Bac k up, boys. That crowd up the street are waitin g there in the dark, just praying for you to ride up."
Eyes had turned toward him. Some of them wer e hard, hating eyes, some questioning, some even hopeful.
In any such crowd there are always a few who do no t want the thing to happen, who are wishing for something , anything, to stop it before it goes too far. Thes e found their hope in Hoyt, and now in Shevlin's backing of Hoyt.
But Ray Hollister had been ignored to o long. "He's a damn' liar!" he yelled.
"There's nobody up there! Come on, let's go!"
There was a noticeable surge in the crowd, an d Hoyt's shotgun lifted. "If any of yo u boys are friendly to Walt Kelly," he said , "you'd better tell him goodbye ... an d there's a couple more had better say it for themselves."
Hoyt had made his mistake. As a crowd , they could hold back and acquire no blame, bu t now he had named an individual, and one of the bes t among them. Walt Kelly could not hold bac k now.
"Damn you, Hoyt!" he said. "Get out of th e way. I'm riding!"
"What about Arch, Walt?" Shevlin's voic e carried easily.
All his life Walt Kelly had been father a s well as big brother to Archer Kelly. And it wa s Arch's name that made him hesitate now.
At that instant a rider thrust forward from th e crowd. It was Eve Bancroft, and her face wa s white with fury. "You yellow-livered coyotes!"
Her voice was hoarse with anger. "Come on , Ray! We'll show 'em!"
She slapped the spurs to her horse and h e leaped forward. Hoyt sprang to grab he r bridle, but she was past him and charging up th e street.
Ray Hollister made one lunge to follow , then pulled up.
Eve Bancroft, her gun blazing, went u p the street, and the waiting miners could not see she was a woman. She rode full-tilt into a rippin g wall of lead that struck her from the saddle, tearin g with hot metal claws at her flesh. Sh e half-turned before she fell clear, and the scream tha t tore from her throat, a scream of agony an d despair, echoed in the street.
From the darkness where the miners lay, a voic e called out in horror. "It's a woman! My God, we've killed a woman!"
The eyes of the cattlemen looked at the stil l figure lying in the street a hundred yard s away. And then as one man they looked at Ra y Hollister.
Every man of them knew that Eve Bancroft ha d ridden up the street because she believed i n Hollister, and she had invited him to ride with her.
He sat his horse, staring at her body as i f he couldn't believe it, scarcely aware as th e riders one by one turned and rode away. He ha d brought her to this, and in the moment of need, he ha d failed her. He had let her ride alone.
Hoyt moved suddenly. "Hollister, get ou t of here. If I ever see you again I'll shoot yo u like a mad dog. I'll kill you where yo u stand."
People, mysteriously absent until now, bega n to appear on the street. Two of the women wen t to Eve's body. Nobody needed to ask if sh e was dead, for no one could have ridden into t burst o f fire and survived.
Shevlin moved up beside Hoyt. "I trie d to stop her!" Hoyt said. "Damn it, I t ried!"
"Nobody could have stopped her then," Shevli n said. "Nobody but Ray."
People were gathering in clusters on the street , talking. Ben Stowe was nowhere in sight.
"He didn't do a damn' thing," Hoyt said.
"He just sat there and watched her go."
"He started," somebody said. "He started, an d then he quit ... he quit cold."
Mike Shevlin turned away, but Hoy t stopped him. "Do you think this will end it?"
"Has anything changed?" Shevlin asked. "A g irl's dead that should be alive, but the situation's the same. Hoyt, you take it from me. Throw Be n Stowe in jail. Then call a meeting of half a dozen of your best citizens and get this thing cleane d up."
Hoyt hesitated, staring gloomily before him.
"Arrest Ben Stowe? He hired me."
"Hired you to do a job."
Shevlin walked off. He was going back to th e claim. Tomorrow was another day, and he had a jo b to do; and what better place to do some thinking tha n there with a shovel in his hands?
Suddenly he thought of Burt Parry. Where wa s he? He had left the claim for town, bu t Shevlin had seen nothing of him ... and the town was no t that big, not unless he had a girl and was staying wit h her.
But Shevlin realized that he himself wanted no mor e of the town, or its people. He had not liked Ev e Bancroft, but she had been young and alive, and sh e had believed in her chosen man. To waste such a faith ... that was the sad thing, and he had n o stomach for what had happened.
All he wanted now was to ride away to where th e mountains reached for the sky, where the pines brushed a t the clouds. He paused by the stable, and his thoughts wer e gloomy. He was an old lobo who ran th e hills alone, and he had best get used to th e idea. There was no use looking into the eyes o f any girl. He was the sort who woul d wind up in the dead end of a canyon, snarling an d snapping at his own wounds because of the weakness the y brought.
There was nothing here he wanted, nothing but for tha t old man up on the hillside to rest easy, no t buried as a man who died in a gunfight, but a s one shot down with empty, innocent hands. For ol d Eli had never been a man of violence, just a s Mike himself was his opposite, a man who walke d hard-shouldered at the world.
He got the black horse from the stable and rod e him out of town. He avoided the trails, scoutin g wide upon the grassy hills, and riding th e slopes away from the tracks left by horses an d men.
When he came to the canyon he had to take th e trail, and it was then his horse shied. He dre w up, trusting his horse. He sat the saddl e silently, listening to the night. At first he hear d no sound, and then only a brushing whisper, as of a horse walking past brush that touched his saddle a s he went by.
Mike Shevlin stayed still and waited. He wa s anxious to be back at the claim, and he wa s irritated at this interruption. There was a fain t gray in the far sky, hinting at the dawn that woul d come soon.
Then he saw the horse, a horse with a n empty saddle, head up, looking toward him. Th e horse whinnied, and his own replied. Coldly , he still waited, his Winchester up and ready for a quic k shot.
Nothing happened. ...
He walked his horse nearer, and saw the whit e line of the trail, and something dark that lay sprawle d there. Shevlin had seen many such dark sprawlings i n the night, and he knew what lay there. He stepped down from the saddle, for his horse warned hi m of no other danger.
He knelt and turned the man over on hi s back. Then he struck a match, and looked into th e wide-open dead eyes of Gib Gentry.
Shevlin struck another match. The front o f Gib's shirt, where the bullet had emerged, wa s dark with blood, almost dry now. In the flare of th e match he saw something else.
Gib had crawled after he had fallen. He had crawled four or five feet, and one hand wa s outstretched toward a patch of brush.
Striking yet another match, Shevli n looked at that outstretched hand and saw, draw n shakily in the sand under the edge of the brush: She v look out. Lon C--The last word trailed off into a meaningles s scrawl.
Shevlin straightened up and looked around. Eve n in the few minutes since he had first seen th e horse, it had grown faintly light, and the countr y around was slowly defining itself. The half-hour befor e daybreak brought out a pale gray world with dar k patches of brush. Only one or two lat e stars showed in the sky.
Leaving his own horse, he walked to Gentry's mount. There was blood on the saddle, blood dow n one side of the skirt. Walking still further back , Shevlin saw where the horse had shied at th e bullet, and there he found a spot or two o f blood. Gentry had come no more than a doze n yards before toppling from the saddle.
Mike Shevlin pushed his hat back and lifte d his face to the fresh coolness of the morning breeze.
He looked about him.
There were no other tracks. The hidden marksma n had been sure of his shot, or else he had no t dared to risk a closer approach to make certai n of a kill.
Gib Gentry was dead--but how did that fi t into the larger picture? Gentry had been Stowe's strong right hand. Why should he be killed? Gentr y had owned the express and freight line, and was necessar y to any movement of gold. Looked at coldly , his death was inopportune. The time for it was not now.
Shevlin did not trust Stowe, and he was sur e that Stowe would kill any man with whom he ha d to share as soon as that man was no longer necessary. Bu t as Shevlin saw it, Gentry was necessary. ... An d why kill him here?
He might have been followed from town, and if h e had been killed intentionally, he obviously ha d been followed. But this was not a place where Gentr y would normally come, so far as Shevlin knew.
So what was the alternative? Gentry must hav e been killed by mistake. Shot in the dark , mistaken for someone else.
What someone? The answer was plain. For Mik e Shevlin himself.
That also made sense of Gentry's message.
Gib had been riding to warn him, and he had bee n mistaken for Shevlin and killed.
Lon C-- ... Shevlin kne w no such name. Yet Gib had evidently thought th e name would mean something to him, or he would not have trie d so hard to write it.
With the toe of his boot, Shevlin erased the nam e written in the sand. Then he hoisted Gib's body to the saddle, tied it there, and hung th e bridle reins over the pommel. Gentry's horse would go home.
All was dark and silent when he rode up to th e claim. He stripped the rig from his horse an d picketed it on a grassy slope near th e spring, where it could drink from the run-off. He waited in the darkness, listening. After a while h e walked back to the cabin and turned in.
He awakened with the sun shining in his eyes through th e open door. Burt Parry was standing outside , looking up the canyon, a peculiar expressio n on his face. For some reason that expressio n surprised Mike Shevlin.
At that instant Parry seemed anything but th e casual man he had been before. He was holding hi s Winchester in a position to throw it to his shoulde r for a quick shot.
Unable to restrain his curiosity, Shevli n swung his feet to the floor. The bunk creaked an d Parry looked around quickly.
"Thought I saw a deer," Parry said, lowerin g the rifle. "We could use some venison."
"Now that's an idea!" Shevlin exclaimed.
"How about me going for a hunt?"
Parry chuckled. "You tired of mucking already?
I'll have another round of shots ready to fir e almost any time." He took Shevlin's appearanc e in at a glance. "You look like you could use som e sleep. What time did you get in?"
"Daybreak, or thereabouts."
He expected a comment on the happenings i n town, but none came. He volunteered nothing , and the two men ate breakfast, talking idly of th e mining claim and Parry's plans for doing som e exploration work in an effort to find the lode h e hoped would lie deeper in the mountain.
There was only one explanation for Parry's lack of interest: he simply did not know wha t had happened in town. And that meant he had not bee n in Rafter at all.
Where, then, had he been?
Deliberately, Mike Shevlin offered n o comment on the happenings in Rafter, and Bur t Parry asked no questions. But Mike knew that th e town and all the country around must be talking wit h excitement about the killing of Eve Bancroft.
The killing of a girl in a western town was itsel f enough to start such talk, but Eve Bancroft was owne r of the Three Sevens. It was not the largest ranch i n that region, but it was one of the big ones.
As he worked, Mike Shevlin tried to find a way through this situation, but there seemed to be none.
He had attempted to stir up the hornet's nest, but the cattlemen and Ray Hollister ha d done more than he ever could have. Yet nothing in th e situation had changed.
A girl was dead. Ray Hollister wa s disgraced. Eve Bancroft had called upon hi m to back his words with action and he had welshed. He had hung back, and Eve had ridden to her death.
What they might have done had Hoyt not bee n there, Shevlin could not guess. Hoyt could sto p them, as he never could have stopped Eve, for to lif t his hand against a girl, a decent girl, wa s unthinkable to a man of Hoyt's stripe. And Be n Stowe, solid, unshaken, still sat his throne in th e center of the community.
Shevlin's thoughts returned to Gib Gentry.
Without a doubt, Gib had been riding to warn hi m when he was killed, and without a doubt he had bee n killed mistake for Shevlin. Somebody had bee n lying in wait, and by now that somebody knew he ha d killed the wrong man.
Each time Shevlin wheeled a load to the end of th e dump, he took his time to breathe in plenty of th e fresh air, and to look around. It was very quiet.
Parry had gone off again, and Mike was alone a t the claim, but there was work enough to keep him bus y until mid-afternoon, barring the unexpected.
He wondered what effect Eve's death would hav e on the people of Rafter. They were not all bad--i n fact, they were no worse than most people in mos t towns. Perhaps a few more had been willing to g o along than would usually be found, but there must have bee n some dissenting opinions, even though the people who hel d those opinions had kept still.
Such fear as he had seen in Rafter could no t continue very long. The people were wary, they doubted ever y stranger; they lived with the worry that at any momen t the house they had built would come tumblin g about their ears.
He was working close against the face of the drift , scraping up the last of the rock, when it cam e to him.
Lon Court ...
Of course. He had heard the name. Gentr y had scratched Lon C into the sand before h e died, and Shevlin remembered that he had onc e heard talk of Lon Court, a killer, a ma n who worked for big cattle outfits, or anyon e else who had need of his services. A m ysterious, solitary man who could be hire d to kill. He was just such a man as Ben Stowe woul d have hired.
Undoubtedly Court had scouted the minin g claim. He might even now be lying up on th e lip of the canyon across from the tunnel mouth, and with ever y barrow of rock Shevlin had wheeled out he ha d been a sitting duck.
There was no longer any hesitation in Mik e Shevlin, for he knew now what he must do. He must get out of the tunnel and get to his guns, an d he must get out of the canyon, which was a death tra p with a man like Court stalking him. And then he mus t find Court and kill him.
There was no alternative, no other wa y possible, for Court would never quit once he ha d undertaken a job. He, Mike Shevlin, mus t hunt the hunter, stalk the killer, and he mus t kill him.
He put down his shovel. The last barrow coul d stand where it was. There was, of course, a chance tha t Lon Court was not waiting on the hil l opposite; he certainly would not be unless there wa s an easy escape from it. Trust a killer lik e Lon Court to take no unnec risk.
Shevlin went as far along the tunnel as h e could without getting into the sunlight, and then h e squatted down and peered out, keeping well in th e shadow. By squatting, he could see the rim withou t going further. He stayed there and studied it for a long time.
No brush grew on the rim, and there were n o boulders, no spot where water had cut into the ri m and made a place where a man might li e concealed. Flattening himself tight to the wall , Shevlin worked his way to the tunnel mouth. Then h e emerged quickly and went toward the cabin, makin g three sudden turns for objects in his path , turns sufficient to make timing hi s movements awkward for anyone watching. Onc e inside the cabin, he stripped off his shirt , washed his chest and shoulders, then combed his hair, an d belted on his gun. He thrust a secon d six-shooter into his waistband and took up hi s rifle.
The black horse was picketed on the gras s near the spring, but the killer must descend into th e canyon to get a good shot at him there. Mik e Shevlin did not think Lon Court would take suc h a gamble.
He went to his horse, took the saddle from a shelf in the rock close by, and saddled up. Th e horse tugged toward the run-off stream, so whil e he let the gelding drink, Shevlin listened.
That canyon worried him, and he recalled th e sudden cessation of sound from the birds that he ha d noticed. Something--and he was sure it had been a man--had walked up that canyon in the lat e afternoon.
Leaving the black with trailing reins, he wen t down to the bottom of the canyon and worked his wa y across it. Here and there were the tracks of smal l animals ... a porcupine or badger whos e tracks were somewhat smudged ... many quai l tracks ... the tracks of a prowling coyot e ... and on the far side where a dim trail woun d under the rim, the smudged tracks of a tal l man's boots.
So someone had gone up the canyon. Th e tracks were a day or two old; but searchin g further, he found other, more recent ones.
He had turned to go back to his horse whe n he happened to look down the canyon. Standing o n the old dump--the place Parry had said was th e discovery claim of the Sun Strike--was Parr y himself. He held a rifle, and he was staring dow n the canyon toward the claim.
Gathering the bridle reins, Shevlin starte d along the path from the spring to the claim. He watched Burt without turning his head toward him , striving to appear unaware of the other man's presence.
Suddenly, Parry heard him, and turne d sharply. He held his rifle ready, and Shevli n was himself poised to drop to one knee and fire, i f it came to that. He had no idea why Parr y might decide to shoot, but the other man's oddl y secretive manner made him wary.
Parry spoke. "I was looking for you.
Did you finish up at the claim?"
"Sure ... all but the last wheelbarrow. I j ust played out, figured to go in after it later. Yo u been in town?"
Parry's eyes searched his. "There was hel l to pay. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, I knew Eve. She offered me a job, you know, and I was kind of upset over it.
Just didn't feel like talking about it. Besides, I f igured you knew."
They walked back to the claim. Bur t Parry's open, casual manner returned.
"Too bad," he said; "she was a prett y girl."
Mike Shevlin paused. "Burt," he said , "have you ever been in a western town when a goo d woman got killed?"
"No ... why?"
"You've got something to learn. Even when an y kind of a woman is killed or hurt, I'v e seen a town go wild. Believe me, there's a lot of talking and thinking, and checking of hol e cards going on in that town and in all the Rafte r country right now. This ain't over--not by a lon g shot."
Parry's brow furrowed, but then he shrugged.
"Hell, I'm out of it. I've never mixed i n their squabbles."
"That won't cut any ice. Vigilantes hav e a way of lynching the wrong folks. You ever hea r of Jack Slade? He got drunk on th e wrong night and raised a lot of hell, so whe n they started lynching the Plummer gang they just hun g him, too, on general principles."
Parry scowled, and rubbed his jaw. They pause d at the cabin. "You riding in?"
"Uh-huh." Mike let his eyes scan th e rim with a swift but careful glance. "And I ma y just scout me a quick way out of this country. I m ight decide to tuck in my tail and run."
He had no such intention, but he trusted no on e any longer, and it was just as well to keep his plan s to himself. And he had several things to do that migh t keep him out of town.
Rafter Crossing lay in a shallow valley , with the Sun Strike Mine occupying a bench sout h of the town; further back and somewhat higher was th e Glory Hole. The ridges were timbered , except for the one where the mines wer e located, but in the low country there were no tree s except along the infrequent water courses.
Here were cottonwoods or low-growing willows.
Mike Shevlin had punched cows over thi s country for several years, which was to say that he kne w it intimately. When a cowhand hunts strays , gathering stock for a roundup or a cattle drive , he works every draw, every canyon. Soon there's no t an inch of the country he hasn't seen, or tha t hasn't been described in detail by othe r cowhands. But today Mike Shevlin was not huntin g strays, he was hunting a man.
Hiding out in wild country is not as simple a s it may seem, for a man must be in the proximity o f water. Andfora man who does not wish to be seen , that means a water hole that is off the line o f travel, and out of the area covered by drifters o r cowhands working the range. Such a man must have no t only water, he must have freedom from observation , easy access to and from his hide-out, and especially a good field of observation to watch anyone who migh t be approaching.
Such places were few in this region. The nee d for water limited them drastically, for water wa s scarce, and most places where it could be found ha d been settled on. There were only a few othe r places that remained, and Mike Shevlin believe d he knew them all. As he rode he took the m one by one and examined them with care, and when he ha d ridden six miles he had eliminated all bu t one.
Boulder Spring was not as remote as suc h places usually are; it was only off the beate n track. Moreover, in that particular area, wate r was not scarce. Anyone riding to Boulder Spring fro m any one of three directions must cross a small stream, and in the fourth direction there was a good water hole. It was the perfect hide-out, an d there was no reason for anyone to go there at all.
It lay several miles off the travel route s in a huddle of low ridges and hills, a patc h of heaped-up, sun-burned boulders, browned by tim e and the wind and sun. Around them lay an acre or s o that was flat sand grown up with a little mesquite, a little cholla, and some cat-claw. On th e ridges juniper grew.
In among the rocks, and not easily found, was a cold spring of very good water. Wind blew through th e rocks and over the spring, so the air right at th e water was always cool, and often cold.
In under the boulders were several low caves where a man might bed down, and each of them had more tha n one approach. On low ground nearby, in the ope n but actually difficult to see, were places where a man might leave a couple of horses.
Most of the Rafter range that lay in thi s direction had been abandoned since the mines starte d up and old Jack was killed, and few riders woul d be rustling around near Boulder Spring.
Though Lon Court might have holed up a t any of the other spots, Mike Shevlin wa s gambling that Boulder Spring was the place.
Next he reviewed the little he knew of Lo n Court. The man was not a gunfighter--he was a killer. He hunted men the way old Winkle r hunted wolves; he stalked them, and killed the m when he could do so safely. That did not imply th e man was a physical coward, and Shevlin was sur e he was not. To Lon Court killing was a business , and he took no chances on being wounded or being see n by his victims or by anyone else. The ver y nature of his calling depended on being unknown.
To secure his own safety, Mike Shevli n knew he must find Lon Court before the kille r found him, but there was little time, for he must also find th e gold.
He was sure that Gib Gentry had bee n deliberately set up in the freighting busines s so the gold could be shipped with maximum securit y and a minimum of talk, and now that Gentry was out of th e picture, who would take over? Who would handle th e shipment? And might they not direct every effort towar d getting the gold out of the country while they could?
He had tried to stir things up so that Ben Stow e would be forced to make a move, yet now Stow e might settle right back and wait, for he was a canny man, and not one to be hurried.
Suddenly, the horse's ears came u p sharply. Shevlin slowed his pace a little, searchin g the country.
He stopped none too soon, for even as his ow n mount became motionless, a rider emerged from a draw about two hundred yards off. He was a tall man riding a long-legged grulla, a tough, mouse-colored mountain horse. The ma n wore a narrow-brimmed hat and a nondescrip t gray coat. And he was following a trail.
Shevlin's position was excellent. His hors e had come to a dead stop, half sheltered by boulders , stunted juniper, and low brush. He spoke softly to his horse, and sat his saddle , waiting.
The man held a rifle in his right hand, and h e rode slowly, checking the trail from time to time.
He was surely following someone, following with grea t care, and it was Shevlin's guess that the man's quarry was not far ahead of him. And at the sam e instant Mike Shevlin realized with startlin g clarity that this was Lon Court.
He was as positive of it as if the man ha d been identified by a pointing finger. Everything abou t him filled the picture Shevlin had made fro m bits he recalled hearing; coupled with this was th e man's presence here, and his manner.
Mike Shevlin slid his rifle from it s scabbard and let the rider take a little more lead.
Then he started his own horse down the trai l after him.
He left the trail to his horse, hardl y daring to shift his attention from the man ahead of hi m for a moment. He would get only one chance i f Lon Court saw him, for the man would shoot---i nstantly, and with accuracy.
Who was the man following? Obviously it wa s someone only a short distance ahead, or he would b e riding with greater speed. He was keeping his eye s on the trail left by the rider, and he too wa s taking no chances.
The man's horse, the nondescript clothin g -comnei of them stood out. He merged into th e background of desert and boulders, so that at a greater distance than he was from Shevlin he would hav e been scarcely visible.
The day was warm. Sweat trickled down Mik e Shevlin's neck, beaded on his forehead. He shifted his hands on the Winchester and dried hi s palms on his shirt front. By now Court wa s slanting up the hill, as if about to top out on th e crest.
Court dismounted and, rifle in hand, moved to th e top of the ridge. He was casing his rifle to hi s shoulder when suddenly he seemed to freeze, hi s attention riveted on something beyond the ridge.
Mike Shevlin's horse was in sand now , walking carefully and making no sound, and Shevli n was closing the distance between them, drawing steadil y nearer the sniper on the ridge.
When still perhaps sixty yards off, Shevlin dre w up and dismounted, trailing his reins. He desperately wanted to know what lay beyond tha t ridge, to see who it was that Court was stalking, bu t there was no possibility of that.
Lon Court was as dangerous as a cornere d rattler, and never so dangerous as he would be now , if caught in the act. Only his concentration on hi s job had permitted Shevlin to come so close as this.
The warm air was still. The only sound was a cicada singing in the brush near the road.
Shevlin, careful not to start a stone rolling to war n Court, worked his way silently along the slope.
Then he paused and, choosing two small pebble s from the gravel near his feet, he flipped one a t Court's horse. The grulla jumped an d snorted.
Lon Court whipped around as quick as a cat , looking toward the horse.
"Over here, Lon!"
Lon Court wheeled and fired in the sam e instant, but he fired too soon. His bullet wa s a little high, but Mike Shevlin's was more carefull y aimed. Pointed for the middle of Court's chest, i t struck the hammer on the rifle and deflecte d upward, ripping Court's throat and jaw.
Desperately, Court tried to work his rifle , then he dropped it and grabbed for his six-shooter.
He was on his feet, standing with them slightly apart , the old narrow-brimmed hat pulled down over hi s eyes. His yellow mustache showed plainly.
Shevlin stepped off to his right and fired again, th e bullet turning Court, whose shot went wild.
Court brought his gun back on target just a s Shevlin fired his third shot, putting it right throug h Court's skull.
Mike walked up to the dead man and looke d down at him. He felt no regret or pity.
Lon Court had chosen his path with his eyes open , and must have known that someday it would end just as it had. I n his time he had killed a lot of men, and now h e lay dead himself, killed by one of those he had bee n sent to get.
Returning to his horse, Shevlin mounted u p and went over the ridge. In the valley beyond there wa s a dim trail, an old trail. On it h e found the tracks of a horse, and followed them.
When he had gone only a few feet he sa w where the horse had dug in hard and taken off on a hard run. The rider must have been at tha t point when he heard the shots.
Shevlin was almost on the edge of town, stil l following the tracks, before he caught sight of th e rider. It was Laine Tennison.
She pulled off to the side of the trail an d waited when she saw him coming.
"Scare you?" he asked.
"Was that you back there?"
"Uh-huh. I was one of them."
She looked at him searchingly. "Wha t happened?"
"There was a man named Lon Court. Bee n around for years. He hires out to big cattl e outfits or anybody who has killing they wan t done. He was laying for you."
"And you stopped him?"
"Don't make a lot of it. I was on hi s list, too."
"You ... you killed him?"
"Ma'am," Shevlin said dryly, "you neve r get far talking things over with a man holding a gun. And this here man wasn't much give n to talk."
"What's going to happen now?"
"As a result of that? Well, when a man lik e Lon Court dies nobody cares much. Not in thi s country, in these times.
"As to what will happen, I wouldn't know.
We're going to ride into Rafter, you and me, and thi s time you're going to stay there with the Claggs, and don't leave there or I'll quit the whole thing. I c an't be running around looking after you, with everythin g else I've got to do."
The streets were strangely empty when the y came into town. After leaving Laine at th e Claggs', Mike Shevlin rode to the sheriff's office.
Wilson Hoyt looked up sourly, and with n o welcome. "All right, what's your argument?"
"I just came in to report a shooting. Lo n Court is dead."
Hoyt knew the name. He turned the ide a over in his mind, growing angrier by the minute.
"Who the hell brought him in here?" he said.
"Somebody who wanted Laine Tenniso n killed. Somebody who wanted me killed, and wh o killed Gib Gentry by mistake."
"You think Court killed Gentry?"
"The only man who was supposed to be riding tha t trail that night was me," Shevlin said.
"Only Gentry was coming to see me--to warn me, i n fact."
Wilson Hoyt considered this. He put i t together with a few other facts. Gib Gentry ha d been drinking the night before he was killed, but that wa s not unusual, for Gib had been hitting th e bottle a lot these last few months.
Hoyt had, in his slow, methodical, ye t thorough way traced Gentry's movements.
Nobody had anything to conceal and they truste d Hoyt, as they had, for the most part, like d Gentry. Gentry had been a rough-and-ready bu t free-handed man who made no enemies. The las t man who had spoken to Gentry was Brazos, whe n Gib got his horse, and Gib had definitel y been riding after Shevlin.
What disturbed Hoyt was the knowledge that just befor e Gentry went to the stable for his horse he had a brief talk with Red, and then Red had ridden of f out of town. Shortly after, Gentry had gone for hi s horse.
"Lon Court hadn't been in town," Hoy t said. "I didn't even know he'd been in th e country. If I had, I'd have run him the hel l out of it."
"Lon Court never rode a mile without bein g paid for it," Shevlin said. "Who do you think stand s to gain by having me killed? By having Lain e Tennison killed?"
"Where does she fit into th?"
"Somebody thinks she might be an owner.
Clagg Merriam learned the other night that sh e had wealthy connections in Frisco. The Su n Strike is owned in Frisco."
"They wouldn't murder a woman."
"You forget mighty quick. What about Ev e Bancroft?"
"That was a mistake."
Wilson Hoyt looked up at Shevli n sharply. "Clagg Merriam? What the hel l has he got to do with this?"
"He's the man behind Ben Stowe."
Hoyt's little world of certainties was toppling.
"Like hell!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Merria m scarcely knows Ben--and he's a respecte d man."
Mike Shevlin did not feel like arguing with him.
He would leave it to Hoyt's solid commo n sense. He was tired, but there was much to be done.
He leaned over the desk. "Hoyt," h e said, "your nice playhouse is ruined for good , and you might as well look at it straight.
Maybe you can pull this town out of the hole it's i n ... maybe you can't. I figure most of thes e folks--even those who've been shutting their eye s to what goes on--are good folks, given a chance.
"But Eve Bancroft is dead, and that's getting to them. They won't stand still for it, the wa y I see it. All you'd have to do would be to get up an d make a stand, and you'd have them behind you. If yo u don't, your rep as a town pacifier i s finished, because there'll be more killings."
"You said Court was dead."
"Do you think he would have to do it all? I kno w Ben, Hoyt; I've known him a long time.
He's a mighty tough man, grown tougher wit h years, and he plays hard. Believe me, the y got Gib by mistake, but I'd lay a bet h e was on the list to die ... after he'd done his jo b for them."
It made sense, of course. Wilson Hoy t was a man of no illusions, and once he faced th e situation he would see the thing straight. Like man y another man, he faced the fact of chang e reluctantly. He had had two good years i n Rafter, relatively peaceful years, and althoug h he must have known the situation could not last, he ha d been willing to go along with it. His own job wa s to keep the peace, not to be a guardian of moral s ... that was the way he had allowed himself to think.
But now he could no longer stand aside. He ha d made a move; he had averted the calamity of a street battle between miners and cattlemen--an d Eve Bancroft had been killed. He ha d believed it was over then, but here was Mik e Shevlin, assuring him it had only begun.
Lon Court was dead, but that had happened out o f town, and was not his concern. The presence of Lo n Court was, for somebody within the town had brough t him here.
And now Shevlin had brought Clagg Merria m into the picture. Hoyt hated to think Merriam wa s involved, yet in the back of his mind he must hav e sensed it all the time. His surprise had bee n purely vocal ... within himself he had felt n o such surprise. A man could not move around such a small town without knowing a great deal that was not on th e surface.
"All right, Mike," Hoyt said at last , "I'll see what I can do."
He looked up with sudden discouragement.
"Hell, Mike, what's a man to do? I f igured this was my place to roost. I thought I'd dug myself in for life."
"Maybe you have. Look at it this way , Hoyt. You straighten up this mess, straighten ou t the town, and with no more fuss than necessary, and you may b e home. They may want you to stay."
Wilson Hoyt nodded slowly, doubtfully.
As Shevlin walked out, Hoyt stared bleakl y across the street at nothing at all.
Ben Stowe pushed the heavy ledgers away from hi m and pulled open the drawer where he kept hi s cigars. He selected one, bit off the end, an d lit up. Then he sat back and put his fee t up on his desk, inhaling deeply. He exhale d the smoke slowly and stared out of the window toward th e mountains.
Clagg Merriam was right. They would have to shi p some gold. Their working capital was finished. Withou t cash from somewhere, they could buy up no more gold; an d when they stopped buying they would lose control , once and for all. When gold was shipped from the tow n through business channels, questions would be asked, me n would come flooding in.
The deals for the mines must be closed at once , but there had been no response from Sa n Francisco since his last offer. were the y investigating? And if so, who?
Clagg Merriam, he knew, was worried abou t Laine Tennison, the pretty girl over at th e Doc's place. ... Well, Lon Court woul d take care of that.
Ben Stowe scowled with irritation. That damne d Gentry! He would have to go riding out just when Cour t was expecting Mike Shevlin. Ben was not in th e least disturbed by Gentry's death, for the time had bee n appointed ... but he had needed him to handle th e gold shipment first.
With Gib Gentry dead, all his nicel y arranged setup was spoiled. Moreover, wh o did he know who could be trusted with that much gold?
Above all, trusted not to talk, and trusted no t to let it be taken away from him?
He could handle it himself, but the town needed a tight rein right now, and he dared not be away. An d most important, the offer might come from the min e owners, and he must act promptly.
Who, then, could he get?
Wilson Hoyt would be perfect, but Hoy t had been acting strange the past few days, an d Ben Stowe hesitated to approach him. Hoyt , he felt, was an honest man, or he seeme d to be, but he had always been a man who kept hi s eyes strictly on the job, and did not worr y about anything outside it.
Mike Shevlin ...
Ridiculous as the idea was, Ben kept comin g back to it, for Mike had the guts to deliver tha t gold, come hell and high water; and Mik e wouldn't talk. Of all the men he knew, Mik e Shevlin was the best man to handle that gold.
The trouble was, Mike was bucking him.
Ben Stowe glanced at the gathering ash on hi s cigar. Carefully, he assayed all he kne w of Mike Shevlin. He had been a tough kid , handy with a gun, and not above driving off a few cow s once in a while. He had balked at outrigh t robbery when the rest of them went into x; but that, Be n decided, was mostly because Mike had just wante d to drift--he just wanted to get out and see mor e country.
Ben had heard a lot of the conflicting storie s about Mike Shevlin. He had been mixed up i n some cattle wars, in some gunfighting, and he ha d ridden the side of the law a time or two. Tha t needn't mean a thing, for Ben knew of severa l outlaws who had been town marshals, and good ones.
He had never really liked Mike Shevlin, bu t this was not the time for that. Suppose ... just suppos e ... that he made an offer? Gib's piece o f action, for instance?
There were not many who could turn their backs on a quarter of a million dollars. Of course , Shevlin would never live to collect, no more tha n Gib Gentry would have.
What fool would give up money of that kind whe n he could keep it for himself?
But one other thing worried him. Ra y Hollister was still out there, and Hollister had to die.
Where was Ray Hollister now? Three men wer e thinking about that.
Mike Shevlin, riding back to the claim in th e canyon, was asking himself that question. Ben Stowe, in hi s office, was worrying about the same thing; an d Wilson Hoyt, turning his mind from hi s recent words with Shevlin, thought again of Hollister.
Not one of them believed he was through. Mik e Shevlin, riding warily, and well off the trail , knew that Ray Hollister would never be abl e to convince himself he was through in Rafter. The thought o f going elsewhere would not occur to him, or if it did , it would be dismissed.
Like many another man, he was committed to the hom e grounds. He could not bring himself to move, although al l the world offered a fresh start--notew ranges, ne w towns, places where he was unknown, and where hi s abilities might have made a place for him.
Right now Hollister was sitting beside a fire i n a remote spot among the bare hills. He wa s alone except for Babcock, and Babcock wa s for the first time looking on his boss with some doubt.
Only a part of his doubt was the result of hi s conversation with Shevlin in the stable. His loyaltie s were deep-seated, and he hesitated, feelin g uncertain for the first time in years.
"Where the hell is Wink?" Hollister said , looking up.
"He'll be along."
Winkler had gone down to the Three Seven s to pick up some grub. They had nothing to eat an d he knew the cook there. Winkler would have to b e careful, for there would be no friendly feeling for them a t the Three Sevens. Nor at any of the othe r ranches, for that matter.
Ray Hollister looked haggard, his face wa s drawn, his eyes deep sunken. "Bab," h e said, "they've got to move the gold. And if the y try to move it, we can get it."
Babcock straightened his thin frame and wen t over to the nearby brush to pick up sticks for th e fire.
"If we can get that gold," Hollister wen t on, "we'll have them where the hair's short."
"How'll they move it?" asked Babcock.
"Gentry's freight outfit. That was why he wa s set up that way."
Babcock had squatted on his heels to pic k up the sticks, but now he turned his scrawn y neck and looked back at Hollister. "That's good figurin'. How'd you know that?"
"I know plenty."
Babcock came back to the fire and added som e of the fuel to it. Then he squatted down beside it.
Ray Hollister had forgotten, for the time being, tha t Babcock knew nothing of his previou s arrangements with Ben Stowe. He was thinking alou d rather than planning; and weariness as well as th e defeats of the past days had dulled his senses.
Babcock had room for two loyalties an d no more, and he believed them to be one and the same.
He was loyal to Hollister, and he was loyal to th e cattle business. He had grown up aroun d cattle, had worked cattle since he was a child, an d had never considered anything else. The discovery o f gold at Rafter was a personal affront. He disliked the miners, disliked the camp followers, an d most of all he disliked the dirty machinery and th e pound of the compressor. When the mines began usin g great quantities of water and returning some of i t muddy and filthy, he was deeply angered.
He had known of the firm of Hollister an d Evans, but he had believed it to be a land an d investment operation. He had largely ignored it , for Ray was always going off on some new scheme, bu t he always came back when the scheme proved to b e a swindle or a fool notion. While Ra y Hollister took off on his other activities , Babcock was minding the cattle.
After the water was polluted, it had been necessar y to drive the cattle back from the stream where they ha d always watered, something it was not easy to do. The onl y other water was too far away for the good of the stock , and the grass there was poor. He could have use d Hollister's help then, for they were short-handed; s everal of the newer boys had gone off prospectin g ... as if they knew anything about finding gold!
With the hands that remained Babcock had pushed th e cattle back from the water with only a few lost , and there had been a time when he had been up to hi s ears in work far on the other side of the range.
Anyway, Babcock himself had never been much of a hand for raising hell in town.
Now, Babcock's mind had not let go o f Ray Hollister's comment on why Gentry ha d been set up that way. Of course, he thought, i t was something a man might guess at, or figur e out. He looked across the fire at Hollister , considering him thoughtfully, and remembering wha t Shevlin had said.
He was a man slow to arrive at an y conclusion, and he was taking great care in tryin g to think this matter out. But as he considered it, littl e bits and pieces of half-forgotten conversation s returned to mind.
"They've got to move it!"
Hollister exclaimed again suddenly. "The y daren't take a chance on running short of cash , or being caught with the gold." He looke d shrewdly at Babcock. "Bab, we could have a piece of money out of this."
"I'm no thief." Babcock spok e irritably, for he did not like to have his thinkin g interrupted. "That money ain't mine."
"It's not theirs, either," Hollister protested , and then added, more slyly, "Without that money thos e mines won't operate long."
That made a kind of sense, Babcoc k agreed. "It would be guarded," he suggested.
Hollister dismissed that with a wave of the hand. "Of course it would. But we'd have surprise on ou r side, and that counts for a lot." He paused.
"We'd need a couple of good men, aside from yo u and Wink and me.
"There's Halloran ... and John Sande."
Yes, they were good men. Ray Holliste r considered the route the gold would be likel y to take. Understanding the problem, as probabl y nobody else did quite so well, he knew th e gold must go east. On the west coast th e channels of finance were narrow, and there would be to o much chance of talk. California was filled wit h rumors upon rumors, everybody was agog fo r discoveries, and the slightest suggestion of gol d appearing from a new source would set off a rush.
Such an amount of gold as this might be more easil y handled if it could be shipped to the East.
One by one he went over the routes in his mind , and one by one he eliminated them until only tw o were left, and of these one was very doubtful.
Winkler rode in before midnight. He sa t down on a rock and listened to Hollister's plan. "All right," he said, "count on me.
... What about Halloran and Sande?"
"They'll go," Babcock said.
Suspicion was not a normal attitude fo r Babcock. He was a man who did his job , whatever it was, did it simply and directly , and with no nonsense, nor did he allow an y nonsense from anyone else.
The handling of cattle was not only his job, it wa s his vocation; it was the biggest part of his life, an d aside from the problems of cattle, nothing had eve r seemed important for any length of time. He wa s always concerned with range conditions, wate r supplies, noxious weeds, and the amoun t of beef that could be packed on a steer's frame.
From the hour of rising, usually before sunup , until dusk or after, he lived, breathed, an d thought cattle. If Babcock ever dreamed, it wa s only of greener pastures, clearer water, and a short drive to market. He had never taken tim e out to consider Ray Hollister as anything but a boss who permitted him freedom in the job h e knew best; but now the ugly thought was growing in hi m that Hollister might actually have been involved wit h Ben Stowe.
The arrival of Jess Winkler had interrupte d his thoughts. He had a sort of respect for th e wolfer, but had never liked him, for, as is often th e case, the hunter had taken on some of th e qualities of the creature he hunted. Winkle r could not approach anything--a strange camp, a house, a person, or an idea--without circlin g warily and sniffing the breeze from every angle. He was a man with the suspicions of a wolf. He ha d trapped, so he feared traps.
Winkler had held a rough affection for Ev e Bancroft, but he had considered her to o notional, too feminine. He did not trus t Hollister, and he also did not trust Babcock , nor anybody else he could think of at th e present time. He was a hard old man whos e rifle was an extension of himself.
It had not yet occurred to him that his stake in th e game had gone with the death of Eve Bancroft. Th e idea of taking gold away from the mining outfi t appealed to him, and gave direction to his days , at least for a little while.
Two days later, Halloran and Joh n Sande rode in, and as Babcock had promised , they were ready. Winkler would ride in to town to nos e about and see what he could discover. The others, afte r some discussion, decided upon a rendezvous a t Boulder Spring. It was close enough to Rafter, ha d good grass and water, and yet was out of the way.
All was quiet at Parry's claim cabi n when Mike Shevlin returned. But Parry wa s nowhere to be seen, nor was there any indication that h e had been around the place for hours. Mike wen t back into the mine tunnel, but no further work ha d been done there.
Suddenly feeling uneasy, he came bac k to the cabin. The canyon was utterly still ... u nnaturally so.
Seated on a bench outside the cabin door , Mike Shevlin cleaned and oiled his Winchester, an d then his pistols, working steadily, but with one of th e guns always at hand and in operating order.
Carefully, he sorted over in his mind all h e knew of Burt Parry, and it was very little.
Where did Burt Parry go when he left th e claim. Shevlin wondered. The question had been a t the back of his mind, but now for the first time he brough t it out into the open to consider.
He certainly had not gone to town, though he ha d ridden in that direction. Aside from the fact that h e had disclaimed any interest in the difficultie s of the people around Rafter, and had even disclaimed an y interest in the gold or the high-grading, he ha d said very little. However, one thing stuck in Shevlin's mind. The first time he had seen Parry in th e caf@e, he had been in conversation with Clag g Merriam.
That in itself need not mean anything at all.
Parry seemed a man of some education, appeare d to be of eastern background, and he might have som e things in common with Merriam.
Shevlin glanced up the canyon now, his eye s resting on the dump at the mouth of the old tunne l -comthe discovery claim, Parry had said.
Coming back to his mind was Hoyt's comment that th e high-grade lay between the two mines, and that at th e first hint of discovery the approach tunnels would b e blasted shut. Those explosives should be found an d removed, but that was not up to him. First, he must fin d the cache of gold bullion.
Feeling restless, he wandered back into Parry's tunnel, considering the idea of drilling a round o f holes. He scanned the walls, and realized for th e first time that the rock showed no evidence of minerals , no quartz, nothing at all but ordinary rock.
Returning to the outside, he backed off to th e edge of the bench and studied the slope above the mine.
He saw no promising outcropping, nor an y sign of work; yet Parry's ore was suppose d to have been located by a find somewhere on that slope.
Suppose there was no ore there? Suppose thi s operation, this mining claim of Parry's, was a fake, a blind, just a useful cover for some othe r operation? What, then, would it be? A n investigator of some kind? It was possible. Or ... suppose Parry was put here to watch something?
Suppose during those mysterious absences he wa s keeping guard over something?
Mike Shevlin sat down on the bench and li t a cigar. Suppose, then ... suppose just for th e sake of argument that Burt Parry was guarding th e gold itself. Was he guarding it for the combine? Or fo r one of them against the others?
Stifling his excitement, Shevlin bega n to consider this new possibility. Actually, it wa s of no importance to him just why Parry was watching th e gold, if that was what he was doing. What wa s important was the obvious fact that if he wa s watching the gold it must be close by. The minin g claim must have been located just where it was for a reason.
Parry always went down the canyon, but did h e continue in that direction? Or did he retur n under cover of the brush in the canyon bottom?
Shevlin had once seen him standing on the dum p at the mouth of the old discovery tunnel.
The old discovery tunnel! He got up , his mouth suddenly dry. Suppose ...?
He turned away sharply, and picked up hi s rifle. No use saddling his horse. Th e tunnel was only a few minutes walk up th e canyon.
He had not reached the spring when he heard a clatter of horse's hoofs on the trail fro m Rafter. He hesitated, swore softly, the n turned around, and retraced his steps.
As he got to the cabin, the rider came into th e open area on the bench. It was Red ... the miner wit h whom he had had trouble the day he arrived i n Rafter.
"Get your horse," Red said abruptly.
"Ben Stowe wants to see you!"
Mike Shevlin looked at him calmly, the n took the stub of the extinguished cigar from his pocke t and put it between his teeth. He struck a match wit h his left hand and lifted it to light the cigar.
"If Ben Stowe wants to see me, he know s where to find me."
Red looked surprised. "You want m e to tell him that?"
"You tell him whatever you've a mind to."
Red stared at him. "I got a damn' goo d notion to take you in," he said.
"All right," Shevlin replied, "go ahead.
You take me!"
Red hesitated a moment, then backed down.
"The hell with it! If you don't want to come , that's your hard luck. I'll tell Ben."
He wheeled his horse and started away , muttering to himself. From the top of a rise in the narro w trail he glanced back. Mike Shevlin wa s gone. "Now where the devil--his"
Red drew rein and turned in his saddle. Wher e could Shevlin have gone so suddenly? As far as tha t went, where had he been coming from when he rode up?
He had acted surprised, and he had seeme d hurried.
Red pulled his horse over against the roc k wall where they would be less visible, and he watche d the canyon for some time. Then he saw a figur e appear on the dump of the old discovery claim.
It was Mike Shevlin, and he vanished into th e tunnel.
When several minutes passed and he did no t emerge, Red swung his horse and cantered of f toward town.
All was quiet when he rode up the street.
Hoyt was standing in front of his office, and Do c Clagg was walking along with his sister and tha t Tennison girl who was visiting them.
The door of Ben Stowe's office was locked , so Red went across to the Nevada House, where h e found Stowe eating.
"He wouldn't come," Red said. "He said if yo u wanted to see him, you knew where he was."
Surprisingly enough, Ben Stowe did not see m angered at that. "All right," he said mildly.
"I'll ride out that way."
"You won't find him," Red said. "He's prowling around up the canyon. I saw him goin g into the old discovery tunnel."
Ben Stowe's features stiffened, and the hand tha t held the fork gripped hard. But when he spoke , his voice was casual.
"How long ago was that?"
"Long as it took me to ride in. I cam e right along."
"Thanks, Red. You hang around town, d'yo u hear? I might need you."
When Red had gone, Ben Stowe put his for k down slowly. His appetite was gone completely.
He had been a fool to allow Shevlin to go to wor k up there, but Clagg Merriam had said there wa s nothing to worry about. Working for Bur t Parry would keep him out of trouble, and nobody eve r saw anything that was right under their nose, anyway.
It had seemed a good idea at the time. Mayb e it was still a good idea.
He had planned to offer Shevlin the plac e Gentry had held; now he was not so sure. It wa s unlikely that Shevlin would find anything; and i f he did, they might still make a deal. But why wa s Shevlin nosing around? What was he looking for? An d where was Burt Parry?
It would not do to move hastily, and above all , Red's suspicions must not be aroused. Of course, he had told Red he would ride out an d talk to Shevlin, and so he would. There are some thing s a man had better do himself.
He forced himself to eat a little more, and to take hi s time over another cup of coffee.
What he did within the next few hours coul d mean the difference between success and failure, betwee n wealth and poverty, even between life and death.
For the first time in his life he felt haunte d by uncertainties. His life until this minute ha d been relatively simple, but within a matter o f days, hours even, the certainties had vanished.
With Gib Gentry's death, the keystone of hi s plan was gone. He had come to despise Gentry , but the man had been essential to their plan, with th e freighting company carefully set up for th e purpose. His death, through Lon Court's mistake, left a gaping hole in the carefull y planned structure.
And that girl at Doc Clagg's--whicho was she?
What was she?
Irritation mounted within him, an irritation that wa s born of panic, a panic he stifled. There wa s no reason to get stirred up. First, he must fin d Mike Shevlin, find out how much he knew, an d whether or not he would go along with Ben Stowe.
Thinking of Shevlin's suggestion that Stowe rid e out of town to see him, he swore bitterly , hating the idea of approaching Shevlin with a proposition. Unfortunately, he knew o f nobody else who might get that gold safel y to its destination, nobody at all.
He had an uneasy feeling that things were gettin g out of hand, yet, despite the unfortunate killin g of Eve Bancroft, nothing really seemed amis s that couldn't be taken care of.
Ray Hollister was out of it ... he wa s finished. Ben Stowe should have been please d about that, but Hollister had been a gathering point fo r his enemies. As long as Hollister was around , Stowe had always known where the cattlemen would be.
He went now to the livery stable, strollin g casually along the street. He wanted his manne r to be remembered: he was a man going for a littl e ride after lunch, something he had done occasionall y over the years. That he was going to win an ally o r kill a man before the day was over was something nobod y must guess.
Brazos was not at the stable. Ben Stowe ha d grown accustomed to service, and he disliked saddlin g his own horse. Irritably, he saddled up , led the horse outside, and stepped into the saddle.
Where was that damned hostler, anyway?
At that very moment Brazos was seated in th e kitchen of Dr. Clagg's home with a shotgu n across his knees, and close at hand, a Wincheste r .44. He had been recruited by Clagg as a guard for Laine Tennison.
In Clagg's office several patients ha d arrived for consultation. Billy Townsend, owne r of the Blue Horn Saloon, James Marti n Field, editor and publisher of the Rafte r Blade, and Tom Hayes, who operated a general store, were all there. There were severa l others, chosen with care.
Clagg was speaking to them.
"We will waste no time arguing about the past.
What remains is to see what possibilitie s are open to us now. If any of you have any doubt s as to the purpose of our meeting, it is just this: t o consider the state of affairs in Rafter as of thi s minute.
"A young woman, a well-known and generall y respected owner of a ranch, has been shot dow n on the streets of Rafter. Gib Gentry, a businessman of this town, has been murdered jus t outside it. A notorious killer, imported fo r what reason we do not know, has been slain in th e hills nearby. These killings have all happened i n the last few days."
Hayes shifted uncomfortably, and swea t began to bead his forehead.
"We have a marshal with an excellen t reputation," Dr. Clagg went on, "but he i s also a marshal who is willing to go along with what th e townspeople accept, and within those limits , to keep the peace. That has been the customar y practice in most western communities.
It remains to be seen whether that is sufficien t here."
The outer door opened and closed, then the doo r to the inner office opened, and Laine Tenniso n stood there. "Rupert," she said abruptly, "I b elieve this meeting concerns me. I wish to joi n it."
"I was expecting you," Clagg said. "I t old Dottie to let you know what was happening.
Will you sit down?"
Tom Hayes started to get up, then sat dow n again. "Now look, Doc," he protested, "I a in't sure I want to get mixed up in this.
Things have been going along pretty good, and--wa s "Hold your horses, Tom," Bill y Townsend said easily. "You just set still and liste n to what the Doc has to say. He looks to me lik e a man with ideas."
Hayes glanced around uneasily, but sa t back in his chair. "What about her?" h e grumbled. "What's that girl doin' in here?"
Laine turned on him coolly. "I am her e because I have a bigger stake in this than any of you.
I own the mines--butoth of them."
All eyes turned toward her and she colore d a little, her chin lifting.
"That's right, gentlemen," Clagg said.
"Miss Tennison has another distinction. Sh e is the niece of Eli Patterson, the man whos e murder started all this."
Hayes started at the word "murder," then h e relaxed.
"We are here to make a decision," Clag g said. "Do we wish to continue to live upon th e proceeds of crime and murder, to rear ou r families in an atmosphere of the acceptance o f crime, getting in deeper and deeper each day; o r are we going to make a break with the past an d demand that this town be cleaned up?"
Billy Townsend crossed one knee over th e other, and said, "If we start cleaning up this town , a lot of people are going to get hurt."
Laine Tennison spoke up sharply.
"Gentlemen, let me tell you this: somebody i s going to get hurt anyway. My attorneys hav e drafted a letter to the governor--I believe h e is Jack Moorman's son-in-law--asking tha t a special officer be appointed to bring law an d order to Rafter. I have requested a complet e investigation."
She paused, looking slowly around the room.
"I have requested an investigation into the stealing o f gold, and also as to the identity of those who have bee n receiving the stolen goods." There was a stir o f apprehension in the room, but she added, "However , I have no wish to bring trouble to anybody else i f I can convict those responsible and recover m y gold."
"That's fair," Townsend said.
"Prosecutin' is one thing," Hayes said , "convictin' is another. Anyway, who is goin' t o be the one to roust that outfit out of here?"
"If he is told to do it by the townspeople , and if he has support, I think Wilso n Hoyt will do it."
"He'll try," Townsend agreed.
"He's only one man," Hayes said , "only one man against that bunch of fighters Be n Stowe has imported. Why, half of those miner s are no more miners than you or me. They'r e pistol-men from Texas or wherever."
"Gentlemen," Clagg said dryly, "if w e vote to act now, I shall myself walk beside Hoyt."
They looked at him in surprise, all bu t Townsend. "I run a saloon, and the money ha s been good. All the same, I've known it was th e wrong way to run a town. Doc, when you walk ou t there with Hoyt, I'll be right alongside of you."
"Good," Clagg said. "I had an idea that's where you'd be, Billy."
"And me too," Fields said. "I haven't shot a rifle since the War Between the States, bu t I've got a mighty good shotgun."
Tom Hayes got up quickly. "You're a pack of fools!" he exclaimed angrily.
"I'll have nothing to do with this."
At the back of the room two others ros e quickly and ducked out the door.
Hayes hesitated, as if wanting to sa y something more. "You can't ride the fence, Tom,"
Townsend said quietly. "We called you i n to give you your chance."
"Chance! Why you ain't got no chance at all.
The minute Ben Stowe hears about this you'll all b e riding for a slab on Boot Hill!"
Billy Townsend was smiling a little. "Are yo u going to tell him, Tom?"
Hayes flushed angrily. "No, I ain't!
And don't come blamin' me if he hears of it!"
He went out the door and closed it quickl y after him.
For a moment there was silence, and then Pet e Hillaby stood up. "You can count me in , Doc. I'll stand with you."
In the end, there were nine men left. Docto r Rupert Clagg glanced from one to another. "Al l right, boys. From this moment we go armed, and no on e of us is to be alone. You'll get the word fro m Billy here, and we'll all meet at hi s place. In the meantime I'll have a talk wit h Wilson Hoyt."
When all of them had left, Dr. Clag g turned to Laine. "Well, we've made a start, and I believe we'll carry it off."
"With only nine men?" Laine was frightened.
"Rupert, we've got to get word to Mik e Shevlin before anything happens."
"He's a tough man--we could use him,"
Clagg agreed. He hesitated. "I'l l ride out and get him."
"No," Laine protested. "You stay here.
If you ride out there everyone will know something i s happening. I'll go get him."
And at last he agreed, for there was much to do i n Rafter, and very little time.
Laine Tennison rode her dapple-gra y mare out of town toward Parry's claim, followin g only a few minutes behind Ben Stowe. Sh e rode swiftly, keeping in mind the location o f Parry's claim, for the mining maps of the area that sh e had studied for hours were clearly fixed in he r memory. The trail to the claim was round about , although the actual distance, as the crow flies, was quit e short.
Finally she turned into the narrow canyon. It wa s not hard to recognize the mountain in which the tw o mines were located, and she knew at once the mout h of the discovery tunnel when she saw it. Though th e tunnel had not been used, it was clearl y indicated on her maps.
As she rode up to the claim, the first thing sh e saw was Ben Stowe's horse. Stowe was nowhere i n sight, and neither was Burt Parry or Mik e Shevlin.
Laine stood very still and looked across the canyon.
There was the dump at the discovery claim. And the n she suddenly knew where they were.
She went to her saddlebag and got her pistol.
When he was well within the tunnel, Mik e Shevlin paused to light his candle, then placed i t in the holder on his cap. Although he had worke d underground, he had never cared much for it; and h e hesitated now, knowing the traps that might lie befor e him.
As he went forward, he counted his steps, and whe n he had gone fifty paces into the tunnel h e paused to listen, but there was no sound. He tilte d his head back, letting the light play on th e rock overhead. It looked solid. The chances wer e that if this place was in use at all, somebody wa s barring down to prevent loose rock from falling.
He walked on a little further, and an ever s o slight bend in the drift cut him off from the spo t of light that was the mouth of the tunnel. Suddenly h e saw the ladder of a manway, and beyond it the end of th e drift. The ladder led upward into the darkness.
Again he listened.
There was no sound but the slow drip of water nea r the end of the drift. He turned and started up th e ladder.
Then he thought he heard the sound of a single-jack, somewhere far off, but the sound cease d almost at once and he was not sure about it. He paused again, looking up the ladder, remembering ho w Laine's investigator had been caught in just suc h a place by falling drills. The long stee l shafts must have gone clear through him ... it was a n unpleasant thought.
Suddenly he saw the opening of a drift on hi s left. The ladder continued on upward, but h e stepped off and stood on the platform at the li p of the manway. He listened, but could hear nothing; t hen, squatting on his heels, he studied th e planks of the platform. The dust was thick, an d undisturbed. Obviously this area was unworked , yet the flame of his candle indicated a sligh t movement of air. Somewhere down that tunnel there wa s an opening, either from the drift he was in, or from a connecting one.
He felt nervous and jumpy. This was differen t from facing a man with a gun in the open air. Here i t was dark and still, a place where a man without a ligh t would be helpless. For anyone who had never worke d underground it was always a shock to realize the complet e absence of light, the utter blackness, deep in a mine or a cave. There is no such thing as th e eyes growing accustomed to absolut e darkness ... there one is completely blind.
Anyone he might meet down here would have th e advantage of knowing the mine--he would know ever y manway, every cross-cut, raise, or winze.
He would know where to go and how to get there. Mike, a stranger to the mine, might find himself in an ol d stope or a waste-fill from which there was n o escape.
He turned back to the ladder and bega n climbing, but he paused after only a few steps.
He was perspiring profusely, and he knew it wa s not from heat--it was from fear.
Mike Shevlin had known fear before: only a man who was a fool could say that he had never bee n afraid. On that manway Shevlin would be almos t helpless if someone decided to do to him what they ha d done to the other investigator. And nobody coul d prove it was anything but an accident.
He had climbed only fifty feet when h e heard voices, and far above him he saw a fain t glimmer of light. Someone was coming toward him.
To go back down was impossible in the time h e had, but right above him, on his left, anothe r drift opening showed, black and empty. With quic k steps he was up the ladder and into the dark opening.
He had an instant, no more, in which to see that h e stood on a "station" about twenty feet across; o pposite him the drift disappeared into the depth s of the mountain.
There was no time to hesitate, for already he coul d hear feet on the ladder. He took off his ca p and pinched out the light. And then, in absolut e blackness, he tiptoed across to the tunnel. He missed the opening by a few feet, but he found it an d had only just got inside when he saw the glimme r of light nearing the station he had just abandoned.
Feeling his way along the wall of the drift , he worked his way deeper into the mine, hoping for a cross-cut that would enable him to get out of sight.
The men on the ladder might go on down, but if the y stopped he was in trouble.
They stopped.
Flattened against the wall of the drift, h e waited. He could hear the murmur of voices, an d in another moment a man came into sight---a stocky, powerful-looking man lighting a pipe.
The second man followed. Neither man seeme d to be armed with anything but a pick-handle, though that wa s quite enough in case of a hand-to-hand fight in the mine.
At first Shevlin could hear onl y snatches of their conversation. Obviously, they ha d stopped off on the station to have a smoke ... but wha t would they do when they finished that? Would they come alon g the drift toward him? h is... jumpy. I tell you, Also, I don't like the looks of it. You been down to the Nevad a House since? Or the Blue Horn?"
Shevlin could not distinguish the words of the other man , but the first one spoke again. "Well, I was dow n there, and there wasn't nobody around. That's a ba d sign. I tell you, I can smel l vigilantes. I seen this happen before. You ca n raise all the hell you want, rob a man, o r even kill one, and nobody says much; but yo u bother a woman or do one any harm, and folk s change."
There was another indistinguishable comment, and then: "You may not be worried, but I am. And I a in't the only one. The boss is worried , too. You watched him lately? He's jumpy a s a cat."
Presently they returned to the manway and wen t on down. Shevlin waited for them to be wel l away, then he struck a match and lighted hi s caplamp.
He walked on along the drift, passin g several cross-cuts, and once a bank of fou r ore chutes, thick with dust and long unused.
His uneasiness increased with every step. He kne w he was walking into trouble, and the last thing he wante d was trouble underground. In such a place it was alway s risky to use a gun, for the concussion might brin g down some rock, especially in a long-worked area.
It seemed obvious that the two men were guard s following a regular patrol, and they migh t appear again at any time.
He had never seen a working plan of the mine, an d had no idea how extensive the workings were. Ther e was now a continual drip of water, and here and there wer e shallow pools.
Suddenly he came to a cross-cut. A fe w feet in, on one side, was a heavy plan k door, which he found was locked.
This could be a powder room, but he had never see n one built with such care. The heavy planks ha d been set back into the rock on either side an d strengthened by huge twelve-by-twelve posts.
He took hold of the handle of the door, but it was s o solid that it could neither be moved nor shaken. And i t was fitted so snugly that it offered n o place for a bar or wedge. His guess was that th e planks were three-by-twelves--and short of a battering ram or dynamite, such a door could no t be forced. Half an hour's work with a good ax e might do the job--but even so, there might be a guard posted somewhere on the other side of the door.
This then, had to be the opening into the area from which the y were mining the high-grade ore.
The cross-cut beyond the drift on the othe r side was half filled with waste. The main drif t led on into the mountain, and he surmised he was almos t halfway through to the side toward Rafte r Crossing.
Thoughtfully, Shevlin studied the rock in which th e door was framed, but it appeared to be as solid a s the mountain of which it was a part. He stood there a moment, reluctant to give up, and attempte d to visualize his present position in terms of th e two mine shafts. But a man's movemen t underground can be deceptive, and he could not b e sure.
As he hesitated, he felt a growing sens e of uneasiness, a disturbing feeling that he wa s watched. Was there a peekhole, somehow disguised , in the door itself? He shrugged and turned away, hi s caplamp throwing a feeble glow around him.
He walked back to the main drift and stoppe d there, wondering if he dared go deeper into the mine.
At the same time, from the corner of his eye, h e glimpsed something that sent a chill through him.
On top of the piled-up waste rock in the othe r side of the cross-cut was a rifle muzzle, an d he had no doubt at all that somebody lay behin d it, ready to shoot if necessary.
An interesting gleam from the wall of the drif t caught his eye, and he stepped over to it, making a pretense of studying the rock. He knocked of f a corner with the prospector's pick he carrie d in his belt and examined it in the light from hi s caplamp. As he studied it, he tried to thin k what it was best to do.
The obvious thing to do was to turn and walk bac k down the drift the way he had come. If he di d so, his presence might be passed off as a harmles s exploring of an old mine-working. Under th e circumstances it was highly improbable, but it jus t might work. On the other hand, would the hidden watche r allow him to go? Might he not shoot at an y moment?
Shevlin started to turn away when h e heard, from down the drift, along the way he himsel f had come, the sound of boots. Someone was coming towar d him, someone who could be no great distance away.
Quickly, Shevlin turned and went up the drif t toward the main working of the mine, and he had gone n o more than fifty feet before he came to another ro w of four ore chutes and a manway.
There was only time to observe that the dust on th e ladder was undisturbed, and then he was climbing , swiftly and silently. Not thirty feet above , he entered a stope where the ore had been mined out an d shot down from overhead. Crawling over th e heaped-up rock, he crouched down in a smal l hollow and waited, listening.
The place where he had chosen to hide was right a t the top of an empty chute where his slightes t movement might be heard below, but where he himself coul d hear what went on down there. He heard th e distant footsteps, then came a pause.
Watching over the rim of the chute, his own ligh t placed on the muck well behind him, he saw th e faint movement of the walker's light, but he hear d no voices.
What of the man behind the gun? Was he equall y unknown to whoever had come along the tunnel?
Suddenly, he heard a faint gasp, and then th e rustle of clothing. Someone whose feet and legs h e could see, scurried past the chute and stepped into th e space between that chute and the next. Shevlin could hea r again the rustle of denim against the framework of th e chute. And then, very faintly, he heard still othe r steps.
This was impossible, and yet it was happening.
Three men were now in hiding in the old mine-workin g all within a few yards of the great plank door!
The new steps came on, hesitated, the n continued on again. They, too, paused when the y faced that solidly framed door. Breathing ever s o faintly, Shevlin watched over the edge of th e chute, watched the reflection of distant light; i n a moment whoever it was who held the light came o n up the drift that ran past the chutes.
Suddenly, the man below stirred, and steppe d quickly out into the tunnel.
"Well, now. Fancy seein' you here!" That wa s Ben Stowe's voice. "A mine is no plac e for a lady. Would you mind tellin' me what you'r e lookin' for?"
"Oh! You frightened me. Aren't you Be n Stowe?" It was Laine Tennison wh o spoke. "I've never been in a mine before--there's so much I'd like to know, and I don't believ e Dr. Clagg would have the time to show me around. Woul d you tell me about the mine, Mr. Stowe? Fo r instance, what are these things?"
She craned her neck and looked up the chute , and there was an instant when Mike Shevlin was sur e she had seen him, just an instant before he pulled hi s head back.
"That's an ore chute," Stowe answered. "Th e rock is shot down off the walls and roof up ther e in the stope, and then pulled out of that chute into a ca r and trammed--pushed--outside."
His boots shifted on the rock below.
"Ma'am," he went on, "what are you doing in thi s mine? What's your business here?"
"Business? Oh, I've no business here , Mr. Stowe. I just saw the tunnel and though t I'd look in. Do they mine gold here? Or is it silver? I don't know very much about mining , I'm afraid, but it all looks very exciting."
"How do you happen to be out here, anyway?"
"Here? Oh, you mean in the canyon? I wa s looking for Mr. Shevlin. Dr. Clagg wante d to see him; and Mrs. Clagg and I ... well , we thought we would invite him for supper. He's ver y good-looking--don't you think so, Mr. Stowe?"
"I never noticed." Ben Stowe was obviousl y puzzled, and Shevlin could scarcely restrain a chuckle. She was trying, trying hard, but would i t work? Would she appear so much the rattle-braine d female that Stowe would let her go?
"You're very handsome yourself, Mr. Stowe. Would yo u like to come to supper? It's nothing fancy. I mean , well, after all it's just supper, not a dinner o r anything fancy. So you'd have to take potluck, bu t I do so admire western men, and I don't kno w if I'll find Mr. Shevlin, but even if I d o, you're welcome. In fact, we'd simpl y adore having you."
Stowe started to speak, but she gave him n o chance. "Why, just the other day Dottie was saying--Dottie, that's Mrs. Clagg--that she couldn't understand why some girl hadn't set her cap for you.
You're so successful and all."
"Ma'am, where'd you get that candle?" was Be n Stowe's response. "Looks to me like you cam e fixed for looking at mines."
"Oh, this? I found it in that cabin there , Burt Parry's cabin. I didn't think he'd mind if I--you don't think he'd mind do you, Mr. Stowe? I mean, I jus t borrowed it. I'll put it right back where I f ound it." She paused only a moment.
"Mr. Stowe ... or may I call you Ben?
Would you take me back to town? I mean, it mus t be getting dark outside, and if you would take m e home I'd be ever so glad ... I mean, i t wouldn't be too much trouble, would it?"
"No, no trouble," Stowe answered.
Mike Shevlin, crouching, his legs cramped an d aching, heard their footsteps retreating down th e drift. He waited for what he felt was a safe time, and then, with great care to make no sound , he straightened up, took up his cap, and walke d to the manway. All was dark and still down below.
Softly, he went down the ladder and tiptoe d along the drift.
Far down the tunnel he could see two bobbin g lights. After waiting until they disappeared, h e crept forward. With gun in hand, h e deliberately looked toward the cross-cut wher e he had seen the rifle muzzle. It was gone.
Scrambling up the pile of muck, he peere d over behind it. There was a snug nest among th e rocky debris that had been pitched into th e tunnel, and scattered here and there among the rock s were crumbs and bits of food. Someone had bee n waiting here for quite some time; perhaps, by the look of th e place, for days or even weeks.
Where had this person gone? Had he slippe d away down the drift while Ben Stowe talke d to Laine? It seemed to be the only explanation , for if the heavy door had been opened it woul d surely have made some sound, or some change in th e draught of air moving through the mine.
At the opening of the tunnel, his light snubbe d out, Mike Shevlin paused and waited, listening , but he heard no sound.
He stepped outside, and not until he was besid e his horse did he allow himself to take a long , deep breath of the clean, fresh air. It was goo d to be alive ... very good indeed.
And then he thought of Laine Tennison. Be n Stowe was a sharp customer ... how long would he b e fooled? Or was he fooled at all?
Perhaps even now ...
Mike Shevlin checked his Winchester and shove d it down in the boot. Then he started his hors e down the canyon. He was thinking that the man behind tha t muck pile in the cross-cut must have been Bur t Parry. Not a word had passed between him and Be n Stowe ... did Stowe know he was there?
And then Shevlin went on to think of his rea l problem. How could he get the gold from behind tha t door? First, he would have to get rid of Bur t Parry, somehow; and if Parry had been chose n to guard that gold he must be a more salty custome r than he appeared to be.
With Parry out of the way, the door would have to b e blasted open, or cut open with an axe ... an d then what? A half-million in gold, if that wa s what there was in there, is not a matter to be handled wit h ease. Gold is heavy, and a half-millio n isn't something you put in your pocket.
Darkness was upon him now; the stars came out, and a low wind blew from off the sagebrush levels wher e the cattle grazed. Somewhere ahead of him wer e Laine Tennison and Ben Stowe.
Eve Bancroft, Gib Gentry, and Lo n Court were dead, all killed since he ha d arrived in town, and yet the problem of the gold wa s no nearer a solution. Ben Stowe still sa t snugly in his office, surrounded by his miners , who were gunfighters.
And back of all this was the major mystery: Wh o had killed Eli Patterson?
Lights were shining in the windows when Shevli n rode into town. He sta4 his horse, and starte d over to the Bon Ton. He was dead-tired, an d hungry. No matter what, he was going to ea t now, and then he was going to his room in th e Nevada House and get some sleep.
He got to the boardwalk and started toward th e door of the restaurant, when it opened suddenly an d Burt Parry stepped out. When he saw Shevli n his face seemed to stiffen.
"You! Shevlin!" His voice was brusque, an d even as he spoke he was putting his hand in his ves t pocket.
He held out several coins to Shevlin. "You r wages. I'm going to quit the claim."
Before Mike could speak he turned his back o n him and strode away, walking swiftly.
Puzzled, Shevlin opened the restauran t door and stepped inside. Tom Haye s was there, a man whom he knew by sight, and at a table in the far corner sat Clagg Merriam.
Merriam glanced up, but looked away quickly.
Mike Shevlin ordered his meal, an d gratefully drank his coffee. It was hot , black, and strong. Suddenly the door opened an d Ben Stowe came in. He shot a glance a t Merriam, then went over to where Tom Haye s sat.
"I didn't know you and Doc Clagg were suc h friends, Tom," Stowe said quietly. "Heard yo u were seeing him today. Or are you sick?"
"Poorly." Hayes's face was haggard.
"I been feelin' poorly."
"Too bad. I figured it was something like that.
Well, what else can you expect? A docto r is usually dealing with people who live unhealth y lives." Stowe slapped Hayes heavily on th e back. "Don't worry about it, Ben. What's a little stomach-ache when so many people are dying?"
Ben Stowe's eyes shifted to Mike Shevlin , and he crossed over to his table. "Mind if I s it down, Mike?" he said genially.
Hayes got up and left the restauran t hurriedly, and Stowe looked after him, contempt i n his eyes.
When he was seated, Stowe took out tw o cigars, held out one to Shevlin and lighted the othe r for himself.
"Mike," he said, "I've been giving it som e thought. We were pretty close in the old days, yo u and me, and with Gib gone I'm going to need a man." His voice lowered. "I'm going to need a man who has guts and a gun. But one who won't stampede."
"You're talking," Shevlin said. He was s o tired that he felt he could hardly keep his eye s open.
"I figure a man can always use some money , and you were one who could take it when the chance offered.
What would you say to stepping into Gib's shoes a t the express company?"
Their voices were so low that it would not have bee n possible for anyone else to hear them. The offe r seemed to be dropped casually by Stowe, but h e added, almost as an afterthought, "There would be a tid y bit coming after this is all over. Gib worked for it , but now he won't be with us, so why shouldn't you pic k up where he left off?"
"I wouldn't want to end up lik e Gentry did, Ben."
Stowe brushed off the suggestion with a wave of th e cigar-holding hand. "You can take care of yourself.
Anyway, I need you. I needed Gib, for tha t matter. His getting shot was all a mistake."
Shevlin looked up at Stowe. "You'r e damn' right it was, and I know just what kind of a mistake."
Ben Stowe chuckled. "Figured you did. Bu t look, Mike, we're playing for big mone y here. You can't blame a man for covering all th e angles. Now with Gib gone, things are different.
I need you. Gib's end could have come to that freigh t line, plus half a million dollars ... h alf a million dollars, Mike! Ho w long is it going to take you to make that much money?"
Mike Shevlin was thoroughly awake now. "Jus t what has to be done to make that kind of money?" h e asked.
Stowe held his cigar in his hand. "Mike , I'm going to level with you. After all, you've bee n up the creek and over the mountain, and you can rea d sign as well as the next man. I nee d somebody to handle some freight shipments, somebod y tough enough to take those shipments through--regardless o f what happens."
"You think I can do it?"
"Like nobody else. Better than Gib , even."
"Do you think somebody will try to stop a shipment?"
Stowe leaned his big forearms on the table.
"You're damn' tootin', I do. Where do you thin k Ray Hollister is right now?"
Weariness was creeping over him, but he forced hi s mind to consider Stowe's offer, an offer s o astonishing he could scarcely believe it. Th e gold was to be placed right in his hands. He wouldn't have to look for it; he would have it in his charge--but unde r the suspicious guns of Ben's gunmen.
Half a million dollars ... that would b e better than ten per cent of half a million.
Undoubtedly some would be in cash; the rest of th e half-million to come from later mining.
He would be a rich man, free to do as h e chose, and no strings attached. Of course, Be n Stowe planned to have him killed, but two could pla y at this game. Suppose he killed Ben Stowe?
He would have all the gold for himself.
He looked at Stowe. "Ben, i t sounds like a good deal. You let me sleep o n it."
He got up from the table and went towards th e door, where he paused a moment. "After all, wher e else would I get a chance at that much money?"
After he had gone, Stowe stared at the door , an ugly look in his eyes. "He's lying," h e said; "that two-by-four gunfighter is lying. He thinks he can outfigure me. Well, I'll sho w him ... but first, he'll take that gold out fo r me."
He spoke aloud, but not loudly enough to be hear d by either Clagg Merriam or the waitress. He sat there alone for several minutes, studying th e case in all its aspects. He could find n o alternative. Hollister was out there somewhere, and h e was the kind who would have to be killed, sooner o r later. Hollister never knew when he was whipped , or when he had no chance of winning. Moreover , Hollister, fool that he was in persona l relations, was shrewd enough when it came to figuring th e angles; and Babcock was with him.
If there was a man in the Rafter country wh o could outguess Hollister, it was Mike Shevlin.
And then he would, personally, kill Shevlin.
The thought gave Stowe a sudden dee p satisfaction. He realized that he hate d Shevlin, and, come to think of it, he always had.
Mike Shevlin was the only one who had neve r accepted his leadership. Gib Gentry had bee n ready enough, but not Shevlin.
A shadow loomed beside his table. He tilted hi s head back and looked up into the hard but handsom e face of Merriam.
"Hello, Clagg. Sit down."
Merriam remained standing. "You're taking a long chance, Ben." Merriam's voice was even.
"Shevlin's got only one thing on his mind. He wants the man who killed Patterson."
Ben Stowe shrugged, his face unreadable. "So?
We need Shevlin--we use him, then we tak e care of him."
"Who does?"
Ben smiled. "Why, I do. I reserve th e privilege for myself. That's one thing you can have n o part of, Merriam."
"I had a letter today ... from the governor,"
Merriam said.
"I didn't know you two were friends?"
"We're not, not exactly. I s upported him for the office. Made a contribution."
"Then why worry? Tell him everything is al l right in Rafter."
"He knows better--and believe me, tha t contribution doesn't mean a thing. That indicate d support of his policies, but it didn't bu y immunity from a crime."
Ben Stowe knew he had to be careful.
Merriam had been touchy of late. Was h e running scared? Was this thing getting under his skin? Th e worst of it was, he needed Merriam, needed hi m for a little while, anyway.
"Sit down," he said again, "and keep you r voice down." He leaned his arms on the table.
"Look, I'm going to make a deal for Shevli n to take the stuff out, and when he gets it where i t goes ... payoff."
"Will he listen to you?"
Stowe's face showed a grim smile. "Up to a point, any man will listen to money. Wha t he's asking himself right now is how he can ge t away with all of it. And don't you be worried abou t Eli Patterson. He's a long time dead, an d half a million in gold is a lot of money.
Mike Shevlin never had anything in his whol e life but a horse and a gun, and here's his bi g chance. He'll go along."
"I don't like killing."
"So you've said before, but Shevlin will die a lon g way from here."
At this moment, at the hotel, Mike Shevli n was stripping off his clothes, and he almost fel l into bed. He was nearly asleep already when h e pulled the blankets over him.
But Laine Tennison lay wide awake i n her bed at Dr. Clagg's house, staring u p into the darkness. She was remembering the face she ha d seen at the top of the chute in the mine, just barel y seen. She had talked fast to get Ben Stowe ou t of there, talked glibly to get him to bring he r home, but she was worried about him. How much ha d he been fooled by her chatter? She was afrai d he had not been fooled at all.
Of one thing she was sure: Ben Stowe was the mos t ruthless man she had ever met. She had not th e slightest doubt that he had ordered Lon Cour t to kill her, or that he would kill her when th e opportunity offered, and if he was sur e of the need for it.
The death of Eve Bancroft had dampened a lot of the spirits around Rafter Crossing. One ma n in town who lay wide awake was Tom Hayes.
Stowe's talk with Hayes had frightened him, and h e lay awake now, remembering the veiled threat s Stowe had delivered to him in the restaurant.
All his life Hayes had lived in the shado w of mightier men, and he envied them not at all, fo r to be mighty was to be a target for hatred. He had carefully avoided facing issues, avoide d taking sides, avoided making decisions that migh t lead to trouble. And now, through the invitation of Dr.
Clagg, he himself had become vulnerable. And h e was frightened.
He got up suddenly and reached for his pants.
Laine Tennison awakened with a start, every sens e alert. She did not sit up, she did not eve n stir, only her eyes were wide and she was listening.
Her room was very dark, for there was no moon a t this hour. There was no wind, but she had a feeling o f movement, of stirring. Somewhere in the house a boar d creaked. Was Rupert having a late nigh t call?
Immediately, she knew that would not be true, for a t such times Dottie never failed to get up and star t a fire for some tea. There was something wrong , definitely wrong.
Very quietly, she listened, and heard a voice, not loud but clear enough. "Doc, you tak e it easy now. I'd surely hate to kill th e only doctor in the country around. You si t tight, and nobody will get hurt."
She knew the voice. It was that man the y called Red, and he worked for Ben Stowe. Someho w Ben Stowe must have discovered the move they were abou t to make against him, and he was taking steps to preven t it.
Where was Brazos, she wondered. But as sh e asked herself the question, she remembered: Ruper t Clagg had sent him out of town, carrying a message to two ranchers Clagg believed migh t join them to throw Stowe out. He was to go to Wal t Kelly's place first, and then across countr y to Joe Holiday's.
Who had the others been? There were Bill y Townsend and Fields, and if they had no t been taken, they must be warned, and quickly. Sh e turned swiftly and went to the window, which was partl y raised. Ever so gently, she lifted the window stil l further.
Was someone on watch out there? It was likely.
She went over the sill very quietly, and stood stil l a moment. How much time did she have before they would com e to her room?
There was a man standing near the gate, so she wen t quickly along the edge of the lilac bushes , hesitated, then moved swiftly across a smal l open space to the shadow of the barn. There was no chanc e of getting a horse, but for what she intended to do , a horse was unnec.
At the back of the barn was a small gate, an d she opened it softly and went through, closed it, an d took the same route Mike Shevlin had onc e used to approach the house. Hurrying, running an d walking, she reached an alley that led to the street.
The town was in darkness; the only lights were a t the Blue Horn, in the rooms at the back wher e Townsend lived. Two men were loafing on th e boardwalk out front.
If Ben Stowe had discovered Rupert's plans, he must also know that Laine Tenniso n owned the mines. She had to have somewhere to hide, som e place where she would not be found. And in her need sh e had thought of Mike Shevlin's room in th e Nevada House.
He would not be there, but she knew he had kep t the room, for he was often in town. This time, as before , she went to the back of the hotel and went up th e outside stairs to the second floor.
The hall was empty. She went along i t swiftly, praying his door would be unlocked. I t was, and she stepped inside quickly. At the sam e moment she felt the sharp prod of a gun in he r ribs.
"Mike?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said softly. "What's happened?"
As rapidly as she could, she explained wha t had taken place, from the meeting at the hous e until now.
"There wasn't a chance for them to carry it out , Mike. I don't believe Rupert had eve n talked to Mr. Hoyt. I was going to tell you abou t it when I rode out to the claim, but you were gone, an d I couldn't resist looking into t tunnel. And the n Ben Stowe was there, and when I saw you I c ouldn't think of anything but getting him out of there."
"Did you see anybody else? Anybod y outside or inside the mine?"
"No ... no one at all."
He scarcely realized what she said, for he wa s thinking of Ben Stowe, wondering what Stowe would do.
Now that he knew who would be against him, would h e kill them all? But then, how could the disappearance o f several prominent citizens be explained? Or would he just hold them, try to put the fear of deat h into them, then let them go?
Shevlin's every sense told him that Ben Stowe wa s riding the rim right now. He had killed, an d killed more than once. He had gotten away wit h it, and with his success had come that sense of power tha t comes to such men, the feeling that they can go on killin g and remain immune. In such men, the ego grew an d grew, until they rode rough-shod over ever y obstacle.
Yet Stowe had always been a coldl y cautious man. There had never been anything of th e reckless, heedless, hell-for-leather cowhand in him.
How much had his character changed?
"Laine, you've got to hide," Shevlin sai d now. "You've got to stay out of sight, and this is th e best place I can think of. There's some grub i n my duffel--it isn't much, but your best bet i s to stay right here where they won't dream of huntin g you."
"And you?"
"I'm taking the gold out, Laine. Ben Stow e offered me a deal--he offered me Gentry's piece of the operation."
Her eyes searched his face. "That could mean a lot, couldn't it?"
He took her by the shoulders. "Yes," h e agreed, "it could mean a lot. He'll tr y to kill me; in fact, he will probably try befor e I reach the end of the trip, or at any rate, jus t after I do; but if I can stay with it, I could come ou t of it a rich man. The only thing is, it wouldn't give me what I want most."
"And what would that be?"
"Y."
She made no effort to draw away from him, n o effort to escape his hands. She just looked up a t him, her eyes cool and almost appraising.
He had thought of her, too often, these past fe w days and had called himself a fool for thinking wha t he did. He had told himself over an d over that he would never have the nerve to say anythin g to her; but now here it was, and he had said it, and sh e was not laughing at him. That was something, at least.
"Mike," she was saying, "how are you goin g to manage it?"
"I'm going out with them. I'm going to take tha t gold out, and somehow or other I've got to sta y alive and keep that gold for you. Right now everythin g hinges on it."
"Mike, I'm afraid."
"You just wait here. I'll be back. If Be n Stowe doesn't have that gold, he doesn't hav e anything. He can't buy the mine, he can't pa y off his men; everything will fall apart for him and fo r Clagg Merriam too. Merriam's mortgage d everything to put up the money to buy the gold."
"They will fight."
"Yes, I think so."
"Then be careful. You'll be all alone , Mike."
He looked at her and smiled, a littl e wistfully. "When haven't I been alone?" h e said.
"Wasn't there ever anybody, anybody a t all?"
"No ... not really. Maybe that was why I k ept moving. It's easier to be alone if yo u keep moving, because it seems natural not to know peopl e or be close to anybody in strange country."
"Mike," she pleaded, "please don't go.
Let's just ride away from here. We can go to th e capitol and talk to the governor, then let hi m investigate."
"Laine, by that time they'd have your gold out of her e and everything covered up. You might get Ben Stow e out of his job and take the mines back, but you can b e sure he'd dynamite the approaches to th e high-grade, so that you might spend all you have, jus t looking for it--at least he'd try."
Mike Shevlin hesitated, and then he said , "Laine, I came here to find out the truth abou t Eli Patterson, to clear his name, and to put th e man who killed him where he should be--i n prison."
"You'd not kill him?"
"Not unless he pushed it on me. The law i s coming to this country, and the sooner the better. Men can't live without law, and each of us should do his par t to help the men who enforce it. After all, they ar e our servants, and without them we'd liv e in anarchy. Take it from me, because I've seen i t both ways."
At the door he paused. "Keep that gu n close by, and don't answer the door i f anybody knocks."
He went out, and the door closed behind him. He was gone from the hall before she realized she ha d forgotten to bring her gun with her.
She propped a chair under the doorknob, the n she sat down on the bed, and took off her shoes.
She must make no noise. It would not do to hav e anyone wondering who was in Mike Shevlin's room after he had gone out.
It was no use to worry about Dotti e Clagg, either. Dottie would be frightened, an d worried sick, but if Laine went back to th e doctor's house she would only bring more trouble wit h her. She must trust in Shevlin, and wait.
She considered Shevlin. Although almost nothin g personal had passed between them, a feeling existe d that needed no words. From the first, she had bee n drawn to him. Lean and savage as he was, ther e was an odd gentleness in him, too, and a curiou s respect for her.
She tried to recall everything Uncle El i had said about him, and thinking of this, she lay bac k on the bed. She did not see the knob tur n slowly, did not hear the slight creak a s pressure was put on the door to open it.
The chair under the knob remained firm, and th e person outside the door ceased trying. Had sh e been awake, she might have heard his breathing , might have heard the soft creak of the floor board s as he retreated down the hall. But she was fas t asleep.
Rafter Crossing crouched in the darkness like a waiting cat. And like a waiting cat, its eye s missed nothing--or almost nothing. Mike Shevlin , refreshed after only three hours of sleep , walked toward the lighted window of Ben Stowe's office. Around him there was a rustle of movement i n the night--notothing a man could actually hear if h e stopped to listen, but something of which he would be keenl y aware.
Ben Stowe looked up when the door opened, an d his eyes became wary when he recognized Mik e Shevlin.
Mike leaned his big fists on the table.
"Ben," he said, "I'll move your gold if yo u have it ready before daybreak."
Stowe rolled his cigar in his mouth while h e took a minute to consider what this might mean.
What had happened to settle Shevlin's mind s o quickly? Could he have heard of the seizure of Do c Clagg and his party? That was unlikely because, a s Stowe happened to know, Shevlin had gone to hi s hotel and had not left it until now.
"Look at it this way, Ben," Mik e continued. "If Hollister is still around, he will hav e spies in town. I've a hunch they won't suspect me, but if we start now we can ge t into safe country before Hollister can get word an d start moving."
"That's likely," Ben agreed. He sa t back in his chair and looked up at Shevlin.
"Have you got any men you want to take along?"
"No, that's your play. I'll ramrod th e job, you furnish the men. Let's face it , Ben. With Gentry gone, I don't have a friend i n the country. I'll take my cut from this deal an d ride out."
"All right, Mike. You be at the mouth o f Parry's canyon an hour from now. The gold wil l be there."
"I'll want pack mules--thirty or fort y of them. That much gold, at present prices, wil l weigh a ton."
"Any special reason for mules rather than a wagon?"
"They'll be looking for a wagon, and I ca n take mules where no wagon could go." Shevli n lowered his voice. "I'm going over the ridge , Ben."
"You're crazy! There's no trail."
"Ben, I punched cows all over this country , much more than you ever did, and I know a trail tha t even Ray Hollister won't know."
"All right."
Ben pushed back his chair and stood up.
"Don't try anything, Mike. I need you, bu t I don't trust you. You go along with me, an d you'll be in at the payoff. But try a double-cross, and you won't live twenty-fou r hours."
"Don't be foolish, Ben. Where else coul d I get that kind of money?"
Shevlin walked to the door, the n turned. "By the way, Ben, who is Bur t Parry? Is he your man?"
"Parry? Just an eastern pilgrim who think s he knows mining." Suddenly Ben Stowe read somethin g else into the question. "Why do you ask?"
"Just wondered, that's all. That claim where h e had me working ... there isn't a sign of minera l over there, and I don't think there ever was."
When Mike Shevlin had gone, Stowe sat ver y still for a long time. He smoked his cigar for a while , then let it go out, and chewed for a while longer on th e dead butt.
Burt Parry had seemed so much what he wa s supposed to be that after a few days of doubt , Stowe had largely ignored him. From time to time h e heard that Parry was having a drink with Clag g Merriam, but it seemed of no importance.
Clagg had lived much of his life in the East, an d Parry was an easterner, so what was more natura l than some casual talk between them? But suppose i t was more than that? Suppose Parry had bee n imported by Merriam? Imported for a specifi c job--to watch over the gold, and perhaps to handl e another task later?
Stowe realized now that his contempt for Merria m had blinded him to the depths that might lie within th e man. He had been so sure that he was usin g Merriam, that he had not considered the other sid e of the coin. Suppose Clagg Merriam had bee n using him?
He, Ben Stowe, was operator of the mines ... y es. But if suddenly the operation was taken out of hi s hands, if the governor suddenly sent a corps o f investigators into the area, he alone would b e sitting in a vulnerable position.
True, Clagg Merriam stood to lose al l he possessed if anything went wrong, bu t Merriam might have some ace-in-the-hole of whic h Stowe was unaware. And Merriam had been smar t enough to plant Burt Parry in a worthless clai m where he could watch the gold cache.
Ben Stowe considered his long-range plan fo r removing Gentry, and then using Clagg Merria m and his share of the gold as a means to establishing himsel f on a respectable footing in Rafter, and in th e state. Folks didn't look to see how a ma n came by money, he told himself; they only looke d to see if he had it. But he could not feel eas y now.
He got up and paced the room , muttering to himself. With a thick finger he reached up an d ripped open his shirt collar--the thing seemed to b e choking him. Maybe he was playing the fool, with hi s ideas of respectability. How long could h e make it stick without blowing up? He'd be bette r off to take the half-million and run. Why b e greedy?
His eyes narrowed with thought, and he stared at th e flame of the coal-oil lamp. Well, why not d o it that way?
The gold train would be going over the mountai n to Tappan Junction. At the Junction a railroad car was already spotted to receive it, a ca r that was supposed to be loaded with hides, and was , in fact, partly loaded with them.
Mike Shevlin could take the gold across th e mountain if anybody could, and arrangements ha d already been made on the other side. Stowe ha d received word that his men were waiting at the Junction.
The car was routed right through to the East, where the gol d could most easily be disposed of ... or enough of it , at any rate.
Stowe had taken eastern trips before, so no on e would be surprised when he took the stage out o f town for the railroad, carrying only one bag.
They would all see he was taking nothing with him , and they'd never believe he was cutting out. The mor e he thought of it, the better he liked the idea. Th e gold would reach the Junction about the same time h e did, and there was never anybody at the Junction bu t the telegraph operator, or some passing cowhan d who stopped by to pick up the news.
He considered the matter with care. He woul d write a letter of resignation to leave behind , attributing his leave-taking to the unsettle d conditions, the unfortunate slaying of Ev e Bancroft, and the accompanying events. That wa y they would have nothing on him, nothing at all. Th e charges down in the mine would be set off, th e drifts that led into the stopes where the high-grad e had been mined could be shot down, and all they coul d ever accuse him of would be quitting his job.
The more he thought of it, the better he liked it.
He would have half a million dollars, an d nobody the wiser. There were, of course, a fe w details to be taken care of.
He called in the men he needed and gave th e necessary orders, and after that he went through his desk; a ll the while he was thinking of Burt Parry. Th e more he considered the situation, the surer h e became that Parry had been posted to watch th e gold; and no doubt he was still there, or somewher e close by.
Then his thoughts shifted to Clagg Merriam.
What could he do about him? Even if Parry wa s eliminated in one way or another, Merriam woul d be aware within a few days that the gold had bee n removed, and he would raise hell.
Yet what could he do? To start any lega l action would be to reveal his own part in the swindle; an d Merriam was not the type to kill. Not, at least , the type to cope with Ben Stowe. So the thing to do abou t Merriam was simply to do nothing. Let Merria m do whatever he wished, and then Stowe would do what wa s necessary.
He checked his gun, thrust another into hi s waist band and shouldered into his coat. It wa s clouding up again, and looked like rain ... so much th e better. Fewer people would be riding out on a rain y night, fewer people who might see a train o f mules starting over the mountain toward the Junction.
The street was empty when he went out. He stood for a moment, collar turned up against th e wind, and then he crossed the street toward th e livery stable. Once, on the far side of th e street, he turned and looked back toward th e lights of the mine. He grinned wryly. "To hel l with it!" he said aloud.
Suddenly he felt free; he fel t relieved, as if he had dropped a grea t burden.
There had been no movement in the shadows up th e street, and he had seen no one. But he himself ha d been seen.
Jess Winkler was too canny an ol d hunter to reveal himself, and he held still in th e shadows, his cold eyes watching Ben Stowe. An d suddenly, as surely as if he had been told , Winkler knew: Ben Stowe was cashing in. He wa s checking out of the game, out of the town, and out of th e country.
After a few minutes Winkler went to his ow n horse and followed Stowe at a discreet distance.
At the mouth of Parry's canyon, Stowe turne d in.
"By the Lord Harry," Winkler muttered , "Ray was right! He's goin' to move that gold."
Behind a low sandhill, under cover of greasewoo d that topped it, Winkler hunkered down to wait an d watch. Scarcely an hour had gon e by when the first of the mules appeared. Winkler counte d forty, some of them probably carrying the grub an d outfit for the guards.
He watched them trail off across the country , keeping just off the main trail. He counted nin e men in the party, and Ben Stowe was not one of them. Bu t Mike Shevlin was.
"I'd rather it had been Ben," Winkler sai d to himself.
He watched them for several more minutes, the n went to his horse and rode wide around and heade d for Hollister's camp.
In the first gray light of day, when only a n arrow of red had found the clouds above, Mik e Shevlin drew up and waved the first man by, with th e mules following. He waved them into an openin g among the enormous tumbled boulders that were pile d all around. The rider hesitated, and starte d to speak.
"Go ahead," Shevlin said shortly. "You can't miss it."
Shevlin tugged his sombrero a little lower on hi s head and swore softly. The dust had settle d around his shirt collar and his neck itched from dust an d sweat. He was playing it by ear ... he had n o real plan--just a vague, half-formed idea tha t seemed to be taking shape in the back of his mind.
He knew none of these men, although two were the me n he had seen inside the mine; but he knew th e breed. It was a breed of tough men, men hired fo r their guns, or for their willingness to use violence , men working here today, and five hundred miles from her e next week or the week after. Their bodies li e in many an arroyo, in unmarked boot-hil l graves, or churned into mud on the grasslands o f Kansas or the Indian Territory.
Some of them were good men, good in the sense o f courage and physical ability, but for the most par t they were men who sought what they thought of as eas y money, although it rarely was. They earned thre e times as much as the average cowhand, and as a rul e they lived a third as long.
He knew their kind, for in a sense he was on e of them. The difference was that he had chosen to rid e on the side of the law--and when you came down to it , that was quite a difference.
He had deeply ingrained within him a respec t for the law, and the need for it. He knew that otherwis e life would be a jungle, and he knew , too, that many of those who made out to despise th e law the most, found themselves wishing for it s protection.
He watched them go by, counting off th e burro-loads as they passed, and checking off th e men too. Not one familiar face among them, an d he had hoped to find at least one. After all, th e West wasn't that big ... not as far as populatio n went, and he had ridden a lot of trails. Ha d he found one man who knew him, he might wel l have found an ally, and he desperately neede d one.
He needed more than one, when it came to that. He found himself searching their faces for some hint of wha t he sought, but he did not find it.
Red was not among them, and that worried him, fo r Red should have been here.
He waited for the last mule and rider to pass , and let dust settle behind them. The thought cam e into his mind that he had always expected to wind u p dead in a canyon somewhere, and this might be the time.
He let his horse take its own pace , unworried, for he knew the trail and nobod y could go anywhere but straight along. Just short o f midway there was a cutoff he would take, bu t nobody else would be apt to find it without bein g shown.
The sun came up behind clouds that steadil y grew darker. There had been rain clouds ove r Rafter, but they had been a good while catchin g up. Somewhere ahead he could expect attac k by Hollister and his men.
Ben Stowe expected it and, knowing Hollister , Mike was sure it would come. Who would Holliste r have with him? Babcock, of course, and some of the othe r soreheads. But how many? And where would it be?
Hollister, he felt sure, would not know of thi s trail, nor even Babcock. They had neve r been on good terms with Rafter, and their range ha d been far from here.
It was a steep, climbing trail, with many a switch-back and double. It had been mad e by Indians or mountain sheep, and it was the onl y way across the mountain for miles in either direction.
The higher slopes were covered with stunted pines an d juniper; the canyons fell away from the trai l to the bottom of steep cliffs. Here and there rounde d hills rose by the trail, and they offered invitin g chances to escape it, but they were all deceptive , ending in sheer cliffs or slides o f shifting rock.
Presently rain began to fall, scattere d drops at first, followed by a steady downpour.
Shevlin drew up, got out his slicker, and sli d into x. Up ahead he could see the others doing th e same.
Occasionally the leaders would draw up to catch thei r wind, and the party would close up. Shevlin watche d for the turn-off ... he had rarely come this way, an d he was worried that he might miss it. It was a steep, alternate route that cut a good mile of f the distance. There was no other chance to get ahead, an d that was where he needed to be.
He saw the twisted, lightning-struck pine o n the ridge only a moment before he saw the slid e of shale. The slide slanted up steeply, endin g against the sky. It was a stiff scramble for a goo d horse--not over sixty feet of shale, but i t appeared to go nowhere, and certainly was a n unlikely beginning for a trail.
The big horse took it without urging. On top of the slide was a ridge of slate, slantin g back less steeply. Here, barely visible, wa s a narrow way worn by years of passing, bu t invisible to any but a trained eye. This was th e cutoff, and the horse took to it readily.
Beyond lay a vast jumble of grass-covere d slopes, pine-crested ridges, dee p canyons, knolls covered with jagged, broke n rock. It was a place where no man seemed to hav e come, a wild and lonely place, high under th e gray clouds, with only the whispering rain and the soun d of his horse's hoofs to attend him.
Eight miles away, Ray Holliste r crouched in the slight shelter of a wind-hollowe d cliff. He hadn't shaved in a week, and hi s jaws itched; his mouth felt gritty. It wa s damp and chilly, and the coffee was made from ground s used for the third time.
He looked at Halloran, who was stretche d out, comfortably asleep, and he felt a sudden , vicious urge to kick him awake. John Sand e was a dozen yards off, huddled under a falle n oak, its branches so matted with driftwood tha t no rain came through. Babcock sat near him , nursing the fire with sticks.
Hollister spoke suddenly. "Where the hel l are they? If they left town like Jess said, the y should be here!"
Babcock glanced over at him. "Ray, i f that old wolfer said they left town, they left," a nd then he added, in a milder tone, "and don't rile him. He's likely to cut out and leav e us."
Just then Jess Winkler came down through th e rocks across the hollow, and came over to where the y waited.
"They foxed us," he said, grinning at them. Hi s broken, yellowed teeth showed under the gra y mustache. "They surely did!"
Before Hollister could speak, Babcock said , "How could they? This is the only trail."
"No, it ain't. Winkler squatted on hi s haunches. "I keep forgettin' about that kid, tha t Shevlin."
"He's no kid," John Sande commented. "I s een him. He's got shoulders like two of us."
"I think of him as a kid," Winkler said.
"That was how I knowed him afore. Now I kee p forgettin' how canny that youngster was, an' how h e prowled these mountains. He's taken them ove r Lost Cabin."
"Never heard of it," Babcock said.
"Lost Cabin trail ... it's an ol d Indian trail. Somebody built a stone cabi n up there, built it long before any white man wa s knowed to be in this country. Built it an' lef t it. Why, I ain't seen that trail in sixteen , seventeen years!"
"What do we do now?" Halloran said , sitting up.
Winkler took up a twig and marked on th e sand. "That trail goes about so." He dre w another line to indicate the railroad, and a cross where Tappan Junction stood. "They'l l be headin' for there. If we haul out of here now , we can nest down in a packet of boulders abou t here." He made another cross in the sand. "We can make it in about an hour, if we're lucky , and that would be maybe an hour before they do."
They were gone, and their fire was dying to coals , hissing under occasional drops of rain, when a rider passed on the trail, not more than thirt y yards off. It was Ben Stowe, wearing a ne w yellow slicker, his hat brim tilted down.
For the first time in months he felt content. He was up in the saddle again, and he was riding away fro m trouble. Of course, there would be trouble aplenty a t Tappan Junction, but it was the kind o f trouble for which he was well prepared and which h e clearly understood. Also, within a few minutes , unless his calculations had gone astray, part of hi s work would be done for him somewhere back in the hill s ... or perhaps out on the bunch-grass levels wher e the tracks were laid.
Somewhere along the line Ray Hollister would com e upon Mike Shevlin, and in the gun battle that mus t surely follow, men would die on both sides , and every man who died made his own problem that muc h simpler.
He had a good horse under him, and n o slow-moving pack mules to worry about. A t Wood's Ranch he would swap horses , exchanging the sorrel he now rode for a toug h buckskin he had kept at the ranch, and he woul d make fast time down to the Junction. He would b e waiting there with the contents of that bundle behind hi s saddle, and after that the gold would be his and his alone.
An hour after he rode past the dyin g campfire, unaware that it was there, two othe r riders came along. By that time the fire wa s entirely out--only the blackened coal s remained.
Laine Tennison was more angry than frightened , but Red was triumphant. His triumph, however , was beginning to wear thin, for he was no longer so sur e that he had judged right in kidnaping this girl.
It had been simple enough, back there at th e Nevada House. He knew that Lain e Tennison represented trouble, and he ha d guessed she was one of the owners of the mines, or wa s associated with them. He had acted promptly , and upon impulse, as he did most things.
Mike Shevlin was gone, and it could only be th e girl in the room. He had detected a fain t perfume near the door that told him his guess wa s right. After discovering that the door was barred from within , he decided that by morning she would be hungry. He had simply knocked on the door shortly afte r daylight and said. "Mr. Shevlin, your breakfas t is here."
Nobody he knew had ever had breakfas t served in his room, but she was a city girl an d might not know it wasn't done at the Nevad a House. With a slight clatter he put down som e dishes he had brought up for the purpose, the n walked away and tiptoed back.
Laine . Was hungry. After a moment or tw o she opened the door, and he forced his wa y in before she could close it.
And now he had her here, on the roa d to Tappan Junction.
He had been sure that Ben Stowe would b e pleased, but now he was beginning to worry. Ben was a man who liked to order things his own way. It wa s too late, however, to think about that--there was nothin g to do but ride on.
When Mike Shevlin rode out of the dark pine s he faced a vast green slope, perhaps a thousan d acres of untouched grass, slanting away from th e rounded crest of the mountain toward the dark canyo n off to his left.
To his right and well ahead of him, three dar k jagged crags tore at the sky, trailin g drifts of windblown cloud like streamers o f smoke. The rain was a gray veil, the grass a brilliant green, while the sky was masked wit h lowering thunderheads.
There was no wind on this slope shielded by th e mountain, but he was chilly under the slicker; and hi s wet hands worried him, for if he needed a gu n he would need it fast--and with accurate aim.
It took a long time to cross the wide gree n slope. At the end it fell sharply away into th e last canyon before Lost Cabin, and he dre w rein here and sat his horse, looking across at th e squat gray shape, tantalized as always by th e wonder of it. Who had found this wild and lonel y place so long ago?
At this point he was over a mile higher tha n Rafter Crossing, and a good thousand feet above th e trail followed by the pack mules. There might b e accidents due to the weather, but there was no danger o f them going astray.
Nobody he knew at Rafter had ever see n Lost Cabin, and he himself had not talked of it , wishing jealously to keep this place for himself. Man y knew about the Cabin, some scarcely believing i n it; but there it was, on the slope across th e canyon, under the shadow of ancient trees. A d warfish army of cedars was massed not far below it, a s if waiting to leap upon it in some moment of stillness.
At last Shevlin was angling steeply down , searching out the old trail, glad that he had a goo d mountain horse, when he saw them. At first h e could not believe his eyes.
He drew up sharply, peering down at th e five riders coming out of the draw, about a mil e away. He saw them begin to fan out among th e rocks and trees.
They were not more than a hundred yards from th e trail, which at that point came out into the open for a good half-mile, just beyond the low glacial ridg e where the five were taking shelter.
Their backs were to him--but for how long? If the y happened to turn he could be plainly seen up here.
He had to get off this slope and into the trees.
Jess Winkler ... Of course. He should hav e thought of the old wolfer who had been riding thes e hills for years. Winkler must be down there.
Nobody else could have known of the trail the mule s were using; and the trail these five had taken to ge t here from below must be one even Shevlin knew nothin g of.
He walked his horse along the slope and go t into the trees without being seen. Then, screened by th e dripping trees, he rode at a dead run , racing against time. If the pack train had had n o trouble they would soon be along, riding like sittin g pigeons into the range of Hollister's guns.
Against the five men down there, he had the nin e with the pack train. But they would be scattered ou t along the line of mules, and the first volley woul d surely eliminate some of them unless they could b e warned.
Hollister was a fair hand with a rifle, good with a six-gun. And Winkler--well, Winkler woul d never miss. When he aimed from a rest, h e killed. Babcock was good too, and the others wer e probably at least average.
He raced his horse for about a quarter of a mile, slowed to a walk over more difficul t ground, and then raced on. He came out of th e trees behind Hollister and his men, and a good tw o hundred yards away. He could see them settle d down and waiting, and just as he had spotted the fift h man, the first of the pack mules came into sight.
The first man in the pack train was a tall , lean, stoop-shouldered Texan; there were si x mules before the second man appeared. In a matter of minutes they would all be strung ou t along the trail, and helpless. And he knew tha t Hollister would hold his fire until all were withi n easy range.
Mike Shevlin felt a curious emptines s inside him. He knew what was coming.
You could die down there, he told himself. He tugged on his hat brim and started down the slop e behind the waiting men.
His horse walked quickly, daintily. Shevli n touched a flank lightly with a spur, and the hors e began to canter. The five men below were fixing al l their attention on the approaching mule train.
Suddenly one of the men with the mule train sa w Shevlin, and drew up sharply. At the sam e instant, Shevlin shucked a six-shooter an d slapped the spurs to his horse.
The startled animal almost leaped from under him, the n went pounding down the slope, running like the wind.
There came a startled exclamation, and one o f Hollister's men whirled toward him, and Mik e let go his first shot.
He was not over fifty yards off, but the shot wa s a clear miss, serving only to make the man jer k back, off balance, out of position for a shot.
Guns started to bark, and Shevlin saw the lea n Texan in the van spur his horse up th e slope. He caught on fast, that one. Mik e saw one of the men lift a rifle, and then he wa s among them. He chopped down and shot full into th e man's face, seeing it flame with blood as th e bullet struck a glancing blow that knocked th e man sprawling under his horse's hoofs.
Shevlin reined around quickly, glad he was ridin g a good cutting horse used to making quick turns.
The Texan was among them too, his horse down an d screaming, the man himself firing--falling and firing.
Two more men came up the slope and one of the m launched himself in a long dive at Winkler, and th e two went rolling.
As his horse came around, Shevlin saw tw o more men from the pack train spurring up the slope , and then his horse, tired from the long ride, put a foot down wrong and they both fell. He rolle d over, but came up still gripping a gun a s Hollister ran up to face him.
"Damn you!" Hollister screamed. "I shoul d have killed--wa s Mike Shevlin felt the gun bucking in hi s hard grip, and he saw Hollister jerk as i f lashed by a whip, jerk again, and fall forward on th e wet slope of grass.
Hollister rolled over and started to get up, bu t Mike put a bullet into his chest at a range of six feet. Then he turned swiftl y to face whoever was left.
The sound of the gunfire was rolling against th e hills, then rolling back in echoing, muted thunder.
It fell away and was lost, and there was no othe r sound but the rain falling, and somewhere a ma n groaning.
Mike picked up Hollister's unused gun , thrust it behind his belt, and walked across the grass.
John Sande was lying face down on th e grass, dead. A man sitting against a rock jus t beyond Sande turned and looked at Shevlin. "Yo u played hell, Mike," he said, almost withou t expression.
It was Babcock. His right arm was a blood y mess. Numb with shock, he was gripping his ar m tightly against the flow of blood, and gazin g hollow-eyed at Shevlin.
Halloran was lying dead, too, shot clea n through. The Texan was dead, and two others from th e mule train. There was no sign of Jes s Winkler.
Down on the flat the mules were bunched, an d four men, rifles ready, clustered about them. The y had played it the smart way, bunching the animal s and holding them tight, ready for anything.
Mike Shevlin looked carefully around. On e of his men was missing, ... probably the man wh o had tangled with the old wolf-hunter.
He shouted at the men with the mules, and two o f them came up the slope, riding warily. "You," h e said to the nearest one, "take care of that man's wounds. He's too good to die this way. You"--h e indicated the other man--"catch up the horses."
He walked over to his own horse. It ha d gotten up, and came toward him as h e approached. He mounted and rode slowly in th e direction where he had seen Winkler and the other ma n fighting.
He saw Jess Winkler first. The old ma n was on his face on top of the other man, and somethin g was gleaming from his back. Mike drew up an d looked down. What he saw was the needle-shar p point of a knife, an Arkansas toothpick.
"Hey!" came a voice that was muffled.
"Pull him off me! He smells worse'n a hide-skinner."
Mike swung down and, catching the wolfer by th e buckskin jacket, lifted him up. The othe r man crawled up from where he had been sprawle d between two fallen trees, wedged in by the dea d wolfer's body. He was scarcely mor e than a boy.
"He come at me when I got up after jumpin' h im, an' I wasn't set for it. I went ove r backwards, just a-holdin' that knife."
"You held it in the right place," Mike said.
He looked with no regret at the fierce ol d man, cold and dangerous as any of the wolves h e had hunted so long. "Are you hurt?'
"Scratched."
"Better go through their pockets and see i f there's any addresses. They'll maybe hav e kinfolk who'd wish to know."
"They'd of had us," the boy said, "hadn't bee n for you coming a hellin' down that slope." He thrus t out his hand. "They call me Billy the Kid."
Shevlin grinned at him. "That makes four o f them I've met--and you aren't Bonney."
"I ain't Claiborne, either. My name i s Daniels."
Mike Shevlin walked his horse back to wher e Ray Hollister lay, and he sat looking dow n at him. "I'll tell them where you are, Ray," h e said, "and if there are any who see fi t to bury you, they can ride up and do it. We haven't the time."
As he looked at him, he was remembering hi m all down the years. When he had first known Ra y Hollister he had a good working ranch, but he wa s never satisfied ... he had gotten a goo d woman killed, and a few men, and now he la y there, come to it at last.
"String 'em out!" he yelled at the men with th e mules. "We've got ten miles to go!"
Babcock had been disarmed, and his arm was boun d up and in a sling. "You goin' to bury them?" h e said to Mike.
"Who's got a shovel?" Mike asked. The n he added, "Bab, if you want to stay here an d bury them, you can."
Babcock stared at him. "I never figured yo u for a unfeeling man," he said.
"I lost a lot of feeling the night Ev e Bancroft died. I didn't like her, but that gir l would have ridden a-blazin' into hell for Ra y Hollister, and he let her go alone."
The mules were strung out and Billy Daniel s was up ahead, riding point.
"What you goin' to do with me?" Babcoc k asked.
"Hell, I've got no place fo r you, and nothing against you except damn' poo r judgment in bosses. Ride along with us, and whe n we hit the flat you cut out for Rafter."
"Rafter?" Babcock was incredulous. "Wit h this arm? I'd go through hell a-gettin' there!"
"What do you think's waiting for us down there a t Tappan Junction, Bab?" Shevlin sai d quietly. "I figure you've had yours."
They rode on a few steps, and then Mik e Shevlin said, "Ben Stowe's waiting down there.
He's waiting for us."
Two miles short of Tappan Junction th e narrow trail played out, and they could see ahead o f them the two buildings of the settlement in th e bottom of a great basin. The twin lines of stee l came out of the west and vanished into the east.
At Tappan there was a corral with a chute fo r loading pens, a water tank for the trains, a combination saloon, post office, and general store , and across the tracks, the telegraph office.
Adjoining the office was a waiting room with tw o windows, furnished with a single bench and a pot-bellied stove.
No horses were in sight, but there wouldn't be---t hey would be in the pens. Several cattle cars an d one boxcar were standing on a siding.
Mike Shevlin, weary from his long ride, stare d across the flat through the drizzling rain. It lacke d an hour of sundown, and darkness would come early, wit h that cloud-covered sky.
Beside him, drawn and pale, rode Babcock.
He had lost blood, he sagged with weariness; h e was not going to make it through to Rafter Crossing.
He knew it now, and so did Mike Shevlin.
Only an iron will and a rawhide body ha d brought him this far. He needed rest and care, and the y were down there waiting for him, just beyond a full-scal e gun battle.
"This makes it my fight, Mike," he said.
"I'll ride in with you."
"Bab, what do you suppose Ben Stowe would d o if you rode in there now ... alone?"
Babcock tried to think it through. His brain wa s fuzzy, and it required an effort to assemble hi s thoughts. "Damned if I know. He'd probabl y ask me what happened, then he'd either shoot m e or leave me be."
"You ride in there, Bab. Tell him anythin g he wants to know. I'm betting he'll wan t to know everything you can tell him, and I don't believe he'll shoot you. Ben Stowe onl y kills when he thinks there's a good reason--you'r e out of this now, and he'll see it plain enough. Ta g Murray is down there, and he's pretty good with a wound, better than some doctors I know. Yo u ride on in."
Babcock hesitated, and glanced back at th e mule train. "What about them, Mike? They'r e Ben's hired gunmen."
Shevlin looked at him wryly, then du g into his pocket for a cigar. It was a fresh one , and he enjoyed lighting it. "Bab," he said , "unless I miss my guess, one or more of thos e boys are supposed to salt me down whil e we're crossing the flat out there. Unless Ben i s saving me for himself.
"I said Ben Stowe only killed when there wa s good reason, but I'll make two exceptions to tha t -comRay Hollister and me. He'd tak e pleasure in killing either of us."
"You and him were mighty thick, one time."
"Stowe and Gentry were thick; and Gentry an d me, we rode saddle partners a while. Bu t Stowe never liked me, and I never liked him."
"Mike ... look there!" It was Bill y Daniels who had come up to them. "That there ride r on this side, that's a woman!"
Also, one of the men who had carried a pick-handle that day in the mine, had also come up.
"That's Red on the paint--where would he get a woman?"
"Hell!" Billy spat. "That's tha t Tennison girl. Nobody else ride s sidesaddle with the style she's got!"
Babcock glanced at Shevlin. "So there yo u are," he said. "Now are you goin' to ride in there , hell a-whoopin'?"
"Go on in, Bab," Mike said again.
"Tell him anything he wants to know, and don't you worry none about me."
Babcock still hesitated. "Mike, I ain't up to much, but damn it, man, you're cattle!
I'll ride in there with you, or I'll cover you r back, whatever you're of a mind to."
Shevlin put a hand on Babcock's shoulders. "Go on in, Bab," he repeated.
Babcock touched a heel to hi s horse and went off across the grass.
"What's the matter with him?" Bill y Daniels asked. "What was he figurin' to do?"
Mike Shevlin stepped his horse around, and the y were all there, facing him, with the gold train just beyond.
His eyes went from one to another, curiously , somewhat mockingly. "Why, he just figured one o f you boys was about to shoot me in the back. He figured Ben Stowe had put you up to it. How abou t it, boys? Any of you want me? If you do, yo u don't need to wait."
His Winchester was in the boot, his slicker wa s hanging open and loose, and both his hands were i n sight.
There were five of them, and they were spread out befor e him like a hand of cards, all jacks or aces, no t a deuce in the lot.
These were hard men, who rode a hard trail i n a hard country, and he faced them, waiting. On e showdown at a time, he told himself. When I r ide up to Tappan Junction, I wan t to keep my eyes up front.
Billy Daniels moved his hands out in fron t of him and folded them on his saddlehorn. "Th e way I see it, you fought beside us back there. Yo u came down off that slope when you didn't nee d to, and you saved our bacon--some of us , anyway."
"Why, sure!" Also agreed. "That man dow n there is payin' our wages, but this looks a mit e different."
"You want help?" Billy said.
"No help ... you just leave me ride dow n there and talk this over with Ben. I mean, we go i n with the pack train, but the rest of it is up to Ben an d me, and whoever's down there with him."
"Why that's fair enough," Also commented. "I h ear tell Ben Stowe is something to look at with a gun. I'd sort of like to see the cut of the ma n I'm workin' for."
"Thanks, boys. Bring in the train, will you?
But look, stay clear of Ben Stowe and me, an d if you see that lady in trouble, give her a hand.
She is a lady, boys." He gestured towar d the mules. "All that belongs to her, by rights. Brin g it in, will you?"
Deliberately, he swung his horse , turning his back on them. And then he cantered ou t over the darkening prairie.
"You know something?" The Arkansawye r spat. "There goes a square man!"
As Shevlin started across the flat, he pause d only to slip out of his slicker and tie it behind hi s saddle. The clouds were breaking, and a star was showin g through. He loosened the Winchester in his boot, singin g softly, "As I walked out on the streets o f Laredo, As I walked out in Laredo one da y ..."
The room was long and low, with a counter doubling a s a bar. There were shelves of canned goods, stacke d Levis, slickers, and boots. The roo m smelled of new leather, dry goods, stron g coffee, and stronger plug tobacco. Behind the counte r sat Tag Murray and the telegrapher, mindin g their own affairs.
Red, still pale from the abuse he had taken fo r bringing Laine Tennison to Tappan, clutched a beer in his hand, staring at the circles he wa s drawing on the bar.
Laine, standing very straight, smiled at Ben.
"Really, Mr. Stowe, if you plan to take m y gold from here, you must expect trouble. You're goin g to have to cut telegraph wires, even do som e shooting. Your retriever here," she gestured a t Red, "did not notice that Doctor Clagg , Billy Townsend, and several others--includin g Wilson Hoyt--were saddling up when w e passed the stable."
"Ma'am," Ben Stowe said abruptly, "yo u sit down and shut up."
"Now, look here, Ben--was Tag starte d to protest.
"You shut up, too. Red, put a shotgu n on them. If they start anything give them bot h barrels, then reload and shoot them again."
"Do you really believe," Laine said, "that you wil l get out of the Territory with that gold? Will it be s o easy, Mr. Stowe?"
Ben Stowe's anger was passing. Red had bee n a damned fool to bring Laine Tennison here, bu t he needed Red for the time being, and the girl was no mor e than a nuisance.
"Sorry, Red. I spoke too fast. Al l we need is a hysterical woman on our hands."
"Sure, Boss. I wasn't thinkin'."
Ben Stowe knew that the rain had stopped, and tha t the sounds he had been hearing for the last fe w seconds were those of a walking horse. The first fe w hoof-falls had barely touched the fring e of his consciousness, but now he was sharply aware that a horse had come to a stop outside.
He half turned to face the door, hear d something hit the mud, and then blundering footsteps.
The door opened and Babcock came in.
His face was haggard, the wound had started to blee d again, and his shirt was already stiff with dried blood.
"Tag," he said, "I caught a bad one.
It's real bad."
Ignoring the shotgun, Tag Murray move d quickly to Babcock's side and eased him into a chair. Laine Tennison, without being asked, ha d gone to the stove and was pouring hot water into a ti n basin. Tag began cutting away the shirt wit h scissors.
"What happened?" Ben Stowe asked.
When Babcock did not reply, Stowe steppe d to the bar and poured a stiff drink of whiskey, an d handed it to the wounded man. "What happened?" h e asked again.
Babcock tossed off the liquor in two quic k gulps. "First drink you ever bought me, Ben.
Thanks."
He looked up at Stowe. "When your mul e train didn't show up, Winkler figured it out an d we cut over the hills. We were set to ambush th e train, then that damn' Shevlin came down on u s from behind. I never did figure how he got there.
"He was on us before we knew what happened, an d his first shot tipped the mule drivers and they cam e up the slope. Shevlin killed Ra y Hollister. Winkler and Sande and Hallora n got it, too."
"How many of my men?"
"Three down and a couple scratched."
"Shevlin?"
"He's bringin' the stuff in. He told m e to go on ahead an' get Tag here to fix m e up."
Ben Stowe looked at the arm with distaste. Use d as he was to violence, he never liked to look upon th e results of violence, and Babcock's arm was a sorry sight. The bullet must have caught the ar m when it was bent and upraised, for it had shattered th e elbow, torn the biceps, and imbedded itself in th e deltoid muscle at the end of the shoulder.
"We better get Doc Clagg over here , Bab," Murray said. "That's surely a mess. I don't think anybody can mak e anything of that elbow again."
"Fix it as best you can." Babcock stare d bleakly into the years ahead as a one-armed cowman.
However, he had seen a few, and some di d pretty well. If somebody else could, h e could.
"Whatever happens," Ben Stowe said, "you peopl e stay clear of it. I don't want to shoo t anybody protecting a legitimate gol d shipment.
"That man"--he indicated Babcock--"i s an admitted outlaw. He attempted to steal th e shipment from the mine of which I am superintendent.
Please remember that."
"You are discharged," Laine said, "and you are no t authorized to make such a shipment."
Stowe smiled at her. "Now, ma'am," h e said pleasantly, "I know you as a guest of Do c Clagg's. Whatever else you may be, I d on't know. You've no authority that I know of , and no cause even to be here except that Red her e figured I would want to talk to you. He wa s wrong.
"I am," he went on, speaking clearly , "making a legitimate shipment from the mines of a small amount of gold. I have the authority to d o this. If anyone interferes, I shall take lega l action."
Laine looked around helplessly. Th e telegrapher merely shrugged. Tag Murray wa s busy with Babcock, and Red grinned smugly.
Of course, what Stowe said was true. Even i f the law had been here, she could not have stopped th e shipment ... not just on her word alone. And the trai n was due in less than an hour.
Just the same, Ben Stowe was worried. Lain e could see it in his restlessness, in his continual glance s at the clock. The train was coming soon and the gol d had not yet arrived.
And right in the middle of things was Mik e Shevlin. He was the key man. He was working fo r her, but Ben Stowe had offered him a better deal.
As for whatever else there was between herself, and Shevlin , was there really something there? Or had she onl y imagined it?
From the first, she had felt drawn to him, les s to his undeniable good looks than to his strength.
When all the others had wavered, he had stood fo r what he believed, and down deep within her she wa s positive that he still stood for it, that he was the ma n she believed in. Yet the question was there: wa s he the sort of man she thought, or was she onl y listening to a wish that he might be?
Red lounged against the counter, a cigarett e dangling from his lips, the shotgun in his hands.
Ben Stowe walked over to the window and looke d out, but the night was dark, and revealed nothing. Whe n she looked at him, she was shaken with fear fo r Mike Shevlin. Ben Stowe looked formidable.
He was big, powerful, and somehow seeme d indomitable. He seemed beyond, the strength of the me n around her, beyond anyone's strength.
Yet he was gambling now, gambling with his lif e and the work of years. He was gambling that anothe r man, who was perhaps an enemy, could bring that gol d across the mountains. That he had done so was obvious , for Babcock had crossed with Shevlin. Where wa s Shevlin now? There was no sound in the roo m except the heavy tick of the clock and the subdue d rustling where Tag Murray worked ove r Babcock.
Suddenly Murray turned and straightened up.
"Ben, we've got to send for Doc Clagg.
Else this man will lose an arm."
"The hell with him!" Stowe said violently, the n he glanced around at Babcock. After all, th e issue would have been decided long before Clagg coul d get here. "Oh, all right," he said with a shrug.
There was a moment of silence in the room, for the questio n in the mind of each was: Who will go?
Laine looked at Ben Stowe, an amuse d smile on her lips. "I am sure Red would lik e to go. Wouldn't you, Red?"
Stowe turned sharply from the window. "Like hell!
I need him right here." He glanced around. "You ca n go, Tag, or you can wait until my men ge t here and I'll send one of them. After all, I hav e five men out there with Shevlin."
"Don't be too sure," Babcock said.
"What's that mean?"
Babcock raised his head and stared at Be n Stowe. "It means those men rode over the mountain s with Mike Shevlin, and when they had a fight , Mike pulled them out of it. Mike was with them ... y ou weren't. Don't be too damn' sure they'r e still your men."
"I bought 'em an' paid for 'em," Stowe sai d contemptuously.
"If you think that, you've come a lot further fro m the old days than I figured. You can't buy me n like that. They work for gun wages, al l right, but they ride for the man. Right now you'r e only somebody in an office somewhere. Mik e Shevlin is out there sitting his saddle with them.
He's rained on when they are, and when they'r e cold, he is. I can tell you one thing, Ben , if I hadn't got shot up I'd be out there wit h him right now."
Ben Stowe stayed by the window for a moment longer , then came back to the middle of the room. He wen t to the counter, where the long bundle that had been behind hi s saddle lay.
Unrolling it, he took out two double-barrele d shotguns, Express guns. Coolly, h e loaded them. Beside the bundle lay his Winchester an d he took it up, checking to see if there was a cartridge in position.
Nobody spoke, they simply watched him; an d he ignored them, as if they did not exist.
Indeed, Laine decided, they did not exist fo r him, for he was wholly concentrated on what wa s to come; she could see it in his every movement. He wa s pointed even as one of his guns would be pointed , toward the moment of decision.
But the moment did not come.
The minutes ticked by, and suddenly Lain e noticed that Stowe was perspiring--the sweat stood ou t in beads on his forehead. A slight sound came fro m outside, and Stowe turned sharply. Somethin g rattled on the roof.
Suddenly, several horses passed by, movin g swiftly. Outside, somebody laughed, and it wa s a shocking sound to those in the room.
Several minutes of stillness passed, and then a door slammed. The telegrapher looked up.
"That was my door," he said, and added, glancin g slyly at Stowe, "I wonder if any of thos e men can use a telegraph key? That Shevli n now, he's been around."
"Don't be a fool!" Stowe said sharply.
"I've known him since he was a kid."
"You mean you knew him when he was a kid,"
Babcock said, "but that man's covered a lot o f country since then. You don't know a damn' thin g about him!"
The real question in Stowe's mind was: Where was th e gold at this moment? Had it been loaded into th e waiting car?
He swept the room with a quick glance. "Al l right, Red. I'm going out there. You keep these peopl e sitting just where they are.
"Babcock, I'll send one of my men fo r Doc Clagg. I'll see no man suffer, an d we shared a blanket a couple of times in the ol d days."
He looked from one man to another. "Every mov e I've made in arranging this shipment has bee n legal," he said. "I wouldn't want anybod y to try stopping me now. I'd have every right to suspec t them of trying to steal company gold."
He moved to the door and stepped outside.
The clouds had broken and the stars were out, but wate r still dripped from the eaves of the railroad station an d Murray's Saloon at Tappan Junction.
At the hitch rail stood half a doze n horses with empty saddles, and another hors e had just come down from the mountains, riderless since th e afternoon's shooting. It stood now, bridl e trailing, close beside the tied horses.
Light from the saloon windows fell across th e wet platform outside, across the glistening stee l rails, and almost met through the darkness the light from th e telegraph station windows. Beyond those windows on e of the men was brewing a fresh pot of coffee in th e operator's pot, which they had quickly emptied.
Mike Shevlin, leaning against the corner of th e loading pens near the chute, saw Ben Stowe com e outside. His right arm was straight down by hi s side, which meant that he was carrying a weapo n close against him where it could not be easily seen.
Mike, who knew all the subterfuges, watche d thoughtfully.
Ben was looking around warily. He was like a n old grizzly that senses trouble, but has faile d to locate it. Suddenly he stepped off th e platform and strode across the tracks to the station.
When Stowe opened the door, Mike could hear hi s voice. "Where's Shevlin?"
The reply was muffled, then Stowe spoke again.
"All right. I'm payin' you boys top wage s -comlet's go get him!"
Evidently one of the men had come to the door, for th e words were plain--it sounded like Billy Daniels.
"We'd like to see you go get him yourself. There's only one of him, and he's right around close."
"So it's like that, is it? Well, you're fire d -come last one of you! Now take yourvs out of here!"
"We like it here," Also's voic e drawled. "We're stayin' on for the show. We got us gallery seats."
Ben Stowe turned away without speaking, then h e halted. "Look," he said, "Babcock need s Doc Clagg or he'll lose an arm. One o f you boys ride after him, will you?"
There was a moment of silence, and then one of the me n detached himself from the group. "I'll go. I'l l see no man lose an arm if I can help it."
Ben Stowe walked to the middle of the tracks an d stopped there, waiting until the hoof-beats die d away in the distance.
Now, just where would Shevlin be? At the pens?
Or at the car where the gold should be? Probabl y at the car. He took a moment longer to get hi s eyes accustomed to the darkness, and then he walke d along the track.
Mike Shevlin knew every thought that was going throug h Stowe's head. He knew what he was thinking, becaus e he knew what he himself would be thinking at such a time.
Far away, he heard a distant echoing sound---t he train whistle. It was going to be as close a s that.
Mike Shevlin rolled the dead cigar in hi s teeth and looked toward the dark figure of the bi g man coming toward him. Well, Ben, it's bee n a long time coming. Did you ever figure it would be lik e this? Just you and me in the black, wet night?
There had been neither saloon or station here in th e early days--only the stock pens and the loadin g chute. They had loaded Rafter cattle from her e ... how many times?
Ben Stowe stepped aside suddenly an d disappeared. Mike held himself very still.
Now what? Had Stowe just stepped aside an d crouched down in the blackness; or was he coming o n along beside the track? He was out of range of th e lights, and probably was in the shallow ditc h alongside the roadbed.
Suddenly cold steel touched Shevlin lightl y behind the ear, and a cool voice said, "I could le t him kill you, but it's easier this way."
Clagg Merriam!
Mike Shevlin had one boot on the lowest ba r of the pen, and as that voice spoke, he threw himsel f back, shoving hard with his boot.
He staggered the man behind him, and a shot bellowe d right alongside Mike's ear. They hit the groun d together, and instantly Shevlin threw himsel f clear, rolled into the ditch, and scrambled under th e loading chute.
Ben Stowe, believing he had been shot at , shot quickly; and almost with the sound of the second shot , a rifle bellowed from the top of a cattle car , and a bullet struck sparks from a rail near wher e Ben lay.
"What the hell's goin' on?" shouted a voice from the station.
Mike Shevlin held himself tight against th e lowest part of the loading chute, partly protecte d by the posts of its underpinning. Clagg Merriam wa s out there ... and the other one with the rifle--that must b e Burt Parry.
Why hadn't Merriam simply fired, instea d of opening his mouth? And Parry should have held hi s fire until he had Ben Stowe outlined. It woul d have been simple enough, with a little patience.
A cold drop of water fell on Shevlin's head behind the ear and trickled slowly down his nec k and under his shirt. His leg was cramping but h e waited, holding his six-shooter ready.
Suddenly, from behind the stock pens, Ben Stow e shouted, "Mike! Let's get 'em! The y butted into a private fight!"
Just then a gun flashed and a bullet spa t slivers into Mike's face--a gun not a doze n feet away. He lunged from his cover, firing a s he went, and he heard the thud of a bullet's impact on flesh, and a muffled grunt.
Again a gun flashed, but this time it was not pointe d at him, and he shot into the dark figure as h e ran by with a bullet whipping past his face.
He lifted his pistol to fire again, and as h e did so two guns barked, almost together. The first wa s Merriam's, wounded but not dead; the other was Be n Stowe's almost instant reply.
Shevlin heard a gun fall into the cinders, an d then he thrust his hand into the cattle car and triggere d three fast, spaced shots through the roof of the car wher e Burt Parry was lying.
Parry screamed, and at the sound Stowe, who ha d climbed one of the cars, fired. The body slid fro m the top of the car and fell to the roadbed near wher e Shevlin was standing.
"Ben!" he called.
"You're talkin'!"
"We got 'em both. Now you get on tha t train and get out of here."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Suddenl y Ben's voice changed. "Like hell I will!
I'll see you dead first!"
"Ben ... one thing--who =illed Eli?"
"I did, you damn' fool! Merriam though t he did. They were arguing, and I saw Clagg wa s gettin' nowhere, so when Merriam shot and missed , I killed Eli--from my office window."
Mike tugged off one boot, then the other. He was wearing thick woollen socks. He fel t sure that Ben was creeping closer, for the sound of thos e last words had been nearby and close to the ground.
Ben had been shooting a pistol, but he still had a shotgun or a rifle ... at this distance thos e shotgun slugs would cut a man in two.
Suddenly Ben Stowe spoke. "You can still cu t out, Mike. You don't need to die."
How far away was he now? Maybe twent y paces. And Ben was without doubt in shelter of som e kind, waiting for Mike's reply, to cut him i n two.
Turning quickly, Mike ran back along th e track, his socks making no sound on the woode n cross-ties. He heard the train, closer now , whistling for the station. Leaping to clear the cinders of th e roadbed, he landed close against the pens, then with a swift lunge he rounded the corner.
The headlight of the train was shining off across th e flat, for the train had not yet rounded the bend towar d the station. When the locomotive rounded the bend, th e headlight would throw the whole area into shar p relief.
The train whistled again, and then the light swun g as the engine came around the bend. There was Be n Stowe, standing squarely in the middle of the track , the shotgun in his hands, waiting for that glare o f light.
They saw each other at the same instant--o r maybe Mike had a bit the best of it, for he wa s not where Ben Stowe might have expected him to be.
The shotgun came up and Mike fired. Slug s ripped through the air around him, something tugged at hi s pants. He stepped forward and shot again, and Be n Stowe went down to his hands and knees. The trai n was thundering down upon him, and Mike rushed forward i n a desperate lunge, jerking Stowe free of th e tracks with only seconds to spare.
The train roared by within inches of them, then Be n Stowe came up on his knees, a Col t gripped in his fist. "Thanks, Mike!" h e yelled, and fired.
Shevlin felt the shock of the bullet, and h e knew he had dropped his gun. He ha d reloaded behind the stock pens, and there were still one o r two--Stowe was resting his gun across a forearm for dea d aim, so Mike Shevlin drew Hollister's gun from his waistband and as he swung it around h e fired three shots as fast as he could make the m roll.
Stowe fired once. The bullet missed , struck the steel rail, and ricocheted off into th e night with a nasty whine.
Mike caught hold of the rail and pulled himsel f around. He was conscious that men had gotten down fro m the train and others had come up on horseback, bu t he was concentrating on one thing only: he ha d to get Ben Stowe.
He twisted around to look at Stowe. Ben's face was bloody, and his shirt was dark with blood.
"You got me," he gasped. "You always were sho t with luck!" Even as he spoke, he brought hi s gun up with startling speed, and Mike shot into h m again.
Then there was only silence, the hiss of steam fro m the engine, and, after a moment, a mutter of excite d voices and a shuffling of feet.
Someone was kneeling over Shevlin. It was Do c Clagg. "Babcock," Mike said, "he's hurt bad, you--wa s But he was keeping his eyes on Ben Stowe , clutching his empty gun and waiting for him to move.
Only Ben did not move, and never would again.
"He said I was shot with luck," Mike sai d slowly. "I wish that was all he had in thos e guns."
"You'll live," Doc Clagg assured hi m grimly. "Your kind are too tough to die."
The cattle business around Rafter neve r recovered, and after the mines played out Rafte r became a ghost town. Mike and Laine Shevli n never did live there, for they moved to Californi a when he was able to travel. Shevlin ran cattl e there for quite a few years.
Thirty years ago they ripped up th e long-unused tracks that had been the onl y excuse for Tappan Junction. The buildings wer e destroyed when a tourist dropped a cigarette fro m his car as it raced along the highway that had bee n built at the foot of the mountains.
Laine Shevlin lived to a fine old ag e until one of her grandsons became an ad ma n on Madison Avenue; after that there wasn't muc h to live for. She just wasted away, and after Mik e saw her buried he walked out of the cemetery an d disappeared.
There was quite a lot of talk, and the newspaper s dug up the fact that he had been a Texa s Ranger and something of a gunfighter, reprinting som e of the old stories, with some confusion as to names an d dates.
The only one who could have offered a clue was th e last of the old-timers. He had taken to sitting o n a bench in the sun alongside a filling station o n the new highway, and he was there when the car pulle d up and the tall old man called over to him.
"Wasn't there a place called Tappa n Junction somewhere about here?"
The old-timer peered toward the driver. "Hey?
Did you say Tappan Junction? She use d to lie right out there on the flat."
The sitter's pipe had gone out and he fumble d in his pockets for a match. "Young folks, the y ain't never heard of Tappan."
"What about Stone Cabin?" the man in the ca r asked.
"Stone Cabin?" Through the fog of years the word s startled the old man. "Did you say Ston e Cabin?"
When old Mike Shevlin turned up missin g he was still a wealthy man, and there was quite a search fo r him. The highway police made inquiries, an d at the filling station the old-timer was pointed ou t to them.
"Doubt if he can he'p you much," the statio n attendant said. "He's almost lost his sight, an d that one arm, that's been no good for years. Hors e fell on it, I guess, a good many year s back. Why, that old feller's nigh to a hundre d years old! Ninety-odd, anyway."
They asked their questions after they found Mik e Shevlin's car abandoned in a cove at the foo t of the mountains, but the old man did not pay muc h attention. Only after they had turned away di d he mutter to himself as he sat there.
"Tappan Junction ... Stone Cabin ... t hat's been a while. "You tell Do c Clagg," he said, "you tell Doc Clag g I ain't as tough as I used to be.""
"Stone Cabin?" the attendant repeated i n answer to their query. "Never heard of it. I'v e lived around here more'n ten years, and I neve r heard the name."
The officer looked at the high green hills , rolling back in somber magnificence, wild an d lonely. They told him nothing.
"What's back up there?" he asked.
"Nothin'. There ain't no road. Ain't bee n anybody back in there that I can remember.
Folks don't stop here for more'n gas and the tim e of day. They just breeze on through. We hereabouts , we got no time for lookin' in the mountains."
It was forty miles back to the highway polic e office, and they could just make it by quitting time.
As they were driving back the officer looked a t his companion. "Didn't you tell me your folk s came from this part of the country?"
"My granddaddy did. But he never talked abou t it, or else I didn't listen. Anyway, I d on't believe it was rough as they say. His name wa s the same as mine ... Wilson Hoyt."
They settled back and listened to the hum of th e motor and the sound of the tires, and watched th e windshield wiper, for it was beginning to rain.
It was raining, too, up at Stone Cabin, jus t as it had long ago.
ABOUT LOUIS L'AMOUR
"I think of myself in the oral tradition--a s a troubadour, a village tale-teller, th e man in the shadows of the campfire. That's the wa y I'd like to be remembered--as a storyteller. A g ood storyteller."
It is doubtful that any author could be as a t home in the world recreated in his novels as Loui s Dearborn L'Amour. Not only could h e physically fill the boots of the rugged characters h e wrote about, but he literally "walked the land m y characters walk." His personal experiences as wel l as his lifelong devotion to historical researc h combined to give Mr. L'Amour the unique knowledge an d understanding of people, events, and the challenge of th e American frontier that became the hallmarks o f his popularity.
Of French-Irish descent, Mr. L'Amou r could trace his own family in North Americ a back to the early 1600's and follow their stead y progression westward, "always on the frontier."
As a boy growing up in Jamestown, Nort h Dakota, he absorbed all he could about hi s family's frontier heritage, including th e story of his great-grandfather who was scalped by Siou x warriors.
Spurred by an eager curiosity and desir e to broaden his horizons, Mr. L'Amour lef t home at the age of fifteen and enjoyed a wid e variety of jobs including seaman, lumberjack , elephant handler, skinner of dead cattle , assessment miner, and an officer in the tan k destroyers during World War II. During hi s "yondering" days he also circled the world on a freighter, sailed a dhow on the Red Sea, wa s shipwrecked in the West Indies and stranded in th e Mojave Desert. He won fifty-one o f fifty-nine fights as a professional boxer an d worked as a journalist and lecturer. He was a voracious reader and collector of rare books.
His personal library contained 17,000 v olumes.
Mr. L'Amour "wanted to write almost from th e time I could talk." After developing a widespread following for his many frontier an d adventure stories written for fictio n magazines, Mr. L'Amour published his firs t full-length novel, Hondo, in the Unite d States in 1953. Every one of his more tha n 100 books is in print; there are nearly 230 m illion copies of his books in prin t worldwide, making him one of the bestselling author s in modern literary history. His books have bee n translated into twenty languages, and more tha n forty-five of his novels and stories have bee n made into feature films and television movies.
His hardcover bestsellers include Th e Lonesome Gods, The Walking Dru m (his twelfth-century historical novel) , Jubal Sackett, Last of the Breed, an d The Haunted Mesa. His memoir , Education of a Wandering Man, was a leadin g bestseller in 1989. Audio dramatizations an d adaptations of many L'Amour stories ar e available on cassette tapes from Banta m Audio publishing.
The recipient of many great honors and awards , in 1983 Mr. L'Amour became the firs t novelist ever to be awarded the Congressiona l Gold Medal by the United States Congress i n honor of his life's work. In 1984 he was als o awarded the Medal of Freedom by Presiden t Reagan.
Louis L'Amour died on June 10, 1988. His wife, Kathy, and their two children , Beau and Angelique, carry the L'Amou r tradition forward with new books written by th e author during his lifetime to be publishe d by Bantam well into the nineties.
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