He said: ‘The only alternative for the moment is for you to come out on the trail with us. And that is not possible. You must see that.’
‘I don’t see it at all,’ she told him. ‘I can ride and I’m not soft.’
Lindholm did not like the idea at all. Having got his hands on a beautiful woman, he did not want to risk her in the dangers of the wild. Just the same, he admired Carla for her grit. But he did not like the way in which Stevenson spoke to her. Nor how he looked at her. He had his suspicions that they had known each other before Stevenson had hired her in Chicago to impersonate Allison Disart. He hated the idea of days in the saddle and the rigors of the trail, but his desire for the woman was very great.
‘I think I should go along, too,’ he said.
Stevenson disagreed almost violently. ‘Out of the question, Howard. Your departure’ll only arouse suspicion of your complicity in town here.’
‘You think they don’t smell a rat already? My days here are numbered. I have been thinking about getting out all day. I have the right, Hank. It’s my scheme, you might say.’
Stevenson looked at the girl and could almost see her brain making its calculations, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of having Lindholm along.
She decided and said: ‘Howie certainly has the right. I think he should come.’
Stevenson did not like the tone of equality in the girl’s voice. ‘Don’t get above yourself, Carla,’ he said. ‘Remember, all I did was hire you to play the girl’s part. You didn’t have any further share in the plunder. You worked for wages.’
‘The contract’s null and void,’ she pushed back at him quickly. ‘You didn’t say anything about me being in physical danger. You didn’t say anything about me being hidden in this house for days. All I had to do was an acting job and go back home.’
‘Nothing’s stopping you.’
Lindholm said with his new resolution: ‘I’m stopping her, Hank. Carla and I have an understanding.’ Stevenson started to look mad, and the banker did not fail to notice it. ‘I think we owe her something more than wages and I think my opinion carries some weight still in this enterprise.’
Now the big man showed the extent of his control, that he was a man who could bide his time. ‘All right, if that’s the way you feel. I’ve paid off Madders and the other men. They’ve headed back for the Hole in the Wall country. Now we can all clear out and take Joe Ramage with us. His damned niece too, if we have to. Maybe Joe’ll change his mind if he thinks a pretty girl is going to get her throat cut.’
Lindholm looked horrified. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to stand for a woman being killed.’
Stevenson laughed. ‘Nobody intends to kill her, Howard. Rest easy.’
But when Lindholm looked at Stevenson, he could not rid himself of the feeling that here was a man who would stop at nothing if the need arose. When he glanced at Carla, he knew the girl thought the same.
Stevenson poured himself another drink and said easily: ‘Now, let’s decide how we take old Joe. It has to be done tonight. The Kid’s off to settle McAllister’s hash, so it’s up to the three of us.’
Carla smiled and said: ‘This is where I earn my new interest in the scheme, Hank. Joe’s not going to take alarm when a distressed female walks into his house.’
They both stared at her, and Stevenson laughed again. ‘Carla,’ he said, ‘you’re a great girl.’
Lindholm said: ‘I hope there’s no danger in it for you.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
There were times when McAllister was readier to believe his father’s tale about the Cheyenne being his mother rather than the high-born Mexican lady. His reasons were good enough. His instincts were Indian. When he heard a warning in his head, he did not argue with it. It had proved itself too right too many times.
It was late and he was walking down Main in the direction of the livery, when suddenly he saw Joe Ramage in his mind’s eye so clearly that it startled him. It had been his intention to saddle up and ride to his own place for an hour or two just to see that his stock were all right. Now he stopped, hesitated a moment and, instead of turning left towards the livery barn and corral, kept on down the street to its intersection with Morrow, where he turned right for Joe Ramage’s house.
The streets were almost empty. Two men stood in weak lamplight and argued about a hand in the game of poker they had just left. A drunk sang to the moon with the voice of a discordant coyote. McAllister stepped round him. He could see the white picket fence of Joe’s house ahead of him at the end of the street.
Halfway down Morrow, it occurred to him that, if his warning instincts were correct, it might be as well to approach Joe’s house unseen. He changed direction, walked between two new building plots and out to the backlots. He made his way as quietly as he could through the trash thrown there and so came to the as yet unnamed street which lay parallel to Main. The skeletons of one or two projected houses rose pale and almost ghostly in the moonlight. He passed between them and circled to come at Joe’s house from the rear.
Now he moved with enormous caution, for he had no wish for Charlie Stellino to blast a round ball of lead into him. Halting, he listened. He heard nothing expect for the sound of a dog barking tirelessly on the far side of town. He wondered where Charlie was, and guessed that he was most likely on the move to prevent himself falling asleep.
He went forward six silent Indian paces and stopped.
He had heard something.
When he had identified the nature of the sound and its location, he went forward with maybe a little less caution.
Charlie had his back to a tree. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed. He was snoring. McAllister kicked him none too gently and said: ‘Wake up, you idle bastard.’
Charlie woke up, scratched himself and said: ‘Better men than you’ve gotten themselves shot for coming up on me thataway.’
McAllister said softly: ‘Charlie, you stay awake or I’ll have your guts for galluses, hear?’
‘Sure,’ said Charlie.
‘I’m going to mosey around the back of the house. If you mistake me for a road agent and shoot me, I’m going to be mad at you. If you mistake a road agent for me and let him get away, I’ll be mad at you.’
Charlie looked a little surly. ‘I can’t win.’
‘You win if you behave above average for your record, say like a dimwit.’
‘You’ll insult me once too often.’
‘I’ll catch you sleeping once too often. Now get on your feet and keep your eyes open.’
Charlie crawled up the tree trunk to his feet and turned to speak to McAllister. He was a little shocked when he failed to find his friend. It gave him the creeps when McAllister acted that way.
‘Jesus,’ he said to himself, ‘it ain’t natural.’
McAllister froze about thirty paces from where he had left Charlie. Somebody was approaching the house from the west. He waited no more than a count of five before a slender form came into view. He could not see it clearly, but he realized that this was Allison Disart’s impersonator. She crossed from right to left of his vision, opened the gate in the picket fence and started towards the kitchen door.
He heard her tap on the door. No light showed, but he heard the door open. There was a whispered conversation. Then he saw her go inside and the door close behind her. ‘The damn fool,’ said McAllister.
He turned his ear slowly through one hundred and eighty degrees as he laid his acute hearing across the night. If the girl was here, ten to one, one or two of her colleagues were around.
A night bird cried eerily over the valley, and the sound struck a chill through the listening man. It was as if he had heard the cry of a lost soul in the night. Softly, there came a sound from near at hand. His right hand slid to the butt of the Remington and he started to ease it from the holster. But the weapon never cleared leather. Something struck him hard at the base of his skull and he felt himself pitching violently forward. He did not f
all directly to the ground, for something else struck him another blow from the side. It was as though his head had exploded like a bomb. In the dark, far off, he heard a faint scream, drawn out like a thinly-stretched thread.
It was dawn and he was shaking. He was shaking because he was cold. He groaned when he tried to sit up. His joints were agonizingly stiff. His head thudded and ached beyond endurance.
His first thought was: Why the hell didn’t they kill me?
He got to his feet and steadied himself against a tree. A few minutes later, he found Charlie lying on his back with his mouth open and his eyes closed once more. McAllister decided not to kick him awake this time. He dropped to one knee beside Charlie and gently shook him.
‘Charlie,’ he said softly.
To his amazement, Charlie at once opened his eyes. A look of utter dismay showed on his face when he saw McAllister.
‘Hell, Rem,’ he said, ‘I must of dropped off for a couple of minutes.’
McAllister said: ‘It’s daylight.’
Charlie sat up and smiled shyly. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, Rem – say, what happened to you?’
McAllister said, with an understandable bitterness: ‘Somebody tried to break my skull within spitting distance of you, you son-of-a-bitch.’
Charlie swallowed. ‘I guess,’ he said, ‘there ain’t too much I can say.’
‘No,’ said McAllister, ‘there ain’t. Let’s go see if they took the old man.’
Charlie rose, inspected McAllister’s head and the congealed blood on it and tut-tutted righteously. They walked together to the house. McAllister was never quite sure how he made it. The world pitched crazily around him and he had a powerful inclination to throw up.
The kitchen door was open and they went inside. Nothing that they could see had been disturbed. They searched the whole house and found no sign of Joe or the girl. McAllister told Charlie: ‘Cook some breakfast. Plenty of coffee. We ain’t going to find ’em fast and we ain’t going to find them any better on empty bellies.’
Charlie said: ‘Being up all night always works an appetite for me.’
McAllister said: ‘Is that a fact?’
He went through the house again carefully, while Charlie slaved over a hot stove. Over ham and eggs and several cups of coffee well laced with sugar, McAllister still wondered why they had not killed him.
When they were through eating, Charlie said: ‘If they have the old man and the girl, there ain’t much we can do, Rem. They’re hostages like.’
‘You’re right,’ McAllister said.
Charlie went on: ‘A posse on their trail will be as good as putting a gun to Joe’s and Miss Allison’s heads.’
‘That’s a fact,’ McAllister said.
‘So what’s to do?’
‘Wa-al,’ said McAllister, ‘either one man follows them that knows his business. Or we make a guess at their line of march and get ahead of them.’
Charlie looked as if he believed McAllister was wrong in the head. ‘You can’t guess where they’re headed.’ McAllister said: ‘Let’s go see Mark.’
They found Tully asleep in his room over the saloon. They would have knocked if they thought he had company. How were they to know he was enjoying bedtime companionship with a handsome Italian girl from the restaurant on Morrow? She was new in town and they had not even gotten around to knowing her name and here was Tully. It sure caught a man’s breath to contemplate the speed at which a man of Tully’s mature years could move.
Tully swore some, but he took it very well, considering. McAllister apologized with his usual courtesy and advised the girl that if she covered her superb upper torso with a bed-cover nobody would be shocked, though they might be a little disappointed. She smiled bewitchingly and sank almost out of sight.
Tully said: ‘Can’t a man get any privacy in this town?’
‘Not at times like this,’ McAllister informed him.
‘What kind of a time is this?’ Tully wanted to know.
McAllister told him.
When he was through, Tully swung his legs over the side of the bed. Suddenly he was very much awake. ‘Boys,’ he said, ‘we’re in one hell of a fix. We don’t have any idea where Joe’s gold is. He never came into town twice from the same direction.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ McAllister said. ‘I reckon this is gambling time. We’re not going to get old Joe or the girl back safely without a gamble. I’m betting Joe won’t tell these villains where his gold is straight off. He’s an obstinate old man. He ain’t told a living soul so far where his digging is. He’s going to keep his secret to the last minute. He knows damn well I’ll follow him and he’ll play them along till he can’t do it anymore. So he takes them in the wrong direction to start off.’
Tully said: ‘You could be right. But, by God, you could be wrong. And being wrong could get those two dead.’
Charlie said: ‘We don’t know they’re killers.’
Tully said: ‘They ain’t ready to kiss us either, that’s for sure after what they did to Mose Copley. You seen that Stevenson? There’s a cold one if you like.’
‘Got a map?’ said McAllister.
‘Sure, in the office.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Keep the bed warm, honey. I’ll be right back.’
‘Not for a few days, you won’t,’ McAllister said.
Tully rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said: ‘Here we go. Best go on home, sweetheart. Tell your old man you worked late.’
‘He’ll kill me,’ the girl said.
Tully told: ‘You tell him, if he kills you, I’ll kill him.’
She said: ‘If he thought we were to be married, he would be nice about it.’
Tully walked out of the room, hauling his pants after him and saying: ‘I didn’t hear that. Neither did you fellers.’
Going downstairs, McAllister said: ‘You could do worse, Mark. At your age.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Charlie.
Tully shuddered. He poured them each a whiskey in his office. Nobody cared how early it was. There was a hard trail ahead of them and no drink. Tully found the map and found the Breaks at the far end of the valley, to the northwest.
‘I reckon old Joe’ll lead ’em into the Breaks and then into the Blue Feather area. There’s always been talk of gold there. It would sound reasonable to them.’
Tully opined that it could be. But he had his doubts. Charlie did not have an idea on the subject. His thoughts were that they would have to run the villains down. It would end by Joe and the girl getting hurt and everybody making smoke.
‘There’s a hang-rope at the end of this,’ he said, ‘you mark my words.’ He sounded distressed. He did not like violence. He always got hurt.
McAllister said: ‘Mark, you get three or four good men together, go to the top of the valley and head on straight into the hills and work your way around to Blue Rock. I’ll try and meet you there in two days. Maybe you can head them off before they reach Blue Feather. Grub for a week.’
Tully said: ‘All right.’ He never fussed when he knew what there was to do. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ll pick up their tracks and follow them.’
‘What if they see you?’ Charlie said.
Tully said confidently: ‘They won’t see him. What about Charlie, Rem?’
McAllister said: ‘Best take him along with you. And see he don’t shoot himself.’
He walked out to the street through the saloon. There were two men sleeping on the floor and one drinking sadly and steadily at the bar. McAllister walked up Main to the livery and found Lon McKenna watering the horses. McAllister told Lon he would be wanted for a posse, and the mayor said: ‘My wife ain’t going to believe this.’ McAllister saddled, mounted and rode for home.
Lige was forking hay in the barn when he rode in. He had saddled the powerful gelding canelo, Oscar, and led him out into the yard when Mose Copley walked across the little bridge over the creek from his own house. He walked slowly and he limped. His head was s
till bandaged. McAllister did not think that he should be up and walking, but he knew it would be no good to say so.
McAllister said: They’ve taken Joe Ramage and the girl.’
Mose nodded and said: ‘What about that bank man, Lindholm?’
McAllister had not given him a thought. Now he did, and he reckoned it did not make any difference to anything what Lindholm did. The situation could not be worse.
He said: ‘I’ll be gone a week maybe,’ and Mose said: ‘Right, boss.’
McAllister filled his saddle pockets with food from the kitchen, most of it jerky and beans. He packed powder, shot, caps and bullet mold. Just in case. He did not forget his horse. Maybe there would be time to stop for grass, maybe not. He tied a gunnysack of corn to the saddle horn.
Mose and Luge watched him mount and ride out. Mose said: ‘You watch out for yourself, man.’ Bella did not show herself. McAllister headed straight past the house, intending to go directly north along the valley.
He had covered no more than fifty yards before something hit the bow of his saddle a hard blow, catching the gelding in mid-stride and making him stagger. Then came the flat, distant slam of a rifle.
McAllister did not hesitate, but brought his quirt down sharply on Oscar’s rump. The powerful horse stretched himself out into a hard run. The rifle sounded again before they bolted into cover of the string of thickets which stretched across the valley. McAllister halted the horse and it stood blowing lustily. Back at the house, Mose was yelling something. There was a pause and he heard Bella’s piercing commands. He could guess what was happening. And a few moments later, he knew he was right. Mose and his son came riding hard from behind the barn, heading up the ridge towards the trees. McAllister at once touched the gelding with the quirt and drove him forward. He heaved the Henry from the saddle boot and burst through the thickets into the open.
Suddenly, the open space between himself and the trees at the top of the ridge before him seemed interminable. There was no sound but that of Oscar’s hoofs and the creak of saddle-leather. He glanced left and saw that Mose and Lige were coming on hard, their horses breasting the start of the slope. Both men were armed. Turning his attention back to the trees above him, he saw a small scurry of movement. The marksman had taken alarm.
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