Dan Shute's rough. was "Ain't you countin' unbranded stock, pardner?" the leanfaced man said, smiling tauntingly. "Dan Shute's able to handle his own troubles. He took care of Barkow." This was news to Rafe. "He did? How'd you know that?" "He done told me. Barkow run off with this girl, and Shute trailed him. I didn't only see Shute come back, I talked some with him, and I unsaddled his horses." He picked up a boot and pulled it on. "This here Rodney girl, she left the fort, runnin' away from Barkow and takin' after the Army patrol that rode out with you.
Shute, he seen "em. He also seen Barkow.
He hunted Bruce down and shot him near that bare dome in your lower valley, and then he left Barkow and caught up with the girl and this strange hombre with her. Shute led their horses off and then got the girl while this hombre was huntin" the horses." The explanation cleared up several points for Rafe. He stared thoughtfully around.
"You didn't see "em leave here?" "Not us," the lean-faced puncher said drily.
"None of us hired on for punchin" cows or ridin' herd on women in blizzards. Come a storm, we hole up and set her out. We aim to keep on Join' just that." Rafe backed to the door and stepped out. The wind tore at his garments, and he backed away from the building. Within twenty feet, it was lost behind a curtain of blowing snow. He stumbled back to the house. More than ever, he was convinced that somehow Ann had escaped. Yet where to look? In this storm there was no direction, nothing. If she headed for town, she might make it. However, safety for her would more likely lie toward the mountains, for there she could improvise shelter and probably could last the storm out. Knowing the country, she would know how long such storms lasted. It was rarely more than three days.
He had little hope of finding Ann, yet he knew she would never return here. Seated in the ranch house, he coolly ate a hastily picked up meal and drank more coffee. Then he returned to his horse, which he had led to the stable. Mounting, he rode into the storm on the way to town .... Gene Baker and Pat Higley looked up when Rafe Caradec came in. Baker's face paled when he saw that Rafe was alone.
"Did you find out?" he asked. "Was it Ann?" Briefly, Rafe explained, telling all he had learned and his own speculations as to what had happened.
"She must have got plumb away," Higley agreed. "Shute would never take her away from his ranch in this storm. But where could she have gone?" Rafe explained his own theories on that. "She probably took it for granted he would think she would head for town," he suggested, "so she may have taken to the mountains. After all, she would know that Shute would kill anybody who tried to stop him." Gene Baker nodded miserably. "That's right, and what can a body do?" "Wait," Higley said.
"Just wait." "I won't wait," Rafe said. "If she shows up here, hold her. Shoot Dan if you have too, drygulch him or anything. Get him out of the way.
I'm goin' into the mountains. I can at least be lookin', and .i might stumble onto some kind of a trail." . .
Two hours later, shivering with cold, Rafe Caradec acknowledged how foolhardy he had been.
His black horse was walking steadily through a snow-covered avenue among the pines, weaving around fallen logs and clumps of brush. He had found nothing that resembled a trail, and twice he had crossed the stream. This, he knew, was also the direction that had been taken by the wounded Tex Brisco.
No track could last more than a minute in the whirling snow-filled world in which Rafe now rode. The wind howled and tore at his garments even here, within the partial shelter of the lodgepoles. Yet he rode on. Then he dismounted and walked ahead, resting the horse. It was growing worse instead of better, yet he pushed on, taking the line of least resistance, sure that this was what the fleeing Ann would have done. The icy wind ripped at his clothing, at times faced him like a solid, moving wall. The black stumbled wearily, and Rafe was suddenly contrite. The big horse had taken a brutal beating in these last few days, and even its great strength was weakening.
Squinting his eyes against the blowing snow, he stared ahead. He could see nothing, but he was aware that the wall of the mountain was on his left. Bearing in that direction, he came up to a thicker stand of trees and some scattered boulders. He rode on, alert for possible shelter for himself and his horse.
Almost an hour later, he found it, a dry, sandy place under the overhang of the cliff, sheltered from the wind and protected from the snow by the overhang and by the trees and brush that fronted it. Swinging down, Rafe led the horse into the shelter and hastily built a fire. From the underside of a log he got some bark, great sheets of it, and some fibrous, rotting wood. Then he broke some low branches on the trees, dead and dry. In a few minutes his fire was burning nicely. Then he stripped the saddle from the horse and rubbed him down with a handful of crushed bark. When that was done, he got out the nosebag and fed the horse some of the oats he had appropriated from Shute's barn.
The next hour he occupied himself in gathering fuel. Luckily, there were a number of dead trees close by, debris left by some landslide from up the mountain. He settled down by the fire and made coffee. Dozing against the rock, he fed the blaze intermittently, his mind far away.
Somehow, sometime, he fell asleep.
Around the rocks the wind, moaning and whining, sought with icy fingers for a grasp at his shoulder, at his hands.
But the log burned well, and the big horse stood close, stamping in the sand and dozing beside the man on the ground.
Once, starting from his sleep, Rafe noticed that the log had burned until it was out of the fire, so he dragged it around and then laid another across it. Soon he was again asleep . . . .
He awakened suddenly. It was daylight, and the storm was still raging. His fire blazed among the charred embers of his logs, and he lifted his eyes. Six Indians faced him beyond the fire, and their rifles and bows covered him. Their faces were hard and unreadable.
Two stepped forward and jerked him to his feet, stripped his guns from him, and motioned for him to saddle his horse.
Numb with cold, he could scarcely realize what had happened to him. One of the Indians, wrapped in a worn red blanket, jabbered at the others and kept pointing to the horse, making threatening gestures. Yet when Rafe had the animal saddled, they motioned to him to mount. Two of the Indians rode up then, leading the horses of the others.
So this was the way it ended. He was a prisoner.
Chapter 21
Uncomprehending, Rafe Caradec opened his eves to darkness. He sat up abruptly and stared around. Then, after a long minute, it came to him.
He was a prisoner in a village of the Oglala Sioux, and he had just awakened.
Two days before, they had brought him here, bound him hand and foot, and left him in the tepee he now occupied. Several times, squaws had entered the tepee and departed. They had given him food and water. It was night, and his wrists were swollen from the tightness of the bonds. It was warm in the tepee, for there was a fire, but smoke filled the skin wigwam and filtered but slowly out at the top. He had a feeling it was almost morning.
What had happened at Painted Rock? Where was Ann? And where was Tex Brisco? Had Dan Shute returned?
He was rolling over toward the entrance to catch a breath of fresh air when the flap was drawn back and a squaw came in. She caught him by the collar and dragged him back, but made no effort to molest him. He was more worried about the squaws than the braves, for they were given to torture. Suddenly, the flap was drawn back again and two people came in-a warrior and a squaw. She spoke rapidly in Sioux and then picked a brand from the fire. As it blazed up, she held it close to his face. He drew back, thinking she meant to sear his eyes.
Then, looking beyond the blaze, he saw that the squaw holding it was the Indian girl he had saved from Trigger Boyne!
With a burst of excited talk, she bent over him.
A knife slid under his bonds, and they were cut.
Chafing his ankles, he looked up. In the flare of the torchlight he could see the face of the Indian man. He spoke gutturally, but in fair English. "My daughter say you
man help her," he said.
"Yes," Rafe replied. "The Sioux are not my enemies, nor am I theirs." "Your name Caradec." The Indian's statement was flat, not to be contradicted.
"Yes." Rafe stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists. "We know your horse, also the horses of the others." "Others?" Rafe asked quickly. "There are others here?" "Yes, a girl who rode your horse, and a man who rode one of ours. The man is much better. He had been injured." Ann and Tex! Rafe's heart leaped.
"May I see them?" he asked. "They are my friends." The Indian nodded. He studied Rafe for a minute. "I think you are good man. My name Man Afraid of His Horse." The Oglala chief.
Rafe looked again at the Indian. "I know the name. With Red Cloud you are the greatest of the Sioux." The chief nodded. "There are others. John Grass, Gall, Crazy Horse, many others.
The Sioux have many great men." The girl led Rafe away to a tent where he found Tex Brisco lying on a pile of skins and blankets. Tex was pale, but he grinned when Rafe came in. "Man," he said, "it's good to see you! And here's Ann!" Rafe turned to look at her, and she smiled and then held out her hand. "I have learned how foolish I was. First from Penn and then from Mullaney and Tex." "Penn? Mullaney?" Rafe squinted his eyes. "Are they here?" Quickly, Ann explained about Barkow's killing of Penn and her subsequent attempt to overtake Bruce, guided and helped by Rock Mullaney. "Barkow's dead," Rafe told them. "Shute killed him." "Ann told me," Tex said. "He had it comin'. Where's Dan Shute now?" Caradec shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm goin' to find out.
was "Please!" Ann came to him. "Don't tight with him, Rafe! There has been enough killing! You might be hurt, and I couldn't stand that." He looked at her. "Does it matter so much?" Her eyes fell. "Yes," she said simply, "it does . . . ." Painted Rock lay quiet in a world of white, its shabbiness lost under the purity of freshly fallen snow. Escorted by a band of the Oglala, Ann, Rafe, and Tex rode to the edge of town and then said a quick good-bye to the friendly warriors.
The street was empty, and the town seemed to have no word of their coming. Tex Briseo, still weak from loss of blood and looking pale, brought up the rear. With Ann, he headed right for the Emporium. Rafe Caradec rode ahead until they neared the National Saloon. Then he swung to the boardwalk and waited until they had gone by.
Baker came rushing from the store and with Ann's help, got Tex down from the horse and inside.
Rafe Caradec led his own horse down the street and tied it to the hitching rail. Then he glanced up and down the street, looking for Shute. Within a matter of minutes Dan would know he was back, and once he was aware of it, there would be trouble.
Pat Higley was inside the store when Rafe entered. He nodded at Rafe's story of what had taken place.
"Shute's been back in town," Higley said.
was I reckon after he lost Ann in the snowstorm he figgered she would circle around and come back here." "Where's Pod Gomer?" Rafe inquired.
"If you mean has he taken out, why I can tell you he hasn't," Baker said. "He's been around with Shute, and he's wearin' double hardware right now." Higley nodded. "They ain't goin' to give up without a fight," he warned. "They're keepin' some men in town, quite a bunch of "em." Rafe also nodded. "That will end as soon as Shute's out of the way." He looked up as the door pushed open, and started to his feet when Johnny Gill walked in with Rock Mullaney.
"The soldiers rigged a sled," Gill announced at once. "They're takin" Bo back to the fort, so we reckoned it might be a good idea to come down here and stand by in case of trouble. his Ann came to the door and stood there by the curtain, watching them. Her eyes continually strayed to Rafe, and he looked up, meeting their glance. Ann flushed and looked away and then invited him to join her for coffee. Excusing himself, he got up and went inside. Gravely, Ann showed him to a chair, brought him a napkin, and then poured coffee for him and put sugar and cream beside his cup. He took the sugar and then looked ap at her. "Can you ever forgive me?" she asked.
"There's nothin' to forgive," he said. was I couldn't blame you. You were sure your father was dead." "I didn't know why the property should cause all that trouble until I heard of the oil. Is it really worth so much?" "Quite a lot. Shippin' is the problem now, but that will be taken care of soon, so it could be worth a great deal of money. I expect they knew more about that end of it than we did." Rafe looked up at her.
"I never aimed to claim my half of the ranch," he said, "and I don't now. I accepted it just to give me some kind of a legal basis for workin' with you, but now that the trouble is over, I'll give you the deed, the will your father made out, and the other papers." "Oh, no!" she exclaimed quickly. "You mustn't! I'll need your help to handle things, and you must accept your part of the ranch and stay on. That is," she added, "if you don't think I'm too awful for the way I acted." He flushed. "I don't think you're awful, Ann," he said clumsily, getting to his feet. was I think you're wonderful.
I guess I always have, ever since that first day when I came into the store and saw you." His eves strayed, and carried their glance out the window. He came to with a start and got to his feet.
"There's Dan Shute," he said. "I've got to go." Ann arose with him, white to the lips. He avoided her glance and then turned abruptly toward the door. The girl made no protest, but as he started through the curtain, she said: "Come back, Rafe. I'll be waiting!" He walked to the street door, and the others saw him go. Then something in his manner apprised them of what was about to happen. Mullaney caught up his rifle and started for the door also, and Baker reached for a scattergun.
Rafe Caradec glanced quickly up the snow-covered street. One wagon had been down the center of the street about daybreak, and there had been no other traffic except for a few passing riders.
Horses stood in front of the National and the Emporium and had kicked up the snow, but otherwise it was an even, unbroken expanse of purest white.
Rafe stepped out on the porch of the Emporium. Dan Shute's gray was tied at the National's hitching rail, but Shute was nowhere in sight. Rafe walked to the corner of the store, his feet crunching on the snow. The sun was coming out, and the snow might soon be gone. As he thought of that, a drop fell from the roof overhead and touched him on the neck. Dan Shute would be in the National. Rafe walked slowly down the walk to the saloon and pushed open the door. Joe Benson looked up from behind his bar, and hastily moved down toward the other end.
Pod Gomer, slumped in a chair at a table across the room, sat up abruptly, his eyes shifting to the big man at the bar.
Dan Shute's back was to the room. In his short, thick coat lie looked enormous. His hat was off, and his shock of blond hair, coarse and uncombed, glinted in the sunlight.
Rafe stopped inside the door, his gaze sweeping the room in one all-encompassing glance.
Then his eves riveted on the big man at the bar.
"All right, Shute," he said calmly. "Turn around and take: it. Dan Shute turned, and he was grinning. He was grinning widely, but there was a wicked light dancing in his eyes. He stared disat Caradec, letting his slow, insolent gaze go over him from head to foot. "Killin' you would be too easy," he said. "I promised myself that when the time came I would take you apart with inv hands and then if there was anything left, disshoot it full of holes. I'm goin' to kill you Caradec!" Out of the tail of his eye, Rafe saw that Johnny Gill was leaning against the jamb of the back door and that Rock Mullaney was just inside of that same door.
"Take off your guns, Caradec, and I'll kill you!" Shute said softly. "It's their fight," Gill said suddenly. "Let "em have it the way they want it!" The voice startled Gomer so that he jerked, and he glanced over his shoulder, his face white. Then the front door pushed open, and Higley came in with Baker. Pod Gomer touched his lips with his tongue and shot a sidelong glance at Benson. The saloonkeeper looked unhappy. Carefully, Dan Shute reached for his belt buckle and unbuckled the twin belts, laying the big guns on the bar, butts toward him. At the opposite end of the bar, Rafe Caradec did the same. Then, as one man, they shed their coats.
Lithe and broad-shouldered, Rafe was an inch shorter and forty pounds lighter than the other man.
Narrow-hipped and lean as a greyhound, he was built for speed, but the powerful shoulders and powerful hands and arms spoke of years of training as well as hard work with a double jack or an ax, or heaving at the heavy, wet lines of a ship. Dan Shute's neck was thick, his chest broad and massive. His stomach was flat and hard. His hands were big, and he reeked of sheer animal strength and power. Licking his lips like a hungry wolf, he started forward. He was grinning, and the light was dancing in his hard gray-white eyes.
He did not rush or leap. He walked right up to Rafe, with that grin on his lips, and Caradec stood flat-footed, waiting for him. But as Shute stepped in close, Rafe suddenly whipped up a left to the wind that beat the man to the punch. Shute winced at the blow and his eves narrowed. Then he smashed forward with his hard skull, trying for a butt.
Rafe clipped him with an elbow and swung away, keeping out of the corner.
Chapter 22
Still grinning, Dan Shute moved in. The big man was deceptively fast, and as he moved in, suddenly he left his feet and hurled himself feet foremost at Rafe.
Caradec sprang back, but too slow. The legs jackknifed around his, and Rafe staggered and went to the floor! He hit hard, and Dan was the first to move. Throwing himself over, he caught his weight on his left hand and swung with his right. It was a wicked, half-arm blow, and it caught Rafe on the chin. Lights exploded in his brain and he felt himself go down. Then Shute sprang for him.
Rafe rolled his head, more by instinct than knowledge, and the blow clipped his ear. He threw his feet high and tipped Dan over on his head and off his body.
Both men came to their feet like cats and hurled themselves at each other. They struck like two charging bulls with an impact that shook the room.
the Trail to Crazy Man (1986) Page 13
