Sacketts 14 - Galloway

by Galloway

  the San Juan Basin yet, and I'm most anxious to get acquainted." I looked over

  at him and smiled. "I understand you're connected with the Dunn family. Good

  neighbors," I continued.

  "Why the other night when we were driving our cattle in, the whole lot of them

  waited for hours in the dark so they could be there to help us drive them in.

  And we've scarcely met. I call that neighborly," I said to Meg, "don't you?"

  "I hadn't heard about it"—She was wary of me now. Something was going on and I

  knew she was remembering what I had said about Vern Huddy. He was no good at

  hiding his feelings either. A blind man could track the anger across his

  face—"but I would say that was very nice of them."

  "I thought so. Especially as we didn't even know them, you know. All twenty or

  more of them waiting there in the dark, anxious to surprise us with their help.

  Fortunately we already had recruited some Indians to help us, so we had to

  express our appreciation an' run along about our business."

  Rossiter was sitting there, saying nothing, missing nothing.

  He was no fool and he had heard some of the talk that was going around. Also,

  the facts were obvious. We Sacketts had brought cattle into the country, a big

  herd and good stock, and we had shown every evidence of settling down.

  The Dunns had built cabins but nothing else, making no effort to improve their

  land.

  "We're going to build," I said to Meg, "and when we have the barn-raisin' we'll

  have all the folks over. We Sacketts sing ... not me, I'm not much good at that,

  except for myself when I'm riding an easygoing horse ... but the rest of them.

  We were Welsh and Irish away back, and we brought the singing notion with us.

  "We'll have a barn-raisin', a house-warmin' and a sing. We've got some fiddlers

  amongst us, and we like a good time. Now I'm the serious one, me and Cousin

  Tyrel, I reckon, but Galloway, he's right amusing, downright amusing."

  "I'd love a party!" Meg said. "Nobody's had one since we've been here. There are

  scarcely enough people, I think."

  "Ma'am, a western party never lacks for folks. I've seen cowboys ride from

  sixty, seventy miles away just to look at a pretty girl, let alone dance with

  her, and ma'am, you sure are the prettiest!"

  Now like I've said, I ain't much on saying things to girls. I get tongue-tied

  and all, but being here with Vern Huddy across the table, and sort of ridin' him

  a mite, I just got shook loose and took to talkin' like Galloway or somebody.

  Maybe it was the excitement. I don't know much about causes and things, but I

  did not like Mr. Huddy. I've used a gun, but never to hunt a man down and kill

  him in cold blood. It's been in defense of life or property and when I'm forced

  to it. And I had doubts that Mr. Vern Huddy could meet anybody face to face.

  Meg looked surprised and pleased, but she was also looking as if she couldn't

  believe it was me that said it. Neither could I.

  "Nice to have new folks in the Basin, Mr. Huddle," I said. "We need folks who

  can help to build, to make this a better place to live. I look forward to the

  time when we'll have schools, churches and homes around about here. I suppose

  you're a prospector?"

  "No, I am not." Vern Huddy looked up, his eyes on mine. "I am going into the

  cattle business."

  "He's joking," I said, cheerfully. "At least I took him for a prospector. He was

  all over Baldy today, knocking on rocks, beating through the brush ... he was

  surely looking for something and I am equally sure it wasn't cattle."

  He ate with small appetite, while I felt good. Meg could really cook, and she

  was a right fine girl when it came to that, and I did justice to her food.

  When the meal was over, Huddy got up. "I am sorry, but I must go." He was a

  little stiff and very angry.

  "I reckon I'd better go too, then." I glanced at Meg. "You know, ma'am, there's

  been some shooting from the dark around here, and I think we'd be better off if

  we rode two together. Nobody's so apt to start shooting if there's two men."

  "Oh!" she was disappointed. "Do you have to go?"

  "Mister Huddy can stay if he wishes," I said blandly. "I have to be a-gettin'

  off down the road."

  He had no idea of staying after I did and giving me the chance to lay for him

  beside the road, or to follow him to wherever he was going. So we walked out

  together.

  Rossiter and Meg came with us. He gripped my hand. "It's been good to see you,

  Sackett," he said. "Come back any time."

  He glanced over at Huddy. "Goodnight, Mr. Huddle," he said, and I chuckled. Then

  he and Meg went inside.

  Vern Huddy wheeled his horse around and dropped his hand to his gun. Mine was

  covering him.

  'Temper, Mr. Huddle," I said, "and there's a matter of common politeness. Never

  shoot anybody in somebody's yard who has been entertaining you."

  My draw had been so much faster than his that he never cleared leather, and I

  know he thought I was going to kill him as he certainly would have killed me.

  "Now you ride out ahead of me, and don't try anything fancy."

  He rode quietly until we neared the first bend in the road, then suddenly he was

  around it and running, and I let him go. We knew what was coming, both of us,

  and the showdown would be tomorrow, in the mountains.

  To follow down that trail now with him maybe laying for me would be crazy, so I

  turned off. There was a dun trail that led into the high-up hills just a mite

  west of Starvation Creek, so I taken it.

  It wasn't until I was well up in the breaks before I realized that the head of

  Starvation Creek was where Nick Shadow's gold and diamonds were supposed to be

  hidden.

  Chapter XVII

  When Logan Sackett rode back to Shalako after the haying, Berglund's saloon was

  sporting a new sign—The Gold Miner's Daughter—and a painting of a well-endowed

  young lady in a flaming red dress and rings in her ears.

  Berglund was standing outside looking at it. "Now there," he said, "is a work of

  art!"

  "Who's the painter?"

  "Who, he says. I am. Pat Berglund."

  Logan studied it. "You better go back for more lessons," he said, "and I don't

  mean in painting."

  They went inside and Berglund set out a bottle of beer. Despite the fact that

  the year was growing late, the day was hot. The beer was cold.

  "How'd a Swede ever get the name of Pat?" Logan asked.

  "My mother was Irish. I'm named for her brother who was a policeman in Boston."

  He glanced at Sackett. "What are you named after? A berry?"

  "A preacher ... a circuit-ridin' preacher. He gave me a prayer book at my

  christening."

  "You ever read it?"

  "Sure. I know all the prayers. Trouble is, I never used 'em enough. I can quote

  the Bible by the chapter. My ma was a great one for camp meetings."

  "You come to town alone?"

  "Why not? I don't need any help."

  "You may. Here come the Dunns."

  Logan Sackett glanced out of the window, then finished pouring his beer.

  "There's only five or six of them. No use spoiling the fun by having Galloway

  along."

  "You're not entirely alone," Berglund said.
"I just saw Nick Shadow step into

  the store."

  Bull Dunn got down off his horse. Ollie Hammer looked slowly around, then got

  off his horse.

  Logan took a swallow of the beer. "Berglund, if there's anything in this place

  you don't want busted you better duck it out of sight. I have an idea those

  Dunns are hot for trouble."

  The first one through the door was Tin-Cup Hone. He saw Logan Sackett and

  stopped dead. "Howdy, Tin! You're a long way from home, and you've got a horse."

  "What's that mean?" Hone said warily.

  "A man with a horse who's so far from home ought to be riding it," Logan said

  cheerfully.

  "I'll stay."

  "All right. When I go to funerals I always admire to see a handsome corpse.

  They'll fix you up real pretty, Tin."

  Red had come in from the back door. "Take his advice, Hone. I got that advice

  one time and I pulled out. I ain't never been sorry."

  "He's alone, ain't he?"

  "No, Tin, he ain't. Nick Shadow's down the street, and Nick is just plain poison

  with a six-gun and he's one of the kind who just don't care. He's like the mule

  who butted his head into a tree, an' somebody asked if he couldn't go around it

  and they answered sure, but he just didn't give a damn. Shadow is like that. Did

  you ever buck a man who just plain don't care? Everybody dies but him. I seen it

  before."

  Hone walked slowly to the bar. "There's six men out there and four more a-coming

  up. Not even Logan Sackett and Nick Shadow can buck them odds."

  Red chuckled. "You ain't countin' me. I been on the wrong side too often. This

  time I'm on the right ride. I think I'm as good as you, Tin.

  "And I'll tell you something else. Galloway was cuttin' a tree down in the

  breaks by the river and when he came out he saw you Dunns a-coming. Right now

  him and Parmalee and that breed of theirs, Charlie Farnum, they're right over

  yonder in the livery stable."

  "Gimme a beer," Tin-Cup said. "It'll be thirsty, riding."

  "Drink it on your horse," Logan said, "they're going to open the ball."

  Bull Dunn came through the door. He saw the back door closing after Tin-Cup Hone

  and he turned his cruel eyes on Logan. "Heard about you," he said.

  "I usually fight with a gun," Logan said, "but this time I'm going to whip you

  with my hands."

  Dunn glanced at him, disgusted. "Don't be a fool. Nobody ever came close."

  "Maybe they didn't do it right," Logan said, and hit him.

  He had put the beer down on the bar and he simply backhanded Bull Dunn across

  the mouth, smashing his lips. Bull Dunn was huge and powerful, but Logan

  Sackett, while considerably lighter, was almost as tall and a man with huge

  shoulders and chest. His blow did not even stagger Dunn when it mashed his lips,

  but Logan let the impetus of the blow turn him, so he threw a left hand at

  Bull's head. The bigger man pulled his head aside and grabbed Logan with his

  huge arms.

  Logan shoved the butt of his palm under Bull's chin, forcing his head back, then

  he struck him twice in the ribs and shoved him off. Dunn struck out hard and

  knocked Logan into the bar, then charged him, head down and swinging. Logan

  rolled free, smashed a wicked short right to the side of the face that split

  Bull's ear, showering him with blood.

  Bull turned like a cat, landed left and right to the head and rammed in again,

  but Logan slapped a hand down on Dunn's head, thrusting it down to meet Logan's

  rising knee. Dunn staggered back, his nose and mouth a gory wreck.

  Then toe-to-toe they began to slug, smashing punch after punch, neither man

  trying to evade, each one soaking up punishment. Logan was a little the faster,

  Dunn the heavier and perhaps the stronger. It was rough, brutal, and beautiful

  to watch. People crowded into the room. Up and down they went. Logan pulled free

  and knocked Bull Dunn down with a smashing right, but the big man lunged up from

  the floor, grappled Logan about the hips and lifted his body clear of the floor,

  then slammed him down across a table, which crashed beneath them. Bull dove at

  him, but Logan hit him with a short right to the face, then heaved him off. Both

  men came up together. Dunn swung a kick for Logan's groin, and Logan brought his

  knee up across in front of him, blocking the kick.

  Then he walked in, smashing blow after blow to Dunn's face. Bull broke away,

  charged again and threw Sackett hard. Dunn jumped for Logan's face with his

  boots and Logan rolled aside. He got to his feet in time to meet Dunn's rush.

  Again they stood slugging, grunting with every punch. Shirts torn and faces

  bloody, they swung and swung, but Logan was slowly pushed back by the larger

  man's brute strength. Back he went down the room, then suddenly he seemed to

  weaken, and fell back against the bar.

  Seeing victory, Dunn set himself and drew back his fist for a finishing punch,

  and Logan Sackett, who had faked his weakness, threw a short inside right. It

  dropped like a hammer to Dunn's chin inside of his swing, and stopped the big

  man flatfooted. Stunned, Bull Dunn stood, his fist poised, and then Logan

  Sackett punched short and hard with both fists—a left to the face, then a

  ripping right uppercut to the midsection.

  Dunn's knees sagged and Logan Sackett whipped another right to the face.

  Bull went down. He hit the floor on his knees and Pete Dunn screamed as if

  stabbed. "No! No, pa! They can't lick you! Nobody can!"

  Bull Dunn lunged up, dazed and shaken, staring blindly for his enemy. Logan

  Sackett was pouring beer into a glass, and Dunn lunged at him. Logan Sackett

  lifted a foot to fend him off—boot against Dunn's chest, knee bent. Then he

  straightened the knee and Dunn staggered back and fell again.

  Logan Sackett rinsed his cut mouth with a swallow of beer, then gulped it down.

  "Stay down, you damn fool," he said. "You're game enough."

  Bull Dunn stared up at him. "I wish ... I wished I could get up, damn you, I'd—"

  "Have a beer," Logan said. "You fight pretty good."

  He walked over and taking the bigger man's arm, helped him to his feet where he

  half fell against the bar. Logan shoved a beer in front of him. "It's cold," he

  said. "Tastes good after a fight, and before a long ride."

  Bull looked at him. "You don't need to grind it in," he said. "I should have

  listened to Rocker."

  It was hot in the street outside. Nick Shadow stood in front of the livery

  stable, well out of sight. Galloway was in the doorway, staying in the shade to

  see better. The sound of fighting from the saloon was finished.

  "Somebody won," Shadow said, "and somebody lost."

  Parmalee came from the store. "I guess it's all over," he said.

  "Not quite," Ollie Hammer said, "not quite."

  "Why not?" Parmalee suggested. "It's finished in there. If your people won

  they'd be out here in the street, looking for the rest of us."

  "What about your crowd? Won't they come out?"

  Parmalee smiled. "They know we can handle it," he said calmly.

  "You? You dude? You're leavin' it to Shadow, or that cousin of yours, or

  whatever he is."

  "Second cousin, I believe. Oh, they could handle it all right, Hammer, but if

/>   you prefer me, I'm at your pleasure. Draw when you will."

  "Now there's the gent," Ollie Hammer said, " 'draw when you will' " he mimicked.

  "All right I'll—"

  His hand flashed for his gun.

  Parmalee's gun was an instant faster, his shot smashed Ollie's gun hand and the

  gun fell into the dust. "And to show you that was intentional," Parmalee said,

  and he fired again, the bullet smashing the gun's butt as it lay in the dust. "I

  really don't want to run up a score, Hammer," Parmalee said. "I'm a ranching

  man, not a gunfighter."

  "You ain't seen the last of this," Ollie Hammer said. "Huddy is still up on the

  mountain. When he's finished there won't be a Sackett left. And then there's

  Rocker."

  Parmalee put his gun back in the holster and walked across to Galloway. "What

  about it? Shall we go up there and help Flagan?"

  "Flagan don't need help. And right now he knows he's up there alone. He can

  shoot at anything that moves. If we go up it'll just complicate things. Leave

  him be."

  He hitched up his pants. "Let's all go home. We got some siding to build. We're

  goin' to have a barn-raisin' soon, and we're going to build us a house."

  Galloway gestured toward the hills. "I want to come out of a morning and look up

  at those hills and know nothing can be very wrong as long as there's something

  so beautiful.

  "My pa used to say that when corruption is visited upon the cities of men, the

  mountains and the deserts await him. The cities are for money but the high-up

  hills are purely for the soul.

  "I figure to live out my life right here where I can hear the water run and see

  the aspen leaves turn gold in the autumn and come green again with spring. I

  want to wake up in the morning and see my own cattle feeding on the meadow, and

  hear the horses stomping in their stalls. I never had much chance for book

  learnin', but this here is a kind of book anybody can read who'll stand still

  long enough. This here is the La Plata country, and I've come home."

  Chapter XVIII

  The wind sang a broken song among the sentinel trees. Below the scattered

  outposts were massed the dark battalions of the pines like an enemy ready to

  march against me, and somewhere along the lower edge of that black line lay the

  man who held the rifle that had shot me, and the bullet with which he intended