by Noel Loomis
“Might as well make a deal, Brown. They got the trailherd, and killed all our men. Turn Saint John loose, and we might as well be friends. I can’t stay here now!”
“You’ll stay,” Brown sneered. “You tried to play both ends against the middle, while I only play it straight. I don’t pretend to be an honest cattleman during the daytime, and a rustler at night!”
“We can settle that later,” Tabor said grimly. “If we go to fighting now, we won’t have time to even make a getaway!”
“That lawman stays here!” Curly Brown snarled. “If the worst comes we can use him for a hostage!”
“I’ll give you an hour to think it over!” Jim Waggoner shouted again. “By that time Ace and the boys will be here, and we’ll smoke you out like the rats you are!”
“He gave himself away,” Tabor said triumphantly. “That’s Jim Waggoner outside, and he must be alone!”
“Come and get us!” Curly Brown taunted. “I’d go to Hades in my bare feet for the chance to match cutters against that gambler.”
“You’d go with your boots on!” Waggoner retorted. “I’ll wait an hour!”
Gospel Cummings smiled in the darkness. Now he knew that Saint John had reached Jim Waggoner, and that they would wait an hour for him to join them. He settled down to wait as the two rustlers watched each other and stepped back deeper into the cave.
“We’ve got an hour,” Tabor said in a strained voice, and he spoke like a man who knows the breaking point is near.
“What’s an hour when we only need less than a minute to do what has to be done?” Brown asked, his voice very low. “First thing is to fix Saint John so’s he won’t be yelling his head off. You and I can settle the big thing in almost nothing flat!”
Chapter 17
Jude Tabor was a big man, but he did not make the mistake of underestimating the deadly little outlaw. They moved back to the place where they had left Saint John tied to the limestone column, and Brown gasped and went into a crouch.
“Where’s that big law-dog?” he almost screamed.
“Take it easy, Curly,” Tabor said quietly. “He couldn’t get far, and we shook him down for weapons!”
“There’s the rawhide I tied him up with,” Brown grunted, and he picked up several thongs. “Cut with a knife,” he muttered, and turned to glare at Tabor. “Thought you said you shook him down?”
“You searched him yourself,” Tabor answered quickly. “You sure you didn’t make a deal with him?”
“So you tip your hand,” Brown said almost in a whisper. “I see it now. You leave him a knife, the law cuts himself loose and shags down the tunnel to the canyon!”
“Right, except that you made the deal,” Tabor corrected. “All that talk about killing the law was a smokescreen to get me off the trail!”
“You’re a liar, and a poor actor!” Brown said slowly, as he leaned forward in a half-crouch. “I saw you play-act one other time, and this one don’t look any different. How you want it?”
“Right back at you,” Tabor said, and his nostrils flared as he threw back his big head. “I remember how you played up to Molly Ballard; how you told it scary about traveling in style, and making her a queen!”
“And it was all your idea,” Brown reminded him, like a boxer feinting for an opening. “The Ballard filly was to ride back home and clear you, and put the blame on me!” Gospel Cummings listened and his muscles relaxed. He had set the stage for this final act; he was the unseen director behind the scenes.
Jude Tabor was watching Brown with his head cocked a trifle to the side, as though he were seeing the little outlaw in an entirely new light. His expression told plainly that he did not like what he saw.
“The plan was working until you and Snake Hollister tipped off your hand,” he told Brown. “Snake was your man all the time, and Snake is dead!”
“A lot of men are dead,” Brown said tonelessly. “And one of us has lived too long!”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Tabor admitted. “We ought to do something about it!”
Curly Brown stopped talking and stared at the big Rafter T man. He stepped back to put more distance between himself and Tabor. Jude Tabor did the same thing, and all the while he was watching Curly Brown’s right hand. “Well?” he said harshly.
“I’ll deal you a hand,” Brown said quietly. “We’ve got an hour, and Waggoner is fool enough to keep his word!”
“Keep on talking,” Jude Tabor said shortly. “You was saying?”
“I was making for one more big haul,” Brown said bluntly. “I figured to quit the country after we made this cleaning. South America mebbe; I hear a man can live like a king down there with a few thousand dollars!”
“Sounds interesting,” Tabor commented. “I’m all ears.”
“You and your brother Sam were doing right well,” Brown continued. “Now Sam is out of the deal for good; you see, I know you Tabors. You’ll have Sam’s share, and your own!”
“I’ve got it,” Tabor admitted frankly. “How you fixed for money?”
“I’ve got a stake cached away,” Brown said carelessly.
“But it ain’t enough. I’ve got something over ten thousand. You?”
“Fifteen, and I could have sold the Rafter T for twice that,” Tabor answered bitterly. “Then you had to ride in with your border-hoppers and cut yourself in. You ruined the whole set-up, and if you hadn’t drank that whiskey-mickey you’d have got what your gang got over on the Utah trail!”
Curly Brown ground his teeth with rage at mention of the doped whiskey. His little eyes gleamed with killer-light, and the clawed fingers of his right hand opened and closed spasmodically.
“I’ll settle with Gospel Cummings for that,” Brown rasped hoarsely. “After I settle for you!”
Jude Tabor shrugged. “We are talking about money,” he reminded. “Yours and mine…all in cash!”
Curly Brown recovered his composure almost instantly. His fingers stopped twitching, and his breathing became regular.
“Twenty-five thousand all together,” Brown said quietly. “Enough for one man to get a start in a new country.”
“That’s right,” Tabor agreed. “Up to now I’ve been fairly lucky.”
“A man runs out of luck after a time,” Brown said with a cold smile. “I ought to know.”
“That’s right,” Tabor agreed quickly. “You worked up a mad at Gospel Cummings for baiting you with that mickey, but more than likely it saved your life.”
Gospel Cummings listened and made no move to interfere. He told himself that he wasn’t any part of the law, but that another law might be operating. He could see the lines of hatred drawing up the little outlaw’s bony features, and Cummings knew the speed of Curly Brown’s gunhand.
He shifted his glance to the face of Jude Tabor and drew a deep, slow breath. Evidently Jude Tabor thought he was faster than Brown, and there was no sign of fear in Tabor’s gray eyes. Each of the killers wore a brace of Colt .45 six-shooters, but Jude Tabor admitted that he carried the gun in his left holster for a spare.
Curly Brown shuddered slightly at mention of the doped liquor.
“Like as not, it was a lucky break,” he said to Tabor. “I might have got killed if I had gone with the Utah trailherd. So I stayed right here and had a good sleep, while you was up most of the night.”
“I slept most of it,” Tabor said with a shrug. “You was talking about the money you had hid away under a dry rock somewheres!”
“I know where mine is,” Brown admitted. “How about you?”
“Same as you,” Tabor said quietly. “Go on from there.”
“We don’t trust each other, Tabor,” Brown said frankly. “We never would, and the trail is only wide enough for one of us to ride out. You follow me?”
“I never did follow you!” Tabor clipped the words. “But I gather your meaning.”
“I reckon we are both leaders,” Brown said quietly. “There’s only room for one in every pack. That’s
me!”
“On the other hand, you’ve lost most of your men,” Tabor pointed out. “You don’t figure on leading the rest of them anywhere.”
“Keno,” Brown agreed. “I heard Gospel Cummings say it. He rides fastest who rides alone. Looks like that’s what I’ll be doing.”
“Check,” Tabor said softly. “Only you won’t know anything about that ride you take out of here.”
“It worked once, but don’t try it again,” Brown warned thinly. “A man’s muscles slow up when he gets to fighting his head, and I aim to save my strength to do my chores. Right now that chore is to win myself some money another big hombre got together the hard way.”
“Seems like there are some things we can get together on,” Tabor said flatly. “This money is one of them!”
“High man takes all,” Brown suggested. “And a one-way ride to Boot Hill!”
“This time I was way ahead of you,” Tabor said with a wolfish grin. “You’d have killed me without turning a hair, only you figured you needed me awhile longer.”
“Great minds run in the same channel,” Brown agreed. “I never did like you, and now I hate yore innards!”
Jude Tabor shrugged a big shoulder. “I could watch the buzzards clean your skinny bones,” he said earnestly, “and never raise an arm to drive ’em off. Where did you stash your loot?”
“Where did you plant your take?” Brown countered.
“I made a map,” Tabor explained. “I’ll tell you where the map is if you play it square!”
“Nuh uh,” Brown rejected the proposal. “A map wouldn’t mean a thing to either one of us. We could write just anything on the map, and it wouldn’t mean money.”
Jude Tabor smiled and drew a deep breath. “We’re of the same mind again,” he admitted. “You got any more ideas?”
“I’m going to kill you, Tabor!” Brown said quietly. “We both know it, but I know it the most. We’ll make it a square shake with an even break for all hands. Tell you what: you can start your pass first, on account of I’ve got you faded!”
“That’s settled then,” Tabor agreed. “I’ll go for my iron, and play what I catch on the draw!”
Curly Brown nodded his head. He was balanced easily on the thin soles of his hand-made boots, and everything about him suggested swift and deadly speed. While Gospel Cummings watched from the outer darkness on the rocky shelf, perfectly relaxed, and absorbed in the human drama taking place before his eyes.
“So you will play what you think you’ll catch on the draw!” Brown agreed. “Now what about the money?”
“It’s closer than you think it is,” Jude Tabor said grimly. “I saw this little play coming up yesterday when you got Snake over on your side.”
“You should have seen your face when Snake threw his gun down on you,” Brown taunted. “You was fit to be tied, and you still are.”
“I don’t like it none,” Tabor admitted. “But where is Snake Hollister now?”
“You’ll know before long,” Brown said grimly. “But you won’t be able to send word back!”
“You and me will ride the same trails down yonder,” Tabor said with a chuckle. “We ain’t lived right, Brown, you and me. If Gospel Cummings reads over either one of us, it’s going to stretch that old sin buster all out of shape to find a few choice words to say in our favor.”
“Save your tears,” Brown growled. “Cummings won’t be reading services over any one when I take it to him!”
“Little Napoleon,” Tabor murmured. “He met his Waterloo!”
“From what I heard, he got crossed up,” Brown said thoughtfully. “But he ran things while he lasted. That’s good enough for me.”
“It was good enough for Snake,” Tabor reminded. “A dog that will fetch a bone, will carry one.”
“Snake has always been on my side,” Brown boasted. “I sent him up here to get the lay of the land. I sent him down there to get that Molly filly, and Ace Fleming’s wife!”
“And he didn’t come back,” Tabor taunted the little outlaw.
Gospel Cummings stifled a murmur of rage. Then he turned a bit and reached for the quart in the tail-pocket of his long coat. He felt better when he returned the flask.
“This is the real thing, Tabor,” Brown said grimly, and he leaned forward a trifle. “This time my bullets are loaded, and one of them has your name on it. How you want it, head or heart?”
“Head,” Tabor answered with a taunting smile. “Less target that way. You?”
“Heart,” Brown answered without hesitation. “Lots of people have said I don’t have one, but you can try.”
“So you talk first about your cache,” Tabor suggested. “Seeing that you’re the fastest!”
“Now you are talking sense,” Brown answered. “You admit I have you beat, so that tells me to watch you close. You’ve got some other trick up your sleeve, but I’ve got the stopper for it. You’re sure you’ve got the money down here?”
“Sure as death and taxes,” Tabor said quickly. “But you’d never find it in a million years.”
“That goes double,” Brown shot back. “What money I have hidden was brought up here with me. You made yours by rustling beef from your neighbors, but money don’t care who spends it.”
“You’re a mouthy son,” Tabor complained irritably. “You’ve done more palavering than I’ve heard you make since you sneaked in here between two suns.”
“I like to let a gent know what he is up against,” Brown said quietly, and now he seemed strangely relaxed. “I don’t just sneak up through the brush and throw down on him when he has his hands full of piggin’ strings, like you did with Tod Ballard!”
“You were talking about being the fastest,” Tabor said grimly. “You were so sure of yourself, you were going to show me your loot!”
“Fair enough,” Brown accepted instantly. “Stand right where you are, or I’ll let you have it!”
He backed away near the front entrance to the cave, reached up behind a niche to a low shelving rock, pulled the rocks loose, and it clattered to the rocky floor. Jude Tabor did not move, and Brown tugged at a canvas sack and threw it to the floor. He even dumped the sack to send a shower of paper money and gold tumbling to the limestone.
“There’s mine,” Brown said quietly. “And I’m not afraid that you will beat me to the gun and get away with it. Now how about you, killer?”
He moved back to his position, placing his small feet carefully like a cat. Jude Tabor smiled, and then he changed and spoke grimly.
“Stay put!” he warned. “You make a funny move, I’ll let you have it, and you wouldn’t get anything for your trouble.”
“You can count on me to stay hitched,” Brown said quietly.
Jude Tabor moved to the opposite side of the entrance and reached into another niche. “Our minds still run in the same channels,” he said with a sneer. He reached up and dragged out a heavy sack which tinkled when he dropped it to the floor.
“A little short of fifteen thousand,” he said through the slit of his mouth. “Winner take all!”
“And the devil take the hindmost,” Brown added. “I’m waiting for you to get yourself set!”
Jude Tabor smiled and squared back his wide shoulders. He watched Curly Brown through narrowed eyes, and his smile of confidence widened.
“Now all the loot is in the pot,” Tabor said quietly. “The cards are on the table, and according to you, I’m the dealer, I aim to deal you a mess of misery, little man. I tested your speed when you and me were both playacting.”
Curly Brown could not repress a snort of merriment. “You poor fool,” he said slowly. “If Snake was here to tell you what he saw that time.”
Jude Tabor did not hurry. He retraced his steps and took his former position facing Curly Brown, who was watching his every move. Tabor turned slightly to thin the target he made, and then without warning, his right shoulder twitched as his hand plunged down for his holstered six-shooter.
But Curly Brown had
seen that shoulder twitch, and his right hand moved with the speed of a striking rattler. He caught the long barreled gun and notched back the hammer on the up-pull. The heavy .45 roared like thunder while Jude Tabor’s weapon was just clearing leather, and the Rafter T man gasped hoarsely and jerked back with a peculiar twist of his head. Then his feet tangled, and Jude Tabor fell like a bird that has been stricken in flight. His pistol clattered unfired to the limestone floor.
Curly Brown crouched forward behind his smoking gun, with the hammer back for a follow-up. He watched Jude Tabor straighten out his long legs, kick a time or two, and then settle limply to rest.
Curly Brown had called his shot!
Brown walked over to the cave entrance and looked carefully about. Then he sacked the money in one bag, stood on his toes and replaced it in his own hiding place, covered the sack with the flat rock, and returned to his victim.
“Well, thanks, Jude, old pard,” Cummings heard Brown say. “Now I’ll go look up that nosy deputy. Me and him have some unfinished business to take care of. After which I’ll ride out of here and quit the country.”
Gospel Cummings smiled grimly and watched the arrogant little killer walk down toward the canyon through the tunnel, and disappear. Then Cummings climbed down from the ledge, crossed the cave, and reached for the sack of money. He replaced the flat stone, after filling Jude Tabor’s sack with rocks, replacing it with the one he now carried on his shoulder. Then he stepped out slowly and called a quiet greeting.
“Don’t shoot, Jim. It’s Gospel, and I’m coming down!”
Gospel Cummings looked about carefully, shielding his body against the front of the big cave. He stepped back inside and listened carefully with his head turned toward the trail through the long tunnel. He could hear an occasional rock fall into the deep crevice where Lost River flowed swiftly through the cave, and Cummings knew that Curly Brown was hurrying to the hidden valley.
