Diane Head was an honest young woman, so she said at once, “No, I don’t want to leave this place. I want to marry here, raise my family here, and be buried here.”
“Sure, I know, Diane.” Caudill put his arms around her, drew her close, and kissed her. There was a hunger in his kiss, and she stayed with him, enjoying the response that came to her.
Finally she drew back, and her eyes were soft. “I want you, Ash, but I’ll be honest. I can put up with a lot from a husband, but he’s got to be strong. I want the man I marry to be able to hold this place together.”
It was a promise, Caudill understood, and he felt a thrill of triumph. He didn’t try to kiss her again but said, “We’ll talk about this in a few days, Diane. Then you’ll be able to judge if I can be the man you want.”
Diane reached out and ran her hand down his arm, then said with a slow smile, “All right, Ash—we’ll have another talk.”
****
Gus Miller was inside his barn, working alone at his forge. The sound of his hammer on the anvil drowned out the sound of the approach of Arrow’s crew. The first he knew of their coming was when he turned to plunge a horseshoe into the steel bucket of water. Even as it hissed, emitting a small cloud of steam, he looked up to find Ash Caudill and Jack Hines facing him.
The sight of them sent a shock along his nerves, but he concealed it well enough. Placing the tongs on a bench, he turned to face them, saying, “Hello, Caudill. Didn’t hear you ride up.”
Caudill grinned slightly. “Careless of you, Gus. Should make you realize how hard it is to keep yourself safe.”
Miller studied the pair, thinking of his gun that was hanging from a nail on the wall. His glance touched it, and Ash, following his gaze, ceased grinning. “It ever occur to you, Gus, how a man can get killed real easy?”
“It occurs to me now,” Miller said, not taking his eyes off the pair. “What’s on your mind, Caudill?”
“I’ve warned you before to keep your stock off our graze,” Caudill said. His eyes grew cold, and he said, “I’ve come to see you do it.”
“Not your graze,” Miller said. “It’s public land, and I was using it before you and Head decided you wanted it.”
Caudill said in a wicked tone, “Miller, I’m not going to argue. Step outside.”
“What for?” Miller asked warily.
“Just do it.”
Having no choice, Gus Miller walked through the door. He saw at least fifteen riders, all armed, and he turned to face Caudill who said, “We’ll be back in two days, Miller. If your cows aren’t gone, we’ll cut them down.”
“We’ll cut you down, too, Gus,” Jack Hines put in. “I say we might as well do it now, Ash.”
“No, Gus isn’t stupid,” Caudill said. He went to his horse, waited until Hines was mounted, then nodded to Miller. “Two days, Gus.”
The crew rode out, and Miller, tough as he was, drew a hand that was not quite steady across his brow. “Now that was a close call, Gus, old boy!”
****
Lowell Cox was digging a posthole when the Arrow crew arrived at his place. At once he put the post-hole digger down and turned to face the riders. He made a slightly ridiculous figure, balding and fat, dressed in a faded pair of overalls. He watched as the horsemen pulled up and turned to Caudill, who said, “Luke, cut that fence.”
Luke Mott, a thin rider with a hatchet face, pulled a pair of wire cutters from his saddlebags and dismounted. He walked to the fence that surrounded the spring and snipped the wires. A pinging noise signaled each cut, and the barbed wire recoiled violently.
“Now—the rest of them,” Caudill commanded, and Mott went to cut the fences that held Cox’s three milk cows.
He drove them out by waving his hat and shouting, “Git outta here!” then returned to his horse, a grin on his thin lips.
“Sodbuster,” Ash said harshly. “Be off this place by the end of the week.”
Cox’s round face grew red, but he held his temper. He was the mildest of men, although in his youth he had gained scars by a streak of impulsiveness. Now after a lifetime of trouble, including a war, he was in better control of himself.
“This is my place,” he remarked. “You can cut my fences, but I’ll put them up again.”
Ash drew his gun with a practiced ease and put a bullet through the head of one of the brown milking cows. The cow’s head rocked with the impact, and she took one or two faltering steps, falling dead without a whimper.
The wickedness—and efficiency—of Caudill’s attack made Cox’s lips draw together into a thin line. When Ash saw that the fat man didn’t intend to speak, he holstered the gun, saying, “If you’re not gone in a week, Cox, I’ll kill every animal and burn your house to the ground.”
Cox watched silently as Caudill pulled his horse around and led the crew away. Then he turned to his wife, who came from the house, her face pale.
“What are we going to do, Lowell?” she asked quietly.
Cox stared at the dead cow, then said evenly, “I’ll butcher the cow and fix the fences, Lorene. Then we’ll go see how bad the others are hit.”
“The others?”
Cox stared at the dust raised by Arrow’s crew. “They’ll all be having a visit from those fellows. We’ll get together and decide what to do.”
****
“We’ve hit every two-bit spread in the valley, Ash,” Jack Hines complained. He lifted himself in the saddle, stretched, and then spat on the ground. He was tired, as were the others, most of whom had dismounted and were looking to Caudill for the signal to head for the ranch. They had been riding hard, covering the valley from one end to the other, and now were hungry and tired.
“Just one more stop,” Caudill said grimly. “I know what these people will do, and I want to get them all into one place so we can show them what to expect.”
“How you gonna do that?” Luke Mott demanded. “They’re too scared to do anything now.” He laughed crudely, his catfish mouth drawn wide into a grin. “I thought that old lady Shultz was gonna faint when we shot up her settin’ hens!”
“They’re scared,” Caudill admitted, “but they’ll all get together to try to figure out how they can hang on.”
“Get together where?” Hines asked.
“They’ve always run to that preacher’s house—Amos Jenson. They figure that Winslow’s there, so they’ll all be there. Come on, we’ll pay them a visit.”
Two hours later, they pulled up on top of the hill that overlooked Anchor, and Caudill grunted with satisfaction. “I was right. Look at all the wagons and horses. They’re all inside. Let’s go.”
“Want to shoot ’em up a little, Ash?” Jack Hines asked.
“Not unless some of them get brave.” Ash spurred his horse, and the rest of them followed him down the hill.
Inside the house, it was Ozzie Og who heard them first. He rose and went to the window, looked out, then said sourly, “Well, here they come!”
“Arrow crew?” Dave Orr asked in alarm.
“It ain’t Santa and his little helpers,” Og replied.
He picked up a rifle and started for the door, but was stopped by Amos, who said, “Leave the rifle here, Ozzie.”
They all stared at Amos, alarm on every face. They had done exactly what Caudill had expected, come to Anchor as if at a signal. They had arrived one by one, all of them expecting to find Winslow there, and when Amos had told them he was missing, they had talked for hours. They were angry—and afraid. Most of them were in favor of pulling out, and even Gus Miller could see little hope of winning in a pitched battle with Arrow’s hard-bitten crew.
Now the men rose in alarm, and Amos said, “Men, we want no trouble. Leave your guns inside.” He stepped outside, followed by a dozen or so men, as the Arrow party dismounted and came to stand in front of them. Some of the women came out to stand on the porch and watch with fearful eyes.
“What do you want?” Amos asked. He was pale, but he held himself in place by sheer forc
e of will.
Caudill gave him a hard look, then said, “Old man, you know what we want. We want you out of here.”
“You can’t drive people as if they were cattle,” Amos said. “Go back to Silas Head and leave us alone.”
“You own the land this house is on, Jenson,” Caudill responded. “You can stay on it. But your cattle will have to go. I’ll make you a fair offer for them—market price.”
“We won’t leave,” Amos insisted. “Now, go and leave us alone.”
Caudill shook his head. “This is Arrow graze. We’ve made a visit to all of you—now I’m telling you, get out!”
Smoky Jacks demanded, “Who died and made you king, Caudill?” He stepped forward, the only man among the settlers except for Gus Miller and Zane Jenson who was wearing a gun. Coming to a stop in front of Caudill, his eyes were bright with anger. “You’re rough on women and young’uns, Caudill. Why don’t you try it on a man?”
Zane and Gus Miller stepped forward, and the Arrow hands at once zeroed in on them. Caudill settled back on his heels, saying, “All right, you can have it if you want it!”
But Amos moved forward and caught Jacks’ arm. “No!” he protested. “It’s what they want, Smoky!”
“Put your guns on ’em!” Caudill called out, and at once every Arrow hand drew a gun. “Now get their guns.” Caudill’s men jumped to obey his command. When the three men were disarmed, Caudill shouted, “Burn that barn down!”
Zane’s face went white, and he cried out, “You’re a dog, Caudill!”
Jack Hines was standing beside Zane. He lifted his fist and drove it into the back of the boy’s neck. Zane collapsed, and lay there struggling to get up. Rosa ran off the porch and came to his side, putting herself between Hines and Zane. The sight of her brought a laugh from the bruising Hines, who reached down and dragged her away from Zane. “Now, you just hold still, little lady!” he said.
Zane staggered to his feet, shouting, “Let her go, Hines!”
But Hines shook his head. “Make me,” he taunted Zane.
Zane threw a punch at the big man, which Hines pushed aside; then, thrusting Rosa to one side, he growled, “I’m gonna have to show you, I guess—”
But as he drew back, Amos Jenson moved forward. “Let the boy alone,” he said.
“Stay out of it!” Ash Caudill said loudly, but made no move to stop the thing. He had come to provoke these people and saw his chance. Amos Jenson was no fighter like Winslow, but he had the confidence of the settlers.
With contempt, Jack Hines grabbed the thin arm of the sick man, turned him around, and drove a blow into his back, which sent Amos’ slight form rolling to the ground. A mutter went up, and Miller cursed Ash and moved to stand between Jenson and Hines.
Ozzie Og leaped to Amos’ side, turned him over carefully, and saw at once that he was unconscious. Ozzie looked up, anger in his eyes as he glared at Arrow’s foreman. “Go on, Caudill, why don’t you shoot him? He’s an old man with a bad heart. Shouldn’t be hard for a hairpin like you!”
Rosa ran to kneel next to Amos, followed by Zane. “He’s dying!” she cried out. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor!”
Caudill blinked, not wanting this to happen. He knew that killing a preacher would be going too far, that the town would demand action, probably in the form of a federal marshal.
“All right,” he called out quickly. “It’s his own fault. Get him to a doctor. But you’ve had your warning!” He swung to the saddle and led the crew out of the yard, toward Arrow. When they were out of hearing distance, Caudill whirled and cursed Jack Hines. “You dumb fool! Why’d you have to pick on Jenson! We can’t get by with killing a preacher!”
At the Anchor ranch, the group gathered around the still form of Amos Jenson, and Gus Miller said, “I’ll go get Doc Matthews.”
As he rode away, the men picked up Jenson and took him into the house. Lorene Cox had been restraining Cody on the porch, but now she let him go. He came running to Zane. His eyes were frightened, and he asked, “Zane, where’s Ma—and where’s Dan?”
Zane shook his head. “I don’t know, Cody.”
The boy looked at the limp form of his grandfather, then asked, “Is Grandpa gonna die?”
Zane put his hand on Cody’s shoulder. “I hope not.”
Rosa put her arm around the boy, saying, “It’ll be all right, Cody.” She looked at Zane, and there was fear in her own eyes.
Later, when she was alone with Zane, Rosa admitted, “I’m like Cody, Zane. I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Zane replied. “You’re afraid something’s happened to Winslow, aren’t you?”
“Yes—and to your sister! Where can they be?”
They had left the house, coming outside to stand on the porch. The men were inside, and the women were taking care of Amos. Zane was afraid, too, for his father. His face was pale, and he said, “You shouldn’t have come off the porch to help me, Rosa.”
“Well,” she said, shaking her head, “you shouldn’t have tried to fight with that bully, you with broken ribs!”
Zane looked at her with a queer expression. “I—didn’t want him to put his filthy hands on you,” he said simply.
Rosa looked startled, her eyes opening wide. “Why—Zane! You can’t fight a man like that! Not over me!”
“Why can’t I?” Zane was not himself, and now he said what he would never have said ordinarily. “I love you, Rosa. Don’t you know that?”
Rosa stared at him, her lips parted with surprise. Then she said, “You’re only a boy, Zane!”
“And you’re only a girl!” he retorted, then turned and walked away. Rosa stood there, still and motionless, watching him walk away—then a small smile touched her lips, and she stepped off the porch to follow him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A MAN AND A WOMAN
He emerged from a warm sea of soft, cushiony blackness—not willingly, for the voice was drawing him back to the cold and pain. He longed to sink down into the comforting oblivion—but the voice kept calling his name, and hands were pulling at him, shaking his shoulders until he opened his eyes. The intense cold struck him, and he began to tremble, but he stared at the face in front of him until the kaleidoscope of images faded and the face of Hope Malloy swam into focus.
“Dan, can you understand me?”
“Hope—it’s you?” He saw relief sweep across her face, but the darkness was so dense that he could see nothing else.
“We can’t stay here, Dan,” she said. “I’m going to get the wagon. Sit up and stay awake until I come back.” She tugged at him until he was sitting up, then disappeared into the darkness. The fever was raging in him now, and the temptation to lie down and close his eyes was as demanding as any need he’d ever known; he realized, however, that he had to stay awake. Chills ran through him, but he concentrated on keeping himself upright.
He sat until he caught himself slumping, almost falling over, and knew that he could not stay awake unless he stood up. Rolling over, he put his hands against the side of the cedar and gathered his good leg under himself, and with a tremendous effort pushed until he stood upright. The pain from his right leg was so bad that it made him nauseous, but he was able to turn around and brace himself against the tree while he waited for Hope to return.
Time ran slowly, and the murmur of the creek had a soporific effect, lulling him to sleep, but he fought against it with all his strength. Finally he heard the sound of horses, then a voice saying, “Whoa up!” Then a silence broken by the sound of Hope moving through the undergrowth, her boots splashing in the shallows.
She appeared, almost phantomlike, at his side. “Oh, Dan, you can walk!” she cried. “I didn’t know how I was going to get you to the wagon!”
“Well, I can stand—can’t say about walking. Got a bum leg.”
“Lean on me, then. We’ve got to get out of here.”
He put his right arm over her shoulder, gritted his teeth, and took a step forward. When he had to pu
t his weight on his right leg, however, it almost collapsed so that his full weight fell on her. Hope staggered, but he managed to throw himself forward on his good leg, and they both remained standing. “You can’t do it, Hope,” he whispered. “I’ll have to crawl.”
“No! It’s all right, Dan,” she protested. “Come on, we’ll take it slow.”
As sick as he was, Winslow was filled with admiration for the woman. But he said nothing, saving his strength for the formidable task ahead. “Let’s go,” he said grimly, and they lurched forward, this time not stopping until they had gotten out of the waters of the stream and were on dry land. Both of them were gasping for breath, but Hope said, “Just a few feet more to the wagon—”
Dan fell forward until he felt the back of the wagon strike him. Hope had let the tailgate down, and he leaned forward, almost spent by the effort of the short journey. “I’ll have to hurt you, Dan,” Hope said. “I’ll be as careful as I can—”
He felt her lifting at his bad leg and helped all he could by rolling to one side. With a mighty effort he sprawled onto the bed, his breath coming in short, tortured gasps. Then she was beside him, and he felt the roughness of blankets cutting off the cold air. He also felt her hands on his face, felt her pushing the edges of the blankets under him, and heard her say, “Try to keep the blankets over you.” The wagon shifted as she moved to the seat, then she spoke to the horses, and the wheels creaked as the wagon lurched forward.
Exhausted by his efforts, Winslow passed out at once, lulled by the rhythmic movement of the wagon and the warmth of the blankets. He had no sense of the passage of time as he lay in the bed of the wagon. It could have been a week or five minutes, but the sound of Hope’s voice and the touch of her hands on his cheek brought him out of the comalike sleep.
“Dan, can you get out? I’ve got a fire going,” Hope said.
House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman Page 28
