Riders of the Dawn

by Louis L'Amour

  It was a thought, and to go down the cañon toward them was actually none out of the way. Although the walking might be rougher at times, we would have the stream beside us, a thing to be considered. Mulvaney agreed and we descended into the cañon.

  Dark it was there, and quiet except for the rustle of water over stones, and there was a cool dampness that was good to our throats and skin after the heat. We walked on, taking our time, for we’d no records to break. And then we heard singing before we saw the reflection of the fire.

  We walked on, moving more carefully, for the cañon walls caught and magnified every sound.

  Three men were about the fire and one of them was Jack Slade. Two were talking while one man sang as he cleaned his rifle. We reached the edge of the firelight before they saw us, and I had my Winchester on them, and Mulvaney that cannon-like four-shot pistol of his.

  “Grab the sky, Slade!” I barked the order at him, and his hand dropped, then froze.

  “Who is it?” he demanded hoarsely, straining his eyes at us. Our faces being shielded by the brims of our hats, he could not see enough of them. I stepped nearer so the firelight reached under my hat brim.

  “It’s Matt Sabre,” I said, “and I’m not wanting to kill you or anybody. We want two horses. You can lend them to us, or we’ll take them. Our horses were shot by the same man that killed your partner.”

  Slade jerked, his eyes showing incredulity. “Killed? Lott killed?”

  “That’s right. Intentionally, or otherwise he met up with the hombre we were following. He drilled your man right over the eyes. We followed on, and he found where we left our horses and shot them both to leave us afoot.”

  “Damn a man that’ll kill a horse,” Slade said. “Who was he?”

  “Don’t know,” I admitted. “Only he leaves a track like Morgan Park. At least, he’s got a small foot.”

  “But Park’s in jail,” Mulvaney added.

  “Not now he isn’t,” Slade said. “Morgan Park broke jail within an hour after darkness last night. He pulled one of those iron bars right out of that old wall, stole a horse, and got away. He’s on the loose and after somebody’s scalp.”

  Park free! But the man we had followed had not been as big as Park was. I did not tell them that. “How about the horses?” I asked.

  “You can have them, Sabre,” Slade said grudgingly. “I’m clearing out. I’ve no stomach for this sort of thing.”

  “Are they spares?”

  Slade nodded. “We’ve a half dozen extras. In our business it pays to keep fresh horses.” He grinned. “No hard feelin’s, Sabre?”

  “Not me,” I said. “Only don’t you boys get any wild ideas about jumping me. My trigger finger is right jittery.”

  Slade shrugged wryly. “With two guns on us? Not likely. I don’t know whether your partner can shoot or not, but, with a cannon that big, he doesn’t need to. What kind of a gun is that, anyway?”

  “She’s my own make,” Mulvaney said cheerfully, “but the slug kills just as dead.”

  “Give this hombre an old stove pipe and he’d make a cannon,” I told them. “He’s a genius with tools.”

  While Mulvaney got the horses, I stood over the camp. “Any other news in town?” I asked Slade.

  “Plenty,” he admitted. “Some army officer came into town claimin’ Park killed his brother. Seems a right salty gent. And,” his eyes flickered to mine, “Bodie Miller is talkin’ it big around town. He says you’re his meat.”

  “He’s a heavy eater, that boy,” I said carelessly. “He may tackle something one of these days that will give him indigestion.”

  Jack Slade shrugged and watched Mulvaney lead up the horses. As we mounted, I glanced back at him. “We’ll leave these horses at the corral of the livery stable in town, if you like.”

  Slade’s eyes twinkled a little. “Better not. First time you get a chance take ’em to a corral you’ll find in the woods back of Armstrong’s. Towns don’t set well with me, nor me with them.”

  The horses were fresh and ready to go, and we let them run.

  Daylight found us riding up the street of Hattan’s Point, a town that was silent and waiting. The loft was full of hay and both of us headed for it. Two hours later I was wide awake. Splashing water on my face, I headed for O’Hara’s. The first person I saw as we came through the door was Key Chapin. Olga Maclaren was with him.

  Chapin looked up as we entered. “Sorry, Sabre,” he said. “I’ve just heard.”

  “Heard what?” I was puzzled.

  “That you’re losing the Two Bar.”

  “Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard? Jake Booker showed up the other day and filed a deed to the Two Bar. He purchased the rights to it from Ball’s nephew, the legitimate heir. He also has laid claim to the Bar M, maintaining that it was never actually owned by Rud Maclaren, but belonged to his brother-in-law, now dead. Booker has found some relative of the brother-in-law’s and bought his right to the property.”

  “Well of all the … that’s too flimsy, Chapin. He can’t hope to get away with that! What’s on his mind?”

  Chapin shrugged. “If he goes to court, he can make it tough. You have witnesses to the fact that Ball gave you the ranch, but whether that will stand in court, I don’t know. Especially with a shrewd operator like Booker fighting it. As to Maclaren, it turns out he did leave the ranch to his brother-in-law during a time some years ago when he was suffering from a gunshot wound, and apparently he never made another will. What’s important right now is that Jake is going to court to get both you and Olga off the ranches and he plans to freeze all sales, bank accounts, and other money or stock until the case is settled.”

  “In other words, he doesn’t want us to have the money to fight him.”

  Chapin shrugged. “I don’t know what his idea is, but I’ll tell you one thing. He stands in well with the judge, who is just about as crooked as he is, and they’ll use your reputation against you. Don’t think Booker hasn’t considered all the angles, and don’t think he doesn’t know how flimsy his case may be. He’ll bolster it every way possible, and he knows every trick in the book.”

  I sat down. This had come so suddenly that it took the wind out of my sails. “Has this news gone to the Bar M yet? Has it got out to Canaval?”

  Chapin shrugged. “Why should it? He was only the foreman. Olga has been told and you can imagine how she feels.”

  My eyes went to hers, and she looked away. Katie O’Hara came in, and I gave her my order for breakfast and tried the coffee she had brought with her. It tasted good.

  Sitting there, my mind began to work swiftly. There was still a chance, if I figured things right. Jake Booker was no fool. He had not paid out money for those claims unless he believed he could make them stand in court. He knew about how much money I had, and knew that Olga Maclaren, with the ranch bank accounts frozen, would be broke. Neither of us could afford to hire an attorney, and so far as that went there was no attorney within miles able to cope with Booker. What had started as a range war had degenerated into a range steal by a shyster lawyer, and he had arguments that could not be answered with a gun.

  “How was Canaval when you left?”

  “Better,” Olga said, still refusing to meet my eyes.

  “What about Morgan Park? I heard he escaped.”

  “Tharp’s out after him now. That Colonel D’Arcy went with him and the posse. There had been a horse left for Park. Who was responsible for that, we don’t know, but it may have been one of his own men.”

  “Where did Tharp go?”

  “Toward the ranch, I think. There was no trail they could find.”

  “They should have gone east, toward Dark Cañon. That’s where he’ll be.”

  Chapin looked at me curiously, intently. “Why there?”

  “That’s where he’ll go,” I replied definitely. “Take my word for it.”

  They talked a little between them, but I ate in s
ilence, always conscious of the girl across the table, aware of her every move.

  Finishing my meal, I got up and reached for my hat. Olga looked up quickly. “Don’t go out there. Bodie Miller is in town.”

  “Thanks.” Our eyes met and held. Were they saying something to me? Or was I reading into their depths the meaning I wanted them to hold? “Thanks,” I repeated. “I’d prefer not to meet him now. This is no time for personal grudges.”

  It was a horse I wanted, a better horse than the one borrowed from Slade, and which might have been stolen. This, I reflected dryly, would be a poor time to be hung as a horse thief. There was no gate at the corral on this side, so I climbed over, crossing the corral. At the corner I stopped in my tracks. A horse was tied to the corral, a horse stripped but recently of a saddle, a dun horse that showed evidence of hard riding. And in the damp earth near the trough was a boot print. Kneeling, I examined the hocks of the tied horse. From one of them I picked a shred of wool, then another. Spinning around, I raced for the restaurant. “Katie!” I demanded. “Who owns that horse? Did you see the rider?”

  “If you’re thinkin’ o’ Park, that horse couldn’t carry him far. An’ he would not stay in the town. Not him.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Nobody … wait a minute! I did so. ’Twas Jake Booker. Not that I saw him with the horse, but a bit before daylight he came around the corner from that way and asked if I’d coffee ready.”

  Booker! He had small feet. He was in with Park. He wanted Maclaren dead. He had killed Slade’s man and shot our horses. Booker had some explaining to do.

  Mulvaney was crawling from the loft where I’d slept but was attentive at once. He listened, then ran to the stable office. Waiting only until he was on a horse and racing from town to the ranch, I started back to O’Hara’s. My mind was made up.

  The time had come for a showdown, and this time we would all be in it, and Jake Booker would not be forgotten.

  Key Chapin looked up when I came in. “Key,” I said quickly, “this is the payoff. Find out for me where Booker is. Get somebody to keep an eye on him. He’s not to leave town if he tries. Keep him under observation all the time until Mulvaney gets back from the ranch.” Turning to Olga, I asked her, “How about Canaval? Can he ride yet? Could he stand a buckboard trip?”

  She hesitated. “He couldn’t ride, but he might stand it in the buckboard.”

  “Then get him into town, and have the boys come with him. Fox especially. I like that man Fox, and Canaval may need protection. Bring him in, and bring him here.”

  “What is it? What have you learned?” Chapin demanded.

  “About everything I need to know,” I replied. “We’re going to save the Bar M for Olga, and perhaps we’ll save my ranch, too. In any event, we’ll have the man who killed Rud Maclaren!”

  “What?” Olga’s face was pale. “Matt, do you mean that?”

  “I do. I only hope that Tharp gets back with Morgan Park, but I doubt if we’ll see him again.” Turning to Key, who was at the door. “Another thing. We might as well settle it all. Send a rider to the CP and have Jim Pinder get here. Get him here fast. We’ll have our showdown the first thing in the morning.”

  Twice I walked up the street and back. Nowhere was there any sign of Bodie Miller, or of Red, his riding partner. The town still had that sense of expectancy that I had noticed upon riding in. And they were right—for a lot of things were going to happen and happen fast.

  Key met me in the saloon. He walked toward me quickly, his face alive with interest. “What have you got in mind, Matt? What are you planning?”

  “Several things. In the first place, there has been enough fighting and trouble. We’re going to end it right here. We’re going to close up this whole range fight. There aren’t going to be any halfway measures. How well do you know Tharp?”

  “Very well, why?”

  “Will he throw his weight with us? It would mean a lot if he would.”

  “You can bank on him. He’s a solid man, Matt. Very solid.”

  “All right, in the morning then. In the morning we’ll settle everything.”

  There was a slight movement at the door and I looked up. My pulse almost stopped with the shock of it.

  Bodie Miller stood there, his hands on his hips, his lips smiling. “Why, sure!” he said. “If that’s what you want. The morning is as good a time as any.”

  XII

  The sun came up, clear and hot. Already at daybreak the sky was without a cloud, and the distant mountains seemed to shimmer in a haze of their own making. The desert lost itself in heat waves before the day had scarce begun, and there was a stillness lying upon both desert and town, a sort of poised awareness without sound.

  When I emerged upon the street, I was alone. Like a town of ghosts, the street was empty, silent except for the echo of my steps on the boardwalk. Then, as if their sound had broken the spell, the saloon door opened and the bartender emerged and began to sweep off the walk. He glanced quickly around at me, bobbed his head, and then with an uneasy look finished his sweeping hurriedly and ducked back inside. A man carrying two wooden buckets emerged from an alley and looked cautiously about. Assured there was no one in sight, he started across the street, glancing apprehensively first in one direction, then the other.

  Sitting down in one of the polished chairs before the saloon, I tipped back my hat and stared at the mountains. In a few minutes or a few hours, I might be dead.

  It was not a good morning on which to die—but what morning is? Yet in a few minutes or hours another man and myself would probably meet out there in that street, and we would exchange shots, and one or both of us would die.

  A rider came into the street. Mulvaney. He left his horse at the stable and clumped over to me. He was carrying enough guns to fight a war.

  “They’re comin’,” Mulvaney said, “the whole kit an’ caboodle of ’em. Be here within the hour. Jolly’s already in town. Jonathan went after the others.”

  Nodding, I watched a woman looking down the street from the second floor. Suddenly she turned and left the window as if she had seen something or been called.

  “Eat yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Seen Olga? Or Chapin?”

  “No.”

  “If Red cuts into this scrap,” Mulvaney said, “he’s mine.”

  “You can have him.”

  A door slammed somewhere, and then the man with the two wooden buckets hurried fearfully across the street, slopping water at every step.

  “All right,” I said, “we’ll go eat.”

  There was no sign of Bodie Miller, or of Jim Pinder. Sheriff Tharp was still out hunting Morgan Park. Unless he got back soon, I’d have to run my show alone.

  Mother O’Hara had a white tablecloth over the oilcloth, and her best dishes were out. She brought me coffee and said severely, “You should be ashamed. That girl laid awake half the night, thinkin’ of nothin’ but you!”

  “About me?” I was incredulous.

  “Yes, about you! Worried fair sick, she is! About you an’ that Bodie Miller!”

  The door opened and Olga walked in. Her eyes were very green today, and her hair drawn back in a loose knot at the back of her neck, but curled slightly into two waves on her forehead. She avoided my glance, and it was well she did, or I’d have come right out of my chair.

  Then men entered the restaurant—Chapin, looking unusually severe, Colonel D’Arcy, and, last of all, Jake Booker.

  D’Arcy caught my eye and a slow smile started on his lips. “Sabre! Well, I’m damned! The last time I saw Sabre he was in China!”

  He took my hand and we grinned at each other. He was much older than I, but we talked the same language. His hair was gray at the temples.

  “They say you’ve had trouble with Cantwell.”

  “And more to come if the sheriff doesn’t get him. Park is mixed up in a shady deal with Jake Booker, the man across the table from me.”

 
“I?” Booker smiled but his eyes were deadly. “You’re mistaken, Mister Sabre. It is true that Mister Park asked me to represent him in some trouble he was having, but we’ve no other connection. None at all.”

  Jim Pinder stalked in at that moment, but, knowing that Mulvaney and Jolly were watching, I ignored him.

  “From the conversation I overheard in Silver Reef,” I said to Booker, “I gathered you had obtained a buyer for some mining property he expected to have.”

  Fury flickered across his face. He had no idea how much I knew.

  “It might interest you to know, Booker, that the fighting in this area is over. Pinder is here and we’re having a peace meeting. Pinder is making a deal with us and with the Bar M. The fun’s over.”

  “I ain’t said nothin’ about no deal,” Pinder declared harshly. “I come in because I figured you was ready to sell.”

  “I might buy, Pinder, but I wouldn’t sell. Furthermore, I’m with Chapin and Tharp in organizing this peace move. You can join or stay out, but if you don’t join, you’ll have to haul supplies from Silver Reef. This town will be closed to you. Each of us who has been in this fight is to put up a bond to keep the peace, effective at daybreak tomorrow. You can join or leave the country.”

  “After you killed my brother?” Pinder demanded. “You ask for peace?”

  “You started the trouble in the livery stable, figuring you were tough enough to hire me or run me out of the country. You weren’t big enough or fast enough then, and you aren’t now. Nobody doubts your nerve. You’ve too much for your own good, and so have the lot of us, but it gets us nothing but killing and more killing. You can make money on the CP, or you can try to buck the country. As for Rollie, he laid for me and he got what he asked for. You’re a hard man, Pinder, but you’re no fool, and I’ve an idea you’re square. Isn’t it true Rollie started out to get me?”

  Pinder hesitated, rubbing his angular jaw. “It is,” he said finally, “but that don’t make no …”

  “It makes a lot of difference,” I replied shortly. “Now look, Pinder. You’ve lost more than you’ve cost us. You need money. You can’t ship cattle. You sign up or you’ll never ship any. Everybody here knows you’ve nerve enough to face me, but everybody knows you’d die. All you’d prove would be that you’re crazy. You know I’m the faster man.”