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95 LOUIS L'AMOUR never stopped to wonder why this was the case and that his talking had more than a little to do with it. The boss had long since decided that he should get rid of Duck, but Laramie liked him and the man was not only good with horses but was steady in a pinch. What he might lack in secretiveness he made up for with judgment when under fire. He was one of the steadiest of them all, and such men were valuable. "Where you from, Regan?" Duck asked and then, without pause, said, "I'm from Montana myself. Haven't been back up there for a lo ng stretch, though. Went on the owlhoot down Wyomin' way, and started cattle rustlin' in Nebraska. Ogallala! There's a town! You ever been there?" Cassidy grinned, remembering his last visit with Mesquite Jenkins and Red Connors and the near thing it had been when three outlaws caught him and Jenkins swimming. It had been a wild visit, but that was just what visits to Ogallala were apt to be. It was much what Abilene had been in its time, and Dodge. "Yeah, I've been there. Came up from Texas with a trail herd." "I made that drive twice. Fought Comanches one time. She's rough, that cow trail is, believe you me! My pappy was a Tennessee man, but we moved to Missouri when I was knee-high to a cow pony. Settled in there close to Bald Knob-you heard about those fellers?" At Hopalong's nod he continued: "Got out of there finally and come west buffalo huntin'. I ran into Laramie first time in Tascosa, and we trailed west together, workin' a few herds, pickin' up a few horses, but always sort of thinkin' over what the James boys had been doin'-you know, trains and such? Good pickin's on those trains." "Never tackled one," Hopalong said honestly. "Should be good pickin's here, though. You get much of a split?"
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96 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES Duck Bale's face became aggrieved. "Split? Hasn't been any split! The boss, he holds all that gold himself! She's bar gold, and it isn't so easy to get rid of it. Reckon he's figured out a way now, though." Hopalong hesitated, wondering how many questions Duck would stand for. He finally decided he had better go about it carefully. "Reckon a man could figure a way. You sell it to somebody who knows it's crooked gold and you'll discount it thirty, forty percent." "Know it. The boss said as much, but he's got him a play all lined up. Fact is, I figure we'll have some money right soon." "Heard some talk about a stage job just lately. Couple of hombres killed." "Teah." Duck Bale did not rise to the bait. He drifted away from the subject, and there was no chance to bring him back without danger of exciting his suspicions. Hopalong sat quietly, offering occasional remarks, while Duck Bale rambled on, cheerfully pleased with the sound of his own voice and the newcomer's pleasant, interested manner. He talked of trail herds and rustling, of tough marshals and of sheriffs. He talked of hideouts and secret trails, much of which Hopalong knew, and some things about outlaw hideouts that he did not know but which Duck assumed that he knew. Filing all this away for the future, Hopalong Cassidy waited for a chance to lead Duck back into talking of the situation in Seven Pines and the stage holdups. Duck's obvious admiration and friendship for Laramie kept recurring, and Hopalong led him to talk of this. "Did Laramie work in that last job?" he inquired casually. "Sure. He's the best man we got. He sure was sore when he heard about that killin'."
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97 LOUIS L'AMOUR "Thacker? He was a gunman, and from what they say, whoever killed him gave him his chance." "No, not Thacker." "Lock?" Duck looked up at Hopalong, frowning a little. Cassidy yawned and blinked. "Reckon I'm gettin' sleepy," he said, and then added, to get Duck away from his sudden doubts, "That Thacker was a tough galoot. Wonder what he was doin' down here." "Don't know, but the boss was sure mad when he saw him! He was mad all the way through, sure enough! Said somethin' about a double-cross. Then he invited Thacker out and shot him down!" "Takes nerve to shoot it out with a man fast as Thacker was. They say he gave Thacker his chance." "He did, but the boss had a reason for that, I figure. And then he's so cussed fast he don't have to worry any." "Fast, is he?" "Faster than Hardin, I figure. Faster than Clay Allison or any of 'em. And poison-mean when he's upset about some-thin'." Duck yawned himself. "Laramie's about due," he added. "Wish he would get here. I'm nigh out of tobacco." As Duck Bale rolled another smoke Hopalong heard Frazer stirring on the bunk. From what he had heard of Frazer, the man was surly and cantankerous, not the sort of man to accept him as readily as Duck had. While the trip into the hideout had allowed him to get the lay of the land, it had also told him something else. He now knew two of the men who had been in on the holdup. Laramie and Duck had, without doubt, been along, and it was exceedingly probable that Bud Frazer had been in it also. No closer to the identity of the boss, he still knew some of
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98 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES the men, and from what he had heard, the boss was the man he wanted, the man who had killed in cold blood the wounded and unconscious Jesse Lock. Now the sooner Hopalong got away from here, the better. To come and then ride away at once would scarcely seem logical to Duck, unless . . . Hopalong frowned, trying to figure out a way. If he could make the break without gunplay, so much the better, for he might catch the boss himself here if he was not worried about discovery. "Better water my cayuse," he said suddenly, and getting to his feet, he strolled casually outside. Behind him he heard a chair creak and he knew that Duck Bale was watching him. He sauntered unconcernedly across the sunlit open space to the trees. Topper nickered as he approached, and he gathered up the reins and started back toward the tank. As he turned he caught a glimpse of Duck watching him from within the door. The horse dipped his muzzle into the clear, cool water, and Hopalong sat down on a log close by. Here he was out of sight of the cabin door, and he instantly slid out from beneath his hat, left it on a post in such a way that he would still appear to be sitting where Duck had obviously seen him seat himself. Then he crawled around the corral, straightened, and tiptoed swiftly to the side of the house. He was acting on the impression that Duck would awaken Frazer, and that he had guessed right was immediately obvious. An irritable voice growled, "What're you wakin' me up for? What's the matter with you, Duck?" "We got us a new man." The bunk creaked as Frazer evidently sat up, startled into wakefulness. "A what?" "A new man. Drifted in about an hour and a half ago. Feller name of Red River Regan. Heard of him?" "Don't recall. Where's he now?"
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99 LOUIS L'AMOUR "Waterin' his horse. About as tall as me, but some heavier. Said the boss sent him out. He come ridin' right in like he knowed where he was. Had my name right, and yours too." "Nothin' been said about us havin' a new man. We got enough men." "Tell that to the boss. Anyway," Duck protested, "he's a right nice feller. Texan, I reckon." "What's the boss want more men for? The split's too small now! Why, with Laramie, Dan, you and me and the boss, that's plenty. I don't like this feller hornin' in." "He looks plumb salty." "Where's my gun? I want a look at him." Turning, Hopalong fled swiftly back around the corral, then straightened up with his hat on and led the horse across toward the trees again. Bud Frazer stood in the doorway of the cabin, his bulk filling it. He wore a dirty shirt and patched jeans. His boots were down at the heel, and he wore a gun tied low on his leg. Unshaven and his hair rumpled, he looked tough and mean. Strolling out into the sunshine, he called out, "Hey, you!" Hopalong ignored him, and he came a step farther. "Hey, you! Answer when I speak!" Cassidy turned slowly, dropping Topper's reins to the ground. His blue eyes were cold as he moved coolly to one side of the horse, putting distance between them. He wanted no trouble, but he was taking nothing from anyone. If Frazer wanted trouble, he could have it. "When you speak to me right, I'll answer. Otherwise I'll answer when I please!" Frazer sneered. "Tough guy, huh? Who sent you here?" "The boss sent me." "Who sent yuh? What boss?" 100 100 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES Cassidy felt his throat tightening. "I don't mention names. I was told not to mention names." He seemed to have hit the right note, for Frazer hesitated. Then he said quietly, "Describe him." "I'll describe nobody!" Hopalong replied flatly. "I don't know who you are. Par's that goes, I don't know who Duck is, except he fits the description and he isn't a man easy to mistake." Bud Frazer hesi
tated. If this man had been sent here by the boss, he did not want to make trouble. On the other hand, he might be a spy. Ben Lock was reported to be in town, and having heard of Ben, Frazer had decided he did not want to be the first to meet him. This man might be Ben Lock. "Don't you worry!" Frazer replied stiffly. "I belong here! Just see that you do!" The big man glared after Hopalong as he turned to walk back toward his horse, and for an instant Frazer had an impulse to draw on him, but he had a hunch that warned him never to reach for a gun with this man unless he wanted to die. Fear went against the grain with Frazer and infuriated him. A naturally surly man, he feared no one and walked with a chip on his shoulder that he failed to show only around the boss. Even Laramie side-stepped Frazer. Not afraid of him, nevertheless he knew the man was easily provoked to quarrel, and needless killing had no part in Laramie's plans. Returning to his horse, Hopalong hesitated. He was no fool and he knew that his time here was short. It was sure that some of the gang would be returning, and any one of them might have seen him around Seven Pines. Moreover, they would have come from the boss and would know no new member had been recruited. His success so far had been due to the fact that these 101 101 LOUIS L'AMOUR men had not left this place and knew of none of the developments since the holdup. Frazer watched him suspiciously, and Hopalong swore softly and wished he had managed to get away before the big man awakened. But he left the horse standing and walked slowl y back toward the bunkhouse. The very fact that he was unable to get away without a fight made him irritable, and Hopalong Cas-sidy did not often become irritated. Frazer stood directly in the door, and Hopalong walked right up to him before the big man gave way. Cassidy walked on beyond him and picked up the coffeepot. Rinsing it carefully, he put in some water and put it on the fire. "Always did like a cup of coffee," Duck said tentatively. "Like to keep some on the fire most of the time." "Same here," Hopalong agreed. "Nothin' like it." Frazer said nothing but left the door and walked across to a chair. He spun it so the back was to the room, then straddled it, staring sullenly at the black-garbed gunfighter. Hopalong considered his horse. The white gelding could climb back up the way they had come down, but he could not do it with a rider, and for the greater length of the slide anyone escaping by that route would be directly under fire, like a target in a shooting gallery. Nor was escape out the main trail a good plan, for there was every chance of meeting a rider coming in, and that would mean being caught in a narrow passage with no hope but to kill or be killed. "You hombres poker players?" "Yeah," Duck Bale replied interestedly, "I like a hand of draw now and again. Frazer plays too." "Only"-Frazer could not let it lie-"I'm particular who I play with!" 102 102 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES Hopalong turned quietly and slowly. He had lifted the coffeepot and now he put it down. "Seems to me you're some on the prod, amigo. Now, I'm not. When the boss told me about this outfit, he told me it was a good crowd. He didn't say nothin' about any cantankerous vinegaroon like you. I don't think I like it as well as I did around here. If I stay, I'm sure goin' to have to kill you!" Frazer's lips thinned. "Kill me?" he sneered. "You must figure you throw a fast gun." "There's a way to find out," Hopalong suggested, "and you can make your try any time you've a mind to." Frazer's fingers spread slowly, his eyes watchful as a snake's, yet deep within him there was something that chilled at the utter coldness in the eyes of Red River Regan. An utter coldness that spoke of death. A fly buzzed against the window, and outside Topper blew contentedly as he munched the thick green grass. Within the room all was still as death, and watching the black-garbed man, Frazer felt a faint, cold chill go over him. It was here. He had been fairly called, and he knew it was up to him now. His mind told him he must draw, but no command ran along his muscles to the waiting fingers; no hammer was thumbed. Tense, he waited, his mouth dry. And then it happened. Duck Bale sprang the trap that Frazer had set for himself with his own quarrelsome pushing of this stranger. Duck Bale, who was harmless enough in his day, but smart too. Duck sighed. It was a long, gusty sigh, and Bud Frazer knew what it meant. Bale had given him up; Bale had decided he would not draw, that there would be no shooting here. Through the mind 103 103 LOUIS L'AMOUR of Frazer there now went a series of fleeting pictures. Of Bale crowding him, of Bale no longer avoiding trouble, of Bale repeating the account of what happened here, of how this man had taken the prodding of Bud Frazer, then called him, given him his chance. Frazer knew what they said about him. He knew he was a man avoided, if not feared. The very certainty that he would fight had built his reputation, and now this Red River Regan had called him. There was no way out. Grim with determination, he grabbed for his gun. Yet even as he grabbed, a wild fearfulness came up in his throat, choking him with panic. His hand grasped the gun, and flame stabbed suddenly, from the hand of the man before him. Frazer had stepped back off the chair as he drew, and now he fell forward, striking the corner of it and falling to the floor, the chair across him. Hopalong glanced once at Bale, who was staring at him, his face a picture of amazement. Duck Bale had seen the best of them, and just now he had seen a gun leap to a man's hand in the fastest, smoothest draw he had ever seen! He had seen Bud Frazer, no mean hand with a gun himself, shot down with never a chance even to clear his holster! Red River Regan was looking at him, and in those icy blue eyes there was a question. "He had his chance. He asked for it." Bale nodded. "He-he was a trouble hunter. Always on the prod." Cassidy saw he now had an excuse to leave and grasped it. "I think," he said, "I'd better puff out of here and see the boss. He isn't goin' to like this." Bale nodded. 'Tes. You better see him. He maybe won't mind so much as you figure. Especially as he's got you, and you're faster than Frazer." Hopalong thumbed a shell into the empty chamber and 104 104 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES stepped out the door. Crossing to Topper, he swung into the saddle. Bale turned back at once, and Hopalong immediately turned and went up the canyon toward the empty house and the rock slide. To be caught coming out of here was not part of his plan. At the same time he knew that the challenge was thrown now. The outlaws would have to kill him or leave the country, for he knew their hideout. Within a matter of minutes after they heard of this they would know who he was. Well, he had always crowded his luck; he would crowd it some more. The white horse scrambled up the slide, and at the top Hopalong let him take a blow. Then he mounted and drifted. Seven Pines was rocking and rolling. This was payday at the mines, and the boys were in to throw a wing-ding and were well into it before the weary gelding walked up to the livery stable. The saloons were crowded to the doors, and the street rang with shouts and rough singing. At least three pianos jangled along the street, and now and again the rasp of a fiddle would sound through the hoarse voices. Occasionally there was a gunshot, but nobody even looked around to see if it had been fired from pure devilry, fun, or with deadly purpose. Seven Pines, like Bodie and many another western town, was proud of its reputation for producing "a man for breakfast" every morning. Pony Harper leaned against the end of the bar and studied the crowd with cold, watchful eyes. Tonight he would make money, but a bullet could ruin one of the tinkling new chandeliers, and he wanted to save them if he could. The chips clicked, cards riffled, and the roulette wheel rattled as it turned away fortunes on every spin. 105 105 LOUIS L'AMOUR Gray should have been here by now. It was time they got busy, and this was the best time in the world to announce a gold strike with the room full of half-drunken miners. Harper smiled coldly, contemptuously. It would serve Harrington right and kill two birds with one stone. The mine would have to shut down for lack of help, and the rush to the scene of the strike would easily cover their own find of gold. That had been a smart idea: to start a fake gold strike, to plant a little gold around where it could be found, and then to work a vein of their own and produce a lot of gold-gold stolen from Harrington's mine! Gold was gold, and once out of that bar, nobody could identify it. They would make their own bar, stamp it with their own name, and even if Harrington grew suspicious, which he wouldn't, there would be no way to prove anything. A man had come in the door, a tall, cold young man with cal
m eyes, a young man in ragged digger's clothes, but who wore two belted guns. Pony Harper's brow creased. The man was a stranger-and then he knew! The man was Ben Lock. Jesse had talked a lot about Ben. Jesse had been gun-slick and everybody knew it, but the younger Lock had always bragged about how much better his brother was. After one look at this man, slim as a rapier, edged and pointed for death, Harper knew this was a man who would, having a purpose, never deviate therefrom. Harper left his post at the end of the bar and sauntered around, working his way through the crowd to Lock's side. The young man did not look around. "Welcome to Seven Pines, young feller!" Pony greeted him. "Stranger, aren't you?" "No, I'm not." The voice was low and cold. 106 106 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES "Sorry," Harper said easily. "Didn't mean to offend you. If there's any way I can help you, just let me know." Lock looked around, and their eyes met. Pony Harper suddenly was very glad this young man was unaware of certain things. "Where can I find Hopalong Cassidy?" Ben Lock asked. Harper felt a leap of triumph go through him. "Cassidy?" He raised his brows. "You mean that feller who happened to show up after the stage robbery? Why, he's workin' out at the Rockin' R. Took a gunman's job." "Is he in town tonight?" "Perhaps. Haven't seen him." Harper was cautious. "My name is Harper. I own this place." The young man measured him without changing expression. "My name is Lock," the young man replied. "I had a brother who lived here." "Jesse. I knew him well. A fine feller!" Ben Lock looked at Harper for a long minute. "He didn't say the same about you." Pony Harper was nettled. The attitude of Ben Lock irritated him, and it offended his sense of importance. Accustomed as he was of late to being accorded some deference and respect, he did not like it that this cold-eyed young man drifted into town and seemed to care nothing at all about him or about what he might feel. It was something of this same attitude, although in a much more casual, easygoing sense, that had always made Harper dislike Jesse so intensely. The two young men were alike in that; they walked with a cold confidence in themselves, which was irritating to such a self-important man as Harper. "That's too bad!" he exploded. "He had no reason to dislike me! And who was he to set himself up as a judge of anybody?" The contempt was thick in Harper's voice, but instantly the big 107 107 LOUIS L'AMOUR man was sorry he had given rein to his feelings. The animosity in his voice and attitude was now obvious enough. Yet Harper was a man who had little respect for the intelligence of others, and he did not believe this young man would long remain his enemy if he handled the situation right. "Oh!" He waved an airy hand. "Forget it! I was mighty sorry about him gettin' shot like that, mighty sorry, and so were we all. Fact is"-and here he established an alibi for himself- "Harrington, the sheriff, and I were among the first on the scene. We rode up together. Met this Cassidy feller on the trail, hightailin' for town. He told us your brother was alive, but when we got there he was dead. We heard no shot from the time Cassidy joined us," he added. "You think Cassidy killed him?" Lock demanded abruptly. Harper's eyes grew small behind their thick lids. "I didn't say that, and I'm not goin' to say it. Hopalong showed up and we rode back and your brother was dead. Seemed funny that Cassidy should be there so quick-like after it happened. And Thacker," Harper added, "was killed by a gunfighter. He was mighty slick himself, but the man who downed him was a whole lot faster." "I see." Lock put his glass down on the bar. "I think," he said evenly, his eyes narrow and chill, "I'll have me a talk with this Hopalong Cassidy!" "You won't have to wait." Harper's voice was hoarse with satisfaction. "There he stands in the doorway!" Ben Lock turned and faced the man named as one of the most famous gunfighters on the cattle trails. The man who was, as Hickok had been, a living legend. He looked across the crowded tables, across the noisy room, to see cold, observant blue eyes, firm chin, and a bronzed, handsome face looking from under the wide brim of a black sombrero. Two tied-down 108 108 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES guns with white handles, two guns whose use had made their wearer one of the most feared and respected men of his time. Lock stepped back from the bar into a clear space. He looked down the bar toward the door and said distinctly, "Cas-sidy, I want to talk to you!" 109 109
L'Amour, Louis - Hopalong 03 - The Trail To Seven Pines Page 8
