J 150 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES bly knows who the boss is. If you remember anything he said that would help, let me know. Clarry never worked, but he always had money, and I'd like to know who he was tied in with." She frowned. "There was a man-a man he called Laramie. Sometimes they used to talk, always off to themselves." Laramie! At this moment Joe Hartley spurred his mustang down the slope. He raced around the corral and slid to a stop near Hopa-long. "They're movin'!" he said. "Riders left the 3 G and met up with another bunch south of here. They headed for our line cabin at Willow Springs!" "Where's Dan?" Hartley looked worried. "He picked up a smoke from Corn Patch. Used to be they used that signal to call him in when they wanted to make medicine. That was hours ago." "Any movement from Corn Patch?" "No. But I recognized that roan of Hankins with the 3 G crowd. There's nine riders, as near as I could make out." "All right, Joe; you stick here with Bob Ronson and China. We're headin' for the 3 G outfit an' then for Corn Patch. If anything comes up we should know, or if that bunch heads this way and the place is attacked, start a smoke on top of the ridge. We'll see that." He led the way out of the basin with four men riding beside him. It was already past noon of a new day, and there was little time. Hopalong had no love of range war, but he knew this one had to be fought and had to be won. Actually, far to the south near Corn Patch, a decisive blow had already been struck. Dan Dusark had died, but his death had not been wasted. Poker Harris had gone out with him, but what was infinitely 151 151 LOUIS L'AMOUR more important now, he had with his last gasp fired the rifle shot that froze the 3 G outfit. John Gore was boss. Not even the tough and hard-bitten Con ever crossed him. John was the boss, and John was gone. The swiftly attacking parties that had been due to move at once and to strike hard awaited his orders, and he had not returned from Corn Patch. That last shot had not injured him, but it had broken the back of his horse, and John was afoot in the mountains, miles from anywhere he wanted to be. Dusark had a horse at Corn Patch, but John was not aware that Dan lay dead on the floor, the big buffalo gun beside him, and John was a cautious man. It was fully three hours after his own horse died that he finally got to Dusark's animal, but the ex-rustler's mustang was wild, and he shied away from the man who crawled toward him and felt no more trust when he got to his feet. Swearing viciously, John Gore started in a lumbering run after the fleeing horse. Holding his head high and to one side to keep the reins clear of his feet, the mustang galloped away. Sweaty, bursting with rage, and covered with dust, John Gore stopped and cursed viciously. The carefully prepared plan of attack had awaited his return, and it kept waiting. Finally, almost at noon, Con decided to take matters into his own hands and to begin by a strike at the line cabin where two Rocking R men were expected to be. But those men had returned to the home ranch shortly after daybreak and were now riding out behind Hopalong Cassidy. Dan Dusark's bullet had wrecked the timing of the scheme, and now it was too late. The general of the 3 G outfit was panting and swearing on a sage-covered hillside near Corn Patch, while not over twenty yards away stood a wary mustang who was beginning to enjoy the game. 152 152 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES Led by Hopalong Cassidy, the Rocking R riders were cutting through a narrow draw, and when they emerged upon the desert, Hopalong sighted a group of tracks. Reining in, he motioned the others to halt and studied the sign carefully. Two men with a bunch of led horses. "Headin' north," he said. "Now what's the idea of that?" "Sure them horses are led?" Milligan asked. "It might be that bunch who headed for Willow Springs." "Those are led horses. Two riders." Hopalong spoke with the sure knowledge of years of sign reading. They continued east and then, at Hopalong's signal, drew up again. "Another bunch. One rider." He blinked his eyes against the salty perspiration that trickled into them and pushed back his hat, staring over the sun-blasted ridges and the sagebrush flats where a lake of deepest blue covered the valley floor. That lake was a mirage, but the tracks of those horses were not. They represented something. "Dollars to doughnuts they are stakin' out fresh horses! They figure to ride far and fast over this country, wipin' us out, and usin' fresh horses to keep up the pace!" "Sounds like Gore," Frenchy opined. Hopalong drew his hat down and headed east once more. The 3 G was deserted except for a corral of horses. Dropping down, Hopalong threw down the bars and, with a few whoops and waves of his arms, emptied it. Grinning, he turned to the other riders. "Frenchy, you and the Kid keep watch and warn us if anybody shows up. "Tex, you and Shorty come with me. We'll round up all the 153 153 LOUIS L'AMOUR food on this place and cache the stuff where they won't find it. All the ammunition, too. We'll set this outfit afoot so fast they won't know what hit 'em!" Chuckling, Tex and Shorty raided the grub shelves and storerooms, carrying the canned goods and other foodstuffs out to a hole in the rocks, where they were carefully concealed. Mounting once more, Hopalong headed north. He had a rough plan now. That first bunch of horses had been taken north, and probably toward Mandalay Springs. If they were waiting there for the riders, they could be easily found; and, once led away or scattered, it would be but a short time until the 3 G men were afoot. Riding hard in the expectation of fresh horses, they would find their own mounts in bad shape by the time they arrived at each rendezvous. As he rode, he made a picture of the range in his mind and, by nightfall, had found two more bunches of horses and liberated them, then had driven them off into the hills. "Smoke!" Frenchy said suddenly. "That from the home place, you reckon?" Hopalong squinted against the sun. "No, looks as if they burned the line cabin at Willow." "Burn the luck!" Kid Newton exploded. "I had my extra shirt in that cabin!" "Bunk!" Milligan spat. "You never had an extra shirt!" "What?" Newton bellowed. "I sure did! And that's more than you can say! Why, you never wore a pair of socks in your boots in your life!" "Best way to wear 'em," Tex said cheerfully. "Cooler." 'Teah, for a horn-heeled ladino like you!" The Kid snorted. Hopalong chuckled as he listened. It reminded him of the old Bar 20 outfit, of Red Connors, Johnny Nelson, Lanky, and the rest. 154 154 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES The day was gone, limping over the horizon and trailing a few scattered flags of light behind it. The heat was already gone from the air, and coolness was coming on. In high altitudes where the air is thin, over deserts where clouds are few, the heat of day changes very swiftly to the cold of night. As he rode he chalked up the places they had struck and the horses they had scattered. Even allowing for the fact that they might manage to catch one or two horses, the 3 G outfit would be afoot by noon of the next day. Night would revive what horses they had to some extent, but they would not be ready to take the hard riding expected of them. Putting the places together, Hopalong could get a rough idea of what John Gore had planned. Evidently he did not know that Cassidy had recalled his riders, and expected to hit them early and fast, wiping them out two or three at a time. Evidently something had gone wrong, for they had a very late start. If his guess was correct, then from Willow Springs the outfit would have gone either north to Mandalay or south to Poker Gap. If they got to Mandalay they would find no horses awaiting them, nor were there any left at Rabbithole. If they struck toward the south and Poker Gap, they would probably get fresh horses there, yet there was just a chance they might still be encamped at that place, waiting. That he had guessed correctly, Hopalong did not know. Nor had he guessed that he himself was expected to put in an appearance at the Gap, guided there by Dan Dusark. That had been John Gore's plan and he had talked it over with his riders. That his failure to reappear spelled disaster, they could not know. 155 155 LOUIS L'AMOUR The 3 G riders drifted into Poker Gap on badly whipped horses shortly before sundown. Leaving their mounts in a box canyon, they built a fire and prepared supper. From a hilltop Hankins kept watch on the trail for Cassidy, and so it was that about the time Hopalong had turned toward Poker Gap, Hankins spotted a lone rider. Hankins could not identify the man, still some distance off, and it was easy to see that by the time the rider arrived it would be completely dark. Sliding off the hill, he went back to the campfire and explained the situation to Con Gore and Clarry Jacks, who were sharing command in the absence of
John. He assumed the man to be Cassidy and said as much. "He'll bed down nigh the spring," Con said. "It isn't likely he'll move on in this dark. We'll get him then." "Wasn't Dusark supposed to be with him?" Troy objected. "Somethin' maybe happened to change it. Anyway, the only thing matters is he's here. Keep quiet and give him time to bed down. How far away is that spring, anyway?" "Half mile, maybe," Boucher said. "Can't be much more than that." "Wonder what became of them riders that was supposed to be at Willow?" Leeman wanted to know. "I don't like that. We got started late and that Cassidy is up to somethin'." Clarry leaned back and lighted a cigarette. "Forget it, Dud. You worry too much. We're all here, aren't we? What can he do?" "John isn't here," Boucher said. "I don't like that." "Aw, he's probably home by now," Con said. "He'll know we're on the trail. No use to worry." 156 156 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES As he spoke, John Gore was building a fire in the cookhouse stove at Corn Patch. Hot, tired, and dusty, he had staggered on blistered feet from the mountains to the town. At the saloon he found both men dead. Without touching either body, he went to the cookhouse, where he began to prepare a quick meal. Meanwhile, Ben Lock had appeared at Poker Gap on a trail of his own. Earlier that day he heard the rumor of a rich gold strike made by Clarry Jacks in a mine above Star City. He reached the same conclusion that Hopalong had reached earlier. The way to dispose of the stolen gold was to find it in another mine. Melted down and in a new bar, it would be impossible to identify. By this means the gold could be handled through the normal channels, and apparently the rumor stemmed largely from the talking of Pony Harper. Ben Lock listened and reflected that Jacks had been loafing about town or riding with Gore, and there had been no time to hunt for gold. Nor had he, to his knowledge, been anywhere near Star City in the past week or so. Like Hopalong, Lock had decided the crux of the whole matter was the disposal of the gold itself. Bar gold was not so easily handled as the uninitiated might suspect, and through illegal channels it would call for at least a forty percent discount. On the surface there was no connection between Clarry Jacks and Pony Harper. They were rarely seen together and seemed to have nothing in common. Actually, Lock was convinced that they represented a strong combination and that the 3 G outfit was merely playing into their hands. John Gore was a violent, easily angered, and dogmatic man. Inclined to be contemptuous of Clarry Jacks, he failed to recognize the sharp, cunning mind behind the gunman's easy laughter and good looks.
L 157 157 LOUIS L'AMOUR fr*
I
a During the night after the gunfight at Corn Patch, Jacks 4 had ridden into town and stopped briefly at Harper's office, entering by an alley door. Ben Lock had been watching that door, and Jacks's arrival filled him with satisfaction. Starting from scratch, with no previously formed opinions of the town or its people, he had swiftly leaped to the conclusion that Pony Harper was both a politician and a crook of the first water. When Clarry Jacks left town, Ben Lock was close behind him. The trail led to Poker Gap. Darkness found the range alive with a sense of approaching strife. John Gore was finishing his meal in the cookhouse at Corn Patch. Ben Lock made camp at Poker Gap Spring, and the 3 G lookouts who saw him arrive leaped to the conclusion that he was Hopalong Cassidy. Hoppy himself, with four Rocking R riders, approached from the northwest. And while the 3 G riders waited, Clarry Jacks slipped away in the darkness after a muttered word to Dud and rode away toward the southeast. Clarry Jacks had the instinct of an animal for changes in the weather, only his instinct was for changes in the attitude of a locality. He was a man who knew when a game was played out, and he was shrewd enough to see that, whether Hopalong was killed or not, this country was going to be unhealthy for a long time to come. He was a man utterly without loyalty or scruple. Dud Leeman he accepted because of his usefulness and sheer brutal courage. Jacks wanted one thing now. At first he had wanted the Rocking R, too. Now he wanted only the gold, and he wanted it alone. It was natural that he thought less of Cassidy at that moment than of Pony Harper. Halting once, he glanced back over his trail, his cold eyes watching the horizon he had purposely crossed. No stars were blotted out by any following rider. He turned then and continued 158 158 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES on his way. It no longer concerned him that Gore was making an attempt to waylay Cassidy. He hoped they would be successful, but to his cold, utterly egotistical nature the result was of little importance to him. The plan to dispose of the gold would have to be junked now. He would go to the hideout, remove whatever was of value there, and then go on to the mine at Star City and pick up the gold. Returning, he would visit Corn Patch and remove Harris, then go to town again to get Pony Harper. He wanted no vengeful enemies left behind. Later, if the war was successful and left the Gores in control, he might drift back into the country, but he had no idea that he wanted to take the chances offered by indiscriminate killing. Riding fresh horses borrowed from the remudas left by the 3 G, Hopalong Cassidy led his men into a rocky defile. Overhead the stars were bright in the narrow alley of sky they could see. Before and behind was darkness, and there was no sound but the click of hoofs on rock, the creak of saddle leather, and the occasional blowing of a horse. Long experienced in range-land warfare, Hopalong was too shrewd to ride straight into Poker Gap. He was circling through Rocky Canyon, planning to cross a saddle into the Gap so any watchers at the openings would be unlikely to see them. An hour later he made his own camp. Frenchy scouted ahead, then returned. He was worried. "Hoppy, there's two camps. We can look right down on 'em. The one in the Gap is right out in the middle by the spring. It's a fair-sized fire but that same hombre has another fire hid in the rocks, back maybe thirty feet from it." 159 159 LOUIS L'AMOUR They crawled up to the edge of the steep slope and looked down. It was as Frenchy had said. Hopalong stared, then nodded. "Plain as print, Frenchy. Look at the reflection from that small fire. Reflects off rocks around it. I'll bet nobody could see that fire unless they were above it like we are. That hombre has built him a regular campfire for folks to see, but he don't want himself spotlighted over any fire. He's got him a concealed fire back in the rocks where he can cook a meal without being' seen. Same time, he can watch the bigger fire." "Well, I'll be hanged!" Ruyters nodded. "Sure as rain, that's it. Wonder who he is?" "Let's have a look at the other fire." This was a small fire, by which they could see the shadows of a number of men. "There they are, sure as shootin'!" Milligan whispered. "There's nine, ten men down there!" Hopalong studied the situation. They could all see that these men had chosen a position carefully concealed, and it was probable that lone camper by the spring did not know of their existence, nor they of his, although the last was less probable. To start a fight in this darkness would mean danger for friends as well as enemies, and he had no intention of forcing a battle now if he could help it. Sliding back off the ridge, he hunkered down behind a boulder out of sight and rolled a smoke. "Now down there is a passel of trouble," he said, "and the question is, how to handle it without too many of us gettin' shot up." Shorty Montana snorted. "Just ride in on 'em, shootin' with both hands. They'd be so plumb surprised they'd never get a shot off." "Maybe," Hopalong admitted, "but I've got another idea. Isn't much as ideas come, but perhaps she'll do." 160 160 THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES Quietly he explained, and as he explained, the men began to chuckle. Battle-loving as the four were, and ready enough to run every last doubter of the Rocking R out of the country, they also had a rough sense of humor and the zest for practical jokes no cowhand ever outgrows. That the joke, if such it could be called, would be coupled with disaster to the enemy was all the better. "First off," Hopalong asked, "who's the best Indian in the crowd? Two of 'em, in fact." "Me," Newton said promptly. "I was raised up with Utes. I could steal the hide off a longhorn calf without the cow even knowin' I was near." "Aw!" Tex interrupted. "Don't you believe him, Hoppy. He couldn't find a barn in the daytime even if he had a rope tied to it. Besides, he's too young. He's just outgrown his rattle!" "Huh!" Kid Newton grunted. "Leastways I outgrew mine. Yours is in your head!" "All right, you can both go. I want you to slip down and get
those fresh horses out of there. Don't bother with the beat-up ones. You can tell 'em easy enough because if they aren't still wet, the hair on 'em will be dried an' stiff." "And don't get your head kicked off," Shorty advised, flattening his shoulders back against a boulder. "Although why either of you needs a head beats me." Muttering their replies, the two slipped off. Frenchy Ruyters rolled over and nodded after them. "Fact is, the Kid's pretty slick," he said. "Tex, he does all right, but he cain't hold a candle to that Kid." He watched Hopalong getting to his feet. "Where are you aimin' to go, Hoppy?" "Scoutin'. I figure I'd like to know who that hombre is down 161 161 LOUIS L'AMOUR there by himself. You two stick here and get set to cover those boys if they need it. When I come back we'll take up the rest of the action." The steep hillside before Cassidy was covered with gravel dotted with bunch grass and occasional greasewood. A few scattered juniper added to the growth and offered some vague shelter as he started down. Nevertheless, because of the danger of sound caused by rattling gravel, it was a painstaking task to work one's way across that steep slope in darkness. Already the second of the two fires was almost out, but the former had been replenished in the last few minutes. Only a few coals shone where the stranger had camped. Hopalong Cassidy circled around and came up on the fires warily. He was within a dozen yards of them when he heard a soft whisper of sound. Tensely he waited, listening. Then he heard it again! The sound of rough clothing moving through grass or brush! Someone else was crawling not a dozen feet away, and in the same direction! Still listening, Hopalong heard another movement on his left and realized that several men were crawling alongside him, all of them bound for the campfire up ahead. But had they seen the smaller fire? He doubted it, doubted that it could be seen from anywhere but overhead. Hopalong edged himself nearer the crawling man, caught his head outlined momentarily against the starlit sky, and slammed down with his six-shooter. With a grunt the man subsided where he lay. Silence. Suddenly a wild yell rent the night, and on the signal the men arose and charged the fire. They charged, then slid to a stop, looking foolishly about. Where the sleeping man had seemed to be lying was only a double row of stones covered with a blanket. 162
L'Amour, Louis - Hopalong 03 - The Trail To Seven Pines Page 12
