High Desert

by Wayne D. Overholser

  “What about it, Schottle?” Blazer bawled. “You goin’ to stand for it?”

  Morgan had started through the crowd toward Cole and his men, shoulder smashing a path, gun gripped in his right hand. He couldn’t shoot in this packed mass, but if he could get to the men who were making the trouble, he would silence them.

  “Sure we’re in cahoots with the company!” Short John was yelling. “A pretty penny it cost us, too. You saw it was my sister who pulled Schottle’s name out!”

  There wasn’t any sense in what Short John was saying, but it wouldn’t take sense to turn these men into a pack of howling wolves.

  “I’ll get a rope!” Blazer was yelling. “Swing ’em and let ’em dance!”

  Gardner was trying to talk from the platform. The trustees were beside him, but their voices were lost in the rumble that rose from a thousand throats. Morgan got through the first two rows of men, and no farther. The settlers closed up into a solid wall and began pushing toward the platform.

  Blazer and the Sneeds, with Cole and Royce behind them, were jamming their way to the end of the benches toward the canvas.

  “Wait’ll I get a rope!” Blazer was bellowing.

  Morgan couldn’t reach them. He was being pushed toward the platform, the distance between him and Cole steadily widening.

  Through a sudden lull in the roar of the crowd Morgan heard Jewell’s voice: “You were lying, Short John! Tell them you were lying.”

  Morgan looked back at the platform. Jewell was on the ground trying to reach Short John. As Morgan looked, she went down.

  In that moment Murdo Morgan became a madman. He wheeled toward the platform, his gun barrel a terrible slashing club. Men spilled out of his way, cursing and crying out in agony. He was in the clear then.

  Dalton had seen Jewell and was bellowing: “Look out, you fools! You’ll tromp the girl to death.”

  Morgan jumped to the platform and raced along it. Gardner and his office crew had picked up chairs and lined the edge of the platform to hold the settlers back, a thin line that would have broken under the mob’s weight the minute it surged across the platform. Dalton and Frawley were fighting their way toward Jewell when Morgan took a long, flying leap into the crowd, the swinging gun barrel opening a path for him.

  “Look out for the girl!” Dalton kept crying.

  Something stopped the forward push of the crowd. Morgan never knew what it was. Dalton’s voice or his own gun barrel or the fact that Blazer was not there to urge them on. The settlers stood motionless, bewildered, those in front of Jewell breaking away from her.

  Then Morgan saw that Purdy was already there, with Jewell on the ground below him. The sheriff’s face was battered, his nose was bleeding, his glasses had been torn from his eyes, but his gun barrel had been as formidable a weapon in his hands as Morgan’s had been. Somehow, he had kept them away from Jewell.

  “All right, all right!” Dalton and Frawley were shouting. “Sit down. We’ll see if anything’s wrong.”

  Slowly the crowd fell back. Men looked at each other, not sure why they had done what they had. Morgan lifted Jewell’s still form in his arms, his high-boned face squeezed by the passionate fury that was in him.

  “I’m taking her to the doc!” he called. “If she isn’t all right, I’m coming back. You and all the land in the world aren’t worth her little finger!”

  That finished it. Jewell’s head rested against Morgan’s chest, her face white, her wheat-gold hair cascading around her face. Shame was in them then. They sat down, the only sound in the big tent the shuffling of feet and squirming of bodies as they found their places on the benches.

  “Clancy,” Purdy said evenly, “you’re under arrest for inciting a riot.”

  Morgan was striding down the middle aisle, carrying Jewell, when he heard Gardner call: “Clancy, tell these men you were lying when you said you were in cahoots with the company!”

  “All right, I lied.” Short John’s voice was high-pitched and laden with fear. “We fixed it with Ed Cole for....”

  That was all Morgan heard. He was out of the tent, running around the back of the store and across the street and along the front of the Silver Spur to Doc Velie’s office. He kicked the door open, and Velie rushed out of the back.

  “What the devil’s going on?” he bawled. Then he saw Jewell. “Here Morgan,” he said, “on this cot. What happened?”

  Morgan told him while the doctor made his examination.

  “No bones broken,” Velie said then, “and I don’t think she’s hurt. I’d say she got cracked by somebody’s fist and was knocked cold. You never know what happens in a mess like that.”

  “Do something!” Morgan cried. “Don’t stand there like a fool!”

  “All right,” Velie said crustily. “I’ll do something if you don’t shut up. I’ll hit you over the head and let you see how you come out of it.”

  Morgan subsided. He looked down at Jewell’s white face, a great emptiness opening inside him. She was breathing softly and evenly. Then she stirred and her eyes came open.

  “You’re all right?” Morgan bent over her, hand touching her face. “You’re all right?”

  “I’m all right,” she breathed. “Is it...?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Morgan choked and turned away. “Keep her there, Doc. She’s not doing any more drawing.”

  The drum of running horses came to Morgan when he reached the street. He raced along the boardwalk to the Silver Spur. He saw them on the road to the north rim — five riders, with the dust rolling behind them. Ed Cole and his bunch, their horses on a dead run.

  Morgan started toward the stable for his black and knew it would take too long. There were horses racked along the street. He had wheeled toward a buckskin when Purdy came around the store with Short John Clancy in front of him, a gun prodding his back.

  Morgan’s place was in town. This was what it would take to set old Broad off.

  “You’re raising old Nick,” Morgan said, swinging in beside Purdy.

  Purdy peered at him, pale eyes blinking. “I aim to,” he said. “You know how close that was?”

  “I know how close it was for Jewell,” Morgan said bitterly. “You saved her life, Abel.”

  Purdy didn’t say anything until the cell door was locked behind Short John. He fumbled in his desk until he found another pair of glasses and put them on. He sat down as if suddenly and terribly tired.

  “Nobody needs to thank me for what I’ve done,” he said then, “but I’ve been wanting to thank you. Broad Clancy didn’t build his walls high enough. Time caught up with him. Nothing can stop the land sale now. Cole and Blazer and the rest came back with ropes, but they were mighty surprised when they looked into the tent. They turned around and vamoosed without a word.”

  Purdy wiped blood from his face and wadded up his handkerchief. “I was in torment when you came, Murdo. Lost my nerve. Sold out to Clancy like the rest of them, but the difference with me was that I knew better. Jewell and I used to talk about things before you came.” Turning in his swivel chair, Purdy reached for his pipe. “I’ll never be the same again. Neither will the valley. I wasn’t proud of myself six months ago. I am now. I’ve quit telling myself I’m doing the only thing I could. Security!” He laughed shortly as he dribbled tobacco into his pipe. “It’s a bad bargain when anybody sells out for something they think is security. Now you get over to the tent and stay in town. This ain’t finished.”

  “What about the Turkey Track hands who were with Short John?”

  “Rode out. Went to tell Broad how it went, I guess.”

  XXII

  Not fully understanding what had gone on inside Purdy, but feeling a little of the new pride that was in the man, Morgan walked back to the tent. Gardner was on the platform, talking in a low, tense voice, but it was so quiet that his words came clearly to Morgan in t
he back.

  “That’s the story of Josh Morgan and his boys who are buried at Jim Carrick’s place. It’s the story of what Murdo Morgan has tried to do for you, but that part of the story won’t be finished until your hands are on the plow handles and you’ve turned the soil of this valley. You’ve repaid Morgan by suspicions and.... Well, I don’t need to tell you what you’ve done. If you’d boiled over this platform a while ago the way you intended, and messed up our records and maybe hanged Morgan and me, you’d have finished the land sale. That was what Ed Cole and Broad Clancy have been working for. They played it smart and took you for suckers. Now let’s get one thing straight. What’s it going to be from here on?”

  Frawley faced Gardner.

  “There will be no more trouble of our making, Mister Gardner,” he said without hesitation. “Let’s get on with the drawing.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.” Seeing Morgan in the back, Gardner called: “How’s Miss Clancy?”

  “Doc said she was knocked out. She’ll be all right.”

  “Then we have something to be thankful for. Frawley, one of you trustees will have to draw in place of Miss Clancy.”

  “I will,” Frawley said, and took the chair beside Peg.

  “Clancy withdrew his bid on Tract Number three thousand, nine hundred and fifty-six,” Gardner said. “Are you all done? Sold to Hans Schottle for the contract price of two hundred dollars. Schottle, come to the rear of the platform, pay the balance, and receive your papers. All right, Frawley.”

  Frawley lifted a piece of paper and read: “Joseph Ramsay.”

  Peg drew and called: “Tract Number eight hundred and ninety-nine...forty acres.”

  “Two hundred dollars!” a man in the back shouted.

  “I am bid two hundred dollars for Tract Number eight hundred and ninety-nine,” Gardner intoned. “Two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars for forty good acres. Are you all done? Sold for the contract price of two hundred dollars. Who is the buyer?”

  “Joseph Ramsay.”

  “Come to the back of the platform and pay your balance and receive your papers. Next, Mister Frawley.”

  Morgan turned away. From now on it would go like clockwork. He walked back to Velie’s office.

  “She’s all right,” the medico said. “She went over to the hotel.”

  Morgan drifted aimlessly along the street, watching the clouds rush in from the southwest, smelling the pungent sage scent that was swept in by the damp breeze. It was raining now in the Sunsets and probably on west to the Cascades.

  At noon Morgan met Peg and took her to dinner in the tent restaurant.

  “Dalton took my place while I’m eating,” she said.

  “You don’t need to go back. Not after what happened.”

  “I told you the platform was a good place to watch from.” She spooned sugar into her coffee, her eyes not meeting Morgan’s. “I’m glad it happened. I’ve got some things straight now. You see, I’ve never liked Jewell. She had the things I didn’t, and they were the things I thought I wanted.” She raised her gaze to Morgan’s face. “Maybe I had more fun than Jewell did, but fun isn’t so important. I could have gone to San Francisco with Cole. I took his money, but I robbed him because all the time I was loving you. It’s all right, Murdo. I didn’t get the winning hand, but I got a good one. I’ll marry Buck. I’ll make him happy, and I’ll make Jim like me.”

  Purdy had said: Time is a great sea washing in around us. He might have added that it changed people as it washed in. These months since Morgan had returned to the valley had been violent ones, twisting and shaping and melting human souls in life’s hot crucible, but no one had changed more than Peg Royce.

  Looking at her now, Morgan felt an admiration for her he had never felt before. She was smiling as if pleased with herself and her life. She had no regrets.

  “What happened to you?” Morgan asked.

  “Two things,” Peg answered. “I know Jewell now, and I like her. I like courage in anybody, and she had all the courage in the world when she headed into that crowd.”

  “The other thing?”

  “I saw your face when you crossed the platform to her. She’s your final woman, Murdo. Don’t let her go.”

  “Her father happens to be Broad Clancy,” he said bitterly.

  “You crazy fool! It doesn’t make any difference who her father is if you love her.”

  Maybe he was a crazy fool, but it did make a difference. That was the way life had dealt the cards, and it was beyond his power to change the deal.

  Morgan went back to the tent with Peg, watched the drawing, and drifted away. Finding Ed Cole was his job, and he didn’t know where to look. The man wasn’t finished. He wouldn’t be finished until he was dead. Cole would find Clancy, and the Turkey Track man would throw his crew in with Cole’s.

  Putting himself in their position, it seemed to Morgan that the natural move for them to make would be to break Short John out of jail. Likely the next would be an attack on the settlers’ camp. The situation had become critical for Clancy and Cole, and they were the kind of men who would make a desperate move now that failure had blocked their progress.

  * * * * *

  The drawing was closed at nine o’clock, the money locked in the safe of the Stockmen’s Bank.

  “They’ll try the bank, Morgan,” Gardner said. “If they can get your money, you can’t pay the Citizens’ Bank, and it will get the grant.”

  “By that time the land will be sold,” Morgan said. “If that was Cole’s idea, he’d wait till the finish, but we’ll put the Carricks in the bank just to be sure.”

  Morgan cruised the street, tense, ears keening the night breeze for any sound that was wrong. He wanted to see Jewell, but he had kept away from her after she had gone to the hotel. If he saw her, he would tell her he loved her, and he shouldn’t. Not yet. Not until it was finished. Perhaps he never could. Not if Broad Clancy died before his gun.

  It was black dark now except for the transient veins of lightning that lashed the sky. Clouds had wrapped a thin moon and the stars in a thick covering. Thunder was an irregular rumble, growing louder with the passage of time. By midnight the settlers were asleep, their fires dull red eyes in the night.

  Jim and Buck Carrick were guarding the bank. Purdy was awake in his office, an array of rifles and handguns on his desk. The waiting pressed Morgan, tightened his already taut nerves until every sound in the darkness made him jump, hand dropping to gun butt.

  It was nearly dawn when Morgan stepped into Purdy’s office.

  “I’ll be singing to myself if this doesn’t crack,” he growled. “And I don’t sing worth a hoot.”

  Purdy leaned back in his chair, forehead worry-lined. “Why are you so sure they’ll move in tonight?”

  “I know Broad. Cole is the kind who might quit, but Broad won’t. It’s like Jewell says. It’s all or nothing with him.”

  “But why tonight?”

  Morgan jerked a thumb at the cell door. “There’s your answer. Broad’s got patience. He’s let it play along, gambling that the ruckus at the drawing would do the job, but it didn’t work. Now Short John’s in the jug. That’s too much for a Clancy.”

  Purdy nodded. “I told you this morning it was an interesting study. Do you know why that bunch didn’t rush in like Cole and Clancy expected?”

  “No. I’ve wondered about it all day. They acted like they were only half convinced.”

  “That’s it. You swung ’em your way when you made your talk. They couldn’t swing back fast enough. If Clancy and Cole could have pulled that off sooner, it would have been a different story.”

  “It was time we had luck.” Morgan turned to the door. “I’m going to ride out to the camp. I should have told Dalton to put out a guard.”

  Morgan got his black from the stable and rode ar
ound the Silver Spur and past the haystacks to Dalton’s wagon. The three trustees were crouched around the fire, and when Morgan rode up, they rose.

  “Get down, Morgan,” Frawley said. “I couldn’t sleep, thinkin’ about what happened when you started the drawin’, so I got Jale and Clay out of bed. We’d like to make it up.”

  A gun cracked to the south. Then another. Men yelled and thunder rolled into the man-made racket. Morgan’s head lifted. A new noise washed in on the night wind, a noise he had not heard for years. The rumble of many hoofs beating into the dirt.

  “Stampede!” Morgan cried. “Get everybody out of bed.”

  He swung his black around the wagon and cracked the steel to him, fear for the settlers’ safety freezing his insides. This was Broad Clancy’s ace in the hole!

  A sliver of pale sky showed where the clouds broke away from the moon. Then it closed and it was completely dark again and thunder came with gun-sharp nearness. It began to rain, great slapping threads that plopped into the earth. Lightning scorched the sky as Morgan swung his black toward the leaders of the stampede.

  He could not think or plan. He could only pray that he could turn the herd, for at such a time man is a puny thing, dependent for life on heaven above and the horse between his legs. Four thousand hoofs! A million pounds of bone and muscle and horns! A wave of destruction, sweeping toward the settlers’ camp!

  There were women and children, men who had followed a dream half the width of a continent, men who had committed no greater crime than to challenge Broad Clancy for the land he had used, land he did not own, land for which he had not even paid a paltry rent.

  The last bit of restraint went out of Murdo Morgan. He’d had opportunities to kill Broad Clancy, and now he regretted those chances that had been lost. But he had never thought Clancy would become a wholesale killer. Yet Clancy must have planned this from the first, or he would not have brought a herd of this size to the valley from the summer range.