“You don’t know any of us done it, Jim,” Deeter said quietly. “You’d be smart to go easy on that talk till you do.”
“That’s right,” Lippy Ord said. “I rode in today, mighty sore about the way Latigo had treated us. Wouldn’t have taken much to have made me pull on him, ’specially if we found out Biddle was closing us out like he done some of our neighbors in the past just on Latigo’s say-so. Now I kind of wish he was alive. We’re gonna be worse off with Boone running Wagon Wheel.”
“Not if our brave sheriff can see past his nose,” Vinton said pointedly.
Jim swung toward the gunman. “Maybe I’m blind, Chris, but I aim to keep looking. That slug was mighty near dead center, and you claim to shoot straight.”
“I do, but I didn’t plug him. Keep looking, Jim. Maybe you can think of somebody else who wanted Latigo out of the way.”
“Boone!” the Yellowby kid shouted. “Plenty of gents would kill their old man just to get their hands on something as big as Wagon Wheel.”
“He knew we were in town,” Deeter added, “and he knew we wasn’t right friendly toward Latigo. It’d be natural enough to push it off on one of us.”
A stomach-sinking sense of frustration crawled through Jim. What they said made sense, and they were clearing each other. It left nobody but Boone and Gramp Tatum, who was blind drunk. Jim felt as if the rush of events were washing him downstream, and he was helpless before the force of the current. Again, Kitsie’s set, cold face came before his eyes. Then he thought of something else.
Boone was not much of a man alongside Latigo, but he was a man. With him out of the way, young Stub would be running Wagon Wheel, and that would mean a quick end to what was now a great ranch. Whoever had killed Latigo had planned for Boone to be taken out by the same murder. These men all had reasons to hate and fear the Wyatts, but Jim still didn’t know what had finally stirred them into a violent temper and brought them to town today looking for trouble.
Jim reached for tobacco and paper, dropping his eyes as he rolled a smoke. He said softly: “How come you boys thought of Boone?”
They stirred uneasily, looking at each other, and then the Yellowby kid saw his chance to play big. He bawled: “Hell, Sheriff, Biddle told us about Latigo stopping Boone from drawing on the Wyatt bank account.” Vinton jabbed Yellowby with an elbow. Yellowby squalled an oath and jumped away. “Ain’t no secret. We know Boone Wyatt wants Poverty Flat for summer ranch, and the way to get it is to shove us off.”
“Damn you, Bud, keep...,” Vinton began.
“All right, Chris.” Jim slid the cigarette between his lips. “Let the kid alone. He’s got the guts it takes to talk if nobody else has.”
“Yeah,” Deeter murmured. “He let something slip. You know why we’re on the prod and you know it was Biddle that got us to thinking of Boone. Does it tell you anything else?”
The Yellowby kid had been pushed back. They formed a tight line in front of him, watchful, grim. They had united, Jim saw, and it was natural for them to consider a lawman their enemy because valley law had been Wyatt law for a generation. They all might be guilty of murder, or just one or two, but the thing had worked so that now they were against him regardless of who was guilty.
“Don’t tell me much, Buck,” Jim said, “except that you boys are gunning for Boone. That might not be good.”
“It’s good enough to save our outfits.” Deeter jabbed a forefinger at Jim, strong white teeth flashing as a vagrant ray of sunlight slanted across his swarthy face. “You’re supposed to be the law, but you claim you ain’t a Wyatt man like Bill Riley was. You’ll prove it when you lock Boone Wyatt up.”
“I’ll have to find him first.” Jim moved toward the batwings, cold cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He turned suddenly so that he faced them, calling sharply: “Yellowby, come here!”
Yellowby hesitated, narrow face mirroring indecision, gaze swinging to Buck Deeter. Jim said again: “Come here, Yellowby.”
“You’ve got nothing against him,” Deeter said. “Stay here, Bud.”
“I can see a dead man walking,” Jim said. “The kid talks too easy. Yellowby, you’re coming with me. I’ll kill the first man who tries to stop you.”
“We pegged you wrong, Jim,” Deeter said. “You’re a little tougher than we guessed. That makes you the dead man walking.”
“Want to make a try, Buck?”
It was a challenge, cold and hard. Jim, standing loosely by the batwings, his beaky-nosed face signalling his intent, was not a man to be taken lightly.
Deeter shrugged. “I ain’t asking for a fight, Jim. I want to see you turn Boone Wyatt up. Then we’ll know what to do.”
“Yellowby, climb on your horse. Get out of town. Keep riding.”
The kid broke toward the batwings in an awkward, adolescent run. He went past Jim, not stopping to say, “thank you,” and dived through the door. A moment later hoof thunder rolled in from the street.
“Yeah, we pegged you wrong,” Deeter murmured. “You’ve got good eyes.”
“I can see, all right.” Jim’s gaze probed Lippy Ord. “I’ve counted some of you boys as my friends, and I’ve figured you was square. Maybe I pegged you wrong, or maybe you’re being pushed in a direction you don’t want to go. I’ll soon find out.”
Jim backed through the door, watchful for the first hostile move, but none came. He stepped quickly away from the saloon and turned toward the hotel, pondering Boone Wyatt’s disappearance and finding no logical answer, but he was sure of one thing. What the Poverty Flat boys did would be determined by Jim’s action when Boone appeared.
VII
The stage from Ontario was rolling in. Jim paused in front of the hotel to wait for it. It was a custom with him to meet the stage whenever he was in town, partly because it was the one contact between the Stillwater country and the railroad to the east, but mostly because it was a good thing for the sheriff to be familiar with the comings and goings of the people in his town.
The two Wyatt horses were at the hitch rail. Staring at them, Jim wondered uneasily why Stub and Kitsie were still in town. It was dangerous — at least, for Stub. If Jim judged the temper of the Poverty Flat men accurately, they would finish the job that had been started with the murder of Latigo.
The stage was there then, chain traces jangling, dust drifting up past the coach when it stopped in a white, suffocating cloud. There was one passenger, a young woman, close to twenty-five, Jim judged, and attractive in a round-bodied way. She stepped away from the stage to get out of the dust, saw Jim, and came toward him in a hip-swinging walk.
“You’re the sheriff, Jim Hallet, aren’t you?” she asked. “I’m Honey Nolan. I still go by that name, but I’m really Honey Wyatt.”
He lifted his Stetson, wondering how she fitted into the Wyatt family. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said.
She smiled at him, dark eyes moving appreciatively along his lean, hard-muscled body. She straightened her blue bonnet that was gray with dust, and, after unbuttoning her tan duster, she shook it. Her white silk shirtwaist and dark, tight-fitting skirt showed the curve of her hip and thigh.
“Some country you’ve got, Sheriff.” She laid her bold gaze upon him, smiling. “Well, where’s Latigo?”
“Latigo?” Jim braced himself, remembering that she’d said her name was Wyatt.
“Yes, Latigo.” She stood spread-legged, hands on her hips. “Look, star-man, don’t tell me I swallowed a bunch of lies when Latigo Wyatt said he was the big gun in these parts. Why, he claimed he had more cows than you could count and more land than I could ride around all day. Not that I like the land, but I took Latigo for better or for worse, and I guess I took his land with him.”
“Latigo’s dead. Shot this morning.”
“Dead?” She stared at him blankly. “No, Latigo couldn’t die. He wanted me to come out here
when we got married. Trouble was, I had a contract signed up and couldn’t come. But he couldn’t die. He’s the kind of man who lives forever.”
“He’s dead,” Jim said. “His grandson and granddaughter are upstairs. You want to see them?”
“Latigo dead. A sweet time for a bride to get home.” She swung back to her valise and picked it up. “Sure, I want to see my grandchildren, but I doubt like hell that they’ll want to see me.”
Jim reached for her valise and took it out of her hand. “This way,” he said, and turned into the lobby. He wondered what would be the end of this. Kitsie had had too much to stand already. She shouldn’t have to face this, but he saw no way to avoid it.
Honey Nolan kept pace with Jim along the hall to Kitsie’s door in a leggy, graceful walk. Jim knocked. The door swung open, Stub crowding out, a cocked gun in his hand, fine-featured face quivering with fear.
“Put it up,” Jim said testily.
Stub’s gun arm sagged. “I thought it was Vinton or Deeter or some of them.” He holstered his gun and sleeved sweat from his face. “Sorry.”
“Stub, this is Latigo’s wife,” Jim said
“Latigo’s...wife!” Stub stared at the woman in the dazed way of a man so shocked that his thought processes went paralyzed. “You’re crazy, Hallet. He never married again.”
Kitsie was standing across the room talking to Zane Biddle. She heard and came to the door. She said: “Come in.”
Honey Nolan stepped boldly into the room. “So, you’re the grandchildren. Latigo was mighty proud of you, and I don’t blame him. Sure sorry to hear what happened. I haven’t seen him since we were married a year ago in Boise, and then to get here on the day....” She broke off as if she felt too strongly about it to go on.
Jim shut the door. He said: “It seems a little too pat for you to get here the day Latigo gets plugged.”
Honey whirled to face him. “What do you mean by that, star-man?”
“I mean a dead man ain’t in no shape to deny marrying you.”
“If you mean...,” Honey began.
“We had not heard Granddad was married,” Kitsie cut in quickly. “He was an old man, over seventy. It hardly seems possible he would get married, or that he would not tell us if he did.”
“He was younger than any man of seventy I ever saw,” Honey said, her fists clenching at her sides. “Maybe he wasn’t proud of me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you, but I married him in good faith. He wanted me to come and live with him as soon as I could. You’re not going to put me out this way.”
“I don’t believe it!” Stub shouted. “Got your marriage license?”
Honey dropped down on the bed and began to cry. “I didn’t think I had to bring a marriage license to show my husband I was married. I didn’t know Latigo would be dead when I got here. I never dreamed the man I loved....”
“Just a minute, Missus Wyatt.” Biddle moved toward Kitsie, pink-cheeked face showing concern. “I’m afraid she’s right. You see, Latigo did marry her.”
“Why didn’t he tell us?” Kitsie asked.
The tempered steel that had been in Latigo had come down to Kitsie. She had complete control of herself; her grief was hidden deep within her. Jim, watching her from the door, knew that Kitsie had become Wagon Wheel. The absent Boone didn’t count. Stub, seared almost to the point of hysteria, didn’t count. It was Kitsie who had the hard core of courage, the grim determination. It would be Kitsie who would hold the empire Latigo had built.
For a moment neither Biddle nor Honey Nolan spoke. The woman had stopped crying, and her gaze touched Biddle’s face.
She asked then: “Who are you?”
“The banker, Zane Biddle. I’m the one who has been sending you the checks.” He turned to Kitsie. “As you know, Latigo didn’t like to write, so he left even the letter writing to me. Or most of it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Kitsie asked again.
“I could not betray Latigo’s confidence,” Biddle said. “I have been so shocked by his death that I never gave it a thought, but I can assure you that this woman is the one he married. I have her picture. It’s over in the bank. She sent it to him about three months ago when her show was in Denver. All her letters were sent to him through me because he didn’t want any of you folks to see them. He was...well, worried over what you’d say.”
Jim remembered that Latigo had gone to Boise about a year ago and he had come back feeling happier than usual. He claimed to have had a big hand in a poker game that had more than paid for the trip, but he could have married this Honey Nolan. If he had, he would probably have worked it the way Biddle said.
There was a moment of silence. Stub had gone to the window and was looking down into the street, worrying, Jim saw, more about his safety than anything else. Biddle stood beside Kitsie, his gaze on her, one hand nervously patting his bald spot. Honey, wide-eyed, stared defiantly at Kitsie.
“I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” Honey said. “I suppose I’ll have to go back.”
“I think it would be wise,” Biddle said gravely. “I assure you that you’ll be taken care of financially. That is the way Latigo would have wanted it.”
“No,” Kitsie said flatly. “She could bleed Wagon Wheel dry, and you were just telling me that our cash was very low.”
“Your herd will soon be on the trail to Winnemucca,” Biddle said, “and I’ll be happy to advance you all the money you need. I’ve done that for years, and Latigo’s death will make no difference.”
Kitsie shook her head. “No. If...if...” — she floundered for the right word — “f Missus Wyatt wants to be taken care of financially, she’ll come home. She’ll work along with the rest of us and she’ll live our kind of life.” She fixed her blue eyes on Honey. “I’m sure Granddad would want it that way.”
“But I don’t know anything about ranch life,” Honey began.
“You’ll learn. It will be your living the same as it’s ours, and you’ll have to work for it.”
“Stub never worked for his living,” Biddle pointed out.
Stub swung away from the window. “Shut up, Biddle.”
“You shut up.” Kitsie did not raise her voice, but her words slapped him into silence. “He’s right, Stub. From now on, you’re working. Granddad planned on that or he wouldn’t have stopped the rest of us from cashing checks. And no more poker.” Kitsie turned to Jim. “We’re leaving now. We would have gone sooner, but Stub was afraid of the Poverty Flat men. Are they still in the Bonanza?”
“All but Bud Yellowby. I’ll see you get out of town.”
“Get a horse for Missus Wyatt, will you, Jim?”
“I can’t ride a horse!” Honey cried. “Latigo told me I wouldn’t have to.”
“Get a buggy,” Kitsie said. “We’ll be down in five minutes.”
Jim opened the door. Kitsie had changed in the few hours since he had kissed her in Nell Craft’s kitchen. He turned to look at her again, puzzled by it. Her face was as gray as the desert that ran a hundred miles to the west; she was as immovable as the Steens Mountains to the south. He thought, and it was like a slashing knife blade in him, that she didn’t need him, that she was a Wyatt, and that many of the qualities that had made Latigo a success were in his granddaughter.
“I’ll get a buggy for you,” Jim said.
He stepped into the hall. Kitsie followed, shutting the door behind her. She said: “I understand some things I didn’t when I talked to you this morning. Dad told me the same as you did, that he had framed Ernie Craft. Then he said he’d have to get rid of you because you wouldn’t take orders.”
He looked down at her, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her, to tell her he loved her and would always love her. But he didn’t. She didn’t want it. She was looking squarely at him, holding him away with her eyes.
“I’m still look
ing for Boone,” he said.
“You should have sense enough to know he didn’t kill Granddad. Keep looking and you’ll find him.” She swallowed, fighting to hold her tone level. “I think you’ll find him dead.”
“Why?”
“They’re after the Wyatts, aren’t they? There would be no sense in killing one without killing the other, would there?”
“I’ll get the buggy,” Jim said, and turned away.
They were on the street, waiting, when he drove the buggy from the livery stable to the hotel. Kitsie stepped in and took the lines. In a cool, distant voice, she said: “Thanks, Jim.” Then: “Get in, Missus Wyatt.”
Biddle, standing on the walk, said: “I’ll be out this evening, Kitsie, and I’ll bring Missus Wyatt’s picture and her letters. It should be proof enough.”
That was when the Poverty Flat men, Buck Deeter and Chris Vinton in front, left the Bonanza and strode along the boardwalk, Deeter calling: “Wyatt, get away from them women.”
Stub began to tremble, his face going as gray as the dust of the street. He started to reach for his gun but then let his hand drop away. He shouted: “I’ve got no reason to fight you, Buck!”
“We’ve got plenty of reason to fight the Wyatts,” Deeter grated. “Make your play.”
“There’ll be no fighting,” Jim said. “Get on your horse, Stub. Buck, if you pull, I’ll drill you between the eyes.”
They stopped, doubt tugging at Deeter. Vinton, still wanting to push, said: “Hell, he’s just a bluff, Buck.”
“I don’t think so,” Deeter said. “Latigo was a good judge of men. Looks like Hallet is still working for the Wyatts.”
“I’m sheriff, Buck,” Jim said.
Stub was on his horse and reining him into the street. He knew now he’d get clear, and a sudden rush of courage made him shout: “Us Wyatts ain’t backing up none, Deeter! We started to move Ernie Craft and we’ll move him. Then you’d better get off Poverty Flat.” Stub cracked steel to his horse and went out of town on the run.
High Desert Page 20
