Angie nodded seriously. "You didn't like what I said, did you? Perhaps I should only have said something nice. It would have been wiser for me, but of no use to you. " When he did not respond, she added, "Mary is lovely, and she is like her father. Nothing existed in this world but the B-Bar for Gid. Mary is the same way. She is strong, too. They are underrating her, all of them. To keep that ranch intact she will lie, steal and kill."
"You really think that, don't you?" He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up. "Sometimes one has to kill."
She acknowledged that. "There are ways of killing. But remember what I have said. If she thought she could save the B-Bar by selling you out she would do it without hesitation."
He turned the dun stallion. "Well, thanks," he said, "but I think you judge her too severely."
"Perhaps. ' Her eyes were large and dark. She stood there in her buckskin skirt and calico blouse, looking lonely, beautiful, and sad. "I would not have said that, Utah Blaine, but I know the man you are, and I know you ride for Joe Neal, and for something stronger and better than all of them."
She turned abruptly and started for the house and he looked J after her, a little puzzled but captured by her grace. She turned'! suddenly. "When it happens that they are all against you," shej said, "and it will happen so for I know them and they are wolvesl . . . when it happens, come to me. I will stand beside you as my| father did beside Joe Neal."
Chapter Six.
Mary Blake was waiting impatiently beside a spring at Goat Camp. There was nothing there but a dark and gloomy hut with a roof so sunken that only a midget could have used the old cabin. A stone corral and a shed thatched with branches loomed in the background.
She walked to Blaine quickly as he came up. "You're late. You've been talking to that girl."
"Angie? Yes, I have.'
"She's beautiful." Mary said it shortly and Utah repressed a grin as he swung down. No love lost here, that was certain.
"Yes," he agreed cheerfully, "I believe she is. Now what's this proposition?"
"You may have guessed. I've two good men. Kelsey and Timm. Neither are gunmen but both will stick. They'll fight, too, and both are tough men. You have yourself. Together we can make a better fight than alone, and you--well, your name should draw some help to us."
"I've one man," he admitted, "Rip Coker."
She was immediately pleased. "Good! Oh, fine! He's the best of that lot on the 46, and as a fighting man he's worth two of my men. Good. And we can get some more. There's lots of them drifting into the Junction."
"Not them. Paid warriors."
"Aren't they all? Aren't you?" She flared at him, then she swept off her hat and shook out her hair. "Don't mind me, Utah, I'm upset by this thing. I'm snapping at everyone." "It's understandable. I get a little upset at times." She looked at him critically. "I doubt that. Were you ever upset by anything? Or anyone? You look too damnably self-sufficient, like you had ice water in your veins. "
"All right," he brushed off her comments. "We've got four men and they had, as you suggest, better operate together. The 46 is the center, and we could fort up there. "
Her face changed swiftly. "And leave the B-Bar? Not for a minute. I thought you'd come over to my place. I could cook, and I have Maria, too. I couldn't leave her alone. "
You mean you couldn't leave the ranch alone, he told himself, then immediately felt guilty. After all his irritation at Angie he was adopting her viewpoint. "What we had better do," he said, "is ride into town and have a showdown with Otten. Swing him to our side."
"It won't work. He can gain nothing that way. He'll stay neutral as long as he can, then join them." She moved closer to him. "Utah, help me. On the 46 you'll have Ortmann on one side and the others to your south. You'll be between two fires. Come to the B-Bar and we can present a united front, with only enemies from one direction."
There was some logic in that, but not much. His own desire was to move right in, to take the bull by the horns. He said finally, "Tomorrow I'm riding to see Ortmann. I'm going to talk him out of this if I can, then I'll tackle the others."
"He won't listen to you."
"He'll have his chance."
She shrugged, then smiled at him. "Oh, I shouldn't argue! You're probably right. Only . . . only . . . only I'd feel safer if you were over there with me. Maria is wonderful, and I know she would die for me, and so would Kelsey and Timm, but neither of them could face Clell. He frightens me."
He looked at her quickly. "You don't think he'd bother you?"
"I wouldn't put it past him. Or the others." She was not being honest and she knew it. Clell--well, he might--but she doubted it. He liked telling her off, he liked being impudent because she had been boss so long, but Clell for all his killing and the innate
vicious streak he undoubtedly had, was always respectful to women. Even, she had heard, to bad women.
Yet she could see her suggestion had influenced Utah. He was disturbed, and she set herself to play upon this advantage. He was handsome, she told herself. And the first man she had ever seen whom she could really admire. It would be pleasant to have
him at the ranch.
"It seems so silly," she said, "you and Rip Coker down there batching when you could be having your meals with us. I can cook and so can Maria. And you know how foolish it is to divide
our forces."
"I'll see Ortmann first," he said. "Then I'll come back this way
and I'll bring Coker. ' They left it at that.
All was quiet on the ranch when Blaine rode in, and none of the men were back. Rip walked out from the house with a Winchester in the crook of his arm. Briefly, Blaine explained the plan. Coker shrugged, "Well, it gives us some help we can use. I know those boys. One thing about them, they'll stick. '
"All right," he said, "first thing tomorrow I'm heading for Ortmann's bunch. I'm going to try to swing him my way." "You won't do it."
"We'll see, anyway. Want to come along?" Coker chuckled. "I wouldn't miss it. I want to see your expression when you see that gent. He's bigger'n a horse, I tell you."
The next morning they were on their way. The trail led back to the rim of Tule Mesa and ran along the Mesa itself. It provided Blaine with a new chance to study the country, and he took time to turn and look off to the southeast toward the Mazatzals, twenty-five miles away to the southeast. It was all that had been implied from the looks of it, a far and rugged country.
Rip rode without talking, his eyes always alert. They had reached the Yellowjacket Trail before he spoke.
"Neal's got me worried. What if something happens to him? I mean, what happens to you?"
It was a good question, and it started Utah thinking. He had come with the backing and authority of Neal, but if Neal died or was killed, he would be strictly on his own. His lips tightened at
the thought. "No need to worry about that. Cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Better think of it." Coker shifted his seat in the saddle. "I'll bet Nevers has."
"What about Nevers? You know him?"
"Yep. He's one o' those gents who puts up an honest front but who's been mixed in a lot of dirty stuff. He's got guts, Utah, an' he's a wolf on the prowl, a hungry wolf. He's strong, tough and smart. He's not erratic like Fox. He's no gunman, but he's been in a lot of fights. He'll be hard to handle."
Blaine shrugged and swung his horse into Yellowjacket Canyon. "None of them are easy."
Almost at once he saw the shacks. There were at least twenty of them. Not more than half of them were occupied, and the others were in varying stages of ruin. There was a long building with a porch on which was a sign that informed the wandering public that here was a saloon and store. Several loafers sat on the edge of the porch, legs dangling.
Blaine drew up. "Howdy, boys. Ortmann around?" One of the men jerked his head. "Inside." Utah dropped to the ground and Coker glanced at him, his eyes faintly amused. "I'll stand by," he said, "an' keep em off your back."
Utah grin
ned. "Keep em off yours," he retorted. Turning, he walked up the steps. The loafers were all hardcases, he could see that. They eyed him wearily and glanced curiously at the hatchet-faced blond man who leaned against the watering trough.
There were three men inside the store and one of them was Lud Fuller.
Blaine stopped abruptly. "What you doin' over here, Lud?" Fuller shifted his feet. He hadn't expected to meet Blaine and was confused. "Huntin' cows," he said bluntly.
"You'll find some back near the end of Chalktank, " Blaine told him. "We rode past a few on the way up."
He turned then to look at the big man who sat on the counter. Blaine was to learn that Ortmann always sat on the counter because he had no chair to fit his huge size. He was the biggest man Blaine had ever seen, wide in the shoulder with a massive chest and huge hands. That he stood at least eight inches over six feet Blaine could believe, and all his body was massive in proportion to his height. ^
"You're Blaine. " Ortmann said it flatly and without emphasis. "And you're Ortmann." Neither man made an effort to shake hands, but sized each other up coolly. Blaine's two hundred pounds of compact rangerider was dwarfed by the size of this
man.
"I'm in a fight, Ortmann." Blaine had no intention of beating around the bush. "Neal is out of the state and I'm in charge here. It seems that everybody in this country has just been waitin' for a chance to grab off a chunk of 46 range."
"Includin' me," Ortmann acknowledged. His face was very wide and his jaw and cheekbones flat and heavy. He wore a short beard and his neck was a column of muscle coming from the homespun shirt. The chest was matted with hair.
"Includin' you," Blaine agreed. "But I'm goin' to win this fight, Ortmann, an' the fewer who get hurt the better. You," he said, "size up like a tough chunk of man. You've got some salty
lads."
"You biddin' for our help?" Ortmann asked.
"I want no help. I'm askin' you to stay out. Let me handle the big outfits. I don't want you on my back while I'm tangling with
the others."
"That's smart." Ortmann turned his glass in his fingers. He drank from a water glass, and in his huge hand it looked like something a doll might use. "That's smart for you. Not so smart for me. That there range is free range. As long as a man uses it, he's got a rightful claim. When he steps out, it falls to him who can hold it. Well, me an' the boys want grass. We want plow-land. It lays there for us."
"No." Blaine's voice was cool. "You will never have one acre of that ground unless by permission from Joe Neal or myself. Not one acre. I say it here and now, and it will stick that way.
"Nor will anybody else. I'm saying that now and I hope you spread it around. All the ideas these would-be range grabbers have, they'd better forget. The 46 isn't givin' up anything." "You talk mighty big. You ain't even got an outfit." Utah Blaine did not smile. He did not move. He merely said quietly, "I'm my own outfit. I don't need your help." Despite himself, Ortmann was impressed.
"In answer to your question." Ortmann got to his feet. "No, I won't lay off. Me an' the boys will move in whenever the time's
ripe. You're through. The 46 is through. You ain't got a chance. The wolves will pull you down just like they pulled down Gid Blake."
Utah Blaine's eyes grew bleak and cold. "Have it your way, Ortmann," he said flatly. "But if that's the way you want it, the fight starts here."
For an instant the giant's eyes blinked. He was startled and felt a reluctant admiration for this man. There was Ortmann, a giant unchallenged for strength and fighting fury. There were twenty of his men within call, and yet Blaine challenged him.
"You think you can kill me with that gun." Ortmann placed his big hands on his hips. "You might do it, but you'd never stop me before I got my hands on you. And then I'd kill you."
Blaine laughed harshly. "You think so?" He turned his head slightly. "Rip!" he yelled. "Come an' hold my coat! I'm goin' to whip the tallow out of this big moose!"
"Why, you damn' fool!" Fuller burst out. "He'll kill you!"
"You'd better hope he does," Blaine replied shortly. "I'll settle with you afterward. "
As Coker came through the door, Blaine stripped off his guns and handed them to him. "Ortmann," he said, "my guns would stop you because every bullet would be in your heart. I can center every shot in the space of a dollar at a hundred yards. You'd be easy. But you're too good a man to kill, so I'm just goin' to whip you with my hands."
"Whip me?" Ortmann was incredulous.
"That's right." Utah Blaine grinned suddenly. He felt great. Something welled up inside of him, the fierce old love of battle that was never far from the surface. "You can be had, big boy. I'll bet you've never had a dozen fights in your life. You're too big. Well, I've had a hundred. Come on, you big lug, stack your duds and grease your skids. I'm goin' to tear down your meat house!"
Ortmann lunged, amazingly swift for such a big man, but Utah's hands were up and he stabbed a jarring left to the teeth that flattened Ortmann's lips back. A lesser man would have been stopped in his tracks. It didn't even slow the giant.
One huge fist caught Blaine a jarring blow as he rolled to escape the punch. But with the same roll he threw a right to the heart. It landed solidly, and flat-footed, feet wide apart, Utah rolled at the hips and hooked his left to Ortmann's belly. The punches landed hard and they hurt. Blaine went down in a half
crouch and hooked a wide right that clipped Ortmann on the side
of the head. (<
Ortmann stopped in his tracks and blinked. You-you can
hit!" he said, and lunged.
Chapter Seven.
Ortmann punched swiftly, left and right. Utah slipped away from the left, but the right caught him in the chest and knocked him to the floor. Ortmann rushed him, but Blaine rolled over swiftly and came up, jarring against the counter as Ortmann closed in. Utah smashed a wicked short right to the belly and then a left. Burying his skull against the big man's chest, he began to swing in with both fists.
Ortmann got an arm around Blaine's body and held the punching left off. Then Ortmann smashed ponderously at Blaine's face. The blows thudded against cheekbone and skull and lights burst in Blaine's brain. Smashing down with the inside of his boot against Ortmann's shin, Blaine drove all his weight on the big man's instep. Ortmann let go with a yell and staggered back, and then Blaine hit him full.
Ortmann went back three full steps with Blaine closing in fast. But close against the counter the big man rolled aside and swung a left to the mouth and Blaine tasted blood. Wild with fury he drove at Ortmann, smashing with both fists, and Ortmann met him. Back they went. Ortmann suddenly reached out and grabbed Blaine by the arm and threw him against the door.
It swung back on its hinges and Blaine crashed through, off the porch and into the gray dust of the road. Following him, Ortmann
sprang from the porch, his heels raised to crush the life from Utah. But swiftly Blaine had rolled over and staggered to his feet. He was more shaken than hurt. He blinked. Then as Ortmann hit the ground, momentarily off balance, Blaine swung. His fist flattened against Ortmann's nose and knocked him back against the porch. Crouched, Blaine stared at him through trickling sweat and blood. "How d' you like it, big fella?" he said, and walked in. Ortmann ducked a left and smashed a right to Utah's ribs that stabbed pain into his vitals. He staggered back and fell, gasping wide-mouthed for air. Ortmann came in and swung a heavy boot for his face. Blaine slapped it out of line and lunged upward, grabbing the big man in the crotch with one hand and by the shirt front with the other.
The momentum of Ortmann's rush and the pivot of Blaine's arms carried the big man off his feet and up high. Then Blaine threw him to the ground. Ortmann hit hard, and Blaine staggered back, glad for the momentary respite. Panting and mopping blood from his face, he watched the big man climb slowly to his feet.
Blaine had been wearing a skin tight glove on his left hand, and now he slipped another on his right, meanw
hile watching the big man get up. Blaine's shirt was in rags and he ripped the few streamers of cloth away. His body was brown, and powerful muscles rippled under the skin. He moved in, and Ortmann grinned at him. "Come on, little fella! Let's see you fight!"
Toe to toe they stood and slugged, smashing blows that were thrown with wicked power. Skull to skull they hit and battered. Ortmann's lips were pulp, a huge mouse was under one eye, almost closing it. There was a deep cut on Blaine's cheekbone and blood flowed continually. Inside his mouth there was a wicked
cut.
Then Blaine stepped back suddenly. He caught Ortmann by the shoulder and pulled him forward, off balance. At the same time, he smashed a right to Ortmann's kidney.
Ortmann staggered, and Blaine moved quickly in and stabbed a swift left to the mouth. Then another. Then a hard driven left to the body followed by a right.
Blaine circled warily now, staying out of reach of those huge hands, away from that incredible weight. His legs felt leaden, his breath came in gasps. But he circled then stepped in with a left to the head, and, setting himself, smashed a right to the body. Ortmann went back a full step, his big head swaying like that of a
drunken bear. Blaine moved in. He set himself and whipped that right to the body again, then a left and another right. Ortmann struck out feebly, and Blaine caught the wrist and threw Ortmann with a rolling hip-lock.
Ortmann got up slowly. His eyes were glazed, his face a smear of blood. He opened and closed his fingers, then started for Blaine. And Blaine came to meet him, low and hard, with a tackle around the knees. Ortmann tried to kick, but he was too slow. Blaine's shoulder struck and he went down. Quickly, Utah rolled free and got to his feet.
Ortmann got up, huge, indomitable, but whipped. Blaine backed off. "You're whipped, Ort," he said hoarsely, "don't make me hit you again."
"You wanted to fight," Ortmann said, "come on!"
"You're through, " Blaine repeated. "From here on I'd cut you to ribbons, an' what would it prove? You're a tough man, an' you're game, but you're also licked."
Utah Blain (1984) Page 5
