Marble Range

by Robert J. Horton

  “All right,” said Le Beck. “I’ll get him. An’ if you don’t come through, I’ll get you, too.” He started for the door.

  “By the way,” said Cromer, “if that fool Link should show up in town . . . which he’s liable to do . . . tell him I want to see him. I want to find out where the protection was that I’m paying for and why they didn’t stop that raid. Great snakes. Is everybody in this country a doublecrosser? Go ahead. Your work’s cut out for you.”

  As Le Beck slipped out the door, Cromer stood motionlessly. Did Le Beck know for sure that Bannister was The Maverick? If he did, he would take no chances. He wouldn’t wait for a face to face draw. He’d shoot on sight. Well, they could claim that Bannister was one of the raiders. People would believe anything about him now. And wasn’t he an escaped prisoner? There was a hint of a smile on his face as he thought of the possible effect upon Florence Marble.

  * * * * *

  When Manley brought the news of what had happened on the project in the early hours of the morning, Florence had dropped limply into a chair. She stared with drawn features at Manley. She could not shake off the feeling that she was in some way responsible. If she had sided with the association, would Cromer have dared to keep the head gates open? She felt in her heart that, if she had yielded a point, she could have prevented this thing that had struck at the heart of the project and jeopardized her investment. To her, Cromer now became a monster for having lured her into the thing. She was a fool. Nothing else. She might have known she couldn’t run this great ranch and attend to her finances without the expert advice of some honest and experienced banker. Yet she hadn’t made any attempt to secure such advice. She made up her mind suddenly.

  “Call Howard and get the horses ready,” she said crisply to Manley. “We’re going up to Marble.”

  She didn’t know what she could do, but she intended to see Cromer and find out if there wasn’t some way to put an end to the trouble.

  * * * * *

  Bannister had followed the river trail at as fast a pace as the trail would permit. The horse he was riding was a good horse, but it could not compare with his own mount, lying dead back there in the rendezvous from Le Beck’s bullet. His face was the color of ashes, his lips pressed tightly into a thin, white line, his eyes narrowed and burning with a light that would have struck fear to the heart of any gunman who looked into them. In every slightest movement, in the steel-blue fire of his darting gaze, in the nervous twitching of the fingers of that deadly right hand, here was the super gunfighter—the killer.

  Bannister knew as well as if Le Beck had shouted the information back at him that the man was headed for Marble. He wouldn’t leave until he had told Cromer what had happened and had bulldozed a bunch of money out of him. Le Beck was not one to get nothing out of a deal like this. It was not his fault that he hadn’t killed Bannister. The moves had been made too swiftly, and Le Beck was a ground fighter, not much good on a horse as at the last when he had had his best chance. If Bannister could only catch up with him, or see him in town, he would have his chance.

  When he came out of the Dome trail to the plain, Bannister urged his horse to its best pace. This was better than Le Beck might have suspected. But Le Beck had a start and he had a faster horse. And Bannister had to stop at the cow camp. When he reached the camp, he found only the cook there; the men were out with the herd and Manley had gone in to the house. Bannister had to ride out and find one of the men who would convey his message to the others, so they could go to the rendezvous in the river breaks and bring back the dead and wounded. It took him a little time to attend to this, and then he again was streaking across the plain in the direction of Marble. He saw three riders to the west of him but he paid no attention to them. Le Beck would be riding alone.

  He rode into town less than an hour after Le Beck’s arrival. He tied his horse behind a building midway the length of the short street. Then he hurried to the bank, where he strode past the cage and opened the door of the private office unceremoniously. There was no one there. He walked back to the astonished cashier.

  “Where’s Cromer?” he demanded.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” faltered the cashier, frightened by the look in Bannister’s eyes. “I . . .”

  Bannister’s gun came up as if by magic. It was leveled at the cashier’s heart. “Where’s Cromer?” The words cracked like pistol shots in the cashier’s ears. “In . . . his office at the company,” came the faint reply.

  Bannister hurried out and across to the company office. The crowds were dispersing, discussing Cromer’s speech. He stamped through the outer office and opened the door in the rear. Cromer leaped from his desk as Bannister entered, his face going white. The fire of Bannister’s passion seemed to burn in the very air of the room. Cromer cowered before him. Here, as he knew, was—not the man Bannister he had known, but The Maverick.

  “Is Le Beck back in town?” asked his visitor.

  Cromer licked his dry lips with a dry tongue. He tried to speak but his vocal organs would not obey his will. Now came the gun. Steady at The Maverick’s hip as if it had been held in a vice. The sweat broke out on Cromer’s forehead as he realized he was looking straight in the face of death.

  “Is Le Beck in town?”

  There it was again—the question he must answer. He could not lie; he knew it. But he couldn’t talk. Terror gripped him until he shook like a leaf in its grasp. He nodded his head—nodded and nodded. As his visitor strode out, he sank into his chair.

  Florence, Howard, and Manley were riding up the street. Suddenly there was a commotion. A group in front of a building were hurled aside and Bannister was in the street ahead of them. They checked their horses in wonder. Florence felt a chill grip her heart as she caught a fleeting glimpse of Bannister’s eyes and face. It was a different man, one who she didn’t know. This wasn’t Bannister, she realized with a sinking feeling of horror and awe. The man out there was The Maverick. Now words, biting cold and clear, broke upon the silence that had fallen over the crowd.

  “Le Beck . . . come here!”

  For the first time, Florence saw the small, spider-like figure of the gunman in the street at the edge of the crowd. He was leaning forward, his right hand poised for the swoop to his gun. He took a step—another.

  “Take one more step and go for your gun,” came the words of The Maverick. “If you don’t, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Le Beck didn’t step—he leaped. The air was split by the sharp report of a six-shooter. He staggered back two steps; his gun was in his hand. The Maverick had permitted him to start his draw first. And now The Maverick stood, a curl of smoke above his hip. For a space that seemed an eternity, Le Beck wavered, trying to raise his weapon, then he plunged forward on his face in the dust.

  Another moment and Bannister had started for the building behind which he had left his horse. Two shots rang out behind him. He whirled as his left arm whipped backward, pierced by a bullet.

  “You, too?” he called.

  Then he literally ran into the face of a stream of bullets from Link’s gun. The man, seeing he had missed a vital mark, shot at random, shaken, terrorized. Bannister’s gun spoke once. There were two crumpled forms in the street as he ran for his horse.

  Manley was just able to catch Florence Marble before she could fall from her saddle.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The scene following the shootings was one of riotous confusion. People milled about the street, leaving an open space about the bodies of the two dead men. Cromer, when he appeared on the scene with men to take charge, was nearly mobbed. He had difficulty in fighting his way out of the crowd, and finally reached the company office surrounded by his own men, his clothing disarranged and torn, a frightened look in his eyes.

  Howard and Manley got Florence Marble to the hotel, where she lay down in a room upstairs. She no longer wanted to see Cromer. She begged them to leave her alone. It wasn’t so much the shock of the gun play she had witnessed
as it was the look on Bannister’s face as she had seen it before his gun spat its message of death. The Maverick! He would never be anything else! She sobbed quietly when she was alone in the room.

  Meanwhile Sheriff Campbell had ridden into town with Deputy Van Note and another officer. He learned at once what had happened and went to Cromer’s office. He found the irrigation head slumped in the chair behind his desk, pale, disheveled, frightened.

  “So you sent Le Beck after Bannister, eh?” said Campbell, jumping at once to the right conclusion.

  Cromer’s eyes opened wide and Campbell saw he was right in his conjecture. Then Cromer straightened in his chair and spoke harshly. “I told you this Bannister was The Maverick, and Sheriff Wills told you the same thing. But you were too bull-headed to believe it. You acted like you wanted to make a pet out of him, or something.” A sneer came to Cromer’s lips. “Now you can see for yourself. This is what you get for letting him out of jail. Oh, don’t tell me he escaped or anything like that. I can see two and two before my eyes. He came here and broke loose this morning, just as I knew he would do, sooner or later. And now two men are dead and he’s gone. He’s gone, you understand? Try and catch him. He’s made fools out of better sheriffs than you could ever hope to be.”

  “Maybe so,” said Campbell with a trace of anger. “But so far as I’m concerned in this you keep your mouth shut. I let him out of jail and make no bones about it. You’ll find out soon enough why I let him out. I don’t have to try and catch him. He’ll walk into my office sooner or later and lay down his gun. You can sneer . . . go ahead. But you can lay to it that I’m telling you straight. As for the men he killed, if ever a pair needed killing bad, it was those two.”

  “Stick up for him,” Cromer jeered. “Maybe the state authorities will have something to say about it.”

  “Maybe they will.” Campbell nodded. “Now tell me what you know about this explosion at the dam.”

  “Lot of good it’ll do,” snarled Cromer. “Macy and his crowd down there have had a couple of men working with our bunch, as I see it. They had most of the dynamite planted, that’s what. Then they came up here after midnight and held off our men while they attached the fuses and caps, or I suppose that was it. Maybe they brought more dynamite with them. After the explosion they rode south, back to their ranches. That’s all. What you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to send for Macy,” said Campbell. “And I’ve heard a heap about this business, Cromer. You’ve acted like a plain damn’ fool. You should have played the game straight with those stockmen instead of trying to ride them. You don’t seem to understand the old-timers in this country. They’re all men from the soles of their boots to the crowns of their hats. And they’re all square.”

  “Oh, you’ll all stick together,” said Cromer with a wave of his hand. “I expected that. But we’ll put up a fight.”

  Campbell turned away with a look of disgust on his face and went out to superintend the task of getting the crowds in hand.

  The killings had undone what Cromer had accomplished by his inspired speech. The land buyers were again assailed by doubts. This was too wild a country for the mild occupation of farming. The dam had been blown up. If the stockmen didn’t hesitate to do a thing like that, what would they hesitate at? And now a notorious gunman and killer had come into their midst and shot down two men before their very eyes. What would be next?

  It was a long time before they became quieted and then the calmness that descended upon them seemed ominous in itself. They gathered in little groups and talked in low tones. Then they went out and gathered at each other’s shacks and the conferences continued.

  In the afternoon John Macy arrived. He sought out Sheriff Campbell, and, at Campbell’s suggestion, the two of them went at once to Cromer’s office. Cromer received them calmly.

  “I wanted you to hear this conversation, Cromer,” Campbell began.

  “That’s all it’ll amount to,” Cromer snapped out.

  “Then all the more reason why you should hear it,” said Campbell sharply. He turned to Macy, who had taken a chair and was lighting a long, black cigar. “Macy, who blew up that dam?

  “Representatives of the Cattlemen’s Association blew up that dam to protect its members for water for their stock and fields,” replied Macy calmly.

  Cromer started up in his chair. You hear!” he cried to Campbell. “You hear? He acknowledges it . . . he confesses. Now you’ve got to do your duty. It’s up to you to . . .”

  “Shut up!” Campbell interrupted angrily. “If you don’t keep a check rein on your mouth, Cromer, I’ll gag you. Now, Macy, who were these men?”

  “We’re not telling that,” said Macy, flicking the ashes from his cigar. “No individual is responsible. The association is taking the responsibility upon itself. If you want to make charges against anyone, you will have to prefer charges against the entire membership of our organization. And then you’ll have to prove them.” There was a glitter of triumph in John Macy’s eyes.

  Sheriff Campbell saw through the play and turned away from Cromer so the man could not see the smile upon his lips. Then Macy spoke again.

  “You an’ I are old-timers in this country, Gus Campbell, an’ you understand,” he said in a stern voice. “We have always been men of our word in this country. We have never been forced to call upon the law to make a man keep a promise. We’ve never had to ask the law to punish a man for not keeping a promise. Cromer gave us his word that he would let us have our water. He broke it. We busted his dam. Now we’re ready to compromise and to make certain reparations. This is all I have to say about the matter an’ all I will say. It’s up to Cromer to say if he wants peace or war.”

  Cromer’s face darkened. He looked at Campbell, who, in turn, was looking at him, his brows elevated. Slowly the sneer that came to Cromer’s lips died and the lines of his face set. “I see through it,” he said. “If you’re going to keep your hands off, Campbell, and let this thing go on, then we’ll fight them with their own weapons. So far as we’re concerned, it’s war.”

  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think that over,” said Campbell. Then he and John Macy went out.

  * * * * *

  The wounded men, Tommy Gale and Hayes, had been brought to the hospital. Hayes died on the operating table, but before he died he told Sheriff Campbell that there had been an understanding whereby the members of the Half Diamond outfit who had been hired by him were to prevent an attack by the southern cattlemen. This had been in line with Cromer’s idea to keep Florence Marble allied with the interests of the irrigation company. He confessed that he had been the leader of the rustling band, and, when he learned that both Le Beck and Link had been killed by Bannister, he told Campbell they had all been connected with the bank robbery, together with the Canadians who had been killed in the rendezvous. The cup in the riverbank had been used as a place to change the brands of the cattle. Later they were driven eastward and up into Canada, where they were sold.

  Tommy Gale had nothing to say. He refused to talk. His collar bone had been shattered by a bullet, but the doctor said he would recover. Sheriff Campbell did not press him for details.

  That night all was quiet in Marble. Manley took Florence home, but Howard stayed to await developments and learn such news as he could. His faith in Bannister was not shaken, although Florence had said that she never wanted to see him again.

  But, though the town was quiet enough, matters were coming to a crisis on the project. The land buyers had had several meetings in different shacks and had come to the conclusion that they had made a mistake. Their confidence in Cromer and the company was shaken. They were prepared to act.

  Next day brought another scene of turmoil and confusion in the town of Marble. But, unlike the day before, it had a sinister aspect in its early quietness. Settlers began to draw their deposits from the bank. This went on in unostentatious fashion during the morning until the employees of the company learned of it. Then beg
an a run on the bank. All who had made deposits, who were on the project, started to withdraw them. In vain Cromer tried to reassure them. And at 1:00 p.m. the bank closed its doors, refusing to pay out more.

  This brought the climax. Scores of land buyers, hundreds of laborers, and people of the town thronged the street. Stones were hurled through the windows of the company office and the bank. Sheriff Campbell, gun in hand, with his deputies and such men as he could gather in the emergency, kept the crowd at bay before these places. Howard rode madly to the Dome camp and Manley came with almost the entire Half Diamond outfit to help in the efforts to preserve order.

  Such was the state of affairs when Bannister rode into town behind a fast team in the late afternoon. Sitting beside him on the seat of the buckboard was a stranger. A great cry went up. The killer was back. The crowds broke up and fled as the pair drove down the street. Sheriff Campbell, sensing some dramatic and effectual move on the part of the man he trusted, made way for them to the hotel. As they went in, the crowd massed in the street.

  After a few moments Bannister, Sheriff Campbell, and the stranger appeared upon the single balcony above the hotel entrance. The talking below ceased and the crowd became still. There was something magnetic about Bannister’s manner, something electrical in the flashing gaze he turned on the throng that filled the street. Even Cromer, on the outskirts of the crowd, was impressed; also, he was beset with misgivings.

  Then Bannister began to speak in a clear, ringing voice. The mighty audience listened, hung on every word—more interested than they had been on the occasion of Cromer’s oration of the day before.

  “My friends,” said Bannister, “you have heard me called The Maverick. You have heard me described as everything that was bad. I have no alibi and nothing to deny. It is not for myself that I speak but for you. This project has been mismanaged by a man who did not understand, and who now does not understand, the principles and temper of real Westerners. You have been led to believe by this man that the stockmen are your enemies. They are not. What has happened here was due to the fact that this manager failed to play square and keep his word with these stockmen who he would have you believe are against you.”