Riders Of the Dawn (1980)

by L'amour, Louis

  When I reached the CP, it lay deserted and still but fo r the cook, bald-headed and big bellied. He rushed from th e door but I was on him too fast, and he dropped his rifle unde r the threat of my six-gun. Tying him up, I dropped him in a feed bin and went to the house. Finding a can of wago n grease, I smeared it thickly over the floor in front of bot h doors and more of it on the steps. Leaving the door partl y open, I dumped red pepper into a pan and balanced it abov e the door, where the slightest push would send it cascadin g over whoever entered, filling the air with fine grains.

  Opening the corral, I turned the horses loose and starte d them down the valley. Digging out all the coffee on th e place, I packed it to take away, knowing how a cowhan d dearly loves his coffee. It was my idea to make their lives a s miserable as possible to get them thoroughly fed up with th e fight. Pinder would not abandon the fight, but his hand s might get sick of the discomfort.

  Gathering a few sticks, I added them to the fire alread y laid, but under them I put a half dozen shotgun shells. In th e tool shed were six sticks of powder and some fuse left fro m blasting rocks. Digging out a crack at one corner of th e fireplace I put two sticks of dynamite into the crack and the n ran the fuse within two inches of the fire and covered it wit h ashes. The shotgun shells would explode and scatter the fire , igniting, I hoped, the fuse.

  A slow hour passed after I returned to a hideout in th e brush. What was happening at the Two Bar? In any kind o f fight, one has to have confidence in those fighting with him , and I had it in the men I’d left behind me. If one of them wa s killed, I vowed never to stop until all this crowd wer e finished.

  Sweat trickled down my face. It was hot under th e brush. Once a rattler crawled by within six or seven feet o f me. A packrat stared at me and then moved on. Crow s quarreled in the trees over my head. And then I saw th e riders.

  One look told me. Whatever had happened at the Tw o Bar, I knew these men were not victorious. There were nin e in the group, and two were bandaged. One had his arm in a sling and one had his skull bound up. Another man was tie d over a saddle, head and heels hanging. They rode down th e hill and I lifted my rifle, waiting for them to get closer to th e ranch. Then I fired three times as rapidly as I could squeez e off the shots.

  One horse sprang into the air, spun halfway around , scattering the group, and then fell, sending his rider sprawling. The others rushed fir the shelter of the buildings, bu t just as they reached them one man toppled from his horse, hi t the dirt like a sack of old clothes, and rolled over in the dust.

  He staggered to his feet and rushed toward the barn, fel l again, and then got up and ran on.

  Others made a break for the house, and the first one t o hit those greasy steps was Jim Pinder. He hit them running.

  His feet flew out from under him and he hit the step on hi s chin!

  With a yell, the others charged by him, and even at tha t distance I could hear the crash of their falling, their angr y shouts, and then the roaring sneezes and gasping yells as th e red pepper filled the air and bit into their nostrils.

  Coolly, I proceeded to shoot out the windows and to knock the hinges off the door, and when Jim Pinder staggered to his feet and reached for his hat, I put a bullet through the hat. He jumped as if stung and grabbed for hi s pistol. He swung it up, and I fired again as he did. Wha t happened to his shot I never knew, but he dropped the pisto l with a yell and plunged for the door.

  One man had ducked for the heavily planked wate r trough, and now he fired at me. He was invisible from m y position, but I knew that he was somewhere under the trough , and so I drilled the trough with two quick shots, draining th e water down upon him. He jumped to escape, and I put a bullet into the dust to left and right of his position. Like it o r not, he had to lie there while all the water ran over him. A f ew scattered shots stampeded their horses, and then I settled down to wait for time to bring the real fireworks.

  A few shots came my way after a while, but all were hig h or low, and none came close to me.

  Taking my time, I loaded up for the second time an d then rolled a smoke. My buckskin was in a lose place and ha d cover from the shots. There was no way they could escap e from the house to approach me. One wounded man ha d fallen near the barn, and I let him get up and limp toward it.

  Every once in a while somebody would fall inside the house.

  In the clear air I could hear the sound, and each time I c ouldn’t help but grin.

  There was smashing and banging inside the house, and I c ould imagine what was happening. They were looking fo r coffee and not finding it. A few minutes later a slow trickle o f smoke came out the chimney. My head resting on the pal m of one hand, I took a deep drag on my cigarette and waite d happily for the explosion.

  They came, and suddenly. There was the sharp bark of a shotgun shell exploding and then a series of hangings as th e others went off. Two men rushed from the door and charge d for the barn. Bullets into the dust hurried them to shelter , and I laid back and laughed heartily. I’d never felt so good i n my life, picturing the faces of those tired, disgruntled men , besieged in the cabin, unable to make coffee, sliding on th e greasy floor, sneezing from the red pepper, ducking shotgu n shells from the fire.

  Not five minutes had passed when the powder went of f with a terrific concussion. I had planted it better than I knew , for it not only cracked the fireplace but blew a hole in it fro m which smoke gulped and then trickled slowly.

  Rising, I drifted back to my horse and headed for th e ranch. Without doubt, the CP outfit was beginning to lear n what war meant. Furthermore, I knew my methods were fa r more exasperating to the cowhands than out-and-out fight.

  Your true cowhand savors a good scrap, but he does not lik e discomfort or annoyance, and I knew that going withou t water, without good food, and without coffee would do mor e to end the fight than anything else. All the same, as I heade d the gelding back toward the Two Bar, I knew that if any o f my own boys had been killed I would retaliate in kind. Ther e would be no other answer.

  Mulvaney greeted me at the door. “Sure, Matt, yo u missed a good scrap! We give them lads the fight of thei r lives!”

  Jolly and Jonathan looked up at me, Jolly grinning, th e more serious Jonathan smiling faintly. Jolly showed me a bullet burn on his arm, the only scratch any of them ha d suffered.

  They had been watching, taking turnabout, determine d they would not be caught asleep while I was gone. The resul t was that they sighted the CP riders when they were still mile s from the headquarters of the Two Bar. The Benaras boy s began it with a skirmishers’ battle, firing from rocks an d brush in a continual running fight. A half dozen times the y drove the CP riders to shelter, killing two horses and wounding a man.

  They had retreated steadily until in a position to b e covered by Mulvaney, who was. ready with all the spare arm s loaded. From the bunkhouse they stood off the attack. The y had so many loaded weapons that there was no break in thei r fire until the CP retreated.

  “Somebody didn’t want to fight,” Jolly explained. “We seen ‘ern argufyin’, an’ then finally somebody else joined i n an’ they ,backed out on Pinder. He was almighty sore, believ e you me.

  Amid much laughter I told them about my own attack o n the CP.

  Mulvaney ended it suddenly. -Hey!” he turned swiftly.

  “I forgot to tell you. That catamount of a Bodie Miller don e shot Canaval!”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Not the last we heard, but he’s hurt mighty bad. He took four bullets before he went down.”

  “Miller?”

  “Never got a scratch! That kid’s poison, I tell you!

  Poison!”

  Chapter 9

  For a minute I considered that, and liked none of it. Canava l had been a man with whom I could reason. More than that , with Canaval at hand there had always been protection fo r Ogla.

  There was no time to be wasted now. Telling Mulvane y of what I had seen in the canyon, I turned my buckski
n toward the Bar M. I wanted first of all to talk with Olga, an d second to see Canaval. If the man was alive, I had to talk t o him . The gun star of Bodie Miller was rising now, and I. kne w how he would react. This new shooting would only serve t o convince him of his speed. The confidence he had lacked o n our first meeting he would now have.

  He would not wait long to kill again, and he would see k out some known gunfighter, for his reputation could gro w now only by killing the good ones, and Canaval had been on e of the fastest around. And who would that mean? Jim Pinder , Morgan Park, or myself. And knowing how he felt about mine , I had an idea whom he would be seeking out.

  Key Chapin was standing on the wide veranda of the Ba r M house when I rode into the yard. Fox was loitering nearby , and he started toward me. “You ain’t wanted here, Sabre!” h e told me brusquely. “Get off the place!”

  “Don’t be a fool, man! I’ve come on business!”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “Don’t make no difference! Start movin’ an’ don’t reach for a gun! You’re covere d from the bunkhouse an’ the barn!”

  “Fox,” I persisted, “I’ve no row with you, and you’re th e last man in the world I’d like to kill, but I don’t like being p ushed and you’re pushin’ me! I’ve got Bodie Miller an’

  Morgan Park to take care of, as well as Jim Pinder! So get thi s straight. If you want to die, grab iron. Don’t ride mine , Fox , because I won’t take it!”

  My buckskin started, and Fox, his face a study in conflicting emotion, hesitated. Then a cool voice interposed.

  “Fox! Step back! Let the gentleman come up!”

  It was Olga Maclaren.

  Fox hesitated and then stepped hack, and I drew up th e buckskin for a minute. Fox looked up at me, and our eye s met. “I’m glad of that, Fox,” I said. “I’d hate to have killed a man as good as you. They don’t come often.”

  The sincerity in my voice moist have reached him, fo r when I happened to glance hack he was staring after me, hi s face puzzled. As I dismounted, Chapin walked over towar d the house.

  Olga stood on the steps awaiting me. There was n o welcome in her eyes. Her face was cool, composed. “Ther e was something you wanted?”

  “Is that my only welcome?”

  “What reason have you to expect anything more?”

  That made me shrug. “None,” I said, “none at all.

  How’s Canaval?”

  “Resting.”

  “Is he better? Is he conscious?”

  “Yes to both questions. Can he see anybody? No.”

  Then I heard him speak. “Sabre? Is that you? Come in!”

  Olga hesitated, and for a minute I believed she wa s going to defy the request. Then with a shrug of indifferenc e she led Chapin and me into the wounded man’s room.

  The foreman’s appearance shocked me. He was draw n and thin, his eyes huge and hollow in the deathly pallor of hi s face. His hand gripped mine and he stared up at me. “Gla d you’re here, Sabre,” he said abruptly. “Watch that littl e demon! Oh, he’s a fast man! He’s blinding! He had a bulle t into me before my gun cleared! He’s a freak, Sabre!”

  “Sure,” I agreed, “hut that isn’t what I came about. I c ame to tell you again. I had nothing to do with killing Ru d Maclaren.”

  He nodded slightly. “I’m sure of it.” I could feel Olg a behind me. “I found—tracks. Not yours. Horse tracks, an d tracks of a man carrying a heavy burden. Small feet.”

  Chapin interrupted suddenly. “Sabre, I’ve a message fo r you. Picked it up in Silver Reef yesterday.” He handed me a telegram, still sealed. Ripping it open, I saw there wh a t I ha d expected.

  MY BROTHER UNHEARD OF IN MANY MONTHS. MORGAN

  PARK ANSWERS DESCRIPTION OF PARK CANTWELL. WANTED

  FOR MURDER AND EMBEZZLEMENT OF REGIMENTAL FUNDS.

  COMING WEST.

  LEO D’ARCY

  COL. 12TH CAVALRY

  Without comment I handed the message back to Chapin , who read it aloud. Olga grew pale, but she said nothing.

  “Know anything about the case?” Canaval asked Chapin.

  The editor nodded. “Yes, I do. It was quite an excitin g case at the time. Park Cantwell was a captain in the cavalry.

  He embezzled some twenty. thousand dollars and then murdered his commanding officer when faced with it. He go t away, was recaptured, and then broke jail and killed two me n in the process. He was last heard of in Mexico.”

  “Not much chance of a mistake, is there?”

  “None, I’d say. Or very slight. Not many men are so big , and he is a striking character. Out west here he probabl y believed he would not be seen. Most of his time he spent o n that lonely ranch of his, and he rarely was around town unti l lately. Apparently, if this is true, he hoped to realize enoug h money out of this deal of his with Jake Booker to retire i n Mexico or elsewhere. Probably in this remote corner of th e West, he believed he might never be recognized.”

  “And now?” Olga had returned to the room. “What wil l happen?”

  Chapin shrugged. take this message to Sheriff Wil l Tharp, and then we’ll wait for D’Arcy to arrive .”

  “There’s not much else we can do,” I agreed.

  -What is it Park and Booker want?” Chapin wondered.

  “I don’t grasp their motive.”

  “Who does?” I shrugged.

  Olga had not looked at me. Several times I tried to catc h her eyes, but she avoided my glance. Her face was quiet , composed, and she was, as always, perfectly poised. Not by s o much as a flicker of an eyelash did she betray her feeling s toward mine , but I found no comfort in that. Whether or no t she believed I had killed her father, she obviously wanted n o part of me.

  Discouraged, I turned toward the door.

  “Where to now?” Canaval asked.

  “Why”—I turned—I ‘m heading for town to see Morgan Park. No man ever beat me with his fists yet and walke d away scot-free. I’ll have the hide off that brute, and now is a s good a time as any.”

  “Leave him alone, Sabre!” Canaval tried to sit up. ‘I’ve seen him kill a man with his fists!”

  “He won’t kill me.”

  “What is this?” Olga turned around, her eyes blazing. “A c heap, childish desire for revenge? Or are you talking just t o make noise?. It seems all I’ve heard you do since you cam e here is to talk! You’ve no right to go in there and star t trouble! You’ve no right to fight Morgan Park simply becaus e he beat you! Leave him alone!”

  “Protecting him?” My voice was not pleasant. Did she, I w ondered, actually love the man? The idea did not appeal t o me, and the more it stayed in my mind, the more angry I b ecame.

  “No!” she flared. “I am not protecting him! From what I s aw of you after that first fight I don’t believe it is he wh o needs the protection!”

  She could have said nothing more likely to bring all m y own temper to the surface. So when she spoke, I listened , my face stiffening. Then without another word I turned an d walked from the room. I went down the steps to my horse , and into the saddle.

  The buckskin leaned into the wind and kept the fast pac e I set for him. Despite my fury, I kept my eyes open and o n the hills. Right then I would have welcomed a fight and an y kind of a fight. I was mad all the way through, burning wit h it.

  And perhaps it was lucky that right then. I should roun d a bend of the trail and come into the midst of Jack Slade an d his men.

  They had not heard me until I rounded the bend, an d they were heading the same way I was, toward town. Th e sudden sound of horse’s hoofs turned their heads, and Slad e dove for his gun.

  He was too late. Mad clear through, the instant I sa w them I slammed the spurs into my startled buckskin. Th e horse gave a lunge, driving between the last two riders an d striking Slade’s horse with his shoulder. At the same instant , I lashed out with the barrel of my Colt and laid it above th e ear of the nearest rider. He went off his horse as if struck b y lightning, and I swung around, blasting a shot
from m y that knocked the gun from the hand of another rider. ‘Slad e was fighting his maddened horse, and I leaned over and hit i t a crack with my hat. The horse gave a tremendous leap u p and started to run like a scared rabbit with Slade fighting t o stay in the saddle. He had lost one stirrup when my hors e lunged into his and had not recovered it. The last I saw o f him was his running horse and a cloud of dust. It al l happened in a split second, and one man had a smashed hand , one was knocked out, and Slade was fighting his horse.

  The fourth man had been maneuvering for a shot at me , but among the plunging horses he was afraid of hitting hi s own friends. Wheeling my horse, I fired as he did and both o f us missed. He tried to steady his horse and swung. Buck di d not like it and was fighting to get away. I let him go, taking a backward shot at the man in the saddle, a shot that must hav e clipped his ear, for he ducked like a bee-stung farmer, an d then Buck was laying them down on the trail to town.

  Feeding shells into my gun, I let him run. I felt bette r for the action and was ready for anything. The town loome d up, and I rode in and swung down in front of Mother O’Hara’s.

  Buck’s side looked had, for the spurs had bit deep, and I’m a man who rarely touches a spur to a horse. After greasing th e wounds and talking Buck into friendship again, I went inside.

  There was nobody around, but Katie O’Hara came out o f her kitchen. One look at me and she could see I was spoilin g for trouble. “Morgan Park in town?”

  She did not hesitate. “He is that. A moment ago I hear d he was in the saloon.”

  Morgan Park was there, all right. He was sitting at a table with Jake Booker, and they both looked up when I e ntered. I didn’t waste any time. I walked up to them.

  “Booker,” I said, “I’ve heard you’re a no-account shyster, a sheep-stealin’, small-town shyster, at that. But you’r e doing business with a thief and a murderer, and the man I’m going to whip!” With that I grabbed the table and hurled i t out of the way, and then I slapped Morgan Park across th e mouth with my hat.