“Be that as it may, my gut feeling is to send you to find them. If by some miracle Lassiter is dead and Lin Gray is still alive, do whatever is necessary to remedy that mistake.”
“Consider it done.” Stone turned to go but stopped on the top step.
A rider was galloping toward the house as if he and his horse were on fire. Both were covered with dust. They came straight for the porch, and the rider drew rein. Leaning on the saddle horn, the rider bobbed his chin at Seth Montfort. “I am back, boss.”
“I can see that, Williams.”
“I went clear to Cheyenne, like you told me. About rode this animal into the ground, but I found out what you wanted to know.”
“Do not keep me in suspense.”
“Lin Gray is not Lin Gray. His real name is Lin Bryce. His brother is Chancy Bryce. They are wanted by the law. It seems a bank was set to foreclose on their ranch and they did not like it. The younger brother shot the banker, and Lin Bryce shot three men who were protecting the banker. Two of them are in the Cheyenne cemetery.”
“You don’t say.”
“There is more. The banker is not happy about being shot. Word is, he hired quick-draw artists to plant the Bryces, permanent.”
“Even better,” Montfort said.
“There is more. The banker complained to the governor. He demanded a marshal be sent. Since he is rich and powerful, he had his way. A federal lawdog was due in Cheyenne any day.”
“I like this more and more,” Montfort said.
“I don’t,” Stone declared. “The last thing we need is a federal marshal nosing around. Some of the leather slappers you hired will have to make themselves scarce.”
“Let them. One way or another, I will be rid of Lin Bryce, and that is what matters.”
“You are forgetting his younger brother.”
“I forget nothing, Mr. Stone. It is why I am sitting here and you are not. The younger one is of no consequence.”
“He shot that banker.”
“But it was Lin Bryce who killed the two guards. Lin Bryce who fought you. Lin Bryce who rode over here as brazen as you please to warn me to stay away from Etta June.” Montfort shook his head. “No, it is the older brother we must worry about. The younger will pose no problem.”
“I hope you are right.”
“Surely you have noticed by now that I nearly always am? But your advice is duly noted. Now, be so kind as to be on your way before the hour is out. If you find Lassiter, join forces, and if he has not disposed of Lin Bryce, handle it yourself.”
“Neither of the Bryces will ever bother you again,” Stone promised.
“Good.” Seth Montfort gazed out over his ranch and began to rock. “Take an ax with you.”
“What the hell for?”
“I want you to bring me Lin Bryce’s head.”
“You’re serious?”
“Never more so. I have been thinking about Etta June. She betrayed my trust. Worse, she has apparently taken up with a man she hardly knows. Since she cares for him so much, I think it only fitting that I give her his head as a parting gift, you might say.”
Stone laughed and slapped his leg. “You sure do beat all.”
Seth Montfort smiled. “I do, don’t I?”
Chapter 22
Mason lay quiet under the stars. No one was out and about. Light glowed in windows and voices wafted on the breeze.
A dog lying between buildings stirred as Chancy rode past but did not growl or bark. Chancy drew rein at the hitch rail in front of the saloon. A row of horses was already tied off. He had to tie the zebra dun at the very end.
Chancy took off his hat and swatted some of the dust from his clothes, then jammed it back on and ambled inside. The portly bartender was cleaning glasses. Two men from the settlement were nursing a whiskey bottle at a table. In a far corner sat Efram Pike, playing solitaire. Chancy sauntered over. “I got your message and here I am.”
Pike glanced up and returned Chancy’s smile. “I was beginning to think you would not make it.”
“I suppose those gents you told Mrs. Cather about have lit out?” Chancy said as he hooked a chair with a boot and slid it out so he could sit.
“You are in luck. They are still here,” Pike informed him. “They should stray in shortly, and the fun can commence.”
Chancy sat back and gestured. “Thank you for the invite. I am so sick of rounding up cows, I could kick one.”
“Ranch work does not appeal to you?” Pike asked sarcastically.
“Any work does not appeal to me,” Chancy said, and they laughed. He called out for the bartender to bring them a bottle. “This place reminds me of a watering hole in Cheyenne I was fond of. I spent many a night there drinking and gambling.”
“How about your brother? Did he drink and gamble too?”
Chancy frowned. “Lin takes life more serious than I do. He can have no fun at all and be content.”
“Not me,” Pike said. “Which is why I refuse to break my back punching cows when I can earn twice as much shuffling cards. Throw in whiskey and women, and life is as good as it ever gets.”
“When did you take up gambling?” Chancy idly inquired.
“About five years ago. I was down to Denver at the time. Helped bring a herd up to Kansas and kept drifting. I was down to my last few dollars and sat in on a game and won big. That was when I got the notion.”
“What in God’s name are you doing here in the tules when you could be living high on the hog in a big city?”
“I ran into a lick of trouble and had to make myself scarce,” Pike explained. “But I will not be here much longer. I expect to have enough money soon to see me to San Francisco. I hear it is wide open. Money falls into a man’s lap.”
“I have always had a hankering to see California,” Chancy mentioned. He sipped his whiskey. “What do you know? It is not watered down. There is an honest barkeep left in the world.”
Pike chuckled. “Honesty has never paid as well as living for yourself. It is only popular with Bible thumpers.”
“Etta June believes in the Bible, and you are fond of her, as I recollect,” Chancy said.
“I like her for her body, not her Bible. She is plain of face, but a man can always close his eyes and imagine.”
“She will never let you in her bed. Not Seth Montfort, either, although he takes it for granted she will.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Pike said harshly.
“Sorry.” Chancy downed more whiskey and set down his glass. “I hope these gents get here soon. I do not have all night to win their money.”
“Oh? In a hurry to get back to the EJ, are you?”
Chancy nodded. “It is my brother. He has gone missing. I wanted to go look for him, but Etta June talked me into coming here instead.”
“Gone missing how? Did he ride off after strays and never come back? Or did he go up into the mountains to hunt?”
“He went to have a talk with Seth Montfort.”
“By his lonesome?”
“I wanted to go with him, but he refused to take me,” Chancy said bitterly. “Told me he could handle it himself. But I suspect he was afraid my temper would get us killed.”
“He might be dead anyway,” Pike said.
Now it was Chancy who said irritably, “Let’s talk about something else. I will find out soon enough. I aim to go straight to the Bar M from here.”
“It is too bad none of their punchers are here tonight,” Pike said. “You could ask them about him.”
“If Seth Montfort has harmed Lin—” Chancy left the thought unfinished.
“What will you do?” Pike challenged. “It is you against—what—fifteen guns? More if you count Montfort’s hands.”
“That does not scare me.”
Just then, three men in slickers and wide-brimmed hats filed into the saloon. The man in the lead was big and broad and wore twin Remingtons. He made for the corner table. “Pike,” he said in greeting, and looked at C
hancy. “Who is your young friend?”
“The one I told you about,” Pike answered. “One of the Gray brothers. This would be Chancy.”
“I am Lute Bass,” the man said. He offered his hand and pumped with vigor. “I am right pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I hear you are powerful fond of poker,” Chancy said.
“I am powerful fond of money. Cards are one way to get it, but not as reliable as other ways.” Bass pulled out a chair across from Chancy and bellowed for the bartender to bring another bottle. “These are my pards,” he said to Chancy. “The beanstalk with the Sharps is Rufus. He used to run buffalo, but the buffs have almost all died out.”
“That they have,” Rufus said with regret. “I would shoot a hundred a day or better and live high on the hog.”
Lute nodded at the third man, who was rubbing a salt-and-pepper beard. “This here is Mort. Don’t let your boots stray near his chair, or you will have tobacco juice on them. He could not hit a spittoon if his life depended on it.”
“How do you do, boy,” Mort said, adjusting his holster as he sat so his revolver was in ready reach.
“I am a man, thank you,” Chancy said. He did not like how they all grinned at that, even Pike.
“Of course you are,” Lute Bass said.
Chancy took another swallow. “Are we here to play cards, or what?”
“Of course we are,” Lute Bass said.
Pike produced a pack and began to shuffle. “When do I get that hundred dollars you promised me?” he asked Bass.
“When it is done and not before.”
Chancy assumed they were talking about cards. “Those stakes are too high for my poke. You will have to come down some if you want me to play.”
“We want you,” Lute Bass said.
“So, what is it you do, exactly?” Chancy made conversation. “By those slickers I would judge you to be cattle buyers or some such.”
“We are manhunters,” Lute Bass said.
Chancy noticed that Rufus had placed the Sharps on the table so the muzzle pointed at him and that Mort had his hand under the table. His mouth suddenly went dry. “Are you hunting anyone in particular?”
“That we are,” Lute Bass said. “We are hunting you.”
Lin Bryce sat in the dark kitchen with his sixth cup of coffee in front of him. He had found his boots in a closet in the bedroom the Dixons had placed him in, and his feet as well as his belly were nice and warm. He wanted something stronger to drink, but he did not think it right to help himself to another man’s liquor without asking first.
On the table in front of him were the Loomis shotgun and his saddlebags. His saddlebags were open, but he had not taken anything out.
The night was half over. Lin had been sitting there since before midnight. He was worried sick about Chancy and Etta June, but he could not leave until he was finished here.
Lin had considered writing a note but decided against it. The news must come from him in person. He owed Cody Dixon that much. He owed him a hell of a lot more.
He figured the three of them would not return until morning, and he was debating whether to have another cup or to try and catch some shut-eye, when the rumble of hooves proved him wrong. It was not long before boots clomped at the front of the house, and voices mingled.
“Light a lamp. And try to be quiet so we don’t wake your ma and your sister.’
A light blossomed out in the hall. Three shadows came to the wide doorway and stopped.
“You!” Cody Dixon exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing out of bed? My wife said you need three or four more days of rest.”
Lin swept an arm at the chairs. “You might want to have a seat. All of you.”
They looked at one another. The sons were mirror images of the father, except the older had sandy hair and the younger had caterpillars for eyebrows.
“What is this about?” Cody Dixon asked. “If it is to thank us, there is no need.”
Lin would rather chop off an arm or leg than do what he had to do. “Did you find the riders your boys saw?”
“No, we did not,” Cody said. “But it was not for lack of trying. We found their tracks and followed them to a stream. I reckon they took to the water to throw us off. They could be anywhere by now.”
“They came here,” Lin said.
“What?”
“They lured you off so your women would be alone. Three of them are lying out back waiting to be buried. I did not have the time, or I’d have done the burying myself.”
The full import was slow to sink in. Cody Dixon absorbed it first, and shot to his feet. “Pat and Sue! Where are they?” He turned toward the door.
“Gone,” Lin said.
“Gone where? To Etta June’s? To Mason? Did you send them away so they would be safe? I will be forever in your debt. They are everything to me.”
“They are dead, Mr. Dixon.”
Cody Dixon paled and reached for the table to brace himself. Tyler and Hank were speechless with shock.
Lin related the events at the house, and the aftermath. He left out the worst parts. “I am sorry,” he concluded. He was saying that a lot lately. “I did my best, but I could not save them.”
“Lord, no,” Cody breathed. His eyes were closed and his whole body was shaking. “No, no, no.”
Tyler and Hank were fighting back tears, and Hank was losing the battle. His voice broke as he asked, “What do we do, Pa? What do we do?”
Tyler spoke up, his voice breaking. “We fetch their bodies. They should be buried here, not up in the high country.”
“I would not do that, were I you,” Lin advised.
“You are not us, mister,” Tyler said. “They are our mother and our sister. We will bury them proper.”
Cody had opened his eyes and was red in the face. For a few moments Lin feared he would explode in rage and go rushing out to slay Seth Montfort. But the father kept his head. “By the time we got up there they would be starting to rot. It is better we leave them be and treasure our memory of them than see them bloated and ripe.”
“Oh, God,” Hank said.
“The important thing now,” the father went on, “is to deal with Montfort. He is to blame. He must pay.”
“Let’s ride to the Bar M and do it!” Tyler urged.
“And play right into Montfort’s hands?” Cody shook his head. “His men would shoot us to pieces before we got close enough. Besides, according to Lin here, the man we want even more than Montfort is this Lassiter. He has made me a widow and you motherless.”
“Then, let’s go after him.” Tyler was quick to agree.
“We will at first light,” Cody said. “Provided Lin can give us an idea of where to pick up his trail.”
All eyes swung to Lin. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Instead of wearing yourselves out trying to find Lassiter, why not have him come to you?”
“How do we do that?” Tyler scoffed. “Send him an invite?”
“In another week or so, Montfort will carry out his threat to drive you out or hang you,” Lin said. “He will bring his assassins along, and Lassiter is bound to be with them.”
“There will be too many for the three of us,” Cody said. “I do not want to lose my boys too.”
“The four of us,” Lin amended. “Five if you count my brother, Chancy, and six if I can persuade Aven Magill to lend a hand.”
“You and your brother would do that for us?”
“I would do it for my own sake,” Lin said. To make amends for not saving Pat and Sue, and to have a personal reckoning with Seth Montfort. “My brother might do it to back me. As for Magill…” He shrugged.
“I like your idea,” Cody Dixon said.
Lin finished his coffee in a gulp. “I will leave for the EJ at first light. If all goes well, I should be back in four or five days with my brother and Magill and all the ammunition Etta June has to spare.”
“We have plenty,” Tyler told him.
“I have
an old keg of black powder down in the root cellar,” Cody mentioned. “I hear tell that if you rig a fuse, you can blow a man—or a lot of men—to kingdom come.”
“Then, we are agreed,” Lin said, looking from one to the other. “We will make our stand here.”
“I did not ask for this range war, but I will by God end it,” Cody Dixon vowed. “Now, if you will excuse me.” He rose and moved toward the hall. “I have held in my grief too long, and it is not seemly that anyone else see.”
Both his sons drifted after him, leaving Lin to ponder the coming battle, and to voice aloud a heartfelt, “God help us.”
Chapter 23
Chancy tilted his glass to his mouth, then smacked his lips and said, “You don’t say.”
Lute Bass’ eyebrows met over his nose. “You are taking it awful calm, boy. Or do you think I am joshing?”
“I told you before,” Chancy said. “I am no boy.”
“Don’t you want to know who hired us? Or why? Or how much we are being paid? Those are the usual questions.”
Chancy glanced at Rufus and the Sharps pointed at him, then at Mort with his hand under the table, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t much matter, now, does it?”
“That is damn sensible of you,” Lute Bass said. “But I will tell you anyway. We were hired by that banker you shot, Pettigrew. He was not content with siccing the law on you. He doubts you will be hung, and he wants you dead. You and your brother, both.”
“It is a good thing you found me first and not Lin.”
“Why is that?”
“Because if I was Lin, you would already be dead,” Chancy said. He drained his glass and put it down.
“Big talk, boy. And yes, we have heard how he is supposed to be greased lightning and hits what he aims at, but folks say the same about me. And Mort and Rufus are no slouches.”
Chancy looked at Efram Pike. “This is why you came out to the EJ? To get me here so they can kill me?”
“A hundred dollars is a lot of money when you do not have more than ten to your name,” Pike said. “Nothing personal. I like you. But I like the idea of San Francisco more.”
Ralph Compton Ride the Hard Trail Page 16
