‘It’s OK,’ the other man said. ‘I can vouch for him.’
‘Care to ride along with us?’ Howe asked. There was no response to the oldster’s attempt at sarcasm and they rode on.
‘You seem kinda shirty,’ Westoe commented.
‘Guess maybe I am. I don’t know. They just kinda riled me some.’
‘They’re doin’ a good job. Seems like Stroup ain’t inclined to take any chances of those varmints payin’ a return visit.’
They carried on in silence. As they got nearer the ranch house, Westoe could feel himself growing more tense. He had insisted on facing up to Stroup, but he didn’t relish the prospect. He still had some concerns, too, about the attitude of Snelgrove and Barnet. If the sheriff was planning to go after Rafe and his gang of gunslicks, there was every likelihood he would still be there. His cogitations were interrupted by Howe’s voice.
‘You’re sure about this? There’s still time to turn back and head for the trading post.’
‘I’m sure,’ Westoe replied. He would rather have faced up to Rafe and his gang of hardcases single-handed, but he knew it was something he had to do.
It seemed to take a long time to cover the distance, but eventually the ranch house came into view. It seemed remarkably quiet after the previous day’s events. The building, however, bore the scars of the battle. Its walls were pitted by bullets, most of the windows were smashed and there were bloodstains in the dirt of the yard and on the veranda. They rode up to the hitching rail and lowered themselves from the leather. As they were fastening their horses, the door of the ranch house opened and Stroup appeared with Barnet just behind him. Westoe and the oldster exchanged glances. As far as Westoe was concerned, it didn’t look good. Stroup came forward to the top of the steps.
‘Westoe,’ he said, ‘we were wonderin’ where you were. We got to fearin’ somethin’ bad had happened.’
Westoe wondered if he meant the comment ironically, although Stroup gave every impression of being genuinely relieved to see him. Before Westoe could say anything in reply, Stroup continued:
‘Come on in, the both of you.’
Barnet turned and went back through the door as Stroup ushered them in. When he stepped over the threshold, Westoe was taken aback to find Snelgrove was there too. The sheriff nodded in his direction and more or less repeated what Stroup had said.
‘Howdy, Westoe. We were gettin’ worried about you.’ He turned his head towards Howe. ‘I didn’t get a chance to thank you for everythin’. Me and Drabble sure appreciate everythin’ you’ve done.’ Howe grinned.
‘I guess we ain’t finished yet,’ he replied.
Stroup made his way to a cabinet and poured a couple of drinks, which he proffered to Westoe and Howe.
‘We’d just filled our glasses. Won’t you join us? Take a seat and make yourselves comfortable,’ he said.
They sat down and took a swig of the whiskey. There was awkwardness in the air and Westoe wasn’t sure how to proceed. He turned to the sheriff.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again,’ he said. ‘I guess I owe you an apology for the way I left.’
‘No apologies required,’ Snelgrove answered.
‘I wouldn’t normally …’ He didn’t get any further as Stroup interrupted.
‘There’s no need to go on,’ he said. ‘The sheriff has informed us of what happened in Desolation Wells. In fact, I think you’re the one who needs to be updated. Seems like a whole heap of things have been happening, but it’s all pretty clear now.’ He turned to Barnet. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my foreman. I think now might be a good time to remedy that situation.’
At Stroup’s words, Barnet nodded and raised his glass. Westoe was feeling more confused than ever as he returned the compliment.
‘I think some explanations are called for,’ Stroup continued. ‘I don’t know just where to begin. Maybe I should start and then Barnet and the sheriff can take it on.’ He took a drink from his own glass of whiskey and for a few moments seemed to hesitate. Then, gathering himself together, he started.
‘To keep it as brief a possible, word was brought to me that my son Eben had been killed in a dispute with a passing stranger. Acting on what information I had, I decided to set Barnet the task of tracing the man with the intention of getting to the truth of the matter and if necessary, bringing him to justice. In the event it didn’t turn out quite as I had envisaged, but that is another matter.’
‘I never liked havin’ Dwayne Oliver along,’ Barnet said.
‘No, it wasn’t in the plan, but it happened.’ Stroup turned to Westoe. ‘The man they followed, of course, was you. I make my apologies right now for what happened in Desolation Wells.’
Westoe shook his head. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable and the burden of what he had to say was growing heavier with every word of Stroup’s. He couldn’t concentrate on what was being said, even though it was of direct concern to him, and as the sheriff took up the story, he had to make an effort to quell his growing agitation. He felt someone’s eyes resting on him and turned his head in Howe’s direction. The oldster was looking at him with an expression which seemed to express an understanding of his discomfort. Westoe took another drink; time passed slowly and it was almost with a shock of surprise that he realized the voices had ceased. The silence was palpable by contrast, but it lasted for only a few moments before Stroup spoke again.
‘So that’s the whole story,’ he said. ‘I think we all realize now the truth of the matter.’ He paused, obviously in some distress. ‘I don’t … I don’t know what else to say. You’ll understand … Rafe is still my son, despite everythin’. But I can’t make excuses for him any more. What happened here yesterday … I was hoping against hope … I’ve tried to come up with an answer …’ He stopped and swallowed hard before turning to the sheriff. ‘I realize what you have to do. Rafe and his gang have got to be stopped. I don’t need to labour the point. We’ve already talked about it.’ He turned to Westoe. ‘We’re organizing a posse to go after them. I guess you’d want to ride along too.’
Westoe glanced across at Howe again. The oldster’s eyes still rested on him. He knew the time had come to say his piece. Putting his glass down on a table, he turned to Stroup.
‘There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned,’ he said, ‘you or nobody else.’ Stroup looked back at him with a puzzled expression. ‘You haven’t referred to the fact that it was me who killed Eben. You all know now what happened that day at Howe’s cabin. I didn’t do it deliberately, but nonetheless it was me who fired the shot that killed him. It was me who pulled the trigger.’ He looked straight into Stroup’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he continued. ‘I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry for how I’ve hurt you.’
He was expecting some sort of reaction from Stroup, a sign of anger or grief. Instead the rancher just shook his head. Westoe couldn’t read the expression on his features. The silence in the room was like a physical presence. When Stroup finally spoke, his tone was gentle.
‘If what you say was true, I would forgive you. But it isn’t true. You need have no regrets. You didn’t kill Eben.’ It was Westoe’s turn to look puzzled. ‘You carry a Winchester rifle, don’t you?’ Stroup continued. Westoe nodded his head in agreement. ‘The bullet that killed Eben came from a Sharps.’ There was a slight break in his voice before he added: ‘The type of rifle favoured by Rafe.’
Westoe was struggling to take in what Stroup was telling him. ‘How do you know that?’ he managed to say.
‘I took the body from Howe’s place and brought it home. I had the bullet removed. It was .50 calibre.’
Westoe was thinking hard, trying to recall the details of the battle at Howe’s cabin, and into his mind flashed the image of the man who was shooting from the shelter of the trees. Could it have been Rafe? Could he have fired the shot that killed Eben?
‘Are you sure about this?’ he managed to say. Stroup nodded his head.
‘There isn’
t any doubt,’ he replied. ‘It was Rafe, not you, who killed Eben.’
The room was silent as the import of his words sank in. Then Stroup spoke again.
‘Gentlemen, I think we all know what needs to be done and I don’t see any sense in delay. It shouldn’t be hard to follow those gunslicks. They must have left a trail a mile wide. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m goin’ to get ready.’ He turned to Westoe. ‘We’ve all just eaten. If you and Mr Howe are hungry, there’s food over in the bunkhouse.’
He moved to the stairwell and began to mount the stairs. Once he had disappeared from sight the sheriff got to his feet.
‘There wasn’t any need to hightail it like you did,’ he said. ‘I figured you were probably innocent. Once I got to know it was Dwayne Oliver you shot, I knew it for certain. Those varmints holding up the bank only confirmed that somethin’ was goin’ on that needed dealin’ with. Me and Drabble are sure glad we’re all ridin’ together now, even if the circumstances are maybe not how we’d like ’em to be.’
‘You arrived in the nick of time,’ Westoe replied. Just then Barnet came up.
‘I reckon I owe you an apology,’ he said. ‘I should have guessed somethin’ wasn’t right when Oliver got involved. My only excuse is that I didn’t realize just who he was.’
‘I guess nobody was willin’ to believe the truth about Rafe,’ Snelgrove said. His words were greeted with an awkward silence which Howe finally broke.
‘Let’s you and me mosey over to the bunkhouse,’ he said to Westoe. ‘I don’t know about you, but I figure I could do with somethin’ to eat before we hit the trail.’
Rafe Stroup watched as fuses were placed in the dynamite. His men had been happy to booby-trap the entrance to their hidden valley, but some of them had expressed some concern about the idea of planting the black powder around the outlaw roost itself. A small group approached him and he put down the bottle of Forty-Rod from which he had been drinking.
‘We ain’t sure about this,’ one of the men said. Rafe felt annoyance surge up in him but a glance from Skinner served to remind him that, for the moment at least, it might be sensible to curtail it.
‘Hell,’ he said, ‘that stuff has been lyin’ about for long enough. It could have gone off at any time. I never heard anyone complainin’ about it before.’
‘This is different. We didn’t set it deliberately to go off.’
‘We probably won’t even need to set it off. It’s just a precaution. If anyone comes after us, they won’t get past here. They’ll be blown all to hell.’
‘Assumin’ the stuff works.’
‘It worked all right when we did the bank job.’ He had struck the right note, but there were still a few grumbles before he continued.
‘In any case, who says we have to hang about here? This is just temporary. I got plans. The bank job was just the start. I figure it’s time we moved on to bigger things.’
Rafe realized that his stock, which was high after the bank robbery, had fallen as a result of the relative failure of the attack on the Barbed S. He knew he hadn’t handled that episode particularly well. He had allowed himself to be spooked by the arrival of the additional Barbed S men, and now realized that there were a lot less of them than he had imagined. At the back of his mind was the thought that if his father and his Barbed S ranch-hands were to pursue him and get blown up in the process, the ranch would be his anyway. He wouldn’t need a refuge in the hills. If it was likely ever to come in useful at some point in the future, he could rebuild it. It would take too much time and effort to try and explain these things to his men, however. Thinking wasn’t their forte.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘Have it your way. But let’s get on with dynamitin’ this place and make sure they never get any further.’ Getting to his feet, he took some of the powder and, seizing a funnel from the hand of one of his interlocutors, began to pour it into a crack in the rock wall.
‘Gimme that fuse,’ he snapped. It was handed over to him and he corkscrewed it into place before tamping it all down.
‘There, that’s one more. Now get on and finish the job. Leave the worryin’ to me.’
The men hesitated for just a moment and then, with some slight encouragement from Skinner, began to move away. Rafe glanced at his henchman.
‘The quicker they come now the better,’ he said. Skinner nodded.
‘I figure we’re ready for ’em,’ he replied.
‘The boys have still got to learn that we ain’t dependent on stayin’ around here for ever.’
Skinner didn’t feel like arguing. His sympathies were in fact with those members of the gang who had expressed their antipathy to booby trapping their hideaway. Rafe took up the bottle of rot-gut whiskey and took another swig before letting his gaze wander across the valley floor and the narrow trail leading to the key-hole pass.
‘They won’t stand a chance,’ he cackled. ‘Hell, I wish they would come on right now.’
‘I figure we won’t have long to wait,’ Skinner responded. Rafe turned to him. ‘You’re sure all the men are in place and know just what to do?’ he said.
‘Sure. I got all the strategic points covered. But as soon as anybody reaches the pass, they’re gonna be blown way out of their saddles.’ Rafe turned to him with an ugly leer.
‘Just make sure nothin’ goes wrong,’ he muttered.
It was a relatively small party of riders that set out from the Barbed S, with Sheriff Snelgrove in charge – a number of men having been left behind to safeguard the ranch. The trail left by the self-styled Bronco Boys was clear to everyone, and they rode at a steady pace. From time to time Westoe looked at Stroup. He would have liked to know what the ranch-owner was thinking. It was an odd situation in which he found himself, going up against his own son. Although he had made an effort not to give too much away, the pain he felt was obvious. His appeal to Rafe in the aftermath of the attack on the Barbed S was sufficient proof. Westoe was glad he wasn’t in Stroup’s shoes; he didn’t know how he would have coped with the situation. What was perhaps even more to the point was what Stroup intended doing once they caught up with Rafe. Maybe he was too numb to have thought it through. While he was reflecting on these matters, Howe rode up alongside him.
‘One way and another,’ he said, ‘it ain’t gonna take too long till we reach wherever those coyotes are hidin’ out. I hope Snelgrove knows what he’s doin’.’
‘I figure he ain’t sheriff for nothin’.’
‘I guess not.’ He paused. ‘What about you?’ he continued.
‘How do you mean; what about me?’
‘I know you said you were just passin’ through before you got mixed up in this mess. I was just kinda wonderin’ if that was still the case.’
‘I don’t know,’ Westoe replied, ‘I ain’t rightly thought about it. Hell, we’ll be lucky to come out of this whole affair alive.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘Assumin’ we do, there’s somethin’ else we have to do.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘See about fixin’ that cabin of yours.’
Howe laughed. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said. Westoe did not reply and they carried on in silence.
The trail got rockier as they rode up into the hills, and the sign they were following became harder to discern. There were other markings and from time to time Snelgrove called a halt and slid from his horse to take a closer look. Westoe’s attention was no longer occupied in thinking about Stroup. As they got deeper into the hills, he was on the lookout for any indications of the outlaws’ presence. The terrain was such that it wouldn’t have been too hard for them to set an ambush, and Rafe would be foolish not to anticipate at least the possibility of being pursued. His keen eyes swept the hillsides, but he could see nothing untoward. At one point his attention was interrupted once again by the oldster.
‘How many of those varmints do you reckon we’ll have to deal with?’ he said.
‘There’s no way of knowin’, but there was a lot more of them than there w
ere of us when they hit the Barbed S and there were probably others left behind.’
‘I sure hope we ain’t settin’ ourselves up.’
‘We’ve got a plan. Snelgrove’s in charge. I guess he’s got experience.’
They had discussed the matter before leaving the Barbed S. What they had come up with, such as it was, had been mainly down to Snelgrove. It had seemed reasonable enough in theory at the ranch house; it didn’t seem quite the same in practice in the gathering gloom of the hostile hills. The afternoon light was fast fading when Snelgrove held up his hand to bring the posse to a halt.
‘It’ll soon be dark,’ he said. ‘The way we figured it, night is the best time to strike at those varmints. We can’t be too far off now. We’ll carry on ridin’ as long as we can see to follow the trail, then we’ll make the rest of the way on foot.’
‘They might have posted guards,’ Barnet said. ‘Maybe they already know we’re here.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Westoe replied. ‘I’ve been keepin’ a close lookout and I haven’t seen anythin’.’
‘There’s no point in worryin’ about it,’ Snelgrove said. ‘We’ll just have to do like Westoe; be careful and keep out eyes open.’
They spurred their horses and moved on. The narrow valley they were riding through was filling with shadows and the walls seemed to pen them in with an oppressive weight. It was getting more and more difficult to see and follow the sign and they couldn’t be entirely sure they were still on the right track, especially as the trail seemed to lead straight towards a solid wall of rock. Westoe wondered whether they hadn’t entered a box canyon and would have to make their way back. Finally, as night’s curtain was finally drawn across the landscape, Snelgrove decided the time had come to dismount. When they had done so, they hobbled the horses and then prepared to proceed on foot.
‘No unnecessary talkin’ from now on,’ Snelgrove said. ‘It ain’t likely anyone will be watchin’, but we don’t want to take any chances.’
Taking their rifles, they moved forward.
Desolation Wells Page 9
