by Luke Short
Pindalest came to his knees now, alarm in his small eyes. “You mean Lufton hasn’t agreed to sell?”
“Not ever. Right now he’s rounding up his stuff on the reservation with a big crew. He’ll take his time and make sure about getting them across—because there won’t be any army to bother him.”
He could see Pindalest was figuring this swiftly, trying to get it straight in his mind.
“Then you’re not one of Riling’s men?”
“Was. I’m Lufton’s now.”
“Oh.”
For a whole minute Pindalest was silent, staring at Jim, taking in this news. He was a man stunned. Several times he began to speak, and only his lower lip quivered. Then he lunged to his feet, the full impact of the thing understood now.
“You can’t get away with that, Garry!” he shouted. “They’ll jail you for life.”
“You wrote the note and sent the messenger,” Jim pointed out.
“But you’ve kidnaped me!” he cried. “I’m a government employee. They’ll put you in jail for years for this!”
“If they know it,” Jim murmured.
“Know it! I’ll tell them; you can be damned sure!”
“I don’t reckon you will,” Jim murmured. “I’ll show you why. By the time I let you go, Pindalest, Lufton’s herd will be in Massacre Basin, scattered from hell to breakfast, and his range under guard. Riling isn’t going to sell you Lufton’s beef because he won’t have it.” He paused. “How you goin’ to feed your Utes this winter?”
Pindalest didn’t answer.
“At best, you can’t get five hundred head from these Bench outfits, and when they know they’ve got you over a barrel they’ll charge you eight kinds of prices.”
Pindalest was listening now, listening hard. Jim went on implacably: “Winter’s comin’; it’s here. And you with no beef, and the season too late to drive any from the Nations. What do you figure to do when hungry Utes kick to Washington?”
The agent’s lips moved slowly, but he did not speak.
Jim said bluntly, “You’ll buy Lufton’s herd for the price you contracted for; that’s what you’ll do. There won’t be any business about short count and short weight. You’ll take his beef and you’ll pay contract price, and once that’s done you can’t squawk to anybody without givin’ your own scheme away.”
Pindalest suddenly found his voice. “How can Lufton move his herds into Massacre Basin if Riling won’t let him? He hasn’t so far.”
Jim smiled because he admired the point. “Time,” he said dryly. “Time and men. With enough time and enough men, he can cross his herds and scatter them because he won’t be rushed by any deadline backed up by the army.”
“Riling will be warned when the army doesn’t show up!” Pindalest said angrily. “He’s not a fool!”
“Let him. If Riling suspects what’s happened he’ll pull his men off to hunt you, and that’ll make it all the easier for Lufton.” He added dryly, “That’s what I meant when I mentioned the posse.”
Pindalest’s slack face loosened with despair, and it seemed to fall apart. It was crushing news for a man who had thought his scheme had already worked, who almost had his money in the bank. He stared down at the fire and he was shivering. Soon now, Jim knew, Pindalest would discover his only chance lay in escape, and all his thoughts would be directed toward that one goal.
Jim came off his bedroll and flicked his cigarette into the fire. “Time to get goin’,” he said.
He knelt by the fire and reached for the coffeepot and dumped the grounds on the fire. He heard but didn’t see Pindalest move cautiously away from the fire and he smiled. He gave the man two minutes and then called without turning around, “I threw it out in the snow, Pindalest.”
When he looked over his shoulder Pindalest was kneeling in the snow with his arm clear to the shoulder in his war bag. The expression on his face was one of utter and beaten dismay that was close to tears.
Carol learned in those three days exactly how stubborn a man can be. The night of the day Jim Garry left, Carol went out into the horse pasture with a rope and spent a futile hour trying to corner and rope a horse by herself. Even if she hadn’t forgotten the tricks her father had taught her when she was young she couldn’t have done it anyway, let alone in pitch-black night. She had the miserable conviction that everybody and everything, including the horses, were against her, all conspiring to prevent her from leaving this place to warn Tate of Jim’s scheme. The horses circled easily out of rope’s throw, evading her at one corner of the pasture after the other. She could see nothing; she made her casts blindly, futilely. When she was so tired she could have dropped she gave it up and came back to the corral.
And there, sitting on the top pole in the darkness, watching her and waiting for her, was Ted Elser. She heard him whistling softly to himself as she headed for the gate and she came over and identified him.
“That’s dangerous,” Ted said gently. “Spook ’em in the dark and they’re liable to run you down.”
“It’s nice you’re worried about me,” Carol said with weary sarcasm.
Ted didn’t reply. Carol didn’t feel like fighting now. You couldn’t fight with this man; he agreed blandly with you and then did what he wanted, and right now he wanted to keep Carol off a horse.
The night was chill and smelled of distant snows in the Three Braves. Carol wondered about Jim and then she asked the question she had been wanting to ask all day.
“Ted, how did Jim Garry know about me and—about Riling? Did you tell him?”
Elser said quietly, “No ma’am. I promised you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”
“Then how did he know?”
“He worked for Riling; don’t forget.”
Carol shuddered a little with distaste. Ted Elser had put into words the thought that had been in Carol’s mind this whole long day. If Jim Garry knew about her and Tate, then Tate had told him. The thought of that outraged Carol and made her feel soiled. But what if it were true that Tate would boast of his conquests to his hired gunman? If it were, then mightn’t the preposterous story be true that Jim Garry had told and that her father, Amy and Willis had swallowed last night? Carol couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe that Tate would use these nesters as his army to impose a cheap blackmail on her father. Garry had fought with Riling, Amy had said. Then this lie was Garry’s way of getting even with Tate for beating him. Only, was it? Garry knew about her and Tate, so mightn’t he know Tate’s true plans? Carol didn’t know, but she had to find out.
If Ted would let her go she wasn’t going to tell Tate about Jim Garry. From now on, since the death of Ferg Daniels, she had sworn that she would give no more information on Blockhouse’s activities to Tate. She hadn’t been to blame for Ferg Daniels’ and Fred Barden’s deaths, thanks to luck in not finding Tate home, but it had shown her that another time she might be to blame for other deaths. No, it wasn’t to carry information that she wanted out of her prison; it was to see Tate, to hear him deny this story of Garry’s, to have him tell again that it was because he was too proud to take charity for himself and his wife that he was fighting her father.
And Ted Elser, even if she told him, wouldn’t believe her, she knew.
“Ted,” Carol said quietly in the dark, “I think I’ll tell Dad you’re keeping me here against my wishes.”
“All right.”
Carol looked up at him, surprised. “He’ll fire you.”
“Not before I speak my piece, he won’t.”
“He won’t believe you.”
Ted considered that and then said quietly, “I’ll take my chance. He’ll get to thinkin’ and Miss Amy will get to thinkin’, and then they’ll find out I’m right.”
That was true, Carol thought wearily. But she couldn’t give up so easily. She said, “Ted, if I give you my word of honor that I won’t mention Jim Garry to Tate Riling will you let me ride over to see him?”
“No.” Ted’s answer was flat and immediate.
<
br /> “You don’t trust my word of honor?”
Ted cleared his throat and then said without any censure in his voice, “No ma’am. That’s a word you don’t rightly understand. If you did you’d be loyal to your dad, not to the man that’s trying to ruin him.”
Carol thought then that Ted Elser could see her shame, even in the darkness. His words cut deeply, and their truth wasn’t open to question. She left him then without saying good night and walked through the dark corral and up to the house, where she went to bed.
But her talk with Ted settled nothing. It even made her desire to see Tate more urgent. Next day she schemed anew. If she could get to town on a legitimate errand with Amy, then she might be able to shake Ted. But Amy didn’t want to go to town, and Carol had to give up the idea. After dark her father and Cap Willis returned with the new men, and there was planning and discussion about the drive. Already most of the Blockhouse crew was on the reservation roundup. The new men would give them a great numerical preponderance over Riling’s men, enough to handle any trouble that could come. In all their thoughts, and frequently voiced that evening, was speculation on Jim Garry’s luck. They wouldn’t know until on the day of the deadline whether they would or wouldn’t meet the cavalry from Fort Liggett.
Lufton and his additional men left before daylight. A long gray day faced Carol, and by midmorning she was wild with impatience. Ted Elser was puttering around in the blacksmith shop, his eye forever on the corral. This was the last day, the third day, and tomorrow she could ride out. She wondered bitterly if she could live through it.
In midmorning a stranger rode into the yard. Carol and Amy, who left her bread baking to come out, asked him to dismount while Ted hovered at the corner of the veranda, watching. The stranger demurred politely. He looked like a city man, prosperous and a little ill at ease on his livery horse.
“Is your father in, ladies?” he asked.
“He left this morning for the reservation,” Amy said.
The man’s face showed dismay. “Can I catch him?”
“I wouldn’t know where to tell you to look for him,” Amy said. “If you’re a fast tracker you might catch him.”
The stranger sighed. “I have information that he’s looking for a buyer for a large herd of cattle,” the stranger said. “I’ve got to find him, and that’s all there is to it.”
Amy said dryly, “I think I can save you some trouble.”
The stranger was attentive, and Amy went on, “He’s not selling a single head of beef. You’ve been misinformed.”
The stranger looked politely skeptical. “My information leads me to think otherwise.”
“Then it leads you on a wild-goose chase,” Amy said. “Where did you get the information?”
“It’s—around Sun Dust.”
Amy smiled and gestured with a flour-whitened hand toward the Three Braves. “Dad’s out there. Find him and ask him.”
The man thanked them and pulled his horse around and rode out. He was a whisky drummer that Riling, in his desperation, had paid to serve as his dummy buyer.
Amy looked after the man and then laughed and looked at Carol. “If Jim’s story needed any more proof, there it is.”
“How do you mean?” Carol asked cautiously.
“There’s Riling’s man. He tried to buy from Dad last night and now he’s sending out men to buy for him.”
“Nonsense,” Carol said sharply.
Amy looked at her queerly and said, “I’m going in. I’m cold.”
She and Carol both went in. Amy returned to her bread baking, and Carol nervously paced the kitchen. Amy watched her covertly and presently, since she was a frank person, said, “Is there anything wrong, Red?”
Carol stopped, caution coming into her face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Only you’ve been like a caged lion for days now.”
Anger flashed in Carol’s eyes now, and she spoke quickly. “Maybe I have. It seems we’re staking our whole fortunes and upsetting our lives just because Jim Garry sold us a wild, lying scheme.”
Amy was dumbfounded. She stared open mouthed at Carol. “Lying? You don’t believe what Jim told us?”
“So it’s Jim now,” Carol gibed angrily.
“Garry, then. Don’t you?”
“No. Why should I?” She stared angrily at Amy, and the sight of her sister’s surprise seemed to burst the dam of her anger and impatience.
“He’s a cheap gunman,” Carol said angrily. “A killer. He tried to kill you. You saw him with that nester crew. And now he comes back here with a trumped-up story that hasn’t a word of truth in it. How do you know these nesters didn’t send him? Even if they didn’t, why should we believe him? What’s he ever done to make us think he ever told the truth to anyone?”
“That’s not so!” Amy cried. “That man that was just here proves Jim’s story!”
“Jim again,” Carol taunted.
“Yes, Jim! What’s the matter with calling him Jim? He saved Dad’s life! He’s no more of a gunman than I am!”
Carol paused in her anger. “Why, baby!” she exclaimed softly. She came across the room to Amy, who was watching her defiantly. The tan on Amy’s cheeks was deepening now, but her gaze didn’t falter.
“What’s this?” Carol asked gently.
“You haven’t any right to say that about him!” Amy blazed. “He’s trying to help us, and I’ll stick up for him to you or Dad or anyone!”
“This sounds a little stronger than sticking up for him.”
“Maybe it is,” Amy said challengingly.
The two sisters regarded each other for long seconds, and into Carol’s green eyes crept a dismay that she couldn’t hide. “Amy,” she said, “tell me the truth. Are you in love with Jim Garry?”
“I—think I am,” Amy answered in a low voice.
Carol was speechless. Her protest, when it came, wasn’t angry. There was kindness and concern and reasonableness in her tone. “But a gunman, baby! A saddle tramp. A man that would shoot at you, that will go up against hired killers because he’s better than they are. How did he get that expert? Have you thought about that?”
“Longer than you think,” Amy said, and she was serene again. “I know what he was and I don’t care. What counts is what he is now. Nobody made him come back and help us—”
“Except wanting to get even with Riling.”
“It wasn’t that either. You don’t understand him. He’s really decent. Dad sees it. He—”
“Does he love you?” Carol asked.
“No.”
A sudden bitterness crept into Carol’s eyes. “I pity you, baby. You don’t know men, and if you love Jim Garry you never will. You’ll know how many pieces your heart can be broken into though. You’re a fool.”
“A happy one, anyway,” Amy said dryly.
Carol turned and left the room.
Next morning Carol had breakfasted and was out at the corral by sunup. Inside the corral was her horse, saddled and ready to ride. Ted loafed in the barn door, smoking. His hands were blue with cold. When he greeted Carol his face was expressionless, though Carol knew that Ted, despising what she was going to do, had got up early to bring in her horse.
His impassiveness that seemed to her to border on smugness made her want to hurt him.
She looked around the corral, switching her quirt against the legs of her levis, and then turned to him. “Where’s your horse?”
“I turned him out.”
“Then I’m allowed to ride this morning all by myself?” she asked, not troubling to smother the sarcasm.
Ted shrugged and flipped his cigarette away. “Why not? You can’t do any harm now, I reckon. Besides, you’ll be safe enough with him.” He stepped back into the barn before Carol could answer.
When she was out of sight of the Blockhouse she put her horse into a long lope. It was cold this morning, with the definite promise of the snow that had been hanging off these last few days.
Twe
nty minutes later Carol dismounted at the limestone outcrop where Tate and she always left their exchange of notes. There was one there, scribbled on the margin of a piece of newspaper and unsigned.
For the third time, I’ve got to see you. Where have you been? I’ll be at home till noon and in town tonight.
Carol pocketed the note and set out across country for Riling’s place. An hour or so later she was on the switchbacks that let down into Riling’s canyon, and it had begun to snow big flakes that fell gently and slowly and melted immediately.
Nobody was home at Riling’s, but Carol went in. The stove was still warm and she stoked it. The single cabin was in disorder and the breakfast dishes on the table.
She took off her coat and started to clean up, and midway through it she heard a horse outside. She ran to the back door in time to see Riling hazing a pair of horses into the corral. He waved to her and dismounted, shut the gate, put his horse in the sodroofed shed next the corral and hurried to the house.
He took Carol in his arms and kissed her hungrily, and Carol clung to him. It was all right now. All the doubts that had been in her mind were dissolved.
Afterward she leaned back in his arms and looked at him. “Tate, what’s happened to you? You’ve got a scar on your face, and your eye is purple.”
“Fight,” Riling said laconically and grinned. “Where you been?”
“Fight with whom?” Carol persisted.
“A man,” Tate evaded. He let her go now. “I’ve been looking for you for two days.”
“I couldn’t get out,” Carol said simply. Tate pulled up a chair for her and then peeled off his coat and shook the melted snow off it. Carol watched him hungrily, noting his every movement, and she felt herself growing tense. She was going to ask him now, ask him everything, and hear him tell her the truth.
“I know who you fought with,” Carol said. “It was Jim Garry.”
Riling paused, holding his coat in both hands, and stared at her. “Who told you?”
“He’s been at the ranch,” Carol said. “Tate, I want to ask you something. Come over here.” She stood up. Riling threw his coat on the bunk and came over to her, scowling.
