The High Graders

by Louis L'Amour

  Suddenly, the man below stirred, and stepped quickly out into the tunnel.

  “Well, now. Fancy seein’ you here!” That was Ben Stowe’s voice. “A mine is no place for a lady. Would you mind tellin’ me what you’re lookin’ for?”

  “Oh! You frightened me. Aren’t you Ben Stowe?” It was Laine Tennison who spoke. “I’ve never been in a mine before—there’s so much I’d like to know, and I don’t believe Dr. Clagg would have the time to show me around. Would you tell me about the mine, Mr. Stowe? For instance, what are these things?”

  She craned her neck and looked up the chute, and there was an instant when Mike Shevlin was sure she had seen him, just an instant before he pulled his head back.

  “That’s an ore chute,” Stowe answered. “The rock is shot down off the walls and roof up there in the stope, and then pulled out of that chute into a car and trammed—pushed—outside.”

  His boots shifted on the rock below. “Ma’am,” he went on, “what are you doing in this mine? What’s your business here?”

  “Business? Oh, I’ve no business here, Mr. Stowe. I just saw the tunnel and thought I’d look in. Do they mine gold here? Or is it silver? I don’t know very much about mining, I’m afraid, but it all looks very exciting.”

  “How do you happen to be out here, anyway?”

  “Here? Oh, you mean in the canyon? I was looking for Mr. Shevlin. Dr. Clagg wanted to see him; and Mrs. Clagg and I ... well, we thought we would invite him for supper. He’s very good-looking—don’t you think so, Mr. Stowe?”

  “I never noticed.” Ben Stowe was obviously puzzled, and Shevlin could scarcely restrain a chuckle. She was trying, trying hard, but would it work? Would she appear so much the rattle-brained female that Stowe would let her go?

  “You’re very handsome yourself, Mr. Stowe. Would you like to come to supper? It’s nothing fancy. I mean, well, after all it’s just supper, not a dinner or anything fancy. So you’d have to take potluck, but I do so admire western men, and I don’t know if I’ll find Mr. Shevlin, but even if I do, you’re welcome. In fact, we’d simply adore having you.”

  Stowe started to speak, but she gave him no chance. “Why, just the other day Dottie was saying— Dottie, that’s Mrs. Clagg— that she couldn’t understand why some girl hadn’t set her cap for you. You’re so successful and all.”

  “Ma’am, where’d you get that candle?” was Ben Stowe’s response. “Looks to me like you came fixed for looking at mines.”

  “Oh, this? I found it in that cabin there, Burt Parry’s cabin. I didn’t think he’d mind if I— you don’t think he’d mind do you, Mr. Stowe? I mean, I just borrowed it. I’ll put it right back where I found it.” She paused only a moment.

  “Mr. Stowe ... or may I call you Ben? Would you take me back to town? I mean, it must be getting dark outside, and if you would take me home I’d be ever so glad ... I mean, it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?”

  “No, no trouble,” Stowe answered.

  Mike Shevlin, crouching, his legs cramped and aching, heard their footsteps retreating down the drift. He waited for what he felt was a safe time, and then, with great care to make no sound, he straightened up, took up his cap, and walked to the manway. All was dark and still down below. Softly, he went down the ladder and tiptoed along the drift.

  Far down the tunnel he could see two bobbing lights. After waiting until they disappeared, he crept forward. With gun in hand, he deliberately looked toward the cross-cut where he had seen the rifle muzzle. It was gone.

  Scrambling up the pile of muck, he peered over behind it. There was a snug nest among the rocky debris that had been pitched into the tunnel, and scattered here and there among the rocks were crumbs and bits of food. Someone had been waiting here for quite some time; perhaps, by the look of the place, for days or even weeks.

  Where had this person gone? Had he slipped away down the drift while Ben Stowe talked to Laine? It seemed to be the only explanation, for if the heavy door had been opened it would surely have made some sound, or some change in the draught of air moving through the mine.

  At the opening of the tunnel, his light snubbed out, Mike Shevlin paused and waited, listening, but he heard no sound.

  He stepped outside, and not until he was beside his horse did he allow himself to take a long, deep breath of the clean, fresh air. It was good to be alive ... very good indeed.

  And then he thought of Laine Tennison. Ben Stowe was a sharp customer ... how long would he be fooled? Or was he fooled at all?

  Perhaps even now ...

  Chapter 16

  MIKE SHEVLIN checked his Winchester and shoved it down in the boot. Then he started his horse down the canyon. He was thinking that the man behind that muck pile in the cross-cut must have been Burt Parry. Not a word had passed between him and Ben Stowe ... did Stowe know he was there?

  And then Shevlin went on to think of his real problem. How could he get the gold from behind that door? First, he would have to get rid of Burt Parry, somehow; and if Parry had been chosen to guard that gold he must be a more salty customer than he appeared to be.

  With Parry out of the way, the door would have to be blasted open, or cut open with an axe ... and then what? A half-million in gold, if that was what there was in there, is not a matter to be handled with ease. Gold is heavy, and a half-million isn’t something you put in your pocket.

  Darkness was upon him now; the stars came out, and a low wind blew from off the sagebrush levels where the cattle grazed. Somewhere ahead of him were Laine Tennison and Ben Stowe.

  Eve Bancroft, Gib Gentry, and Lon Court

  were dead, all killed since he had arrived in town, and yet the problem of the gold was no nearer a solution. Ben Stowe still sat snugly in his office, surrounded by his miners, who were gunfighters.

  And back of all this was the major mystery: Who had killed Eli Patterson?

  Lights were shining in the windows when Shevlin rode into town. He sta4 his horse, and started over to the Bon Ton. He was dead-tired, and hungry. No matter what, he was going to eat now, and then he was going to his room in the Nevada House and get some sleep.

  He got to the boardwalk and started toward the door of the restaurant, when it opened suddenly and Burt Parry stepped out. When he saw Shevlin his face seemed to stiffen.

  “You! Shevlin!” His voice was brusque, and even as he spoke he was putting his hand in his vest pocket.

  He held out several coins to Shevlin. “Your wages. I’m going to quit the claim.”

  Before Mike could speak he turned his back on him and strode away, walking swiftly.

  Puzzled, Shevlin opened the restaurant door and stepped inside. Tom Hayes was there, a man whom he knew by sight, and at a table in the far corner sat Clagg Merriam.

  Merriam glanced up, but looked away quickly.

  Mike Shevlin ordered his meal, and gratefully drank his coffee. It was hot, black, and strong. Suddenly the door opened and Ben Stowe came in. He shot a glance at Merriam, then went over to where Tom Hayes sat.

  “I didn’t know you and Doc Clagg were such friends, Tom,” Stowe said quietly. “Heard you were seeing him today. Or are you sick?”

  “Poorly.” Hayes’s face was haggard. “I been feelin’ poorly.”

  “Too bad. I figured it was something like that. Well, what else can you expect? A doctor is usually dealing with people who live unhealthy lives.” Stowe slapped Hayes heavily on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Ben. What’s a little stomach-ache when so many people are dying?”

  Ben Stowe’s eyes shifted to Mike Shevlin, and he crossed over to his table. “Mind if I sit down, Mike?” he said genially.

  Hayes got up and left the restaurant hurriedly, and Stowe looked after him, contempt in his eyes.

  When he was seated, Stowe took out two cigars, held out one to Shevlin and lighted the other for himself.

  “Mike,” he said, “I’ve been giving it some thought. We were pretty close in the old days, you and me, and with Gi
b gone I’m going to need a man.” His voice lowered. “I’m going to need a man who has guts and a gun. But one who won’t stampede.”

  “You’re talking,” Shevlin said. He was so tired that he felt he could hardly keep his eyes open.

  “I figure a man can always use some money, and you were one who could take it when the chance offered. What would you say to stepping into Gib’s shoes at the express company?”

  Their voices were so low that it would not have been possible for anyone else to hear them. The offer seemed to be dropped casually by Stowe, but he added, almost as an afterthought, “There would be a tidy bit coming after this is all over. Gib worked for it, but now he won’t be with us, so why shouldn’t you pick up where he left off?”

  “I wouldn’t want to end up like Gentry did, Ben.”

  Stowe brushed off the suggestion with a wave of the cigar-holding hand. “You can take care of yourself. Anyway, I need you. I needed Gib, for that matter. His getting shot was all a mistake.”

  Shevlin looked up at Stowe. “You’re damn’ right it was, and I know just what kind of a mistake.”

  Ben Stowe chuckled. “Figured you did. But look, Mike, we’re playing for big money here. You can’t blame a man for covering all the angles. Now with Gib gone, things are different. I need you. Gib’s end could have come to that freight line, plus half a million dollars ... half a million dollars, Mike! How long is it going to take you to make that much money?”

  Mike Shevlin was thoroughly awake now. “Just what has to be done to make that kind of money?” he asked.

  Stowe held his cigar in his hand. “Mike, I’m going to level with you. After all, you’ve been up the creek and over the mountain, and you can read sign as well as the next man. I need somebody to handle some freight shipments, somebody tough enough to take those shipments through—regardless of what happens.”

  “You think I can do it?”

  “Like nobody else. Better than Gib, even.”

  “Do you think somebody will try to stop a shipment?”

  Stowe leaned his big forearms on the table. “You’re damn’ tootin’, I do. Where do you think Ray Hollister is right now?”

  Weariness was creeping over him, but he forced his mind to consider Stowe’s offer, an offer so astonishing he could scarcely believe it. The gold was to be placed right in his hands. He wouldn’t have to look for it; he would have it in his charge—but under the suspicious guns of Ben’s gunmen.

  Half a million dollars ... that would be better than ten per cent of half a million. Undoubtedly some would be in cash; the rest of the half-million to come from later mining.

  He would be a rich man, free to do as he chose, and no strings attached. Of course, Ben Stowe planned to have him killed, but two could play at this game. Suppose he killed Ben Stowe? He would have all the gold for himself.

  He looked at Stowe. “Ben, it sounds like a good deal. You let me sleep on it.”

  He got up from the table and went towards the door, where he paused a moment. “After all, where else would I get a chance at that much money?”

  ****

  AFTER HE had gone, Stowe stared at the door, an ugly look in his eyes. “He’s lying,” he said; “that two-by-four gunfighter is lying. He thinks he can outfigure me. Well, I’ll show him ... but first, he’ll take that gold out for me.”

  He spoke aloud, but not loudly enough to be heard by either Clagg Merriam or the waitress. He sat there alone for several minutes, studying the case in all its aspects. He could find no alternative. Hollister was out there somewhere, and he was the kind who would have to be killed, sooner or later. Hollister never knew when he was whipped, or when he had no chance of winning. Moreover, Hollister, fool that he was in personal relations, was shrewd enough when it came to figuring the angles; and Babcock was with him.

  If there was a man in the Rafter country who could outguess Hollister, it was Mike Shevlin. And then he would, personally, kill Shevlin.

  The thought gave Stowe a sudden deep satisfaction. He realized that he hated Shevlin, and, come to think of it, he always had. Mike Shevlin was the only one who had never accepted his leadership. Gib Gentry had been ready enough, but not Shevlin.

  A shadow loomed beside his table. He tilted his head back and looked up into the hard but handsome face of Merriam.

  “Hello, Clagg. Sit down.”

  Merriam remained standing. “You’re taking a long chance, Ben.” Merriam’s voice was even. “Shevlin’s got only one thing on his mind. He wants the man who killed Patterson.”

  Ben Stowe shrugged, his face unreadable. “So? We need Shevlin—we use him, then we take care of him.”

  “Who does?”

  Ben smiled. “Why, I do. I reserve the privilege for myself. That’s one thing you can have no part of, Merriam.”

  “I had a letter today ... from the governor,” Merriam said.

  “I didn’t know you two were friends?”

  “We’re not, not exactly. I supported him for the office. Made a contribution.”

  “Then why worry? Tell him everything is all right in Rafter.”

  “He knows better—and believe me, that contribution doesn’t mean a thing. That indicated support of his policies, but it didn’t buy immunity from a crime.”

  Ben Stowe knew he had to be careful. Merriam had been touchy of late. Was he running scared? Was this thing getting under his skin? The worst of it was, he needed Merriam, needed him for a little while, anyway.

  “Sit down,” he said again, “and keep your voice down.” He leaned his arms on the table. “Look, I’m going to make a deal for Shevlin to take the stuff out, and when he gets it where it goes ... payoff.”

  “Will he listen to you?”

  Stowe’s face showed a grim smile. “Up to a point, any man will listen to money. What he’s asking himself right now is how he can get away with all of it. And don’t you be worried about Eli Patterson. He’s a long time dead, and half a million in gold is a lot of money. Mike Shevlin never had anything in his whole life but a horse and a gun, and here’s his big chance. He’ll go along.”

  “I don’t like killing.”

  “So you’ve said before, but Shevlin will die a long way from here.”

  ****

  AT THIS moment, at the hotel, Mike Shevlin was stripping off his clothes, and he almost fell into bed. He was nearly asleep already when he pulled the blankets over him.

  But Laine Tennison lay wide awake in her bed at Dr. Clagg’s house, staring up into the darkness. She was remembering the face she had seen at the top of the chute in the mine, just barely seen. She had talked fast to get Ben Stowe out of there, talked glibly to get him to bring her home, but she was worried about him. How much had he been fooled by her chatter? She was afraid he had not been fooled at all.

  Of one thing she was sure: Ben Stowe was the most ruthless man she had ever met. She had not the slightest doubt that he had ordered Lon Court

  to kill her, or that he would kill her when the opportunity offered, and if he was sure of the need for it.

  The death of Eve Bancroft had dampened a lot of the spirits around Rafter Crossing. One man in town who lay wide awake was Tom Hayes. Stowe’s talk with Hayes had frightened him, and he lay awake now, remembering the veiled threats Stowe had delivered to him in the restaurant.

  All his life Hayes had lived in the shadow of mightier men, and he envied them not at all, for to be mighty was to be a target for hatred. He had carefully avoided facing issues, avoided taking sides, avoided making decisions that might lead to trouble. And now, through the invitation of Dr. Clagg, he himself had become vulnerable. And he was frightened.

  He got up suddenly and reached for his pants.

  Chapter 17

  LAINE TENNISON awakened with a start, every sense alert. She did not sit up, she did not even stir, only her eyes were wide and she was listening.

  Her room was very dark, for there was no moon at this hour. There was no wind, but she had a feeling of movement,
of stirring. Somewhere in the house a board creaked. Was Rupert having a late night call?

  Immediately, she knew that would not be true, for at such times Dottie never failed to get up and start a fire for some tea. There was something wrong, definitely wrong.

  Very quietly, she listened, and heard a voice, not loud but clear enough. “Doc, you take it easy now. I’d surely hate to kill the only doctor in the country around. You sit tight, and nobody will get hurt.”

  She knew the voice. It was that man they called Red, and he worked for Ben Stowe. Somehow Ben Stowe must have discovered the move they were about to make against him, and he was taking steps to prevent it.

  Where was Brazos, she wondered. But as she asked herself the question, she remembered: Rupert Clagg had sent him out of town, carrying a message to two ranchers Clagg believed might join them to throw Stowe out. He was to go to Walt Kelly’s place first, and then across country to Joe Holiday’s.

  Who had the others been? There were Billy Townsend and Fields, and if they had not been taken, they must be warned, and quickly. She turned swiftly and went to the window, which was partly raised. Ever so gently, she lifted the window still further.

  Was someone on watch out there? It was likely. She went over the sill very quietly, and stood still a moment. How much time did she have before they would come to her room?

  There was a man standing near the gate, so she went quickly along the edge of the lilac bushes, hesitated, then moved swiftly across a small open space to the shadow of the barn. There was no chance of getting a horse, but for what she intended to do, a horse was unnecessary.

  At the back of the barn was a small gate, and she opened it softly and went through, closed it, and took the same route Mike Shevlin had once used to approach the house. Hurrying, running and walking, she reached an alley that led to the street.

  The town was in darkness; the only lights were at the Blue Horn, in the rooms at the back where Townsend lived. Two men were loafing on the boardwalk out front.