"It's not decent," he complained to Duck on the quiet. "Lock was a good man and tried to make a fight of it. It wasn't right to kill him thataway."
"Don't let the boss hear you say that," Duck warned. "You know how he is!"
"I sure do," Laramie agreed, his eyes cold.
Duck Bale caught the inflection and admitted to himself that Laramie was right. The boss was cold-blooded. He would shoot a man down without a chance. He wished Laramie was here now. He wanted to tell him about the gold being gone. Maybe it was just that the boss was fixing to get rid of it, but anyway, it had been taken away from the house during the night.
He stared irritably at Bud Frazer. The bald-headed gunman was sprawled on his rumpled bunk, snoring peaceably. They had had another argument that morning with a lot of loud talk and shouting. Frazer did not like him, and Frazer was lazy. He had not made his bunk in four days. Nor had he helped with the cleanup job-not that they ever did much of it.
Duck walked outside and had started for the barn when he heard a horse. He turned instantly, expecting to see either the boss or Laramie. It was neither. The man on the white gelding was a stranger, a cold-faced man with chill blue eyes and sloping shoulders. He drew up and chuckled. "Name fits all right. You Duck Bale?"
"Yeah." Duck suddenly realized that his gun belt was hanging over the back of a chair in the bunkhouse. "Who are you?"
"Name of Red River Regan." The stranger slid from his horse and stretched. "He said you had quite a layout here and you sure have. I had a time findin' the place."
Duck Bale was in a quandary. Nothing had been said about any new men, but this fellow knew his name, seemed to know his way around, and obviously had known how to get here. Moreover, he wore those two Colts like he was used to them. "How did you find it?" he said.
"Boss told me." He looked around again, then led his horse into the shade of some trees near the stable and tied him near a patch of grass. "He said there'd be another man here. Bud Something-or-other?"
"Bud Frazer. He's asleep. He's always asleep." There was an irritable tone to Duck's voice, and Hopalong had gauged his man correctly. He suppressed a grin. "You fixin' to feed the horses?"
'Yeah. Bud should've done it, but that hombre's the laziest man I ever did see."
"Got a fork? I'll help. Show me where the hay is."
Duck lit up, then led the way to the stable. Behind it there was a comfortably large stack of hay. In no time at all, hay had been forked to the horses and a bait of corn given each one.
Duck was still suspicious, but the stranger's confidence and easy manner had him puzzled. If the man did not rightly belong, he would never have found his way here in the first place, nor would he be so much at home. Grateful to have somebody to talk to and some help with the work, Bale was not inclined to ask too many questions.
In all the time they had used the place nobody had ever appeared who did not belong there.
Hopalong had looked the place over carefully before approaching Duck. He knew he was taking a chance, but he had overheard the extended quarrel that morning and got their names from it and also hints regarding the characters of the two men, as well as the substance of the disagreement between them.
"Eat yet?" Duck inquired suddenly. "I haven't washed up, if you want somethin'. May be some coffee left."
"Sure!" Hopalong drew a deep breath. He knew this could develop into a tight spot if anyone else showed up. If the boss came, whoever he was, Hopalong would truly be out of luck. Or even if the unknown Laramie showed up, for that one might be sharper than Duck Bale. Whatever Cassidy learned would have to be learned fast, for every minute of his stay would increase his danger.
"Quite a place, ain't she?" Duck said, grinning at him. "Boss sure picked him a hideout!
Been wonderin' how he knowed it was here, but from the way he acts, he knowed about it for a long time! Plenty long, if you ask me.
"Maybe we aren't the first to use it. Anyway, I've seen a posse ride within a dozen feet of the entrance and miss it.
"Keep a good store of grub on hand, extry horses, and plenty of ammunition. No army could ever take this place."
"Doesn't look it." Hopalong put his cup back on the table. "Must get tiresome stayin' here, though." He spoke innocently, as if he had not heard Duck griping that morning.
"He don't look much company." Hoppy indicated the sleeping outlaw. "Me, I'm a friendly sort of person. Like to talk and hear myself spoken to."
Duck warmed immediately. This newcomer was a kindred soul, and it was about time they got somebody in the outfit who acted like a human being. Laramie was the best of them, but he was always out somewhere-on the prowl, he called it. Duck was always the one to get stuck with staying at the hideout. He never stopped to wonder why this was the case and that his talking had more than a little to do with it. The boss had long since decided that he should get rid of Duck, but Laramie liked him and the man was not only good with horses but was steady in a pinch. What he might lack in secretiveness he made up for with judgment when under fire. He was one of the steadiest of them all, and such men were valuable.
"Where you from, Regan?" Duck asked and then, without pause, said, "I'm from Montana myself. Haven't been back up there for a long stretch, though. Went on the owlhoot down Wyomin' way, and started cattle rustlin' in Nebraska. Ogallala! There's a town!
You ever been there?"
Cassidy grinned, remembering his last visit with Mesquite Jenkins and Red Connors and the near thing it had been when three outlaws caught him and Jenkins swimming.
It had been a wild visit, but that was just what visits to Ogallala were apt to be.
It was much what Abilene had been in its time, and Dodge.
"Yeah, I've been there. Came up from Texas with a trail herd."
"I made that drive twice. Fought Comanches one time. She's rough, that cow trail is, believe you me! My pappy was a Tennessee man, but we moved to Missouri when I was knee-high to a cow pony. Settled in there close to Bald Knob-you heard about those fellers?"
At Hopalong's nod he continued: "Got out of there finally and come west buffalo huntin'.
I ran into Laramie first time in Tascosa, and we trailed west together, workin' a few herds, pickin' up a few horses, but always sort of thinkin' over what the James boys had been doin'-you know, trains and such? Good pickin's on those trains."
"Never tackled one," Hopalong said honestly. "Should be good pickin's here, though.
You get much of a split?"
Duck Bale's face became aggrieved. "Split? Hasn't been any split! The boss, he holds all that gold himself! She's bar gold, and it isn't so easy to get rid of it. Reckon he's figured out a way now, though."
Hopalong hesitated, wondering how many questions Duck would stand for. He finally decided he had better go about it carefully. "Reckon a man could figure a way. You sell it to somebody who knows it's crooked gold and you'll discount it thirty, forty percent."
"Know it. The boss said as much, but he's got him a play all lined up. Fact is, I figure we'll have some money right soon."
"Heard some talk about a stage job just lately. Couple of hombres killed."
"Yeah." Duck Bale did not rise to the bait. He drifted away from the subject, and there was no chance to bring him back without danger of exciting his suspicions.
Hopalong sat quietly, offering occasional remarks, while Duck Bale rambled on, cheerfully pleased with the sound of his own voice and the newcomer's pleasant, interested manner.
He talked of trail herds and rustling, of tough marshals and of sheriffs. He talked of hideouts and secret trails, much of which Hopalong knew, and some things about outlaw hideouts that he did not know but which Duck assumed that he knew. Filing all this away for the future, Hopalong Cassidy waited for a chance to lead Duck back into talking of the situation in Seven Pines and the stage holdups.
Duck's obvious admiration and friendship for Laramie kept recurring, and Hopalong led him to talk of this. "Did Laramie work in that last
job?" he inquired casually.
"Sure. He's the best man we got. He sure was sore when he heard about that killin'."
"Thacker? He was a gunman, and from what they say, whoever killed him gave him his chance."
"No, not Thacker."
"Lock?"
Duck looked up at Hopalong, frowning a little. Cassidy yawned and blinked. "Reckon I'm gettin' sleepy," he said, and then added, to get Duck away from his sudden doubts, "That Thacker was a tough galoot. Wonder what he was doin' down here."
"Don't know, but the boss was sure mad when he saw him! He was mad all the way through, sure enough! Said somethin' about a double-cross. Then he invited Thacker out and shot him down!"
"Takes nerve to shoot it out with a man fast as Thacker was. They say he gave Thacker his chance."
"He did, but the boss had a reason for that, I figure. And then he's so cussed fast he don't have to worry any."
"Fast, is he?"
"Faster than Hardin, I figure. Faster than Clay Allison or any of 'em. And poison-mean when he's upset about some-thin'." Duck yawned himself. "Laramie's about due," he added. "Wish he would get here. I'm nigh out of tobacco."
As Duck Bale rolled another smoke Hopalong heard Frazer stirring on the bunk. From what he had heard of Frazer, the man was surly and cantankerous, not the sort of man to accept him as readily as Duck had. While the trip into the hideout had allowed him to get the lay of the land, it had also told him something else. He now knew two of the men who had been in on the holdup. Laramie and Duck had, without doubt, been along, and it was exceedingly probable that Bud Frazer had been in it also.
No closer to the identity of the boss, he still knew some of the men, and from what he had heard, the boss was the man he wanted, the man who had killed in cold blood the wounded and unconscious Jesse Lock. Now the sooner Hopalong got away from here, the better. To come and then ride away at once would scarcely seem logical to Duck, unless . . . Hopalong frowned, trying to figure out a way.
If he could make the break without gunplay, so much the better, for he might catch the boss himself here if he was not worried about discovery.
"Better water my cayuse," he said suddenly, and getting to his feet, he strolled casually outside.
Behind him he heard a chair creak and he knew that Duck Bale was watching him. He sauntered unconcernedly across the sunlit open space to the trees. Topper nickered as he approached, and he gathered up the reins and started back toward the tank.
As he turned he caught a glimpse of Duck watching him from within the door. The horse dipped his muzzle into the clear, cool water, and Hopalong sat down on a log close by. Here he was out of sight of the cabin door, and he instantly slid out from beneath his hat, left it on a post in such a way that he would still appear to be sitting where Duck had obviously seen him seat himself. Then he crawled around the corral, straightened, and tiptoed swiftly to the side of the house.
He was acting on the impression that Duck would awaken Frazer, and that he had guessed right was immediately obvious. An irritable voice growled, "What're you wakin' me up for? What's the matter with you, Duck?"
"We got us a new man."
The bunk creaked as Frazer evidently sat up, startled into wakefulness. "A what?"
"A new man. Drifted in about an hour and a half ago. Feller name of Red River Regan.
Heard of him?"
"Don't recall. Where's he now?"
"Waterin' his horse. About as tall as me, but some heavier. Said the boss sent him out. He come ridin' right in like he knowed where he was. Had my name right, and yours too."
"Nothin' been said about us havin' a new man. We got enough men."
"Tell that to the boss. Anyway," Duck protested, "he's a right nice feller. Texan, I reckon."
"What's the boss want more men for? The split's too small now! Why, with Laramie, Dan, you and me and the boss, that's plenty. I don't like this feller hornin' in."
"He looks plumb salty."
"Where's my gun? I want a look at him."
Turning, Hopalong fled swiftly back around the corral, then straightened up with his hat on and led the horse across toward the trees again.
Bud Frazer stood in the doorway of the cabin, his bulk filling it. He wore a dirty shirt and patched jeans. His boots were down at the heel, and he wore a gun tied low on his leg. Unshaven and his hair rumpled, he looked tough and mean. Strolling out into the sunshine, he called out, "Hey, you!"
Hopalong ignored him, and he came a step farther. "Hey, you! Answer when I speak!"
Cassidy turned slowly, dropping Topper's reins to the ground. His blue eyes were cold as he moved coolly to one side of the horse, putting distance between them.
He wanted no trouble, but he was taking nothing from anyone. If Frazer wanted trouble, he could have it. "When you speak to me right, I'll answer. Otherwise I'll answer when I please!"
Frazer sneered. "Tough guy, huh? Who sent you here?"
"The boss sent me."
"Who sent yuh? What boss?"
Cassidy felt his throat tightening. "I don't mention names. I was told not to mention names."
He seemed to have hit the right note, for Frazer hesitated. Then he said quietly, "Describe him."
"I'll describe nobody!" Hopalong replied flatly. "I don't know who you are. Par's that goes, I don't know who Duck is, except he fits the description and he isn't a man easy to mistake."
Bud Frazer hesitated. If this man had been sent here by the boss, he did not want to make trouble. On the other hand, he might be a spy. Ben Lock was reported to be in town, and having heard of Ben, Frazer had decided he did not want to be the first to meet him. This man might be Ben Lock.
"Don't you worry!" Frazer replied stiffly. "I belong here! Just see that you do!"
The big man glared after Hopalong as he turned to walk back toward his horse, and for an instant Frazer had an impulse to draw on him, but he had a hunch that warned him never to reach for a gun with this man unless he wanted to die. Fear went against the grain with Frazer and infuriated him. A naturally surly man, he feared no one and walked with a chip on his shoulder that he failed to show only around the boss.
Even Laramie side-stepped Frazer. Not afraid of him, nevertheless he knew the man was easily provoked to quarrel, and needless killing had no part in Laramie's plans.
Returning to his horse, Hopalong hesitated. He was no fool and he knew that his time here was short. It was sure that some of the gang would be returning, and any one of them might have seen him around Seven Pines. Moreover, they would have come from the boss and would know no new member had been recruited. His success so far had been due to the fact that these men had not left this place and knew of none of the developments since the holdup.
Frazer watched him suspiciously, and Hopalong swore softly and wished he had managed to get away before the big man awakened. But he left the horse standing and walked slowly back toward the bunkhouse. The very fact that he was unable to get away without a fight made him irritable, and Hopalong Cassidy did not often become irritated.
Frazer stood directly in the door, and Hopalong walked right up to him before the big man gave way. Cassidy walked on beyond him and picked up the coffeepot. Rinsing it carefully, he put in some water and put it on the fire.
"Always did like a cup of coffee," Duck said tentatively. "Like to keep some on the fire most of the time."
"Same here," Hopalong agreed. "Nothin' like it."
Frazer said nothing but left the door and walked across to a chair. He spun it so the back was to the room, then straddled it, staring sullenly at the black-garbed gunfighter.
Hopalong considered his horse. The white gelding could climb back up the way they had come down, but he could not do it with a rider, and for the greater length of the slide anyone escaping by that route would be directly under fire, like a target in a shooting gallery. Nor was escape out the main trail a good plan, for there was every chance of meeting a rider coming in, and that would mean being caught in a narr
ow passage with no hope but to kill or be killed.
"You hombres poker players?"
"Yeah," Duck Bale replied interestedly, "I like a hand of draw now and again. Frazer plays too."
"Only"-Frazer could not let it lie-"I'm particular who I play with!"
Hopalong turned quietly and slowly. He had lifted the coffeepot and now he put it down. "Seems to me you're some on the prod, amigo. Now, I'm not. When the boss told me about this outfit, he told me it was a good crowd. He didn't say nothin' about any cantankerous vinegaroon like you. I don't think I like it as well as I did around here. If I stay, I'm sure goin' to have to kill you!"
Frazer's lips thinned. "Kill me?" he sneered. "You must figure you throw a fast gun."
"There's a way to find out," Hopalong suggested, "and you can make your try any time you've a mind to."
Frazer's fingers spread slowly, his eyes watchful as a snake's, yet deep within him there was something that chilled at the utter coldness in the eyes of Red River Regan.
An utter coldness that spoke of death. A fly buzzed against the window, and outside Topper blew contentedly as he munched the thick green grass. Within the room all was still as death, and watching the black-garbed man, Frazer felt a faint, cold chill go over him.
It was here. He had been fairly called, and he knew it was up to him now. His mind told him he must draw, but no command ran along his muscles to the waiting fingers; no hammer was thumbed. Tense, he waited, his mouth dry.
And then it happened.
Duck Bale sprang the trap that Frazer had set for himself with his own quarrelsome pushing of this stranger. Duck Bale, who was harmless enough in his day, but smart too. Duck sighed.
It was a long, gusty sigh, and Bud Frazer knew what it meant. Bale had given him up; Bale had decided he would not draw, that there would be no shooting here. Through the mind of Frazer there now went a series of fleeting pictures. Of Bale crowding him, of Bale no longer avoiding trouble, of Bale repeating the account of what happened here, of how this man had taken the prodding of Bud Frazer, then called him, given him his chance. Frazer knew what they said about him. He knew he was a man avoided, if not feared. The very certainty that he would fight had built his reputation, and now this Red River Regan had called him.
the Trail to Seven Pines (1972) Page 8
