Coolly, Tandy stepped over to him, jerked his guns from their holsters and shucked the shells into the palm of his hand. He dropped them into his pocket.
Pipal lay on the floor, blood dripping from his nose and his breath coming in racking gasps.
“You better hightail,” Red suggested. “He’s a ringtailed terror with them guns.”
Thayer grinned at Red and drew a smiling response. “I like it here,” he said. “I’m stayin’!”
Pipal started to get up, and Thayer looked around at him.
“You get out!” he said harshly. “I don’t know who you’re runnin’ errands for, but I mean to find out.”
The half-breed’s eyes glared at him, hatred a burning light in their black depths.
“I kill you!” he said.
Tandy seized the man by the collar and, jerking him erect, hit him two fast punches in the wind, then slapped him across the face. With a shove, he drove the gunman through the door, where he tripped and sprawled on his face.
“Look!” Tandy yelled.
He whipped a playing card from his pocket and spun it high into the air. In almost the same motion, he drew and fired. The card fluttered to the earth, and he calmly walked over to it and picked it up, thrusting it before Pipal’s eyes and the startled eyes of Red and Hofer, who had come from the house. It was an ace of spades—with the ace shot neatly through the center!
Pipal gulped and slowly climbed to his feet. His nose still bled, and he backed away, wiping it with the back of his hand, an awed expression on his face. Calmly Tandy thrust the playing card into his shirt pocket and fed another shell into his six-gun.
“I don’t like trouble,” he remarked, “but I can handle it.…”
Three days passed quietly. There was plenty to do on the Block T, and Tandy Thayer had little time for looking around on his own, but he was learning things. The Block T was overrun with unbranded stock, and no effort was being made to brand any of it. Much of this stock was ranging far to the south around the Opal Mountains, where there was rich grass in the draws and plenty of water for that type of range.
Red Ringo was a mine of information. Red had been a rider for the Block T when he was sixteen, and had ridden for it four years. He then had drifted to Wyoming, Kansas, and Indian Territory, but finally headed back home. Three months before he had hired on at the Block T again, finding it vastly changed.
“Funny how a spread can go to pot in a short while,” he commented to Tandy Thayer. “Even Bill Hofer’s changed. He’s thinner, cranky like he never used to be, and he packs a gun, something he never did in the old days. All the old hands are gone, and the last two was drove off by this Pipal. Why don’t Hofer fire him?”
“Maybe he’s afraid of him, too,” Tandy suggested.
“Could be,” Red agreed dubiously. “But he never used to be afraid of anything.”
“When did all this trouble start?” asked Tandy.
“Well,” Ringo said thoughtfully, “near as I know from what the old hands told me before they left, it started about the time the owner came out from Chicago. He came out and stayed on the ranch for a couple of weeks and then left, but whatever happened then, Hofer’s never been the same since.” Ringo leaned on the shovel with which he had been cleaning a water hole. “Another thing, Bill Hofer never had no use for Roy Kleinback before, but he sees a lot of him now. So does Miss Clarabel.”
“What about Kleinback? He owns the K Bar, don’t he?”
“Sure does. Rawhider, or was. Lately he’s been doing better. Pretty slick with a gun, and a hand with his fists, too. He has three or four hands down there with him, but they don’t amount to much aside from bein’ crooked enough to do anything they are told if there’s money in it.”
Tandy Thayer hesitated and then with his eyes on Red Ringo, asked casually, “Ever hear of an old-timer around here named Jim Drew?”
“Drew? Can’t say as I have. You mean an old man, or old in the country?”
“An old man. Cantankerous old cuss. Makes the best coffee in the world and the best biscuits. He was a friend of mine, a mighty good friend, and he’s how come I’m here at all.”
Briefly, Thayer explained about the letters that brought him here, and about finding the ranch site. Ringo listened with attention, and when Tandy stopped talking, he bit off a healthy chew.
“Listen,” he said. “I come back here about three months ago. That was a month or maybe less after the big boss was here. I hired on, but the very day I started work, Hofer told me I was to work away from the river, and on no account to go near Moss Springs. He said there’d been some trouble over it and ’til it was straightened out, we’d stay away. Moss Springs is the water hole you mentioned.…”
Back at the ranch, Tandy sat under a huge cottonwood near the blacksmith shop and studied the situation through the smoke of a half dozen cigarettes. No way could it make sense, so there must be something he didn’t know.
Where was Jim Drew? What had caused the change in Bill Hofer and the Block T? Why was Pipal kept on? Did Hofer’s new friendship for Kleinback have anything to do with all this?
In the three days Tandy had been on the ranch he had spent most of his time at work, and at no time had he seen Clarabel. Nor had he seen Kleinback. Pipal was around, but he remained strictly away from Tandy and never met his eyes if he could avoid it.
Obviously, the Drew ranch had been cleaned out because somebody did not want Tandy Thayer, the expected visitor, to find it. And they must have done away with Jim Drew at the same time. But why? What did they have to conceal?
Studied from every angle, the trouble seemed to have started with the leaving of the big boss, the owner—J. T. Martin. It was after that when Pipal came to the Block T, and after he came that the old hands started to drift away. It would almost appear that someone wanted the old hands driven off.
If there had been such an attempt, and if Drew had been killed or run off in connection with it, then there had to be profit somewhere for the instigators of the plot. What was profitable in this ranch? Cattle? And the range now covered with thousands of unbranded cattle, ready for the taking?
“So? It’s you?”
At the sound of the girl’s voice, Tandy glanced up and then got slowly to his feet.
“I reckon it is, ma’am. Like a bad penny, always turnin’ up.”
She stepped near him in the dappling shadows of moonlight through the leaves.
“Go away—please! You don’t know what you’re doing here! Tonight Kleinback is coming, and if he finds you, there will be trouble!”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Tandy said easily. “I’m stayin’ ’til I’m ordered off. I’ve got work to do. Mebbe Kleinback is the man I’d better talk to.”
“No!” There was sheer panic in Clarabel Jornal’s voice. “You mustn’t! Please go! I don’t know what happened to your friend. I have no idea! I think he just pulled out and left!”
“You admit he was here, then?” Thayer shrugged. “Ma’am, Jim Drew sent for me to come, so he never pulled out. He wouldn’t be driven, either! Ma’am, old Jim was killed, and I aim to find out who did it!”
She was silent for a minute, her hand still on his arm.
“Please!” she pleaded then. “You like me, I know you do! I’ve seen it in your eyes tonight, and I saw it the other day. If you’ll go away, I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “That’s a tempting offer, ma’am, but I can’t do it. I sure do like you. You’re pretty much of a woman, and a man could be proud of you, but I wouldn’t take you that way. I wouldn’t take any woman unless she loved me—and I reckon it would be pretty hard to love a man like me. I ain’t no hand with womenfolks, and I sure ain’t much for looks.”
In the silence they heard the sound of a horse cantering up to the house. Clarabel looked up at Tandy.
“It’s Roy Kleinback!” she said, and there was stark fear in her eyes.
Tandy caught her by the shoulders. “What’s behind all this!” he demand
ed. “What’s Kleinback to you? Who is he?”
“He’s nothing to me! I—”
“Hofer,” Kleinback’s harsh voice interrupted. “Who’s that hombre out there with Clarabel?”
The two men were walking toward the cottonwood. Clarabel stepped back, and her eyes looked like dark, haunted pools in the whiteness of her face. Kleinback walked up to her and Tandy, glancing from one to the other.
“Hofer,” he said as his eyes fastened on Thayer, “you’d better fire this man. He’s got some bad ideas. Thinks there used to be an hombre name of Jim Drew down at Moss Springs.”
Thayer glimpsed a vague movement in the shadows and knew it was Pipal. He was boxed. If he started a fight now, he was finished.
“All right with me, if Hofer fires me,” he drawled. “What about it, boss?”
“Maybe you’d better go,” Hofer said. “Here’s twenty dollars. That’s more’n you got comin’, but you’ve done a sight of work.”
Kleinback was smiling. “Now, slope!” he said. “And once you start movin’, keep goin’!”
Tandy Thayer offered no reply. He walked to the bunkhouse, threw his gear together, and saddled his horse. It was when he was saddling the horse that he brushed against Kleinback’s mount near him, and against the coat that hung over the saddle horn. Something rustled in the pocket. On a hunch he turned and felt for the paper. It was an envelope.… No, there were three envelopes.
Shielding the match with his coat, he struck a light, and his heart gave a bound. All three were addressed to J. T. Martin at Nelson! Stuffing the letters back into the pocket he swung into the saddle and headed the gray toward the river.
The letters had been from Chicago, so in Chicago they believed Martin was here. And if Martin was neither here nor in Chicago, where was he?
Turning right near the river, Tandy Thayer headed south for Moss Springs. He did not ride fast, for he was in no hurry. The night stretched before him and he had only a few miles to go. In the meanwhile there was much to consider.
Martin had come to the Block T ranch and had probably received a report on the number of cattle there, but if he had known about all the unbranded cattle, obviously he would have been displeased. Suddenly, Tandy began to see more clearly, and the pieces of the plot began to fall into place.
Reaching Moss Springs he dismounted and made camp. Yet he was scarcely asleep before he heard the pounding of hoofs. Rolling out of his soogan he grabbed his Winchester and took shelter behind some rocks.
The racing horse came to a sliding stop, and he heard a girl gasping for breath.
“Tandy,” she called softly. “Tandy Thayer! Where are you!”
“Here,” he answered. “What’s the trouble?”
She ran to him. “Oh, be careful! They’ve sent that man after you—Pipal!”
“They sent him? Who did?”
“Kleinback did. I heard him talking to Pipal. He told him to kill you, that you must never get to Nelson!”
“So?” Thayer went all quiet and still within, his mind examining the situation coolly. “Then he’s guessed that I know what this is all about, or he is afraid I know.” He looked around toward the dim outline of the girl’s face. “Bel, what happened to Martin?”
Her breath caught. “I—I don’t know.”
“Bel, there’s something plumb wrong going on here, and I think I know exactly what it is. Martin never went back to Chicago, Bel. Mail is still being addressed to him at Nelson, in care of the Block T. I found some letters to him in the pocket of Kleinback’s coat. I think Martin was killed because of what he found at the ranch, or because somebody at the ranch was afraid of what he might do or know.”
Clarabel was silent and he put his hand on her arm.
“Bel, did your uncle kill Martin?”
She jerked her arm away. “No!” she flared, and he could hear the anguish and tears in her voice. “No, he didn’t! He couldn’t have! He’s always been good. Kind! He simply couldn’t have!”
There was an answer here somewhere. All Tandy could see now was the vague, underlying plot, or what he believed was the plot. It would explain everything, and there was no other way that he could see for it to have been.
“Bel,” he persisted, “what’s Bill Hofer’s tie-up with Kleinback?”
“I don’t know.” He could sense the honest doubt in her voice. “Uncle Bill used to dislike him very much, and I think he still does, but now Kleinback’s around the ranch a lot and gives orders as much as my uncle does.”
“Did it begin about the time that Martin left?”
She hesitated. “Yes, about then.”
“Bel,” Tandy suggested cautiously, “you think your uncle killed Martin, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, I tell you! But he couldn’t have!”
“Bel, if your uncle killed Martin he’s as guilty as any man, and deserves punishment if any man does. Now, we’ve got to get at the truth of this, and I don’t think your uncle did kill him.”
Tandy hesitated, listening for sounds in the night. If Pipal was coming, there was little time.
“Was Kleinback at the ranch the night Martin left?” he asked after a moment.
“No. He was there in the afternoon. He and Uncle Bill had a fearful argument about something; then he left. I heard Martin and Uncle Bill talking for a long time after supper. Martin brought some liquor out, and they both had a few drinks.”
That could be it. Had Hofer been drunk? He asked the question. “I—I don’t know,” Clarabel said, and Tandy could sense that this was what was responsible for the girl’s worry. “I don’t think he was. He rode down the trail with Martin to get him started right, and I don’t know when he got back. He didn’t get up until almost noon, I know, and he looked a sight. I think he slept in his clothes.”
Tandy gripped her arm in a signal for silence, for he had heard a faint sound in the darkness, a faint dragging, as of a heavy body along the mountainside. Drawing the girl back into the deep shadows of some mesquite, he listened. After a minute, both of them heard it again, a dragging sound, and what seemed like a grunt or a gasping breath.
Thayer stepped out into the moonlight, his brow furrowed. It was strange.
“So? We come together again, my friend!” Pipal’s voice. “Make one move for your gun, and you die!” The renegade stepped forward into the moonlight. “Also the señorita will come from the darkness, or I shall have to shoot both of you!”
Clarabel, her face pale, stepped into sight and stood beside him. Pipal circled behind them and stripped them of their guns.
“Now,” he said, moving away from them, “you will turn and walk toward the river. Bodies are so heavy to carry!”
“You’re a fool, Pipal!” Thayer said.
His mouth felt dry, and he was weak in the knees. The half-breed was going to shoot, and any chance he took was a chance for the girl, too. If only she wasn’t so close! Still, if he could get a hand on one of those guns, there might be a chance.
“Do you think Kleinback will let you go now, Pipal?” he taunted. “You’ll be the only one who knows. You’re doing his killing for him, and what will you get out of it?”
Pipal shrugged. “Plenty. Leave that to me, señor. I shall not forget Pipal. I never forget Pipal!”
In the silence, there was another sound, that faint dragging again. Pipal heard it also, and he started. He seemed to crouch a little, listening. His eyes dropped to the guns at Thayer’s feet; then as the sound came again, he jerked his head around and Tandy’s right hand dropped a little.
“Don’t try it, son!” a voice roared out of the darkness. “I got him! Shoot me, will you? You dry-gulching—” The voice was drowned in the roar of a heavy rifle as Pipal swung his gun toward the darkness.
Pipal jerked sharply, then took two steps forward and fell on his face.
“Jim!” Tandy Thayer could not believe it. “Is that you out there?”
“Who did you reckon it was? Sandy Claws?” The old man’s voice was t
esty. “Come out here and fetch me in. I can’t walk!”
In a few running steps, Tandy had reached the old man. His eyes sharpened as he picked him up and carried him back into the moonlight.
“Build a fire!” he told Clarabel. “He’s been hurt!”
“Hurt, your Aunt Mariar!” The old man was exasperated. “I’m nigh starved, that’s all! I was hurt, all right. Shot by that durned breed. He got me twice, once in the shoulder and the other time in the leg. I fell in the river, yonder, but caught me some brush and hauled myself out of the water. Takes more’n a couple of slugs to kill an old sidewinder like me! I crawled back up yonder in an old prospect hole with what grub I could get out of the house before they got back.
“Boy, they tore that ranch of our’n right down! Every pole and log of her. Then they dropped ’em in the river and cleared up the ground so’s nobody but somebody like you would ever guess what happened. Me, I laid up there in that hole, trying to get my leg mended, me with nothin’ but a mite of grub and my old Sharps. I caught me a rabbit or two and et them down to the hair, then tonight I heard your voice a-talking to this here girl. I been a-draggin’ down that mountain ever since.”
“Why did Pipal shoot you?” Tandy demanded.
“Why? Because I seen Kleinback and Hofer coming down the trail with that city feller. Hofer, he was riding with him, drunk as a hoot owl, but Kleinback was a-ridin’ back behind ’em a ways, following ’em, like.”
Old Jim Drew told them quietly what had occurred, told them all he had seen, and Tandy nodded.
“I’d guessed most of it,” he said, and swung into the saddle. “Jim, we’re goin’ to leave you here. We’ll go back to the ranch and get a buckboard. Kleinback is still there, and I want to talk with him!”
The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 3 Page 16
