The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 3

by Louis L'Amour

  It wasn’t that we didn’t trust each other. We both had a job to do, him and me, but we were the cautious type.

  I walked over and picked up the water bucket, then went to the spring and filled it. When I come back, I split a couple of armfuls of wood and packed it inside. Sonora, he sat there on the porch, sleepy-like, just a-watchin’ me.

  The door had a loose hinge, and I got me a hammer and fixed it, sort of like I used to when I was a kid, and like my pa used to do. It gives a man a sort of homey feelin’, to be fixin’ around. Once I looked up and saw Ruthie lookin’ at me, a sort of funny look in her eyes.

  Then I picked up my hat. “Reckon,” I said, “we better be ridin’ up to that fence. It’s ’most two miles from here.”

  Ruthie, she come to the door, her eyes wide and her face pale. “Stop by,” she said, “on your way back. I’ll be takin’ a cake out of the oven.”

  “Sure thing,” Sonora said, grinning. “I always did like fresh cake.”

  That was a real woman. Not tellin’ y’ to be careful, not tellin’ us we shouldn’t. That was her, standin’ there shadin’ her eyes again’ the sun as we rode off up the trail, me loungin’ sideways in the saddle, a six-gun under my hand.

  “You’d make a family man,” Sonora said half a mile farther along. “Y’ sure would. Ought to have a little spread o’ your own.”

  That made me look up, it cut so close to the trail o’my own thoughts. “That’s what I always figgered on,” I told him. “Me, I’m through ridin’ rough country.”

  We rode on quiet-like. Both of us knowed what was comin’. If’n we came out of this with a whole skin, there was still the main show. I should say, the big showdown. We both knowed it, and neither of us liked it.

  In those few hours we’d come to find we was the same kind of hombre, the same kind of man, and we fought the same way. We were two big men, and when we rode that last mile up there to the fence, I was thinkin’ that here, at last, was a man to ride through hell with. And then I had to do to him what I had to do because it was the job I had.

  The fence was there, tight and strong. “Give me some cover,” I suggested to Sonora. “I’m goin’ to ride up and cut her—but good!”

  The air was clear, and my voice carried, and then I saw Bill Riding step down from the junipers, a rifle holdin’ easy in his hands. His voice rang loud in the draw. “Y’ ain’t cuttin’ nothin’, neither of you!”

  Me, I sat there with my hands down. My rifle was in my saddle boot, and he was out of six-gun range. I could see the slow smile on his face as that rifle came up.

  That moro o’ mine never lost a rider no quicker in his life. I went off, feet first, and hit the ground gun in hand. I’d no more than hit it before somethin’ bellowed like a young cannon, and out of the tail o’ my eye I saw Sonora had unlimbered those big Walker Colts.

  My six-shooter was out, but I wasn’t lookin’ at Riding. He was beyond my reach, but there was a movement in the junipers close down, on our side of the fence, and I turned and saw Harvey Kinsella there behind us. He had a smile on his face, and I could almost see his lips tighten as he squeezed off his first shot.

  When I started burnin’ powder I don’t know. Somethin’ hit Kinsella, and he went back on his heels, his face lookin’ sick, and then I started walkin’ in on him. It helped me keep my mind on business to walk into a man while I was shootin’.

  Somebody blazed at me from the brush, and when I tried a snapshot that way, I heard a whinin’ cry and a rifle rattled on the rocks. But I was walkin’ right at Kinsella, and his guns were goin’. I could see flame stabbin’ at me from their muzzles, but when I figgered I had four shots left, I kept walkin’ in and holdin’ my fire.

  Behind me them Walkers was blastin’ like a couple of cannon from the War Atween the States. I wasn’t worried about Sonora takin’ out on me. He was an hombre to ride the river with. Besides, we each had us a job to do.

  Then Kinsella was down on his face, the back o’ his fancy coat stainin’ red. Two other hombres were down, too, and I could hear the rattle of racin’ hoofs as some others took off through the brush.

  Then I turned, thumbin’ shells into my guns, and Sonora was there, leanin’ on a fence post, one o’ those big guns danglin’ from his fist.

  Me, I walked over to the fence, haulin’ the wire cutters from my belt, the pair I picked up at the girl’s ranch. My head was drummin’ somethin’ awful, like maybe there was still more shootin’. But it wasn’t that—it was deathly still. Y’ couldn’t hear a sound but the loud click o’ my cutters.

  When I finished, I turned toward Sonora. He was slumped over the fence then, and there was blood comin’ from somewhere high up on his chest. I took the gun out of his fingers and stuck it in his holster. Then I hoisted him on my shoulder and started for his mule.

  That mule wasn’t noways skittish. I got Sonora aboard and then crawled up on the moro. When I was in the saddle again, I looked around.

  Riding was dead, anybody could see that. He’d been hit more than once, and half his head was blowed off. There was another hombre close beside him, and he was dead, too.

  As for Kinsella, I didn’t have to look at him. I knowed when I was shootin’ that I was killin’ him, but I walked over to him.

  Three times on my way back to Ruthie’s I had to stop and straighten Sonora in the saddle, even with his wrists tied to the horn.

  Before I got through the gate, Ruthie was runnin’ down toward us, and Jack, too. Then I must’ve passed out.

  When my eyes cracked to light again, it was lamplight, and the room wasn’t very bright. Ruthie was sittin’ by my bed, sewin’.

  “Sonora?” I asked.

  “He’ll be all right. He’d been shot twice. You men! You’re both so big! I don’t see how any bullet could ever kill you!”

  Me, I was thinkin’ it might not take a bullet, but a rope.

  Kinsella got me once, low down on the side. Just a flesh wound, but from what Jack told me, it must’ve bled like all get-out.

  When it was later, Ruthie got up and put her sewin’ away; then she went into another room and to sleep. I give her an hour, as close as I could figger. Then I rolled back the blanket and got my feet under me. I was some weak, but it takes a lot of lead to ballast down an hombre big as me.

  Softly, I opened the door. Ruthie was lyin’ on a pallet, asleep. Me, I blushes, seein’ her that way, her hair all over the pillow like a lot of golden web caught in the moonlight.

  Easy as could be, I slipped by. Sonora’s door was open, and he was lyin’ in Jack’s bed, a chair under his feet to make it long enough.

  Well, there he was, the hombre that meant my ranch to me. I’d strapped on my guns, but as I stood there lookin’ down, I figgered it was a wonder he hadn’t shot it out already. That reward was dead or alive.

  Suddenly, I almost jumped out of my skin. Only one o’ them big Walker Colts was in its holster! Why, that durned coyote! Lyin’ there with a gun under the blanket, and the chances was he was awake that minute.

  Hell! I’d go back to bed! It never did a man no good to run from the law, not even in the wild country! Soon or late, she always caught up with him.

  In the mornin’, I’d just finished splashin’ water on my face when I looked up and he was leanin’ again’ the door post. “Howdy,” he said, grinnin’. “Sleep well?”

  My face burned. “Well as you did, y’durned possum-playin’ maverick!”

  He grinned. “Man in my place can’t be too careful.” He looked at me. “Ready to ride, or is it a showdown?”

  Sonora had his guns on, and there was a quizzical light in those funny eyes o’ his’n.

  He was a big man, big as me, and the only man I ever saw I’d ride with. “Hell,” I said, “ain’t y’ goin’ to eat breaf’st? I’ll ride with you because you’re too good a man to kill!”

  Ruthie was puttin’ food on the table, and she looked at us queerly. “What’s between you two?” she asked quick-like.

&
nbsp; “Why, Ruthie,” I said, “this here hombre’s a Texas Ranger. He figgers I’m the hombre what robbed that bank over to Pierce!”

  She stared at me. “Then—you’re a prisoner?”

  “Ma’am,” Sonora said, gulpin’a big swaller o’hot coffee, “don’t you fret none. I reckon he ain’t no crook. Just had a minute or two o’bein’a durned fool! I reckon that bank’s plumb anxious to git their money back, and I know this hombre’s got it on him because last night”—he grinned—“when he was asleep, I had me a look at his money belt!”

  Before I could bust out and say anythin’, he adds, “I figger that bank’s goin’ to be so durned anxious to git their money back, they won’t fret too much when I suggest this hombre be sent back here, sort of on good behavior. I’d say he’d make a good hand around a layout like this.”

  Then I bust in. “Y’ got this all wrong, Sonora,” I told him. “Y’ been trailin’ the wrong man! Rather, y’ trailed the right man, and then when y’ walked into the Chuck Wagon, y’ took too much for granted.

  “I didn’t rob no bank. I’ll admit I got to thinkin’ about ownin’ a ranch, and I rode into town with the money in mind. Then I heard the shootin’ and lit out. The man who robbed the bank,” I said, “was Harvey Kinsella. I took the money belt off him. His name’s marked on it!”

  He stared at me. “Well, I’ll be durned!” he said.

  Ruthie was lookin’ at me, her eyes all bright and happy. “Man,” I was sayin’, “I figgered you fer the bandit, first off. I was figgerin’ on gittin’ you fer the reward, needin’ that money like I was fer a ranch.”

  “An’ I was tryin’ to decide if I should take y’ in or let y’ go!” Sonora shook his head.

  Ruthie smiled at me and then at him. “I’m going to try and fix it, Sonora,” she said, “so he’ll stay here. I think he’d be a good man around a ranch—someplace where he could take a personal interest in things!”

  There was a tint o’ color in her skin.

  “Just what I think, ma’am.” Sonora shoved back his chair. I got up and handed him the money belt. “And Ruthie,” he continued, “if I was to ride by, y’ reckon it’d be all right to stop in?”

  She smiled as she filled my cup. “Of course, Sonora, and we’ll be mighty glad to see you!”

  Squatters on the Lonetree

  Tanner was fastening the tailgate when Wiley Dunn saw him and started across the street. Algosa held its collective breath, for this was the first meeting between the owner of Hat and the nester who had squatted on Lonetree.

  For fifteen years Wiley Dunn and his hard-bitten Hat riders had ruled unchallenged over two hundred thousand acres of range, growing in wealth and power. Occasionally, ill-advised nesters had moved on Hat range, but the only nesters still there were buried. The others had departed hurriedly for parts as far away as possible. Tanner was the exception. He had squatted on a small, rugged corner with a lovely green meadow where there was plenty of both timber and water.

  Dunn was a square, powerful man who walked with quick, knee-jerking strides. That Tanner defied his power nettled him. He could see no sense in the man starting a fight he had no chance of winning.

  Tanner straightened as Dunn approached, and Dunn was startled to find his eyes piercingly black, although the nester’s hair was a faded rust color. Tanner had a lean body, slightly stooped.

  “Howdy, Dunn. Been aimin’ to see you. Some of your critters been watering down around Sandy Point and getting caught in quicksand. You ought to have your hands throw up a fence.”

  “Thanks.” Dunn was brusque. “Tanner, you have forty-eight hours to get off my range.”

  Tanner took a slow drag on his cigarette. “Now, Mr. Dunn, you know better than to tell me that. If I was fixin’ to leave at all I’d have been long gone. That place appeals to me, so we’re just a-stayin’ on.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Dunn said impatiently. “You haven’t a chance! My cattle have been grazing that range for years, and we’re not about to give it up to some two-by-twice nester who comes driftin’ into the country. I’ve got forty tough cowhands, and if you persist, I’ll—”

  “You’ll get some of them hurt. Now, look here, Mr. Dunn. You’ve got a sight of range out there, and it’s all government land. I’m not takin’ much of it, so you just leave me alone.”

  “Be reasonable!” Dunn was not anxious to fight. He had done his share of fighting. “You can’t make a living on that piece of ground.”

  “I aim to raise some shoats,” Tanner said, squinting against the sun. “Put me in a few acres of corn.” He indicated the sacks in the wagon. “Got my seed already.”

  “Hogs? This is beef country!”

  “So I figure to raise hogs. Folks like a mite of side meat, time to time.”

  “You get off that land in forty-eight hours.” Dunn was growing impatient. He was used to issuing ultimatums that were instantly obeyed, not to discussing them. He was also aware the whole town was watching.

  “Look, Mr. Dunn, my folks and I like that little place. We can be right neighborly, but we can also be a mite mean, if pressed.

  “We’ve got little to lose. You’ve got plenty. I don’t want a fight, but if you start it I won’t set and wait. I’ll come after you, Mr. Dunn. I’ll bring the fight to you.”

  Enraged, Dunn turned away, yet it was disappointment as much as anger. He had hoped there would be no fight, but if this man stayed, others would move in. None of them would make it. And when they started to go hungry they would start killing his cattle. He had seen it happen before. Moreover, the man baffled him. Tanner should have been frightened or worried. He was neither.

  “Boss,” Ollie Herndon suggested, “let me take him? He’s askin’ for it.”

  “No, no!” Dunn protested. “I won’t have a man killed with his wife and children looking on.”

  “That’s his wife’s brother,” Turner said, “they’ve only been married a couple of years.”

  “You let me have him,” Herndon said. “He’s too durned sure of hisself.”

  “Funny thing,” Turner commented, “this is the third time I’ve seen that wagon in town, but I’ve yet to see tracks comin’ from his place.”

  “What’s that mean?” Dunn demanded.

  “You figure it out, boss. I surely can’t.”

  Despite his determination to rid himself of the nester, Dunn knew the man would be a hard nut to crack, and it would be apt to create quite a stir if there was a killing. And there could be.

  Tanner had built his house of stone right against the face of a limestone cliff in the small valley of the Lonetree, a place approachable only from the front. Tanner was reputed to be a dead shot. Yet there was a way—catch him in an open field.

  Hat made its try the following day.

  Eight riders slipped close under protection of the willows, then charged. Tanner was in plain sight in the open pasture, nothing near him for shelter but a few scattered rock piles, bushes, and trees.

  “Got him!” Ollie yelled triumphantly. “Now we’ll show him!”

  They rushed first to cut him off from the house, then swept down upon him. Only he was no longer there.

  Tanner had vanished like a puff of smoke, and then a rifle boomed. A horse went down, spilling his rider; another boom, and the hat was knocked from Ollie’s head. As the riders swirled past where they had seen Tanner they found nothing, absolutely nothing! It was unbelievable.

  The angry riders circled. “Shots came from those rocks,” one maintained.

  “No, it was from that clump of brush.”

  A rifle boomed from the house, and one of the horses started pitching wickedly. When the horse ceased bucking, a scattering of shots caused them to scatter in flight. Hastily, they hunted cover.

  “It ain’t possible!” Ollie protested. “We all seen him! Right out there in plain sight!”

  At daybreak the following morning, irritated by the report of the previous day’s events, Wiley Dunn was up pacing the floor. H
e walked out on the wide veranda, and something caught his attention.

  Three large watermelons lay on the edge of the porch, beside them a sack of roasting ears. Pinned to the sack was a note:

  Figured these would go well with beef. Better keep your outfit to home. They git kind of carried away with theirselves.

  Wiley Dunn swore bitterly, glaring at the melons. Sobering a little, he decided they did look mighty tasty.

  Ollie Herndon’s report worried him. Dropped from sight, Ollie said. Obviously the mountain man had been concealed in the brush, but why hadn’t they found him? Ollie was no pilgrim. He should have been able to smoke him out.

  Three days went by before they attacked again. Ollie led this one, too, and he had seven men. They rode to within a few hundred yards, then concealed their horses and approached on foot. They did not talk, and they had waited until it was good and dark before they began their approach. They could see the lights in the cabin, and they started across the field through the grass, walking carefully. They were halfway across when Ollie suddenly tripped, staggered, and fell. Instantly a gun boomed.

  Flat on their faces in the grass, they lay cursing. That shot had been close, and it sounded like a shotgun.

  Ollie ran his fingers through the grass. “Wire!” he said with disgust. “A durned trip wire!” He glanced up. The lights were gone.

  Ollie was furious. To be tricked by a damned nester! He got to his feet and the others arose with him. Red moved closer to Ollie. “No use goin’ up there now. That ol’ catamount’s ready for us.”

  It was a fact understood by all. There was literally nothing else they could do. The stone house was situated in such a position that one had to cross the meadows to approach it, and the corrals, stock, and hay were all in a box canyon entered from beside the house. To get nearer without being heard was no longer possible, and shooting at the stone house would simply be a waste, as well as dangerous. It was a thousand to one against their scoring a hit, and their gun flashes would reveal their positions, making them good targets in the open meadow.