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

by Louis L'Amour

  He looked from Fallon to Porter, his eyes cold with contempt. “Ever stop to think what’ll happen when that stage reaches the end of the line and that driver finds she was taken off here? If you recall, western folks don’t take to men troublin’ women.” He filled his glass. “I look to see you hang.”

  “Who are you?” Fallon persisted. “What do you know about this?”

  “Who I am doesn’t matter,” Red replied, “except that I’m tougher than the three of you and would admire to prove it. But I’ll tell you this: you did a blundering job of killing this girl’s father. He wasn’t dead when you left him.”

  “What?” Fallon’s face was livid. “What’s that?”

  “I said he wasn’t dead. He got into a saddle and rode all of ten miles before he passed out. He was a game man. I found him on the trail, cared for him—sat with him until he died. That was about daybreak this mornin’.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Taber burst out. “You’re lyin’!”

  Clanahan glanced at Taber. “Do you want to get slapped around some more? I’d enjoy doin’ it.”

  Taber stepped back, his gun barrel lifting. “You try it!” he snarled. “I’ll kill you!”

  Red ignored him. “Her pa told me about the claim. Told me where it was, all about it.” He smiled. “Fact is, I was there this mornin’, and if you want to talk business, get your boss down here with some cash.”

  “Cash?”

  “I’m sellin’ my information,” Red replied, “for fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “But that claim belongs to the girl!” the bartender protested.

  “Not if they get down there first and change the stakes and filin’ notice.” Red Clanahan shrugged, and gave Sam a half smile. “You get your boss down here with some money.”

  They hesitated, not liking it. Yet Red could see that they were worried. The blunders they had made were now obvious to them, and there was a good chance the girl did not know where the claim was. “Don’t trust him,” Taber said. “There’s something fishy about this.”

  Clanahan chuckled. “You boys figure it out, but be fast. I don’t have much time. If it wasn’t for that, I’d stay and work the claim for a while, myself. As it is, I can’t stay that long.”

  Fallon turned on him, suddenly aware. “You’re on the dodge!”

  “Maybe.”

  Through it all, the girl sat quiet, numbed by the shock of her father’s death and only vaguely aware these men were bartering her future. Sam looked trapped. He was polishing the same glass for the third time, his face pale and perspiring. But what could he do? What could any one man do? His one possible ally had failed him.

  “You hurry,” Red told them. “My information is for sale.”

  At that the girl looked up. “And you said you were my friend!” she said bitterly. “You’re as bad as they are!”

  Red shrugged. “Worse, in some ways. Sure, I’m your friend. I won’t see you hurt or abused, but, lady, fifteen thousand is a lot of money! Your father refused a million for that claim.”

  “Stay here,” Fallon said suddenly. “I’ll go.”

  “No, you stay here,” Porter interrupted. “I’ll talk to him.” He turned and went out of the door.

  Clanahan glanced at the bartender. “Have the cook pack me some grub.” He tossed a couple of silver dollars on the bar, and as the bartender reached for them, Red spread out two of his fingers, indicating two lunches. Only Sam could see the signal. He picked up the money and went back to the kitchen.

  Shorty Taber crossed to the bar. His lips were swollen. Although the bleeding had stopped, his shirt was spotted with blood and his mouth split and bruised. He took a drink and then swore as the liquor bit sharply at the raw cuts. He glared viciously at Clanahan, who studiously ignored him.

  Red picked up his glass and walked to the girl’s table, never turning his back to the room. He sat down abruptly and said under cover of the movement: “Everything’s all right. Main thing is to get you out of here.”

  Her eyes were cold. “After you’ve all robbed me? And murdered my father?” Her lips trembled.

  Hastily, he said, “He was all right at the end, ma’am. He really was. Passed away, calm and serene.”

  Silence hung in the room and Red felt his own weariness creeping up on him. It seemed a long time since he had slept. The chase had been long and he had spent endless hours in the saddle. His head nodded, then jerked and his eyes were open. Shorty Taber was staring at him, his eyes gleaming with malice.

  Red Clanahan turned to the girl. “I’m dead from sleep. When you hear a horse, wake me. Don’t let them come near me. If they start to edge nearer, push me.”

  Almost at once, his head was over on the table on his arms. Elaine McClary sat very still, her hands on the table before her. Carefully, she kept her mind from any thought of her father. She dared not give way to grief. For the first time she began to be aware of her situation.

  She had used almost her last money to get here to meet her father after his letter about the rich strike. She had not worried, because he had told her he had become a rich man. There was no one to whom she could now turn. She was alone. She was stranded. The one thing of value her father had managed to acquire was the claim and she had no idea where it was. Apparently nobody knew but the big redheaded man beside her.

  She glared at him, seeing the rusty-red curls around his ears, the great leonine head, the massive shoulders. She had never seen any man with so much sheer physical power and strength. The size of his biceps was enormous to her eyes, and she remembered, with a queer little start, those cold green-gray eyes. Yet, had they been so cold?

  A board creaked and her head turned swiftly. Taber was moving toward them. “Stay back,” she said, “or I’ll wake him.”

  Ebb Fallon looked up. “Shorty!” he snapped angrily. “Stay away from there! If anything happens to him, where do we stand?”

  Taber turned with angry impatience and went back to the bar. “You weren’t the one he hit,” he said sullenly.

  “Take your time,” Fallon said. “This show ain’t over yet.”

  Minutes went slowly by, and the big man beside her slept heavily. Several times he sighed and muttered in his sleep, and what she could see of his face was curiously relaxed and peaceful. His sun-faded shirt smelled of old sweat and dust, and now that she was closer to him, she could sense the utter and appalling weariness of the man. The dust of travel was on him, and he must have come far.

  “Look, ma’am.” Fallon seated himself at a nearby table and spoke softly, reasonably. “Maybe we’ve gone at this all wrong. I admit we want that claim, but maybe we can make a dicker, you and us. Maybe we can do business. Now the way things shape up, you’ll get nothin’ for that claim. You could use money, I bet. You make a deal with us, and you won’t lose it. You sell us your interest and we’ll give you five hundred dollars.”

  “That claim is worth a million or more,” she answered. “Father refused that for it, he said.”

  “But you don’t know where it is. Think of that. According to law, you have to do assessment work on a claim; so much every year to hold it. Well, if you don’t do your work, the claim is lost anyway. How can you do it if you don’t know where it is?”

  Elaine shifted a little in her chair. All this was true, and it had already fled through her mind. She was so helpless. If there were only—If she could talk to Sam!

  “I’ll have to think about it,” she said. “But what can I do?”

  “Sign a bill of sale on that claim, and get the big hombre’s gun. You’re right beside it. All you have to do is take it. That hombre’s an outlaw anyway, ma’am. He’ll sell you out.”

  But they had murdered her father! She couldn’t forget that. They had not even troubled to deny it.

  Her eyes lifted and she saw Sam give her a faint negative shake of the head. “I’ll think about it,” she stalled.

  If she took his gun, what then? They would kill this man as they had her father. Di
d that matter to her? Suddenly, she remembered! This big, lonely man beside her, this very tired big man, he had trusted her. He had asked her to help. Then, like a tired boy he had put down his head and slept among a bunch of murderers, trusting to her to warn him.

  How soon would the mysterious boss be back? How far had Porter to go? How much time did she have?

  Suppose she had the gun? Then she would be in a bargaining position herself! They would have to listen to her. But could she force the big man to talk? She knew that would be impossible for her. But not, she thought then, impossible for these other men. She read correctly the bitter hatred in Taber’s eyes.

  Frightened and alone, she sat in the lonely stage station and watched the hard, strange faces of these men she had never seen until scarcely an hour before. Now these strangers suddenly meant life and death to her.

  She looked down at her hands, listening to the bartender put down a glass on the back bar and take up another. Then she heard a faint drumming of horses’ hoofs, and suddenly—why she would never know—she sprang to her feet, drawing the big redheaded man’s gun as she did so and stepping back quickly.

  Almost as suddenly, and catlike, wide-awake where a second before he had been sleeping, the big man was back against the wall. He stared at her, then around the room. “Give me that gun!” he said hoarsely.

  “No.”

  Shorty Taber laughed suddenly, triumphantly. “How do you like it this way, big boy? Now look who’s in the saddle!”

  “Let me have the gun, ma’am,” Fallon said reasonably. “I’ll take it now.”

  She stepped back again. “No. Don’t any of you come near me.”

  Her eyes caught the shocked horror in the bartender’s eyes and doubt came to her. Had she done wrong? Should she have awakened the big man? She heard the horses draw up, heard two men dismount.

  Porter entered, then another man—a big, wide-faced man with a tawny, drooping mustache and small, cunning blue eyes. He took in the tableau with a quick glance, then smiled.

  His eyes went slowly to Clanahan. “Well, friend, looks like you weren’t in such a good spot to bargain. Do you know where that claim is?”

  “I sure do,” Red snapped. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to the girl: “Give me that gun, you little fool!”

  “If she does, I’ll shoot her,” Taber said. “I never shot a woman yet, but so help me, I will. I’ll shoot her, and then you.”

  “Shootin’ a woman would be about your speed, Shorty.” Red’s tone was contemptuous. “Ever tackle a full-growed man?”

  Shorty’s nostrils flared and he swung his gun. “By the—”

  “Taber!” The big man with the tawny mustache took a step forward. “You shoot and I’ll kill you myself! Don’t be a fool!”

  There was a short, taut silence. “Now, Red,” the big man said quietly, “we can do business. Looks to me like you’re on the dodge. I saw your horse out there. A mighty fast horse, and it’s come far and hard. I know that horse. It’s from the Ruidoso, over in Lincoln County. Unless you knew that outfit well, you’d never have it. And if they let you have it, you’re an outlaw.”

  “So?”

  Red Clanahan stood very still, his big feet apart, his eyes wary and alert. Like a photograph, that room with every chair, table, and man was in his mind.

  “So we can do business,” the tawny-mustached man said. “Tell me where that claim is and I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

  Red chuckled. “You foolin’?”

  “You better.” The newcomer was casual. “If you don’t, you’ll never get out of here alive. Nor will the girl.”

  They faced Red and the girl, who were seven or eight feet apart. Fallon was closest to her. Porter and the boys were nearest to Red.

  “And you’d lose a million dollars.” Red grinned tightly. “You make me smile. How many men are crawlin’ over these hills now, lookin’ for lost mines? How many will always be doin’ it? Mister, you know and I know there’s nothin’ so lost as a lost mine. Gold once found is mighty shy about bein’ found again. If you kill me, you haven’t one chance in a million of findin’ that gold.”

  “We could make him talk,” Shorty suggested.

  Red Clanahan laughed. “You think so? You little coyote, you couldn’t make a ten-year-old kid talk. The Apaches worked on me for two days once, and I’m still here.”

  The boss eyed him. “Who are you, Red? Seems I ought to know you.”

  “You wouldn’t, only by hearsay. I run with the lobos, not with coyotes.”

  The boss seemed to tighten and his eyes thinned down. “You use that word mighty free. Suppose we work on the girl? I wonder how fast you’d talk then?”

  Red Clanahan shrugged. “How would that hurt me? She’s a pretty kid, but I never saw her before she walked in here. She’s nothing in my life. You torture her and all you’d get would be the trouble of it. You’d be surprised how I could bear up under other people’s trouble.”

  “He ain’t as tough as he looks,” Taber said. “Let’s work on the girl.”

  “No,” the boss said, “I don’t—” His voice broke off. Some of Red’s relief must have shown in his eyes, for the boss suddenly changed his mind. “Why, yes, Shorty, I think we will. You take—”

  The girl’s gun seemed to waver, and Fallon grabbed for it. Instantly, the girl fired and Red Clanahan lunged.

  He was cat-quick. With a bound he was half across the room. His shoulder struck Porter and knocked him careening into the boss, and both fell against the bar. Red’s move had the immediate effect of turning all the fire away from the girl, shifting the center of battle. But his lunge carried him into a table and he fell over a chair. Yet as he hit the chair his big hand emerged from under his shirt with a second gun.

  Fallon was struggling with the girl, and Red’s first bullet caught Shorty in the midriff. Shorty took a step back, his eyes glazing. Guns exploded and flame stabbed. Red lunged to his feet, moving forward, swaying slightly, spotting his shots carefully, the acrid smell of gunpowder in his nostrils. Then suddenly the room was still.

  Only the boss was on his feet and Fallon was stepping away from the girl, his hands lifted. The boss had blood trickling from his left shoulder. Shorty Taber was down, his eyes wide and empty.

  Porter was slumped against the bar, a gun beside his hand, the front of his vest dark with blood, which was forming a pool under him.

  Red moved swiftly and gathered up his second gun from where it had fallen. “Fifteen thousand, boss,” he said quietly, “and I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll give you the map the girl’s father drew for me.” Red Clanahan holstered one gun. “Act fast,” he said. “I haven’t much time.”

  Sam looked at the boss. “You want me to get it out of the safe, Johnson?”

  Johnson’s voice was hoarse. He clutched his bloody shoulder. “Yeah.” Then he begged, “Let me get my shoulder fixed. I’ll bleed to death.”

  “Afterward.” Clanahan watched Sam go to the safe. “Johnson own this place, Sam?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Looks like you’re through here, then.”

  “You’re tellin’ me?” Sam brought two sacks to the counter. “They’d kill me after this.”

  “Then go saddle two horses. One for yourself and one for the lady.

  “Miss,” Clanahan gestured to her, “write him out a bill of sale to the claim designated on that map.”

  “But—” Elaine started a protest, then stifled it at Red’s sudden impatience.

  “Hurry!” he said angrily. “Do what I tell you!”

  Red Clanahan saw Sam come around the building with the saddled horses, and yelled at him: “Tie Fallon,” he said. “But let Johnson alone. By the time he gets Fallon loose and that shoulder fixed, we’ll be too far off. And if he follows, we’ll kill him.”

  Johnson took the map and the bill of sale, smiling suddenly. “Maybe it was worth a bullet-shot shoulder,” he said. “That’s a rich claim.”

  Sam picked
up the gold and sacked it into the saddlebags. Then he picked up the lunch he had packed earlier, and two hastily filled canteens.

  In the saddle, Red said hoarsely, “Ride fast now! Get out of sight!”

  Elaine glanced at him and was shocked by the sudden pallor of his face. “You! You’re hurt!” she cried.

  His wide face creased in a grin. “Sure! But I didn’t dare let those hombres guess it. Keep goin’ a few miles. I can stick it.”

  Beside a stream they paused and bandaged his wound. It was a deep gouge in the side, from which he had bled freely. He watched the girl work over it with quick, sure fingers.

  “You’d do to take along, ma’am. You’re sure handy.”

  “I worked for a doctor.”

  Back in the saddle, they switched off the trail and headed up through the timber.

  Sam rode beside them, saying nothing. His round face was solemn.

  “By the way,” Red said, “I better tell you. I looked at your dad’s claim. And he was wrong, ma’am. It wasn’t worth a million. It wasn’t worth scarcely anything.”

  Shocked, she looked around at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad struck a pocket of free gold. It was richer than all get-out, but your dad was no minin’man. There ain’t a thousand dollars left in that pocket.”

  “Then—”

  “Then if you’d kept it, you’d have had nothing but hard work and nothin’ more. You got fifteen thousand.”

  “But I thought—”

  Red chuckled. “Ma’am,” he said, “I never stole from no woman. I just figured those hombres wanted that claim so bad, they should have it.”

  Cresting the divide, two days later, they saw the smoke of a far-off town. Red Clanahan drew up. “I leave you here. My trail,” he pointed north, “goes that way. You take her to town, will you, Sam?”

  The older man nodded. “Where are you headed, Red? The Roost?”

  Clanahan glanced at him, wry humor in his eyes.

  “Yeah. You know me?”

  “Sure. I seen you once before, in Tascosa.”

  Clanahan glanced briefly at the girl. “Take it easy with that money, ma’am.” He lifted a hand. “So long.”