Raw Land

by Short, Luke;

  Milt, grinning, kept his hands at his side and walked up to Pres.

  “A bottle and two glasses,” he told Hal. Pres’s thick face was wary, suspicions, ugly.

  Milt took his gun out and laid it on the bar and then said to Pres, “Come over and have a drink with me.”

  Pres looked puzzled. He looked at the gun, then at Milt, and seemed undecided. Milt went over to one of the far tables and waited for him.

  Pres came reluctantly and stopped beside the table. “You must want somethin’.”

  “Get your mail today, Pres?”

  “No. Why?”

  “There’s a letter there that’ll tell you everything. Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  Pres sat down warily. Milt drew the deed out of his pocket and handed it to Pres. Pres read it, read it again, and then looked up at Milt.

  “It’s no forgery,” Milt said. “I just got it today. It voids Case’s claim to the place, and gives it back to Will.”

  Pres was stupefied for a moment. And then he began to curse in a low and passionate voice, his face redder than usual. Milt grinned at him, and Pres stopped, stared.

  “So you think it’s funny,” he said. “Well, Mr. Murray Broome, we’ll see how funny it is.”

  He started to get up, and Milt drawled quietly, “Sit down, you damn fool. You ain’t goin’ to Phipps.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re partners. And this time I can swing it.”

  Pres settled slowly into his chair, attentive, and Milt went on, “Will Danning’s ready to pull out. He’s whipped. Somebody shot at him and—” He paused, seeing Pres’s faint grin. “You shot him,” he cried.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Pres said.

  Milt’s eyes narrowed, and for a second there was a wicked light in his eyes. “Damn you, Pres!” he said softly. “If you and I weren’t partners, I’d kill you.”

  Pres only shrugged, his thick lips pouting. Milt settled back and resumed his talk. “Danning’s ready to leave. He sent me into town to get his money back. And then I turned up this deed. Don’t you see what it means?”

  “It means you and me, if we’re partners, are right back where we started,” Pres growled. “You couldn’t get him off the place before, and you won’t now.”

  “You’re wrong,” Milt said softly. “I’ll get him off.”

  “How?”

  “By tellin’ him you’re blackmailin’ me. I’ll tell him you found the deed, and you discovered my real name in that locket. I’ll tell him you’ve decided to keep your mouth shut about me if you get the deed. If you don’t, you’ll turn me up.”

  “He’ll laugh and tell you it’s tough, but he ain’t losin’ a fortune just to protect you.”

  Milt shook his head. “You don’t know Will Danning. In some ways he’s the dumbest ranny that ever walked.”

  Pres said slowly, “You mean he’ll lose the place rather than let me turn you up?”

  Milt nodded.

  “Why?”

  Milt shrugged. “It’s the way he’s made. That’s the reason I asked him to hide me. I knew damn well he’d die before he’d turn me up, and he will. Money doesn’t mean anything to Will Danning where a friend’s concerned.”

  Pres looked at him curiously, and then laughed a little. “Barron, you’re a real hardcase, ain’t you? You’d let a man cut his throat for you, and then laugh at him.”

  Milt’s face flushed deeply, and there was an ugly glint to his eyes. “Careful, Pres,” he murmured. “I’m just lookin’ out for myself. If Will is dumb enough to do it, I’m not goin’ to stop him. It ain’t as if he didn’t know what he was doin’. He knows that land is valuable. He’ll know what he’s losin’. The only thing he won’t know is that I’m makin’ money off it. Even if I do, it won’t hurt him—and I got to have money. I’ve got to have money to clear out of here where nobody’ll care what my name is.”

  Pres shrugged. “You’re sure he’ll do it?”

  “Positive.”

  Pres sat back in his chair, his little pig eyes dreamy, ignoring the drink Milt poured for him. Milt lifted his glass and said, “Here’s to the new partnership.”

  Pres drank with him, and then smacked his glass on the table.

  “Case know this?”

  “I told him.”

  Pres grinned and put his hands on the table, ready to shove himself up. “Here’s where I get even with that old coyote. For five years, he’s kept me broke and wouldn’t loan me money. And then he tried to kill me. We’ll see, now.” He stood up. “When you goin’ to spring this on Danning?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Pres grinned, his eyes musing. “Keep your eyes open this afternoon. You’ll see somethin’.” And he went out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  TOO OLD FOR PRISON

  Angus Case sat in one of the lobby chairs, his thoughts bleak and somber. He realized that he should hunt up Pres Milo and beg him to come back again, but his pride kept him in his chair. He had known several days of the greatest peace he’d experienced in ten years, and now it was gone. The newly discovered deed had done that. The only thing that had kept Pres’s mouth shut after he tried to kill Pres was the knowledge that Case could make money for him. And now Case couldn’t, and Pres, disgruntled and out of a job, might make trouble for him. But he hated it. He hated it with all the passion of a proud man who has to grovel before a crook and a blackmailer.

  Case lighted another cigar and thought of the ways in which he could avoid doing this. Pres would be furious that his secret, which he had guarded for five years, was useless now. Case might approach him in a friendly and businesslike way and say, “Look, Pres. I haven’t got the land now, but Danning’s got it. Why don’t you go to him and make the same kind of a deal with him you made with me? You’ll tell him how this money is to be made in return for a cut of it. And you can work back at your old job until the money starts coming in.”

  Yes, that would be the thing to do. It would save face for both of them. He decided to finish his cigar and then go hunt Pres.

  He saw Sheriff Phipps come into the lobby. Phipps looked around, saw him, and then came over to him.

  “Howdy, John.”

  “How are you, Angus?” Phipps said. He pulled up a chair beside Case and sat there in silence, his lean face grave and troubled.

  Case said, “You look like hell. What’s the matter?”

  Phipps said glumly, “Sometimes I wish I’d never seen a law badge, and this is one of them times.”

  “What’s the trouble now, John?”

  Phipps was silent, looking at his old friend. He cleared his throat, was about to speak, and then didn’t. His fingers drummed on the arm of his chair, and there was purest misery in his face.

  Finally he said, “Angus, what would you do if you knew a friend of yours had committed a crime? If you was a sheriff, would you arrest him?”

  Case frowned. “That’s hard to answer, John. Do what your conscience tells you.”

  “Even if you hate it worse’n anything in the world?”

  “A naggin’ conscience is the worst thing in the world,” Case said, suddenly grave. He might have added, “I ought to know,” but he didn’t.

  Phipps said then, after a long pause, “I reckon you’re right. I might’s well do the job.”

  “What is it?” Case asked, interested now.

  Phipps said quietly, “Angus, I know how Harkins died, and why.”

  Case didn’t move. It was as if somebody had struck him. A raw, cold, despairing fear caught at his stomach, and then he slowly relaxed. Here it was, the thing he had been dreading for ten years. It had finally caught up with him. He thought with a bitter humor of his counsel to John Phipps to follow his conscience. Phipps had been talking of him, and Case hadn’t even suspected it.

  Case asked, “Was it Pres?”

  Phipps nodded. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to Angus, but is it true? He told it all, your stealin
’ from your bosses and then coverin’ up by blamin’ Harkins and havin’ him murdered. He named dates and times and the names of men and where I could reach ’em now. It all sounds true, Angus—but is it? Would you tell me?”

  Case didn’t speak for a long moment. His voice was almost a whisper as he said, “Yes. It’s true.”

  Phipps didn’t look at him. They both stared out the lobby window at the passers-by, each lost in his own dismal thoughts.

  “He’s known it for years,” Case said quietly. “He’s been holdin’ it over me all this time. Day and night, year in and year out, it was never out of my mind. He never let me forget it. He’s crowded me into things I’ve been ashamed of, and I could never fire him for fear he’d go to you. Last week he stole some cattle from me. I won’t take that, not from any man. I fired him then, John. I tried to kill him. And now he’s got even with me.”

  Phipps said nothing. From the window they could see Hal Mohr’s saloon. As they watched, they saw Pres’s swaggering barrel-figure shoulder the doors aside and enter.

  Case said quietly, “I won’t go to prison, John. I’m too old.”

  Phipps didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything.

  Case sighed and came slowly to his feet. His back was stooped, and he seemed older. He looked down at his old friend and said, “I didn’t bring a gun with me, John. Can I borrow yours?”

  Phipps looked at him then. Their glances locked, and then Phipps’s gaze fell, and he slipped the gun out of its holster and gave it to Case.

  “I won’t be long,” Case said.

  He slipped the gun in his coat pocket and went out, not even saying good-by. Phipps didn’t move, only sat there and watched him cross the street toward Hal Mohr’s saloon and shoulder through the doors.

  When Case entered the saloon, he saw Pres at the end of the bar talking with Milt Barron. Three other men were bellied up to the bar, and they turned to see who had entered.

  Case stopped and motioned with his head for them to leave the bar. They backed away, and the men at the tables fell silent. Milt looked around at the silence, and saw Case.

  “Get away from him,” Case said thinly.

  Milt backed away, too, and Hal Mohr ducked under the bar. Pres straightened up and let his hand fall to his side. He watched Case carefully, a kind of wry amusement in his eyes.

  Case said, “It took you a long time, didn’t it, Pres? Well, it won’t take me long.”

  He reached in his pocket for his gun. Pres’s hand streaked to his holster. Case yanked at his gun—and the sight caught on the edge of his pocket. He tugged savagely, and it came loose. But in that half second that the sight was tangled, Pres’s gun swung up. He took careful sight and shot once.

  The shot caught Case in the chest, slamming him backward. He caught himself, braced his feet, and raised his gun. He got it only chest-high when it boomed loudly in the room, and the slug slapped into the bar at Pres’s feet.

  Case looked at him with glassy eyes, tried to speak, and then his knees buckled. He fell on his side and rolled over on his back and lay still.

  Men were bending over him when Phipps stepped in. Pres came up to him and offered his gun and said, “It was self-defense, Phipps. Ask anybody here.”

  Phipps listened to them absently. Man after man told of how Case had come in, how he had threatened Pres. Phipps knew what the story would be. He pushed Pres’s gun back and looked down at Case, at peace at last.

  “Give a hand with him, will you?” he asked sadly.

  He did not speak, did not look at Pres. He only followed the men who carried Case out, and did not once look back.

  Afterward Milt went over to the hotel and wrote another note. It said: Miss Becky: You’d better come to town at once. Your Father is ill.—Milt Barron.

  He signed it and took it down to the livery stable and paid a boy two dollars to ride out with it to the Nine X.

  It was a wise move, and he was rather proud of it. It meant that Becky would not be on hand tomorrow when he talked with Will. She didn’t like him, and he didn’t want her influencing Will at this crucial moment.

  Chapter Twenty

  A MAN’S PROMISE

  It was a gray morning, and Will was sleeping after breakfast. It had tired him even to cook a meal, and he was ashamed of it. All he wanted to do was sleep and eat. A Nine X rider could have walked in on him any time, and he wouldn’t have known it.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and, coming awake, he realized it might be a stray rider. He opened his eyes and started to sit up, then saw it was Milt.

  He had never seen Milt look this way before, never seen him so beaten and dispirited.

  “What’s the matter with you, fella?” Will drawled. And he asked instantly, “Wouldn’t Case give you the money?”

  Milt sat down on the edge of the bunk. “I dunno, Will. Before I had a chance to ask, somebody made me a proposition.”

  “What?”

  “A lot’s happened since yesterday,” Milt went on. “First thing is, Case is dead. He chose Pres, and Pres killed him.”

  “Poor Becky,” Will said slowly. “She knew it was comin’, I reckon.”

  “Second thing is,” Milt said bleakly, “somebody knows me here, Will.”

  Will sat upright, eyes wide. “Who?”

  “Pres Milo.”

  For a long moment Will only stared at him, and then he murmured, “How’d he find out?”

  “You remember that painted locket I’ve got of my mother? Well, I never told you, but it opens up. On the inside is a picture of my dad. On the inside of the back is some engraving, somethin’ like: ‘To Murray from Mother and Dad.’ Well, yesterday Pres searched my camp at the wagon. He found the locket. I’d smashed it shut, and I didn’t think it would open, but he opened it. He saw it and guessed it was me.”

  Will said nothing, and Milt went on doggedly, “Third thing is, Chap Hale made out a deed to you, Will, before he died.” He handed the deed to Will, who opened it. “Pres stole it from the safe that night he robbed Chap’s office.”

  Will looked from the deed to Milt.

  “But why?”

  “He didn’t want you to get the land. He knew Case would be executor, and that if you couldn’t show a deed, the land would go to Case. That’s why he made the deal with Case.”

  “But why did he give it to you now?”

  Milt laughed bitterly. “He figures he can make you deed the land to him now. If you don’t, he says he’ll turn me up and you, too, for hidin’ me.”

  Will looked again at the deed. “Is that why Case tried to kill him?”

  Milt nodded mutely, and Will let the deed fall to his lap. Milt got up and said, “Well, I’m goin’ to drift, Will.”

  “Drift where?”

  “I dunno, but I’m goin’ to clear out of here today, now. Pres said he’d give you a day to decide. That’ll give me time enough to get into the brakes. Then you can tell him to go to hell. You can ride into town and show the deed to Phipps. It’ll show Phipps that you and Chap never quarreled about the deed, so you couldn’t have killed him. Pres will try to hang the dead-wood on you. He’ll claim you been hidin’ me. Deny it. When he brings out the locket, you can tell him I give it to you when we split up months ago. They can’t find me to prove it, so you’ll be in the clear.”

  “Wait a minute,” Will said slowly. “You mean you’re goin’, clearin’ out?”

  Milt nodded.

  “But why?”

  Milt laughed shortly. “Don’t be a damn fool, Will. If I stay here, it’ll mean you got to deed your land to Pres. And that land’s worth a fortune, so Pres says. It’s worth enough that Case tried to kill him over losin’ it.”

  Will threw the deed on the table. “Take it back to him and tell him to keep it. Tell him I’ll deed him the damn land and welcome!”

  “But you’re losin’ a fortune!” Milt said slowly.

  “To hell with a fortune,” Will said curtly. “I’m goin’ to hide you, Milt. This deed wi
ll keep his mouth shut for a couple of weeks until I can ride out of here with you.”

  “But dammit, man—”

  “It’s settled,” Will said flatly. “Money don’t amount to a damn. The important thing is to keep him off our necks until I can drift with you, Milt.”

  Milt came over and stood looking down at Will. “Look, fella,” he said quietly. “I been around your neck long enough. You’ve lost a place, you’ve got shot, and you’re outlawed, all on account of me. I better drift alone. You’ve done all you could and more, Will. If you figure you owe it to me to keep your promise, forget it. You’ve done all a man could, and it’s up to me, now.”

  “Where’ll you go?”

  Milt shrugged.

  Will brought his hand down violently on the table. “No. Milt, you’re cagey enough when it comes to business, but stickin’ with me is your only chance! Sure as hell you’ll give yourself away. You’re too reckless! You don’t care! And if you think I’m goin’ to see you hanged, just because I dropped you to make some money, you’re loco as hell! You’re stickin’ with me!”

  “I can’t let you do it!” Milt said doggedly.

  “I’ve done it,” Will said flatly. “You’re goin’ to ride into town tonight, tell Milo that I agree, pick up a deed form and bring it out here. You and Becky will be my witnesses to the deed. I’ll sign it and show it to Pres. Tell him it’s his if he gives me another week to get on my feet. After that, we’ll mail it to him and ride out, and be damned to the land!”

  “You can’t do it, Will!”

  “I can do anything for a friend,” Will said simply.

  Milt’s gaze dropped, and he sat down on the bunk, staring at the floor. He felt a cold and dismal feeling of shame, and he couldn’t look at Will. Will misinterpreted that. He said softly, “Look, Milt. Remember when I rode up to the Double Bar O, flat broke, ridin’ the grub line? Remember when old Harley told me he’d feed me one meal and then for me to get out? Remember, you watched me eat, and then asked me if I could wrangle horses? Remember how you argued with Harley, and finally ordered him to hire me? In five years, you’d made me ramrod of your spread. I don’t forget that, Milt. You gave me a hand when I was down. What kind of man would I be if I—”