the Empty Land (1969)

by L'amour, Louis

  "I ain't here to argue, ma'am. I was sent to get them papers. I aim to do just that."

  "An' we can do it," Longer said. "We got the edge." Two more men had stepped into view. Meadows had not known them, but Matt Coburn did. Claim-jumpers, strike-breakers, thorough toughs. Medley and Parsons. He knew them both.

  Pike Sides stepped from behind the stage. "Maybe not, Bob," he said. Without turning his head, he went on, "Coburn, if they open the ball, I want Longer an Parsons."

  Matt Coburn still held the shotgun. It was loaded with buckshot, and he knew what it could do to a man. "Madge Healy is my passenger, gentlemen," he said; "she is Wells Fargo's passenger. I don't know who paid you, but whatever you're getting it won't be enough."

  "I figure you must be packin' Wells Fargo gold," Dolan said, "or they wouldn't have you on the box, Coburn. Now, we don't want any part of your gold. We ain't holdup men. We don't even want the Lady. We just want them papers." And he added, "One man has died for them, a'ready."

  "Sorry," Coburn replied. Have told you that Miss Healy is a Wells Fargo passenger. Now, gentlemen, I am through waiting. This coach has a schedule and we are going to keep to it. Dolan, this is an express gun, if you haven't noticed. At this range I can cut you right in two, and there isn't a thing in God's world could save you. Even if you got a bullet into me, or two, I'd still have your guts spread all over the ground there.

  "Now, I'm not worried about Pike Sides. You all know him, and we know you. You're a tough, game lot of boys who could cut us up considerable. Nobody would win the fight, unless it would be Wells Fargo an' Miss Healy here.

  "But suppose you did win? No matter what your reason, or whether you touched the gold or not, you'd be outlaws, and they'd hang you. Wells Fargo wouldn't sit still about it. And suppose Miss Healy should get shot? That they'd surely hang you for."

  Tucker Dolan hesitated. Every word Matt had said was true, and he knew it He also knew what that shotgun could do, and he had been giving it some thought. No man in his right mind bucks a deck so stacked against him.

  "All right," Dolan said, "you've got us over a barrel. But that boy Madge Healy killed was the nephew of a mighty important man, and as her husband's heir, those papers belong to him."

  "You'd better get some legal advice," Matt replied. "In the meanwhile, you boys just mount up and ride out of here."

  Bob Longer laughed cynically. "Bide? Who rides? Who's got who? The minute you put down that shotgun I'm going to cut you into doll rags."

  "Piker Matt spoke sharply and tossed the shotgun, which Pike caught deftly.

  "All right, Bob," Matt's tone was even. "I'm not holding the shotgun now."

  Bob Longer looked across the intervening thirty feet at Matt Coburn. This was the old bull of the woods. This was the man they said was the toughest, the fastest, the gamest of them all. Longer went for his gun.

  The watchers saw him move, the listeners heard only one sound. Bob Longer felt the quick, sharp tug at his shirt pocket. His gun was moving. In his mind a single thought: he was going to kill . . . he was going to kill... to kill . . . kill .. .

  And then he was dead.

  There was the acrid smell of gunpowder; wind rustled the leaves of a cottonwood beside the stage station. One of the horses tugged nervously at the bit, rattling his harness.

  "He wasn't going to stand, Dolan," Matt said. "He was making a fight of it."

  "Yeah," Tucker Dolan said bitterly, 'but if you'd kept that shotgun he'd still be alive."

  For an instant Matt Coburn stood perfectly still. "He was asking for it," he said then.

  "That he was," Dolan agreed, 'an he would have killed somebody or been killed by somebody, no matter what. Only you needn't have done it."

  Matt Coburn faced around on him. "Are you riding, Dolan? Are you other boys riding out of here?"

  "Yes, were ridin'," Dolan said.

  He walked up to his horse, followed by the others. As they mounted up, Coburn indicated Longer. "What about him?"

  "You bury him. He's your meat."

  When they were gone Madge Healy walked across the yard to the station and sat down abruptly at the first table inside the door. Her knees were shaking, and she felt faint and sick.

  Matt Coburn held out his hand toward Pike and the gunman tossed him the shotgun. "You're quick," he said, "mighty quick."

  Coburn did not reply. Horses were being brought up and Dandy Burke was busy. Dunning was sitting at the end of the overhang, elbows on his knees, head hanging.

  "You'll get over it, boy," Charlie Kearns was saying. "Over in Pioche I saw three get it in no more time." Coburn held the shotgun in the hollow of his arm and punched two empty shells from the six-shooter.

  Pike saw them. "Two? Two?"

  "Look at him," Coburn said.

  Pike Sides walked to the dead man and rolled him over. There were two holes over the heart that could have been covered by a silver dollar, or even a poker chip. He swore softly. The two shots had been fired so close together they had made but one sound.

  Matt Coburn stepped inside and sat down beside Madge, placing the shotgun on the table before him. From where he sat he could see the whole yard, and the approaches to it.

  "Hadn't you better tell me about it, Madge?"

  There was a cup of coffee in front of her. The waiter brought another for him, then went quietly away.

  "I never had anybody, Matt. I never had anybody at all. When I was a youngster my aunt just used me to make money enough so she and Ed could stay drunk all the time. Nobody ever kissed me good-night, Matt. Nobody ever tucked me in. They just worked me.

  "Well, I held out money my aunt didn't know about, enough from the coins they threw at me, so that I bought the horse to get away on. I had forty dollars left, I hired Mrs. Finnegan on spec, and Joe the same way.

  "I made money, lots of it. I never spent much, and finally I bought a hotel and a ranch and some stock in eastern steel mills, and then I bought some mining stock. I got control of the Blue Duck."

  Matt looked at her sharply. "The Blue Duck? Your "Yes. Willard & Kingsbury wanted it Their lease ran out and they had been stealing from me, and they had just struck a big pocket of high-grade ore. They supposed that I didn't know." She looked at Matt "I never had reason to trust anyone, Matt, so I'd had them spied on. One of the miners who worked for them was also paid by me. They discovered it somehow, and they murdered him, and when I would not renew their lease and put guards on the mine, they tried it another way.

  "Willard had a nephew back east He was no good, and never had been, but they sent for him to come out He met me and he was nice. I had no idea who he was. He talked sweet to me, and I married him. All he ever wanted were the deeds, the permits, the property I had, the options I had. He got those and he ran away."

  "He tried to, you mean."

  "He did ... but I had a friend who saw him, who knew what he was taking, and who stopped him. He was an old man, and my husband drew a derringer on him and tried to kill him, but he was a very tough old man, and he killed my husband and brought the valise back to me."

  "The Negro?"

  She looked at him, hesitated, then said, "Yes. I said nothing because there are people who might have hung him for it, right or wrong. He protected me; I protected him."

  "Some folks think you killed your husband."

  "That's their problem."

  "And yours?"

  "Getting to Carson City and filing some of these papers. I have a lawyer there, a good one."

  He studied her for a moment. "How old are you, Madge?"

  "Nineteen ... going on forty. Nobody looks out for a girl alone. Matt. She looks out for herself, and you know what kind of a world it is."

  He finished his coffee. "You'll be all right to Carson, Madge. We'll see you through." He paused a moment "Is Pike Sides working for you?"

  "He was one of the guards at the mine. After my husband was killed and I found out who he was and what they were trying to do, I had Pike come to meet
me here. I thought I needed a bodyguard."

  "You were right"

  He got up. "It's time to go, Madge. We're moving out."

  The body was gone, the team was hitched up, Kearns and Dunning were seated in the stage. Dandy Burke was standing by it, and Pike Sides was loafing under the awning's shade.

  Matt helped Madge Healy into the stage. Sides followed but Matt hesitated, letting his eyes go up the mountain slope. Earlier there had been a gleam from up there, as if sunlight had reflected off field glasses.

  There was nothing now. Of course, it might have been a bit of mica, or even quartz.

  Matt swung to the seat and Burke turned the team, pulling into the trail.

  Matt looked back For the first time he thought about Bob Longer. He had not wanted to kill him, and he need not have accepted that challenge ... so why did he do it?

  Tucker Dolan was right He could have kept the shotgun and there would have been no shooting.

  Chapter 10

  The story of the shooting reached Confusion before the stage got to Carson City. Matt Coburn had killed Bob Longer an attempted kidnapping, some said; others said it was a try at robbing a passenger. The fact loomed large that Coburn had killed another man.

  Laurie Shannon had the story from Joss Ringgold over coffee in the ranch kitchen.

  "Joss, is Harry Meadows still hiding out over in the mountains?"

  "No, ma'am. He pulled his stakes. About the time the stage left."

  "Will he try to stop the stager Joss hesitated. "No. I don't believe so. He will give it some thought, then he'll pull back and tell himself no it's too dangerous."

  "Because of Matt?'

  "Matt Coburn's quick on the shoot, ma'am. Maybe too quick"

  She sat silent, staring at her coffee cup. "What's he coming to, joss? You know about men like that."

  He shrugged. "Each one's special in himself, but once a man starts to use a gun he has to watch himself. He gets jumpy. He has enemies, he has reputation-huntin' kids to think of, and he knows he's fair game for any man with a gun.

  "Matt's a good man, but he's a hard man in a hard country. There's many a time when if you wait for the other man to draw you can get killed. When things are like that, sometimes a man figures to get them before they get him.

  "Jim Gillette, Jeff Milton, Bill Tilghman ... men like that never drew a gun unless they had to. Hickok ... I knew him well. If you came to town huntin' him or huntin' trouble, you'd better not make any wrong moves or he'd shoot. Dave Mathers didn't wait for you. If you came to town talkin' loud about what you intended to do, Dave would find you and shoot you before you even got started.

  "Confusion, now Matt don't want the job, and he shouldn't have it. To run Confusion you'd have to use a gun. There's no other way. Some of that crowd know Matt and would pull out if he became marshal, some would sit quiet, and there's a good many would by to kill him. Big Thompson would he'd have to. He's made his brags and he's made his stand, and he's run marshals out of town elsewhere, so he'd have to tackle Matt."

  "What about Nathan Bly?"

  "He's cold ... like ice. The most dangerous man around here, leaving out Matt Coburn and Calvin Bell. And he's made the switch. He's no longer just a good man with a gun. He's a killer."

  They were silent for a few moments, and then Laurie said, "Joss, is there any red clay on the ranch? Have I missed something?"

  The older man's eyes hooded. He got out his pipe and began to fill it slowly. "I guess you ain't missed a thing, ma'am," he replied quietly. "No, there's no red clay on this ranch."

  "But there is, over west. I seem to remember a water hole over in the Schell Creek Mountains where there was red clay."

  Joss Ringgold's eyes twinkled, but the expression faded. "You're canny, ma'am, right canny. You noticed the hocks of those horses, too, didn't your "Freeman and that man who was supposedly carrying the mail to Confusion. Joss, is Free getting into trouble?" "He's a hard-headed youngster. Thinks he knows it all. And he figures he's pretty handy with that gun."

  "Is he?"

  "Oh, he gets it out pretty fast He might kill somebody. He's just a-achin' and a-sweatin' to be a big man. If he killed somebody he'd likely turn mean and even more big-headed than he is now. But he won't not 'less the man's drunk. He wouldn't last out the year."

  `That man who said he was carrying mail ... did you know him, Joss?"

  "I've seen him around. Nobody I know of would trust him with the mail. Took me a while to recall him name of Scarf. Last I heard, he had joined up with Harry Meadows."

  "That's what I was afraid of. Will he listen to you, Joss? Freeman, I mean?"

  "I doubt it"

  Ringgold got to his feet. "Ma'am, it ain't my place to get personal, but I'm old enough to be your pa. If you're gettin' a case on Matt Coburn.. . don't He's turnin' bad.'

  After Joss had gone back to work, Laurie Shannon sat for a long time, thinking.

  Was she getting a case on Matt Coburn? Laurie prided herself on being a cool-headed girl who stood for no nonsense from herself, and now she faced her feelings squarely.

  Was she? That was just it she did not know. At first it had been his sheer masculinity that impressed her, that and his quietness, the easy way he moved, the gentleness with which he treated his horse. And then it had been his loneliness.

  During the time when he was out in the hills alone she had often found herself lying awake at night wondering what he was doing, where he was, and how it must feel to be always alone. She had been much alone, herself, and thought she knew but there was a difference.

  After a few minutes she dismissed the idea from her mind. She could get a case on him, as Joss put it, but she was not likely to see enough of him. And she was not going to permit it not for one minute.

  Yet an hour later she was thinking of him out there on the box of that stage, fair game for any sharpshooter with a good rifle.

  Matt Coburn buttoned the two top buttons of his coat. It had been hot earlier; now the day was cooling off. In just a little while they would be changing teams again. For the last hour they had been traveling across the open country, but he had not relaxed the least bit. Almost automatically his hand went to his cartridge belt and loosened a pair of shotgun shells to have them ready if needed.

  They rode now with the sun before them, with the shadows rounding up in the secret draws of the mountains, and here and there a lonely stray behind some isolated butte. The team moved slowly now, Burke holding them in for the time later when he might wish to get speed from them. The sound of their hoofs, the jingle of harness, and the rocking, creaking, rolling of the coach, these were the sounds.

  Far off across the basin, a last dust devil died in the valley, and a cool wind came down from the peaks, rich with the smell of cedar and pine.

  Dandy Burke guided the six horses as if they were one, easing the coach over the worst of the bumps, rolling into the dips, walking up the slopes beyond.

  He pointed toward the mountains with his whipstock. "I'm going into those hills someday, and I'm going to stay. I'm going to trace one of those canyons back to the high country beyond, and make myself a home there."

  "I've been thinking of it, too."

  "You eat dust for twenty years, you eat it behind trail drives and stagecoach teams, and finally you've had enough. I want to go where there's tall pines and cool water. I've had enough of alkali and dodging lead."

  "I've found a place I'm thinking about, back there near the foot of Jeff Davis," Matt said. `Where's always water."

  "You ought to find you self a woman. A man should marry, Matt, and you should."

  "Why me?"

  Burke lifted the reins and let the horses trot down an easy slope. "You're getting mean, Matt. You've lived with a gun too long."

  "What was I supposed to do? Let Bob Longer jump me in a saloon some day? Or take a shot at me in the dark? I could read it in him. He had to kill me ... and he'd have tried. Then or later."

  They were silent then, and a
fter a while, Coburn took out his pipe. "You're right, Dandy," he said. I'm too touchy. I've seen it building up in me, but I sleep with a gun, I eat with a gun in my lap, I never take a step without one. I never go to sleep at night that I don't expect to wake up shooting. And I almost never sleep in the same place twice ... not if I can help it."

  'I know," Burke said. And he did know. He had seen it In Matt, and in others, too. It was easier to give the advice than to carry it out. Once you've lived that life, once you've had it to think about, you never quite lose the feeling.

  It was like hunting Apaches, or traveling in Apache country, and Matt Coburn had lived that life too. You learned never to sleep soundly, no matter how tired you were. You learned to cook your food, put out your fire, and move on a few miles before settling down for the night. You learned to look for shadows where shadows should not be, to watch for the out-of-the-way thing, to expect the unexpected.

  The day passed, and a long night, and then another day. The trails were dusty, the passengers tired, and short-tempered.

  While the horses rested at the top of a steep grade, the passengers got down to stretch their legs. The country was wide open in all directions. Dandy Burke checked his harness and the horses, then bit off a chew of tobacco.

  Matt Coburn found himself standing beside Madge Healy. 'Where are we going to stop, Mater she asked. "I mean, so we can rest a littler "In Eureka," he said.

  "It's a lively place. I played the opera house there. And I played it a few years before that when the stage was four planks laid over some barrels."

  "Why did you quit"

  "I just got tired of it, Matt. I wanted a home so bad! cried myself to sleep many a night I used to hide money the miners threw to me, and whenever my aunt found it, she'd whip me. But! still did it.

  "Once, when I was only fifteen, I grubstaked a prospector I met in Austin. Everybody was turning him down ... I heard them and felt sorry for him. I grubstaked him with just thirty dollars I'd held out, and later I sent him forty more."

  "Did you ever see him again?"