by Short, Luke;
Andy had the sorrel saddled, and now he put the pack on Chris’ short-coupled pack horse. There came the moment when he was ready to go, and Andy, seeing it, said, “Well,” and hesitated, looking at Chris. “Drifting?”
“That’s about it, Andy.”
“Good luck,” Andy said. “You’ve earned some.”
“Luck yourself,” Chris said. “Make up for Leach.”
There was no way to shake hands, so they didn’t. Chris mounted and Andy handed him the lead rope of his pack horse and stood back. Chris rode out past the bunkhouse, and as he approached the cottonwood Della came out of the house. She had dressed and done up her hair, but as he reined up, Chris noticed her face hadn’t changed its reflection of her determination to do an unpleasant duty.
“I didn’t mean to send you off without breakfast, Chris. Stay for that.”
“It’s better this way,” Chris said mildly.
“Not all people are as tough as you, Chris,” Della said, accusingly, and she stepped back. “Good luck.”
“Shall I tell your mother Leach will be in after her this morning?”
Della nodded. “If you will.”
Chris touched his hat with his bandaged hand and rode out, and Della stood looking at his high shoulders and straight back. He didn’t turn around, and presently, the morning now bright, she went slowly into the house.
Chris did look back, once he was atop the bald hill, and a gray bitterness was in him. Della’s cowardice had isolated him, cutting off any expectancy of help, or even shelter, from anyone. Her defeat was his own, and his legal weapon for wrecking Miles was gone, now that Box H had quit fighting. He was as alone now as the night he had ridden in, save for Hardison’s feeble help. Then he faced ahead, and already his mind was shaping up the only thing that was left him, and he thought I can kill him now.
CHAPTER XIV
Younger rode into Triumph at his usual time, left his horse at the livery and crossed the street to the store. He saw Ernie Coombs, his bandaged hand white and big at this distance, yarning with someone in front of Melaven’s. Younger went into his store and on through to the office where Mac, in shirtsleeves, was already at work.
Mac returned his greeting and then leaned back in his chair and said over his shoulder, “Walt Hardison wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”
Younger grinned faintly at that and took up his hat again. “You might like to come with me, Mac.”
“I know,” MacElvey said, “I’m invited, too.” He smiled faintly. “Have you been breaking the law?”
“I was shot at,” Younger said sardonically, “so somebody must have broken it.”
They went out together, and instead of crossing immediately to the hotel Younger kept to the boardwalk until he met Ernie.
“Go pick up O’Hea, Ernie,” Younger directed. “Bring him over to Hardison’s.”
“He’s there, now,” Ernie murmured. “Truscott too. Just went in. Want me?”
Younger grunted a negative and swung into the street. Hardison wasn’t losing any time. That was all right, too, Younger thought grimly. It would take only a very few minutes for him to state his case, which he had built into a reasonable one, and they could take it or leave it. He was, as a matter of fact, less interested about his story being believed than he was in the outcome of the Sulinam bid, news of which he would receive today. Before he entered the hotel, he identified Bill Arnold and Stew Shallis loafing about the street, and knew Ernie had done his job.
Nobody was behind the desk, and Younger led the way up the stairs and knocked once on the parlor door and was bid to enter. Hardison was propped up on the pallet underneath the window that opened onto the veranda, his back to the wall. Younger wondered irrelevantly what Hardison’s legs looked like, and if they were shriveled as he had heard they were.
He said, “Morning, gentlemen,” in a bold voice and nodded to Truscott and Hardison. He gave O’Hea a sharp and searching glance and looked about the room for a chair. There was something about his bull-like arrogance and size then that O’Hea quietly marveled at, and O’Hea watched him with a curious tranquillity in his sick eyes.
While Mac took the closest chair, Younger sat down slowly in the big armchair across the room and, taking a cigar from his pocket, looked quizzically around the room. “You look awful damn solemn for this early hour, gentlemen. What’s this about?”
Walt said mildly, “Kate’s comin’ up. We’ll wait for her.”
Younger nodded complacently and lighted his cigar. He had just got it going well when Kate stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She wore a full blue skirt, a lighter-colored blouse of blue, too, and Younger, observing her as she smiled faintly at Walt and sat down in the chair beside him, thought her a handsome little shrew.
Walt said to Truscott, “I called you over, John, to hear something Kate told me. You, Sam and Mac, can listen and reflect.… Go ahead, Kate.”
It was that simple, and Kate began it with Miles’ story related in the dining room in her presence; and Truscott, listening impassively, nodded. She went on to her meeting with Danning in MacElvey’s office, and of their subsequent argument as to the authenticity of Miles’ story. Miles listened carefully, the cigar clenched lightly in his teeth, while Kate told of Danning’s and her visit to Yordy, and of Yordy’s confession.
She went on from there, telling of what happened the previous night at Station, and Younger leaned forward as she talked, a calculated bafflement and protest in his face. It was a damning story, he admitted to himself, and she had the straight of it.
When she had finished, Hardison said, “There it is, Younger.”
Younger inclined his head courteously and murmured, “A good bit of it true, too. I don’t know what Kate says Yordy told her; I wasn’t there. But I can correct her on what happened at Station, since I figured in it.”
“You don’t deny that you were there?” Kate asked.
“No. Not even if I could hide a dead horse overnight, I wouldn’t,” Younger said, amusement in his voice.
“And do you deny you thought you were meeting Yordy?”
“That’s why I went.”
“Then what did I say that wasn’t true?”
“You said I recognized Danning and shot first at him. You didn’t tell the whole truth, Kate. I simply beat him to the shot. He spoke and raised his gun. How could I see in the dark that well? I could see his bandaged hand lift the rifle, and I protected myself.”
“That white bandage was covered,” Kate said flatly.
Younger countered gently. “Could you see it?”
“I was upstairs. No, I couldn’t see it. The veranda roof hid him, but I had told him about the bandage showing, and he’s no fool. He covered it.”
Younger only shook his head and smiled pityingly.
“Then let’s pass that,” Kate said impatiently. “You admit you were meeting Yordy. Wasn’t it to pay him for the information he’d given you about Falls Canyon?”
“But I already knew that information,” Younger protested good-humoredly. “If I’d wanted to hurt the Harms women that way, I could have done it a week ago. I had even,” Younger said slowly, “refused to buy that information from Yordy two weeks ago when he made it to me, At Rainbow.”
“Can you prove that?” Kate asked.
“If you can find me Yordy, I can.”
Kate was stalemated, as Younger knew she would be. But she was stubborn too, and now she came back to her point. “Then why were you meeting Yordy? Secretly. At night. At Station, instead of town here.”
“His choice, Kate, his choice,” Younger said reasonably. “He was mortally afraid of Danning. If you want to know my business with him, I can tell you that, too—although it’s none of your business or anybody else’s.” He looked at Hardison and Truscott, resentment in his hooded eyes. “Sulinam mines are building a new stamp mill in Case Valley below the mines up at Petrie, and they’re letting contracts for freighting ore down to it. I bid on it.
The bid is let today, as a matter of fact. If Yordy could persuade his friend Joe Briggs to sell me a couple of hundred horses for a reasonable figure, I intended to give Yordy a freighter’s job.… You know all about the contract, John.… Does that satisfy you, Kate?”
He leaned back in his chair, watching Kate. She shook her head in negation and said, “No, it doesn’t. If Yordy had that fine a job promised him, why did he tell us what he did about you?”
Younger leaned forward and pointed his cigar straight at Kate. “I don’t know that, Kate, but I’ll guess. He told it because you and Danning, by your own account, convinced him I was out to frame him. He was scared, and mad.”
That was the clincher and Younger wanted to end it here. He asked of Truscott and Hardison now, “By the way, am I on trial here?”
“Your reputation only,” Walt answered quietly, and he looked at Truscott. “There’s Kate’s story and Younger’s, John. Take your choice.”
Truscott pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I’m calling nobody a liar,” he said, and looked at everyone in the room. “I go by a man’s past actions. Younger’s suit me.”
Walt’s face didn’t change. “What about you, Sam?”
“I think Miles is lying,” O’Hea said quietly, promptly.
There was a long, stunned silence. Younger didn’t move, but a cold fear touched him.
Walt said, “Any reason?”
“The best,” O’Hea said. “I heard him tell the whole story last night. Kate’s version is straight.”
Younger carefully put down his cigar. They were all watching him, he knew, but he had no intention of betraying the rage he felt. He came deliberately to his feet and said mildly to O’Hea, “You’re sicker than I thought, or a bigger liar.”
He picked up his hat from the table and strode for the door. Mac rose, and started after him when O’Hea’s voice stopped him.
“Mac, move out of my office. You’re through.”
Mac nodded almost indifferently, and went out.
Kate and Walt looked at Truscott now. “Well, John?” Walt said.
Truscott rose from his chair, his black hat in his hand. He shook his head, looking at his hat and said bitterly, “I’ve loaned him money and I’m tied up with him personally in a dozen deals. My job is to make money, and he made it. I guess you know how I’ve got to stand.”
“Just so you know,” Walt said gently.
“All right. I know,” Truscott said. He nodded unhappily to them and went out.
Kate, then, did what she had been wanting to do for several minutes. She went over and kissed O’Hea on the cheek. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t, but he knew what the kiss was for. He looked over at Walt, who nodded and said, “Welcome home.”
“It’s funny,” O’Hea murmured. “It feels pretty good to get off my knees.” He glanced up at Kate. “Been in the kitchen this morning?”
“Not since breakfast.”
“Abbie’s there. If she isn’t now, she will be later.”
Kate smiled her slow smile and turned and went out, and when she was gone, Hardison and O’Hea were silent for several minutes, each busy with his own thoughts.
Presently, Walt stirred and said, “You’re in for some trouble, Sam. How you going to meet it?”
“I don’t know,” O’Hea said honestly.
CHAPTER XV
Chris had almost reached the livery stable on his way in from Box H when he saw Miles and MacElvey leave the hotel and cross the street to Melaven’s corner. He reined up, watching, and he saw Ernie Coombs step out of Melaven’s corner entrance, and the three of them conferred a moment. Bill Arnold and the stumpy-legged Rainbow puncher, whose name Chris never knew, drifted to the corner too, and Chris, reading the signs, thought, He’s smart enough to be scared.
He waited until Miles and MacElvey broke away and went up the street in the direction of the sheriff’s office, and then he put up his horses and moved out and stood in the big doorway a moment. There was the problem now that he hadn’t anticipated, of having to get at Miles through three or four men. He wasn’t really concerned at the moment, since there were things to do first. A way was always there when the time came.
As he turned into the hotel—a tall, easy-moving man not in a hurry—he speculated on what was shaping up for Miles after the story of last night’s happenings was made public. A drummer sat boredly in the first lobby chair, his feet on the sill of the window, his back to a pair of punchers talking behind him, morosely watching the small traffic of this small town.
He looked at Chris’ bandaged hand without interest, and Chris, not seeing Kate behind the desk, started back for the kitchen. He was well into the dining room when the kitchen door opened and she came out. There was an expression of happiness on her face which heightened, Chris noticed, as she saw him.
He touched his hat and as she came up to him, she said, “It worked, Chris. O’Hea has deserted Miles.”
Interest came into Chris’ face. Kate, telling him of the meeting, sank into a chair at the nearest table and Chris, listening intently, took off his hat and sat down too.
As Kate told of O’Hea quietly puncturing Miles’ story, a faint and fleeting smile crossed Chris’ face and he felt a wicked pleasure. It had worked, but it was too late now. He had his chore to do.
He came to his feet and said now, “Will you take a message for Mrs. Harms? That Leach will be in for her this noon?”
Kate had started to rise, and now she sank back in her chair again. “She’s going back for good? Now?”
“Della’s quit,” Chris said, without any censure in his statement. “Falls Canyon was fired last night, and the bunch of two-year-olds was wiped out. Della’s through fighting.”
“Was it Younger?”
“Yordy, I think.”
Kate was silent a long time, looking at him. “What do you do now?”
“I’m through there,” Chris said.
“But you can’t leave Della now!” Kate said, passionately.
“She asked me to.”
Kate’s glance fell away. She rose now and walked slowly toward the lobby door, and Chris, beside her, saw the disappointment in her face. She glanced obliquely up at him and said, now, “You’re going off without doing it, are you? Without wrecking Miles, or killing him?”
Her words shocked Chris to a halt, and he asked warily, “When did I say that?”
“You’ve never had to put it into words. To me, anyway. That’s all you’ve wanted to do since you came here. There’s nothing else you’ve thought about.”
Chris didn’t answer; his bafflement held him silent.
Kate inclined her head toward the street. “He’s here today, with half his crew around him. It’s a bad time, but I don’t think that will stop you.”
Still Chris was silent, taking the measure of her knowledge while a slow caution and alarm grew in him. It was as if he had told her what was in his heart and mind, and he had no weapon of concealment.
“You hate him almost too much to kill him, don’t you? Well, there’s a way to hurt him now, and badly. But you’re too stubborn to see it, so go kill him.”
A sudden anger touched him now as he turned and walked toward the lobby door. He was even with it when he slowed and then halted, thinking, Damn your pride! Ask her.
He turned and came back to her. “What way?” he asked.
Kate said unsmilingly, “Sam O’Hea’s upstairs. He’ll have to come down sometime, and he’ll have to go to his office sometime. They’re waiting for him—four or five or six of them. They’ll be waiting for him from now on, every day, and he’s a sick man. Go help him.”
Chris frowned, eyes intent.
“He’s allowed money for a deputy. Go help him. You’re the only one who can.”
She went back into the kitchen, then, and Chris presently turned and tramped out into the lobby. He halted once, and then walked to the street door and halted again, and presently he roused himself and walked
over to the nearest chair and sat down. The drummer watched him, curious now.
Pulling out his sack of tobacco, he tried to roll a smoke with his good hand, but his mind wasn’t on it, and he failed. He took out another paper and when the tobacco was in it, his fingers stilled and he stared at the paper, thinking, I could crowd him every minute until I broke him.
He was aware presently of someone standing in front of him and he looked up to see the drummer extending a cigar to him.
“You bother me,” the drummer said morosely. “Light this up so I can quit watching you try to make that cigarette. Compliments of Beeman’s Wholesale Hardware.”
Chris took the cigar and the drummer went back to his chair, his face still morose.
Chris was moodily studying the street, his cigar dead in his fingers, when he heard the footsteps cease beside him and he looked up.
It was O’Hea, who said, “Hello, son. Hardison got ahold of you already?”
“Hardison? No.”
“He wants to see you, to send you to me,” O’Hea went on. “But hell, I don’t think you’re the kind that can be talked into anything, so I might as well ask you myself. Are you set on staying at Box H?”
“I’m through there,” Chris said.
“Then you better see Hardison,” O’Hea said. “He’ll tell you about some changes around here before he sends you to me.”
“I heard about the changes,” Chris said slowly.
O’Hea looked squarely at him. “All right. I need a deputy, and I want you. Will you think it over?”
“I have. I’ll work for you.”
“When?”
“Now.”
O’Hea’s slow, unaccustomed smile came, and Chris rose. Together, in silence, they went out and Chris adjusted his pace to O’Hea’s careful walk toward his office.
In the middle of the block, O’Hea said, “Just one thing. Miles is waiting for me at the office.”
“I figured that,” Chris said.
O’Hea looked obliquely at him and said nothing. They went on downstreet and waited for a freight wagon to pull past into the lumber yard, and then went into the sheriff’s office.
