Sitting down in one of the pants-polished chairs in front of the saloon, I looked at the far blue mountains. In a few minutes I might be dead.
It was not a good morning to die—but what morning is? Yet in a short time two men, myself and another, would meet somewhere in this town and one of us, perhaps both of us, would die.
Mulvaney rode into the street and left his horse at the stable. He walked over to me, carrying enough guns to start a war.
“The whole kit an’ kaboodle. Be here within an hour. Jolly’s already in town.”
A woman stood at a second-floor window looking down. She turned suddenly and left the window as if called.
“If Red cuts into this scrap,” Mulvaney said, “he’s mine.”
“You can have him.”
The man with the two buckets hurried fearfully across the street, slopping water at each step.
Sheriff Tharp had not returned. There was no sign of Pinder, Morgan Park, or Bodie Miller.
Mother O’Hara had a white tablecloth on the table and the meal looked impressive.
“You should be ashamed!” she said severely. “That girl lay awake half the night, worryin’ her pretty head over you.”
“Over me?”
“Worried fair sick, she is. About you and that Bodie Miller!”
The door opened then and Moira entered. Her dark hair was tied in a loose knot at the back of her neck, and her eyes looked unusually large in her pale face. She avoided my glance and it was well for me she did. It was a day when I could show no weakness, not even for her.
Chapin came in, and after him, Colonel D’Arcy. I knew him at once. Right behind them was Jake Booker. He looked smug around the eyes.
They had scarcely seated themselves when Jim Pinder came in.
“Glad to see you, Jim,” I said, and could see the shock of the words reflected in his eyes. “We’ve been fighting somebody else’s battle.”
He stood with his hands on his hips, looking around the room. Chapin he knew, D’Arcy he had heard about. If he knew Booker there was no evidence of it.
Turning my head, I looked at Booker. “This is a peace conference, Booker. The fighting in this area ends today.”
He looked at me, his eyes blinking slowly. He was a thin-faced man with the skin tight across his cheekbones. He was disturbed, I could see that. He was a man who liked to know a little bit more about what was happening than anyone else. And this was a surprise, and as yet he had not decided what to make of it.
“I ain’t said nothing about peace,” Pinder said flatly. “I come in because I figured you were ready to sell.”
“No—no sale. The ranch is mine. I mean to keep it. But we are organizing a peace move. Key Chapin and Sheriff Tharp are in it. Chapin has lined up the town’s merchants and businessmen.
“You can come in or you can stay out, but if you don’t join us you’ll have to buy supplies in Silver Reef. This town will be closed to you. Each of us in this fight will put up a bond to keep the peace, effective at daybreak tomorrow.”
“You killed my brother.”
“He came hunting me. That makes a difference. Look,” I said, “this fight has cost you. You need money, so do we all. You sign up, or you can’t ship cattle. Everybody knows you’ve nerve enough to face me, but what will it prove?”
He stared stubbornly at the table, but what I had said made sense, and he knew it. Finally he said, “I’ll think it over. It’ll take some time.”
“It will take you just two minutes.”
He lifted his eyes and stared hard at me. Of the two of us, he knew I was the faster man with a gun. And yet it was I who was talking peace. I knew this war had cost him heavily and no sane man would want to continue it.
Suddenly his mouth twisted in a wry sort of grin. Reluctantly, he shrugged. “You ride a man hard, Brennan. But peace it is.”
“Thanks.” My hand went out. He looked at it, then accepted it. Katie O’Hara filled his cup.
He looked at the coffee, then at me. “I’ve got to make a drive. The only way with water is across your place.”
“What’s wrong with that? Just so it doesn’t take you more than a week to get ’em across.”
The door opened and Fox came in, supporting Canaval. He was pale and drawn, but his eyes were alert and interested.
“Miss Moira could sign for me. She’s the owner,” he said. “But I’m for peace.”
“You sign, too,” I insisted. “We want to cover every thing.”
Jake Booker had been taking it all in, wary and a little uncertain of what to think.
Now he decided to speak. “This is utter nonsense, as you all know. Both ranches belong to me. You have twenty-four hours to yield possession.”
Sheriff Tharp had come into the room as Booker spoke. He sat down, saying nothing. He took out his pipe with deliberation. He was an old man, but a careful man, and shrewd.
“We aren’t moving, Booker. And you’ll never move us.”
“Are you threatening me?” He was vastly pleased that the sheriff had heard.
Ignoring the question, I made a point of filling my cup, stalling a little.
“On what basis does your claim to the Boxed M rest?”
“Bill of sale,” he said promptly. “The ranch was deeded to Jay Collins, the gunfighter. Collins was killed. Collins’ nephew inherited. I bought the Boxed M from him, and all appurtenances thereto.”
Canaval looked at me. He smiled a little, and nodded, “So that was why.”
“Jake,” I said, “let me introduce you to Jay Collins.”
Booker looked at Canaval as I gestured toward him. He looked and his face went two shades whiter. He started to speak, but the words stumbled and took no form. He tried to find the words and they would not come out. But any one could see that he did not doubt what I said was true. Undoubtedly Canaval tied in with what he had known of Collins.
Moira was staring at Canaval, and he looked over at her and smiled. “That’s why I knew so much about your mother. She was the only person I really loved—until I met my niece.”
“Mother told me about you, but I never thought—”
Turning my eyes away from her, I looked across the table at Booker. In a matter of minutes half his plan had come to nothing, and I knew that in this case half was almost as good as all.
Yet Booker was searching desperately for a way out. He knew we would not be bluffing, that if the claim we made for Canaval was tested in court it would stand up.
He looked down at his ands, and I could almost feel his thoughts.
Now where? Now what?
Chapter 23
*
IT WAS A showdown, but from here on I was working in the dark. Counting on the shock of what I had just told him, I hoped he would believe that I knew more than I did. What I was about to say I was sure was true, but I had no proof.
“As for the Two-Bar, I’ve witnesses and my claim will stand in court.” So much was possible, at least. Now—“Not that it will matter to you, Booker.”
He was worried now, as I wanted him to be. He was not sure what I was holding back. The fact that Jay Collins was alive was an eventuality to which he had given no thought.
He looked up at me, his eyes veiled. But there was a little tic at the corner of his eye that betrayed his nervousness.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll hang, Booker. For murder.”
Nobody said anything. Booker inhaled sharply, but he gave no other indication. He did not even protest, he just waited.
“You killed Rud Maclaren because Park’s way was too slow for you. You also killed one of Slade’s men from ambush.
“We can trail your horse to the scene of that crime, Booker, and if you believe the western jury won’t take the word of an Apache tracker, you’re wrong.”
Jake Booker straightened in his chair. He glanced around the room and found no friendliness there, but he was not a man who relied on friendships.
“Lies,” h
e said, with a wave of dismissal, “all lies. I knew Maclaren only by sight. I had no reason to kill the man—and no opportunity.”
Canaval looked doubtfully at me. Tharp was merely waiting, but a little impatiently now. If there was any one there who believed in me it was only Mulvaney.
The room was still. I could hear the clock ticking, and Katie O’Hara was standing in the door of her kitchen listening.
I felt their eyes on me, and knew the spot I was in. Yet I was sure. Carefully, I began to build. I knew that if they were to be convinced, it must be now. If Booker left this room he would escape. If I failed to prove my point, the peace we had planned would fall through.
“How Booker got him out of the house, I do not know. Probably on some pretext. Perhaps to show him the silver, perhaps to show him something I was planning.
“The mere fact that Booker, whom Maclaren knew only by reputation, would ride all that way to talk in secret would be enough to get Maclaren out.
“It does not matter what excuse was used. Booker shot him, loaded him on a horse and carried the body to my place. Then he shot Maclaren again, hoping the shot would draw me into the vicinity so I would leave tracks around the body.”
Moira was watching me closely now, and Tom Fox had moved up beside me, looking across the table at Booker. Two other Boxed M hands had shifted, one to the outer door, one to a place behind Jake Booker.
Nobody seemed aware of the moves but Booker and myself. Sweat broke out on his brow. His eyes shifted to Will Tharp, but if the sheriff noticed he did not indicate it.
“Arnold D’Arcy had found the silver lode and filed a claim. Morgan Park trailed D’Arcy to kill him. He was fiercely jealous, as we all know, but that was the least of it. Sooner or later Arnold D’Arcy would see him and would realize who he was.
“To be recognized meant arrest and trial. Following D’Arcy led him to the silver, and after the murder Morgan Park stood within reach of enough money to take him to South America to live in style.
“But he must have realized that he dared not connect his name with that of D’Arcy. Arnold had filed on the claim. He could do nothing until the assessment work lapsed, and even then to take up the claim of a man who had disappeared, and when investigation might establish a connection, was a risk he dared not take.”
Supposition, much of it, but the only logic that would fit the facts.
So as the hot morning drew on into a hotter day, I built the case I had. Not much evidence, but logic enough.
Unable to make use of his discovery, Morgan Park had gone to Booker. The lawyer could find a buyer, keep Park’s name out of it, and if the two ranches could be obtained, the claims might even be worked in secret. D’Arcy had evidently bribed the recorder to let out no word of the discovery.
Morgan Park had been content to work along with Rud Maclaren, believing he would sooner or later win out. But he had kept in touch with Jim Pinder.
To this Pinder acknowledged with a short nod.
And then into this stewing pot of conflicting issues and desires, I stepped.
By joining Ball I had upset the balance of power and made the certainty of the Two-Bar falling into other hands extremely doubtful.
Morgan Park still believed he could win. He was a man who had not been beaten, and he was confident. Jake Booker had been less so. Although Booker had, in my presence, doubted any belief that I had been implicated in the shooting of Lyell, he actually believed I had. The idea was upsetting.
Booker wanted the claims for himself. There was a chance that Morgan Park might be killed or arrested. Booker was already delving into Park’s past, knowing there must be some reason for his great secrecy.
The assessment work D’Arcy had done on the claims had long since lapsed, but Morgan Park had dared not file on them and risk questions. The silver claims lay on land claimed by both the Two-Bar and the Boxed M, but if both ranches could be had…
“Lies.” Booker was composed now. He was fighting for his life and he knew it, yet he was lawyer enough to see that I had little evidence.
Tom Fox was a lean, tough man. He leaned over the table.
“Some of us are satisfied, Booker,” he said quietly. “Have you got any arguments that will answer a rope?”
Booker’s face thinned down. “The law will protect me. Tharp’s here…and no jury on earth will convict me on that evidence. As for the track you say you found? How do you know it hasn’t been wiped out?”
I didn’t know. Neither did anybody else. Canaval looked at me, and so did Tharp. There was nothing I could say to that.
“Aw, turn him loose!” Fox said carelessly. “We all know he’s a crook. But turn him loose. Rud Maclaren was a good boss, and I was with Canaval when he found that track. I ain’t no ’Pache, but I can read sign. Just you turn him loose. There’s a mighty nice pin oak down the road a piece.”
Jake Booker spread his fingers on the table. He was a frightened man. Argument and evidence might stand with Tharp, with Chapin, with Canaval, and with me. He knew he had no argument to reply to Fox.
Fox turned to the man at the door. “Joe, get an extry horse. We’ll be needin’ it.”
Tharp began to fill his pipe. Nobody else said anything or moved. Then Key Chapin leaned back in his chair. The chair creaked a little, and Booker shifted his weight, looking up quickly at Fox.
Nothing I had said had moved Booker to more than contempt. For nothing I had said would stand up in court against the artifice Booker could bring to bear. But Fox was doing what I could not have done. Booker had looked into the eyes of Fox and there was certainty there.
A boot track to a skilled reader of sign is as good as a signature.
Jake Booker was a plotter and a conniver. He was not a courageous man. Will Tharp has said nothing. Chapin had obviously washed his hands of the situation. I was letting Fox do the talking. And Jake Booker was frightened.
The rest of us might bluff, but never Fox. The rest of us might relent, but not Fox. Booker’s mouth twitched and his face was wet with sweat.
“No…no.”
He looked around at us. He looked at me. “You can’t let him hang me. Not without a trial.”
“Did Maclaren have a trial?”
Booker shifted his hands on the table. He knew there was a man behind him. And Fox was across from him. And nobody was doing anything.
“Morgan Park killed him,” Booker said. “It wasn’t me.”
He was talking. Once started, he might continue. It had not been Park, and we all knew it now.
“Where is Park?”
“Dead…Park killed his horse getting away. He came up to that Apache tracker of Pinder’s. The Apache had a good black. Morgan Park knocked him off the horse when the Apache wouldn’t trade…the Indian shot him out of the saddle.”
“You saw it?” D’Acy asked.
“Yes…you’ll find his body in a gully west of Bitter Flats. Park had started for the Reef.”
Booker sat very still, waiting for us, but we did not speak. He shifted uneasily. Tharp would say nothing, and Booker knew that if he left here now he would be taken by Fox and the Boxed M riders. After that there was only the short ride to a tree.
“Tell us the truth,” Chapin said finally. “If you get a trial you will have a chance.”
“If I confess?” His voice was bitter. “What chance would I have then?”
“You’ll live a few weeks, anyway,” I said brutally. “What chance have you now?”
He sat back in his chair. “I’ve nothing to confess,” he said. “It was Morgan Park.”
Will Tharp got up from his chair. “You asked me here to conclude a peace meeting. The Boxed M, Two-Bar, and CP agree on peace, is that right?”
We all assented, and he nodded with satisfaction. “Good…now I’ve some business in the northern part of the county. I’ll be gone for three days.”
It took a minute for Booker to grasp the idea that he was being abandoned. He looked up, his eyes shifting quickly. The ma
n behind him eased his weight and a board creaked.
Key Chapin got up. He extended a hand to Canaval. “Be glad to help you across the street, Canaval.” He turned his head to Moira. “Coming?”
She got up. Katie O’Hara had disappeared. Jim Pinder, a wry grin on his face, got up, too.
They started for the door and Jake Booker looked wildly about. Fox was across from him, smiling. Behind him was the other Boxed M hand. Outside the door with an extra horse was still another.
“Wait!”
Booker jumped to his feet. His face was yellow-white and he looked ghastly.
“Tharp! You can’t do this! You can’t leave me!”
“Why not? I’ve no business with you!”
“But…but the trial? What about the trial?”
Tharp shrugged. “What trial? We haven’t evidence enough to hold you. You said that yourself.” He turned away. “You’re not my business now, Booker.”
Fox had drawn his gun. The Boxed M hand behind Booker grabbed him suddenly. I stepped back, my hands at my sides.
“Wait a minute! Tharp—
The sheriff was outside, but he was holding the door open. The others were on the walk near him.
“Tharp! I did it. I’ll talk.”
There was a tablet on which Katie O’Hara wrote up her menus. I took it down, and put the inkwell beside it, and a pen.
“Write it,” I said.
He hesitated, looking down. His hands trembled and he looked sick.
“All right,” he said.
He sat down when the Boxed M hand released him, and Tharp returned to the room. He looked over at me and we waited, standing around, while the pen scratched steadily.
Jonathan Benaras appeared in the door. “Bodie Miller’s gone,” he said. “Left town.”
Moira was still standing on the walk outside. The others had gone. I opened the door and stepped out.
“You’re going back to the Two-Bar?” she asked.
“Even a killer has to have a home.”
She looked up quickly. “Matt, don’t hold that against me.”
Novel 1956 - Silver Canyon (v5.0) Page 15
