The Western Megapack - 25 Classic Western Stories

by Various Writers

  “Friends,” said he, voice filling the room, “I have got an important message for you. I am going to make an oral will. I want every man here to testify to my words. I am about to do a duty that has troubled me, sleepin’ and wakin’ more than twenty years. I had it settled once. Then my plans was knocked aside. Mebbe God knows best. Listen very carefully. I am passin’ on Ox Bow to other hands.”

  The heavy and oppressive hand of silence squeezed the crowd like the jaws of a vise. Joe heard Al breathing asthmatically. As for himself, he rubbed his hands together and found the palms damp with sweat. Mamerock laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder and continued.

  “When I left Texas better than fifty seasons back, I cut all traces from my family. They’re all dead and gone these many years. I know of ary kin. But there was two people in Terese I loved like son an’ daughter. I waited some years for Sam Trago to grow up. Sam was broad-shouldered, he had a level head, and I knew blamed well Ox Bow would never suffer under his hands. I meant to will the ranch to Sam. I—”

  He halted, and the crowd saw a sight they had never seen before. Rube Mamerock’s cheeks were wet. Ray Chasteen held to him, her head high and proud, eyes burning like dark jewels against her white skin. Joe muttered a savage phrase to Indigo, “She can’t cry no more, the poor girl.”

  “I figgered I’d kept my intentions a secret,” proceeded Rube Mamerock, catching hold of himself. “But the wolves found it out, or guessed it. So Sam died. An’ when he died my hopes died, too. It was to be Sam’s ranch—an’ Ray Chasteen’s. I wish I had a son like Sam an’ a daughter like Ray. The wolves figgered they had me hamstrung. Up till ten minutes ago I guessed I was. But I have just been made aware o’ a fact which changes my ideas.” He turned to the girl. “Daughter, I ain’t at liberty to tell you anything. But what I say now I want you to follow and believe, trustin’ in old Rube Mamerock’s judgment. Also trustin’ in what he tells you to do.” With that he faced the crowd once more, chest spreading out with an immense intake of air. And his words rolled along the dead silent room with a booming, resonant solemnity.

  “I, Rube Mamerock, bein’ more or less sound of body and entirely clear and sane of mind, do hereby will, bequeath and freely give to Ray Chasteen the Ox Bow ranch, with all its acres, buildings of whatever kind or nature, and all stock ranging upon it, and all vehicles and tools and furniture and gear, and all rights that go with the ranch, as well as every dollar I have in the various banks of this county and state, together with every interest I possess in other institutions and every share of stock to be found in my strongbox in the office. It is my plain will and intent to give everything I own to Ray Chasteen from the date of my death, regardless of whatever lack of legal language in this oral will. I want no such omission of lawyer phrases to defeat this disposition and I call upon every witness here tonight to make a good note of what I have said.”

  A tremendous escape of breath passed from the crowd, as if each man had himself delivered the speech and now wanted air. Boots shuffled, a murmuring rose. But Rube was not yet through and he waved his hand to still them.

  “The wolves won’t be satisfied. They’ll figger to wrestle the Ox Bow away from a woman’s hands. I have got a loyal outfit, but since old Rube’s about done, I’ll say that there’s some of my men not to be trusted. In this room tonight are folks waitin’—just waitin’. I’ve fought those gents to a standstill while I lived. I am leavin’ a good fighter to take care of ’em now. The man I mention is one I always distrusted. Here and now I offer him an apology and I wish you all to testify I freely give him my confidence and trust. In order that Ray Chasteen’s right to Ox Bow may be protected and defended, I hereby appoint as sole executor and administrator—”

  He paused, shrewdly creating a suspense that none of them would forget. It was Rube Mamerock’s last scene, his last fight, and he built up at this moment a climax that was to be a memorable chapter in Terese. Even the girl looked at him in wonder. Praygood Nuggins seemed to be a statue chiseled against the wall.

  “—I appoint Dead Card John. And now I can die with some amount o’ security. Daughter, I will take you back—”

  Not a sound escaped the crowd until Mamerock and the girl had disappeared in another room and the door was closed behind them. Dead Card John, at once the target of every eye, moved to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. Joe marveled at the man’s cold, cast-iron courage. For Dead Card John surveyed a hostile assemblage with the same inscrutable, unrevealing glance he would have given to a hand of cards at a poker table. If the man had any outright supporters present Joe was not aware of them. On the contrary, he confronted an implacable enemy in Praygood Nuggins, with all the apparent aid Nuggins could muster within the space of a short word. He also had little to hope from the loyal Ox Bow hands or the old-timers. His reputation was behind him, his coldness repelled, and it was quite obvious to Joe that the crowd suspected he had somehow brought pressure upon Rube Mamerock, or had tricked the veteran.

  He squared his thin shoulders and broke the long silence, speaking in a droning, emotionless manner sounding for all the world like an announcer at a gambling table. “You may believe it or not, gentlemen, but I wish to say that when the time comes for me to act in accordance with Rube’s wishes I shall do so to the very letter. You gentlemen know my reputation. It will not agree with most of you. But you also know I have made it a policy to keep my word in Terese, good or bad. I give it now that Ray Chasteen shall receive every inch and penny of her estate.”

  Gradually, the crowd broke ranks and began a slow shifting, the talk rising from a subdued humming to an excited clatter. Crowheart Ames had one elbow on the whisky barrel, plunged in a study. Once he looked to Dead Card John and shifted the gaze to Praygood Nuggins. And it appeared to Joe that the sheriff was weighing his own chances of profit between those two antagonists. But Joe kept his attention riveted to Praygood Nuggins. And by-and-by he saw the man’s chin drop toward Al. Al wheeled instantly and ducked into the storm. Joe prodded Indigo with a sharp elbow and ran down the steps, circling the corner of the house. Indigo stumbled in pursuit.

  “Now what? Sa-ay, Joe, I ain’t goin’ to get any more goose pimples for anybody. What’s up?”

  “Horses, ropes. We’re goin’ to pull that bridge off its pins before the rest of Nuggins’s sagebrush pirates cross. If these stable dudes make any shout, belt ’em in the stummick—”

  The partners ducked under the shed and into the lantern light, arousing a quartet of Ox Bow men from a friendly game of pitch. The sight of them, plunging in from the storm, roused a quick alarm; nor did Indigo’s thin embattled face tend to soothe them. Joe swept the lantern up from the ground with a gruff explanation. “We’re after our brutes. Come along, Indigo.” And the partners raced down the shed. An angry protest followed them. “Wait a minute—cut that out. I’ll boost out all ponies here. Hey, hold on!”

  But the partners were already in the saddle, swinging away. Joe dropped the lantern, the light guttered and died, a stream of profanity followed them. They rode side by side, untying their ropes; they reined in at the bridge end and dropped to the sodden earth. Joe took both ropes and walked out on the bridge until his exploring arm touched an upright post supporting the handrail. He dropped to his stomach, leaning far down toward the boiling current, made a quick tie with one rope and repeated the operation a few yards farther along with the remaining rope. Indigo, waiting in the saddle, took up the slack. Joe ran to his horse, mounted and gave the signal. “They’re comin’ into it. Hear? All right, out she goes.”

  The planking threw out the sound of the advancing Nuggins’s crowd. The partners put a cautious strain on the ropes. “Out she goes,” repeated Joe. Nails screamed, Joe’s horse crouched for a harder pull. The bridge, warped and weakened by long years of traffic, held for a stubborn moment and then gave. The near end collapsed, planks snapped and dropped into the rushing stream. Over the drumming beat of the rain sailed a warning cry. A gun flashed in the utter bl
ackness. Joe’s rope went slack. Indigo howled defiantly across the river and began to curse out of pure pleasure. The bridge, bereft of its underpinning at the near shore, collapsed section by section and they heard the tempestuous waters carrying it away. Both ropes were taut again, fouled in the driftwood downstream.

  “She’s out,” said Joe. “Let the ropes go. We got business someplace else.”

  “Say, I put in a lot o’ labor on my string,” grumbled Indigo. “I want it—”

  Another gunshot broke the galloping tempo of the storm, coming from the house. “Let it go!” shouted Joe. “Trouble back there.”

  The partners rode to the ranch door, dropped to the steps and ran inside. The crowd was bunched at the far end of the room. The door through which Mamerock last had passed swung wide. Somebody shouted, “He ain’t in here. Look at the office.” Ox Bow hands turned from the fringe of the crowd and slid into the dining-room, Joe and Indigo close on their heels. Another door gave way. Cold air struck them in the face as they followed Ox Bow men into Rube Mamerock’s office. More men spilled through from an opposite entrance, Dead Card John foremost. And the excited, threatening talk was damped at the raise of his arm. Rube Mamerock was on his knees, between desk and chair, head lying on the desk’s top. He had his back to the window and it seemed he was praying; but Dead Card John stepped up and ran one hand down the old man’s coat to indicate a bullet hole. Then his long, tapering fingers slid inside the coat and touched the old man’s chest. He stepped back, nodding. Mamerock was dead.

  Crowheart Ames pointed accusingly at the window. “Glass splintered. Somebody shot him from outside.” His fist doubled and his bulldog face shot out in the direction of the partners. “Where was you then? I saw yuh moochin’ out o’ the door!”

  “You’ll find our guns checked with the others,” drawled Joe. “And I reckon we can account for our acts the last few minutes. Instead o’ standin’ here why don’t you take a look outside by the window?”

  Ray Chasteen fought through the ranks crying, “Let me get in—let me get in!” Dead Card John turned and threw out both arms to stop her, but she knocked them aside and dropped in a heap by the dead Mamerock. Joe averted his face and his eyes, passing across Dead Card John’s marble countenance, saw terrific pain struggling to come through the ivory mask. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested and led the way back to the main room.

  One man had never left this room. Through all the excitement and the shifting of the crowd, Praygood Nuggins remained in the same spot near the wall. Still, he had improved the interval, for he wore his gun. The partners struck directly for the hall and the custodian of the artillery. The man was gone; Joe took his weapon from the wall and buckled it to him, blue eyes narrowing at the sight of Crowheart Ames’s steady inspection. Indigo claimed his piece with a snort of satisfaction. “It was against my principles to undress in the first place. Jus’ ketch me doin’ it again.”

  The two of them stepped aside. They had started a rush. Every man in the place felt the spur of fear, and although Crowheart Ames yelled a command to stay away from the hardware none paid him attention. For a moment it seemed to Joe the long anticipated fight would burst forth in that sullen jam of men struggling for their weapons. Nuggins and the sheriff were swapping some kind of a signal across the room; Ox Bow punchers were collecting in a corner by themselves for a bitter and subdued family discussion. But the old-timers, the backbone and the bulk of the crowd seemed to drift and gather around Crowheart Ames. The sheriff’s red face grew wrinkled; he scooped a dipper of whisky from the keg and downed it recklessly. One rash, headlong challenge emerged from the Ox Bow bunch. “Well, here he is. Le’s settle this thing for good!”

  “Now,” whispered Indigo, “this is where we ought to be someplace else. What diff’runce does it make who steals the ranch. Ain’t it plain both sides is robbers? Don’t yuh believe nothin’ what this Dead Johnny gent says. An’ when yuh takes his part o’ the quarrel yo’re shore on the losin’ side. Look at ’em siftin’ toward this Nuggins buzzard.”

  Dead Card John came in, looked about him; and he saw that the crisis, long threatening, had come. He squared his thin shoulders.

  “Gentlemen, I am the administrator of this estate. Ray Chasteen owns it. I ask every man who believes her entitled to it to stand beside me.” So far the words were lifeless; and perhaps the man understood he made no friends, for he turned until he confronted Praygood Nuggins and a controlled and bitter fury erupted. “Now, you damned dog, I’ll call your bet! What are you going to do about it?”

  “Yuh worked it very well, John,” said Nuggins. “But it won’t last a minute. Yuh can’t hide behind a woman’s petticoat.”

  “What do you propose to do?” snapped Dead Card John.

  Nuggins ducked his Stetson toward the old-timers ranged around the sheriff. “You boys are of a mind to see the girl gets her just dues, I reckon. I ain’t buckin’ yuh none. But I don’t propose to be put offen the track either. What’s Ray Chasteen to Mamerock? How does it happen our friend John and the lady is hooked together on the deal? You all know Rube Mamerock never had no truck with John. It ain’t human nature to change so sudden without some sorter nigger in the woodpile. How long do any of yuh suppose the girl would hold Ox Bow with him in possession? How long do any of yuh figger she could run it, even if she got it away from him? Ox Bow’s a man’s ranch. I don’t aim to fight a woman. Don’t aim to get the county set against me. Ox Bow is worth somethin’. I’ll pay the girl a fair sum. More than it’d be worth ten months after she tried to run it.” He met Dead Card John’s challenge, his slanting eyes lifted against the light. “I’ll tell you what I’m goin’ to do, John. I’m havin’ forty riders acrost the bridge in three minutes. And they’ll rake hell outen yuh if it’s yore mind to put up a fight! I’m buyin’ Ox Bow!”

  “Excuse a stranger for buttin’ in,” drawled Joe Breedlove, “but I misdoubt you’ll have any forty helpers across the river short of two days. The bridge is out. Me and my friend pulled it out. Old trooper, yuh’ll have to do yore scrappin’ with what men yuh got here and now.”

  “Who are you?” challenged Nuggins.

  “The name is Breedlove. This bantam rooster by my side is known as Bowers. Don’t be deceived by a stunted stature. We’re friends o’ peace. Tonight we’re upholdin’ the legal duties of an administrator. Any objections?”

  “Yo’re playin’ a weak hand too strong,” warned Nuggins. “We ain’t askin’ the help o’ strangers. Yuh’ll get yore whiskers singed.”

  * * * *

  At this particular point Indigo obeyed his instincts and changed front. Ever since he and Joe had ridden into the country he had been protesting that he wanted to be out of it. He disliked Dead Card John from the moment he first laid eyes on the man. And with every step along the pathway of trouble he had angrily warned Joe he would bear no part in it; he didn’t propose to help any renegade steal a ranch. Yet when Praygood Nuggins challenged Joe, Indigo Bowers’s scruples ceased to matter. Instantly he was aflame with hostility, instantly the washed-out eyes took on that greenish hue which was for this little man a sure and inevitable sign of fighting wrath. Indigo was not a character to reflect or follow his reason. He was a bundle of nerves, a harbinger of grief and gloom, he was a repository of dynamite. Once feeling that his dignity had been infringed upon or his wisdom and courage questioned Indigo was full ready to fight the angel Gabriel’s heavenly warriors, nine wildcats and an entire room full of assorted badmen. And when he reached that pitch of temper he was fully capable of tearing down the premises, board by board; caution was not in him then and his hundred-odd pounds left a cyclonic trail of wreckage behind.

  So he twisted his nose and tilted his small chin and stabbed Nuggins with a glittering glance. “Poor hands is our favored way o’ playin’ cards. Listen, yuh yaller whiskered, frost-faced son uh original sin, yo’re so crooked the sun can’t cast a shadder behind yuh. A snake in the grass is a messenger o’ charity compared to a
man what would steal a gal’s ranch. Buy it, yuh said. Who in hell believes yuh’d ever pay a nickel? Yore friend Al, which does all the dirty washin’, tinkered with Mamerock’s messenger to get invites. We saw that play in town. Yore friend Al tinkered with this fella Dead Card John’s men. We saw that out by the road saloon. Yore friend Al’s been tinkerin’ with Ox Bow men tonight at the bridge. And we saw that. Why, man, yuh ought to be a foreign diplomat yo’re so smooth. Don’t tell us where to head in. Joe and me has cut our gums on jaspers like you.”

  All the while he had his thumbs hooked in his belt. And all the while Joe Breedlove was smiling in a tight, suppressed manner. The sheriff, Crowheart Ames, stepped away from the whisky barrels, roughly challenging Indigo. “Hey there! Pull in that crooked nose o’ yores. We’ll do our own family fightin’ without help. You and yore friend hit the Terese jail tomorrow. Chew on that. Now stand back and let white folks talk.”

  Indigo faced the sheriff, polite to the point of deadliness. “Yeah? My nose may be crooked, Mister Ames, but I ain’t got a face that looks like a mush bowl turned wrong side out. What are you so proud of? I guess we could tell a few things about yore recent history likewise. Yuh been tradin’ hosses in the middle of the stream lately and right now yuh don’t know which side of this argument’s goin’ to come out clear and bring yuh yore profit.”

  “Gospel,” drawled Joe. “Indigo, you sure are wound up.” He watched Praygood Nuggins, waiting for open aggressiveness; the latter seemed to be testing the tide. But Crowheart Ames was thoroughly enraged. “By God, I’m tossin’ you two troublemakers in the root cellar now! Put up yore hands!”