“Your name Caradec.” The Indian’s statement was flat, not to be contradicted.
“Yes.” Rafe stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrists.
“We know your horse, also the horses of the others.”
“Others?” Rafe asked quickly. “There are others here?”
“Yes, a girl who rode your horse, and a man who rode one of ours. The man is much better. He had been injured.”
Ann and Tex! Rate’s heart leaped.
“May I see them?” he asked. “They are my friends.”
The Indian nodded. He studied Rafe for a minute.
“I think you are good man. My name Man Afraid Of His Hoss.”
The Ogallala chief!
Rafe looked again at the Indian. “I know the name. With Red Cloud you are the greatest of the Sioux.”
The chief nodded. “There are others. John Grass, Gall, Crazy Horse, many others. The Sioux have many great men.”
The girl led Rafe away to the tent where he found Tex Brisco lying on a pile of skins and blankets. Tex was pale, but he grinned when Rafe came in.
“Man,” he said, “it’s good to see you! And here’s Ann!”
Rafe turned to look at her. She smiled, then held out her hand.
“I have learned how foolish I was. First from Penn, and then from Mullaney and Tex.”
“Penn? Mullaney?” Rafe squinted his eyes. “Are they here?”
Quickly, Ann explained.
“Barkow’s dead,” Rafe told them. “Shute killed him.”
“Ann told me,” Tex said. “He had it comin’. Where’s Dan Shute now?”
Caradec shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m goin’ to find out.”
“Please!” Ann came to him. “Don’t fight with him, Rafe! There has been enough killing! You might be hurt, and I couldn’t stand that.”
He looked at her. “Does it matter so much?”
Her eyes fell. “Yes,” she said simply, “it does.”
Painted Rock lay quiet in a world of white, its shabbiness lost under the purity of freshly fallen snow. Escorted by a band of the Ogallala, Ann, Rafe, and Tex rode to the edge of town, then said a quick good-bye to the friendly warriors.
The street was empty, and the town seemed to have had no word of their coming.
Tex Brisco, still weak and pale from loss of blood, brought up the rear. With Ann, he headed right for the Emporium. Rafe Caradec rode ahead until they neared the National Saloon, then swung to the boardwalk and waited until they had gone by.
Baker came rushing from the store. With Ann’s help, he got Tex down and inside.
Rafe Caradec led his own horse down the street and tied it to the hitching rail. Then he glanced up and down the street, looking for Shute. Within a matter of minutes Dan would know he was back. Once he was aware of it there would be trouble.
Pat Higley was inside the store when Rafe entered. He nodded at Rafe’s story of what had taken place.
“Shute’s been back in town,” Higley said. “I reckon after he lost Ann in the snowstorm he figured she would circle around and come back here.”
“Where’s Pod Gomer?” Rafe inquired.
“If you mean has he taken out, why I can tell you he hasn’t,” Baker said. “He’s been around with Shute, and he’s wearin’ double hardware right now.”
Higley nodded. “They ain’t goin’ to give up without a fight,” he warned. “They’re keepin some men in town, quite a bunch of ‘em.”
Rafe also nodded. “That will end as soon as Shute’s out of the way.”
He looked up as the door pushed open, and started to his feet when Johnny Gill walked in with Rock Mullaney.
“The soldiers rigged a sled,” Gill announced at once. “They’re takin’ Bo back to the Fort, so we reckoned it might be a good idea to come down here and stand by in case of trouble.”
Ann came to the door, and stood there watching them. Her eyes continually strayed to Rafe, and he looked up, meeting their glance. Ann flushed and looked away, then invited him to join her for coffee.
Excusing himself, he got up and went inside. Gravely Ann showed him to a chair, brought him a napkin, then poured coffee for him, and put sugar and cream beside his cup. He took the sugar, then looked up at her.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she asked.
“There’s nothin’ to forgive,” he said, “I couldn’t blame you. You were sure your father was dead.”
“I didn’t know why the property should cause all that trouble until I heard of the oil. Is it really worth so much?”
“Quite a lot. Shippin’ is the problem now, but that will be taken care of soon, so it could be worth a great deal of money. I expect they knew more about that end of it than we did.” Rafe looked up at her. “I never aimed to claim my half of the ranch,” he said, “and I don’t now. I accepted it just to give me some kind of a legal basis for workin’ with you, but now that the trouble is over, I’ll give you the deed, the will your father made out, and the other papers.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed quickly. “You mustn’t! I’ll need your help to handle things, and you must accept your part of the ranch and stay on. That is,” she added, “if you don’t think I’m too awful for the way I acted.”
He flushed. “I don’t think you’re awful, Ann,” he said clumsily, getting to his feet. “I think you’re wonderful. I guess I always have, ever since that first day when I came into the store and saw you.”
His eyes strayed and carried their glance out the window. He came to with a start and got to his feet.
“There’s Dan Shute,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”
Ann arose with him, white to the lips. He avoided her glance, then turned abruptly toward the door. The girl made no protest, but as he started through the curtain, she said, “Come back, Rafe. I’ll be waiting!”
He walked to the street door, and the others saw him go, then something in his manner apprised them of what was about to happen. Mullaney caught up his rifle and started for the door also, and Baker reached for a scattergun.
Rafe Caradec glanced quickly up the snow-covered street. One wagon had been down the center of the street about daybreak, and there had been no other traffic except for a few passing riders. Horses stood in front of the National and the Emporium and had kicked up the snow, but otherwise it was an even, unbroken expanse of purest white.
Rafe stepped out on the porch of the Emporium. Dan Shute’s gray was tied at the National’s hitching rail, but Shute was nowhere in sight. Rafe walked to the Gomer of the store, his feet crunching on the snow. The sun was coming out, and the snow might soon be gone. As he thought of that, a drop fell from the roof overhead and touched him on the neck.
Dan Shute would be in the National. Rafe walked slowly down the walk to the saloon and pushed open the door. Joe Benson looked up from behind his bar, and hastily moved down toward the other end. Pod Gomer, slumped in a chair at a table across the room, sat up abruptly, his eyes shifting to the big man at the bar.
Dan Shute’s back was to the room. In his short, thick coat he looked enormous. His hat was off, and his shock of blond hair, coarse and uncombed, glinted in the sunlight.
Rafe stopped inside the door, his gaze sweeping the room in one all-encompassing glance. Then his eyes riveted on the big man at the bar.
“All right, Shute,” he said calmly. “Turn around and take it.”
Dan Shute turned and he was grinning. He was grinning widely, but there was a wicked light dancing in his eyes. He stared at Caradec, letting his slow, insolent gaze go over him from head to foot.
“Killin’ you would be too easy,” he said. “I promised myself that when the time came I would take you apart with my hands, and then if there was anything left, shoot it full of holes. I’m goin’ to kill you, Caradec!”
Out of the tail of his eye, Rafe saw that Johnny Gill was leaning against the jamb of the back door, and that Rock Mullaney was just inside of that same door.
“Take off your guns, Cara
dec, and I’ll kill you!” Shute said softly.
“It’s their fight,” Gill said suddenly. “Let ‘em have it the way they want it!”
The voice startled Gomer so that he jerked, and he glanced over his shoulder, his face white. Then the front door pushed open and Higley came in with Baker. Pod Gomer touched his lips with his tongue and shot a sidelong glance at Benson. The saloonkeeper looked unhappy.
Carefully, Dan Shute reached for his belt buckle and unbuckled the twin belts, laying the big guns on the bar, butts toward him. At the opposite end of the bar, Rafe Caradec did the same. Then, as one man, they shed their coats.
Lithe and broad-shouldered, Rafe was an inch shorter and forty pounds lighter than the other man. Narrow-hipped and lean as a greyhound, he was built for speed, but the powerful shoulders and powerful hands and arms spoke of years of training as well as hard work with a doublejack, ax, or heaving at the heavy, wet lines of a ship.
Dan Shute’s neck was thick, his chest broad and massive. His stomach was flat and hard. His hands were big, and he reeked of sheer animal strength and power. Licking his lips like a hungry wolf, he started forward. He was grinning and the light was dancing in his hard gray-white eyes.
He did not rush or leap. He walked right up to Rafe, with that grin on his lips, and Caradec stood flatfooted, waiting for him. But as Shute stepped in close, Rafe suddenly whipped up a left to the wind that beat the man to the punch. Shute winced at the blow and his eyes narrowed. Then he smashed forward with his hard skull, trying for a butt.
Rafe clipped him with an elbow and swung away, keeping out of the corner.
Still grinning, Dan Shute moved in. The big man was deceptively fast. As he moved in, suddenly he jumped and hurled himself feet foremost at Rafe.
Caradec sprang back but too slowly. The legs jack-knifed around his, and Rafe went to the floor! He hit hard, and Dan was the first to move. Throwing himself over he caught his weight on his left hand and swung with his right. It was a wicked, half-arm blow, and it caught Rafe on the chin. Lights exploded in his brain and he felt himself go down.
Rafe rolled his head more by insinct than knowledge and the blow clipped his ear. He threw his feet high, and tipped Dan over on his head and off his body. Both men came to their feet and hurled themselves at each other with an impact that shook the room.
Rafe’s head was roaring. He felt the smashing blows rocking his head from side to side. He smashed an inside right to the face, and saw a thin streak of blood on Shute’s cheek. He fired his right down the same groove, and it might as well have been on a track. The split in the skin widened and a trickle of blood started.
Shute took it coming in and never lost stride. He ducked, knocking Rafe off-balance with his shoulder, swinging an overhand punch that caught Rafe on the cheekbone. Rafe tried to sidestep and failed, slipping in a wet spot on the floor. As he went down, Dan Shute aimed a terrific kick at his head that would have ended the fight right there, but Rafe hurled himself at the pivot leg and knocked Dan sprawling.
Both men came up and walked into each other, slugging.
All reason gone, the two men fought like animals, yet worse than animals for in each man was the experience of years of accumulated brawling and slugging in the hard, tough, wild places of the world. They lived by their strength and their hands and the fierce animal drive that was within them, the drive of the fight for survival.
Rafe stepped in, punching Shute with a wicked cutting, stabbing left. And then his right went down the line again and blood streamed from the cut cheek. He shoved Dan back and smashed both hands into the big man’s body, then rolled aside and spilled him with a rolling hiplock.
Dan Shute came up, and Rafe walked in. He stabbed a left to the face and Shute’s teeth showed through his lip, broken and ugly. Rafe set himself and whipped up an uppercut that stood Shute on his toes.
Tottering and punchdrunk, the light of battle still flamed in Shute’s eyes. He grabbed a bottle and lunged at Rafe, smashing it down on his shoulder. Rafe rolled with the blow and felt the bottle shatter over the end of his shoulder, then he hooked a left with that same numb arm, and felt the fist sink into Shute’s body.
Dan Shute hit the table beside which Gene Baker was standing and both went down in a heap. Suddenly, Shute rolled over and came to his knees, his eyes blazing. Blood streamed from the gash in his cheek, open now from mouth to ear, his lips were shreds and a huge blue lump concealed one eye. His face was scarcely human, yet in the remaining eye gleamed a wild, killing, insane light. And in his hands he held Gene Baker’s double-barreled shotgun!
He did not speak-just swept the gun up and squeezed down on both triggers!
Yet at the very instant that he squeezed those triggers, Rafe’s left hand had dropped to the table near him and with one terrific heave he spun it toward the kneeling man. The gun belched flame and thunder as Rafe hit the floor flat on his stomach and rolled over.
Joe Benson, crouched over the bar, took the full blast of buckshot in the face and went over backward with a queer, choking scream.
Rafe heaved himself erect. Suddenly the room was deathly still. Pod Gomer’s face was a blank sheet of white horror as he stared at the spot where Benson had vanished.
Staggering, Caradec walked toward Dan Shute. The man lay on his back, arms outflung, head lying at a queer angle.
Mullaney pointed. “The table!” he said. “It busted his neck!”
Rafe turned and staggered toward the door. Johnny Gill caught him there. He slid an arm under Rafe’s shoulders and strapped his guns to his waist.
“What about Gomer?” he asked.
Caradec shook his head. Pod Gomer was getting up to face him, and he lifted a hand.
“Don’t start anything. I’ve had enough. I’ll go.”
Somebody brought a bucket of water. Rate fell on his knees and began splashing the ice-cold water over his head and face. When he had dried himself on a towel someone handed him, he started for a coat. Baker had come in with a clean shirt from the store.
“I’m sorry about that shotgun,” he said. “It happened so fast I didn’t know.”
Rafe tried to smile and couldn’t. His face was stiff and swollen.
“Forget it,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You ain’t goin’ to leave, are you?” Baker asked. “Ann said that she—”
“Leave? Shucks, no! We’ve got an oil business here, and there’s a ranch. While I was at the Fort I had a wire sent to the C Bar down in Texas for some more cattle.”
Ann was waiting for him wide-eyed. He walked past her toward the bed and fell across it. “Don’t let it get you, honey,” he said. “We’ll talk about it when I wake up next week!”
She stared at him, started to speak, and a snore sounded in the room.
Ma Baker smiled. “When a man wants to sleep, let him sleep. I’d say he’d earned it!”
L'Amour, Louis - Novel 02 Page 14
