Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “If you’re thinkin’ of Park, that horse couldn’t carry him far. An’ he would not stay in the town. Not him.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “Nobody—wait a minute! I did so. ’Twas Jake Booker. Not that I saw him with the horse, but a bit before daylight he came around the corner from that way and asked if I’d coffee ready.”

  Booker! He had small feet. He was in with Park. He wanted Maclaren dead. He had killed Slade’s man and shot our horses. Booker had some explaining to do.

  Mulvaney was crawling from the loft where I’d slept but was all attention at once. He listened and then ran to the stable office. Waiting only until he was on a horse and racing from town, I started back to O’Hara’s. My mind was made up.

  The time had come for a showdown, and this time we would all be in on it, and Jake Booker would not be forgotten.

  KEY CHAPIN LOOKED up when I came in. “Key,” I said quickly, “this is the payoff. Find out for me where Booker is. Get somebody to keep an eye on him. He’s not to leave town if he tries. Keep him under observation all the time until Mulvaney gets back from the ranch.”

  Turning to Olga, I asked her, “How about Canaval?” Can he ride yet? Could he stand a buckboard trip?”

  She hesitated. “He couldn’t ride, but he might stand it in the buckboard.”

  “Then get him into town, and have the boys come with him, Fox especially. I like that man Fox, and Canaval may need protection. Bring him in, and bring him here.”

  “What is it? What have you learned?” Chapin demanded.

  “About everything I need to know,” I replied. “We’re going to save the Bar M for Olga, and perhaps we’ll save my ranch, too. In any event, we’ll have the man who killed Rud Maclaren!”

  “What?” Olga’s face was pale. “Matt, do you mean that?”

  “I do. I only hope that Tharp gets back with Morgan Park, but I doubt if we’ll see him again.” Turning to Key, who was at the door I said, “Another thing. We might as well settle it all. Send a rider to the CP and have Jim Pinder in here. Get him here fast. We’ll have our showdown the first thing in the morning.”

  Twice I walked up the street and back. Nowhere was there any sign of Bodie Miller or of Red, his riding partner. The town still had that sense of expectancy that I had noticed upon coming into town. And they were right—for a lot of things were going to happen and happen fast.

  Key met me in the saloon. He walked toward me quickly, his face alive with interest. “What have you got in mind, Matt? What are you planning?”

  “Several things. In the first place, there has been enough fighting and trouble. We’re going to end it right here. We’re going to close up this whole range fight. There aren’t going to be any halfway measures. How well do you know Tharp?”

  “Very well, why?”

  “Will he throw his weight with us? It would mean a lot if he would.”

  “You can bank on him. He’s a solid man, Matt. Very solid.”

  “All right, in the morning then. In the morning we’ll settle everything!”

  There was a slight movement at the door and I looked up. My pulse almost stopped with the shock of it.

  Bodie Miller stood there, his hands on his hips, his lips smiling. “Why, sure!” he said. “If that’s what you want. The morning is as good a time as any!”

  XII

  The sun came up clear and hot. Already at daybreak the sky was without a cloud, and the distant mountains seemed to shimmer in a haze of their own making. The desert lost itself in heat waves before the day had scarce begun, and there was a stillness lying upon both desert and town, a sort of poised awareness without sound.

  When I emerged upon the street I was alone. Like a town of ghosts, the street was empty, silent except for the echo of my steps on the boardwalk. Then, as if their sound had broken the spell, the saloon door opened and the bartender emerged and began to sweep off the walk. He glanced quickly around at me, bobbed his head, and then with an uneasy look around, finished his sweeping hurriedly and ducked back inside. A man carrying two wooden buckets emerged from an alley and looked cautiously about. Assured there was no one in sight he started across the street, glancing apprehensively first in one direction, then the other.

  Sitting down in one of the polished chairs before the saloon I tipped back my hat and stared at the mountains. In a few minutes or a few hours, I might be dead.

  It was not a good morning on which to die—but what morning is? Yet in a few minutes or hours another man and myself would probably meet out there in that street, and we would exchange shots, and one or both of us would die.

  A rider came into the street, Mulvaney. He left his horse at the stable and clumped over to me. He was carrying enough guns to fight a war.

  “Comin’,” Mulvaney said, “the whole kit an’ kaboodle of ’em. Be here within the hour. Jolly’s already in town. Jonathan went after the others.”

  Nodding, I watched a woman looking down the street from the second floor. Suddenly she turned and left the window as if she had seen something or been called.

  “Eat yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Seen Olga? Or Chapin?”

  “No.”

  “If Red cuts in in this scrap,” Mulvaney said, “he’s mine.”

  “You can have him.”

  A door slammed somewhere, and then the man with the two wooden buckets hurried fearfully across the street, slopping water at every step. “All right,” I said, “we’ll go eat.”

  There was no sign of Bodie Miller or of Jim Pinder. Sheriff Tharp was still out hunting Morgan Park. Unless he got back soon, I’d have to run my show alone.

  MOTHER O’HARA HAD a white tablecloth over the oilcloth, and her best dishes were out. She brought me coffee and said severely, “You should be ashamed. That girl laid awake half the night, thinkin’ of nothin’ but you!”

  “About me?” I was incredulous.

  “Yes, about you! Worried fair sick, she is! About you an’ that Bodie Miller!”

  The door opened and Olga walked in. Her eyes were very green today, and her hair was drawn back to a loose knot at the back of her neck, but curled slightly into two waves on her forehead. She avoided my glance, and it was well she did or I’d have come right out of my chair.

  Then men entered the restaurant—Chapin, looking unusually severe, Colonel D’Arcy, and last of all, Jake Booker.

  D’Arcy caught my eye, and a slow smile started on his lips. “Sabre! Well, I’m damned! The last time I saw Sabre he was in China!”

  He took my hand and we grinned at each other. He was much older than I, but we talked the same language. His hair was gray at the temples. “They say you’ve had trouble with Cantwell.”

  “And more to come if the sheriff doesn’t get him. Park is mixed up in a shady deal with Jake Booker, the man across the table from me.”

  “I?” Booker smiled, but his eyes were deadly. “You’re mistaken, Mr. Sabre. It is true that Mr. Park asked me to represent him in some trouble he was having, but we’ve no other connection. None at all.”

  Jim Pinder stalked in at that moment, but knowing that Mulvaney and Jolly were watching, I ignored him.

  “From the conversation I overheard in Silver Reef,” I said to Booker, “I gathered you had obtained a buyer for some mining property he expected you to have.”

  Fury flickered across his face. He had no idea how much I knew.

  “It might interest you to know, Booker, that the fighting in this area is over. Pinder is here, and we’re having a peace meeting. Pinder is making a deal with us and with the Bar M. The fun’s over.”

  “I ain’t said nothin’ about no deal,” Pinder declared harshly. “I come in because I figured you was ready to sell.”

  “I might buy, Pinder, but I wouldn’t sell. Furthermore, I’m with Chapin and Tharp in organizing this peace move. You can join or stay out, but if you don’t join you’ll have to haul supplies from Silver Reef. This town will be close
d to you. Each of us who has been in this fight is to put up a bond to keep the peace, effective at daybreak tomorrow. You can join or leave the country.”

  “After you killed my brother?” Pinder demanded. “You ask for peace?”

  “You started the trouble in the livery stable figuring you were tough enough to hire me or run me out of the country. You weren’t big enough or fast enough then, and you aren’t now. Nobody doubts your nerve. You’ve too much for your own good, and so have the lot of us, but it gets us nothing but killing and more killing. You can make money on the CP, or you can try to buck the country.

  “As for Rollie, he laid for me and he got what he asked for. You’re a hard man, Pinder, but you’re no fool, and I’ve an idea you’re square. Isn’t it true Rollie started out to get me?”

  Pinder hesitated, rubbing his angular jaw. “It is,” he said finally, “but that don’t make no—”

  “It makes a lot of difference,” I replied shortly. “Now look, Pinder. You’ve lost more than you’ve cost us. You need money. You can’t ship cattle. You sign up or you’ll never ship any! Everybody here knows you’ve nerve enough to face me, but everybody knows you’d die. All you’d prove would be that you’re crazy. You know I’m the faster man.”

  HE STARED STUBBORNLY at the table. Finally he said, “I’ll think it over. It’ll take some time.”

  “It’ll take you just two minutes,” I said, laying it on the line.

  He stared hard at me, his knuckles whitening on the arm of the chair. Suddenly, reluctantly, he grinned. Sinking back into his chair, he shrugged. “You ride a man hard, Sabre. All right, peace it is.”

  “Thanks, Pinder.” I thrust out my hand. He hesitated and then took it.

  Katie O’Hara filled his cup.

  “Look,” he said suddenly, “I’ve got to make a drive. The only way there’s water is across your place.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Drive ’em across, and whatever water your herd needs is yours. Just so it doesn’t take you more than a week to get ’em across!”

  Pinder smiled bleakly, but with humor. “Aw, you know it won’t take more than a day!” He subsided into his chair and started on the coffee.

  Jake Booker had been taking it all in, looking from one to the other of us with his sharp little eyes.

  Canaval opened the door and stepped in, looking pale and drawn, followed by Tom Fox. “Miss Olga could have signed for me,” he said. “She’s the owner.”

  “You sign, too,” I insisted. “We want to cover every eventuality.”

  Booker was smiling. He rubbed his lips with his thin, dry fingers. “All nonsense!” he said briskly. “Both the Bar M and the Two Bar belong to me. I’ve filed the papers. You’ve twenty-four hours to get off and stay off!”

  “Booker,” I said, “has assumed we are fools. He believed if he could get a flimsy claim he could get us into court and beat us. Well, this case will never go to court.”

  Booker’s eyes were beady. “Are you threatening me?”

  Sheriff Will Tharp came into the room. His eyes rested on Jake, but he said nothing.

  “We aren’t threatening,” I said. “On what does your claim to the Bar M stand?”

  “Bill of sale,” he replied promptly. “The ranch was actually left to Jay Collins, the gunfighter. He was Maclaren’s brother-in-law. His will left all his property to a nephew, and I bought it, including the Bar M and all appurtenances thereto!”

  Canaval gave me a brief nod. “Sorry, Jake. You’ve lost your money. Jay Collins is not dead.”

  The lawyer jumped as if slapped. “Not dead? I saw his grave!”

  “Booker,” I smiled, “look down the table at Jay Collins!” I pointed to Canaval.

  BOOKER BROKE INTO a fever of protest, but I was looking at Olga Maclaren. She was staring at Canaval, and he was smiling.

  “Sure, honey,” he said. “That’s why I knew so much about your mother. She was the only person in the world I ever really loved—until I knew my niece.”

  Booker was worried now, really worried. In a matter of minutes half his plan had come to nothing. He was shrewd enough to know we would not bluff and that we had proof of what we said.

  “As for the Two Bar,” I added, “don’t worry about it. I’ve my witnesses that the estate was given me. Not that it will matter to you.”

  “What’s that? What’d you mean?” Booker stared at me.

  “Because you were too greedy. You’ll never rob another man, Booker. For murder, you’ll hang.”

  He protested, but now he was cornered and frightened. “You killed Rud Maclaren,” I told him, “and if that’s not enough, you killed one of Slade’s men from ambush. We can trail your horse to the scene of the crime, and if you think a western jury won’t take the word of an Indian tracker, you’re wrong.”

  “He killed Maclaren?” Canaval asked incredulously.

  “He got him out of the house on some trumped-up excuse—to show him the silver, or to show him something I was planning—it doesn’t matter what excuse was used. He shot him and then loaded him on a horse and brought him to my place. He shot him again, hoping to draw me to the vicinity, as he wanted my tracks around the body.”

  “Lies!” Booker was recovering his assurance. “Sabre had trouble with Maclaren, not I. We knew each other only by sight. The idea that I killed him is preposterous.”

  He got to his feet. “In any event, what have the ranches to do with the silver claim of which you speak?”

  “Morgan Park found the claim while trailing a man he meant to murder—Arnold D’Arcy, who knew him as Cantwell. Arnold had stumbled upon the old mine. Park murdered him only to find there was a catch in the deal. D’Arcy had already filed on the claim and had done assessment work on it. Legally, there was no way Park could gain possession, and no one legally could work the mine until D’Arcy’s claim lapsed. Above all, Park wanted to avoid any public connection with the name of D’Arcy. He couldn’t sell the claim, because it wasn’t his, but if he could get control of the Bar M and the Two Bar, across which anyone working the claim must go, he could sell them at a fabulous price to an unscrupulous buyer. The new owner of the ranches could work the claim quietly, and by owning the ranches he could deny access to the vicinity, so it would never be discovered what claims were being worked. When D’Arcy’s assessment work lapsed, the claims could be filed upon by the new owners.”

  “Booker was to find a buyer?” asked Tharp.

  “Yes. Park wanted money, not a mine or a ranch. Booker, I believe, planned to be that buyer himself. He wanted possession of the Bar M, so he decided to murder Rud Maclaren.”

  “You’ve no case against me that would stand in court!” Booker sneered. “You can prove nothing! What witnesses do you have?”

  We had none, of course. Our evidence was a footprint. All the rest of what I’d said was guesswork. Tharp couldn’t arrest the man on such slim grounds. We needed a confession.

  TOM FOX LEANED over the table, his eyes cold. “Some of us are satisfied. We don’t need witnesses an’ we don’t need to hear no more. Some of us are almighty sure you killed Rud Maclaren. Got any arguments that will answer a six-gun? Or a rope?”

  Booker’s face thinned down, and he crouched back against his chair. “You can’t do that! The law! Tharp will protect me!”

  Sighting a way clear, I smiled. “That might be, Booker! Confess, and Tharp will protect you! He’ll save you for the law to handle. But if you leave here a free man, you’ll be on your own.”

  “An’ I’ll come after you!” Fox said.

  “Confess, Booker,” I suggested, “and you’ll be safe.”

  “Aw! Turn him loose!” Fox protested angrily. “No need to have trouble, a trial an’ all! Turn him loose! We all know he’s a crook, an’ we all know he killed Rud Maclaren! Turn him loose!”

  Booker’s eyes were haunted with fear. There was no acting in Tom Fox, and he knew it. The rest of us might bluff, but not Fox. The Bar M hand wanted to kill him, and given
an opportunity, he would.

  Right then I knew we were going to win. Jake Booker was a plotter and a conniver, not a courageous man. His mean little eyes darted from Fox to the sheriff. His mouth twitched and his face was wet with sweat. Tom Fox, his hand on his gun, moved relentlessly closer to Booker.

  “All right, then!” he screamed. “I did it! I killed Maclaren. Now, Sheriff, save me from this man!”

  I relaxed at last, as Tharp put the handcuffs on Booker. As they were leaving I said, “What about Park? What happened to him?”

  Tharp cleared his throat. “Morgan Park is dead. He was killed last night on the Woodenshoe.”

  WE ALL LOOKED at him, waiting. “That Apache of Pinder’s killed him,” Tharp explained. “Park ran for it after he busted out of jail. He killed his horse crossin’ the flats an’ he run into the Injun with a fresh horse. He wanted to swap, but the Apache wouldn’t go for the deal, so Park tried to drygulch him. He should have knowed better. The Injun killed him an’ lit out.”

  “You’re positive?” D’Arcy demanded.

  Tharp nodded. “Yeah, he died hard, Park did.”

  The door opened, and Jonathan Benaras was standing there. “Been scoutin’ around,” he said. “Bodie Miller’s done took out. He hit the saddle about a half hour back an’ headed north out of town.”

  Bodie Miller gone!

  It was impossible. Yet, he had done it. Miller was gone! I got to my feet. “Good,” I said quietly. “I was afraid there would be trouble.”

  Pinder got to his feet. “Don’t you trust that Miller,” he said grudgingly. “He’s a snake in the grass. You watch out.”

  So there it was. Pinder was no longer an enemy. The fight had been ended, and I could go back to the Two Bar. I should feel relieved, and yet I did not. Probably it was because I had built myself up for Bodie Miller and nothing had come of it. I was so ready, and then it had all petered out to nothing at all.