Back at the ranch, Tandy sat under a huge cottonwood near the blacksmith shop and studied the situation through the smoke of a half-dozen cigarettes. No way could it make sense, so there must be something he didn’t know. Where was Jim Drew? What had caused the change in Bill Hofer and the Block T? Why was Pipal kept on? Did Hofer’s new friendship for Kleinback have anything to do with all this?
In the three days Tandy had been on the ranch he had spent most of his time at work, and at no time had he seen Clarabel. Nor had he seen Kleinback. Pipal was around, but he remained strictly away from Tandy and never met his eyes if he could avoid it.
Obviously, the Drew ranch had been cleaned out because somebody did not want Tandy Thayer, the expected visitor, to find it. And they must have done away with Jim Drew at the same time. But why? What did they have to conceal? Studied from every angle, the trouble seemed to have started with the leaving of the big boss, the owner-J. T. Martin.
It was after that when Pipal came to the Block T, and after he came that the old hands started to drift away. It would almost appear that someone wanted the old hands driven off. If there had been such an attempt, and if Drew had been killed or run off in connection with it, then there had to be profit somewhere for the instigators of the plot. What was profitable in this ranch? Cattle? And the range now covered with thousands of unbranded cattle, ready for the taking?
“So? It’s you?”
At the sound of the girl’s voice, Tandy glanced up and then got slowly to his feet. “I reckon it is, ma’am. Like a bad penny, always turnin’ up.”
She stepped near him in the dappling shadows of moonlight through the leaves. “Go away-please! You don’t know what you’re doing here! Tonight Kleinback is coming, and if he finds you, there will be trouble!”
“Sorry, ma’am, ‘ Tandy said easily. “I’m stayin’ till I’m ordered off. I’ve got work to do. Mebbe Kleinback is the man I’d better talk to.”
“No!” There was sheer panic in Clarabel Jornal’s voice. “You mustn’t! Please go! I don’t know what happened to your friend. I have no idea! I think he just pulled out and left!”
“You admit he was here, then?” Thayer shrugged. “Ma’am, Jim Drew sent for me to come, so he never pulled out. He wouldn’t be driven, either! Ma’am, old Jim was killed, and I aim to find out who did it!”
She was silent for a minute, her hand still on his arm. “Please!” she pleaded then. “You like me, I know you do! I’ve seen it in your eyes tonight, and I saw it the other day. If you’ll go away, I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “That’s a tempting offer, ma’am, but I can’t do it. I sure do like you. You’re pretty much of a woman, and a man could be proud of you, but I wouldn’t take you that way. I wouldn’t take any woman unless she loved me-and I reckon it would be pretty hard to love a man like me. I ain’t no hand with womenfolks, and I sure ain’t much for looks.”
In the silence they heard the sound of a horse cantering up to the house. Clarabel looked up at Tandy. “It’s Roy Kleinback!” she said, and there was stark fear in her eyes.
Tandy caught her by the shoulders. “What’s behind all this!” he demanded. “What’s Kleinback to you? Who is he?”
“He’s nothing to me! I-“
“Hofer,” Kleinback’s harsh voice interrupted. “Who’s that hombre out there with Clarabel?”
The two men were walking toward the cottonwood. Clarabel stepped back, and her eyes looked like dark, haunted pools in the whiteness of her face. Kleinback walked up to her and Tandy, glancing from one to the other.
“Hofer,” he said as his eyes fastened on Thayer, “you’d better fire this man. He’s got some bad ideas. Thinks there used to be an hombre name of Jim Drew down at Moss Springs.”
Thayer glimpsed a vague movement in the shadows and knew it was Pipal. He was boxed. If he started a fight now, he was finished.
“All right with me, if Hofer fires me,” he drawled. “What about it, boss?”
“Maybe you’d better go,” Hofer said. “Here’s twenty dollars. That’s more’n you got comin’, but you’ve done a sight of work.”
Kleinback was smiling. “Now, slope!” he said. “And once you start movin’, keep goin!”
Tandy Thayer offered no reply. He walked to the bunkhouse, threw his gear together, and saddled his horse. It was when he was saddling the horse that he brushed against Kleinback’s mount near him, and against the coat that hung over the saddle horn. Something rustled in the pocket. On a hunch he turned and felt for the paper. It was an envelope… .
No, there were three envelopes. Shielding the match with his coat, he struck a light, and his heart gave a bound. All three were addressed to J. T. Martin at Nelson! Stuffing the letters back into the pocket he swung into the saddle and headed the gray toward the river. The letters had been from Chicago, so in Chicago they believed Martin was here.
And if Martin was neither here nor in Chicago, where was he? Turning right near the river, Tandy Thayer headed south for Moss Springs. He did not ride fast, for he was in no hurry. The night stretched before him and he had only a few miles to go. In the meanwhile there was much to consider. Martin had come to the Block T ranch and had probably received a report on the number of cattle there, but if he had known about all the unbranded cattle, obviously he would have been displeased.
Suddenly, Tandy began to see more clearly, and the pieces of the plot began to fall into place. Reaching Moss Springs he dismounted and made camp. Yet he was scarcely asleep before he heard the pounding of hoofs. Rolling out of his soogan he grabbed his Winchester and took shelter behind some rocks. The racing horse came to a sliding stop, and he heard a girl gasping for breath.
“Tandy,” she called softly. “Tandy Thayer! Where are you!”
“Here,” he answered. “What’s the trouble?”
She ran to him. “Oh, be careful! They’ve sent that man after you-Pipal!”
“They sent him? Who did?”
“Kleinback did. I heard him talking to Pipal. He told him to kill you, that you must never get to Nelson!”
“So?” Thayer went all quiet and still within, his mind examining the situation coolly. “Then he’s guessed that I know what this is all about, or he is afraid I know.”
He looked around toward the dim outline of the girl’s face. “Bel, what happened to Martin?”
Her breath caught. “I-I don’t know.”
“Bel, there’s something plumb wrong going on here, and I think I know exactly what it is. Martin never went back to Chicago, Bel. Mail is still being addressed to him at Nelson, in care of the Block T. I found some letters to him in the pocket of Kleinback’s coat. I think Martin was killed because of what he found at the ranch, or because somebody at the ranch was afraid of what he might do or know.”
Clarabel was silent and he put his hand on her arm. “Bel, did your uncle kill Martin?”
She jerked her arm away. “No!” she flared, and he could hear the anguish and tears in her voice. “No, he didn’t! He couldn’t have! He’s always been good. Kind! He simply couldn’t have!”
There was an answer here somewhere. All Tandy could see now was the vague, underlying plot, or what he believed was the plot. It would explain everything, and there was no other way that he could see for it to have been.
“Bel,” he persisted, “what’s Bill Hofer’s tie-up with Kleinback?”
“I don’t know.” He could sense the honest doubt in her voice. “Uncle Bill used to dislike him very much, and I think he still does, but now Kleinback’s around the ranch a lot and gives orders as much as my uncle does.”
“Did it begin about the time that Martin left?”
She hesitated. “Yes, about then.”
“Bel,” Tandy suggested cautiously, “you think your uncle killed Martin, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, I tell you! But he couldn’t have!”
“Bel, if your uncle killed Martin he’s as guilty as any man, and deserves punishment if
any man does. Now we’ve got to get at the truth of this, and I don’t think your uncle did kill him.”
Tandy hesitated, listening for sounds in the night. If Pipal was coming, there was little time. “Was Kleinback at the ranch the night Martin left?” he asked after a moment.
“No. He was there in the afternoon. He and Uncle Bill had a fearful argument about something; then he left. I heard Martin and Uncle Bill talking for a long time after supper. Martin brought some liquor out, and they both had a few drinks.”
That could be it. Had Hofer been drunk? He asked the question.
“I-I don’t know,” Clarabel said, and Tandy could sense that this was what was responsible for the girl’s worry. “I don’t think he was. He rode down the trail with Martin to get him started right, and I don’t know when he got back. He didn’t get up until almost noon, I know, and he looked a sight. I think he slept in his clothes.”
Tandy gripped her arm in a signal for silence, for he had heard a faint sound in the darkness, a faint dragging, as of a heavy body along the mountainside. Drawing the girl back into the deep shadows of some mesquite, he listened.
After a minute, both of them heard it again, a dragging sound, and what seemed like a grunt or a gasping breath. Thayer stepped out into the moonlight, his brow furrowed. It was strange.
“So? We come together again, my friend!” Pipal’s voice. “Make one move for your gun, and you die!” The renegade stepped forward into the moonlight. “Also the senorita will come from the darkness, or I shall have to shoot both of you!”
Clarabel, her face pale, stepped into sight and stood beside him. Pipal circled behind them and stripped them of their guns. “Now,” he said, moving away from them, “you will turn and walk toward the river. Bodies are so heavy to carry!”
“You’re a fool, Pipal!” Thayer said. His mouth felt dry, and he was weak in the knees. The half-breed was going to shoot, and any chance he took was a chance for the girl, too. If only she wasn’t so close! Still, if he could get a hand on one of those guns, there might be a chance. “Do you think Kleinback will let you go now, Pipal?” he taunted. “You’ll be the only one who knows. You’re doing his killing for him, and what will you get out of it?”
Pipal shrugged. “Plenty. Leave that to me, senor. I shall not forget Pipal. I never forget Pipal!” In the silence, there was another sound, that faint dragging again. Pipal heard it also, and he started. He seemed to crouch a little, listening. His eyes dropped to the guns at Thayer’s feet; then as the sound came again, he jerked his head around and Tandy’s right hand dropped a little.
“Don’t try it, son!” a voice roared out of the darkness. “I got him! Shoot me, will you? You drygulching-“
The voice was drowned in the roar of a heavy rifle as Pipal swung his gun toward the darkness. Pipal jerked sharply, then took two steps forward and fell on his face.
“Jim!” Tandy Thayer could not believe it. “Is that you out there?”
“Who did you reckon it was? Sandy Claws?” The old man’s voice was testy. “Come out here and fetch me in. I can’t walk!”
In a few running steps, Tandy had reached the old man. His eyes sharpened as he picked him up and carried him back into the moonlight. “Build a fire!” he told Clarabel. “He’s been hurt!”
“Hurt, your Aunt Mariar!” The old man was exasperated. “I’m nigh starved, that’s all! I was hurt, all right. Shot by that durned breed. He got me twice, once in the shoulder and the other time in the leg. I fell in the river, yonder, but caught me some brush and hauled myself out of the water. Takes more’n a couple of slugs to kill an old sidewinder like me! I crawled back up yonder in an old prospect hole with what grub I could get out of the house before they got back.
“Boy, they tore that ranch of our’n right down! Every pole and log of her. Then they dropped ‘em in the river and cleared up the ground so’s nobody but somebody like you would ever guess what happened. Me, I laid up there in that hole, trying to get my leg mended, me with nothin’ but a mite of grub and my old Sharps. I caught me a rabbit or two and et them down to the hair, then tonight I heard your voice a-talking to this here girl. I been a-draggin’ down that mountain ever since.”
“Why did Pipal shoot you?” Tandy demanded.
“Why? Because I seen Kleinback and Hofer coming down the trail with that city feller. Hofer, he was riding with him, drunk as a hoot owl, but Kleinback was a ridin’ back behind ‘em a ways, following ‘em, like.”
Old Jim Drew told them quietly what had occurred, told them all he had seen, and Tandy nodded. “I’d guessed most of it,” he said, and swung into the saddle. “Jim, we’re goin’ to leave you here. We’ll go back to the ranch and get a buckboard. Kleinback is still there, and I want to talk with him!”
The ranch was bathed in white moonlight when they rode up and swung down at the door. They halted at the sound of voices. “Now is the time we’ll sell, Hofer!” Kleinback was saying. “I’ll start roundin’ up tomorrow, and I’ll get shut of them cows right away.”
“I’ll have no part of it!” Hofer said. “You got me into this, but I’ll not get in any deeper.”
“I got you into it?” Kleinback sneered. “Who killed young Martin? You did! What was your reason? Tryin’ to rustle his cattle! There’s a bad case against you, Hofer, but there’s not a thing against me. I’ve got a clear trail behind me, and when I get the money for the cattle, I’ll be free! I’ll have plenty of money then, and not be tied to no two-by-four desert ranch!”
“You and Pipal,” Hofer said, “between you, you ruined me. Between you two you ran my hands out of the country, and then after Martin was killed, you forced me to take Pipal on as a hand, so’s he could spy on me and finish drivin’ off the rest of ‘em.”
Roy Kleinback chuckled. “Sure. I’ve been running Block T stock back in the canyons of the Opals for the last couple of years. Holding ‘em back there with no brands on ‘em, so no evidence against me if somebody smartened up. Then when Martin came in and checked them draws and raised hob with you, I saw my only chance was to act fast. Then you up and killed him and saved my bacon.”
“No he didn’t, Kleinback!” The two men sprang to their feet, Bill Hofer startled and staring, Kleinback with a sudden wariness in his eyes.
Keeping his eyes on Kleinback, Tandy Thayer went on coolly: “Hofer, you never killed Martin! You were drunk and didn’t know any better, but old Jim Drew saw it! Kleinback killed Martin, then shoved the gun in your hand. He’d killed him with one of your guns that he lifted as he came alongside, and you too drunk to know better!”
Kleinback hooked his thumbs in his belt. “That’s a foolish notion!” he said. “You couldn’t prove no such thing!”
“Jim Drew is alive, Kleinback,” Tandy said. “He saw it all, as you know. Pipal shot him and dropped him in the river, but he caught some brush and got ashore. He’s alive and able to testify to all he saw. You’re through!”
Kleinback’s elbow jerked back and his palm slapped the walnut gun stock, but even as the gun started to lift, Tandy Thayer shot him. The big rancher sagged back, struggling to get his gun up while his eyes slowly glazed over and the gun fell from his fingers to the floor. Then Kleinback fell across it.
For an instant there was utter stillness while the wheel on one of Kleinback’s spurs did a slow turn.
“It wasn’t me!” Hofer gasped. “Man, I-“
Clarabel was around the table and had him in her arms. “It’s all right, Uncle Bill! Everything is all right.” She looked over at Tandy, and there was a smile for him in her eyes. “You were going to stay with old Jim?” she asked. “Why don’t you? It would be nice to have you for a neighbor. …”
In the morning, Red Ringo grinned at Tandy. “He should have knowed better than to draw against an hombre slick with a gun as you,” he said. “That was plumb suicide!”
“Luck,” Thayer said honestly. “Pure luck!”
“Huh!” Ringo was disgusted. “After that card I saw you sh
oot a hole into?”
Thayer reached in his pocket and took out another card. “Look!” he said. Spinning it into the air, he drew and fired. “Now take a look at it.”
Ringo walked over and picked up the card. It was a trey, and all the pips were shot out. He stared at it. “But you only shot once!” he protested.
“Sure.” Tandy Thayer reached in his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards with all the pips shot out. “I shoot em out first, then always have one around. You ain’t got any idea how many arguments they stop!”
THE GUNS TALK LOUD
He rode into town on a brown mule and swung down from the saddle in front of the Chuck Wagon. He wore a high Mexican hat and a pair of tight Mex pants that flared over his boots. Shorty Duval started to open his mouth to hurrah this stranger when the hombre turned around. Shorty Duval’s mouth snapped shut like a steel trap, and you could almost see the sweat break out on his forehead.
One look was all anybody needed. Shorty was tough, but nobody was buying any trouble from the drifter in the highcrowned hat. He had a lean brown face and a beak of a nose that had been broken some time or other. There was a scar along his cheekbone that showed white against the leather brown of his face. But it was his eyes that gave you the chills. They were green and brown, but there was something in the way they looked at you that would make a strong man back up and think it over.
He was wearing two guns and crossed belts. They were not Peacemakers, but the older Colt, the baby cannon known as the Walker Colt. Too heavy for most men, they would shoot pretty accurate for well over a hundred yards, which wasn’t bad for a rifle. He wore one of them short Mex jackets, too, and when we looked from his queer getup to that brown mule that was all legs we couldn’t figure him one little bit.
Not many strangers rode into White Hills. I’d been there all of two months, and I was the last one to come. This hombre showed he knowed the kind of a town he was in when he didn’t look too long at anybody. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice us. He just pushed through the doors and bellied up to the bar.
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