to Tame a Land (1955)

by L'amour, Louis

  "Blair?"

  "Her maiden name. The family was fairly well off , Tyler. Not wealthy, but substantially fixed. And with a good position socially."

  That meant nothing to me until he told me I'd bee n left some money. Rather, Ma had been left it. Som e money and a good-sized farm in Maryland and Virginia.

  It was more than a thousand acres.

  "There's a nice home on it, some stables. They use d to raise horses in the old days." He sat back and lit a cigar. "It's all yours, of course. The family was upse t when she married your father, but they were sorry fo r their attitude later, when it was too late. We tried t o locate your mother, but had no luck.

  "Now, if you'll take my advice, you'll give up all thi s and come East. You seem to know stock. You've ha d experience breaking horses. You could probably do ver y well back there."

  Nothing like this had ever come into my mind. I'd have to study it well, yet all the time I was explainin g this to him, I was thinking that back East I wouldn't have to carry a gun. And there was small chance anybody would have heard of Ryan Tyler, the gun fighter.

  It would be a good thing . . . and then I remembere d Liza.

  Her note had told me to go away, but I read mor e into it than that. She was afraid of what would happen t o me if I stayed, and if I persisted in trying to find her.

  But me, I had my own ideas.

  So I got up. "Mr. Mead, I'm taking your advice. I'll g o back East and make my home there. You go ahead an d get it all fixed up so I can take over. But first I've go t a job to do."

  He got up, too. "Tyler," he warned, "be careful. I k now something of the situation here. I've been kept informed. You've made this town peaceful, but only on th e surface. There are men here who hate you and fea r you. Make one slip and they'll be on you like a pack o f wolves."

  "Yes, sir. You get those papers fixed up. I'll be back."

  So I walked out on the street, knowing as I walke d that my decision was right. This was what I should do.

  It was a good time to go . . . and, after all, why shoul d I look for Liza? She was with somebody else. If sh e hadn't made her choice, at least she was doing all right.

  And I had no actual reason to believe she was living a s she was through any reason but her own. So that wa s over. I'd go back East and stay.

  Mustang was pacing the floor when I came in. He turned sharply around. "Got news for you! I went ou t and hunted up the tracks of those folks who visited Ol d Blue. They headed south, right into the rough country , and they took a trail that only goes one way."

  "Where?" I asked the question, knowing the answer.

  "They went to the Roost. And one of those riders wa s a woman."

  Liza . . . and Ash Milo.

  Everything had been pointing that way and I couldn't see it until now. Sure enough, that had to be where Olli e Burdette had holed up after leaving the Crossing, an d where he'd seen Liza with "a better man." It tie d everything into one neat package, and it was the explanation for Billings' knowledge, and why he would no t talk. It was common gossip around town that Billing s had connections at the Roost.

  It explained everything . . . or almost everything.

  People all over this part of the country had a justifie d fear of the Roost and its riders. No rancher would talk.

  Some were friendly to the outlaws, but even hones t ranchers refused to risk incurring their anger. Robber's Roost lay somewhere on a plateau among a network o f canyons, a country unknown to any but themselves.

  How many outlaws were in there? Some said fifty , but most said it was nearer a thousand. It was the mai n hideout on the Outlaw's Trail, which stretched fro m Canada to Mexico through the Rocky Mountain region.

  And at the Roost, and for miles around, Ash Milo wa s king.

  Unless a man knew the trails, he had no chance o f finding his way in. Or so they said. That was the story , all right.

  The names of the leaders of the Roost gang were notorious. Ash Milo was the boss, but there were others , names feared all through the West; Sandoval, Bronc o Leslie, Chance Vader, and Smoky Hill Stevens. All o f them wanted in a half-dozen states, all men who wer e handy with guns.

  And that was where Liza was, among a lot of outlaws.

  But she didn't want me to come. All right, I wouldn't.

  "This Milo," Mustang Roberts said, "he knows you , all right. He knows a lot about you."

  "Stories get around."

  "Sure. And I thought I'd heard them all, but th e grapevine from the Roost has one story I never heard."

  "What's that?"

  Mustang Roberts took his time. He pushed his ha t back on his head and put a boot up on the desk. Hi s spur jingled a mite. He began to build him a smoke.

  One thing I never heard," he said, touching his tongu e to the paper. "That you killed a man named McGarry."

  Chapter 16

  MUSTANG ROBERTS started me thinking again. He got me to wondering, and an hour before daylight I ha d my mind made up.

  Mustang had turned in, as the night was quiet an d he was tired from the riding he'd done that day. Me, I p ut a saddle on the gray, shoved the new Winchester 73

  I'd bought into the boot, and then I belted on one gu n and shoved the other into my waistband.

  First thing, I switched my shirt and left my badg e on the table. Where I was going a badge was an invitatio n to get shot. The shirt I put on had no pin holes left b y the badge. Nor did I shave. Right then I was growin g a mustache, which was well along, and I trimmed it a little, but let the stubble of beard stay. Then I shrugge d into a coat and packed a bait of grub out to the gray.

  We took the trail just as the sky was lightening. Nobod y needed to tell me what I was riding into. There was n o way this trail could miss leading into trouble. Mayb e Liza wanted to live with outlaws. Maybe she was As h Milo's girl, and maybe she wasn't. But I was going t o know.

  Leaving town by the trail, I turned off up a dry canyon.

  It was a long ride I had before me, so I let the gra y make his own speed. In later years they said the Roos t was farther south, but the time I rode into that countr y the outfit was located in a canyon back of Desolation , not far off the Green River.

  It was very hot. Back in the canyons there was n o breeze. Soon my gray shirt turned dark with sweat an d my eyes had to squint to stand the glare.

  There was no sound but the sound of my horse's hoof s and the creak of the saddle. Once in a while a ston e rolled underfoot. So it was I started into that rough , wild country, unexplored except by Indians and outlaws , and most of it unknown even to them.

  The way I figured, it would be midafternoon befor e Mustang Roberts realized I was gone. Then he woul d figure out where I'd headed. Shrewd as he was, he'd guess right the first time. But I'd be long gone then an d he'd resign himself to sitting out my stay.

  Several times I saw antelope, and once I frightened a mountain lion away from a big-horn sheep.

  This was far-off country, wild and lonesome. country.

  It was big country, and I'd seen city men shrink fro m the immensity of it. Some men are built for this kind o f country, and some aren't. I guess my Maker shaped m e for the land that we had to shape. I liked it.

  There was small chance any of these outlaws woul d know me as the marshal of Alta. They had been denie d the town by Ash Milo, and if I was lucky I'd get wel l back into that country, looking like an outlaw on th e drift.

  The gray liked it. He was always a good trail horse , happier when he was going. He was a saddle bum lik e me, liking the dust of far trails, the smell of pines an d sweat, and he would prick his ears at every hill we cam e over, at every turn we rounded.

  Most of the time I rode off to one side of the di m trail. I rode alongside the pines, or took the far side o f a ridge, or kept under cover. It was smart in two ways: It would keep me from being seen as long as possible, an d if I was seen I'd look like a man on the dodge.

  Twice I made short camps and slept a little, then I p
ushed on. Time enough to take it easy when I began t o get close. Then I would have to look careful.

  Nobody in Alta knew where the Roost was. Maybe Be n Billings, but he never went there. He was never out o f sight long enough. Oh, probably some of the men wh o came and went around town did know, but nobody wh o would talk to me or who would have helped me. So I'd never tried to find out, and now I was glad.

  I wouldn't want anybody remembering that the marsha l of Alta had been inquiring about trails.

  Once into the rougher country, I took my time. Skirtin g Indian Head peak, I crossed the end of the Roan Cliff s and rode into Nine Mile Valley. It was long and empty , unmarked by trails, and pointed southeast, the way I w anted to go.- There were cliff dwellings along the canyo n walls, and rocks covered with Indian writing. Several time s I saw arrowheads and broken pottery.

  With a three-day growth of beard on my face and m y clothes dusty from travel, I was beginning to look the part.

  Also, I was getting wary.

  Everywhere was rock. Rocky cliffs and crags, grea t mesas rising abruptly, shelves of rock and plateaus o f rock. It was pink and white, with long streaks of rus t red or maroon, all carved by wind and rain into weir d shapes and giant forms. Huge pinnacles pointed thei r ghostly fingers at the sky. It was a land shaped like flames , a land riven and torn, upset and turned over and upse t again.

  I rode down long corridor canyons to the echoing of m y horse's hoofs against the sounding boards of the grea t walls, walls that sometimes pressed close together, and a t other times spread wide.

  Suddenly the canyon bent northeast, and I followed it.

  Here was a creek, and I watered the gray, then loosene d the girth.

  It was late afternoon. It was very hot and I was ver y tired. In all this vast desert through which I was ridin g there seemed to be nothing and no one. Lying down o n the grass beneath some willows, I stretched out with m y hat over my eyes.

  Awakening suddenly, I saw that the gray's head wa s up and that his ears were pricked. With one quick mov e I was on my feet. When I see a horse like that, eve n swelling himself a little as he gets set, I know he'd goin g to whinny. My left hand grabbed his nostrils and my righ t his neck just as he started, and I stopped him. He shied a little, frightened at my sudden move, then stood still.

  Listening, I could hear voices. They were some distanc e off, but seemed to be coming nearer.

  My position was behind the willows and out of sight , if nothing attracted their attention. Gray knew he wa s supposed to keep quiet now, so I released him and droppe d my hand to my holstered gun. It was in place. So wa s the one behind my belt.

  Then I picked up my hat and moved back beside m y horse, listening and ready.

  At first I heard nothing. Whoever it was had stoppe d talking. Then I heard their horses' hoofs, and, peerin g through the willows, I saw them.

  Neither was a man I had seen before. One wore a black vest over a dark-red shirt. He was a lean, dar k man. The other was sandy-haired and freckled, and fro m his saddle he could have been a Texan. They drifted o n by and were almost past me when I heard the redhea d call the other one "Bronc." This could be Leslie, the Malheur County badman.

  Stepping into the leather, I slow-walked my horse to a point where I could watch them. The afternoon was almost gone, but here was a chance to find my way righ t to the hideout at the Roost.

  If I tried getting closer alone, I might manage it, bu t if I rode in with Bronco Leslie, I'd be asked few questions. Pushing the gray, I moved out into the open unti l I could see them plainly.

  About the same time they heard me and drew up , waiting.

  Bronco Leslie had a scar over one eye and his eye s were the blackest I'd even seen. His face was thin an d drawn down, and he had a quick, nervous way abou t him. That I saw right off.

  "Where you goin'?" he asked, mighty rough.

  Drawing up the gray with my left hand, I said, "Hunting the Roost. I figured you boys might be heading tha t way."

  "What made y' figure that?" Red demanded.

  This was touch and go, and I knew it. Any moment a wrong word could start somebody shooting, but in som e ways it was less risky with men like this. They were goo d men with guns, and a man who knows guns doesn't foo l around. He knows they can kill.

  I grinned at them. "Where else would a man go i n this God-forsaken country?"

  Red looked thoughtful. I saw his eyes taking in th e build of my horse, obviously no cow pony, and the ri g of my saddle.

  "Do I know you?" Bronc asked.

  "Damned if I know," I said frankly. "But this ain't my country. Had me some trouble over to Leadville an d decided to head west."

  This was safe enough, because just a few days befor e three men had broken jail in Leadville. The three ha d never been identified, and little was known of them. I t had been rumored they were members of the Jame s gang.

  "Far's that goes," I said, "I don't know you."

  Leslie stared at me. I could see he had no liking fo r me and was suspicious. I could guess he was figurin g what would happen if he'd open the ball with a gun.

  But Bronc Leslie was a careful man. He looked m e over a little and decided matters could wait. Anyway, if I h ad a chance out here, I would have none at the Roost.

  Red made the peace move. "I'm Red Irons," he said.

  "This here is Bronco Leslie."

  "I'm Choc Ryan," I said, "from down in the Nation."

  We drifted along, not saying much. Leslie took to dropping back a little, and as I liked nobody behind me, I'd drop back with him. He didn't like it much, but he didn't make an issue of it, either.

  "I'm mighty hungry," I said. "Will we make it tonight?"

  "Late," Red told me.

  Can you imagine country like that country was then?

  And not much changed, even now. A lost land, a lan d quiet under the sun, where only the wolves prowled an d where the buzzards swung on lazy, easy wings. A lan d unpeopled and still, where the sun slowly sank, and fro m the cliffs the shadows reached out, filling the canyons t o the brim with darkness.

  Ghostly footfalls echoed against the walls, saddle s creaked, and Red lifted a lonesome voice in song, singin g "Zebra Dun," and then "Spanish Is a Lovin' Tongue."

  It was mighty pleasant riding, mighty pleasant. Only , up there ahead of me waited a bunch of men who, i f they guessed who I was, would kill me quick. Up ahea d waited death, and I rode alone into a lonely land fro m which no officer of the law had ever returned alive, an d where Ash Milo, the man I sought, was king.

  Every footfall might be taking me closer and closer t o my death. Yet each took me closer to Liza, and closer t o the solution of my problem. And after this, if I lived, I w ould be free.

  It was sundown before we made a turn, and by the n the cliffs had turned red and gold with the setting sun.

  Tall spires like church steeples loomed ahead. The cliffs , in those last minutes before darkness filled the canyon , closed in and grew higher, until we were like ants walkin g between those gigantic walls.

  In the bottom of the canyon it got dark mighty quick.

  "Many in there?" I asked Red struck a match and lit a smoke. "Couple dozen a t headquarters."

  "Know a gent named Ruskin?"

  Bronc looked around at me. This was a feeler I wa s putting out, wanting to get a line on Ash Milo withou t bringing up his name. Ruskin was safe, because if rumors i were right he was the man Milo had trouble with. Also , according to the handbills, Ruskin was from the Nation.

  "Friend o' yours?"

  "Not him. . . . Well, we had trouble. Come near a shoot-out. I was just figurin' I'd best watch myself if h e was around."

  "He was," Red said. "But he ain't."

  Leslie spoke up, real satisfied-like. "He's dead. He mad e a play for the girl Ash Milo likes, an' Milo up and kille d him."

  "Ruskin was s'posed to be bad."

  "Hell!" Leslie spat. "None of them are bad compare d to the boss. I never seen a man
in the world could slin g a gun with him!"

  From another gunman, this was high praise, and me, I f igured I'd best start looking at my hole card. Only i t might already be too late. If this Milo was as good as the y said, I might not stand a chance. But I didn't believ e that. Not many gun fighters will believe they don't stan d a chance.

  For the next hour of riding I heard a lot about As h Milo. Bronc Leslie, who had few enthusiasms, had one.

  It was Milo.

  "He's too touchy for my taste," Red said. "A man ha s to walk on his toes around him. I never seen a man gra b iron so quick, over nothin'."

  This Leslie did not deny. "He's touchy, all right," h e admitted. "And maybe he shoots too quick. Someday he'l l kill the wrong man."

  I'd heard that before. That was what Logan Pollar d advised me against. He used to talk to me of that, eve n while telling me I was good. "You're fast, kid," he'd say , "one of the fastest I ever saw, but watch it. You'll shoo t too quick and get the wrong man someday.

  "Gunmen," he said, "get worse as they get older. The y get to figuring everybody is after them. A man has to qui t before he gets to that point. That's why I quit. That's why I'm lucky to have Mary."

  Neither of them said anything more about Ash Milo's girl, and I didn't want to ask questions. Only, if I wa s to find out, now was the time. Turning into the narro w canyon back of a plateau, I took a chance and commented , "Hell of a place for a woman! How'd he ever get on e to come back here?"

  "Him?" Red chuckled. "He's a mighty handsome man , and he's got a slick tongue with the ladies. She com e willin', I guess, only he watches her mighty close, s o I reckon she'd leave if she had her chance."

  Leslie spat. "Too slim for my taste," he said. "I neve r could figure that in Ash. Nothin' between 'em either.

  He's tryin' to win her honest. Don't know why he fool s around like that."

  Red was just a black figure in darkness. "She's al l right," he said quietly. "A mighty fine girl. She sure fixe d me up that time after I got shot. Mighty gentle an' m ighty sweet."

  The high black wall of the canyon was split by a towering cleft, a narrow opening down which the wind gushe d like a strong flow of water. When I looked ahead, al l was darkness, with only the narrow strip of gray sky abov e us. This crack was mighty narrow, and, as I was to discover, mighty long.