Fiddlefoot

by Luke Short

  “You’ll go?”

  “Hell, I got to. Any man that would steal a sheriff’s horse to get him to look at something must mean it. He better mean it.”

  Frank told him then of what he had seen yesterday, from his early break from Saber through his meeting with Hugh to seeing the horses driven in at dusk and Albie’s threat to kill him and the subsequent fight. As he talked, the old Saber hands moved closer to listen, and Hannan paid him a close attention. When he was finished, Hannan looked at him searchingly.

  “Rhino is your partner, isn’t he?”

  “All right.”

  “What do you mean, ‘all right’?” Hannan said truculently. “For all I know, you’re in it together—if it’s true. Or you’ve fought—if it’s true—and you’re turning him up. Or he squeezed you out and you’re sore.”

  “One thing at a time, Buck,” Frank said patiently. “Get your proof, then you can take me with them if you want.”

  Hannan gave him a strange, wondering look before he said, “Lead off, then.”

  They saddled up, and Johnny Samuels took Hannan’s horse and went back for their mounts. Once they were assembled, Frank led off down the trail.

  He at least had Hannan’s presence, and he had the help of seven men, and now he would play it through any way he had to, just so long as Rhino and Nunnally were broken. After that, the rest of it would come and he would take his medicine. There was no use pretending to himself he didn’t mind, because he did. But that grinding fear, coupled with the bleak despair that had been riding him these weeks, was gone now. The worse that could or would happen was better than that, and he felt strangely cheerful.

  They came to the edge of the wild canyon country in early afternoon, and Frank reckoned they were north of the corral. There were no trails here, and he plunged into the first gully with nothing more than a vague feeling of the canyon’s location to guide him.

  It was steaming hot in these airless, wet, brush-choked washes, and at times it seemed that they were aimlessly floundering up one ridge and down another, but presently, after more than an hour of it, Frank came to a campsite from years past. It was so old that the stumps where they had cut wood were grayed over, but he knew now that over the next ridge, they would be in the wash that passed the corral. He reined up and passed the word back to Cass, who passed it on.

  He and Cass glanced at each other briefly then, and their glances fell away. There was only one way to prove to Cass, and the others, that he was not the renegade to Saber and himself they thought him, and that was by uncovering Rhino. Words were of no use now and he didn’t attempt them.

  Hannan came crashing through the brush then and reined up. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his face red and scratched by the brush. Frank told him where they were.

  “Think he’ll have some of the crew there?” Hannan asked.

  Frank shook his head in negation and told him his belief. The three riders who drove the stolen bunch yesterday were being followed reasonably close, else they would not have been so eager to get the tracks blotted immediately. Now that the horses were fenced tightly and had plenty of grass and water, and all tracks into the canyon rained out, Nunnally would keep his crew away from it until danger was past.

  Hannan accepted this without objection. He put his horse ahead of Frank and led off, climbing the next ridge, and slipping and skidding his horse down its far side into the wash. Turning down it, they presently came to the spread in the wash, and ahead of them Frank saw the canyon. But he could not see the fence, and for a moment his heart sank. And then he saw that Hugh’s crew had cut brush and stacked it in front of the fence to hide it.

  He dropped out of line now and rode over to the brush, and Hannan halted, watching him suspiciously. Frank leaned out of the saddle and yanked a section of the brush away, revealing the new-cut poles of the fence. The rough gate was wired shut, and he swung it open, and again Hannan led the way. A quarter-mile up the canyon, they rounded a bend and saw the first horses, and Frank relaxed in the saddle. Riding on, nobody said anything, and they came to a bigger bunch.

  These horses raised their heads and looked at them without curiosity, and went back to their grazing.

  “Recognize any brands?” Hannan asked.

  Frank rode among them and came back, and told Hannan there were two Utah brands he recognized. The others were new to him.

  Hannan sat in the saddle a long moment, looking at the horses, and then he remarked, “For all I know, Rhino may have the bill of sale for every horse in this canyon.”

  Cass Hardesty said dryly: “Don’t be so bullheaded, Buck. There’s that fence he tried to cover up. Take Frank’s word.”

  Hannan looked over at Cass. “I’ll ask you. What do you think his word is worth?”

  The gibe hit home, Frank saw. His word to Cass and the others hadn’t been worth anything. Hannan sat there lost in thought, while the others watched him, and Frank could guess what was going through his mind. Rhino and Nunnally were widely respected men; Frank Chess was known to be unreliable. A blunder here would be serious, and this was a time for caution. Frank guessed shrewdly that the proof Hannan demanded and which now lay before him set up a barrier to further action. The very size of the theft demanded careful collection of proof, and Hannan, a fair man, was capable of going back to town, disbanding this group, and begin his careful collection of that proof. The scales must be tipped so that Hannan would act now, Frank knew, and now he knew also he must gamble.

  “That’s a pretty serious charge against Rhino, isn’t it, Buck?”

  Hannan looked at him carefully. “They hang a man for stealing one horse.”

  “Then go back to town and think it over. Give him time to alter the brands and forge bills of sale, or even get rid of the horses. You can still go at him from another direction.” Frank’s tone was dry, thrusting, purposely so.

  Hannan’s temper rose like a flag. “What direction?”

  “Why, he murdered Rob.”

  The statement fell like a stone dropped into a pool. There was a ripple of movement among these men, looks exchanged between them, and afterward utter silence. Hannan’s level gaze never left Frank’s face, and there was a long and unbroken silence.

  Frank said then with a wicked sarcasm: “Write him a letter, Buck. Then you won’t have to see him.”

  It didn’t work. Hannan said quietly, “What are you tryin’ to make me do?”

  “Move,” Frank said sharply. “Rhino’s at Saber. So’s Hugh. Go in and brace them. If I’m lying, you can still hang me.” Without another word, Hannan pulled his horse around and started down canyon. At its mouth and through the fence, he said to Frank, “Get us out of here.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Saber.”

  Chapter 20

  FULL DARKNESS caught them still in the crescent meadows above Saber. Hannan talked of many things, and not once did he mention Rob. But Frank knew the accounting would come at Saber, and that Hannan would be merciless with him. Hannan wanted to know the habits of the crew there at this time of the evening, and Frank couldn’t tell him. However, they agreed it seemed reasonable that if Rhino was there, he and Hugh would be in the big house, away from the crew in the bunkhouse.

  Accordingly, Hannan made his careful disposition of the men. If there was a light in the office, they would skirt the wagon shed and place themselves between the bunkhouse and the house. He and Frank would tackle Rhino and Hugh in the office. Nobody was to disturb them, nobody was to leave.

  Afterward, they were silent. The jingle of the bridle chains and the stretching creak of saddle leather was a pleasant sound in the night, and Frank found himself speculating, without caring much, what the next hour would bring. Hannan was here; Hannan would see it all and hear it all, and that was the important thing. Last night in Jonas’ room, after he knew he was going to kill Rhino, he saw that any way he reasoned it, Hannan must be there to see it and hear it. And he had seen some of it already, the stolen h
orses and the scene of his fight with Albie.

  The lights of Saber showed now, and Frank watched the house until the dim glow of the office window was visible. On the damp turf, their horses made little sound. Skirting the wagon shed, one of the horses blundered into a discarded grindstone, and raised a racket, but nobody appeared immediately in the bunkhouse doorway.

  The sound of the horses, however, as they cut between the bunkhouse and the house, brought a couple of hands to the bunkhouse door.

  Hannan called to them, “Take it easy, boys. Just stay there.”

  Frank was watching the office door as he dismounted. Now it opened and Hugh Nunnally’s broad figure was framed in it. He put a shoulder against the door frame and called pleasantly, “Who is it?”

  “Buck, Hugh,” Hannan answered.

  Frank fell in beside him and they tramped over to the doorway. Inside, Frank saw Rhino tilted back in Jess Irby’s chair, fingers laced across the top of his white hair.

  When Hugh saw Frank, he straightened slowly. The light was behind Hugh, so that Frank could not see his face. Frank said, “Hello, Hugh,” in a mild, dry voice.

  Hugh turned then and said over his shoulder to Rhino, “Buck picked him up, Rhino.” He stepped aside then, and said, “Come in.”

  Buck went in first. As Frank passed Hugh, he saw the hard uncertainty in Hugh’s eyes, and Hugh reached out to lift the gun from his holster.

  Frank wheeled away from him into the room, and said, “Hunhunh.”

  Hugh glanced protestingly at Buck. “He’s packin’ a gun, Buck.”

  “What of it? I’ve got a bunch out here,” Hannan said. Hannan was shrewdly playing up to the lead Hugh had given him, Frank saw. Buck walked over to the leather sofa and sat down.

  Rhino had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. He waved it idly at Buck in greeting and then looked at Frank. There was no concern in Rhino’s eyes.

  “What I’d like to know is what happened?” Hannan said. He was fishing for information, Frank saw, with a bland gall. Nunnally closed the door and drifted across the room to the edge of the desk. A wary alertness was in his eyes, and Frank knew he was wondering what was shaping up.

  Rhino took the toothpick from his mouth. “He killed Albie. Frank shot at him last week, when they were drivin’ a bunch of horses over to Crawford. When Albie saw him yesterday, he called Frank on it. Frank shot him. Albie didn’t have a gun, so he didn’t have a chance.”

  “Where was this?”

  Rhino tilted his head. “In the bunkhouse.”

  That was the first lie, and Frank saw Hannan’s jaw set a little. Hannan said, “He says he shot him up by the Elk Creek corral.”

  “Why does he want to lie about it?” Rhino asked wonderingly.

  “He didn’t. I saw where they scuffled. There was still some blood there under the leaves.”

  Frank saw Nunnally’s back straighten. Hannan at the Elk Creek corral was trouble.

  Nunnally’s tone was lazy and not even curious as he asked now, “What were you doing up there, Frank?”

  “Watching a bunch of horses come in from over the peaks.”

  The warning in Nunnally’s eyes was hard and instantaneous. “Lister’s bunch from the lot,” he murmured.

  “Another bunch,” Frank said gently. “Lister’s bunch went up to cover their tracks.”

  Rhino asked mildly, “What are you trying to say, Frank?” and Frank’s gaze shifted to him. Rhino’s face was bland and untroubled, but Frank saw the faint perspiration beginning to bead his forehead and he knew he had him.

  “That three riders—I think they’re in the bunkhouse now— drove a bunch of horses off the peaks, through the meadow, and back to the corral Hugh and your crew were finishing. That Lister used your horses from the lot to cover their tracks.”

  “Rot,” Rhino snorted.

  “I saw them,” Hannan said calmly.

  There was a thin and tenuous silence for a few seconds, and Frank pushed away from the wall. Now he said wickedly, looking at Rhino: “I’ve already told Carrie about the uniform, Rhino. She doesn’t care. Now tell Hannan about Rob.”

  Ponderously, Rhino tilted forward in his swivel chair, his body coming between Frank and Nunnally. And Hugh, seeing he was protected, reached down with his right hand, palmed open the corridor door, and lunged through it into the corridor.

  Frank’s gun came up and he drove for the door Rhino’s chair was blocking. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Hannan’s gun come out. He crashed into Rhino, knocking him back in the chair, and the drive of his body and Rhino’s weight sent the chair over backwards. The impact of Rhino’s fall shook the room. The lamp on the desk tilted, fell, and went out.

  Wrenching the door open, Frank heard Hannan’s still mild voice say, “Get him, boy,” and he plunged through the door, a wicked elation in him. Hugh’s gun bellowed from the living room, and Frank heard the slug hit the wall behind him. Nunnally had been waiting there with drawn gun for the first fool to follow him and be framed in the lamplight. Only Rhino’s fall had tipped the lamp.

  Frank crouched and moved cautiously ahead, and now he called, “Careful of that sofa, Hugh.”

  But Nunnally was not to be baited into speaking if he was in the room. Now an unholy racket of shots came from outside, as the crew in the bunkhouse, hearing Hugh’s shot, opened up. Strangely, as Frank waited there, trying to hear Hugh’s movements, he heard the low, conversational voices of Rhino and Hannan talking.

  He inched ahead now into the room and knelt, listening. Not a sound. Nunnally was waiting somewhere in the house, the same as he was, for a sound to shoot at. He opened his mouth and breathed through it and was utterly still listening. This was a fool’s game, he knew beyond thought. Nunnally was in another room already, but the house was surrounded, and he would fight till he was killed. Why follow him? He had moved upstairs, or to another room, and there were a thousand places he could hide, waiting to put a bullet into whoever followed him.

  But a hot and stubborn anger held Frank where he was. Nunnally was his, and his alone, and he would not turn back.

  And then the thought came to him, What if he doesn’t know the house? Hugh had been here only a few days, and he’d been grimly busy. He wouldn’t care enough about the house to look at it. Then if he didn’t know the house, and the placement of the furniture, he would be too wise to blunder around in the dark. Then he’ll be here, in this room, Frank thought. A faint chill touched his back when he considered that.

  The firing outside continued. Here, there was an unrelieved blackness that seemed to breathe all around him. He knew now that he had to move, to end this tension that was building here. Remembering the room now, he took a quiet step to his left and then felt slowly with his hand. It touched a table. Gently, gently, he moved it, and presently his hand touched the lamp. He stopped, remembering this lamp. It was the plain one, not the one with the glass-bead fringe.

  He grasped it firmly around the base and waited. It was silent outside. He wanted the sound of gunfire to cover what he would do next.

  Suddenly, there was a crash of gunfire just outside the room. Frank lifted the lamp and silently heaved it across the room now. Its crash against the far wall was hard and brittle and startling. Instantaneously, only five feet to his right, Hugh’s gun opened up in the direction of the lamp’s crash. Frank pivoted and shot three times, waist-high, pulling his gun in a tight arc.

  And then he moved forward swiftly.

  He crashed into Hugh’s body, which was turned to him. Frank slashed out with his gun, raking it across Hugh’s face, and he heard the grunt, and Hugh’s arm came down across his shoulder like an axe. Then there was a deafening roar behind him, as Hugh’s gun went off in his hand.

  Frank rolled away from the arm and drove his left hand into Hugh’s midriff, as he was brought up abruptly by the wall. His fist smacked solidly in Hugh’s belly, and then skidded wetly off. Frank raised his gun and hacked down savagely at Hugh’s head, but his gun met nothin
g, and he was carried off balance.

  And then the thudding crash of Hugh falling on the floor followed. Frank fell into a tangle of legs and he clawed up onto Hugh’s body, slashing again with his gun. But Nunnally did not move under him. Frank rolled away and waited. He heard a thin sigh, and that was all.

  Now he rose, fumbling for a match with his left hand in his shirt pocket while he held his gun ready with the other hand. His hand was set. Cautiously, he circled around Hugh’s head and wiped the match alight on the wall.

  There at his feet, lying on his back, with open eyes and arms outstretched, was Nunnally. A great ragged gash angled down his face. The whole front of his shirt was stained with blood. Slowly, Frank raised his own left hand and saw the blood on his fist, and he knew that Nunnally had been dead on his feet when he hit him.

  The match died, and he moved around Hugh and felt his way into the corridor. A wavering light showed under the door, and when Frank palmed it open he saw Hannan kneeling in the outside doorway, holding a match. There, lying on the steps, one tremendous leg in the room, was Rhino. He was face down.

  Frank walked across the room and Hannan rose. There were two bullet holes in Rhino’s back, and the stains from them had merged to soak his shirt.

  Hannan looked at Frank blankly. ‘The damn fool ran. I had a gun on him, and he tried to break.”

  “So you’ll never know about Rob?” Frank said bitterly.

  “Why, he told me all about it,” Hannan said wonderingly. “Faraday did it and Rhino paid him. That’s why I thought he’d quit. I thought he’d given up.” He looked down at the massive, still form of the gray-haired man at his feet. The firing at the bunkhouse had ceased, and it was quiet now, and still Hannan looked at Rhino. “You know,” he said then, I’m a sucker. That’s just what Rhino wanted me to do.”