The young people were back at the Tressalt house in five minutes, happy to have a bowl of stew, and relating their adventures to their startled parents.
“What next?” Gary muttered, disgust in his voice.
Martin shook his head and looked at Gary. “You’ll be busy this afternoon, patching up the wounded.”
“If nothing else happens.”
Janet answered the phone and listened for a moment, her face tightening. “Yes, right away.” She hung up. “That was Audie Meadows, Gary. There’s been a murder up on the north range of the Bar-S. He said he’d pick you and Martin up in five minutes.”
* * *
“I still can’t figure what got into Alicia today,” Gary said, as they rolled toward the murder site in the sheriff’s department’s four-wheel drive Blazer. Audie drove, Gary in the front seat, Martin in the back.
“I have no idea. But that was the greasiest tone of voice I’ve heard from her in a while. At least since yesterday,” he added.
Audie kept his mouth shut and concentrated on his driving. Half the town knew what was going on with Alicia, but he sure wasn’t going to be the one to inform the husband.
“You two getting along all right?” Gary asked.
“No. I thought we were, but lately it’s been a silent war zone around the house.” Martin abruptly changed the subject. “Audie, do you know anything about this Red person?”
The deputy was glad for the switch. “Yes, sir. He’s a good hand, but a sorry person.”
“You want to elaborate on that?”
“Yes, sir. Red is, was, not a very nice person. One of those mean types that Lyle and Jim like to have around them all the time. A bully. Always picking fights with people. He was a cruel man—cruel to animals and to people. I just can’t think of anything good to say about him. Most of the hands that Lyle and Jim hire are like that; same with Cameron and Clark. The only saloon that’ll have them is one up in South Dakota. They’ve been barred from every joint in this county. They respect force, and that’s it. Red will not be missed,” Audie summed up the short eulogy for the dear departed Red, then added, “I don’t even know the son of a bitch’s last name.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a couple of run-ins with him,” Martin said, unable to hide his smile. Audie was not a man known for keeping his feelings under a bucket.
“Yes, sir. Exactly two. Last time I wore a slapjack out on his head. He had so many knots on his gourd when I got through with him he looked like a billy goat. I told him if I ever found him in Holland again, chances were real good that Miller over at the funeral home would be stuffin’ him. I guess he believed me. He never came back.”
“The man who reported the incident?” Martin asked.
“A cowboy name of Don Talbolt. He was pretty shook up. Don’s a nice guy, believe it or not. ’Bout my age. Got a good head on his shoulders. Don works for a year, saves his money, then goes back to school until his money runs out, then goes back to work. He’s got three years toward his degree at the university at Laramie.”
“What is he doing working for Lyle Steele?”
“I guess he needed a job. Steele does pay top wages.”
A few miles farther up the road, they pulled into the drive of a small farm and Audie waved to Don to climb in. “I’ll bring you back for your horse, Don.” He introduced him to Gary and Martin.
“I called Mr. Steele, Audie. I thought he had a right to know.”
“That’s all right. If he’s there ahead of us, tampering around with evidence, it’ll give me an excuse to put him in jail.”
Don glanced at Martin and smiled. “I figured you to have horns and a tail, Mr. Holland.”
Martin had to laugh. “Not only does the boss dislike me, but it appears that most of his hands don’t much care for me either.”
“You got that right, sir,” the young cowboy settled it. “But don’t include me in that bunch. I knew I made a mistake within a week of signing on with that outfit.”
They chatted for a few minutes and Martin formed an instant liking for the cowboy. His boots were worn and his shirt and jeans patched, but he was working and saving his money for an education. Martin made up his mind.
“What do you know about lumber, Don?”
“I spent a summer building houses. Roughing out and framing.”
“You want to get away from the Bar-S?”
“I sure do!” There was considerable feeling in the short sentence. “I just don’t like those fellows. There’s something, well, cruel about them. And I hate that kid of Steele’s.”
“You’re at the end of a long list, Don,” Audie told him.
Martin stuck out his hand and surprised, the cowboy took it. “You want a job working for me at my lumber yard? I guarantee you I’ll pay more than Lyle Steele.”
“But you don’t even know me, sir!”
“I make very quick judgments of people, Don. How about it?”
“You just hired yourself a hand, Mr. Holland.”
“Fine. There’s a couple of rooms behind the offices you can fix up and use. It’ll be good to have someone on the premises at night to look after the place.”
Don told them about the carnage at the cabin, ending with, “I can talk about it all day, but you won’t believe it until you see it. And I can truthfully say that I hope I never see anything like it again.”
Audie’s stomach did a slow rollover at the young cowboy’s depiction of the scene. All he had known prior to picking Don up was that there had been a murder.
“Like I said, Martin: you’re gonna have to see it to believe it.”
“How about tracks, Don?”
“None I picked up on. For sure no car or truck tracks. But to tell you all the truth, I really didn’t spend a whole lot of time concerning myself with tracks—except for the ones I made gettin’ away from that place.”
“Robbery?” Gary inquired.
Don shook his head. “I don’t think so. Some ... wild beast did this. But I sure don’t know what kind it might have been. Robbery? No, sir. My rifle and Red’s rifle were still on the pegs. And I’d bought a new hat to wear to the fair Thursday night. Saved my money for it. A brand new Stetson. It was still in the box, by my bunk, the box all blood-splattered. I don’t want it.”
Martin was the first to ask the question that he suspected was on the minds of them all. “Was Red making plans to go to the carnival, Don?”
Don glanced at him. “That’s an odd question, Mr. Holland. But it’s sort of funny that you would ask it. I did mention the carnival to him and he near took my head off. Told me not to ever mention nothing about no carnival to him again. Not ever again. Red was a surly man to begin with, but I thought I was gonna have to fight him that morning.”
“This might seem strange to you, Don,” Audie said, “but bear with me. How about the rest of the hands—the older hands? How did they feel about the carnival coming to Holland?”
“Well ... now that you mention it, that’s sort of funny, too. Most of the men are a lot older than me. Most of them in their late forties or early fifties. Just like it is at the Watson spread. Very few young hands. But there wasn’t any of them real happy about the carnival. Not that many would talk to me about it. I had to just sort of pick up on bits and pieces of conversation. I was the outsider at the ranch, if you know what I mean. I just did my job and kept to myself. I’m happy to get gone from that place, tell you the truth.”
* * *
They spotted the carrion birds when they were still miles from the line shack. The buzzards had already begun their slow death-circling. As they pulled up to the cabin, a few of the huge, grotesque-looking birds had begun to strut and wobble toward the house with the broken door and smashed windows and smell of death. One had his sharp eyes on the mangled and bloody leg outside the cabin.
The buzzards reluctantly flew off as the men shouted and waved their arms.
But they did not go far, rising ponderously into the air and resuming their slow ci
rcling high overhead, gliding effortlessly on the currents. They would wait, with the patience of a million years inbred.
Audie took one look inside and began taking pictures with his 35mm. He had instructed the others to stay back and don’t screw up any tracks that might have been left. Finally, he reappeared in the broken doorway and waved the men in.
Don chose to remain outside, by the Blazer; he’d seen enough of the inside of that cabin. He never wanted to look at it again.
Martin stayed by the door, looking in. He’d seen worse in ’Nam, and since he had not known the dead man, and probably wouldn’t have liked him had he known him—based on Audie’s summation of the man’s character—he could view the carnage with some degree of detachment. But still, it was not pleasant.
“Mr. Holland,” Don called, pointing. “Mr. Steele comin’ in.”
Martin stepped away from the door and walked to the Blazer, looking out over the vast emptiness of the grasslands. Lyle was hotrodding his fancy pickup, gunning it toward the cabin, several more trucks right behind him, coming up fast.
Audie stepped out of the cabin and his face was hard with anger. “That arrogant, dumb son of a—!” He stepped directly into the path of Lyle’s pickup. When the dust had settled, he said, “Now back the trucks up about five hundred feet, Steele, and stay with them. No telling what evidence you’ve ruined now.”
Lyle stepped out of his truck, grinning arrogantly, several of his hands with him, their hands balled into fists, ready for a fight.
“I told you they’d come a day, Meadows,” Lyle said. “And today is that day.”
“I don’t have time to chat with the likes of you, Steele. I’ve got a dead body in the cabin, I’m trying to reconstruct the scene, and as for you, get moving or I’ll arrest you for interference with an officer of the law.”
Steele stepped closer. “You don’t give orders on this land, Meadows.”
Martin reached inside the Blazer and came out with a sawed-off twelve gauge shotgun. He shucked a round into the chamber and things got real quiet, real quick.
Martin said, “I carried one of these often when I was in ’Nam—and used it. Take my word for it, boys: they make a real mess out of a man’s belly,”
The Bar-S hands, to a man, stopped dead in their tracks, and then slowly began backing up.
Lyle looked at the shotgun, then lifted his eyes to meet Martin’s steady gaze. “You a real hot-shot with a gun in your hands, ain’t you, Holland?”
Right then, at that moment, Martin reached the breaking point. The past few days had been confusing, frightening, and in most cases, unpleasant. As far as he was concerned, as illogical as it seemed—even though he was convinced it was true—everything that had been happening was due in no small part to Lyle Steele and his partner, Jim Watson. He laid the shotgun on the hood of the Blazer and walked over to Lyle.
When he came within swinging distance, Martin decked the man.
NINE
While a stunned and surprised Lyle Steele was flat on his back on the ground, Martin took off his sunglasses and watch and handed them to Audie, who was standing with his mouth open at the suddenness of Martin’s attack and his following calmness.
“This won’t take long,” Martin told him, then turned and clubbed Lyle on the side of the head just as the man was trying to get up.
Lyle hit the ground again. He shook his head, roared like an angry bull, and tried to grab Martin around the knees, to bring him down.
That move got him a knee in the face. Martin felt the man’s nose give under the impact and Lyle’s hands lose their grip from his legs.
Martin stepped back and gave the man an opportunity to get to his boots, and that was not something that Martin was noted for doing. But he wanted to whip the man at his own game. It was intensely personal and a bit on the childish side, he knew, but it was something he wanted. Martin’s hands were balled into big, flat-knuckled fists, held chest high, moving in tight little circles. He felt good. Felt the adrenaline surging within him. He was looking forward to this scrap.
But he was not so smug as to feel he would come out of it unscathed. Lyle was quick and tough, and Martin would have to be ready for anything.
While Martin had not done the type of heavy physical work that Lyle had done all his life, Martin nevertheless was in excellent shape for a man just over forty. His was a naturally heavy musculature, and he kept in shape by using the small gym he’d built in his basement and by running several miles every day, no matter what the weather. He had never backed down from a fight in his life.
And had lost few of them.
With blood leaking from his bent beak, Lyle charged Martin, both fists swinging. Martin took a hard pop to his belly and it stung. That was followed by a left to the side of his head and that hurt, too. Lyle could punch; give the man his due.
But so could Martin, who was taller and had a longer reach than Lyle, and he gave the man a combo—a left and a right to the head—just to remind him. Then he stepped in and planted a right fist to the man’s heart, staggering him. Martin stepped in closer and caught a fist on the jaw, snapping his head back and loosening a tooth for him. He spat out a glob of blood. Sensing premature victory, Lyle closed with him and Martin gave him a kick to the kneecap that brought a yelp of pain. Martin backhanded the man and stepped in, swinging.
The men stood close and slugged it out, both of them drawing blood from the other. Martin’s lip was cut and bleeding and there was a cut on his cheek—and his head hurt, as well—but for every punch Lyle landed, Martin landed two, always a punishing body blow followed by a blast to the head that jarred the rancher. The blows were telling on Steele. His eyes were closing and his face was battered and bruised and bleeding.
Martin tangled his shoes with the man’s boots and brought Lyle down to the dust. Martin clubbed him on the back of the neck as he went down, then stepped back, catching his breath and allowing the rancher to slowly get to his feet.
“I’ll kill you, Holland!” Lyle panted, as the blood leaked out of his mouth.
Martin laughed at him and taunted him. “You’ve done a piss-poor job of it so far, Steele.”
Lyle’s face darkened with hate and rage and he swung, leaving himself wide open. Martin stepped inside as he started his punch chest high, planting it directly on the side of the rancher’s jaw.
Lyle Steele hit the dirt and did not move.
Martin pointed a finger at the knot of hands, gathering around and staring in disbelief at their fallen boss. “I got a couple of more rounds left in me if anybody else wants to waltz.”
Audie stepped forward, as did Don and Gary, the doctor holding a broken axe handle in his hand.
“That’s it!” Dick Mason barked the orders. Dick was foreman of the Bar-S and not a man to trifle with. He looked at Martin and smiled faintly as his eyes twinkled with rough humor. “It’s over, Mr. Holland. The boss opened the dance and now he’s paid the caller. It’s over and done with.”
Martin let his fists fall to his side. He smiled at the foreman. “Deal.” He looked at the Bar-S hands. “Couple of you men take your boss back to the ranch. The rest of you scatter. Dick, stay for a moment, if you will please.”
The Bar-S hands, to a man, didn’t like Martin, but they did as he ordered, picking up Lyle—who was still unconscious—and carried him to his truck. Martin Holland might be a town fellow who wore a suit and tie, but he could sure fight. And by God, there wasn’t no backdown in him.
But all knew, including Martin, that this was by no means the end of it.
Dick Mason had come into this part of the country from up Montana way, and he came highly respected as a ranch foreman. He was married, with children, and was neither a hard drinker nor a womanizer. He simply did his job and did it well.
While Martin washed his face and neck and soaked his hands in a horse trough, Dick took a look inside the cabin and then walked to the outside of the tack room where Martin was waiting.
“You’re
a wahoo, Mr. Holland. But I figured that from the git-go.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s in the eyes, Mr. Holland ...”
“Call me Martin, please.”
“All right, Martin,” the foreman said easily. “It’s all in the eyes and the bearing of a man. Worst whippin’ I ever got, and it landed me in the hospital, was from a man a lot like you. Suit and tie and such. Every time you knocked Lyle down this day, it took a lot for you not to step up and kick his face in, didn’t it?”
“Sure did.”
“I thought as much; and I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, them ol’ boys that just left here, they won’t like you any better than they did before you whipped the boss, but they’ll walk light around you. Now then, what about all that mess in the line shack?”
“You don’t seem too torn-up about Red’s death.”
“Red was a ornery, no-good. Left up to me, I’d have fired him and about ninety percent of the other hands on the Bar-S first day. That answer your question?”
“For a fact,” He waved Dick to a wooden box and Martin sat down on the side of the trough. “Dick, you want to hear a rather bizarre story?”
“I’d rather hear a tale than have to fight you!”
* * *
Dick shifted around on the box and fished in his vest pocket for a cigarette. He lit up, then shoved his hat back on his head. “Martin, that’s the weirdest tale I believe I’ve ever heard in all my life.”
“I know. And I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you sat back and laughed in my face.”
The foreman sighed. “No ... I won’t do that. ‘Cause what you just told me makes some sense ... in a way. Ever since news of that carnival comin’ into town hit the ranch, tempers have been stretched tight, and the hands—the older ones—are behaving, well, funny.”
Carnival Page 12
