by Ray Hogan
“They were so happy then,” Roxie mused. “I only wish Mother could have lived long enough to see the ranch the way it was when my father first brought us here. She would have been so proud of him … all he had done, buying this place, building it up …”
Lockett looked off toward the lowering sun. The family wouldn’t be so proud of Charley Raker, who also called himself Pete Dillard, if they knew the truth. His glance shifted to Clint, moved on to touch briefly the girl. Suddenly he was at a loss, facing a crossroads, uncertain of what to do. He couldn’t very well state his claim on the ranch. That would call for a full explanation to Roxie and he didn’t have it in him to destroy the one thing that she had left in life—a strong pride and belief in her father. And there was no taking back the things he’d done for the Rakers. Like words spoken, they were beyond recall. But he could call it quits right here and now; he could forget Roxie and Clint, and the dead Renzo Clark, and ride on. He’d already done enough for the children of the man who’d cheated him—too much, in fact.
From the tail of his eye he saw the girl bend down, pick up a flowered scarf, wrap it carefully about the tintype, and lay it back in the trunk. Methodically she then began to retrieve other articles, restore them to the domed, metal-bound box. Lockett stood silently, caught between two fires, unsure of himself and of his own mind. If he rode on, the Rakers would be at the mercy of John Grosinger—and if Roxie pursued her determination to resist, death would be the result. The rancher had undoubtedly played his last card insofar as being patient was concerned. His men had rendered them homeless and to him they would have but one recourse—give in, take what pittance he elected to give them for the property, and move on. That would be the sensible thing for them to do, take what they could get and run. Returning to Indiana, or wherever it was they had come from, was only logical. There they could resume the sort of life they were accustomed to and probably preferred despite Roxie’s declaration to hang onto the ranch at all costs. He doubted she really knew what that sort of a statement actually meant, doubted, too, that she had what it took to fight, or kill a man when it became necessary.
Dade shook off his thoughts, vaguely irritated at himself and the position he was finding himself in. What the hell was he letting himself get all worked up for? It was Dillard’s kids’ problem—let them handle it. Let them get out of it the best way they could.
“What is it, Dade?”
At Roxie’s voice he glanced up. She was watching him closely, a puzzled look in her eyes. Again he considered telling her the truth about her father, of his connection with him—and again he turned from doing so.
“Is it something about me … something that I ought to know?”
“Reckon it is. I’ve been running all this through my head and I figure you and your brother’d be better off if you’d take Grosinger’s offer and pull out … go back where you come from.”
Roxie’s features stiffened. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly.
“You’re going to get hurt … hurt bad.”
“It’s possible, but I’m not afraid, not any more. Does this mean you’ll be riding on?”
He gave that thought. Perhaps, if she believed that he was, that he would not be there to help, she would change her mind and do what was best. “That’s what I was aiming to do.”
The girl’s shoulders stirred slightly. “I’d hoped that we …” she began, and abruptly broke off, lowered her eyes. In the last rays of golden sunlight her hair took on a reddish-brown glow. “I see.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Lockett said, and paused as the drum of running horses sounded in the late hush. He wheeled, tense, alarm rushing through him as he glanced toward the gate. The tautness faded. Two riders. Ed Cushman and one of his hired hands.
XV
The rancher rode into the yard, aghast at the havoc the night riders had visited upon the Rakers. Halting in front of Roxie and Lockett, he dismounted.
“Them raiders again?”
The girl nodded dispiritedly. “This time they killed Renzo. And Clint’s badly injured.”
Cushman wagged his head. “It’s a damned shame. Something sure ought to be done about it,” he said, and turned to look at Clint, now sitting up. “You feeling better, boy?”
“Guess so,” Raker replied woodenly.
“What you’re needing is a doctor, and some good caring for in a decent house,” the rancher continued. He hesitated, stroked his chin thoughtfully, and turned to Roxie. “Have you made any plans for what you’ll be doing now … after this?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture at the blackened ruins of the ranch buildings. “Sure ain’t nothing left here worth staying around for.”
“It’s all we have,” Roxie murmured.
“I know, but it’s worth nothing now … and you can’t stay here. Best you and Clint come over to my place where you’ll be comfortable. Then we can talk about what you ought to do.”
“I know what I’m going to do,” the girl said.
Cushman frowned. “That so? What?”
“Rebuild the ranch, keep it going.”
“The hell you say!” Cushman said explosively. He brushed his hat to the back of his head, scratched at his red hair, and glared at Lockett. “This some of your doings, putting an idea like that in her mind?”
“No, it happens he’s against it, too,” Roxie said before Dade could reply.
“It’s only good, common sense, girl,” the rancher declared, recovering himself. “How can you even think about doing something like that? Place’s been burned to the ground … and you’re flat broke. I meant to say earlier I was sorry your deal with Bern Pogue fell through.”
Lockett came slowly to attention. How did Cushman know that Pogue intended to back out on his promise to purchase the Raker cattle? How could he unless he had been the one to put pressure on Pogue? He saw Roxie give him a frowning glance. He shook his head. Facing the rancher, he asked quietly: “What makes you think he did?”
Cushman’s features were a blank. “Well, that’s what he did, didn’t he?”
“Nope, not at all,” Dade said coolly, and then added: “Pogue crossed you, Cushman.”
The rancher drew himself up, flung a side glance at the rider, a lean, wiry man with close-set eyes, who was standing with the two horses. “You’re talking loco, mister. I don’t know what you mean.”
“The hell you don’t,” Lockett snarled, gambling on being right in what had quickly taken shape in his mind. “It’s been you behind the trouble the Rakers have had all along.”
“Now just you hold on there.”
“It’s you wanting the place … not John Grosinger. Laying the blame on him was just a way to cover your tracks.”
“That’s a lie! I’ve been the only friend these folks’ve had in this whole valley. It’s been me trying to help.”
“Been you offering, you mean,” Dade corrected. “From what I hear the only thing you ever parted with was a lot of talk.”
Cushman’s ruddy face darkened. He glanced once more at the man he’d brought with him. Lockett gave the rider a look, also, one that was swift, complete, and calculating, and then let his arms sink, hang loosely at his sides.
“That what you think, girl?” Cushman demanded, shifting his attention to Roxie.
The soft contour of her face had hardened, seemingly freezing the beauty there rather than destroying it. A directness had come into her eyes. “Yes, every bit of it,” she said in a firm, solid voice. “I can see now that all this time you haven’t been helping us, you’ve just been making it sound that way while all the time you were gnawing away at us … at Clint and me, like … like some kind of animal, doing everything you could to pull us down, put us where we’d have to sell out to you.”
Dade felt a current of pride sweep through him. Roxie was far more a woman than he’d thought. She was standing up to Cushman, man to man, and, h
e suspected, were he not there, she’d still do it.
“I’m not denying I offered to buy you out.”
“Those night riders … are you going to deny they work for you?” she pressed.
Cushman shook his head impatiently. “I don’t know nothing about them.”
“I’ll bet you don’t,” Lockett cut in. “Same as you don’t know who it was that bushwhacked Charley Raker.”
It was a shot in the dark, Dade gambling again on what he didn’t actually know but suspected.
The rancher’s eyes flared. “You can’t prove …!” he shouted, and then, realizing the words were little less than an admission, broke off. He stared at Lockett for a long moment, whirled suddenly to face the rider behind him. “Shut him up, Abe!”
The gunman’s arm moved slightly. Anticipating it, Lockett rocked to one side, drew, triggered a shot. Abe’s weapon blasted in almost the identical fraction of time.
Roxie jumped at the deafening sound of the dual explosions. She spun to Lockett, naked fear tearing at her features. A half dozen paces beyond her, Clint had again come to a sitting position, and was looking on in a dazed sort of way. The girl’s voice was anxious, filled with dread. “Oh, Dade … are you …?”
Lockett, poised, eyes on Cushman, waved her back. The rancher was wearing a pistol, but he seemed of no mind to use it. Instead, he was looking down at Abe, sprawled full length in the dust, as if unable to believe the gunman had failed. “He’s dead, Cushman.”
The rancher pivoted slowly, carefully, keeping his hands well away from the weapon hanging at his hip. “I can see that,” he said harshly. “And if this is the way you want it …”
“It’s the way we want it,” Lockett echoed scornfully. “It’s the way you’ve made it. First Charley Raker, then Renzo Clark laying over there under that blanket. It was only luck that Clint’s not beside him. And a couple of days ago you tried your best to add me to the list.”
“You’ll make it,” Cushman said in a tight, promising voice. “Every damned one of you.”
“No point in waiting,” Locket said softly. “Might as well get it done now.”
The rancher shook his head, forced a half grin. “No, you ain’t suckering me into a shoot-out. That’s what I hire men like Abe for.” Still facing Dade, he backed slowly to his horse, thrust a foot into a stirrup, and swung onto the saddle, doing it all in careful, deliberate moves. “I’ll handle this my way.”
“Seems your way’s caught up with you,” Lockett said dryly. “Best thing you can do now is back off, forget about the Raker place.”
“Nope, not about to.” The rancher looked directly at Roxie. “This here’s your last chance, girl. Load up what you’re wanting to keep and go into town. I’ll meet you there, pay you what I figure the place is worth … cattle and all.”
“The answer’s still no.”
Cushman nodded briskly. “All right, it’s you who’s called the turn,” he said, spurring his horse about. “I’ll be back.”
“Come ready to die,” Roxie said coldly.
XVI
Lockett studied the girl, a mixture of surprise and admiration again running through him. The words she had spoken to Cushman had been hard-edged and to the point; they seemed unlikely to have come from her, yet they had. The flat warning had startled the rancher, too; he had paused in his departure, given her a puzzled, wondering look, and then ridden on, Abe’s riderless horse trotting along in his wake. She came around slowly, features still set, lips in a firm, straight line. Her eyes touched Dade Lockett briefly, moved on to halt upon her brother, sitting up on his pallet and watching her. She crossed to him at once.
“Did you hear it all, Clint? It wasn’t Grosinger who’s been hounding us but Ed Cushman!”
Raker stirred. “He was our friend …”
“That’s what we thought but he’s been against us all the time. He’s gone to get his night riders. Intends to drive us off our land … kill us if he has to.”
Clint nodded woodenly. “It’s all right. I’m not afraid to die … not any more.”
Dade looked more closely at the boy. He evidently had shaken off the stupor induced by the beating he had taken, and was now thinking normally.
Roxie kneeled before him. “I told Cushman we wouldn’t leave, that we’d fight, but for your sake we can …”
“We’re staying here,” Clint said. “We can’t leave, you know that. Once we’re off the place, Cushman and his bunch will take over and we’ll never root them out.”
The girl lowered her head. “I guess I’ve been wrong about you. I wasn’t sure the ranch mattered enough to you to really fight for it.”
“Maybe it didn’t before. Things are different now.” Clint shifted about on the pallet, seeking comfort. “I’m not going to be a help to you, but I won’t be a hindrance, either,” he said, and lay back. “I need a gun. If you’ll hand me that belt and pistol of Abe’s …”
Lockett stepped over to the dead gunman, procured the desired items, and carried them to Raker. Roxie was considering her brother carefully, realizing as Lockett did, that he was far from strong enough to be of much aid to her.
“Obliged,” Clint said to Lockett in a worn voice. “Got to do my part. Can’t let Roxie face Cushman alone.”
“She won’t,” Dade said.
The girl wheeled slowly to Lockett. She was frowning, and there was doubt in her eyes. “You don’t have to stay. We’ll manage.”
“Happens I want to,” he replied. “Maybe you’re forgetting I’ve got a score to settle with Cushman, too. I thought it was Grosinger and was about to take it up with him, but it turns out I was climbing the wrong tree.”
Roxie smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
“No need. The way it is we’re sort of lined up on the same side against the same man. Only one thing I want to ask … you sure you want it this way?”
“Meaning what?”
“Clint ought to be getting to a doctor. We’ve got three horses. I could head for town …”
“No!” Raker said with unexpected vehemence. “I won’t stand for that. If we leave … we lose everything.”
Dade waited for Roxie to reply. She was looking out across the valley, her features intent. He wondered if she realized just how slim their chances of surviving the oncoming raid by Cushman and his hired guns really were.
“That would be best,” she said finally, her voice pitched low. “But I’m wondering if he could stand the trip.”
“It would be a hard one for sure. Maybe we could bring the doc here.”
“Just what I was thinking, and that’s what we’ll plan. After it’s all over and if we’re still here and able, I’ll ride in and get Doctor Hale. If we’re not … well, it won’t matter. I know Clint would agree to that.”
“Fine … it’s settled,” Lockett said, and glanced to the west. “Not much daylight left. We’ve got to get ready and be waiting for them.”
“You think they’ll come before morning?” Roxie asked, her attention again on Clint. He appeared to be sleeping.
“My guess is they won’t, but we’ll play it smart, get set anyway. We need to fix us up a kind of a fort,” he said, looking about.
“Not much left to use,” Roxie said in a rueful voice. “They burned ’most everything.”
“Saw some strips of tin back there in the yard.”
“They’re from the roof of the feed shed. We were having trouble keeping it dry inside.”
“We can use them. I’ll scout around to see what else I can scrape up.” Dade paused, then added: “Right here’ll be as good a place as any to make a stand. Puts what’s left of the house to our backs. You and Clint eat today?”
Roxie shrugged. “Just never thought about it.”
“Then you ought to throw something together now while there’s time. We’ll be needing it later.”
The girl’s shoulders twitched indifferently, but she turned, began to paw about in one of the boxes that contained odds and ends of food. Lockett circled the still smoking remainder of the main building to the area where the barn and sheds had been located. Seeking out the two sheets of thick, corrugated roofing, blackened by the flames but otherwise serviceable, he dragged them to the front yard. He remembered Abe at that moment and, crossing to where the body lay, transferred it to the edge of the hardpan where it would not be in the way. Turning then to Renzo Clark, he carried the old cowhand over and placed him beside the gunman, covering them both with the same blanket. Burial would have to wait until the following day.
Backtracking to the charred square of the barn, Dade hunted about in its remains, searching for anything that could be of use in building the fortification they must have. He managed to turn up several partly burned timbers, a section of a wagon bed and another strip of metal roofing, shorter than the two he had but equally useful. He lugged them all through the now full darkness to the chosen site, began to assemble them into a small square. While he worked he was aware of Roxie moving about a small fire that she’d built and of the good smell of frying meat and simmering coffee being prepared for a meal. At once it aroused the hunger within him, reminded him he’d gone for some time without food, and when she called to him, he abandoned his labor at once.
“There’s not much,” she said, taking a plate of her preparations and a cup of coffee to Clint. “Most of our supplies were left in the house.”
