"No, I will not marry him. Even if you were not here, I would not. I've been tempted, I will admit, but he's a little insane, I think. He got too much money and too much power and it all came too easily. He believes he is better than other men because he has succeeded. But whatever you do, don't underrate him ... or Cub."
"You spoke of him as a fighter. You mean he will have his men fight?"
"No. I mean he will fight. He told me once in such a flat, ordinary voice that he could kill any man with his bare fists."
"I want no trouble with him. Only a few minutes' conversation."
"Shaw, his foreman, tells a story about King Bill killing a man with his fists in El Paso, and another on the ranch. These were men who challenged him personally."
"I must see him today, Nita. He must be convinced his best recourse is to leave us alone. He doesn't need our land, and none of us are thieves. We encroach upon him in no way."
"He won't talk to you, Lance. I know him. He has made a big thing of not being addressed by anyone to whom he does not speak first. He will just leave you to his bullyboys."
"He'll talk to me."
"Don't go over there, Lance. Please don't."
"Has he made trouble for you?"
"No. So far, he has listened to me and we have talked very quietly. None of the others have made trouble, either, largely because they know he is interested in me.
"There was an attempt at a holdup one night, but they may not have been his men. At least, nobody ever claimed them."
"What happened?"
"They didn't know about Jaime. I was counting the receipts for the week, when they came in with guns. Jaime had just stepped out for a minute and then he stepped back in. They were facing each other, both with guns in their hands, and one of them said, 'Looks like we tackled more'n we expected. All right if we back out now?' And Jaime said, 'No.'
"They didn't understand. It was a Mexican stand-off, and it seemed to them the best thing was just to back out. But you know Jaime, he just said 'No' and they stared at him and one said 'No?'. And Jaime shot them both.
"Since then there has been no trouble. But I have no illusions. If King Bill wants this place ... or me, he will stop at nothing. Or the minute he steps out of the picture, Cub will be there."
"Well"--he turned to go--"I must see him. I've got to make at least one attempt to stop this before it gets started. I can't bring Moffit back, but maybe I can save some others."
"And if you fail ... ?"
"I'll buckle on my guns and come to town."
He paused in the outer room to watch Price Dixon dealing cards, but his mind was not on the game. He was thinking of King Bill and how to approach him.
Hale fought to win. In this little corner of the West there was no law but that of the gun and what men chose to impose upon themselves. By and large, western pioneers wanted law and order and were law-abiding people, although there were always those who were lacking in self-discipline or were heedless of the rights of others. Hale would have been the last man to flout the law. In fact, he sincerely believed he was the law.
There were few trails in or out of the country, and Hale had always been careful to see that no potential troublemakers reached the area, or, if they came, did not long remain. Even what news left the valley depended much upon Hale. The echoes of the trouble to come might never reach beyond these hills.
Hale himself lived in a ranch house two miles from Cedar, a place referred to locally as the "Castle," and rode into town once each day for a brief stop at the Mecca and occasionally at the Crystal Palace. Trent decided the logical place to find him was the Mecca, as he did not wish to bring trouble to Nita by meeting him here.
Trent knew what Nita meant when she spoke of being lonely, for there had been few times in his life when he had not known the feeling. He had been born on the frontier in Dakota, but his father had been killed and he had lived with an uncle in New York and then with an aunt in Virginia. They had been kind, always, but he had been left much alone.
Trent walked out on the dark street. He led the buckskin to water, fed him some hay, then led him back to the hitching rail.
There were few people around, but the sounds of music came from both the Mecca and the Crystal Palace. Dan Cooper had left the store and was sitting on the steps outside. He watched Trent, then strolled over to where he was tying the buckskin.
"Ifn I was you, Trent," he said, "I'd fork that horse and light a shuck. You ain't among friends."
"Thanks, Cooper. I take that as a friendly tip, but I've got business. I don't want a war in Cedar, and I want to make one more attempt at stopping it."
"And if you don't?"
"Then I'll have to take steps."
Dan Cooper began to build a cigarette. "You sound all-fired sure of yourself. Who are you? What are you?"
"Like I said, old son, I'm a nester named Trent."
He turned to stroll off down the boardwalk, and as he did so, a small cavalcade of riders rode down the street from the Castle and drew up before the Mecca. Four men, and the big man on the bay would be Hale.
Hale got down and led the way through the bat-whig doors. Cub followed, while Ravitz tied Hale's horse. Dunn stood for a moment looking toward Trent, whom he could not quite make out in the gloom under the awning. Then he walked inside.
Chapter 5
Trent pushed open the doors and stepped into the now crowded saloon. Most of those present seemed to be Hale cowhands, but there were a few prospectors and miners coming from or going to the gold camps to the north. At the bar, King Bill was standing, his broad back turned to the room.
He was big. Perhaps an inch shorter than Trent's six feet and one inch, he was much the heavier of the two. He was broad and powerful, with a massive chest, his head a block set upon a muscular neck, his jaw broad and strong. He was a bull, and Trent, looking at him now, could well believe the stories of his killing men with his fists.
Beside him, in beautifully tanned and dressed white buckskin, was Cub Hale, and on the far side of Hale were Dunn and Ravitz.
Trent walked to the bar and ordered a drink. Dunn, hearing his voice, turned his head. As their eyes met, the glass slipped from Dunn's fingers and crashed on the edge of title bar.
"You seem nervous, Dunn," Trent suggested. "Let me buy you a drink."
"I'll be damned if I will!" Dunn said. "What d' you want here?"
Trent smiled. All the room was listening, attracted by the fall of the glass and Dunn's explosive question.
Of those present, some would be townspeople who might not have chosen sides."
"Why, I just thought I'd ride down and have a talk with King Bill." He spoke calmly but clearly, so that all might hear. "It seems there has been a lot of war talk, and somebody killed a harmless family man on his own doorstep the other day, killed him when he was unarmed and totally defenseless. It struck me that King Bill would want to know about it."
"Get out!" Dunn ordered, his hand hovering near his gun. "Get out or be carried out!"
"No use to reaching for that gun," Trent replied calmly. "As everybody can see, I am not heeled. And I am here to make peace talk with King Bill."
"I said get out!" Dunn replied.
Trent was still smiling when Dunn's hand suddenly dropped for his gun. Instantly Trent moved. His left hand dropped to block the gun hand, the right whipped up in a short, wicked arc and exploded on Dunn's chin.
The punch was short but perfectly timed, and it caught Dunn on the point of the chin. He started to drop, and Trent let go of the gun wrist and let him fall, but as he did so he slipped the gun from Dunn's holster and placed it on the bar.
Trent turned to Hale. "Sir, some of your men invaded our area and murdered Dick Moffit, then burned him out. They ran his young children into the woods, homeless and hungry, then hunted them to try killing them as well. Those same men warned me to move out. Now, I've heard you are a fair man, so I have come to you."
King Bill did not move or give any indica
tion that he heard. He looked at the whiskey in his glass, tasted it, and put it carefully back on the bar.
Cub Hale had moved away from him, poised and eager. "Hale," Trent said, "this is between you and me. Call off your dogs. I am talking to you and nobody else, and what is said here tonight will be repeated up and down the country. We want peace, but if we have to fight to keep our land, we will fight. If we fight, we will win. You are bucking the United States government now, Hale, as all our land has been properly filed on and we are proving up."
Cub was waiting. At a word from his father or even a gesture, he would draw. Trent was unarmed. He felt cold and tight, and knew that never had he been so close to death.
"What's the matter, Hale? Are you going to make a murderer of your son because you're too yellow to talk?"
Hale turned slowly. "Cub, stay out of this. I'll handle it."
Cub hesitated, alive with eagerness and disappointment.
"I said," Hale's tone was harsh, "get back and stay out of this."
He looked at Trent for the first time, his eyes cold and ugly. "As for you, you've squatted on my range. Now you're getting off, all of you. If you don't leave, you'll take what you've got coming, and-that's final."
"No, Hale, it is not final. We are filed legally, and we intend to stay. You made no claim on any of that land until we moved on it and started developments. If we don't get justice, we will have a United States marshal in here to find out why."
"Justice! You grangers will get all the justice you need from me! I've given you time to leave. Now, get!"
Trent stood his ground, yet his own anger was welling up within him. The unreasonableness of the man irked him. Ruthless as he might be, he might also be basically a square shooter.
"Hale," he said, "I've heard you're a fighting man. I'm calling you now. We fight, man to man, no holds barred, and if I win, you leave us alone, if you do, we leave."
King Bill turned, his fury swelling the veins in his neck. "You! You challenge me? You dare? You, a dirty-necked nester, a farmer? No! I bargain with no man. Move out or suffer the consequences."
"What's the matter, Bill! Are you afraid?"
For a long moment there was silence in the room, and then Hale unbuckled his gun belt. "All right, nester, you asked for it."
He swung suddenly, a vicious backhand. Expecting something of the kind, Trent sidestepped easily, and Hale nearly went off balance with his blow.
"What's the matter, Bill? I'm right here."
Hale moved in fast, swinging both fists. Trent met his rush with a left jab that split both his lips and showered him with blood. For an instant the larger man was stopped still by the shock of seeing his own blood. Then in a fury he closed in. Trent evaded the first blow, but a powerful right swing caught him alongside the head, and he staggered back on his heels. His blood staining his gray shirt, Hale closed in fast. He hit Trent again. Trent evaded another punch, more by good luck than skill, and closed with him, smashing away at Bale's body with both fists.
Throwing him off, Hale knocked him to the floor with a left. Trent rolled over and climbed to his feet, but was knocked down a second time, his head roaring with sound. As he rolled over to get up, somebody kicked him viciously in the ribs, and he caught a glimpse of Cub's malicious grin.
Hale rushed, swinging with both fists, but Trent went inside of a left and smashed a right to the heart. Hale grabbed him and threw him against the bar, then charged, swinging hard with both fists, knocking his head from side to side. Desperately Trent lunged to get away from the bar, but Hale pushed him back, measured him with a left, and started the right that was to finish it.
Trent whipped a wicked left to the wind that wrenched an agonized gasp from the bigger man, who missed with the right. Trent stabbed another left to the bleeding mouth, but Hale floored him again with a right. Trent lunged up as another kick was aimed at him. Hurt, gasping with pain, he clinched with Hale and hung on desperately, fighting to clear his head. Hale threw him off and swung a left that cut his cheek to the bone. Trent stabbed the left to the mouth again and followed it with a right to the ribs.
He ducked under a right and smashed Hale in the belly with another right, then hooked a left over Hale's shoulder to cut him over the eye.
Hale rushed at him, grabbing for his throat, and Trent felt himself falling backward. He fell, but as he did so he grasped Hale's upper arms, put a boot toe in his stomach, and as he fell he pitched the larger man over his head to the floor.
King Bill staggered up, visibly shaken. Trent staggered back against the bar, wiping the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand. Hale was hurt, and he was shaken. Perhaps in that moment the bigger man realized for the first time that he might be beaten.
Trent moved in swiftly. He lanced a left to the mouth, crossed a right to the chin, and as Dunn started to come in, Hale waved him back. He put up his hands, his face twisted with hatred and fear. He started forward, and Trent feinted; as the hands moved, he struck hard with his right and Hale staggered and almost fell.
They stood toe-to-toe then, and both began to swing, but the power had gone from Hale's blows. The hard years of work that lay behind Trent now were saving him; he was getting his second wind now, steadying down. His head buzzed with the blows that had left him groggy, but he knew now what he had to do. He feinted again and struck hard with left and right. He feinted again and then threw both fists to the midsection. Hale's knees buckled, and Trent threw hard to the chin. The big man was slammed against the bar by the force of the punch, and as Trent moved to face him, he caught a glimpse of Cub.
The younger man's face was twisted with shock and something like horror, but mingled with it was something else, a kind of evil delight in what was happening. Sickened, Trent stepped back and moved around.
Hale was game. He started forward, and Trent swung a hard right to the jaw. The big man started to buckle at the knees, and Trent hit him before he could fall.
He fell then, flat out on the saloon floor, and he lay still. Trent, looking down to see if he would try to get up, felt a pang. It was a hard, hard thing to be so long a winner and then to be beaten, and beaten thoroughly, and in front of all these others over whom he had lorded it.
Had he been anywhere but surrounded by enemies, Trent would have picked the man up and told him he was sorry.
In the moment of silence, a cool voice spoke out clearly. "Now, you all just hold to w'ar you're stand-in', because I ain't a-wantin' to kill nobody, but sure as I'm Quince Hatfield, this here rifle is aimed an' steady."
Nobody moved or spoke, for the intent of the rifle was plain enough, and from the door they could see another. How many more there might be, they did not attempt to guess.
In three steps Trent was across the room and out-of-doors into the night. The buckskin was waiting for him at the edge of the boardwalk with the Hatfield horses, and he swung to the saddle and with almost the same motion slipped his Winchester from the boot. With a quick shot he sent the chandelier crashing, and then they were gone. A mile out of town they slowed down and Quince came up alongside.
"I d'clare, Trent, when you all set out to start somethin', you surely don't fool around! You just busted things wide open."
Trent shrugged, and it hurt so much that he almost cried out. Every move he made, he discovered another sore spot. "I tried to talk peace, but he wouldn't listen. Then I thought a good licking might teach the townspeople that he wasn't all-powerful. We're going to need friends."
"The Parson will be some upset when he hears about this, and him not seein' it. He's said time and again that all Hale needed was a good whoppin'."
"It will take more than that," Trent said. "He was a tough man to whip, and when he's able, he'll find another way. He's got the men and the money, Quince. We've only got ourselves."
"Maybe that's all we'll need, that an' the good Lord's help."
Nothing had been solved by the fight, and no allies would have been gained. Still, there might be a few who wo
uld now be doubting the outcome.
Taking to the brush, they used every stratagem to ward off pursuit, although it was doubtful if any pursuit would be attempted in the darkness.
Three hours later they pulled up at the Hatfield cabin. A tall young man stepped out of the darkness to greet them.
"It's us, Saul," Jesse said, "an' you missed a scrap! Trent done whupped King Bill Hale with his fists. Whupped him good."
"Reckon Pa will be please' to hear that!" he said. "And I am, m'self. Whupped him, you say? Wow! That must have been some fight!"
"They all abed?"
"Sure. Lijah was on guard up until a few minutes ago, but knowin' him, he's dead to the world by now."
"O'Hara here?" Trent asked. His jaw felt stiff and sore, and he ached in every muscle and bone. Hale was a puncher, and he had landed more often than he missed.
"He's here. Him, Bartram, an' Smithers. Come mornin', Pa wants us all to get together and figure out what it's best to do."
"We will have to fight," Trent said. "There's no question of that now. Hale wouldn't talk peace."
"So you whupped him. Serves him right. Nobody up here wants a fight, but we're all ready for it. We'll do what has to be done."
"I've a blanket and my slicker. I'll bed down over against the brush after I've washed up."
When he had stabled the buckskin, he stripped off his shirt and bathed in the. water trough. The water came from a spring in the shoulder of rock and was piped into both the house and the horse trough, where a continual flow kept it fresh.
The cold water felt good on his swollen, battered face. One eye was swollen almost shut, and there was a nasty cut on his cheekbone that might need a couple of stitches. He would see about that in the morning. Ma Hatfield was good at such things, but young Bartram had worked with a doctor for over a year and had planned to practice before deciding to come west.
He carried his blanket and the slicker to a corner of the woods near the spring and rolled up. Yet it was a long time before he fell asleep. His hands were swollen from the battering they had taken in punching Hale, although he had gone to the body as much as possible.
the Mountain Valley War (1978) Page 4
