Novel 1966 - Kid Rodelo (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “You’re right. How do we know this gent ain’t a friend of Joe’s? You be careful.”

  As Jake went out she filled a cup, and took the cup and the coffee pot into the other room.

  Dan Rodelo was on his feet. She looked at him, seeing him in the light for the first time; she had not dared to notice him while Jake Andrews and Clint Wilson were near.

  He was tall, a wide-shouldered, easy-moving young man with a dark, lean face and high cheekbones. He was well dressed for a man just out of prison, so they must be clothes he had when he went in.

  “I’d better be findin’ a place to bed down myself,” Rodelo said.

  “So soon? The party is just beginning,” Nora said.

  “What party?”

  “The one we’re going to have.” She put the cup down in front of him, and placed the pot on the table. “I’ll get some more cups.” Turning, she saw the guitar on the shelf. “Do you play that, Sam?”

  “A mite…when I’m by myself. Dan here, he used to play almighty well. How about it, Dan?”

  “Not now,” said Rodelo.

  Outside in the street Clint had walked to the wagon and picked up a lantern, raised the globe, and struck a match to the wick. The first match went out, the second caught, and he lowered the globe in place.

  Jake came up to him. “Down that way, I’m thinkin’,” he said.

  They walked away together lifting the lantern to look at the houses on the other side of the street. Finally they saw the adobe they were looking for, the door standing a few inches ajar. Over the door was a horseshoe that had been nailed in place with the front of the shoe at the bottom, but the nails at the top had come out and the shoe had fallen so that the open part at the back of the shoe pointed toward the ground.

  Jake hesitated, not liking the looks of it. “Clint, look at that. The luck’s run out. When a shoe hangs that way the luck runs out the bottom.”

  “What do we care? It ain’t our ’dobe, so it ain’t our luck. No tellin’ what happened to the man who nailed that shoe up there.”

  “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe our luck has run out.”

  “Don’t be a damn fool.”

  Clint pushed by him and went into the room. It was a simple, whitewashed room with a fireplace, its only furniture a rough table, two chairs, and two bunks against the far wall. Clint found a chain hook hanging from the center beam and hung the lantern on it.

  “Now we’re alone with fifty thousand dollars.”

  “But where is it?”

  “That’s up to us. You can’t get more out of folks than they know…an adobe on this street with a horseshoe over the door.”

  “Women! First it was Harbin’s girl, and now this Paxton girl you insisted on bringin’ along.”

  “Leave Nora out of it. She’s decent.”

  “All right, she’s out of it. But now, where’s the gold?”

  Jake Andrews looked around the room, and studied the floor. Treasure is buried, as a rule, he knew. He examined the floor more carefully. It was pieced together of odds and ends of planks, only a few of which ran the full length of the floor, and none of them seemed in any way special. Obviously, the floor had been put in after the adobe had been built, and the pieces of board had been taken from older buildings.

  “He had to leave some mark,” Jake said. “Now, what would it be?”

  “You’re forgettin’, friend. He knew where he buried it.”

  “Just the same, he wouldn’t chance it. He’d know that time and dust and wear change the looks of things. He didn’t figure that gold would be left here long, but he knew he wouldn’t be taking it up the next day. You can bet he left some kind of a marker.”

  The whitewash on the walls was very old but it looked undisturbed. It seemed unlikely that anything could have been hidden there without leaving some indication. The fireplace, too, had not been disturbed, so far as they could see. Jake went back to examining the floor. Squatting on his haunches, he studied it section by section.

  “Clint!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Look!”

  He pointed at one section of a board, but it was a moment or so before Clint could see what it was Jake was pointing at. Then he saw it—a crude arrow of rusted nail heads.

  The nails were driven in to fasten the board in place but there was a line of more nails than necessary, and then two extra nails had been placed so as to make a crude arrow. Was it just accident? Or was this the clue they were looking for?

  “Let’s rip it out of there.” Jake looked about, then went back to the door with the lantern. “Seems to me I saw a pick outside the door,” he said.

  Clint waited, staring at the plank. It was there, then. Fifty thousand dollars…a man could do a lot with that amount.

  Jake came back and put the lantern down. “Just the pick, no handle,” he said.

  Thrusting the flat end into the crack between the boards, he pulled back. The rusty nails gave easily in the worn board. A second tug on the pick and the board came loose, splintering around the nails.

  Eagerly, Clint grasped the board and ripped it away. Under the floor was a wooden box bound with iron straps.

  “That’s it!” Jake said. “Fifty thousand dollars!”

  “Yeah,” Clint said flatly. “I got it made.”

  Jake looked up inquiringly. His expression changed slowly. Clint held a gun in his hand. “Clint! You—”

  The gun muzzle stabbed flame, the shot thundered in the empty old adobe, then sounded again. Jake Andrews sagged forward, his mouth opening as if to speak.

  Clint holstered his gun and, kneeling, dragged the box up through the hole he had ripped in the floor. With the pick he broke open the box, smashing the still solid wood, then he swore.

  The box was packed with old letters, deeds, assay reports, and a variety of legal papers. Reaching in with both hands, he brought out a double handful and spilled them on the floor. There was no sign of any money. Desperately, he went to the bottom of the box, scratching about with both hands…nothing.

  Up the street he heard a door slam, and there was a sound of running feet.

  Springing up, he looked wildly around, then ran to the door and peered out. Dan Rodelo was coming down the street toward him, with Nora close behind.

  Instantly, he lifted his gun and fired, aware even as he pulled the trigger that he had shot too quickly and had missed.

  Dan ducked across the street and into the deeper shadows, calling to Nora as he did so. “Get out of the light! He’ll kill you!”

  Clint leaned from the door, caught a glimpse of Nora’s moving figure and threw his gun into position. Catching the glint of light on the gun barrel, Dan fired. Clint’s gun dropped and he disappeared into the building. Swiftly, Rodelo crossed the street, gun ready.

  Clint ran to Jake’s body, toed him over, and grabbed at the dead man’s gun with his good hand.

  “Drop it!” Rodelo was in the doorway. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  Nora, staring at Jake’s body, suddenly lifted her eyes to Clint. “You killed him. You!”

  Snatching Jake’s gun, she lifted it, but before she could fire, Dan wrenched the gun from her hand.

  “I might need him, Nora.”

  “You,” he motioned at Clint with the gun. “Get into that bunk.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “We’ll be waiting for a while. Better make yourself comfortable.”

  “What about my hand?”

  Rodelo glanced at the hand, which was bloody but did not appear to have been more than creased. “Wrap it up. You won’t lose much blood.” He gestured toward the dead man. “You’re better off than he is.”

  “Why don’t you shoot him?” Nora said. “He tried to kill you.”

  “I’m not the law, nor am I justice. But if he shoots at me again I will kill him.”

  “What became of Sam Burrows?” Nora asked. “He didn’t even come out on the street.”

  “Why should he? Sam’s lived a long time by minding his own b
usiness.”

  Gathering up the guns, Rodelo tucked the spares behind his belt. He had an idea that before the night was over he might need all the fire power he could get.

  “I’m going back to finish that coffee,” Nora said finally.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “Go ahead. And take your time.”

  Then there was silence in the room. The lantern lit the room only dimly, and Clint lay on his back, nursing his wounded wrist and thinking. Dan Rodelo had no doubts as to what he was thinking and he knew that, given a chance, Clint would kill him even as he had killed his partner.

  The trouble for Clint was that he had no idea what to do. He wanted the gold, and it must be somewhere about; but when he believed the gold had been found he had killed the one man who might have known. There might even be a clue in that mass of papers, but in which one? What kind of a clue?

  Rodelo, as he waited, was trying to think from Clint’s viewpoint. The man wanted to kill him, but he would not be likely to take a chance until he had some clue to the gold, or had the gold itself.

  Hearing footsteps, Rodelo looked out. It was Nora, carrying the coffee pot and some cups.

  “Sam said to bring it along, you might need it.” She placed a cup on the table and filled it for Rodelo, then one for Clint and one for herself.

  Dan took his time about picking up the cup, allowing Clint and Nora to take theirs first. Noticing this, Nora said, “Don’t you trust me?”

  He grinned at her. “Not when there’s fifty thousand dollars in the pot.”

  She sipped some of the coffee, and he smiled and did the same. “You make a mighty good cup of coffee,” he commented, “and there’s nothing better.”

  He listened to the night, alert for strange sounds. They would come, he was sure of that. Though how could he be sure? They had been locked up in Yuma prison when he left, but men had escaped from Yuma before, and if anyone could do it, Tom Badger could and would.

  His waiting, his listening seemed to taunt the two with him. It was deliberate, for he was hoping to get a move from them at once. He had to locate that gold.

  “You’re expecting someone?” Nora asked.

  He nodded. “That I am. I’m expecting the men who buried that gold.”

  Clint turned his head around sharply, half rising.

  “But they’re in Yuma prison!” Nora objected.

  “I’m gambling they’ll be here before daybreak,” Rodelo said calmly. “There was a bit of a ruckus at the prison before I got out of town. I’m betting it was them.”

  Clint sat up. “They’ll kill us all!” he exclaimed. “Every one of us!”

  “Maybe…maybe not.”

  Chapter 4

  *

  TOM BADGER DREW up and swung his horse off the trail. “Get out of sight, Joe. Somebody’s comin’.”

  Harbin swung over, drawing his gun. “It can’t be anybody I want to see, and there’s nobody we want to see us.”

  The horse was coming at a good gait, then it slowed, and drew up opposite them. The rider was standing in his stirrups, apparently listening.

  “Must’ve turned off,” the rider said, “I don’t hear ’em.” He spoke aloud to himself, as many lonely men do.

  “Hell!” Harbin was exasperated. “It’s Gopher!”

  They rode out to meet him, Tom Badger with considerably more irritation than Harbin. Their own trail was, he was sure, lost back there by the river, and the Yaquis would be trailing south, hunting them. Gopher would know nothing about not leaving a trail and might have been followed right to this point. If so, all their efforts had gone for nothing.

  “You fellers gave me a chance,” Gopher said. “When you made a break everybody got all excited an’ everybody was tryin’ to catch you. Three of us made a break. I figure the other two got shot.”

  “Let’s get on with it,” Badger said impatiently. “Rodelo will have been there and gone before we get to Gold City.”

  The night held no sound but the creak of their saddles. Tom Badger led off, walking his horse slowly until it was safely in the dust of the trail, then he put the animal to a canter and the others followed.

  Gopher was a problem, but that could be taken care of, if it did not take care of itself. Gopher had been lucky to escape, for he was particularly inept; but he could not be lucky all the time, and the days ahead would leave no margin for luck.

  When they came to Gold City, they walked their horses down the street. A light glowed from the store, but they did not stop. Down the street they saw that there was a light in the adobe as well.

  “He’s got here first,” Badger said.

  “He’s in the adobe,” said Harbin. “That don’t say he’s found my stuff. Nobody will find it but me.”

  “Probably grabbed it and pulled out,” Gopher said.

  “And leave the shack all lit up?”

  Joe Harbin walked his horse up beside the nearest building to the adobe, then swung down, and drew his gun.

  Inside the adobe, Dan Rodelo waited, his face calm. Nora had drawn back into a corner out of range of gunfire. Clint watched from the edge of the bunk. “There’s more than one man out there,” he said. “You goin’ to tackle them alone?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re a fool.” Clint looked at him. “What do I get out of this?”

  “You bought in. You killed your partner. You can sit right there, or you can gamble and run for it. You might get away.”

  “I’ll stay right here.”

  “You do that. Joe Harbin’s out there.”

  “So?”

  “The only way you could know about this gold is through his woman. And Joe’s a mighty jealous man.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Clint protested. “It was Jake.”

  “You tell him that. Maybe he’ll listen.”

  From out in front there was a sound of a boot scraping on stone, and then a voice called, “Hey, Danny! Come on out!”

  “Well, there they are, Clint,” Rodelo said. “You sit right there and they’ll figure you’re in this with me.”

  Clint got up suddenly. “I want out. I want to get out of here right now.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Clint started toward the door, then hesitated. “How about a gun?”

  Dan Rodelo drew a pistol from his belt and handed it to Clint, barrel first. “Now face the door. If you turn around I’ll shoot.”

  Clint took the gun and stepped toward the door. Then he called, “This ain’t Danny! I want to come out—I want to talk!”

  Dan Rodelo was at the back door, easing up on the latch.

  “All right,” Joe Harbin’s voice came clear. “Come out with your hands up.”

  Clint opened the door, gun in hand, stepped quickly outside, and fired. Three guns cut him down before he got off a second shot.

  “You stay there,” Rodelo whispered to Nora, and like a shadow he was gone into the night.

  Gopher stepped through the door and paused, peering at the body on the floor. He came on into the room and was followed by Harbin and Badger.

  Tom Badger looked slowly around the room, stared at Nora, then at the body on the floor. “Turn him over,” he told Gopher.

  The convict knelt and turned Jake’s body over. “It ain’t Danny,” he said, surprised.

  “That’s Jake Andrews,” Harbin commented. “And that was Clint Wilson we killed.”

  “Clint Wilson?”

  “The same,” Harbin replied grimly. He looked over at Nora. “And whose little girl are you?”

  “I was with those men…I am nobody’s girl. I am Nora Paxton.”

  “Let’s get what we came for,” Tom said impatiently. “Joe, get your mind off women. There’s plenty of them in Mexico.”

  “You were with them?” Joe persisted.

  “They were going down to the Gulf, and that was where I wanted to go. They offered to take me along, and there was no other way.”

  “The Gulf? Why the Gulf?”

  “Business…my
business, and none of yours.”

  Harbin grinned at her. “No offense, ma’am. If you still want to go, you can go with us.”

  Badger was looking at her now. “How did they expect to make it to the Gulf?”

  “They had a wagon up the street, and they were going to Papago Wells.”

  “And then?”

  “I know where there is a water hole between there and the Gulf. That’s one reason they wanted me along.”

  “I never heard of any such water hole,” Badger said.

  “It’s there…a good pool of permanent water, sweet water.”

  “If that’s true,” Joe said, “our troubles are over. Okay, you can come along.”

  Badger looked at the box and the scattered papers. “I don’t see any gold. You sure Rodelo didn’t get it and light out?”

  “Was he the man who was just here? The tall, dark young man?”

  “That’s our Danny.”

  “He had nothing when he left here.” Then she added, “Clint shot Jake. He thought they’d found the gold when Jake located that box, so he just killed him.”

  “Ain’t the first time…not for Clint.”

  Nora was listening. Was Dan Rodelo outside? What was he planning?

  “Get the gold,” Badger said. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Harbin took a rusted poker from the fireplace and pulled a chair over to a place under the central beam that crossed the room from wall to wall. Standing on the chair, he inserted the end of the poker into what looked like a crack, then pried up. A crudely cut piece of beam lifted up, revealing a compartment within the heavy beam itself. As he lifted this a gold piece fell to the floor. Nora picked it up and handed it to Badger. “It’s gold, all right,” she said.

  Harbin grinned his triumph. “You’re darned tootin’, it is! And there’s plenty of it, baby.”

  Badger turned to Gopher. “Get the saddlebags. Quick, now!”

  When he had gone out, Harbin said, “What about him?”

  Badger shrugged. “We can use help on the trip. When we get to Mazatlan, give him fifty bucks and send him packin’.”

  Gopher came back carrying two pairs of saddlebags, and swiftly they began loading the gold into them. “This is going to be heavy,” Tom commented thoughtfully. “I wish we had an extra horse or two.”