Thought I was."
"Point is, you didn't. If you're restless here, ride up north to the XIT. Friends of mine up there, an' they're hirin' for the roundup an' trail drive. That'll be work enough to keep you out of trouble."
"Last night," Lily said, "'after you went to the barn to sleep, I made a cake. Icing and all. I haven't even cut into it yet."
Bowdrie's head came up like a hound dog scenting a coon. "Now, that's something I haven't had in more than a year. Shall we ride a little faster?"
*
RAIN ON THE MOUNTAIN FORK
Lew Judd was a frightened. His hands, white those of man. as a woman, gathered the cards from the tabletop, and he touched his tongue to dry lips.
Overhead the rain was increasing its roar, and within the stuffy warmth of the sod shanty the air was thick with mingled tobacco and wood smoke, overlaid by the odor of wet, steamy clothing, drying wood, and worn leather. DeVant, Baker, and Stadelmann sat around the table. Peg Roper snored on a bunk against the wall, and Big Ed Colson, the stage driver, straddled ac-hair and leaned his hairy forearms on its back, watching the play. Judd was sure that Big Ed knew he wore a money belt, but whether the others knew, he could not guess. "You think the next stage will get through?" The question was important to Judd. If the stage came soon enough, he might get away, and he might get Nelly away. The stage on which they had come lay hub-deep in mire with a broken axle.
Colson shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. This is the worst storm I've seen in this country, an' I've seen a few." Nelly Craig, Judd's niece, sat beside the fire. It was bad enough to have to escort a young girl through such country without having to stop over in a place like this. As a protector he felt woefully inadequate, yet he kept his face composed, trying to keep the others from realizing his fear.
"We might as well figure on spending the night here," Baker commented. "If the stage does come, it will not get here before morning."
Big Stadehnann turned and stared toward the fire. Judd felt his abdominal muscles tighten, knowing he was staring at Nelly. In the feeble glow of the fire and the kerosene lantern he looked monstrous and brutal, a great bear of a man, his face covered with a stubble of short beard.
DeVant was slender and sallow-faced with malicious yellow eyes, his agile fingers fondling the cards like a lover. All the men were armed, as was the sleeping man on the bunk, and there was a watchfulness about them that warned Judd these were dangerous men.
Colson was armed, but where he would stand, Judd did not know. A postal employee from Minnesota, Judd was new to the country, and although he carried a gun, he was clumsy with it.
The fire sputtered from rain falling down the chimney and in the interval that followed a roll of thunder, they distinctly heard the splash of a horse's hooves on the sloppy trail.
DeVant's head came up sharply, and Stadelmann's hands became still. All were listening.
Ed Colson took the pipe from his mouth and turned his head.
"Who in blazes would be riding on a night like this?" Baker demanded. "No man in his right mind would ride in this rain."
They heard the subdued sounds of a man stabling a horse in the sod barn adjoining.
Then footsteps splashed and the flames flickered as the door opened to reveal wet boots and above them the lower edge of a slicker as the man stood on the steps closing the slanting door behind him. Judd waited, apprehensive and hopeful at the same time.
Baker's hand was in his lap and Judd knew it held a gun. What was he afraid of?.
What were they all afraid of?.
The newcomer came on down the steps, but nothing could be seen of him because of his raincoat collar and his tilted hat brim. The hat was fiat-crowned and black, the visible mouth was firm, the jaw strong. His rain-wet chaps were black leather and when he removed the raincoat, he was wearing a fringed buckskin jacket over a gray wool shirt.
He was, they all noted, wearing two guns, tied down.
When he removed his hat to slap the rain from it, they saw a dark, Indian-like face. His eyes swept the room, lingering a bit on Roper, stretched on the bunk. Under his cheekbone there was a deep scar, possibly a bullet wound.
"Who's the owner here?" His tone was casual.
After a moment, when nobody answered, Colson replied. "Place was empty. When the stage broke down, we took shelter. I was drivin' the stage."
Judd looked at him hopefully. "Did you see the other stage on the trail?"
The steady black eyes examined and judged him. "There won't be a stage. A landslide wiped out the trail. Take work to get it back in shape. A lot of work."
DeVant's mind, nimble as his too clever fingers, came up with the logical question.
"How did you get here, if the road is closed?"
.: "I came from the west, but that trail's closed too. I had to come Over the mountain above the creek, but I circled to examine the other way out."
Colson took the pipe from his mouth. "You came over the mountain?
You're lucky to be alive. I wouldn't have thought a goat could make it on a night like this."
"That second slide came while I was up there. Seemed like the whole mountain started to move, but mine's a good horse an' we made it."
Thunder muttered irritably back in the canyons. The rain seemed empowered by the sound and rose to a shattering roar. There was a slow drip of water from near the bunk where Roper slept.
"We're stuck then," DdVant said. "We might as well make the best of it." He glanced at elly, meeting her eyes boldly. "All the comforts of home."
Nelly turned her eyes away and added a stick to the fire. The flames reached for it hungrily, and the stranger moved nearer to the fireplace, aware of her fear. "You were on the stage?" He spoke softly.
There were shaded hollows of tiredness beneath her eyes, which were dark and large.
"I am traveling with my uncle, Lew Judd. We are from Illinois."
That would be the slender man in the store-bought suit, a feeble staff on which to lean on such a night, in such a place. She knew he would be of no help and she was frightened.
"Don't be afraid," the stranger said. "It will be all right."
The others heard the murmur of their voices but the words were inaudible. When the stranger looked up, DeVant's catlike eyes were on him. "A man ridin' on a night like this must want to go somewhere mighty bad."
"You could be right." The black eyes held DeVant's and the man felt a distinct chill, which irritated even as it frightened him.
Stadelmann was watching him, eyes suddenly attentive. Peg Roper shifted and muttered on the bunk.
"You were all on the stage?"
Baker's eyes lifted from his cards. His was a narrow, rock-hard face with a clipped mustache on his broad upper lip. "Now you're asking questions?"
The black eyes shifted to Baker and held him an instant before moving on. "That's right. I am asking questions."
The challenge was understood by everyone listening, and for a minute or so there was no sound but the hissing of the raindrops in the fire.
Baker felt something cold and empty in his stomach and he fumbled the cards. The yielding of his eyes enraged him. Yet that voice had rung with the crisp sound of authority.
The stranger turned his attention to Colson. "You were the driver? How many were on that stage?"
"Only Judd, his niece, and DeVant. Stadelmann an' Roper were in the dugout when we got here. Baker came along after."
"Roper was fast asleep when I come in," Stadelmann said. "You got a reason for askin'?"
"Murder's my reason. Murder an' robbery. The killer is in this room. He just can't be anywhere else."
Nelly Craig's face was a blotch of white. Her eyes seemed even larger.
"You're sure he came this way?" Colson asked.
"You know this country. He had no choice. He could have been on the stage or he might have been one of the others." "You've no description?"
Baker asked.
DeVant's eyes lifted from
his cards. "Who've you? Askin' all the questions?"
"I'm a Ranger. My name is Bowdrie."
There was a heavy silence in the room. Others here might be wanted men. All at that moment felt guilty, and their resentment was electric in the room.
"You should have kept still about it," Judd said. "Now there will be trouble."
"You can't avoid trouble in this case. One of you here is carryin' money an' the murderer knows it. The murder back yonder was not a planned thing, and the murderer did not get as much as he counted on. It was something he stumbled into."
A stick toppled over into the fire and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney. Nelly moved her wet feet closer to the blaze and Big Ed Colson got out his pipe and stoked it methodically. Peg Roper continued to sleep. Judd sat silent, keeping his palms pressed to the table so their trembling would not be observed. It was Stadelmann he was afraid of, Stadelmann and DeVant, yet he trusted none of them. Not even the Ranger.
"Anybody got any coffee?" Baker suggested. "We might as well wait in comfort."
Bowdrie squatted against the wall. No doubt the killer was the most composed of them all. He alone knew who he was. No betraying clue had been left. Not a clue, only a slight indication of character. Somehow he must lead the murderer to betray himself.
Surprisingly, Nelly seemed revived by the new element introduced by the Ranger's arrival. Attention had been turned from her and other thoughts occupied the minds of the men in the room. More than one might be carrying money, and each would be likely to think himself the intended victim. Any of these men, she reflected, could crush Lew Judd like an insect.
She arose and went to the box Judd had carried into the room and came away with coffeeI.
Colson found a fiat stone to be placed among the coals, and retrieved a blackened coffeepot from a shelf. There was darkness back there, a darkness into which they could not see, and when Colson went that way, all eyes followed him. All hands were resting near their guns. Colson returned with the pot and Nelly went about making coffee.
Her quick, homey manner brought relief to the tension, and instead of fear there was a growing levity, as though each had become conscious that he held a seat at a very dramatic show. Underneath it all, however, there was the taut strain of nervous tension. Of them all, Nelly and the stage driver seemed the least affected.
Judd, his own danger alleviated for the moment, opened the case he had carried into the room along with the small box with the coffee, and brought out a mandolin. While they waited for water to boil, he sang, in a fair tenor, "Drill Ye Tarriers," a song sung by Irish railroad builders, and inspired a healthy applause. He then sang "Sweet Betsy from Pike" and "Jenny Jenkins." The listeners came up with requests and the singing continued.
Bowdrie remained quiet against the wall. More than the others possibly could, he realized his own inadequacy. He knew his skill with guns, and that few men were better on a trail, but here he had only the devious path of a man's thinking to follow.
He was moving in the dark, only aware that the killer might give himself away. How that was to happen, he did not know. Later, he might ask more questions.
Somehow, tonight, within this shack, the issue would be decided. And it was a narrow place for shooting.
DeVant moved his chair against the wall, a position from which he could survey the room as well as Bowdrie, and from which he could move swiftly to attack, defend, or seek the doubtful shelter of the bunk's comer.
At this moment Peg Roper awakened and sat up, obviously confused by the singing, the smell of coffee, and the crackle of the fire. Swinging his feet to the floor, he caught one spur in the ragged blanket. Disengaging it with care, he sat up, blinking around him, his sleepy little boy's face oddly puzzled under his shock of unruly hair.
"What's comin' off?." Peg asked. "I go to sleep in a morgue and wake up in a party."
"Folks kept dropping in," Baker said. "We've a special guest, a Texas Ranger."
Roper looked uneasy, but said, "Well, he seems a quiet Ranger. Knows how to keep his place."
Bowdrie smiled and put his shoulders against the wall. It was a thick wall and it felt good, about the only security he was likely to enjoy.
Colson found several cups back in the darkness and brought them to the table. He rinsed them with rainwater from the barrel outside the door.
Stadelmann appeared to be dozing and probably was. A man could doze and still catch some of the talk, although nothing important was being said. In fact, everyone seemed to be keeping to casual talk between songs.
Baker changed all that. "How d'you expect to find your man?" he asked Bowdrie. "He ain't just goin' to walk up an' tell you, you know."
"No problem," Bowdrie replied. "Biggest thing in my favor is that he knows he's guilty.
A guilty man is afraid of makin' mistakes, of givin' himself away." liPeg Roper's eyes went to the girl, sitting quietly by the fire, 'watching the coffee. They stayed on her as she took a cup and poured, taking it first to the Ranger. He thanked her while Roper watched them. Obviously he was curious about her, so strange to such surroundings. Roper rubbed his unshaved chin ruefully.
He looked miserable to try to make a play for the girl, but from the looks of it the Ranger had the inside track. Although he did not appear to be doing anything about it. Maybe it was because the Ranger was protection.
Bowdrie tasted the coffee with real appreciation. He was vastly comfortable now, with the cup in his hands, hot coffee in his belly, and that wall behind him. When the side of that mountain started to move back yonder, he had an awful, sinking feeling inside of him and he had been the most scared he'd ever felt. Only the fact that he was riding the roan, a once wild mustang, saved him. The bronc knew what to do, and did it.
Thunder growled in the canyons like a surly dog over a bone, and the fire blazed up, adding light to the room.
Bowdrie let his eyes go closed. One man here was a murderer, but which one? He was a man quick to make decisions, even impulsive. He was utterly ruthless, with a sharp, cold mind and a contempt for human feelings and life. If unmasked he would begin shooting, without varning if possible, and he would not care who got in the way.
Yet Bowdrie did know a little about him.
The killer had washed his hands back there at the shack where he murdered the old man. He had washed the blood off the bench and hung up the pan. The old man would not have done that, as he was notoriously untidy.
Bowdrie opened his eyes. "The man I'm looking for," he said, "just stumbled across an old miner an' killed him, prob'ly thinkin' the old man had more'n he did have.
He did this just along the way whilst followin' a man who he knew had money."
"You'll never get him," Baker said. "What do you have to go on?"
"Very little," Bowdrie admitted, "but we don't always need a lot. No man can escape the pattern of his habits. He leaves sign in the minds of people just as he would on a trail. People observe things and remember things they often don't recall until quesoned or until the memory is stirred up in conversation.
"That wouldn't stand before a jury," DeVant said.
"No jury will ever get this case," Bowdrie said. "This gent makes up his mind on the sudden. I'll draw a pattern of sign to corral him, an' when he realizes I'm closin' in, he'll go to shootin.' Then he'll die."
"Or you will. Ever think of that, Ranger?"
"Of course. It is an accepted risk in my business, but Rangers are enlisted because they're fightin' men an' when they go out they don't go alone. When I go down that dark trail there'll be a man ahead of me."
"Killer or no killer," Colson said, "we're warm an' dry in here." He gathered up bits of moss and sticks fallen from the woodpile and tossed them into the fire. "Only, if you expect to get your killer, get him before we get the stage started. Shootin' frets my horses."
Bowdrie went to the fire to refill his cup, and felt their eyes upon him. Perhaps more than one man here had reason to fear a Ranger. Mentally he reviewed their f
aces, but none rang a responsive chord. His eyes avoided the fire, knowing the time it takes to adjust back to shadows after gazing into the flames. Time enough for a man to die.
He glanced at Roper. "Driftin'?"
"Sort of. I been punchin' cows on the Nueces. Figured I'd head for Mobeetie."
"Good place to stay shut of," Baker commented. "That black-headed two-gun marshal is poison."
"Not no more," Colson replied. "Killed by a drunken gambler who pulled a sneak gun on him."
Bowdrie glanced at him. "You boys on the stage lines get all the news."
"West-bound driver told me. Carried one to the other, news travels fast.'
Stadelmann glanced at Roper. "If you're through with that bunk, I'd like a try at it."
"She's all yours." Roper moved closer to Bowdrie, studying him. Bowdrie was a man he had heard about.
Bowdrie was not eager to bring the matter to a head now, with the night before them.
If he was correct and the killer would elect to shoot it out, this was no place for it. Some innocent person might be killed.
Yet soon the light would be blown out and they would try to sleep, and the man with the money would be alone the dark.
There were detached clues but they pointed in more than one direction, and somehow he must force the issue.
DeVant helped him, without realizing it. "Whoever he is, you've got him trapped.
With both roads closed, there's no way out."
"There is, though." Bowdrie was casual. "There's a canyon runs north of here. Looks like a dead end when you ride into it, but she branches out right quick. It would take a rider with nerve and a good horse to make it. That canyon's prob'ly runnin' ten foot deep in water about now."
"'That's not for me!" DeVant was emphatic. "I've seen those canyons after a cloudburst."
Ed Colson tamped the tobacco in his pipe and lighted up again. Bowdrie could feel Baker watching him but Big Stadelmann was looking at the girl again.
Lew Judd replaced the mandolin in its case, then moved nearer to Nelly. If there was only some way out! Some means of getting away. He was afraid for Nelly, and for himself. He must have been the man the killer was following, yet how could he have known he was carrying money?
Bowdrie's Law (Ss) (1983) Page 16
