Dead Man's Range

by Paul Durst

  Troxel grunted and said anxiously to a man bending over Carmody, ‘Did I get him?’

  The other felt Carmody’s pulse, then shook his head. ‘Naw, he’s still alive.’

  ‘Then stand aside,’ Troxel said, motioning impatiently with his gun, ‘I’ll finish him.’

  ‘Hold it, Trox!’ Anson said quickly, ‘I just thought of somethin’. We can use him.’

  Anson glanced down at Carmody, rubbing his chin and smiling faintly. ‘Supposin’ …’ he began thoughtfully. ‘Supposin’ there was to be a couple of raids on the Merriweather place? Who d’you reckon would get the blame?’

  ‘Huh – the way things are between you and her, even old Mose Dalmas’d have to be blind not to see it.’

  ‘But supposin’ word got around that Carmody and the gal’d had a fallin’ out after she found out who he was? And supposin’ on the last raid somebody set fire to the place and killed off Anne and Old Caleb, and Carmody’s body was found across the creek with a bullet in it?’

  Troxel’s face broke in an ugly grin and he lowered his gun. ‘I getcha, Booth. You don’t need to spell it out – I getcha.’

  CHAPTER 7

  Carmody came slowly awake in a room that was filled with the grey shadows of twilight. With the gradual return of consciousness came the awareness of a burning pain in his chest that made breathing difficult. It was as if a red hot bar of iron lay across him, pinning him as he lay. He tried to raise his hand to push it away and found he was too weak to move.

  A voice called out in the house below, accompanied by a curse, and suddenly the memory of what had happened came back to him with a rush. He remembered the man behind him calling to him to drop his gun; remembered turning to fight it out. Then the crash of the explosions loud in the room and the heavy kick of the slug in his chest. And then the soft blackness.

  But he was still alive, and he found that the most surprising thing of all. By rights, Anson should have killed him. He had expected it after what he had done to Hacker, Hallstead and Creekmore. But Anson must have brought him up here to this room for some reason he could not understand.

  He raised his head with difficulty and peered down at his chest and noticed that he was in his underwear. There was a jagged rent in his undershirt, stained with dried blood and running horizontally across his chest. There had been no attempt at bandaging. He moved one hand feebly and gingerly touched the edge of the wound. It hurt like hell. The slug must have struck at an angle in the region of his heart as he was turning and gouged its way across his rib cage and out the other side. Weakness got the better of him and he let his head fall back on the bed, sweating profusely with the effort.

  It was much later when he was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He glanced toward the door and saw the glow of lamplight on the stairway and a man came into the room, hand on his gun as he held the lamp high and peered cautiously at him.

  ‘You finally woke up, huh?’ the man said, putting the lamp on the washstand and letting his hand fall away from his gun when he saw there was no danger.

  ‘Don’t feel so much like bustin’ up the furniture now, eh, Carmody?’ The man laughed and tilted the chair back against the wall and sat down to roll a smoke. He glanced at Carmody’s bloodstained undershirt then back to his face. ‘You’re damn lucky at that.’

  A voice boomed up the stairs. ‘Hey, Vicker! How is he?’ Cormody recognized it as Anson’s.

  Vicker scuffed out of the chair and slouched to the door. ‘He’s all right, Booth. He just come round. But he ain’t feelin’ like tearin’ the place apart now. He’s weaker’n a newborn calf.’

  Anson’s chuckle floated up. ‘Thought that’d take some of the starch out of him. Does he feel like eatin’? There’s some grub down in the kitchen if he does. We gotta fatten him up and get him back on his feet.’

  Vicker turned to Carmody. ‘Feel like eatin’, fireball?’

  Carmody had never felt less hungry in his life. But he knew he had to get his strength back. ‘Sure,’ he said feebly, ‘I’ll eat.’

  The man slouched down the stairs and came back in a few minutes with a bowl of stew and a tablespoon. ‘You able to sit up?’

  Carmody gritted his teeth and pulled himself up on one elbow, dragging himself backwards a little until he could brace himself against the head of the iron bedstead. The exertion broke open the wound and he felt a warm trickle of blood across his belly. Vicker put the bowl on the bed beside him and handed him the spoon. ‘Here, you gotta do it yourself. I ain’t no nursemaid.’

  Carmody refrained from answering, digging at the stew. It smelled pretty good and he decided maybe he could actually enjoy it if the pain didn’t bother him too much. He spilled half the first spoonful with his shaky hand and thereafter learned not to fill it so full. When he had finished he dropped the spoon in the bowl with a clatter and slid down in the bed exhausted.

  Vicker dropped his chair to the floor and sauntered over to pick up the bowl. ‘You did all right for a sick invalid.’

  Carmody was glad he’d eaten. Already he felt better for it. He turned his head to look at Vicker. ‘Where’d you put my clothes?’

  ‘Clothes?’ Vicker laughed. ‘Hell, what do you want with clothes? You ain’t goin’ nowhere.’

  ‘Not now, maybe. But I don’t aim to lay here the rest of the summer. Where’d you put ’em?’

  Vicker went back to his chair and cocked it against the wall, grinning. ‘Well, now – since you ask, maybe I’ll let you in on a little secret. We got a use for your duds. And we got a use for you, too, when you get your pins under you again.’

  Vicker went on to explain Anson’s plan for having a rider harass the Merriweather place dressed in Carmody’s clothes. ‘There’s a good moon these nights. I’m about your build. And after the Merriweather gal throwin’ you off her place today, well.…’ he spread his hands and laughed. ‘She’ll figure it was you comin’ back to get even.’

  Carmody turned away and stared at the rim of the moon just peering over the rim of the valley. Then he looked back at his guard. ‘You lousy son of a bitch,’ he said quietly.

  Vicker shook with silent laughter. ‘Hell, you ain’t heard the best of it. After she’s had a few nights of that and word’s got in to the sheriff that you’re raisin’ hell – well, one night there’s gonna be a real big raid, with a lot of shootin’. When it’s over there ain’t gonna be nothin’ left of the Merriweather place but ashes. And when old Mose goes pokin’ around he’s gonna find your carcass right across the creek from the house with a bullet in it. Just like you’d been shot tryin’ to burn the place. After that.…’ he shrugged, ‘… well, you get all the blame, Booth Anson gets the Merriweather place. Simple, ain’t it?’

  There was silence for a minute in which the two men’s eyes met in the glow of the lamp. ‘If I could get out of this bed,’ Carmody said slowly, ‘I’d kick your goddam teeth in.’

  Vicker’s smile faded and he kicked his chair out from under himself and stood beside the bed. ‘Listen, mister,’ he said, his breath whistling through his clenched teeth, ‘you called me a name a minute ago that no man ever called me and lived. I let it go because you’re a sick man. But don’t push me, Carmody, or I’ll lay your face open with a pistol barrel.’

  Anson’s voice came urgently up the stairs. ‘Vicker! Blow out that lamp and keep an eye on Carmody. There’s a rider comin’ – looks like it might be the Merriweather gal. If Carmody tries to yell or anythin’, slug him.’

  ‘That’d be a pleasure, Booth,’ Vicker replied with a look at Carmody. He stepped over to the lamp and cupped his hand over the chimney and blew sharply.

  ‘Just lay quiet, friend,’ Vicker warned. ‘It’s her all right.’

  The drone of conversation drifted on the night air. He gathered that Anne was in no immediate danger herself. The tone of Anson’s voice told him that. But that was the very thing that roused his suspicion. The man was putting himself out to be polite and Carmody knew there was treach
ery in the air. He heard his own name mentioned once or twice and that convinced him all the more. If what Vicker had told him already was true, then Anson must be paving the way by acting friendly toward Anne so that the blame would more readily fall on Carmody when the raids came.

  He gave serious thought to the idea of calling out to let her know he was here. Then he rejected the notion. In his present weakened state he doubted if his voice would carry sufficiently to be heard beyond the room. And the attempt would be certain to bring swift reprisal from Vicker. Nor would the man be gentle. A crack on the head with a pistol barrel would only delay his recovery. No, what he needed was to regain his strength as rapidly as possible so that he could try to make his escape before Anson pulled the final disastrous raid.

  How long would that be, he wondered? At best it would be several days before his body replaced the lost blood and built up enough strength to permit him to stand. He knew that if he could get to his feet he could get to a horse and ride. The question was – would Anson wait that long? The man was not the kind to sit around and risk somebody stumbling onto the fact that Carmody was here. The chances were he would begin the preliminary raids immediately – Vicker had mentioned the ‘good moon these nights’ and the full moon would grow later and wane with each passing night. It was a safe bet then that as soon as Carmody showed any sign of returning strength.…

  ‘Troxel, come on out here!’ he heard Anson bellow. There was further noise of boots going down the gravel path and Carmody strained his ears to listen.

  Vicker chuckled. ‘He’s sendin’ Troxel to see her home. Booth’s bein’ plumb neighbourly.’

  It was perhaps an hour later, judging from the moon, when he wakened to the thud of boots in the room. A match flared and he saw Vicker light the lamp. Anson was with him.

  ‘Looks like your twin, don’t he?’ Anson grinned, nodding at Vicker.

  Vicker turned in the lamplight and Carmody could see the man was wearing his clothes. ‘Hat’s a little big,’ Vicker complained. ‘Had to stuff paper in the sweatband.’

  ‘Didn’t figure you’d have brains enough to fill a man’s hat,’ Carmody said feebly.

  Anger flashed in Vicker’s eyes and he jerked up his arm to backhand Carmody across the face, but Anson stiff-armed him in the shoulder, shoving him aside. ‘Save it!’ he growled.

  Vicker glowered at him. ‘If you want to keep him in one piece you’d better tell him to stop shootin’ off his mouth or I’ll.…’

  ‘I said, save it!’ Anson said angrily. ‘You didn’t have to wait till you got him stretched out in here to show how tough you were – you had a chance to draw on him this afternoon. I didn’t notice you actin’ so eager then.’

  ‘I don’t recollect you shovin’ anybody aside to get at him!’

  ‘Ah-h-h!’ Anson said with a gesture of derision and turned away to look at Carmody. ‘I had a little chat with the Merriweather girl about an hour ago. She asked if I’d seen you and I told her you’d come by this mornin’ and tried to hire on with me thinkin’ you’d have a chance to get back at her. I said you’d told me you’d waited all those years in the state pen just plannin’ how to get even, and that you’d figured on gettin’ a job with her so’s you could bust her apart slow from the inside.’

  Anson chuckled at the look on Carmody’s face. ‘She seemed right put out about it – especially since she’d come here looking for you so’s she could pay you your wages. But I told her I’d chased you off the place. I didn’t like to worry her, but I told her you’d likely be back to cause her some trouble, judgin’ from the way you’d talked. So’ – Anson jerked his thumb to indicate Vicker – ‘here you go to chouse a few head of MW beef down across the creek and shoot ’em down in her front yard. We’ll try that for two, three nights and then.…’

  ‘I heard it all before,’ Carmody cut in. ‘Now why don’t both of you get the hell out of here and let me sleep.’

  Anson grinned. ‘We will – we only thought you might like somethin’ to dream about so we dropped in to tell you.’

  ‘What about the horse, Booth?’ Vicker said.

  ‘Oh yeah … where’s that livery nag you was ridin’, Carmody? You come down here today on Hallstead’s mount. What’d you do with yours?’

  Carmody thought for a minute, looking at the man. Then he smiled. ‘Afraid Vicker’s might get shot out from under him and leave an Anvil brand behind to be identified … that’s it, ain’t it? Be safer if you had mine, I reckon. Now that’s a damn shame.’

  Anson frowned. ‘What’s a damn shame?’

  Carmody was about to tell him what had happened to the horse, but checked himself in time. If they knew the dead horse was so near the fence where Anne might have seen it and got suspicious … well, they might not wait for him to get well. As it was, there was a chance she might have seen it – and it would tell her Anson had lied. When the raid came tonight she might guess the truth. Just might. If she didn’t discover the dead horse things would be no worse off than they were now. But there was no point in giving a helping hand to Anson.

  ‘Why, it’s a damn shame I turned him loose. But when I plugged your two gunslingers up by the fence today I found I had one horse more’n I needed, so I turned the rented one loose.’

  ‘I think you’re lyin’,’ Anson said suspiciously.

  ‘Well, you can always ride into Sand Valley and ask Buckley if it’s showed up yet,’ Carmody said indifferently.

  Vicker suddenly raised a hand and said, ‘Listen!’ The sound of rapid hoofbeats rattled a tattoo in the moonlight outside as a rider crossed the flats toward the house. Vicker went to the window and looked out. ‘It’s Trox comin’ back.’

  ‘Then come on,’ Anson told him. ‘You got ridin’ to do.’

  ‘What about Carmody’s horse?’

  ‘T’hell with it. Take a mount with a blotched brand outta the corral – we got plenty of ’em. It don’t make that much difference.’

  CHAPTER 8

  The return journey with Troxel as her watchdog left Anne no opportunity to pick up Carmody’s trail as she had hoped. When they reached the creek running past her place she drew rein and thanked the Anvil foreman with cool politeness and watched him turn and ride back the way they had come. For a minute she debated waiting until he was out of sight and doubling back to look for Carmody’s trail. But a glance at the stars told her it was past midnight now and she felt the weariness of the long day envelop her body and mind and decided against it.

  She unsaddled the bay and went toward the glow of lamplight from the house. Caleb was asleep in the kitchen. A Sharp’s .50 leaned against the wall at his elbow and the pup was asleep on his lap.

  Anne made a noise and he stirred, reaching for the rifle until he saw who it was. Then he said apologetically, ‘Must’ve dozed off.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Good Lord, it’s gone past midnight! Where’ve you been, girl?’

  ‘Anson’s,’ Anne said wearily as she hung her hat on the antelope rack and took two cups from the shelf, filling them from the coffeepot at the back of the stove.

  ‘Anson’s! I thought you went to look for Jeff Carmody.’

  ‘I did. His trail led me there.’ She handed him a cup and took one herself and sat down. He waited, watching while she sipped the hot coffee. Then she told him what had happened; how she had trailed Carmody through the fence into Anvil territory, the blood on the ground beneath the junipers at the rim of the valley, and finally about Anson’s disturbing story of Carmody’s desire for revenge.

  There was a long silence when she had finished. At last she looked up and saw Caleb staring thoughtfully at the stove. ‘What do you make of it?’ she asked.

  Caleb shook his head. ‘Danged if I know what to make of it, Anne. There’s somethin’ about it sounds awful fishy – Anson’s turnin’ friendly all of a sudden is enough to make me suspicious, and yet.…’ He looked at her. ‘How’d he explain the blood under them junipers – or did you ask him?’

  ‘Wel
l – I didn’t ask him, but he told me they’d found Creekmore dead on the trail and that Carmody must have killed him when he rode off in a temper. And then when I said that probably explained the blood I’d seen under the junipers Anson looked kind of surprised. Come to think of it, he didn’t bother to mention Creekmore until he slipped up and introduced Troxel as his new foreman.’

  ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘I don’t know – unless he was trying to cover up something. It’s funny about that blood. There wasn’t anything to indicate a man had been shot, you know, no mess on the ground where a body might have lain. The blood looked like it had dripped there, like when you hang a deer carcass over a horse. And there had been two horses there. It doesn’t seem likely that Carmody would have shot Creekmore as he was leaving and then bothered to load his body on a horse and sit under those junipers and smoke a cigarette like the signs showed.’

  Caleb’s eyebrows went up. ‘You think it might not have been Creekmore’s corpse across that horse?’

  Anne stood up, nodding quickly and turning away.

  ‘You think it might have been Jeff?’

  Anne sighed. ‘I don’t know, Caleb. I can’t figure it out.’ She turned around and said slowly, ‘I think I’ll ride into town in the morning and have a talk with Mose Dalmas.’

  Caleb snorted. ‘Might as well save yourself the trouble for all the help you’ll get from him.’

  ‘Maybe so. But it isn’t just a matter of getting help for myself.’

  ‘You’re thinking about Carmody?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But supposin’ Anson’s told the truth. Supposin’ Jeff did kill Creekmore?’

  Anne pressed her lips together. ‘Then it will mean that everything else Anson said was true – and that will mean I’ll need Dalmas to go after Jeff Carmody.’

  She turned and started for the door to the bedroom when Caleb stopped her. ‘You really believe what Anson said about Jeff?’