Buckskin Run (Ss) (1981)

by L'amour, Louis

  Buckskin Run

  Louis L`Amour

  INTRODUCTION

  The stories in this collection are fiction based upon a knowledge of events of a similar nature. The Historica l Notes are exactly that, bits of western violence lifted fro m the day-by-day lives of western people. It was not, a s many have surmised, a lawless time. The duel was, i n many quarters of the world, still the accepted method o f settling disputes. However, at the time of the gun battle s related here the days of the Code Duello were at an end.

  Often I have been asked if such gunfights actually too k place, for there are those who believe such stories are th e stuff of fiction, or invented by makers of motion pictures.

  Several writers have attempted to list the gunfighters an d the gunfights, and one author has listed 587 gun battles , and has done it wel l , but there were at least four time s that many in the period from 1850 to 1910. None of th e gun battles in my historical notes, for example, are include d in that book. To list them all is difficult, i f not impossible , yet we do have the files of o l d newspapers, court records , coroners' reports, and diaries, which are helpful.

  It is well to mention, however, that ninety percent o f the gun battles took place in either saloons, the red ligh t district, or out on the range, having little or no effect o n the daily lives of most of the citizens.

  None of the Historical Notes are intended to have an y connection with the stories I have written. They are include d rather as a part of the whole picture I am presenting in m y books, and to indicate that such things were, in fact , happening.

  Gunplay did not enter the life of every citizen, althoug h a time might b e when any man might l 'v e called upon t o defend himself. The law, if present, was often beyond call , even as n o w. Nor was the western man inclined to call fo r help. He who settled his own di ff iculties was most respected.

  The gunfighter was not inclined to wear a gun slung lo w on his hip, and swagger about town. That was for th e tinhorn' or the would-b e's. More often than not he dresse d in a c o nservative m anner and went about his busines s quietly and with di g nity. In fact, in one of the most note d gu n d ue ls, occurred between when two operators in the field met , both drew from holsters in their hi p pockets. This was the fight in Fort Worth betwee n Long--Haired Jim Courtright and Luke Short.

  Television and motion pictures have made everyon e familiar with the names of Billy the kid, Wild Bill Hickok , Bat Masterson, and Wyatt Earp, so I have purposel y avoided them. In their time there were at least a hundre d men as well, if not better, known. f armers and businessmen shot the Jesse James gang almos t put of existence, and in Coffeyville, Kansas the local citizenry wiped out the Doolin-Dalton gang. Emmett Dalto n survived to sell real estate in Los Angeles, but he wa s carried from the field pretty well ballasted with b uckshot.

  One could list a dozen more such occasions.

  All this was but one aspect of a varied picture, for mos t people worked hard and for long hours. Social-activity fo r families and many others centered around the churches , although there were dances, box suppers, horse races, a s well as foot races (a very popular activity), and some town s such as Dodge City had both hand concerts and basebal l games. Often there were prize fights . Occasionally traveling groups of actors would present their shows.

  Court sessions were eagerly awaited for the drama the y offered, and certain trial lawyers had greater following s than any matinee idol. The same was t ru e o f revival ministers who preached the gospel in small western towns.

  Many of those in the audience came m o re to hear hi s presentation than for the Holy Word, a fact of which h e was usually aware.

  Various cliches have arisen from one source or another , and one that resulted from its use in the Spanish-America n War is the notion that "a .45 will always knock a ma n down." Don't you believe it. I could relate at least a hundred cases where men took .45-caliber bullets an d kept right on coming.

  Another cliche of motion pictures and television is th e gunman or outlaw who, alone or with a gang, terrorizes a western town. One has to remember that the period of th e gunfighter was in the years of the mining booms and cattl e drives f ollowing the Civil War. Several hundred thousan d men went west, from the army or civilian life, who ha d been using guns. Many were veterans of the Union o r Confederate armies, and they not only could shoot bu t had been shooting. Others were veterans of Indian fighting, and a large percentage of those who came west ha d hunted meat for the table. They knew just as much abou t guns and had used them as much or more than any pack o f ratty outlaws who came down the pike. And they weren't about to take any nonsense.

  *

  In Northfield, Minnesota a bunch o f or two days they had seen no other traveler, not even a solitary cowhand or an Indian. There had been the usua l stops to change teams, an overnight layover at Weston's ranch, but no other break in the monotony of the journey. There was no comfort in the west-bound stage. The fou r passengers alternately dozed or stared miserably at th e unchanging desert, dancing with heat waves.

  No breeze sent a shaft of coolness through the afternoon's heavy heat. Aloma Day, bound for Cordova, a tin y cowtown thirty miles further along the trail, felt stifled -and unhappy. Her heavy dress was hot, and she knew he r hair "looked a fright."

  The jolting of the heavy coach bouncing over the rocky , ungraded road had settled a thin mantle of dust over he r clothes and skin. The handkerchief with which she occasionally touched her cheeks and br6w had long since becom e merely a miserable wad of dam ? cloth.

  Across from her Em Shipton, proprietor of Cordova's rooming and boarding establishment, perspired, fanned , and dozed. Occasionally she glanced with exasperation a t Aloma's trim figure, for to her the girl seemed unreasonably cool and immaculate. Em Shipton resembled a barre l with ru ff les.

  Mark Brewer, cattle buyer, touched his mustach e thoughtfully and 1ooked again at the girl in the opposit e corner of the stage. She was, he decided, almost beautiful.

  Possibly her mouth was a trifle wide, but her lips wer e lovely, and she laughed easily.

  "I hope," he ventured suddenly, "you decide to sta y with us, Miss Day. I am sure the people of Cordova wil l do all they can to make your visit comf o rtable."

  "Oh, but I shall stay! I am going to make my hom e there."

  "Oh'? You have relatives there?"

  "No," she smiled, "I am to be married there."

  The smile left his eyes, yet hovered politely about hi s lips. "I see. No doubt I know the lucky fellow. Cordova i s not a large town."'

  Lorna hesitated. The assurance with which she decide d upon this tri ? had faded with the miles. It had been a lon g time since she had seen Rod Morgan, and the least sh e could have done was to await a reply from him. Yet ther e was no place in which to wait. Her aunt had died, an d they had no friends in Richmond. She had money now fo r the trip. Six weeks or a month later she might have used i t all. Her decision had been instantly made, but the close r she came to Cordova the more uncertain she felt.

  She looked at Brewer. "Then you probably know him.

  His name is Roderick Morgan."

  Em Shipton stiffened, and Mark Brewer's lips tightened. They exchanged a quick, astonished glance. Alarme d at their reaction, Lorna glanced quickly from one to th e other.

  "What's the matter? Is something wrong'?"

  "Wrong?" Em Shipton had never been tactful. "I shoul d say there is! Rod Morgan is an insufferable person! Wha t can you be thinking of to come all this way to marry a ma n like that?"

  "Please, Em, Brewer interrupted. Remember, you ar e speaking of Miss Day's fiance . Of course, I must admit it i s something of a shock. How long since you have seen him , Miss Day?"

  "Two yea
rs." She felt faint, frightened. What was wrong?

  What had Rod done? Why did they --

  ' All through her aunt's long illness, Rod's love for her ha d been the rock to which she clung, it had been the one soli d going in a crumbling world. He had always been the on e to whom she knew she could turn.

  -'That explains it, then," Brewer said, sympathetically , "A lot can happen in two years. You haven't been told, I p resume, of the murders in Buckskin Run ?"

  No. What is Buckskin Run?

  "It's a stream, you know. Locally, it is the term used t o designate the canyon through which the stream runs, a s well as the stream itself. The stream is clear and cold, an d it heads far back in the mountains, but the canyon i s a strange, mysterious sort of place, which all decen t people avoid 1ike the p1ague. For years the place has bee n considered haunted, and there are unexplained graves i n the canyon. Men have died there under unexplained circumstances. Then Rod Morgan moved into the canyo n and built a cabin there.-

  "You -- you spoke of murders'"

  "Yes, I certainly did. About a year ago Morgan ha d trouble with a man named Ad Tolbert. A few days later a cowhand found Tolbert's body not far from Morgan's cabin.

  He had been shot in the back."

  "And that was only one of them!" Em Shipton declared.

  "Tell her about the pack peddler."

  "His name was Ned Weisl. He was a harmless ol d fellow who had been peddling around the country fo r years. On every tri ? he went into Buckskin Run, and tha t seemed strange, because until Morgan moved there nobod y lived in the Run country. He had some wild story he tol d about gold in Buckskin Run, some gold buried there. Abou t a month ago they found his body, too. And he had bee n shot in the back."

  "You mark my words!" Em Shipton declared. 'That Ro d Morgan's behind it all!"

  The fourth passenger, a bearded man, spoke for the firs t time, "It appears to me that you're condemning this youn g man without much reason. Has anybody seen him shoo t anybody ?"

  "Who would go into that awful place ? Everybody know s it's haunted. We warned young Morgan about it, but h e was too smart, a know-it-all. He said all the talk abou t ghosts was silly, and even if there were ghosts he'd mak e them feel at home!

  "We thought it was strange, him going into that dark , lonely place! No wonder. He's deep, he is! With a sight o f crime behind him, too!"

  That's not true!" Lorna said. I 've known Rod Morga n for years. There isn't a nicer boy anywhere."

  Em Shipton's features stiff ened with anger. A dictator i n her own little world, she resented any contradiction of he r opinions.

  "I reckon, young lady, you've a lot to learn, and you'l l learn it soon, mark my words!"

  "There is something to what Mrs. Shipton says," Brewe r commented. "Morgan does have a bad reputation aroun d Cordova. He was o8ered a good riding job by Henr y Childs when he first arrived, but he refused it. Childs is a pioneer, and the wealthiest and most respected man i n the country. When a drifter like Morgan refused such a job it aroused suspicion. Why would a man want to live i n that canyon alone, when he could have a good job wit h Childs'?"

  "Maybe he simply wants to be independent. Maybe h e wants to build his own ranch," the bearded man suggested. "A man never gets anywhere working for the othe r man."

  Mark Brewer ignored the comment. "That canyon ha s always had an evil reputation. Vanishing wagon trains , mysterious deaths, and even the Indians avoid the place."

  He paused. You 've only one life to live, Miss Day, s o why don't you wait a few days and make some inquirie s before you commit yourself? After all, you do admit yo u haven't seen the man for two years."

  Aloma Day stared out over the desert. She was angry , but she was frightened, also. What was she getting into?

  She knew Rod, but two years is a long time, and peopl e change. So much could have happened.

  He had gone west to earn money so they could b e married, and it seemed unlikely he would think of building a home for her in a haunted valley. He was, she knew , inclined to be hot-headed and impulsive.

  But murder? How could she believe that of him?

  "It doesn't make a man a murderer because he lives in a nice little valley like Buckskin Run," the bearded ma n said. "You make your inquiries, ma'am, that's a sensibl e suggestion, but don't take nobody's word on a man on evidence like that. Buckskin Run is a pretty little valley."

  Mark Brewer gave the man his full attention for th e first time. "What do you know about Buckskin Run ? Everybody agrees it's a dangerous place."

  "Nonsense! I've been through it more than once. I wen t through that valley years ago, before your man Childs wa s even out here.

  "Pioneer, is he'? I never heard of him. There wasn't a ranch in the country when I first rode in here. As far a s Indians are concerned, Buckskin Run was medicine ground.

  That's why they never went there."

  "How do you explain the things that have happene d there?"

  "I don't explain 'em. There's been killings all over th e west, and will be as long as there's bad men left. Ther e were white men around when I first came in here, renegades most of 'em, but nobody ever heard any talk o f haunts or the like. Men like Tarran Kop ? camped in ther e many's the time!"

  "You were here," Brewer asked, "when Tarran Kop p was around?"

  "Knowed him well. I was through this here countr y before he ever seen it. Came through with Kit Carson th e first time, and he was the one named it Buckskin Run.

  Favorite cam? ground for Kit, that's what it was.

  "My name's Jed Blue, and my feet made trails all ove r this country. I don't know this man Morgan, but if he's had the sense to settle in Buckskin Run he's smart. That's the best growing land around here!"

  Em Shipton glared at Jed Blue. "A lot you know abou t it! That valley is a wicked place! It's haunted, and everybody from Cordova to Santa Fe knows it. What about th e wagon trains that went into it and disappeared?

  "What about the graves? Three men hurried side by each , and what does it say on their markers'' 'No visible cause o f death on these bodies.' "

  The Concord rumbled through a dry wash, then mounte d the opposite bank with a jerk, bumped over a rock in th e trail, and slowed to climb a steep, winding grade.

  Talk died as suddenly as it had begun , and Lorna clenche d her hands in her lap, fighting back the wave of panic tha t mounted within her.

  If Rod had become what they said, what would she do ?

  What could she do? Her money was almost gone, and sh e would be fortunate if she had enough to last a week. Yet , what would have happened had she remained in the East'

  To be without money in one place was as bad as another.

  Yet, despite the assurance with which they spoke, sh e could not believe Rod was a murderer. Remembering hi s fine, clean-cut face, his clear, dark eyes, and his flashin g smile, she could not accept what they said.

  The Concord groaned to the to ? of the grade, and th e six horses swung wide around a curve and straightene d out, running faster and faster.

  Suddenly there was a shot, a shot, yell, and the stag e made a swerving sto p, so abruptly that Lorna was throw n into Em Shipton's lap. Recovering, she peered out of th e window .

  A man lay flat in the middle of the trail, blood stainin g the back of his vest. Beside his right hand lay a six-shooter.

  To the left of the road were four riders, sitting thei r horses with hands uplifted. Facing the four from the righ t side of the road was a young man with dark, wavy hai r blowing in the wind. He wore badly worn jeans, scu ff e d star boots and a black and white checkered shirt. Ther e was an empty holster on his hip, and he held two guns i n his hands.

  "Now pick up your man and get out of here! You cam e hunting it, and you found it."

  Lorna stifled a cry. ' Rod!" she gasped. Rod Morgan'"

  Her voice was low, but Jed Blue overheard. Is tha t your man ?" he asked.

  She nodded, unable to speak. It was true then, sh e thought. H
e w as a killer! He had just shot that man.

  One of the horsemen caught the riderless horse and tw o of the others dismounted to load the body across th e saddle. The other man sat very still, holding his hand o n the pommel of his saddle.

  As the other riders remounted he said, "Well, this i s one you won't bury in Buckskin Run!"

  "Get going!" Morgan said. "And kee p a civil tongue i n y o ur head, Jeff I've no use for you or any of your rustling , dry-gulching crowd."

  Lorna Day drew back into the stage, her hands to he r face. Horror filled her being. That limp, still body! Ro d Morgan had killed him!

  "Well!" Em Shipton said triumphantly. "What did w e tell you'?"

  "It's too bad you had to see this," Brewer said. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "That's a right handy young feller!" Blue said admiringly. "Looks to me like you picked you a good one, ma'am.

  Stood off the five of them, he did, and I never seen i t done better. Any one of them would have killed him ha d they the chance, but he didn't even disarm them. And they wanted no part of him!"

  The stage started to roll.

  "Hey'" Slue caught at Lorna's arm. "Ain't you eve n goin' to call to him? Ain't you goin' to let him know you'r e '; here?"

  "No! Don't tell him! Please, don't!"

  Blue leaned back, shaking his head admiringly. Handy , right handy! That gent who was down in the road wa s drilled plumb center!"

  Lorna did not hear him. Rod! Her Rod! A killer!

  As the stage swung back into the road and pulled away , Rod Morgan stooped and picked u ? the dead man's six -shooter. No use wasting a good gun, and if things went o n as they had begun he would have need of it.

  He walked back to where his gray mustang was tethered, and swung into the saddle. A brief glance aroun d and he started back u ? the canyon. There was so much t o do, and so little time .

  Perhaps he had been wrong to oppose the ingraine d superstition and suspicion of the Cordova country, bu t working as a cowhand would never allow him to sav e enough to support a wife or build a home. Buckskin Run , from the moment he had first glimpsed it, had seemed th e epitome of all he had dreamed.