Buckskin Run (Ss) (1981)

by L'amour, Louis

  The stream plunged happily over the stones, falling in a series of miniature cascades and rapids into a wide basin surrounded by towering cliffs. It flowed out of that basi n and through a wide meadow, several hundred acres o f good grassland. High cliffs bordered the area on all sides , and there were clumps of aspen and spruce.

  Below the first meadow lay a long valley also bounde d by sheer cliffs, a valley at least a half-mile wide tha t narrowed suddenly into a bottleneck that spilled the stream ! i nto another series of small rapids before it swung into the ~ t imbered land bordering the desert.

  When Rod Morgan had found Buckskin Run there had j been no tracks of either cattle or horses. Without asking:: q uestions, he chose a cabin site near the entrance and ! w ent to work. Before he rode out to Cordova on his first,"' t ri ? to town his cabin was built, his corrals ready.

  In Cordova he ran into trouble with Em Shipton.

  Em's entire life was ruled by prejudice and superstition.,: She had come to Cordova from the hills of West Virginia by way of Council Bluffs and Santa Fe. In the Iowa town ' s he married Josh Shipton, a teamster freighting over the Sante Fe Trail. She had already been a widow, her firs t husband dropping from sight after a blast of gun-fire wit h his brother-in-law.

  Josh Shipton was more enduring, and also somewhat faster with a gun, than Em's previous spouse. He stood her nagging and suspicion for three months, stood the ',' b orrowing and drunkenness of her brother for a few days l onger. The two di ff iculties came to a head simultaneously. Josh packed u p and left Em and, in a final dispute with her quar relsome, pistol-ready brother, el iminated him from f urther interference in Em's marital or other affairs. But Josh kept on going.

  Em Shipton had come to Cordova and started her rooming and boarding house while looking for a new husband.

  Her first choice, old Henry Childs himself, was a con fi rmed bachelor who came to eat once at her table. Wise r than most, he never came again.

  She was fifteen years older and twenty pounds heavier ' t han slim, handsome Rod Morgan, but he was her second: c hoice.

  -What you need, she told him, is a good wife!"

  Unaware of the direction of the conversation, Rod agreed ' t hat he did.

  "Also," she said, "you must move away from that awfu l canyon. It's haunted!"

  Rod laughed. Sure, and I've seen no ghost, maam , no t a one. Never seen a prettier valley, either. No, I'm staying."

  Em Shipton coupled her ignorance with assurance.

  Women were scarce in the West, and she had come t o consider herself quite a catch. She had yet to learn tha t women were not that scarce.

  "Well," she said definitely, "you can't expect me to g o live in no valley like that."

  Rod stared, mouth open in astonishment. "Who said anything --" He swallowed, trying to keep a straight fac e but failing. He stifled the laugh, hut not the smile. I m sorry. I like living there, and, as for a wife, I've plans o f my own."

  Em might have forgiven the plans, but she could neve r forgive that single, startled instant when Rod realized tha t Em Shipton actually had plans for him herself, or the wa y he smiled at the idea.

  That was only the beginning of the trouble. Rod Morga n had walked along to the Gem Saloon, had a drink, an d been offered a job by Jake Sarran, Henry Childs' foreman.

  He refused it.

  Better take it, Morgan, Sarran advised, "if you plan t o stay in this country. We don't like loose, unattached rider s drifting around."

  "I'm not drifting around. I own my own place on Buckski n Run."

  "I know," Sarran admitted, "but nobody stays ther e long. Why not take a good job when you can get it?"

  "Because I simply don't want a job. I'll be staying a t Buckskin Run." As he turned away a thought struck him.

  "And you can tell whoever it is who wants me out of ther e that I've come to stay."

  Jake Sarran put his glass down hard, but whatever h e intended to say went unspoken. Rod left the saloon, hi s brow furrowed with thought and some worry. On this firs t visit to town he had come to realize that his presence a t Buckskin Run was disturbing to someone.

  For a week he kept busy on the ranch, then he rod e south, hired a couple of hands, and drove in three hundred head of whiteface cattle. With grass and water the y would not stray, and there was no better grass and wate r than that in Buckskin Run. He let the hands go.

  But the thought worried him. Why, with all that goo d pasture and water, had Buckskin Run not been settled'

  When next he rode into Cordova he found people avoiding him. Yet he was undisturbed. Many communities wer e clannish and shy about accepting strangers. Once they go t acquainted it would be different. Yet he had violated on e of their taboos.

  It was not until he started to mount his horse that he discovered his troubles were not to stop with being ignored.

  A sack of flour tied behind his saddle had been cut open , and most of the flour had spilled on the ground.

  Angered, he turned to face the grins of the men seate d along the walk. One of them, Bob Carr, a long, rang y rider from Henry Childs's Block C, had a smudge of whit e near his shirt pocket, and another smudge near his right -hand pants pocket, the sort of smear that might have com e from a man's kni f e if he had cut a flour-sack open, the n shoved the knife back in his pocket.

  Rod had stepped u? on the walk. "How'd you get tha t white smudge on your pocket?"

  The rider looked quickly down, then, his face flushing , he looked up. "How do you thinks" he said.

  Rod hit him. He threw his fist from where it was, at hi s belt, threw it short and hard into the long rider's sola r plexus.

  Bob Carr had not expected to be hit. The blow wa s sudden, explosive and knocked out every bit of wind h e had.

  "Get him, Bob!" somebody shouted, but as Bob opene d his mouth to gas ? for air, Rod Morgan broke his jaw with a right.

  Rod Morgan turned, and mounted his horse. From th e saddle he looked back. "I didn't come looking for trouble , and I am not asking for it. I'm a quiet man, minding m y own affairs."

  Yet when he rode out of town he knew he had opened a feud with the Block C. It was trouble he did not want, an d for which he had no time, but whether he liked it or no t he had a fight on his hands.

  When he returned to his cabin a few days later, afte r checking some cattle in the upper canyon, there was a notice nailed to his door to get out and stay out. Then hi s cabin was set afire and much of his gear burned. p d Tolbert picked a fight with him and got soundl y whipped, but a few days later Tolbert was murdered i n buckskin Run. Rod Morgan took to packing a gun wherever he went.

  As is the case with any person who lives alone, or i s different, stories were circulated about him, and he becam e suspect to many people who did not know, him and ha d never so much as seen him. Behind it there seemed malignant influence, but he had no idea who o r, what was directing it.

  Two things happened at once. A letter came from Aloma and Ned Weisl came into the canyon. He had hesitated to suggest that Lorna come west with the situation , unsettled as it was, yet from her letter he understood wha t her situation must be. He had written, explaining what h e could and inviting her to come.

  Weisl was a strange little man. Strange, yet also charm ing and interesting. From the first he and Rod hit it off well, and so he told Rod about the g o ld.

  "Three men came west together," Weisl explained.

  "Somewhere out in Nevada they struck it rich. The stor y was they had a hundred and twenty thousand in gol d when they started back. They built a special wagon with a false bottom in it, where they hid the gold. Then, wit h three wagons in all, they headed east.

  "They got as far as Buckskin Run, and there, accordin g to the story, Tarran Kop ? and his gang hit them. Th e three men were killed, and that was the end of it, onl y there was another story. With gold there nearly always is.

  "One of Kopp's gang was a friend of mine years later , and when asked about it he claimed t hey had killed nobod y in Bu
ckskin Run, nor had they stolen any gold. At th e time it all took place they were in Mexico, and he showe d me an old newspaper story to prove it."

  "So what became of the gold? And who did kill th e people in Buckskin Run?

  "Nobody knows who killed them or how. Nobody know s what became of the gold, either. A hundred and twent y thousand in gold isn't the easiest thing to carry around in a country where people are inclined to be curious. According to the prices at the time, that would be right aroun d three hundred pounds of gold. There are people who wer e right interested in that gold who claim it never left Buckskin Run!

  "There's others who declare nobody went into the canyon from the lower end, and nobody knows who burie d the three who died there. Markers were set over th e graves, and on each one those words 'No visible mark o f death on these bodies.' "

  "What do you thinks"

  'That," Weisl said, smiling with puckish humor, "i s another question. I've an idea, but it's a fantastic one. Yo u hold the land now. Will you let me look around'? I wil l give you one-third of whatever I find."

  "Make it half ."

  Weisl shrugged. "Why not? There will be enough fo r both."

  Ned Weisl did not return to the cabin, so Rod had gon e looking for him. He did not distrust the little man, but h e was worried.

  He found Ned Weisl -- dead. He had been shot in th e back.

  Rod Morgan knew they believed him guilty of the murder, as well as of the killing of Ad Tolbert. No one accuse d him, although veiled references were made. Only today , on the trail, had he been directly accused.

  He had ridden through the bottleneck and down to th e stage trail, intending to ask the driver to let him kno w when Lorna arrived, although she could scarcely have ha d his letter by now.

  The five riders had been about to enter the bottleneck.

  Jeff Cordell was leading, and one of the men with him wa s Reuben Hart, who had the name of being a bad man wit h a gun. He was the man Morgan watched.

  "Howdy," he said.

  "We're hunting strays," Cordell said. We thought we'd come in and look you over."

  "Are you asking me or telling me?"

  We're tellin' you. We don't need to ask."

  "Then you've gone as far as you go. No cattle have com e in here but my own. I've fenced the neck, so nothing ca n come in or out unless they open the gate. Any time yo u want a look around, just come and ask me when I'm home."

  -We re going in now,. Cordell said, and if you re smar t you'll stand aside."

  I'm not smart, Rod Morgan said, waiting. Inside h e was on edge, poised for trouble. -I'm the kind of man wh o would make you ride in over at least three dead bodies.

  You decide if what you're doing is worth it."

  Cordell hesitated. He was no fool, and Rod Morgan ha d already proved a surprise to both Bob Carr and Ad Tolbert.

  Cordell was a poker player, and Rod Morgan looked lik e he was holding a pat hand. He believed he could tel l when a man was bluffing , and he did not believe Morga n was. He was also aware that if anybody died it was almos t sure to be him.

  "Let me take him." Reuben Hart shoved his horse t o the fore. "I've never liked you, Morgan, and I believ e you're bluffing , and I believe you're yellow!"

  Reuben went for his gun as he spoke, and Beuben was a fast man.

  Cordell and the others were cowhands, not gunfighters.

  They could handle their guns, but were not in the class o f Reuben or Dally Hart.

  Very quickly they realized they were not in the class o f Rod Morgan, either, for he had drawn and fired so fas t that his bullet hit Reuben even as that gunman's pisto l cleared leather.

  Reuben slid from the saddle and sprawled on the ground , and Rod Morgan was looking over his pistol at them.

  Jeff Cordell noticed another thing. Morgan's gray mustang stood rock still when Morgan fired, and he knew hi s own bronc would not do that. Jeff Cordell put both hand s on the pommel of the saddle. For a man with a horse lik e that and a drawn pistol, killing the rest of them would b e like shooting ducks in a barrel.

  The arrival of the stage saved their faces, and the y loaded Hart into the saddle and headed for the hom e ranch.

  Andy Shank expressed an opinion they were all beginning to share. "You know," Shank said, when they ha d ridden a couple of miles, "I believe that gent intends t o stay.

  Nobody said anything but Andy was not easily squelched.

  "Anyway," he added, "he seemed right serious about it."

  But Andy had never liked Reuben Hart, anyway.

  "He'll sta r v e ," Cordell s tone was grim. Reub was neve r the gun-hand Dally is, and Dally will be riding to Buckskin Run."

  Back on the ranch, Bod Morgan stripped the saddl e from the gray and turned it into the corral. Carrying th e saddle into the log barn, he threw it over a rail. Alone i n the barn, he stood for a moment in the shadowed stillness.

  He had killed a man.

  It was not something he liked to think about. There ha d been no need to look his place over for strays. It wa s fenced at the opening and there was nowhere else a stee r could get into the canyon. Nor did the Block C have an y cattle running in the area. It was purely a trouble-makin g venture. They knew it, and so did he.

  His cabin was silent. He stood inside the door an d looked around. He had built well. It had four rooms , plank floors, good, solid, squared-off logs, and window s with a view.

  Would Lorna like it? Would she like Buckskin Run? Or would she be afraid'

  Standing in the open door he looked back toward th e bottleneck, a good six hundred yards away. Green gras s rolled under the slight wind, and the run, about sty yard s from the house, could be plainly heard. The high roc k walls made twilight come early, but the canyon was beautiful in any light.

  He closed the door and began preparing his supper. He knew what would come now, and there was nothing h e could do to prevent it but run, and he would not, he coul d not do that. All he had was here. His hopes, his dreams , all the money he had been able to get together, all hi s hard work.

  The people he had talked to had told him about th e Harts, watching his expression as they told him. Now tha t he had killed Reuben, there was no way he could avoi d trouble with Dally. He hoped that would end it. And i t surely would, for one or both of them.

  The Block C had been against him from the start, an d he had no idea why. Were they always so clannish agains t strangers? Were they offended by his refusing a job'?

  His thoughts returned to his talk with Ned Weisl. He had liked the little man, but he had brought questions.

  Who had killed the three men from Nevada'? What ha d become of their wagons' What had become of their gold?

  And what became of the killers themselves?

  A few things he had learned. Several of the storie s about him, other than those from the malicious tongue o f Em Shipton, had come from the Block C, apparently fro m Henry Childs, a man he had never seen. He was als o aware that Mark Brewer wanted him off Buckskin Run.

  Brewer had even gone so far as to offer him a nice littl e ranch some distance from the Run, and for a very reasonable price.

  He fixed the barest of meals and then sat alone to eat it , thinking of Lorna. Where was she now? Had she receive d his 1etter'? Would she come? Dared he bring her into al l this? How would she react to what happened today, fo r example? In the world from which she came, the killing o f one man by another was a crime, and even when done i n self-defense it was somehow considered reprehensible.

  Yet soon all that would be over, and there would be peac e on Buckskin Run. Or so he hoped.

  His thoughts returned to the stories. Was there go]d buried here? If so, he hoped it would soon be found, so people would stop talking about it and looking for it.

  When morning came again he saddled the gray an d rode to the upper end of the canyon, where a dark pool o f water invited the flow down from the higher mountains.

  He had noticed the graves there before this, hut had ha d n
o time to examine them. Yet they were tangible evidenc e that something had happened %ere in Buckskin Run.

  Why had Weisl been murdered? Merely to cause trouble for him ? That was ridiculous. Or was the peddle r dangerously close to a secret no one wanted revealed'

  What fantastic idea had Weisl had, there at the end?

  Rod Morgan wished, desperately, that he knew. Tha t secret might lead to the solving of the mysteries, and a n end to them.

  He stepped down from the gray and walked over to th e three graves. Side by side, and, what he had not realized , each was marked with the name of the man who lay there.

  Somehow he had gotten the impression their names wer e unknown.

  NAT TENEDOU -- HARRY KIDD -- JOHN COONEY

  "Well? What do you make of it?"

  Startled, he looked toward the voice and saw a ma n seated on a rock beyond the pool, a long, lean man with a red mustache. To have reached that place unheard h e must have moved like a ghost. Rod was sure he had no t been there when he dismounted from his horse.

  "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

  The man jerked a thumb back toward the cliffs. "Com e down from u ? yonder. I always intended to have a goo d look at this place, but I heard you wasn't exactly welcoming strangers."

  He indicated the graves. Knowed that Kidd. Big man.

  Powerful. Don't do a man no good to be strong when a bullet hits him, I reckon."

  "What are you doing here?"

  The man grinned slyly. "Same as you. Lookin' for tha t there gold. I doubt she was ever taken out of this canyon.

  And those wagons? Three big wagons. I seen 'em."

  "You seem to know a lot about this."

  "Son, them days there wasn't much went on Josh Shipto n didn't know."

  "Josh Shipton? You're Josh Shipton?"

  "I should reckon. Never heard of another. What d'yo u know about Josh Shipton ?"

  "There's a woman in town says she was married to you."

  He sprang up so suddenly , he almost slipped into th e pool. "Em? You mean Em's here'? Son, don't you go tellin' f olks you seen me. Especially not her! That woman woul d be the death of a man! Nag, nag, nag! Mornin' unti l night. ' He spat, then squinted his eyes at Rod. "Sh e married again' That's a marryin' woman, that one."