Shadow on the Land

by Wayne D. Overholser

  Willie came bounding across the barnyard, and Lee, catching the dog, turned him over on his back, and roughed him up for a moment until Willie broke loose and went tearing back to Hanna.

  She said: “I guess he’ll never forget a favor, Lee.”

  “Memory like an elephant,” Lee said, and thought of the frigid welcome he’d received when he’d brought Willie. He had spent a bad thirty minutes wondering how she would treat him, but when she stepped down from the saddle, a pleasant, smiling girl who was genuinely pleased to see him, he saw that he had worried needlessly.

  “I was beginning to think you’d left the country, Lee,” Hanna said, “after you’d got your right of way.”

  “I wanted more than that,” he said more sharply than he intended. “I was after the top prize, but I didn’t get it.”

  “Oh.” There was the whisper of a quick breath, and the color of her cheeks deepened.

  “I want to show off my new auto,” Highpockets cut in. “Figgered you’d like to take a ride.”

  “I’d love to. It’s a beauty, Highpockets.”

  “I’m right proud of her.” The tall man glowed. “Dad-burned near as proud as I was of that black gelding I bought off you . . . the one that ran away from all them other horses in the races at Prineville.”

  “They’re firing some coyote holes on Willow Creek,” Lee said. “Let’s go watch.”

  “Wait till I put on a dress.” Hanna motioned to her Levi’s. “These won’t do in Madras.”

  Lee watched her run into the house, a straight, lithe figure, and he wondered at the hunger for her that rose in him. He tried to think ahead, to think around this girl who said she would not marry a man who asked her upon impulse or who held another woman in his heart, but he could not. His job with the Oregon Trunk would soon be ended, and the trail ahead seemed somber and without interest.

  When they reached the site of the blast and saw the crowd, Hanna said: “Looks as if most of Madras is here.”

  “It’ll be a good show,” Lee said. “They’ve got six hundred kegs of powder in that cliff.”

  It was a good show; a great mass of earth and rock was hoisted into the air more than a hundred feet, hung there an instant as if defying the law of gravity, and then came crashing down on the opposite side of the cañon, the earth shaking with the impact of it as dust rose and swirled skyward. Rocks avalanched down the side, and their going brought others. It was minutes before the rumbling and shifting ceased, leaving the new face of the cliff brightly raw.

  As they turned back to the car, Hanna asked: “Is it true that the Harriman people are quitting?”

  “Just a rumor,” Lee answered. “They are all denying it.”

  Highpockets snorted. “They ain’t gonna quit as long as they’re holding down the Smith place like they are.”

  “Jim Hill’s been in Portland,” Hanna said suggestively. “Perhaps they’ve done some trading.”

  “I’ve been having the same idea,” Lee said. “Nobody can build railroad the way things are now, and that doesn’t suit men like Hill and Stevens. There’s another rumor about the Oregon Trunk canceling the work south of Bend.”

  They had reached the car, and Hanna turned now, troubled eyes on Lee. “Does that mean they won’t build across the desert?”

  “I don’t know, but there will be a railroad into Bend. How did you hear that rumor about the Harriman line?”

  “Jepson told me. He’s worried about the future of Jepson City, and he’s still terribly angry because I sold you the right of way.”

  “Jepson is a different man from the one you had him pegged for,” Lee said gravely. “He’s a scheming devil who’s used his friends to make a fortune out of Jepson City. He’s done the same thing with the people’s movement, talked big and fine about ideals that didn’t mean a thing to him.”

  “I know,” Hanna said slowly, and stepped into the car.

  They said little on the way back to the Racine place, Hanna staring at the snow-peaked Cascades, which were alive now with the sunset’s transient glory. Lee, glancing often at her, wondered if she suspected who had killed her father.

  It was dusk when they stopped before Hanna’s house, a lighted lamp in the front room signaling a welcome to them. Highpockets heaved a long sigh. “Sure is tough having to wait this long for supper.”

  “Empty all the way down through your hollow leg, I reckon,” Lee said.

  “Sure am. Hanna, I’m hoping that there Mary girl has enough supper fixed to keep me from starving complete.” Highpockets got down and stamped into the house.

  “Jepson has tried to stop us,” Lee said, “using his own methods. And he’s been slick enough not to leave much of a trail. I think he’ll do something a little more direct before he’s licked, and, when he does, I hope you will forgive me for what I have to do.”

  “There will be nothing to forgive,” she said. “I found out what he was when he tried to get me to sell to Quinn.”

  Hanna started to step down, and Lee put a hand up to help her. Then, for apparently no reason at all, she slipped and fell and Lee caught her. She lay in his arms, her face a blur in the twilight, her eyes on him, and she was soft to his touch. He let the wildness in him go and, bringing her to him, kissed her in a hard, hungry way. She clung to him, her arms tightly around his neck, and there was that about her that carried him far out into a deep, uncharted sea.

  He let her go and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I suppose now you’ll like me less.”

  She made a still, vague figure against the car. “Why?”

  “When I asked you to marry me, you said you’d never marry a man who asked you on impulse. It wasn’t impulse, Hanna, and there is no other woman in my heart.”

  “You had been close to death,” she whispered, “and I was there beside you. I’d let you have the right of way. You felt an obligation.” She paused, and then added: “Quinn had married Deborah not very long before.”

  “I had never asked Deborah to be my wife,” he said quickly. “I’m asking you again, and I won’t believe you if you say no, after the way you kissed me.”

  Still she did not move or speak, and the minutes ran on into what seemed an endless silence. There was something else that had to be said, and her answer waited for it. He said: “There’ll never be another woman like you. I shouldn’t say what I’m saying, but it’s the way I feel, and I’ve got to say it. I love you.”

  She gave her lips to him again, and, when she drew away, she said: “You remember that time in Bend when you told me that someday I’d forget myself? You’ve made me do that, Lee.”

  “I haven’t heard your answer to my question.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  She laughed. “You’re never one to wait, are you?”

  “There’s no sense in waiting, Hanna, for something you want, when there’s no reason for waiting.”

  “All right, Lee,” she said, her voice so soft that he barely heard. “Tomorrow.”

  Riding back to Madras that night with Highpockets, Lee Dawes smiled in the darkness as he thought about the way Hanna had fallen into his arms, and he wondered if she had tripped purposely. One thing he did know. There were capacities in Hanna Racine that he had never suspected.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Lee returned from Hanna’s place, Johnson Porter was waiting for him in the lobby of the Green Hotel. “Did you get that trouble at Grizzly Butte straightened out?”

  Lee nodded. “No sign of Jepson or Bull, but it’s the same kind of play they’ve been pulling off.”

  “You’ll soon have some sign of them,” the contractor said soberly. “I’ve got news, and I’m curious to see if you read it the way I do. We’ve come to an agreement with the Harriman people regarding the Smith ranch, so there’s nothing to keep us from building into Bend at our own speed.”

  “Then Jepson either has to shoot or quit.”

  “That’s the way I see it. Here’s what we did. The Deshutes Railway
gets running rights over the twelve miles on the east side where we had each other tied up. Besides that, they get free use of our bridge over Crooked River and running powers to a point five hundred feet south of Redmond. On the other hand, they will convey to us at cost a right of way through the Smith place, and grant permission for the overhead crossing at Celilo. They also let us have, for a consideration, the necessary right of way between the mouth of the Deschutes and Celilo.”

  Lee stared thoughtfully at Porter for a time. “That puts a new slant on things,” he said. “If there’s any building across the desert, I guess we’ll do it.”

  “That’s right.” Porter looked at Lee sharply. “What are you driving at?”

  “I can promise you one thing about Jepson,” Lee answered. “He won’t pack up his valise and move out. He’s figured all the time he could make us tangle with the Harriman people, and this agreement won’t change his mind. It may bring him into the open, but it won’t stop him.”

  Porter rose. He pushed a palm of a hand across his long, sober face, and shook his head. “It’s your job to stop him, Lee,” he said, and left the hotel.

  For a long time Lee sat beside the window in his room, smoking and thinking about what Porter had told him. From what he knew now he couldn’t begin to anticipate Jepson’s next move, but he was certain of one thing: the little man was possessed of an inordinate pride that would keep him from quitting as long as life was in him.

  A sharp knock brought Lee out of his chair and across the room, one hand clutching gun butt. Opening the door, he saw that it was the night clerk.

  “A feller just rode up, came in, and gave me this.” The clerk handed a sealed envelope to Lee. “Laid a dollar on the desk and told me to give it to you pronto.”

  Lee took the envelope. He said—“Thanks.”—and tossed the clerk another dollar.

  The envelope contained a single sheet of paper. Written in the same fine hand that had brought Lee to the Quinn house that snowy December day were the words:

  I told you that you were a sucker for the right bait, Dawes. We’ve got Quinn in the old Calder house. You think you’re tough enough to get him out by yourself, and you’ll walk into our guns just like I said you would.

  Quickly Lee slid into his coat, shoved his gun into his waistband, and, stepping into the next room, woke Highpockets. The tall man yawned, and came completely awake when Lee said: “Get your gun, pard. We’re winding it up tonight.”

  “I’ll put on my pants first.” Highpockets threw back the covers. “What’s up?”

  Lee told him about the note. Highpockets made no comment until he was dressed and reaching for his coat. Then, glancing obliquely at Lee, he said: “I ain’t one to duck a fight, son, but I also ain’t one to start looking for hot lead if it ain’t plumb necessary. Now it looks to me like we’d be downright foolish to walk into their guns like Jepson says.”

  “Then we’re foolish. Let’s roll.”

  “You oughta let the sheriff know,” Highpockets said doggedly.

  “You think we’d better ride over to Prineville, get the sheriff out of bed, and have him tell us to go to hell because we woke him up. Come on.”

  Highpockets held his silence until they were in his car and headed north from Madras. Then he asked: “You reckon Jepson’s really got Quinn?”

  “He wouldn’t have written that note if he didn’t. He’s full of tricks, but he don’t bluff.”

  The car raced on through the sagebrush, the rimrock a black line against the dark sky, bright stars making their distant and ineffectual light. Highpockets cleared his throat. “We’ve been through a pile of fighting since that time you sided me in Shaniko, but I never went into a ruckus blind. What in the name of Goshen are we up to?”

  “We’re going to put an end to Jepson’s cussedness.”

  “Stop the car in front of the Calder place, walk in, and get shot to ribbons? I ain’t in favor of it, Lee.”

  “It won’t work that way. Jepson’s tricky and he knows we know it, so he’ll expect us to take the long way around and try to out-trick him. We’ll go at it the short way, and I think we’ll fool him.”

  “Maybe you’ve even got it figured out why he made this play,” Highpockets said sarcastically.

  “I think I have. There’s only one way he can figure. He knows that if a railroad goes across the desert, it’ll be ours and not a Harriman line. He knows we won’t even come close to Jepson City. So he doesn’t have any choice but to go back to the people’s railroad, which will go through his town.”

  “That’s a dead pigeon.”

  “It goes on the ballot,” Lee reminded him. “A lot of things could happen between now and fall that would start the voters thinking about it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Suppose we don’t build south of Bend. Or don’t build across the desert. He can say we’ve only done half a job. You told me yourself he’s built up his own political connections.”

  “That’s right,” Highpockets admitted, “but what’s that got to do with getting you and Quinn out here?”

  “We’ll find out,” Lee answered.

  * * * * *

  The Calder place lay close to the Deschutes Railway grade, a two story farmhouse that had been deserted, since it stood beside a ridge that had been pierced by a deep cut because of the blasting. Lee had seen the house from the road, and had noticed how the windows had been shredded by flying rocks. He thought about it now, fixing every detail in his mind. He asked: “Have you been inside the Calder house?”

  “Yep. Big living room across the front, kitchen behind it, and a couple of bedrooms off to the side. More bedrooms upstairs.”

  They came within sight of the house, the windows along the front making pinpoints of light. The rest of the house was dark. “Ain’t it funny they’d have a light in the front room?” Highpockets asked.

  “Damned funny. Can you drive in close, so I can hit the porch in one jump?”

  “Sure. Ain’t nothing to stop me. Now, are you aiming to tell me what we’re gonna do?”

  “You’ll make a wide swing in front of the house, slow down like you figured on stopping, and then speed up. They’ll think you got scared and decided to go on. I’ll hit the porch in front of the second window. You stop after you get past the house. Stay in the car and keep your eyes open for anybody they’ve got hid out.”

  Highpockets groaned. “I don’t want to miss the whole shebang.”

  “You won’t. Jepson’ll have a man or two in the yard, and, if you don’t get ’em, they’ll get me. Plugging me in the back would be as easy as shooting pigeons in a haymow.”

  “Risky business,” Highpockets grumbled.

  “Jepson told me in his store, that time, he knew the kind of bait I’d take. I wouldn’t turn this down in a million years . . . the way he threw it at me.”

  “Dad-burned idiot.”

  “That light is the trap. They’ll figure on me dodging the light and sneaking around to the back. That’s where they’ll be all set to burn me down. The last thing they’ll expect me to do is to bust into that lighted room.”

  Highpockets sighed gustily. “Your dad-burned pride will make a corpse out of you, but I hope you’re right, son. I hope you are.”

  They swung off the road toward the house, headlights throwing a weird brightness upon the sagebrush. Lee’s gun was in his hand, the door held open, as Highpockets swung wide in front of the house and made a quick turn, the wheels almost touching the edge of the porch. Lee jumped, crossed to the window in two strides, and glimpsed the fat, bald man he had seen in the Jepson City store. A single lamp was on a box in the center of the room, the light shining through a smoky chimney and leaving the corners of the room in murky darkness.

  An open door on the far wall led, Lee guessed, into the kitchen. The fat man had called through it, and was turning just as Lee touched the porch. He saw Lee at the window, and lifted his gun and fired, the bullet breathing through the glassless window. Lee shot him.
As the fat man fell, Lee shoved a leg through the window. It was then he saw Mike Quinn, face down on the floor a few feet beyond the lamp.

  Lee paused in the window, stunned for an instant into immobility. A fury rose in him, a fury that sent a red wave rushing across his brain and caused him to cry out involuntarily: “Quinn’s dead.”

  A gun sounded from the blackness of the yard, the bullet splintering a board six inches from Lee’s head. He heard Highpockets’s answering shot. He came on into the room, eyes raking the shadows for movement and finding none.

  Outside, the firing had stopped. A man’s heavy, running steps sounded in the back of the house. Lee fired through the door into the kitchen. The rhythm of the steps was broken. Boston Bull stumbled into the room, carried by the impetus of his run, hands outstretched as if to catch himself. He fell headlong, a loose, heavy weight, the house shaking with the impact of his big body. His gun had dropped from his hand, and he had come on past it. Now he saw the fat man’s gun, and picked it up. Still lying flat, he whipped the revolver into position, and dropped it as Lee’s second shot took life from him.

  These fast-paced seconds had caught Jepson’s men off guard because Lee had not reacted to plan. Two were dead, and Lee could reasonably assume that Highpockets had taken care of a third outside. But Jepson was still alive.

  Lee shot out the light, knowing that the advantage surprise had given him was gone now. The blackness was intense. For a time there was no sound. The smell of powder smoke was sharply pungent. Lee remained still, letting the long minutes pull out one behind the other. Jepson would break sooner or later. He’d know by now that Bull was dead, and panic would begin to have its way with him.

  Then it came, the faint creak of a floor board, and mingled with the slowly receding smell of powder smoke was the foul reek of Jepson’s cigar.