Where the Long Grass Blows (1976)

by L'amour, Louis

  That's one of the things that brought me here."

  "Revenge?"

  "Well ... I don't call it that You might-was He leaned toward her, eager for her to understand. "We don't have much law in this country. Local marshals take care of the crime in their towns, or they are supposed to. Emmett Chubb picked a fight with Vin when he was drunk. ... He didn't even know what he was doing. It was murder. But when the marshal came up, Vin had a gun in his hand.

  They called it self-defense, and Chubb actually laughed when they said it. No law could touch him, but there are other laws, the laws men make and adhere to in wild country. And one of them is the law of fair play.

  "Sure, this is a rough country, and the men have rough ways. But most of them are basically honest Nevertheless, we have a marshal here who was practically appointed by Charlie Reynolds. And the nearest court is approximately a hundred miles away and through Indian country.

  "If we find a dog or a wolf with rabies, we kill him. If we find a man who kills wantonly, sooner or later he has to be killed. If two men get into a fight and all is equal, regardless of who is in the right, nothing is said and this even though the skills of the two men may vary considerably. But if a man is shot in the back without a fair chance, usually action is taken on the spot "Vin Carter was my friend. He has no one else to act for him. He was not a gunfighter, only a brave young man who was a fair shot. But on the night he was killed, he was so drunk he could scarcely see.

  He had no idea what was happening to him, so it was murder.

  "Perhaps before this is over, men like Chubb, being what they are, I shall have the chance to even the measure with Chubb. I shall not have to seek him.

  Eventually, he will come to me. That is simply between us. The rest of it is something else.

  "Pogue and Reynolds acquired their ranches through a ruthless use of power, of money and guns.

  And they are now in a feud. Neither of them has any claim on their property but possession.

  But when the shooting is over, there may be a different situation in the Soledad country. I shall have my ranch."

  "Where, Bill?"

  His pulse leaped at her use of his first name, the first time she had done so. He shrugged. "Let's wait and see."

  The smile left his face. "By the way, as we parted the other evening a man made a point of saying you were a staked claim, and to stay away from you."

  "What did you do?" Her eyes were thoughtful, curious, and somewhat amused.

  "I told him he was a fool to believe any woman was a staked claim unless she wanted it so. He said, nevertheless, that you were staked out. If you are curious, you might as well know that I didn't believe him. Also," he smiled, "I wouldn't have paid any attention if I did."

  "I'd have been surprised if you had." She arose, touching his hand lightly. "I must go now."

  He stood waiting as she said: "Nevertheless, Bill, what he said was true."

  Bill Canavan's heart seemed to stop. "You mean ... his Well, what do you mean?"

  "That I am engaged to marry Star Levitt. I have been engaged to him for three months." She turned quickly and was gone.

  He stared after her. His thoughts refused to accept what she had said. Dixie Venable engaged to Star Levitt! So where did that leave him? Out in the cold, no doubt Well, he was used to that. It was often chilly where he was. Nevertheless, he was suddenly discouraged.

  When he had come to the Valley he had come seeking a ranch. What if he gained the ranch but never had this girl? A ranch by himself now seemed a very empty and lonely dream.

  He dropped back into his chair. "Some hot coffee?

  It was May, smiling down at him.

  "Please," he said. And then he added, speaking softly into the empty air, "So that's the way it is?

  I find a girl worth having and she belongs to somebody else."

  "Mind if I sit down?"

  He looked up to see Allen Kinney, the hotel clerk, standing beside his table. "Please do," he said, "and have some coffee."

  May delivered the coffee, and for a few minutes there was silence. "Canavan," Kinney asked suddenly, "you'd do a lot for a friend, wouldn't you?"

  Surprised, he glanced up, and Kinney's eyes warned him of what was coming. "Why, sure." And even as he spoke he was thinking over what was coming, forwitha flash of intuition he guessed what Kinney had on his mind.

  He should have known before this, for there was no other place. This was a Walt Pogue, Charlie Reynolds town.

  "I've no right to ask this, but from the first you struck me as a man who went his own way, and who was not afraid. I consider myself a friend, whether you realize it or not, and somehow I feel we are on the same side. But I have no right to ask you to help, and you'd be sticking your neck out ... way out."

  "It's been out before. It's been out ever since I hit town."

  "You have no local ties so far as I can see, and there's no one else I can turn to. And-was "You're right. I have no local ties, and I just had the only possible one cut off short. What do you want me to do? Get him out of town?"

  Kinney's cup almost dropped from his hand. "You mean? You know?"

  "I just guessed. Where else could he go? Is he hurt bad?"

  "He can ride ... I think. He's a good man, Bill, one of the very best. And if they find him they'll murder him. I had no idea what to do, and I know they will think of the hotel soon. It is a miracle that they haven't already."

  "You've got him here?" Canavan was startled.

  "Then we'd best get him out tonight, while the getting is good."

  "He's in the potato cellar, in a box covered with potatoes. It was all I could think of at the moment."

  "Why me? How'd you happen to choose me?"

  "Like I said, you've no local ties that I know of.

  And you have a way about you that speaks of independence.

  Then ... May suggested it, and Dixie."

  "She knows?"

  "I thought of her first. The VV is out of this fight so far, and it seemed the only place. But she told me that although she would like to, there were reasons why it would be absolutely the worst place. Then she suggested you."

  "She did?"

  "Uh-huh. She said if you liked Burt you would do it. And you might even do it as a slap in the face for Pogue and Reynolds."

  Canavan considered that. Without doubt Dixie had an idea of what was going on around the country, probably knowing a good deal more than anyone guessed. How many times might she have listened when the others plotted and planned?

  "We can't wait. It will have to be done now. Have you got a spare horse?"

  "Not that I can get without attracting attention.

  May has one at her place, out on the edge of town. The problem is to get him there."

  "I'll handle it. You throw us together a sack of grub from the hotel restaurant's supplies. Do it without anybody knowing, if you can. When I come back to town, I can get what we need without questions."

  Canavan got to his feet. "Get him ready to move.

  I'll get my horse down to May's and come back." He listened while Kinney gave him directions, then turned to the door.

  It was too late.

  A dozen hard-riding horsemen came charging up the street and swung down before the hotel. One man stepped up on the boardwalk and strode into the hotel. It was Walt Pogue. The man on his right was the man who had been with Berdue at Thousand Springs.

  "Kinney. I want to search the hotel! That killer Roily Burt is in town, an' by the lord Harry we'll hang him from a cottonwood limb before midnight!"

  "Why would he be here?" Kinney spread his hands. He was pale, but completely self-possessed.

  He might have been addressing a class in history or reading a paper before a literary group. "I know Burt, but I haven't seen him. And why would he come here, of all places?"

  Chapter VIII

  Unobtrusively Bill Canavan was lounging against the door to the kitchen, his mind working swiftly. They would find Burt, and the
re was no earthly way to prevent it. There might be a chance to delay the hanging, if such it was to be. He had made up his mind there was to be no hanging. He knew nothing of Burt beyond the comments of those who mentioned him, but he sounded like the kind of a man Canavan liked. The very fact that those men were against him spoke in his favor.

  "What you so worried about, Pogue?" he drawled.

  Walt Pogue turned squarely around to face him.

  "Oh, it's you! What part do you have in this?"

  "None at all. Just wondering what all the excitement's about. From all I hear, the man was attacked and he defended himself ... did a mighty good job of it, too, I'd say. I'd say he did what a man should, and did it well. And he's no candidate for a lynching."

  "He killed a Box n man."

  "Seems to me a Box n man can die as well as any other. All three of them were grown-up men, and all three had guns, which makes it a fair fight.

  Seems kind of curious, too, why all the CR men are suddenly out of town. Are they that scared?"

  "This is none of your deal!" It was the man from Thousand Springs. "Was I you, I'd stay out of what doesn't concern you."

  Bill Canavan still leaned against the door, but slowly, carefully, contemptuously, he looked the man over, top to toe. Then he said gently, "Pogue, you've got a taste for knickknacks. If you want to take this boy home with you, you'd better keep him out of trouble."

  Angered, the rider took a quick step forward. "All right, damn you! You're askin' for it!"

  Pogue lifted a hand. "Forget it, Voyle!

  We've other fish to fry! You go look for Burt. I'll talk to Canavan."

  Voyle hesitated, eager for a fight, but Canavan did not move, lounging carelessly against the doorpost, a queer half-smile on his face.

  With an abrupt movement, Voyle turned away and spoke over his shoulder. "We'll talk about it another time, Canavan!"

  "Sure," Canavan drawled lazily.

  And then as a parting he said softly, "Want to bring Dahl with you?"

  Voyle caught himself in mid-stride, hunching his shoulders as if from an expected blow. He stopped then and stared back, shock, confusion, and uncertainty on his face.

  Canavan looked over at Pogue. "You carry some odd characters. That Voyle now? Touchy, isn't he?"

  Pogue was staring at him from under his brows.

  "What was that you said about Dahl? He's not one of my riders!"

  "Is that right?" Canavan smiled, then shrugged.

  "Well, you got to admit I haven't been here very long, and I don't know who rides for whom around here.

  Somehow or other I figured Dahl an' Voyle trailed their ropes together."

  Walt Pogue was annoyed and angry, and a little frightened. Why would Canavan tie those two together?

  Was he just talking or did he know something?

  How could he know anything? Another thought came to him. Where had Canavan come from, anyway? Who was he? What was he doing here, right now? So far as Pogue was aware, Dahl and Voyle were not even acquainted. Yet, thinking back to Voyle's startled reaction, he decided he did not like it, not any of it He walked to the coffee pot and filled a cup, adding cream and sugar liberally. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Canavan.

  May had come up behind him. "He's gone." she whispered. "He's not there!"

  There was dust on her dress. He slapped at it, and she hurriedly brushed the dust away. "Where was he shot?" he whispered.

  "In the upper leg, I think. He couldn't go far."

  Pogue stared at them. "What are you two whispering about?" he demanded.

  Canavan shrugged. "You are touchy. Can't a man talk to a pretty girl without you getting upset?

  I'd suggest you mind your own affairs."

  Pogue put down the coffee cup. "Now you just see here! Nobody talks to-was "Pogue," Canavan said quietly, "if I were you I would think very carefully before you say anything more. I don't work for you, and it isn't likely that I ever will. And nobody tells me when to talk to a girl, or how I talk back to a man. So just back off.

  ... Back off, I say!"

  For a moment, Pogue hesitated. He realized with startled awareness that he had brought himself to the verge of a gunfight with a man who didn't know enough to be afraid of him. For several years now he had talked just about as he willed, had run roughshod over many smaller men, and his manner had grown brusque and hard-shouldered as a result. A good man with a gun himself, he had come to rely on other men to do his fighting. Now, suddenly, he had talked himself into a corner, and he did not like having to back up. But wisdom advised it as the better way.

  After all, he now had too much to lose, while this casual drifter had nothing but his hide.

  Pogue shrugged. "Damn it, man, with all this trouble around I'm getting jumpy. It's none of my affair what you two talk about."

  Voyle came back into the room accompanied by two men. "No sign of him, boss, and we've been all over the place. We did find a box down under some spuds in the cellar. Might have been big enough to cover a man."

  Allen Kinney had strolled back into the room, and Pogue turned on him. "What about that, Kinney?"

  "Probably just something to keep the spuds off the ground," Canavan commented, to nobody in particular.

  "Damp ground will rot them mighty fast."

  Pogue was angry. He started to say something, then thought better of it in time. Nor did Voyle have anything to say, and his eyes avoided Canavan's.

  The man was no coward, and it could only be that he was afraid of what Canavan might know. The allusion to Dahl had worried him. He's mixed up in something he doesn't want his boss to know about, Canavan told himself. He's afraid I might spill the beans!

  Pogue turned and strode from the restaurant and out of the lobby door to the street, his men trailing after him. When the last man was gone, May turned to Kinney. "Allen, where can he be? He was there.

  You know he was there!"

  "I know," Kinney agreed. "He must have heard them and got out somehow. He'd be the last man to want to get any of us in trouble. But where could he go?"

  Bill Canavan was thinking far ahead of them. The searchers would no doubt stop for a drink, but they would not stop long, and Pogue was there to make them get on the trail. Voyle apparently was not in on the plot to kill Burt, because he had been at Thousand Springs. Too little response had come from the CR, so it could have been a plot among Burt's own people to be rid of him. For some reason, Roily Burt had become dangerous to them, and obviously it was intended that he die in the gunfight the previous night.

  Instead he had shot his way out of it, killing one of their men and wounding another. Now he would know that even his own outfit must be plotting against him, and he must be killed, and soon.

  Yet Canavan was thinking beyond that. His mind was out there in the darkness with the wounded man.

  Enemies on every side, where could he turn? What could he do? How could he get away? What would he, Bill Canavan, do if he were a wounded man out there in the night with little ammunition and very little time?

  He would have to hobble, or drag himself. He would be quickly noticed by anyone and investigated.

  He would not dare try to go far, and he must keep to the darkest ways, for there was enough light outside for a man to be seen.

  Canavan, to whom every piece of ground was a potential battlefield, remembered the stone wall. It began not far from the hotel stables and fenced in a large orchard, planted long ago. Some of the stones had fallen, but it was still the best place around in which to fort up. Also it gave a man the shelter of darkness for about a hundred yards, no small aid to a man who must hitch himself along slowly.

  Turning quickly, he went out the back door of the hotel into the darkness. He stood for an instant to let his eyes grow accustomed to the night, and after a moment or two he could make out the stable and beyond it the wall.

  Walking to the stable, he went along its side.

  Putting a hand on the stone wall, he vaulted easily ov
er it. He stood still once more. If he approached Burt suddenly the wounded man might shoot, mistaking him for an enemy. And he did not know Burt, nor Burt him.

  Moving stealthily, he worked his way along the wall. It was almost four feet high for most of its length, and there was a hedge of brambles and weeds growing close against it. He ripped a deep scratch into his hand, and swore softly, bitterly. Then he went on and was almost to the corner when a voice spoke from the shadows.

  "All right, mister, you've made a good guess but a bad one. You let out one peep and the first one to die will be you."

  "Burt?"

  "Naw!" The cowhand's tone was ripe with disgust.

  "This here is King Solomon, an' I'm huntin' the Queen of Sheba!"

  "Listen, Burt, and get this straight the first time, because somebody else is going to do some guessing in the next few minutes. I'm your friend, although you don't know me. And I'm a friend of Kinney and May, from the hotel. I've come to help you get out of here.

  There's a horse at May's cabin, and we've got to get you there as fast as we can. And then get you out of town."

  "How do I know who you are?"

  "If I'd been with them, I'd have yelled, wouldn't I?"

  "You might yell once, but not more than once.

  Who are you? I can't see your face."

  "You're aren't missing much. I'm Bill Canavan. I just blew in."

  "You the gent who backed up Syd Berdue?

  Heard about that. A good job it was, too."

  "Can you walk?"

  "Give me a shoulder and I'll take a stab at it."

  "Let's go then."

  With an arm around Burt's waist, Canavan got him over the wall at its darkest place, then down a dark alley and over a fence. Then they faced open ground, but all in darkness, and beyond it a patch of woods and brush. Once under the shelter of the trees they would have cover all the way to May's house. If caught in the open there'd be nothing left but to shoot it out.

  "All right, Burt. If a door opens anywhere, freeze."