Where the Long Grass Blows (1976)

by L'amour, Louis

  Kinney flushed, but Scott shrugged. "A thousand dollars is a lot of money, boy! And they were goin' to get you anyway! I've seen men killed for a sight less, and most of these folks around here would have killed you. They'd have taken a shot at you and talked about it after!"

  "We'll take him to jail then!" Chubb said. "This is no place for him."

  "You'll do no such thing!" Scott said. "He stays right here until I have the money right in my hand!

  When Levitt's paid me, he can do whatever he's of a mind to, but nobody's beatin' me out of my money.

  Stay here and help guard if you want, but don't you forget for one minute that he's my prisoner! This shotgun won't forget it!"

  Kinney slipped around behind Canavan and lifted his guns from their holsters. Reluctantly, under the pointing shotgun, Canavan backed into a chair and sat down. Shocked by the unexpected betrayal, he could only stare accusingly, appalled by the sudden turn of fortune.

  From the high, if desperate, hopes of earlier in the day, he was suddenly thrust back into utter hopelessness.

  Yet he was alive, and had Scott yielded him to Chubb he would never have lived to reach the jail.

  How could they have known he was even in town? There was but one way ... May must have betrayed him. She and Allen must have planned it together, and when he left her house she must have gotten the word to Kinney at once.

  He sat very still, thinking. There had to be a way out. There was always a way, if one could but think of it, and there was no need to waste time in wailing at the fact that he had been betrayed or that he was now a prisoner. The problem he must solve was what was now to be done.

  What was past was past. He had only to do with the future. Fortunately, Scott had insisted he be held here, so he would not be murdered en route to the jail.

  Chubb dropped into a chair opposite him and held a six-shooter in his lap. I'd like to blast his heart out," he said sullenly. "What frets you so much, Scott?

  You'll get your money, dead or alive."

  "You just leave him be," Scott said. "If you shoot him, you'll lay claim to it. I wouldn't trust you across the street where that much money was concerned.

  Nor any of your crowd."

  He chuckled, avoiding Canavan's eyes.

  "Levitt will be top man around here from now on, and he's the one I'll do business withand only with him! I'm too old to be shoved out in the cold at my time of life, and I ain't figurin' on it! I'll work with Star an' he'll work with me!"

  "I never saw you bein' so thick with him!" Chubb argued, his irritation obvious. "I never even seen him in your store."

  Scott chuckled. "How do' you suppose he came here in the first place? Who told him this place was wide open for a smart man?

  "Canavan here, he figured the same way. He planned to take over when Pogue and Reynolds were out of it, but he was leavin' too much to chance.

  Star Levitt doesn't leave anything to chance."

  Bitterly, Bill Canavan stared at the floor, trying to shut out their words. All he wanted was time to think. Otherwise he was finished, really finished ...

  And so were Dixie and Tom Venable.

  If Mabry and Burt had gone to May's, or had stayed there after stabling their horses, they would have been sold out, too. He listened, straining his ears to catch any distant sound of shooting, but heard nothing. By now both might be dead, led into a trap by him.

  Levitt was completely in command now. These others were aware of that and all were jumping on the bandwagon to ride home with the winner. He stared at Kinney, and the young man's eyes wavered and swung away from his. How could he have guessed such a man would sell him out? He would have bet his life on him. ... And that was just what he had done ... and lost.

  As for Scott, the old man had been an outlaw most of his life. When a man rides on the wrong side of the law for so long, he can develop a bent that way.

  Still, the friends who directed Canavan to him had always said he was a man to ride the river with. But who was he to ride with?

  The old man had evidently chosen to ride with the front-runner as he had said, and it was certainly the logical thing to do. Yet he had liked the old man, felt a genuine affection for him. Which only went to prove that one should never let sentiment involve one's judgment.

  There was no chance now for Dixie, unless. ... His eyes narrowed with thought.

  What would they do with him now? Would they get word to Star that he was a prisoner, then smuggle him out of town to be killed? Or would they bring him out in the open with the evidence arrayed against him, or kill him trying to escape?

  If, somehow, he could manage to talk to Ward Clymer or the sheriff! Of course, he would be meeting them with reward posters out on him, with all of Levitt's men prepared to swear to his crimes, and he would be in a bad position to begin with. And what evidence had he?

  On his part, Star Levitt would have plenty of evidence arranged for, and more than enough perjured testimony. And, as May had warned him, nobody in town would testify against Star.

  They were frightened, or they wanted to ride with the front-runner.

  He was through ... finished.

  Yet ... there was a slim hope. Mabry and Burt had not been brought in yet, and he had heard no report of their deaths. Their names had not even been mentioned thus far, so perhaps they had not been taken. And they, at least, were loyal Somehow, if they were still alive and free, they would try to help. Somehow they would contrive to free him.

  It was going to be a long night, and a longer day tomorrow.

  And tomorrow was Dixie's wedding day. ...

  ChapterXVII

  The night was endless, and the darkness lasted forever. In the back room of Scott's store, lighted by the small flame of but one coal-oil lamp turned low, they sat in silence, watching the minutes become hours. And for a long, long time it seemed there would be no day.

  Scott smoked endlessly at the stub of a cigar that seemed never to have been longer, and seemed never to grow shorter. Chubb smoked cigarettes, pacing the floor, occasionally swearing, turning his head as a lizard does to stare unblinking at Canavan.

  Allen Kinney read from a week-old newspaper only just arrived. Voyle yawned, dozed, occasionally smoked.

  If you'd let me have him," Chubb complained, "we could all get some sleep."

  "No," Scott said.

  The door from the back room opened into the store, and beyond it they could see the street And for a long time it was only blackness there, then a faint gray, and finally they could pick out the astonished eyes of the stores across the street.

  "You'll die this day," Chubb said, with satisfaction.

  "Maybe," Canavan replied, "but have you looked in a mirror this morning?"

  "Mirror?" Chubb turned on him. "Why should I?"

  "Because you've the mark of death on you, Chubb. You'll not live out the day, I'm thinking, and was he began his lie, "I'm the seventh son of a seventh son, and can see the future. If I were you, I'd make my peace with the Lord."

  "You're crazy." Chubb turned away. But a moment later they saw him looking into Scott's shaving mirror.

  "The mark of death," Canavan said solemnly.

  "You might live out the day, but they rarely do."

  The room was silent. Voyle gnawed uneasily at his lower lip. In the street a Mexican went slowly past leading a burro piled high with sticks. An old gray mongrel trotted beside them.

  Chubb looked at him. "You're crazy," he said.

  "All that stuff about seventh sons. That's nonsense."

  "Is it? My uncle foretold his own death. To the minute. Told us he'd die by drowning and everybody laughed, because he was the strongest swimmer anywhere around. And besides, he was going into the desert for two weeks."

  "So what happened?" Scott asked.

  "He died by drowning ... flash flood. His head struck on a stone when the wall of water hit him.

  He was drowned."

  "Could happen to anyone," Voyle declared.

&n
bsp; "It could," Canavan admitted. "But my uncle foresaw it, just like I'll foresee yours. The exact way hasn't come to me yet, but it will."

  Chubb snorted his disgust. "You tell me when you get the rest of it," he said. "Give me something to laugh about"

  "That's another thing," Canavan said quietly.

  "You're not going to laugh anymore, never any more at all!"

  They heard the door slam over at the Bit and Bridle, and Fat stood on the walk, taking the morning air. Down the street a pump rattled, then broke into a rhythmical squeaking. Water gushed into the pail, and they all heard it. Canavan looked over at Scott, but the old man avoided his glance. For a moment Canavan was about to say something sarcastic, but then he figured, what the hell?

  His lids fluttered, then closed. Yet behind them he was thinking. With four of them watching he had no chance, none at all.

  In a few minutes, at least within the hour, allowing for bad roads, the stage would roll into the street bringing the men from the capital. The stage would halt in front of the Cattleman's Cafe and the passengers would go inside to eat. Within a short time after they arrived he would know his fate ... if Levitt did not come first.

  "Also," Scott said suddenly, "you take this shotgun, and I'll assemble some ham an' eggs for you boys.

  No reason to go hungry."

  Tohnan, who had left some time before, returned now and stuck his head into the door. "Stage a-comin' an' Syd Berdue just blowed in!"

  "The W outfit come in yet?" Chubb asked, without turning his eyes from Canavan. "When Dolph Turner comes in, tell him what's happened.

  He'll see that Levitt gets the news right off."

  Scott was working over the stove, and soon the smell of frying bacon and eggs filled the room.

  Despite his situation Canavan realized suddenly that he was hungry, very hungry indeed. He realized for the first time that he had eaten nothing the night before.

  Emmett Chubb rose and crossed the room to wash his face and hands. He was a stocky, swarthy man with a square jaw and a dark stubble of beard.

  His hair was unkempt, and Canavan noted the notches on his guns. Three on one, five on the other.

  The notches stamped the man, for only tinhorns notched their guns as a rule. Eight men dead ...

  It was time for him to die.

  The only thing I'm sorry for," Chubb said, as he dried his hands, "is that we didn't get a chance to settle this between us."

  His black eyes were hard as agate. "I'd like to see you down in the dust, Canavan. I'd like to see you die."

  "We could do it now," Canavan suggested. "Just give me a gun and we can step right out there.

  I wouldn't have to worry because I know you're not going to make it. Your number's up."

  "Stow that!" Chubb said carelessly, but Canavan could see Chubb was nettled by it. No man likes to be told he is about to die, and especially not a man who may have to use a gun at any moment.

  "All of you," Canavan continued, "are a bunch of yellow-bellied double-crossers. There isn't one of you fit to stand up with a man.

  "As for facing me, Chubb," he said cooly, "you had your chance after you murdered Vin Carter. You blew town almighty fast so you wouldn't have to answer for it. You put your tail between your legs and ran." He spoke softly, bitterly. "I'd lay a little money that every one of those eight notches was for some helpless drunk. I don't think you've got the guts to face a sober man, Chubb. I think you're yellowl"

  Chubb strode across the room and slapped Canavan across the face. And Canavan came up from his chair with a lunge.

  "Stop it! Kinney yelled. "Damn you, Chubb!

  Just back up now! Back up and sit down or you'll die right here."

  Chubb backed away warily, not liking the expression in Kinney's eyes. "Hold it now, you just hold it.

  He's got no call to--"

  Suddenly the door opened and three men pushed into the room. Bill Canavan saw that Star Levitt was the first man into the room, and something went cold and still within him. The next two men were strangers.

  Levitt glanced quickly from Scott to Chubb, then indicated the two men with him. "Neal and Baker of the Rangers. They will take charge of the prisoner."

  Chubb swore, disappointment and resentment struggling for place in his eyes. "He's here.

  We've been holdin' him."

  "I've been holding him," Scott said.

  "Me an'

  Kinney here. Chubb had nothin' to do with it."

  Neal gestured to Canavan. "You come with us.

  We're holding a hearing right now. We want to find out just what has happened here, and why."

  Canavan started for the door with Neal, and as he glanced back he saw Scott smiling. And as their eyes met the old man winked.

  Now what did that mean? Frowning, Canavan walked across the street toward the hotel. Neal glanced at him several times. "Do you know a man named Mabry?"

  "I know him. He works for me, and he's a good man. Is he all right?"

  "When Clymer asks you questions," Neal said, "just give him what information you have, straightforward, honest and without prejudice."

  Puzzled by the suggestion, Bill Canavan walked into the room and was shown to a chair.

  A big man sat at a table in front of the room.

  He had a strong, capable look about him, and as Canavan came in, he glanced at him sharply, then returned to the documents on the table before him. Several others entered, and among them were Dixie and Tom Venable. More and more puzzled, he glanced from one to the other, trying to get some hint as to what had been happening and what was to happen here.

  Canavan had never believed that Levitt would permit Clymer to confront the Venables, nor himself if it could be avoided. Yet all were present, and it looked like a showdown. Allen Kinney came in with May. When she glanced at Canavan, he averted his eyes. Scott walked in, and then Star Levitt with Chubb and Voyle.

  From the expression on Levitt's face, he had an idea all was not going to suit him. And the thought cheered him. Anything that was bad news for Levitt was apt to be good news for him.

  Ward Clymer sat back in his chair and glanced around the room, his expression noncommittal.

  "Now, my friends," he began briskly, "this is an entirely informal hearing to try to clarify the events leading up to and subsequent to the gun battle in which Pogue and Reynolds were killed, and to try to ascertain the guilt, if any.

  "Although your statements will be taken down in writing, you will not be sworn in at this time. But please remember that you may be called upon to repeat your statements under oath and before a jury.

  "Also, I am given to understand that William Canavan, a cattleman, is being held on a charge of killing Kerb Dahl, a cowhand from the W. If such proves to be the truth, and if the evidence warrants it, Canavan will be taken to the county seat for trial.

  In the meantime, let us have your statements and any information calculated to clarify the situation."

  He glanced at Star Levitt. "Mr. Levitt, will you relate the events that preceded the fight between Reynolds and Pogue?"

  Star Levitt got to his feet. He glanced around, smiled a little, and began. "From what I have heard, it seems that for some time before I came into the Valley there had been trouble between the two outfits, with sporadic trouble over water and range rights.

  "The W, owned by the Venables, was not involved in this feud, but there seemed to be some desire on the part of both outfits to possess the W holdings and their water, "As you will understand, in any such semi-desert range as this, water is the important factor.

  And who controls the water controls the range, for without water, the range is useless.

  "On the day of the big fight, there had been some minor altercation over branding. And it led to shooting, which soon became general until most of the hands on both sides were involved with the resulting deaths."

  "You had no part in this fight?" Clymer asked.

  "None. When trouble seemed about to develop, I withd
rew my men and got out of the way myself.

  After the shooting was over, we did what we could for the wounded."

  "Are there witnesses present from the outfits involved?"

  "Yes, sir. Emmett Chubb, who has been the acting marshal, survived the fight. So did Voyle, of the Box N. Kerb Dahl, of the W, who was later murdered by Canavan, was in the middle of things when it happened."

  "Sir?" Canavan asked suddenly.

  Clymer's eyes shifted to him. "Did you have a question?"

  "Yes, sir. I'd like to ask Star Levitt what his range holdings were."

  "I fail to see that the question has any bearing on the matter," Levitt replied cooly.

  "It's a fair question and one we'd like to have answered, as it may have a bearing on subsequent testimony. were you running cattle? And where was your headquarters?"

  Levitt hesitated, then said, "My headquarters was on the W. You see, I am soon to marry Dixie Venable."

  Clymer glanced curiously at Canavan. "Does that answer your question?"

  "It is sufficient for the time. However, I'd like it to be plain to everybody that Star Levitt had no holdings in this Valley."

  Levitt shrugged, and the attorney then asked Chubb and Voyle a few questions about the shooting at the branding pens. And through Scott and Pat; he brought out the facts of the longstanding feud between the two cattlemen. Every story seemed to bolster Levitt's position. Tom Venable told what he knew in brief, clipped sentences, offering nothing but replies to the direct questions.

  Dixie was next, and her testimony was equally simple. As she started to return to her chair, Canavan spoke up. "Another question, Miss Venable. Did anyone warn you away from the roundup, advising you that there might be trouble?"

  She paused only an instant. "Why, yes. Star Levitt did."

  "I could see some of the men were spoiling for a fight," Star agreed calmly. It seemed a bad place for a woman. Also, there was some rather profane language being used in the heat of the roundup."

  "May I ask a few questions?" Canavan asked.

  Levitt interrupted impatiently. "Mr.

  Clymer, this man Canavan is a trouble-maker! His questions can do no good except to put others in a bad light. The man is a murderer."