Talon & Chantry 07 - North To The Rails (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “I know. The Talrims, Harvey, and the Ruffs, six men, and a woman who’s worse than all of them.”

  “You got any idea what kind of men they are? The Talrims, you know them. A couple of dirty-mean rattlesnakes. But Frank Ruff? Now there’s something else. Frank Ruff could file twenty-seven notches on his guns if he was tinhorn enough to do it.

  “You hear of men who’ve killed a few, but when you get to pinnin’ it down to names and places you lose most of them. Not so with Frank Ruff. Him you can list for twenty-seven and you can find the names, dates, and places to match them, and ever’ one of them standin’ up and facin’ him, one way or another. Mort, he’s tallied about six, near as a body can figure, and Charlie about four, maybe five.”

  “Five,” Sparrow said.

  “So look at it any way you like, you’re takin’ on something more than a handful of pilgrims.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I got to see the boy who wouldn’t draw against a drunken man face up to a pat hand like that, with Sarah for a joker in the deck.”

  They rode on then in silence. The sand dunes loomed, and Chantry swung his horse, riding up into them. Around a dune, and then he saw the buildings…two of them. Some scattered, weathered boards, a fallen-in roof…many tracks, but none that could be defined, because of the loose sand.

  Chantry swung down and looked into the buildings. Nothing. Why had they stopped here, then?

  “Chantry?” It was Williams. “Look here.”

  He emerged from the building and went toward Williams, who was around the corner, standing on the edge of a small pit.

  In the bottom lay two bodies. Jumping down, he bent over, and saw that both the men there were bound and gagged, but very much alive. He untied the gags.

  “They’ve got Doris,” Earnshaw said. “If anybody follows they’ll kill her.”

  “They will anyway,” Williams said shortly. “Or leave her to the Talrims, which would be worse.”

  Hastily, they cut the men loose. Earnshaw stood up. “Go get them, Tom. For God’s sake, find them in time! They left us here, said the sand would bury us in a few hours. Talrim said there was a storm coming up.”

  “The stars are going. Maybe he was right,” Sparrow said. “Head back for the train. It’s only a little way.”

  South again.

  The air grew cooler. Clouds covered the sky.

  “How far to Robber’s Roost?” Chantry asked.

  “Too far. They’ll see this coming and head for shelter. It’s going to be a gully-washer.”

  Tom Chantry was silent. In the last few moments an eerie feeling had been creeping over him. He knew where they were going, knew exactly.

  “Do you believe in fate?” he asked Williams.

  “I believe in a gun and a horse,” French said, “and not much more.”

  Sparrow edged his horse over. “Why? What about it?”

  “Two of the men who killed my father are in that bunch,” he said. “And do you know where they’re going for shelter? They’re going to my old home—to Borden Chantry’s ranch!”

  Sparrow pulled up and came back. His voice was odd. “You mean the place up ahead belonged to your father? It was his land?”

  “Yes, and he built the house.”

  They started on. He was coming right back to where he had barely escaped from the outlaws. Only now he was not driving cattle, or riding with anything on his mind but the men ahead…and Doris.

  “How far behind them are we?” Sparrow wondered.

  “We’ve gained—they stopped to leave Earnshaw and Whitman. They probably lost thirty minutes. And I don’t think they are expecting pursuit…not yet, I mean.”

  A few spattering drops of rain fell. They drew up, got into their slickers, and rode on again. Occasionally there was a flash of lightning.

  “They’re walking their horses,” French said. “We’ll be gaining on them.”

  An hour passed…suddenly a light gleamed ahead, then vanished. Chantry thought of the house—the logs that had been pulled from the walls, the roof partly fallen-in. They would be in the house, and might not even know about the root cellar.

  He led the way to the cottonwoods. Huge branches ran out from each tree and merged with others from nearby trees. Under them there was fair shelter from the rain, and when he was under them he stepped down from the saddle. The horses of the outlaws were outside the house.

  “We’ll have to wait until morning,” Sparrow said.

  “With the girl in there?” French said. “You’re forgetting her, Sparrow.”

  “All right,” Sparrow agreed. “When you’re ready.”

  “We’ll have to get them outside,” Chantry said. “In close quarters she might be killed.”

  “They’ve started a fire,” Sparrow commented. “I don’t think they’ve been here long.”

  “Speaking of morning,” Chantry said, “it’s almost that now.”

  “You won’t have to worry about your girl yet,” French said cynically. “They’ll split the money first.”

  “Look out! Somebody’s coming!” Chantry warned.

  They waited, their bodies merged with the trunks of the trees. Light showed as the door opened, and a girl stepped out. That would be Sarah.

  She moved toward them, and stopped. A light showed again and a man appeared, a big man. He walked toward Sarah, stopping not much more than twenty feet away from them. “You wanted to see me?” He sounded puzzled. “It’s Charlie the girls always want to talk to.”

  “I wanted to talk to you, Mort.” Sarah’s tone was soft, friendly. “I’m afraid, Mort. I’m afraid of the Talrims.”

  “Of them? They won’t hurt you none. Besides, they got that other girl.”

  “I don’t mean that. I’m afraid for all of us. You don’t know them as I do. I’m sure they don’t intend to divide that money with any of us. I was sure you would understand, Mort. Charlie is too…well, he doesn’t seem as serious as you do.”

  “He laughs a lot, but Charlie’s all right.” Mort was obviously turning the idea over in his mind. “I don’t take to them Talrims myself. I thought they were friends of yours.”

  “Oh, no. They sort of…well, they just joined up with me, and what’s a girl to do? I couldn’t drive them off, and I hadn’t anybody to help me.”

  “I’ll help you,” Mort said earnestly.

  “Be careful, then. Watch them. If they start for their guns…”

  “Don’t you worry none. I’m faster’n them. I’m faster’n anybody, except maybe pa.”

  “You go back in. If they say anything, you tell them you like me—that you thought you might talk to me a little.”

  “All right. Only don’t you worry none.”

  When he had gone, Sarah stood alone for a moment, and then, just as she turned to go back, French stepped out and said, “Sarah, it won’t work.”

  She was calm. “Why not?”

  “You’ll be in there with them, Sarah, and if shooting starts, you’re as likely to be shot as anyone.”

  French Williams started toward her, talking quietly. “Looking at the size of the place. There will be five guns going in there.”

  “Six,” she said. “I’ll do some shooting myself.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course. You’ve lost most of your accent, but it’s there…I haven’t seen you since I was a little girl.”

  He was close to her now. “You favor your father.”

  “You never liked him, did you? I can remember that.”

  “We didn’t share the same ideas.”

  “I wonder if we do?”

  “About that gold in there? I think so. You’d like to have it all, and so would I. You spoke of shooting. Who were you going to shoot?”

  “Frank Ruff—who else? But not at first, not until he’d helped kill the Talrims.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “Mort will start it, and Charlie and their pa will have to back him. If anybody is left, I
’ll do the shooting.”

  She paused. “Or you can. After all, Uncle Henri, blood is thicker than water.”

  “Whose blood, Sarah? Surely not yours.”

  “Don’t do it for blood them. Do it for the money. It is better that we have it than that they should.”

  “I’ll agree to that,” he said cheerfully. “But I will have no part of any shooting with that girl in there. She is the daughter of a friend. Get her out first, then we will see.”

  She hesitated, and French Williams glanced toward the house. Soon they would be wondering what had become of her, and if they came out now…

  “Wait. I’ll see what I can do,” and she turned and went back inside.

  “Do you trust her?” Sparrow asked.

  “Only to do what she thinks is best for her.”

  The sky was gray in the east. The rain, which had ceased, stood in pools like sheets of steel, and the leaves dripped. The clouds were breaking.

  “They’ll be moving soon,” Sparrow warned. “They know that by this time the car has been missed, and the search will begin.”

  Sarah emerged from the house again, Doris beside her. Right behind them was Hank Talrim. As they walked toward the trees, Talrim watched them, then he went back inside.

  Sarah stopped suddenly and Doris continued to walk ahead, moving toward a point just to the right of the trees and out of the line of fire.

  Harvey stepped out the door, followed by Hank Talrim. “Hey!” Harvey yelled. “Come back here!”

  As he shouted, Doris threw herself to the ground and rolled over into the shallow cut that led toward the spring.

  Harvey started to run toward them when Talrim called out, “Harv! Wait!”

  As Harvey turned, Hank Talrim shot him. He fell, and rolled over, and men burst from the house, guns in hand.

  Hank laughed, and tilted his gun. He was ready to fire when Frank Ruff’s big voice cut across the morning air with a shout. “No!” He pointed. “Look!”

  All of them turned.

  The morning sun had come from behind a cloud, and its light was reflected from a pool of rain water near the trees. It was enough to draw the eye.

  French Williams stood there, and Tom Chantry and Sparrow.

  For an instant no one spoke. Then it was Chantry, hoping, but not believing, that a shoot-out might be avoided. “Leave the money,” he said clearly, “mount your horses, and ride out. We’ll call it quits.”

  Frank Ruff ignored him. “Aren’t you on the wrong side, Sparrow?” he said. “Seems to me you should be over here with us.”

  “I am where I always should have been, Frank. You lied to me, you know.”

  Chantry was cool. He had an empty feeling inside, but his mind was clear, his eyes appraising. These were men of violence, and they would shoot. Even if Frank Ruff, older and perhaps wiser, might see the sense in just riding off, the Talrims would not.

  Hank and Bud were the ones nearest the house. The three Ruffs were at the other side, scattered out, watching.

  On his own side, Williams was a known gunfighter, a man of tested ability. He himself…well, he could shoot. As for Sparrow, he knew nothing about him except that the man was calm, controlled, and ready.

  “You’d better do like the man says,” Williams said, almost pleasantly. “You boys were never going to make it anyway. I’ve got four men between you and the hideout. They’re coming up the country right now, scouting for sign.”

  They had forgotten Sarah.

  Standing alone, she watched, her face cold and still, here eyes measuring. All she had come west for, all she had bargained for, all she wanted was in that house. The first part of her plan had begun to work when Hank Talrim had shot Harvey…that was one less. She had talked to the Talrims in confidence, and she had talked to Mort. No matter how it turned out, there would be fewer among whom to divide the loot.

  According to her thinking, when the Ruffs burst into the open and saw Harvey down, they should have turned their guns on Hank; and in turn Bud would have started shooting. With her own gun to account for Frank Ruff, if need be—or whoever survived.…

  It could still work. Williams and Chantry and Sparrow…the Talrims and the Ruffs…when it was all over she might still be alone.

  She stood for an instant, knowing that the slightest move might start the shooting. She was hesitating, trying to decide what could be done that would be best for her, when Chantry spoke again.

  “There need to be no shooting here,” he said quietly. “As you gentlemen know, I am against violence. Leave the gold, Ruff—just take your horses and ride out of here.”

  “What about your pa?”

  “My father faced his problems in his time. I shall face mine in my time. What you did to my father was murder, Ruff. I have a feeling you will hang—if not for that, for some other crime. I see no reason for me to kill you, when your end is inevitable.”

  “You talk mighty fancy,” Frank Ruff said. “All I hear is that you want to back out.”

  “I did not come hunting you. That was your own idea. I came west to buy cattle, as these men can testify. I have bought my cattle.

  “You now have two sons. No matter who wins, the odds are that when the shooting is over you will have one less, maybe two less. Is that what you want?”

  “He’s right, Frank. It’s a Mexican stand-off,” Sparrow said.

  Sarah saw only one thing. Frank Ruff was hesitating. The last argument had reached him. In a moment he might decide to quit, then there would be no shooting, and the gold would go to Chantry.

  She knew the Talrims. Their first instinct, always, was to kill. If she moved at this tense moment, her move would draw the eyes of the others, and she knew what the Talrims would do then.

  “Hank?” she said softly, and moved suddenly.

  Eyes swung toward her, and the Talrims grabbed for their guns.

  All eyes had turned but Tom Chantry’s. Even as the Talrims drew, his gun was coming up. His first shot caught Hank Talrim in the stomach and knocked him to the ground; the second hit Bud in the shoulder.

  And then a thunder of guns, stabbing flame. A man running, a man falling…a grunt, a scream, and then silence.

  How long had it been? Only a few seconds. Tom Chantry still held his gun up, ready. But it was all over. So many lives, so short a time.

  He could hardly realize yet what had happened. From the corner of his eye he had seen French Williams…his gun had come out so fast it seemed almost to materialize out of thin air into his hand, spouting flame. Now Williams was down, hunched against a tree, his eyes still bright, his gun still ready, but his shirt was slowly turning crimson.

  Sparrow was leaning against another tree, a trickle of blood on his cheek, more blood on his shirt.

  Hank Talrim was dead. Bud was crawling toward his horse, but anybody could see he wasn’t going far. Frank Ruff was dead, literally shot to pieces by French Williams. Mort Ruff was seemingly unhurt, and was bending over Charlie, who was down.

  Doris came from the ditch where she had been lying. “Tom, are you all right?” she asked.

  “I think so. Take care of French.”

  He went over to Sparrow. “Better get your coat off, Mr. Sparrow. I’ll want to look at your side.”

  “It’s just a crease. Tom, did you hear what Frank said? About me being on the wrong side?”

  “So? I think you were on the right side.”

  “You don’t understand, Tom. I want you to understand. I was a youngster…only sixteen. I’d been working with Frank Ruff and Harvey. They told me there was a man needed killing, that he’d killed a friend of theirs, and they wanted me to join them. I believed them, and I went along, and I didn’t know what I was shaped up for until it happened. I didn’t figure on an ambush, Tom. I didn’t even know your father, but I helped shoot him down, and it wasn’t until I read it in the papers and heard folks talking that I realized what I’d done.

  “They lied to me, Tom, but I went along—maybe because I wanted
them to think me a big man. I wanted to show them I had as much nerve as anyone. I didn’t know until afterwards that the man I had helped to kill was a good man, a better man than any one of us.”

  “We’ll consider your part past and done with now.” And Chantry uncovered Sparrow’s wound.

  It was a crease, but a deep one. He tore the shirt and made a pad, then bound it over the wound. There was nothing much else to be done here.

  “I tried to make it up to you, Tom, I tried to help.”

  “You did.”

  Then Mobile Callahan and Bone McCarthy came riding hard down the slope. And from the south, came Hay Gent, McKay, and Helvie.

  Chantry went over to French. “How is he?” he asked Doris.

  “He’s been shot three times—low on the left side, through the thigh, and the chest muscle on the left side where it joins the shoulder.”

  “They were shooting for his heart.”

  French looked up at him. “I’ve got no heart, Tom. That’s why they couldn’t hit it.”

  Callahan dropped from his horse and brought his saddlebags with him. “Let me at him. I’ve had something to do with this sort of thing.”

  McCarthy and Helvie were looking at the outlaws. Mort Ruff got slowly to his feet. “Charlie’s hurt bad,” he said. “Can you help him?”

  “I’ll try,” Helvie said.

  Bud Talrim was dead.

  “We’d better report this,” Chantry said.

  Sparrow looked at him. “To whom? There isn’t any law within a hundred and fifty miles that I know of. You report it if you like. I’m going to forget it.”

  McKay and Gent were pulling poles from the roof of the house. “We’ll make some travois, like the Indians use,” McKay said. “Carry the wounded back.”

  “I can ride,” Sparrow said. “We’ll need just two, for Williams and Charlie Ruff.”

  Suddenly Doris looked up. “Where’s Sarah?”

  Chantry looked blank. Nobody had thought of Sarah.

  She was gone. Two horses were gone, and the money was gone.

  Mobile started for his horse. “We’ll find her. Come on, Bone.”

  “All right if I come?” Helvie asked.