by Neil Hunter
He turned and said something to the pair of riders with him and they followed a few yards behind their employer as Merrick spurred the big black towards the funeral gathering.
McCall knew one of the riders who had come with Merrick.
Rafe Kershaw. Lean and mean-faced, a heavy Colt hanging from his waist, the holster tied down. He was a gunhand, with a mean reputation. A man who hired himself out and wasn’t too fussed how he earned his pay. If there was anyone behind the trouble brewing from Diamond-M, Kershaw would be involved somewhere along the line.
McCall didn’t know the second man, but he recognized the signs. Though he was dressed in range clothes, the rider wore a pair of matching revolvers, in well-cared for holsters. He stared directly at McCall, his expression intended to intimidate the Texan.
As Merrick came closer Henry Conway eased his way through the gathered mourners and planted himself in front of the rider.
McCall felt Helen Conway’s hand on his arm.
‘Won’t be any trouble,’ the big Texan said, and crossed the yard to stand a few feet to one side of Henry Conway. He didn’t speak. Simply made his presence felt. His coat was open, showing he wore no gun, but his six foot plus size was suggestion enough.
Merrick reined in some feet away from Conway. For a few seconds the two men faced each other in silence.
‘Came to offer my condolences,’ Merrick said. ‘Seemed the right thing to do.’
‘Now that’s done you can leave,’ Conway said. ‘I’ll give you one thing, Merrick. You got gall.’
If the brusque words offended Merrick he didn’t show it. He inclined his head as if he was considering Conway’s request.
‘You lost your son,’ he said finally. ‘That should be an end to matters, except I believe you hold some kind of grievance.’
Conway sucked in his breath. Held his shoulders back.
‘That the speech you give everyone Diamond-M has trampled on?’
‘Henry, I might take exception to what you’re suggesting if I was a man who harbored a slight.’
‘Let me tell you, here and now, Merrick. You ain’t getting’ your hands on Lazy-C. I staked my claim here a long time ago. Fit the weather. The Comanch’. Every creature on four and two legs and some that crawl on their bellies. And now you walk in and try to lay claim to the whole damn range. Now I can’t prove it but I got my suspicions whose behind my son’s murder. And I’m lookin’ you straight in the eye, Merrick, so you take heed.’
Merrick leaned on his saddle-horn, gloved fingers gripping tight enough to make the leather creak.
‘Harsh words, Mr Conway. But that’s all they are and words don’t mean a damn thing. I’ll tell now. I’m here to stay and I got big plans for the area. One way or t’other Diamond-M is going to get bigger. Just think on.’
McCall made an impatient movement of his head and shoulders, attracting Merrick’s attention.
‘Something bothering you?’
‘Could say that. See I’m partial to the view from here. Only right now you and your boys are kind of blocking it. Be grateful if you could clear the way as you leave.’
Merrick stared at the big man, seeing the hard intention behind McCall’s amiable expression.
‘You …’
‘Mr McCall to you. And tell that skinny little pissant, Kershaw, to keep his hand away from his gun there. He moves it any closer I’ll spit in his eye. And I don’t miss with that either.’
‘I know you,’ Kershaw said. ‘Got yourself some kind of tough rep.’
‘Funny that,’ McCall said, ‘I hardly heard anything about you and what I did wasn’t worth the effort of listening.’
Kershaw’s thin face colored and he gripped the Colt on his hip.
‘What did I hear you say?’
‘Deaf as well?’ McCall said. ‘No. You heard well enough.’
‘You take out that gun, Kershaw, I’ll put you behind bars.’
Kershaw’s head turned and he stared at the speaker and found himself facing Ray Bellingham. The lawman, a solid man who took no nonsense from any man, wasn’t wearing his gun, but the burnished badge pinned to his shirt displayed his authority. He ran the law in Beecher’s Crossing and the surrounding territory with a firm hand. A well-respected man and not one to ever back down.
‘That son of a—’
‘You will tell that man of yours to curb his tongue, Yancey Merrick,’ Helen Conway said. ‘Bad enough you intrude on my son’s funeral. I’ll not tolerate your man’s foul mouth.’
‘The hell with this …’ Kershaw said. ‘Time we—’
Merrick held up his hand. ‘The lady is right, Rafe. Let it go. There’ll be another time.’ He touched the brim of his hat. ‘My apologies, ma’am. Just remember this is hard country. For women as well as men.’
He swung his horse around and kicked it into motion. Kershaw, after a few seconds, followed. The third rider held his ground, studying the gathering as if he was remembering every face, nodding gently to himself. His dressed-down appearance went against the fancy double gun-rig he wore. He was lean faced, tall even in the saddle.
‘Something else you want?’ Bellingham asked.
The man gave a hint of a smile. He switched his gaze to Ballard.
‘Big hombre,’ he said, as if he was remembering something.
Ballard returned the stare. ‘Big enough, feller.’
‘Now I heard of you,’ he said. ‘Seems there was a Ballard who made a name for himself down Waco way couple years back. He wore a badge then.’
‘Waco? I’ve been there. Couple of years back.’
‘Likely you knew Jeb Brookner.’
‘Brookner? I knew him. Only for a short time. Got cut short when he tried to brace me.’
The man allowed a brief, angry flicker to show in his eyes.
‘I heard what happened to Jeb.’
‘Now you’re going to tell me he was a friend.’
‘A real good friend.’
‘Hope you’re not about to tell me he was kin.’
‘Might as well have been. We ran together a long while.’
‘In future I’d choose better,’ Ballard said.
‘Now I remember. That lawdog from Waco was the spittin’ image of you. Even the name fits. Big feller. Walked tall and talked kind of easy.’
‘I’m not wearing badge now.’
‘That don’t bother me one way or t’other.’
‘It should,’ Bellingham said. ‘I am wearing a badge, so stay peaceful, mister.’
‘Don’t imagine this is done. I’ll see you soon, Ballard,’ the man said. ‘Your time’s coming.’
The rider turned his horse and left.
Ballard stood his ground, big fists opening and closing as he absorbed what he had seen just as the rider moved away. His booted feet in the stirrups. Small feet. The custom made boots narrow and coming to points. Just like the prints he’d seen out where Harry Conway had been killed.
There was a prolonged pause before McCall, who had been quietly watching the proceedings, edged up to his partner.
‘You been stirring the pot again, I see.’
‘Me?’ Ballard said. ‘I just like to figure out the opposition.’
‘Take it easy with Ash Boynton,’ Bellingham said, joining them.
‘He that two-gun joker?’ McCall said.
‘Boynton might not dress up fancy,’ Bellingham said, ‘but don’t allow it to fool you. He’s smart and no slouch with those guns.’
‘He wanted anywhere?’ McCall asked.
Bellingham shook his head. ‘That’s the thing. He’s never been involved in anything the law can pin on him. He has the confidence to let the other man draw first. Calls their bluff and then puts them down. Walks away every time. I also heard tell a few dead men were found with bullet holes in their backs while Boynton was around. Story goes he hires out to do the dirty work others don’t have the stomach for. But no proof other than saloon talk.’
McCall caught the gleam in
Ballard’s eyes. He knew how his partner’s mind worked and Ballard already had Boynton figured.
‘So what did happen in Waco?’ McCall asked.
‘Brookner was a local yahoo who liked to push the line. Had a notion he was building himself a reputation. Saw himself as a fast gun. After I took down a couple of fellers who tried to rob the town bank, Brookner started in. Said he could take me. Wouldn’t let it lie. Kept pushing until he got himself so worked up he forced a fight. I tried to walk away. He wouldn’t. Put a shot in my side. So I turned around and shot back before he got off his second. Made mine count.’
‘This Boynton wants a reckoning.’ McCall said. ‘Chet, you’ll need to watch for him. Something tells me he’s not about to forget.’
‘Right now we’ve got other things to worry about,’ Ballard said.
‘Ray, Chet is right,’ McCall said. ‘Merrick is bound and determined to keep matters on the boil.’
‘I know that,’ Bellingham said. ‘And he’s got his eye on Lazy-C. That’s no secret.’
And he has Ash Boynton on his payroll, Ballard thought.
Henry Conway spoke up. ‘Murdering my son is just his way of getting through to me. He wants to scare me off. Well, he’s in for a surprise if he expects me to step aside.’
‘Henry, being able to arrest him would give me the greatest pleasure,’ the lawman said. ‘Right now there’s nothing we can use against him. The man is ruthless. He’s also smart.’
‘Believe me, Ray, I understand,’ Conway said.
He turned away. Suddenly he looked an old man. His shoulders slumped as Helen walked him towards the house.
Laney Chancery watched them go and the hurt on the cowboy’s face said it all.
‘I seen that man walk through all kinds of hell,’ he said. ‘First time I seen him helpless.’
He turned about and followed the Conways.
‘I’ll be keeping an eye on Merrick,’ Bellingham said. ‘Somewhere along the line he’s going to make a mistake.’
‘How many more folk got to be hurt before he does?’ Ballard said.
Bellingham had no answer to that. There wasn’t much he could do without real proof that Merrick was acting outside the law. Right now that was less than smoke in the wind.
After another hour the wake began to break up. After saying their goodbyes neighbors began to drift away. By late afternoon the ranch yard was deserted save for the crew and a couple of women helping to clear the tables.
‘This is where it’s going to hit them hard,’ Ballard said. ‘Long as they were busy it doesn’t seem all that real.’
McCall loosened his tie and collar stud. Even he was having difficulty finding the right words. He stood watching the women moving around the tables.
‘Chet, this just ain’t right,’ he said. ‘That boy was out and out murdered. Left to die in the thicket and we’re letting it go.’
Ballard had no argument with that. He felt the injustice as much as his partner.
‘Who said anything about letting it go?
McCall nodded. ‘Glad to hear that. So you got a notion to find out who?’
‘Damn right I do.’
‘Let’s do it,’ McCall said.
‘Let’s take a ride come morning,’ Ballard said.
And that’s exactly what they did.
Chapter Three
They rode out early, before the crew was up and about. It was promising to be another hot day, for which Ballard was grateful. There hadn’t been any rain in the area since the shooting, so it was entirely possible tracks left behind might still be visible. Even McCall agreed it was a slight chance. They had to start somewhere and they both had growing need to find out the reasons for Harry Conway’s death.
Ballard had recognized the signs and he knew better than to even think about raising any objections. Not that he had any. Harry, despite being the boss’s son, had been a good man to work with. If the truth were told Ballard saw his death as a tragedy. For all concerned.
It took them a couple of hours to reach the site of the killing. They had pulled on the protective gear needed to protect them from the brasada. Ballard led the way to the first set of tracks that had guided him to Harry Conway’s body. He and McCall dismounted and tethered their horses, took their rifles, and stood looking around.
There signs that showed a couple of horses had been present. They cast around, studying the fading hoofprints.
‘That’s where Harry rode in,’ McCall said. ‘He would have come from that direction. Searching for strays.’
‘Other set comes in from the east.’ Ballard hunkered down examining the hoofprints, then the marks left by riding boots. ‘Both dismounted. Done some moving around until one set of boot prints head into the thicket.’
‘Harry,’ McCall said. ‘Other man would have had his gun on him. Made him run for his life after he made him skin off his leathers. Harry had no choice. If he wanted to stay alive he had to risk the thicket. When I found him I picked him up and headed out.’
‘So no one from Lazy-C been out here since?’
Ballard shook his head. ‘Too much to be done. Staying to home. Getting Harry ready for his burying. Why?’
‘So this is how you found it?’
‘Guess so.’
McCall eyed his partner, sensing Ballard had something on his mind.
‘You got anything you need to tell me?’ he asked.
Ballard pointed out the set of boot prints he’d seen before. Even though they had faded the distinct formation was still visible.
‘The shooter,’ he said. ‘Found the shell casings right next to them.’
‘Small prints. Narrow. Not a woman?’
‘A man’s.’
‘You sound sure.’
‘I am.’
‘Chet, I suspicion you might know who owns them.’
Ballard simply nodded. ‘Keep that in mind.’
‘We got a chance to pick up those tracks leading away. Maybe follow ’em back to where they came from before they get worn away.’
They moved back along the hoofprints to where they diverged from the ones left by Harry Conway.
The unknown rider had ridden in from a stand of cottonwood outside the spread of the brasada. Leading their horses Ballard and McCall retraced the tracks. The shooter had returned to the trees and had ridden through them and beyond, out across the empty landscape.
‘We keep going we’ll end up on Diamond-M range,’ McCall observed.ias diection we’
‘Other side of those hills.’
They kept riding, covering a few miles before they rode over the low hills and found themselves overlooking the start of Diamond-M range.
Here the tracks they were following were faint, but they came and returned along the same lines.
‘Ain’t proof as such,’ Ballard said.
‘Not for a lawman, or a court,’ McCall said.
‘Enough for a suspicion.’
McCall leaned forward in his saddle. He was studying the hoofprints. They were much fainter now but still visible to his sharp eyes.
‘They ain’t heading for home,’ he said.
He indicated the direction the tracks were showing. They were not heading across country. The headquarters of Diamond-M lay a couple of hours away. Yet the tracks were leading in the direction of the range the furthest from home.
McCall followed his partner’s pointing finger.
‘They’re staying on the property line,’ he said.
The tracks were running parallel with the Lazy-C border, where the two outfits edged each other.
‘Where did than hombre go?’ Ballard wondered.
‘Easy way to find out.’
Staying on Lazy-C property the Texans rode the line of tracks as they moved. They stayed on that route. It took them to the most extreme edges of the two spreads. The land rose in a series of hogbacks, the landscape rugged and empty save for some scattered trees and patches of brush.
An hour or so later they came of
f a rough patch of hilly ground and on the Diamond-M side of the line they came in sight of the lonely line shack. They reined in and pulled their horses into the shadows of a stand of trees and brush.
‘Interesting,’ McCall said as they studied the shack.
There was a small corral tacked on to one side of the building and a lean-to for equipment. And there were numerous hoofprints coming and going from the shack that led in most directions.
Chapter Four
With the killing of Harry Conway the stakes had been raised high. Yancey Merrick weighed those odds and realized his plans for Lazy-C were further forward than he had planned. When he had been informed by Rafe Kershaw there had been a moment when Merrick had taken a breath, his mind whirling at the possible repercussions. He didn’t give a damn about Conway’s actual death. It was something that had been on the cards for some time. But something for the future. Merrick’s overall plan for the neighboring spread did include the removal of Henry Conway and his family. Only he would have spared some thought to its implementation. Out and out murder – though drastic – had its uses.
Merrick realized that Ash Boynton had taken his instruction about getting rid of the Conway family as a direct instruction to go ahead and remove them by the simplest method. Boynton would simply argue he was doing what he was being paid for. The man was a gun for hire. A killing tool who saw things in black and white. Merrick realized he was going to need to explain things in extreme detail to the man.
He slumped in is big leather bound chair behind his desk, swiveling it around so he could look out the big window. It overlooked the sprawling ranch yard, with its barns and stables. The long bunkhouse. The pole corral that held the horses his crew used. Beyond yard he could follow the beginnings of Diamond-M land. It stretched as far as the eye could see and further in every direction. Merrick owned it all, but his desire for more meant he needed the range around him. He had already made strides in getting his hands on some of the smaller spreads. Those were the easy ones. They had neither the strength, or the money to resist. Once Merrick owned them he incorporated them in his growing empire.
Lazy-C was the stumbling block. In area practically the same as Diamond-M. But it had the advantage of the best water of all the other spreads in the area. Merrick needed that water. He had big herds and they needed constant food and water. He had contracts to fill. Contracts that he had taken money for. Silent partners back east who would eventually be expecting healthy returns on their investments. Merrick intended fulfilling those investments.
