Collection 1981 - Buckskin Run (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  Why had Weisl been murdered? Merely to cause trouble for him? That was ridiculous. Or was the peddler dangerously close to a secret no one wanted revealed?

  What fantastic idea had Weisl had, there at the end? Rod Morgan wished, desperately, that he knew. That secret might lead to the solving of the mysteries, and an end to them.

  He stepped down from the gray and walked over to the three graves. Side by side, and, what he had not realized, each was marked with the name of the man who lay there. Somehow he had gotten the impression their names were unknown.

  NAT TENEDOU—HARRY KIDD—JOHN COONEY

  “Well? What do you make of it?”

  Startled, he looked toward the voice and saw a man seated on a rock beyond the pool, a long, lean man with a red mustache. To have reached that place unheard he must have moved like a ghost. Rod was sure he had not been there when he dismounted from his horse.

  “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  The man jerked a thumb back toward the cliffs. “Come down from up yonder. I always intended to have a good look at this place, but I heerd you wasn’t exactly welcoming strangers.”

  He indicated the graves. “Knowed that Kidd. Big man. Powerful. Don’t do a man no good to be strong when a bullet hits him, I reckon.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  The man grinned slyly. “Same as you. Lookin’ for that there gold. I doubt she was ever taken out of this canyon. And those wagons? Three big wagons. I seen ’em.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this.”

  “Son, them days there wasn’t much went on Josh Shipton didn’t know.”

  “Josh Shipton? You’re Josh Shipton?”

  “I should reckon. Never heard of another. What d’you know about Josh Shipton?”

  “There’s a woman in town says she was married to you.”

  He sprang up so suddenly he almost slipped into the pool. “Em? You mean Em’s here? Son, don’t you go tellin’ folks you seen me. Especially not her! That woman would be the death of a man! Nag, nag, nag! Mornin’ until night.” He spat, then squinted his eyes at Rod. “She married again? That’s a marryin’ woman, that one.”

  “Not yet, but I hear she has Henry Childs in mind.”

  “Childs? Reckon she’d think of him. She’s money-hungry, that woman is.” He chuckled suddenly. “Hee, hee! I reckon that would serve ol’ Henry right! It surely would!”

  “Do you know him?”

  Shipton’s expression changed. “Me? No, I don’t know him. Heard of him.” Then he added, “He ain’t safe to know.”

  “He’s just a rancher, isn’t he?”

  Shipton shrugged. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Some folks get powerful unpleasant about those who ask questions.”

  Nothing was to be done with Shipton present, yet Rod was sure that somewhere in the vicinity of the basin he would find a clue to the mystery of Buckskin Run. Those wagons had to have gone somewhere, and it would have taken an army of men or many teams to hoist the wagons up the cliffs. That possibility seemed out of the question.

  As for the run itself, those cascades could not be negotiated by a canoe, let alone three large wagons.

  Mounting up, he waved a hand at Shipton and rode away. The man was a puzzle, but obviously knew more than he was letting on. Could he have been around at the time? It was possible.

  By the time he arrived at the cabin he was sure of one thing. However those wagons had escaped, they had not come down this way. The wagons, he decided, were still there, and so was the gold.

  Riding up to his cabin he swung down. Only then did he see the big, bearded man seated on the bench in front of the house.

  “This looks like my day for visitors. Did you come with Shipton?”

  “Shipton? You don’t mean Josh is around? Now that does beat all! Wait until Em hears!”

  “I promised I wouldn’t mention it.”

  “Well, I surely won’t. Any man who got away from that woman deserves his freedom, believe you me.”

  The man stood up. “My name’s Jed Blue. I’m an old timer here. Doubt if you heard of me, because I’ve been away for a spell. Trapped fur in this country. I come in with Carson, the first time.”

  “Had anything to eat?”

  Blue glanced at the height of the sun. “Reckon it’s gettin’ on to time.” He followed Morgan inside. “You’ve made a lot of enemies, son.”

  “I didn’t ask for them.”

  “That was a neat gun job you did on Reuben Hart. Don’t know’s I ever saw it done better.”

  “You saw that? Where were you? On the stage?”

  “I was. There were some other folks on it, too, including Em Shipton and a gent named Brewer. They’d been to Santa Fe, seems like.” He glanced at Morgan. “There was a girl on that stage, too. Name of Loma Day.”

  “Loma? Here? But how—?”

  “She said she’d come on without waiting for word from you. She had nothing back where she came from. My feelin’ was she thought she’d better make the trip whilst she still had the money.”

  “But why didn’t she say something? She must have seen me!”

  Jed Blue was slicing some beef from a cold roast. “You got to think of her, and how it must’ve seemed. Womenfolks are different than us, and she bein’ from the East, and all.

  “Em Shipton, she’d been tellin’ her what a bad hombre you were and then she comes up when you’ve just killed a man.

  “That killing seemed like proof of all they’d been saying about you. She’s down to Cordova now, and I figured I’d better break the news so you can plan on what to do.”

  He paused. “She may not welcome you with open arms.”

  “It can’t be helped. I must see her!”

  “You hold on. Just think about it a mite. In the first place, she’s a mighty fetchin’ young woman, and that Brewer may have some ideas of his own. He’s a fine-lookin’ man, and one who usually gets what he wants. You’d better set down and think this through before you go in there a foggin’.

  “Also, you’ve got to remember there will be folks expecting you now. They know this girl has come out to see you. Em Shipton will tell ever’body in town. So they may just be waitin’ for you, son. You’ve got to think about it.”

  Blue was silent for a moment and then he asked, “This here Brewer, now. Does he wear a gun? D’ you know anything about him?”

  “I never saw him with a gun, but I’ve only seen him once or twice.”

  “I was wondering. Reminds me somewhat of a man I knew one time, a long way back.”

  They were eating in silence when Rod suddenly looked up. “You didn’t ride all the way out here just to tell me about Loma.”

  Jed Blue tipped back in his chair, his huge body dwarfing the table at which they sat. “Reckon I didn’t, son. I was sort of lookin’ over the lay of the land.”

  “In other words, you’re gold hunting?”

  Blue chuckled, plucking at his beard. “Right on the point, ain’t you? I like that. I like a man who comes right out with it. So if I find it, what then?”

  “You keep half.”

  Blue laughed. “You do speak out. What if I don’t aim to give you none of it?”

  Rod Morgan rested both hands on the table. He was not smiling. “Friend, I’m grateful for telling me my girl friend was in Cordova, but half of whatever you find is enough. The gold is on my land, but if you find it you keep half. You try to leave with all of it, and you’ll have to shoot your way out.”

  Blue chuckled. “Of course, you might not find it so easy as with Hart. I shuck a gun pretty good myself, and I’ve had a bit more experience.” He cut off a slice of beef and placed it between two pieces of bread. “What you going to do with your half?”

  “Buy cattle, stock this place, fix it up a mite, than hire a few hands.”

  Blue nodded approvingly. “Canny. Makes sense. Easy money is soon gone without a sensible plan.” He looked up at Rod. “Don’t want a partner, do you? I’d lik
e to work into a setup like this, and I’m a top hand, even though I don’t look it.”

  “I’d have to think about it,” Rod said. He looked at the big man again, puzzled by something he could not define. There was more to this man than there seemed on the surface, but his impression was the man would be a square shooter. “It might be a good idea,” he said, “but I wouldn’t take any man in with me who didn’t realize what he was getting into.”

  “Son,” Blue said, “don’t you pay that no mind. I’ve had wool in my teeth. I’m not one to hunt trouble, but I’ve stood alone many’s the time. When I’m pushed I can back my play. You an’ me together, we could show them a thing or two.”

  Rod shoved back his chair. “I’m riding to town now. Want to come along?”

  Jed Blue picked his teeth with a straw. He shoved back his own chair. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “I reckon I might as well get acquainted.”

  As they passed through the bottleneck Blue gestured off toward the open country. “There’s a passel of mavericks in the canyons and draws east of here. A couple of good men could build a herd real fast.”

  “That’s a good way to get a chance to make hair bridles. You start that and they’d have us in a rockwalled garden.”

  “No,” Blue said seriously, “most of this stock is over a year old and unbranded. It’s for anybody. A few weeks of hard work and we could make a drive, sell out, and have some working capital.”

  They rode in silence, Rod preoccupied with thoughts of Loma. It had been two years since he had seen her, but now that she was near he was excited, eager to see her, but worried, too. He knew now that he wanted her more than anything in life, realizing how much he had stifled thoughts of her so he could build for their future. Now that she had come west, her mind had been poisoned against him, and she had seen him kill a man without knowing anything of what came before.

  Cordova lay flat and still under a baking sun. The mountains drew back disdainfully from the desert town, leaving it to fry in its own sweat and dust. A spring wagon was receiving a load of supplies in front of the general store, and a half-dozen horses stood three-legged at the hitching rail of the Gem Saloon. Jed Blue glanced over at Rod.

  “More than likely she’ll be at Em Shipton’s. It’s about the only place a decent woman can stay. Want me to ride along?”

  “Wait for me at the Gem, if you can stand their whiskey.”

  Turning the gray toward Em Shipton’s, he felt all tight inside. He dismounted, stalling a little bit, afraid of what Loma might say. All his hopes, all his dreams were bound up in her. He walked up the slatted board walk and entered the boarding house.

  Loma was standing at the end of the table in what seemed to be serious conversation with Mark Brewer.

  “Rod! Oh, Rod!”

  Yet even as he moved toward her he saw her eyes change as they fell to his gun.

  He took her hands. “It has been a long time, too long.”

  Suddenly she seemed uncertain, she half turned from him. “Mark? Have you met Rod Morgan?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Brewer’s voice was cool, but not unfriendly. “How are you, Morgan?”

  Rod nodded. She had called him Mark. “Very well, thanks.” His tone sounded less cordial than he intended.

  “I am surprised to see you in town,” Brewer commented. “You know, I suppose, that Dally Hart is gunning for you?”

  “Is he?” Loma’s hands had gone cold in his. She withdrew them gently. “But that isn’t unusual in Cordova, is it? Hasn’t someone been gunning for me ever since I settled in Buckskin Run? And I don’t mean the Harts or any of the small fry.”

  “Just who do you mean?”

  “If I knew that I’d go call on him and ask some questions. Now would you mind leaving us alone? I’d like to talk to Loma.”

  Mark smiled, but there was a taunting amusement in his eyes. “Now why should I leave you alone? Miss Day is to be my wife.”

  Rod felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. His eyes turned, unbelievingly, to Loma’s. Her eyes fell before his. Then she looked up.

  “Rod, I want you to understand. I like you ever so much, but all this killing…I couldn’t understand it, and Mark has been so kind. I hadn’t seen you, and—”

  “There’s nothing to explain.” He was in control again. “You are as bad as the rest of them. As for you, Brewer, you’ve done your work well. You’ve taken advantage of the fact that Loma doesn’t understand the West, nor the situation here. You sneaked, connived, and probably lied.”

  “Don’t try to bully me into a shooting, Morgan! I am not even wearing a gun.”

  Loma was coldly furious. “Rod Morgan! To think you would dare to speak like that! Mark hasn’t lied. He has been honest and sincere. He told me not to believe all they said about you, but to wait and ask. He said I should see what men like Henry Childs thought of you, and—”

  “Childs? Childs, did you say? Didn’t you know it was Childs and the Block C who was fighting me?”

  He looked over at Brewer. “You’re welcome to her, Brewer. If she can go back on one man so easily, she will go back on another.”

  “If I was wearing a gun—”

  “What then? If you like, I’ll take mine off.”

  “I am not a cheap brawler. You had better go now. I think you have made Miss Day unhappy enough.”

  Rod Morgan turned sharply away, and started for the door. Behind him he half-heard a stifled cry as if she were calling out to him, but he did not turn.

  He had just reached his horse when he saw Jed Blue. Without waiting for an explanation, he turned toward him, knowing what was about to happen.

  “Son,” Blue spoke quietly, “Dally Hart’s over there. He says he’ll shoot on sight.”

  “Let him! I’m in the mood for it! If he wants trouble, he sure picked the right time. I’m sick of being pushed around, and if I’m to have the name of a killer I might as well pay my dues.”

  “Watch yourself, son!” Blue said. “There may be more than one. I’ll try to cover you, but keep your eyes open.”

  Rod Morgan started up the street, spurs jingling as he walked. Inside he was boiling, but he knew he must steady down, for Dally Hart was a dangerous man, much more so than his brother Reuben had been. Suddenly he found himself hating everything around him. He had come to the town a friendly stranger, asking no favors of anyone, and almost from the first he had faced dislike and even hatred. Someone, he was sure, was guiding the feeling against him, disclaiming the stories yet repeating them, and that person could be he who had killed both Tolbert and Weisl.

  That person might also be the one who knew where the gold was buried, knew what had happened so long ago in Buckskin Run.

  But who could possibly know? How could he know? He…or was it she?

  At that instant Rod Morgan saw Dally Hart.

  The gunman had been standing behind a horse; now he stepped into the open with his back to the sun, putting the full glare in Rod’s eyes.

  They were over a hundred yards apart, but Rod was walking swiftly. Sights and sounds were wiped from his world, and all he could see was the slim, tall figure with the high-crowned hat standing in the middle of the street.

  Vaguely, he was aware that men had come from the stores and were lining the street, oblivious of the danger of ricocheting bullets. Dust arose in little puffs as he walked, and he could feel the heat of the sun on his face. His body seemed strangely light, but each foot seemed to fall hard to the ground as he walked.

  He was going to kill this man. Suddenly all the hatred, the trouble and confusion seemed to center in the slim man with the taunting, challenging eyes and the hatchet face who was awaiting him.

  He was sixty yards away, forty yards. Rod saw Dally’s fingers spread a little. Thirty yards. The expression on Hart’s face changed; his tongue touched his lips. Rod was walking fast, closing the distance.

  Twenty yards, eighteen, sixteen—

  There were men, he knew, who, proud
of their marksmanship, preferred distance for their shooting, but as the distance grew less and less they became aware that at short range neither man was likely to miss. Luke Short, the Dodge City gunfighter, always crowded his foes, crowded them until they lost their poise and began to back up to get distance.

  Fourteen yards—

  Dally Hart’s nerve broke and he went for his gun. Incredibly fast, and the gun lifted in a smooth, unbroken movement. It came level and flowered with sudden flame, then his own gun bucked in his hand, and bucked again.

  Dally Hart wavered, then steadied. Something was wrong with his face. His gun came up and he fired. A blow struck Morgan. His legs went weak under him, and he fired again. Hart’s face seemed to turn dark, then crimson, and the gunman toppled into the dust.

  From somewhere behind him a gun bellowed and as from a great distance he heard Jed Blue saying, “That was one! Who will be the next to die?”

  THERE WAS A rectangle of sunlight lying inside the cabin door, and beyond it Rod could see the green, waving grass of Buckskin Run. He could hear the muted sound of the stream as it boiled over the rocks, gathering force to charge the bottleneck.

  He was home, in his own cabin. He turned his head. Everything was as he had last seen it, except for one thing. There was another bed across the room, a bed carefully made up. The table was scrubbed clean, the room freshly swept. He wondered about that, wondered vaguely how long he had been here and who had brought him back.

  In the midst of his wondering he fell asleep, and when he again opened his eyes it was dark beyond the door and a lamp glowed on the table. He could hear vague movements, a rustling as of garments, and he felt that if he lay still he would soon see whomever was in the room.

  While he was waiting he fell asleep again, and when he awakened it was morning again and sunlight was shining through the doorway. Then he saw something else. Jed Blue was crouched near the window but well out of sight. The door was barred, and someone was moving about outside.

  Rod started to lift himself up when he heard a voice he recognized as Josh Shipton’s. “Halloo, in there? Anybody to home?”

  Blue made no reply. It was grotesque to see the big man crouching in silence. What was he afraid of? What could Jed Blue possibly fear from Shipton? Yet it was obvious Blue did not wish to be seen.