Collection 1981 - Buckskin Run (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  After a while Jed Blue stood up and, standing first to one side and then to the other, peered out the window. After a careful look around, he unbarred the door. Rod hastily closed his eyes, then, after a bit, stirred on the bed and simulated awakening. When he opened his eyes the big, bearded man was standing over him.

  “Coming out of it, are you?”

  “What happened?”

  “You killed Dally Hart, but he got two bullets into you. I was almighty busy for a few minutes, and had to pack you out of town before I could patch you up. You lost a sight of blood, and the trip back here didn’t do you any good.”

  “You were in it, too, weren’t you? I thought I heard you shoot.”

  “That Block C coyote Bob Carr tried to shoot you in the back. After he went down I had to hold a gun on the others whilst we rolled our tails out of town.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “A week or so. You were in a bad way.”

  “Any other trouble?”

  “Some. Jake Sarran, that Block C ramrod, rode in here with a dozen hands. Said as soon as you could ride you were to get out, and they weren’t warning you again.”

  “To Hell with that! I’m staying.”

  “Want a partner? My offer still stands.”

  “Why not? We’re cut from the same leather, I think.”

  Rod was silent. He wanted to ask about Loma, but was ashamed to. He waited, hoping Blue would offer some hint as to what had happened to her. Was she married? Rod sighed, trying not to think of her. After all, she had thrown him over for Mark Brewer. Still, he had to make allowances. After all, she hadn’t seen him in two years, then to hear nothing but bad about him, and then to see him kill another man—

  His thoughts shifted to the vanished wagons and the gold, then to the strange actions of Jed Blue when Shipton came around.

  Why had Blue not wished to be seen by Josh Shipton? Or had there been others outside, and Josh simply the bait to draw him out to be killed? It was possible.

  Despite his curiosity he had no doubt there was a sensible explanation, and had no doubts about his new partner. After all, the man had saved his life, had gotten him out of town when they would certainly have either killed him or let him die. Few men would dare challenge the power of the Block C, and from the memory of the horses he had seen he knew the Block C had been out in force.

  Lying there through the long day he tried to find an answer for the Block C’s enmity for him; so much hatred could not stem from his original fight with Carr, nor even the shooting of Reuben Hart, which had been forced on him.

  Behind it there had to be a reason, and he had a hunch the trouble stemmed from the man he had never seen—Henry Childs himself.

  Hour after hour, as he lay in bed, he tried to find answers to the problem of the gold and the wagons. Three men had died and been buried, three wagons had vanished along with much gold and gear. It was not until the last day he was in bed that the idea came to him, an idea so fantastic that at first he could not believe it could be possible; yet the more he considered it, the more it seemed the only possible solution.

  He was recovering rapidly, and when he could sit outside in the sun, even walk a little by favoring his bad leg, he could see many evidences of Jed Blue’s work. Certainly the big man did not intend just to come along for the ride.

  A comfortable bench had been built, encircling a large tree close to the house, a shady, comfortable place in which to sit. A new workbench stood near the log barn, and a parapet of stones had been built, fastened with some home-made mortar. This parapet faced the canyon entrance, and had loopholes for firing. It had been built, however, so it could not be used by anyone attacking the house, for a rifleman from the house could command both sides of it, because of the angle at which it was built.

  A water-barrel had been moved into the house and kept full. Several steers had been slaughtered, and the meat jerked. It was hung up inside the house. Every precaution had been taken for a full-scale siege, if it came to that.

  On a shelf near the door were several boxes of pistol and rifle ammunition. Obviously, Blue had been to town, so he must know what had become of Loma.

  On the fourth day on which Rod could be outside he saddled the gray and, getting a steel hook from the odds and ends on the workbench in the blacksmith shop, he took an extra length of rope and rode up the canyon toward the basin. Blue had left early and Rod had talked with him but a few minutes. He supposed the other man had ridden to town, but Jed had said nothing about his destination.

  Rod was quite sure he knew now what had become of the vanished wagons. Come what may, in the next few hours he would know for sure.

  He understood something else. Both Weisl and Tolbert had been killed in the canyon, and both apparently after arriving at a solution or coming close to it. He would have to be very, very careful!

  ROD MORGAN’S SUDDEN appearance at Em Shipton’s had startled and upset Loma. Try as she might, she could not get his face from her mind, nor the hurt expression on his face when Mark told him she was to marry him, Mark Brewer.

  She had been standing in the boarding house when she heard the shots, and she had rushed to the door, panic-stricken that Rod might have been killed or hurt. Mark Brewer caught her arm and stopped her.

  “Better not go out! You might be killed! It is always the innocent ones who are hurt, and it is probably just Rod Morgan killing somebody else.”

  He had drawn her to him and kissed her lightly before turning to the door. She learned two things in that instant. She did not like to be kissed by Mark Brewer, and he had lied. He was carrying a gun. He was carrying it in a shoulder holster, for it pressed against her when she was in his arms.

  She knew all about shoulder holsters because her uncle had been a plainclothes detective at a time when they were first beginning to be used in the East. She had not seen one since coming west.

  Why had he lied? Was he afraid of Rod? Or did he merely wish to avoid trouble? Yet the lie worried her. There seemed to be something underhanded about that gun, for she had heard several times that Mark Brewer never wore a gun. Apparently no one believed he wore a gun, yet certainly he did.

  The thought rankled as the days went by. She heard that Rod had killed Dally Hart and Jed Blue had killed Bob Carr. It was not until the third day that she heard that Rod Morgan had been seriously wounded and that Jed Blue had carried him out of town.

  He might be dead! Horrified, she for the first time considered her own situation. She knew none of these people. Rod she had known for a long time. He had always been a gentleman and a fine man. Could he change so quickly? Or was something else happening here of which she knew nothing?

  Coming downstairs from her room at Em Shipton’s, she heard Rod’s name mentioned in the dining room and stopped on the steps.

  The voice was that of Jeff Cordell, whom she knew as one of the four men who had faced Rod that day beside the stage.

  “Got to hand it to him,” Cordell was saying. “Morgan has plenty of nerve, and I’ve never seen a faster hand with a gun. Why, that day on the trail he could have got me sure as shootin’ if I’d moved a hand. I’d lay odds he’d have gotten three or maybe all of us.”

  “Speaking of fast hands,” said another voice, “what about that Jed Blue?”

  “He’s good, all right. Bob Carr never knew what hit him. You know, that Blue puzzles me. Where did he come from? Why did he tie in with Morgan? He claims he was in here with Kit Carson, but I know the name of every one who ever rode with Kit, and none of them was named Blue.”

  Somebody laughed. “You always use the same name, Jeff? I doubt if Childs has a single rider who uses his real name. Hell, we’ve all had our ups and downs.”

  “What will come of it, Jeff?” asked the other voice.

  “Morgan will be killed. You can’t beat Childs. If he doesn’t want a man in the country, he doesn’t stay. Jed Blue will get it, too.”

  “Why? What’s his idea?”

  “
Don’t try. Don’t even think about it. You’re getting twice a regular cowhand’s wages, so just do what you’re told and keep your trap shut. Childs knows why, and Brewer knows. Personally, I think the two of them are land-hungry. This is good country, and they want to control it. Can’t blame ’em for that.”

  Aloma had gone on to her room, and after she undressed and got into bed she could not sleep. What she had overheard disturbed her. There was a plot against Rod Morgan, just as Rod had implied. Childs did want him killed.

  Why, Henry Childs was the wealthiest rancher anywhere around! Why would he be involved in such things? Mark Brewer and Em Shipton both spoke so highly of him, but on the other hand, who was it who gave her the first doubts about Rod? It had been Em Shipton and Mark Brewer.

  Loma Day decided she must talk to Jed Blue. She recalled that he had defended Rod that day on the stage. Had he known him then? No…he had not. She remembered his comments at the time she recognized Rod.

  It was the next day she saw Henry Childs for the first time.

  She was talking to Jeff Cordell, for after overhearing the conversation in the dining room she had decided she must cultivate him and learn what he knew.

  “Did you ever kill a man, Jeff?”

  He looked at her quickly. “Why, I reckon I have, ma’am. I suppose there are a good many of us who have killed a man or two, not that we want to or are looking for it. These are rough times, ma’am, and a man can’t always look to the law to defend him. He has to do it himself. Out here the law expects a man to do just that.”

  “How about that day on the trail when Rod Morgan killed Reuben Hart?”

  Jeff gave her a sharp look. He knew enough of the gossip to know Loma had come west to marry Morgan. He also knew that now Mark Brewer was riding herd on the girl. He had his own opinion of Brewer, and it was not flattering. Jeff Cordell had rustled a few head here and there, and occasionally stood a stage on its ear for drinking money, but he had a wholesome respect for a decent woman.

  “Ma’am, there’s some would have my hide for saying this, but you asked an honest question, and you’ll get an honest answer. If Rod Morgan had been a mite slower to shoot that day, he would have been killed. Reuben Hart was sent out there to kill him.”

  “Sent? By whom?”

  Jeff Cordell had talked all he planned to. He was turning to leave when the door opened and a big man with white hair came into the room. He glanced at Jeff and then at her.

  “Cordell,” he said sharply, “they need you at the ranch.”

  “Yes, sir. I was just leaving.”

  He tipped his hat and walked quickly away. Loma knew instinctively that this was Henry Childs. He was not a bit as she had expected. He was a big, kindly-looking man with white hair and gray eyes. His mouth was unusually small and his lips thin, but he was a handsome man.

  Cordell turned at the door. “Boss?”

  Childs turned sharply, impatience showing in every line of his face. “Cordell, I—”

  “Boss, I found out who that other man was. The one we saw the other day. His handle is Josh Shipton.”

  Loma’s eyes were on Childs, and she was shocked by the change. His mouth started to open, his features stiffened, and for a moment she thought he was about to have a stroke.

  Childs seemed no longer aware of her presence. For an instant his face became cruel and harsh. “Jeff, tell Mark I want to see him. Find him now, and tell him. Now, do you hear?”

  Em Shipton bustled into the room. “Did I hear somebody use the name of Shipton?”

  “Yes,” Loma said as Childs left, “it was Jeff Cordell. He said he’d seen a man named Josh Shipton.”

  “Why, that no-account blatherskite! I thought he was dead! If I get my hands on him, I’ll—!”

  She left the room suddenly, breaking off in mid-sentence.

  Loma went out to the wide porch and sat in one of the rockers, spreading her skirt carefully. Too many things were happening too suddenly; there were too many tangled threads and too much that demanded explanation. Whatever else Cordell might be, she felt he was being honest with her, and she now doubted that any of the others were.

  She must somehow arrange to talk to Jed Blue. That he had been to town several times since Morgan had killed Dally Hart, she knew. From where she sat she could see him if he returned to town today, and she meant to be ready.

  She had been a fool to let Rod go away thinking she was promised to Mark Brewer. He had proposed, but she had not accepted. She had simply told him she needed time, that everything was so mixed up, that he would have to wait.

  Fortunately, it cost little to room and board at Em Shipton’s, and she had a little money left. Not enough to go home, but enough to go on to Denver. She had considered that, but nothing could make her forget Rod.

  It was two days later that she saw him ride into town. He always avoided the Gem Saloon, where he might run into enemies, going straight to the supply store and buying what he needed. She was becoming sufficiently attuned to western life to see that he was always careful before entering or leaving a building. Now she saw him come out of the store and start for his horse.

  No one was about, so she arose, walking down the trail toward the old well, where she occasionally went. Once out of sight of the boarding house, she caught up her skirt to keep from tripping and ran down the path. Panting and somewhat disheveled, she arrived at the trail edge just as he appeared.

  She stepped into plain sight and waited until he rode up to her. “Mr. Blue? I must talk to you.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced around quickly, then walked his horse into the bushes across the trail, and she followed. She was surprised to find a small, rustic footbridge across the creek, and an old millpond, the mill no longer in use.

  Quickly, she told him what she had learned, even Childs’s shock on hearing of Josh Shipton. Blue chuckled grimly at that, and then she told him of Cordell’s certainty that Rod would be killed.

  “Mr. Blue, how is Rod? Oh, I wish I had it all to do over! I was such a fool! But it was all so different from what I’d known. I just wish I had listened to what you said on the stage.”

  “Rod’s coming along all right, ma’am. I’m just afraid this trouble’s all coming to a head before we’re ready for it.

  “You say that when Childs heard about Shipton he sent for Brewer? Now what do you know about that?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Ma’am, you had better keep clear of Mark Brewer. As long as you know so much you’d better know this, too. Somebody has been doin’ Childs’ killin’ for him, and I know he wants Shipton dead, so who does he send for? Mark Brewer!”

  “Oh, no! You must be mistaken!” Even as she said it she remembered the gun. “Mr. Blue, I do know this, when he told Rod that he didn’t carry a gun, he lied. He wears one in a shoulder holster.”

  Blue was pleased. “Now, then, ma’am, that’s the best news you’ve given me so far. That little item might save my life or Rod’s.”

  “Why should Mr. Childs want Josh Shipton killed?”

  Jed Blue hesitated. “There’s the question behind this whole affair. Only two men know what happened in Buckskin Run when that gold vanished. One of them was Henry Childs; the other one is Josh Shipton.”

  He smiled widely. “Trouble is, for them at least, that a third one has figured it out, and I’m the third.

  “Ma’am, you go back and tell them you met a man on the road, and don’t describe me, who told you to tell them that Tarran Kopp is back.”

  She was seated in the small sitting room at the boarding house when Mark Brewer came in. Before she could speak he went on up to his room, and when he returned he was dressed for the trail. He walked over and sat down beside her.

  “I hear you met Henry Childs. Quite a fellow, isn’t he?”

  “He’s big,” she admitted, “and a fine-looking man.” Then, giving her face a puzzled expression, she asked, “Mark, who is Tarran Kopp?�
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  If she had expected a reaction she was not disappointed. He started as if stung, grabbing her wrist in a grip that hurt. “Who? Where did you hear that name?”

  “Please don’t! You’re hurting me!” She rubbed her wrist as he released it. “Why, it was nothing at all!” She spoke carelessly. “I get so restless here, so I took a walk over by that old mill, it is so quiet and peaceful there, and I met a man. He was very polite.

  “Actually, he was just watering his horse there at the millpond, and he asked me if I wasn’t living at Em Shipton’s. I told him I was, and he asked me to tell Henry Childs that Tarran Kopp was back.”

  Mark Brewer got to his feet. “He said Kopp was back? What did he look like?”

  “Oh, he was just a man. As tall as you, I think, but spare. He was riding a black horse.” The horse Jed Blue had been riding was a blue roan.

  “This changes everything,” Brewer muttered, talking more to himself than her.

  “Who is Tarran Kopp? What is he?”

  “Oh, he was just an outlaw who was active out here fifteen or twenty years ago. It’s believed he was the one who robbed those wagons you’ve heard about.”

  He turned toward the door. “Look, if Henry Childs comes in, tell him what you just told me, will you? And tell him I need to see him.”

  BEFORE NOON, ROD Morgan reached the basin. After lying among the rocks for about twenty minutes while studying the terrain to be sure he was unobserved, he went down to the edge of the pool and, putting his rifle down beside him, he began to cast with the heavy iron hook. He would cast the hook as far out as possible, let it sink to the bottom, and slowly drag it back to him.

  He worked steadily, tirelessly, taking occasional breaks to study the country around. He was well into his third hour, without finding anything but broken branches or moss, when the hook snagged on something. Twice it slid off before it held, and then hand over hand he drew in his catch.

  A wagon tire!