Monument Rock (Ss) (1998)

by L'amour, Louis

  “You think they were outlaws? I noticed them horses.”

  “What else?”

  Jones stared at him thoughtfully. “Talon,” he said carefully, “you ride a mighty fine horse yourself. One with speed and staying quality.”

  Talon smiled. “That’s right,” he said quietly.

  Ruth collected the dishes. “Do you plan to make Carson tonight? You can do it if you push right along.”

  “You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of us, would you?” Talon smiled at her. “I don’t think you women should be here alone with Dan Burnett laid up.”

  Ruth almost dropped the dishes. She turned sharply, but Kate spoke from the kitchen. “Dan may be laid up, but I’m not. You ride out of here, both of you!”

  Jones put his cup down hard and stared at her, his fat jowls quivering. “Now, looka here-!” he started to protest.

  “Get!… Get goin’!”

  Talon picked up the coffeepot and refilled his cup. “Like I said, you’re going to need help. Especially with a gold shipment on that coach.”

  Jones turned to stare at him, astonished. But Kate Breslin walked on into the room, and she had Burnett’s Remington in her fist. “You know about that, do you? That means you’re what I figured you were. You get goin’, mister.”

  “What else would keep you scared?” Talon asked mildly. “Only that you were afraid of something happening while Dan’s laid up.”

  “We’ll handle that…. Ride!”

  Suddenly there was a rush of horses in the yard, and Talon said, “Now you’ll really need me. Those riders are the worst kind of trouble.”

  “Don’t give me that!” Kate said, but she hesitated, lowering the gun a little.

  “There’s three men, Kate,” Ruth said.

  The door opened and the three men from the Indian fight came into the room. The gunman leading them stopped and his expression hardened when he saw Talon and Jones. “You should have kept going,” he said. “We told you.”

  “Tracey, isn’t it?” Talon asked the bearded man. “And you,” he said to the gunman, “are Lute Robeck.”

  “That’s right.” Robeck walked to the bar and picked up a bottle.

  “That’s two bits a shot,” Kate said.

  “Shut up.” Robeck merely glanced at her.

  Kate started to speak, then tightened her lips and was still; her eyes went from face to face and she walked back to the door of the bedroom and stood there, waiting.

  She knew all about Robeck … the man was known to be a gunman, a killer, a rustler, and occasional robber of payrolls at outlying mines. Tracey, too, was a known man.

  Her eyes went to Talon. Who was he? What was he?

  “Well,” Robeck said, “you’re here, and the stage is due in a couple of hours, so you’ll stay, right here, until we’re ready for you.”

  “Lute,” Jones said, “you’d better take Talon’s gun. I don’t know who he is, but he’s too smart.”

  “Let him have it,” Robeck said. “It may give me an excuse to kill him.”

  Talon glanced at Jones. “So you’re one of them?”

  “Sure.” Jones smiled. “I worked for the mining company until they got a good shipment ready. No use pulling holdups when there’s no cash coming; we just wait until we know they’ve got it. Like now.”

  The dark outlaw who had said nothing loitered in a corner of the room almost beyond Talon’s view. There were four of them now, four to one. “Watch that Breslin woman,”

  Jones said. “She’s got Burnett’s gun.”

  “Where’s Burnett?” Robeck demanded.

  “Back of that door. I figure he’s hurt. Leastwise that’s what Talon here figured out.”

  Robeck grinned at Talon. “I hope you try for that gun,” he said. “I don’t like you, much.”

  Talon lifted his cup and sipped coffee slowly, watching Robeck over the cup’s rim.

  The outlaw walked to the door, and when Ruth made as if to stop him, he shoved her roughly aside and opened it.

  He strode to the bedside and looked down at the suffering man. “You lie quiet, Burnett,” he said, “and maybe you won’t be killed.”

  “You let me get my hands on a gun,” Burnett said, “and I’ll not make you any promises!”

  Robeck chuckled. “Flat on his back and still full of fight.” His eyes went to Ruth.

  “Food, liquor, a gold shipment, and a girl… what more can a man ask.”

  “You’d be wise to let her alone.”

  Robeck turned his head slowly to look at Talon, who had not moved. “Don’t push your luck,” he said.

  Tracey got out a deck of cards and was joined by the dark man, whom he had called Pete. Tracey began to lay out a game of solitaire. Lute Robeck walked to the now open door and leaned against the doorjamb, watching the empty road.

  Four to four, Talon thought, only there were two women on his side, and a sick man.

  And they were all around the room, and even when they did not appear to be, he knew they were watching him. He also knew that he, at least, was to be killed. That was why they had left him his gun … Robeck fancied himself with a gun. He wanted Talon to try it so he could test himself.

  An hour went slowly by. Talon wanted to move, but hesitated to give Robeck the chance he might be wanting. The two women had gone quietly to work, cleaning up his table and, at Robeck’s order, preparing food for the others. At least one of them watched the women at all times, without making an issue of it.

  Talon got out the makings and rolled a smoke. He touched the cigarette paper to his lips and then put the cigarette in his mouth. Robeck watched him with bright interest, but there was a matchbox on the table and Talon took out the match and struck it on the table edge in plain sight.

  Robeck chuckled. “Cagey, ain’t you?” he said. “Where’d I ever see you before?”

  “You never did,” Talon said.

  Robeck’s eyes sharpened. “Maybe … You wanted by the law?”

  “No.” He turned his head. “Ruth, I’d like some more coffee, if you will.”

  It was very hot and still. Perspiration stood out on their faces. He had one gun against four, and they were not worried by him … Robeck was actually anticipating trouble. “If you’re going to try for that gun,” he said, “you’d better have at it.

  When the stage comes we’re going to take it away from you.”

  “I can wait.”

  Robeck chuckled, watching Ruth carry the coffee to the table. He got to his feet and walked to the bar to pour a drink. Ruth gave Talon a look then slanted her eyes quickly away in the direction of Robeck. She looked back and gave him a slight little nod. She wanted him to go ahead, she was ready to take her chances.

  Robeck’s eyes followed the girl. “Now, there’s a woman for you. Fire in her, I’ll bet.” He glanced at the clock on the shelf. “And we’ve got most of an hour yet. Maybe her and me-”

  “Leave her alone.”

  Robeck turned, his smile gone. Before he could speak, Talon spoke again. “Leave her alone, Robeck. You’ll get the gold if you’re smart, but leave that girl alone or I’ll kill you.”

  “What?” Robeck was on his feet facing Talon. “You’ll kill me?

  Get on your feet, tall man, and I’ll cut you down! Get up, you hear?

  Get up!”

  Talon did not move. He looked at Robeck and smiled. “Don’t be in a hurry,” he said.

  “You have some time left.”

  The moment died. Pete walked to the door, then stepped outside and walked toward the barn. Ruth served the others and watched them eat. Kate Breslin had done nothing since the gun was taken from her but to cook and remain silent. It was very hot, and Talon loafed in his chair, waiting.

  A fly buzzed on the window. Pete walked out to the road and looked off into the distance, shading his eyes against the glare. Jones got up and walked to the window and then turned back, and as he came back toward the table he was behind Talon. Suddenly his gun was thrust against Talo
n’s spine. “You may want to play games,” he said to Robeck, “I don’t. That stage is due any minute.” Jones reached down and took Talon’s gun, then stepped back away from him, careful not to get within reach of Talon’s hands.

  “All right.” Robeck shrugged. “I just figured maybe he’d like to try it with me.”

  He grinned at Talon. “No guts.”

  Talon got slowly to his feet and stretched his long arms. Idly, he walked to the bar where Robeck was seated, and poured a drink. Robeck moved back a little, watching Talon cheerfully. “I’ll still kill you if you start anything, Talon,” Robeck warned.

  Ruth, tense only a moment before, relaxed, accepted her fate . .. she and Kate were one step further from safety.

  In the kitchen, Kate Breslin had taken an old .31 Colt from her valise, and she slipped it into Ruth’s hand. “Only if the chance is just right,” she whispered. “Then give it to him.”

  Pete walked out to the road. “Not much more time, Lute.”

  “No.” Lute glanced around the room. “They don’t know the women are here, anyway. They can’t know, with the only stage since Burnett was hurt going out the other way. We’ll hide them… put ‘em in Burnett’s room.”

  Tracey got up. “What about Talon?”

  Ruth came into the room and crossed to the table where Talon sat. Lute watched her with bright interest, never missing a move. The butt of the little Colt was visible to Talon from under Ruth’s apron, but he carefully ignored it. Ruth fussed with the dishes, waiting, and suddenly Robeck began to laugh.

  “He’s yellow! Yellow! Ruthie, you picked yourself the wrong man!”

  Ruth turned away from the table and instantly Robeck motioned to Tracey, who grabbed the girl and shoved her across to Robeck, who jerked the apron from her, and the gun. “You little fool!” He slapped her wickedly across the mouth. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” He shoved her back against the counter and slapped her again. Instantly, she lashed out and slapped him, then kicked him on the shins. There was a momentary struggle, and then he shoved the girl from him and slapped her again, thrusting the pistol into his waistband.

  Talon stood flat-footed, watching, but making no move away from the table. His expression had not changed as he watched the brief struggle. When it was over he stepped over and helped the girl to her feet. Angrily, Ruth jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me, you coward!” she flared.

  Robeck laughed.

  Pete ran in from the road. “Here she comes!” he said.

  Tracey grabbed Ruth and shoved her toward the bedroom door. Robeck stood watching Talon and smiling. “No hurry,” he said. “They’re bringing it right to us.”

  Tracey ordered Kate from the kitchen and into the bedroom. “If they make a wrong move,” Robeck ordered, “use your gun barrel. And I don’t care how hard you hit.”

  Lute Robeck walked to the door and looked out. The stage was rolling into the yard.

  “All right.” He gestured to Talon. “Walk out there ahead of us and don’t say anything or make a wrong move.”

  Whatever happened now would depend on fast thinking and breaks, and the shotgun guard must do some fast thinking, too. He walked outside with Lute beside him; Jones and Pete moved up behind. Talon angled toward the stage, knowing the men behind him would spread out. If the shotgun guard started shooting, which Robeck well knew, Talon would be the first man killed.

  The stage whirled into the yard and came to an abrupt stop in a cloud of dust. The shotgun guard was staring from the door to the waiting men, and as Talon slowly turned he saw a rifle barrel glinting from the bedroom window … Tracey was going to kill the guard.

  “Holdup!” Talon yelled, and a Colt Lightning slid from under the arm of his coat.

  Robeck swore and swung his gun, blasting fire. His first shot was too quick, Talon’s was not. The bullet caught Robeck over the belt buckle and he started back. Talon fired again, then nailed Jones. Pete was already falling and suddenly there was silence broken only by the plunging of the horses and the rattle of harness. They quieted down and Talon got slowly to his feet.

  Talon walked over to Robeck and kicked the gun from his hand, but the man was dead.

  Tracey was standing in the door, his hands high. “Don’t shoot!” he said. “I’ve quit!”

  Ruth came from the door, but the shotgun guard reached Talon first. “Thanks,” he said. “When I didn’t see Dan I figured something was wrong.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruth said, “I just thought-” “I always carry a spare,” he said. “You know, any of us in there could have been killed. Sometimes it’s better to reserve judgment … when a man’s life is on the line, he naturally wants to wait until the time is right.”

  He walked to the stable for his horse. It was still a long way to Carson.

  *

  HERE ENDS THE TRAIL

  Cold was the night and bitter the wind and brutal the trail behind. Hunched in the saddle, I growled at the dark and peered through the blinding rain. The agony of my wound was a white-hot flame from the bullet of Korry Gleason.

  Dead in the corral at Seaton’s he was, and a blessed good thing for the country, too, although had I gone down instead, the gain would have been as great and the loss no greater. Wherever he went, in whatever afterlife there may be for the Korry Gleasons of this world, he’ll carry the knowledge that he paid his score for the killing of old Bags Robison that night in Animas.

  He’d been so sure, Gleason had, that Race Mallin had bucked it out in gun smoke down Big Band way. He’d heard the rumor all right, so he thought it safe to kill old Bags, and he’d nothing on his mind when he walked, sloshing through the mud toward Seaton’s-and then he saw me.

  He knew right off, no doubt about that. He knew before he saw my face. He knew even before I spoke. “Goodbye, Korry,” I said.

  But the lightning flashed as I spoke and he saw me standing there, a big, lean-bodied man wearing no slicker and guns ready to hand. He saw me there with the scar on my jaw, put there by his own spur the night I whipped him in Mobeetie.

  He swore and grabbed for his gun and I shot him through the belly, shot him low down, where they die hard, because he’d never given old Bags a chance, old Bags who had been like a father to me … who had no father and no mother, nor kith nor kin nor anything. I shot him low down and hard and he grabbed iron and his gun swung up and I cursed him like I’ve never cursed, then I sank three more shots into him, framing the ugly heart of him with lead and taking his bullet in the process.

  Oh, he was game, all right! He came of a hard clan, did Korry Gleason, big, bloody, brutal men who killed and fought and drank and built ranches and roads and civilization and then died because the country they built was too big for them to hold down.

  So now I’d trail before me and nothing behind me but the other members of the Gleason clan, who, even now, would be after me. The trail dipped down and the wind whipped at my face while the pain of my wound gnawed at my side. My thoughts spun and turned smoky and my brain struggled with the heat haze of delirium.

  Gigantic thunder bottled itself up in the mighty canyons of cloud and then exploded in jagged streaks of lightning, cannon flashes of lightning that stabbed and glanced and shimmered among the rock-sided hills. Night and the iron rain and wet rock for a trail and the thunder of slides and the echoing canyons where they ended, the roaring streams below and the poised boulders, revealed starkly by some momentary flash, then concealed but waiting to go crashing down when the moment came. And through it I rode, more dead than alive, with a good seat in the saddle but a body that lolled and sagged. Under me there was a bronco that was surefooted on a trail that was a devil’s nightmare.

  Then there was a light.

  Have you ever seen a lighted window flickering through the rain of a lonely land?

  Have you ever known that sudden gush of heart-glowing warmth at such a sight? There is no other such feeling, and so when I saw it, the weariness and pain seemed warranted and cheap at the pric
e of that distant, promising window.

  What lay beyond that light? Warmth and food? The guns of enemies old or new? It did not matter, for since time began, man has been drawn to the sight of human habitation, and I was in an unknown land, and far from anywhere so far as I knew. Then in a lightning flash I saw a house, a barn, and a corral, all black and wet in the whipping rain.

  Inside the barn, there was the roar of rain on the roof and the good, friendly smells of horses and hay, of old leather and sacks, and all the smells that make barns what they are. So I slid from my horse and led him into the welcome stillness and closed the door behind us. There I stripped the saddle from him and wiped the rain from his body and shook it from his mane, and then I got fresh hay and stuffed the manger full. “Fill your belly,” I told him. “Come dawn we’ll be out of here.”

  Under my slicker, then, I slipped the riding thong from the butt of my Colt and slid my rifle from the saddle scabbard. The light in the window was welcoming me, but whether friend or enemy waited there, I did not know. A moment after I knocked on the door, it jerked open under my hand and I looked into the eyes of a woman.

  Her eyes were magnificent and brown, and she was tall and with poise and her head carried like a princess crowned. She looked at me and she said, “Who are you?” Her voice was low, and when she spoke something within me quivered, and then she said, “What do you want here?”

  “Shelter,” I said, “a meal if you’ve got the food to spare. There’s trouble following me, but I’ll try to be gone before the storm clears. Will you help? Say the word, yes or no.”

  What she thought I’d no idea, for what could she think of me, big, unshaven, and scarred? And what could she think when my slicker was shed and she saw the two tied-down guns and the mark of blood on the side and the spot where my shirt was torn by the bullet.

  “You’ve been shot,” she said.

  And then the room seemed to spin slowly in a most sickening fashion and I fell against the wall and grabbed a hook and clung to it, gripping hard, afraid to go down for fear I’d not again get to my feet.