by Short, Luke;
Finally, long after midnight, they came to the mountain meadow that Dave was looking for. It was an old line camp, abandoned these weeks since the herds had been driven down for fall roundup. In a short time the snows would be here, but now it would be empty. Dave knew these things because he had to, because it was knowledge like this that let him live and camps like this that housed him.
They crossed the long meadow in dry grass knee deep to horses and pulled up in front of the line shack. It was dark, the door closed. Sholto offsaddled in silence and staked out their horses while Dave went behind the shack and picked up some lengths of wood. He came around, kicked the door open, and remembering where the stove was from the last visit, headed toward it in the dark.
He found it, laid the fire, found a match, and wiped it alight on his trousers.
He touched it to the shavings and watched them begin to burn. Sholto came in behind him and stopped. Then Sholto said, “Dave.”
He said it in a way that held a warning. Dave whirled, and then his down-sweeping hand was arrested.
There, facing him, gun drawn, five other men backing him with drawn guns, was Will Usher.
“Well, Davey my lad,” Usher drawled, “you did the job for me, all right.”
V
Dave looked at him one brief second, and then his still face, its lips curled in contempt, settled into anger. “Put that thing down,” he said softly.
Will Usher laughed. “I’m no woman, Dave. You move so much as a finger and we’ll blow you through that wall.”
He meant it, Dave saw. After lighting a candle on the table by Sholto, Usher skirted Sholto and edged closer to Dave, careful to keep himself out of the line of fire of his men.
For one desperate second Dave was tempted to make his play. But the odds were too great, and Will Usher knew it.
Usher reached out, slipped Dave’s gun from its holster, then backed against the wall. He was smiling, his face handsome.
“So this is the pay-off,” he gibed gently. “Wild Davey Coyle, the man who couldn’t be caught.” He laughed softly. “A sucker’s trap. It was so plain you didn’t see it, did you?”
Dave sneered, turning his cold eyes on Usher. “Take Sholto and get out of here before I get mad.”
Usher only grinned, and Dave didn’t like it. “And get only fifty thousand, when I could get fifty-seven thousand?” he asked gently.
For a moment Dave was puzzled, and then it came to him. Usher was going to collect fifty thousand ransom for Sholto. The seven thousand would be the reward money on him—Dave Coyle, wanted, dead or alive.
Usher saw that thought sink into Dave’s awareness, and he smiled again. “So you were goin’ to cut off my ears last night, Davey,” he drawled. “I’ll cut off your ears tonight. That’s now I’ll collect my bounty.”
He looked at Dave. Dave said, “Will, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Than what?”
“Than to try and kill me. Better men than you have tried.”
Usher’s face flushed, and his gun, which had been sagging a little, came up again. “All I got to do is pull the trigger.”
Dave shook his head. His hands were on his hips, his face arrogant, his feet widespread.
“Sure it is. But you won’t do it now.”
“Why won’t I?”
“Because you’ll want to rub it in first. You’ll want to see me beg. You’ll want to see me sweat and start to shake. That right?”
For a split second he wasn’t sure whether Usher would pull the trigger or not. And then Usher said softly, “That’s right, Davey boy. Maybe you better start beggin’ now.”
Dave had not had time to put the lid of the stove on, and now the fire was burning brightly, sending clouds of smoke into the room. Before he could answer Usher, Dave began to cough. He turned slowly, so that Usher would not be alarmed, and shoved the stove lid over the flames. But he still had a spasm of coughing, for he had been standing almost over the stove. Presently he ceased, and Usher smiled. “Ready to beg, Davey?”
Dave shook his head and said hoarsely, his eyes watering, “I got a proposition to make to you, Will. But give me a drink of water first.”
Usher said, “Get him a drink, Sholto, from that bucket in the corner,” without looking at Sholto, and then he sneered, “That’s more like it, Davey. Beginnin’ to crawfish, eh?”
Dave didn’t answer, only coughed. Sholto got a cup of water, broke through the five men blocking the door, and came up to Dave, holding out the cup, Dave’s left hand was already extended to receive the cup, his other hand at his mouth smothering the cough.
Just as he was about to take the cup he reached out, yanked Sholto to him, and at the same time whirled him. Usher’s gun came up, and then it was too late.
Dave had pulled Sholto half around and now had his arms around him and pulled against his body so that Sholto shielded him.
Dave jeered, “Don’t shoot your fifty thousand dollars, Will.”
Usher hesitated, and so did the other men. To kill Dave they would have had to shoot Sholto too.
And in that second Dave acted. He put his back to the side wall and started moving along it toward the door, Sholto in front of him. He had traveled perhaps eight feet when Usher came to his senses. “Rush him, boys, he hasn’t got a gun!” And he followed his own advice.
Dave pushed out from the wall with one leg and hurled Sholto toward the advancing men. And in the same movement he kicked the table, which tipped over the bottle with the candle and extinguished it. He let go of Sholto, hearing him collide with Usher, and threw himself at the feet of the others. He mowed one man down in the darkness, and the man shot. He rolled on, came to his feet, and dived for the door, tripping over the sill. But he lit in the grass this time, rolled, came to his feet, and ran in the darkness toward the meadow where he had left his horse.
There was tumult in the cabin, and everyone was afraid to shoot. He heard Usher cursing wildly, and then a voice bawled, “There he goes! Through the meadow!” There was a scattering of shots around him, and Dave dropped into the high grass and crawled away through it from the spot where he fell. But it was slow and exhausting work.
They had him now. He could hear Usher’s voice yelling, “Surround him!”
In the darkness a man’s figure standing in the yellow grass made a blob of black against a lighter background. He’d forgotten that. If he stood up he’d be a target for the six of them.
He lay there, breathing softly, wondering what he could do. If they started to move in on him he might overpower one man and get a gun.
But Usher had seen that, too, and now he was yelling, “Don’t move in on him! Stay where you are!”
Dave poked his forehead above the grass. He could see them now. They were in a circle around him, a circle perhaps forty yards in diameter.
Suddenly a match flared in the direction from which Will Usher’s voice came. The light died and then flared up again, and it was bigger this time. The flame grew, and suddenly Dave understood. Will was going to burn him out, set the grass on fire. There was just enough of a ground breeze riding off the peaks to fan the dry grass into flames, and Dave knew that once it was started it would blaze with the heat of a blacksmith’s forge.
“Shoot anything that moves!” Usher shouted, and then he started out in the wake of the flames. They laid in a long line now that was spreading. It didn’t matter to Usher if he set a forest on fire, just so he caught Dave.
For one panicked moment Dave wondered what to do. Again he looked up, and now he counted the men. There were seven of them, spaced at regular intervals around him, the light from the fire picking them out. He sank down again, cursing—and then something struck him.
Usher had six men, counting himself! He had counted seven. That meant that Sholto was guarding too! Dave forced himself to think back to what had happened in the shack. Sholto hadn’t struggled when he’d been forced to make a shield for Dave. And it seemed to Dave that he had willingly smas
hed into Usher, upsetting his aim.
It was worth a try. And it was his only chance.
Again he raised up, studying these men’s figures. They had the light in their eyes now and couldn’t see him so well. He saw Sholto, off to one side, toward the middle of the meadow.
Dave ducked down and set off in the heavy grass on his hands and knees toward Sholto. A panicked family of field mice ran over his hands, oblivious to anything but the fire that was chasing them. Dave could hear it crackle behind him and knew that it was burning on a wide front and was fanned by the wind.
He paused and looked up again presently, and he saw Sholto twenty feet ahead of him, knee deep in the grass. The light touched up the man’s face, and again Dave was reassured. This wasn’t a killer’s face.
He crawled on, and now he could see Sholto watching the grass that he was disturbing. And then he looked away, and Dave’s heart leaped. He headed straight for him, and still Sholto was looking out toward the fire. Dave passed within inches of him, and still Sholto didn’t look at him.
Dave stopped long enough to whisper, “Did they leave a gun in the shack?”
“No,” Sholto whispered.
Dave vanished then. Usher, following the fire, was shouting instructions for them to watch closely. And Dave, traveling as fast as he could, headed for the nearest peninsula of timber that sloped down into the meadow.
In another two minutes he had achieved it, and he put the point of land between him and the fire, then disappeared into the timber.
Panting, he looked back at the scene. The circle of men still held, although the grass fire had eaten more than halfway through it. Those six men stood there with their guns drawn, waiting to collect their bounty on him. A sheepishness welled up in Dave as he looked at it. He’d been a sucker, just like Will had said.
He’d forgotten that Will traveled with a wild bunch, headed it, and that this was the sort of gall that needed men to back it. Well, he’d have to kill Will Usher now. He was a nuisance, a dangerous nuisance, but that could wait. In a few minutes these men would think of their horses, and Dave wanted to be away by that time.
He pondered a moment and decided that Will would have tied the horses to the windward of the shack, lest Dave’s mounts, when they approached, catch the scent of other horses and give away their presence.
Therefore, he plunged into the timber, came presently to a ridge, crossed it, dropped down into a gully and walked up it, and found the horses in the dark. They were tied out in a thicket of scrub juniper, which they would tramp. The scent of evergreens would kill any other scent coming to them and keep them from whinnying.
Swiftly, then, Dave searched the saddles, and on one he found a carbine in the rifle scabbard. This was the horse he took, not even bothering to shorten the stirrups until he was clear.
Once he was away from the shack he dismounted, adjusted the stirrups, and considered his situation. Will had Sholto. He would collect ransom on him, just as they had planned together.
For one moment Dave pondered going back and taking Sholto, now that he had the gun. And then another thought occurred to him. Why not let Will Usher have all the grief of lugging Sholto around with him and sending a man for the ransom money? It would be easier to steal the money from Usher than steal Sholto from him.
And that meant that he’d have to hunt up Wallace and watch him. And Wallace had probably been out with the posse, which would return to Yellow Jacket.
He set off in the night, then, through the timber, headed for Yellow Jacket. Will Usher would keep. He was going to have a lot of fun with Usher before he killed him, and he wanted to figure out just what shape that fun would take.
VI
Approximately twenty-four hours after the kidnaping of Sholto, the posse, headed by Sheriff Beal, came home to Yellow Jacket empty-handed. Wallace, who had driven himself and his men until they were ready to drop, dismounted wearily at the tie rail in front of the sheriff’s office alongside Ernie See and Beal. The posse members who had borrowed guns from the sheriff’s gunrack returned them and scattered to their homes.
Wallace, as soon as he was inside the door of the sheriff’s office, started the same song that Ernie had been listening to for twenty-four hours.
“I can’t get over it,” Wallace said bleakly, his voice still savage. “Just because you were so knot-headed you wouldn’t look in that coffin, Beal, I’m goin’ to have to pay out a sweet piece of money.”
And Beal, harried and tired, gave the same exasperated retort he had been giving all night and day. “Dammit, man. You saw the coffin! If I’m a knot head, so are you!”
Ernie shucked off his shell belt and gun and said to Beal, “I’ll be back after while.” He went out, sick of Wallace’s grousing, smarting under it because he was included as a knot head, too, and tired enough to fall asleep in the street. He cursed Dave Coyle with a bitterness that surprised even himself, and then he headed upstreet for a drink.
Bruce McFee, per Sheriff Beal’s instructions, was in the custody of the two deputy U.S. marshals at the hotel here, but he would go free, Ernie thought bitterly. There was no excuse to hold him now. He had disclaimed all knowledge of Dave Coyle and had pointed to his posting of the reward money for Dave’s capture as evidence of innocence. But all that was phony, Ernie thought. Who stood to profit most by Sholto’s disappearance? McFee, and Ernie was willing to bet good money that none of them would ever see Sholto again. And while McFee was taking his ease in a hotel room, laughing at them, Ernie and the posse had been riding the legs off their horses. And for nothing. The trail had petered out.
Ernie tramped down the boardwalk, disgust riding his honest face. He wished fervently that both McFee and Wallace would drop dead.
“Did you just come from the sheriff’s office?” a woman’s voice said.
Ernie pulled up and turned. A pretty dark-haired girl in a rusty black dress stood beside him. Ernie didn’t know her, but he liked her looks. He touched his hat. “Yes’m.”
“Is Mr. Wallace there?”
“He sure is,” Ernie said grimly.
“When will he be ready to ride out to the place?”
“I dunno, miss. Why?”
“Well, I—I work out there,” the girl said. “I was going out with him.”
Ernie looked at her closely. Then he saw the wedding ring on her finger. For a moment he wondered if Wallace was married, and then he knew he wasn’t. Probably some relative.
Ernie said, “I wisht you’d take him out and give us a little peace around this place.”
“Will you tell him I’m waiting.”
“Sure,” Ernie said. “What name?”
“He’ll know,” the girl said. She smiled her thanks and went down the street. Ernie watched her a moment, admiration in his eyes, and then started out for the saloon again. He had taken less than three steps when he heard someone call him again. “Ernie, oh, Ernie.”
He stopped patiently and saw old Bitterman, the hotel clerk, hobbling toward him. Ernie looked at him with a baleful gaze. Likely there was a towel missing from the hotel, and old Bitterman wanted a blanket warrant sworn out for all the guests until the towel was retrieved.
“Well?” Ernie said disgustedly when Bitterman faced him.
“I found somethin’ while you were gone. I didn’t know whether to save it or not.”
“What is it? A burned match?” Ernie asked sardonically.
Bitterman looked aggrieved, but he pulled a folded envelope from his pocket. “It’s an envelope,” he said.
Ernie took it, unfolded it, glanced at the writing, and then crumpled it up in his fist and threw it savagely in the gutter and said, “Ah, phooey!”
And then his face changed. He stood there a second, his face blank, and then he dived for the enevelope. Retrieving it, he smoothed it out and read the address again. It was the envelope of Carol’s letter to Dave Coyle.
“Where’d you find this?” Ernie asked swiftly.
“Why, the chambermaid
found it in that room Coyle was in the other night,” Bitterman said righteously. “I told you it was—”
Ernie didn’t even bother to hear him out. He turned and walked rapidly back to the sheriff’s office, a plan already forming in his mind. And then his pace slowed. Wallace would still be there, and Ernie didn’t want Wallace riding him on this business. He sauntered into the office. Wallace, his hat shoved on the back of his bony skull, was talking to Sheriff Beal, whose face was getting redder and redder.
“I tell you,” Wallace was saying, “either you arrest McFee, Beal, or this is your last term of office!”
Beal spread his hands pleadingly and said, “On what grounds? In the name of all that’s high and mighty and holy, on what grounds can I arrest him!”
Ernie interrupted lazily, “Did McFee and that girl of his sign them depositions?”
Beal glared at him. “How could they? This maniac hasn’t even let me have a minute free since I got back!”
“I’ll take ’em,” Ernie said.
Beal fished around in the desk and got the depositions of McFee and Carol. They were merely statements that they had no part in Dave Coyle’s kidnaping of Sholto.
Ernie took them and sauntered out the door, his message from the girl to Wallace forgotten. Wallace was talking again. Once on the street Ernie almost ran up to the hotel. He stopped at the desk long enough to take old Bitterman’s inkpot and pen and then he went upstairs. A deputy, his chair back-tilted against the wall of the corridor by McFee’s room, told Ernie McFee was in.
Ernie knocked and was bid enter. The room was a sitting room of the only suite in the hotel. Bruce McFee, his hands folded behind his back, was pacing the floor. He whirled at Ernie’s entrance and said savagely, “How long am I going to be kept here?”
“Dad,” Carol said, “be patient.”
She was sitting at a table, playing a two handed game of rummy with Senator Maitland.
Ernie took off his hat and said, “It won’t be long, Mr. McFee. If you and Miss McFee sign these depositions I reckon the sheriff won’t keep you much longer.”
