by Short, Luke;
“If you ever touch that girl of mine I’ll kill you!” McFee said softly.
“I wouldn’t try,” Dave said tonelessly. “She’s too good for me, and I know it.” He looked wickedly at McFee. “She’s too good for you too.”
“I know it.”
They glared at each other a moment, hating each other, and then McFee said grimly, “If we do get out—and I said ‘if’—what can we do outside of hide? It won’t help Carol if I live in a cave in the Corazon.”
“I said you were dumb,” Dave jeered.
“I’m askin’ you,” McFee said stubbornly. “What can we do?”
“The first thing we can do is get Sholto’s wife and hide her,” Dave said calmly. “Then we take Sholto away from Usher.”
“But I don’t want Sholto!” McFee burst out.
“You do! You got to prove you didn’t kill him! And after we’ve got him safe, then we’re goin’ to find out who’s behind Wallace!”
McFee started. He said slowly, “Have you talked to Carol?”
“Lots of times,” Dave said, puzzled.
“I mean about who’s behind Wallace. She thinks someone is too.”
“You think there ain’t anyone?” Dave said dryly. “And him a tinhorn gambler three years ago?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” Dave said. “When we find out who it is, then we’ll put Wallace away and him away.” He smiled faintly. “Then you can go back to your spread and put another three thousand reward on my head.”
McFee smiled too. “I reckon I will,” he said grimly. “But right now we might as well shake hands, hadn’t we?”
“No. Just keep your mouth shut and let me think.”
He walked back to his cot and lay down, his hands under his head. Sooner than McFee expected Dave said, “Is Carol comin’ to see you this mornin’?”
“She’s Miss McFee to a saddle bum like you!” McFee said shortly.
“Is she?” Dave asked, ignoring him.
“Yes. Pretty soon.”
“You and me will stage a fist fight through the bars when she gets here,” Dave said quietly. “Make it good, but don’t bloody my nose. I’ll save that till later. You got that?”
“I don’t see—”
“Nobody asked you to,” Dave said shortly. “I’m bossin’ this.”
He turned over and went to sleep, and McFee nursed his anger in silence.
A little after nine o’clock Carol, wearing a dark maroon dress, and Senator Maitland were shown into the cell block. Ernie See led the way, and he was carrying two chairs. He set them down in the corridor, motioned Carol and Maitland toward them, and said, “Nobody gets in that cell. Also, I’m goin’ to watch you from the end of the corridor.”
Carol sat down, glancing swiftly at Dave, who was sleeping. Then she asked her father how he was, and they began to talk. Presently Dave raised up on his cot, and talk ceased. All three of them looked at him.
Dave’s face was cross. “You got the whole outdoors to jabber in,” he said sourly. “I got a six-by-six cell. I’m tryin’ to sleep. Shut up, will you?”
McFee said automatically, sternly, “Nobody talks to my daughter that way!”
“I did, didn’t I?” Dave said truculently. He sat up and said to Carol, “Shut up, I said! I want to sleep.” He looked at McFee. “How do you like that?”
McFee was genuinely angry. He had forgotten Dave’s instructions, and that made it all the more convincing. He came over to the adjoining bars and said, “When I get out of here I’ll kick your pants clear up into your throat.”
“Listen to Grandpa,” Dave jeered.
Carol rose and said indignantly, “Stop that, Dave Coyle!”
Senator Maitland said gently, “Here, here!”
Dave said jeeringly to McFee, “You couldn’t kick a mushroom over, Grandpa. Don’t brag.”
“Step over here and see if I can’t!” McFee cried.
Dave stepped over to him and grabbed his nose and twisted it. McFee yelled and lashed out at him through the bars. Dave ducked and came up and put his hand through the bars, the flat of his palm against McFee’s face. He pushed. McFee backed across the cell and sat down. Carol screamed. McFee growled in his throat and rushed at Dave, who hit him. McFee kicked him, and then grabbed Dave’s shirt and ripped it. Dave slugged him in the stomach, and McFee clouted Dave alongside the ear.
All that happened before Ernie See arrived. He shoved Carol out of the way, unlocked the door, grabbed McFee by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him away from Dave.
“Boys, boys,” Ernie said mockingly. He was enjoying this; Dave could tell.
“Take him away from me,” Dave said coldly. “I’ll unscrew his head.”
Carol said hotly to Dave, “You—you bully, you beast!”
Dave looked at her. “Shut up, sister, or I’ll spank you.”
Carol was so mad she couldn’t speak. Senator Maitland’s kindly face was distressed. “Please,” he pleaded. “Let’s act like human beings and not dogs.”
Ernie See let go of McFee’s shirt and said, “Keep away from him.”
“Take him out of there,” Dave repeated. “I don’t want him around me.”
“That’s just too bad,” Ernie drawled ominously. “We always aim to please our customers, but I’m a little deaf. But I got a nice drafty cell over there by the window that’s empty. One more ruckus like this and you’ll go over there, mister.”
Dave only sneered at him and went back to his cot. Ernie See said to Carol, “You better go, miss. I may have to work him over to show him some sense.”
“I hope you do!” Carol said indignantly, her eyes flashing. “He’s—he’s insufferable!”
She and Senator Maitland went out, and Ernie stood there in the cell block, watching Dave. “Tell me, sonny,” he drawled. “You still goin’ to break jail?”
“I’ll break jail and your head and McFee’s head,” Dave said arrogantly. He turned over on his cot, his back to Ernie. Ernie laughed and went out.
When he was gone Dave sat up. McFee was rubbing his nose, and his eyes were angry. “You didn’t have to insult Carol,” he said.
“It looked good, didn’t it?” Dave challenged, grinning.
“Yes,” McFee said reluctantly. “I still don’t see what you aim to do, though.”
Dave didn’t say anything. He turned to his cot, a canvas-covered one on a wooden frame. He jumped on one side with both feet, and the frame broke. He pulled the canvas away, took the broken frame, and twisted it free of the end. What he held in his hand was a wooden club some three feet long and two inches thick. He hefted it, judged its weight, and then looked at McFee.
“I think we better stick together when we get out of here,” he said quietly. “You’d get caught if we split up and met.”
McFee looked curiously at him. “But we aren’t out.”
“When we get out,” Dave went on patiently, “I want you to stick with me. Understand?”
McFee, baffled, only nodded.
Dave gave him the club in his hand. “When I give the word we’ll start yellin’ and cussin’. That will bring Ernie and maybe Sheriff Beal here. When they come in I’ll be lyin’ on the floor, my nose bleedin’, and I’ll be unconscious. They’ll ask you what happened. Tell them we got to fightin’ and that I broke the cot, grabbed a club, and started after you through the bars. Tell them you took the club away from me and let me have it alongside the head. Ask ’em if I’m dead and cuss me out. Make it look good. You got that?”
McFee nodded slowly, a scowl on his face. “But I don’t understand—”
Dave cut in on him. “Hit me in the nose.”
“What?”
“Hit me in the nose.”
McFee fisted his hands, looked down at them, then up at Dave, and smiled. “I couldn’t do that, not when—”
Dave drove a blow into McFee’s face. The older man’s head snapped back, and for one second there was a look of astonishment on his face,
and then he lashed out at Dave through the bars. When it was done Dave had a bloody nose. His eyes were watering with the pain. He stood there a moment, letting the blood drip on his shirt. He said, “Muss your hair. Tear your shirt.”
While McFee was doing it Dave went over and jumped on the cot, and it collapsed with a crash. Then Dave began to curse aloud, motioning McFee to join in. McFee did, and they yelled a torrent of abuse at each other.
In approximately a quarter of a minute the first corridor door swung open, and then Dave heard the pounding of feet in the corridor.
He lay down on the floor, sprawled on his face, and looked up at McFee. McFee nodded grimly, and then Dave closed his eyes.
He heard the boots close now and then Ernie See’s hard voice: “Put that thing down, McFee!”
Dave heard a clatter of wood on the floor, and McFee, panting, said, “Damn right I will! I’m through with it!”
“What happened?”
McFee said grimly, “Take a look at him! He started to argue with me and then slugged me, and then he broke the cot, hauled out a hunk of wood, and hit me!”
“But you got it now,” Sheriff Beal’s voice said.
“Damn right I have!” McFee bellowed. “I took it away from him and laid it across his head.”
“Pull your gun, Ernie. Let’s take a look at Coyle,” Beal said.
There was the sound of the door unlocking, and then they stood over Dave. Beal rolled him over roughly and looked at him. He shuttered up his eyelid, and Dave lay limp as a rag.
“Where’d you hit him?” Beal asked McFee.
“The head, I told you! I hope to hell it killed him!”
“So do I,” Ernie said. He knelt by Dave and felt his skull and said, “Well, he ain’t got a cracked head.”
McFee was making a good job of it; Dave could hear him still panting.
“He will have the next time,” McFee said.
Beal said angrily, “There ain’t goin’ to be no next time, McFee. Personally, I wouldn’t care if you knocked his head into the next room, but he’s goin’ to stand trial. And we’re goin’ to separate you two.”
McFee didn’t say anything. Ernie said with bitter relish, “I got just the place for Coyle, Harve. Let’s give him the ‘icebox.’”
“He’s liable to get sick,” Beal said. “It’s cold there in that cell in front of the window.”
“Maybe it’ll take some of the salt out of him,” Ernie said. Dave heard him tramp down the cell block and unlock the door to the end cell, the “icebox.” He came back and Beal said dubiously, “I dunno. It’s cold there.”
“Hell, Sholto’s cold too—if he bothered to bury him!”
“All right,” Beal said grimly. “Take his arms. I’ll take his feet.”
Dave was picked up. He opened his eyes a little to see how Beal was holding his legs. Beal faced him and grabbed his feet at the ankles and lifted. Ernie held him under the arms, so that his hands almost dragged the floor. Beal was too busy to watch him as he maneuvered out through the cell door and into the corridor. This wasn’t so good, Dave reflected swiftly. Ernie was the strongest, the fastest thinker, and he had hold of his arms. But he would have to go through with it anyway.
They stumbled down the corridor with him, and then Beal backed around into the open door of the cell. Dave did two things at once then. His arms, which were hanging down to the floor, suddenly went stiff as he grabbed Ernie’s boots. And with his feet he kicked savagely at Sheriff Beal’s belly.
Ernie, with his legs pinioned, was driven off balance by the kick, and he fell backward, taking Dave with him. And Beal, kicked in the belly, also fell backward.
Ernie let go one hand to break his fall, and Dave twisted. He landed on top of Ernie, squirmed over, and with one vicious bat with his hand drove Ernie’s head into the stone floor. Ernie slacked, unconscious, under him, and still lying on him, Dave grabbed his gun and rolled over beside him and looked up at Beal.
Beal was gagging for breath, sitting up, but he had stubbornly gone for his gun. Dave swiveled his up and said, “Want a shoot-out, Beal?”
Beal was a courageous man. But right now, coming half erect, he was sick and gagging for breath. It took some swift thinking to do what he did then. He dropped his gun as if it were hot and fell to his knees, his arms around his belly. Dave vaulted into the cell and shoved him over on his back. Beal was making queer sucking sounds, like a fish that is out of water, his mouth working spasmodically. Dave ripped off Beal’s belt, laid it out on the floor, then rolled Sheriff Beal over on it, face down. He yanked the belt up tight, pinning Sheriff Beal’s arms to his sides.
Leaving him, Dave stepped out into the hall and dragged Ernie in beside Beal. Ernie was limp as a sack, so that it was hard to get his shirt off him. Dave succeeded, however, and then put on Ernie’s shirt, shedding his own torn and bloody one. Then he trussed up Ernie the same way he had trussed Beal.
When he was finished Beal had quit gagging. He was looking at Dave through sick eyes as if he would like to murder him. Dave ripped his old shirt in half, balled it up in his right hand, straddled Beal, and leveled his gun at him.
“I’m goin’ to ask you just this once,” Dave said. “Are you goin’ to open your mouth and let me gag you, or am I goin’ to have to clout you over the head?”
Beal opened his mouth, and Dave rammed the shirt into it.
Afterward he did the same with Ernie, then he stepped out, shut the door, locked it, and took the keys.
He went down the corridor to McFee’s cell, unlocked it, and McFee stepped out.
“Quit shakin’,” Dave said coldly.
“Goddlemighty!” McFee whispered. “I wouldn’t of done that for a thousand dollars.”
“Nobody asked you to,” Dave sneered. He handed him Sheriff Beal’s gun and shell belt. “Put these on. We’re goin’ out now. I want you to stand in the door of the sheriff’s office and take a look at the horses in sight. Pick a fast one. I’ll do the same. Get on your horse and walk him, don’t run him, out of town. Look like you belonged there, understand? Don’t get panicked.”
McFee licked his lips. “All right,” he said. “But give me time. This is comin’ pretty fast.”
Dave rammed Ernie’s gun in his waistband and led the way out into the office. Beal had been in the midst of writing a letter when he was interrupted by the fight. The paper, a broken line of writing across it, was lying beside an open ink bottle and the pen.
Dave walked into the open door and stood there, McFee beside him. “How about that black?” Dave asked, looking downstreet.
“Good,” McFee said shakily.
“Take him. I’ll take that chestnut down the tie rail a ways.” He looked scornfully at McFee. “Quit shakin’.”
“I can’t help it,” McFee said softly. “Hell, I’m scared.”
Dave dropped McFee off at the black horse and went by him. They passed a couple of punchers, and Dave said, “Howdy,” and received a pleasant reply.
Dave sneered and set off downstreet, McFee behind on. The chestnut didn’t look so good at close range. He passed him up and took a bay next to him. He mounted, pulled aside for a buckboard and team that was just swinging into the tie rail, and then put his horse into the street to wait for McFee.
McFee came up. He was glancing from side to side, and his mouth was grim. He was sweating, Dave could see.
Dave waited until McFee was even with him, and then they walked their horses down the street. People looked at them and glanced away, incurious. One or two people looked for quite a long moment, then went about their business, thinking they were mistaken. They rode peacefully out of town.
X
For its headquarters the Three Rivers Cattle Company had taken over an old homesteader’s stone house on one of the long benches that jutted out from the foothills of the Corazon’s west slope. A log wing had been added to the three stone rooms, a porch flanking the whole of the south side, and a bunkhouse had been built. It squatted there on
the flats amid a tangle of pole corrals and outbuildings, unlovely, bleak, and treeless. On the east side of the log wing there was a small rectangle of flower garden which was filled with blooms, a chicken-wire fence around it. That, however, was the only touch of color or neatness in the whole place. Bottles, tobacco tins, cans, and pieces of worn-out gear littered the yard around the house and bunkhouse. It was as slovenly as an unmade bed.
Wallace, because he had got in late the night before, had slept through the early-morning hours, and now his crew, numbering fifteen men, were loafing around the horse corral, awaiting orders. Marty Cord, who usually gave out the morning’s work, had not returned yet. There was no segundo, for Wallace trusted no man other than Cord. And to disturb Wallace for any reason whatsoever was to invite being fired, the men had long since learned.
Long after nine o’clock Wallace came to the door of the main house in his sock feet, his pale hair rumpled, sleep still heavy in his eyes. He saw the men clotted in the shade of the barn and corral, and he cursed softly. Cord hadn’t come home last night either. He went back into the house, got his boots and hat, and started out across the yard. His face was ugly with temper this morning. It was yesterday that Dave Coyle and McFee had walked out of the county jail, leaving Sheriff Beal and Ernie See tied and gagged in a locked cell. He had had them both in the palm of his hand, as neatly framed as two men could be, and then that blundering Beal had let them slip through his hands. Yesterday Wallace had wanted to kill Beal. He still wanted to today. There was only one cause for cheer in the whole picture, and that was that Beal and Ernie and the whole town and county believed McFee and Coyle were guilty of Sholto’s murder. McFee had damned himself by this escape. Now all that remained to do was take care of Sholto. And where the hell was Cord?
At the corral Wallace cursed his men out for loafing and sent them about their business away from the ranch. They were a hardcase crew, used to cursing and needing it. Afterward he came back to the log wing, his face sullen and ugly, and went into the kitchen.
