by Short, Luke;
The Bib M was dark when he rode into the valley before it, and he drew a deep breath of relief. He rode into the yard, was about to tie his horse at the tie rail, and then thought better of it. He led the horse around to the woodshed in back and tied it there, then came around to the front door and knocked and tugged at the bell rope.
A lamp was lighted upstairs, and he heard soft footsteps on the gallery above him.
“Who is it?” Carol asked softly.
“Me.”
“Dave Coyle? What do you want?” There was an undercurrent of hostility and anxiety in her voice already.
Dave said, “Come down here.”
Carol went inside and came downstairs and opened the door. She faced him in a gray wrapper bound about her, and her hair was braided in two long ropes down her back. Her face was soft and pink, sleep still in it.
She said immediately, “Where’s Dad?”
“In jail.”
Carol took that without a word, but she was hating him when she looked at him. “And you’re free,” she said angrily. “I guess I should have expected that. How did they catch him?”
Dave told her about the happenings in town. When he told her of Sholto a look of pain supplanted the anger in her face, but she said nothing. When he was finished he waited for her to ask questions, but she only said softly, “Poor Lily.”
“Your dad never killed him,” Dave said. “He didn’t shoot.”
Carol said scathingly, “Do you think I have to be told that? What’s more to the point is did you kill him?”
Dave said patiently, “No.”
“Then I guess that’s all I want to know about it,” Carol said bitterly. “I’m glad you’ve come. I have a proposition to make to you.”
Dave didn’t say anything, only watched her, the lamplight making his cheekbones seem flat and high, his eyes deep.
“I’ll sign over half my inheritance to you if you’ll leave the country,” Carol said wearily. “Once upon a time, before you came here, we only had a simple court fight to win. Now Dad has to face a murder trial.” She made a grimace of disgust. “Oh, can’t you see that we don’t want you, that you can’t help us, that we hate you! Leave us alone! Why do we have to suffer you too? On account of a foolish girl’s mistake in writing you?”
Two spots of color burned deeply in Dave’s cheekbones. She had a right to say that, only he hated her for saying it. At that moment he hated the whole McFee family, and only his stubbornness kept him from walking out into the night.
He put a hand flat on the hallway wall, leaned on it, cuffed his Stetson back off his black hair. In his eyes were tiny pin points of anger. He said with savage anger, “Listen, I don’t want anything out of you McFees—not even a kind word. Did you ever hear me say I’d help you?”
“Why—no,” Carol said truthfully.
“I kidnaped Sholto because I saw a chance to make a piece of money, not to help you! I got your dad out of jail because Beal figured wrong and thought we’d throwed in with each other. All I got out of it was a cussin’ out from your dad and a cussin’ out from you. I expected that, I reckon. You’re trash, the lot of you!”
Carol winced under the slow, measured whiplash of his words, but she kept looking at him.
“Another thing,” Dave went on, his spare, quiet words coming in a level monotone. “I’d hate to have you think I ever done anything for you. I’ve known honky-tonk girls I’d sooner help than you. I’d sooner help Lily Sholto than you, and I saw her just once in my life! So don’t get any wrong ideas about me.”
“I never have had,” Carol said with quiet contempt. “You’re utterly selfish, a cheap little killer.”
“That’s right,” Dave said levelly. “So don’t expect me to make a hero out of myself just because you spoke to me once. I want you to get this through your thick McFee skull: I’m in this because somebody is tryin’ to make a sucker out of me, not to help you.”
Carol said presently, “I don’t understand that.”
“That’s because you’ve got McFee blood in you,” Dave gibed. “The McFees don’t understand anything. But I’ll tell you. When I make plans I like to see them work. I planned to get Sholto and take him and your dad back to Beal, so your dad would go free. But somebody shot Sholto. My plans were spoiled. I don’t like it.”
“My, my,” Carol said in vicious mockery. “Did someone cross our nasty little bad man?”
“They tried to,” Dave said arrogantly. “They won’t get away with it. Not if you tell me something, that is. Lord knows, I don’t like to ask you. In the first place, you probably couldn’t remember. In the second place, even if it means your dad gets out of jail, you wouldn’t tell me. You’d—”
“Will it get him out of jail?” Carol said swiftly, her anger forgotten.
“Yes.”
“Then ask me.”
“Who read that note your dad sent you besides you?”
“I didn’t even have time to read it myself,” Carol said quickly. “It was stolen from that table while they searched the house for you.”
“Who’s they?”
“Sheriff Beal, Ernie See, and Lacey Thornton. They followed me home and came in right away. Senator Maitland and Lily and I showed them through the house. When we came back to the door here the note Lily gave me and I’d put on the table was gone.” She hesitated. “How will it get him out of jail?”
“Because it told you that we were bringin’ Sholto in tonight. Whoever stole it killed Sholto.”
“Then it was Thornton!”
“If you believe that all lawmen are honest and that all lawyers are nice old men.”
Carol took a moment to understand this, and then her lip curled in contempt. “That’s so typical of you that—”
Carol took a moment to understand this, and then her lip as if listening to something. “What is it?” she asked.
Dave didn’t answer for a long moment, then he backed away from the door. “Lots of riders,” he said tonelessly.
“After you?”
“I reckon.”
Carol said slowly, viciously, “I won’t hide you.”
“Then you better get a mop and a bucket, because this’ll turn into a pretty messy place.”
Carol said wickedly, “Let’s see how the bad man gets out of this! I’m going to tell them you’re here!”
“I know you will,” Dave sneered. He turned and ran up the stairs, then looked around him. He could see down the upstairs hall to a glass-paned door that let out onto the gallery. He hurried down the hall, softly opened the door, and listened. Someone was knocking below. He crawled out to the railing of the gallery and, lying on his stomach, he could see a dark tangle of men below. They were splitting up to surround the house.
The knock sounded again and the door opened, and Ernie See’s voice came plainly. “Where’s Dave Coyle, Miss McFee?”
“Why—what are you talking about?” Carol asked calmly.
So she hadn’t given him away after all! Dave didn’t know why, but he was glad she hadn’t. His anger with her melted away.
Ernie was saying patiently, “We found his horse out back. It’s three o’clock in the mornin’, Miss McFee. You got the lamps lit. You’re out of bed. You see, it’s no use makin’ a bluff. And this time I have a warrant.”
Carol said nothing.
Ernie went on patiently. “The place is surrounded, so he can’t get away.” Suddenly he shot at her, “Your dad’s in jail for murder!”
“He isn’t!” Carol cried. It sounded as if she were really surprised.
“Yes’m,” Ernie said. “And Sheriff Beal thinks if we get Coyle we’ll have the man who really did the murder. Your dad will go free. Now will you let us in?”
Carol said quietly, “And you, Mr. See? You believe Coyle is guilty of the murder?”
Ernie’s answer was a long time in coming, and then it was spoken with an undertone of savage forbearance. “No! I don’t think either of them killed this man! But I’m the sh
eriff’s deputy, and he believes it, so I guess I got to search the house whether you like it or not. Do you aim to let us in?”
“There’s not much I can do to stop you,” Carol said.
Dave heard the posse tramping into the house. He inched back from the railing and lay there, his mind working quickly and futilely. He couldn’t let them take him. He had to be free to work at this.
He stepped back into the hallway and saw the moving light of a lamp somebody was bringing up the stairs. In pure desperation he ducked into the room at his right, walked through it to the side window, and looked out. He could see the figures of men standing out there, waiting for the posse to flush him out into their guns. Now there was the sound of someone in the next room. He could hear doors being opened, wardrobes being searched. Across the stairway other men were searching the opposite room. It was a matter of minutes before they reached here.
A slow angry resentment burned within him and then died. He’d have to fight his way out this time. He went swiftly to the window that opened onto the gallery and softly opened it. He crawled through it and went over to the railing. Two men were in conversation there below under the big spreading cottonwood whose farthest feathery branches touched the gallery railing. Dave knew he couldn’t shin down the pillars, or they would pick him off before he was halfway down. Fifteen feet was too far to jump. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t, shoot them.
And then he heard the door open in the room beyond him and knew he must act at once.
He climbed up on the railing, looking out into the tangle of foliage ahead of him, drew a deep breath, and jumped out, his arms spread wide. Crashing into the thin branches, he brought his arms together, hugging everything to him. He didn’t get any big branches, but he got one reasonably thick one. And as he fell, then, he hugged it tighter. His drop was checked a little, and then he heard the branch snap, followed by the crackling sound of the smaller ones.
Then he heard the sharp dry rip of bark peeling off, and he fell downward and outward in a pendulum swing. But the bark was peeling off more slowly than his fall, and it was checking his fall. When he felt himself at the bottom of the arc he let go. He sailed out into space, then landed jarringly on his side. He felt his gun slide out of its holster, heard it slide off in the leaves. Then a burst of gunfire from the ground and from the gallery opened up on him.
He came to his feet, looking for his gun and not finding it and knowing bitterly that he couldn’t wait to search. He ran, zigzag fashion, toward the corrals, until he was out of the light, then paused and listened. Men were shouting all around him, and he could hear them pounding down the stairs and out the door. He lay down where he was, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t find his gun. Already men were running out toward the corral, passing him in the dark. They were shooting now, shooting at shadows and the night and everything they thought might be the seven thousand dollars that his carcass represented.
Carol came to the door with a lamp. Ernie came out after her, took the lamp, and went over to the place Dave had fallen. He stooped, picked up a gun, then turned and yelled: “Get some lamps and lanterns! He lost his gun!”
A half-dozen lamps and lanterns were commandeered, and then the posse spread out in a wide half circle and started toward the corrals.
Softly, cursing bitterly, Dave began to crawl toward the corrals, taking advantage of all the cover he could. They knew he was unarmed, and they’d shoot him down in a second now if they saw him. They could afford to be brave. He heard one man on the other side of the horse corral call, “I got this side covered, Ernie!”
Dave rolled under the bottom rail of the horse corral and then, bending over, crossed it. Beyond, two men were talking. Dave crawled over in the shadow of the big tank and considered his position. They would soon close in on him, joining up with the men on the other side of the corrals who had rushed ahead. If he ever got out of this he’d need his luck to do it. There was just no way out.
In one long bleak moment Dave considered this. He was going to have to surrender. He raised his hand to the edge of the trough, ready to hoist himself up and surrender. Bitterness was hard in his throat. And then his hand touched the water. The big round tank was almost full of water. A rim of ice was forming at the edges.
Suddenly he paused and knew he was going to do it. He crawled over the edge of the tank and put his feet inside. The water clawed at him like hot iron, but he lowered himself in it clear to his neck. He couldn’t breathe, and the cold was like an iron band around his chest. But he remembered to take off his hat and kneel on it so it wouldn’t float. He hoped bitterly that nobody would notice that the water level was above the rim of ice. He found a cleat near the bottom of the tank, and holding onto it in readiness, he looked over the rim and watched.
The men with lanterns were coming closer, the first one almost at the corral. They were shouting back and forth now on both sides. Suddenly Ernie See stepped into the corral and Dave heard him say, “If he ain’t here he’s in the barn.”
Dave waited until Ernie was halfway across the corral, and then he took a deep breath and gently pulled himself underwater, using the cleat to hold himself there. He tried to hold still, but he knew he was shivering. How long could he stand it? He was sure that with the light from the lantern reflected in the water it would look only black and deep to a man investigating. Unless they looked carefully, he would be invisible under the water’s surface.
He tried to count, but even before he got to ten his lungs started to ache. Then the pain and the torture came, and he held out doggedly.
When he was certain that he couldn’t live if he didn’t get air right away, he slowly let himself up, careful again not to disturb the water. He came up, his eyes open—to find himself staring at the broad back of Ernie See, not six inches away from him.
Ernie was sitting on the edge of the trough!
With exquisite agony Dave slowly drew in his breath. Ernie was talking to a man sitting beside him, saying, “We’ll work over the barn now. Flush him into the corral here.”
Dave couldn’t smother the chatter of his teeth; he couldn’t stand the agony of this ice water another moment. Already his muscles were balled into vicious cramps that ached like a throbbing tooth. With a hand that was numb he gently reached out for the gun in Ernie’s holster. His hand was shaking so the gun seemed to hammer on the leather of the holster as he slipped it out.
When it was free he rammed it savagely into Ernie’s back, came to his feet, and wrapped a wet arm about Ernie’s neck.
“You there,” he said to the man beside Ernie, “throw your gun away and hurry it!”
The man did and then raised his hands to the night sky. Dave shoved Ernie off the trough and clambered out.
“You and me are goin’ to walk over to a horse, Ernie,” Dave said, his teeth chattering. “You better figure out how and make it quick!”
Ernie said thickly, “The hell I will!” He looked around him for the others, but there was only the dim light of a lamp from behind the barn.
“Bueno,” Dave said harshly. “I didn’t have a gun tonight, but I got one now! Watch me!”
He cocked the gun, and there was something in his manner that was deadly and final.
Ernie backed off and said, “Hold it!”
“I can’t much longer; I’m cold.”
“Then follow me.”
Ernie walked toward the corral gate. When he got there he yelled to the man with the lantern in front of the barn, “Go help ’em, Russ. I’ll watch this side.”
“What about the corral?”
“Mickey’s here and two others.”
The man went into the barn. Dave prodded the two of them out the gate, and they walked swiftly toward the house. They could hear the shouts of the men inside the barn. A horse was tied to one of the cottonwoods near the house. Dave mounted it and without a word galloped out into the valley.
Ernie See’s voice raised in a savage bawl: “Get your horses! He’s gone!”
One of five men—Sheriff Beal, Ernie See, Lacey Thornton, Senator Maitland, and Will Usher—was Sholto’s killer and Wallace’s backer.
XVI
The approach to the Three Rivers spread did not appeal to the aesthetics in Will Usher’s nature. He was a man who liked fine things, and although that liking had got him into much trouble, through the short cuts he took to get fine things, it still didn’t cure him. He didn’t like Three Rivers. There were no trees, and the whole place looked as if a Fourth of July picnic had just pulled off the grounds. But Will was in no position to appear critical right now. Or was he? He didn’t know what attitude to take with Tate Wallace—the superior or the inferior—and he decided to let events shape his course.
Before he had pulled into the yard proper an unshaven hardcase strolled out from the shade of the barn, where he left two of his companions.
“What do you want?” the puncher asked. Will looked at him and decided he was dirty and offensive and needed taking down.
“I know one thing I don’t want,” Will said equably, “and that’s any of your lip, my man.”
He ignored the man’s surliness and looked at the buildings with contempt mounting in his eyes. “Wallace around?”
“Not to you, he ain’t.”
“Tell him I’m the gent that tried to make him pay for Sholto,” Will said. “I want to talk to him.”
The calm brassiness of Will Usher impressed the puncher. He growled something and set off across the yard to the house. Will followed him and dismounted at the porch. He sat down on its edge and wiped the sweat from his hatband, then looked the place over. No, it wasn’t much, he decided. If he owned the place and the money that was behind it he’d turn this over to rats and mice and build down near the junction of the three rivers, off the bench.
