Mad River

by Donald Hamilton

  Neither of the two people facing him spoke; both were watching him with an air of bewilderment. Cohoon once more extended the revolver he was still holding.

  "That ought to satisfy your honor, Colonel Paradine," he murmured. "Take your gun back now. Having received my apology, you should feel no need to find another lovesick boy to use it. Good evening, sir." He looked at Claire for a moment. "And my best wishes to you, ma'am. I hope you and Mr. Westerman will be very happy."

  Then he was walking down the steps to the street again, with a giddy feeling due as much to anger as loss of blood. He strode away without looking back; presently he heard the door close behind him. A movement in the shadows made him swing around sharply.

  "I've been looking for you, Cohoon," Bill Black said, coming forward.

  "You've found me."

  "Why did you run off, leaving an unconscious man lying in the street?"

  "He was lucky to be unconscious. He'd have left me dead. Also, he was being cared for."

  "I warned you when you first came back to behave yourself peaceably. The same evening, I also warned you to keep to the side of town reserved for people like you; and to stay away from the Paradines..."

  Cohoon said softly, "I said it once before and I'll say it again: a badge is a handy tool for a jealous man." The anger Was loose in him, driving him on; it might as well be Bill Black as anybody. "You've done me a favor, Willie," he murmured. "I used to be ashamed of my brother's rough jokes, but no longer. He only made one mistake: when he dumped you into the river, he shouldn't have bothered to fish you out. But then he couldn't know what a sanctimonious hypocrite you'd turn out to be, skulking around a girl's house without nerve enough to—"

  Black's voice was shrill. "You're under arrest, Cohoon!" Cohoon laughed. "That's an easy way to get rid of your rivals. Tomorrow morning you can try arresting Westerman, and then the field will be clear."

  "Unfasten your gun!" the marshal snapped. "Let it drop, carefully!"

  Cohoon felt the grin grow thin and wolfish on his lips. "Why, certainly, Marshal," he murmured. He released the buckle without looking down, and let gun and belt fall, "The knife, too?" he asked gently, and saw Black's eyes widen as the other realized his error.

  Then the marshal's hand was swinging down to his holstered gun; but the heavy knife was already lying in Cohoon's palm, and his arm was rising for the final snapping movement that would bury the weapon in the other's chest, just below the badge pinned to the white shirt. He knew a moment of regret; there was no sense to this. It was just the anger and bitterness inside him finding the nearest outlet. But it was •too late to turn back, and he judged the distance and balanced the knife for the amount of spin that would place it point-first at the target. . . . There was a cry at his left, and a flash of movement; and he checked the throw at the last instant, as Claire Paradine threw herself between the two men.

  "Boyd, Marshal—"

  It was Black who spoke first, in a shaken voice. "Miss Paradine, this is no place for you. You might have been shot!"

  She said tartly, "With a gunfight here in the street, I could just as easily have received a bullet inside the house. What's the meaning of this, anyway, Marshal Black?"

  Cohoon said, "He's protecting you, Claire. I had been warned not to bother you again."

  Black's flush was visible even in the darkness. "Ma'am, I just figure that the respectable people of the community have the right to be protected from the less desirable elements, at least in their own homes."

  Claire looked from one to the other of the two men; suddenly she smiled, turning to the marshal. "Why, that's mighty sweet of you, Mr. Black," she said. "And I'm sure we appreciate your concern, and maybe Mr. Cohoon is a little out of place among respectable people, but you'll have to for. give him tonight. He just came to return something of Dad's, and we're very grateful for his thoughtfulness. . . Why don't you come up to the house a minute, Mr. Black? I'm sure Dad would like to know how well you look after us."

  She had the marshal by the arm and was leading him away; there was nothing for Black to do but release the butt of his gun and make a show of escorting her home. Cohoon stood watching them go, and so caught the odd, questioning glance she threw in his direction just before the door closed. Frowning, he sheathed the knife, gathered up the fallen gunbelt, and turned away...

  The big kitchen of the Van Houck house was a light and cheerful and friendly place when he reached it. Presently he was sitting, shirtless, on a stool with his arms raised.

  "Not so tight, Aunt Marthe," he protested. "Give a man room to breathe."

  "All the blood runs out of you, you'll stop breathing," said Marthe Van Houck, shaking her gray head at him. "Such foolishness, to walk around all night with a hole in your side big enough for a team and wagon. There! You can let your arms down now; and move over by the stove so you don't catch cold while Van Houck is bringing a clean shirt from the store." Presently the old trader came in, closing the door behind him. Cohoon took the shirt from his hands, unfolded it, and put it on. Finished, he saw Van Houck regarding him curiously.

  "Who was it, my boy?"

  Cohoon shrugged, and regretted the gesture; the wound was shallow enough, but it was becoming stiff and painful.

  "A jealous fool with a borrowed gun," he said.

  "Not the man for whom you're waiting, then?"

  "I don't know," Cohoon said. "Not the man, to be sure. But the gun..." He frowned, and took the cup of coffee Mrs. Van Houck gave him, and sipped it thoughtfully. "Uncle Van, what does Colonel Paradine have to do with Paul Westerman these days? There is a connection, isn't there?"

  "There's the daughter, who's marrying the man." Van Houck's voice was elaborately casual. "You'll have heard of that of course."

  "Yes," Cohoon said. "I heard."

  "And the Colonel's been speculating in mining stocks, from what I've been told, on advice from Westerman. Sooner rd take advice from the devil, myself; but maybe the Colonel trusts his future son-in-law."

  Cohoon said, "Then if the Colonel were heavily involved in one particular mining operation, and saw his profits threatened....

  Van Houck said, "I don't know what you're driving at, Boyd. However, I have no confidence in Roger Paradine. He would never have lasted in this territory if he had not brought with him a fortune in gold—and I have never understood why, with all that money, he chose to settle here, since he makes it plain that he does not like our country. It makes one wonder.... Well, it's bad manners to question any man's past. Nevertheless, my money stays in the bank in Tucson; and your father shared my views. But I would never turn my back on Roger Paradine, Boyd; no one ever knows what a weak man will do if pushed hard enough."

  Cohoon said softly, "Father turned his back on someone. And I was shot at tonight with Colonel Paradine's gun."

  The two men looked at each other for a space of time. The old trader was the first to break the silence. "Be careful, Boyd. It would not do to make a mistake."

  Cohoon smiled briefly. "You were less in favor of caution when the man in question was Paul Westerman."

  "Paul Westerman has no friends in this town; no one would mourn him, once he was safely dead. But the Colonel is popular among the decent people."

  "I've no intention of shooting him, and you're a bloodthirsty old scoundrel," Cohoon said grinning. He rose. "Tell me, is old Judge Clark still alive? I need legal advice; and I'd prefer to get it from someone I could be sure was not in Paul Westerman's pay..."

  14

  THE BUILDING was diagonally across the street from the hotel, about fifty yards down from Van Houck's old trading post. The lower floor was devoted to a feed and hardware store.

  The windows above were shielded by drawn blinds. As Cohoon walked across Main Street in the slanting morning sunlight, he thought he saw one of the blinds move perceptibly. He found the door opening on the alley between the buildings, and took the stairs to the second floor, There were two doors. He chose the one toward the front of the build
ing, and knocked. The door was promptly opened by Westerman himself.

  "Come in, Boyd."

  He looked pleasant and friendly and important; the gold watch chain of prosperity gleamed on his waistcoat. The once behind him was surprisingly sumptuous, considering the raw and ramshackle look of the building in which it was housed. Cohoon stepped forward and casually pushed the door aside as if to make more room for himself to pass; it would not swing back flush to the wall. He glanced at Westerman, who chuckled, and said: "All right, Rudy."

  A bearded man moved into sight, looking at Cohoon in a hostile way. There was a gun in his hand.

  Westerman spoke again. "Put it away, Rudy.... You've met Jack Rudy, haven't you, Boyd?"

  Cohoon said, "Well, we've come close."

  "I have to take a few precautions," Westerman said. "A successful man makes many enemies. . . All right, Jack. Wait in the other room."

  The bearded man hesitated, then moved reluctantly away, disappearing through a door at the rear of the once. Cohoon moved forward. Westerman closed the door behind him, and walked past him to sit down behind the great mahogany desk by the windows—an impressive piece of furniture to find, shiny and unscarred, so far from civilization.

  "Have a chair, Boyd," Westerman said. "I suppose you came to congratulate me on my forthcoming marriage."

  "Well, it was in my mind," Cohoon admitted dryly, "among other things."

  "No hard feelings, my boy?"

  "For that?" Cohoon shook his head. "The choice was hers."

  "Or her father's," Westerman said blandly.

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Why, I find that a little money applied in the proper quarter will buy almost anything, Boyd. Not that the girl herself was reluctant to be bought. Very few women are, if the price is high enough."

  Cohoon hesitated, and said softly, "I did not come here to quarrel with you about Claire Paradine."

  "But I want to quarrel with you, my boy," the older man said with equal gentleness. "You seem to have a knack for interfering with the plans closest to my heart. Once there was my son, whom you led to his death—or did you? There are rumors, but people are always making up interesting stories, aren't they? Whatever the truth, you certainly interfered then, in one way or another; and now you're back, still interfering. You saw Judge Clark last night, so I have no doubt you've got some interesting plans for obstructing certain business operations of mine, but we'll get to that in due time. Right now I'm talking about my marriage. I'm an ambitious man, Boyd, and I've selected a wife suitable for the position I hope to attain. The fact that she's lovely, and not overly intelligent—certainly not as clever as she thinks herself—and that her family is respected and prominent in the territory, all help to make her the ideal choice. There are other reasons which I won't bother to go into, including the fact that I'm human and not too old to find her desirable... Sit still, Boyd. The picture behind you masks an opening, behind which is Jack Rudy with his gun aimed at your head."

  Cohoon looked deliberately around. The painting was a dramatic one with deep shadows, in the center of one of which metal gleamed faintly. He turned back to face Westerman, and grinned.

  "If his marksmanship hasn't improved since I saw him out on the Grant, he'd do better to aim for the body.... Go on, Mr. Westerman."

  "My campaign has been a careful one," Westerman said. "When you left here to go to prison I could not have dreamed of entering the Paradine household, let alone aspiring to the hand of the daughter of the house. In the past five years, however, since silver was discovered locally, Colonel Paradine has been involved in some unfortunate investments. It's a strange thing how much a man will spend on no more than a forlorn hope of getting rich—particularly if he's once had money, and has let most of it get away from him. I find it difficult to understand, myself. Personally I always make a point of knowing the exact percentages of the game I'm bucking... But to return to the subject of my future wife. Stay away from her, Boyd. I will not have her making a spectacle of herself, running into the street in her nightclothes to save your life. She's mine, bought and paid for; she represents a considerable investment in time and money. I will not stand for having the property lowered in value before I take delivery, my boy. I mean that." He smiled abruptly. "But enough of that. Now, what was it you really came to see me about?"

  Cohoon did not speak at once. He had to tell himself firmly that Claire Paradine, and whatever bargain she had made for her own or her father's sake, was no longer any concern of his. He remembered Nan Montoya's voice saying: You went to prison for the Paradines; do you intend to die for them, too? Yet it seemed that love was a habit that was hard to break; and she had run out to stop the fight the night before—a fight that could have had but one ending for him, since even if he had won, he would have been guilty of killing an officer of the law....

  "I suppose," Westerman was saying, "your visit has something to do with what you discovered out on the Grant."

  "That's right," Cohoon said.

  "I'm sorry the question had to come up," Westerman said. "I was hoping I could persuade you to leave town before you learned of our little shortcut."

  Cohoon said, "Mr. Westerman, did Father ever give you permission to haul ore across the Grant?"

  Westerman laughed. "I could say yes, and how would you prove I was lying ... No, my boy, he refused quite bluntly. He seemed to have a prejudice against mining in general and me in particular. It seems he resented my behavior at your trial. I suppose I can hardly blame him, although personally I made an effort to distinguish between private matters, and matters of business. No, Boyd, you're on sound legal ground if you block our road, which is what I suppose you intend to do. We have no right on your property whatsoever; we'll have to go back to hauling over Yellow Ford and Sombrero."

  Cohoon glanced at him sharply; he seemed quite resigned —almost happy—over the prospect. It was fairly evident that he had some trick up his sleeve, which was not entirely unexpected.

  Cohoon said, "No, you won't, Mr. Westerman."

  Westerman frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Cohoon said, "Here's the paper I had Judge Clark draw up for me last night. Read it and see what you think." He started to rise, checked himself, and grinned. "Reckon you'd better come around here to get it; otherwise Rudy's apt to blow my head off."

  Westerman spoke to the wall: "All right, Rudy. . . Put it on the desk, Boyd."

  Westerman, too, had risen. "I'll never be afraid of you, Boyd. But you're a sensible young man. I like your attitude and I'll remember what you've said. There's enough trouble in the world without borrowing more, isn't there?"

  As Cohoon came out of the alley between the buildings, he saw the southbound stage in front of the hotel, loading for departure. One of the passengers was a young man whose hat was perched precariously on top of a bulky band. age that covered his forehead almost to the bridge of the nose. Cohoon felt his own bandaged side wryly, and watched the stage pull away, before going on about his business.

  15

  COLONEL PARADINE set down his coffee cup, dried his pale mustache carefully on his napkin, and looked at his daughter over the breakfast table. He broke the silence.

  "How is your mother this morning, my dear?"

  "A little better," Claire said, "now that the wind has let up some. It makes her terribly nervous when it blows so hard."

  "I know." If it wasn't the wind, it was the heat, and if it wasn't the heat, it was the dust and dirt of this dreadful, barren country to which he had condemned them all. Colonel Paradine knew the litany by heart; and he had a moment of impatient anger. How much punishment was the woman going to exact for a single mistake—if indeed it had been a mistake? He saw his daughter note his anger and disapprove; he composed his face, took notice of her costume, and said, "You're riding this morning?"

  "I thought I would. It seemed like an opportunity to get a little fresh air free of sand for a change."

  "Why don't you take Capitan? He hasn't
been exercised for a week."

  "That great brute?" Claire laughed. "Get Francis to exercise him, Dad. He likes a horse he can beat with a club; and it might get some of the liquor fumes out of his head."

  She rose, and the Colonel got politely to his feet. The girl looked very handsome in her blue riding habit, he reflected; it seemed that she had gained in poise and assurance the past few days. Well, becoming engaged often did that to a girl. It was a pity this miserable country had offered her so little choice—not that she was doing badly, not at all—— but back 'home she would have had her pick of a score of suitors. Or perhaps not. The war had not left the Paradines much, back there; certainly not enough to live in a manner befitting their station. If he could only make his family understand that; if he could only make them realize that he had throughout acted wholly in their behalf and with no thought of himself at all. . .

  Claire had paused by the door. She was speaking. "What did Boyd mean by what he said last night, Dad? Where did he get your gun? He was wounded. Surely you didn't—"

  The Colonel brought himself back to the present, and said stiffly, "I gave my gun to no one, I assure you, my dear. I was not even aware that it had left the house."

  Claire glanced upward in the direction of her brother's room. "I see. So it was young Master Paradine up to his sneaking tricks! I declare, Dad, you've simply got to talk to him. It's bad enough that he spends his nights on Creek Lane and comes home drunk at all hours, or not at all—that looks fine for the family and the bank, doesn't it? But to plot against the man to whom we owe—"

  Colonel Paradine said quickly, "Claire, I consider that debt paid! If Cohoon chooses to throw my money to a dance-hall girl, that's his business."