by Brett Waring
He sent her staggering towards the house.
“Might’ve been a mistake lettin’ her hear what she did,” said Cassidy.
“Reckon she’ll have to know the truth some time,” Barrett said gruffly. “Well, we’re clearin’ out, Kid. Nash won’t be long gettin’ here, I reckon.”
“I hear he’s delayed some. Sheriff of Deer Crossin’ was holdin’ him to check him out but Wells Fargo backed him, of course. He’ll be on his way now, but you’ll get a good start. And you might not even need it.”
Barrett’s eyes narrowed.
“You still gonna wait for him?” he asked in surprise. “I mean, Kid, I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to ride on. Not if Nash is as fast as that—”
Cassidy stiffened.
“What makes you figure I ain’t faster?”
“Well—I dunno. You’ve got a rep for bein’ a top gun, I guess. I just—never figured you for bein’ fast enough to match anyone like Nash—if he’s as fast as they reckon.”
“Aw, I reckon he’s mighty fast, all right. I’ve heard about him over the years. Fact is, I’ve always wanted to meet him. Test him out.”
Barrett nodded slowly. “Sure. It’s what keeps you fellers goin’, ain’t it? Always lookin’ for a faster gun to go up against.” He thrust out his right hand. “I sure as hell wish you luck, Kid—and not just because I want me and my family safe.”
“I’ll do it, Dan. And good luck. I’ll come after you if I make it and you can return here. Just gimme an idea where you’re headin’ so’s I’ll know where to come.”
Barrett nodded and squatted, taking up a twig and beginning to draw a rough map of the Rockies. Cassidy hunkered beside him and nodded as Barrett began to point out landmarks he had drawn.
Sage Bend was a cold place when Clay Nash rode in through the watery sunlight of late afternoon.
He was hunched in his fur-lined sheepskin jacket and he had the collar turned up around his ears, his hat pulled low, and a bandanna covering the lower half of his face. His hands were warm inside wolfskin gloves but his legs were freezing and so were his toes in the soft leather half boots. He figured he would have to buy some Long Johns to slip on under his brown whipcord trousers.
Folk hurrying about the streets in the icy wind that blew from the Rockies looked miserable with the cold, but they all took time to stop and stare at the stranger riding in at that late hour.
He stalled the horses in the livery and lugged his warbag to the one and only hotel, where he booked a room for the night. The clerk told him they did not serve meals but had an arrangement with the cafe opposite for guests. Food could be sent up to the guest’s room if necessary.
“Well, send up breakfast, but I’ll eat supper over at the cafe tonight, I guess,” Nash said, signing the register. “Just tell me which room I’m in now and have someone take up my warbag, will you?”
“It’ll be room seventeen, Mr. Nash—” The clerk snapped up his head. “Mr. Clay Nash? You the—gen’lman who had that gunfight over to Deer Crossin’ few days ago?”
Nash nodded, frowning.
“Don’t take long for word to get ’round these parts.”
The clerk grinned.
“Not since the telegraph. We’re mighty proud to have a Wells Fargo man of your standin’ stayin’ with us, Mr. Nash. Mighty proud.”
“Don’t go polishin’ up the brassware on my ’count—but maybe you can tell me somethin’.”
“Certainly, sir. if I can help in any way, I’ll be only too glad to.”
“You know a feller named Dan Barrett ’round these parts?”
“Sure, most everyone knows Big Dan. Got himself a ranch out in the valley. Small place but growin’. I guess maybe it could have growed a heap more—and faster—but not now.”
Nash frowned. “How so?”
“Oh—Dan’s a real worker, you know. Thinks the world of his wife and little gal. Do anythin’ for ’em. But he ain’t had a lot of good luck; had to go into debt to the bank and they threatened to foreclose. So, what does Dan do? Give up? No, sir. He rides clear to Fire Springs to find himself a cattle-trailing job and, cuss me, if he don’t get himself into a poker game with his wages and run up enough to pay off his mortgage and have some left over to buy somethin’ nice for his wife and kid. Yessir, this whole town was pleased when Dan finally got himself a streak of good luck.”
Nash’s face was sober as he nodded.
“Yeah, guess so. Must’ve won a heap, though, eh? I mean, payin’ off a mortgage and still havin’ some left over—”
“Aw, his mortgage weren’t big. Big for Dan and the other homesteaders, I guess, but it was only a thousand or so he owed. I mean, I guess a hundred-buck bill is big if you don’t have it, eh?” The clerk smiled at his own wisdom and Nash moved his lips mechanically in reply.
“When was this?”
“Three, four weeks back—” The clerk sobered and frowned suddenly. “But, funny thing: Dan Barrett gets his place all paid off and so on, and then, cuss me, if he don’t go and put it up for sale at the land agents.”
Nash stiffened.
“That so? He leavin’ the area then?”
“Guess so. He won’t say much. Just says he wants a bigger and better place now. Bank tried to buy it cheap but he wouldn’t sell to ’em —leastways, yesterday he wouldn’t. I ain’t heard whether they upped their figure or not.” He shook his head. “I dunno. You ask me, somethin’ put a burr under Dan’s saddle. More to it than him just wanting to go to a bigger place. Like I was sayin’, he’s got plenty room in that valley to expand the place he’s already got—er—what’s your interest in Dan, Mr. Nash?”
“Heard he might be interested in a job,” Nash lied easily. “But that was when he owed money on his spread. Guess he won’t be interested now. Still, I’ll ride out and check with him in the mornin’.”
He turned at a sudden gust of cold wind as someone opened the door. The clerk made a lunge for some papers on his counter as they scattered in the cold air current. Then the door closed and Nash was looking at a tall man in a fur jacket and with a youngish face showing under the shadow cast by his hat brim. The man began to unbuckle his jacket as he walked across the foyer. He nodded to the clerk.
“’Evenin’, Mr. Cassidy. Meet Mr. Clay Nash from Wells Fargo. You know that trouble over to Deer Crossin’?”
Cassidy’s cold eyes bored into Nash’s face.
“I know. I seen Nash ride in. Figured who he was right off.” He gave the Wells Fargo agent a tight grin. “Sent a wire to a friend of mine in Deer Crossin’. Asked him to let me know when you lit out for these parts, how you was travellin’ and what you was wearin’. I didn’t want to mistake anyone else for you.”
“You figure you’ve got business with me?” Nash asked neutrally, recognizing the signs of an impending gunfight as the less experienced Cassidy showed his tension, and worked his fingers.
“I reckon I have,” Cassidy replied. The clerk started to back off a little way, sensing danger.
“Er—gentlemen,” he stammered hesitantly. “I wonder if you’d mind …?” He gestured to the door.
Nash smiled crookedly.
“Sure. Cassidy’ll want to go out on the street, unless I miss my guess. He’ll want as many witnesses as possible. That right, mister?”
Nash moved towards the door as he spoke and Cassidy turned swiftly so that he remained facing him. The Wells Fargo man held open the door but Cassidy, lips tight and thin, motioned for him to go out first. Nash smiled thinly and walked into the bitter cold evening. They stood facing each other in front of the hotel, fifteen feet apart, both their jackets blowing wildly in the slicing wind. People began to gather.
“Why you been waitin’ for me, Cassidy?” Nash asked, having to shout against the wind. “Friend of Regan or Culp? Or someone else who’s gone down under my gun some time?”
“The man I’m a friend of ain’t gone down to your gun Nash, nor will be,” Cassidy replied tersely.
Nash digested it.
“You a friend of Dan Barrett?”
Cassidy didn’t reply.
“So he left you here to cover his back trail while he sits snug and warm by the fire, huh? Must be payin’ you well, though I hear he don’t have much dinero left now. Maybe it’s just that you come cheap.”
Cassidy stiffened, his face savage.
“He ain’t payin’ me a thing. I owe him. And I’m squarin’ it away. And, believe me, it’s gonna be a pleasure.”
“You hope,” Nash said with a crooked smile.
Cassidy swore and his hand streaked for his gun butt. Nash’s Colt palmed up and roared a single shot that slapped through the howl of the wind.
Kid Cassidy went down hard, flying backwards a yard or so, before flopping, spread-eagled in the slush of the street, his gun unfired and not even cocked. He stared at the darkening sky with unbelieving eyes, a patch of blood spreading on his chest.
Nash walked forward to question him, but the man was dead before he had taken ten steps.
Clay Nash dropped out the used shell, replaced it with a fresh cartridge and holstered his gun. Then he turned and walked into the hotel as the crowds began to gather around the remains of Kid Cassidy.
Chapter Nine
Nightmare on the Mountain
It was something of an adventure at first for Crissy Barrett. She didn’t sense the urgency of their flight.
With the going of the sun came the bitter chill of the night hours. The winds seemed to increase as cold and hot air currents mingled and swirled and blew across the slopes. When Barrett refused to allow them to stop, Crissy suddenly realized there was little fun in this after all.
“I wanna go home,” she complained.
Eadie held her close and stared through the pitch darkness of the mountain night in the direction of her husband. She shivered and her voice was muffled because of the woolen scarf she had over the lower half of her face.
“Dan? We have to stop. Or go back. I mean it. You’ve uprooted us, turned our lives upside down—and we don’t even know why. We’ll all freeze up here.”
“No we won’t,” Barrett’s voice came back through the blackness. “I know where we are and what we’re gonna do. I’ve been over this route a dozen times. There’s a cave where we’ll stop tonight. I’ve already stacked wood for a fire in back and there’s a natural chimney. We’ll be snug and comfortable. We got two bearskins and a supply of beef. There’s even a natural limewater spring way back where we can fill the canteens. Might tend to scour us a little, but it’s water.”
“Then we’d better get in out of this wind. Crissy’s freezin’ and so am I.”
He was silent for a moment, then: “Okay, dismount and tie the reins round your waist, then take my hand and I’ll lead you in. Crissy, you hang on tight to Mommy, hear?”
“Yes, Poppa. I’m—scared.”
“Nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll look after you and Mom. And we’ll have ourselves a real nice meal. Matter of fact, somewheres in the bottom of my saddlebags, I do believe there’s some barley sugar candy. Mebbe you can find it while I help Mommy cook us somethin’ to eat, huh?”
The prospect of candy kept the little girl in better spirits until Barrett led them into the cave, which appeared only a deeper segment of blackness in the night. He led them across a firm and almost level sandy floor, that climbed a little after a few yards and arrived at a flat rock ledge.
In thirty minutes he had a fire going and had the meat stewing in a small iron pot. Crissy busied herself at the saddlebags. Eadie held her hands out to the flames and stared levelly at her husband across the fire as he hacked up more strips of the iron-hard beef.
“Why’re you afraid of this man Nash, Dan?” Eadie asked quietly.
Barrett paused at his work and his hand tightened on the hilt of his hunting knife. Then he continued to saw away at the tough beef strips and didn’t look at his wife.
“Who says I am?”
“Oh, Dan. Don’t treat me like a child. I heard enough when you and Cassidy were talkin’. I read that Denver Post you tried to get rid of, too. Nash was mentioned. He’s a Wells Fargo agent, ain’t he?” Then her face screwed up and she moved around the fire, glanced up to make sure Crissy was still occupied, and put a hand onto her husband’s arm. He slowly looked at her and winced a little at the anguish in her face. “Dan—you—you weren’t mixed-up in that—terrible—thing at Reddings, were you?”
“Hell, what’re you sayin’, woman?” he snapped defensively, wrenching his arm away from her.
“Well, Nash was mentioned in connection with that. You and Cassidy were talkin’ about Chip Benedict, the outlaw who led that—massacre. Cassidy was staying behind, on your behalf, to—to pick a fight with this man Nash—Dan, I pleaded with you not to let me have to guess because I only knew half the story. If ever you’re goin’ to tell me the truth, there couldn’t be a better time than right now. Please.”
Barrett stared at her, then used the knife blade to stir the stew. He had his story prepared.
“I—never wanted you to know, Eadie. I’m—ashamed.” He raised his eyes. “You see—I—I done time in prison. Once. Long time back.”
She gasped but said nothing and Barrett continued quietly:
“I was a hothead. Got me into a lot of trouble. Finally I killed a man in an argument and got sent to Canyon City. I met Benedict there, used to work on the rock pile with him. I was to be released long before him and—well he asked me to do a couple things for him when I got out. Look up some pards of his and so on. Matter of fact, bein’ broke, when a couple of his pards decided to stick up a store and asked me if I wanted to go along—well, I said okay. There was a Wells Fargo depot attached to that store and we blew open the safe and cleaned it out. But Benedict’s pards double-crossed me. They slugged me in the allay and cleared off with the loot. I came ’round only just in time to get away from the posse, but I guess I was recognized, ’cause Wells Fargo put out a dodger on me. it—was all a long time back, Eadie. They caught the other two hombres and got the money back. It was Nash done it. I figured that would’ve satisfied ’em. But not this Clay Nash. He don’t never forget and won’t ever let a man rest. He’s been investigatin’ this Reddings thing and trackin’ down all Benedict’s old pards and everyone who knew him. He’ll find me sooner or later. I had nothin’ to do with the Reddings thing, but Nash’ll remember that other time. He’ll take me in.” He paused. “Eadie—I don’t wanna be separated from you and Crissy. I don’t wanna go back to prison. And that’s just where this Nash hombre’ll put me if he catches up with me.” He grabbed her hands and clutched them tightly. “Eadie—I’d rather give up everythin’ we’ve struggled for and make ourselves a new start some place, else. I—I should’ve told you long ago. But, like I said—I felt—ashamed.”
It was a good performance, calculated to get Eadie’s compassion—even her approval—and that’s exactly what Dan Barrett accomplished. She clung to him and pressed his head against her breast, her arms around him, her face in his hair.
“Oh, Dan. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve paid your debt. That other was just a—foolishness.”
“Nash won’t see it that way,” he said, his voice muffled against her furs. “He’s a killer. He never gives up.”
“Don’t worry. Now that I know I can help. We’ll get away. Up and over the mountains. The three of us. We’ll find somewhere else to settle, Dan.” She frowned. “But—Cassidy?”
“A friend, Eadie, a good friend. Yeah, I know he’s a gunfighter but I saved him from some—unpleasantness—in the pen and he ain’t never forgotten. He’s been wantin’ to pay me back for years. Now he sees a way of doin’ it. He’ll head-off Nash while we make our escape. He’ll send on the money for the spread when it’s sold.”
She looked at him sharply.
“You must have a definite place in mind to go then, Dan?”
“Yeah. I’ve had this escape route ready for a spell. It alw
ays nagged at me that one day Wells Fargo would catch up with me. Nash ain’t the kind of man you can talk to.”
She was silent for a moment and then Crissy let out a little cry of triumph as she found the candy and came running to squeeze between them, her tiny arms going out to encircle their necks. She hugged and kissed them both. Eadie smiled at Dan.
“You did right, and we sure wouldn’t want to be separated from you, either—”
“Well, now you won’t be,” Barrett told her. “If you do exactly like I say, we’ll get out of this okay. And we’ll stay together—as a family.”
They hunkered around the fire, close together, and the woman started to dish out the savory-smelling stew. But Eadie frowned as she watched Ben and Crissy eat so happily. It was nice to see—but she couldn’t help thinking about Nash, and Cassidy.
She knew one of them would have to die when they met; and that death had to be on someone’s conscience.
Clay Nash still had that curious, unhurried feeling when he pulled out of Sage Bend in the chill, amber light of early morning. The Rockies were a mite indistinct because of mists and the rising sun was taking on a cold pinkish hue that heralded a clear but cold day.
He rode at a fast enough clip into the valley where Barrett had his ranch, not expecting to find the man there, but riding in warily enough just the same. There was a certainty in him that Barrett was the man he wanted, the one who had killed Mary. It was a simple thing now: track the man down and kill him.
It might take time, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t even thinking about the time limit Jim Hume had put on him. It didn’t seem to matter. Nothing mattered now that he was on the last long trail. He would simply keep on following it until he came to the end. And that would be when he caught up with Barrett and killed him. So Barrett was a family man—well, it was too bad. A killer like that had no right taking on the responsibilities of a wife and child—