Eating in the grubby hotel dining room, he tried to dispel the numb sense of shock that had made the whole trip into town seem like a journey in a dream. For the better part of a year he had single-mindedly shaped and aimed his life toward this one goal, that had now suddenly been withdrawn; the experience left him shaken and purposeless. There was pain involved, too, and regret, and a nagging sense of doubt as to the rightness of his own conduct.
He rose abruptly, paid his bill and walked down the street to the livery Stable, where he rented a heavy-footed horse more suited to a plow than to a saddle and rode out of town straight across the undulating plain toward a dark formation on the horizon that looked as if it might be a hill with trees. After two hours of riding he found that the hill was not perceptibly closer; it was a strange country. A big country, Mr. McKay, he thought grimly, and turned around. San Rafael was nowhere in sight, being hidden behind a swell of ground. He checked his direction with the pocket compass, confirmed it by the sun, and, deliberately avoiding any help from his own tracks out, returned to town by another route. I could beat this country, he thought, if I had a reason. When he came into the hotel, the proprietress told him that someone was waiting for him in his room.
“It’s something I don’t usually allow,” she said primly, “but seeing who it is, I reckon it’s all right. Couldn’t leave her wait down here with all these drunken bums . . . Yes, I mean you!” she said to a bearded man who looked around.
McKay went quickly up the stairs, knocked when he reached the room, and stepped inside. She was standing, facing the door. Her black riding habit had a Spanish look that contrasted oddly but effectively with her heavy bright hair and fair complexion. She made a picture for a man to remember in that dingy room.
“Jim,” she said softly. He took a step forward, but she turned quickly aside, and he noticed the familiar mahogany pistol case on the dresser. She touched it lightly. “I—brought you these. Dad says that under the circumstances, of course, he can’t keep them.”
“Oh,” McKay said flatly. “Why, it was a gift. I would like him to have them.” She shook her head, and smiled rather sadly, and went on as if he had not spoken, “And you never did get around to giving me your mother’s brooch; so I have nothing else to return but—but the ring.” She looked down and began to remove it from her finger.
He said evenly, “You had a long ride to bring me these things. Patricia, and I appreciate it.”
She glanced at him. “Darling,” she said, “I never did learn how to tell when you were being sarcastic. I—” Suddenly she made a sharp little gesture with the hand that still wore the ring, and swung to face him. “Oh, I can’t keep it up! I can’t be polite and—and proud any longer! Jim, does it have to be this way? I’m not very good at apologies, but——”
“The fault was mine,” he said.
They regarded each other across the room for a moment that had no measure in time; when he stepped forward again, she did not turn away. When she freed herself at last, her breathing was noticeably uneven and there was more color in her face than there had been.
“Darling, you don’t have to utterly tear me apart!” she said, laughing breathlessly. “I declare, from the strength of your arms I can well believe you rode Old Thunder to a standstill. Ramon says you are a very stubborn man.” The look on his face stopped her.
He looked at her; she seemed to have retreated to a great distance. He heard himself say, “I see. You talked to Ramon.”
“Why,” she said, “why, yes, darling, and I’m so proud, although I confess I can’t see why in the world you had to be so secretive about it! What’s the matter?”
“I rode the horse,” he said quietly. “So I’m respectable again, fit to be husband to a Terrill.”
“Jim!”
He asked gently, “If you hadn’t learned that I’d ridden the beast, would you be here, Patricia?”
“Darling, I don’t understand—” She drew a quick breath. “I learned that I’d misjudged you and I came to see if—if I could apologize. What more do you want, Jim?”
“What about Steve Leech?” he asked, his voice still gentle.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve ridden the horse. But don’t I have to fight Steve Leech, too, before I qualify for marriage; and is just fighting him enough or do I have to win? And are you quite sure you don’t want me to go out and shoot you Buck Hannesey for a wedding present?”
She stamped her foot with sudden anger. “I declare, I don’t understand what you’re driving at, but I think you’re being utterly unreasonable, Jim McKay! Naturally a girl wants to know that the man she’s going to marry is strong and brave and——”
“But I’m not particularly strong, my dear,” he said. “And I’m far from brave. Firearms frighten me, I find the prospect of a fist fight very unattractive, and it scares me to get on a vicious horse—and I detest being scared. I prefer to avoid any unpleasantness I can by whatever means seem most sensible. I certainly am never going to fight any man for you, regardless of the provocation. Oh, to save your life or protect you from harm, yes, but not for either your pride or mine.”
“Then why did you ride Old Thunder?” she cried.
“Quite frankly, because I was afraid of him, as I said. I’d never encountered an outlaw horse before. There are certain things a man has to prove to himself—but only to himself, not to anybody else.”
She said angrily, “I think that’s the silliest thing I ever heard of! How’s a girl supposed to know—” She broke off.
“Know what, Patricia?”
Her voice was more quiet, and a little uncertain, “Know if—if she loves a man. If he won’t do anything for her.” She was silent again.
He looked at her. She was the most beautiful thing in the world, and there was a world between them. He said, “I think we must use different interpretations of the word, my dear.”
“I think—I’d better go now,” she said, “I can see I shouldn’t have bothered to come.” She pulled the ring from her finger, laid it aside, picked up her hat and moved past him to the door, where she seemed to remember something that had slipped her mind, “Oh, Jim——”
“Yes?”
“If—you’ll be going back East, won’t you? And Julie said that—well, that you’d bought Big Muddy from her. Although why she’d sell to you when she wouldn’t sell to dad I can’t imagine! But you’ll be looking for somebody to take it off your hands now, won’t you? And dad said that if—if things didn’t work out, to tell you—Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Tell your father I’m not interested in selling right now.”
“But why in heaven’s name not? Be reasonable, darling!” Something in his face, of which he himself was not fully aware, stopped her. Her mouth tightened. “Oh, very well! I won’t argue with you, but I’ll be at Julie’s overnight, if you should change your mind. You haven’t seen her, have you? She started from the ranch ahead of me, but there wasn’t anybody at her house when I got there just now. Well, she’ll turn up. Good-by, Jim.”
“Good-by,” he said, and watched her leave.
Presently he closed the door, and crossed the room, and sat down on the bed; then he rose again and walked to the dresser and opened the mahogany case. The dueling pistols were heavily engraved. Each piece had an ornate number on the tang. He took out No. 2 and fitted the handsome walnut grip to his hand and aimed the weapon at the wall. It was a deadly and beautiful thing, not to be matched, he reflected, in this age of clumsy repeating weapons designed for mass slaughter instead of gentlemanly homicide. He wiped the piece off, returned it to the case and left the room.
Outside the hotel there was still warmth in the rays of the low sun. McKay started across the street with no clear destination in mind; he stopped to let a rider pass, without paying attention to the man, who reined in directly before him.
“Señor McKay.”
“Why, it’s Ramon,” he said, looking
up. McKay noted that the horse was familiar, and that there was considerable gear lashed to the elaborate saddle. “Are you leaving the ranch, Ramon?” he asked.
“Sí,” the Mexican said.
“But why?”
Ramon touched his cheek, where a red welt showed. “I am not a dog to be whipped, Señor.”
“Did Leech do that?” McKay demanded. “Why?”
“Not Leech. I would have cut his throat. Or been killed by him. One or the other.”
McKay drew a long breath and released it. “I see. Why did she do it, Ramon?”
“The Señorita Terrill said I had let her make a fool of herself, Señor.”
“Well, I’m sorry I got you into trouble.”
“It is nothing. It was not a good place for a man to work.” He reached into a pocket of his shirt and brought out a fringed buckskin gauntlet of small size. “I am looking for the little señorita,” he said. “She lose this along the road.”
McKay took the little glove. Except for the fringe, it was plain and workmanlike, well-worn in the palm and fingers. The Lazy M brand had been worked into the leather at the wrist.
“Miss Maragon hasn’t come home,” he said.
Ramon looked up, frowning. “She start to town an hour, two hours before me, Señor. I have not passed her on the road. Only the glove.”
McKay nodded thoughtfully. “Can you remember where you found this?”
“I can remember,” Ramon said. “Perhaps you and I, we had better take another look at this place.”
It was a strange, silent ride for Julie Maragon, The invitation had been phrased with scrupulous politeness and no threat had been spoken, so that as she rode she could not help wondering what they would have done if she had simply refused to accompany them; yet instinct had warned her that it would not be wise to do so. These were rough men with a definite mission to perform.
She rode south with them, therefore, as the sun set and darkness fell, never unaware of Buck Hannesey’s gaunt shape beside her, even when she was no longer, for hunger and weariness, conscious of the country through which they were passing. When she at last looked up numbly, Blanco Canyon was a ghostly fortress in the moonlight before them. Buck Hannesey whistled twice, in a soft and peculiar way, as they approached the entrance; the whistle was returned from both sides.
Julie felt the tall cliffs on either hand close in on her and knew the first touch of real panic. As she was releasing her pent-up breath, Buck Hannesey fell back alongside and gave her a sharp look; he was like an animal, she thought; he could detect the scent of danger.
They jogged up the canyon, side by side. She had been here once as a child, before the Hanneseys moved into this part of the country; she remembered it as a spectacularly beautiful and frighteningly empty place. It was not empty now, and only the surrounding walls remained beautiful. Even the moonlight could not beautify the shabby cluster of shacks or the rubbish that Jittered the bare and dusty ground around them. Buck Hannesey guided her toward the largest building, the only one in which a light was burning. The two other riders had turned away and disappeared. A big man came out on the porch as they rode up; he had a beard that concealed most of his face. It looked black and silver in the moonlight.
“Where’ve you been, boy?” he demanded. “It’s past midnight.”
“It took half a day to find her,” Buck said. “She’d taken a ride up to Ladder instead of heading back to town like we figured she would. Where’s Beemis?”
“I had him sober, up to six o’clock; then he found a jug somewhere and now he’s out cold. Well, tomorrow’ll be time enough.”
“The hell with Beemis,” Buck said. “We can do without him.”
“Maybe we can,” Rufus Hannesey said, “but we won’t. This is going to be done right and proper, and don’t you forget it . . . light and come inside. Miss Maragon . . . Damn it, young Rufus, give your lady a hand down; anybody’d think you’d been brought up like trash.”
Buck gave his father a black look, dismounted and came around to her; and Julie extricated herself from the paralyzing grip of her side saddle and allowed him to assist her to the ground—if for no other reason than that she was too tired to help herself. She felt him take advantage of the opportunity to steady her as she swayed; his grip was stronger than necessary, and lasted longer.
She freed herself and turned away, slapping at her saddle in passing and saying lightly, “I suppose there are worse crosses that we women have to bear than riding on these contraptions, but at the moment it doesn’t seem possible.”
Rufus Hannesey, awaiting her on the porch, smiled approvingly. “You’ve got gumption, ma’am,” he said. “I reckon you didn’t steal it; your grandpa was a lot of man.”
“He’d be glad if he could hear you say that, Mr. Hannesey. He always had a lot of respect for you.”
The bearded man glanced at her. “He had a funny way of showing it; siding with those high-nosed Terrills.”
“He sided with nobody, Mr. Hannesey. He dealt equally with both of you.”
“He drank the major’s liquor. He never drank mine.”
“Did you offer it? As I recall, right after you settled here he rode down to pay a neighborly visit, and was greeted with guns and the announcement that this was Hannesey range now and he’d better stay in his own yard if he wanted to stay healthy. Gramps wasn’t one to offer his friendship twice.”
Rufus Hannesey shrugged. “So? Well maybe it happened that way; too late to change it now. Come inside, girl. I reckon you could use some food.”
She passed him and went through the door into the yellow light of a lamp, the glass of which was cracked and grimy. The bare room had a stove at one end, a table, some chairs, and a cot upon which a man slept, face down, snoring. There was a woman at the stove and food on the table. Julie moved forward, feeling the two men behind her, father and son.
“Help her with her chair, young Rufus,” the older man said gently, “Where are your manners, boy?” After they were seated, he said, “I’m real pleased to make your acquaintance. Miss Maragon. I’ve heard a lot about you from my boy here. Why didn’t you run?”
“What?”
“You ain’t mussed up any and you still had your gun on your saddle, so I reckon they had no trouble with you. Why not?”
“Gramps always said only a fool takes a licking till he has to. What do you want, Mr. Hannesey?”
“Well, girl,” the big man said, “that’s a damn good question. I’ve wanted things all my life, it seems; things I couldn’t have. Right now I want Big Muddy. Now ask me what young Rufus wants.”
She glanced at the son, eating at the far side of the table in grim silence. His eyes came up and met hers, and she felt fear cold and hard in her throat and stomach.
“I know what he wants,” she said quietly.
“You’ve led him on for a long time, girl.”
“I admit that. It’s a woman’s privilege. Does he need to call in his dad and armed riders to carry out his love affairs for him?” Rufus Hannesey chuckled, but Buck did not. Julie went on quickly, “Gramps was pretty well liked and respected, and the people of this district have thought well enough of me to let me teach their children, winters. I don’t think they’d stand still for having me molested. As for Big Muddy——”
She broke off, realizing suddenly that she could not reveal the fact that the ranch was no longer hers without giving the name of the buyer. Even if she refused to tell, Hannesey would probably guess, since there had been only one newcomer recently with money enough for such a purchase. Hannesey would also know that there had been no time for a formal contract of sale to be drawn up and entered in the proper official records; he would guess, correctly, that the only proof would consist of a short signed document in McKay’s possession—legal enough, perhaps, but easily destroyed. And if Hannesey, having at last decided to make his move, was so ruthlessly intent upon his purpose as to abduct a woman, he certainly would not hesitate to kill a man who stood in his way
.
“As for Big Muddy,” she said, “I’ll discuss that with you at a more suitable time and place. Let’s put the cards on the table, Mr. Hannesey. At the present moment I have no grounds for complaint. I was invited here, I came, I had dinner and we talked. If I were to return home now, I could not truthfully say that anyone had offered me a single threat or indignity.” She rose. “I think it would be a good idea if you had my saddle put on another horse—mine’s pretty well played out—and showed me the shortest trail back to town. That way I can stop any hasty action on the part of my friends who may have missed me.”
The big man laughed deep in his chest, rising to face her. “I like you,” he said. “Maybe if I’d met a smart little girl like you when I was young, instead of—Well, never mind that. As for your friends, they should be on their way pretty soon. I’ve already sent for them.”
“What?”
“Just about now,” Rufus Hannesey said, “a fellow named Jackman is riding up to Ladder on a wind-broke horse. You remember Jackman, I reckon; your grandpa kicked him off the Lazy M some years ago for stealing. Jackman don’t hold much love for the Maragons, but few people will remember that when they hear what he has to say. He’ll gasp out a story that’ll make their hair curl: little Miss Maragon, that he used to work for, was brought into Blanco Canyon this evening all bruised and tied to her horse like a quarter of beef. She recognized him in the crowd as an old Lazy M hand and signaled him to ride for help, which he did for old times’ sake . . . The major’s been looking for an excuse to wipe us off the map; well, there it is. He’s got no fear of this place. I’ve let him come barging in here twice with no trouble at all. He’ll come riding a third time with his whole crew; and this time there’ll be a loaded rifle behind every rock and bush up along the canyon wall. A dozen marksmen will be waiting at the entrance to turn back those who try to break out.”
Ambush at Blanco Canyon Page 7