“Why,” McKay said innocently, “hasn’t she told you? I bought the Lazy M ranch from her a few days ago—the place you people refer to as Big Muddy, a disconcerting name. There are a few legal details to be taken care of, but they can wait.” Julie Maragon’s eyes were pleading with him; he turned away from her and looked at Rufus Hannesey. ”I thank you for the invitation to the wedding, but Major Terrill will be getting impatient out there. I’d better get back and tell him everything is all right,” The big man did not move aside. “This sale,” he said softly, “you have proof of it, of course?”
“Of course.”
“Where?”
McKay said, “Mr. Hannesey, I’m not quite as big a fool as I apparently look to some people. The bill of sale is in a safe place. Furthermore, I’d like to point out to you that I came out here to be married, and arranged my affairs accordingly before leaving the East. Naturally I made a will, and naturally that will was in favor of the lady I expected to make my wife; it has not been changed. Therefore, if anything should happen to me, the result would be that all my property will go to Miss Terrill—including my recent purchase, the Lazy M ranch.” Color came into the portions of Rufus Hannesey’s face visible through the beard, and the man’s big hands closed into fists at his sides; then he laughed, a short, sharp clap of sound.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” he murmured. “Three years of waiting and I’m a day too late!”
“Two days,” McKay said.
“The boys told me you’d dropped in at Big Muddy; that would be when it happened, I reckon. They said she took you for a ride over the place, but I thought nothing of it.” He turned sharply. “Girl, why didn’t you say something of this last night?”
Julie did not speak. McKay glanced at her quickly; she did not meet his look. He said to Hannesey, “I have no proof with me. But I made a down payment of two thousand dollars and gave a note for the balance. If Miss Maragon should have——”
Julie stirred. “They’re on my saddle,” she said.
The big man stared at her for a moment, wheeled and strode off the porch. Minutes passed. It was cool in the shade, McKay noticed. Buck Hannesey leaned against the wall by the door, keeping watch through hooded eyes, his hand resting on the butt of the revolver at his hip. McKay saw that three parallel scratches ran across the back of that hand; the man’s face was also scratched. McKay glanced at the girl’s bruised face, and looked away; it was no time for rage, and he forced the emotion crown: Out in the sunshine, Ramon squatted on his heels before the horses, drawing pictures in the dust with a dry stick.
Rufus Hannesey came back. “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll give you your price and five thousand more.”
McKay said, “Let Miss Maragon leave and we’ll talk about it.”
“Without her, what club have I got to hold over you?”
“None,” McKay said. “That’s the chance you take.”
Rufus Hannesey chuckled. “You play a strong game with a weak hand. If I hold you both a little longer, the major will come riding in to look for you. We’re ready for him. Once he’s out of the way, I don’t need a legal paper to take Big Muddy. I just take it. And Ladder too.”
McKay said, “If you want a fight, why are you standing here talking? I think I know why, Mr. Hannesey—because you know that you can’t turn this place into a battlefield without losing in the end. We’re not that far from law and order. If you want to keep living here yourself, you’ve got to solve your problem without a massacre.”
“All right,” Hannesey said. “All right. Give me a bill of sale for Big Muddy at the price I offered, and I’ll give you my word you can all ride out of here and the money will be paid.”
His face darkened when McKay hesitated. “What’s the matter? Do you doubt my word, boy?”
“Not yours,” McKay said. He gestured toward the younger man by the door. “His.”
Rufus Hannesey said sharply, “I run this place. If I say you go out of here safely with the girl——”
“No!”
They turned to face Buck Hannesey, who had taken a step forward.
His father said, “Don’t be stubborn, young Rufus.”
Buck said angrily, “I’ve been standing here listening! Don’t you go trading off what don’t belong to you; hear?”
“You’re asking for trouble. For all of us.”
“You didn’t mind as long as you got your wants out of the deal!”
Rufus Hannesey studied his son’s face for a long time. Finally he turned to McKay with a shrug of defeat. “Well, he’s right, I reckon. I promised him something. He did his part; it’s not his fault if the plan went wrong for me. It looks like the bargain’s off, Mr. McKay. I wish you luck on Big Muddy; when you go broke. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. Don’t sell to the Terrills unless you want blood on your conscience. Now you’d better get on your horse and make tracks.”
McKay said, “You’d force a girl to——”
“Nothing’s been said about force, not even by her,” the older man said; adding deliberately, “She’s nothing to me, son. Do you expect me to fight my own flesh and blood for her?”
McKay faced him for a moment longer, trying to read a meaning into the grim half-smile on the bearded lips. Then he glanced at Julie Maragon, she shook her head minutely, warning him to go. He sighed; everything was suddenly very sharp and clear in his mind; and he turned to Buck Hannesey, who was watching him with a curling lip.
“I’ve owed you something for several days, Hannesey,” McKay said. “This seems a good time to collect.”
He reached out without haste and struck the taller man across the face with the flat of his hand.
The blow was not hard; nevertheless, the sound of it seemed to carry through the canyon like a gunshot. Buck Hannesey made an inarticulate sound and dropped into a crouch; an instant later his revolver was in his hand. McKay waited without moving, his empty hands hanging at his sides.
“Give him a gun, somebody!” Buck said in a strangled voice. “Pop, give the dude a gun!”
Rufus Hannesey stepped forward. “Easy, boy, easy!”
“I’ll kill the——”
McKay turned his back on the threatening weapon. He forced himself to speak distinctly, “Ramon.”
“Sí, Señor.”
“Ramon, tell the gentleman that if he wants satisfaction for the blow, I’ll be glad to oblige him in the usual manner. The pistols are in my saddlebag, I hope the customary distance of twenty paces will be satisfactory.” It was a wild gamble, but something in the attitude of the older Hannesey made it seem just barely within the realm of possibility.
Behind him, Buck Hannesey cried, “Tell the damn gentleman to turn around unless he wants it in the back!”
Rufus Hannesey said sharply, “I said, take it easy! I won’t say it again, young Rufus. Your women are your business, but I say who gets shot around here, and how. Now put up that damn revolver before I take it away from you and shove it down your throat!” His big hand caught McKay by the shoulder and swung him around. “What are you trying to do? Challenge my boy to a damn duel?”
McKay said stiffly, “The challenge is up to him, if he feels himself injured.”
The older man chuckled. “You’re pulling a fast one, boy. He knocked you over the head a few days ago; that was the first injury, and leaves the challenging up to you and he gets the choice of weapons. And young Rufus will pick Colt revolvers at point-blank range, starting with the gun in the holster, and then where are you?”
“Dead,” said McKay. “If your son likes to shoot his ducks sitting, don’t bother to get me a weapon. Just turn him loose and have it over with.”
The big man scratched his beard thoughtfully. His eyes were grimly amused. “Let’s see these pistols,” he said, and took the case from Ramon, opened it and stood looking down for a long time. “Real gentlemen’s weapons,” he murmured. “Loaded?”
McKay nodded. “You have to cap the nipples——”
“Teach yo
ur grandmother to suck eggs. I was shooting guns like these, only not so fancy, before you were born.” He took one of the pistols out of the case, readied it, raised it and fired. The report was sharp and whip-like; the bullet hit a rusty tomato can across the yard with a hollow, ringing sound. Hannesey laid the weapon down, picked up its mate and repeated the performance. “Hair trigger,” he said. “Real pretty.” As he turned to his son, his expression was thoughtful, “Young Rufus, how’d you like to fight like a gentleman, for a change?”
“Why should I fight with his guns?”
“Because I’m tired of watching you snatch out that damn revolver every time a fly bites you on the nose. You can haul it out faster than most; you’ve proved that half a dozen times. But can you stand up to your man and give him an even break, like quality folks, or do you need that extra half second you’ve got in your hand? Let’s try it and see. I’ll load the pieces so there’ll be no tricks. If neither man is hit on the first fire, keep your places while I load again. Go hang up that cannon of yours somewhere, boy; otherwise you might be tempted to reach for it if you shoot and miss,” Buck moved away in a sullen manner. The bearded man turned to McKay. “I’m cutting my own throat. If he kills you, I lose Big Muddy to the Terrills. If you win, I lose a son. Well, she’s a spunky little girl, and I like your style . . . What do you have up your sleeve, McKay? I suppose you’re a dead shot with these pretty things? Otherwise, why would you carry them around to fight with?”
“I give you my word,” McKay said, “I brought them from the East for a gift; I took them along last night only because I own no other weapon and Ramon seemed to think I should arm myself in some way. I haven’t fired them or any other gun in fifteen years.”
Hannesey looked at him oddly. “Then you’re a bigger damn fool than I thought.” he said, “If you need a drink, look up Reverend Beemis. There’ll be a bottle somewhere nearby.”
He seated himself on the edge of the porch, putting the pistol case beside him. There were men straggling down the rocky slopes toward the yard now, drawn by the impending drama. All carried rifles. McKay watched them with a lack of comprehension, wondering what brought them to see a man killed. He looked around to find Julie watching him gravely.
“It was a foolish thing,” she said. “I wish you hadn’t—” She checked herself and smiled, very briefly. “That’s poor thanks. I’m very grateful, but the odds are so heavy against you. He’s lived with a gun all his life.”
McKay said, “He knows this one sleight-of-hand trick. Miss Maragon, but I don’t think he’s really a very good marksman. He emptied his weapon at my hat the other day—they all did—and there wasn’t a hole in it. Well, we’ll see.” She touched his arm lightly. “Good luck.”
He moved away. He felt Ramon beside him and spoke without turning his head, “If you can get her away while they’re all watching——”
“I’ll try, Señor. Vaya con Dios.” Then he was alone again, leaning against one of the rude timbers that supported the porch roof. There was a good-sized crowd among the ramshackle houses now; not men alone, but women and children as well. He thought. So this is how it feels, waiting. I always wondered.
Rufus Hannesey rose with a dueling pistol in each hand, marched out into the yard, drew a line in the dust with his heel, turned and measured off twenty paces and drew another line. He returned to the middle of the measured space.
“Get your weapons from me and take your places,” he said. “I forget all the fancy rigmarole that goes with this. I’ll just give you ‘Ready’ and ‘Fire.’ And mark this: according to the code as I recall it, if either man touches off before the signal, it’s my duty as dueling master to shoot him down like a dog, and I’ll do it, by damn! This here duel is going to be run all legal and proper. So keep your fingers off those triggers until you hear the word.”
McKay heard the speech only dimly as he walked forward through the brilliant sunshine, took the weapon extended to him and moved to the left, turning at the mark. Twenty yards away, Buck Hannesey had taken his place; his hips looked oddly naked without the familiar revolver belt, Rufus Hannesey stepped back and picked up a rifle leaning against the porch.
“Gentlemen,” he said, seeming to savor the word, “make ready!”
McKay used both hands to cock the piece, and fitted it into his palm. He saw Buck Hannesey’s weapon poised, aiming skyward, ready to swing down and fire; and he remembered his father saying, If you have the choice, always fire with the pistol rising; that gives you an unobscured view of the target until the sights are in line. As he pointed the pistol at the ground, he was aware of a sense of complete unreality; even the heavy beating of his heart was something he could observe with utter detachment.
“Fire!”
Buck Hannesey’s weapon cracked with the signal. McKay felt the wind of the hurried shot on his face. Even as he realized that he had survived the bullet and had now a chance to finish this, his unpracticed finger bore too heavily on the delicate trigger mechanism and his pistol discharged. He saw the bullet kick up dust at his opponent’s feet and ricochet harmlessly away toward the cliffs.
Rufus Hannesey laughed aloud. “Looks like the boys need practice,” he said, coming forward. “Keep your places now while I put your toys in order again.”
They stood facing each other in the open space while the bearded man worked at the edge of the porch. There was laughter and betting in the crowd now; they were enjoying this unaccustomed spectacle.
“Hey, Buck,” somebody shouted, “maybe you ought to get yourself a pair of pants like the dude to go with those fancy guns!”
McKay noted that Buck Hannesey did not answer; a cold, sneering expression seemed frozen on his face. Then Rufus Hannesey was returning with the loaded pistols, giving one to McKay and walking the length of the field to give the other to his son. He moved back to his former position.
“Make ready!”
There was silence now; and McKay heard clearly the sound of Rufus Hannesey’s pistol being cocked. He cocked his own. It seemed as if he had been standing all his life in this one spot, shooting and being shot at.
“Fire!”
Again the other’s piece discharged on the heels of the word. McKay felt a light blow on his left arm and understood that he had been hit; he wondered how badly even as the pistol in his hand rose and came into line. The sights steadied, and suddenly the knowledge that had been trained into his nerves and muscles as a boy was back with him. Apparently it was something you never really forgot. He knew that, at this range, he could hit the other man wherever he pleased—and Buck Hannesey’s gun was empty. He found himself remembering Julie’s bruised face, and he placed the front sight against the pocket of Buck Hannesey’s shirt with care and deliberation. His finger rested gently on the trigger, slowly increasing the pressure . . . He took his finger away, and let go the pent-up breath. I can’t do it, he thought, God help me, I can’t do it.
He started to lower his arm. He heard a murmur go through the crowd and thought it was directed at him. Then he saw that Buck Hannesey was moving, tossing aside the fired dueling pistol and clawing open his shirt to draw out the revolver he had hidden inside. McKay saw the ugly weapon come up, and in the same instant he aimed and fired. The sound of the shot seemed unusually loud and prolonged. Buck Hannesey spun around and fell on his side in the dust, rolled on his face and lay still, the revolver lying by his outstretched hand.
McKay walked slowly forward. There was sickness inside him as he looked down at the still form. He turned abruptly as Rufus Hannesey came up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not shoot to kill.”
“But I did,” the older man said, and McKay saw white smoke still trickling from the muzzle of the rifle he held.
They rode out through the cleft in the rocks without interference, and saw Major Terrill and his men come at a gallop to meet them. The major, Patricia and Steve Leech rode in the lead.
“We were getting worried, Jim,” the major said as t
hey came up. “We heard shots. Steve and I were for riding in to help you, but Patricia persuaded us to give you the full hour you had asked for. It seems she was right . . . Oh, here’s your money belt.”
McKay took the belt, which contained the bill of sale for Big Muddy, and glanced at the blond girl. “Yes, she was quite right,” he said, not thinking of her at all, but only of the fact that everything that had happened, seeming to last a lifetime, had actually consumed less than an hour of time. He said, “Well, Ramon and I will see Miss Maragon home.”
The major said, “But what happened in there, Jim? What was all the shooting? What’s the matter with your arm?”
Steve Leech looked at Julie and said, “It’s clear Miss Maragon has been through a rough time; look at her face.”
The major turned and said sharply. “Is that right, Julie? Did those ruffians mistreat you?”
Julie shook her head quickly. “Everything’s all right,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Let’s all just go home.”
Patricia said, “But you haven’t told us what happened!”
Julie drew a deep breath. “There was a duel,” she said. “Buck Hannesey is dead. Everything is settled, Pat. All debts are paid.”
The major said, with quick interest, “Buck Hannesey dead? If Jim killed him, how did they come to let you out of that place alive?”
Julie glanced quickly at McKay’s face, and said, “Does it matter who killed him? He’s dead, dead, dead! Whatever he did or meant to do, he’s paid for!”
Steve Leech leaned forward in his saddle. “Major,” he said, “isn’t that up to us to decide? Look at Miss Maragon’s face; she’s been beaten and abused.”
“I didn’t say that!” Julie cried.
“You don’t need to say it, ma’am. I don’t know why you’re protecting these scoundrels.” He swung back to the major, and the two men looked at each other with understanding; and Leech went on quickly, speaking less to the major than to the other men, “Even if Buck Hannesey’s been killed in some mysterious way, are we going to let the rest of that woman-beating bunch get off scot-free? They’ll be disorganized now! We can take them by surprise and clean up this place forever!”
Ambush at Blanco Canyon Page 9