by Paul Lederer
Sounding clearly, sharply above the clopping of the horses’ hoofs came the sound of Ray’s Winchester rifle’s lever ratcheting a shell into the receiver. The men stood watching sullenly. Ray Fox’s sorrel horse was acting jittery and it suddenly side-stepped until it was far too close to the man in the chaps. His hand shot out and grabbed the horse’s bridle.
The sorrel danced away, and Fox, riding with his rifle in his hands was thrown from its back to land roughly on the ground. Before he could rise, the man in the chaps and black-and-white shirt was on top of him. They rolled down the slope and into the mud, bordering the little silver rill as the calves scattered and the tied dogie continued to bawl. Tom, sitting the stolid Fog, kept his rifle trained on the other three men. There was no chance of taking a decent shot at the man who had attacked Ray, tangled up as the two were.
‘Just stand easy, men,’ Tom warned the others. They eyed him darkly as Ray Fox suddenly got the upper hand, rising to his feet to drive two stunning blows into the rustler’s face. The man staggered back, hands windmilling, and fell on his back into the rill. Ray, his shirt torn, his face and hands covered with mud, started back to join Tom. Before he reached the knot of men the three remaining rustlers had begun to spread out, their hands close to their holstered pistols.
The man on the ground slowly rose, shaking the water from his hair. On hands and knees he made it to the bank of the creek where he slowly rose, his eyes fierce.
One of the other three said, ‘Hold it where you are, Fox,’ and drew his gun. ‘You!’ he shouted at Tom Dyce, ‘you don’t seem to be good at counting. There’s four of us standing against you. If you start shooting, you haven’t got a chance.’
Tom froze for a moment. They were right. He wasn’t going to take down four men no matter how accurate or lucky he was. He glanced at Ray Fox, who had halted, his chest heaving with exertion, weaponless. The man he had beaten would more than likely kill Ray first while the other three aimed their weapons at Tom.
‘You can count again!’ someone called from the rim of the valley. Looking that way Tom saw the owner of the Circle R, Art Royal, and Wade Block sitting their horses, rifles aimed at the rustlers. ‘Drop those pistols, boys, or you won’t live to see tomorrow.’
Desperate looks passed between the rustlers. Then, grumbling, they unfastened their gunbelts and tossed them in to a pile. Art Royal rode down the slope, Wade Block following.
‘Why, howdy, Tom!’ Art called out. ‘What are you doing out this way?’
‘I guess I’m arresting some men,’ Tom answered. Art Royal caught the shimmer of sunlight on Tom’s badge, frowned and shook his head.
‘That’s a town marshal’s badge,’ one of the men said belligerently. ‘You got no authority to arrest us out here!’
‘I think I do,’ Tom replied coolly. Art spoke up:
‘We don’t need your authority, Tom – whatever it may be. Jack, Wesley, you haven’t been working for me long, but you have been around long enough to know that I’m an old-fashioned man, and I do things in the old-fashioned way.’
‘What do you mean?’ one of them, the one named Jack, asked shakily, his nerve fading.
‘If I take a stray dog in and it bites my hand, I take it out and shoot it. When I take on a couple of saddle tramps because I’m short-handed and they turn out to be nothing but a pair of greedy rustlers, I string ‘em up,’ Art Royal said, his eyes shifting around as if looking for a tree. What do you say, Ray?’ he asked Fox.
‘Can’t do it. Not with a lawman sitting here,’ Ray answered calmly. ‘I understand the feeling, though. These two men I have to claim as Rafter T riders are new-hires also. They have no loyalty to the brand but only to their pocketbooks.’
‘We were only trying to get enough to start our own place, to be as lucky as you both have been,’ the man named Wesley whined.
‘Find your luck someplace else,’ Art Royal said severely. ‘If you ever show up in these parts again, I won’t even look for a rope and a tree. I’ll shoot you down like the ungrateful dogs you are. For now, scatter!’ Art fired his rifle over their heads and, leaving their guns behind, the four rustlers raced for their horses, grateful to be escaping with their lives.
Wade Block was scooping up the weapons, placing them in his saddlebags. Art still sat his horse, but he now spoke to Ray Fox. ‘I should have known that Rafter T wouldn’t have been involved in something like this,’ Art said. ‘But it got to the point where no one was talking.’
‘I’ll tell Aurora that you will be coming by for supper,’ Ray said, extending his hand. ‘If you think you’d like to come over, Mr Royal.’
‘I’d like that just fine,’ Art Royal answered. Touching his hat brim with a finger, he said to Block. ‘I’ll send Cory Stamps and a couple of the men out to help you hie our calves home. Think you’ll have them sorted out by then?’
‘I’ll give it a try,’ Block said. ‘Though damned if their faces don’t all look the same to me.’
Ray laughed and asked Art Royal, ‘Why don’t we just split them fifty-fifty?’
‘Sounds fair,’ Art agreed. He had swung down to cut the piggin strings binding the unlucky calf. ‘Makes it easier on everybody.’ He picked up the running irons and threw them into the creek.
‘Looks like we’d better start branding our calves a little earlier,’ Ray commented. ‘We can’t have anyone else doing it for us. I’ll send up a couple of my men to collect Rafter T’s share when I get back to home ranch.’
‘Even before you do that,’ Tom said, ‘will you explain to Aurora about what has happened? I can’t stand having that woman mad at me.’
‘I’ll tell her first thing,’ Ray promised. Then, leaving Wade Block behind with the calves, Art Royal smiled and rode up the path leading out of Sugar Bowl, a happier man than he had been on his arrival.
They watched him go. Then Ray, looking at his torn shirt, mud-stained jeans and filthy hands said, ‘I guess I should rinse off a little before we start back. It’d frighten Aurora to see me dragging in looking like this.’
Ray found a spot where the rill barely trickled past. A nearly flat boulder sat on the bank of the creek there. Undressing, he waded into the water and began washing himself vigorously. Tom Dyce seated himself on the sun-warmed granite boulder and watched. He removed a much-folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it flat on the rock, next to Ray Fox’s clothes.
When Ray, naked, waded out of the rill, shaking his head to dry his hair, he returned with a smile to where Tom waited. He started to pick up his trousers, but his reaching hand halted halfway to them. The poster had caught his eye. Involuntarily his hand went to the small of his back where the spider-shaped scar Tom had seen was cut into his flesh. His dark eyes lifted to Tom.
‘I guess you know, then?’ Ray Fox said.
‘I guess I do,’ Tom answered.
‘Mind if I get dressed?’
‘Everything but your gunbelt.’
Ray nodded, tugged on his trousers and crouched to pick up his boots. ‘Dyce,’ he said, ‘you might think you know what this is all about, but you don’t.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘Not if you’re taking Sheriff Harley Griffin’s word for it. You said you met him. I’ve got to assume that’s where your information came from.’
‘Are you denying that you’re Vance Wynn?’ Tom asked, slipping from the rock to have a better position to fight from if that became necessary.
‘I don’t see how I can.’
‘You’ve been identified as the man who robbed the bank down at Ruidoso, and the man who murdered Harley Griffin’s wife.’
‘I figured as much. But who identified me, Dyce? Harley Griffin, that’s who.’
‘I wouldn’t know – I wasn’t there when they named you as the man who did it.’
The man called Ray Fox tightened his belt and leaned against the rock, putting his hat on.
‘That poster says the reward is two thousand five hundred dollars.’
‘It is. Dead or alive,’ Tom said.
‘I suppose that’s enough to have made it worth your while,’ Ray Fox said.
‘I didn’t come here looking for a reward,’ Tom said. They both heard small sounds and glanced to where Wade Block was aimlessly throwing pebbles into the creek, still waiting for riders from the Circle R to arrive and help him with the calves.
‘Then why?’ Fox asked.
‘I heard that someone was cheating Aurora. I was told it was you.’
‘You can’t still think that?’
‘No. But I am still wondering if it will help Aurora more to leave you here or take you away from the ranch.’
‘I think you’re considering something else,’ Fox said with a crooked smile. ‘Whether with me gone Aurora would be more likely to take you back.’
‘What do you think?’ Tom asked.
‘You’d have to ask her,’ Ray shrugged. ‘Maybe that would depend on what you told her.’
‘You killed one woman,’ Tom pointed out, and astonishingly Ray Fox laughed.
‘I did, did I?’ Ray crawled up on the flat rock and told Tom. ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you a story.’
Tom seated himself beside Ray, but not near enough so that the man could make a grab for his gun. Ray said:
‘I never shot a woman. I never robbed a bank. Can I prove it? No. But that was the reason Harley Griffin was willing to ride so far out of his county. He wasn’t trying to avenge his wife’s murder. He only meant to kill me so that I couldn’t tell my side of things. He never meant to have me stand trial. He wants me dead. When he decided to turn back, he chose you for the job of hunting me down.’
‘But why…?’
‘It was the sheriff who held up the bank then rode home to hide the money and change his outfit. And to look for me.’
‘For you?’
‘His wife, her name was Maria, and I were good friends, you see. Harley Griffin didn’t like it that Maria sometimes invited me in for coffee and a piece of pie or something. He robbed the bank because he was fed up with his job, fed up with her. Somewhere along the way he started thinking that he could get a measure of revenge by claiming that witnesses identified me as the robber. There were no witnesses. I know that because I didn’t do it, Tom.’
Tom Dyce nodded thoughtfully. He was weighing Ray’s words, but could not decide if he believed the man or not.
‘On that day we heard Harley riding in on his lathered horse. He came into the house carrying his saddle-bags. He looked frightened, nervous. I watched him through the crack in the bedroom door.’
‘He didn’t know you were there?’
‘No. I’d left my horse out in a cottonwood grove, like I always did when I visited Maria. I didn’t want folks talking about her. Harley said a few rough words to Maria and tempers exploded. I couldn’t hear it all, but he was roaring angry. Then I heard two gunshots.’
‘Didn’t you go out and face him?’
‘I wasn’t armed, and I wasn’t going to challenge a man in a killing rage. I went out the window just as Harley entered the bedroom – to change his clothes or hide the money, I suppose. I made it back to my horse and lit out of there, but by then Harley had emerged from the house again. He spotted me and guessed where I had come from. That was when he decided that he would have to kill me.’
Tom remained silent, thinking. It all tied together, but was it the truth or just a well-concocted story? ‘How about if we go back to Ruidoso and let you tell your story?’
‘Lock me up in the Ruidoso jail?’ Ray laughed again. ‘I’d never live long enough to talk to judge and jury.’
‘I suppose not,’ Tom said glumly. ‘Maybe they’d be happy if you just returned the stolen money.’
Ray frowned. ‘That wasn’t very kind of you, trying to trick me into admitting something I never did. If I did have any money, I’d hand it over gladly. Tom, I’ve got everything a man could wish for right here.’
‘Aurora’
‘That’s right, Aurora. Look, I know that she’s the real reason you rode all the way up here, not because you wanted to find Vance Wynn. Well, I’m sorry things worked out the way they did, Tom. If Aurora were twins I’d wish you could have her sister. But she isn’t. She’s mine and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her trust.’
‘So you’ve never told her about Maria, either?’ Tom said, hardly believing the coffee and pie part of Ray’s story. He thought he knew why Ray had not been wearing a gunbelt that morning, as well. The rest of it, oddly, he did believe.
‘A woman doesn’t want to hear about another,’ Ray said woodenly. ‘Look here, Tom, what are you going to do?’ As he asked they heard riders approaching from the north, from Circle R range. They saw Block rise and go over to meet the men.
‘You’d better help them sort out the calves,’ Tom said, slipping from the rock to stand facing Ray.
‘Yes. Tom, if you wanted you could ride back to the Rafter T and have Aurora send a few of the boys up to help me drive these calves on to home range.’ Tom shook his head heavily, not looking at Ray’s eyes, but only at the ground. At last he answered:
‘No, Ray. You’ll have to figure that out for your yourself. I’m riding the long way back to Flapjack. I won’t be crossing Rafter T land, and I won’t be talking to Aurora Tyne.’
With that Tom walked back to where the ever patient Fog stood waiting, swung aboard and crossed the rill, heading for the long trail around Split Mountain, once again detouring far around Rafter T property.
When Tom reached Flapjack, he was still fretting, wondering if he had let a known killer go free just to avoid hurting Aurora. As he reached the town limits, however, his thoughts began to take on a new focus. He shouted at the first man he passed:
‘What time is it?’
The man looked at his pocket watch and called back, ‘Just after one!’
Tom’s spirits sagged a little more. She was gone then; Laura had taken the noon stagecoach out of Flapjack. He knew that the coach had a layover in Rincon, and began to wonder about the possibility of catching up with her there. It was probably a futile pursuit, chasing a vague illusion, but much of life is just that. He had done more foolish things in his time.
First things first. He found Jeff Stottlemeyer in bed in Laura’s former cabin. A man Tom did not know was posted to watch over him. Jeff himself was propped up in bed, looking almost human. He smiled weakly as Tom strode into the room.
‘Are you going to make it?’ Tom asked with an answering smile.
‘They tell me so,’ Jeff replied, his voice still weak.
Tom sat on a corner of the bed. He asked:
‘Why did Lee Tremaine shoot you, Jeff? It made no sense to me.’
‘Because I’ve got a big mouth, Tom.’ Tom waited. It was clear that Jeff was still having trouble breathing. ‘I was passing through to get a mop and broom to clean up a mess a couple of cowboys had made. I happened to glance over to the table where Tremaine was playing poker with four other men. It was Tremaine’s deal and I saw him pull the double-shift. When the game broke off, I was returning from my mop-up job, and noticed one of the card players standing at the bar. I gave him the word.
‘You boys had better watch Tremaine, he’s bottom-dealing you.’
‘Go on,’ Tom said, after giving Jeff a drink of water from the bedside pitcher. Jeff nodded his thanks.
‘I saw this fellow go straight to Tremaine and whisper something in his ear, and Tremaine locked eyes with me. Tom, Horace Jefferson told me earlier today that the other man was not a victim, but a confederate of Lee Tremaine’s. They worked their game together.’
‘Bad luck,’ Tom sympathized.
‘As I said, I’ve got a big mouth. I should have just shut up and let those two go on cheating the suckers. What did I care anyway?’
‘Well,’ Tom said, getting to his feet, ‘it doesn’t matter now.’
‘No,’ Jeff agreed. He brightened, ‘Mr Jefferson said I’d have my room back any time I f
elt strong enough to be moved back over there, and he said he would hold my job for as long as it took to get back on my feet. He’s a pretty good man, Tom.’
‘Yes, I guess he is,’ Tom agreed, remembering that he had some business of his own to take care of with Horace Jefferson.
NINE
Horace Jefferson was wearing bifocals as he sat behind his desk in the office of the Foothill saloon. He looked up from the invoice he was studying to glance at Tom with surprise.
‘You’re back, Marshal – good to see you.’ Then he noticed that Tom was not wearing his badge, that his expression was hard-set, and he frowned. ‘Dyce, what’s going on?’
‘I came by to resign,’ Tom said, placing the badge on Jefferson’s desk. The saloon-keeper blinked half a dozen times in astonishment, removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.
‘But why?’
‘I told you it was only a temporary position for me,’ Tom replied.
‘Yes, we knew that but for God’s sake!’
‘I did you people a couple of services. I got Lee Tremaine out of the way, and I’ve just come back from the Thibido. The ranchers have solved their problems. No one is going to be hiring any gunmen to descend on Flapjack.’
‘You accomplished this all so quickly?’
‘I got lucky,’ Tom went on. ‘I also got you people thinking about a jail so that when you do find a marshal, he’ll have a reasonable chance of keeping order here.’
‘Dyce, I don’t know what to say. You won’t reconsider?’
‘No. Thank Mr Paulsen and Mr Asher for having faith in me. I’ve got to be going.’
‘You’re leaving Flapjack?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I’m truly sorry, Dyce. Do you feel that we owe you any pay?’
‘For what – one day’s work? If you think you owe me a few dollars, use it to take care of … Tarquinian.’
‘All right, Dyce,’ Jefferson said with resignation. He was fingering the badge. ‘I suppose we’ll find someone who wants the job.’