Collection 1983 - Bowdrie (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “What about Jerry?”

  “If he shows up, keep him here. Lily”—he grinned—“will be surprised to see me, but she’ll get used to it.”

  Crowley looked down at Bowdrie. “You’d be dead if I had my way. This other idea is Shad’s.”

  He walked to the fire and leaned his rifle against a log while he poured a cup of coffee.

  Bowdrie, left alone for a moment, studied his situation with no pleasure. He was propped in a sitting position against a log, hands tied behind him, ankles bound together. Thomas was sprawled on a blanket across the fire, Crowley sipping coffee. The stump of a huge tree stood near Chick. In its edge were numerous gashes where an ax had been struck.

  He heard the approaching horse several minutes before either of the others. The rider rode into the clearing, a clean-cut young man of nineteen with quick, nervous movements but a steady gray eye that Bowdrie instinctively liked.

  “Snoopin’ Ranger. Ketched him easy. Name of Bowdrie.”

  “Bowdrie?” Jerry Fosdick turned to look. “I’ve heard of him.” He paused. “If you see Shad tell him I’m goin’ down to the post to see Pa.”

  “You’re to stay here,” Thomas said. “Shad wants you here until he gits back.”

  Bowdrie had done what he wanted with his feet. He looked over at Jerry. “Tucker’s gone to the cave to be alone with your sister. She thinks she’s meeting you there. And Jake Rasch tried to kill your pa last night. Now Jake’s dead. I killed him.”

  Buckeye jumped to his feet. “That’s a damn lie!”

  “Hold it!” Jerry’s face was pale. “You said Lily thinks she’s meetin’ me? That Shad’s gone down there?”

  “Set down, kid.” Thomas tried to be casual. “Ain’t nothin’ to it.”

  “Then why are you tryin’ to stop me from goin’ down there?” He swung his horse and Thomas dropped a hand to a gun.

  “You stay here, kid. When Shad wants him a woman, nobody butts in!”

  Bowdrie had wedged a spur into a crack in the stump; he gave a quick jerk on the foot and it slipped from the boot. He lunged to his feet and threw himself at Crowley’s back. The lunge sent Crowley sprawling against Thomas, and they both fell.

  “Cover them, kid! Then cut my hands loose!”

  Crowley, who had gotten up, dove into the brush. Jerry followed him with a quick shot; then, catching up a knife lying near the fire, he cut Bowdrie’s hands loose. Chick grabbed up his guns, pulled on his boot, and ran for the roan.

  “You watch him, kid! If he makes a wrong move, kill him! I’m goin’ after your sister.”

  “I’m goin’ too!”

  “You stay here!”

  LILY HAD WAITED anxiously, and when she heard the approaching horse, she stepped out of the cave. When she saw who it was, she drew back quickly, but not quickly enough. It was the first time she had seen Tucker when her father was not present. “Oh, I thought it was Jerry.”

  Shad hung a leg around the saddle horn and began building himself a smoke. He could see the mounting fear in her eyes and it was like wine in his blood. “You can quit expectin’ him. I come instead.”

  “You mean . . . he’s been hurt?”

  “He don’t even know you’re here. I figured it would be more fun if I came alone. Anyway, I’m takin’ you with us. Gits lonesome over in the badlands with no woman around.”

  “I’m going back to the post!” Lily said. “I’ll see my father about this!”

  Tucker dropped his foot back in the stirrup and brought his horse in front of her. “Jest sit tight, filly! We got business to do after I finish my smoke. You don’t want your pa killed, do you?”

  “Killed? Oh, you wouldn’t dare!”

  “Kill him? I aim to. He figures hisself too high an’ mighty to suit me. As for that Ranger, don’t you go to thinkin’ he’ll help. We got him back to camp, all tied up for skinnin’.”

  He swung down from his horse and tied it to a bush with a slip knot. Cut off from the trail, there was only one way for her to move. She darted into the cave.

  She heard Shad’s brutal laughter. “Like the dark, do you? I’ll be right in!”

  She stopped, looking around. It was even worse in the cave. Yet suddenly she remembered the opening she and Jerry had found. She ran on, stumbling in the dark. Behind her Shad Tucker’s boots grated on rock.

  Horror choked her. Behind her was Shad, his leering unshaved face, his broken-nailed hands. She ran into the dark. Then she could no longer run, for the floor was covered with fallen rock. She felt her way to the wall, waiting, thinking.

  This cave had never been fully explored. She and Jerry had planned it, and had prepared torches for the purpose. Behind her, Tucker was fumbling about, growing more and more angry because of the trouble she was causing. He found a pile of the torches and lit one. The reflected light helped her.

  She went on into an almost square room. The only escape was a dark opening, scarcely more than a crack, in the wall opposite. She paused, panting from her running and the close air. She went through the crack, and paused in amazement; the faint reflection from behind her seemed to touch upon a forest of stalagmites and stalactites. Or was it merely the dancing shadows on the wall?

  Frightened, she tried to fight back the terror. She must think, think! He was coming. She could hear his footsteps; then they faded. Had he turned another way? If she could only get back through the crack and outside! If she could—

  He was there, before her, holding the torch. “Y’ better git back the way you come,” he said. “If this here torch goes out, we’re both in trouble.”

  She felt around for some kind of weapon, a piece of stone, a broken stalactite . . . anything!

  Coolly he wedged the pitch-pine torch into a crack in the wall, then turned toward her. “All right now, filly. The runnin’s over. Come here!”

  “Tucker?” Bowdrie’s voice boomed in the cave. “You wanted me, now I’m here. Drop your gunbelts or start shootin’!”

  Bowdrie took a quick step to the left to draw fire away from Lily, and his boot caught on a projecting rock. He tripped and fell, crashing to the rock floor. He heard the girl’s quick scream of terror as he thumbed the hammer on the six-gun in his hand.

  A lance of fire darted at him. His own crossed it. He heard a gasp and he scrambled to his feet. Across forty feet of torchlit cave the men faced each other.

  Was Shad Tucker really hit? Or had his bullet only brought a startled gasp from the outlaw?

  Lily shrank against the wall, and Tucker was bringing his gun up. Bowdrie shot from down low and the bullet ripped the gun from Tucker’s hand. It fell, rattling among the rocks.

  Turning swiftly, Tucker darted into the depths of the cave, running hard. Bowdrie sent a bullet after him, then, as the outlaw was no longer visible, he held his fire. Moving deeper into the shadows.

  They heard the running feet, then suddenly a wild, terror-riven scream. A scream that echoed again and then again in the vaulted room.

  Lily Fosdick stared at Bowdrie. “What—?”

  “Something happened,” he said. He took the torch from the wall and they started through the pillars of stone. Somewhere they heard water falling. Bowdrie stopped abruptly.

  The cave floor ended suddenly, and before them gaped a great hole, a huge cistern within the cave. A mouth of blackness that gulped at their feeble light. Picking up a loose stone, he dropped it into the hole. Their eyes stared, listening, waiting. . . .

  Then somewhere far, far below there was a splash.

  Without a word they walked back to the cave entrance.

  Jerry was waiting, gun in hand. He holstered the pistol when he saw them. Briefly Bowdrie explained.

  “Got Thomas tied up,” Jerry said. “Pa come along an’ helped me. Crowley got away. Lit out.”

  Jerry cleared his throat. “I was goin’ to ride with them, Mr. Bowdrie. I really was. Thought I was.”

  “Point is, you didn’t. If you’re restless here, ride up north to the XIT. Frie
nds of mine up there, an’ they’re hirin’ for the roundup an’ trail drive. That’ll be work enough to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Last night,” Lily said, “after you went to the barn to sleep, I made a cake. Icing and all. I haven’t even cut into it yet.”

  Bowdrie’s head came up like a hound dog scenting a coon. “Now, that’s something I haven’t had in more than a year. Shall we ride a little faster?”

  RAIN ON

  THE MOUNTAIN FORK

  LEW JUDD WAS a frightened man. His hands, white as those of a woman, gathered the cards from the tabletop, and he touched his tongue to dry lips. Overhead the rain was increasing its roar, and within the stuffy warmth of the sod shanty the air was thick with mingled tobacco and wood smoke, overlaid by the odor of wet, steamy clothing, drying wood, and worn leather.

  DeVant, Baker, and Stadelmann sat around the table. Peg Roper snored on a bunk against the wall, and Big Ed Colson, the stage driver, straddled a chair and leaned his hairy forearms on its back, watching the play. Judd was sure that Big Ed knew he wore a money belt, but whether the others knew, he could not guess.

  “You think the next stage will get through?”

  The question was important to Judd. If the stage came soon enough, he might get away, and he might get Nelly away. The stage on which they had come lay hub-deep in mire with a broken axle.

  Colson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. This is the worst storm I’ve seen in this country, an’ I’ve seen a few.”

  Nelly Craig, Judd’s niece, sat beside the fire. It was bad enough to have to escort a young girl through such country without having to stop over in a place like this. As a protector he felt woefully inadequate, yet he kept his face composed, trying to keep the others from realizing his fear.

  “We might as well figure on spending the night here,” Baker commented. “If the stage does come, it will not get here before morning.”

  Big Stadelmann turned and stared toward the fire. Judd felt his abdominal muscles tighten, knowing he was staring at Nelly. In the feeble glow of the fire and the kerosene lantern he looked monstrous and brutal, a great bear of a man, his face covered with a stubble of short beard.

  DeVant was slender and sallow-faced with malicious yellow eyes, his agile fingers fondling the cards like a lover. All the men were armed, as was the sleeping man on the bunk, and there was a watchfulness about them that warned Judd these were-dangerous men.

  Colson was armed, but where he would stand, Judd did not know. A postal employee from Minnesota, Judd was new to the country, and although he carried a gun, he was clumsy with it.

  The fire sputtered from rain falling down the chimney and in the interval that followed a roll of thunder, they distinctly heard the splash of a horse’s hooves on the sloppy trail.

  DeVant’s head came up sharply, and Stadelmann’s hands became still. All were listening. Ed Colson took the pipe from his mouth and turned his head.

  “Who in blazes would be riding on a night like this?” Baker demanded. “No man in his right mind would ride in this rain.”

  They heard the subdued sounds of a man stabling a horse in the sod barn adjoining. Then footsteps splashed and the flames flickered as the door opened to reveal wet boots and above them the lower edge of a slicker as the man stood on the steps closing the slanting door behind him. Judd waited, apprehensive and hopeful at the same time. Baker’s hand was in his lap and Judd knew it held a gun. What was he afraid of? What were they all afraid of?

  The newcomer came on down the steps, but nothing could be seen of him because of his raincoat collar and his tilted hat brim. The hat was flat-crowned and black, the visible mouth was firm, the jaw strong. His rain-wet chaps were black leather and when he removed the raincoat, he was wearing a fringed buckskin jacket over a gray wool shirt.

  He was, they all noted, wearing two guns, tied down.

  When he removed his hat to slap the rain from it, they saw a dark, Indian-like face. His eyes swept the room, lingering a bit on Roper, stretched on the bunk. Under his cheekbone there was a deep scar, possibly a bullet wound.

  “Who’s the owner here?” His tone was casual.

  After a moment, when nobody answered, Colson replied. “Place was empty. When the stage broke down, we took shelter. I was drivin’ the stage.”

  Judd looked at him hopefully. “Did you see the other stage on the trail?”

  The steady black eyes examined and judged him. “There won’t be a stage. A landslide wiped out the trail. Take work to get it back in shape. A lot of work.”

  DeVant’s mind, nimble as his too clever fingers, came up with the logical question. “How did you get here, if the road is closed?”

  “I came from the west, but that trail’s closed too. I had to come over the mountain above the creek, but I circled to examine the other way out.”

  Colson took the pipe from his mouth. “You came over the mountain? You’re lucky to be alive. I wouldn’t have thought a goat could make it on a night like this.”

  “That second slide came while I was up there. Seemed like the whole mountain started to move, but mine’s a good horse an’ we made it.”

  Thunder muttered irritably back in the canyons. The rain seemed empowered by the sound and rose to a shattering roar. There was a slow drip of water from near the bunk where Roper slept.

  “We’re stuck then,” DeVant said. “We might as well make the best of it.” He glanced at Nelly, meeting her eyes boldly. “All the comforts of home.”

  Nelly turned her eyes away and added a stick to the fire. The flames reached for it hungrily, and the stranger moved nearer to the fireplace, aware of her fear. “You were on the stage?” He spoke softly.

  There were shaded hollows of tiredness beneath her eyes, which were dark and large. “I am traveling with my uncle, Lew Judd. We are from Illinois.”

  That would be the slender man in the store-bought suit, a feeble staff on which to lean on such a night, in such a place. She knew he would be of no help and she was frightened.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the stranger said. “It will be all right.”

  The others heard the murmur of their voices but the words were inaudible. When the stranger looked up, DeVant’s catlike eyes were on him. “A man ridin’ on a night like this must want to go somewhere mighty bad.”

  “You could be right.” The black eyes held DeVant’s and the man felt a distinct chill, which irritated even as it frightened him.

  Stadelmann was watching him, eyes suddenly attentive. Peg Roper shifted and muttered on the bunk.

  “You were all on the stage?”

  Baker’s eyes lifted from his cards. His was a narrow, rock-hard face with a clipped mustache on his broad upper lip. “Now you’re asking questions?”

  The black eyes shifted to Baker and held him an instant before moving on. “That’s right. I am asking questions.”

  The challenge was understood by everyone listening, and for a minute or so there was no sound but the hissing of the raindrops in the fire.

  Baker felt something cold and empty in his stomach and he fumbled the cards. The yielding of his eyes enraged him. Yet that voice had rung with the crisp sound of authority.

  The stranger turned his attention to Colson. “You were the driver? How many were on that stage?”

  “Only Judd, his niece, and DeVant. Stadelmann an’ Roper were in the dugout when we got here. Baker came along after.”

  “Roper was fast asleep when I come in,” Stadelmann said. “You got a reason for askin’?”

  “Murder’s my reason. Murder an’ robbery. The killer is in this room. He just can’t be anywhere else.”

  Nelly Craig’s face was a blotch of white. Her eyes seemed even larger.

  “You’re sure he came this way?” Colson asked.

  “You know this country. He had no choice. He could have been on the stage or he might have been one of the others.”

  “You’ve no description?” Baker asked.

  DeVant�
�s eyes lifted from his cards. “Who’re you? Askin’ all the questions?”

  “I’m a Ranger. My name is Bowdrie.”

  There was a heavy silence in the room. Others here might be wanted men. All at that moment felt guilty, and their resentment was electric in the room.

  “You should have kept still about it,” Judd said. “Now there will be trouble.”

  “You can’t avoid trouble in this case. One of you here is carryin’ money an’ the murderer knows it. The murder back yonder was not a planned thing, and the murderer did not get as much as he counted on. It was something he stumbled into.”

  A stick toppled over into the fire and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney. Nelly moved her wet feet closer to the blaze and Big Ed Colson got out his pipe and stoked it methodically. Peg Roper continued to sleep. Judd sat silent, keeping his palms pressed to the table so their trembling would not be observed. It was Stadelmann he was afraid of, Stadelmann and DeVant, yet he trusted none of them. Not even the Ranger.

  “Anybody got any coffee?” Baker suggested. “We might as well wait in comfort.”

  Bowdrie squatted against the wall. No doubt the killer was the most composed of them all. He alone knew who he was. No betraying clue had been left. Not a clue, only a slight indication of character. Somehow he must lead the murderer to betray himself.

  Surprisingly, Nelly seemed revived by the new element introduced by the Ranger’s arrival. Attention had been turned from her and other thoughts occupied the minds of the men in the room. More than one might be carrying money, and each would be likely to think himself the intended victim. Any of these men, she reflected, could crush Lew Judd like an insect.

  She arose and went to the box Judd had carried into the room and came away with coffee. Colson found a flat stone to be placed among the coals, and retrieved a blackened coffeepot from a shelf. There was darkness back there, a darkness into which they could not see, and when Colson went that way, all eyes followed him. All hands were resting near their guns. Colson returned with the pot and Nelly went about making coffee.