The Big Country

by Donald Hamilton

  The Big Country

  Donald Hamilton

  Published by

  Dell Publishing a division of

  Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  1540 Broadway

  New York, New York 10036

  Copyright © 1958 by Donald Hamilton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The trademark Dell is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  ISBN, 0-440-33405-5

  Chapter 1

  HE TOOK NOTE of the shape of this unfamiliar land, storing in his mind the landmarks that might prove useful to a stranger, as the stage bore him bore him rapidly toward the town of San Rafael, Texas. At the age of thirty-two, most of it spent at sea, James McKay had long since learned better than to sail blindly into an unknown harbor. He had no reason to expect trouble here, no mission could have been more peaceful than his. But he was aware of having entered a country that had a formidable reputation for violence back east, and it did no harm to be prepared.

  Then the town was in sight on the plain ahead. San Rafael turned out to be one of the random collections of sun-baked frame and clay buildings that passed for communities in this part of the world. A few tired cottonwood trees gave a scanty ration of shade along the street. The Coach pulled up in front of the hotel, a two-story false-front structure, devoid of paint, with a wide, covered veranda.

  The hot wind that had buffeted them all day blew their own dust over them as they stopped. The first thing McKay noticed as he disembarked was that, except for a dusky youth in a tremendous straw hat who came running out to hold the horses, there was no one at all here to greet them. This seemed odd in a lonely community where the arrival of the stagecoach should be the big event of the day.

  McKay stood for a moment by the coach, disappointment sharp in his throat. He told himself firmly that distances were great out here, the stage kept only a vague and unpredictable schedule, and Women were notoriously lacking in punctuality. Nevertheless, after two thousand miles of journeying, he found it an undeniable blow to be standing there alone.

  It seemed to him a poor omen for the future.

  He grimaced and turned to receive his luggage from the driver. "Better get inside the hotel, mister," the driver said. "The kid here tells me there's trouble in town, and from the look of the street I reckon he's not lying. I'm getting my team and passengers out of here, not to mention my own hide."

  In view of the driver's warning, McKay picked up his valise and seabag, walked across the veranda, and entered the hotel. The people inside-there were half a dozen of them-looked at him with thinly veiled curiosity as he paused to kick the door shut behind him. He knew that he must look as alien to them as they did him, and he saw himself briefly through their eyes, a youngish man of medium stature who looked smaller than his actual height because of the massive width of his shoulders, a square, rather sober-appearing figure with a slightly rolling sailor's gait, and a way of planting his feet firmly apart when he stood as if he had no faith in the stability of the floor beneath him. He was wearing a dark suit of good quality and a round, dark bowler hat that gave his clean-shaven face a pugnacious look, somewhat softened by the lines of humor about the mouth and eyes.

  He stood there a moment to let them look and to return their regard levelly. It was an important moment-like boarding a new ship for the first time, knowing that you would have to get along somehow with every man you met fro the duration or the voyage that faced him now, McKay reflected, might well last a lifetime-unless he failed to win approval of this frontier society he was about to join. like a ship's crew, they undoubtedly had ways of making life unbearable for the man they wished to reject.

  He had given the matter careful thought during the past six months. Now, from the expressions of the men watching him, he realized that they, found his hard hat ridiculous, they were meant to do so. He had lived with rough men long enough to know that you could gain acceptance among them in two ways, on their terms, or on your own. It was a battle he had fought before, several times, and he knew the moves by heart. He had learned that it was good strategy to take the offensive from the start, and the hat was meant , to be a symbol. Before he was through with these people, they would either have driven him out of their country, a failure, or he would have forced them to accept him on his own terms, hard hat and all.

  There was that first moment of inspection and appraisal, then all the occupants of the lobby became elaborately unconcerned with the newcomer. They had been grouped about the windows, now they turned back to watch the street outside. McKay set his bags down by the door, hung his hat on an empty peg near by, and walked over to the desk. A large woman wearing a checked gingham dress came out of a back room, drying her hands on a soiled apron. She made her way behind the desk with some difficulty because of the limited space, and turned to face him.

  He said, "I wonder if you would tell me how to get to the Terrill place. I believe it's called the Ladder ranch."

  "Ladder's quite a piece out of town," the woman said. "About forty miles. Would the Terrill's be expecting you, mister?"

  "I hope so," McKay said.

  "I see. Then you'd be the sea-captain that's going to marry Miss Pat Terrill. She said you'd likely be here today." The woman leaned her big elbows on the desk, studying him with interest. "I was expecting a bigger man, from Miss Pat's description. But then a man always looks bigger to a young girl when he's got a uniform on, I reckon. Captain of the packet that took her from New Orleans to Baltimore, weren't you?"

  "Captain and part owner," the firm is kind of a family affair."

  "You made a fast passage, Miss Pat said. She said it was a real thrill. But I note she came back west by train."

  McKay grinned. "Well, we had a little weather along the way. It may have seemed exciting to a lady used to seeing no more water than you have here in Texas."

  The woman said, a trifle sharply, "Don't run down Texas, young man. We've got enough of everything we need here. Even greenhorns."

  "No offense intended," McKay said.

  "Your name would be McKay," the woman said. "Well, you sit yourself down and wait, Mr. McKay. Miss Pat's in town and I reckon she'll be along directly. I've just sent somebody after her on another matter. A couple of Ladder hands was supposed to let her know when the stage was arriving, but they went and got themselves into trouble down the street instead of tending to business, that's why she isn't here to meet you. But she'll be along, so don't you go taking off across the plains by yourself, hear? From the looks of you, you don't know much about this part of the country. It's a mighty big country, Mr. McKay, and easy to get lost in. Just sit tight and somebody'll take care of you pretty soon-"

  The hotel door burst open, and both McKay and the woman looked that way, but the newcomer was a small man with a puffy, red-eyed face. He scuttled inside, shoved the door closed, and leaned against it to catch his breath.

  The proprietress said calmly, "Relax, Swampy. Nobody'd waste a bullet on you. What are they doing now?

  "They're all in the cantina," the little man panted. "The Hannesey bunch is setting up drinks for the two Ladder fellows and making clear it would be an insult to refuse. All very friendly like, but those two boys are beginning to sweat and look at the door like it was a long ways off."

  The woman frowned. "Well, I wish Miss Pat would get here, although God knows what she can do to stop it."

  As she spoke, there was the sound of a horse b
eing pulled to an abrupt halt outside.

  "Here she comes now," said a man it the right-hand window.

  Quick footsteps crossed the veranda, and the door opened. The girl who came in was a slender and imperious figure in a black riding costume that had a Spanish look, contrasting oddly but effectively with her crown of bright, fair hair. McKay, watching her approach, found himself correcting certain details of the picture he had carried in his mind for six months. She was no less lovely than he remembered her, but here in her own Country she seemed taller and more self-assured. He had moved aside a little.

  Patricia Terrill walked past him to the desk. "What's up, Ma?" she demanded. "What kind of a mess have those cow-nurses of ours got themselves into now?" Only then, belatedly, did she glance aside. "Why, Jim!" she said, startled. "I didn't recog-" She checked herself, shocked at what she had been about to say. "I mean, I didn't see you?

  It was not a very auspicious beginning.

  Chapter 2

  HE HAD FACULTY of stepping aside to watch his own progress in given situation. Now he could see the two of them standing there in the dingy hotel, facing each other a little warily after months, not quite oblivious of the fact that that they had an interested audience. Patricia was the first to move, taking quick step forward to seize both of his hands in both of hers and press them hard. "Jim, I'm sorry! I declare, I was just so busy thinking of something else. A couple of our riders have, gone and let themselves get-, Well, never mind the details, honey. It's local politics and, you wouldn't understand. It would have to happen today of all days! Just sit down and-"

  "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

  She glanced at him and laughed quickly. "No, darling, this is a job for experts." she released his hands, and turned back to the woman behind the desk. "How long ago did Steve Leech and the rest of the crew leave for the ranch?"

  "About an hour. You'll have to ride some to catch them, the way they usually travel." "Well, it's the only thing I can think of. Unless some of these men want to lend a hand..."

  She looked around. There was an embarrassed stir among the men in the lobby, but no other response. The woman behind the desk said sharply, "You've no right to ask that. Here in town we've got to get along with everybody. I've stuck my neck out farther than I should, sending for you. I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't hoped maybe it would prevent a shooting. Don't you go trying to drag these men into your dad's quarrels, Miss Pat!"

  Patricia colored at the reprimand, She stared at the woman angrily, then turned on her heel to speak to McKay. "Jim, you wait right there, hear? I'll be back as soon as I can."

  She walked swiftly out of the place. A moment later they heard her ride off to the west at a sharp pace. It had hardly been the tender reunion he had been looking forward to, McKay thought wryly, and then he was ashamed of himself for thinking this when, apparently, men's lives were at stake. He shrugged, moved to a chair by the wall, and sat down to wait, occupying himself by taking a letter from his pocket and rereading it carefully, although he was already aware of its contents.

  The letter was addressed, not to him, but to a firm in Fort Worth with which he had got in touch through his lawyers in Baltimore. It read,

  Dear Mr. Agnew, With respect to my property known as the Lazy M ranch, I repeat that I will not commit myself to sell at any figure until I have met and talked to the buyer. If your principal is interested, he can get in touch with me in San Rafael through my attorney, Mr. Michael Brockhurst. Please advise him that any inquiries should be made with discretion. Sincerely, J. Maragon

  McKay folded the letter thoughtfully and returned it to his pocket. He took out a pipe but put it away unlighted. He rose and went back to the desk where the stout woman was bending over a ledger. Her hair was quite white, he noted, causing her red face to look. even more colorful than it would otherwise have done. After a moment she straightened up to look at him.

  He said, "I might as well clean up a little business while I'm waiting. is there a lawyer in town?"

  The woman said, "Miss Pat said for you to wait here."

  McKay said, "She did, at that."

  The woman studied him for a moment, and said, "Most people around here go to Judge Canning, but he's over in Las Lomas, the county seat, for a couple of days. How much of a lawyer do you need?"

  "Just somebody to draw up a couple of legal papers in the proper language."

  "There's a fellow's got an office across the street, over Matt Cromwell's store. Been here a couple of years. Name of Brockhurst. Couldn't say how much of a lawyer he is, but it says 'attorney' on the door and he talks real educated."

  McKay said, "Maybe I'd better wait for Judge Canning."

  The woman shrugged. "Suit yourself. Nothing wrong with old Brockhurst though, that I know of, except he's got a way of looking down his nose at folks. That and a bad cough that he doctors out of a bottle of what don't look like medicine to me."

  McKay said gently, "I hate to think what you'll be telling folks about me, Ma."

  She looked at him with sudden directness, as if seeing him for the first time. Then she smiled a trifle grimly, looked down at the ledger, and picked up her pen.

  "Don't know enough to tell," she said, "yet."

  McKay stood by the desk for a moment longer. At last he nodded to himself and walked to the door, put the bowler hat squarely on his head, and crossed the veranda into the bright sunshine beyond. The street was still empty, except for a lean yellow dog trotting down the middle of it in a purposeful way.

  McKay went on across the street toward a frame building that bore the sign, Cromwell's Merchandise. The windows on the second floor were dusty and unlabeled. He found a stairway in the alley at the side of the building, and climbed to the landing. The door that confronted him held a handsome but tarnished brass plate neatly engraved, Michael Brockhurst-Attorney at Law, It did not seem to belong here, Well, all kinds of people undoubtedly found their may to Texas for all kinds of reasons.

  When he knocked, there was a pause and the sound of a drawer or cupboard being closed somewhere inside, Then a voice called impatiently, "Come in, come in!"

  McKay opened the door and stepped inside. The office was bare, containing only a desk, some plain wooden chairs, a shelf of dusty books, and a stand from which hung a wrinkled black coat and a wide-brimmed black hat. A big, gray-haired man stood by the desk in his shirtsleeves. There was something peculiar about his appearance, his clothes did not seem to fit him properly, and even the skin of his face hung a little loose and slack. McKay realized that he was looking at a man who had once been even bigger, perhaps a stout and cheerful and prosperous figure.

  "Well, young man, What is it?" the gray-haired man demanded.

  "You're Mr. Brockhurst?"

  "The name's on the door, isn't it?"

  "That would be fine," McKay said, "if I had come to business with a door."

  Abruptly the other laughed. He had a fat mans rumbling laugh. "The point is well taken, sir. Yes, I am Michael Brockhurst, what remains of 'him. I-" He coughed abruptly, turning slightly and covering his mouth with a handkerchief "Excuse ale," be said. "What can I do for you?"

  "You can put me in touch with a person named J. Maragon."

  The older man smiled. "I like your caution, sir. A person, eh? Tell me, are you expecting to meet a male or a female Maragon."

  "The letter I have was signed only with the initial."

  Brockhurst chuckled. "It was done by my advice. There are so many people ready to take advantage of a helpless female these unchivalrous days. You'll be the gentleman from San Antonio, then?"

  McKay said, "No, I was dealing through Harper and Agnew in Fort Worth. Do I have a competitor?"

  "If you had none, would I say so and spoil the bargaining position of my client?" Brockhurst smiled again. "Harper and Agnew. Ah, I recall the correspondence now. Mr. Agnew was very reluctant to disclose the identity of his principal."

  "My name's McKay. James McKay, from Baltimore."
>
  "Indeed," said the gray-haired lawyer. "I'm from Richmond myself, sir. McKay, McKay... I've encountered the name before."

  "It's not unknown in Maryland. but you're probably thinking of the shipbuilder, Donald McKay, no relation of ours."

  "No, this was another McKay. Something that happened a long time ago, before I-" Brockhurst coughed, more violently this time. "Before my health forced me to leave home," he said at last. "Well, no matter. Come along, Mr. McKay. I'll take you to Miss Maragon."

  Chapter 3

  THE HOUSE WAS A SMALL ONE at the end of a short side street where the shading cottonwoods seemed to have a better grip on life than in the center of town. A saddled horse-a big, rather clumsy-looking gray animal-stood half-asleep under one of the trees. Brockhurst made a sound of displeasure.

  It looks as if my client has a visitor. Well, we'll go in anyway. Romance will just have to wait on business, eh, sir?" He opened the gate and gestured for McKay to precede him, saying, "just a minute, now while I make sure of this latch. Miss Maragon is very particular about keeping the dogs out of her garden, and I have no wish to be reprimanded like one of her schoolchildren."

  "She's a schoolteacher-" McKay said. "She doesn't run the ranch herself, then?"

  "Running a ranch is not a job for a lady, Mr. McKay, certainly not in this barbaric land. The Lazy M ranch has not been in operation since Miss Maragon's grandfather died some years ago. That's one reason it's being offered at such an attractive figure."

  "That's funny," McKay said. "In his last letter, Mr. Agnew gave me the impression he thought the price was still a little high."

  Brockhurst grinned. "I can see you've got good Scots trading blood in your reins, Mr. McKay. But don't waste your talents on me. I have no authority to bargain with you." He knocked on front door. "A word of warning. All's fair in love and real estate, no doubt, but don't be too generous with your flattery, if you follow me, until the gentleman with the horse takes his departure."