A foot found his ribs, forcing him onto his back. Another foot, boot-heel jabbing, came straight down, grinding into his belly. He felt something give inside and he retched up the last of his wind.
Suddenly a quiet voice from the entrance to the lane between the buildings slipped through the cooling night air, stopping the sounds of the men maneuvering around Cameron. “Leave him alone.”
The voice was light, cold, sardonic. “This is a gun I’m holding — so back off. And keep your hands high!”
Still Cameron’s assailants said nothing. He could hear their feet carry them away from him and he listened until the sounds faded and there was only thick silence. Then he felt hands, impersonal, neither cruel nor gentle, pull him to his feet. The hands went away and Cameron dropped to his knees.
“Stay there,” the man said. “I’ll get the kid out of the livery to help you.”
He started away and now his voice and the way he moved in the darkness registered on Cameron. This was Sax Larabee.
Sax Larabee had rescued him from a beating that could have meant his death! Why? To put Cameron in his debt? More likely on impulse, Cameron thought, recalling Sax Larabee’s unpredictable ways. Another time in the same circumstances he might stand by and watch a man hammered on until he died.
Cameron heard Larabee’s bootsoles whisper over the drying grass in the lane. Then that sound was gone. Time disappeared. He was conscious only of pain and of the necessity to make an effort to keep breathing. Then he became aware of light and noise. Hands touched him and lantern light bit harshly at his eyes.
Tod Purcell swore. “Roy, who did it? Roy …?”
“Get me a bucket of water,” Cameron said through battered lips. When the water came, he plunged his head into it. He reared back, snorting, and pulled off his hat. “Dump it over me.”
The cold deluge gave him strength enough to get to his feet. With Tod’s help, he walked into the livery. He located the horse trough and went head first into it. When he came out, he was able to stand on his feet without help.
“That’s a crazy thing to do,” Tod said.
“A man knocked me into a cold river once,” Cameron said thickly. “He had me beat about as bad as I am now. That water gave me juice enough to climb up the bank and whip him.” Surprise crossed his bruised and still bleeding features as his knees gave way and he sat heavily on the edge of the horse trough.
“Or maybe I wasn’t beat quite so bad that other time,” he muttered.
“You set still,” Tod ordered. “I’ll get some help and carry you home.”
Cameron had a room at the Widow Crotty’s. He thought of the way she would fuss around him, forcibly mother him if he should be bedridden. “No,” he said quickly, “help me to the doctor’s place. That extra room he calls a hospital is empty right now. I’ll stay there tonight and be fine by morning.” He forced himself to his feet and started to walk, giving Tod no choice but to come up fast and help him.
“And listen,” Cameron said, his voice faint, “when you get back here, take a lantern and go to McTigue’s gate. Look around real close. See if you can find anything — the way you found those pricklebush leaves on Larabee’s horse. Anything at all that looks out of place by the gate. And then go where you found me in the alley. See if you can locate a little piece of cloth. Flannel I think. I tore it off one of the pair that worked me over.”
“All right,” Tod said. “Now you shut up. Save your strength for walking.”
It was a block and a half to the doctor’s house. Cameron remembered only part of the walk. Later Tod told him he mover slower and slower until he was barely going at all when he reached the doctor’s porch. Cameron remembered none of that; he recalled only the feel of the splintery wood when he fell on his face at the doctor’s front door. After that there was only the darkness, warm and empty of pain.
VI
TOD PURCELL had a run of late business at the livery and it was well toward daylight before he had a chance to search the alley.
Footprints and scuffmarks in the alley dirt told plainly where Cameron’s two attackers had stood waiting and where the fight had taken place. It was there, between McTigue’s fence on the east and the rear of the Hay and Feed on the west, that Tod found the scrap of flannel Cameron had spoken about.
He expected to find little else and he was about to turn away when light from his lantern picked up a bright reflection. Squatting, Tod pushed his finger lightly in the fine dirt. A fleck of gold-colored metal appeared. Another. Then a third.
“Fool’s gold!” he breathed in surprise.
He probed further, both in the center of the alley where the fight had taken place and at the sides, where Cameron’s attackers had waited. When he left, he had a small mound of the glittering pyrites in his palm. In the livery office, he shook them into one of McTigue’s business envelopes. He laid the scrap of flannel on the desk beside the envelope and stared down thoughtfully.
The flannel was plainly a pocket front. It was from a dark red shirt that needed washing badly. And, Tod thought, it shouldn’t be too hard to trace. But it was the fool’s gold that excited him. He knew there were no pyrites close to town. When he had been younger, he made quite a collection of the mineral, carrying it in a poke the way the miners carried their gold, pretending he had made a big strike.
He recalled now that the only two good sources for fool’s gold were the mines on the benchland back of Cameron’s spread, and some long abandoned tunnels up in the high-mountain country that blocked off the south end of the valley. And the finest place of all had been that mine in the box canyon a short way up from Rafe Arker’s place — the one where the Dondee brothers were working now.
Fool’s gold and pricklebush leaves — both from the hill country where Rafe Arker and the Dondees lived! And just as the pricklebush leaves had attached themselves to a horse, so could the fool’s gold have worked into men’s boots and dropped off there in the alley.
Not Rafe, Tod decided. He had seen Joe Farley pack the big man into a buckboard and haul him home as much dead as alive that night of his fight with Cameron. The Dondees then? He shook his head. He knew too little about them to say. Come daylight, he’d get the flannel and the envelope to Cameron and let him decide what they meant.
The day man showed up late, and by the time Tod got to Doctor Draper’s house, the town was beginning to stir with life. His knock brought the doctor himself to the door.
“I got to see Roy,” Tod said earnestly. “It’s real important.”
“Come back about this time tomorrow,” the doctor said. “He might be awake by then.” He frowned. “The rap on the head he took hurt him worse than I thought last night.”
His words jolted Tod. Somehow he had come to think of Roy Cameron as indestructible. He walked slowly away, trying to understand what this meant. He was crossing the main street, going toward Jenny’s café, when he saw Sax Larabee step from the hotel lobby and stroll south toward the livery barn. “Business on Sunday too?” he thought wonderingly. Stopping, he watched Larabee.
Larabee disappeared into the livery barn. Moments later he appeared on the bay horse he had come to favor. He walked the horse slowly south.
Tod hurried into the café to find Jenny getting ready for the morning customers. She served him pie and coffee and while he gulped it down, he told her what he had learned.
“The doctor said Roy would be all right in a few days — a few days!” Jenny exclaimed. “Why should anyone beat him so badly? And especially those Dondee brothers — if they were the ones.”
Tod showed her the pyrites. “It sure looks like they was the ones in the alley.” He frowned. “That stranger, Larabee, was there too — lucky for Roy. But I sure don’t trust him much more’n I do the Dondees. He went riding south this morning again. I’d like to know why he always goes to the same place if he’s so interested in looking at mining properties.”
“There are lots of mines on the bench,” Jenny pointed out.
&nbs
p; “There ain’t many places where pricklebush leaves grow,” Tod argued. “And every time Larabee comes back, he brings some with him.” He stopped eating and talking long enough to scribble a note on a leaf from Jenny’s account pad. He put the pyrites and the flannel and the note in the envelope and pushed it across the counter. “I’m going to ride after that Larabee right now and see where he goes,” he said. “If Roy comes to before I get back, give him these and tell him what I said.”
“I don’t think …” Jenny began, and stopped. Tod’s expression told her that nothing she could say would change his plans. She turned away and began to wrap some food for him.
“Just be careful, Tod. If the Dondees did ambush Roy last night, they’re nobody to fool with. And remember that Rafe lives down that way.” She thrust a package of bread and cold beef toward him. “Even if it means being late to work tonight, you come here as soon as you get back!”
“Roy taught me how to track,” Tod said. “I won’t get in no trouble.” He slid off the stool. “But I won’t be coming back. I fixed it with McTigue so I can start working for Obed tomorrow. Unless I find out something Roy ought to know right away, I’ll ride on west.”
Taking the food, he hurried out. Larabee would be well down the valley now, but Tod wasn’t concerned. He was sure he knew where the man was heading and that he could find him quickly enough. At the livery, he saddled his paint pony, stored the food in his saddle bags, added a canteen of water, and slipped his varmint rifle into the boot.
He took his time on the trail, letting the paint warm up well before he let it run. He slowed the horse before topping each rise, not wanting to warn Larabee by running onto him. But he was almost to Cameron’s spread before he had a glimpse of the bay and its rider. And that, he thought, was pure luck. The valley floor was empty ahead of him except for a few grazing cattle. But when Tod looked east from a high spot, he saw Larabee working his way along the ridge that ran behind the timber sweeping up from the valley floor.
Tod frowned, wondering why Larabee would ride a hard trail when he could take an easy one. It was a lot shorter way from town onto the bench, but because of the deadfalls and the washed-out bridges over the creeks, it made for hard riding. It could save time, all right, if a man was in a hurry. But from what Tod could see, Larabee was picking his way along like he was out for a Sunday ride.
Riding the ridge trail was one way to cut down the risk of being seen, of course. But who would Larabee be hiding from? The very fact of the man taking so many pains increased Tod’s suspicion. And now to protect himself, he rode closer to the edge of the timber, out of Larabee’s sight.
Larabee could only be riding for Arker’s place or the Dondees’ mine, Tod was sure. And so after a short ride south, he angled eastward into the timber, following a short cut that would bring him onto the wagonroad before Larabee reached it. When he reached the south edge of the trees, he stopped, looking carefully up the road. The rutted trail leading to Arker’s place was almost directly across from him. The side trail that led into the Dondees’ box canyon was visible at the top of a curve in the road well upslope. It was here that Tod fixed his attention.
He heard Larabee coming and then, shortly, saw him ride into view. But instead of reining the bay toward the Dondees’ place, he came on down the road and swung toward Rafe Arker’s. Tod waited until he was swallowed by the cut and then he spurred the paint forward. Pulling up in the pine thicket, he turned the horse off the trail and tied it. Then he moved forward on foot, following a narrow track that went over the east side of the hill through which the cut ran. He dropped down on the far side where the hill tapered into Arker’s yard, a little distance behind the blank rear wall of his cabin.
Tod moved quietly now, easing along the way Cameron had taught him until he was pressed against the cabin wall. He located a spot where the mud chinking had dropped from between the logs and tried to see inside. The narrow space between the two logs wasn’t enough for him to see anything but by listening closely he could hear most of what was being said inside.
He was in time to hear Arker’s rumble: “I don’t know who whipped Cameron, but it wasn’t me and Joe. I ain’t in shape yet to fight a rabbit. But I’ll be ready in a couple days and then that lawman better watch out.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Larabee’s cold voice snapped. “I told you most people in town think you beat up Cameron last night. If anything happens to him when you’re on your feet, they’ll come after you with a posse. And I want you free to move around Saturday night.”
Free for what, Tod wondered. He heard Larabee add: “Do it my way and you’ll end up getting everything you Want — Cameron, money, and that Purcell woman.” The door slammed, and in a moment Tod heard the jangle of harness as Larabee rode away.
“That Larabee’s smart, Rafe,” Joe Farley said. “You do like he says.”
Rafe Arker laughed. “If it gets me all them things, I sure will.” The laughter faded from his voice. “Especially that lawman. He’s what I want the most.”
Tod hurried back the way he had come, not wanting to risk losing Larabee now. He guessed the man would go to the Dondees’ place, but he had thought that before and been wrong.
When he reached the top of the hill, he glimpsed Larabee turning upslope on the wagonroad. He hurried down to the paint and climbed into the saddle. As eager as he was, he forced himself to walk the horse so as to give Larabee time to get out of sight. Even so, when he reached the road. Larabee was just turning onto the trail that led to the box canyon. He disappeared around a shoulder of rock, and Tod spurred the paint.
Where the trail led into the box canyon, Tod reined in and dropped to the ground. He tied the paint behind the shoulder of rock, out of sight, and moved forward on foot again. But now he could feel the weariness that came from more than twenty hours without sleep tugging at him. As excited as he was, the warming sun made his eyes heavy, his movements slow. He swallowed a yawn as he stopped just before the trail broke around the rock shoulder and into the box canyon.
Pressing himself to the ‘rock, he blinked his eyes to clear them and leaned forward, peering into the canyon. He could see Larabee and Jupe Dondee standing in the middle of the clearing. They seemed to be arguing about something but he was too far away to catch more than an occasional word. But from the way Jupe was glaring at a small mound of glittering pyrites on the ground at his feet, Tod guessed the argument was about that. Then Hale Dondee came down the steep trail from the mine dug into the hillside. He had a good-sized sack in his hand and he waved it at Larabee.
“I guess you out-foxed yourself, Larabee, when you said we could keep anything we made mining. Look at this!” His voice was excited, loud enough for Tod to hear him clearly. Tod swallowed back a desire to laugh when Jupe took the sack and upended it, sending a glittering stream of pyrites onto the pile at his feet. He said something the boy failed to catch and Hale began to stomp around, swearing. When he calmed down, he spoke to Larabee.
Tod caught only an occasional word: “… Saturday night … lawman …”
A light puff of breeze down the canyon wall carried most of Larabee’s words to Tod, but they made little sense: “Cameron … you gave him more of a beating than I wanted…. We’ll be lucky if he’s up and around by Saturday.” And after Jupe said something in a lower voice, “… I want him alive and on his feet when we make the hit.”
Tod was still trying to put meaning to Larabee’s words when the three men moved toward the cabin set on the far side of the small canyon. He frowned in disappointment. To reach the cabin, he would have to cross better than twenty yards of open ground, most of it in view of the two front windows. But now that he knew the Dondees were the ones who had ambushed Cameron, he felt he had to take the risk and learn what was going on.
He stayed as close to the rock wall of the canyon as he could, easing along with his gaze fixed on the cabin, ready to turn and bolt if the door should come open. He wished he had a gun but the only one he owned was b
ack with the paint.
The twenty yards were covered with agonizing slowness, but finally he reached a point even with the corner of the cabin. Breathing easier, he turned and sprinted to his right. He reached the cabin wall and dropped to his knees until he caught his breath. Then he sought a weak spot where he might overhear as he had at Rafe Arker’s place. But this cabin was too tightly built and finally he risked crawling around beneath one of the open front windows.
Shock ran through him as he heard Larabee’s smooth, cold voice saying, “I want Cameron there because when the time comes for us to make our play, he’s the one man who won’t interfere.”
And Hale Dondee said, “You trying to tell me that Cameron’ll let us bust open that bank?”
A horse neighing from the corral behind the building drowned out the rest of Hale’s words. When the sound quieted, Tod heard Larabee say, “When the time comes, he’ll be looking the other way.”
Not Roy, Tod thought desperately. He couldn’t be in with these men. He couldn’t be part of a plan to rob the bank of the money paid in by the army! But then, why had the Dondees beaten him up? Had he been part of the plan and then tried to back out — and given a beating to bring him back into line?
Then he heard Jupe Dondee say, “If he don’t run scared? Or if he don’t do things the way you want him to — what then?”
Larabee’s answer came so softly that Tod barely heard it. “He will. That’s my job — to see that he does nothing while we help ourselves to over twenty thousand dollars worth of gold.”
To see that Roy did nothing while … Tod sucked in his breath. Some way, Larabee had a hold on Roy Cameron. Some way, he was going to force Roy to help him steal the money that was going to help the valley people get through the long winter ahead. He had to help, he thought He had to find Roy and get him to explain so he could know what to do to help.
The Desperate Deputy of Cougar Hill Page 5