Life was good for Pete Doubell at the moment. One, Hap Carne had finally come to trust him. He hoped Hap wouldn’t get into any trouble on that score. Secondly, Christine had come around to his way of thinking. Well, he was determined that he wouldn’t bring her any worry. And, last, the gold was waiting for him to pick up at a place only he knew about. The sun shone through the window on his leathered cheeks and he leaned back against the wall and relaxed.
He had known few better days.
Five – “No Greater Love …”
Hap Carne rode furiously out of town. He reckoned he was a dozen kinds of fool to take up with Pete Doubell again. Not once had he come out even in a deal with Doubell. It was always Doubell getting a good rake-off and leaving him lamenting. But the promise of two and a half thousand dollars in gold raked across his brain and brought thoughts of comfort he had always wanted.
This time it just might be. Whatever else Pete Doubell was, he was not a liar, at least not to close friends. Pete was a schemer, right enough, but Hap couldn’t remember a time when the old jasper had deliberately let a close friend down. Hap Carne nodded at this thought.
The sun was hot on his face as he rode west. The plain was open and the wind scorched his skin as it whipped by. He was glad that Doubell had told him the truth about the mare. The animal was a good runner, putting all of its heart into the job. Hap Carne looked back at the prairie rim outside town and gasped.
A rider appeared from the town’s heat haze and was coming on as if all the devils in hell were chasing him. Vince Carter, of course. Carne pulled Doubell’s coat about his withered frame. He had a five-minute start and he was heading into country he knew better than any man alive. His whole life, or as much of it as he wanted to remember, had been spent out here. He was familiar with every rock, every tree, every waterhole. If he wanted, he could live off this barren country for a year and suffer nothing worse than a craving for hard drink.
Carne’s confidence returned. Five minutes to a man like him was as good as a week to almost anybody else. He turned the mare off the prairie and reined her head towards the hills. Throughout the long afternoon he rode. On the heights he put the mare to a walk while he checked the country below. The lone rider was still there, coming on relentlessly. Carne realized then that Vance Carter, a man who had spent a considerable part of his life running from people wanting to kill him, would have learned a lot about following a trail. Most likely he could track a man even across rock country and could read trail signs as well as an Indian.
Carne went on. The heat finally went out of the afternoon as the sun dropped below the rim of the hills. Silence came and settled, then a light wind began to blow. Hap Carne worked his way off the heights and left a clear trail through desert country. But suddenly he cut off and went into a lava canyon. Here it was darker and there was the smell of sulphur. This odor had once led him to hope that gold or silver was buried deep here, but after digging his guts out the stink had succeeded only in turning his stomach. Now, disregarding the stench, Carne pressed through a wide, high-walled canyon. Coming out on the other side, he looked down into pasture land which stretched out to the half-breed country. Down there a man could get his throat slit for a dollar, but he could stay for months and live good if the ’breeds took to him. Hap Carne had no worries concerning them; they had come to know him as a man they could trust, a man who traded fairly, and who honored friendship.
He moved out of the canyon and wiped sweat from his face. Not for twenty months or so had he ventured this far south. He decided it was time to visit old friends. Grinning and feeling more relaxed than he had since leaving town, he worked down to the grasslands and set his horse for the settlements along the river.
Vance Carter stopped at the mouth of the canyon and worked his horse back and forth across the rocky ground. His keen eyes had already picked out the tracks of the rider in front of him. All afternoon he had dogged the trail of the man riding Pete Doubell’s mare. In his mind was one definite thought: to get his hands on the gold Doubell had thieved from the Bodie claim. He didn’t give a damn if it meant killing the old man and leaving him for the buzzards and coyotes to tear apart. Only the gold mattered, nothing else. He had seen the Bodie outfit leave town, but had found it easy to give them the slip and still stay on the mare’s trail.
Now the clear tracks in the dying daylight told him that Doubell was heading for the border country. A smile passed across his thin lips. Where else? Doubell moved about like the wind itself, smelling loose dollars and trying his damnedest to get his hands on them. A man like Doubell would know the stinking breeds of the border villages and it was more than likely that he had friends who’d give him sanctuary.
Carter removed his hat, wiped the sweat off his brow and went on. He was in no hurry. Doubell’s horse had to be as tired as his own. He put his horse into a fast walk and pushed through the canyon. He wrinkled his nose at the sulphur fumes and put his bandanna over the lower part of his face. At the end of the canyon he worked his horse up to a stand of timber and looked around.
The dot on the grassed plain below was moving slowly. Carter checked the country to the north. Heavy timber grew on the slopes. Ahead there was a great plain that ran beyond the border settlements. With any luck he could catch up with Doubell before he reached one of those towns. He put his horse into a run. For another hour he pushed the animal at full gallop. Then, as sundown began to purple the barren country, he came off the timbered slopes and worked his way down to the plain. There was no sign of Doubell. Ahead was a clutter of old shanty huts along the bend of a river. Carter looked behind and saw a lone rider emerge from the gloom.
Carter came out of the saddle, slapped his horse into cover, and crouched in dry brush at the base of a boulder. He checked his gun and sat back relaxed, thinking of how nicely ten thousand dollars would keep him in whisky and women.
Minutes went by and the rider came on, heading straight for the clump of boulders. When he was only a hundred yards away he turned in the saddle and looked behind. Carter thumbed back the hammer of his gun.
Hap Carne saw him too late. The old-timer drew rein and jerked upright. His mouth gaped.
Carter said, “That was a long ride for nothing, Doubell.”
Hap Carne couldn’t catch his breath. His pulse raced. He had no idea how this killer had managed to get in front of him. Carelessness, he decided, on his part. He had taken things too easy. His old head had let him down.
He said, “Who the hell’re you, mister?”
Carter stepped out of cover and pushed his hat to the back of his head. His teeth showed white as he grinned. His gun was level.
Hap Carne knew who he was but he played dumb. He pulled off his hat and used it to slap dust from his thigh.
“Nope, don’t know you, mister. What’s this about a man named Doubell?”
Vance Carter came forward a few steps, his eyes narrowed as he took in the wizened old face before him. When he saw the rider wasn’t Pete Doubell, a curse ripped out of him.
Then his stare went slowly over the horse and the man. He recognized Pete Doubell’s mare, his old hide coat and the flop brimmed hat.
“Where’s Doubell?” he growled.
“Doubell, stranger? Don’t know nobody by that name. In fact, I never heard of him. My name’s Hap Carne. I’ve been tryin’ to reach the border before dark. Won’t make it now, though.”
Carter’s eyes seemed to sink back into his head. His face went ugly as he realized what had happened. He drew in a ragged breath.
“Why you polecat, you sneakin’ ...”
“Hey, now hold on, stranger!”
Carter’s gun came up till it was pointing at Carne’s sunken chest. Carne’s whole body seemed to collapse, and fear sent beads of sweat oozing from his rutted brow. He shook his head and his right hand dropped to his gun butt. But he made no definite move, frightened to the soles of his boots that he might spark Carter into viciousness.
“Doubell, damn you! Wh
ere’s he at? You drew me outa town so he could get away, didn’t you?”
Carter lunged forward and grasped Carne’s arm. The old man lashed out at the outlaw’s face with his boot and missed. Carter yanked him from the saddle and onto the ground, then he drove a boot into his ribs. Bone snapped. Carne groaned, holding his side with both hands. His breathing was loud, tortured.
Carter took hold of the back of his shirt, reefed him to his feet and shoved him back against a boulder. Then he slapped the old man’s face hard, several times, and watched blood trickle from the thin mouth.
Grabbing him again by the scruff of the neck, Carter barked, “Now, damn you, talk! You’re wearin’ Doubell’s coat and hat and you’re ridin’ his horse. Damn you, don’t give me any more lies. Doubell sent you this way to draw me off. No matter. Just tell me where he’s headed.”
Carne wiped blood from his lips and looked fearfully at the tall man in black. He had known moments of fear in his life but he’d never experienced this kind of terror. He looked into Carter’s eyes and saw only death. Finally he managed to lift words from his throat.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, mister. I bought me a horse from an old dodger down on his luck. He threw in the coat and hat for another dollar. Wasn’t sensible to argue against a deal like that, was it?”
Carter hit him again. Carne rolled across the face of the boulder, groaning. His legs buckled under him and he dropped to the gritty sand and stayed hunched over. But all the time he was thinking of his gun, of Carter’s complete confidence in himself and why shouldn’t he be confident? Why should a gunfighter of reputation worry about an old man down on his luck with time running out on him? Everybody made mistakes, Carne told himself. Even Carter’s kind.
“I don’t know nothin’, damn you!” he croaked. “If you want what I got, go ahead and take it. Only don’t hit me again. I’m old and I’m sick. I got maybe a year or two left and I don’t want to be hurt no more.”
Carter’s boot cracked into the side of his face. Blinding pain shot through Carne’s head. But he rolled with the kick, and despite the agony of his smashed ribs, he twisted his body around, hiding his holster from Carter’s sight. Then he had his gun out. His face flooded with satisfaction when he saw Carter standing, feet planted wide, just a yard away.
Hap Carne lifted the gun. There was the bark of a shot and he felt his mouth torn open. Something ripped through the back of his throat. Then blood flooded into his mouth, choking off his cry of pain. Another shot sounded, and Hap Carne’s head exploded. He could still see Carter, could see smoke rising from the barrel of his Colt. The man was grinning. Carne dropped his gun, then his body went limp and he collapsed like a skinny bag of wheat. Carter holstered his Colt and swore. He stood for a moment looking into the distance. He was four hours from town. Which meant that Pete Doubell was four hours along a trail in the opposite direction.
Carter fetched his horse, swung up and turned back the way Hap Carne had come. In his mind was another thought. Kill Doubell! He kicked his horse into full gallop.
Blake Durant idly watched a poker game for an hour or so while he got rid of the desert sand from his throat. His eyes still burned from the drive of the hot wind and the swirl of dust over the last seven days. But he felt a lot better after a good meal and a few drinks. Returning to the bar counter, he set down his empty glass and nodded for the barkeep to refill it. He was conscious of movement at his right side. He glanced that way to find Ray Coulston studying him grimly.
“So you’re still here, Durant.”
“Can’t think of a better place to be, Sheriff.”
Coulston mopped his brow. He was a big man whose heavily fleshed face seemed to be trying to melt away on him. He dropped his elbows on the counter and sighed wearily.
“Well, guess it don’t matter now anyway. Did you know that Carter moved on?”
“Nope.”
“He went out after an old jasper on the run. Mighta been Doubell, eh?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Coulston studied Durant intently for a moment, then he picked up his drink, turned his back to the counter and made a study of the customers in the room. He knew every face there—cowhands from the Bar Nine, the store men from Sommerville’s, timber workers from the river camps, and a sprinkling of townsmen who kept their own company at the far end of the room.
“What you said earlier about how you met up with Doubell and Carter, Durant. Was that how it was, all the way?”
“That was how it happened,” Durant told him.
“Didn’t kill anybody, eh?”
“No one.”
Coulston eyed him severely. “Not even when they were shootin’ at you, tryin’ to blast your guts out?”
Blake sighed and turned to face the lawman. For a short moment his stare played on Coulston’s troubled features. “Sheriff, what else do you want to know? I’d be obliged if you’d get to it.”
Coulston’s lips tightened but then a gleam of amusement appeared in his gray-green eyes. “No, there’s nothing else. Bodie took his outfit out after Carter and Doubell. I guess we should have a quiet town now. So, maybe it don’t matter if you stay or go, just so you don’t get tangled up with anybody else. It’s a good town, Durant, one of the best. The folks here are hard to get to know but it’s well worth the effort. Maybe we could even find work for you some place in a day or two.”
Durant nodded. “That might help, Sheriff.”
“How are you fixed for money?”
“I have enough.”
Coulston studied him briefly before he ran the back of his hand across his perspiring face. He didn’t really mind Durant’s show of reserve. After all, the man had done nothing more than wander into a situation. He hadn’t gone looking for trouble. So the lawman gave Durant a nod and went out. When he reached the batwings, he delayed a moment, his body straightening. Then he shrugged and went on his way.
The barkeep, hovering near Durant, said, “Coulston’s about the best lawman we ever had in these parts. He doesn’t back away from anything or anybody.”
“Good for him,” Durant said, then he picked up his drink and went back to the card tables. Time drifted by and he felt the tension of the week leaving him. As far as he could tell, the people here looked prosperous. They certainly seemed good-natured enough. He’d heard no hard talk in the saloon except the grumbling of one of the card players who was getting kicked in the teeth by Lady Luck.
It was close to nine o’clock when Durant looked at the wall clock. He figured it made good sense to stay on. He’d get a good night’s rest and Sundown would have more time to regain his strength. He checked at the bar and was told lodging could be had at the rooming house in the main street. Not remembering any main street, Blake asked for more definite directions. Getting them, he went off, leading Sundown. The big black caused a little interest as he passed under the swinging overhead lights in the widest of the three alleys leading to the bottom of town.
After stabling the horse, Blake paid for a room for the night. Lying on the bunk, still fully dressed, he looked at the fly-stained ceiling and thought of a time long ago when he hadn’t spent his evenings alone ... when his last thoughts at night had been about Louise Yerby. He remembered dreaming of her coming out of a church, dressed in wedding white, holding onto his arm. But it was not to be. It was never to be.
His eyes were closing, shutting out memories, when he heard the tramp of boots in the passageway outside. The heavy steps came on and passed, then doors creaked open and good nights were said. Suddenly Reke Bodie’s voice brought Durant wide awake.
“We’ll tear this whole damn town apart in the morning. Before we’re done we’ll find that girl.”
“What girl?” asked another voice.
“The one Doubell rode into town with. Coulston mentioned her to me just now. She didn’t cut out with Doubell, so if she matters enough to him to pick her up while we were on his trail, she’ll still be important enough for him to
come after. When we find her, we’ll get to learn where Doubell’s headed, or we’ll stand tight and keep an eye on her. Either way we’ll get that gold, no mistake.”
Durant heard two doors close, then silence settled. He pulled the covers over his body and rolled onto his side. Within a minute he was asleep.
Six – Lawman’s Deal
Blake Durant walked into the dining room to find Reke Bodie and his men waiting for breakfast. Their gaze swung to him and their talk stopped abruptly. Blake acknowledged Reke Bodie with a nod, then walked to the very end of the room and sat at a vacant table.
Blake felt good himself, thanks to the relaxing evening and then the long sleep. He picked up the menu card and was reading it when Bodie drew up a chair and sat opposite him.
“Ain’t left yet, eh?” Bodie said.
Durant eyed him for just a moment across the top of the card.
“Maybe waiting for somebody to return, mister?” Bodie asked.
Durant shrugged as a tall, slender girl with uncommonly large eyes stopped at his side. When Blake lifted his gaze to her, she smiled warmly.
“I have a message for you, Mr. Durant,” she said.
Bodie looked up sharply. “What is it, Miss?” Durant said.
“Sheriff Coulston came by earlier, but you were still asleep. He asked me to tell you not to ride out before seeing him.”
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