The last thought shocked her. Blake Durant didn’t know where she came from, what she was like, what she thought about him. She realized with a shock that she wasn’t sure herself how she felt about Durant. She was confused and there seemed to be no end of it.
When her uncle swung up, she got into the saddle and then followed him along the creek. Now Doubell seemed a lot more relaxed and confident, but she noticed that he was careful to pick his way across country too hard to leave anything but light tracks.
Brushing her long hair back from her face, she tucked it under the brim of her hat, glad of the shade along the creek but acutely conscious of the growing pain working through her body.
Blake Durant picked up the trail of the old-timer and the girl within a mile of town. He tracked them without trouble across the wide, well-grassed prairie. But at the end of the grasslands the trail led west. The old dodger had purposely gone many miles out of his way before he again turned north. From that point Durant didn’t follow the trail directly but kept Sundown pushing north.
It was late afternoon when he came to the ashes of a campfire. He saw where two people had sat on the dusty ground, and he found some coffee grounds that had been spilled. Riding on, he gave Sundown his head and crossed a range of low hills. On the other side was a stretch of desert country. The wind was strong and the surface of the desert was smooth as silk. He rode into the wind and in the dying light of day Sundown climbed the heights of a second range. Durant reined up. There was a small town in the distance.
Lusc!
Blake swung down and gave Sundown water from his canteen, then squatted and rolled himself a cigarette. He was lighting the cylinder when the drum of hoof beats disturbed the silence of the evening.
The hoof beats grew louder and suddenly six riders loomed into view. Durant remained in his squatting position, but he transferred the cigarette to his left hand and his right touched his gun butt.
Bodie saw him first and gave a yell. His men bunched behind him. Bodie’s face was haggard with weariness.
He said, “What are you doin’ here, Durant?”
Blake flicked the cigarette away and rose lazily to his feet. “They tell me this is a free country, Bodie.”
“You’re waitin’ here for somebody. What the hell are you up to, mister?”
Durant’s gaze took in each of the riders in turn. He saw anger and impatience in those faces. It wasn’t surprising. After all, these men had lost friends. But Durant had no intention of knuckling under.
He said, “What I’m doing is minding my own business, Bodie.”
Bodie mouthed a curse and motioned for his men to get down as he stepped from the saddle. He took a few moments to get his weight settled comfortably on his bowed legs. Then, putting his hand on his gun butt, he said, “I saw you talkin’ to Coulston, as you know. But I didn’t hear what was said, Durant, and I damn well want to know. Coulston’s up to something. So are you. Now tell me what.”
Blake shook his head. “It’s no business of yours, mister.”
“I’m makin’ it my business, drifter!”
Blake smiled. “You’re out of your depth, Bodie. Don’t take it a step further because you won’t make it.”
Bodie looked thoughtful as he watched Durant’s gun hand. His own hand hovered over the walnut grip of his Peacemaker. Suddenly it went down, but before he or any of his men could make another move, Blake Durant’s gun appeared in his hand. The draw was so quick it brought a gasp from Bodie.
Durant said, “Okay, some of you jaspers start uncoiling rope.”
Bodie stiffened. “What the hell for, mister?”
“I’ve had you breathing down my neck long enough, Bodie. If you want your gold, you’ll have to get it back my way and no other.” His gun menaced the others. “Don’t make me wing a few of you to push my point home. Just get rope. You’re going to tie up Bodie and then each other. Make the rope tight or I’ll have to do it all over again and I don’t like wasting time.”
Bodie looked anxiously at his men and saw indecision in their faces. “You can go to hell!” he called out boldly. “Ain’t nobody tyin’ me up like a goddamned crazy steer.”
Blake walked to him and suddenly clipped a hard left onto the point of his jaw. Bodie fell at his feet, struggled to rise, then collapsed. Durant waved his gun at the others.
“Get on with it.”
He got no more argument from the Bodie men. Soon all but one were lashed to the trunk of a near-bald pine. Blake pushed the last man against Bodie and tied him securely. For good measure he took another rope and bound it tight about the six of them. He didn’t think for a moment that this would hold them long. Just long enough.
Climbing back onto Sundown, he smiled down at Bodie. “See you about some time, mister.”
And with that he rode into the night.
Vance Carter rode into town in the gloom of late dusk. He wore a mask of fury that Ray Coulston saw despite the dimness.
Carter went straight to the saloon and breasted the counter. He talked to the barkeep and came storming out after only one drink. Coulston was there to meet him on the boardwalk.
“Hold on a minute,” Coulston said. He leaned against the overhang post, trying to look as disinterested in Carter as he was in the drive of hot wind across his back. Behind him in the street, dust stirred as four townsmen walked slowly over and took their positions nearby.
Carter’s stare swept angrily from the sheriff to the men. His lips curled back in a snarl of rage as his eyes met the lawman’s gaze.
“What you want, Coulston?”
“Talk, Carter. I think it’s best if you and me walk across there to the jailhouse and spend some time together.”
“I ain’t got no time to waste with you, lawman,” Carter growled. “If you got somethin’ to say, spill it out. After that go lose yourself in a cell if you like.”
Coulston grinned at him. “This won’t take much of your time, mister. Let’s try it, eh?”
Carter drew himself tall, his jaw line bulging under the sudden clamp of his jaws. His hand touched his gun butt and slid away as he sized Coulston up. Ray Coulston pushed himself clear of the post and started to walk. Carter grunted something and headed back for his horse, but even as he tried to loosen the tie-reins, two men stepped up, flanking him.
Carter’s angry look slashed at them. Then there was a loud click as the hammer of a gun went back. Carter dropped the reins.
“Do like the sheriff says, Carter. As he told you the last time you came through, this ain’t the Platte country and you got no brand folks take notice of in these parts.”
Carter’s eyes slitted down and his nostrils flared. But he stepped back. Again his hand moved towards his gun butt but the barrel of a gun was rammed against his side.
“Be sensible and do what the sheriff wants,” said a second voice.
Carter sucked in his breath and walked under the threat of the two guns. The pair of towners stayed with him along the boardwalk, but as he moved into the jailhouse and saw Coulston at his desk, he grasped the door and flung it back in the two men’s faces. Whirling, he drew his gun and held it on Coulston.
“Now, damn you, we’ll do things my way. Get over here, lawman!”
Coulston got to his feet slowly. Through clenched teeth he snapped, “Buckin’ the law, Carter?”
“I buck any man who tries to stop me, lawman. Now tell those stupid towners of yours to head out of sight before I figure they’re in my hair.”
Ray Coulston didn’t flinch at the mad light in the gun handler’s eyes. He said, “I guess you realize how serious it is to draw a gun on a lawman who’s tryin’ to do his ...”
“Shut down, damn you! Just get here, fast!”
Coulston walked slowly across the room. Outside, a man called to the sheriff. Coulston lifted his voice. “Back off, Bonner. I’m all right. But if you hear a shot and I don’t show, then shoot Carter’s guts out when he tries to leave this building. Otherwise, just keep back.�
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“Out,” Carter said.
Coulston opened the door and eyed Carter speculatively. “What now?”
“Now we walk to my horse, mister, and if you don’t try any tricks you might live to see another sunrise.”
Coulston shrugged. “Ridin’ out, are you?”
“What I do is my business.”
“It’s also mine, Carter. This town don’t want you in it. Not today, not ever. Don’t come back.”
Carter snorted angrily and shoved Coulston forward. The four men had backed off and stood behind Carter’s horse. The gunslinger walked to the horse and brought it about so its bulk gave him cover. All the while his gun was pointed at an apparently unworried Ray Coulston. Carter climbed into the saddle and snapped:
“Shed your guns, all of you.”
The townsmen looked at Coulston who nodded. The townsmen dropped their gunbelts. Carter then whipped his mount about, gave Coulston a sneering grin and hit the horse into a run. He was only a short way down the street when a rifle cracked and the hat flew from his head. Carter reined the horse around, straightened it again and emptied his gun at the boardwalk. Ray Coulston hit the boards just a fraction later than his four helpers. Then Carter rode into the darkness.
Rising from the boards, Coulston glared savagely at the four men. “I thought I told you to leave him be. He hasn’t done anything we should shoot him for. Not in this town anyway.”
The men looked at each other, then one said, “Hell, Ray, none of us fired that shot.”
“Huh?” Coulston looked at their empty hands. Heeling about, he muttered, “Then who in hell did?”
His eyes picked out the hazy figure of a slim man at the mouth of an alley opposite the saloon. The figure had an extension to it which even in the bad light Coulston made out to be a rifle. He stepped off the warped boardwalk and crossed in quick strides to the man, taking his gun out as he neared him.
A lamp in the saloon suddenly went on and the yellow light revealed the slight frame, swarthy features and frightened eyes of a Mexican.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Coulston clipped out.
The Mexican looked past the lawman and saw the four towners draw close. He backed away, face working. Then, after a long look at Coulston, he pointed to a horse tethered behind him. Coulston turned and saw a body draped over the saddle, hands and head dangling. A frown cut his brow before his gaze swung back to the little Mexican.
The man slumped and had to lean against the building wall. “It is Señor Carne, a friend of mine, a friend of all my family. Señor Carne helped us out many times. He was a fine man, generous and good. He save my son’s life once and I never forget it.”
“Carne?” Coulston swept the Mexican aside and walked to the dead man. He made a brief inspection.
“How the hell did he get it?” he asked.
The Mexican’s eyes became bright with rage. He stared into the darkness that had swallowed up Vance Carter. “He killed him. It was out near my place, my little farm. Señor Carne was perhaps paying us a visit. But that man, that gringo killer, he came up to Mr. Carne and they talked awhile and then that man shot him down. Mr. Carne, he had no chance against that killer. When the gringo rode off, I put Mr. Carne on his horse and followed after him.”
Coulston let out a string of oaths. The four townsmen had bunched around him. Their faces were grave as they looked to the lawman for instructions.
Coulston jerked a hand the Mexican’s way and said, “Tom, get his statement and later on bury Carne. Looks like Carne helped Doubell out by drawin’ Carter off the old dodger’s back.” Coulston was walking away when one of the men asked:
“Where you going, Ray?”
“To get Carter.”
“On your own?”
Coulston came to a halt. His face was gray when he looked back at the five of them. A nerve jumped at his temple. In his mind was the infuriating thought that he had allowed a killer to escape. His idea had been to delay Carter, to make things as tough as he could for him and at the same time tell him nothing. But Carne’s killing had changed Carter’s status.
He said, “Look after the town. Make sure the saloon closes on time and see that the streets are kept empty tonight. As for the Mex, do what you can for him. See you.”
“But hell, Ray, maybe a couple of us should ...”
“No. This is my business.”
Coulston stormed into the jailhouse, filled his gunbelt with cartridges and then went out the back door. When he rode out of his town ten minutes later, he wore the look of a man bent on murder.
Eight – Lusc
Only a few curious people bothered to watch Blake Durant riding down the wide, quiet main street of Lusc. Under the street lights he looked like any other trail-weary man, hunched down in the saddle, his hat hiding his features from the overhead light. He reined in at the hitch rail outside the saloon and was coming out of the saddle when he sighted a young woman walking along the boardwalk. Her arms were full of parcels and she kept glancing about.
Blake hitched Sundown to the tie-rail and stepped onto the boardwalk. The light from the saloon fell across his tanned face when he pushed his hat back. Christine Doubell continued along the boardwalk until she found her way blocked by his big frame. Blake removed his hat.
“’Evening, Miss Doubell,” he said.
Christine gasped. Two parcels fell from her arms. She stepped back, looking at Durant with undisguised surprise, all color draining from her face.
“Mr. Durant,” she said breathlessly.
He picked up her parcels and arranged them on top of the others, then gave her a wry smile. “Come into some money?”
Christine, composing herself with an effort, straightened and looked defiantly at him. Blake couldn’t understand why she took this attitude. Maybe, he thought, she felt guilty about being part of the action which had left him stranded in the cabin, miles from nowhere.
“Money?” she said finally. “Why, why, no, Mr. Durant, it’s just we’ve been travelling for so long and Uncle Pete thought we should ...” Her voice trailed off.
“So Pete Doubell did come this way,” Blake said calmly. His eyes remained fixed on her but they were smiling. He didn’t want to upset her, for he felt certain that her innocence was not a veneer covering deep, sinister motives.
“He is here in Lusc, isn’t he?” Durant said.
Christine shook her head, then nodded, clearly unsure of herself. She shucked the parcels higher in her arms and one of them began to slide free. Blake reached out to help her again, saying, “Perhaps I should escort you home, Miss Doubell.”
“No, no!” Christine said in alarm, backing away. “I’ll be all right, honestly. There is no need for you to trouble yourself.”
“No trouble,” Durant said.
But Christine shook her head so adamantly that strands of her soft hair spilled across her beautiful face.
Blake shrugged and said, “All right, just trying to be a help.”
“Thank you anyway, Mr. Durant. I’ll be all right.”
Christine stepped past him and hurried on. Blake went back to the rail and rubbed Sundown’s nose. The stallion nickered and brushed against him. Durant, pretending to check on the reins, looked under Sundown’s handsome head and saw Christine Doubell look over her shoulder in his direction. He turned his back on her and walked towards the saloon batwings. But once inside the drinking place he stopped dead, waited a few moments and then, with two townsmen between him and Christine, he returned to Sundown’s side. Across the saddle he watched her enter the mouth of an alley. Taking no chances, Blake waited. Christine’s head showed at the corner of the alley a moment later and then she stepped out and continued down the boardwalk. Blake waited until she had crossed two streets before he followed. He kept close against the walls of stores, using the shadows, and watched her turn into a cottage yard. From a store doorway he saw her hesitate and then hurry up the pathway to the house. She stopped again on the porch before
a door opened and light slashed over her. She was past the doorway and out of sight with two quick steps.
Blake smiled, made himself a cigarette and looked over the town. It was quiet, a peaceful town. For now. He went along the boardwalk, then stayed close to the cottage fence. When he reached the yard she had entered, he went past with his hat pulled low over his face. Two cottages up, he entered a yard, and climbed two board fences to reach the back yard of the cottage Christine had entered. He went up the porch steps and listened to the talk inside.
Pete Doubell demanded hotly, “What you mean, you didn’t talk to him? Why in hell not? Durant won’t bite you.”
Christine’s reply came after a pause. “Uncle Pete, I thought I was doing the right thing. The way you’ve acted all along makes me certain you’re in trouble. I just thought ...”
“But what you did can only make him damned suspicious, girl. Last thing I want. Durant ain’t what he seems either, you can bet on that. I ain’t known one driftin’ jasper in my life who wouldn’t like to get his hands on some easy money. Why you think he’s on the drift anyway? You don’t think it’s because he likes the feel of a saddle under him, do you? Nope, you can bet it’s somethin’ a lot different, like gettin’ away from a past that’s fast catchin’ up on him. Believe me, girl, you got to pull yourself together. We can’t afford for you to make any mistakes. He didn’t follow, I hope?”
“I didn’t give him a chance, Uncle Pete.”
Blake heard the rustle of paper and knew she was opening one of the parcels. He stole along the porch to the back window, but there were drapes and he couldn’t see anything but a portion of a lighted doorway and a brightly-lit room beyond. There was no sign of either of them.
“Well, that’s somethin’ anyway,” Pete Doubell said in a less worried tone. “Maybe we’re lucky and he just came our way by chance. Damn him, he’s got no reason to dog our trail, has he?”
“Hasn’t he, Uncle?” she asked.
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