by Ray Hogan
“It’s got him watching close all right. Hadn’t been in town thirty minutes when he jumped me. Then when I headed out this way, he followed. Expect he’s a lot better lawman than most folks give him credit for being.”
“I suppose. It’s probably that no one has any respect for him. Pa browbeats him terribly—overpowers him like he does everybody else. You ... you’re the first man that I’ve ever seen stand up to him in my entire life. And to hit him like you did—”
Shawn shrugged. “You don’t seem much afraid of him.”
“I’ve never let myself show it but I guess he does sort of awe me. I’ve found the best way for me to get along with him is to act smart with him—be flip. He puts on a big show of being irritated by it but I think he’s sort of pleased. Anyway, I’ve got no problem with him.”
Rhoda Hagerman just sort of lay back and floated with the current, taking everything for granted and accepting, come what may, Shawn realized. He wondered if it had occurred to her that all Hash Knife would be hers if Price Hagerman was told of Ron’s scheme to have him killed. The rancher would immediately turn from son to daughter in such event.
Undoubtedly she had thought of it; Rhoda was a smart girl. But the idea apparently did not appeal to her. There was more heart and feeling within her than the facade of flippancy she exhibited to the outside world indicated.
And she was frightened. Starbuck detected that in her words and manner, in the urgency of her voice—and by the very fact that she had taken him, a stranger, aside and laid her troubles before him.
“What about Ron?” he said then, stating an obvious question: “Have you talked to him about it?”
“I thought about that. It was the first thing that came to my mind when Orly told me what he’d overheard. I planned to go straight to Ron, accuse him and have it out with him.”
“But you decided against it?”
The girl nodded wearily. “It seemed best. Ron and I have never been close, like a brother and sister ought to be. I was afraid if I went to him that it would only widen the gap between us, force him to be even more distant than he is. Besides—what could he do about it? He doesn’t know who the killer is or when he’ll come.... He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to.”
“Does he?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes I think so, and then after a set-to like today’s when Pa was especially nasty with him, I don’t believe he does. I ... I guess I’ve just followed the easiest course, let things rock along, hoping matters would work out—or that somebody would come along that I could talk to and maybe lean on for support ... Like you, Shawn.”
Starbuck paused before the fallen tree. He sat down slowly. “No—don’t depend on me.”
Rhoda continued to study him, hope not fading from her eyes. “If it’s money—”
“Not that. Expect to be here only a couple of days. It turns out this has been another wild goose chase, I’ll have to ride on. Lost a lot of time this year already because I let myself get mixed up in other folks’ troubles.”
“It would probably be for only a month or so. Whoever it is coming for Pa is due. Been over a month now since it started.”
“Ought to be others you could hire on.”
“Who? There’s nobody in Brasada, or here on the ranch. And the truth is, I’d be afraid to get just anybody. There are too many around who would just as soon someone would kill Pa. You’re the only one I’d feel safe with and that I think could handle the job.”
Abruptly Rhoda leaned forward, grasped Starbuck’s broad hands in her own. Overhead there was a quick whistling of wings as more doves came to rest in the cottonwood.
“Please, Shawn—help me! I’m afraid and I don’t know which way to turn. Stay here for just a month—one month. If the killer hasn’t shown up by then, you can ride out ... If not for my sake, for Ron’s. He’ll never be able to live with himself if it happens—I’m sure of that.”
Starbuck stared off toward the hazy hills. It would mean thirty more days lost insofar as his search for Ben was concerned—assuming this trip to Hash Knife was for nothing. But should that be the topmost consideration in his mind? What was a month if, by his presence, he could save one man from death, prevent another from destroying himself? In the long run, perhaps, the days lost would mean little for him, but they could count for so much where Rhoda—where the entire Hagerman family, in fact—was concerned.
He got to his feet slowly, nodded. “All right,” he said.
Nine
Rhoda was upright instantly. In the same motion she threw her arms about Starbuck’s neck, and, going to tip-toes, kissed him firmly on the lips. He pulled back, surprised and frowning.
“Now, wait—”
“Thank you, Shawn—thank you from the bottom of my heart! For the first time in weeks I feel like I can draw a full breath.”
His features were sober. “Don’t bank too strong on me. Only so much I can do.”
“I know. I’m not looking for miracles, but I’m sure if anyone can save Pa, it’ll be you.”
He made no reply, simply stood motionless looking down at her. She came only to his shoulder, he noticed, and despite the off-hand, devil take all impression she sought to convey, there was a strong need in her. That she was also a beautiful girl came to him again, and he hoped he’d not fail her confidence.
“Your pa,” he said, that thought bringing Price Hagerman to the front of his mind again, “is going to wonder why I changed my mind about taking his offer. Have to come up with a pretty good reason. He’s not an easy man to fool.”
“I know that, and we’d better start by not going back to the house together. I know him—he’d suspect I cooked up something with you.”
Starbuck signified his agreement. “You head out now. I’ll ride on for a spell, maybe talk to some of the help about my brother. Time I’m ready to turn around, I’ll have a reason worked out.”
Rhoda moved to where the mare waited, paused, allowed Shawn to take her arm, assist her onto the saddle. The small courtesies he paid her pleased her immensely, caused her eyes to glow. Smiling down at him, she lifted the reins.
“Thank you again, Shawn ... I’ll see you later at the house,” she said, and spurred away.
He did not stir but remained where he stood, watching her as she rode off. Shawn Starbuck was not a man given to regrets once he had come to a decision, but he was wishing, nevertheless, the task of safeguarding Price Hagerman had not befallen his lot.
The circumstances were anything but comfortable. A son arranging for a faceless killer whose arrival was unknown to everyone—who could actually be on Hash Knife premises at that very moment masquerading as an employee!
Against such odds he was expected to perform the near impossible and fend off or ferret out the would-be assassin and prevent the death of Hagerman—Mr. Texas—a man all too many would like to see dead.
He grinned tightly, walked slowly to the sorrel, and, jerking the leathers free, went to the saddle. It would take a lot of doing on his part; it meant staying close to the rancher, enduring his slashing tongue, his brutal irony and utter disregard for others. He could expect to find little free time for himself.
He would need to watch Ron closely, too. Despite the agreement made with the killer, there could come a tip-off of some kind that the younger Hagerman would receive—and betray. If such did occur, Shawn realized, he must be aware of the fact and thus be in a position to move quickly.
Wheeling the gelding around, he followed the creek for a mile or two, hoping to encounter some of Hash Knife’s riders. He saw none, and, vaguely disturbed now by a conscience that told him he should be near Price Hagerman if he was to carry out his promise to Rhoda, he cut back and returned to the ranch, coming into the yard from a different angle to the one he figured the girl had taken.
He rode straight to the stables, entered, and dismounting, s.et to stripping the sorrel of gear. That done, he stationed the big horse in a vacant stall, forked down a portion of hay, dumped a qua
rt of grain into the manger and then retraced his steps to the yard.
Halting outside the wide door, he looked to the old hut where Hagerman maintained his office. It was dark inside the small structure but through the open entry he could see movement and reckoned the rancher was still there.... Best to get it said and done with, he decided, and immediately crossed over.
Price Hagerman, sitting at his table, looked around, a scowl on his browned face. Shawn spoke first, figuring it better to state the reason for his presence before being asked.
“I’m taking you up on that job offer.”
The rancher’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his chair, tugged at an end of his bushy mustache.
“Why?”
Starbuck had known that would be the man’s first question. To him there had to be a reason behind everything, one that was always suspect.
“Just got to thinking about all that extra money. I can make good use of it.”
It was a reason Price Hagerman could understand. He nodded, said, “Thought you had a plenty for awhile.”
Starbuck’s shoulders stirred. “Could use a new saddle—and I lost my rifle a time back. Extra cash’ll pay for them. Anyway, all the time I was out I never ran into a single one of your hired hands. Big place. Talking to all of them is going to take longer than I figured.”
The rancher continued to toy with his mustache for another few moments, then rocked forward. “All right. A hundred a month and found suit you?”
“Fine with me.”
“Then move your belongings into the house. Be wanting you to do your eating and sleeping there. Got fourteen goddam rooms in the place and we’re using about half.”
“I can bunk with the crew,” Starbuck said, protesting mildly. He would find it easier to come and go as well as make his inquiries from that point, he felt.
“Hell with that. Best you stick close if you’re going to wet-nurse me.”
Shawn grinned, having a quick vision of himself or anyone else being a nurse to Price Hagerman. “Whatever you say.”
“Want you with me, no matter what. When I’m in here working, you’re to be standing by. I go out on the range, you’ll be siding me. Only time you’ll be on your own is when I turn in for the night. That clear?”
“If that’s how you want it. Going to need your help too in not taking any unnecessary chances.”
“I don’t aim to be ducking and dodging none. Got this ranch to run. Not about to start hiding out.”
“I understand that, just asking that you don’t take any needless risks.”
“Depends on what you figure’s needless. See about it later. Want you to get moved in. Tell the girl to fix you up in one of the extra bedrooms. If she ain’t around, tell Salazar, she’s the Mex woman we got to do the housekeeping and cooking ... Be supper time pretty soon. I’ll see you then.”
Starbuck saw no signs of Rhoda when he lugged his saddlebags and blanket roll into the house and it was Salazar, a short, round-faced, smiling woman who conducted him to the second floor and led him into one of the chambers that opened off a long hallway.
Tossing his belongings onto a chair, he turned to the woman. “Senora—”
“Mamacita,” she corrected at once.
“Mamacita, where does the patron sleep? Which is his room?”
She gave him a puzzled frown and pointed to a door at the far end of the hall. “There. It is the room that was used also when the lady lived. There is a reason why you ask?”
Shawn nodded. “I’ve been hired to watch over the patron. I need to know where he will be at night.”
Mrs. Salazar smiled approvingly. “I am pleased. There has been much worry for him.”
Starbuck looked at her closely. “By who?”
“By the muchacha. Also by the boy, I think, but he talks but little. It is possible the patron himself worries but he is too proud of heart to let it be known.”
“And by you?”
Mamacita smiled. “The patron I have known for more years than the children are old. I came here as a young woman. I have seen much, and I know much.”
“You don’t think he is in danger?”
“There is no doubt of such. There are many who hate him, but that has always been so—and is he not still alive? He spits in the face of those who would do him harm.”
“This time it is different,” Starbuck said quietly. “He’ll not know the man who hopes to kill him. None of us will. If a stranger comes be sure to tell me. I shall be watching but I could be away and not see him.”
“I will tell you, senor.” Mamacita Salazar paused. “How are you called?”
“Shawn.”
She rolled the name over her tongue. It came out soft-edged and gentle. “A good name,” she murmured and, turning, went back to the hall and down the stairs.
Starbuck waited until her footsteps had ceased and then entered the corridor. Walking quickly, he crossed to the door at its far end. Turning the knob, he stepped inside.
The room apparently was much the same as it had been when Eunice Hagerman was alive. Her mirror, combs and brushes were still laid out on the dresser. Pictures that evidently had meant much to her yet hung on the wall. Odds were, he guessed, her clothing still filled the drawers of the high chest and closet. Price Hagerman undoubtedly thought very deeply about his wife.
Feeling something of an unwelcome intruder, Shawn stepped to the two windows in adjacent walls. Both were open, and, looking out, he saw that it was a sheer drop to ground level and that there were no nearby trees or sheds that would permit entry from the yard. Anyone attempting to get at Hagerman would be compelled to use the inside stairway—unless there was an outside set of steps reaching the second floor at some point.
He descended to the lower floor, made a complete circle of the house. There was no means for gaining entrance except the doors of the main level. Relieved, he paused in the shade at the north end of the structure, brushed away the sweat gathered on his face. Guarding the rancher, once he was in his room, would likely be unnecessary. The killer would not risk coming into the house to seek out his target ... But just to be certain he’d suggest to Hagerman that he lock his door when he retired for the night.
Shawn glanced to the sun. It would be at least another hour before the evening meal would be served. He’d have time to clean up a bit—shave, put on a fresh shirt. Eating at a table as part of a family would be an experience he had been denied since Muskingum. That was a long time ago, it seemed.
Ten
Both Price and Ron were at the table when Starbuck came down to the well furnished dining room. The elder Hagerman greeted him with a curt nod.
“We take our meals on time around here,” he said grumpily. “Supper’s at six o’clock. Expect you to remember that.”
Shawn made no answer, noting mentally that he’d not been advised of the specified hour, noticed also that Rhoda was not present. The rancher, at that moment, looked irritably toward the door that opened into the adjoining parlor and connecting foyer.
“Where the hell’s that girl?” he muttered, and, rising, walked to the entrance and shouted: “Rhoda! What the devil’s keeping you?”
Ron, features expressionless, shifted on his chair, seemingly careful to avoid Starbuck’s glance. Price thumped back to his place at the head of the oblong carved Mexican table, settled himself testily. Mamacita appeared, coming through a different doorway carrying two large platters, one of fried steak, another piled high with fresh corn and boiled potatoes.
“Get it all in here, Salazar,” the rancher ordered. “We ain’t waiting no longer. She knows what time we eat.”
“Si, patron,” the woman replied, and, placing the food before him, turned back to her kitchen.
Hagerman helped himself to the meat and vegetables, passed them on to Ron. A rustle at the parlor door drew their attention, and, looking around, Shawn saw Rhoda. He rose to his feet, caught up instantly by the beauty of her.
She had pulled back her dark hai
r, secured it with a ribbon that matched the pale blue satin dress she was wearing. Ron paid her scant attention but Price Hagerman, a forkful of meat halfway to his mouth, hesitated, stared.
“You going to a ball or something?”
The dress, tight fitting about the waist, was cut low to reveal her ample bosom. Its full, flowing skirt brushed the floor. A small pink cameo hung from a fine gold chain at her throat, contrasted against the sun-tinted duskiness of her smooth skin.
She nodded to all, smiled at Shawn as he drew back her chair and seated her. Then her eyes, half challenging, met those of her father.
“No. I just felt like dressing up a bit, that’s all.”
“You ain’t never done it before.”
“Oh, I think I have. You probably didn’t notice. Be a good thing if we’d all do it more often.”
Hagerman grunted his disapproval at the thought of a man dandying himself just to sit down and eat a meal at his own table, and resumed his food. Ron, sullen and silent, took no part in the conversation.
Mamacita Salazar entered again, bringing more fare and smiling broadly when she beheld the girl who was obviously her personal pride and delight.
“Did you find out anything about your brother?” Rhoda asked when the supper was fully underway.
Shawn said, “Not yet. Haven’t had a chance to do much talking.”
“After the crew’s through eating will be a good time,” she suggested. “The men usually hang around the bunkhouse playing cards and the like.”
A silence fell over the room after that, broken finally by Price Hagerman. Without looking at Ron, he said, “You get that manure moved?”
The younger man nodded woodenly, said, “Yes.”
“Tomorrow I want you to ride down to the line shack on Bull Creek, see that it’s got plenty of grub stored up. Aim to have a crew working there next week and there ain’t no sense of them wasting time riding back and forth to eat. You figure you can do that?”
“I can, Pa,” Ron replied in a weary sounding voice.
“You know what kind of grub there ought to be there—stuff that won’t spoil and don’t take much fixing?”