Tucker (1971)

by L'amour, Louis

  Had it been mere chance that they stopped under my window last night? What if Ruby knew I was in town and had somehow passed the word along?

  As well as the outlaws in Sonora Town, there were others holed up in the canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains. While there were cattle on the hills, there were not nearly so many since the four-year drouth that had ended in 1868. The cattle business in the vicinity of Los Angeles was, they told me, a thing of the past.

  Suddenly I saw a man crossing the street toward me.

  It was Hampton Todd. He stepped up on the boardwalk and stopped. "Are you Shell Tucker?" he asked.

  "I am."

  "I understand you have followed Miss Ross to this city. That you are persecuting her. Well, I want to tell you "

  "I do not know a Miss Ross," I interrupted.

  "What?"

  "I came here," I answered, "in pursuit of two outlaws and a woman friend of theirs, Miss Ruby Shaw. I do not know anyone named Miss Ross, nor do I have any interest in a person of that name."

  Deliberately, I turned away and started down the street. I had taken only two steps when he was upon me. He took hold of my shoulder, and I turned swiftly, throwing his hand off.

  "Keep your hands to yourself, Todd," I said. "I have no trouble with you, and I don't want any."

  He glared at me, angry, but suddenly wary. He was wise enough to see I was ready for trouble if he wanted it.

  "Leave her alone," he said. "Or I'll kill you!"

  "Take my advice, Todd, and ask the Wells Fargo agent to see his flyer on Heseltine. Do that before you get yourself killed. And watch yourself. Heseltine is in town."

  "What's he got to do with me? This . . . this Heseltine?"

  "Look at the flyer," I said, and walked away from him.

  "Go to hell!" he shouted after me.

  Chapter 13

  The last thing I wanted was trouble in Los Angeles, but Ruby Shaw had planted suspicion of me, and I doubted if Hampton Todd would examine the flyer. Nor would the Wells Fargo agent be inclined to speak up under the circumstances.

  He had probably overheard the altercation in the street, as others had, but he had to live here and stay in business, and from his standpoint his best course was to know nothing one way or the other.

  Hampton Todd was known and liked by many; he was disliked by some. But I was a stranger, and therefore suspect. The woman they knew as Elaine Ross was beautiful, and conducted herself as a lady.

  There were many solid, able men in Los Angeles.

  From all I heard the town had been fortunate in many of its early settlers, for such men as John Temple, Abel Stearns, and Benjamin Wilson had come to build, not to make their money and get out. Most of these men would be friendly to the Todds, and I knew none of them.

  It would be well for me to act with caution or I would find myself in trouble with people for whom I felt no animosity.

  At the livery stable I collected my horse and rode slowly down Spring Street and out of town, taking the road west toward Rancho La Brea.

  My best thinking was done when alone, and west of the settlement there were only a few scattered huts, clumps of oak trees, and in some areas, forests of prickly pear.| This was land where cattle had grazed until the drouth had killed many of them and caused others to be slaughtered to save the hides and tallow. Farther west was the little town of Santa Monica, with visions of becoming a great port, to rival San Francisco. A railroad had been completed not long before that led from Los Angeles to Santa Monica, and a pier built to deep water where ocean-going vessels could dock.

  As I rode I occasionally glanced back toward the pueblo, but I saw no one. It was a sunny, pleasant day. I could catch glimpses of sunlight on the sea, and in the distance I could see Catalina Island.

  Several times I drew up just to look out over the vast panorama before me. Close on my right were the mountains, a low, rugged range covered with chaparral and split by occasional canyons that offered a way to San Fernando Valley beyond. There were grizzlies in those mountains, although there were fewer now.

  My best bet, I thought, was to avoid Ruby Shaw and her new friends. Bob Heseltine and Kid Reese had ridden into Sonora Town and gone into hiding ... no doubt they knew to whom they could go for shelter.

  Along the slope of the mountain I found a wagon trail, no more than two ruts in the sparse grass, but it was a trail, so I followed it, and soon overtook a wagon with an old Mexican driving.

  He lifted a hand to me and I slowed my horse to a walk. His smile was pleasant.

  "It is a splendid view," I said, waving a hand at the wide expanse of grassland, oak clumps, and cacti that lay between us and the sea.

  He drew rein and I stopped beside the wagon. "It is a thing to be seen," he said, "and always the light is different. I have looked many times from here, and" he gestured toward the mountains "from up there."

  "I hear there are outlaws in the canyons," I suggested.

  "You are not afraid?"

  He shrugged. "I am an old man, senior, and a poor one. Why should they bother me?"

  The area now called Hollywood was known then as La Nopalera.

  "No man is poor," I said, "who can look on beauty. It lifts the spirit."

  He glanced at me, then away. "You have come from far?"

  "Texas," I said, "and Colorado."

  "Ah, I know them. When I was younger, senor, I was a traveled man. You come here for land?"

  "No," I replied, "I follow two men. They have taken what did not belong to them."

  "You are a Ranger?"

  "I am a man."

  He nodded to indicate the road ahead. "My home is near. At this time of day I drink coffee. You will join me?"

  Now, many people might have thought it a waste of time to talk with this old Mexican, but I had learned by now that no man's friendship is to be despised, and especially not by me, who had no friends here.

  His house was small, an adobe that stood on a shoulder of the mountain. There was a small corral close by, and several burros, two horses, and a small flock of goats.

  The house was poor, but neat.

  There was a young girl there, of sixteen or so, and a boy a couple of years younger.

  "My grandchildren." he said. "They help me. It is good to have grandchildren when one is old."

  "You had a son?"

  -"Three sons. One is in Mexico, and two are gone.

  They were vaqueros, senior, and the way of a vaquero is hard. One was killed when his horse fell with him after he had roped a wild bull. My son killed the bull, but the bull had a horn into him first. He was three days getting home, senor, and it was too late to help him."

  "And the other?"

  "The desert, amigo. The desert killed him, as it has killed others. At least, he went into the desert and he has not come back. Perhaps it was the Mohaves, for they had stolen horses from the ranchos. He pursued, separated from the others, and we have never found him. It was three years ago. If he could have come, he would have, for these children are his, and he was a good man, a good son."

  We sat at a table inside the adobe and looked out through the open door. From where we sat we could look far across the low hills to where the sun glinted on the sea. Below us was the almost flat plain, and the cienaga with its marshy ground. He rambled on, talking of his family, of his life there, and of the country around.

  And then he said, "These men you spoke of? They are gringos?" He hesitated, embarrassed. "I am ashamed. It is not a good word, gringo."

  I smiled at him. "What is such a name? It is nothing. I do not mind at all. It is a convenient name. People should not allow themselves to be disturbed by such little things. Yes, the men are gringos."

  My description of the men was as clear as I knew how to make it. The boy listened, too, and when I had finished he spoke in Spanish to his grandfather. Spanish was not new to me, for I had grown up in Texas, where half of our riders were Mexican. I knew what he said, but made no comment.

  "My grands
on says there are such men in Sonora Town. He has seen them. They live at the house of Villareal or so he calls himself. He is a man who puts on names as he does shirts ... and changes them more often."

  "He knows where this house is?"

  "He does know. He saw them only last night when he was at the house of a friend. They ride fine horses, and they leave their horses at the corral of Villareal He has a cantina, senor.

  A cantina in Sonora Town? "It is a tough place? I mean, is it a place where bad men get together?"

  "Si . . . it is. You must not go there, senor."

  It might mean a gun battle, more than likely with someone other then the men I wanted, and it would bring me no closer to the money that belonged to us.

  "Could your son slip a message under the without being seen? At night, perhaps?"

  The boy nodded. "Of a certainty. I go sometimes to a store that is close by. I pass the cantina.

  I wrote one line: Tell Ruby Al Cashion was not good enough.

  If they did not know already, that would tell them that I was in town, and then they must hunt me down. I did not think they would be wise enough to wait to see what I might do.

  Toward evening I rode back to town, but not by the trail I had left by. I rode down past the pits where Hancock's men were digging asphalt for roofs, skirted a few huts, and rode south to enter the pueblo from that side.

  After stabling my horse I went back to the hotel, but I had just reached my room before there was a rap on the door. A moment I hesitated, and then spoke. "Who's there?"

  "Sheriff Rowland. I'd like a word with you, sir."

  He was a well-set-up man, with a mustache and chin whiskers, laugh wrinkles around his eyes, and a pleasant expression. I'd heard of him. He was a good man, and only a short time before had engineered the capture of the bandit, Tiburcio Vasquez.

  "How do you do, Sheriff? I am Shell Tucker."

  He was amused. "I know. That's what I've come to talk to you about. You have business in the city?"

  "I am looking for a place to settle, and this is a beautiful spot."

  "I see." I indicated the rocking chair and he sat down.

  "I had word you were hunting a couple of men."

  "Yes, two men who robbed me. They later tried to rob a stage on which I was riding shotgun."

  "I had not heard of that." He frowned. "What is your official capacity?"

  "I do not have any. I'm acting to recover money they stole from me months ago."

  "You believe they still have it? You are optimistic, sir."

  "I am sure they still have it, or most of it. I haven't given them time to spend it."

  Then I explained, telling all the events from the original loss of the money . . . the death of my father, and my meeting with Con Judy.

  "I know of him. He has been here, discussing some railroad construction."

  I could see that the name had carried weight, and I mentioned a couple of others I had met.

  "You make my task difficult." He paused. "You see, sir, we cannot have strangers coming into town who are apt to cause trouble. I won't have gunfights here. There's been too much of that in the past, and the new people who are coming out to settle here want law and order. I am afraid, sir, that I must ask you to leave town."

  "Did Hamilton Todd have anything to do with your decision?"

  He did not care for that. He gave me a sharp look. "I make my own decisions, young man. Yes, he did lodge a complaint. Miss Ross told him you were following her, that you had caused trouble for her family."

  "I will leave, Sheriff. In fact, I think the men I am following will also leave, but I suggest you go to the stage office and check the flyer they have on the men I am following, and on the woman who has accompanied them."

  He stared at me. "You mean there's a notice out on those men?"

  "Yes. And the woman is mentioned ... and described." I hesitated just a moment. "Mr. Todd is a young man ... Ruby Shaw is very attractive, and very shrewd. And she is a skilled actress."

  "Who are these men you are following?"

  "Bob Heseltine and Kid Reese."

  Rowland was startled. "Heseltine? In Los Angeles?" He stood up suddenly. "I had no idea " He looked at me again. "You're sure?"

  "He was in Sonora Town last night. At Villareal's place."

  Rowland was a good man, a strong man and an honest one. He had looked upon me as a potential troublemaker, which in one sense I was. That he knew who Heseltine was, was obvious.

  "I have done my best to quiet the town, Mr. Tucker.

  And understand, I want no trouble here."

  "I understand. I'll certainly leave." I hesitated. "However, Sheriff, I'll not go far; and if I were you, I'd check that flyer. It might save you trouble."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ruby Shaw is Heseltine's girl. Maybe they are now in a scheme together, to bilk somebody out of money. If they're not, and Heseltine should get the idea that Todd is moving in on him, Heseltine might become very abrupt. Make no mistake he's a fast man with a gun."

  He left me and I turned in, lying awake a long time, listening to the sounds from the Plaza and from the hotel itself. Rowland's call had not turned out badly. He would not want Heseltine in town, and if my note did not start them moving, Rowland would.

  As for Hamilton Todd, I was through with him ... or so I believed.

  Chapter 14

  Was I a fool to continue the pursuit? Was the money gone? Or had they cached it somewhere? Pit Burnett had said Heseltine had given Ruby Shaw a wad of money when she took the stage for Los Angeles. Was that what she was using to hire the fancy outfit she had?

  It would not be unlikely for a girl like Ruby Shaw to come here with marriage in mind. There were too few pretty women in any town, and blondes were scarce.

  She was shrewd and knew her way around men, and a marriage with Hampton Todd might seem a nice outlook for a girl with her background.

  Did Heseltine know what was going on? In such a small community there would be few secrets, and Villareal might have warned him of what was going on between Todd and Ruby Shaw or Elaine Ross, as she now called herself.

  Awakening in the last cold hour before the dawn, I found myself filled with a sort of dread. Suddenly I wanted nothing so much as to be out of this town. What inspired the feeling I did not know, but I was never one to buck my instincts.

  Only a few minutes were necessary to pack my things and belt on my gun. Downstairs I went through the empty lobby, paused to look along the street where daylight was just beginning.

  The street was empty, the Plaza was empty. I crossed the street and walked quickly along it toward the livery stable, my boots echoing on the sidewalk.

  It was shadowy inside the livery stable, with only a faint glow from the lantern. In the stall my horse nickered and I saddled up, swung my saddlebags into place, and thrust my Winchester into the boot.

  The horse was the rented one I had ridden before.

  Having come west on the stage, I no longer had a horse of my own, a situation that must be remedied at once.

  Mounting, I turned the horse into the dusty street and rode quickly down Main Street. Water trickled in the zartja. Under a couple of slender eucalyptus trees, and partly screened by clumps of century plant, I pulled off the street and looked back the way I had come.

  A wagon with a double sprinkler was laying the dust on Main Street. It was the only thing in sight. I was now where the houses were more scattered, and soon I would be turning into the road that followed what had once been an Indian trail leading west toward Santa Monica, but though I watched for several minutes, I saw no one.

  There were groves of oranges, walnuts, and olives near where I waited, as well as further along, but they were poor places of concealment, so why was I so jumpy?

  Abruptly, answering to instinct, I turned off the traveled way and rode down a dusty lane between two rows of orchards, past several of Holloway's Patent mills, and into a patch of prickly pear, crossed and crisscro
ssed by horse trails.

  Once more I stopped, watching from hiding to see if I was followed. Riding into the prickly pear, I crossed a knoll and could see far ahead of me the cienaga, ten miles long by several miles wide over much of its area.

  The grass grew green there even in the driest weather, for most of that stretch was sub-irrigated.

  By a roundabout route I rode back to the old Mexican's home. He saw me coming, and walked out to greet me. "Come, amigo, come inside! There is coffee."

  I tied my horse at the corral, and followed him into the adobe. It was cool inside, and the view from the door was good. Any rider approaching could be seen -for some distance.

  "Now known as Wilshire Blvd.

  The boy came in. "The men you seek are gone," he said. "I saw them find the paper I left, and when they read it there was argument. Later they brought out their horses and they rode from town, but Villareal did not go."

  "I am not interested in him."

  "But he is interested in you. He went to the livery stable looking for a roan horse, and then he asked many questions. He knows what horse you ride, senior."

  "I shall not ride him any more. I want to buy a horse, a good one, a tough one."

  "There are many here," the old man said. "Since the cattle have become so few there are many horses. I will find you one."

  "Is there a way down from the mountain behind us?

  Some way that Villareal might know?"

  The old man shrugged. "There are ways, but he will not come close." He gestured. "I have guinea hens, and they are very alert. If anything strange moves they set up a fearful noise."

  We had guinea hens in Texas, and I knew there was no better alarm, for they were more alert than even a good watchdog. And they were scattered over the yard here and along the mountainside, feeding.

  The old man saddled a horse and rode away, and I sat by the door, watching the vast open space before me.

  The valley in which Los Angeles lay was fifty miles long by twenty wide, and from where I sat, much of it could be seen. Like the Pico House where I had stayed, the town was lighted by gas.