The 8th Western Novel

by Dean Owen

  Meade Jellick said, “Eric, my head is hurtin’ something fierce. I got to see the doc when I get to town. I can’t stand this pounding. I got to slow up.”

  “Keep moving,” Eric snapped, and glanced toward the mountains again.

  Jellick said, “You boys go on ahead. Me an’ your sister will take it easy. If she don’t she’s goin’ to fall outa that saddle and get trampled.”

  “Yes, maybe you’re right. Keep out of sight as much as possible, Meade. If Anchor comes—Well, we’re only five miles from town. I don’t think they’ll bother you.”

  April felt a slow chilling fear begin to build in her. “Eric, I want to go with you.”

  “I want the sheriff to have us sworn in as deputies by the time Anchor gets to town,” Eric said. “They’ll be sure to trail us there from the ranch.”

  “But Eric—”

  “You can’t keep up with us.” She saw her half-brother give Meade Jellick a sharp glance. “I’m trusting you, Meade. You know what I mean.”

  “I got me a sickness in the head,” Jellick said. “Don’t worry none.”

  And he did look ill. He kept closing his swollen eyes. She thought maybe the wound under the bandage had started to bleed again, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “Eric, leave me your revolver,” she said. “I’ll feel better if you do.”

  Eric Ward licked his lips, hesitated, then drew an extra revolver from his saddlebags. He moved close, dropped the weapon in the gray’s saddlebags. “You’ll be in town before you know it.” Then he and the other three men spurred on ahead.

  For a half mile she and Meade Jellick rode at a walk without speaking. Then she saw a stone rolling in front of her horse. She never did know whether Jellick had thrown it or whether it had come down from a brushy bank to the right of the road. Her horse started to pitch and she felt a surging panic, but Jellick came in close. He caught the bridle and jerked the horse around with his terrible strength, quieting it. And she saw to her horror that with the other hand he had drawn from her saddlebags the revolver Eric had given her. Jellick threw the weapon far into the trees that bordered the north side of the road.

  “Tut Tyler was drunk out back of the Jewel and he looked through the window and seen your brother hit me over the head with a gun,” Jellick said. “I felt like killin’ Eric. I will. But first I’ll give him something to sweat about. Get down off that hoss!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rim decided against trying to take Bert Stallart all the way to LaVentana in the wagon. It would be better to leave him at Anchor. And besides, this was what Stallart wanted. He was against going to town. Rim sent a rider on ahead to alert Doc Snider. There was a possibility, however slim, that the doctor might be able to reach headquarters within the hour of the wagon’s arrival.

  In order to make sure Jellick didn’t try to finish his murderous day, Rim ordered some of his men to accompany the wagon. He then sent five riders to headquarters to guard the ranch buildings and Marcy Stallart, for there was no telling what Jellick and Ward might try next. Then with ten men he rode for Ward’s T ranch. Forgotten was roundup. Let the herd they had started to build drift back into the hills. Nothing mattered now but settling with the enemy. There was no other way. If Jellick and Ward won this private war then Anchor was finished.

  They picked up Jellick’s trail some five miles from the scene of the shooting. From the sign Rim could tell that the horse was limping badly. He couldn’t be too far ahead of them.

  Now that the heat of the sudden fight in the hills, his killing of two men, the confession of Stallart, had faded a little, Rim wondered just how he felt about his partner. Or was it ex-partner? He had voiced some platitudes back there, about loyalty to one’s outfit, one’s partner. No matter what a trying few weeks it had been with this partner. How much better it would have been if Stallart had disclosed the reasons for Jellick and Ward acting as they had. A lot of lives would have been saved. No matter how this turned out he would always blame Stallart for letting Jellick not only push him into a corner, but fill his head with vicious gossip.

  How much better if Bert Stallart, following the bitter experience with his first wife, had married a homely woman. One that a man would find it hard to suspect of anything at all. It was Stallart’s bad luck that he had married a woman of Marcy’s good looks. And it went without saying that it was also Marcy’s bad luck—

  After a cautious approach to Ward’s headquarters they found the place deserted. Then they saw the sign; six riders had headed east not too long ago.

  “We’ll use those ropes yet, boys,” Rim said. “They can’t be far ahead of us.”

  They followed the trail that led toward LaVentana. One thing puzzled Rim as he studied the tracks left by the six horses. The cavalcade was moving slowly. Apparently in no hurry. He felt uneasy. Was Ward setting up an ambush? Hoping they’d follow this main trail and leave themselves open for an attack on their flanks.

  Then in the distance he saw two saddle horses tied off in the trees. He dismounted, told the men to wait for him and went on afoot. He cut through some junipers bordering the road, trying to keep downwind from the two tied horses. Then something vividly green caught his eye. He paused, feeling his heart lurch. He hurried forward. The green was a length of green cloth, a woman’s dress, as he had feared. It was torn, trampled into the dust. He remembered such a dress worn by April Ward the day of his fight with Jellick.

  Cocked gun in his sweating hand, he moved forward. And the two saddle horses caught his scent and neighed.

  Above this warning sound he heard a girl’s fierce sobs. And Jellick saying, “You might as well make up your mind to it—”

  “The horses!” the girl cried. “Somebody’s here! Help!”

  And then Rim was through a waist-high screen of brush. “Easy, Jellick,” he warned.

  Meade Jellick, head lifted now to peer in the direction of the whinnying horses tied off in the trees, whirled. When he saw the gun pointed at his belly, he pushed his hands wide from his big body.

  April was moving crab-wise across the dusty ground. Dust stained a long undergarment that had narrow green ribbons at neckline and hem. Her gray eyes were wide with terror, as her gaze swung from Rim to Jellick. She got up, crouched like some animal ready to flee.

  “See if there’s enough left of that dress to cover you,” Rim said, without taking his eyes from Jellick. Then he raised his voice, shouting, “Come on, boys! I’ve got Jellick!”

  By the time they rode up April had slipped into the dress, holding the torn length about her. The Anchor men surrounded Jellick, disarmed him, tied his hands behind his back.

  Jellick spoke for the first time. “Bolden, you’re too yellow to go for me man to man with a gun.”

  “Since when do you call yourself a man?”

  The Anchor crew stood around uncomfortably, all too aware of what had been about to take place here had it not been for Rim’s interference. The girl stood watching them. There was a streak of dust on her hair, a smudge on one cheek. She looked frightened.

  “You ride with us,” Rim told her. “You’ll be safe with Mrs. Stallart.”

  “My—my brother has gone to LaVentana—”

  “You come with us,” Rim said, and tried to find some reason for a gentle girl like this having Eric Ward for a brother. A man who would think so little of her that he’d give Meade Jellick an opportunity to get her alone.

  “What’ll we do with him, Rim?” Ed Rule said.

  “I think Bert Stallart ought to see this.”

  When they were riding toward Anchor, Rim saw to it that April brought up the rear so the men couldn’t stare at her. She was hardly dressed for sitting a saddle. And she had to keep one hand holding the dress together.

  “What are you going to do with him?” she asked in a small frightened voice.

  “Something I should have do
ne a long time ago,” Rim answered.

  “My brother has gone for the sheriff. Jellick can be turned over to him.”

  Rim made no reply, trying to keep his mind off the anger that was churning in him. But at last he could no longer restrain himself. “Just how did you happen to be alone with Jellick?”

  She told him.

  Rim shook his head slowly from side to side. “And you say Ward is your brother.”

  “Half-brother.”

  “He acts as if you were a complete stranger.”

  “Ward has problems. I suppose he just didn’t think.” When he looked back at her he saw that her head was bowed. He saw a tear fall against the horn of the saddle. “Thank you for what you did, Mr. Bolden.”

  They said nothing more until they at last reached Anchor headquarters. He saw the wagon in the yard, saw the rest of his men. Now as he had many times in the past, he wished he had a seasoned, tough, gunfighting crew. But you couldn’t expect a bonus like that when you hired men for cowman’s pay.

  “I see you got Jellick,” one of the men said with satisfaction.

  “Yep, we got him.”

  “How soon you figure to swing him?”

  “Right away. How’s Stallart?”

  “Tolerable. We carried him into the house. Doc Snider oughta be comin’ directly.”

  Rim rode up to where April waited by the house. He dismounted, helped her from the saddle. She had to grip the dress with both hands to keep it from falling apart. He hurried her into the house. Marcy, standing in the center of the big kitchen, wearing a gray dress, looked startled.

  “Will you help her, Marcy?” Rim said. “She’s had a bad experience. Miss Ward, this is Marcy Stallart.”

  “How do you do,” April said in a shaking voice.

  Marcy said, “Come upstairs, my dear. I think I have a dress that will fit you.”

  Marcy directed the fat Mexican cook to take April to an upstairs bedroom. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  And when April and the Mexican woman had gone, Rim said, “Marcy, I want you to take her to a back bedroom. I want you to stay there with her.”

  She gave him a questioning glance, then through the kitchen window she saw Meade Jellick throwing his giant’s shadow against the bunkhouse wall. He was surrounded by armed Anchor men.

  “I don’t want either of you women to see it,” Rim said. “Understand?” He touched her arm. “How’s Bert.”

  “He’ll recover. Providing he has the will to recover.” She made a small gesture. “He babbled something about how badly he treated me and how sorry he is. About a killing back in Kansas.”

  “He’ll try and make it up to you, Marcy. Give him a chance.”

  In Stallart’s bedroom Rim said, “We’ve got Jellick.” And he caught hold of the foot of the bed where Stallart lay and hauled and pushed it against the window that overlooked the yard. “He’s cost you so much, Bert,” Rim said. “I feel it’s your privilege to see this.”

  “Open the window, Rim,” Stallart said feebly. He was in his underwear and Marcy had bandaged his chest. There was another bulky bandage on his thigh. He seemed in better shape than Rim had expected.

  Rim got the window open and Stallart looked down into the yard. “How goes it, Jellick?” he called.

  Jellick peered up at the window, no expression on his bruised face.

  “I want to get on with this, Bert,” Rim said.

  “What about Ward?”

  Rim looked bitter as he thought of the red-haired girl in the other bedroom. “When this job is done, then I’ll take care of him. I’m against this sort of thing usually. But what can you do when we have a sheriff who is more interested in clay heads than in doing his job?”

  “Use a stout rope on him, Rim.”

  In the yard Rim studied the beams that jutted from the bunkhouse wall. “Think one of them will hold him, Ed?” he asked the cook.

  “Worth a try,” Ed Rule said, and spat so that the spittle touched a toe of Jellick’s boots. Jellick turned red. “If it was me,” the old cook went on, “I’d do like the ’Paches when one of their women gets raped. Cook his feet till he begs you to kill him.”

  “We’re not savages,” Rim said.

  “You claim there’s anything civilized about what he was goin’ to do to that poor gal?”

  Rim had some of the men scout the barn for a heavy rope. In a few moments they came out with one and Rim ordered a noose tied at one end. They got a barrel and one of the men climbed to the bunkhouse roof and tied the end of the rope to one of the beams.

  “A little higher,” Rim instructed. “We want to be sure his feet are off the ground. That rope may stretch.”

  The man re-tied it and climbed down. They got a short length of rope and tied Jellick’s ankles. The man tried to kick, but four of them got him steadied until the knot was tied.

  A grayness touched Jellick’s face as if he realized for the first time that this was no bluff. They intended going through with it.

  “Listen, Bolden,” Jellick began, and Rim noted with satisfaction that his voice was shaking.

  “You’re hanging for many reasons,” Rim interrupted. “Take a look at the headboards in the graveyard yonder. Count the reasons.”

  Jellick began to scream and Rim gave an anxious glance toward the house. “Gag him,” he ordered, and a dirty bandanna was forced between Jellick’s teeth and tied behind his head.

  It took five men to boost the struggling Jellick up on the barrel; two men on horseback, helping to haul him up. One of the riders got the rope around Jellick’s neck.

  Rim walked up to the barrel, saw that it was steady. Jellick stood very still, for it would be easy to tip the barrel if he shifted his weight. He stared down, and perspiration dripped from his face into the dust beside the barrel. His eyes were alive with screaming, but because of the gag no sound came from him.

  “I’d ask if you have any last words, Jellick,” Rim said. “But under the circumstances you couldn’t talk even if you wanted to.”

  Rim drew back his right foot to kick the barrel out from under Jellick.

  Then he heard a commotion at the kitchen door, and April screaming, “Stop! Stop!”

  Rim turned, seeing her in the doorway. Marcy was slightly behind her, trying to pull the girl back into the house. With a violent twisting of her shoulders, April got away from the older woman and rushed across the yard. The men stood aside, looking as uncomfortable as some of them had earlier when Rim had found her with Jellick. She wore one of Marcy’s brown dresses that was too snug at bosom and hips.

  “Don’t do this,” she said to Rim, her voice shaking. “There is the law—”

  “I’m sorry,” Rim said. “Will you go back into the house, or will I have to carry you in?”

  She stood up to him, her face flushed, fists clenched at her sides. “Just because of what he—he tried to do to me.” Color deepened even more on her face, but she did not lower her eyes. “Please, don’t make me think of you as a butcher. Please—The law can take care of him.”

  He waved a brown hand toward the graveyard on the knoll beyond the bunkhouse. “When this is over, go up and look at the headboards there. The new ones are a result of Jellick’s murderous gun. Now get back in the house!”

  For an answer she whirled to a man standing nearby, deftly drew a knife from his belt. With the blade flashing in the sunlight she stepped quickly behind Jellick. She tried to reach the thongs that bound his wrists. “Better that he be turned loose,” she said in a voice strangled with hysteria, “than bring blood down on your own head!”

  With an oath Rim grabbed her. He swung her up in his arms, knocking the knife from her hand. It lay glittering in the dust.

  “Rim, Rim!” she sobbed. “Don’t make me hate you. Don’t make me!”

  He started for the house with her and s
he kicked and squirmed and screamed.

  All the Anchor men in the yard were watching Rim and the girl and therefore did not see the riders who left their horses some distance away and crept up afoot.

  But Rim saw them and at the same time heard Eric Ward’s voice. “Put down my sister, Bolden. Get your hands up! Every last man of you!”

  “Do what he says!” Sheriff Jared Dort cut in. “This is the law!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  There were some twenty-five men who had come up quietly through the trees that masked the southern entrance to Anchor headquarters. Rim saw some of his men lift their rifles and instantly he thought of the safety of this girl in his arms. The safety of Marcy Stallart, standing as if frozen by the kitchen door. In the distance came the sounds of a team, the whirring of wheels. Doc Snider, Rim thought.

  Being careful to make no overt move, Rim set April on her feet. She brushed her hair away from her eyes, “Eric, thank God you’ve come.”

  She started toward her half-brother and he said, “I don’t know how you got here, but get into the house! Stay there!”

  “But, Eric—”

  “Do what I tell you!”

  Run saw the girl give her brother a puzzled look, then move to the house. She and Marcy went inside, leaving the door ajar.

  Slowly Ward came toward Rim, holding a rifle. At his left was Sheriff Dort, looking grim, his pants splattered with dried clay. A badge on the front of Ward’s shirt caught the sunlight. Pete Prentiss, his eye patch dusty, his good eye watching them, also wore a badge.

  Rim said, “Dort, I see you’ve deputized Ward and Prentiss. To me it means the law here is several degrees lower than the underside of a snake.”