‘Well, Brack,’ Will said.
‘Storm,’ Brack said, ‘I want my son and I want an explanation on two counts.’
Will smiled. Brack’s rage rose another degree. By God, he’d ram that goddam grin down Storm’s throat one fine day and it would choke him.
Will said: ‘You can have your son any time you want to take him. I’ll explain anythin’ I can.’
That took Brack back a little. Suddenly, he had an uneasy feeling that Storm was going to make him look a fool in front of his own men. It had happened before almost on this very spot. If only he could find the excuse to gun the bastard down.
‘Where is my son?’
‘Right here, dad.’
Brack wrenched himself around in the saddle. He saw his son standing pale and tense on the other side of the corral fence, a rifle in his hands. The veins stood out on Brack’s forehead.
‘Get your horse, boy,’ Brack roared. ‘You’re comin’ back with me.’
‘No, sir,’ said the boy, ‘I guess I can’t do that.’
‘What happened?’ Brack shouted. ‘Did these Storms get to you? Have they fouled you against me?’
‘No,’ Riley said, almost white to the lips now, ‘you fouled me against you.’
Brack glared at his son for a moment, speechless.
‘By God,’ he yelled, ‘you’ll pay for this, you ungrateful little pup. An’ you’ll pay for this too, Storm. Riley, you comin’ peacefully or do I have to have you thrown over a saddle and toted outa here?’
‘I’m not coming peaceful,’ Riley replied. ‘That’s for sure.’
‘Dwyer,’ Brack said between his teeth, ‘take a man and get that boy.’
Riley started to say something, but Will said: ‘Wait.’
Brack turned on him.
‘You ain’t in this, Storm. This is between me and my son.’
‘Riley,’ Will said, ‘you goin’ with this man?’
‘No, sir. If that Dwyer gets down I’ll shoot him.’
‘Bluff,’ Brack howled. ‘Goddam bluff all along the line. Go ahead, Dwyer.’
Dwyer hesitated a moment. Then he started to move.
Will said quietly: ‘Brack, there’s a rifle aimed at your brisket. You make one fool move an’ you’re the first man to go down.’
Brack couldn’t help his eyes going toward the house. He saw the rifle.
There being nothing like the sight of a rifle looking straight at you to cool you off, Brack simmered down. He knew firearms and what they could do. He had employed enough men who could handle them in his time.
‘All right, Storm,’ he said, his tone altering completely. In a moment, he had changed from a crazy man into a sane one. ‘Let’s look at how we stand. You have taken away my son illegally. I shall take this matter up with the sheriff. We have law in this county now and I’m going to see that it’s applied.’
‘Don’t be a bigger fool than you was born, Brack,’ Will said, as if he were humoring a child. ‘Riley’s of age, he can come and go as he pleases.’
‘So you can worm your way out of that one,’ Brack came back quickly. ‘Now worm your way out of the charge of stealing my cows.’
‘I was waitin’ for that,’ Will said. ‘Ever since I was fired on by Dwyer and Shuster when I found them penned.’
Brack gazed at him for a moment, puzzled.
‘Shuster?’ he said. ‘What’re you talking about?’
‘Just as I say. I was fired on by Dwyer and Shuster when I found your cows, planted right where it would look like Lazy S had lifted ’em.’
Brack turned slowly in the saddle and looked at Dwyer. The foreman met his gaze stonily.
‘You didn’t say anything about Shuster,’ Brack said.
‘He wasn’t there, Mr. Brack,’ Dwyer said. ‘The man’s lyin’.’
Brack held his eyes on the man for a moment, assessing him. Then he swung back to Will.
‘You hear that, Storm? Dwyer says you’re lying.’
‘I heard. He’s coverin’ up. He’s been stealin’ you blind ever since you put him in charge. Shuster’s his outside contact.’
Dwyer said: ‘You’re lyin’, Storm. You’re jest tryin’ to make trouble between me and Mr. Brack.’
‘You keep outa this, Dwyer,’ Brack bellowed. ‘I’ll handle this.’
‘This is personal between me an’ Storm,’ Dwyer persisted. ‘I never stole a cow in my life. My reps at stake. If the sneaky bastard wasn’t unarmed I’d——’
The door of the house opened and a man walked out into the sunlight. As the door slammed shut every eye there was on him. It was Pete Hasso. He walked out to one side of Will Storm and stood about six paces from him.
‘I’m armed, Dwyer,’ he said.
‘Stop this,’ Brack roared. He didn’t like situations that he was not controlling.
Pete Hasso said: ‘You take back what you said about Mr. Storm or I’ll drill you.’
‘Pete,’ Will said, ‘I’ll handle this.’
‘Mr. Storm,’ said Hasso, ‘this is pussnel between Dwyer an’ me an’ this is as good a time as any to settle it. He knows what I’m a-talkin’ about.’
‘You’re outa your head,’ Dwyer said. ‘Hell, I don’t even know you.’
‘You know me, you yaller skunk. Crawl or draw.’
‘This is a trap,’ Dwyer said. ‘I’m covered from the house.’
‘You stop this right now,’ Ed Brack cried. ‘I didn’t come here to brawl.’
‘Keep outa this, fat man,’ Pete said.
Brack looked like he was going to burst a blood-vessel. He danced his horse forward and came between Pete and Dwyer. Pete moved to keep sight of Dwyer, but Brack moved with him.
A gun sounded among the Broken Spur men. The bullet narrowly missed Hasso and hit the wall of the house with a thunk. Pete lifted his gun from leather and desperately tried to get Brack out of his line of fire. He glimpsed Dwyer with a smoking gun in his hand. Will was shouting for them to hold their fire. The situation was ridiculous and could end in a wholesale massacre.
Dwyer fired again and Pete Hasso went backward into the dust, firing as he went down. The foreman’s horse jerked out, alarmed by the shooting. Several other horses had started to pitch. Somebody in the house fired over their heads and Riley Brack followed the example. It got through to the Broken Spur men that they could die very quickly. Brack was now yelling for them not to touch their guns. One of the violent movements of Dwyer’s horse jerked the foreman from the saddle. He rolled to the feet of another horse and the animal shied back from him.
The guns were silent. Dust and gun smoke drifted over the scene.
‘All right, Brack,’ Will said. ‘Take your men out of here.’
Brack quietened his alarmed horse and said: ‘You haven’t heard the end of this, Storm. I’m going to whittle you Storms down to nothing. They’ll hang your brother for murder and most likely they’ll do the same to you for rustling.’
From the ground, Pete Hasso said: ‘Brack, you open your fool mouth jest once more an’ I’m goin’ to drill you between the eyes.’
Brack stared at him in horror and astonishment. He went to say something, but before he could speak, it dawned on him that the young man meant what he said. He turned his horse and rode back through his men. Two of them slipped from their saddles and lifted Dwyer to his feet. He sagged in their arms, a trickle of blood running down his face.
Will Storm came forward.
‘How bad is he hurt?’
‘Creased is all,’ a man said. ‘Christ, he was lucky.’
Dwyer gazed at Will out of uncomprehending eyes. They heaved him into the saddle and looped his belt over the saddle-horn. The two men mounted and followed their fellows.
Riley Brack climbed through the fence and up to Pete Hasso.
‘You damn fool,’ he said. ‘Where’d you get it?’
Pete looked up at him bleakly.
‘In my goddam laig,’ he said.
George came from the
west wing of the house. He looked down at Pete and said: ‘I’ve seen some damn fools in my time.’
Pete put away his gun and untied his bandanna from around his neck. He tied this around his thigh, took out his gun again. poked the barrel through the cloth and turned it till the tourniquet shut off the supply of blood. They went to help him to his feet, but he snarled at them.
Will stayed where he was, watching the departing Broken Spur.
‘George,’ he said. ‘Saddle a horse and see they leave the valley. ‘
George found a rope and climbed into the corral. Then Will turned and looked down at Pete.
‘Son,’ he said, ‘while you take my pay and eat my grub, you’re my man. You don’t fight your private feuds in my time.’
Riley looked mad.
‘If you ask me,’ he declared, ‘Pete was only trying to—’
‘Nobody asked you,’ Will said. ‘Sing small, boy—that was your daddy just rode in here.’
Kate came out of the house with angry eyes.
‘Pa,’ she cried, ‘you’re being unfair and you know it. You—’
‘Missy,’ said Will, ‘a man just got himself shot grandstandin’ in front of you.’
The girl flushed red.
Riley stepped in again.
‘Mr. Storm, I must say—’
‘Mr. Brack,’ Will said, ‘if you don’t like the way I run my outfit why you just saddle up and I’ll give you your time.’
He walked into the house. Right inside the door he met his wife, as he knew he would.
‘You were hard on the young people, Will,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ he agreed. The look on his face was enough to tell her she’d be wise to keep a firm hold on her tongue. She would be better employed seeing to the wound sustained by that foolish young man, Pete Hasso. She collected clean rag, whiskey and hot water, and walked out of the house.
Will sat at the table, took out his pipe and filled it with black rank tobacco. He thought as he fired it.
He was torn in his loyalty and his duty. He knew that he had been delaying action to help Mart because he dare not leave the valley unguarded. He searched around for any help that he could get. There were the men who had ridden up the Kansas trail from Texas with him and who had the following year helped Clay bring in a herd of longhorns from the brush country to Colorado. They were mostly homesteading or ranching to the north of the valley. One rider on a fast horse would have them all here in a couple of days. He knew they would mostly come to a man. Yet he hesitated. Did he have the right to expose men not of his family to fatal risk?
If he had some word from Joe it would help. He had ridden to Joe’s cabin in the hills as arranged, but the Negro had not been there. He did not want to make the trip again and leave the valley. If he could prove that the man Mart had killed at Grebb’s had been sicked on him he might save Mart’s neck. But how to prove such a thing?
He thought of the man Mart had wounded in the same fight. What was his name? Aintree. That was it. How badly was the man hurt? His mind started to chase an idea. What had happened to Aintree? Had Grebb kept him at his place? If that was so, was there a connection between Grebb and the gunman? Why the hell hadn’t he thought of that before? He cursed himself for a fool.
Getting up, puffing furiously at his pipe, he went out of the house. Kate was on the stoop looking sulky. George was riding out. He walked to the west wing of the house and entered. Pete Hasso was on his bunk looking pale and slightly shrunken. Martha was tending his wound with Riley Brack looking on.
‘Riley,’ he said, ‘go over to Whitewater. I want Jody here. Clay too for that matter. Clay’s missus, I want in this house. It’s too risky her stayin’ over yonder. Not even a woman is safe from Brack.’
Martha turned a worried face to him.
Riley picked up his carbine and walked out. Will squatted down by the bunk on the other side from Martha.
‘Pete,’ he said, ‘you’ve been down to Andy Grebb’s place. Does he have Stu Aintree there?’
Pete craned up his head to stare at Will.
‘I never heard he did, boss.’
‘You ever see Brack visit with Grebb ?’
‘No, sir. I never seen that.’
Will stood up saying: ‘All right, Pete. Mend quick. You’re a poor investment lyin’ there bleedin’.’ He felt better now. He had some sort of plan of action in his mind. He patted Martha on the shoulder as he passed her, to show that he was in a better frame of mind. On the stoop, he came face to face with Kate.
‘Which is it, honey?’ he said gently. ‘Hasso or young Brack?’
She looked down at her feet.
‘Neither,’ she said.
‘Or both?’
She raised her eyes to his and said softly: ‘Or both.’
He chuckled and said: ‘Make up your mind soon or they’ll be shootin’ each other.’ He turned away, adding; ‘I’m ridin’ down to Grebb’s place. Clay an’ Jody’ll be here pretty soon.’
He saddled his dun horse and rode north.
Chapter Seventeen
Not a hundred yards from the house, he heard a faint shout and, turning in the saddle, he saw a horseman coming down from the ridge. He lifted a hand. It was Joe. He rode to meet him, watching Joe ford the two creeks and come dripping from the water.
When they met, he saw that Joe was tired. Which was something to remark on, for he had never known Joe to be tired.
They talked. Joe’s news was now maybe a day old, but it was better than nothing. Mart was alive but things didn’t look too good for him. He was torn between riding into the hills and doing something direct about it or going to work on Grebb. He could only pray that if it came to it, Mart would surrender to the posse without a fight. He thanked Joe and told him to go up to the house for food and rest. The Negro turned his horse and rode slowly toward the house. Will headed on north.
He took the narrow little-used trail to the west of the valley that would take him up over the ridges to the Spring Creek trail. That way he would avoid Broken Spur and trouble. So he thought. It was getting dark when he made his way down the trail and came in sight of the road-ranch. He found a half-dozen horses racked outside, tied the dun and went inside.
There was the smell of drink and unwashed bodies in the place as usual. Added to which were some dozen men and one woman. She was making up to an old hill-nutty as if he were a virile youngster of twenty-odd. Which meant either that she needed spectacles or that he’d found gold.
Grebb stood at his new bar, leaning, talking to another man. Stott shadowed him, looking as grim as usual. Will crossed the room to Grebb who straightened up. It wasn’t usual for Will to come here. Either he was a potential customer or this meant trouble. His nose said it meant trouble. Maybe the look on Will’s face confirmed it. Stott’s nose must have given him the same message. He moved a little to one side so that Will was between him and Grebb. The move was not lost upon Will.
‘Welcome, welcome, Mr. Storm,’ Grebb cried, face beaming, eyes hard, hand outstretched.
‘Howdy, Mr. Grebb,’ Will said and accepted the hand. Briefly.
‘Indeed a pleasure, sir, to have you in my house. A drink?’ He tried to overwhelm the quieter man with the strength of his presence, to drown him with his personality. He underestimated Will, which was foolish. Like most people he mistakenly believed that the Storm’s victory over Brack the year before had been due solely to the gun-skill of Mart Storm and Joe Widbee. He was unaware of Will’s part in it. Brack knew. But he wasn’t telling.
‘A drink would be real nice,’ Will said. ‘Private.’
Grebb was in the act of raising a finger to the barman. He stopped, turned and stared at Will.
‘Sure,’ he said doubtfully. ‘We could go into my office.’
He turned and led the way to the rear of the building around one end of the bar. Will followed him and Stott followed after. Will didn’t welcome Stott’s presence, but he decided to let it ride. He followed Grebb into the
room vainly trying to look like an office. Grebb reached for the bottle on the table and poured two drinks. Nothing for Stott who closed the door behind him and stood with his back to it, his face like a funeral attendant’s.
Will smiled, accepted the drink and said: ‘Mud.’
The two men drank. Grebb sighed a little and lowered his weight into a chair that complained in a subdued kind of way as though Grebb had left no real protest in it.
‘Now,’ said Grebb, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Quite a bit,’ said Will.
‘Shoot.’ The little eyes were watching him while the fat lips smiled.
‘All right,’ said Will. ‘I have a question to ask you, Grebb. When you answer it, I’ll ask another. Mark that—I said when. Because you’re goin’ to answer it. Don’t be in any doubt about that. Before I ask it, I’ll give you a small piece of information which will show you how we stand. That gunslick at the door is wastin’ his time.’
The smile slid from Grebb’s face.
‘He stays,’ he said.
‘Like I said,’ Will repeated, ‘he’s wastin’ his time. I came in here tonight to lay it on the line. First, if I ain’t out of here by a certain time, there’s goin’ to be all hell let loose around this place.’
‘Jesus,’ said Grebb starting up in his chair, ‘there’s no call for that kind of talk.’
‘Aw, yes, there is,’ Will told him. ‘You’ll see. So get that into your head. If I don’t walk out of here with the information I want I’m goin’ to burn this place over your head.’
Stott put a hand inside his coat. Grebb held up his hand to stop the movement.
‘Leave it lie,’ he said. ‘Now, Mr. Storm, what started this? Hell, I can’t hardly get my breath back. I mean—hell—you come in here ... it sure do shake a man up to hear this kinda talk.’
‘Good,’ said Will, ‘that’s the way it should be. Understand this—my brother’s life is at stake here.’
‘So that’s it,’ Grebb said as if the idea had only just come to him.
Will switched the line of talk a little.
‘You’re scared of Brack,’ he said.
‘Brack?’ said Grebb. ‘What does he have to do with me?’
One Notch to Death Page 12