Turning swiftly, Kim ran on soundless feet to the rear of the barn. Opening the door to the corral, he slid outside and scrambled over the fence, then ducked into the desert and circled until he could get across the road. All this took him no more than two minutes, but once across the road, he eased around to the back of the saloon and opened the rear door after mounting the stairs. He crept down the hall, but just as he reached for the doorknob a board creaked under his feet. He grabbed the knob and thrust the door open, hearing a faint sound from within the room as he did so.
Kim stepped into the room, gun in hand, then stopped. It was empty. On the right there was another door and he stepped swiftly to it and turned the knob. The door was locked.
There was a bed here as in his own room; there was also a chair and table, a bowl and pitcher. He stepped to the window and glanced out. There was no sound or movement anywhere. He was turning away when he heard something crunch slightly under his boot. He dropped to one knee and felt around on the floor, then picked up several twigs, broken about an inch long in each case.
Closing the door behind him, he walked along the hall and then went down the stairs. There was nobody in sight. The saloon was empty. Stepping out into the street, Sartain holstered his gun and crossed the street to the stable. “All right, Bud,” he said.
As they walked to the boardinghouse he explained swiftly, then he saw a light go on inside the boardinghouse and he pushed open the door. Jeanie was just replacing the lamp chimney after lighting the lamp.
“Oh?” Was that relief in her eyes? “It’s you. Did you have a nice ride?”
“So-so.” He waved a hand. “Where is everybody?”
“All gone but Hazel and she’s asleep. They left right after you did, only they rode the other way. They said they would be back about sundown.”
Bud looked inquiringly at Kim, who shrugged his shoulders. If she was the only one around, had it been she who was in the room over the saloon? But how could she have crossed the street unseen?
SEVERAL RIDERS came up and dismounted in front of the stable and then Ollie and Matty Brown came through the door. They looked sharply at the two cowhands, but neither spoke. After a few minutes the others came in, but the meal seemed to drag on endlessly and the tension was obvious.
Yet as the meal drew to a close, Kim Sartain suddenly found himself growing more and more calm and cool. He felt a new sense of certainty and of growing confidence.
In his own mind he was positive that the killers of Johnny Farrow were here, in this room. He was also convinced that somewhere about was the stolen gold. He had both of these jobs to do: to find how the information on the shipments had been given to the outlaws, and also what had become of the gold. For the authorities were sure that thus far none of it had been sold or used.
With the new sense of certainty came something else, a knowledge that he must push these men. They were guilty and so were doubtless disturbed by the presence of the two cowhands, even though they might not suspect their purpose in being here. Kim was sure that an attempt was to have been made to kill them both that afternoon. The broken twigs were evidence enough that Farrow’s killer had stood beside that window, though it could have been at some other time than today. And Ollie Morse used pieces of broom straw for toothpicks, and probably used twigs too.
“Been thinkin’,” he remarked suddenly, throwing his words into the pool of silence, “about that poor youngster who was killed. I figure somebody wanted him dead mighty bad, else they would never have filled him with so much lead. Next, I get to wonderin’ why he was killed.”
Het Morse said nothing, sitting back in his chair and lighting his pipe. Matty continued to eat, but both Verne and Ollie were watching him. “Now I,” Kim went on, “figure it must have been jealousy. Which one of you here was jealous of him seein’ Hazel?”
Matty looked up sharply. “You throwin’ that at me? I’m the only one livin’ here who ain’t related to her!”
“I figured a girl pretty as Hazel would have men comin’ some distance to see her, although I did allow it might be you, Matty.”
“Of course, more than one man shot Farrow,” Fox contributed.
“I don’t need he’p in my killin’s,” Matty said flatly.
Kim Sartain shrugged. “Just figurin’. Well, I reckon I’ll turn in.” He got to his feet. “I expect Farrow must have spent a lot of time here,” he dropped the comment easily, “seein’ he was sweet on Hazel.”
“How could he?” Hazel demanded, getting to her feet. “He was an express rider. He only had two minutes to change in, and it rarely took him that long.”
“Yeah? Well, I reckoned maybe he found a way.” All eyes were on Kim now. “If I was sweet on a girl, I’d find a way.”
“Such as what?” Ollie demanded.
“Oh, maybe a shortcut through those mountains. Yeah, that would be it. Something that would give me extra time.”
Matty leaned back in his chair, and suddenly he was smiling, but it was not a nice smile. Verne was staring at Sartain, his eyes murderous. Het was poker-faced, but Ollie was suddenly sweating.
“Well,” Kim said, “good night all. You comin’, Bud?”
Outside, Bud mopped his face. “You crazy? Stickin’ it to ’em that way?”
A shadow moved near the window curtain and Kim heard the door open softly. “The way I figure it,” he said loudly, “whoever killed that rider knew something about that gold that was stolen. I figure it must be cached around here somewhere, in the hills, maybe. It was stolen near here and whoever stole it probably didn’t take it far. We better have us a look.”
They crossed the street to the saloon and entered. A moment later Het came in behind them. “You fellers want a drink?” he asked genially. “Might’s well have one. Makes a feller warm to go to bed on.”
“Don’t mind if we do,” Kim replied, “an’ you have one with us.”
“Sure.” Het got out the bottle and glasses. He seemed to be searching for words. “Reckon,” he said finally, “you know I heerd what you said about huntin’ that there gold. I wouldn’t, if ’n I was you. Fact is, you two ain’t makin’ no friends around here: We uns mind our own affairs an’ figure others should do likewise.”
Kim grinned and lifted his glass. “Gold is anybody’s business, amigo. It’s yours if you find it, ours if we find it. Here’s to the gold and whoever finds it, and here’s to the hot place for the others!”
They tossed off their drinks and the old man filled the glasses again. “All right,” he said, almost sadly. “Don’t say you weren’t warned. I reckon it’s on your head now, but as long as you’re lookin’, I’ll tell you. There is a shortcut.”
“Yeah?” Kim Sartain’s face was straight and his lips stiff.
“Uh huh. It’s an old Paiute trail. Easy goin’ all the way, but known to few around here. I reckon it was me put Farrow up to it. He was sweet on Hazel, so it was me told him. I aimed to he’p the boy. You take the split in the mountains just over that way.” He gestured vaguely out the door.
“Thanks.” Kim Sartain lifted his glass to the old man. “See you tomorrow?”
Het Morse’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes looked queer. “I reckon you will.”
Upstairs in their room Sartain closed the door and propped a chair under the knob. Bud Fox threw his hat on a peg. “Now I wonder why he told us that?”
In the dim light from the lamp Kim’s strongly boned face was thrown into sharp relief. “You know mighty well why he told us. So we’d go there. What better place to kill snoopers than on an unknown trail where nobody but buzzards would find them?”
Bud absorbed that, his freckled face strangely pale. He pulled off a boot and rubbed his socked foot. Then he looked up. “What we goin’ to do, Kim?”
“Us?” Kim chuckled softly, warmly, and with real humor. “Why, Bud, you wouldn’t disappoint ’em, would you? We’re goin’, of course!”
THE MORNING SUN lay warm upon the quiet hills, and the cicad
as that hummed in the greasewood seemed drowsily content. Between the knees of Kim Sartain the Appaloosa stepped out gaily, head bobbing, knees lifting, stepping as if to unheard music. And Kim Sartain sat erect in the saddle, a dark blue shirt tucked into gray wool trousers which were tucked into black, hand-tooled boots with large Mexican spurs. Kim Sartain rode coolly, and with a smile on his lips.
The mountains seemed split asunder before him, and where the sunlight fell upon the gigantic crack, the shadows lay before him, and he rode down into darkness with a hand on his thigh and a loose and ready gun inches from his hand. There was no sound, there was no movement. A mile, and the crack widened, then opened into a wide green valley across which the track of the ancient Paiute trail left a gray-white streak among the tumbled boulders and broken ledges. There was a sound of running water, and a freshness in the air, and at the fording of the stream, Kim Sartain swung down, allowing his horse to drink.
There were trees at the base of a big-as-a-house boulder, and from the shelter of these boulders stepped Matty Brown.
He stepped into the bright sunlight and stood there, and Kim Sartain saw him. And Matty Brown took another step forward and said, speaking clearly, “I reckon that gun rep o’ yours is all talk, Sartain! Let’s see!”
His right hand slapped down fast and the gun came up smoothly and his first shot blasted harmlessly off into the vast blue sky, and then Matty turned halfway around and fell, rolling over slowly with blood staining his shirtfront and the emptiness in his eyes staring up at the emptiness in the sky, and Kim Sartain’s .44 Russian lifted a little tendril of smoke toward the sky. And then Kim saw Het Morse step from the brush, with Ollie off to his right, and Verne Stecher spoke from behind him.
“Matty,” Stecher said, “he allus did figure hisself faster than he was. He wanted to have his try, so we let him. Now you, snooper, we plant you here.”
“Hey, where’s your partner?” Ollie suddenly demanded. The big man was perspiring profusely. Only Het was quiet, negligent, almost lazy; that old man was poison wicked.
Bud’s voice floated above them. “I’m right up here, Ollie. S’pose you drop your guns!”
Ollie’s head jerked and fear showed on his face, stark fear. Where the voice came from he did not know, but it might have been a dozen places. Kim Sartain could feel the panic in him but his own eyes did not waver from Het’s.
“Guess we better drop ’em, Pop.” Ollie’s voice shook. “They got us.”
The old man’s voice was frosty with contempt. “We’re three to two. They got nothin’. Let Verne get that other’n. We’ll take Sartain.”
“No!” Ollie’s fear was strident in his voice. The death of Matty Brown, the body lying there, had put fear all through him. “No! Don’t—!”
Kim saw it coming an instant before Het squeezed off his shot, and he fired, smashing two quick ones at Het. He saw the old man jerk sharply, heard the whine of the bullet past his own head, and then he fired again, throwing himself to the right to one knee, the other leg stretched far out. Then he swung his gun to Ollie. Other guns were smashing around him, and a shot kicked dirt into his mouth and eyes. Momentarily blinded, he rolled over, lost hold on his gun and clawed at his eyes. Something tugged at his shirt and he grabbed for his left-hand gun and came up shooting. Old Het was half behind a rock and had his gun resting on it.
Kim lunged to his feet and ran directly at the old man, hearing the hard bark of a pistol and the shrill whine of a rifle bullet, and then he skidded to a halt and dropped his gun on Het. Het tried to lift his own six-shooter from the rock as Kim fired. Dust lifted from the old man’s shirt and the bullet smashed him to the ground and he lost hold on his gun.
And then the shooting was past, and Kim glanced swiftly around. Bud was near the boulder where he had waited for the ambush, and Ollie was down, and Stecher was stretched at full length, hands empty.
Kim looked down at Het. The oldster’s eyes were open and he was grinning. “Tough!” he whispered. “I told Matty you was tough! He wouldn’t listen to … to an … to an old man …
“Ollie,” he whispered, “no guts. If I’d o’ spawned the likes o’ you … !” His voice trailed away and he panted hoarsely.
“Het,” Kim squatted beside him, “the Law sent us down here. The United States Government. That gold was rightly theirs, Het. You’re goin’ out, and you don’t want to rob the Government, do you, Het?”
“Gover’ment?” He fumbled at the word with loose lips. He flopped his hand, trying to point at the boulder where they had waited. “Cave … under that boulder …”
His words trailed weakly away and he panted hoarsely for a few minutes, and then Kim Sartain saw a buzzard mirrored in the old man’s eyes, and looking up, he saw the buzzard high overhead, and looking down, he saw that Het Morse was dead.
Bud Fox walked up slowly, his freckles showing against the gray of his face. “Never liked this killin’ business,” he said. “I ain’t got the stomach for it.” He looked up at Kim. “Reckon you pegged it right when you had me come on ahead.”
“An’ you picked the right spot to wait,” Kim agreed dryly.
“It was the only one, actually.” Bud Fox looked around. “Reckon we can load that gold on their horses. You goin’ to stop by for that Jeanie girl?”
“Why, sure!” Kim whistled and watched the Appaloosa come toward him. “We’ll take her to Carson. I reckon any debt she owed has been liquidated right here.” Then he said soberly, “I was sure the first day we rode in. Behind the bottles on the back bar I saw an awl an’ a leather-worker’s needle. They opened the stitching on those pouches while Farrow was sparkin’ Hazel. They got the information thataway, then put the letters back and stitched ’em up again.”
Behind them they left three mounds of earth and a cross marking the grave of Het Morse. “He was a tough old man,” Bud Fox said gloomily.
Kim Sartain looked at the trail ahead where the sunlight lay. A cicada lifted its thin whine from the brush along the trail. Kim removed his hat and mopped his brow. “He sure was,” he said.
Grub Line Rider
There was good grass in these high meadows, Kim Sartain reflected, and it was a wonder they were not in use. Down below in the flatland the cattle looked scrawny and half-starved. He had come up a narrow, little-used trail from the level country and was heading across the divide when he ran into the series of green, tree-bordered meadows scattered among the ridges.
Wind rippled the grass in long waves across the meadow, and the sun lay upon it like a caress. Across the meadow and among the trees he heard a vague sound of falling water, and turned the zebra dun toward it. As he did so, three horsemen rode out of the trees, drawing up sharply when they saw him.
He rode on, walking the dun, and the three wheeled their mounts and came toward him at a canter. A tall man rode a gray horse in the van. The other two were obviously cowhands, and all wore guns. The tall man had a lean, hard face with a knife scar across the cheek. “You there!” he roared, reining in. “What you doin’ ridin’ here?”
Kim Sartain drew up, his lithe, trail-hardened body easy in the saddle. “Why, I’m ridin’ through,” he said quietly, “and in no particular hurry. You got this country fenced against travel?”
“Well, it ain’t no trail!” The big man’s eyes were gray and hostile. “You just turn around and ride back the way you come! The trail goes around through Ryerson.”
“That’s twenty miles out of my way,” Kim objected, “and this here’s a nice ride. I reckon I’ll keep on the way I’m goin’.”
The man’s eyes hardened. “Did Monaghan put you up to this?” he demanded. “Well, if he did, it’s time he was taught a lesson! We’ll send you back to him fixed up proper! Take him, boys!”
The men started, then froze. The six-shooter in Kim’s hand wasn’t a hallucination. “Come on,” Kim invited mildly. “Take me!”
The men swallowed, and stood still. The tall man’s face grew red with fury. “So? A gunslinger,
is it? Two can play at that game! I’ll have Clay Tanner out here before the day is over!”
Kim Sartain felt his pulse jump. Clay Tanner? Why, the man was an outlaw, a vicious killer, wanted in a dozen places! “Listen, Big Eye,” he said harshly, “I don’t know you and I never heard of Monaghan, but if he dislikes you, that’s one credit for him. Anybody who would hire or have anything to do with the likes of Clay Tanner is a coyote!”
The man’s face purpled and his eyes turned mean. “I’ll tell Clay that!” he blustered. “He’ll be mighty glad to hear it! That will be all he needs to come after you!”
Sartain calmly returned his gun to its holster, keeping his eyes on the men before him without hiding his contempt. “If you hombres feel lucky,” he said, “try and drag iron. I’d as soon blast you out of your saddles as not.
“As for you”—Kim’s eyes turned on the tall man—“you’d best learn now as later how to treat strangers. This country ain’t fenced, and from the look of it, ain’t used. You’ve no right to keep anybody out of here, and when I want to ride through, I’ll ride through! Get me?”
One of the hands broke in, his voice edged. “Stranger, after talkin’ that way to Jim Targ, you’d better light a shuck out of this country! He runs it!”
Kim shoved his hat back on his head and looked from the cowhand to his boss. He was a quiet-mannered young drifter who liked few things better than a fight. Never deliberately picking trouble, he nevertheless had a reckless liking for it and never sidestepped any that came his way.
“He don’t run me,” he commented cheerfully, “and personally, I think he’s a mighty small pebble in a mighty big box! He rattles a lot, but for a man who runs this country, he fits mighty loose!”
Taking out his tobacco, he calmly began to roll a smoke, his half smile daring the men to draw. “Just what,” he asked, “gave you the idea you did run this country? And just who is this Monaghan?”
The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 7 Page 54