“I lost a lot of feeling the night Eve Bancroft died. I didn’t like her, but that girl would have ridden a-blazin’ into hell for Ray Hollister, and he let her go alone.”
The mules were strung out and Billy Daniels was up ahead, riding point.
“What you goin’ to do with me?” Babcock asked.
“Hell, I’ve got no place for you, and nothing against you except damn’ poor judgment in bosses. Ride along with us, and when we hit the flat you cut out for Rafter.”
“Rafter?” Babcock was incredulous. “With this arm? I’d go through hell a-gettin’ there!”
“What do you think’s waiting for us down there at Tappan Junction, Bab?” Shevlin said quietly. “I figure you’ve had yours.”
They rode on a few steps, and then Mike Shevlin said, “Ben Stowe’s waiting down there. He’s waiting for us.”
Chapter 20
TWO MILES short of Tappan Junction the narrow trail played out, and they could see ahead of them the two buildings of the settlement in the bottom of a great basin. The twin lines of steel came out of the west and vanished into the east.
At Tappan there was a corral with a chute for loading pens, a water tank for the trains, a combination saloon, post office, and general store, and across the tracks, the telegraph office. Adjoining the office was a waiting room with two windows, furnished with a single bench and a pot-bellied stove.
No horses were in sight, but there wouldn’t be— they would be in the pens. Several cattle cars and one boxcar were standing on a siding.
Mike Shevlin, weary from his long ride, stared across the flat through the drizzling rain. It lacked an hour of sundown, and darkness would come early, with that cloud-covered sky.
Beside him, drawn and pale, rode Babcock. He had lost blood, he sagged with weariness; he was not going to make it through to Rafter Crossing. He knew it now, and so did Mike Shevlin. Only an iron will and a rawhide body had brought him this far. He needed rest and care, and they were down there waiting for him, just beyond a full-scale gun battle.
“This makes it my fight, Mike,” he said. “I’ll ride in with you.”
“Bab, what do you suppose Ben Stowe would do if you rode in there now ... alone?”
Babcock tried to think it through. His brain was fuzzy, and it required an effort to assemble his thoughts. “Damned if I know. He’d probably ask me what happened, then he’d either shoot me or leave me be.”
“You ride in there, Bab. Tell him anything he wants to know. I’m betting he’ll want to know everything you can tell him, and I don’t believe he’ll shoot you. Ben Stowe only kills when he thinks there’s a good reason—you’re out of this now, and he’ll see it plain enough. Tag Murray is down there, and he’s pretty good with a wound, better than some doctors I know. You ride on in.”
Babcock hesitated, and glanced back at the mule train. “What about them, Mike? They’re Ben’s hired gunmen.”
Shevlin looked at him wryly, then dug into his pocket for a cigar. It was a fresh one, and he enjoyed lighting it. “Bab,” he said, “unless I miss my guess, one or more of those boys are supposed to salt me down while we’re crossing the flat out there. Unless Ben is saving me for himself.
“I said Ben Stowe only killed when there was good reason, but I’ll make two exceptions to that, Ray Hollister and me. He’d take pleasure in killing either of us.”
“You and him were mighty thick, one time.”
“Stowe and Gentry were thick; and Gentry and me, we rode saddle partners a while. But Stowe never liked me, and I never liked him.”
“Mike ... look there!” It was Billy Daniels who had come up to them. “That there rider on this side, that’s a woman!”
Also, one of the men who had carried a pick-handle that day in the mine, had also come up. “That’s Red on the paint—where would he get a woman?”
“Hell!” Billy spat. “That’s that Tennison girl. Nobody else rides sidesaddle with the style she’s got!”
Babcock glanced at Shevlin. “So there you are,” he said. “Now are you goin’ to ride in there, hell a-whoopin’?”
“Go on in, Bab,” Mike said again.
“Tell him anything he wants to know, and don’t you worry none about me.”
Babcock still hesitated. “Mike, I ain’t up to much, but damn it, man, you’re cattle! I’ll ride in there with you, or I’ll cover your back, whatever you’re of a mind to.”
Shevlin put a hand on Babcock’s shoulders. “Go on in, Bab,” he repeated.
Babcock touched a heel to his horse and went off across the grass.
“What’s the matter with him?” Billy Daniels asked. “What was he figurin’ to do?”
Mike Shevlin stepped his horse around, and they were all there, facing him, with the gold train just beyond. His eyes went from one to another, curiously, somewhat mockingly. “Why, he just figured one of you boys was about to shoot me in the back. He figured Ben Stowe had put you up to it. How about it, boys? Any of you want me? If you do, you don’t need to wait.”
His Winchester was in the boot, his slicker was hanging open and loose, and both his hands were in sight.
There were five of them, and they were spread out before him like a hand of cards, all jacks or aces, not a deuce in the lot.
These were hard men, who rode a hard trail in a hard country, and he faced them, waiting. One showdown at a time, he told himself. When I ride up to Tappan Junction, I want to keep my eyes up front.
Billy Daniels moved his hands out in front of him and folded them on his saddlehorn. “The way I see it, you fought beside us back there. You came down off that slope when you didn’t need to, and you saved our bacon—some of us, anyway.”
“Why, sure!” Also agreed. “That man down there is payin’ our wages, but this looks a mite different.”
“You want help?” Billy said.
“No help ... you just leave me ride down there and talk this over with Ben. I mean, we go in with the pack train, but the rest of it is up to Ben and me, and whoever’s down there with him.”
“Why that’s fair enough,” Also commented. “I hear tell Ben Stowe is something to look at with a gun. I’d sort of like to see the cut of the man I’m workin’ for.”
“Thanks, boys. Bring in the train, will you? But look, stay clear of Ben Stowe and me, and if you see that lady in trouble, give her a hand. She is a lady, boys.” He gestured toward the mules. “All that belongs to her, by rights. Bring it in, will you?”
Deliberately, he swung his horse, turning his back on them. And then he cantered out over the darkening prairie.
“You know something?” The Arkansawyer spat. “There goes a square man!”
As Shevlin started across the flat, he paused only to slip out of his slicker and tie it behind his saddle. The clouds were breaking, and a star was showing through. He loosened the Winchester in his boot, singing softly, “As I walked out on the streets of
Laredo, As I walked out in Laredo one day...”
****
THE ROOM was long and low, with a counter doubling as a bar. There were shelves of canned goods, stacked Levis, slickers, and boots. The room smelled of new leather, dry goods, strong coffee, and stronger plug tobacco. Behind the counter sat Tag Murray and the telegrapher, minding their own affairs.
Red, still pale from the abuse he had taken for bringing Laine Tennison to Tappan, clutched a beer in his hand, staring at the circles he was drawing on the bar.
Laine, standing very straight, smiled at Ben. “Really, Mr. Stowe, if you plan to take my gold from here, you must expect trouble. You’re going to have to cut telegraph wires, even do some shooting. Your retriever here,” she gestured at Red, “did not notice that Doctor Clagg, Billy Townsend, and several others—including Wilson Hoyt—were saddling up when we passed the stable.”
“Ma’am,” Ben Stowe said abruptly, “you sit down and shut up.”
“Now, look here, Ben— Tag started to protest.
“You shut up, too.
Red, put a shotgun on them. If they start anything give them both barrels, then reload and shoot them again.”
“Do you really believe,” Laine said, “that you will get out of the Territory with that gold? Will it be so easy, Mr. Stowe?”
Ben Stowe’s anger was passing. Red had been a damned fool to bring Laine Tennison here, but he needed Red for the time being, and the girl was no more than a nuisance.
“Sorry, Red. I spoke too fast. All we need is a hysterical woman on our hands.”
“Sure, Boss. I wasn’t thinkin’.”
Ben Stowe knew that the rain had stopped, and that the sounds he had been hearing for the last few seconds were those of a walking horse. The first few hoof-falls had barely touched the fringe of his consciousness, but now he was sharply aware that a horse had come to a stop outside.
He half turned to face the door, heard something hit the mud, and then blundering footsteps. The door opened and Babcock came in.
His face was haggard, the wound had started to bleed again, and his shirt was already stiff with dried blood.
“Tag,” he said, “I caught a bad one. It’s real bad.”
Ignoring the shotgun, Tag Murray moved quickly to Babcock’s side and eased him into a chair. Laine Tennison, without being asked, had gone to the stove and was pouring hot water into a tin basin. Tag began cutting away the shirt with scissors.
“What happened?” Ben Stowe asked.
When Babcock did not reply, Stowe stepped to the bar and poured a stiff drink of whiskey, and handed it to the wounded man. “What happened?” he asked again.
Babcock tossed off the liquor in two quick gulps. “First drink you ever bought me, Ben. Thanks.”
He looked up at Stowe. “When your mule train didn’t show up, Winkler figured it out and we cut over the hills. We were set to ambush the train, then that damn’ Shevlin came down on us from behind. I never did figure how he got there. He was on us before we knew what happened, and his first shot tipped the mule drivers and they came up the slope. Shevlin killed Ray Hollister. Winkler and Sande and Halloran got it, too.”
“How many of my men?”
“Three down and a couple scratched.”
“Shevlin?”
“He’s bringin’ the stuff in. He told me to go on ahead an’ get Tag here to fix me up.”
Ben Stowe looked at the arm with distaste. Used as he was to violence, he never liked to look upon the results of violence, and Babcock’s arm was a sorry sight. The bullet must have caught the arm when it was bent and upraised, for it had shattered the elbow, torn the biceps, and imbedded itself in the deltoid muscle at the end of the shoulder.
“We better get Doc Clagg over here, Bab,” Murray said. “That’s surely a mess. I don’t think anybody can make anything of that elbow again.”
“Fix it as best you can.” Babcock stared bleakly into the years ahead as a one-armed cowman. However, he had seen a few, and some did pretty well. If somebody else could, he could.
“Whatever happens,” Ben Stowe said, “you people stay clear of it. I don’t want to shoot anybody protecting a legitimate gold shipment.
“That man”—he indicated Babcock—“is an admitted outlaw. He attempted to steal the shipment from the mine of which I am superintendent. Please remember that.”
“You are discharged,” Laine said, “and you are not authorized to make such a shipment.”
Stowe smiled at her. “Now, ma’am,” he said pleasantly, “I know you as a guest of Doc Clagg’s. Whatever else you may be, I don’t know. You’ve no authority that I know of, and no cause even to be here except that Red here figured I would want to talk to you. He was wrong. “I am,” he went on, speaking clearly, “making a legitimate shipment from the mines of a small amount of gold. I have the authority to do this. If anyone interferes, I shall take legal action.”
Laine looked around helplessly. The telegrapher merely shrugged. Tag Murray was busy with Babcock, and Red grinned smugly. Of course, what Stowe said was true. Even if the law had been here, she could not have stopped the shipment ... not just on her word alone. And the train was due in less than an hour.
Just the same, Ben Stowe was worried. Laine could see it in his restlessness, in his continual glances at the clock. The train was coming soon and the gold had not yet arrived.
And right in the middle of things was Mike Shevlin. He was the key man. He was working for her, but Ben Stowe had offered him a better deal. As for whatever else there was between herself, and Shevlin, was there really something there? Or had she only imagined it?
From the first, she had felt drawn to him, less to his undeniable good looks than to his strength. When all the others had wavered, he had stood for what he believed, and down deep within her she was positive that he still stood for it, that he was the man she believed in. Yet the question was there: was he the sort of man she thought, or was she only listening to a wish that he might be?
Red lounged against the counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the shotgun in his hands.
Ben Stowe walked over to the window and looked out, but the night was dark, and revealed nothing. When she looked at him, she was shaken with fear for Mike Shevlin. Ben Stowe looked formidable. He was big, powerful, and somehow seemed indomitable. He seemed beyond, the strength of the men around her, beyond anyone’s strength.
Yet he was gambling now, gambling with his life and the work of years. He was gambling that another man, who was perhaps an enemy, could bring that gold across the mountains. That he had done so was obvious, for Babcock had crossed with Shevlin. Where was Shevlin now? There was no sound in the room except the heavy tick of the clock and the subdued rustling where Tag Murray worked over Babcock.
Suddenly Murray turned and straightened up. “Ben, we’ve got to send for Doc Clagg. Else this man will lose an arm.”
“The hell with him!” Stowe said violently, then he glanced around at Babcock. After all, the issue would have been decided long before Clagg could get here. “Oh, all right,” he said with a shrug.
There was a moment of silence in the room, for the question in the mind of each was: Who will go?
Laine looked at Ben Stowe, an amused smile on her lips. “I am sure Red would like to go. Wouldn’t you, Red?”
Stowe turned sharply from the window. “Like hell! I need him right here.” He glanced around. “You can go, Tag, or you can wait until my men get here and I’ll send one of them. After all, I have five men out there with Shevlin.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Babcock said.
“What’s that mean?”
Babcock raised his head and stared at Ben Stowe. “It means those men rode over the mountains with Mike Shevlin, and when they had a fight, Mike pulled them out of it. Mike was with them ... you weren’t. Don’t be too damn’ sure they’re still your men.”
“I bought ‘em an’ paid for ‘em,” Stowe said contemptuously.
“If you think that, you’ve come a lot further from the old days than I figured. You can’t buy men like that. They work for gun wages, all right, but they ride for the man. Right now you’re only somebody in an office somewhere. Mike Shevlin is out there sitting his saddle with them. He’s rained on when they are, and when they’re cold, he is. I can tell you one thing, Ben, if I hadn’t got shot up I’d be out there with him right now.”
Ben Stowe stayed by the window for a moment longer, then came back to the middle of the room. He went to the counter, where the long bundle that had been behind his saddle lay.
Unrolling it, he took out two double-barreled shotguns, Express guns. Coolly, he loaded them. Beside the bundle lay his Winchester and he took it up, checking to see if there was a cartridge in position.
Nobody spoke, they simply watched him; and he ignored them, as if they did not exist. Indeed, Laine decided, they did not exist for him, for he was wholly concentrated on what was to come; she could see it in his every movement. He was pointed even as one of his guns would be pointed, toward the moment of decision.
>
But the moment did not come.
The minutes ticked by, and suddenly Laine noticed that Stowe was perspiring— the sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. A slight sound came from outside, and Stowe turned sharply. Something rattled on the roof.
Suddenly, several horses passed by, moving swiftly. Outside, somebody laughed, and it was a shocking sound to those in the room.
Several minutes of stillness passed, and then a door slammed. The telegrapher looked up. “That was my door,” he said, and added, glancing slyly at Stowe, “I wonder if any of those men can use a telegraph key? That Shevlin now, he’s been around.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Stowe said sharply. “I’ve known him since he was a kid.”
“You mean you knew him when he was a kid,” Babcock said, “but that man’s covered a lot of country since then. You don’t know a damn’ thing about him!”
The real question in Stowe’s mind was: Where was the gold at this moment? Had it been loaded into the waiting car? He swept the room with a quick glance. “All right, Red. I’m going out there. You keep these people sitting just where they are.
“Babcock, I’ll send one of my men for Doc Clagg. I’ll see no man suffer, and we shared a blanket a couple of times in the old days.”
He looked from one man to another. “Every move I’ve made in arranging this shipment has been legal,” he said. “I wouldn’t want anybody to try stopping me now. I’d have every right to suspect them of trying to steal company gold.”
He moved to the door and stepped outside.
Chapter 21
THE CLOUDS had broken and the stars were out, but water still dripped from the eaves of the railroad station and Murray’s Saloon at Tappan Junction.
At the hitch rail stood half a dozen horses with empty saddles, and another horse had just come down from the mountains, riderless since the afternoon’s shooting. It stood now, bridle trailing, close beside the tied horses.
Light from the saloon windows fell across the wet platform outside, across the glistening steel rails, and almost met through the darkness the light from the telegraph station windows. Beyond those windows one of the men was brewing a fresh pot of coffee in the operator’s pot, which they had quickly emptied.
The High Graders Page 17