“I’ve thought of a number of solutions if Coniff should get caught,” Vanner said coolly. “The simplest one is to kill Coniff before he gets a chance to talk.”
“He’s probably told everything he knows to Belden already,” Damson said. “I say get rid of Belden and Coniff both.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Vanner said acidly. “It’s too late to do anything to Belden. It has been too late ever since you got drunk and made those threats against him. Why do you think I ordered Coniff to wait until he had a chance to drive Belden and his horse off a cliff and make his death look like an accident? Any other way and you’d be the first man everyone would suspect. You or I. We can’t afford that.”
Damson poured himself another drink. “You think we can afford to have Coniff shoot off his mouth?” he demanded.
“How much does Coniff know?” Vanner asked quietly. “Now put that bottle down. We have work to do.”
Damson glared at him with drunken stubbornness. “We got work to do,” he mimicked. “You don’t do nothing but sit around and think of ways for me and the boys to wear ourselves out.”
“And where would you be if it weren’t for my thinking?” Vanner said.
He got up and took the bottle away from Damson. He said, “Everything that’s been done to make you a big man, I thought up.” His voice cut mercilessly at Damson. “The few times you’ve acted on your own, you got into trouble. You threatened Belden — behind his back. You told Coniff to shoot him the first night he came back into the valley. You sent Marnie and Pike to chase him away. All you’ve accomplished is to build up evidence that not even the sheriff will ignore one of these days.”
“He sure ain’t going to ignore what Bert Coniff has to say,” Damson grunted.
“Anything Coniff has told Belden, we can claim is a lie,” Vanner answered quietly. “Our job is to keep Coniff from talking to the judge or Ponders. Bert doesn’t know why we have to keep Belden from settling on that land of his, so he can’t hurt us by saying anything about that.”
“Sure,” Damson jeered. “Go tell Roy Ponders you want to talk to Coniff real quick.”
“You’re the one who’s going to talk to him,” Vanner said in his quiet way. “After it gets dark, you go to the window of his cell. I’ll make sure the sheriff isn’t in his office. When he goes to the hotel for his dinner, I’ll hold him there someway. You find out just how much Coniff has said. Then promise we’ll have him out in a couple of days — if he keeps his mouth shut.”
A glimmer of understanding touched Damson’s eyes. “Then tonight one of the boys shoots him?”
“Not tonight,” Vanner said quickly. “Tomorrow. It’s Saturday and I can arrange for it better then. A dozen men have been drifting in these past few days. By tomorrow, they’ll all be here. So leave things to me. Go eat something to soak up that whiskey inside you.”
Damson lurched out of the chair. “That takes care of Coniff and the town, maybe, but Belden is still running around loose. He’s no fool. One of these days he’s going to figure out why we got to get him out of the valley for good.”
“I’ve already planned a way to get rid of Belden,” Vanner said.
Damson walked slowly and carefully to the door. “You better make it quick,” he warned. “And remember, we ain’t got the sheriff in our hip pocket just because he don’t like Belden.”
“I know what kind of man Roy Ponders is,” Vanner answered shortly. “I know just how far we can count on his dislike of Belden and on his desire to keep a peaceful town here. You let me worry about such things.”
“I don’t like it,” Damson complained. “I say let’s get rid of Coniff tonight and Belden too.”
“No,” Vanner said flatly. “Somebody has to take the blame for killing Coniff.” He stood and smiled his cold, thin smile. “I’ve already prepared for the possibility someone would catch Coniff and bring him in to jail.”
Damson made a snorting sound. “You mean that story you started around town that the judge was worried about going broke if Belden came back and started his ranch?”
“Exactly,” Vanner said.
Damson shook his head. “Ain’t nobody going to believe that,” he said decisively. “Everyone in town knows the judge’d give his right arm away to help someone he likes. And he likes Belden. Always did,” he added in a surly voice. “Besides, how will a rumor like that help us?”
“It’s very simple,” Vanner explained with soft patience. “We’ve got a lot of people thinking we’re all right just because I made you lend money to the little ranchers and because we bought the Cattlemen’s and turned it into a place where a man could come and get good food and liquor cheap and find an honest game of cards.” He paused and added, “Not to mention the pretty girls Molly brings in to dance with the men on Saturday nights. That means these people are on our side right now.”
He stood thoughtfully and then said, “Now all I have to do is make the rumors a little stronger — get the story started that the judge is really worried that Belden is going to be a success. People will figure out for themselves that the judge paid Coniff — his own top hand — to get rid of Belden.”
“What difference does that make?” Damson shouted. “Coniff didn’t do it. Belden ain’t dead!”
“No, but Coniff will be by tomorrow night. And who’ll get the blame for killing him?”
“Belden,” Damson said hopefully.
“Not Belden,” Vanner answered. “He won’t be around to be accused of killing anybody. But Tom Roddy will.”
“Roddy!” Damson cried. “Why waste time on an old fool like that?”
“Because Roddy pokes his nose into everything,” Vanner said. “And ever since Belden came back, he’s been poking deeper. If he gets even a little smell of what we’re doing, he’ll guess the rest. I’ve been meaning to take care of him for a long time. Now I’m going to do it.”
Damson snorted. “You’re crazy! Nobody in Wildhorse would ever believe Roddy killed anybody.”
“They will when I start some more stories moving,” Vanner said confidently. “Who does Coniff work for? Judge Lyles. Everybody knows that. And everybody has heard the story we started the day Belden came back — that the judge will be bankrupt if he loses the use of all that good, grazing land Belden owns.”
“You’re still crazy,” Damson said. “Sure everybody’s heard the story. But that don’t mean they believe it.”
“Plenty of them do,” Vanner said. “What do you think the dealers and waiters and the dancing girls do here? They listen to the talk. And they tell me what they hear.”
He shook his head at Damson. “I’ve told you before that I use my head. I don’t make a move until I’m sure. And right now I’m sure of the temper of the local people who come in here. It won’t take much more talk to light a fuse under them. Figure it out for yourself. Who does Tom Roddy think is the greatest man alive? Judge Lyles! Roddy likes Belden, yes. But he’ll protect the judge’s interests first.”
Damson said slowly, “You’re going to fix it to look like Roddy shot Coniff to keep him from telling Belden it was the judge hired him to do the sniping?”
“I’m going to do more than that,” Vanner said. “By the time I’m finished, you won’t own just a part of the valley. You’ll own the whole of it — and the town as well.”
He stepped closer to Damson and lowered his voice. “Why do you think I’ve had men coming in here these last few days? By tomorrow night we’ll have a dozen top gunhands working for us. If the locals won’t start a vigilante committee to get rid of Roddy, then the new men will. I have it all arranged.”
“I don’t like this bringing in hardcases,” Damson grumbled. “What happens if they get out of hand?”
“I can control men!” Vanner said flatly. He looked coldly at Damson. “Have you a better idea? Can you think of another way to protect all the work we’ve done so far? Maybe you’re satisfied to take what you’ve got now and let Belden have the rest?”
�
�No, by God!” Damson shouted. “If we don’t do nothing else, I want Belden out of the way.”
“I told you that I’m taking care of him too,” Vanner said. “You send Marnie and Pike in to see me. I have a job for them.”
He smiled his thin, cold smile. “There’s one thing you can count on — by moonrise tomorrow night, Belden will be dead.”
IX
CLAY PUSHED Bert Coniff through the jailhouse door and into the sheriff’s small office. Roy Ponders rose from his neat desk and stared in bewilderment from Clay to Coniff.
“Here’s your sniper,” Clay said quietly. He unwound the rope from Coniff’s body.
Coniff rubbed his hands over his arms. “That’s a lie!” he cried. His confidence seemed to have come back now that he was no longer alone with Clay. “I was up hunting me a deer and — ”
“I have proof,” Clay interrupted, He told Ponders about the heelprints he’d found.
“That don’t mean nothing!” Coniff said.
“And this time he won’t get a chance to rub out the signs he left,” Clay finished. “You come up to the mountain tomorrow and bring Bert’s right boot along. We’ll see how much it means.”
Ponders still stood quietly, his expression troubled. “For your sake, I hope you’re right,” he told Clay. “Bringing false charges can be mighty serious.” He frowned. “But for the judge’s sake — ” He broke off and shook his head. “Bert Coniff’s been with the Winged L for better than five years,” he went on. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
Clay nodded, understanding what was going on in the sheriff’s mind. He said, “I’ve been thinking of that all the way in here. And the only answer I could find is that Bick Damson’s money got to Bert.”
“Damson isn’t a killer,” Ponders protested. “He wants you out of the valley, but that doesn’t mean he’d try to kill you.”
Clay took off his hat and dropped in on the sheriff’s desk. He poked a finger at the bullet burn on the crown. “This is how close Bert came today,” he said. He told Ponders about meeting Marnie and Pike a few days before.
“How else do you add it up, Sheriff?” he demanded when he’d finished.
Ponders said, “I haven’t got evidence enough yet to add up anything.” He looked at Coniff who had been standing sullenly since his outburst. “What about it, Bert? Did Damson hire you?”
“I got nothing to say,” Coniff replied. “You ain’t about to believe anything but what Belden here tells you.”
Ponders flushed. “It isn’t my job to believe or disbelieve yet,” he said stiffly. “It’s my job to find out the truth.”
Coniff grunted surlily. Clay said, “Maybe he’ll talk to the judge. I stopped by his house but there was no one around.”
“He and Tonia and Tom Roddy all went out to the ranch,” the sheriff explained. He frowned again. “If this proof you claim to have holds up, the judge isn’t going to be a very happy man. But he has to be told — and soon. He’ll want to see Bert.”
“I’ll stop off at the ranch on my way back to camp,” Clay said. He glanced out the window at the shadows lengthening along the street. “But I don’t imagine he’ll come in tonight.”
“If he does, I’ll be around,” Ponders said. “Otherwise I’ll wait until he comes in tomorrow before going to your place.”
“I’ll tell him,” Clay said. He stepped back as Ponders came forward and motioned Coniff to follow him. The two cells opened directly onto the office. Both were empty and Ponders put Coniff in the one looking directly toward his desk.
Clay felt a sense of relief as he watched the sheriff go efficiently about locking up Coniff and then return to his desk to take down the particulars of Clay’s charge. His uneasiness at the thought that Ponders might favor Coniff dissolved. The sheriff was acting again like the kind of man Clay remembered — doing his work without letting his personal prejudices interfere. Clay thought that the judge might well be right and Ponders had warned Clay only out of concern for keeping his town peaceful.
He would know more certainly tomorrow, after he saw how Ponders acted in the face of the proof he had to offer.
The sheriff finished writing down Clay’s charge. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be along tomorrow. Meantime, keep out of Bick Damson’s way.” He glanced toward the cell where Coniff sat dejectedly on a bunk. “I’ve got enough trouble as it is,” he added.
“As long as Damson doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother him,” Clay said flatly. “I told you that before, Sheriff. But if you’re thinking of my tangling with that pair of gunslingers he calls hired hands, remember they were trying to keep me off my own land.”
“I won’t argue the point,” Ponders said with a touch of weariness in his voice. “I’m just telling you to avoid trouble. If Damson is behind what’s been happening, I’ll find out about it. If he isn’t I’ll find that out too.”
“Who else wants me out of the valley?” Clay demanded.
“The sniper was driving people off your land before you ever came back home,” Ponders reminded him. “Think about that when you start laying the blame on Bick Damson.”
Clay picked up his hat and settled it on his head. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted. He started for the door. “And I’ve been remembering that the sniper shot only to scare people — not to kill them. Until I came back.”
He opened the door. “I’ll put Bert’s horse in the livery, Sheriff.”
Ponders nodded. Clay went out into the cool shadows of evening. A small crowd of curious boys had gathered when he paraded Coniff through town, but there were none about now. It was suppertime and they had found something more important to attend to, Clay thought with a faint smile.
His stomach said it was suppertime for him too. After he took Coniff’s horse to the livery stable, he rode slowly toward the Cattlemen’s Bar, thinking about getting his meal there. He saw no sign of the fancy palomino tied outside to indicate that Damson might be around.
Ponders had cautioned him about tangling with Damson, but he hadn’t said anything about Kemp Vanner, and he hadn’t said anything about Molly Doane.
And, Clay admitted to himself, as much as anything he wanted to go into the Cattlemen’s on the chance he might be able to talk to Molly, He had thought a good deal about her during the long days in the saddle. He wanted to know more about her relationship with Vanner and Damson. And he had the idea she might be able to answer some of the questions that bothered him.
He swung the dun toward the hitchrail in front of the saloon. He dismounted and crossed the sidewalk. Pushing open the doors, he stepped into warmth and noise.
The big barroom was fairly well filled with men eating or drinking or just listening to Molly Doane. She and a piano player were on a raised platform at the rear of the room, and she was singing in a thin but pleasant voice.
Clay’s eyes moved past her to a table where Bick Damson sat with his head down over a plate of food. He looked up suddenly, as if he’d felt Clay’s gaze. Even from where he stood, Clay could see that Damson was drunk and he tensed himself for possible trouble.
Molly picked up her song again as Damson settled back and returned to his food, ignoring Clay.
Clay walked quietly to an empty table on his left and sat down. Molly finished her song. Scattered applause sprang up. “Don’t let the faro dealer go to sleep, boys,” she called with forced gaiety. She stepped down from the platform and made her way to Clay.
“You shouldn’t have come in here,” she said anxiously. “Damson’s drunk and he’s upset about something.”
“I came for a meal, not a fight,” Clay said. He looked at her closely, noticing the little puckers of worry at the corners of her mouth, the tiredness around her eyes.
“And to say hello better than I did the other day,” he added.
Molly glanced toward the stairs by the bar. They were empty and she turned back to Clay. “Kemp is upstairs,” she said suddenly. “He — he wouldn’t like my talking to you.”<
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“How much does it matter what Vanner likes or doesn’t like?” Clay demanded.
“I work for him — in a way,” she said. She added, “It’s the only really good job I ever had in my life.” Her eyes were pleading as she stared down into Clay’s face. Beneath the pleading he saw again the warmth he had noticed the other time they had met.
“I’m not trying to spoil anything for you, Molly,” Clay said. “Did I ever?”
“No,” she answered fiercely. “You were about the only person in this town who didn’t though. You were the only person who ever treated me like a human being.”
“Until Kemp Vanner came along,” Clay said. He saw color flood her cheeks and added, “Just because Vanner and I don’t get along doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends, Molly.”
She was looking toward the stairs again. She said abruptly, “I’ll get you some dinner, Clay,” and hurried away, holding up the edge of her striking, close-fitting gold gown.
Clay watched her go and then looked toward the end of the bar. Vanner was coming down the stairs, moving in that neat, graceful way of his. He showed no sign of being aware of Clay’s presence, but when he reached the foot of the stairs, he stopped Molly and spoke to her briefly. Then he came directly to Clay’s table.
Clay turned his eyes toward Damson’s table. He was gone. Clay decided that Damson must have left while he talked to Molly. Uneasiness stirred inside of Clay. That wasn’t like Damson — to walk out on a chance for a fight.
He pushed the thought of Damson aside as Vanner came quietly up to the table. Vanner pulled out a chair and sat down without being invited. He said pleasantly, “Your dinner will be along presently.”
Underneath the pleasantness, Clay sensed coldness. He studied the smaller man, noting again the empty features, the deliberate, meaningless smile, the ice lying in the dark eyes.
Vanner said, “I hear you claim you caught the mysterious sniper.” His voice was light.
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