‘Yu … yu gents got me … heh, heh … all wrong,’ he managed. ‘I done heard a feller could offload a few head … down here. Nobody mentioned no names. I just … I just heard it. In a saloon … Tyler’s, I think it was called.’
‘Where’d yu get the cattle?’ snapped the fat man. His former bumbling appearance had dropped away. Green mentally saluted him for his acting ability; he imagined very few people in Riverton paid more than passing attention to this perspiring fat man, yet it was plain to see he was as dangerous as a cornered pack-rat.
‘Picked … picked ’em up in a canyon up in the Yavapais,’ he said. ‘I was … I was just prospectin’ up there, tryin’ to raise a few ounces o’ dust. Hoss broke his hobbles an’ I … had to track him down. Found him in this box canyon.’
‘Where d’yu say this was?’ the fat man demanded.
‘Up in the Yavapais, northeast o’ Apache Canyon,’ Green told them.
‘An’ yu say yu found the cattle in this canyon?’
‘Yeah,’ Green told them. ‘Couldn’t unnerstand it. Nobody around. No riders. Yet these cows all bunched in the one canyon. I figgered somebody had rounded ’em up … mighty kind, heh, heh, I figgered. I hazed ’em along the river-bank, movin’ at night. Never seen a soul the whole time I was in that country.’
The fat man looked at his colleague, and that worthy jerked his head. ‘Stay put,’ the fat man told Green, and rose to walk off a few yards away from the table. Green covertly watched their expressions. The tall man was telling the shorter one that there was something peculiar about the story they had been told; the fat man kept shaking his head and sneering.
‘Ranee Fontaine b’lieves my story the way I b’lieve his,’ Green told himself. ‘Let’s hope Fatty there persuades him.’ It seemed as though his hopes were to be realized, for a moment later the two men returned to the table.
‘Where’s the herd, Smith?’ asked the fat man.
‘In a safe place,’ replied Sudden, putting a fatuous smile on his face. ‘I got ’em cached tight.’
They dickered for a few moments about prices, and agreed on a figure. The tall Fontaine stood up. ‘Vince here’ll make arrangements about payin’ yu,’ he said. He turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
‘He … ain’t too perlite,’ said Green surlily, playing his part. Vince’s smile was anything but warm.
‘He don’t have to be,’ he told Green. ‘Now where’d yu say yu got yore camp?’
Green gave him directions for getting to a watering hole that he had passed, north of town, and told him he would wait for him there.
‘I’ll be along at nightfall,’ Vince promised him. ‘Yu be keerful with that shootin’ arm o’ yourn, Smith. I don’t aim to get shot by no nervous cow-thief.’
Sudden nodded, maintaining his nervous pose until the fat man finally bade him farewell and left the saloon. The man from the Mesquites moved apparently carelessly across the room as Vince crossed the street. Through a window he was able to pinpoint the man’s path and notice that he disappeared up an alley farther up the street. Green nodded once and then shuffled out of the back door of the saloon. Behind one of the houses he had tethered Midnight, and in his saddlebags were stowed his own clothes and guns. Dousing himself quickly with water from a nearby trough, Green removed the dirt and grime from his hair and face. A few minutes later, the identity of Smith completely shed, he emerged once more into the street of Riverton, his hat pulled low over his face to avoid the million-to-one chance that someone in the town would know him.
On silent feet he slipped up the alleyway he had marked as Vince’s route. The sound of hearty laughter emerging from a slightly open window drew him near; crouching, he edged to a position below the sill of the window. The voices were those of the two men he had met in the saloon.
‘ … money from home,’ Vince was saying, to the accompaniment of gusts of laughter from Fontaine. ‘The old geezer tells me where he’s got the cows. I ride out there to pay him an’ he hands the cows over to me.’
‘On’y yu pay him in lead, ‘stead o’ silver,’ said Fontaine. ‘It’s easy pickin’s.’
‘Ol’ fool musta been born yestiddy,’ laughed Vince. ‘He shore oughta be put away, anyways. If Jim Dancy gets ahold o’ him he’ll salt his tail shore!’
‘Yu don’t reckon …’ Once again Fontaine burst out laughing. ‘Yu mean … this ol’ soak found Dancy’s canyon?’
‘It’s gotta be, Ranee,’ hooted Vince. ‘There couldn’t be two that close to Apache Canyon.’
The two men laughed again, and the listening puncher smiled grimly to himself. His ruse had worked like a charm, better than he had dared hope. If Jim Dancy was selling these two cattle, as their conversation indicated, then he was stealing them from either Saber or from the homesteaders. If Dancy was behind the rustling, then someone else was behind Dancy and it wasn’t Lafe Gunnison, who would hardly be likely to steal his own cattle. Sudden’s half-smile changed to a grim one; it looked like he was overdue a long chat with Mr. Dancy. He edged back from his listening post and swiftly walked the few yards to where he had hitched Midnight.
The idea of arranging a reception for the fat man when he went to the waterhole that night intending to kill poor, defenseless ‘John Smith’ occurred to him, and caused a frosty smile to play around his eyes, but he dismissed the temptation.
‘There’s more important things to do,’ he told himself. ‘I’d best head back for the Mesquites. Jake’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’
Chapter Ten
FOR THE tenth time that evening Jake Harris said, ‘I shore as hell wish I knew where Jim was!’
Susan Harris stamped her foot with suppressed rage as her father uttered these words. ‘Oh, Daddy, if you say that again I’ll scream. Jim’s being here wouldn’t have made any difference. What happened, happened; I suppose it is as well that it was no worse.’
Harris shook his head. Indeed, his daughter might be unwittingly right. If Green had been around this morning, then there might have been even worse to think about than what had happened.
He had been out in the corral when the sound of hoofs along the trail to the south had warned them of the approach of a lone rider. Accustomed now to the precautions instilled in her by her father, and also by Green, Susan Harris came to the door to meet him, his shotgun in her hands. She gave him the gun and with a worried look on her pretty face asked him where Philadelphia was.
‘He’s over at Taylor’s,’ her father told her. ‘I sent him to borrow an ax from Alex. Don’t fret yoreself, girl!’
Susan nodded and moved back into the shadow of the house as her father, the rifle cradled across his arm, turned to face the oncoming rider, who could now be seen loping up the trail towards the ranch.
Harris descried a man of medium height riding a very fine bay stallion. The man’s saddle was lavishly ornamented with silver conchos and buckles. The man himself was a complete stranger, but Harris did not miss the peculiarly cut gun holster; this was no passer-by, he told himself. The shotgun remained at port across his arm.
The stranger reined in his horse and sat in the saddle in the center of the yard, surveying the house and the smaller outbuildings with a sneer.
‘What’s yore business, mister?’ called Harris. The newcomer completely ignored his challenge and continued with his disdainful survey of the place. He spat, then kneed his horse forward as Harris repeated his question.
‘Yo’re Harris?’
‘I am. What do yu want? Who are yu?’
‘Just wanted to see yu, Harris,’ the man said. ‘Heard a lot about yu. Yu ast my name: it’s Cameron. Wes Cameron. I expect yu’ve heard about me, too.’
‘That I have,’ snapped Harris, ‘an’ none of it good.’
‘Watch yore tongue, yu ol’ goat!’ snapped Cameron. ‘I’m just admirin’ yore place, but yu push me hard an’ I might alter the look of it some.’
Harris hitched the shotgun significantly forward, bu
t the cold-eyed Cameron feigned not to notice.
‘I’d guess yu was thinkin’ o’ leavin’ these parts,’ he said, as if to no one in particular. ‘Wise decision. This high country looks plumb unhealthy to me for a man yore age.’
‘Damn’ yore eyes!’ rumbled Harris. ‘Yu got-yore gall, mister! I’m guessin’ yo’re about to roll yore tail afore I perforate it.’
Cameron smiled. It was a cold, mirthless smile, and it did not touch the eyes. He dismounted and started to walk towards Jake Harris, who covered the menacing figure with the shotgun.
‘Hold it right there!’ he told Cameron. The gunman took no notice of the words.
In a voice that could almost have been described as teasing he said, ‘Yu aim to blow me apart with that scattergun in front o’ yore daughter, Harris? Yu know what a man looks like that’s been shot close-to with one o’ those things? Yu want yore daughter to see that?’
Jake Harris hesitated for a fateful moment, and in that moment the gunman’s hand moved like a striking snake, knocking the barrel of the shotgun aside. His right hand swept to the cut-away holster and came up holding the pearl-handled six-shooter. It rose and fell, and Jake Harris dropped senseless to his knees, blood pouring from the cut behind his ear made by the viciously wielded gun-barrel. Susan Harris, seeing the murderous expression on Cameron’s face as the gun-barrel was raised to strike yet again, swept back the door and threw herself at the man, her hands outstretched, fingernails reaching for the twisted face.
Cameron caught her hands easily, his grip like steel, and twisted them backwards until he held her, panting, her face only inches from his own.
‘Well, now,’ he leered. ‘If yu ain’t the wildcat! Purty, too! How about a li’l kiss, honey?’
He bent his head towards her, and the girl, struggling helplessly, tried desperately to prevent his beastly caress; half fainting, powerless in his clasp, she closed her eyes as his snarling face came nearer – Suddenly his grip was loosed, and she collapsed, falling alongside her father. Looking up, she saw Cameron stumbling backwards as Philadelphia, who had ridden into the yard unseen and come up behind the man, yanked at Cameron’s shirt collar, pulling the man backwards off balance, his arms flailing – Philadelphia turned the man half around, still off balance, and with all his strength drove a wicked uppercut to the gunman’s jaw. Cameron cartwheeled backwards, sprawling in the dust of the yard. Cursing, spitting blood from his gashed mouth, he struggled to sit upright, shaking his head to clear it. Philadelphia stepped forward as Cameron got groggily to his feet and again hit the man, this time on the side of the head. Cameron went down like a pole-axed steer. The boy turned and raced to help Susan Harris, who was struggling to her feet.
Philadelphia knelt down to lift Jake Harris’s head as the old man stirred, moaning feebly. Susan ran into the house and emerged with a bowl of water. Philadelphia poured it unceremoniously over the old man’s face, and spluttering, Jake Harris sat up. In a few moments the light was back in his eyes, as Philadelphia assured him that Susan was perfectly safe. The girl went back into the house for more water. None of them paid any attention to the prone form of Cameron. Had they been doing so they would have seen him stir, then carefully roll his head to see where they were. A rictus of hatred contorted the man’s face, and with a smooth movement, cursing as pain shot through his bruised jaw, Cameron was on his feet. At the same moment that Cameron regained his feet Susan Harris appeared in the doorway of the house, and her mouth opened in astonishment as she saw the crouched, menacing figure behind her father and Philadelphia.
Philadelphia wheeled, then halted as he saw Cameron. The gunman’s smile was as inviting as death.
‘Yo’re careless, boy,’ he told Philadelphia. ‘Never turn yore back on a man ‘less’n yo’re shore yu’ve put him down for good.’
The boy’s face was a study in self-disgust. He took a step forward, but Jake Harris laid a detaining hand on his arm.
‘No, Philly,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s Wes Cameron – he’s a paid killer an’ mighty fast. Don’t yu go up agin him.’
The boy looked uncertainly from Cameron to his employer and back again.
Cameron let a wolfish smile play on his features. ‘You wonderin’ if yo’re fast enough, ain’t yu, boy? Well, I ain’t … so don’t try it. I ain’t in the kid-killin’, business. However, I owe yu somethin’’ He fingered his swollen jaw, and his eyes were merciless. Faster than the watchers could follow, his hand darted to the cut-away holster and two shots blasted from his hip. Philadelphia reeled backwards and fell to the ground; Susan Harris screamed, and a curse exploded from her father’s lips.
‘Yu murderin’ scum I’ he ground out, his eyes moving helplessly to the shotgun lying in the dust about ten feet away.
Cameron smiled. ‘He ain’t dead, Harris. I just made shore he don’t sneak up on me again for a few weeks.’
A closer look at the boy, beside whom Susan Harris was kneeling, showed that the gunman’s shots had in fact both pierced the thick muscles of the thigh on both the boy’s legs. Blood stained the youngster’s bleached Levi’s, but he was already sitting up, cursing weakly. Harris stared at the gunman, as if trying to divine from the man’s face some secret that lay behind it. Noticing the old man’s gaze, the gunman laughed.
‘Yo’re worryin’, Harris,’ he laughed. ‘That’s the first sensible thing yu’ve done since I came. Yo’re thinkin’ about what woulda happened if I’d come up here when yu wasn’t around, or if I’d made less noise to let yu know I was comin’.’ He nodded at the girl. ‘She’s right purty. Yu think about what I said about the climate up here. Mention it to yore neighbors. I’ll be around.’
Without another word, he wheeled about and walked to his magnificent stallion. Mounting, he turned the horse’s head and thundered off away from the Harris ranch, while the old homesteader looked at his daughter with stricken eyes.
The events of the day were still plaguing him as Susan bustled about, preparing new dressings for Philadelphia’s wounds. After a solid hour of arguing he had agreed to allow her to nurse him only when, teeth chattering, he had been unable to argue more. The fever of shock that had followed the shooting had now abated and Philadelphia was sleeping in an adjoining room. Despite his daughter’s outburst Harris still wondered where the dark-haired cowboy in whom, he realized, he had come to place such complete faith, had gone. He wanted to seek Green’s slow-spoken reassurance, for the cold threats that Cameron had delivered had for once weakened the homesteader’s determination never to be pushed off his land.
‘It’s one thing when they fight man to man,’ he muttered. ‘But makin’ war on women … that’s no better’n Injuns.’ Again he pondered the long talks he had already had with Green – he could still somehow not quite bring himself to think of his employee as ‘Sudden’ – about Gunnison.
‘That ol’ devil could be playin’ a mighty clever double game,’ he told himself. ‘Mebbe Jim’s figgerin’ is too simple. Mebbe it’s a whole lot deeper than we all think.’ These thoughts and others like them occupied his mind as he paced the floor puffing furiously on his old pipe, a frown of concentration upon his weather-beaten face. And all the time, in his mind’s eye, he saw the sneering face of Wes Cameron, and heard the unspoken threats the man had made upon Susan. The reputation that was Cameron’s was such that the old man wondered whether even Sudden, whose speed on the draw was said to be lightning fast, could match it.
‘He’s the on’y hope I got,’ the old man told himself; but there was a touch of resignation, a hint of defeat in his voice as he said it.
Chapter Eleven
SUDDEN ARRIVED back at the JH on the morning after Cameron’s visit and its aftermath. Stunned by the events which the old homesteader recounted, the puncher listened in silence as Jake told him of Cameron’s thinly veiled threats.
‘Mebbe we ought to send Miss Susan away, at that,’ he said thoughtfully, but that young lady tossed her head spiritedly in dismissal of such a suggestion.
‘This is my home, and no thug with a gun is going to frighten me away,’ she said calmly. ‘Jim, Daddy, I appreciate your concern. But I’m not going. Anyway,’ she added in a lighter voice, ‘who’d look after our invalid?’
Green went into the little bedroom where Philadelphia lay. The fever had paled the youngster’s complexion, and he looked startlingly like the thin-faced tenderfoot who had so nearly been the victim of Jim Dancy’s liquor rage that day in Yavapai.
‘Yu shore got the easy life,’ Sudden told him with a smile. ‘Pretty nurse, good food, an’ no work.’
Philadelphia smiled ruefully. ‘Any time yu wanta change places, Jim, speak up,’ he said. ‘I’d give a couple o’ years’ pay to be able to go out huntin’ for that coyote Cameron.’
‘Yu take yore medicine,’ Sudden told him. ‘Cameron’ll keep. There’s bigger fish fryin’ in these parts. Get yoreself fit: I’ll be needin’ yu.’
‘Yu bet, Jim,’ said the boy, his face glowing.
Susan Harris bustled in and shooed the tall puncher out of the room. ‘No more of that war talk, you two,’ she scolded. ‘Philly, yu’ve got to sleep. Lie down, now.’
‘Hel – heck, I ain’t tired, Miss Sue,’ he complained. ‘I just got through sleepin’ a whole raft o’ hours.’
‘Now don’t you argue with me, Mr. Philadelphia Sloane’ the girl was saying as Green left the room, leaving the boy grinning ruefully after him.
‘Take about six months o’ that to make him sick,’ Green told his employer, who smiled fleetingly.
‘Creates a few problems, though, Jim,’ the older man said. ‘I can’t talk Susie into goin’ into town, an’ while she’s here I’m not keen on goin’ far from the house. Yet someone ought to ride over to tell the others that this Cameron’s skulkin’ around, in case anyone tries to take him on afore they know what they’re gettin’ into.’
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