Tiff's Game (Perry County Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  "Darn it, Pap. These boots cost a small fortune, and look what crawling around has done to them. The doormen wouldn't let me in half the places I usually frequent."

  His brother groaned. "Usually frequent? You can't even talk straight anymore, Tiff. What you mean is those smoked-up, sweat-stinking, whiskey-swilling dives that you hang out in." Before Tiff could retort he added, "And you don't mean doormen. You mean broken-knuckled, lump faced, running-to-fat bouncers."

  Tiff ignored John's meaty descriptions, changing subjects as though nothing had been said. "Remember the night the rock slide came off the cliff and landed right in the front yard?"

  John again answered. "Sure I remember. Took weeks to haul away, and loosened rocks kept coming down for a month afterward."

  The father added, "That was the only rock fall we've had in the whole valley, and darned if it didn't land right in our laps. Hope there aren't any more. Everything looks tight and smooth up there, but weather is always working."

  They sat silently for a while, each dwelling on his thoughts. Then John reopened the conversation of the last few days.

  "Before Shade and Brazos opened up on you, Tiff, didn't you get any warning a'tall, no itchy feeling or maybe a sense of being watched or of something wrong?"

  Tiff shrugged. "Not a hint, Johnny. One instant we were riding easy, the next we were both on the ground with Pedro shot straight through. I doubt he knew what hit him."

  Tiff mulled a minute. "You saw where a bullet blew my saddletree to bits? Whoever fired at me pulled his shot. Might be that the other rifle going off startled him."

  Tiff touched his thigh a bit gingerly. "Put splinters and even leather through my pants and into my leg. Bit the horse good, too. If the animal hadn't bucked me loose I might have laid over like a Comanche and ridden out of there using the horse for cover." He paused to consider. "I'd just as likely not have made it. A Sharps isn't that slow to load, and they would both have been shooting."

  Ted said, "We'll ride out there before long. I want to see exactly how it all went." He shifted his weight irritably. "Lordy, Tiff, the whole thing makes me sore. I figured that kind of trouble was past for the Arrowhead."

  "It didn't really have anything to do with the ranch, Pap. Shade came a long way to find me."

  John laughed grimly. "Well, he found you all right, and here he'll stay, planted alongside all those others Pap buried in the early days."

  Ted Shatto was still annoyed. "Way too close, Tiff. Lord knows you thought fast and acted quick once you were into it, but it gripes me that those hombres sat at our tables and we didn't see through them."

  John asked again, "You didn't sense anything threatening when they were here, Tiff?"

  "Nothing, John."

  "Huh, some special power you've got."

  Tiff chuckled. "It comes and it goes, John. I don't expect it, and I never depend on it. If I get a hint, I'm grateful. Like the time I knew there was a scorpion in your boot. You remember that?"

  "I always figured you put it there."

  "Well, I didn't." Tiff grinned. "Of course there were other occasions when I set you up pretty well, like the time . . . "

  John interrupted in pretended exasperation. "I don't want to hear about 'em."

  Pedro Noches had been put to rest and the Arrowhead had mourned. Luke Shade and Brazos joined others who had died fighting the Arrowhead. Brazos and Shade had been unceremoniously dumped into graves dug in the unmarked cemetery beyond the valley walls. No record was kept of who lay there.

  Shade's horse handler bunked with the unmarried ranch hands, waiting patiently and apparently without anxiety to hear what the Shattos would do with him.

  Ted Shatto guessed it was time to settle a number of things concerning the ambush. He picked up Luke Shade's wallet and bounced it on a knee.

  "We'd better get down to business, boys. If what Tiff claims is so, this Shade thing isn't over."

  John had his answer ready. "I say we ride to the railroad, Pap. We'll take fifty or so vaqueros. We'll rent cars and bring our horses with us. When we get to California, we'll get off the train and ride straight into Shade's place."

  Tiff groaned aloud. "Then what, John? We going to hang old Saul or shoot him? Then we would be outlaws, with California rewards on our heads." He puffed in disbelief. "You'd better get off the ranch more. The days of riding in and shooting the hell out of things are pretty well gone."

  His brother was undeterred. "We could just face him down, Tiff; let him see what he is up against. Tell him that ambushing can work both ways and will from now on. If he won't listen, you can shoot him fair and square." John ended, "How else can we be done with him?"

  Tiff said, "Even killing Saul might not do it. For all I know, old Saul Shade may have a dozen sons, cousins, or uncles willing to take up where he leaves off. Whoever is left out there won't take Luke's death calmly. According to Pat O'Malley, the Shade tribe is never forgetting vengeful. They would have to be to have sent Luke hunting this far from home."

  Ted Shatto had stayed out of it, letting his boys run out the obvious points.

  He asked, "Tiff, how would you like to go east?"

  "East? I've already been clear to the Mississippi."

  "No, I mean really east. Perry County east, in fact, back to our home county, back with your Uncle Chip and our friend Captain Roth."

  Tiff saw the point of it but immediately raised objection.

  "You mean hide, Pap? Let myself be run clear out of the country?"

  John snickered. "Hell, Tiff, you've already run a thousand or so miles. What's a few thousand more going to matter?"

  Tiff growled, "There's a difference, John."

  "Huh." John was not admitting it.

  Ted continued. "You don't need to label it going away, Tiff. There are times to stand and times to take cover. Standing and fighting won't work well in this case. Going after Shades might be like stirring the manure pile. The more you stir, the worse it gets.

  "The way I see it, distance and time could settle things down. The Shades can eat their own guts for a while. Then I'll send a man or two out to California to find out who and how many we are up against. By then, we will be able to ask around without opening a hornet's nest. Maybe we'll discover that only Saul Shade even cares.

  "In the meantime, you will be safely out of it. Ambushing is damn near impossible to guard against. Hell, Tiff, Shade could have a half dozen other killers out there right now."

  "So, I sneak out of town, and you and Johnny do the dirty work?" Tiff didn't like it.

  John said, "Pap's right, Tiff, and you know it. You're just arguing because leaving hurts your pride."

  Tiff asked quietly, "What would you do, John? Suppose Shade was after you? Would you go east for a year or two?"

  It was John's turn to be uncomfortable. "It ain't the same, Tiff. You like traveling. Hell, you know how to do it. Off the Arrowhead, I'm like a fish on land. Nope, Tiff, it isn't the same."

  It wasn't, and Tiff knew it, but ducking out so completely galled him.

  His father said, "You've always wanted to see Pennsylvania, Tiff. You've talked about it since you were a boy. Now would be the right time."

  "They gamble back there, too, Tiff."

  Ted Shatto laughed, perhaps ruefully. "Your brother is right, Tiff. You would not be out of work."

  The proposal held attraction. Some said gambling wits and skills were sharper in the citified east. Tiff would like to test that claim, and he had long been curious about the land east of the big river. When his Uncle Chip and their friend Captain Carter Roth had visited a dozen years before, they had made their Perry County sound like a slice lopped off of heaven. Even his father and mother, who had never gone back, spoke lovingly of the wooded valleys and steep sided ridges between the mountains. It would be exciting to travel that distance to see places he had only heard about.

  Tiff did not want to surrender too easily, so he said, "I don't know. It's a long way back there."

&nbs
p; Ted took up his argument. "You can take that old horse handler up to Denver. It would at least get him off our hands. It would be best to announce around that you were going to Kansas or someplace like that and buy a ticket for there. By never letting your real destination be known, you could just disappear somewhere east of here. We would know, but anybody else would have hard hunting."

  Tiff grumbled, "What would I do back there?"

  John said, "Just what you always do. The inside of any of those gambling dives will look just like all the others. You know, smoke, drunks, cheap women, loud talk, nasty little fights—all the stuff you really like."

  John never could get under his skin. Tiff grinned. "Sounds good to me, Johnny. You want to come along? I could probably get you on as a bouncer. Pay would be good, although the work might be a little rough for an old high country cow chaser."

  Ted ignored their jabbing. "It would be an adventure, Tiff." His eyes grew distant. "Perry County is sort of magical. Even after all these years I can feel the draw of the place.

  "Life runs smoother back there. There is comfort in settled ways, close neighbors, and cozy villages. It's a beautiful country with good hunting and fish in every river and stream. The hills roll into rich valleys with small farms and tight houses. A man can take the train into the city, do business, and be back into the mountains in a single day. The canals and railroads haul loads around that we could never get into this ranch."

  The father nodded in memory. "It's a place to see, Tiff. You've got roots back there. Your ancestor, the first Rob Shatto, went in with the Indians, and about all of your forbearers are buried there. Your Uncle Chip will make you welcome." He nodded in agreement with himself. "It's something you ought to do."

  Tiff tried to sound unconvinced, but the idea had appeal. Why not, after all? He would like to try his game in new places. Some trains had gambling cars attached. Every town, at least to the Mississippi, had saloon gambling. Shuffle a deck of cards among men, and a game could be had anywhere. He could travel easy and in first class. If he won regularly enough he would continue. If his skills proved inadequate, he . . . Well. Tiff could not imagine that happening anyway.

  He could take a year or even two. Then he would come back and do whatever had to be done to end the Shade thing once and for all. Tiff smiled with some satisfaction. If he had to get out of sight, going to Perry County, Pennsylvania sure beat rolling his guts out sailing around the Pacific Ocean in Captain Ables' old tar bucket.

  Tiff and the horse handler rode to Denver. The old man disappeared into familiar haunts and Tiff again laid a false trail. Abilene, Kansas—to meet with cattle buyers—was his claim.

  He mailed Luke Shade's wallet and few personal possessions to San Francisco. Pat O'Malley would know what to do with them. The Arrowhead drifted Luke Shade's horses into their own herds, made the dead men's saddles available to the hands, and racked the big Sharps rifles in their arms room. The armory already held a mountain of guns salvaged from the raids of earlier times.

  Ted gave Shade's and Brazos's pistols to young vaqueros that could use them. The killers' money went to the Noches family, but none of it could make up for the loss of Pedro.

  Chapter 7

  Months after Tiff's departure, Saul Shade rode into the Valley of Bones. He came with ten men, hard-bitten cold-hearted, brutal-faced, gun fighting men.

  Luke had written his intentions to locate Tiff Shatto at home on the Arrowhead ranch. Pat O'Malley's delivery of Luke's few personals had explained the outcome. Saul Shade came to Falling Water with killing in mind. As usual, he plowed straight ahead.

  Perhaps Shade had expected the usual jerk-line, three-horse cow spread, where his men could stomp out resistance, or he might have chosen the ten toughs only to show his own strength and determination.

  Either way, Shade failed miserably. Long before he approached the valley, word had reached Ted Shatto that a heavily-armed party was coming. When Saul Shade passed through the adobe fortifications and began the almost one mile ride up the Valley of Bones, mounted, rifle-toting vaqueros began closely paralleling his short column. A glance behind showed other riders dismounting and closing the valley's entrance to retreat.

  Up the valley, a bell clanged a warning and horns echoed its ring. Shade's men instinctively bunched closer, but it was already clear that any hostile act might see them all gunned down without a chance for flight much less decent retaliation.

  Ahead, figures gathered on the porch of a large adobe home, and shooters took nearby positions with an ease denoting many repetitions. Shade's gun-fighters kept their hands far from their weapons, and their crooked smirks and exaggerated nonchalance rang hollow before fire power that could within an instant blow them lifeless.

  Saul Shade rode deep in his saddle, his features graven and cold with a bitter fanaticism about the eyes that could have worried many. He pulled his mount to a halt facing three men on the adobe's covered porch.

  Shadow from a great rock overhang relieved the normal sun glare but did not ease Shade's cold acceptance of his arrival at the Shatto place. His serpent-expressionless gaze moved deliberately man to man. The obvious leader stood solidly, fists planted on hips. His eyes met Shade's squarely, with no give and little outward interest.

  To his right waited a physically huge younger man. Muscle power bulged an upper body capable of ripping flesh from bones. This one rocked almost eagerly on his toes, as though anxious to start fighting.

  The third was a Mexican, older than the leader. Probably a foreman, he waited calmly, a palm resting on his belted pistol. All were armed, and Shade expected they knew how to use their weapons.

  When the silence had gone on long enough, Ted Shatto asked coldly, "What do you want here, Shade?"

  Surprised by the identification, muscle knotted along Saul's meaty jaw, but he answered clearly. "I've come for Tiff Shatto. He is wanted for murder in California. I will take him back." Shade's eyes did not waver and his voice did not falter. He sounded as certain as if he sat before his own ranch house.

  The powerful younger man on the porch snorted in disgust, then laughed shortly and mirthlessly in disdain. A Shade rider's face heated, and he moved a hand to a pistol.

  A dozen rifle hammers clicked to full cock and shotgun muzzles swung into line. The gunfighter froze. Then he carefully moved his fingers from pistol to saddle-horn. His angry flush dissolved with realization that he had nearly died. Neither Saul nor the men on the porch appeared to notice.

  Ted studied Saul Shade with almost contemptuous attention. Shade's type was familiar. They were usually older men who had been first in their territories. They grew hard and domineering, convinced of their own importance, and certain of the infallibility of whatever course they chose. Such men ruled vast acreages with iron fists and ready guns. They were laws unto themselves and felt above other men and their insignificant societies.

  Ted Shatto knew this well because he constantly fought the same battles within himself. At his signal, Shade and his men could be executed. Power of that magnitude was a tempting mistress. It was a continual struggle to avoid self-crowning and its all-consuming arrogances.

  Saul Shade had long ago succumbed to those wiles of unrestrained power. So certain was he that he rode unswervingly into his current impossible situation—as if there were even an iota of chance that he could succeed.

  If Saul Shade actually expected to lay hands on Tiff, he was surely a fool. If he had hoped his unannounced appearance would scare Tiff into the open like surprise might a startled jack rabbit, Shade was still no smarter.

  Saul had barely arrived in Denver when the first messenger had ridden for the Arrowhead. Saul Shade's progress had been dogged by scouts and riflemen since he had touched Arrowhead range. Even now, beyond the muzzles of the rifles and shotguns hemming in him and his men, the cross hairs of Jesus Escalante's rifle rested on Saul Shade's heart. A single wrong twitch, and Shade's life would be but a memory. Saul Shade was an arrogant fool, and Ted Shatto had no he
sitation in telling him so.

  Ted stepped forward a half pace to seize complete attention. He spoke softly, only loud enough for Shade's certain hearing.

  "I am Tiff Shatto's father, Shade. If Tiff were here, he would kill you before your gun cleared its holster. Then we would bury you alongside the ambushers you already sent us.

  "If you wish, Shade, I will take Tiff's place. All others will step aside, and I will take genuine pleasure in shooting you into rags."

  Ted gave Shade's silence only a moment. Then he went on. "But you will not do that, will you? Other men do your shooting, Shade, because you have grown old, and you are slow. You spout hard words and order others to act; you ride a tall horse and expect others to step aside. Well, not here, Shade. On the Arrowhead you are nothing."

  If Shade's words had been cold, Shatto's bit like a viper's fangs. They lashed the pride of Saul Shade as a teacher's rod would a recalcitrant student. They stung like a horde of yellow jackets. They mortified a man accustomed to respectful subservience.

  Saul Shade took the tongue lashing because he had no choice. Even an incautious flinch might pour unanswerable gunfire into them, and he and his ten hard men would be wiped from their saddles by a wall of bullets and buckshot. The soul of Saul Shade writhed in frustration, but his features were unmoved. Only Shade's eyes revealed the raging hatred and cliff-edge madness searing his guts. If Ted Shatto saw the hellfire flaring in Shade's eyes, he ignored it. Shatto held the whip, and he laid it on.

  Ted stepped closer. "You are a fool to have come here. What did you expect? A shack with a few cowboys that those second-rate gunfighters could scare? My vaqueros could turn them into dog meat. In California, Saul Shade may leave tracks. Here, the name is nothing.

  "Two of your sons have died trying to bushwhack Tiff Shatto. Do not send more. If you do, we will kill them; then we will come for you. You will die and your place will burn. We will destroy all that you have. We will leave your riders dead where they fall, and your cattle will be scattered forever.