The Second Western Novel

by Matt Rand

  “Oh, all right.”

  “How was everything in Stone City?”

  “Kinda hot.”

  “Y’mean just naturally, or y’mean it was extra hot for you?”

  “The sheriff’s lookin’ for me, an’ so’s the Fowler outfit.”

  “That’s nice. See either one o’ th’m?”

  “Ran into the Fowler outfit twice. Once goin’ an’ then comin’.”

  “Ol’ John told me you borrowed a gun offa him.”

  “That’s right, I did. Now I’m afraid I’m gonna be owin’ him for two guns.”

  “Uh-huh. Kinda figgered something must’ve happened to the first one on account I didn’t see you wearin’ it Who’s got it, the Fowlers?”

  Dave nodded. “They caught me ridin’ through a ravine,” he related. “There were three o’ them. Feller named Pete Scott took my gun.”

  “I know the gent,” Dobie said.

  “The two with him were Doak Edwards an’ Carly Williams.”

  “I’ve met them,” Dobie said. “An’ it wasn’t a pleasure. You aimin’ to stay put here for a while now?”

  “Till tomorrow morning.”

  “An’ then?”

  ‘I’ll be off again.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “I’m lookin’ for something.”

  “Like what?”

  Dave smiled fleetingly. “Like I said, for something.”

  “This playin’ a lone hand is fine, Moore, when the odds against you aren’t too big. When they are, an’ you get wise to it, an’ you back off a piece an’ round up some help, that don’t make you out a coward. F’r my dough, that makes you out a smart feller. Only a damned fool is willing to take on the whole world or a good part of it when he don’t hafta. Think that over, son, an’ when you wanna talk about it with somebody, I’ll be around.”

  Both men turned their heads and looked toward the fence when they heard the rhythmic beat of approaching hoofs. A horseman came into view. Dobie rose up a little and looked hard at him. Dave, glancing at him, saw his mouth tighten, his eyes harden, and watched him loosen the gun in his holster.

  “Stay here,” Dobie commanded.

  The foreman jerked the reins and rode towards the fence. The other horseman came up to the fence, reined in and waited for Dobie. Dave got a look at the man, and what he saw made him start. The man was Ed Fowler! Flo suddenly wheeled and trotted towards him, too.

  Dobie gave Dave a strange look when he pulled alongside of him. Then he faced Fowler. “Awright, Fowler,” he said curtly. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Him,” Fowler said, perking his head in Dave’s direction.

  “What about him?”

  “I kinda figgered he was holed up here.”

  “F’r once in your life you figgered right.”

  “Takin’ sides against me in somethin’ that don’t concern you or McKeon ain’t gonna make me feel any better about you fellers.” Fowler’s swarthy face was even darker than usual now, and his eyes were burning. “Cantwell, one o’ these days I’m gonna—”

  Dobie’s right arm jerked. The old .44 flashed in his hand. “You’re gonna what, Mister Fowler?” he taunted again.

  Fowler wheeled his mount. “I’m gonna take you apart, you ol’ buzzard,” he said through his teeth. “That’s what.”

  “S’matter with try in’ it now? You’ve got a gun on you.” There was no response from Fowler. “You haven’t got the guts of a louse, Ed Fowler!” Dobie hollered at him. “You haven’t got the guts to take on anybody! Any time you ever got anybody, it was when the other feller wasn’t lookin’, an’ you got him in the back!”

  Fowler was still glowering when he rode away. Dobie and Dave followed him with their eyes, watched him till he was out of sight. When he was gone, Dobie shoved his gun down into his holster. “That’s the kind you’re tryin’ to take on all by y’self,” he said severely to Dave. “Trickiest an’ meanest polecat I’ve ever rim up against. His whole outfit’s the same as he is. Maybe they’re not so smart, but they’re just as mean. Still goin’ lookin’ for that something by yourself, Moore?”

  Dave smiled. “Going back to the house?” he asked. “If you are, I’ll ride along with you.”

  Dobie shook his head. “Not right now,” he answered. “I think I’ll stay around f’r a while. No tellin’, y’know. Not that I expect him to, but Fowler might get the urge to come back, an’ I wouldn’t wanna disappoint him an’ not be on hand to meet him.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Dave said. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Dobie bristled. “S’matter?” he demanded. “Think I’m not up to handlin’ Ed Fowler by myself?”

  “Heck, no,” Dave said quickly. “That wasn’t what I was thinkin’ at all.”

  “Then go on,” Dobie commanded, gesturing. “Go on where you were goin’ in the first place.”

  “I’m going,” Dave said, wheeling Flo and starting away.

  “Wait a minute, Moore!” Dobie called, and Dave stopped and looked at him over his shoulder. “I ‘wouldn’t say anything about this back at the house. No point gettin’ the folks stirred up. Y’know?”

  “I know,” Dave answered. He nudged Flo with his knees. “See you later.”

  “Yeah, sure!” Dobie said. “Fact is, I’ll be comin’ in kinda early today. Gotta get me all slicked up.”

  Dave pulled the mare to a stop, twisted around in the saddle and looked at Dobie with a grin. “Mrs. Winton?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Dobie replied. “This here’s a new one. She’s due in Dugas some time this evening. A schoolteacher, an’ a real smart lookin’ one, I understand.”

  “How d’you think Mrs. Winton’s gonna take it?”

  “Huh,” Dobie said scornfully. “Who cares?”

  “Somebody said she does,” Dave said gravely. “That is, for you.”

  “Yeah?” Dobie retorted in a shrill voice. “You tell that somebody f’r me he’s a cockeyed liar! That Winton woman don’t care a hoot for anybody ’cept herself. All you hafta do is take one look at ’er, an’ you know the kind she is right off. She’s big an’ fat, an’ all she likes to do is stuff herself. That’s not for me, boy. I don’t mind a woman likin’ her grub, but I don’t aim to tie up with—with an appetite. All I want is a woman. G’wan now. On your way.”

  Dave loped off in the direction of the ranch-house.

  * * * *

  Janey McKeon Fowler came down the landing from her room, tying the sash of her robe a little tighter around her. She stopped when she reached the head of the stairs, leaned over the banister and listened. “Dad,” she called guardedly after a while. “Is that you down there?”

  There was no immediate response. A moment later Janey heard a heavy step coming from the kitchen, and her father appeared in the doorway that opened upon the front hall.

  “Yeah, Janey?” McKeon asked, lifting his gaze to her. “S’matter?”

  “It’s only five o’clock,” she said severely. “What are you doing down there?”

  “Just had me some coffee,” old John replied.

  “Aren’t you going back to bed?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve got me something else to do.”

  Janey gathered her robe around her, went down the stairs and followed her father into the kitchen. Her eyes widened when she saw him pick up a gun belt that was hanging over a chair and buckle it around his waist.

  “What’s that for?” Janey wanted to know. “Where are you going at such an early hour?”

  “Out,” McKeon said calmly.

  “Dad, please!”

  “That Moore boy’s headed for Ed Fowler’s place,” John told his daughter, shifting the holster a little until the butt of his gun was in position for an instant draw. “I figger I’d better trail along an’ see that he don’t get the short end o’ the stick. Ed’s too tricky for him, y’know.”

  “How do you know he’s going there?”


  “How?” McKeon repeated. “How d’you think? He borrowed another gun offa me, an’ he asked me where Ed’s place is.” Janey looked troubled.

  “He’s kinda mulish,” John MeKeon continued. “Got his own ideas, an’ he don’t want anybody tellin’ him what to do. Not that I c’n hate him for bein’ like that. I guess I was pretty much the same when I was his age. But he’s a nice kid, an’ I like him, an’ I know Millie’s pretty well gone on him so I don’t want anything to happen to him. I figure I’ll follow ’im an’ see that he don’t run into anything that c’n make trouble for him.”

  “Couldn’t one of the boys go instead of you?”

  McKeon bristled. “What are you tryin’ to do?” he demanded indignantly. “Cheat the old man out of some excitement? Or d’you think I’m too old for that, huh?”

  “Seriously, Dad—”

  “Nothings gonna happen to me so don’t you go worryin’ yourself. Soon’s I know the boy’s awright, I’ll head back home.” Janey stepped up close to her father and buttoned the top button of his flannel shirt. He took her face in his hands, bent his head and kissed her.

  “Just like your mother,” old John said. “Always worryin’ about me, an’ sure something was gonna happen to me. But here I am, sixty-four, an’ nothing’s happened to me yet. Look, you hop back upstairs an’ get back to bed. Y’hear? An’ I don’t want you wakin’ the boys the minute I’m gone an’ tellin’ them. Understand?”

  “Promise me you’ll be extra careful?”

  “Ain’t I always?”

  “No. Promise?”

  “Doggone it, Janey,” McKeon sputtered. “What d’you think I am, huh? A two-year old?”

  “I’m waiting, Dad!”

  “Oh, awright,” McKeon said disgustedly. “I’ll be so blamed careful, if I see my own shadow, I’ll hightail it. You satisfied now?”

  Janey smiled up at him. “You’re an old fraud,” she said, “and you know it. But I love you in spite of it. Where’s your hat and your leather jacket?”

  “My hat’s right here,” John said. He picked it up from a chair and clapped it on his head. “What do I need the jacket for?”

  “It’s chilly out. That’s why.”

  McKeon grunted. Janey followed him out of the room and into the hallway. She stopped him in front of the clothes closet. “Your jacket’s in there,” she said.

  The old man frowned, but Janey disregarded it. Finally he jerked open the closet door, reached in, took out the jacket and slung it over his arm.

  “Put it on,” the girl commanded.

  “Doggone it, Janey—”

  The girl took the jacket from her father, held it for him, and glowering a little, he turned and thrust his arms into the sleeves. She turned him around to her and buttoned it up.

  “That’s better,” Janey said. She moved ahead of him to the front door, opened it and held it wide. “Remember your promise, Dad.”

  McKeon grumbled under his breath and went out. Janey stood in the doorway, watching him trudge down to the barn, a huge, imposing figure in the dawn light. She waited till he rode out of the barn and loped off, then she swung the door shut, whirled around and flew up the stairs. Moments later she was sitting on the edge of Bud’s bed and shaking him into awakening.

  “Hey, what the—”

  “Bud, get up!”

  The young fellow eventually managed to get his eyes properly focused, although they were still heavy and sleep-laden. “Janey!” he said. “S’matter?”

  Quickly the girl told Bud of their father’s plans. He sat upright then.

  “All right,” Bud said. “Go wake the boys while I get into my clothes. Tell them to hustle on down to the barn. I’ll have their horses saddled for th’m by the time they get there. And, Janey, tell them to bring their rifles!”

  Ten minutes after John McKeon had ridden northward, his four husky sons, each with a rifle thumping in his saddle boot, clattered out of the barn. They wheeled their horses and rode northward, too.

  Bud, maneuvering into position at the head of the little band, twisted around. “We don’t wanna crowd dad,” he told his brothers. “We’ll let him stay ahead of us all the way. We’ll let him have his fun; only we’ll be close enough to take over for him if he runs into trouble. Let’s go!”

  The furious drum of hoofs brought Dobie Cantwell out of the bunkhouse. He came running up the path, tucking his shirttail into his pants, and pounded into the kitchen breathlessly. “What’s goin’ on around here?” he demanded of Janey. “Where’s everybody goin’?”

  Quickly Janey related what had happened.

  “Awright,” Dobie told her. “Looks to me like this is gonna be a showdown with the Fowlers. An’ I don’t aim to be left out of it.”

  The foreman bolted out, dashed down the path, swerved away from the barn and pounded on to the bunkhouse. Janey, coming to the front door, could hear his voice. Then he burst out of the bunkhouse, followed by a dozen men who had not quite finished getting into their clothes. Every man was armed. All were wearing holstered guns, and most of them were carrying rifles too. Minutes later the troop rode out of the barn and dashed off in a northerly direction.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ed Flower’s place stood on high ground, atop a four or five-foot high embankment. An upgrade that began at the side of the road led to it, then leveling off, the approach wound through an avenue of trees, with the ranch-house some fifty feet from the top of the upgrade and facing the road. It was a one-story affair which appeared to be badly in need of a painting. Emerging into the open from the trees, the bunk-house, a low, squat, drab-looking structure, loomed up immediately on the right. Beyond it, about twenty feet away, was the corral, a rather smallish enclosure. It was empty, and its gate was hanging wide open. Opposite the corral was the barn, a faded red and weather-beaten building, whose walls showed repair patches of fairly new wood. A short ramp led into the barn.

  Dave Moore broke out of the surrounding trees, and swinging around the bunkhouse and approaching it from the rear, came panting up to it. He flattened himself out against the worn building and worked his way along the back wall till he came to a window. Its panes were dust-coated and smudged where rain had glanced off it. He raised up and stole a quick look inside. The place was empty. The bunks, there were eight or ten of them, showed they had been slept in. Used dishes stood on the crudely fashioned table in the middle of the bunkhouse. The Fowler hands apparently started their work day at an unusually early hour, and Dave was glad of it. There would be nothing to fear from them.

  Dave next turned his gaze on the coral. He moved along the wall till he came to the very end of it, and he looked in the direction of the barn. There was no sign of anyone in it, and he spun past the corral to a cluster of brush about midway between the corral and the big house. Like a flash, he dove into it.

  Dave got up on his knees, fighting for his breath, and focused his eyes on the house. He was startled when he heard hoofbeats, and he turned his head and looked in the direction of the upgrade. A horseman came up the incline. Dave stared hard. The rider was a familiar, burly man, Sheriff Al Spencer. The latter drew rein as he came past the bunkhouse, slowing his horse to a trot. On and on he came, and then he was abreast of the spot where Dave was crouching. Dave spent a tense moment until Spencer passed him and pulled up in front of the house.

  Slowly the sheriff climbed down from his horse. He wore his gun slung low, and it thumped against his right thigh as he walked to the door and banged on it. There was no immediate response, and the sheriff turned away from the door and ranged his eyes around the place. Then the door opened, and Spencer turned again. The man who filled the open doorway was Ed Fowler. He was as big as the sheriff, and in the dawn he looked even more evil than ever.

  “H’llo, Al,” Ed said, in a guarded tone.

  “H’llo, Ed,” the sheriff responded. He stood with his hands on his broad hips. The butt of his gun was within instant reach.

  “Kinda early for you to come ca
llin’, Al,” Dave heard Fowler say as he moved out of the doorway.

  Dave saw the sheriff step back. He noticed that Fowler did not close the door, but left it ajar. Dave wondered about it. But fixing his eyes on the two men and watching the little drama being played out by them, he forgot about the door. “What’s on your mind Al?” Fowler asked.

  “For one thing, Ed,” Spencer said. “You.”

  Fowler grinned. “An’ for another?” he asked.

  “That young feller, Moore.”

  “What about him?”

  “I want him, Ed, and I want you, too.”

  “One thing at a time I always say, Al. What d’you want Moore for?”

  “I think he was in on Bill Cox’ killing,” Spencer said evenly. “I think he’s the killer who was hired to do the job on Bill if you failed.”

  “Y’mean you think I killed Cox? Y’mean you’re chargin’ me with it?”

  “That’s the general idea, Ed.”

  Fowler shook his head. “It wasn’t me, Al,” he said. “It was Moore who did it. Lee hired him to do the job, an’ he gave me the money to pay him. That’s how I know.”

  “I still think it was you who did it, Ed,” Spencer said quietly. “You’re gonna have one helluva time provin’ it”

  “That’s awright. I think I c’n do it.”

  Fowler’s thick shoulders lifted. “It’s awright with me,” he said, “because I know you can’t. But I’m kinda curious now, Al. What makes you think I did it?”

  “Oh, there are a couple o’ things that point to you, Ed,” the sheriff answered. “But we’ll go into them when we get to court.”

  “I see. An’ what makes you think I’m gonna go into court?”

  “You’ll go, awright,” Spencer said. “There ain’t any question about that. Only thing f’r you to decide is how you’re gonna go.”

  “I don’t get that, Al. What d’you mean?”

  “I mean peaceable or otherwise.”

  “Oh!” Fowler said, and he laughed. “Hell, I didn’t do anything, so I’d be a damned fool if I didn’t go peaceable.”

  “Awright then,” the sheriff said. He backed still another step. “Where’s Moore? I wanna take him along now, too.”

  “Hate to disappoint you, Al, but he ain’t here.”