He was a cunning man, and he possessed the power to hate beyond that of most men. His hatred had been a rambling and occasional thing until that day in the livery barn when he made advances to Carol Quarterman.
He had mistaken her friendly air for invitation, and one day when stabling her mare, he put his hands on her. She sprang away with such loathing and contempt that it bit much deeper than the lash of her quirt across his face, and something black and ugly burst within him. He sprang for her, and only the arrival of Holy Walker had saved her.
Walker had come quickly into the barn, but had seen nothing.
Not wanting her father to kill Noll, Carol said nothing, but took care to avoid him. Yet George Noll's anger burned deep and brooding, and he began to plot and plan. If Quarterman were destroyed, and the girl in need, he would see her pride humbled. Had it required much effort, the chances were that he would have done nothing, but the situation was sparking, and needed only someone to fan the blaze.
He chewed tobacco in silence while the insult to his pride grew enormously. As all ignorant men, he possessed great vanity, and nothing had prepared him for the loathing on the face of Carol Quarterman. His lewd eyes watched her coming and going, and her bright laughter seemed to be mocking him. He could not believe she had almost forgotten his action, and believed she deliberately tormented him.
Carefully, he fed the flames of envy and resentment in Roy Strider, and the vanity and contempt of Steve Bayne. It was only a step to outright trouble, which began when Roy Strider gave a beating to a Bar B cowhand in a fistfight. Bayne was furious and would have ridden down on Strider at once but for Quarterman.
Noll, who knew most things, knew that John Pole was rustling, but hinted to Quarterman and Walker that it was the nesters. All he actually said was a remark that they always had beef, but such an idea grows and feeds upon uncertainty and suspicion.
His hints to Bayne had apparently sown the seeds of action, for he saw the young rancher stride purposefully down the street to join in a long conversation with John Pole, Nelson, and Fowler. Pole, a lean, saturnine man, seemed pleased. Noll spat and chuckled to himself.
Sartain walked up the street, his boot heels sounding loud upon the boardwalk, and Carol Quarterman, watching him draw near, felt a curious little throb of excitement.
How tall he was! And the way he walked, it was more the quick, lithe step of a woodsman--speaking of strong, well-trained muscles--than the walk of any rider. Yet she sensed worry in him now. "What's the matter, Ranger?" she asked, smiling. "Troubles? I thought we settled things.".
"We've settled nothing." His voice was worried. "You know that. There is a bit of kindly feeling now, but how long will it last? The basic trouble is still there, and what is it? Where is it? Who can gain by trouble?".
She caught something of his mood. "I see what you mean. It is strange how such things start. Father and Holy griped a little when they moved in, but only Steve seemed much impressed by it, and he is always being impressed by something. Then cattle were missed and we warned them off. They wouldn't go.".
He nodded. "I've seen these things start before, but always with much more reason. It's almost as if somebody wanted trouble. I've seen that, too, but who could profit from it here?".
"Nobody ever seems to win in a fight," Carol agreed. "Everyone gets hurt. The only way anyone could hope to win would be to stay out of it and pick up the pieces.".
Sartain nodded, musing. "There are other motives. Men have been known to do ugly things without any hope of gain, over a woman, or out of envy or jealousy. There seems no way to realize any gain, but unless there is somebody around who hates either the ranchers or the nesters, I can't figure it.".
"There's nobody I know of," she said doubtfully. It was odd that right then she remembered George Noll, but it was absurd to think all this could stem from so small a thing.
"Steve is angry enough to kill you," Carol said suddenly. "He'll get over it, but the fact that you knocked him down hurt worse than the blows.".
She was realizing then that her feelings toward Steve had undergone a change. For months she had been resigned to the idea of marriage to him. He was handsome, and could be very charming, yet she had never been in love with him, and now in comparison with Sartain he seemed suddenly very juvenile, with his easy angers, his vanity and petulance. "Be careful," she warned Sartain. "Steve might go further than we believe. He's very sure of his rightness.".
"In a way," he replied, "I can understand his not liking me. He's in love with you and he can see very well that I like you!".
The suddenness of it took her breath, but before she could make any reply, he stepped from the walk and strode quickly away. Yet as he was walking off, incongruously, a remark of Carol's recurred to him. The only way to win, she had said, would be to stay out of it and pick up the pieces.
Yet if the cattlemen and nesters fought, who would be left to pick up any pieces? He spent a busy afternoon and evening, visiting the town's banker, the doctor, both of the lawyers, and two keepers of stores. When he left the last one he was very thoughtful. He had learned a little, but it was all very flimsy, too flimsy.
Very.
Surprisingly, the night passed quietly. When it was well past midnight Sartain returned to the hotel and to bed. He awakened with the sun streaming through his window and the street full of excited shouts. Hurriedly scrambling into his clothes, he rushed for the street.
Men were crowding the street, most of them riders from the ranches, and Steve Bayne was up on the steps of the harness shop shouting at them, his face red and angry. Sartain broke through the crowd and confronted him. "What's going on here?" he demanded.
Bayne wheeled on him, his eyes ugly.
"You!" He sneered. "You and your peacemaking! The. damn nester killed Parrishffwas.
"What nester?" he asked patiently.
"Who's Parrish?".
"Parrish"--Bayne's face was flushed with temper--?was Holy Walker's cowhand who went after those cattle with Earl Mason. Mason killed him!".
"That doesn't make sense," Sartain replied calmly. "You are telling us Mason killed a man who was getting beef for him?" He spoke loudly so the assembled crowd could hear.
"What you think doesn't matter!" Bayne bellowed. "Parrish was found dead along the trail, an' we're hangin' Mason right now!".
A half-dozen rough-handed men were shoving Mason forward, their faces dark with passion. Another man had a rope.
Suddenly someone shouted, "Look out! Here come the nesters!".
They were coming, all right, a tight little band of hardheaded, frightened men. Frightened, but ready to fight for what they believed.
Sartain wheeled. "Quarterman! Walker! Call off your men! Send them back to the ranches and tell them to stay there! If one shot is fired in this street by those men, I'll hold you accountable!".
"It's too far gone to stop now," Quarterman said. "Mason killed Parrish, all right.".
"Call them off!" Sartain warned. "Get them off this street at once or you'll be held accountable! There's going to be blazing hell if you don't!".
Bayne laughed. "Why, you meddling fool! You can't stop this now! Nothing can stop it! Pole, the second those nesters pass that water trough, cut them down!".
Time for talking was past, and Sartain struck swiftly. Steve Bayne never even got his hands up. Sartain struck left and right so fast the rancher had no chance even to partially block the punches. Both caught him in the wind, yet even as he gasped for breath Jim Sartain grabbed him around the waist, spun him around, and jammed a sixgun into his spine. "Pole!" he yelled. "One shot and I'll kill Bayne! I'll shoot him right here, and you'll be next!.
Get off the street!".
He shoved Bayne forward. "Tell them!" he snapped. "Order them off the street or I'll blow you apart!".
Bayne gasped the words: "I will not!".
Sartain groaned inwardly. The nesters were almost. to the trough, and although outnumbered at least five to one, they kept coming.
His pistol barrel came up and he slapped Bayne across the skull with it, one sweeping blow that dropped him to the dust.
Springing over him, his face dark with bitter fury, he faced the mob, both guns drawn now. "All right!" His voice roared in the suddenly silent street. "You wanted a fight! By the Lord Harry, you can have it and now! With me!.
"Back up! Get off the street or start shootin' an' I'll kill the first man who lifts a gun! I've got twelve shots here and I never miss! Who wants to die?".
His eyes blazing, trembling with fury, he started for the mob. It was a colossal bluff, and one from which he could not turn back, yet stop that slaughter he would, if he must die to do it.
"Back up!" His fury was mounting now and the mob seemed half-hypnotized by it. Not a man in that crowd but knew the reputation of Jim Sartain and the unerring marksmanship of which those guns were capable. They recalled that he had at one time shot it out with five men and come out unscathed. To each the black muzzles of the guns seemed pointed directly at himself, and not a man of them but suddenly believed that he had but to lift a hand to die.
Behind him the nesters were equally appalled. A lone man had sprung between them and almost certain death, and that man was slowly but surely backing the crowd up the street.
Carol Quarterman, her heart pounding, watched from the door of the hotel. At first, one man shifted his feet, but the feeling of movement caught the mob and those in front, eager to be out of reach of those guns, felt their backing easing away from them, and they, too, backed away, almost without conscious thought.
Then Sartain called out. "Quarterman! Walker! You get a last chance! Order these men back to their ranches or I'll see you both jailed for inciting to riot! If a man dies here today I'll see you both hang for murder!".
.
Chapter VI.
Quarterman stiffened. "You needn't warn me, Sartain. I know my duty." He lifted his voice. "Mount up, men, and go home. We'll let the law handle this.".
Walker added his voice, and the cowhands, aware of a cool breath of relief, were suddenly finding the street too narrow for comfort.
Sartain turned to see the rope on Mason's neck, and John Pole standing beside him, and only a few feet away, Newton and Fowler.
"Take off that rope, Poleffwas he said sharply.
The gunman's face was cold. "I'll be damned if I do!" he flared.
Sartain was suddenly quiet inside. "Take it off," he repeated, "and with mighty easy hands!".
Carefully, John Pole let go the rope. He stepped a full step to one side, his arms bent at the elbows, hands hovering above his guns. "You throwed a mighty big bluff, Ranger," he said, "but I'm callin' it!".
Carol Quarterman saw Pole's hands move, and as if all feeling and emotion were suddenly arrested, she saw Sartain's hands move at the same instant. And then she saw the lifting muzzle of a rifle from the livery-stable door!.
"Jim!" Her cry was agonized. "Look out! The stable!".
Sartain, his eyes blazing from beneath the brim of his low-crowned hat, palmed his guns and fired. It was that flashing, incredible draw, yet even as his right gun spat flame he heard Carol's cry.
A thundering report blasted on his right and he was knocked sprawling, his right-hand gun flying from him. Throwing his left gun over, he caught it deftly with his right hand and snapped a quick shot at the black interior of the barn, just below the round muzzle of a Spencer.
His head was reeling and the street seemed to be rocking and tipping, yet he got his feet under him.
John Pole was still erect, but his blue shirt was stained with blood and his guns were flowering with dancing blooms of flame. Guns seemed to be thundering everywhere and he started forward, firing again.
Staggering, Sartain lurched toward Pole and saw a shot kick up dust beyond the gunman, and believed he'd missed, having no realization that the shot had kicked dust only after passing through him.
Amazed, he saw Pole was on the ground, clawing at the dirt with bloody hands. A gun bellowed again from the barn door and he turned, falling to his face in the dust. He could taste blood in his mouth and his head felt big as a balloon, but he struggled to his feet, thumbing shells into his gun. Again a shot blasted from the barn, but he kept walking, then caught the side of the door with his left hand and peered into the gloom.
George Noll, his flabby face gray, stared at him with bulging, horror-filled eyes. He had a rifle in his hands and he stared from it to Sartain with amazement. And then Jim lifted his six-gun level and fired three fast shots.
Noll caught them in his bulging stomach and he went up on his toes, mumbled some words lost in the froth of blood at his lips, then pitched over to grind his face into the hay and dirt of the floor.
Sartain's knees seemed suddenly to vanish and the floor struck him in the mouth, and the last thing he remembered was the taste of dirt and straw in his mouth, and the sound of running feet. ..
For a long time he was aware of nothing, and then there was sunlight through a window, a pump complaining, and a woman's voice singing. He was lying now in a strange bed, and the hand that lay on the coverlet was much whiter than when he had last seen it.
A door opened and he looked into the eyes of Carol Quarterman. "Well!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think you were ever coming out of it! How do you feel?".
"I .. don't really know. What house is this?".
"Dr. Hassett's. He's my uncle and your doctor. I'm your nurse, and you had four bullets in you, two rifle, and two pistol. That's what Uncle Ed says, although I don't think he could tell one from the other.".
"Noll?".
"He's dead. You grazed him once, hit him. three times. John Pole is dead, too. You .. killed him.".
"Wasn't there some other shooting?".
"That was Holy Walker and Dad.
They finished off Newton and Fowler when they started to help Pole. Dad got hit in the side, but not badly, but Walker wasn't scratched.".
"Mason?".
"He was luckiest of all. He was hit three. times by bullets aimed at other people and none of them more than broke the skin. All of them are back in the canyons again, and not even Steve Bayne has a word to say.".
"How long have I been here?".
"A week, and you'd better settle down for a. long rest. Uncle Ed says you can't be moved and that you'll have to stay in bed, with me to nurse you, for at least two more weeks.".
Sartain grinned. "With you as nurse? I'll go for that, but what about Steve Bayne?".
She shrugged. "He's gone back to his ranch with more headaches than the one you gave him. Pole had been rustling, branding some of it with Steve's Bar B and selling the rest. Newton worked with him, and he talked before he died; he also swore he saw George Noll set the fire on the range that burned everybody out.
"Apparently he hated me, but when they went through his office they found figures showing how he had planned to buy up the ranches after the range war killed off most of the men. The questions you asked around town started the investigation of his effects, and proved you'd guessed right. As you knew, he was the only one with money enough to take advantage of the situation the range war would leave.".
"Anything on Parrish?".
"Nothing exact. However, he had been back. to the ranch and talked with the wrangler after leaving Mason. Probably that was Pole. Parrish must have caught him rustling, but we'll never know.".
Jim Sartain stared out of the window at the sunlit street. He could see the water trough and the two lone trees. A man sat on the edge of the walk, whittling in the sun. A child was chasing a ball. Farther along, a gray horse stamped a patient foot and flicked casually at the flies.
It was a quiet street, a peaceful street.
Someday all the West would be like Gila Crossing.
..
*.
Medicine Ground.
A Cactus Kid Story.
The Cactus Kid was in a benevolent mood and the recent demise of Senor "Ace" Fernandez was far from his thoughts. Had the Kid's own
guns blasted a trail down the slippery ladder to Hell, he would have been wary, for he knew well the temper of the four brothers Fernandez.
He had not, however, done a personal gun job on Ace. He had merely acted for the moment as the finger of destiny, and but for a certain small action of his, the agile fingers of the elder Fernandez might still be fleecing all and sundry at the Cantina.
Nobody who knew him could question the Kid's sense of humor, and it extended as far as poker, which is very far indeed. The humor of Martin Jim (s-called because he was the second of two Jim Martins to arrive in Aragon) was another story. Jim had a sense of humor all right, but it ended somewhere south of poker. Martin Jim was a big, muscular man who packed a pistol for use.
On the memorable afternoon of Ace's death, that gentleman was sitting in a little game with Martin Jim, the Cactus Kid, Pat Gruen, and an itinerant miner known as Rawhide. The Kid, being the observant type, had taken note of the smooth efficiency of Senor Ace when he handled the cards. He also noted the results of a couple of subsequent hands. Thereafter the Kid was careful to drop out when Ace was doing the dealing. The others, being less knowing and more trustful, stayed in the game, and as a result the pile of poker chips in front of Ace Fernandez had grown to an immodest proportion.
Finally, when Pat Gruen and Rawhide were about broke, there came a hand from which all dropped away but Ace Fernandez and Martin Jim. With twelve hundred dollars of his hard-earned money (cowhands were making forty a month!were in the center of the table, Martin Jim's sense of humor had reached the vanishing point.
The Cactus Kid, idly watching the game, had seen the black sheep lead the burly lamb to the slaughter; he also chanced to glimpse the cards Ace Fernandez turned up. He held a pair of fours, a nine, ten, and a queen. A few minutes later his eyes shifted back to the hand Fernandez held and there was no nine, ten, or queen, but three aces were cuddling close to the original pair of fours.
Naturally, this phenomenon interested him no end, especially so as he had seen the way, an odd way, too, Ace held his arm.
When the showdown came, Martin Jim laid down two pair, and Ace Fernandez, looking very smug, his full house.
Valley Of the Sun (Ss) (1995) Page 9