“I suppose not. Be careful, though, Cory. Be awfully careful.”
When the sorrel was a spot off on the prairie, the youth moved slowly toward his own goff. His mind shrank away from the situation. The knowledge of a hanged man up the creek had a peculiar effect upon him and he was trying to analyze that effect.
In itself, the corpse at the end of a rope didn’t mean too much. Beyond natural curiosity it stirred him not at all. But there was something else; a feeling that the incident engendered.
It was as if his subconscious mind were aware of not only all that had happened, but of what was going to happen and was trying to get through to him with a warning; as though his destiny were already foreordained and the hanging of this man—whoever he turned out to be—were another cog in an ever-moving chain, driving him onward toward something from which he shrank.
It seemed a part of a planned whole. There had been other cogs in this chain and he remembered them. And, in each cog, fate used the same pawn; in each incident loomed the sinister figure of Mel Dorken.
Dorken seated astride a victim, gouging out his eyes; Dorken walking into the Golden King and sending a cold shock through Cory Balleau; Dorken astride a horse on the prairie to frighten Kay Bates; Dorken emerging from a thronga grove in which hung the body of a man. Always the same man. Always this Mel Dorken.
There was a mysticism in the mind of Cory Balleau that responded to the seeming diabolical intent of this pattern.
At this moment, Cory Balleau was afraid of Mel Dorken. He was afraid of the symbol which the man had become. A symbol of evil destiny.
“THERE WERE at least four of them—maybe half a dozen,” Frake said. “They caught him on his way out of town. They brought him here because it’s the nearest tree—and they strung him up.”
Frake’s face was tight with unconcealed rage. Astride a horse beside Frake, Mel Dorken sullenly eyed the lynching tree. A two-foot length of rope was still hanging from the limb.
Frank Bates chewed nervously on a cold cigar and Henry Dalton, the other member of the group, seemed bewildered, a man out of his depth.
“You still haven’t told us what you were doing here, Dorken,” Bates said.
The big outlaw scowled darkly. “I told you I wasn’t here. I wasn’t no place near this grove and I never have been ’til now.”
“My daughter doesn’t lie!”
“She could make a mistake, though. She was probably so damn scared she didn’t know who she saw. And if we’re going into that—what was she doing here?”
“That’s beside the point and none of your affair. This country is free and my daughter can ride anywhere she wants to.”
“All this palaver is doing us no good,” Frake said. “It doesn’t matter whether Dorken was here or not. We know five or six men strung Tip up and we know what we’ve got to do.”
“There isn’t much we can do, is there?” Dalton asked. “With no witness I’d say we’re kind of helpless unless someone talks.”
Frake threw him a look of rank contempt. Then, wheeling his goff, Frake made a quick beckoning motion with his head, and started away from the grove at a quick trot.
Bates, at whom the command was pointed, drew away from the other two and moved close to Frake. At a distance beyond earshot, Dorken and Dalton followed.
“Looks like you misjudged things a little,” Frake said.
Bates flushed, resenting the superior tone. “Misjudged what?”
“Let’s not dance around. You figured these nesters would sit back and let you pick them off one by one. You didn’t rate them for any guts at all. Now your cute little plan’s back-fired.”
Bates admitted—but only to himself—that he was shaken by this grim turn of events; shaken to the core. In all his calculations as to possible results of the operation, he had anticipated nothing like this.
NOW HE REALIZED a truth he had not been aware of. These men—these nesters—respected the law and bowed to legal dictates. If they borrowed money on their land and ran into hard luck, they paid off without a murmur and sought their fortunes elsewhere. But they dealt in the coin of the realm and if that coin was murder they paid off in kind.
“Night riders!” Bates said. “What are things coming to in Ngania? Have we gone beyond law and order?”
Frake spat in disgust. “If there’s anything I hate it’s a hypocrite! My name’s Frake—remember? I’m in with you on this deal. Let’s talk sense or to hell with it.”
Bates didn’t answer for some time. Then he asked, “What are your ideas?”
“That depends on you. Your hand’s been called; man, and you do one of two things. If you’re yellow you pull in your horns and let this thing die down. In that case you and I do a little settling up and I go on my way.”
“When I leave this town,” Frake added grimly, “I take something with me.”
Bates thought that over for a moment. “And the alternative?”
“The alternative is war.”
“And which do you suggest?”
“The last. You’re in a perfect position to win. It won’t be a picnic and maybe there’ll be soldiers in the picture before it’s over, but you’re in shape to keep the law on your side right from the start. Every move you’ve made so far has been legal, even the Bendorf killing. It’s the squatters that are outside the law.”
“You feel that we hold all the cards, then?”
“Of course we do. First thing, you get rid of that weak-knee you’ve got for a marshal and I take his job. Then somebody gets hung for this lynching. We build a scaffold right in Ngania and string them up at high noon. That’s the way you keep law and order.”
The fear in Bates’ heart began to subside. What had he been worrying about? A lynch-mob prowling the night wasn’t an indication of strength. Lynching was an act of weakness—of desperation. Such resistance would break in the face of determined reprisal. Frake was right.
But another point caught and held in Bates’ mind. He’d have to come out in the open now. He would be hated and feared by his fellow citizens. He would walk the streets of Ngania a marked man. No more pussyfooting. This was war.
“I think we’ll go forward boldly,” Bates said.
Frake smiled. When he did that his lips came up off stained teeth and gave him a savage look. “How soon can you get rid of Dalton?”
“Give me a week. Then I’ll see that he’s displaced for lack of action in running down the lynchers. I think I can persuade him to go back where he came from.”
“Good.”
“And there’s another thing.”
Frake waited.
“Those two homesteaders who brought Snead’s body in—the Balleaus. I loaned the elder Balleau some money. There was a three-Marsmonth clause in the contract and the money is due now. He can’t pay of course.”
Frake’s eyes scanned the face of the other. “You mean the man borrowed money like that? Nobody’d do that without knowing where the cash was coming from to pay with.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that. Balleau was under the impression he was borrowing for a longer period.”
Frake grinned again. “I see. Another chunk of land for Frank Bates.”
Bates ignored that. “No doubt there’ll be trouble even though I’ve got a competent witness to swear Balleau knew what he was doing. My teller witnessed the signature. The contract is perfectly legal.”
There was a touch of admiration in Frake’s glance. “How’d you manage that?”
“That’s not important. The thing is, Balleau will probably be stubborn. He may have to be evicted by force. That’s a job you’ll inherit with your new office.”
Frake pondered for a moment. “That fits in pretty good. We might as well let them know that the honeymoon’s over in these parts. Any excuse to get rough is fine.”
“Give me a week,” Bates said once again.
THE BODY of Tip Snead, at Frake’s direction, was placed in the window of Carter’s Farm Emporium. Also at his directio
n, a printed card was placed beside the open coffin:
THIS MAN WAS HUNG BY COWARDS!
The due processes of law have been flouted in the town of Ngania by skulking night riders who took this man and hung him to a tree and watched him strangle to death.
Are we going to allow this kind of tiling in Ngania? The next victim may be you or one of your loved ones. Once started rats of this kind are only stopped by a bullet. We, the citizens, demand that our marshal apprehend these killers without delay. We demand action!
“That’ll clear the way so you can get rid of Dalton without any trouble,” Frake told Bates. “It won’t be your fault when the citizens start grousing.”
With the display of the body, a pall settled over the town. Men seemed to walk softer and the talk in the stores and the drinking halls was muted. Fear was there in the streets and every man and woman felt the fear.
The body stayed there two days, after which time the proprietor of Carter’s demanded its removal, saying that his business was at a standstill. The women of Ngania avoided the store. They even gave the window a wide berth, circling out into the street as they passed.
Cory Balleau was probably more sensitive of the fear than anyone else. Yet not fear exactly; in his heart he felt great dread of the future. There was a certain bewilderment in his mind. He could not displace the feeling that this was only the beginning of something that would affect him deeply. Within him was a sense that the tides of time were sweeping him forward and that he was helpless to resist, driving him relentlessly toward a destiny not of his own making.
John Balleau held himself aloof from the trouble that had descended upon Ngania. After carrying the body of Tip Snead to town, he returned to his beloved land, giving no time to the gossip, the excitement, and the upheaval in the town.
He had seed and tools and, in the processes of his thinking, that would make any man content. He worked tirelessly.
As he tilled the acres, he spent a great deal of time thinking about Cory. The youth was changing. He had grown quieter and yet there was a renewed restlessness which John Balleau could discern underneath. John Balleau’s attempts to urge Cory into a social life went pretty much to naught. During his leisure hours, Cory enjoyed roaming the prairies, following the creek and journeying to the rocky hill country further west.
But always alone—and that was the thing that worried the elder Balleau. The laughter and happiness that should be a part of youth were not to be found in long solitary treks.
He’d have to talk to Cory about it—dig deeper—find out what was troubling the lad—
KAY BATES slid off the sorrel mare and was eased to the ground by Cory’s hands under her armpits. She moved close to him, rubbed the tip of her nose against his, and laughed.
“Cold nose,” she said, “cold heart.”
Cory turned away, evidently not noticing the kiss that was offered. He took three steps and dropped to the sod bordering the creek. He lay belly down with his head over the bank’s edge, his face reflected in the still back-water.
A moment later he saw the questioning face of Kay Bates in the water beside his own.
“Why so quiet?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. There’s trouble in Ngania—bad trouble. I don’t like it.”
“But it won’t affect us,” the girl said quickly.
“How do we know it won’t? Who knows what direction trouble will take?”
She studied his reflection, her own face sober. “You seem so worried lately. Is it something you know? Something you haven’t told me?”
“No it’s nothing—just—” He turned and looked deep into her blue eyes. “Well— I’m not the one for you. You’ve got to stop coming out here. We’ve got to quit seeing each other like this or the trouble-will come our way—trouble for you.”
She sat very still, without answering. Then she spun her lithe body, pulled him around with her and he was prone on his back and her breast hard against his. She was looking straight into his eyes. She said:
“Cory—are you in love with me?”
He returned the look but with a vagueness in his eyes: “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess I don’t know what love is. Are you in love with me?”
“Always and forever.”
“What is it then? How do you feel? Tell me.”
Again she was silent as though seeking words with which to give her answer. Finally she said:
“I guess every girl is different and maybe, with every girl, the feeling isn’t the same. With me love is—well, just everything. I know there will only be one person I’ll ever love. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. And I don’t know what is is, I only feel it and I think of it in two ways—having it, and protecting it.”
She stopped to kiss him—a casual, unpassionate kiss, and then went on:
“With me there can be no room for love and reservations at the same time. I belong to the person I love and that person is you. I belong to you anywhere, in any way, at any time. There isn’t anything you could ask of me that you couldn’t have now or tomorrow or twenty years from now if it’s within my power to give.”
Her body was against his and the wonder came sharply into his mind: Why can’t I put my arms around her? What’s blocking me off from what any man on two legs would give ten years of his life to have?
“Please don’t misunderstand, darling,” she said. “I’m sure that I’m not a slut. I’m not immoral, because it’s only you. Can you understand that? You—you—you! I want marriage, but I’m not afraid of love. I don’t have to be protected by a piece of paper.”
“Will you marry me, Kay?” Cory asked.
And he thought: I wish I could really mean that. I wish that I could really want to marry her.
She smiled down at him. “Silly! If that were possible don’t you think I’d have wriggled that question out of you long ago? I’d have been able to make you ask that a week after I found that I wanted you.”
“Why impossible?”
SHE STRAIGHTENED now, drew her body away from his, and sat cross-legged beside him. She stared out over the prairie.
“Because of my father.”
“Doesn’t he want you to get married?”
Her reply was indirect “You see, I know my father. I know him even better than he knows himself. I’ve watched him take the land away from the settlers and I’ve seen the cruelty underneath his scheming. He wants me to marry some Terran man. To him I’ve just another asset to be used to the best advantage. He’s very jealous of his assets.”
“Tell him you don’t want to do that. Tell him you want to marry me.”
“He’d kill you.”
“He’d what? What did you say?”
“I said he’d kill you. Oh, not personally of course. But he’d find a way. He’s surrounding himself with some terrible, ruthless men. My father is too clever to commit his own murders. But he has a scheming mind that would manipulate things until you were dead. I know that as surely as I’m alive.”
Cory was struck speechless by the flat, cold denunciation. He stared at the girl. She said:
“You think that’s horrible, don’t you?” She returned his look and her words came in dull monotone. “Maybe it is, but I know I’m right and if anything happened to you I’d die—inside of me my heart would shrivel up into a husk and I wouldn’t be alive any more.”
“I think you must be wrong,” he said, gently.
“I’m not wrong. But maybe things will change. I keep praying that they will. But meanwhile, no other girl will get you— I’ll scratch the eyes out of any who ever tried.” There was no smile on her face. “I mean that,” she said.
Eight days after the discovery of Tip Snead’s body, Henry Dalton handed in his badge and the office of Marshal of Ngania was vacant for fifteen minutes.
After Frake was sworn in, Frank Bates made a short speech to the assembled citizens:
“. . . and we can rest assured that law and order
have an able champion in the person of our new marshal. I am confident that he will be successful in his campaign to bring the killers in our midst to justice. We wish him every success and offer every cooperation.”
Frake’s opening statement was short and to the point:
“As Marshal of Ngania, I personally guarantee complete immunity to the first of the lynch mob who walks into my office and makes a confession. Also, Mr. Bates has offered a thousand dollars’ reward for information leading to the capture of the night riders.”
Frank Bates was somewhat surprised at this last. It was the first he’d heard of any reward. Thinking it over, though, he decided that it was an excellent idea.
THERE WERE five men in the group that dismounted at the gate of John Balleau’s place, and skirted the neat house to come into view from the corral. They were Frank Bates, Marshal Frake, Deputy Marshal Mel Dorken, and two spare deputies of less imposing proportions.
John Balleau had just turned his team into the back pasture and was coming forward across the corral. Upon seeing the men, he stopped short and stared for a moment, a slight frown on his face. What did this mean? There was no reason for a bevy of armed men to be waiting for him in his own back yard.
He continued on toward the pond and crossed the bridge at the narrow point. He approached the group silently, his unasked question reflecting in his face.
“How are you, Balleau?” Bates asked by way of greeting.
“No complaint. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Bates took the cold cigar from his mouth. He appeared to be a trifle surprised. “You seem to have a short memory, Balleau. I’ve been expecting you to show up in town, but when you stayed away it made me rather uneasy—a banker’s mind, you know—so I thought I’d drop out and pick up the principal on your note.”
Balleau registered sheer unbelief. “You what?”
“I think I spoke clearly. Your note is two weeks overdue. It’s hardly businesslike to let it run. I came out to clean it up.”
A wave of quick weakness swept over Balleau. For a moment there was a blur before his eyes. This was some sort of a bad dream! But his eyes cleared and the men were still there and Bates was saying:
The 47th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 31