Ramrod

by Short, Luke;

  And then it came to her abruptly. This was the kind of bandage Red Cates had worn across his nose.

  Rose took it and the basin and went out to the kitchen and slipped out the back door. She did not know why she was doing this, but it seemed necessary to her to get rid of Dave’s horse. She led him into the woodshed and closed the door, and then started across the vacant lot at a run, bound for Jim Crew’s office. She slowed to a walk immediately; nobody must know Dave was here, in case he was being followed.

  Connie looked for Bailey to be waiting for her outside, but he had gone on ahead. Which was just as well, she thought; it will make it appear more convincing.

  She cut angling across the street toward Crew’s office and turned the corner and stepped inside.

  Jim Crew was pacing the floor of the small room, and he turned to the door when Connie entered. His clothes were dusty and untidy, and he had a three-day growth of steel-gray beard that contrived to make him look years older. Bill Schell lounged in the doorway of the cell block and Tom Peebles and Bailey stood silently against the far wall.

  “I got some bad news for you, Connie,” Crew said slowly.

  “So Bill was lying to us,” Connie said, with a consummate cunning, and she looked reprovingly at Bill Schell.

  “I couldn’t find a thing against Bill. It ain’t that.” Crew nodded his head toward Tom and Bailey. “They claim Bell stampeded your whole herd off the rim of Hondo Canyon there at the head of the trail.”

  Connie turned slowly to Tom and Bailey, her lips parted slightly in feigned shock. “All of them?”

  “Ten-fifteen left,” Peebles said meagerly.

  “How—What did they do?”

  Peebles shifted his feet, but he was looking at her steadily as he began to speak. “We was just about down to the flat there at the head of the trail this noon. Ivey and his crew jumped us; come out of the timber shootin’. They split up, part of ’em taking the herd, part of ’em chasin’ us. We couldn’t fight ’em because they was too many, so we took to the timber. We circled back later, and they’d drove the cattle at a dead run, looked like, at the head of the trail. They jammed up in it and was crowded off the edge into the canyon.”

  Connie sank into the chair, her hands folded, and she stared down at them and did not speak.

  “Who was in the gang?” Crew asked.

  “I tell you, all I remember was Frank Ivey. Likely I couldn’t remember him if he hadn’t kept shoutin’ ‘Head ’em off. Head ’em off.’ It all happened too quick.”

  “You seen some of ’em, didn’t you?” Bill Schell insisted.

  Peebles shook his head stubbornly. “I might of, only I ain’t sure. And I ain’t goin’ to hang a man for doin’ somethin’ he might not of done.”

  Bill Schell’s eyes glinted with a sardonic amusement at this. Peebles had the air of a man who would rather accept an injury than commit an injustice, and Bill asked, “What about you, Bailey?”

  “I seen that paint horse of Abe Harmon’s, but he wasn’t ridin’ it.”

  Crew said, “But you saw Frank?”

  “Seen him and heard him.”

  Crew stood motionless a moment, and then came over to Connie.

  “Well, Connie, Frank’s gone too far this time. He’s through.”

  Connie nodded and lifted her head, and then they all heard the rapid footsteps on the boardwalk, and Rose came through the door.

  “Dave’s at my place,” Rose said. “He’s hurt badly.” She glanced over at Peebles. “Get Doctor Parkinson, will you, Tom, and do it quietly?”

  Connie felt her heart almost stop, and then she moved swiftly toward the door.

  “Walk, Connie,” Rose said. “If he wants to hide, we can’t give him away.”

  Some minutes later, when they were at Rose’s, Doctor Parkinson came in, and Rose and Jim Crew moved out of the bedroom, leaving Connie with the doctor. Bill Schell sat in one of the kitchen chairs tilted back against the wall, and he watched Crew with an alert somber face.

  Crew halted in the middle of the room and looked directly at Bill. “Where’s Dave been?”

  “He followed Virg Lea.”

  Rose went over to Dave’s shirt lying on the table and picked up the blood-soaked bandage and held it in her hand and said, “Have you seen this before, Jim? It was on Dave’s shoulder.”

  Bill came out of his chair quickly, and he and Crew looked at it. They both looked up to her at the same time, both shaking their heads in negation.

  “Red Cates had that tied over his broken nose,” Rose said.

  Crew glanced at Bill Schell then, and Bill said softly, “So,” and was silent a moment, and then he murmured, “Red never gave that to him, so he must of took it—and there’s only one way he could take it.”

  Crew looked steadily at him for several seconds, and then remarked, “Red and Frank had the same idea.”

  Doctor Parkinson came to the door then and said, “I’ll need you too, Rose.”

  Rose left them then, and Crew took a slow turn around the kitchen. He stopped in front of the mirror and rubbed a hand over his face, and the dry sound of his beard stubble bristling was plain in the quiet.

  “Well?” Bill said challengingly.

  Crew sighed and came across the room slowly, talking as he walked. “I’ll go out and bring Frank in.” He looked up at Bill, puzzlement in his pale eyes. “He’s gone wild, Bill.”

  “He’s been wild,” Bill said flatly, angrily. “We been tellin’ you.”

  Crew nodded tiredly and said, “Send Connie home with Tom and Bailey and keep her there. You stay here until I bring Frank in. Don’t go out and don’t leave Dave, because Ivey may get to him before I get to Ivey.”

  “Who you takin’?” Bill asked.

  Crew’s jaw thrust out faintly. “Nobody,” he said, and walked over to the door and went out.

  17

  His restlessness had built up until it was unbearable, and Frank Ivey had been on the prowl now since daylight. Three days had passed, and Red had not returned, and Crew was still gone. The sum of these had driven Frank to the saddle, for his patience, never strong, was worn thin and ragged by waiting. A hundred times yesterday after he had sent Jack Bender on Red’s trail, he had been tempted to saddle up and himself ride over to the water hole in the Breaks, and he had questioned Jess Moore, Lea’s companion on the ride, almost half that many times. Something had happened to Red, something had gone wrong.

  In early morning Frank came on to 66 and watched the house from a distance. It was too far for him to see much, and he dare not go closer, but if he only could see Dave Nash, he would know what had happened out there in the Breaks. He pulled away and rode aimlessly for a while and then picked up the road to D Bar. Maybe Red had reported to Ben, although he knew that was unlikely. The day was just beginning, and he might as well call there and check.

  The thought no sooner struck him than he lifted his horse into a lope, and only minutes later reined him into a walk, remembering patience. He was a solid figure in the saddle, and he handled his horse with a sharp ruthlessness this morning.

  He crossed American Creek, presently, and it put him in mind of Connie’s boast. She had claimed all this land that he had passed over this morning, but now there was little prospect of her getting it. For when Crew’s scout in the Federals turned up Bill Schell’s guilt, which was certain, he would not even bother to serve Connie an ultimatum. It would be the excuse he had waited for so patiently; he would first get Nash and then sweep Connie clear off the Bench. The thought pleased him, and yet there was that quiet torment behind it which had been there lately whenever he thought of Connie. Would this, when it was accomplished, break her pride and her stubbornness, or must he go on, winning again and again, until she gave in to him? He had sustained himself for so long on the belief that it would that he would tolerate no doubt now, and yet it was there, riding him constantly.

  He left the willow-bordered creek and bottomlands and saw far ahead a bunch of horses be
ing driven toward him along the road. As they approached and moved off onto the grass, Frank saw it was young Link Thoms who was driving them, and he reined up.

  Link came up alongside and said gravely, “Hello, Frank,” and Frank nodded casually.

  “Red at your place, Link?” he asked.

  “Wasn’t last night,” Link said. “I ain’t been around much, though.”

  Frank wasn’t surprised much at this information. He looked idly over the horses and saw they were Connie’s and he asked, “Where you drivin’ them, Link?”

  “Sixty-six.”

  Frank smiled faintly and said, “Waste of time,” and waved carelessly and went on. He had no stomach for talking to Ben Dickason now; he didn’t care enough about Ben to argue with him or listen to him, and he pulled off the road, turning back toward Bell.

  At midday he entered the mouth of Bell’s canyon, and the hand who was stationed as guard here broke out of the foothills and cut over to him.

  Frank headed toward him, and they met off the road, and his man said, “Crew went in a little while ago.”

  “Ah,” Frank said with satisfaction. “All right.” He touched spurs to his horse now and rode on and, coming into his place, saw Crew’s horse tied under the cottonwoods.

  As Frank approached, he saw Crew rise from his seat in the office doorway, and he felt a solid satisfaction at seeing him. Crew wouldn’t have stopped on his way down from Relief unless he brought favorable news.

  Frank stepped out of the saddle and said cordially, “You look thirsty, Jim,” and Crew didn’t answer him, only leaned against the log wall, his chill eyes regarding Frank carefully as he tied his horse. Frank, getting no answer, looked over his shoulder at Crew, and saw the hostility in his glance.

  Frank came slowly toward him and halted in front of him, and Crew didn’t move. “What’s the matter, Jim?” Frank asked carefully.

  “I took a ride over to Hondo Canyon this mornin’,” Crew said.

  Frank regarded him blankly, and when he saw Crew expected an answer he said, “What’s over there?”

  Crew shook his head and said, “Comin’ in with me, Frank?”

  “All right,” Frank said in a puzzled voice. “Look, what about Bill Schell?”

  “He’s in the clear,” Crew said, and shoved away from the building and tramped toward his horse. He halted then and looked back at Frank. “Comin’?”

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said flatly. “I want to know what you did.”

  Crew said meagerly, “I said I couldn’t find anything against Bill. Are you comin’, Frank?”

  The deceptive quietness in Crew’s question seemed to filter through Frank’s anger now, and he studied Crew with a wrathful intentness before he walked toward him. “Comin’ where?” he asked softly.

  “Jail.”

  Frank just stared at him a long moment, and Crew said thinly, “I’m too old to bluff, Frank.”

  “Why would I go to jail?” Frank asked slowly.

  Crew said with bare patience, “When you stampede a herd of someone else’s cattle off rim-rock into a two-hundred-foot canyon, Frank, you go to jail.”

  “No,” Frank said flatly, and then the full surge of his anger hit him. He came closer to Crew and said in blazing anger, “What in the name of God are you trying to tell me? Say it!”

  “You and your crew jumped Peebles and Bailey bringin’ down Connie’s herd. It was right at the head of the trail out of Hondo Canyon and you drove the boys off and run the herd over the rim-rock.” He paused. “I’m takin’ you in, Frank.”

  Frank said with utter calmness, “You’re a liar, Crew.”

  Jim Crew’s face altered a little into a wintry hardness. “If you think I’m lyin’ when I say I’ll take you in, I’m not.”

  “I wasn’t off this place yesterday,” Frank said thickly.

  “I saw the cattle.”

  Frank wheeled and walked past Crew and said, “Come down here,” and he tramped over to the bunkhouse. The four or five hands who had been working close to the ranch had finished their midday meal and were sitting around the bunkhouse steps, smoking and yarning.

  At the approach of Frank and Crew, they fell silent, and at sight of the expression on Frank’s face, two of them rose from the steps.

  Frank halted and asked them, “Where was I yesterday, boys?”

  Nobody answered for a few seconds, and then Jess Moore said, “Right here.”

  Somebody else said, “I seen you in the afternoon here, Frank,” but Frank had already turned to face Crew. He said again, “I wasn’t off the place.”

  “You’ll get a chance to prove that in front of a jury, Frank,” Crew said tonelessly. “Now, come along.”

  “No,” Frank said.

  Crew looked at him carefully and Frank said roughly, “Get out of here, Crew.”

  Crew silently looked over the Bell crew, and without looking at him they broke slowly, so they were on three sides of him. Somebody said softly, “You give the word, Frank,” and his words summed up Bell’s fear of Jim Crew.

  Crew’s glance shuttled back to Frank, and he said, “I’ll tell you once more. Come along.” There was something utterly implacable, utterly fearless in the way Crew spoke.

  Frank didn’t answer. Jim’s hand started to move, and Frank said with a rising inflection to his voice, “Don’t do it, Jim.”

  Crew’s hand hesitated the briefest part of a second in its journey and then it streaked toward the gun at his hip. From between two of the Bell hands there was a shot, and Crew’s thin body was driven back a step. Frank’s gun came up then and he shot twice, fast, and Crew was already falling when the second shot hit and turned him around so that he fell facedown, his head away from them. He made one savage exertion and his gun came out, and Frank moved over and put a foot on Crew’s wrist. Crew tugged once, and then gave up and sighed deeply, the last of his breath whistling faintly.

  Ivey raised his glance now and looked at each man with a curious deliberation, and then he said calmly, “Go, round up the boys. We’ll settle this now.”

  Connie was hanging curtains in the window of the big room when she saw Link Thoms come in with the horses. Both Bailey and Tom helped him haze the bunch through the corral gate and on into the horse pasture. Connie watched them absently through the window, and it brought unwelcome memories. There was the little grulla mare she had when her father taught her to rope years ago; and there too was the sorrel Frank had given her two years back, and which, out of the beginning of her defiance, she had never ridden. Behind her, she could hear Josefa scrubbing the floor, and silently she went back to work. There was something blessedly narcotic about the work of cleaning up the place and making it livable, putting her own things about that her father had sent over. For Connie was tasting fear, and if she stopped to think it grew into something ugly and monstrous that she could not fight. It was the first time in her life she had been afraid for somebody else, and now she was. The image of Dave lying there in Rose’s bed, gray and hurt and out of his senses, crawled into her mind and made her sick with fear. For she would no longer deceive herself after seeing Dave last night; she wanted him well more than she had ever wanted revenge or an outfit of her own or power. There was an irony to all that had happened, and it did not escape Connie this morning. Her gamble had won Jim Crew over to 66, and ensured the eventual defeat of Frank Ivey, for Crew would be implacable now he had climbed off the fence. He would arrest Frank, but that seemed unimportant now.

  Josefa interrupted her thoughts. “It is more better if we scrub it again,” she observed.

  “Just so it’s clean, Josefa,” Connie murmured absently.

  She stood back to look at the hang of the curtain and saw young Link Thoms riding toward the house. Stepping outside to the porch, she waved and called, “Hello, Link.”

  He rode up and dismounted, grinning shyly and worship-fully and touching his hat. “I couldn’t catch Monte, Connie. I’ll bring him over later.”

  “Fine,
Link. Want some coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” Link said. He hesitated a moment, looked back at the corral, where Bailey and Tom were, and then said in a low voice, “Reckon I could talk to you private?”

  A faint amusement touched Connie as she observed his conspiratorial air, and she said, “Certainly.”

  She went on down the porch through the mess hall and out into the kitchen, and Link followed her. She went to the table and leaned against its edge and said, “What is it, Link?”

  Link was fumbling with his hat, but his eyes were as sober as only those of a troubled fifteen-year-old can get. “You know about what happened up in Hondo Canyon?” Link asked.

  Connie said carefully, “Yes, Link. I know. But how do you?”

  “I seen it,” Link said.

  Connie’s breathing seemed to stop, and she repeated softly, “You saw it?”

  “Tom Peebles and Bailey drove them cattle off the rim!” Link said with a fierce solemnity. “They done it a-purpose. I seen ’em do it—your cattle!”

  “You—must be mistaken, Link.”

  “No, ma’am,” Link said flatly. “Your men, and they drove your cattle off, killed ’em!”

  Connie rose slowly and put her back to him. This was the end of her well-laid plans, ruined by the presence of a gawky, half-grown boy who did not yet realize the importance of what he had seen. A wild panic seized Connie, then, and she knew that someway, somehow, she must close Link’s mouth. She must threaten him, or drive him out of the country, or bribe him, or intimidate him—anything to close his mouth. She had the men to do it, men who would do anything for her. And then she knew none of this would work; nothing short of killing Link Thoms would close his mouth against his will, and that she would not do. She walked slowly around the table and saw Link watching her with a dumb adoration that was never absent from his eyes.