Son Of a Wanted Man (1984)

by L'amour, Louis

  He sat with them, eating a little, drinking coffee, and listening to them talking of the trip. Drusilla was very cool, saying little. Twice he caught her eyes upon him but each time she looked away, though without embarrassment.

  “You won’t be able to see much but stars,” he said.

  “My advice is to lie down in the back and get what rest you can.” “Do you live over that way?” Juliana asked.

  “Sort of,” he said, “when I’m home.” He hesitated, not wanting to lie. “I’ve always been a kind of hunter, so I keep to the wild country.” He paused; thinking that being a hunter did not seem like much of a life to such girls as these. “I’m thinking of going into ranching. was Drusilla glanced at him coolly, curiously. She was disturbing, in more ways than one. Did she believe him? Why did she look at him like that? When they had gone he walked back to the saloon, dissatisfied more than ever. At the bar he listened to the talk and had another beer.

  All such places were clearinghouses for information. Men did business there, found jobs, sought entertainment, often even attended church services in saloons.

  Certainly, if one wanted to know what was happening in the country, that was the place to go.

  There was talk of the gold shipment as men were being hired to make the trip. The guards, he heard, had been chosen. Now, more than ever, it seemed fantastic that he could actually be planning to steal all that gold, with the possibility of resistance, of even killing men. He considered that. Killing a man in a fair fight was something that could happen to anyone, but killing men who were defending property was something else. He stared gloomily into his beer. What would Drusilla think of that? And what would Ben Curry think of an outlaw visiting his daughters?

  The idea that he might someday lead the gang had been with him for years. He knew he had been trained for it, conditioned for it. He knew Curry had based all his plans on him, Mike Bastian. So now what? Often he had thought of what he would do and how he would do it. He supposed many a man had considered a holdup and how it should be done but with no idea of ever doing it. It was a form of daydreaming, but with no connection to reality. The trouble was this was no longer a daydream, this was reality. Now, suddenly, he was uneasy.

  Yet he was thinking not only of himself but of Drusilla. What a girl she was! And her father was an outlaw. Was she aware of it? He doubted that. Roundy said Ben Curry had kept his family life completely away from his other side.

  Ben Curry himself was a strange man, one who, had he gone straight, might have directed his energies into cattle, mining, or some other business, even into politics. He knew men and had a genius for organization and control. A strange life, turned off suddenly down the wrong roads. But that was Ben Curry. What of him? What of Mike Bastian?

  Doc Sawyer cashed in his chips and strolled to the bar, offering to buy him a drink. It was a casual meeting, like many that occur in saloons. “The twentieth,” he said, “and there will be five shotgun guards, but twelve guards in all. The big fellow at the poker table is one of them.” He paused. “It looks bad, mike. It looks very bad, indeed.” What Roundy said was true, of course. He was still an honest man. This was the turning point. Once he stepped over that boundary that separated the thieves from honest men it would not be the same. Of course, later he might be able to step out of it as Ben Curry would do. If he was able to do it.

  Listening to Sawyer made him wonder. Why had such a man, brilliant, intelligent, and a skilled surgeon, why had he taken to the outlaw trail? “Doc”-he spoke softly-“whatever made you take this route?” Sawyer glanced at him.

  “Having doubts, Mike?” “Doubts? It seems all I have these days are doubts.” “I’ve wondered about that. You’ve said nothing, so I assumed you were perfectly willing to go along with Ben’s plans for you. “It means power and money, Mike. If it is the future for outlaws that disturbs you, don’t let it. From now on it will be different than in Ben Curry’s day. You will have to have the best lawyers, the right connections, and spend some money for bribes, but with the money you will have that should be easy.

  “Roundy told me he had spoken to you about it.

  He can see it more clearly than Ben. The old days are over. Up to now all those robberies were considered to have been pulled off by free-wheeling outfits like the James boys and the Renos. Nobody has thought there might be an organization behind it. That will change.

  There are some pretty shrewd officers out there and when they begin getting organized themselves outlaws will have no chance. Still, with the connections, the lawyers, and tile money you should manage.” “Yes, it could be,” Mike agreed.

  “Only maybe I don’t want it that way.” Sawyer smiled wryly. “Does conscience rear its ugly head? Can it be that Ben Curry’s conditioning has fallen on fallow ground? What started this sudden feeling?

  Is it fear? Or a woman?” “Would that be so strange?” “That it was a woman? I’ve wondered it hasn’t happened before, except that you’ve been such a recluse. If it is a woman, take a second look and time to think about it.” “It wasn’t her. I’ve been thinking about it for the past two years. I’ve been wondering what I should do. I hate to disappoint Ben Curry, and actually, I’ve no other place to go. What can I do? Hunt? Punch cows?” Doc Sawyer put his glass down hard. “Either is better, Mike.

  Anything is better. And it’s easier to get in than get out. Once you have the name, it follows you.

  “But don’t ask me. I made a mess of my own life. Partly a woman and partly for what I thought would be easy money. Well, let me tell you, there’s no such thing as easy money. You make your own decision. What was it Matthew Arnold said, I think you learned the quotation.” was “No man can save his brother’s soul, or pay his brother’s debt.” was “That’s it! You save your own and you pay your own. But remember this, Mike. No matter which way you go, there will be killing. If you take over from Ben you’ll have to kill either Kerb Perrin or Rig Molina, maybe both of them. And if you decide to step out you may have to kill them and even Ben Curry.” “Oh, no! Not pal” “Mike, get this through your head. There is no easy way out. Do you suppose you’re alone in this?

  Roundy an” me have talked this up one side and down the other. After all,” he added, “neither of us ever had a son. We’ve helped to train you and teach you, and it has meant a lot to us. “But remember this. No man is a complete ruler or dictator. He is only the mouthpiece for the wishes of his followers. As long as he expresses those wishes, he leads them.

  “Ben is the boss because he is strong, because he has organization, because he is good with those guns.

  Also he is boss because he has made them money, kept them out of trouble, sometimes even against their own wishes. He has offered them security. If you walked out there would be a chink in the armor. No outlaw ever trusts another who turns honest. He always fears betrayal.” “Let’s check with Roundy.” He was coming across the room to them. “Get the horses. We’ve got to blow town. Ducrow and Fernandez just rode in, and they are drunk and they are talking. If they see us they are apt to spill everything.” Garlin was there. “Ducrow’s a pal of Perrin’s.

  He thinks he can get away with anything.” “Here they come now!” “All right! Drift!” Bastian ordered. “Be quick with the horses!” The world of most criminals is incredibly small, consisting largely of others like himself. He wants to be considered a big man, a tough man, a smart man among his own kind. If not that, he wants to be associated with somebody who is big, tough, and smart, even if only to run errands for him.

  Few can stand alone, most are afraid to try. The gang is their protection and their strength. It is also their refuge.

  Their world is a few hangouts, a few saloons, a few places where the lawbreakers meet. If in the city it comprises a few city blocks, in the western lands a few towns, a few hundred square miles of territory. When escaping they will almost invariably return to old associations, to areas they know, people with whom they are familiar.

  Ben Curry had provided
the refuge, the planning, access to money, but most of his men did not like it. They were restless for freedom, to go as they pleased, act as they wished. Most of them wanted the reputation of being bad men, they wished to swagger and strut. Over the years Ben had tried to weed them out, to keep the cool and careful men, to eliminate the braggarts and the show-offs. He had only been partially successful. Usually he managed to weed out the undesirables before they knew anything about the ramifications of his operations. Ducrow had been a tough man, a quiet man, but lately he had become a close ally of Perrin. Also, he had begun drinking too much.

  Saloon doors slammed open and the two men came in. One glance and Mike knew there was trouble, not only for him but for Ben Curry, all of them. Tom Ducrow was drunk and ugly. Behind him was Snake Fernandez. An unpleasant pair, they had made trouble before this, always protected by Perrin.

  Bastian started toward them but had taken scarcely a step when Ducrow saw him. “There he is! The pet! The boss’s pet!” “Tom,” Bastian said mildly, “I’d suggest you go sleep it off: This isn’t the place.” “Look who’s givin’ orders! Gettin’ big for your britches, ain’t you?” “Your horses will be outside the door,” Bastian suggested. “Get on them and start for home.” Ducrow planted his feet. “Suppose you make met” “Tom,” Mike protested, “this isn’t the place!” He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

  “Ben wants no trouble, you know that.” “Ben? Who the hell is Ben? Kerb Pen-in’s the man, an’ don’t you forget it!” It was a challenge, and more words might reveal too much. Mike Bastian struck swiftly. A left to the body, a right to the chin. Ducrow was not a fistfighter and the blows were totally unexpected. He went to his knees, then slumped facedown to the floor.

  With an oath, Fernandez went for his gun and Mike had no choice. He shot him through the shoulder. The gun dropped from Snake’s fingers. Mouthing curses, he reached for his left-hand gun. Garlin, who had stayed behind when the others went for their horses; grabbed him from behind and disarmed him. Mike pulled the groggy Ducrow to his feet and started for the door. He found himself facing a big man with a stern look and a star on his chest. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  Mike smiled pleasantly. “Nothing at all, Officer. A couple of boys from our outfit with too much red-eye. We’ll take them back to camp and we’re moving out in the morning.” The sheriff looked from Mike to Doe Sawyer.

  The apparent respectability of the two calmed him somewhat. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” “No, sir. We’ve come up from the Mogollons, driving a few head of cattle to a ranch in California.

  It has been a rough trip and the boys got a little too much to drink. his The sheriff was suspicious. There was something here he did not understand. “You may be a cowhand,” he said, “but that gent with you looks like a gambler!” Mike chuckled. “Officer, I’ve played with him, and if he had to make his living with cards he’d starve. As a matter of fact, he’s a doctor, a surgeon, and a mighty good one. He’s a friend of the boss.” A tall, gray-haired man had strolled over beside the sheriff. “What outfit did you say you rode fore I’m from the Mogollons, myself.” Garlin had hustled Fernandez and Ducrow outside as they talked. Doe Sawyer was wishing he had gone with them.

  “I don’t ride for a Mogollon outfit,” Mike said, smiling, “but Jack McCardle can vouch for me. Doc Sawyer is a friend of his and has handled the sale of some of his beef. his The sheriff glanced at the gray-haired man.

  “Do you know this McCardle, Joe?” “I do, and he’s a good man. He has the Flying M, but I didn’t know he was selling cattle.” “Guess you’re all right.” The sheriff was reluctant to let go. He studied Mike. “You sure don’t talk like no cowhand. his “Officer, cowhands come from everywhere and anywhere. We had a puncher working with us last year from Norfolk, England. However,” he said gravely, “I was studying for the ministry but my interests led me in more profane directions. I am afraid I’m a backslider. An interest in draw poker isn’t conducive to a place in the pulpit.” “I guess not.” The sheriff chuckled. “All right, you ride out of here, but no more trouble, do you hear?

  And Doe, you better look at that man’s shoulder.” Mike turned away and Doc followed.

  Outside, the men had disappeared. They rode out of town, heading north. It was not until they were several miles on the road that Doc rode up beside Bastian.

  “You’ll do!” he said. “You handled that better than anybody I know.” “Hell!” Garlin said.

  “I was gettin’ ready to shoot our way out of town.

  You sure smooth-talked “em!” “That sheriff,” Mike said thoughtfully, “wasn’t satisfied. He’ll ride out come daybreak and check for tracks.” Garlin chuckled. “I figured on it. We’re ridin” somebody’s cow trail right now. I seen “em passin” when we rode into town. I figure they were headed for a grassy patch with a spring about four mile west, and they’ll be gone by daybreak. I doubt if that sheriff is ready to ride that far just to check up on us.” Kerb Perrin and Rig Molina were sitting around the table in the stone house when Mike and Doe returned to the canyon. Both men looked up sharply, and Ben Curry was suddenly watchful.

  Bastian wasted no time. “Kerb, what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver?” Perrin looked around, irritated by Mike’s tone but puzzled, too. “In Weaver! And drunk! We nearly had to shoot our way out of town because of them.

  They were drunk and talking too much. When I told them to get on their horses and head for home, they made trouble.” “How?” “Ducrow was attracting too much attention. If I hadn’t stopped him there’s no telling what he’d have said.” “You stopped him?” Ben Curry had leaned back in his chair and was watching with attention. “I knocked him out,” Mike said coolly, “and when Fernandez went for his gun I put a bullet into his shoulder. his “You should’ve killed him,” Molina said. “You’ll have it to do sooner or later.” Kerb Perrin was stumped. This was something he had not wanted to happen, nor would he have believed Mike Bastian could handle Ducrow, let alone Fernandez as well.

  “We got what we went after,” Bastian told Curry, “but another break like we had and we’ll walk into a trap. As for that, I think we should drop it for now.” “Are you crazy?” Perrin said. “That’s the big one. That’s the one we’ve been waiting fort” “The sheriff in Weaver,” Mike said, “is a good man, a tough man, and a smart one. I talked our way out of it, but he may do some checking. He struck me as a careful man.” “To hell with him!” Perrin said.

  When Perrin and Molina had gone, Mike left for his own room and Doe Sawyer turned to Ben.

  “It would have done your heart good! He had a run-in with Corbus and Fletcher, tool He flattened Corbus with a punch and backed Fletcher down.

  He’ll do, that boy of yours!” “I knew he had it,” Ben said, with satisfaction. “He met a girl, too,” Doc added.

  “Good for him! It’s about time.” “This was a very particular girl, Chief. If I am any judge of such things he fell and fell hard, and I’m not sure it didn’t happen both ways.” Something in his tone caught Curry’s attention. “Who was she?” “A girl who came in on the stage. Mike got her and her family a rig and a driver to take them to their ranch.

  Out to the V-Bar.” Ben Curry turned on him. For a moment their eyes held. So Doe Sawyer knew! The one secret he had been determined to keep, the one he wanted none of them to know! How many others knew?

  How many had guessed? Or discovered some clue? And he had believed his tracks had been covered. For the first time Ben Curry knew fear, real fear.

  “The girl’s name is Drusilla Ragan.

  She’s a beautiful girl, Ben.” “I won’t have it!” Ben slammed his glass down. “I’ll be damned if-I” Doc Sawyer’s tone was ironic.

  “You mean the foster son you raised isn’t good enough for your daughter?” “Don’t use that word here! Who knows besides you?” “Nobody of whom I know. It is only accident that I know. Remember the time you were laid up with that bullet wound, and I took care
of you myself? You were delirious, and you talked too much.” Doc lighted his pipe. “They made a nice-looking couple,” he added, “and I believe she invited him to Red Wall Canyon.” “He won’t go! I’ll not have any of this crowd there! If you think I want my daughter associating with outlaws-to ” “He isn’t yet.” Doc puffed on his pipe.

  “He could be, and he might be, but if he does, the crime will be on your shoulders because I don’t think he wants to be.” Curry went to the window and looked down the canyon. “Chief, the boy has it in him. He could be all of it, believe me! He’s quick! You should have seen him throw that gun on Fernandez! And when that sheriff walked up to him he handled it like a veteran!” Ben Curry was silent. Doc glanced at the broad back and went over to the sideboard and took up a cup and filled it with coffee. “He may be deciding he doesn’t want to take over. That boy’s smart, Ben, smart!” “He’ll do what I tell him.” “Maybe. He’s got a mind of his own, Ben.” Ben swore under his breath. All his plans, all of it falling apart after all the thinking, all the years!

  A small voice of doubt was whispering within him, a voice that made him remember that quiet, determined little boy whom he brought home with him, that boy who would not cry, a boy who listened and obeyed and who tried very hard to do what was expected of him. Yet despite that Ben had always been aware the boy had a mind of his own, that he listened and weighed everything in some balance of his own.

  Long after Doc Sawyer was gone, Ben Curry sat alone, thinking. If Doc knew, somebody else might know, yet he thought not. Doc was canny, and Doc always had his ear to the ground. Doc would know if anybody else knew.

  His thoughts reverted to the discussion over what had taken place in Weaver. What were Ducrow and Fernandez doing there, anyway? It had always been the policy for none of the gang to show up in the town where a job was to be pulled off except the scouts who went in, got the lay of the land, then rode out as unobtrusively as possible.