Son Of a Wanted Man (1984)

by L'amour, Louis

  Now there had been trouble, attention had been drawn to them, and Ducrow had been drunk and shooting off his mouth. Mike warned that the sheriff was a canny man, and he would remember their faces. So none of them could be used. The boy was out of it.

  Despite himself, Ben felt relief. The risk had worried him. Twelve guards, several with shotguns.

  How were they to handle them? Kerb Perrin wanted the job, so let Kerb have it. For the first time the thought of betrayal entered his mind. He shook his head. No. Perrin was his problem. He would cope with it himself, as he always had. But what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver? And Doc had reported the words Ducrow had spoken in anger, that it was no longer Ben Curry who mattered, but Kerb Perrin.

  Something brewing there.

  He was getting old. For the first time he began to doubt his rightness. What about the boy? He had wanted a man he could trust to take over, but had he any right to raise the boy to be an outlaw? He walked to the window again. He had a reason, or thought he did, but Mike had none beyond his father’s wish.

  Suddenly, Ben stopped, staring at the partial reflection of himself in the glass. Mike was the son he had never had, why not Mike and Drusilla?

  He shook his head. No, no. Never. Yet-how many fathers could raise their own son-in-law? He smiled at the thought, but put it aside. There was too much else to think about now.

  Kerb Perrin was planning rebellion. Planning to go his own way. His thoughts reverted to Dru.

  Suppose she wanted Mike Bastian, outlaw or not? Had it been Juliana now, he could have bluntly told her no and she would have, might have, listened. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. She was too much like him.

  What to do? Ben Curry moved away from the window. He must remember not to stand there again. Once, he need not have worried but now there were enemies among his own men, something he dared not tolerate. What had Ducrow and Fernandez been doing in Weaver? Scouting the job for Perrin? For themselves?

  He walked back to the fireplace and stared at the sullen coals. He was growing old, and it was time to quit. He wanted the last years with his wife and the girls. He wanted to get out, to get away. He was a man born out of his time, and in the past he might have been a Viking, a robber baron, a freebooter.

  Now he was an outlaw.

  He had liked planning their forays. He had liked playing his chess game with the law, but lately, was he changing? Or was it the times? Was it like Roundy kept telling him, that the old days were gone? An outlaw was an enemy of society, a different society from that rough, casually tolerant west in which he had spent his early years.

  He walked over to the clothes tree and took down his gunbelt. He checked each pistol, then slung the belt about his hips. From now on he had better wear them, all the time.

  Mike Bastian rolled out of bed and sat up.

  Rarely did he sleep during the day, but on his return he had been tired. Now he felt better. Darkness had come while he rested, and the sky was spangled with stars. From his window he could see a few lights glowing from the settlement below, a settlement of outlaws.

  Only Doe Sawyer and himself shared the stone house with Ben Curry, and on the occasional visits when others discussed future jobs with Ben, they never left the spacious living room with its big table where the planning was done.

  The doors leading to other rooms were closed and conferences were kept to the big table. Ben Curry had always been a private person and nobody had ever ventured to intrude on that privacy, not even Mike himself. He was restless and uneasy. There had been a sampling of what he could expect in the facing of Corbus and later with Ducrow and Fernandez. Was that what he wanted? Or did he want a more respectable life? Such a life as Drusilla Ragan might wish to share?

  Hey! He flushed. What was he thinking of? She had scarcely noticed him, and who was he, after all?

  He was nothing, he had nothing. He did not have a home, other than this provided by Ben Curry, he had no job, he had nothing to offer. Although he knew there were some people who admired outlaws, largely because they had never known any, he did not think Drusilla would be of that sort.

  He had not needed Roundy’s questions, nor Doc’s, to start thinking. Whenever he went into a town he wondered about the people there. They did not have to worry about being recognized by some lawman or some former victim. They did not have to be hiding out in the hills, seeking shelter from cold and rain or suffering from a gunshot wound they dared not have treated.

  Ben’s operation was the most successful, but he had his failures, too. Only a few weeks before four of the boys had arrived on hard-ridden horses, one man wounded, with only fourteen dollars to show for their trouble. At the last minute, plans had been altered and the shipment of gold had gone out early, going through the day before they arrived. Down there in town they had probably told the story of his meeting with the sheriff, of his coping with Ducrow and the others. The majority liked him, and this would tell them he could handle himself. Molina and Perrin stood between him and leadership of the gig.

  Molina, Perrin, and himself. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Did he want to be an outlaw?

  Blowing out the light, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. For a moment he stood listening. It was very quiet. Distant music came from the saloon.

  He walked down the path toward the town, hoping to see no one, simply to walk and to think. There was no more time. He must decide. Yet how could he leave Ben? Avoiding the main street of the little settlement, which was composed of a saloon, a store, and a livery stable, as well as a boardinghouse and what was called a hotel but was actually just a big cabin with bunks, he walked down one of the lanes toward the creek.

  Several cabins were scattered along the lane, with corrals, stables, and a well or two. He was passing the last cabin before reaching the trees along the small creek when he overheard “dis . . at Red Wall.” Abruptly, he stopped. The cabin door was open and light streamed out, but he was in the darkness out of sight.

  Kerb Perrin was speaking. “It’s a cinch. We’ll do it on our own without anybody’s say-so.

  There’s about two thousand head of cattle on their range, but there must be at least five hundred head gathered for a drive, and I’ve got a buyer for them.

  We’ll hit the place about sunup. was “Who’s on the place?” “Only four hands now. If we wait a few days there will be a dozen. They’ll be expectin’ nothing.” “How many men will we have?” “A dozen, maybe less. Keep the divvy small. Hell, that Ragan ranch is easy! The boss won’t even hear about it until it’s too late to stop us. Anyway, he’ll never know it was us.” “I wouldn’t want him to,” Fernandez said.

  “To hell with him!” Ducrow said. “All I want is a crack at that Bastian kid!” “Stick with me,” Perrin said, “and I’ll set him up for you. was “You said there were some women?” Ducrow suggested. “Two white girls are visiting there, and there’s two Mexican maids and the mother of the girls. I want the younger girl. What happens to the others is none of my business.” Fernandez looked uneasy. “It is not good,” he said. “The women, I mean. Steal cattle, yes.

  But women? They will hunt you forever.” Perrin shrugged. “Who will be left to talk?” Ducrow glanced at him, wetting his lips.

  Fernandez said nothing. After a bit he muttered, “Killing a man is one thing.” “You want to be left out?” Perrin demanded. “You don’t have to go.” “I’ll go.” “What happens if Ben Curry finds out? He doesn’t miss much, you know.” “What happens?

  If he opens his mouth I’ll kill him.” There was a pause, then he added, “I never wanted to kill anybody the way I’ve wanted to kill him. He thinks he’s the big man! I’ll show him who’s top dog!” “What about Bastian?” Perrin waved a dismissing hand. “He’s your man! If you an’ Fernandez can’t figure a way to handle him, then you aren’t the men I think you are.” “He’s quick,” Ducrow remarked. “It won’t do to think he’s easy.” “You handle him.” “And you handle Ben Curry?�
�� The voice was that of the man named Bayless. “He may not be young anymore, but he’s hell on wheels with a gun.” “Forget him! You three, along with Clatt, Panell, Monson, and Kiefer, will go with us. Nine out of ten will be with us in makin’ the break.

  There’s been a lot of dissatisfaction lately. The boys don’t like bein’ tied down so much. Sure, they’ve got money, but what good does it do them?” “Molina wants to raid the Mormons,” Bayless commented. “They’ve a lot of fat stock and some damn good horses.” Mike Bastian waited no longer. The chance of discovery was too great. His first thought was to go at once to Ben Curry, but he might betray his interest in Drusilla and the time was not ripe for that.

  What would Ben Curry say if he learned the foster son he had raised to be an outlaw was in love with his daughter? A foster son who had nothing, and no prospects?

  Yet what could he do?

  Ben Curry would know the girls and their mother were at Red Wall, and he would be going to see them. If he kept an eye on Ben he might find Ben’s shortcut to the V-Bar.

  Recalling other times when Ben had left, Mike knew the route had to be much quicker than any he could guess at. It was probably further west and south, possibly some way across the Grand Canyon, although knowing the enormous depth of the canyon he could not picture a possible route.

  He would have to wait. He wanted to see Drusilla again but now he must wait here, watch Perrin, and do what he could to protect Ben. How fast was Ben now? And how tough? Speed of draw was the least consideration. Nerve and a steady hand were infinitely more important. If there was as much unrest in the gang as Perrin implied, something might break loose at any moment. He had known the outlaws were restless.

  Most of them had become outlaws to avoid discipline. Ben had commanded them longer than anyone would have believed, their loyalty due in part to the returns, in part to the carefully prepared escapes, as well as fear of his far-reaching power. Now there was fear that he was losing his grip. Mike felt a sudden urge to saddle his horse and ride away forever, to escape all the cruelty, conniving, and hatred that lay dormant here. He could ride now by way of the Kaibab Trail through the forest. Living as he did, it might be a week before they even knew he was gone. Yet to run now, no matter how much he wished to be away, would be to give up all hope of seeing Dru again.

  Moreover, whatever future he chose he could not abandon Ben in his hour of need.

  Returning to his room he sat dawn on his bed to think. Roundy first and then Doe Sawyer, each seemed to be hoping he would give it up and get out before it was too late. Doc said it was his life, but was it? There was a light tap at the door. Gun in hand, he reached for the latch. Roundy stepped in, glancing at the gun.

  “Gettin’ jumpy, Mike? I don’t blame you.” Mike explained what he had heard. Roundy heard him out and then asked, “Mike? Have you heard of Dave Lenaker?” “You mean that Colorado gunman?” “He’s headed this way. Ben Curry just got word that he’s coming out to take over the gang.” “I thought he was one of Ben’s best men?” “So did we all, and so he has been, but more than likely he’s afraid Perrin will climb into the saddle, and they have never liked each other.” “Does Ben know?” “You bet he does! He’s mighty wrought up, too. He’d planned on bein’ away a few days on one of those trips to Red Wall. Now he can’t go.” Doc came in and the three talked, trying to foresee what might happen and what the best strategy would be. Perrin was hot for a break.

  “Roundy,” Mike suggested, “either me, you, or Doe had better be here at all times, but you two had best sift around and get some of the men on whom we can depend, like Garlin and Coney. Don’t get any you have doubts about. Have them drift up this way and be ready for trouble.” . “Garlin’s with the horse herd,” Roundy said,” “no way to reach him today without riding down there. “All right, get him when you can.” When Roundy had gone, Mike went out to the porch overlooking the canyon. The night was dark, although the stars were bright and there were no clouds.

  Somehow he must warn them at the V-Bar; but-whom could he trust? The secret of the ranch and its.-people was not his, but Ben’s. Nobody in the canyon. would carry any message in any way harmful to another member of the gang. He could get a dozen men by using Ben’s name, but that was just what he dared not do.

  Ben knew how to get over there in a hurry, but how? And how could he find out in time?

  The date for the raid on the treasure train was the twentieth, and there had been talk of a raid into eastern Colorado. Was that to be the twentieth also?

  Dave Lenaker was on his way here. If Ben knew that, Perrin might know also. Such things were hard to keep secret, especially when there seemed no reason for keeping them secret.

  For a long time he lay awake, trying to think his way to a solution. He must talk to Ben Curry.

  He must warn him and tell him what he knew. His window was open and he could hear the far off howling of coyotes. He found himself wishing he was out there in his wilderness, away from all this, walking down one of those long, long valleys or climbing among the aspen, up to timberline, where the spruce ended and the tundra began. Up to the sliderock slopes where the springs were born. There was freedom there, and peace, and there was no worry about such men as Kerb Pen-in.

  He sat up suddenly. He was not cut out for an outlaw, and he had known it all the time. He had played with the idea because it was what was expected of him, but now he knew it was not for him. Yet much as he wished to just tide away from it all, there was no way it could be done. No matter what he was to other men, Ben Curry had been a father to him, gruff but kindly, his affection only shown through a friendly squeeze on the shoulder or, when he was younger, a casual cuff and a ruffling of his hair.

  Now Ben’s back was to the wall, his lovely daughters and wife in danger and nobody to help but him.

  Of course there was Roundy and there was Doc and a few loyal men, but nobody who could stand up to Molina or Perrin or Lenaker, if it came to that. There was only him, and this was what he had been raised for.

  He lay down again, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.

  He would need all his training, all his skill.

  Perrin was a wily, dangerous man, good with a gun, but cunning as well. And he would know Ben Curry because he would have studied him all those years.

  Tomorrow, he told himself. I’ve got to move tomorrow, and I must talk to Ben. I must make him see what is happening and how he must tell me how to reach his family in a hurry.

  His eyes opened again. This was the end. He could see it clearly now. Ben Curry had held them together but he could do so no longer, nor could anybody else, no matter how well trained.

  Many of them were good men who just got started off down the wrong track, but others were murderers and thieves, and the wild animals were about to turn on their keeper.

  Tomorrow … tomorrow he would see what could be done.

  Tomorrow… .

  The Red Wall Ranch, also called the V-Bar, lay at the head of a small canyon, an isolated oasis at tire upper end of a network of small canyons watered by scattered springs and runoff from the cliffs. It was such a place as only an Indian, an outlaw on the run, or a wandering prospector might find. During a wet year the range would support cattle, but in a dry year much of it was semi desert, offering little. Ben Curry had found the place a dozen years before and had with the help of some Indian friends put up a stone house, stable, and corrals. He had piped water into the house from a spring, had kept some cedars growing close by, and had planted a few other trees, carefully watered until their roots were down.

  By handling cattle judiciously, taking advantage of the wet years and cutting the numbers during dry periods, a man might do well with a small ranching operation. Ben Curry did not intend to live out his life there, simply to maintain it as a secret base of operations.

  Doc Sawyer knew of the place, but only Roundy had actually been there. The ranch house was a low building almost lost to view against the cliffs some distance behind, a
nd partly screened by trees.

  A man might easily ride by the lower end of the canyon without even seeing the house, which was on a low knoll. Behind it and between the house and the canyon wall were the corrals, a stable, a storage shed, and a smokehouse. “It’s so alone!” Juliana said, looking down the long narrow valley. “I love it here, but it scares me, tool” Drusilla said nothing, but she, too, was looking down the long valley. It was beautiful, it was remote, it was wild and strange. Maybe that was why she loved it so much, and maybe that was why she so looked forward to coming back, even though the visit would be a short one. “I often wonder why papa chose such an out-of—the way place,” Juliana went on.

  “He could have a ranch anywhere. I don’t believe anyone lives within a hundred miles of us.” “We aren’t that far from Flagstaff. It just seems far.” “But what if something went wrong” “We’d have to fend for ourselves,” Dru said. “That’s why you should learn to shoot. Someday you may have to.” “There was trouble in town after we left,” Juliana said. “I heard the men talking about it. Some sort of a fight.” “I wish papa would come.” It was very quiet. From the steps before the bunkhouse where the men slept they heard the low murmur of voices. It was a comfortable sound. Night was falling and already they had a light on out there. “It gives me the shivers.” “There’s nothing to be afraid of. There are four men out there.” They were silent, and Juliana drew the shades. Walking back to the table Dru took the chimney from the lamp, struck a match, and touched it to the wick.

  Replacing the lamp globe she drew back a chair. “It’s almost time for supper.” “I don’t like it, Dru. I don’t feel right.

  Something’s going to happen.” Dru looked at her sister, a cool, appraising glance. Juliana had these feelings once in a while, and they were often right.