Kedrick recovered himself with a start. He bowed.
“Miss Duane!”
“Captain Kedrick.” Somehow she was on her feet and moving toward him. “I hope you’ll like it here!”
His eyes had not left hers, and now color was coming into her cheeks. “I shall!” he said gently. “Nothing can prevent me now.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Captain!” Keith’s voice was sharp and cold. “We are late for our visit. Let’s be going. Your pardon, Connie. Burwick is waiting.”
Kedrick glanced back as he went through the door, and the girl was still standing there, poised, motionless.
Keith’s irritation was obvious, but Gunter seemed to have noticed nothing. Dornie Shaw, who had materialized from somewhere, glanced briefly at Kedrick, but said nothing at all. Coolly, he began to roll a smoke.
II
Burwick crouched behind a table. He was an incredibly fat man and incredibly dirty. A stubble of graying beard covered his jowls and his several chins, yet the eyes that measured Kedrick from beneath the almost hairless brows were sharp, malignant, and set close alongside a nose too small for his face. His shirt was open, and the edge of the collar was greasy. Rims of black marked each fingernail.
He glanced at the others and then back at Kedrick. “Sit down!” he said. “You’re late! Business won’t wait!” His bulbous head swung from Kedrick to Gunter. “John, this the man who’ll ramrod those skunks off that land? This him?”
“Yes, that’s Kedrick,” Gunter said hastily. Oddly enough, he seemed almost frightened of Burwick. Keith had said nothing since they had entered the room. Quietly, he seemed to have withdrawn, stepped momentarily from the picture. It was, Kedrick was to discover, a faculty he had when Burwick was near. “He’ll do the job, all right!”
Burwick turned his eyes on Kedrick. After a moment, he nodded. “Know a good deal about you, son!” His voice was almost genial. “You’ll do if you don’t get soft with them! We’ve no time to waste, you understand! They’ve had notice to move! Give ’em one more notice. Then get ’em off or bury ’em! That’s your business, not mine! I’ll ask no questions,” he added sharply, “an’ I’ll see nobody else does! What happens here is our business!”
He dismissed Kedrick from his mind and turned his attention to Gunter. “You’ve ordered like I told you? Grub for fifty men for fifty days? Once this situation is cleaned up I want to get busy at once. The sooner we have work started, the sooner we’ll be all set. I want no backfiring on this job.”
Burwick turned sharply at Tom Kedrick. “Ten days! I give you ten days! If you need more than five, I’ll be disappointed! If you’ve not the heart for it, turn Dornie loose! Dornie’ll show ’em!” He cackled suddenly. “That’s right! Dornie’ll show ’em!”
He sobered down, glanced at the papers on his desk, and then spoke without looking up. “Kedrick, you can go. Dornie, you run along, too!”
Kedrick hesitated and then arose. “How many of these men are there?” he asked suddenly. “Have any of them families?”
Gunter turned on him nervously. “I’ll tell you all you need to know, Tom. See you later!”
Kedrick shrugged and, picking up his hat, walked out. Dornie Shaw had already vanished. Yet when he reached the veranda, Connie Duane still sat there, only now she was not reading, merely staring over the top of her book at the dusty, sun-swept street.
He paused, hat in hand. “Have you been in Mustang long?”
She looked up, studying him for a long minute before she spoke. “Why, no. Not long. Yet long enough to learn to love and hate.” She turned her eyes to the hills and then back to him. “I love this country, Captain. Can you understand that?
“I’m a city girl, born and bred in the city, and yet when I first saw those red rock walls, those lonely mesas, the desert, the Indian ponies—why, Captain, I fell in love! This is my country! I could stay here forever!”
Surprised, he studied her again, more pleased than he could easily have admitted. “That’s the way I feel about it. But you said to love and to hate. You love the country. Now what do you hate?”
“Some of the men who infest it, Captain. Some of the human wolves it breeds, and others, bred elsewhere, who come to it to feed off the ones who came earlier and were more courageous but are less knowing, less tricky.”
More and more surprised, he leaned on the rail. “I don’t know if I follow you, Miss Duane. I haven’t been here long, this time, but I haven’t met any of those you speak of.”
She looked up at him, her eyes frank and cool. Slowly, she closed her book, and turned toward the door. “You haven’t, Captain?” Her voice was suddenly cool. “Are you sure? At this moment, I am wondering if you are not one of them!” She stepped through the door and was gone.
_______
TOM KEDRICK STOOD for a moment, staring after her. When he turned away it was with a puzzled frown on his face. Now what did she mean by that? What did she know about him that could incline her to such a view? Despite himself, he was both irritated and disturbed. Coupled with the anger of the man Peters, it offered a new element to his thinking. Yet, how could Consuelo Duane, John Gunter’s niece, have the same opinion owned by Peters? No doubt they stemmed from different sources.
Troubled, he walked on down to the street of the town and stood there, looking around.
He had not yet changed into western clothes and wore a flat-crowned, flat-brimmed black hat, which he would retain, and a tailored gray suit with black western-style boots. Pausing on the corner, he slowly rolled a cigarette and lighted it. He made a dashing, handsome figure as he stood there in his perfectly fitted suit, his lean, bronzed face strong, intelligent, and interesting.
Both men and women glanced at him and most of them twice. His military erectness, broad shoulders, and cool self-possession were enough to mark him in any crowd. His mind had escaped his immediate problem now and was lost in the never ending excitement of a crowded western street. Such places held, all jammed together without rhyme or reason, all types and manners of men.
For the west was, of all things, a melting pot. Adventurers came to seek gold, new lands, and excitement. Gamblers, women of the oldest and most active profession, thugs, gunmen, cow rustlers, horse thieves, miners, cowhands, freighters, and just drifters, all crowded the street. That bearded unshaven man in the sun-faded red wool shirt might, if prompted, start to spout Shakespeare. The slender young man talking to the girl in the buckboard might have graduated from Oxford, and the white-faced gambler might be the scion of an old southern family.
There was no knowing in this strangest, most exciting and colorful of countries, during its most exciting time. All classes, types, and nationalities had come west, all looking for the pot of gold at the foot of any available rainbow, and most of them were more engrossed in the looking than the finding.
All men wore guns, most of them in plain sight. Few of them would hesitate to use them if need be. The man who fought with his fists was a rarity, although present.
A big man lurched from the crowd. Tom glanced at him, and their eyes met. Obviously, the man had been drinking and was hunting trouble, and as their eyes met, he stopped. Sensing trouble, other passersby stopped, too.
“So?” The big man stood wide-legged, his sleeves rolled above thick, hairy forearms. “Another one of them durn thieves! Land stealers!” He chuckled suddenly. “Well, your murderer ain’t with you now to save your bacon, an’ I aim to get my share of you right now! Reach!”
Kedrick’s mouth was dry, but his eyes were calm. He held the cigarette in his right hand near his mouth. “Sorry, friend. I’m not packing a gun. If I were, I’d still not kill you. You’re mistaken, man, about that land. My people have a rightful claim to it.”
“Have they, now?” The big man came a step nearer, his hand on the butt of his gun. “The right to take from a man the land he’s sweated over? To tear down his home? To run his kids out on the desert?”
Despite the fact that the man wa
s drunk, Tom Kedrick saw beyond it a sullen and honest fury—and fear. Not fear of him, for this man was not afraid, nor would he be afraid of even Dornie Shaw. He was afraid for his family. The realization of that fact struck Kedrick and disturbed him anew. More and more he was questioning the course he had chosen.
The crowd murmured and was ugly. Obviously, their sympathies were with the big man and against Kedrick.
He heard a low murmur and then a rustling in the crowd, and suddenly, there was deathly silence. Kedrick saw the big man’s face pale and heard someone whisper hoarsely, “Look out, Burt! It’s Dornie Shaw!”
Kedrick was suddenly aware that Shaw had moved up beside him. “Let me have him, Captain.” Shaw’s voice was low. “It’s time this here was stopped.”
Kedrick’s voice was sharp, cold. “No! Move back, Shaw! I’ll fight my own battles!”
“But you ain’t got a gun!” Shaw’s voice was sharper in protest.
_______
BURT SHOWED NO desire to retreat. That the appearance of Shaw was a shock was evident, but this man was not Peters. He was going to stand his ground. His eyes, wary now, but puzzled, shifted from Shaw to Kedrick, and Tom took an easy step forward, putting himself almost within arm’s length of Burt.
“Shaw’s not in this, Burt,” he said quietly. “I’ve no quarrel with you, man, but no man calls me without getting his chance. If you want what I’ve got, don’t let the fact that I’m not armed stop you. I wanted no quarrel, but you do, so have at it!”
Suspicion was in the big man’s eyes. He had seen guns come from nowhere before, especially from men dressed as this one was. He was not prepared to believe that Kedrick would face him unarmed. “You got a gun!” he snapped. “You got a hideout, you durned coyote!”
He jerked his gun from the holster, and in that instant, Tom Kedrick moved. The edge of his left hand chopped down on the rising wrist of the gun hand, and he stepped in, whipping up his right in an uppercut that packed all the power in his lean, whipcord body. The punch was fast and perfectly timed, and the crack of it on the corner of Burt’s jaw was like the crack of a teamster’s whip! Burt hit the walk just one split second after his gun, and hit it right on his shoulder blades.
Coolly then, Kedrick stooped and picked up the gun, an old 1851 model Navy revolver. He stood over the man, his eyes searching the crowd. Wherever he looked, there were hard, blank faces. He glanced down at Burt, and the big man was slowly sitting up, shaking his big head. He started to lift his right hand and gave a sudden gasp of pain. He stared at it and then looked up. “You broke my wrist!” he said. “It’s busted! An’ me with my plowin’ to do!”
“Better get up,” Kedrick said quietly. “You asked for it, you know.”
When the man was on his feet, Kedrick calmly handed him his six-shooter. Their eyes met over the gun and Kedrick smiled. “Take it. Drop it down in your holster an’ forget it. I’m not worried. You’re not the man to shoot another in the back.”
Calmly, he turned his back and walked slowly away down the street. Before the St. James, he paused. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he took out a paper and shook tobacco into it.
“That was slick.” It was Dornie Shaw’s soft voice. His brown eyes probed Kedrick’s face curiously. “Never seen the like! Just slapped his wrist an’ busted it!”
With Keith, John Gunter had come up, smiling broadly. “Saw it all, son! That’ll do more good than a dozen killings! Just like Tom Smith used to do! Old Bear Creek Tom, who handled some of the toughest rannies that ever came over the trail with nothin’ but his fists!”
“What would you have done if he had jerked that gun back and fired?” Keith asked.
Kedrick shrugged, wanting to forget it. “He hadn’t time,” he said quietly, “but there are answers to that, too!”
“Some of the boys will be up to see you tonight, Tom,” Gunter advised. “I’ve had Dornie notify Shad, Fessenden, and some of the others. Better figure on a ride out there tomorrow. Makin’ a start, anyway. Just sort of ride around with some of the boys to let ’em know we ain’t foolin’.”
Kedrick nodded and after a brief discussion went inside and to his room. Certainly, he reflected, the West had not changed. Things still happened fast out here.
He pulled off his coat, waistcoat, and vest, then his boots. Stripped to the waist, he sat down on the bed and dug into his valise. For a couple of minutes he dug around and then drew out two well-oiled holsters and gun belts. In the holsters were two .44 Russian pistols, Smith & Wesson guns manufactured on order for the Russian army and among the most accurate shooting pistols on the market up to that time.
_______
CAREFULLY, HE CHECKED the loads and then returned the guns to their holsters and put them aside. Digging around, he drew out a second pair of guns, holsters, and belts. Each of these was a Walch twelve-shot Navy pistol, caliber .36, and almost identical in size and weight to the Frontier Colt and the .44 Russian.
Rarely seen in the West and disliked by some, Kedrick had used the guns on many occasions and found them always satisfactory. There were times when the added fire-power was a big help. As for stopping power, the .36 in the hands of a good marksman lacked but little offered by the heavier .44 caliber.
Yet, there was a time and a place for everything, and these guns had an added tactical value. Carefully, he wrapped them once more and returned them to the bottom of his valise. Then he belted on the .44 Russians and digging out his Winchester, carefully cleaned, oiled, and loaded it. Then he sat down on the bed and was about to remove his guns again and stretch out, when there was a light tap at the door.
“Come in,” said Kedrick, “and if you’re an enemy, I’ll be pleased to know you!”
The door opened and closed all in a breath. The man that stood with his back to it facing Kedrick was scarcely five feet four, yet almost as broad as he was tall. But all of it was sheer power of bone and muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His broad brown face might have been graved from stone, and the bristle of short-cropped hair above it was black as a crow’s wing. The man’s neck spread to broad, thick shoulders. On his right hip he packed a gun. In his hand he held a narrow-brimmed hard hat.
Kedrick leaped to his feet. “Dai!” The name was an explosion of sound. “Dai Reid! And what are you doing in this country?”
“Ah? So it’s that you ask, is it? Well, it’s trouble there is, boy, much of trouble! An’ you that’s by way of bringin’ it!”
“Me?” Kedrick waved to a chair. “Tell me what you mean.”
The Welshman searched his face and then seated himself, his huge palms resting on his knees. His legs were thick muscled and bowed. “It’s the man Burwick you’re with? An’ you’ve the job taken to run us off the land? There is changed you are, Tom, an’ for the worse!”
“You’re one of them? You’re on the land Burwick, Keith, and Gunter claim?”
“I am that. And a sight of work I’ve done on it, too. An’ now the rascals would be puttin’ me off. Well, they’ll have a fight to move me, an’ you, too, Tom Kedrick, if you’re to stay one of them.”
Kedrick studied the Welshman thoughtfully. All his doubts had come to a head now, for this man he knew. His own father had been Welsh and his mother Irish, and Dai Reid had been a friend to them both. Dai had come from the old country with his father, had worked beside him when he courted his mother, and although much younger than Gwilym Kedrick, had come West with him, too.
“Dai,” he said slowly, “I’ll admit that today I’ve been having doubts of all this. You see, I knew John Gunter after the war, and I took a herd of cattle over the trail for a friend of his. There was trouble that year, the Indians holding up every herd and demanding large numbers of cattle for themselves, the rustlers trying to steal whole herds, and others demanding money for passage across land they claimed. I took my herd through without paying anything but a few fat beefs for the Indians, who richly deserved them. But not what they demanded—they got what I wanted to
give.
“Gunter remembered me from that and knew something of my war record, so when he approached me in New Orleans, his proposition sounded good. And this is what he told me.
“His firm, Burwick, Keith and Gunter, had filed application for the survey and purchase of all or parts of nearly three hundred sections of land. They made oath that this land was swampland or overflowed and came under the General Land Office ruling that it was land too wet for irrigation at seeding time, though later requiring irrigation, and therefore subject to sale as swamp.
“He went on to say that they had arranged to buy the land, but that a bunch of squatters were on it who refused to leave. He wanted to hire me to lead a force to see the land was cleared, and he said that as most of them were rustlers, outlaws, or renegades of one sort or another, there would be fighting, and force would be necessary.”
_______
DAI NODDED. “RIGHT he was as to the fighting, but renegades, no. Well,” he smiled grimly past his pipe, “I’d not be saying that now, but there’s mighty few. There are bad apples in all barrels, one or two,” he said, “but most of us be good people, with homes built and crops in.
“An’ did he tell you that their oath was given that the land was unoccupied? Well, given it was! And let me tell you, ninety-four sections have homes on them, some mighty poor, but homes.
“Shrewd they were with the planning. Six months the notices must be posted, but they posted them in fine print and where few men would read, and three months are by before anything is noticed, and by accident only. So now they come to force us off, to be sure the land is unoccupied and ready. As for swamp,’tis desert now, and always desert. Crops can only be grown where the water is, an’ little enough of that.”
Dai shook his head and knocked out his short-stemmed pipe. “Money we’ve none to fight them, no lawyers among us, although one who’s as likely to help. A newspaper man, he is. But what good without money to send him to Washington?”
The Welshman’s face was gloomy. “They’ll beat us, that we know. They’ve money to fight us with, and tough men, but some of them will die on the ground and pay for it with their red blood. And those among us there are who plan to see ’tis not only the hired gunners who die, but the high an’ mighty. You, too, lad, if among them you stay.”
Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) Page 28