The Man from Battle Flat

by Louis L'Amour

  “How are you, Haney?” Levitt was easy, casual. He seemed to have forgotten completely the events of the day in the Bit and Bridle. He was clean-shaven as always, and as always he was immaculate. The dust of the roundup seemed scarcely to have touched him.

  Mabry, glancing at the two, was struck for the first time at something strikingly similar in the two men, only there was a subtle difference that drew the cowhand inexorably to Ross Haney. Both were big men, Levitt the taller and heavier, and probably somewhat softer. Ross was lean and hard, his rugged build seeming so lean as to belie his actual weight, which was some 200 pounds. Yet in the faces of both men there was the look of command. Haney’s manner was easy, even careless, yet there was something solid about him, something rock-like that was lacking in the brittle sharpness of Star Levitt.

  These two were shaped by nature to be enemies, two strong men with their faces turned in the same direction, yet backed by wholly varied thinking. The one ruthless and relentless, willing to take any advantage, willing to stop at nothing. The other, hard, toughened by range wars and fighting, with the rough-handed fair play of the Western plains, yet equally relentless. It could be something, Mabry thought, if they ever came together in physical combat.

  Ross began building a smoke. “Looks like a good herd. You got many cows here?”

  “Quite a few.” Levitt glanced at him sharply. “I hear you have some, too. That you’re running the Gallows Frame brand.”

  “That’s right.” Ross lighted his smoke and eased his seat on the Appaloosa. “It’s a good brand.”

  “Seems so. Strange that I hadn’t heard of any cattle coming into the country lately. Did you pick yours up on the range?”

  At many times in many places such a remark would have meant shooting. After Haney’s equally insulting remarks in the Bit and Bridle, they were not important. These two knew their time was coming, and neither was in a rush. Levitt was completely, superbly confident. Ross was hard and determined, his hackles raised by this man, his manner always verging on outright aggressiveness.

  “No, I didn’t need to. Your pattern suits you, mine suits me.” He inhaled deeply and let the smoke trickle out through his nostrils. “My cattle were already here.”

  The remark drew the response he wanted. It was a quick, nervous, and irritable scowl from Levitt. “That’s impossible!” he said. “Only three brands ran on this range until I moved in!”

  Haney smiled, knowing his enigmatic smile and manner would infuriate Levitt. “Star,” he drawled, “you’re an hombre that figures he’s right smart, an’ you might be if you didn’t figure the other fellow was so all-fired dumb. A man like you ain’t got a chance to win for long in any game for that reason. You take everybody for bein’ loco or dumb as a month-old calf. You ride into everything full of confidence an’ sneers. You’re like most crooks. You think everything will turn out right for you. Why, you’re so wrong it don’t need any argument. You came into this country big an’ strong. You were goin’ to be the boss. You saw Reynolds an’ Pogue, an’ you figured them for easy marks. You maybe had something on the Vernons. I haven’t figured that out yet, but like so many crooks you overlooked the obvious.

  “Let me tell you something, my cut-throat friend, an’ get it straight. You lost this fight before you started. You might win with bullets, that’s still anybody’s guess, but you’ll lose. You’re smart in a lot of ways, an’, if you were really smart you’d turn that horse of yours and start out of this country an’ never stop until you’re five hundred miles east of Tascosa.”

  Levitt smiled, but the smile was forced. For the first time the big man was uneasy, yet it was only for a moment. “I may not be as smart as I think, Haney, but no four-bit cowhand is going to outsmart me.”

  Ross turned slightly. “Bill, let’s drift down toward the pens. I want to see what Reynolds an’ Pogue think of those altered brands.”

  XII

  Nonchalantly Haney turned his back on Levitt and started away. Mabry rode beside him, occasionally stealing a glance his way. “Boss, you’re sure turnin’ the knife in that hombre. What you aimin’ to do, force his hand?”

  “Somethin’ like that. It does me good just to goad him. But you keep your eyes open, because he’s got something cookin’ now. I only wish”—his brow creased with worry—“I knew what he had on the Vernons. You don’t suppose she really cares for that hombre, do you?”

  Mabry shrugged. “I can guess what a fool cow will do, an’ I can outguess a bronc’, but keep me away from women. I never could read the sign right to foller their trail. Just when you think you can read the brand, they turn the other way an’ it looks altogether different.”

  Despite the growing sense of danger, the roundup was moving very well, yet the tenseness of the riders for all the brands was becoming increasingly evident. Several times Ross saw Sherry, but she avoided him. Bob Vernon was there, working like any of his men, and showing himself to be a fair hand, and a very willing one. Yet, as his eyes roved the herd and searched the faces of the riders, Ross could see that under the heat, the irritating, confusing dust, and the hard labor tempers were growing short.

  On the third day, when the roundup had moved to the vicinity of Soledad, the break came. Ross had been trying to find a chance to talk to Sherry, and suddenly he saw it. The girl had been talking with Levitt. She had started away from him, riding toward the cottonwoods that marked the VV ranch house.

  Ross started after her, and noticed Kerb Dahl, his hard, lupine face set grimly, staring after him. Dahl had drawn aside from the crowd and was building a smoke. Mabry, who had been working hard all morning, was still in the center of things, but Voyle was saddling a fresh horse.

  Haney overtook Sherry and she looked up at him. He noticed for the first time how thin she had grown and how white her face was.

  “Sherry?” Surprisingly his voice was unsteady. “Wait a minute.”

  She drew up, waiting for him, but he thought she waited without any desire for conversation. She said nothing as he rode alongside. “Leaving so soon?”

  She nodded. “Star said the men were getting pretty rough in their talk, and they’d be more comfortable if I went in.”

  “I’ve been hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me.” His eyes were accusing, but bantering.

  She looked at him directly then. “Yes, Ross, I have. We must not see each other again. I’m going to marry Star, and seeing you won’t do.”

  “You don’t love him.” The statement was flat and level, but she avoided his glance, and made no response. Then suddenly she said: “Ross, I’ve got to go. Star insisted I leave right away.”

  Haney’s eyes hardened. “Do you take orders from him? What is this, anyway? Are you a slave? Haven’t you a chance to make up your own mind?” Her face reddened and she was about to make a quick, and probably angry retort, when her remark hit him. He seized her wrist. “Sherry, you say Star insisted? That you leave now?”

  “Yes.” She was astonished and puzzled by his expression. “He said . . .”

  The remark trailed off, for Ross Haney had turned sharply in his saddle. Kerb Dahl had finished his cigarette. Voyle was fumbling with his saddle girth, and for the first time Haney noticed that he carried a rifle in his saddle scabbard, a rifle within inches of his hands. Ross’s eyes strayed for the white horse, and found it on the far side.

  He turned quickly. “Sherry, he’s right. Get back to the ranch as fast as you can, and don’t leave it!”

  He wheeled his horse and started back toward the branding pens at a rapid canter, hoping he would be in time. A small herd of cattle was drifting down toward the pens, and behind it were Streeter and Repp Hanson.

  As he drew up on the edge of the branding, Mabry was just straightening up from slapping a brand on a steer. “Bill!” Haney had to call three times before Mabry heard him, and then the red-headed cowhand turned and walked toward him. “Look out, Bill! It’s coming.”

  His remark might h
ave been a signal, for Emmett Chubb, sitting his horse near the corral on the outside of the pole fence, spoke up and pointed his remark at Riggs, a Box N rider. “You all feet, or just nat’rally dumb?”

  Riggs looked up sharply. “What’s the matter with you, Chubb? I haven’t seen you down here doin’ any work!”

  Riggs was a slim, hard-faced youngster and a top hand. His anger was justifiable and he was not thinking or caring who or what Chubb was. Riggs had worked while the gunman lounged in his saddle, carrying his perpetual sneer.

  “Shucks,” Chubb said, “you Box N hands done enough work afore the roundup, slappin’ brands on everythin’ in sight! Bunch of tinhorn cow thieves!”

  “You’re a liar!” Riggs snapped, and Chubb’s hand flashed for his gun. At that, Riggs almost made it. His gun was coming up when Chubb’s first shot smashed him in the middle. He staggered back, gasping fiercely, struggling to get his gun up.

  Instantly the branding pens were bursting with gunfire. Mabry swung into the saddle and whipped his horse around the corner of the stock pens, and he and Ross Haney headed for the timber. “It’s their fight,” Mabry said bitterly. “Let them have it.”

  “Look!” Haney was pointing.

  Mabry glanced over his shoulder as the firing burst out, and his face went hard and cold.

  Streeter and Hanson from their saddles had opened up on Reynolds and Pogue. Voyle was firing over the saddle of his horse, and cattle were scattering in every direction. Dust arose in a thick cloud. From it came the scream of a man in agony, then another burst of firing.

  Mabry gasped out an oath. The freckles were standing out against the dead white of his face. “Pogue’s own men turned on him!”

  “Yeah.” Ross Haney hurled his cigarette into the dust. “We’d better light a shuck. I think they intended to get us, too!”

  The crash of guns stopped suddenly, but the scene was obscured by dust from the crazed cattle and excited horses. Ross saw a riderless horse, stirrups flapping, come from the dust cloud, head high and reins trailing. Behind them there was a single shot, then another.

  Finally, with miles behind them, Mabry looked over at Ross. “I feel like a coyote ridin’ away from a fight, like that, but it sure wasn’t none of ours.”

  Haney nodded grimly. “I saw it comin’ but never guessed it would break out just like that. It couldn’t be stopped without killin’ Levitt.”

  “You think he engineered it?”

  “Sure.” Haney explained how Levitt had started Sherry home, and how his riders had moved out of the workingmen’s group to good firing positions. “Chubb had his orders. He deliberately started that fight when he got the signal.”

  “I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do!” Mabry said bitterly. “That Riggs was a good hand. We hunted strays together.”

  “There was nothing we could have done but stay there an’ die. We’ve got other things to do, Bill. We’ve got to see that Levitt’s plans go haywire an’ that he gets his desserts. We’ve got to get the Vernons out from under. Star will have this country sewed up now, with no one able to buck him but us. He’ll rave when he finds we got away.”

  “As far as Reynolds an’ Pogue,” Mabry said, “I can’t feel no sorrow. They were a couple of murderin’ wolves, but they had some good men ridin’ for ’em.” Mabry scowled. “Wonder what Levitt will do now? He’s got the range sewed up with them two out of the way an’ the Vernons knucklin’ under to him.”

  Ross frowned. He had thought that over and believed he knew the answer. “That we’ll have to wait an’ see,” he said. “I’m right curious myself. He’ll hunt us, an’ we’ll have to lay low. He’ll blame the whole thing on the feud between the two big outfits an’ claim he was just an innocent bystander.”

  “What about the riders?” Mabry protested. “Some of them will tell the truth!”

  “Bill,” Haney said, “I’d lay a good bet none of them know. We knew pretty well what was comin’, an’ moreover we got off to one side with a clear view. Down there among the stampedin’ cows, the dust, an’ shootin’, I’ll bet the ones who are alive won’t know. Moreover, I’ll bet most of them drift out of the country. If they don’t drift, Levitt will probably see that they do. From his standpoint it’s foolproof. Remember, too, that Levitt’s gunmen were men from both outfits.”

  “If he kills like that,” Mabry asked, “what chance have three men got?”

  “The best chance, Bill. We’re still honest men even if the only law is gun law. We’ll wait an’ see what Levitt does, but I imagine the first thing he’ll do will be to clean up the loose ends. He may even call in the law from outside so he’ll be in the clear with a clean bill of health.”

  Rolly Burt was waiting for them when they rode in. “What happened?” he demanded. “Did the lid blow off? I heard shootin’.”

  Briefly Haney explained. “The fight would have come, I expect, even if Levitt hadn’t planned it.”

  “How many were killed?”

  “No tellin’. I doubt if so many. Enough to warrant Levitt playin’ the big, honest man who wants to keep the peace. Down there in the dust, I doubt if anybody scored many good shots. Too much confusion and too many running cattle. Riggs is probably dead.”

  “Murderin’ coyotes!” Burt limped to the fire. “Set and eat. I’ve got the grub ready.”

  He dished up the food, then straightened, fork in hand. “Ross, what happened to Chalk?”

  Haney did not look up. “He’s sure to be dead. So’s Pogue. Even Syd Berdue was shootin’ at them. Killed his own uncle, or lent a hand.”

  “Chalk was no good, but no man deserves that.” Burt looked up suddenly. “Boss, while you two were gone, I done some stumpin’ around to loosen the muscles in this here game leg, an’ guess what I found?”

  “What?” Haney dished up a forkful of beans, then looked over it at Rolly, struck by something in his tone.

  “That rumblin’ in the rock . . . I found what causes it!” he said. “An’ man, when you see it, your hair’ll stand on end, I’m tellin’ you!”

  XIII

  Yawning, Ross Haney opened his eyes to look through the aspen leaves at a cloudless sky. The vast expanse of blue stretched above them as yet unfired by the blazing heat of the summer sun. He rolled out of his soogan and dressed, trying to keep his feet out of the dew covering the grass.

  Bill Mabry stuck a head bristling with red hair, all standing on end, out of his blankets and stared unhappily at Haney.

  “Rolly,” he complained, “what can a man do when his boss gets up early? It ain’t neither fittin’ nor right, I say.”

  “Pull your head back in then, you sorrel-topped bronc’!” Haney growled. “I’m goin’ to have a look at the valley, an’ then Rolly can roll out an’ scare up some chuck.”

  “How about this all-fired rumblin’?” Mabry sat up. “I heard it again last night. Gives a man the creeps.”

  Burt sat up and looked around for his boots. He rubbed his unshaven jowls as he did every morning and muttered: “Dang it, I need a shave!”

  “Never seen you when you didn’t.” Mabry thrust his thumb through a hole in his sock and swore, then pulled it on. “You need a haircut, too, you durned Siwash. Ugly, that’s what you are! What a thing to see when you first wake up! Lucky you never hitched up with no girl. She sure would have had you curried and combed to a fare-thee-well!”

  Ross left them arguing and, picking up his glass, walked to the nest of boulders he used for a lookout. Settling down on his stomach in the sand, he pointed the glass down the valley.

  At first, all seemed serene and beautiful. The morning sunlight sparkled on the pool below, and the sound of the running water came to his ears. Somewhere, far off, a cow bawled. He swept the edge of the trees close at hand, studied the terrain below, and then bit by bit he eased his line of quest up until he was looking well downrange toward the Soledad trail.

  The sun felt good on his back, and he squirmed to shift his position a little, leveled t
he glass, then froze.

  A group of horsemen was coming up the trail toward Thousand Springs, riding slowly. Star Levitt, he made out, was not among them. As they drew nearer, he picked out first one, and then another. They were led by Syd Berdue, and Kerb Dahl and Voyle were with him. Also, Emmett Chubb and half a dozen other riders. As they drew rein below him and let their horses drink, a few words drifted up to him.

  This time they were making no secret of their conversation, and in the bright morning air their words were, for the most part, plain enough.

  “Beats all where he got to!” Dahl replied. “I never did see Star so wrought up about anythin’ as when he found they’d got away. He must have turned over everything in the flat, a-huntin’ ’em. Refused to believe they’d got away. Golly was he mad!”

  “He’s a bad man to cross,” Streeter commented. “I never seen him mad before. He goes crazy.”

  Chubb hung at one edge of the group, taking no part in their talking. His eyes strayed toward Berdue from time to time. Finally he swung down and walked to one of the springs for a drink, and, when he came back, wiping his mouth, his eyes shifted from one to the other. “Some things about this I don’t like,” he said.

  There was no reply. Watching, Ross had the feeling that Chubb expressed the view of more than one of them. Syd idly flicked his quirt at a mesquite.

  “Well, you can’t say he ain’t thorough,” he said grimly.

  Chubb looked around. “Yeah,” he agreed sarcastically. “But how thorough? Where does his bein’ thorough stop? You ever start to figure like that? He had me primed to start the play by gunnin’ Riggs, as he had Riggs pegged as a hot head who would go for a gun if pushed. Well, I hadn’t no use for Riggs my ownself, but he never told me what was to come after. It was pure luck I didn’t get killed.”

  “Where did you reckon Haney went?” Dahl demanded, changing the subject.