The Man from Battle Flat

by Louis L'Amour

  “Where did Rolly Burt go?” Voyle asked. “You ask me, that Ross Haney is nobody’s fool. He an’ Mabry sure got shut of those brandin’ pens in a hurry. They lit out like who flunk the chunk. Maybe left the country.”

  “He shore didn’t,” Chubb said bitterly. “He wants my scalp. He’ll not leave if I read his tracks right.”

  “He called the boss a couple of times,” Voyle said. “Pogue, too. Don’t seem to take no water for anybody.”

  Syd Berdue’s eyes shifted from face to face, waiting for somebody to mention his own fuss with Haney, but they avoided his eyes. “I’d say the thing to do would be to stop chasin’ over the country an’ keep an eye on that Kinney feller. He was right friendly with Haney, they tell me.”

  “Or Sherry Vernon,” Dahl sneered. “I think the boss is buckin’ a stacked deck with her.”

  Watching from the mesa, and listening to the faint sound of their voices, Ross could see Kerb Dahl’s eyes shifting from man to man. He shook his own head, disgusted. They talk too much, he told himself. That Dahl will tell Levitt every word or I miss my guess. He wasn’t planted on the VV for nothing.

  Long after the group rode away, he lay there restlessly, hoping for some sight of Sherry, but there was none. More than he cared to admit, he was worried about her. Star Levitt had been revealed as a much more ruthless man, and a more cruel man than he had believed. Perhaps of them all, Emmett Chubb was the nearest to correct in his estimation of Levitt’s character.

  There was small chance he would ever allow any group below to escape the valley to talk and repeat what they knew over too many glasses of whiskey. He was thorough, and he would be thorough enough, and hard enough, to carry out what he had started.

  Yet there was little Haney could do until Levitt’s next move was revealed. Reynolds and Pogue were gone and the Ruby Hills country lay in the big man’s palm. Haney longed for a talk with Scott, for the old storekeeper was a shrewd judge of men, and he listened much and heard everything.

  Returning to the fire, he joined Burt and Mabry in eating a quick breakfast. “Now,” he said as he finished his last cup of coffee, “we’ll see what you’ve got to show us. Then Mabry an’ me will go down into the lava an’ push out some more cows. We’ve got to keep Levitt sweatin’.”

  Burt, whose leg was rapidly returning to normal, led them through the aspens to the open mesa, and then along its top toward the jumbled maze of boulders that blocked off any approach from the northwest except by the narrow trail Haney used in coming and going.

  The way Burt took followed a dim pathway into the boulders and ended at a great leaning slab of granite under which there was a dark, chill-looking opening.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’re going down here!” He had brought with him several bits of candle, and now he passed one to each of them. They stooped, and crept into the hole. The air felt damp inside, and there was a vast, cavernous feeling as of a dark, empty space. Holding their candles high, they saw they were on a steep floor that led away ahead of them, going down and down into an abysmal darkness from which came the faint sound of falling water.

  Burt hobbled along ahead of them, and they had descended seventy or eighty feet below the level of the mesa above, when he paused on the rim of a black hole. Leaning forward, Ross Haney saw a bottomless blackness from which there came at intervals a strange sighing, and then a low rumble.

  “We got maybe ten minutes, the way I figure it,” Burt said. “And then to be on the safe side, we’ve got to get out.” He knelt and touched the rock at the edge of the hole. “Look how smooth. Water done that, water falling on it for years and years. I tried to time it yesterday, an’ it seems to come about every three hours. Pressure must build away down inside the mountain somehow, an’ then she blows a cork an’ water comes a spoutin’ an’ a spumin’ out of this hole. She shoots cl’ar up, nigh to the roof, and she keeps a spoutin’ for maybe three, four minutes. Then it dies away, an’ that’s the end.”

  “Well, I’m dog-goned!” Mabry exclaimed. “I’ve heard about this place. Injuns used to call it the Talkin’ Mountain. Heard the Navajos speak of it afore I ever came over here.”

  “Stones come up on that water, too, an’ water fills this whole room, just boilin’ an’ roarin’, but that ain’t all. Look up there!” He stepped back and pointed, and, moving away from the rim, they looked up.

  High above them, in the vaulted top of the cave were several ragged holes. “Back in the trees, too! A man could walk right into them if he wasn’t careful, an’ he’d go right on through into that, or else break a leg an’ lie on the rim until the water came.”

  “Ugly-lookin’,” Ross said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They turned and started out, and then from behind them came a dull, mounting rumble!

  “Run!” Burt’s face was suddenly panic-stricken. “Here it comes!”

  He lunged forward and, scrambling, fell full length on the steep trail. Haney stooped and grabbed the man, but he was a big man and powerful, and unless Bill Mabry had not grabbed the other arm he never would have gotten him up the steep hole in time.

  They scrambled out into the sunlight, their faces pale, and below and behind them they heard the pound and rumble of boulders and the roar of water tumbling in the vast and empty cavern.

  “That,” Mabry said dryly, “is a good place to keep out of!”

  When they returned to the camp, Burt started for his horse. “I’ll saddle up,” he said, “an’ help you hombres. I’ve been loafin’ long enough.”

  “You stay here.” Ross turned around and grinned at him. “You keep an eye on the springs, as I’ve a hunch we’ll have more visitors. This is a two-man job. Tomorrow, if we need help, you can go an’ we’ll leave Bill behind, or I’ll stay.”

  Mabry had little to say on the ride into the lava beds, but Haney was just as pleased for his thoughts were busy with Sherry and the situation in the valley and at Soledad. He made up his mind he would take a chance and slip into town. Then he could talk to Scott or Kinney, and would be able to find out just what was taking place.

  He had no idea what had happened beyond the few words he could catch from the conversation of the posse searching for him, but Scott would know all that had happened. On second thought, it would be wiser to see only Scott, for the chances were that Kinney would be watched. Already the connection with him would be formed in Star Levitt’s mind.

  The work in the lava beds was hot and tiring. The wild cattle fought like devils and branding them was a slow task and a hazardous one for the two men. Yet by nightfall they had branded enough of them to warrant their work. They camped at night in the cañon, and the following morning started the cattle out through the deep crevasse toward open range. Once they had them started toward Thousand Springs, they returned to the mesa where Rolly was waiting for them.

  “Took a ride in last night,” he volunteered, “been goin’ stale layin’ around. I talked to Kinney a little, but they’re watchin’ him.”

  “What’s happened?” Haney’s irritation at Burt’s gamble was lost in his eagerness for news.

  “Well, Levitt seems to be havin’ everythin’ his own way. He made Emmett Chubb sheriff, and says it’s goin’ to be necessary to be strict until they rid themselves of the lawless elements, which probably means us. I talked to Scott, an’ he sure wants to see you. Sherry Vernon ain’t been seen in town since the fight, an’ Bob only oncet, an’ then he came an’ hightailed it out of there. Levitt, he sent for outside law.”

  “He did what?”

  “Sent for some outside law. He says he aims to have this Reynolds an’ Pogue feud cleared up, an’ he wants you caught. Says you’re a rustler, an’ may have had more than a little hand in the killin’ at the stock pens. He wants the blame fixed, he says. Also, the story’s around”—Burt cleared his throat and avoided Haney’s eyes—“that there will be a weddin’ out at the VV pretty soon.”

  Ross stared at the fire. So that was it? Now he would marry S
herry Vernon and the VV would be his in name as well as in appearances, for once they were married he would know how to handle Bob. If Haney was to do anything, it must be done soon. It must be done now.

  “Howsoever, there seems to be some talk around. Syd Berdue ain’t happy with the new set-up. Kerb Dahl is foreman at the VV, an’ Chubb is sheriff. Bob Streeter is foreman on the RR, an’ they say Berdue fair raised mischief over that, but Levitt told him he would be taken care of.”

  “I reckon that’s what he’s scared of,” Mabry said dryly. “I know what I’d do if Star Levitt said I was to be taken care of. I’d either get me a shot at Star or a fast horse out of the country.”

  “Well, Berdue ain’t leavin’. Not willin’, anyway. I reckon Star is anxious to have everything looking shipshape for the law when it comes up. They’ll be glad to get shut of the trouble anyway, an’, if things look pretty, they’ll leave them as they be.”

  Ross pondered the news. Certainly Levitt’s position was good. He was a smooth-talking man with a good outward appearance, and, if everything looked settled and calm, the outsiders would go away. The valley would be safely in Levitt’s hands, and Ross Haney would be declared an outlaw and hunted by the forces of the law wherever he happened to appear.

  It was, apparently, time to come off the mesa and enter the game once more. Suddenly he knew just exactly what he was going to do!

  “Somethin’ else,” Burt added, “there’s a lot of talk around about those steers of yours. Seems to be a lot of difference of view as to where they come from. No other brands on ’em, but full-growed steers. There’s a rumor around that you’ve had a herd in the hills for some time.”

  “Bill,” Ross said thoughtfully, “there’s been some talk about another man on the VV spread. And when I was out there, I saw a small cabin off across the wash. You know anything about that?”

  “No, I don’t know anything at all. There’s somethin’ mighty peculiar about that cabin, an’ none of us ever went near it but Star or Kerb Dahl.”

  Mabry leaned back against a tree and built a smoke. “Dahl, he acted mighty skittish around that cabin, his own self.”

  When morning came again to the Ruby Hills, Ross Haney mounted the Appaloosa and started by a winding route toward Soledad. He had no intention of getting there before dark unless it could be managed without being seen. While he was about it, he would investigate that mysterious cabin, and learn once and for all if it had anything to do with Sherry and her attitude toward Levitt.

  The trail he was using was the same used on the previous trips, a trail that lay along a concealed route through the timber, mountain, and chaparral. It was the trail of which he had learned from the same source as provided the story of the cattle, the lava beds, and the mesa. This might well be the last time he would travel it for he needed no additional warning to let him know that every man’s hand would be against him in Soledad.

  His own position in the valley was a good one, but must be backed by gun power, and he could not match Levitt as to numbers. However, Levitt himself was bringing the law in, and the law outweighed the brute force of any outlaw or the tricks of any criminal working beyond it.

  XIV

  Circling around Soledad, he cut down through the chaparral to a position on the point of the ragged hills that overlooked the VV. Then, glass in hand, he took a comfortable position where he could watch all movement on the ranch and began a systematic survey of the entire area below.

  The isolated cabin he located without trouble. He studied it for a long time, watching for any evidence of life, but found none. The cabin looked bare and lonely, and no smoke came from its small chimney, nor did anyone approach it. Obviously the cabin held something or someone of great importance to Levitt or it would not be kept so secret.

  After a careful survey of the ranch buildings, he decided the door of the cabin was not actually in view of the ranch house, for that view was cut off by the stable and several large stacks of hay for feeding saddle stock through the winter months.

  Kerb Dahl was loitering around the ranch yard and he was wearing two guns, but no one else was in view. Once, as dusk drew nearer, he saw Bob Vernon come to the door of the house and stare off toward town, but he turned then without coming outside, and walked back. But in that moment when he had stood in the door, Dahl had walked hastily forward and stood facing him, for all the world like a prison guard.

  The evening faded and the stars came out. From away on the desert a soft wind picked up and began to blow gently. Back over the mountains lay a dark curtain of cloud, black and somber. As he glanced that way, Haney saw its bulging billows darting with sudden lightning, and once, like the whimper of far-off trumpets, he heard the distant sound of thunder.

  He waited there, his ears attuned to every sound, his eyes roving over the ranch and all its approaches. In what he saw and heard now his life might depend, for in a matter of minutes he was going down there. Yet, aside from the restless roving of Kerb Dahl, there was no evidence of life about the ranch until a light came on. And when that light brightened the windows, Ross got to his feet, brushed the sand from his clothes, and stretched.

  Then, leading his horse, he came off the hill, concealed from the ranch by the point of the ridge on which he had waited. He took a winding route up a sandy wash toward the ranch, stopping from time to time to listen once more, then moving on. In the shadows back of the stable, he let the horse stand, reins trailing, with a light touch on the shoulder and a whisper of warning. Nothing now but Haney’s own shrill whistle would move him from the spot.

  Loosening his guns in their holsters, Ross Haney took a deep breath and turned his eyes on the lonely cabin. Then he went down into the gully and started for the cabin door.

  Stark and alone on the knoll it stood, a gloomy little building that seemed somehow ominous and strange. Nearby, he crouched in the darkness listening for any sound of movement that might warn him of a possible occupant. Wind whispered around the eaves and from the ranch house itself there came a rattle of dishes, the sound made plain by that cool night air. Here at the cabin all was silence. The only window was covered with a fragment of sacking, so after a long minute he moved to the door.

  His heart pounded against his ribs, and his mouth felt dry. He paused, flattened against the building, and listened once more. Only the wind made a sound to be heard, a soft soughing that seemed to whisper of the impending rain. The clouds towered in the sky now, higher and closer, and the rumble of thunder was close, like a lonely lion, growling in his chest as he paced his cage.

  Carefully his hand went to the knob. In the darkness the metal seemed strangely chill. His right hand moved back to his gun butt, and then, ever so carefully, he turned the knob.

  It was locked.

  Gently he released the knob. The pause irritated him. He had built himself to a crisis that was frustration in this most obvious of ways, and the piling up of suspense made him reckless. A glance toward the ranch assured him he was unobserved, and probably could not be seen against the blackness along the cabin wall.

  This was a puzzle he must solve, and now was the time. There might never be another. Behind the locked door might lie the answer to the mystery, and he moved forward suddenly, and placed his shoulder against the flimsy panel. Light streamed from the bunkhouse windows, too. From the ranch there came only the continuing rattle of dishes, and once a loud splash as someone threw water out onto the ground. Taking the knob in his hand, he turned it, and then putting his shoulder to the door and digging his feet into the earth, he began to push.

  The construction was flimsy enough. Evidently whatever was kept there was guarded by Dahl or his partner. Haney relaxed, took in a deep breath, and then putting his shoulder to the door again, he shoved hard. Something cracked sharply, and he drew back, hand on his gun, waiting and listening.

  From within there came no sound. From the ranch, all was normal. He put his shoulder again to the door and heaved, but this time the damage had been done and the
door came open so suddenly that he sprawled on hands and knees inside!

  Cat-like, he wheeled, back to the door and gun in hand. His eyes wide for the darkness, he stared about. The light wind caught the sacking with a ghostly hand and stirred it faintly. Lightning flashed, and the room lay bare before him for an instant.

  A wooden chair on its side, a worn table with an empty basin, a cot covered with odorous blankets, and against the wall several stacks of boxes.

  Puzzled, Haney crossed to them. They were not heavy. He hesitated to risk the screech of a drawn nail, but by this time he was almost beyond caring. With his fingers, he got a grip on one of the boards that made up the box, and pulled hard. It held, and then, as he strained, it came loose. If it made any sound, it was lost in the convenient rumble of thunder.

  Inside the box there was more sacking, and, when that was parted, several round cans, slightly larger and not unlike a snuff can. Lifting one to his nostrils, he sniffed curiously, and from the box came a strange, pungent, half-forgotten odor.

  So that’s it! he thought. Then he scowled into the darkness. It did not clarify the position of Sherry, or her brother. And yet, his heart seemed to go empty within him—maybe it did!

  Pocketing several of the boxes, he replaced the boards as well as he could and turned the box so as to conceal the more obvious damage. Then he slipped outside and pulled the door to behind him.

  Confused by the unexpected turn of events, he returned to his horse, whispered reassuringly, and then went around the stable toward the house.

  Nearby was a window, and he moved up under the trees and looked through into what was the dining room of the ranch house. Three people sat at the table. Bob and Sherry Vernon, and, at the head of the table, Star Levitt.

  The window was slightly open, and he could hear their voices. Levitt was speaking: “Yes, I think that’s the only solution, my dear.” His tone was suave, cruel, but decisive. “We shall be married in this house on Monday. You understand?”