Eve Bancroft, Gib Gentry, and Lon Court were dead, all killed since he had arrived in town, and yet the problem of the gold was no nearer a solution. Ben Stowe still sat snugly in his office, surrounded by his miners, who were gunfighters.
And back of all this was the major mystery: Who had killed Eli Patterson?
Lights were shining in the windows when Shevlin rode into town. He stabled his horse, and started over to the Bon Ton. He was dead-tired, and hungry. No matter what, he was going to eat now, and then he was going to his room in the Nevada House and get some sleep.
He got to the boardwalk and started toward the door of the restaurant, when it opened suddenly and Burt Parry stepped out. When he saw Shevlin his face seemed to stiffen.
“You! Shevlin!” His voice was brusque, and even as he spoke he was putting his hand in his vest pocket.
He held out several coins to Shevlin. “Your wages. I’m going to quit the claim.”
Before Mike could speak he turned his back on him and strode away, walking swiftly.
Puzzled, Shevlin opened the restaurant door and stepped inside. Tom Hayes was there, a man whom he knew by sight, and at a table in the far corner sat Clagg Merriam.
Merriam glanced up, but looked away quickly.
Mike Shevlin ordered his meal, and gratefully drank his coffee. It was hot, black, and strong. Suddenly the door opened and Ben Stowe came in. He shot a glance at Merriam, then went over to where Tom Hayes sat.
“I didn’t know you and Doc Clagg were such friends, Tom,” Stowe said quietly. “Heard you were seeing him today. Or are you sick?”
“Poorly.” Hayes’s face was haggard. “I been feelin’ poorly.”
“Too bad. I figured it was something like that. Well, what else can you expect? A doctor is usually dealing with people who live unhealthy lives.” Stowe slapped Hayes heavily on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Ben. What’s a little stomach-ache when so many people are dying?”
Ben Stowe’s eyes shifted to Mike Shevlin, and he crossed over to his table. “Mind if I sit down, Mike?” he said genially.
Hayes got up and left the restaurant hurriedly, and Stowe looked after him, contempt in his eyes.
When he was seated, Stowe took out two cigars, held out one to Shevlin and lighted the other for himself.
“Mike,” he said, “I’ve been giving it some thought. We were pretty close in the old days, you and me, and with Gib gone I’m going to need a man.” His voice lowered. “I’m going to need a man who has guts and a gun. But one who won’t stampede.”
“You’re talking,” Shevlin said. He was so tired that he felt he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“I figure a man can always use some money, and you were one who could take it when the chance offered. What would you say to stepping into Gib’s shoes at the express company?”
Their voices were so low that it would not have been possible for anyone else to hear them. The offer seemed to be dropped casually by Stowe, but he added, almost as an afterthought, “There would be a tidy bit coming after this is all over. Gib worked for it, but now he won’t be with us, so why shouldn’t you pick up where he left off?”
“I wouldn’t want to end up like Gentry did, Ben.”
Stowe brushed off the suggestion with a wave of the cigar-holding hand. “You can take care of yourself. Anyway, I need you. I needed Gib, for that matter. His getting shot was all a mistake.”
Shevlin looked up at Stowe. “You’re damn’ right it was, and I know just what kind of a mistake.”
Ben Stowe chuckled. “Figured you did. But look, Mike, we’re playing for big money here. You can’t blame a man for covering all the angles. Now with Gib gone, things are different. I need you. Gib’s end could have come to that freight line, plus half a million dollars … half a million dollars, Mike! How long is it going to take you to make that much money?”
Mike Shevlin was thoroughly awake now. “Just what has to be done to make that kind of money?” he asked.
Stowe held his cigar in his hand. “Mike, I’m going to level with you. After all, you’ve been up the creek and over the mountain, and you can read sign as well as the next man. I need somebody to handle some freight shipments, somebody tough enough to take those shipments through—regardless of what happens.”
“You think I can do it?”
“Like nobody else. Better than Gib, even.”
“Do you think somebody will try to stop a shipment?”
Stowe leaned his big forearms on the table. “You’re damn’ tootin’, I do. Where do you think Ray Hollister is right now?”
Weariness was creeping over him, but he forced his mind to consider Stowe’s offer, an offer so astonishing he could scarcely believe it. The gold was to be placed right in his hands. He wouldn’t have to look for it; he would have it in his charge—but under the suspicious guns of Ben’s gunmen.
Half a million dollars … that would be better than ten per cent of half a million. Undoubtedly some would be in cash; the rest of the half-million to come from later mining.
He would be a rich man, free to do as he chose, and no strings attached. Of course, Ben Stowe planned to have him killed, but two could play at this game. Suppose he killed Ben Stowe? He would have all the gold for himself.
He looked at Stowe. “Ben, it sounds like a good deal. You let me sleep on it.”
He got up from the table and went toward the door, where he paused a moment. “After all, where else would I get a chance at that much money?”
After he had gone, Stowe stared at the door, an ugly look in his eyes. “He’s lying,” he said; “that two-by-four gunfighter is lying. He thinks he can outfigure me. Well, I’ll show him … but first, he’ll take that gold out for me.”
He spoke aloud, but not loudly enough to be heard by either Clagg Merriam or the waitress. He sat there alone for several minutes, studying the case in all its aspects. He could find no alternative. Hollister was out there somewhere, and he was the kind who would have to be killed, sooner or later. Hollister never knew when he was whipped, or when he had no chance of winning. Moreover, Hollister, fool that he was in personal relations, was shrewd enough when it came to figuring the angles; and Babcock was with him.
If there was a man in the Rafter country who could outguess Hollister, it was Mike Shevlin. And then he would, personally, kill Shevlin.
The thought gave Stowe a sudden deep satisfaction. He realized that he hated Shevlin, and, come to think of it, he always had. Mike Shevlin was the only one who had never accepted his leadership. Gib Gentry had been ready enough, but not Shevlin.
A shadow loomed beside his table. He tilted his head back and looked up into the hard but handsome face of Merriam.
“Hello, Clagg. Sit down.”
Merriam remained standing. “You’re taking a long chance, Ben.” Merriam’s voice was even. “Shevlin’s got only one thing on his mind. He wants the man who killed Patterson.”
Ben Stowe shrugged, his face unreadable. “So? We need Shevlin—we use him, then we take care of him.”
“Who does?”
Ben smiled. “Why, I do. I reserve the privilege for myself. That’s one thing you can have no part of, Merriam.”
“I had a letter today … from the governor,” Merriam said.
“I didn’t know you two were friends?”
“We’re not, not exactly. I supported him for the office. Made a contribution.”
“Then why worry? Tell him everything is all right in Rafter.”
“He knows better—and believe me, that contribution doesn’t mean a thing. That indicated support of his policies, but it didn’t buy immunity from a crime.”
Ben Stowe knew he had to be careful. Merriam had been touchy of late. Was he running scared? Was this thing getting under his skin? The worst of it was, he needed Merriam, needed him for a little while, anyway.
“Sit down,” he said again, “and keep your voice down.” He leaned his arms on the table. “Look, I’m going to ma
ke a deal for Shevlin to take the stuff out, and when he gets it where it goes … payoff.”
“Will he listen to you?”
Stowe’s face showed a grim smile. “Up to a point, any man will listen to money. What he’s asking himself right now is how he can get away with all of it. And don’t you be worried about Eli Patterson. He’s a long time dead, and half a million in gold is a lot of money. Mike Shevlin never had anything in his whole life but a horse and a gun, and here’s his big chance. He’ll go along.”
“I don’t like killing.”
“So you’ve said before, but Shevlin will die a long way from here.”
AT THIS MOMENT, at the hotel, Mike Shevlin was stripping off his clothes, and he almost fell into bed. He was nearly asleep already when he pulled the blankets over him.
But Laine Tennison lay wide awake in her bed at Dr. Clagg’s house, staring up into the darkness. She was remembering the face she had seen at the top of the chute in the mine, just barely seen. She had talked fast to get Ben Stowe out of there, talked glibly to get him to bring her home, but she was worried about him. How much had he been fooled by her chatter? She was afraid he had not been fooled at all.
Of one thing she was sure: Ben Stowe was the most ruthless man she had ever met. She had not the slightest doubt that he had ordered Lon Court to kill her, or that he would kill her when the opportunity offered, and if he was sure of the need for it.
The death of Eve Bancroft had dampened a lot of the spirits around Rafter Crossing. One man in town who lay wide awake was Tom Hayes. Stowe’s talk with Hayes had frightened him, and he lay awake now, remembering the veiled threats Stowe had delivered to him in the restaurant.
All his life Hayes had lived in the shadow of mightier men, and he envied them not at all, for to be mighty was to be a target for hatred. He had carefully avoided facing issues, avoided taking sides, avoided making decisions that might lead to trouble. And now, through the invitation of Dr. Clagg, he himself had become vulnerable. And he was frightened.
He got up suddenly and reached for his pants.
CHAPTER 17
LAINE TENNISON AWAKENED with a start, every sense alert. She did not sit up, she did not even stir, only her eyes were wide and she was listening.
Her room was very dark, for there was no moon at this hour. There was no wind, but she had a feeling of movement, of stirring. Somewhere in the house a board creaked. Was Rupert having a late night call?
Immediately, she knew that would not be true, for at such times Dottie never failed to get up and start a fire for some tea. There was something wrong, definitely wrong.
Very quietly, she listened, and heard a voice, not loud but clear enough. “Doc, you take it easy now. I’d surely hate to kill the only doctor in the country around. You sit tight, and nobody will get hurt.”
She knew the voice. It was that man they called Red, and he worked for Ben Stowe. Somehow Ben Stowe must have discovered the move they were about to make against him, and he was taking steps to prevent it.
Where was Brazos, she wondered. But as she asked herself the question, she remembered: Rupert Clagg had sent him out of town, carrying a message to two ranchers Clagg believed might join them to throw Stowe out. He was to go to Walt Kelly’s place first, and then across country to Joe Holiday’s.
Who had the others been? There were Billy Townsend and Fields, and if they had not been taken, they must be warned, and quickly. She turned swiftly and went to the window, which was partly raised. Ever so gently, she lifted the window still further.
Was someone on watch out there? It was likely. She went over the sill very quietly, and stood still a moment. How much time did she have before they would come to her room?
There was a man standing near the gate, so she went quickly along the edge of the lilac bushes, hesitated, then moved swiftly across a small open space to the shadow of the barn. There was no chance of getting a horse, but for what she intended to do, a horse was unnecessary.
At the back of the barn was a small gate, and she opened it softly and went through, closed it, and took the same route Mike Shevlin had once used to approach the house. Hurrying, running and walking, she reached an alley that led to the street.
The town was in darkness; the only lights were at the Blue Horn, in the rooms at the back where Townsend lived. Two men were loafing on the boardwalk out front.
If Ben Stowe had discovered Rupert’s plans, he must also know that Laine Tennison owned the mines. She had to have somewhere to hide, some place where she would not be found. And in her need she had thought of Mike Shevlin’s room in the Nevada House.
He would not be there, but she knew he had kept the room, for he was often in town. This time, as before, she went to the back of the hotel and went up the outside stairs to the second floor.
The hall was empty. She went along it swiftly, praying his door would be unlocked. It was, and she stepped inside quickly. At the same moment she felt the sharp prod of a gun in her ribs.
“Mike?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said softly. “What’s happened?”
As rapidly as she could, she explained what had taken place, from the meeting at the house until now.
“There wasn’t a chance for them to carry it out, Mike. I don’t believe Rupert had even talked to Mr. Hoyt. I was going to tell you about it when I rode out to the claim, but you were gone, and I couldn’t resist looking into that tunnel. And then Ben Stowe was there, and when I saw you I couldn’t think of anything but getting him out of there.”
“Did you see anybody else? Anybody outside or inside the mine?”
“No … no one at all.”
He scarcely realized what she said, for he was thinking of Ben Stowe, wondering what Stowe would do. Now that he knew who would be against him, would he kill them all? But then, how could the disappearance of several prominent citizens be explained? Or would he just hold them, try to put the fear of death into them, then let them go?
Shevlin’s every sense told him that Ben Stowe was riding the rim right now. He had killed, and killed more than once. He had gotten away with it, and with his success had come that sense of power that comes to such men, the feeling that they can go on killing and remain immune. In such men, the ego grew and grew, until they rode rough-shod over every obstacle.
Yet Stowe had always been a coldly cautious man. There had never been anything of the reckless, heedless, hell-for-leather cowhand in him. How much had his character changed?
“Laine, you’ve got to hide,” Shevlin said now. “You’ve got to stay out of sight, and this is the best place I can think of. There’s some grub in my duffel—it isn’t much, but your best bet is to stay right here where they won’t dream of hunting you.”
“And you?”
“I’m taking the gold out, Laine. Ben Stowe offered me a deal—he offered me Gentry’s piece of the operation.”
Her eyes searched his face. “That could mean a lot, couldn’t it?”
He took her by the shoulders. “Yes,” he agreed, “it could mean a lot. He’ll try to kill me; in fact, he will probably try before I reach the end of the trip, or at any rate, just after I do; but if I can stay with it, I could come out of it a rich man. The only thing is, it wouldn’t give me what I want most.”
“And what would that be?”
“You.”
She made no effort to draw away from him, no effort to escape his hands. She just looked up at him, her eyes cool and almost appraising.
He had thought of her, too often, these past few days and had called himself a fool for thinking what he did. He had told himself over and over that he would never have the nerve to say anything to her; but now here it was, and he had said it, and she was not laughing at him. That was something, at least.
“Mike,” she was saying, “how are you going to manage it?”
“I’m going out with them. I’m going to take that gold out, and somehow or other I’ve got to stay alive and keep that gold for you. Right no
w everything hinges on it.”
“Mike, I’m afraid.”
“You just wait here. I’ll be back. If Ben Stowe doesn’t have that gold, he doesn’t have anything. He can’t buy the mine, he can’t pay off his men; everything will fall apart for him and for Clagg Merriam too. Merriam’s mortgaged everything to put up the money to buy the gold.”
“They will fight.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then be careful. You’ll be all alone, Mike.”
He looked at her and smiled, a little wistfully. “When haven’t I been alone?” he said.
“Wasn’t there ever anybody, anybody at all?”
“No … not really. Maybe that was why I kept moving. It’s easier to be alone if you keep moving, because it seems natural not to know people or be close to anybody in strange country.”
“Mike,” she pleaded, “please don’t go. Let’s just ride away from here. We can go to the capitol and talk to the governor, then let him investigate.”
“Laine, by that time they’d have your gold out of here and everything covered up. You might get Ben Stowe out of his job and take the mines back, but you can be sure he’d dynamite the approaches to the high-grade, so that you might spend all you have, just looking for it—at least he’d try.”
Mike Shevlin hesitated, and then he said, “Laine, I came here to find out the truth about Eli Patterson, to clear his name, and to put the man who killed him where he should be—in prison.”
“You’d not kill him?”
“Not unless he pushed it on me. The law is coming to this country, and the sooner the better. Men can’t live without law, and each of us should do his part to help the men who enforce it. After all, they are our servants, and without them we’d live in anarchy. Take it from me, because I’ve seen it both ways.”
At the door he paused. “Keep that gun close by, and don’t answer the door if anybody knocks.”
He went out, and the door closed behind him. He was gone from the hall before she realized she had forgotten to bring her gun with her.
Novel 1965 - The High Graders (v5.0) Page 14