Novel 1970 - The Man Called Noon (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” he said coolly.

  “There are five of us,” she said.

  “But only one that’s you,” he replied calmly, “and that needs only one bullet.”

  “You’d shoot a woman?”

  He smiled. “You’ve chosen to play games with the boys, and when you do that, you accept the penalties. I see here only four men and one cold, treacherous wench who would betray her best friend for a dollar.”

  Her anger flared but he ignored her as she started to speak, and he said to the others, “I hope you’ve considered that. Whatever you might get out of this will be what she wants you to get, and that will be almighty little. Be sure of this: she’s already planned to have it all.”

  As he spoke he was thinking of Cagle and Bayles…where were they?

  Were they even now getting into position somewhere to attack him? Or were they her insurance of keeping the money after she had it? Did Judge Niland know of them? Did Janish?

  Another thought came to mind. Who had killed Dean Cullane? Was it Janish? He had believed so, but he was no longer sure.…What about Judge Niland? It could be Niland.

  Miguel Lebo was out of sight, and it was doubtful if they even knew of his being in this region, for so much had happened so fast.

  Ruble Noon did not want a shooting, but if it had to be, he was prepared. He faced them, thinking coolly that he would have to take Janish first, though the others were just as dangerous. Niland, who was good in the woods and good with a rifle, might not be so good with a six-gun. Strangely, it was not Ben Janish who worried him so much as Lang, a cool, quiet man seemingly without nerves.

  “Give us the money,” Peg Cullane said, “and you can ride out of here.”

  Ruble Noon laughed. He could sense a change in himself, something brought about by the tension of the moment. He was ready, he was anxious for them to begin. He wanted them to open the ball. He wanted them to make a move.

  He took an easy step forward. “Well, boys, this is what you came to town for. This is what you carry your guns for. Somebody draws, somebody dies…maybe all of us. Who wants to start the music?”

  Lyman Manly edged to one side, easing his horse over, and Ruble Noon laughed at him. “Don’t try to get out of it, Manly. I could have had you back on the Rio Grande. I was standing right behind you when you were questioning Señora Lebo. I could have cut you in two, but I didn’t think it was worth it.”

  He wanted to make them uneasy, unsure. He wanted to worry them, to make them shoot too fast, be too ready to turn.…

  “You boy’s haven’t kept track of Arch Billing, have you? Or Henneker? That old coot is tougher than the lot of you, did you guess that? He’d take your hair and never give it a thought.…Do you think we’re alone here? Just you five and me?”

  “He’s bluffing!” Niland said impatiently. Then he said, “Don’t be a fool! You’re an intelligent man. You’ve lost nothing here. You can go back to your own life, pick up where you left off, and nobody be the wiser. All you have to do is tell where the money is.”

  “You’d take it and run?” Ruble Noon smiled grimly. He was feeling good. He was ready for what was going to happen, and he wanted it to happen. Even as he thought that, he knew it was dangerous thinking. He was an intelligent man and, he hoped, a civilized one.

  The trouble was, he was facing a group of people who cared not one whit for the rights of others. They did not want peace, because they could profit by violence; and violence was their way. It was not a matter of what would happen, it was only when.

  They would like nothing better than for him to turn to walk away so they could shoot him in the back. But he had been pushed, hunted, driven, and now he would be driven no longer.

  Suddenly, in a clear, cool voice, Fan Davidge spoke behind him and from above. She would be on the ledge, aiming through the leaves. They could not even see her.

  “Ruble, you don’t have to shoot Peg. I’ll do it. If she makes a move toward a gun, I’ll shoot her right in the face. At this range I can’t miss.”

  He saw Peg’s features go taut. He saw her frightened look to left and right. Peg wanted to kill, not to be killed…or rather, she wanted the money, and she would not care at all who got killed as long as it was not herself. Now she was looking straight at the barrel of a rifle and she could not even see Fan Davidge.

  Ruble Noon gave a faint smile at the shock of surprise that went through them all—Fan was here! And if she was here, who else might be?

  “I’ll take Manly, amigo,” Lebo said then. “I want him first.”

  Another one! And this a voice they had never heard. A slight Spanish accent…a Spanish word…Judge Niland’s eyes were a little wider now.

  “There’s going to be some empty saddles tonight,” Ruble Noon said. “Everybody is spoken for but you, Ben, so that leaves you to me. And I owe you one. That bullet of yours gave me a few headaches.…And by the way, was it you who murdered Dean Cullane? Or was it Niland?”

  Peg gave a quick, involuntary move to look at Ben Janish, and the gunman’s face went white. “Damn you, Noon!” he said. “I’m going to—”

  “Any time,” Noon said calmly. “Just any time.”

  “Wait!” There was sheer panic in Peg Cullane’s tone. She had no doubt that Fan would shoot her, because in Fan’s place she would certainly have shot, and Peg did not want to die.

  “We will ride off,” she said. “You win this round. But don’t think this is over.”

  “Ride,” Ruble Noon said. “You can all ride except Ben Janish.”

  “All right, Noon,” Janish said quietly, “if you want it that way.”

  “I do,” Noon said.

  The others were turning away, slowly so as not to attract a shot. There were men in the brush and trees, men in the cliff house, and they had no idea how many. But however many there were, none but Noon presented a target for them. They might kill him, but they would be shot to pieces themselves.

  “I’m on the ground, Ben,” Noon said quietly. “You might as well get down. After I kill you, I don’t want them saying I took advantage.”

  Ben Janish stared at him. Then he carefully gathered the reins in his left hand.

  He will throw his leg over, hit the ground in a crouch, and shoot under the horse’s belly, Ruble Noon told himself.

  Janish threw the leg over, dropped to the ground, and Noon’s first bullet struck his thigh at the hipbone, and turned Janish halfway around.

  The frightened horse leaped away, and Ben Janish swore and swung around to bring his gun to bear.

  Ruble Noon faced him, standing wide-legged and ready, and as the gunman came full toward him, his gun swinging across his body to fire, Ruble Noon shot quickly.

  One! Two!…Three!

  Ben Janish was on the ground, his gun three inches from his hand, and he was dead.

  As the others went across the meadow and into the trees, Lang turned in his saddle and lifted a hand.

  And then the meadow was empty, and Miguel Lebo came from behind the tree and lowered his rifle.

  “You are quick, amigo. Very quick!”

  Chapter 18

  *

  RUBLE NOON TURNED quickly and walked toward the sycamore. Over his shoulder he said, “Lebo, get the horses, will you? We’ve got to get out of here.”

  He climbed up to the tree house. Fan Davidge was standing in the middle of the larger room, hands on her hips, looking around. Her Winchester lay across the table.

  “I can’t find it. If it is here, I simply can’t find it,” she said.

  But it had to be here, he was sure. He stood there and looked around slowly. Half a million in gold or bills, or in negotiable securities, was quite a packet.

  The outer wall of the house against which the tree grew was some thirty feet above the ground. The house was actually a wind-hollowed cave, like many of those in Mesa Verde, and the builders had simply walled up the opening, leaving a space for a small door.

  The roof of
the cave arched overhead, smooth as if polished by hand, and at his left it sloped down in a pleasant arch, under which was the bed. On his right a trickle of water came out of a crack and ran along the base of the wall for a few feet before falling into a crack in the cave floor.

  Besides the bed, there were a table, a couple of chairs made from tree limbs, and a shelf supported by pegs driven into holes in the wall. The floor was solid rock.

  The back wall was a man-made partition of stone, with a door at the right. He could see where the older stonework had been repaired and added to by skillful hands.

  “What’s back there?” he asked, pointing to the door. “Have you looked?”

  “You can see for yourself. There’s a fireplace, and there’s a hole in the roof.”

  He went back into the smaller cave. Here was a fireplace with a large stack of wood beside it. There were several iron kettles, an axe, some tongs, and a couple of old-fashioned bullet molds, each capable of making a dozen lead balls at a time.

  Against the rock wall was an old canvas sack. He opened it and thrust his hand in. Bullets made from the mold were there, of the type used in the old muskets. He had not seen anything of the kind in years. They ran, as he recalled, sixteen to the pound; but the only musket in the cave had rusted from disuse.

  He prowled around, glancing up several times at the hole in the roof. On the floor underneath it a couple of notches had been cut, obviously for the legs of a ladder.

  He found several more sacks of the bullets. The man who had sought refuge in this cave had prepared himself for a stand if the Utes ever located him. No doubt he had made his own powder, too, and he had probably used a bow and arrow for most of his hunting, saving the lead balls for the Indians.

  Where could anyone conceal half a million dollars in such a place? But did he really know it was half a million? Such figures are usually exaggerated…buried treasures always grew as the story was repeated. He searched carefully, but he could find nothing.

  The partition wall intrigued him…it was thicker than need be—measuring at least twenty inches thick. He scanned it, looking for anything that appeared to be new work. Suddenly he found a place where there was little dust, and no cobwebs such as gather in the interstices between stonelaid walls. He worked a stone loose, and after a few minutes of jiggling it about, he found that it slid easily from its niche.

  Behind it was a black metal box. With Fan at his elbow, he drew the box out. It opened easily. Inside were several deeds to lands, mostly in the East, and at the bottom of the box were ten tight rolls—thick rolls—of bills! Greenbacks…and they were large bills. Nothing else was in the hole.

  “Fan,” he said, “there’s a good bit of money there. Maybe it’s the lot.”

  “We’d better go,” she said. “They will surely be back.”

  He stuffed the bills and deeds into his pocket, but left the box on the table where anyone could see it.

  They went out, pulled the door shut, and slid to the ground. Miguel Lebo was waiting with the horses. “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  “Yes…though not as much as we expected.” He swung into the saddle. “Now, if we had a couple of old muskets I’d say this would be a great place to fight it out. There’s enough ammunition up there for an army.”

  “Ammunition?”

  “Ball ammunition…for muzzle-loaders.”

  Lebo looked puzzled. “I don’t remember any ammunition. I would have remembered, wouldn’t I?”

  Ruble Noon swung down quickly and ran for the tree. “Lebo,” he said, “get over to the ranch, get a couple of pack horses and get them fast—and pack saddles if you can get them. Don’t waste time!”

  “What is it?” Fan asked.

  “Those musket balls, damn it! They’re gold!”

  He climbed the tree, and inside the tree house he hastily cut into one of the balls with his knife.

  Gold, bright and pure!

  There were eight sacks, two of them hidden in a recess behind the pile. He lowered them down with a rope.

  When Lebo came racing back with the horses and pack saddles they filled them with the balls of gold. Within minutes they were moving.

  Lebo pulled up beside Noon. “Where to?”

  “Denver. There isn’t a bank this side of there where this gold would be safe.”

  “That’s a ride. It must be four hundred miles. Where can we hit the railroad? At Durango?”

  Ruble Noon hesitated. “Too close, I think,” he said. “How about Alamosa?”

  Lebo shrugged. “You call it and I’ll play the hand.”

  Ruble Noon looked back. The trail behind them was empty. They moved off swiftly, Winchesters across their saddlebows.

  *

  PEG CULLANE WAS coldly furious. Her lovely features were taut and she rode stiffly in the saddle. Lyman Manly and John Lang rode beside her; neither was talking. Lyman was surly, but Lang was not disturbed—he was a veteran of too many wars. You won and you lost, but if you bucked a stacked deck you were a fool. From the first he had been reluctant, but Peg Cullane had wanted to go in.

  There had been too much cover. He still did not know how many had been there; but three to four wasn’t enough odds when one of them was Ruble Noon and at least two others were under cover, with rifles.

  Four…five if Peg Cullane had chosen to shoot, but he had a good hunch she did not intend to. Whether Henneker and Billing had been there he did not know, nor care. The odds were wrong, and the thing to do was ease back and ride out, waiting for another chance when the odds were different; and that chance always came.

  Peg Cullane was not used to losing, and she wanted that money. Lang had no doubt that she wanted it all. From the beginning he had felt sure of that. He had been equally sure it wouldn’t work out that way. It always turned out to be every man for himself.

  It was Judge Niland who broke the silence. “I suggest we stop, make some coffee, and settle down a bit. Then we talk this over and see where we stand.”

  Peg started to reply, but Lang interrupted in his mild tone. “Seems like a good idea. That was kinda rough there for a minute.”

  “He killed Ben,” Lyman muttered. “He cut him down.”

  “Well,” Lang said philosophically, “Ben shouldn’t have missed that first time. He had him dead to rights.”

  “Ben was too sure of himself,” the Judge said quietly. “If he had taken a moment more, none of this would have happened. By this time we would have divided half a million dollars and gone our separate ways.”

  “So now what?” Lyman Manly wondered aloud.

  “We go after them.” Peg’s tone was crisp. “We go get them. By now they have it, whatever it was, and are on their way.”

  “I thought you said it was gold?” Lang said.

  “Tom Davidge’s brother-in-law told me it was bullion, gold bullion. There was some currency, too, I think.”

  “How come he told you?”

  “He hated Tom. He was drinking when he told me about it—facts, figures, places, and dates, and I checked on some of it to be sure the story was true. He got wind of it somehow and came down on me, wanting a share.”

  “What did you promise him?”

  Peg Cullane gave Manly a disgusted glance. “Him? I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and sent him packing.”

  She dismounted with the others and watched Lyman put a fire together. Standing off at one side gave her a chance to think. For the first time in several weeks she could look at the problem calmly and assay her position.

  Since returning from school she had lived in El Paso with a maiden aunt. Their income comfortable, but not large, and the future that lay before her was to her anything but pleasant. She did not like El Paso, and she did not like the West. She wanted to go back east or to Europe, but on their limited finances that was impossible.

  Completely selfish, she cared nothing for her aunt, and was impatient of the restrictions put upon her by the small city in which they lived.
School in the East had let her see how things might be, and she at once had begun to plan an escape. During her last trip east Davidge’s brother-in-law, whom she had met casually through Fan, had given her information that she believed she alone possessed—until she discovered that Judge Niland was also aware of it.

  Where there is money there will be hands reaching for it, and the idea that half a million dollars was lying somewhere unknown to anyone galled her. Moreover, Peg felt there was no reason why Fan should ever know about the money. At the same time, it was nearly impossible to search the ranch for hiding places while Ben Janish and his outlaws were there.

  The information that came to her, partly from Dean and partly from the Judge, was a shock. A man had been sent to kill several of the outlaws, and he was to deliver the money to Fan. When Ruble Noon arrived in the country, four people there knew about the money: Judge Niland, Dean Cullane, Ben Janish, and herself.

  Ben Janish had been told when it became necessary to get him to kill Ruble Noon. The Judge had convinced Janish he must not wait to give Noon a chance in a gun battle, but must kill him at once, before he met Fan Davidge to tell her of the money.

  The attempt had failed, and somehow Dean Cullane had been killed during that evening. That left three who had known about the money. Now Ben Janish had been killed by Ruble Noon, which left only two on their side.

  She did not look toward the Judge, but she was thinking about him. All her life she had schemed and plotted to get what she wanted, and she had no doubt she would succeed in this, too.

  Ruble Noon was her first trouble, but she had little doubt that he would be killed. Finn Cagle and German Bayles, whom she had hired herself, would take care of that. They would also be on hand to handle anyone else who might stand between her and the money.

  But now Ruble Noon had killed Janish and had escaped with the money, so undoubtedly Fan now knew of it, too.

  “Denver,” the Judge suddenly said positively. “He will try to bank the money there. I doubt if he would trust it to any bank between here and there, because he knows we might hold up the bank to get it. He’s simply got to go to Denver—and we can’t allow him to get there.”