Jed turned and smiled.
“Sorry to have disturbed you, gentlemen! The name is Mike Latch. If you are ever out to Casa Grande, please call.”
Abruptly he walked out of the saloon, and behind him he heard roars of laughter as the men stared at Harry Strykes sprawling ludicrously on the floor.
Yet Jed had not forgotten the man who had stepped up to Strykes and said that he had never seen Jed before. Did that man know the real Michael Latch? If Walt Seever did know something of the covered wagon and the three murdered people, he would know that Jed Asbury was an impostor, and would be searching for the evidence. The vast and beautiful acres of Rancho Casa Grande were reason enough.
Riding homeward later, Jed Asbury mulled over the problem. There was every chance of eventual exposure, yet no one might ever come near who actually knew him.
His brief altercation with Strykes had got him nowhere. He probably had been observed when he had ridden into town, and that the stranger had known Latch, and had been ready to identify him. But the fight might have won Jed a few friends who enjoyed seeing a bully put in his place, and friends might be valuable in the months to come. The town as a whole had been noncommittal or frankly friendly with Seever, although Walt’s friends were the tough element.
Seever would fight, and Jed might be killed. So somehow he must find a way to give Carol a strong claim to the ranch. Failing in that, he must kill Walt Seever.
Jed Asbury had never killed a man except to protect himself or those dear to him. Deliberately to hunt a man down and shoot him was something he had never dreamed of doing. Yet it might be the only way. With a shock he realized he was thinking more of the girl than himself, and he scarcely knew her.
Apparently the stranger had identified him. Next time it might be a direct accusation in front of witnesses. Jed considered the problem all the way home… .
Unknown to Jed, Jim Pardo, one of the toughest hands on the ranch had followed him to Noveno. On his return Pardo reined in before the blacksmith shop and looked down at gigantic old Pat Flood. The blacksmith would have weighed three hundred pounds with two legs, and little of it fat. He loomed five inches over six feet and his hands were enormous. He rarely left his shop, his wooden leg giving him trouble.
Pardo squinted after Jed and nodded. “He’ll do,” he said, swinging down.
Flood lighted his corncob pipe.
“Had him a run-in with Harry Strykes,” said Pardo.
Flood looked at Pardo, his gaze searching.
“Made a fool of Harry,” said Pardo.
“Whup him?”
“Not like he should of. But it was worse. He got him laughed at.” “Strykes will kill him for that.”
“Mebbe.” Pardo rolled a smoke and related the events of the brief visit in town.
“Mebbe Strykes will get smart and leave Latch alone,” he finished. “This here Mike Latch is no greenhorn. No man who’s green takes things easy like this hombre. Never even turned a hair when Strykes braced him. Harry didn’t have no idea what to do. Nossiree, yuh can place yore bets on this here boss of our’n. He’s got sand in his gizzard, and I’m bettin’ he’s a hand with a shootin’ iron. He’s braced trouble afore.”
Flood chewed on his pipe stem. “He’s deep,” he said.
“Old George always said young Latch was a book-readin’ hombre. Quiet-like.”
“Well,” Flood said thoughtfully, “this Latch is quiet enough, and he reads books… .”
Tony Costa learned of the incident from Pardo, and Maria related the story to Carol. Jed made no reference to it at supper. Costa hesitated as he arose from the table.
“Senor,” he said, “since Senor Baca’s death the senorita has allowed me to eat in the ranch house. If you wish, I can—”
Jed glanced up. “Forget it,” he said. “And unless you’re in a hurry, sit down.”
When Costa had seated himself, Jed lit a cigarette and leaned back.
“Yesterday I was over in Fall Valley,” he said, “and I saw some cattle over there, quite a lot of them, with a Bar O brand.”
Costa’s eye flared. “Bar O? Ah, then they try again! This brand, senor, belongs to a man with a big ranch—Frank Besovi. He is a big man, ver’ ugly man. Senor Baca has much troubles with him. Always he tries to take that valley, and if he gets that, he will try to take more. He has taken many ranches so.”
“Take some of the boys up there and throw that bunch of cattle back on his own range,” ordered Jed.
“There will be trouble, senor.”
“You afraid of trouble, Costa?” Jed Asbury asked quietly.
The foreman’s face sharpened. “No, senor!”
“Neither am I. Throw them back.”
When the punchers moved out in the morning, Jed mounted his own horse and, keeping to the timber, followed them. And there was going to be trouble. Jed saw that when they neared the valley.
Several punchers were grouped near a big man with a black beard. Their horses had a Bar O brand.
Jed rode out of the trees.
“I’ll take over, Costa,” he said. “I want to hear what Besovi has to say.”
“Besovi, he ver’ bad man!” Costa warned.
Jed Asbury knew trouble when he saw it and he knew that Besovi and his men had ridden in here for a showdown. He rode directly to them and pushed his big black right up against Besovi’s gray. The big man’s face flamed with rage.
“What yuh tryin’ to do?” he roared.
“Listen, Besovi!” Jed’s voice was cold and even. “Have your boys round up those cattle and run them back over that line— right now! If you don’t, I’ll make you run ’em over afoot!”
“What?” Besovi’s voice was an incredulous bellow.
“You heard me. Give the order.”
“I’ll see you in Tophet first!” Besovi roared.
Jed Asbury knew this could be settled in two ways. If he went for a gun there would be shooting on both sides and men would be killed. He chose the other way.
He grabbed Besovi by the beard and jerked the rancher sharply toward him. He kicked the big man’s foot free of the stirrup, then shoved hard. Besovi, caught by the sheer unexpectedness of the attack, went off his horse, and Jed hit the ground and was around the horses in a flash.
Besovi, his face white with anger, was lunging to his feet, his hand clawing for a gun.
“Afraid to fight with your hands?” Jed taunted.
Besovi glared, then unbuckled his gunbelts and handed them to the nearest horseman. Without hesitation, Jed unbuckled the silver guns and handed them to Costa.
Besovi started toward him with a sort of crabwise movement that made Jed’s eyes sharpen. He circled warily, looking the big man over.
Jed was at least thirty pounds lighter than Besovi, and the big man had power in those mighty shoulders. Yet it took more than power to win in this kind of a fight. Jed moved in, feinting. Besovi grabbed at his wrist and Jed pushed the hand aside and stiffened a left in his face.
Blood showed, and the Casa Grande men yelled. Pardo rolled his chewing in his jaws and watched. He had seen Besovi fight before. The big man kept moving in, and Jed was wary. Besovi had some plan of action. He was no wild, hit-or-miss fighter. Jed feinted, then stabbed two lefts to Besovi’s face so fast one punch had scarcely landed before the other smacked home. Pardo was surprised to see how Besovi’s head jerked under the impact.
Besovi moved in and when Jed led again, the bigger man went under the punch and leaped close, encircling Jed with his mighty arms. Jed’s quick leap back had been too slow, and he felt the power in that quick, grasping clutch. If those huge arms ever closed on him he would be in for trouble, so he kicked up both feet and fell.
The fall, sudden and unexpected, caught Besovi off balance, and he lunged on, losing his grip. Quickly he spun, but Jed was already on his feet. Besovi swung, however, and the punch caught Jed on the cheek bone. He took it standing, and Pardo’s mouth dropped open. Nobody had ever stood up under such a B
esovi punch before.
Jed struck then, a left and right that cracked home solidly. The left opened the gash over Besovi’s eye a little more. The right landed on the chin, and the big man staggered. Jed moved in fast, threw both hands to the head. As the big r ancher’s hands came up to protect his face, Jed slugged him in the stomach.
Besovi got an arm around Jed and smashed him twice on the face with stiff, short-arm blows. Jed butted him hard, breaking free.
He was faster, and he caught the rancher behind the head and jerked Besovi’s face down to meet the right uppercut that broke his nose. Jed pushed him away then and hit him seven times before he could set himself. Besovi tried, like a huge blind bear, to swing, but Jed went under the punch and hit him in the stomach again.
Besovi staggered back, and Jed drew back and dropped his hands.
“You’ve had plenty, Besovi, and you’re too good a fighter to kill. You’d never quit. I could kill you but I’d probably break my hands. Did you take those cattle out of here?”
Besovi, standing unsteadily, wiped the blood from his eyes. He stared at Jed, unbelievingly.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he said. He blinked, then turned. “You heard the man,” he said. “Round up them cows. The fun’s over.” He turned back to Jed. “Yuh’re a fighter, by the eternal! Yuh could have beat me to death! Want to shake?”
“I’d never shake with a better man, or a tougher one!”
Their hands gripped, and suddenly Besovi began to laugh. He slapped his thigh and roared. His eyes twinkled at Jed.
“Come over for supper some night, will yuh? Ma’s been telling me this would happen. She’ll be right pleased to see yuh!”
CHAPTER FIVE: At Bay
The big rancher’s lips were split, there was a cut over his right eye, his cheek bone was cut under it. The other eye was slowly swelling shut. There was one bruise on Jed’s cheek bone. It would be bigger tomorrow, but it wasn’t enough to know he had been in a fight. Pardo studied his new boss carefully.
“Can’t figger him,” he told Flood later. “Is he scared to use them guns? Or does he just like to fight with his hands?”
“He’s smart,” Flood said. “Look, he’s made a friend of Besovi. If he’d beaten him to the ground, Besovi never would forgive him. He was savin’ face for Besovi, like they call it over China way. And what if he’d reached for guns?”
“Likely seven or eight wouldn’t have rode home tonight.” “Shore. This hombre is smart, that’s what he is!”
Jed, soaking his battered hands, was not so sure. Besovi might have gone for a gun, or one of his men might have. He had been lucky. He might not be so lucky next time.
Anyhow there was now one less enemy for the Casa Grande ranch. And perhaps a good friend.
If anything happened to him, Carol would need friends. Walt Seever was ominously quiet, and Jed had a feeling the man was waiting for proof that the man who called himself Michael Latch was not Michael Latch.
That gave Jed an idea. It was a game at which two could play.
Carol was saddling her own horse when he walked out in the morning. She glanced at him quickly, noting the bruise on his face.
“You seem to have a faculty of getting into trouble!” she said, smiling at him.
He grinned at her as he led his black gelding out. “I don’t aim to hunt for trouble,” he said, “but it don’t pay to try to duck it, then it just piles up bigger and bigger until a lot of little troubles become one great big one. Sometimes too big to handle.”
“You seem to have made a friend of Besovi,” she suggested, looking at him curiously.
“Why not? He’s a good man, just too used to taking all he can put his hands on, but he’ll be a good neighbor.” He hesitated, not looking at her, afraid his eyes might give him away. “If anything should happen to me, you’d need friends. I think Besovi would help you.”
Her eyes softened. “Thank you—Mike.” She hesitated just a little over the name. “You have already done so much that Uncle George talked of doing.”
Costa was out gathering the herd Jed wanted to sell, and Pardo had gone with Tony. Jed did not ask Carol where she was going, but watched her ride away toward the valley. Then he threw the saddle on his own horse and cinched up. At the sound of horses’ hoofs, he turned.
Walt Seever was riding into the yard, and with him were Harry Strykes, Gin Feeley, and the man who had spoken to Strykes in the bar. Realizing suddenly that he wore no guns, Jed felt naked and helpless and there was no one around the ranch-house that he knew of.
Seever drew rein and leaned on the pommel of his saddle. “Howdy!” he said slowly, savoring his triumph. “Howdy, Jed!” No muscle changed on Jed Asbury’s face. He stood, hands at his sides, waiting. If it came to trouble, he was going right at Seever.
“Purty smart play,” Seever said, “if it hadn’t been for me suspicionin’ yuh might have got away with it.”
Jed waited, watching.
“Now,” Seever said, “yore play’s finished. I suppose we should let yuh get on yore hoss and ride, but we ain’t goin’ to.”
“You mean to kill me like you did Latch and his friends?” Seever’s face tightened. “Purty smart hombre, ain’t yuh? But when yuh said that, yuh signed yore death warrant, sonny!”
“I suppose your yellow-faced friend there was one of the men you sent to kill Latch,” Jed said. “He looks the kind.”
“Let me kill him, Walt!” begged the man with the yellow complexion. “Just let me kill him!”
“What I want to know is where you got them guns?” Walt demanded.
“Out of the wagon, of course!” Jed smiled. “The men you sent to stop Latch before he could get here to claim the estate, messed things up. The Indians had me, but I got away. I found clothes at the wagon. It was as simple as that.”
Seever nodded. “Like I figgered. Now when we get rid of you, nobody’ll know what happened, and I’ll claim Casa Grande!” Jed chuckled. “Thieves like you always forget the important things. Like I said, that outfit you sent messed up the deal. What are you going to do about Arden?”
“Arden?” Walt Seever’s face tightened. “Who the devil is Arden?”
Jed laughed softly. He had worked inches nearer, merely shifting his feet and his weight, They might get him, but he was going to kill Walt Seever.
He chuckled. “Why, Seever, Arden is a girl, and a mighty nice one! She was with Latch when he was killed!”
“A girl?” Seever turned sharply. “Clark, yuh said there was two men and a middle-aged woman!”
“That’s all there was!” Clark said flatly.
“You killed three of them,” said Jack, “but Arden had gone out on the prairie to gather some wild onions. When you opened up on the wagon, she hid in the grass. I found her.”
“That’s a lie!” Clark bellowed. “There was only the three of them!”
“What about those fancy clothes you threw around huntin’ in the wagon?” Jed asked coolly. “Think they were old woman’s clothes?”
Walt’s face darkened with fury. “Cuss you, Clark! Yuh said yuh got all of ’em!”
“There wasn’t no girl!” Clark said feebly. “Anyway, I didn’t see none!”
“There was, and she’s in Santa Fe, plenty safe there, waitin’ for word from me. Somebody will have to answer if I turn up missing, and it looks like you, Walt! You can’t win! You ain’t got a chance.” Seever’s face was ugly. “Anyway,” he said, “we’ve got yuh dead to rights, and yuh die now!”
His hand moved back for his gun, but before Jed Asbury could move a muscle, a shot rang out. Seever yelled in surprise. From behind Jed came Pat Flood’s voice.
“Better keep yore hands away from yore guns, Walt. I can shoot the buttons off yore shirt with this here rifle. And in case it ain’t enough, I got me a scattergun right alongside me. You hombres unbuckle yore belts real careful. You first, Seever!”
Jed dropped back swiftly and picked up the sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun.
>
The men shed their guns.
“Now get off them hosses!” Flood ordered.
They dismounted and Flood, without shifting his eyes, asked: “What yuh want done with ’em, Boss? Should we shoot the pack of coyotes?”
“No.” Jed smiled. “Let them walk back to town. All except Clark. I want to talk to Clark.”
“You can’t get away with this!” Seever’s face turned an ugly red.
“Ssh!” Jed said gently. “Just look at this shotgun again! It’s mighty persuasive.”
Three men started trooping back to town. Clark, his face ashen, stood with his hands up and his jaw slack.
“Let me go!” he pleaded abjectly. “They’ll kill me!”
Jed gathered up the guns and strolled back to the blacksmith shop. Flood was holding the rifle on the trembling Clark as they followed.
“How much did you hear?” Jed asked Flood.
“All of it,” the big blacksmith said bluntly. “But my memory’s mighty poor. I judge a man by the way he handles himself in a rough sea. You’ve been workin’ for the good of the ship—ridin’ for the brand, as they say it in cattle country. I ain’t interested in anything else.”
“Thanks,” Jed turned to Clark. “You’ve got one chance to live, and you shouldn’t have that. Tell us what happened, who sent you, what you did.” Out of the side of his mouth he said, “Take this down.”
“I got paper and pencil,” the blacksmith said. “Always keep a log.”
“All right, Clark,” Jed said. “A complete confession.”
“Seever will kill me, I tell yuh!” Clark pleaded.
Jed stared at him coldly. “You can die right here, or you can have your horse and thirty minutes’ start. Make your choice.” Clark hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was so low they scarcely could hear.
“I was broke, and Seever came to Ogden and told me I was to find this wagon that was just startin’ west from St. Louis. We was to head ’em off and make shore they never got here. I never knew there was no woman along. Not even one. I didn’t want to kill no woman.”
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