Paint the Hills Red

by Ron Schwab

  “No reason for us to,” Dan said. “We just want to keep them caged for a spell. Anybody hurt?”

  “Not on our side. Couple of the Diamond D night riders are gonna have headaches for a few days, but they’ll come around. They never knew what hit them. One thing troubles me, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, I knew we could do it, but it was too easy. By rights, with things being the way they have been, I would have looked for Dunkirk to have a few more men riding watch. We only came across two.”

  “There were only two at the gate,” Dan said.

  “Well, there didn’t seem to be that many in the bunkhouse, either. I suppose this time of year, the old man’s got his hands spread out to his other places.”

  Dan nodded toward the house. “Any activity in there?”

  “Nope. Dark as a cave. But you can bet they’re awake; they’re just waiting. I wouldn’t try walking to the front door if I was you.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it. I’ll see if I can draw somebody out. Keep an eye on things, will you, Tom?”

  “Yeah, Dan, you bet I will.”

  Tom Powell had just welcomed him to the Pine Ridge.

  Dan dismounted and, dodging from one of the mammoth pillars to the other, maneuvered to the front of the house. “Sutherly,” he called. “Are you in there?” There was no answer. “It’s McClure. I want to talk.”

  One of the oak doors creaked open and Clay Sutherly, his hair disheveled, his shirt open to the waist, stepped out onto the veranda. His jaw was set firm, but otherwise, his face was passive and his eyes betrayed no fear. He was unarmed. A man did not have to like Clay Sutherly to respect his courage and good sense.

  Dan stepped out from behind the column that half hid him and moved slowly toward Sutherly. “It’s after midnight,” Sutherly said as they each stopped, not more than five feet apart, facing each other. “You picked a strange time to come visiting. I gather this isn’t a social call.”

  “You guessed right,” Dan said. “We stopped by to make an official announcement.”

  Sutherly’s eyes swept the yard where the other ranchers and cowhands were scattered, watching silently and intently. “What kind of announcement?”

  “About the formation of the Pine Ridge Cattlemen’s Association.”

  “I’ve heard about it. Are you selling memberships?”

  “Not to you, Sutherly. Not to the Diamond D. We came by to let you know that your days of burning and killing are over. After tonight we’ll answer blow for blow, life for life.”

  “We don’t take kindly to threats,” Sutherly said.

  “I’m not making threats. I’m making promises. We fired a few haystacks tonight; that’s all. We’re not going to do any more damage. I rode out here to show you that we have the support to fight a range war if that’s what we’ve got to do, and the haystacks were burned to show you that we’re capable of doing what we say.”

  “But you won’t win anything.”

  “Everybody loses in this kind of fight,” Dan said, “but this time the Diamond D is going to lose with the rest of us if you don’t call off your dogs.”

  Sutherly met his gaze evenly. “You’re making a mistake, McClure. A bad one. I’ve never ordered any harm done to the ranchers in this valley.”

  The man was telling the truth or he was a damned good liar. Probably the latter.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But if Dunkirk’s ordered it, it’s the same thing. See that he gets my message.”

  “Mr. Dunkirk hasn’t, either. Let me tell you something, McClure. I’ll admit we’d like to add to the Diamond D holdings. We want your place and the Bar G, but I’m not going to burn and kill for it. Neither would Mr. Dunkirk. He’s too smart for that. He went through that in Texas. You’re judging Mr. Dunkirk wrong . . . and me, too.”

  The man was some poker player. “Then who’s responsible?” Dan asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Dan saw a flicker of uncertainty or nervousness in Sutherly’s eyes.

  “Dan, look to the south!”

  It was Tom Powell’s voice. Dan swung around and saw the orange-red glow of one of the signal fires on the ridge. “It’s the Tyler section of the valley,” Powell said.

  “We’d better ride,” Dan called. He turned back to Sutherly. “I hope you got the message. We don’t want any more trouble.”

  “Like I told you, McClure, you’re talking to the wrong man.”

  Dan whirled away and dashed for Megan’s stallion.

  25

  AS THE RIDERS raced their horses southeasterly towards the Tyler ranch, Dan caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a rider moving northwesterly across the ridge some distance off to his right. “Tom!” he yelled to Powell who rode a few paces behind. “Go on . . . I’ll catch up later.”

  He reined Atlas to his right and peeled away from the others. Then he gave the powerful stallion free rein and spurred him ahead at breakneck speed as they angled across the moonlit range in the direction of the racing silhouette. He skirted the ridge rather than climb it, gambling that the rider was heading for the Diamond D, and, if so, would have to descend the rugged slope and cut across the meadow soon.

  Moments later his gamble was proven justified as the horse barreled off a brush-sheltered trail and onto the meadow, not more than a hundred yards ahead of Dan and the stallion. “Let’s take them, Atlas,” Dan whispered, and as though understanding his rider’s request, the stallion shot forward with a new burst of speed and began to close steadily on the other horse. The rhythm of the rider in front of him, the set in the saddle, was somehow familiar to Dan and then, as he drew closer, he knew why. The smaller horse was no match for the big stallion, and it had obviously been ridden hard this night, for its gait was halting and jerky now, its footing unsure, and as he bore in on the horse and rider, Dan could hear the animal’s rasping gasps for wind.

  “Liz,” he yelled, “it’s Dan. Pull up.”

  Liz Dunkirk looked back over her shoulder and slowed her horse, and as Dan drew even, finally reined in the wheezing, foot-sore animal. She threw her hat back over her head, brushing her hair through the strings that suspended it and tossed her head in that queenly, defiant way that was peculiarly hers.

  She looked at Dan, her eyes challenging. “What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked.

  “None of your damned business,” she said.

  “I’m not so sure. There’s apparently been trouble of some kind south of here. If you know anything about it, then what you’re doing here is my business.”

  “Don’t try to push me, mister. I’m not one of your vigilantes. I don’t have to take orders from you.”

  “No, I suppose not. But if you know something, you could help a lot of people . . . including yourself. There won’t be anything left of this valley . . . including the Diamond D . . . if we don’t stop these raids. We delivered that message to your Mr. Sutherly tonight.”

  “Don’t call him my Mr. Sutherly. I despise him. I hate him. I’ll see him dead before the snow falls.”

  How had this raving, wild-eyed woman ever touched him so? Had he been that vulnerable, or had he, for a brief time, been given a glimpse of another side of Elizabeth Dunkirk?

  She should have angered him by now, but he found himself more sad than angered. “I still want an answer,” he persisted. “What are you doing out here at this hour? You nearly rode this horse to death.”

  “It’s my horse. I’ll do what I damn well please. As for the hour, if you must know, I often go riding at night. I like the . . . tranquility. When I have trouble sleeping, I go riding.”

  “Your horse doesn’t look like it’s been out for a quiet ride over the countryside.” Her eyes were like frozen mountain lakes as she glared at him. “Where were you?”

  “I said I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  “Unless you have something to hide, there’s no reason not to.”

  She hesitated before a beguili
ng smile began to spread on her face, but her eyes thawed only slightly. “It’s embarrassing, but I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea, Dan. We’ve been friends, such good friends. I have another friend, a gentleman, over on the east side of the valley. I’ve been meeting him occasionally ever since you . . . ” her lips slipped into a feigned pout, “you cast me aside.”

  Dan ignored the bit of drama. “Why do you have to ride across the valley to meet him?”

  “Would you come to my home? Make love to me in my bedroom?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “My father and Sutherly hate this man. They’d kill him if he set foot on the place. Clay won’t let any other man near me. He wants me for himself.”

  “Who’s your rancher friend?”

  “I won’t tell. This is a private matter. You’ve asked me more than you have a right to the way it is, Dan. I’ve never told anyone about us, and I won’t tell anyone about this man. I care very much for him.”

  “All right, let’s say I believe your story. It still doesn’t explain why you had to ride your poor horse into the ground.”

  “Clay doesn’t know I leave the house. He’d beat the hell out of me if he found out.” Her face scrunched up as though recalling unbearable pain. “He does terrible things to me. He’s a cruel, sadistic man. I saw the fire on the ridge; I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew somebody would see it, and it would wake up the ranch. And if Clay found out I wasn’t in the house, I knew I’d be punished. I panicked and rode for home as fast as I could.” She looked nervously in the direction of the Diamond D. “I’ve stayed here too long the way it is, Dan. I’ve got to go.”

  He sidled in closer to her now and took hold of her horses bridle. “Do you want me to ride back with you?”

  “No, I’ll be all right,” she said.

  “You’ll have to go easy with this mare, or she’ll never make it.”

  “I will. I promise. Thank you, Dan, for your concern.”

  “You know something, Liz?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re a damn poor liar. I don’t believe a word you told me.”

  Her riding crop whipped out, lashing him solidly across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. He released his grip on the mare’s bridle, but Liz slashed him again above the eye before he fended off a third blow with his forearm and grabbed her wrist and wrenched the crop from her hand. He flung the whip on the ground. “I think both your horse and I have had enough of that tonight.”

  “Bastard,” she said, spitting out the words. “I hate you. I hate you.”

  “You seem to hate a lot of people. All of that hate’s going to swallow you up if you don’t watch out.” She glared at him. “At least you confirmed it. I was right. You were lying to me. I’ve got a hunch if I can learn where you really were I’ll unravel a lot of the answers about what’s been happening in the Pine Ridge.”

  Suddenly, Liz dug her heels in the mare’s flanks and the horse lunged forward. “Take it slow,” Dan called after Liz Dunkirk as she rode away. “I’m not coming after you.” He had nothing else to say to the woman, and the poor horse had earned a rest.

  But Liz Dunkirk’s appearance on the ridge had added a piece to the puzzle that seemed to be getting more complicated by the hour. Clay Sutherly’s denial had been convincing and certainly the man had an alibi for anything that had happened this night. Of course, that didn’t prove anything either way, for a man like Sutherly would be too clever to do his own dirty work. So there was still the possibility that others had been carrying on the raids under his orders.

  But somehow Liz fit into this. He was almost certain of it. But he was less sure as to how and where.

  He turned the stallion south and had an uneasy feeling he was headed on a journey to more carnage and smoke and ashes.

  26

  DAN SAT ACROSS from Megan at the oak table in the Grant house. He had ridden in only a few hours earlier, bone weary and weak, and after giving Megan only a sketchy accounting of the previous night’s events, he had drug himself into Ben Grant’s old room, collapsed on the brass bed, and plummeted into a dead sleep. The redolent smell of fresh ham and hotcakes had awakened him, though, and he found himself surprisingly rejuvenated and energetic now as he washed down the hearty breakfast with a cup of steaming java.

  Most of the hands had eaten and left for their assigned chores before Dan made an appearance at the table. Charlie and Nate had departed shortly after. Nate had been quiet and moody, if not hostile, since Dan moved into the Grant house. Dan knew it rankled the young man that he was staying there, and although Megan seemed to be blithely unaware of Nate’s unhappiness, Dan knew jealousy when he saw it. He sympathized with Nate Coates, but he was as helpless to wash away the youthful cowboy’s longings as he was to deny his own growing feelings for Megan Grant.

  “Dan,” Megan asked, “should I send some men over to help at Chris Tyler’s?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not today. They’ll need some help later to raise a new barn. The raiders didn’t touch anything else.”

  “I’m just glad nobody was hurt or killed,” Megan said.

  “We can thank the Association for that. Chris said they couldn’t have kept the gunmen at bay much longer. Two of their cowhands were with me at Dunkirk’s, so it was just the Tylers and one hand against seven or eight raiders. He said when the signal fire went up on the ridge, they lost their stomach for a fight because they didn’t stick around long after that. It could have been a lot worse.”

  “He didn’t recognize any of the raiders?”

  “No, they were masked. He said there were two other riders on the rise west of the house who must have been their leaders.”

  “Why did he say that?”

  “Well, he said one of the raiders rode out to them and seemed to get some instructions before he came back and called to the others to ride off.”

  “Well, at least you know Clay Sutherly wasn’t there,” Megan said.

  “Yes, but I don’t think that necessarily clears him.”

  “Do you think Liz Dunkirk was one of the two?”

  He looked over at Megan. It was hard to believe she was blind. Her clear green eyes were alive and alert with a light he had never seen in a blind person before. He would go mad if he didn’t have a chance to paint that face soon. When he went into Medicine Hill later, he would see about telegraphing Omaha for some supplies. His old friend, Frank Riley, would know what he needed. Maybe Frank could ship them by train to Ogallala, and Dan could intercept the merchandise there.

  “Dan, you didn’t answer me. Do you think Liz Dunkirk was there?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I think she was.”

  “You sound so strange whenever I mention Liz Dunkirk. Were you in love with her?”

  “No, I liked her. I . . . I found her attractive.”

  “I’m sure you did. Most men do . . . so I hear.”

  Dan changed the subject. “I’m going to ride into Medicine Hill. If you want me to pick you up anything in town, let me know before I leave. I thought I’d see how Mr. Battie is coming along on settling the estate, maybe have another chat with the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff? Why?”

  “He’s the official representative of the law around here. I want to keep him informed about the activities of the Cattlemen’s Association. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong impression.”

  He saw the muscles in her fine jaw and neck tense and read the apprehension in her face. “It’s more than that, Dan. I don’t know what it is, but you have another reason. Tell me. Please don’t keep things from me.”

  He reached over and took her hand in his. “I’m not trying to keep things from you, Megan. I honestly don’t have anything special in mind. I just think I should talk with Keaton. We know he’s close to the Diamond D, and we aren’t getting answers anywhere else. There’s just a chance he’ll let something slip.”

  “I’m afraid of him. He’s like
a cat. He likes to play with his victim, and he’d kill just for the pleasure of killing. I know he would.”

  “Well, you might be right. But I don’t intend to be one of his victims.”

  “Others have probably said that,” she said softly. She withdrew her hand from his. “But you’ll do what you have to do, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  27

  LUCAS BATTIE, WHILE still a bit stuffy, was more relaxed and less formal than he had been at their first meeting, the day he read Sol’s will. Dan found legal and business matters boring, but as near as he could tell, Battie had been handling Sol’s estate matters fairly and efficiently. There was a shrewd mind behind the cherubic, innocent-looking face.

  He sat in Battie’s office now, reviewing the paperwork that Battie had completed since their last session. “We should have this cleared up within the next two months,” Battie said. “There have been no claims filed against Mr. Pyle’s estate, so I can now petition the county court for a final decree. It’s very routine. The judge will sign an order transferring the land in undivided interests to you and Miss Grant. The personal property, the cattle and so forth, will be assigned to Miss Grant alone. I’m afraid my fees and other costs will take the small amount of cash Mr. Pyle had, but you shouldn’t be forced to liquidate anything.”

  “I’m glad for that,” Dan said. “I’m well satisfied, Mr. Battie, but I am curious about something. Maybe you could enlighten me.”

  “I will if I am able.”

  “Why did Sol leave me the interest in the land? I’ve never understood it. I only knew him a few months.”

  “He never discussed it with you?”

  “He told me he’d made a will, and it was in your office. That’s all.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t recollect precisely what Mr. Pyle said at the time we made out his will, but I can relate the gist of it. He trusted you implicitly, I can assure you of that. He said he had an instinct about men that had never led him astray. If you don’t mind my saying so, he thought you were rather strange. He could not quite fathom why a man would devote his life to ‘painting pictures’ as he called it, and he thought it was something of a waste.”