“Mick Ochoa came in last night. Reported something to Dan Edrick. I didn’t get a chance to hear what it was. Did you get my message all right?”
“Yes. I left an answer. Didn’t you get it?”
“No. I came by there on the way here and looked. Nothing there.”
Dave felt cold sweat break out on him. “Maybe Cass got it.”
“I hope to God he did!”
“Do you know of a man named Rile, or Riley, or something like that?”
“Not on the Lazy E. I can’t think of anyone by that name around here.”
“Cooper Jones mentioned the word, or name, before he died.”
Hastings rolled a smoke. “I’ll check into it. What are your plans?”
“I’ve been trying to find traces of the missing cattle. No luck so far.”
Hastings lit his smoke. “One thing you can be sure of, they come through Twelve Mile wherever they end up.”
“I haven’t seen any around here.”
Hastings shrugged. “They do though. That’s all I know.”
“You’re sure Edrick isn’t mixed up in this? You must have learned something.”
Hastings shook his head. “Edrick spends most of his time looking for rustlers. By God, if he is doing the rustling, he’s the slickest one I ever seen.”
“Has Jesse Vidal caused any trouble?”
Hastings grinned. ‘The two-gun man? Some of his vaqueros have taken pot shots at cowpokes wandering near the Double W. I happen to know the men he hired. Chili Vegas was mixed up with the Blue River gang at one time. Bowman and Wilde are Texas hard cases from the Pecos country. Vidal must be trying to start a range war.”
“Where is Shorty Ganoe?”
Hastings shrugged. “He’s been gone for a few days.”
“How’d you get away from the Lazy E?”
“Dan let me go to get some venison. He’s partial to it.”
“You might have been followed I”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. I back-tracked a few times. No one followed me.”
Dave looked out of the doorway. “Still, it’s dangerous. If they find out who you are you won’t have a chance.”
Hastings refilled his coffee cup. “Maybe you don’t understand why I took this stock detective job. I like this country. Got a wife and two kids back in Colorado pining to join me out here. I figured I could help break up this rustling crowd and then bring my family out here and get a small spread. Damned if a man can do it the way things are now.”
Dave nodded. “I know what you mean. I think I stayed on for the same reason.”
Hastings eyed Dave. “I remember the first time I saw you. You were an outlier then.”
Dave grinned as he looked about his hide-out. “Looks like I still am.”
“What really made you change your mind, Yeamans?” asked Hastings curiously.
“I’ll tell you the truth. I cut John Waite down in Shadow Canyon. He was an honest man. Leslie Waite didn’t run away. She stayed to fight it out.”
“Yeh. Sure is a nice girl, that Leslie.”
“Who strung up Waite?”
“Quien sabe? It’s mixed up with the rest of the mystery. I’ll tell you one thing though, whoever did it won’t get a chance to brag about it if I can line my sights on him.”
Dave put out the fire. “You’d better dust the trail. Edrick might come poking up Twelve Mile.”
“I’m not worried. He’s down south.”
“Just the same you had better move on.”
Hastings picked up his Sharps and started down the trail. “Don’t leave any more messages at the bridge,” he warned.
“I’ll bring information to Cass.”
“It’s dangerous for you to come into Deep Spring.”
“We’ll take that chance.”
Hastings reached the bottom of the trail. “Look!” he called back. Dust was spiraling up from the canyon entrance. Through the veil they could see five mounted men.
Dave cursed. “Come back up,” he called. He reached in and got his Spencer. They were neatly trapped.
nine
HASTINGS DUCKED INTO THE DWELLING and peered through the window. Dave stepped back into the shadows. Shorty Ganoe, Mick Ochoa and three others were nearing the dwelling. Ganoe thrust up an arm and halted his men. He rode up behind a huge boulder and looked over the top of it. “You! Yeamans!” he called out. “Come on outa there! Calf rope! You ain’t got a chance!”
“They know you been hiding in here,” said Mort.
Dave spat. “I’ll bet Ochoa knew it before. He was scoutin’ in here.”
Ganoe waved his Henry rifle. ‘We’ll blow you outa there, Yeamans! Five against one! Grab your ears! Come on down now!”
“They don’t know you’re here, Mort,” said Dave.
“What’ll we do?”
“I’m not going there. That’s a safe bet.”
Ganoe’s men scattered through the brush. One of them led the horses away into shelter. Ganoe peered around the boulder. “You comin’ or do we come up there and get you?”
Dave sighted his Spencer. He squeezed off. Powder smoke swirled back into the room. Shorty cursed and dived into the brush. Dave laughed. “Next one will be through your pin head!” he yelled.
Rifles sparkled in the brush. Slugs thudded against the ancient dwelling. A bullet whiped through the doorway and richochetted from the back wall. Dave dropped to the floor. “We’ll have to drive them off so you can get outa here,” he said. “If they spot you the jig will be up.”
Hastings fondled his Sharps. “Let me take a shot at them.”
“Hell no! Hold your fire! That cannon will let them know I ain’t alone.”
Shorty’s boys kept up a steady fire. Slugs slashed through the brush and slapped against the walls. A slug flattened itself against the inner wall and careened off to hit Mort’s shoulder. Mort cursed. “Bruised me,” he said.
Dave pulled at his lower lip. “Those richochets will play hell with us.”
“We can’t leave.”
Dave eyed the south wall. There was a walled-up doorway in it. “Start picking out that mortar. There’s a room beyond this one. Scaled up. There’s heavy brush at the far end of the building. We might be able to get down the slope under cover of it.”
“So? We still can’t get out of the canyon.”
“We can play hell with them in the brush.”
Hastings drew out his sheath knife and went to work. Dave fired now and then and was rewarded with a yelp of pain from one of the besiegers. Smoke rifted in the wind. Hastings loosened a rock and pried another from the wall. Bullets pattered steadily against the walls and screamed off into space. Hastings battered at the remaining rocks with one of those he had removed from the doorway. “Enough room to squeeze through,” he said.
“Take a looksee in there.”
Hastings crawled through. “For God’s sake,” he said.
Dave fired twice and then poked his head through the new doorway. Hastings lit a match. “Look,” he said quietly.
Four skeletons lay on the floor amidst a litter of pots, matting, animal bones and piles of maize. ‘Looks like the ancients left them buried here when they left the canyon,” said Dave. He crawled in. He lit a match and eyed the east wall. The outline of the T-shaped door effected by the ancients showed clearly on the wall. “This door is shielded by brush outside,” he said. “Bust through, amigo. I’ll keep our little friends from getting lonely out there.”
Dave went back into the first room and fired at a man running across an open space. The man hit the dirt and disappeared. Hastings worked at the wall. Powdery dust drifted into the first room. Hastings coughed. “It’s open. You were right. Brush in front of it.” he called through to Dave.
“Keno” said Dave. He settled down and waited for a clear shot. One of the horses moved up out of the hollow. The horseholder dragged at the bridle reins. Dave aimed fine and slid a slug across the horse’s rump. The horse screamed like a frighten
ed woman and jerked the reins free. It set off at a dead run. A trickle of blood ran down its flank. The other horses stampeded after the first one. Ganoe cursed loud enough to set the echoes flying.
Dave grinned as he reloaded. He crawled into the other room. Hastings was already out on the narrow terrace, lying behind the brush. “Long drop here,” he said over his shoulder.
Dave reached back into the first room and got his rope. Hastings made one end fast to a rock and slid down to the floor of the canyon. Dave lowered the Sharps and Spencer, and then followed them. He peered through the brush.
“I think I winged him!” yelled one of the men watching the dwelling.
Hastings capped his Sharps and crawled down the slope, lying flat in the mesquite. He slid his rifle forward. “Shall we make a break for it, Dave?” he asked.
“Too many of them. You game to flush ’em?”
“Sure.”
Dave pointed down the slope. “Work your way over there. When I open fire see if you can drop one of them.”
Hastings vanished, trailing his Sharps. Dave fired four rounds. A man stood up to change position. The big Sharps boomed. The heavy slug dropped the man like a calf with a lasso around his forelegs. Dave changed his fire toward Shorty. Shorty hit the dirt and crawled out of sight. Hastings shifted position and fired again. The slug smashed the Henry rifle from Mick Ochoa’s hands.
“They’s two of them!” yelled Shorty. “Fall back!”
Dave and Mort worked like a team of questing hounds. They fired and then moved to fire again. The canyon was alive with hollow echoes of the firing. The four men darted into a hollow, opened up a heavy fire, and then fell back again. Twigs, cut by the leaden missives, drifted down about Dave and Mort.
The four men broke for it at last, legging it clumsily in their high-heeled boots. Dave and Mort quirt them on with hungry slugs. There was a moiling of dust as they caught their horses and pulled leather for Twelve Mile.
Hastings dropped beside Dave and wiped his sweat-beaded face. “Just like a skirmish line, Dave.”
“You must have been a damned good skirmisher,” said Dave as he fed cartridges into the butt gate of his Spencer. “Army of Northern Virginia?”
Hastings shook his head. “No.”
“Army of Tennessee?”
Hastings slapped the butt of his heavy rifle. “Army of the Potomac. Berdan’s First Regiment of United States Sharpshooters.”
“A Goddamned blue-belly!”
Hastings laughed. “You rebel bastard!”
Dave handed Mort the makings. “You were opposite the Fifth Texas at Gettysburg.”
“Sorry if I caused you any trouble.”
“Not me personally. Quite a few of the boys of the Fifth got your calling cards though.”
Hastings lit up. “Seems funny to be fighting beside a Johnny Reb.”
“Yeh.” Dave looked down the canyon. “You lie low while I take a pasear down there. They might be forted up for us. Wouldn’t do for them to see you.”
Hastings went to look at the horses while Dave scouted the canyon. The man who Mort shot lay on his back, dirty hands gripping the front of his bloody shirt. The heavy slug had killed him almost instantly.
There was no sign of Ganoe and his men at the canyon entrance. Dave trotted back to Mort. “Go ahead. Be careful. Play dumb if they see you.”
Hastings led up his horse and thrust out a big hand. “You’re a good man in a pinch, Dave.”
“No more than you. Get moving. I’ll cover you if they show up again.”
Mort Hastings left the canyon. Dave went to his hide-out and loaded his gear onto Brazos. There was no time to waste. He rode from the brooding canyon, leaving the dead man in the silent company of Jeb Gregg and the ancients.
ten
DAVE CACHED HIS GEAR in a cleft of Twelve Mile. The gnawing loneliness in him had been somehow eased by the visit of Mort Hastings. Yankee or not, the stock detective was all right. A good man and a first class fighter. A sort of crusader, thought Dave, trying to make a home for his family and other families by bringing law and order to the Mogollon country. The odds they were facing were high. One slip and Mort Hastings would never see his wife and kids again. It brought thoughts of Leslie to Dave. It was late afternoon. He had to see her.
Luck played with Dave that day. On his way toward the Double W he saw a streamer of yellow dust rise on the valley road. He studied it with his field glasses. It was a buckboard, driven by Monte Ellis. Leslie sat beside him. The glasses brought her face close to Dave. There was a sadness about her. Dave feasted his eyes on her until the buckboard turned off on the creek road, heading for Deep Spring.
Dave kept to the timber on the south back of the creek and then picketed Brazos in the woods opposite the town. He crossed on the footbridge west of town and stopped in the shelter of a tumble-down shed at the edge of town. The town was lit up and the tinny banging of an off-key piano came to him from the Star of the West. Hipshot ponies dozed at the hitching racks. Buckboards and spring wagons lined the dusty street. Dave suddenly realized it was Saturday night.
Dave skirted the backs of the buildings which edged the rushing creek. There was a continual hum of voices from the crowded main street. It was a poor time to come to Deep Spring, but the sight of Leslie had cast the die. Dave stopped out of sight in a doorway and tested the Starr, spinning the cylinder and testing the trigger pull by holding back the hammer to keep it from striking a cartridge. It was a heavy weapon, weighing almost three pounds, with a six inch barrel. The grip was a little awkward for one used to the finely designed butt of the Colt. But the Starr could be fired single as well as double action, by using the small rear trigger instead of the big front one. Dave slid it into his sheath and walked to the rear of Simmons’ Store.
The old man would be busy that night. Dave eased through the back door into the unlit rear office. He peered into the store. It was crowded and Cass had two extra clerks. Cass himself was talking with Leslie Waite.
Cass came toward the rear of the store and Dave stepped. “I keep the dress patterns back here, Leslie!” called Cass. “Be with you in a shake.” Cass came into the office and Dave clamped a hand over Simmons’ mouth. “It’s Yeamans,” he said softly.
Dave released his hold. “For Christ’s sake,” said Cass, “you scared the wax outa me!”
“I didn’t want any noise.”
Cass shut the door behind him and went to a cabinet. “Where the hell is Mort Hastings?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I saw him this morning. We had a ruckus with Shorty Ganoe and some of the Lazy E boys.”
Cass took some paper patterns from the cabinet. “Yeh. It’s all over town. Shorty was deputized by Bart Edrick to get you.”
“They found me.”
“Who killed Charley Mitchell?”
“The man with Shorty? Mort dropped him with his Sharps.”
“It’s tallied against you.”
Dave shrugged. “One more doesn’t make any difference.”
Cass gripped the door handle. “I got to get these patterns to Leslie.”
“Tell her I want to see her.”
“You been eating jimpson weed?”
“I’ve got to talk to her!”
“All right! All right!” Cass said testily, “but make it short.” He left the office.
Dave watched Cass speak with Leslie. She glanced at the office door and then at the customers. Cass raised his voice. “Got more patterns back there, Leslie, if these ain’t what you want. Take a looksee, if you like.”
For a moment she hesitated and then she came back to the office and closed the door behind her. Dave lit the harp lamp. Her eyes were cold as she looked at him. “Well?” she asked.
“You still believe I shot Edwards, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
Dave came close to her. The lilac fragrance came faintly to him. “I swear it wasn’t me.”
“Monte wouldn’t lie to me. He s
aid you did it.”
Dave shook his head. “Jesse Vidal has something on Monte. He forced him to bear witness against me.”
She sat down and looked at his tattered clothing and bearded face. “Where have you been?”
“Hiding out.”
“They say you killed another man today.”
“No.”
She looked away. “Why do you lie? You were alone when the posse trapped you. You fought back. Charlie Mitchell was killed.”
“Won’t you believe me? I had nothing to do with either of those killings.”
“You were alone today when the posse found you!” she said angrily. “Who else could have done it?”
Dave turned away.
“You didn’t answer me. Who was with you if you didn’t kill Charlie?”
“I can’t say. What’s more, don’t tell anyone I wasn’t alone.”
She stood up. “Witnesses say you shot Edwards and yet you deny it. You say you didn’t kill Mitchell, and yet you can’t say who did. Can’t you see why I have no faith in you?”
Dave shrugged. Someone had been working on her.
“I hired you, thinking you were different from the rest of these kill-crazy men around here. You have killed two men and are known as a Double W man. Do you see where that places me?”
“I see where it places me.”
“Why don’t you give yourself up?”
“Here? To Bart Edrick? I’d be lynched or shot down before I had a chance to clear myself.”
“Then run away and hide!”
Dave gripped her by the arms. “Remember what you said to me when we buried your father? I’ll tell you! ‘Law? What law? There is none!’ ”
She bowed her head. “I want to believe you, Dave.”
“Jesse Vidal is no good. He’ll bring trouble to the Double W.”
“He has fought for me.”
“Yes! For his own ends. Even Monte Hollis was forced to testify against me. Those men Jesse hired for you. Do you know who they are?”
“They work hard.”
“Chili Vegas ran with the Blue River gang, the worst set of owlhooters in Arizona. Bowman and Wilde are the same brand as Vegas. You’ll have a range war on your hands. It will be to the death! All because Vidal wants you and the Double W, and I think he’s done his work well so far!”
Range Rebel (Prologue Western) Page 8