Justice at Red River

by John Glasby

  He turned his head as he spoke, looked from one man to the other. Without exception, they nodded their heads in approval.

  Frank shrugged his shoulders. In a way, he hadn’t expected this much.

  ‘Very well, if that’s the way you want it,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any more to be said.’ He rose to his feet.

  As he reached the door, Credin stepped up to him. ‘No hard feelings, Marshal. But I’ve spent almost a whole lifetime building up that spread of mine. It isn’t much, but it’s all I’ve got in the world. I don’t want to risk throwing it away on a hunch, no matter how good you might make it sound.’

  Outside, in the dark street, Frank stood for a moment while Talbot came out to join him. It was difficult to suppress the sense of disappointment he felt. As the other fell into step beside him, Talbot said: ‘Don’t take it too badly, Frank. They’re frightened. They’re up against somethin’ so big, that they don’t know what to do for the best. You can’t really blame any of ’em. Foran is a big man around here and he’ll turn his hired killers loose at the slightest provocation.’

  ‘I’m not blamin’ them for that; only for bein’ so goddamn short-sighted that they can’t see where their folly is leading them,’ Frank retorted. ‘This is something these men have got to face up to if they want to go on living peaceful and decent lives. Folks have got to sacrifice and they’ve got to take risks.’

  Talbot turned his head and gave Frank a shrewd glance. When he spoke, his tone was soft and serious. ‘Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why you’re so keen to fight Foran and his men, Frank? If you have, then you’ll know that for you it’s revenge. Nothing else. I’m not so sure that you’re really worried about this town. It’s not done much for you all the time you’ve been in it. But when Slim was shot down without a chance, you suddenly took it on yourself to fight Foran and everything that he stands for. Vengeance’ — he went on sagely — ‘can be a pretty potent force. Much more so than the chance, which these fellas see as pretty remote at the moment, of having their ranches taken away from them by force.’

  ‘I get the picture,’ Frank said brusquely. He looked along the street to where a light shone in the small window of the diner. ‘Let’s get ourselves a bite to eat. I’m starved.’

  *

  Dawn was still only a faint grey smudge along the serrated eastern horizon the following morning when Frank Condor drifted his mount from the livery stables and headed out of Benton. Since leaving Talbot shortly before one o’clock that morning, the rest of the night had been quiet and uneventful. Foran seemed to have ridden back to the Double Circle spread, nursing his rage. In spite of the quietness, Frank felt some misgivings. The possibility that Foran might turn savagely like a cornered rattler and strike in blind fury at Phil Carson was not far from his mind and since he also wanted Judge Fentry back in town so that Carron’s trial might take place as soon as possible had prompted him to forego any sleep and ride out to Carson’s place.

  The fact that he had not slept for more than twenty-four hours had little effect on him, beyond a dull tightness behind his eyes. In his time, there had been many occasions when he had trailed a man from one end of Texas to the other, when he had dozed in the saddle, covering long distances each day. Now this experience was standing him in good stead.

  Two miles out of town, he was among the low, humpbacked ridges which lay athwart the start of the Badlands. The flat beds of the claypans were heaved and cracked from the long drought and in every direction the tufted grama grass was burnt and withered, curling and shrivelling to a dull coppery hue which came of long periods without moisture. His mount picked its way carefully along the well-stamped trail that wound in and out of the jagged clefts and half an hour later, with the swollen red disc of the sun just lifting above the saw-toothed crests of the hills, he came out of the ridges and found himself poised on the edge of the wide valley that lay in a huge, saucer-shaped depression before him. Yellow sand hills rose around the vast perimeter, running across the trail like waves in some gigantic ocean, the entire surface of the valley dotted with slowly drifting clouds of dust as wind eddies caught them and whirled them from one side to the other. He paused for a moment, easing himself up in the saddle, feet locked straight in the stirrups, letting his gaze move from one side to the other, eyes taking in every detail. The horse stood hipshot, resting after the hard journey over the inhospitable terrain.

  For a moment, it seemed that nothing moved in the bluehazed distance. Then his keen eyes caught the faintest flicker of movement, not on the ground where he had been expecting it, but in the faintly-shimmering air where a small flock of zopilote buzzards wheeled and hovered on silent wings, dipping and rising again, circling over a dark speck perhaps two miles distant. Gently kicking the mount, he heeled it forward down the slope in a quick trot, peering anxiously ahead. There was no mistaking the meaning behind those clustering buzzards. From past experience, Frank knew only too well what their presence spelled out.

  The birds rose swiftly at his coming, circled off a little distance away, still watchful, hovering on almost still wings in a wide mass. Now Frank could make out the twisted bundle of human flesh that lay, almost completely wedged in a small hollow, arms thrust out straight, fingers clawed into the sand in a last spasm of death agony. Sliding from the saddle, Frank approached the other slowly, bent over the dead man and turned him over gently. He felt the shock of surprise travel swiftly through him as he recognized Judge Fentry. The man had been shot in the chest from extremely close range. There were powder burns on the front of his shirt around the red-soaked edges of the tattered cloth.

  Squatting there angrily beside the dead man, Frank tried to figure out what must have happened. The small gun which the other always carried beneath his left arm was still in its holster. He took it out and examined it closely, saw that it had not been fired. Fentry clearly had never had a chance to defend himself. Yet whoever had done this deed must have got within a few feet of him when the judge had been shot down. Straightening, Frank cast an experienced eye over the surrounding terrain. The prints of the judge’s mount were clearly discernible leading back to the west, over towards the lip of the basin some three miles away, and off to his right, deeper tracks which told of a swiftly running horse. Evidently the tracks of Fentry’s horse after he had been shot down. Moving over to the low rocks a few yards away, he clambered cautiously among them and on the far side found what he was looking for. Here the tracks were confused; at least two horses had been tethered there, he could see the marks where ropes had trailed across the sand and there were also boot-marks leading up to the hard rocks.

  It looked like an ambush, yet there were some disturbing features about the set-up. Even from the top of the rocks, a shot would leave no powder burns on a man’s shirt. The killer must have got a lot closer than that, which meant he had approached within clear sight of the judge when he had loosed off that fatal shot. All of which pointed to one of two possibilities. Either the killer had been someone Fentry knew intimately and had not suspected, or the second man had been holding a gun on him when he had been shot by his accomplice.

  Pursing his lips into a thin, hard line, he went back to the body, lifted it across his saddle and remounted. There were questions which needed answering; important, urgent questions. He gave the horse its head, rode swiftly across the broad valley, up through the pine and manzanita on the far edge and down the slopes to the Carson spread, hauling up the bay in the courtyard. A few seconds later, the door of the ranch house opened and Phil Carson came out with Atalanta close behind him. Stepping down, Frank walked over to them.

  ‘It’s Judge Fentry,’ he said tonelessly, jerking a thumb behind him. ‘I found him among the claypans.’ He saw the look of stunned shock on Phil’s face, heard the girl’s sharp intake of horrified breath. As she stepped down off the porch and made to go towards the horse, he said quickly: ‘I wouldn’t go any further, Atalanta. It ain’t a nice sight.’ Glancing bac
k to the tall rancher, he went on: ‘He was shot from real close range. Powder burns on his shirt. Guess he never had a chance.’

  ‘You any idea who might have done this?’ inquired Carson.

  Frank shrugged expressively. ‘Any one of Foran’s men. Maybe even Foran himself.’ Briefly, he related what had happened when Foran had ridden into town to try to get Carron out of jail, ending with: ‘So you can see that he wanted Fentry out of the way pretty badly. Once we got around to tryin’ Carron for the murder of your two boys, he’d be really up against it. The other ranchers have agreed to come in with us if we hang Carron for murder.’

  ‘And without Judge Fentry to preside over the court, you can’t do that until we get a circuit judge to come around into Benton and that could take weeks,’ Atalanta said, nodding.

  ‘Exactly. Somehow, he found out that Fentry was here overnight and they bushwhacked him as he was on his way back into town.’

  ‘Once the others hear of this, they’ll crawfish out of their deal,’ Phil said pointedly. ‘You can bet your last dollar on that. Foran’s reasserted himself as boss around here and they’ll run like scared rabbits.’

  ‘That’s so.’ Frank nodded emotionlessly. ‘On the other hand, nobody in town knows that the judge has been shot. That’s the reason I brought him here instead of takin’ him back with me.’

  ‘Just what have you got in mind?’ Carson looked puzzled. ‘Fentry’s dead. Nothing’s goin’ to alter that fact.’

  ‘No. But if we was to bury him here, nobody would be any the wiser until the job of breakin’ Foran is done. Foran can’t spread it around that he’s been killed without implicatin’ himself in his murder. It won’t be easy. There’ll be a heap of talk in town when he doesn’t show up, but if we can play our cards right we might be able to hold ’em off long enough to get the other ranchers to back us.’

  Carson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There was a speculative look in his deep-set eyes. Finally, he nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘Reckon we’ve got no other choice in the matter,’ he said at length. ‘I’ll get a couple of the boys to bury him. What do you intend to do in the meantime?’

  ‘Guess I’d better head back for town as soon as you’ve given me a few answers to one or two questions.’

  ‘I’ll get you something to eat,’ Atalanta said quietly. She seemed to have composed herself now. Going back into the house, she closed the door behind her. Frank could hear her a few moments later in the kitchen.

  Carson indicated the seat on the porch. ‘Sit down, Frank,’ he said thinly. The lines on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth had grown deeper and the look on his face was not a pleasant one. ‘Things are sure comin’ to a head,’ he said solemnly. ‘I never figured anythin’ like this would happen.’

  ‘What time did Fentry leave here, Phil?’ Frank lit a cigarette, dragged hard on it as he stared off into the glaring sunlight which lay in a vast yellow wave over the courtyard.

  ‘Shortly after first light. He was in a hurry to get back into town. He had a feeling that there was more big trouble brewin’. But we neither of us thought it would be anythin’ like this.’

  Frank nodded musingly. ‘That means he couldn’t have been dead long before I came across his body.’

  ‘Sure looks that way,’ agreed the other. He stared fixedly ahead of him.

  With the cigarette burning between his lips, Frank inhaled time after time, the smoke-laden breaths becoming deeper and deeper as he pondered on the problem, until his eyes began to water and his head swim. He knew he was unconsciously punishing himself for his gross stupidity. If only he had had his wits about him, he might have foreseen that Fentry would have been the object of Foran’s next killing. The judge had clearly been the key figure in the coming drama. Now that he was dead, their problems had increased a hundredfold. He could see the difficulties which stretched ahead of him, wondered what he had let himself in for when he had taken those guns out of the drawer and pinned on the star once more. Perhaps he ought to forget this job, his scruples — even the oath he had taken to uphold the law so long ago — and ride on out of this place. The trouble was, a man could only run so far and then he had to stop, take stock of himself, look deep within his heart and ask himself whether he liked what he saw there.

  He was still wondering vaguely whether there was a possibility of escape from his responsibility and conscience when Atalanta called from the kitchen. Getting heavily, wearily, to his feet, he followed Carson inside, throwing the butt of his smoke away.

  Breakfast was eaten in the small dining-room next to the kitchen. But in spite of the appetising smell of the food and his own hunger, he ate without relish. When he had finished, he scraped back his chair and rose to his feet.

  ‘That was a mighty fine meal, Atalanta,’ he said, smiling. ‘Made me realize just how hungry I was.’

  She looked at him for a long moment, then said: ‘You know you should do that more often, Frank.’

  ‘Do what?’ he asked, puzzled.

  ‘Smile. It changes your whole appearance, makes you seem more —’ She broke off in sudden embarrassment. ‘Oh, I don’t know: More human, maybe. More approachable.’

  ‘Guess I haven’t had much to smile about for some time now, Atalanta,’ he told her seriously. ‘Reckon there won’t be much time either until this show is over, one way or the other.’

  ‘You really think that Foran intends to fight and wipe us all out simply because we won’t give in to him?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. That’s the sort of man he is. A man’s life means nothin’ to him if it stands in the way of him gettin’ all he wants. Nor a woman’s life either. He’s got the habits of a prairie wolf. He kills just for the sake of killing. Maybe he hasn’t shot all that many men personally, but the way I figure it, the man who gives the orders to his hired guns is just as guilty of murder as if he had pulled the trigger himself.’

  He saw the troubled look on the girl’s face as she accompanied him to the door and out on to the porch. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said gently. ‘I reckon that with a little luck, we’ll stop him before this flares up into a full-scale range war and too many people get hurt.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s wrong of me to say this, but I’m more worried about you than of what might happen to me,’ she said simply.

  He turned slowly at her words, saw that she was looking at him with a curious shine in her eyes. Acting on impulse, he moved closer to her, put his hands gently on her shoulders, bent and kissed her full on the lips. She made no attempt to move away from him, rather she clung to him tightly and there was a response to her lips as Frank’s mouth clung to hers for a long moment. Finally letting her go, he held her at arm’s length, looked down into her face.

  ‘Be careful, Frank,’ she whispered softly. ‘Very careful. Except for my father, you’re only one man against the whole might of Foran’s gunmen. They won’t stop until they’ve killed you.’

  ‘They won’t find it easy,’ he promised her. He turned his head and threw a swift glance at the sun, lighting the distant hills and already beginning to climb up to its burning zenith. ‘I’ll have to be ridin’ now. I want you to promise me you’ll stay here until this is all over. You saw what happened to Judge Fentry. Foran’s killers won’t stop just because it’s a woman.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of them,’ she said quietly. She stepped forward, resting her hands on the low rail. ‘This is such a beautiful country. It seems wrong that a man like Foran can ride in and bring such trouble.’

  ‘There’ll come a time when men like him are gone and forgotten,’ Frank said soberly. ‘But whenever men move into a new country like this, they always have to fight to keep it clean and decent. The vultures always move in first.’

  He stepped down into the courtyard to where his mount was waiting. From somewhere out of sight, on the slope of the low hill behind the barn, there came the sound of shovels biting into the soft earth. Carson’s men were hard at work digging a grave for Fentry. For a moment, his n
ails bit deeply into the flesh of his palms, then he forced himself to relax. An angry man was often a rash man and he would require all of his wits about him if he was to see this chore through. Swinging lithely into the saddle, he turned, held up a hand to the girl, saw her lift her own in reply. Then he touched spurs to the horse’s flanks and rode out of the courtyard. Fifteen minutes later, the low cluster of buildings was out of sight and he was riding swiftly over the rim of the valley with the harsh glare of sunlight in his eyes.

  He had covered three-quarters of the distance back to town before there was any hint of trouble. It had been a long and punishing ride across the blistering heat of the desert and he felt the slackness in his horse and had thought of stopping to allow it to get its wind when he picked up the sound somewhere to his right. He rode on for a little while, then reined up sharply on a low ledge of sandstone. The wind, sweeping down from the hills far to the north, held an inferno touch to its breath and brought with it a renewal of the sound he had heard minutes before. He listened intendy, trying to identify it, knowing by some strange sense deep within him that it was important he should do so. Like the faint ominous rumble of approaching thunder, it rolled in waves of noise over the flat face of the desert, fading at times to a mere whisper as the wind changed or slackened, then burgeoning up again, harsh and insistent.

  Once or twice, he figured too that he heard the sharp break of gunfire, superimposed on the overall rumble, but it was not until he had progressed another mile that he caught sight of the low, ominous dust cloud that lay athwart the horizon, knew its meaning instantly with a sudden chill of alarm. Sight and sound merged at once to produce one single message for his brain.

  Stampede!

  Through the sun-hazed dust cloud he was able to make out the solid wall of flesh and horn and muscle that thundered across the plain and occasionally, a brief, tantalising glimpse of men on horseback, shooting into the air, urging the fear-crazed cattle onward. Short of a solid brick wall in their path, nothing was going to stop that thunderous herd until they had run themselves into the ground. For a long moment, Frank sat tall in the saddle, sucking in his lips, eyeing the mass of beef as they raced across his line of vision. At first, he failed to put two and two together and come up with the answer that was both obvious and spine-chilling. Those cattle were headed straight for Benton and there was no doubting whose they were, nor why they had been set on this particular course.