Louis L'Amour

by The Cherokee Trail

  “No, Matty. This is where I belong. If a man was station agent here, wouldn’t he be expected to stay?”

  On Thursday, the people on the stage were a friendly lot, laughing and gay. They were part of a traveling show that was to perform in Denver.

  “You’ve the best food on the line, miss,” the show’s manager said. “I wish we could stay over.”

  “We’ve been told there will be sleeping quarters here next year,” she said.

  “Good! I’ll vote for it if you’re still here to do the cooking.” He glanced at Matty. “Or is it you?”

  “ ’Tis the both of us,” Matty said. “If we should come into Denver, could we see the show?”

  “I’ll seat you myself!” he said gallantly.

  Temple Boone stopped by late on Friday. He took a cup and filled it, then said, “We can’t persuade you?”

  “No,” she said.

  Wat had been dunking a doughnut. He looked up and started to speak, but Matty interrupted.

  “You said that Jordy Neff would not be one of them. How could you know such a thing?”

  Boone sipped his coffee. “Jordy ain’t the brightest one around, but he’s cunning, like an animal. He’s not going to get into any situation somebody else sets up. He’ll be in Laporte in plain sight. You mark my words. He’s like a coyote, wary of traps.”

  “It ain’t gonna work nohow,” Wat said. “That Mr. Collier, he doesn’t know that bunch.”

  Mary was suddenly all attention, and so was Boone. There was something in the way he spoke—

  “Why do you say that, Wat?” she asked.

  “Why, those fellers! They been doin’ this for years! D’you suppose they ain’t seen Collier talkin’ to Stacy? An’ to those others? Sure, they know something’s gone haywire. They got men in that lot that can smell trouble as far as Jordy Neff.

  “Don’t you suppose they’ve got it all figured out? And six men? That ain’t the way Denver Cross works, nor his boss, either. There’ll be twenty men, maybe more.”

  “Twenty? But Mr. Collier said there would be but six—”

  “Where d’you suppose he heard that? Who d’you suppose tipped them off in the first place?”

  “Wat? What do you know about this?” Mary asked.

  “When you all were talkin’ the other night, I listened,” he said. “I know I wasn’t s’posed to, but I done it.

  “When Mr. Collier rode up here with Mark Stacy, I knowed somethin’ was in the wind. I just set there wonderin’ how growed-up men could be so foolish. They got a tip. I can just bet who supplied that tip! I also could make a good bet where they got the idea he’d only six men. I know there’s at least twenty, maybe more.”

  “How could you know that?” Mary asked.

  “You all kep’ askin’ where I come from. I lived over yonder near Bonnar Springs. Them outlaws was usin’ my pa’s ranch for a hideout. I seen all those men layin’ about up there, gamblin’, killin’ time, waitin’ until somebody decides it’s a proper time to use them.

  “Some of them moved in a good while back. Then a lot come in a bunch just about the time that Flandrau killed your man.

  “Those fellers know what they are doin’. They been through all this many a time. I’ve heard ’em talk. Just about everything’s been tried on ’em before this, so they know what to expect.

  “They are bloody, ma’am. They don’t care how many they kill. Look what happened back to Lawrenceville.

  “I like ol’ Wilbur, an’ he’ll be a settin’ up there in plain sight, one of the first to get shot. They’ll kill ’em all, and your Mr. Collier along with it.”

  “Wat, how can you be sure?”

  He glanced around at her. “Ma’am, I heard ’em talk. They paid me no mind. I was just a no-account youngster hangin’ around. It wasn’t until after I left there that some of them began to worry for fear I heard too much.”

  “What will they do, Wat?”

  “I been studyin’ about that, ma’am, but I surely don’t know. Only I know they’ll do what is least expected. Like killin’ Mr. Collier. He doesn’t expect that, an’ neither do you, but I’ll bet they been studyin’ how they can do that an’ let it be accidental-like. Sort of an innocent bystander.”

  “Why should they want to kill him?”

  “If Flandrau still calculates on running for office,” Boone said, “Collier would oppose him, and Collier has a lot of power.”

  “But what will they do? If Wat is right—”

  “We’ve got to believe he is. Look, the boy hung around up there for at least a year, maybe longer, just listening to them talk, plan, and connive. Or listening to them talk about what they’d done or how they would do it. He knows a lot more about what they think than either one of us.”

  Yet when she turned down the lamp and blew it out, she was no closer to a solution.

  She stood for a moment looking out on the gray area where the stage would stop. What would they do? What could they do?

  Lying on her back in bed, with Peg sleeping on the cot nearby, she stared up into the darkness. What would they do? What could they do?

  She tried to remember the long talks her father had with various army officers who stopped at the Oaks, when they had talked about surprises, about tactics, about the battles of the Revolution. Couldn’t there be a clue in some of that?

  What were the dangers they must face? If the stage was to be robbed here and the men killed, what was there the outlaws must fear?

  Surprise would be in their favor, yet if Wat was right and they had deliberately allowed Stacy or Collier to be tipped off on the robbery, the surprise was lost. So why the tip-off?

  To mislead Stacy and Collier. Mislead them how? If they were warned of the attack—?

  She sat up suddenly. To mislead them as to where the attack was to take place!

  But where, then? If not here, where?

  Along the trail? But if Wat was right and they planned on killing Preston Collier, how could they do that? He would not be on the trail, and he would not be on the stage. The chances were that he would be at the ranch.

  Of course!

  It was almost daylight. Rising quickly, careful not to awaken Peg, she began to dress. As she dressed, her thoughts returned to their immediate problem.

  What were the risks the outlaws would take? What must they guard against if their plan was to succeed?

  An attack on Collier’s ranch would be a complete surprise unless she could warn them in time. But they would be depending on surprise, and the attack would be totally unexpected.

  Certainly, they would see the men they wanted board the stage. They had arranged to have Collier and Stacy warned against an attack. Of course, the attack would not be on the trail. That would not account for Collier, and there would be too much chance in that wide open country of being seen.

  The stage then would stop at Collier’s. The travelers would dismount to be entertained, and some deputies or something of the kind would board the stage and pull out. The attack would come then, the attack and the robbery, not only of the stage passengers but of Collier’s ranch home.

  And then they would come here. As no attack had developed, the deputies would be off guard.

  What risk remained that the outlaws must guard against? The answer was all too simple.

  Ridge Fenton and Temple Boone!

  Chapter 23

  *

  WHEN SHE WALKED into the station, she began at once to prepare breakfast. As she worked, she was thinking, realizing what she must do and that so little time remained.

  Stepping to the door, she saw Ridge Fenton approaching the station.

  “Mr. Fenton? Will you do me a favor? Saddle Nimrod, the horse I recovered from Jordy Neff. Saddle him and bring him to the door.”

  He merely glanced at her, then turned and walked back to the barn. By the time she had the coffee ready, Fenton was back, and Temple Boone was with him.

  “Mr. Boone? I have been thinking about things, and I b
elieve there will be an attempt to kill you and probably Mr. Fenton before the stage comes in.”

  Boone nodded. “I been thinkin’ the same thing. What’s the horse for?”

  “I’m riding over to Collier’s. I had time to think last night, and I believe they will hit there first. I believe, as Wat does, that they tipped Mark Stacy and Preston Collier purposely, guessing what his reaction would be.”

  “They couldn’t count on what he’d do, ma’am.”

  “Yes, they could. They would decide he would either do what he has done or try to surround the stage with guards. I am sure they have planned for that, too.”

  “He’s got soldiers, ma’am. They came through here after midnight, headed for the Collier place. I talked with ’em. Their sergeant asked to be remembered to you, ma’am. His name was Barry Owen.”

  “Good! He knows some of these men by sight. And he knows Flandrau.”

  “He’s got seven men with him. Veterans, he said, mostly from the Indian wars. They sized up like a tough bunch.”

  She took off her apron.

  “Please, ma’am? Better let me go.”

  “You? I need you here. You and Mr. Fenton. Without you, there’d be nobody.”

  “Wat could ride over there.”

  “Yes, he could, but I am not sure they would believe him, and they must! They must believe!”

  “Wait a minute, ma’am. You can’t go now. Here comes Jordy Neff!” Boone studied the hillside, the area around the blacksmith shop, the corrals.

  “Ridge, I’m going out to meet him. He wants me himself, but I’m betting there’s somebody else hid out around. I’ll trust you to take care of him.”

  “I can’t see through brush! What d’you think I am?”

  “A damned good man, and a canny one. If there’s anybody out there, he’s yours.”

  Jordy Neff was tying his horse to the corral; then he started toward the station. Temple Boone did not wait but stepped out quickly. “Jordy! You lookin’ for me?”

  Mary Breydon had heard of gunfights, but she had never actually seen one, and she scarcely saw this.

  Neff was startled. He had expected to get closer, had expected to surprise Boone, had planned the words he was going to say. It was a story he planned to tell, and he wanted it to sound right. He wanted it to be dramatic. He was going to call Boone and—

  He had demanded this job, insisted on it. He wanted to kill Boone and wanted the name of having killed him. He was thinking of that as he started toward the station, thinking of that when he should have been concentrating on Boone.

  He started to reply, started reaching for those fancy words when he should have been reaching for his gun.

  Automatically, his hand did drop; he gripped the butt, and then something slammed him in the chest. The blow staggered him. His gun came up hip high, arm extended, hammer back and sliding off his thumb.

  The second bullet caught him on the inside of his elbow, glancing off into his side. His own bullet, deflected, went into the dust.

  Neff did a border switch, catching the gun deftly with his left hand as another gun boomed in the background. His mind worked with complete clarity now. He knew he had been hit twice, and the last one had broken his elbow. As he caught the gun in his left hand, he fired, saw Boone twitch, and eared back the hammer.

  Two bullets, so closely fired they sounded with one report, hit Neff in the chest, and he fell, dropping his gun.

  He rolled over, trying to rise, groping for a gun that lay just out of reach. His arm gave way under him, and he rolled over on his back, staring up at the sky.

  He’d better not lie here. It was getting dark, and it was going to rain. What was he doing? Lying out in the dirt like this? A big drop hit him in the face; then several others fell into his eyes, but they were wide open, staring up at the sky, and they did not blink.

  Mary Breydon clutched the windowsill where she stood, staring, her heart pounding. Yet—it was over, all over. How long had it been? A minute? Two minutes?

  Temple Boone had done this. He had killed this man, yet the man had come to kill him. She must remember that. And the man who lay dead out there had been one of those who destroyed her home in Virginia. He had stolen her horse, and a man allied to him had killed her husband.

  “I must go,” she said. “I must go or I will be too late.”

  She turned to Matty. “Don’t let Peg see him. Please don’t.”

  Ridge Fenton was at the door. “Don’t worry, we’ll have him out of sight in no time. Won’t do to have him lyin’ there when those others come in with the stage.”

  He looked at her again. “Are you comin’ back, ma’am? I mean, after you tell them?”

  “If I can, Mr. Fenton, if I can.”

  She had forgotten how good a horse Nimrod was, and even after so long a time, he seemed to recognize his name and even her.

  As she left the station, Wat came out to her. “Ma’am, there’s a trail through the woods. They won’t see you if you take it, and it’s quicker. Cut the time by maybe fifteen minutes!”

  She was gone, making the turn into the brush at the point mentioned. Actually, what Wat called a woods was merely a few scattered trees and some patches of brush along some low ground where there had once been a stream. Yet the old trail was good, and Nimrod fancied it. She started off at a good pace and kept the horse to it. One thing she was thankful for. Jordy Neff had known a good horse and had cared for it.

  She left her horse tethered behind the house and came in through the garden. The first person she met was Regina, who was coming down a stairway from the rooms above.

  “You! What in the world—!”

  “Where is your father? I must see him at once!”

  Mutely, Regina pointed toward the library and stepped aside.

  Mark Stacy, Preston Collier, and Sgt. Barry Owen were there. Swiftly and as concisely as she could, she explained the situation.

  “You mean to tell me you believe they will attack here?” Collier inquired skeptically.

  “It’s like them, sir,” Owen said. “Mrs. Breydon knows them, sir, as I do. They’re a bad lot.”

  The stage rolled in, and the passengers dismounted. Quickly, four of the soldiers got in. “The rest of you wait here. We’ll go down around the bend, drop into that fold in the hills, and then we’ll get out and come back. Maybe we can settle it all right here.”

  Inside the house, Preston Collier opened his gun cases. He had his own assortment of weapons, hunting rifles, and shotguns. He doled them out, passing cartridges to each one. “Take them alive if we can, but only if we can!”

  The stage was scarcely out of sight before three men appeared on the trail, walking their horses. Two more showed at the edge of the park to the east of the house. Then two more riders. The first three continued on along the road until past the house, then turned and trotted their horses forward. The other two turned off abruptly, rode up to the gate, and the two dismounted and came up to the door and knocked.

  Now several other riders appeared in view.

  Preston Collier opened the door wide, and the two men had guns in their hands. They stared into the muzzles of four double-barreled shotguns. “You’d better drop those guns,” Mark Stacy advised.

  Nobody but a fool would have taken the chance, and these men were not fools.

  “Now just come on in very quietly. Leave the door open for the others. We mustn’t appear inhospitable.”

  The next three came in with a rush to face the same battery of shotguns. Without hesitation, they surrendered.

  Denver Cross reined in before the house. It was quiet, too quiet. There were women in there, and if he knew his men, they should be screaming by now. He started toward the house, then drew up. A dozen more of his men were coming along the road.

  “Mercer, I think everything’s under control. Ride over there and see but don’t waste any time. We’ve got to get along after that stagecoach.”

  Mercer glanced at Cross, then shrugged. Why
didn’t he go himself? He’d always wanted to be in at the start. He rode his horse to the steps and called out. All was quiet, so quiet he was suddenly scared. He started to turn his horse when he saw Owen beside the door, just out of sight of anybody but him.

  “Get down and come in, man. Come quietly!”

  “Like hell!” Mercer swung his horse and went for his gun at the same moment and caught two well-aimed rifle bullets before his draw was completed. He fell; his foot hung briefly in the stirrup, then fell free. His horse trotted off.

  Denver Cross swore and slapped the spurs to his horse, yelling to his men.

  A volley from the house emptied three saddles, and then Cross was away and running. Rounding a bend, he all but charged into the stage, and Wilbur Pattishal, kneeling atop the stage, gave him a charge of buckshot.

  “Neat!” Collier said. “Very neat, indeed, thanks to Mrs. Breydon.”

  *

  AN HOUR HAD passed; the soldiers under Sergeant Owen had taken the prisoners away. Mercer and two other men had been buried on the far side of the hill. Cross was still alive, although in a bad way.

  “We won’t be able to connect Flandrau with any of it, I’m afraid,” Stacy said, “unless one of the prisoners will talk.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Collier said. “With the testimony of both Mrs. Breydon and Sergeant Owen as to the previous connection of Flandrau with the outlaws, we may be able to tie him to what happened here.” He took out a cigar. “Mrs. Breydon? Do you mind?” He struck a match. “That man who was riding your horse, Mrs. Breydon? If we could get him to talk? Most men will talk to avoid hanging.”

  “I am afraid he has already avoided it, Mr. Collier. Part of this action was to remove Temple Boone from the scene at Cherokee Station. Jordy Neff attempted it and failed.”

  “Boone killed him?” Stacy commented. “I am not surprised. Boone is a dangerous man.”

  “And a gentleman,” Mary said.

  She got to her feet. “I must ride back to the station. They will be worried.”

  Collier arose. “It is good to have you for a neighbor, Mrs. Breydon. Please do not become a stranger.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mark Stacy got up. “The stage is gone, but if I could borrow a horse, Collier, I’d ride along with Mrs. Breydon. We’ve some business to discuss.”