Passin' Through (1985)

by L'amour, Louis

  A moment I waited, rifle in hand. Desperately I wanted to lie down, simply to sleep. I’d lost blood, was weak as a cat, and my back was stiff. I wanted -

  Easing out of the door, I stood still, black against the blackness of the building. If Lew Paine found me now, this case would be settled by lever action rather than legal action. I was in no shape to argue.

  What did Matty mean when she said they thought I had found something in that drawer? How could they know? Then suddenly I felt a chill. Used to noticing things, there was one thing I’d noticed that I’d forgotten about. Those papers had been lying there quite a while and when I picked up the will it had left a brown stain on the papers beneath it, a straight line of brown across the paper underneath, some chemicals in the paper, no doubt. Many a time I’d found a paper in an old book that had discolored the page of the book against which it was pressed. I’d found the tally book but what else?

  Stiff as I was, it was not easy but I eased myself betwixt the corral bars and walked over to the buckskin. It shied a little, then stood still. For a moment I stood beside it, speaking softly, then, with a grip on its mane I led it back to the old barn.

  Inside it was black as sin, but listening I heard no sound. Walking the horse to a stall where I knew some buckskin strings were hanging as well as a hackamore, I felt for the hackamore, found it, and slipped it over the ears of the buckskin. Took a few of the buckskin piggin’ strings.

  Walking the horse to the barn door I waited, listening again. Where was Lew Paine?

  With the reins in my left hand I was fixin’ to swing astride when something thrust hard into the small of my back, an’ nobody needed to explain to me what it was. Then a low, triumphant voice said, “Lew? Come on! I got him!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  My arms were up, one hand resting on the buckskin’s mane, the right hand reaching for its back, and I knew they intended to kill me.

  My right arm came around, the elbow smashing into the man’s temple, knocking him away from me. My elbow hit hard, momentarily stunning him. In an instant I was astride, and bending low I caught up my rifle from the end of the stall where it had been leaning and I went out of the barn on a dead run.

  The corral gate was before me but they had left it open when they entered, and I went through and swung hard to my left, putting the wall of the barn between us. We thundered across the small bridge and then went up the trail to the meadow on a dead run.

  From behind me there was a shot, and turning in the saddle as the buckskin came to a stand, I levered three fast shots at the flash of the gun, and then we were off and running. Over a low hill, then along a trail into the scrub oak.

  Once under cover I slowed up, gasping with pain. The sudden, violent movements had ripped open the wounds that had begun to heal. Now they were bleeding again.

  Looking back I could see nothing but blackness. The lights in the house had been hastily blown out, and no doubt they were watching, waiting, wondering what was going on.

  Sagging in the saddle, completely done in by the sudden burst of action, I rode through the oaks toward Maggie’s Rock. How I stayed on that horse, I don’t know. When a man has been riding all his life he can fall asleep in the saddle or be half-conscious and his instinct or something will still keep him riding.

  The rifle was my worry, so taking a couple of the rawhide strings I’d fetched along I rigged a sling for it and slung it across my back.

  The clouds had gone and the stars were out. For a man who’d been out all night, seeing was easy. It was coming up to daylight when I rounded the base of Maggie’s Rock and rode up Spring Gulch to where I’d left my outfit.

  Everything was there, so I saddled up, and leading my spare horses I went up the trail to the little valley atop the ridge and below Maggie. Looking up from the ranch nobody would ever guess there was a valley up here, and I dearly needed rest.

  With the last strength I had left I staked out my horses and rolling over on the grass I pulled a saddle blanket across my shoulders.

  At some time during the morning it rained, a brief shower only. Vaguely I was aware of it but slept on, oblivious to all by my complete exhaustion. When finally my eyes did open it was midafternoon. By then the sun had dried the grass. For a time I lay still, watching the lazy circles of a buzzard in the sky. At last I sat up, taking in my surroundings with gathering comprehension.

  Directly west was Maggie’s Rock. The trail, dim and unused, led past where I lay, along the bottom of the small valley and into the trees beyond Maggie. The north side of the valley was a low ridge, wooded to the top, and a trail led along it and back up to the higher ridge where I had killed Pan Beacham.

  The place where I lay was under a big ponderosa and there were numerous pinecones lying about. Clearing away the pine needles and grass with my hands, I broke twigs from low on the tree and put together a small fire. The twigs, long-dead suckers, were perfectly dry. Gathering some other fallen sticks, I made a small fire, allowing the smoke to rise through the tree and thin itself before going into the air.

  From my pack I got my coffeepot, frying pan, and then coffee and bacon. Taking my time as I tired rapidly, I made coffee and fried a dozen strips of bacon.

  My little camp was in a niche under the trees and would be invisible to anyone until they were close upon me. When I had eaten the bacon I sat back with a cup of coffee in my hand, leaning against the trunk of a ponderosa, and studied my situation.

  All I wanted was to get out of here, to get away from everybody. I wanted to be back in the mountains where I belonged. Here I was, just passin’ through the country, and suddenly the roof fell in. First that Houston Burrows tried to kill me, then that roan horse brought me to the ranch and into all kinds of trouble. Well, I had my gear and I was going to ride on and keep riding.

  Why had Matty been in such an all-fired hurry to get shut of me? She didn’t even want Mrs. Hollyrood to know I was around. Apparently getting rid of me was more important than anything the Paine outfit might do. And what did she mean by saying Mrs. Hollyrood had found where Fd taken some papers from that drawer? She’d told me to look there for the book, told me herself.

  Something was wrong and I was beginning to wonder if I didn’t already have the answer.

  When I had rested I would pack my horse, saddle the others, and ride for Parrott City. There were a few things I needed before moving into wild country. Yet even as I told myself that, I knew what I really wanted was to see Janet Le Caudy and give her the will I had. Once Fd done that Fd have no further part in what took place, yet even as I told myself that, I knew, uneasily, that what I really wanted to do was see Janet Le Caudy again. Not that she meant anything to me or ever could.

  Now I was thirsty. Luckily the canteen was still half-full and I drank from it. The water wasn’t too good, it had been in the canteen for several days, but then I’d drunk worse, much worse. The fever I had as well as the loss of blood might have much to do with my thirst.

  Before I packed, I’d rest some more. I moved the picket pins of my horses to give them fresh grazing and then returned to the shade of the ponderosas.

  The cattle I’d seen running on the ranch worried me. There should be a roundup and a culling of the herd. Steers would do better on winter range than cows, and somebody should be out there now, rounding up some of the cows and bringing them in to feed before shipping. With the railroad close, shipping would be easy, to either Kansas City or Denver. Some of this stock was pretty wild but I’d always favored wilder cattle, they lived longer and fattened up quicker on poor range. They were tough, and cattle were like men or mustangs, it took the tough ones to survive when times were bad. Men could become tough but cattle that had been living well seemed to give up easier.

  Through the afternoon I dozed and dreamed and thought, and before sundown I brought in my horses, and taking it easy, I saddled up, packed up, and hit the trail. By the time I got into the saddle I was worn out. I mean, I was tired. Not to follow the same route, I
went back down into Spring Gulch and rode east along the grassy bottom. Up at the far end I found a water hole and watered my horses.

  There was a horse trail to the top of the ridge and I took it, walking my horses and stopping now and again to give them a time to catch air. By the time I topped out on the ridge above that beautiful grove of aspen through which I’d ridden a few days before, it was last light.

  Up yonder, liking the cool breeze, I sat my saddle looking back toward the ranch. There was a slow lift of blue smoke from the ranch-house chimney but no other sign of life. Right then I turned that buckskin loose.

  He knew where his home was and chances were he’d go back. A horse just naturally doesn’t like to leave home but he doesn’t like to leave other horses, either. If he followed me into town I wasn’t to blame for that. I’d have no rope on him and they couldn’t accuse me of stealin’ him. But chances are he would go back to where he’d been fed.

  The way I chose led down into the aspen again. Already the leaves were beginning to change color, fall was coming on, and they’d soon turn all to gold and that trail I was riding would be like walking down an aisle through a great golden cathedral. The leaves whispered, moving gently on the stems.

  Before I rode into the main trail I drew up to give it study. Nobody in sight. Nothing moving, anywhere. Somewhere afar off I heard a train whistle.

  Then I rode down the trees, trotted my horse across the trail and into the woods. Less than an hour later, and in full darkness, I rode into Parrott.

  There were a dozen lighted buildings along the street. I took my horses to a corral that did duty as a livery stable and stripped the gear from them. There was a small shed close by where a man in a beat-up hat told me I could leave my saddles and gear. “Safe,” he said, “nobody steals nothin’ around here.”

  The half-dollar I gave him loosened his tongue. “Seen you around,” he commented, “talkin’ with that Le Caudy gal.”

  “Nice girl,” I said, casually.

  “Yep. Seems so.” He lit his pipe, threw the match into the dust, and spat. “She’s takin’ up with the wrong folks. Feller with a blond mustache, looks like a city feller.”

  “Seen him around. You know him?”

  “His kind. He’s a gambler or some woman’s fancy man. But don’t you take him light. That’s an uncommon bad man.” He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes. “Carries a sleeve gun. One o’ them derringers, y’know. In a holster up his sleeve. Lifts his hand and it slides out, drops his hand down an’ it slides right into his hand an’ nobody sees it. Mostly they’d be watchin’ the gun in the holster on his hip. Seen him give it a try in the shed there when he figured nobody was lookin’.”

  “Now that’s right neighborly. Do the same for you, sometime.”

  “That there Le Caudy girl, she’s a decent woman. Anybody can see it, yet he’s got around her somehow, offered to help.”

  “I was wonderin’ why.” Pausing, I said, “Between the two of us, she’s owner of half that ranch down on Cherry Creek. I figure she really owns it all.”

  “Where the women are?”

  “That one. I been fixin’ up around. The place needs work.”

  “I know it. Phillips, he let it run down there toward the end. He was off chasin’ after some woman.”

  “Mrs. Hollyrood.”

  “That her name? Figured it was the young one.” He paused. “That young one? I seen her somewheres before.”

  “Where?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t recall.” He drew on his pipe, then swore. It had gone out. “Lived over in Denver for a while. I was jailer there.” He looked at me. “Maybe I ain’t seen her. Maybe I seen a flyer on her. Y’know? Them ‘wanted’ bills that come in? You held the job. I can tell by the way you move into a town. You’ve worn a badge.”

  “Janet Le Caudy? She in town?”

  “She is right now but she won’t be in the mornin’. I heard that Pelham feller offer to drive her down to the ranch on Cherry Creek. He said he’d drive her down tomorrow. Said he’d make inquiries on how to get there.”

  “He drive that smart new buggy?”

  “Yep.”

  “He was down there today, most of the day.”

  Walking up the street, I got myself a bed in a three-bed room, then went across the dusty lane to get myself a bait of grub. I was hopin’ she’d be in there and she was. She was settin’ up to the table an’ she was alone.

  “Oh? I thought you were gone.”

  “I came back.”

  She looked at me very thoughtfully. “You look as if you had been ill? I mean, you’re very pale.”

  “I had some trouble.” I put my cup down. “Ma’am? If I was you, I’d get a good lawyer. I’d go into Animas City or this new town they’ve started and I’d get a lawyer. You’re goin’ to need one.”

  “I have a friend who is helping me.”

  “Pelham? Is that right? Known him long?”

  “No, but -”

  “Tell you where he was today?”

  “No, why should he? As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen him today.”

  “I haven’t either, but that rig he drives was out at the Phillips ranch most of the day.”

  “But that couldn’t be. Today he was to drive over to Mancos on business. He told me so.”

  “The rig was there most of the day.”

  She smiled. “You must be mistaken. There are many buggies that are similar.” She looked at me coolly over her cup. “If you knew about that rig you must have been there yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was laid up. I mean, I’d been shot. Right about then I was just tryin’ to stay alive.”

  “Shot?” She was shocked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Somebody follered me. Taken a shot at me only he didn’t kill me like he intended. I moved and the bullet sort of cut me in the back and bounced off my skull.” I turned my head a little to show her. “I put some pine sap on the wound to stop the bleeding. It works pretty good.”

  “You haven’t seen a doctor?”

  “No, ma’am. It’s like the law out here.

  They are never around when you need them.”

  “But why? Why would someone try to shoot you like that?”

  I shrugged. “Has to do somethin’ with that ranch. Of course, there’s the Burrows outfit. They want me dead but they haven’t the money to hire the man who was after me. I know him and he comes high. Either somebody is ready to pay a lot of money to have me killed or he owes somebody a favor. Anyway, he tried.”

  A rider went by in the street, then it was quiet again. Dishes rattled in the kitchen. It was late and probably we were the last customers they’d have. Western towns were early-to-sleep towns except for the saloons and gambling houses.

  “Won’t he try again?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You mean he’s - dead?”

  “In his business, in this country, a man like that makes a mistake just once.”

  It was quiet in the room again and we ate without speaking. “I am afraid,” she said after a bit, “it is more violent out here than I believed.”

  “No, ma’am. Mostly this is a quiet kind of country. Good folks here, and hardworking. The people making trouble are outsiders.”

  “Aren’t you an outsider?”

  “Yes, ma’am, an’ one who’s fixin’ to leave as soon as this ranch business gets straightened out.”

  “Why should that concern you?”

  That was a good question. It was none of my business, except that in my pocket I had a will, and with the kind of friend she had I wasn’t about to give it to her. Not yet, anyway.

  We had finished eating but there was something more I wished to say. She stood up. “Thank you for your advice, Mr. Passin’.” Her eyes were cool. “I do not believe we will be seeing each other again.”

  “I am here if you need me.”

  She gave me that cool, straight look again. “I shall not need you.”

  “You may, when th
ey find out you own half their ranch.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That will she’s got leaves it all to her. Like you never existed, an’, ma’am? You be careful.”

  “I am always careful, Mr. Passin’. Now - good evening.”

  She turned away but I stood my ground.

  “If you go out there, an’ they invite you to eat, or even drink something, take my advice and don’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t rightly know, only your uncle, Phillips, he had supper with them.”

  She walked outside and crossed the street to the hotel. I waited a minute, studying the street. Behind me somebody was gathering dishes from our vacated table. “Mister? We’re closin’ up now -”

  “I know. Would you mind blowing out that lamp?”

  When the room was dark I waited close to the door, then opened it very gently and stepped out into the dark.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The blacksmith, a big Dutchman, had rigged some barrels out back of his place for bathing at two bits the bath. With a towel and some fresh clothing from my pack I went around to the barrels. Nobody was anywhere around, and after waiting a bit to be sure nobody was around, I took a long bath, dried off, and dressed in fresh clothes, keeping my six-shooter at hand.

  The hotel room I had, if you could call it that, was shared by two other men, both of them already asleep. I went to the cot where I’d piled my gear earlier and turned in, and was up at daybreak dressing. One of the men was already gone, and the other noticed the long, red, barely healed streak along my back.

  “None o’ my business,” he commented, “but looks like you lucked out.”

  “It was close.”

  “Healin’ all right?”

  “In this mountain air they heal up fast.”

  He was anxious to know more but too polite to ask questions and I wasn’t planning to answer any. By the time I was dressed, having to take time with my shirt, and he did give me a hand there, it was already light outside.