Rud Maclaren was a careful man who had come early, worked hard, and planned well. It was only now in these later years that he had become acquisitive of power. But he could not help but realize that he was looked upon without affection by many of his neighbors. While he affected no interest, it was obvious that my suggestion offered an opportunity for that.
Park interrupted suddenly. “Don’t trust this talk, Rud. Brennan makes it sound all right, but he has some trick in mind. What’s he planning? What’s he covering up?”
“Morgan!” Moira protested. Tm surprised at you! Matt is sincere, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind. Yet you defend this—this killer.”
He was staring right at me when he said it, as if daring me to object. That he wanted trouble, I knew. A fight now would ruin all I had been saying.
It came to me then, and I said it, not without doubt.
“At least, I’ve never killed a man who had no gun. A man who would have been helpless against me in any case.”
When I said it I was looking right at him and something changed in his eyes, and into his face there came something I had not seen there before. And I knew now that I was marked for death. That Morgan Park would no longer wait.
It was D’Arcy I had in mind … for, playing a hunch only, I believed D’Arcy had been murdered.
Yet it was more than a hunch. D’Arcy was a man who would never have neglected to thank his hostess. He would never have left without paying his respects. Something had happened to prevent it. But I had no evidence. Only that flimsy hunch, and the fact that D’Arcy had vanished suddenly after Morgan Park had shown an interest in him.
Now that I had started I did not intend to hold back. As best I could, I intended to put Rud Maclaren on his guard.
“It is not only rustlers,” I said, “but those who have other schemes as well, schemes they can only bring to success under the cover of this fighting.”
Morgan Park’s features were stiff. Actually, I knew little or nothing, yet somehow I had touched a nerve, and Morgan Park was a worried man. If my guess was correct, he now knew that I knew something and he would suspect me of knowing much more than I actually did.
“I’ll think this over,” Maclaren said finally. “This is no time to make a decision.”
“Sure.” I turned toward Moira and took her arm. “And now if you’ll excuse us?”
We moved toward the door, and Morgan Park’s fury suddenly snapped. His face livid, he started forward. Putting Moira quickly to one side, I was ready for him.
“Hold it!”
Canaval stepped between us, stopping Morgan Park in his tracks.
“That’s all, Park. We’ll have no fighting here.”
“What’s the matter? Brennan need a nursemaid now?”
“No.” Canaval was stiff. “Brennan promised me there would be no trouble. I’m not going to let you cause any.”
There was a moment of silence, and Moira moved back to my side. What Morgan Park might have done or said, I do not know, but whatever it was, I was ready. Never before had I wanted to smash and destroy as I did when I faced that man. All I could remember was him sitting astride me, swinging those huge, methodical fists.
“Brennan,” Maclaren spoke abruptly, “I’ve no reason to like you, but you talk straight from the shoulder and you are my daughter’s guest. Remain as long as you like.”
Later, I understood that right at that moment Park must have made his decision. There could be no other alternative for him. He drew back and slowly relaxed, and he did not say another word.
Moira walked with me to my horse, and she was worried. “He’s a bad enemy, Matt. I’m sorry this happened.”
“He was my enemy, anyway. That he is a bad enemy, I can guess. I believe another friend of yours found out about that.”
She looked up quickly, real fear in her eyes. “I don’t understand you.”
“Did you ever have a note of acknowledgment from D’Arcy?”
“No … but what has that to do—”
“Strange, isn’t it? I’d have thought a man of his sort would not neglect such an obvious courtesy.”
There had been, I think, some similar thought in her mind. I had sensed it when I first mentioned that other friend. It was inexplicable that a man like D’Arcy should drop so suddenly from sight.
We stood there without talking, no more words between us for several minutes, but needing none. Our hearts were beating together, our blood pulsing together, our faces touched by the gentle hand of the same wind.
“This will pass,” I said, “as the night will pass, and when it is gone, I shall take you back to Cottonwood Wash to live.”
“You’re a strange man. You look like an ordinary cowhand, but you talk like a man of education.”
“I read a book once.” I grinned at her. “A couple of them, in fact. And don’t fool yourself about cowhands.”
Tightening the cinch, I swung my horse for mounting.
“But could you settle down? Could you stay?”
My foot went into the stirrup and I swung into the leather.
“On the day I rode into Hattan’s Point and saw you, I knew I would stay. Why does a man drift around? Only because he is looking for something. For money, for a home, for a girl.”
Night had closed in from the hills, moving its dark battalions of shadows under the trees and in the lee of buildings, then reaching out to cover the ranch yard. A few stars had come out.
Reaching down, I caught Moira’s hand and swung her up, her foot slipping into the stirrup. Her breath caught as I pulled her into my arms, then came quickly and deeply, her lips parting slightly as she came into my arms. I felt her warm body melt against mine and her lips were seeking, urgent, passionate. My fingers went to her hair, and all the waiting, all the fighting, all our troubles dissolved into nothingness.
She pulled back suddenly, frightened and excited, her breasts rising and falling as she fought for control.
“This isn’t good, Matt! We’re too—too violent. We’ve got to be more calm.”
I laughed then, full of the zest of living and loving and holding the beauty of her in my arms in the early night.
“You’re not exactly a calm person.”
“I?” She seemed to hesitate. “Well, all right, then. Neither of us is calm.”
“Need we be?”
And then we heard someone coming down from the house, someone whistling lightly. Boots grated of the gravel path and I let Moira down to the ground quickly.
It was Canaval.
“Better ride … Morgan Park will be leaving soon. Might be trouble.”
I gathered the reins. “I’m practically gone.”
“Mean what you said back there? About peace and all?”
“What can we gain by fighting?”
Canaval turned to Moira. “Let me talk to Brennan alone, will you? There’s something he should know.”
When she had gone back to the house, Canaval said quietly, “She reminds me of her mother.”
Surprised, I looked down at him. “You knew her mother?”
“She was my sister.”
“But … does Moira know?”
“Rud and I used to ride together. I was too fast with a gun and killed a man with too many relatives so I left the country we came from Rud married my sister after I left, and from time to time we kept in touch. Then Rud needed help against rustlers, and sent for me. He persuaded me to stay.” He hesitated, then added, “Moira doesn’t know.”
We were silent, listening to the night, as men of our land would. I knew then that Canaval liked me or he would never have told me this.
Chapter Fourteen.
It was after midnight when finally I rode away from the Boxed M, leaving the main trail and cutting across country to the head of Gypsum Canyon.
Before leaving I had told Canaval what I had heard about the Slades, and he had listened, without comment. Whether he believed me I could not say, but at least h
e had been warned. Each of us knew all there was to know about Slade. The man was a killer for hire, a cold-blooded and efficient man with a gun.
There is a magic about the desert at night. Until you have seen it, stood alone in the midst of it, you cannot know what enchantment is. There is a stillness there and a nearness of stars such as no other place on earth offers.
I rode quietly and steadily, not hurrying, but feeling the coolness of the night, and remembering the girl I had left behind me, remembering Moira.
Mulvaney was waiting for me. “Knew the horse’s walk.” He nodded toward the hills. “Too quiet out there.”
We turned in then, and rested, but during the night I awakened with the sound of a shot ringing in my ears. Mulvaney was sleeping soundly so I did not disturb him, nor was I even sure that I had heard it. A real shot? Or something in a dream? All was quiet, and after listening for a while I crawled back into the warmth of my blankets, of no mind to go exploring in the middle of a chill desert night.
In the morning I mentioned it to Mulvaney.
“Did you get up?”
“Yes, but I didn’t hear anything. It might have been one of the Benaras boys. Sometimes they hunt at night.”
Two hours later I knew better. Maverick Spring lay in that no man’s land where the Boxed M bordered the Two-Bar, and I had ridden that way, for there was bog on one side of the spring and twice I’d had to pull steers out of there.
The morning was fresh and clear as I was coming up out of the wash. Heading across for the spring, I saw a riderless horse.
He was standing his head down and, suddenly worried, I picked my horse up to a canter. Drawing near, I saw that a dark bundle lay on the ground near the horse. The dark bundle was a man, and he was dead. Even before I turned the body over, I knew it was Rud Maclaren.
He had been shot twice from behind, both times in the head.
He was sprawled on his face, one knee drawn up, both hands lying in sight, on the sand. His belt gun was tied down. Rud Maclaren had been shot down from behind without an instant of warning.
After that one quick look, I stepped back and, drawing my rifle from the scabbard, I fire three quick shots as a signal to Mulvaney.
When he saw Maclaren his face went three shades whiter.
“This is trouble, lad. The country respected him. A man will hang for this.”
“Feel of him, Mulvaney. The man’s cold. It must have been that shot I heard last night.”
Mulvaney nodded. “You’d best rig a story, Matt.” It was the first time he had ever called me by name. “This will blow the lid off.”
Of that there was no doubt, and I needed no argument to convince me that I was the logical suspect.
“No rigging. I’ll tell the truth.”
“Theyll hang you. He’s on your place, and the two of you had been feuding.”
Standing over the body with Mulvaney’s words ringing in my ears, I could see with clarity the situation I faced. Yet why had Maclaren come here? What was he doing on my ranch in the middle of the night? And who could have been riding with him?
Somebody wanted Maclaren dead badly enough to shoot him in the back, and had lured him here on some pretext. He certainly was not a man given to midnight rides. It had been late when I left his ranch and at that time he had been there. But so had Morgan Park.
The morning was cool, with a hint of rain. Mulvaney started for the Boxed M to report the killing to Canaval. It would be up to Canaval to break the news to Moira. And I did not want to think of that.
My luck broke, in one sense, Jolly Benaras came riding up the Wash, and I sent him off to town to report the shooting to the sheriff and to Key Chapin.
When they had gone, I mounted my horse and, careful to obscure no tracks, scouted the area. There was a confusion of hoof prints where his horse had moved about during the night, and at that point the sand was soft and there was no definition to any of the tracks.
One thing puzzled me. I had heard only one shot, yet there were two bullet holes. Crouching beside the body, I studied the setup. Strangely enough, only one bullet hole showed evidences of bleeding.
There were no other tracks that I could identify. They were mingled and overlapped each other, and all were indefinite because of the soft sand.
When I saw riders approaching I walked back to the body. The nearest was Canaval, and beside him, Moira. The other three were Boxed M cowhands. One glance at their faces and I knew there was no doubt in their mind as to who had killed Rud Maclaren.
Canaval looked at me, his eyes cold, calculating, and shrewd. Moira threw herself from the horse and ran to the still form lying on the sand. She had not looked at me or acknowledged my presence.
“This looks like trouble, Canaval. I think I heard the shot.”
“Shot?”
“Only one … and he’s been shot twice.”
Nobody said anything, but all kept their eyes on me. They were waiting for me to defend myself.
“When did he leave the ranch?”
“No one knows, exactly.” Canaval sat very still in the saddle, and I knew he was trying to make up his mind about me. “He turned in after you left—it must have been around two. Maybe later.”
“The shot I heard was close to four o’clock.”
The Boxed M riders had moved out, casually, almost accidentally it seemed, but shutting me off from any escape. Behind me was the spring, the bog, and a shoulder of rock. Before me, the riders formed a semicircle.
These were men who rode for the brand, men loyal, devoted, and utterly ruthless when aroused. The night before they had given me the benefit of the doubt, but now the evidence seemed to point at me.
“Who was with him when you last saw him?”
“He was alone. And if it’s Morgan Park you’re thinking of, forget it. He left right after you did.”
Tom Fox, a lean, hard-bitten Boxed M rider, took his rope from his saddle.
“What we waitin’ for, men? There’s our man.”
“Fox, from all I hear you’re a good hand, so don’t throw your loop over any quick conclusions I didn’t kill Rud Maclaren, and had no reason to. We made peace talk last night and parted on good terms.”
Fox looked over at Carnaval. “Is that right?”
“It is—but Rud changed his mind afterward.”
“What?”
That I could not believe, yet Canaval would not lie to me. Rud Maclaren had been only half won over to my thinking, I knew. But that he could have changed his mind so fast I was not willing to believe.
“Anyway, how could I know that?”
“You couldn’t,” Canaval agreed, “unless he got out of bed and rode over to tell you. He’s the sort that might do just that—I can think of no other reason why he would ride out durin’ the night.”
The one thing I had been telling myself was that I’d be in the clear because I had no motive. And here it was, the perfect motive. My mouth was dry and my hands felt cold … sweat broke out on my forehead.
Fox began to shake out a loop. I tried to catch Moira’s eye, but she refused to look at me. Canaval seemed to be studying, over something in his mind.
Nobody had drawn a gun, yet that loop in Fox’s hand could snake over me quicker than I could throw a gun and fire. And if I moved toward a gun, Canaval would also. I didn’t know whether I could beat Canaval or not … and he was a man I didn’t want to kill.
Fox moved his horse a step forward, but Moira stopped him.
“No, Tom. Wait for the men from town. If he killed my father I want him to die, but we’ll wait.”
Reluctantly, Fox waited, and then we heard the horses coming. There were a dozen riders, with Key Chapin in the lead.
He threw me a quick, worried glance, then turned to Canaval. Briefly and to the point, the foreman of the Boxed M explained the situation.
Maclaren and I had talked, we had made a tentative peace agreement. Then Rud had changed his mind. Now he was dead, and I had been found with the body.
The evidence as he summed it up was damning. There was motive and opportunity for me, and for no other known person.
Looking at their faces, I felt a sinking in my stomach. You are right up against the wall, Matt Brennan, I told myself. You’ve come to the end, and you’ll hang for another man’s crime.
Mulvaney had not returned after informing the Boxed M of Maclaren’s death. And there was no sign of Jolly Benaras.
“One thing,” I said suddenly, “I’d like to call to your attention.”
There were no friendly eyes in those that turned to me.
“Chapin,” I said, “will you turn Maclaren over?”
He looked from me to the body, then swung down and walked over. In looking at Maclaren’s face, I had lifted the body but had let it fall back in place. I heard Moira’s breath catch as Chapin stooped to turn the dead man. He rolled him over, then straightened up. He looked at me, puzzled. The others simply waited, seeing nothing, understanding nothing.
“You accuse me because he is here, on my ranch. Well, he was not killed here.There’s no blood on the ground!”
Startled, their eyes turned to the sand upon which Maclaren had been lying. The sand was ruffled, but there was no blood.
“One wound bled badly and there must have been quite a pool where he was lying because his shirt is covered with it. The sand would be bloody if he was killed here.
“What I am saying is that he was killed elsewhere, then carried here and left.”
“But why?” Chapin protested.
“You suspect me, don’t you? What other reason would there be?”
“Another thing,” I added, “the shot that I heard was fired into him after he was dead!”
“How d’you figure that?” Fox was studying me with new eyes.
“A dead man does not bleed. Look at him! All the blood came from one wound.”
Suddenly, we were aware that more horsemen had come up behind us. It was Mulvaney and the Benaras boys, all of them.
“We’d be beholden,” Jolly said, “if you’d all move back. We’re friends to Brennan and we don’t believe he done it. Now move back.”
The Boxed M riders hesitated, not liking it, but they had been taken from behind and there was little chance to even make a fight of it if trouble started.
Silver Canyon (1956) Page 9