Where the Long Grass Blows (1976)

by L'amour, Louis

  "Where we goin'?"

  "May's place, and her horse. Then we're taking to the hills. You know that old trail to the badlands?"

  "Sure, but it's no good unless you circle around to Thousand Springs. There's no water. And that's a mighty rough ride."

  "Don't worry about that. You get over there and lie down beside the trail. You hold up until you see me. I'll be riding an Appaloosa and leading her horse."

  Burt's grip suddenly tightened. "Watch it.

  Door opening!"

  They stood stock-still, no muscle moving, and then Burt's hand moved ever so carefully and it held a gun.

  He held it across in front of him, covering the man who stood in the light of the opened door. It was the bartender.

  Somebody loomed over his shoulder. "Hey! Who's that out there?"

  "Go back to your drinks," the bartender said. "I'll go see."

  He came down the steps toward them, letting the door slam behind him. He walked straight toward them, and Canavan gripped his six-shooter.

  As he drew near, Burt spoke. "Pat, you're a good man, but you'd make a soft bunk for this chunk of lead."

  "Don't fret yourself," Pat replied cooly.

  "If I hadn't come out, one of those Box n punchers would have, and there'd have been hell to pay. Go on ... beat it.

  I'm not hunting trouble with either side." He turned his head to look at Canavan. "Nor with you, Bill. You don't recall me, but I remember you and that fuss you had with those Kingfisher outlaws. You boys get along now."

  The fat man turned and walked back. They heard a drunken voice say, "Who was that? If it's that Roily Burt, I'll surely-was "Don't fret yourself," Pat repeated. "It's just a Mexican kid and a stray burro he's picked up." The door closed.

  Canavan heaved a sigh. With no further talk, they moved on, hobbling across the open stretch and into the trees. They heard a door slam, and angry voices.

  The town of Soledad would be an unpleasant place on this night.

  When Canavan had the mare saddled, he told Burt: "If you hear anybody coming, get out of sight.

  When I come, I'll be riding that Appaloosa of mine.

  You'll know him."

  "I've seen it. I just keep goin', is that right?"

  "Right. And keep out of sight of anybody, and don't talk to anybody, and that goes for your CR hands as well. You hear me?"

  "I surely do. They sure haven't been much help, at that. But I'll not forget what you've done, amigo, and you a stranger, too."

  "Ride. ... Forget about me. I've got to get back into town and get my horse without exciting any comment.

  Once I get you where I'll be taking you, nobody will find you."

  He watched the mare start off at a fast walk, and then he turned and walked back toward town. He heard shouts and yells up ahead, and then some drunken cowhand fired three times into the air. He saw the flashes.

  Bill Canavan hitched his guns into place.

  He'd be lucky if he got out of town this night.

  Very lucky. ...

  Chapter IX

  The disappearance of Roily Burt was a nine-day wonder in Soledad and the Valley country.

  During the days following, Bill Canavan was in and out of town several times, riding as he usually had but avoiding all discussion of local politics and troubles, of which he blandly insisted he knew nothing at all.

  Burt had not been seen in Pie Town or anywhere else around, nor were any horses missing. The search pursued by the Box n hands had been intensive, but turned up nothing at all. Roily Burt, wounded, had dropped off the end of the world.

  Following the shooting and the search, Soledad seemed abnormally quiet. Yet a rumor persisted that with the end of the coming roundup, trouble would come again and there would be nothing less than allout war between the two big ranches, with all outsiders advised to keep out of the way and present a low profile. For the time being, with the roundup in the offing, both ranches seemed disposed to attend to first things first.

  Second only to the disappearance of Roily Burt was interest in Bill Canavan himself. He came and went around Soledad, but nobody seemed to have any idea who he was or what he was about. Yet whatever else he was doing, he was making friends among the small-fry and those businessmen who wished the troubles over.

  Yet he remained a source of puzzlement to many, and especially to Walt Pogue, Charlie Reynolds and Star Levitt. And there was another who was even more curious and infinitely more wary. And that man was Emmett Chubb.

  He first heard of Canavan's presence following the disappearance of Roily Burt. The CR hands habitually ate at one long table presided over by Reynolds himself, and Syd Berdue invariably sat at his right hand.

  "Hear Walt Pogue and his man Voyle had some words with Canavan," Reynolds commented to Berdue.

  "Looks like he's a man who makes enemies."

  Berdue's comment was stifled by a sudden exclamation from down the table. Emmett Chubb put his cup down hard. "Did you say Canavan? Would that be Bill Canavan?"

  "That's the man," Berdue looked down the table.

  "Do you know him?"

  "I should smile, I know him. He's huntin' me."

  "You?" Reynolds was relieved. "Why you?"

  "Me an' a friend of his had a run-in. You probably knew him. Vin Carter."

  "Ah? Carter was a friend of Canavan's?"

  Reynolds chewed in silence. "How good is this Canavan?" he asked suddenly.

  Chubb waved a hand. "I wouldn't know. Down where he comes from, they set store by him."

  A slim dark-faced young cowhand down the table drawled softly, "I know him, Emmett, an' if you tangle with him, be ready to go all the way. He's the gent who rode into King Fisher's hide-out in Mexico after a horse one of Fisher's boys stole off him.

  He rode the horse out of there, too, and the story is that he made Fisher take water. He killed the man who stole his horse. The fellow made a fool of himself and went for his gun."

  "So he's chasing you, Emmett? That accounts for his coming here," Reynolds said. "I was wondering what he had on his mind."

  "He might be here because of Vin Carter," Berdue suggested thoughtfully. "If he is, that could spell trouble for Walt Pogue."

  In the days that followed Burt's escape from Soledad, Canavan was busy. He had roped and branded some of the wild cattle from the lava beds, and had pushed a few of them out on the range below Thousand Springs. There would be enough time later to brand more of them, but all he wanted now was for the brand to show up when the roundup started.

  Astride the Appaloosa, he headed for the W. The morning was warm and pleasant, and he rode into the shade under the giant cottonwoods feeling very fit and very pleased with his world. Several of the hands were working around the place, and Kerb Dahl was there, mending a saddle girth.

  Tom Venable was there, and his brow furrowed as he saw Canavan. He glanced quickly around, then walked to meet him. "Step down, won't you?

  Dixie has been telling me about you."

  "Thanks. I will. Is Dixie around?" This was more than a chance to see Dixie, although that was always welcome. What he wanted more than anything was to simply look the place over and try to develop some idea of what was happening there.

  "She's here," Venable said, then hesitated, making no move to tell him she had a visitor. "I say, Canavan, you're not coming with the idea of courting my sister, are you? You know she's spoken for."

  "That's the impression everybody seems determined to sell me, Tom. I heard it first from Star Levitt."

  "You mean he spoke to you about Dixie?"

  "He did that. And then Dixie told me she was to marry him."

  Tom Venable appeared to be relieved. That he had been worried was obvious. "Then you understand how things are. I wouldn't want any trouble over Dixie, and Star's very touchy."

  Bill Canavan turned directly around to face Venable. "Understand this, Tom. Dixie has told me and Star Levitt told me, and now you have.

  Frankly, the fact that she is
or seems to be engaged doesn't make a particle of difference. You don't need any long-winded explanations about how I feel or what my ideas are. When I am convinced she is in love with Levitt, I'll pull down my flag, but not until then.

  At the moment I don't believe she even likes the man."

  Oddly enough, Venable did not become angry, nor did he attempt to argue the point. Yet the fact that he was worried was obvious. "I was afraid of that," he admitted. "I should have guessed." He was silent for a moment, and then said, "Be careful, Canavan.

  Be very careful, and I don't mean this as a warning to you. I don't want Dixie hurt. I don't want trouble."

  "Now that you know where I stand," Canavan said bluntly, "are you going to get her for me, or must I go to the house for her?"

  "To the house for whom?" They turned to see Dixie walking toward them, smiling. "Hello, Bill.

  Who were you coming after? Whoever could make your voice sound like that?"

  "You," he said flatly, but smiling. "Nobody but you."

  Her smile vanished but there was warmth in her eyes. "That's nice. You say that as if you mean it"

  "I do."

  "Boss?" A tall, lean, red-headed cowhand had come up to them. "Who has the Gallow's Frame brand?"

  "Gallow's Frame? I never heard of it."

  "Some big steers up near Thousand Springs.

  Wilder than all get-out. Some bulls, too, and a scattering of young stuff, all wearing a Gallow's Frame with a ready noose hangin' from it. We just barely got a look at the brand, but couldn't get anywhere near "em."

  "That's something new. Have you heard anything about them, Dixie?"

  She shook her head, but there was an odd expression in her eyes. She glanced over at Canavan, whose expression was all innocence, combined with a slight twinkle that would have been a dead giveaway to anyone who knew him.

  "No, I haven't seen them. Old steers, you say? Oh, by the way, Bill, you should meet Mabry, here. Bill Canavan is new to this country, Mabry, but I imagine he's interested in brands."

  "Heard some talk about you," Mabry said, holding out his hand. "Seems you had a run-in with Syd Berdue."

  Canavan noticed that Dahl's fingers had almost ceased to work on the girth, but his eyes did not lift, nor did he seem to be listening.

  Mabry walked away with Tom Venable, and Dixie turned back to Canavan. "I thought you might be interested in meeting Mabry. He's a very good hand. He's also said to be a good friend to that cowhand they have been looking for in town ... Roily Burt."

  Canavan offered no comment. There seemed to be nothing this girl did not know. She would be a good friend, but a dangerous enemy, for she was as intelligent as she was beautiful, and she seemed to miss nothing that went on. Was that just a casual comment about Burt? Or did she know something? Could Kinney have told her?

  Of course, he recalled. Kinney had said she had suggested him, and now she was guessing. Nevertheless, it was good to know a man who was Burt's friend.

  He might need all the friends he could get before this was over.

  Dahl's ears were obviously tuned to catch every word, so Canavan took her arm. "Shall we walk over and sit down?" He walked with her to a seat around one of the giant cottonwoods, but safely out of hearing.

  "Dixie, I told your brother I did not intend to pay any attention to your engagement until I became sure you were in love with Levitt. Are you in love with him?"

  She looked away from him, her face somewhat pale, lips pressed tight. She looked up at him. "Why else would a girl become engaged to a man?"

  "I haven't an idea, yet there might be reasons."

  He glanced over at Dahl. "Until you tell me you love him, and look me in the eye when you say it, I'll play my hand the best way I can. I want you like I never wanted anything else in this world, and I mean to have you if you could find it in your heart to care for me. I'll not be asking you now. When I rode into this Valley, I knew there would be trouble, and I thought I knew all the angles. I had studied the layout and I knew what I was getting into. Well, I discovered there's more going on here than I had any idea, and along with it, I found you. That I hadn't figured on, and it kind of throws a strange iron into the branding.

  "Maybe you don't know all that's happening here. I suspect you don't, but I do think you know more than most anybody else. What I said when you heard me talkin" to Rio is true. I am here alone, riding for my own brand and for no other, and you've guessed right. For that Gallow's Frame brand is mine, and the noose is for anybody who wants to hang on it.

  "Reynolds and Pogue are a couple of range pirates.

  They pushed out smaller, weaker men to get what they want, and now they're pushing at each other.

  Well, if they keep on they'll know they've been in a fight. I'm in this to stay, and I'm holding better cards than any of them know."

  She had listened intently, her eyes looking off across the country. "You can't do anything alone, Billl You must have help." She put a hand on his arm.

  "Bill, is Roily safe? I am not asking you where he is, just if he is safe. He did me a good turn once and he is an honest man."

  "He's safe, and for your information, he's working for me now. He won't be doing much for another eight or ten days, and by that time it may all be over.

  How about this Mabry? Can he be relied on?"

  "If he will work for you, he will die for you and kill for you if it is the right kind of fight. He's Burt's best friend."

  "Then if I can talk to him, you'll lose a good cowhand." He looked down at her. "Dixie, what's going on here? Who is Star Levitt? Who are Kerb Dahl and Voyle? I know there's a connection."

  She got up quickly. "I cannot discuss that. Mr.

  Levitt is to be my husband."

  His eyes went hard. "Not Levitt! Not for you!

  Anybody but him! And if you won't tell me, I'll find out anyhow."

  He turned abruptly away and found himself facing, across the yard, Kerb Dahl and another man he had seen in town at the restaurant.

  In that instant, he became aware of many things.

  Tom Venable stood in the door, his face pale, eyes very bright. Kerb Dahl was on Canavan's right, holding his arms half-bent, hands swinging near his gun butts. Behind him, Canavan could see the big old tree with a rusty horseshoe nailed to its trunk.

  Two saddled horses stood near the corral, and the sunlight through the leaves dappled the earth with light and shadow.

  Behind him there was a low moan of fear from Dixie, but Canavan did not move. He just waited, watching the two men coming toward him. It could be here. It could be now. This could be the moment.

  Dahl spoke first, the shorter man moving a little apart from him. Canavan remembered the girl behind him and knew he dared not fight, yet some sixth sense warned him there would be another man, a third man hidden somewhere with a rifle. The difference.

  "You're Bill Canavan," Dahl said. "You know me.

  I'm Dahl. This is the first time you've come to the W, and we figure it will be the last. We don't want any trouble-makers around."

  Canavan weighed his words with care. If he said the wrong thing, this could be a shooting match. He did not like Dahl and was sure the other man was a hired fighter, and ordinarily he would not have hesitated.

  Now, with Dixie somewhere behind him, he dared not take the chance.

  "Then keep your artillery handy," he said cooly, "because I'll be back."

  "You've been told," Dahl repeated.

  Canavan studied them with cool contempt. He knew they had expected a fight. They had expected him to be as ready for battle as he'd been against Berdue, and they planned to kill him. Yet he sensed some relief in them, too, for despite the hidden rifleman these men were worried about their hides. He was out of sight; they were on the firing line.

  Mabry stood nearby as Canavan swung into the saddle. Canavan spoke softly, so that only Mabry could hear. "I've a job for you if you can get to town in the next twelve hours. Meet me at the restaurant."


  He swung the Appaloosa around and added, "You might run into a friend of yours."

  Mabry made no reply, and Canavan rode away knowing he was no closer to a solution of the situation at the W than before. Mabry had simply stood there as if he, too, were warning Canavan away.

  Canavan scowled in thought as he rode up the trail. There was an odd situation here, and he had believed he knew all that was going on in the Valley country. Actually, all he had known was the obvious, and there were many undercurrents here. On the one hand was Walt Pogue with Bob Streeter and Rep Hanson, two notorious paid gunmen. On the other side was Reynolds, with Emmett Chubb and Syd Berdue.

  As for the W, the Venables, who owned the ranch, seemed completely dominated by Star Levitt and their own cowhands. Levitt, it seemed, had a strong claim of some kind on Dixie herself, and what could be behind that? Whatever it was, it could make all the difference to him, not only for his plans for the Valley, but because of his love for Dixie.

  Somewhere inside this patchwork of conflicting interests there lay another pattern, the pattern of that odd group he had seen meeting at Thousand Springs. At least one man from each ranch had been present. Dahl of the W, Voyle of the Box n, Tolman of the Three Diamonds, and of course, Berdue from the CR.

  Why that meeting? Voyle, from his actions, had not wished Pogue to know of it, and apparently Reynolds knew nothing. Who was behind it? What was behind it?

  Whatever it was, it could make all the difference, for here was a situation within a situation, and just perhaps it was someone with the same idea he had, with a slight difference.

  They might be thinking that when thieves fall out, some other thieves might get their due.

  They'd get something, Canavan promised himself.

  They would get what was coming to them ... if he lived.

  Chapter X

  Quiet reigned at the Bit and Bridle when Bill Canavan rode into town in the late afternoon.

  He left his horse at the hitching rail and strolled through the half-open doors to the cool interior.

  Only Pat the bartender was present. The room was dim and silent. Pat was idly polishing glasses when Canavan entered, but he glanced up and put a bottle and a glass in front of him. He had never cared much for whiskey, but it cut the dust from his throat and gave him a chance to stand quietly and think.