Otten knew other stories, too. More than once he had heard Gid Blake’s story of the trail cutters. He shook himself irritably, and swore aloud, then said, “Why, the man doesn’t have a chance!” But the words rang hollow in his ears and he stared gloomily after them. Suppose the man did win? The answer to that was in Blaine’s words: he never bluffed. He would do what he promised.
But that was absurd. Utah Blaine wouldn’t last the week out. A few minutes later when Nevers and his hard-riding crew raced in, he became even more confident. It was not until he lay in bed that night that he remembered Blaine’s face. He remembered those level green eyes and something turned over in him and left him cold and afraid.
*
NOW THE CHASE began. To the three riders it became grim and desperate. After nightfall they came down to the Rice cabin and after looking through the windows, tapped gently on the door.
“Who is it?” Rice demanded.
“Blaine. After my horse and a couple of others.”
The door opened and Rice stepped out. He glanced sharply at Coker, then over at Timm. “All right. Better ride your horses back up the canyon. There’s an old corral there where they won’t be seen. I’ll come along.”
At the brush corral, he watched them strip the saddles from their tired horses and saddle up afresh. Utah got his kak on the lineback and the stallion nudged him happily with its nose. “You haven’t seen us,” he explained to Rice.
Rice chuckled wryly. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You boys watch your step.”
He backed up, holding the gate open for them. As they passed he looked up at Timm. “I s’pose you know you’re ridin’ with a couple of wolves?”
Timm chuckled. “Sure do,” he said cheerfully, “an’ you know, Rice, I feel fifteen years younger! Anyway,” he added, “I like the company of wolves better than coyotes.”
Four days later, worn and hollow-eyed, they rested in Calfpen Canyon. Hunkered over a fire they watched the coffee water come to a boil. Then Timm dumped in the grounds. There was a bloody bandage on Coker’s head and all of them were honed down and fine with hunger and hard riding. The horses showed it even more than the men.
“Ridin’ with the wolves is rough, Timm,” Blaine said.
The older man looked up. The grizzled beard on his jaws made him seem even older than he was. “I like it, Utah.” His voice was low. “Only one thing I want. I want to fight back.”
“That,” Blaine said quietly, “starts the day after tomorrow. We’re goin’ to swing wide to the east an’, take our time, let our horses rest up from the hard goin’ and swing away around to the Big N.”
Rip Coker looked up. His hatchet face was even thinner now, his tight, hard mouth like a gash.
“We’re goin’ to hit back,” Utah said, “an’ hard. We’re goin’ to show ’em what war means!”
“Now you’re talkin’!” Rip’s voice was harsh with emotion. “I’m fed up with runnin’!”
“They haven’t seen us for a day now,” Utah said, “and they’ll not see us again for a couple more. We’ll let ’em relax while we rest up.”
*
NEVERS WAS DEAD tired. He stripped off his clothes and crawled gratefully into the blankets. In the adjoining room he heard the hands slowly turning in. There was little talk among them tonight, and he stared gloomily at his boots. The chase, which had started off with excitement, was growing dull for them, and when not dull, dangerous.
On the second day they had caught up with Blaine and his two companions and in the gun battle that followed two of the Big N riders had been wounded, one of them seriously. One of the Blaine group had gone down—Coker, somebody had said. But they had escaped and carried the wounded man with them.
Twice the following day Nevers and his men lost the trail, and then, at daybreak of the next day, it vanished completely. After several hours of futile search they had given up and wearily rode back to the Big N.
Nevers stretched out and drew the blankets over him. There was still the matter of Fox. The Table Mountain rancher had moved into the house on the 46 and had a rider on the B-Bar. The Big N also had a rider there, and it was believed Ben Otten was to send a man to establish his claim also.
Nevers awakened with a start. How long he had been asleep he did not know, but some sound outside the house had awakened him. Rising to an elbow, he listened intently. He heard the snort of a horse, the crack of a rope on a flank, and then the thunder of hoofs. Somebody was after the horses!
He swung his feet to the floor and grabbed for his boots. In the adjoining room a match flared and a light was lit. Then a shot smashed the lamp chimney to bits and he heard the crack of the shot mingling with the tinkle of falling glass.
With a grunt of fury, Nevers sprang for his rifle, but a bullet smashed the window frame and thudded into the wall within inches of his rifle stock. Other bullets shattered other windows. A shot struck the pot-bellied stove in the next room and ricocheted about, and somebody yelled with sudden pain. Outside there was a wild yell, and more shots. Nevers grabbed his rifle and got to the window. A shot scattered wood fragments in his eyes and he dropped his rifle and clawed at his face, swearing bitterly.
More shots sounded, and then there was a sudden glare of light from outside. Through his tear-filled eyes, Nevers blinked at the glare. His carefully gathered hay stack was going up in flames!
With a roar, he grabbed up his rifle and rushed from the house. Somewhere he heard a yell. “You wanted war, Nevers! How do you like it?” A shot spat dirt over his bare feet, and more glass sprinkled behind him.
Impotent with fury, he fired off into the dark and then rushed toward the barn. The others joined him and for more than an hour they fought desperately to save the barn. The hay was a total loss: ten tons of it gone up in smoke!
Wearily, sodden with fatigue, they trooped back to the house where coffee was being made. “I’ll kill him!” Nevers blared. “I’ll see him hung!”
Nobody said anything. They sat down, sagging with exhaustion. After the hard ride of the past few days the fight against the fire had done them in, all of them. And they still had to round up their horses.
Only one man had been hurt. Flying glass had cut his face, producing a very slight, but painful cut.
The man wounded in the gunfight during the chase raised up in bed. “That Blaine,” he called out, “ain’t no bargain!”
“Shut up!” Nevers turned on him. “Shut your mouth!”
All was quiet in the house. Finally, Rocky White got up and stretched. “I reckon,” he said slowly, “I’ll go to sleep outside.” He walked out. Then slowly a couple of the hands got up and followed him.
Nevers stared after them, his face sour. Viciously, he swore. That damned Blaine!
The other hands drifted one by one back to sleep, and then the light winked out. The sky was already gray in the east. Nevers slumped on the bed, staring at the gray rectangle of the window. The bitterness within him was turning to a deep and vindictive hatred of Blaine. Heretofore the gunfighter had merely represented an obstacle to be overcome. Now he represented something more.
There was only one answer. He would get Rink Witter to round up a few paid killers and he would start them out, professional man-hunters. Fox would chip in, maybe Otten, too. They could pay five or six men a good price to hunt Blaine, and get up a bounty on his scalp.
Wearily he got to his feet and walked outside. He saddled up and swung into the saddle. One of the hands stuck his head out of the barn. Nevers shouted back, “I’ll be back tomorrow! Ridin’ to Red Creek!”
*
MARY BLAKE HAD arrived in Red Creek only a short time before the night attack on the Big N. Restive, unable to await results in the Mormon community, she had boarded the stage for Red Creek with Maria. The next morning the first person she met was Ralston Forbes.
“Hello!” He looked at her with surprise. “I heard you left the country.”
“I’ve not gone and I’ve no intention of going. Have
you seen Utah?”
“No, but I’ve heard plenty. Nevers has been hot on his trail. They had a scrap the other night with honors about even by all accounts. What are you planning to do?”
She smiled at him. “Have breakfast and not tell any plans to a newspaperman.”
“Come on, then! We’ll have breakfast together.” They walked across the street to the cafe just in time to meet Otten at the door. He stared at her gloomily, then looked at Forbes.
“Any news?” he asked.
“Not a word.”
They opened the door and stepped into the cafe and stopped abruptly. Blaine, Timm and Rip Coker were seated at the table eating. All were unshaven, dirty and obviously close to exhaustion. Utah looked up, his eyes going from one to the other. They hesitated on Mary, then went on to Otten. He said nothing at all.
“You’re taking a chance,” Forbes suggested.
“We’re used to it,” Blaine replied. “Has Ortmann been around?”
“No. He isn’t showing his face since you whipped him. What do you want with him?”
“Suppose I’d tell you with one of the enemy in camp?” Blaine asked.
Otten flushed and started to speak, but Rip Coker interrupted him. “Straddlin’ a rail can give a man a mighty sore crotch, Ben.”
The banker looked from one to the other, his face sour. “Can’t a man even eat his breakfast in peace?” he complained.
Utah looked at Mary. “You came back. Why?”
“I couldn’t—just couldn’t let you do it alone. I wanted to help.”
Nobody said anything for several minutes. Utah ate tiredly, and the girl came in and filled his coffee cup. The hot black coffee tasted good, very good.
Rip’s bandage was fresh. They had awakened the doctor for that, and he had bandaged the scalp wound after making some ironic comments about hard heads.
“Anything for publication?” Forbes asked, finally.
Blaine looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. “Why, sure,” he grinned suddenly, “say that Utah Blaine, manager of the 46 Connected, is vacationing in the hills for a few days but expects to be back at Headquarters soon. You might add that he expects to return to attend the funerals of several of the leading citizens of the valley—and he hopes their respected banker, Ben Otten, will not be one of them.”
Otten looked up, his face flushing. Before he could open his mouth, however, there was a clatter of horse’s hoofs and then boots struck the boardwalk and the door burst open.
In the open door, her face flushed from riding in the wind, her dark eyes bright with excitement, was Angie Kinyon!
“Utah! You’ve got to ride!” She was breathless with hurry. “Lee Fox struck your trail and he’s coming right on with a pack of men. Nevers joined him outside of town! Hurry, please!”
Blaine got to his feet, hitching his gun belts. He looked across the table at Angie and his eyes softened. “Thanks,” he said. “Thanks very much!”
Mary Blake looked startled. Her eyes went quickly from one to the other. Ralston Forbes was watching her and he was smiling.
Chapter 11
*
WHEN THEY WERE gone Mary Blake looked over at Angie. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Angie,” she said graciously, but with just the slightest edge to her voice. “You don’t often ride to town. Especially at this hour.”
Angie smiled gaily, but her mind was not in the room. It was out there on the trail with the galloping horses. Forbes could see it, and so could Mary. “No,” Angie said, “I don’t often come in, but when a friend is in danger, that changes everything.”
“I didn’t know you even knew Utah Blaine,” Mary said too casually.
“We only met once.”
“Once?” Mary was ironic. Her chin lifted slightly. Ralston Forbes grinned. He was seeing Mary Blake jealous for the first time and it amused him.
Angie was suddenly aware. She smiled beautifully. “Isn’t once enough?”
“I suppose it is,” Mary replied stiffly, “but if I were you, Angie, I’d be careful. You know how these drifting punchers are.”
“No.” Angie’s voice was deadly sweet. “You tell me. How are they, Mary?”
Mary Blake’s face went white and she started from her chair. “What do you mean by that?” she flared. “What are you trying to insinuate?”
Angie’s surprise was eloquent. “Why nothing! Nothing at all, Mary! Only you seemed so worried about me, and your advice sounded so—so experienced.”
Mary Blake turned abruptly to Forbes, but before she could speak there was a clatter of horses’ hoofs. A dozen riders swung to a halt before the door. It smashed open and Lee Fox stepped in. “Where are they? Where’s Blaine?”
Angie turned slowly and looked at him, her eyes cool. She said nothing at all. Mary shrugged and walked to the window and Lee’s face flamed with anger. He stepped into the room and strode toward Angie. “You!” he shouted, his face contorted. “You just rode in! I seen your horse out here, all lathered! You warned him!”
“And what if I did?” Her eyes blazed. “I should stay here and let an honest man be murdered by a pack of renegade land thieves?”
Lee Fox gasped. His anger rendered him speechless. “Thieves?” He all but screamed the word. “You call us thieves? What about that—that—”
“I call you thieves.” Angie said it quietly. “Lee Fox, neither you nor anyone else has one particle of claim to that land, nor to the B-Bar. Both ranches were used by far better men who got here first. You’ve been snarling like a pack of coyotes around a grizzly for years. Now the bear is dead and you rush in like the carrion hunting scavengers you are, to grab off the ranches they built! You have no vestige of claim on either place except your greed. If anyone has a just claim on the 46 it is Utah Blaine.”
“Utah?” Fox was wild, incredulous. “What claim would he have?”
“He was left in charge. That is claim enough. At least,” she shrugged, “it is more claim than you have.” Her tone changed. “Why don’t you be sensible, Lee? Go back to your ranch and be satisfied with what you have while there’s still a chance? You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Fox stepped toward her, his eyes glittering. “You—you—” His hand lifted.
“Fox!” Forbes barked the name, and Lee froze, shocked into realization. His eyes swung and stopped. Ralston Forbes held a six-shooter in his hand. “You make another move toward that girl and I’ll kill you!”
Fox lowered his hand slowly, controlling himself with an effort. “You keep out of this,” he said thickly.
“Fox, you’ve evidently forgotten how people think of Angie Kinyon in this country. If you struck her your own men would hang you. You’d not live an hour.”
“I wasn’t goin’ to hit her.” Fox controlled himself, pressing his lips together. “She ain’t got no right to talk that way.”
“When your common sense overcomes your greed, Fox, you’ll see that every word she said was truth. Furthermore,” Forbes said quietly, “I intend to print just that in my paper tomorrow!”
Fox’s eyes were ugly. “You do an’ I’ll smash that printin’ press an’ burn you out! You been carryin’ it high an’ mighty long enough. There’s a new system comin’ into bein’ around here. If you don’t think like we do, we’ll either change you or kill you!”
Forbes was tall. He looked taller now. “That’s your privilege to try, Fox. But I wouldn’t if I were you. There are some things this country won’t tolerate. Abuse of a good woman and interference with a free press are two of them.”
Fox stared at Mary Blake. He started to speak, then turned abruptly and strode from the room. Then there was a rattle of horses’ hoofs and they were gone.
“Thanks, Rals,” Angie said. “He would have hit me.”
Forbes nodded. “And I’d have killed him. And I’ve never killed a man, Angie.”
“At least,” Angie said, “Blaine will have more of a start. They’ll not catch him now.”
“No.”
Mary Blake turned from the window. “What about you, Rals? You’d better not try to fight them. You’re all alone here.”
“Alone?” Forbes shook his head. “No, I’m not alone. There’s a dozen men here in town who’ll stand by me: Ryan, the blacksmith, Jordan, the shoemaker, all of them.”
*
IT WAS ONLY an hour later that news reached Red Creek of the attack on the Big N. Ben Otten was in the cafe talking to Forbes when a Big N hand came in. They listened to Rocky White’s recital of what had happened. Ten tons of hay gone! Although worth twenty-five dollars a ton now, the hay would be priceless before the coming winter was gone.
And the ranch house had been shot up. More and more he was beginning to realize that once trouble was started anything could happen. He tried his coffee and stared glumly out the window.
Rocky White said nothing for a few minutes. Then he commented, “The Old Man’s fit to be tied. He’s sure cuttin’ capers over this shootin’. I wonder what he figured would happen when he braced Utah Blaine? Lucky the man isn’t an out an’ out killer. He’d have killed Nevers by now.”
“What’s Nevers goin’ to do?” Otten asked.
“He’s importin’ gunmen. He’s goin’ to hunt Blaine down an’ kill him. He’s sent Witter after some gunslingers. He’s goin’ to offer a flat thousand for Blaine’s scalp, five hundred for the other two. Five hundred each, that is.”
“That will blow the lid off. We’ll have a United States Marshal in here.”
The cowhand got up. “Yeah, an’ a good thing, too,” he said. “Well, so long.” He glanced around. “I’m draggin’ my freight. I want no part of it.”
*
THE LEAVE-TAKING OF Rocky White created a restlessness among the other hands. Two of Otten’s oldest cowhands suddenly pulled out without even talking to him, leaving wages behind. A man quit Fox the same way. In the meanwhile, however, men came in to replace them, five of them were gunfighters.
Novel 1954 - Utah Blaine (As Jim Mayo) (v5.0) Page 8