The Trail to Crazy Man

by Louis L'Amour

  “He’ll do it,” Curry said confidently, “you know he will. He always does what I tell him.”

  Doc chuckled. “He may, and again he may not. Mike Bastian has a mind of his own, and he’s doing some thinking. He may decide he doesn’t want to take over. What will you do then?”

  “Nobody has ever quit this gang. Nobody ever will!”

  “You’d order him killed?”

  Ben Curry hesitated. This was something he had never dreamed of, something … “He’ll do what he’s told,” he repeated, but he was no longer sure.

  A tiny voice of doubt was arising within him, a voice that made him remember the Mike Bastian who was a quiet, determined little boy who would not cry, a boy who listened and obeyed. Yet now Curry knew, and admitted it for the first time, that Mike Bastian always had a mind of his own.

  Never before had the thought occurred to him that Mike might disobey, that he might refuse. And if he did, what then? It was a rule of the outlaw pack that no man could leave it and live. It was a rule essential to their security. A few had tried, and their bodies now lay in Boot Hill. But Mike, his son? No, not Mike!

  Within him, there was a deeper knowledge, an awareness that here his interests and those of the pack would divide. Even if he said no, they would say yes.

  “Who would kill him, chief? Kerb Perrin? Rigger Molina? You?” Doc Sawyer shook his head slowly. “You might be able to do it, maybe one of the others, but I doubt it. You’ve created the man who may destroy you, chief, unless you join him.”

  Long after Doc Sawyer was gone, Ben Curry sat there staring out over the shadowed valley. He was getting old. For the first time he was beginning to doubt his rightness, beginning to wonder if he had not wronged Mike Bastian.

  And what of Mike and Dru, his beloved, gray-eyed daughter? The girl with dash and spirit? But why not? Slowly he thought over Mike Bastian’s life. Where was the boy wrong? Where was he unfitted for Dru? By the teachings given him by Curry’s own suggestion? His own order? Or was there yet time?

  Ben Curry heaved himself to his feet and began to pace the carpeted floor. He would have to decide. He would have to make up his mind, for a man’s life and future lay in his hands, to make or break.

  What if Dru wanted him anyway, outlaw or not? Ben Curry stopped and stared into the fireplace. If it had been Julie now, he might forbid it. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. Dru had too much of his own nature, and she had a mind of her own.

  * * * * *

  Mike Bastian was restless the day after the excitement in Weaver. He rolled out of his bunk and walked out on the terrace. Only he and Doc Sawyer slept in the stone house where Ben Curry lived. Roundy was down in town with the rest of them, but tonight Mike wanted to walk, to think.

  There had been a thrill of excitement in outtalking the sheriff, in facing down Fletcher, in flattening Corbus. And there had been more of it in facing Ducrow and Fernandez. Yet, was that what he wanted? Or did he want something more stable, more worthwhile? The something he might find with Drusilla Ragan?

  Already he had won a place with the gang. He knew the story would be all over the outlaw camp now.

  Walking slowly down the street of the settlement, he turned at right angles and drifted down a side road. He wanted to get away from things for a little while, to think things out. He turned again and stared back into the pines, and then he heard a voice coming from a nearby house. The words halted him.

  “… at Red Wall,” Mike heard the ending.

  Swiftly he glided to the house and flattened against the side. Kerb Perrin was speaking.

  “It’s a cinch, and we’ll do it on our own without anybody’s say-so. There’s about two thousand cattle in the herd, and I’ve got a buyer for them. We can hit the place just about sunup. Right now, they have only four hands on the place, but about the first of next month they will start hiring. It’s now or not at all.”

  “How many men will we take?” That was Ducrow speaking.

  “A dozen. That will keep the divvy large enough, and they can swing it. Hell, that Ragan Ranch is easy. The boss won’t hear about it until too late, and the chances are he will never guess it was us.”

  “I wouldn’t want him to,” Fernandez said.

  “To hell with him!” Ducrow was irritated. “I’d like a crack at that Bastian again.”

  “Stick with me,” Perrin said, “and I’ll set him up for you. Curry is about to turn things over to him. Well, we’ll beat him to it.”

  “You said there were girls?” Ducrow suggested.

  “There’s Curry’s two girls and a couple of Mexican girls who work there. One older woman. I want one of those girls myself … the youngest of the Ragan sisters. What happens to the others is none of my business.”

  Mike Bastian’s hand dropped to his gun, and his lips tightened. The tone of Perrin’s voice filled him with fury, and Ducrow was as bad as Perrin.

  “What happens if Curry does find out?” Ducrow demanded.

  “What would happen?” Perrin said fiercely. “I’ll kill him like I’ve wanted to all these years. I’ve hated that man like I never hated anyone in my life.”

  “What about that Bastian?” Ducrow demanded.

  Perrin laughed. “That’s your problem. If you and Fernandez can’t figure to handle him, then I don’t know you.”

  “He knocked out Corbus, too,” Ducrow said. “We might get him to throw in with us, if this crowd is all afraid of old Ben Curry.”

  “I ain’t so sure about him my own self,” said another voice, which Mike placed as belonging to an outlaw named Bayless. “He may not be so young any more, but he’s hell on wheels with a gun.”

  “Forget him!” Perrin snapped. Then: “You three, and Clatt, Panelli, Monson, Kiefer and a few others, will go with us. All good men. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction, anyway. Molina wants to raid the Mormons. They’ve a lot of rich stock, and there’s no reason why we can’t sell it south of the river and the other stock north of it. We can get rich.”

  V

  Mike Bastian waited no longer, but eased away from the wall. He was tempted to wait for Perrin and brace him when he came out. His first thought was to go to Ben Curry, but he might betray his interest in Drusilla, and the time was not yet ripe for that. What would her father say if he found the foster son he had raised to be an outlaw was in love with his daughter?

  It was foolish to think of it, yet he couldn’t help it. There was time between now and the Twentieth for him to get back to Red Wall and see her.

  A new thought occurred to him. Ben Curry would know the girls and their mother were there and would be going to see them. That would be his chance to learn of Ben’s secret pass to the riverbank and how he crossed the Colorado.

  Recalling other trips, Bastian knew the route must be a much quicker one than any he knew of, and was probably farther west and south, toward the cañon country. Already he was eager to see the girl again, and all he could think of was her trim figure, the laughter in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips.

  There were other things to be considered. If there was as much unrest in the gang as Perrin said, things might be nearing a definite break. Certainly outlaws were not the men to stand hitched for long, and Ben Curry had commanded them for longer than anyone would believe. Their loyalty was due partly to the returns from their ventures under his guidance, and partly to fear of his far-reaching power. But he was growing old, and there were those among them who feared he was losing his grip.

  Mike felt a sudden urge to saddle his horse and be gone, to get away from all this potential cruelty, the conniving and hatred that lay dormant here, or was seething and ready to explode. He could ride out now by the Kaibab trail through the forest, skirt the mountains, and find his own way through the cañon. It was a question whether he could escape, whether Ben Curry would let him go. To run now meant to abandon all hope of s
eeing Dru again, and Mike knew he could not do that.

  Returning to his quarters in the big stone house, he stopped in front of a mirror. With deadly, flashing speed, he began to practice quick draws of his guns. Each night he did this twenty times as swiftly as his darting hands could move.

  Finally he sat down on his bed thinking. Roundy first, and today Doc Sawyer. Each seemed to be hoping he would throw in the sponge and escape this outlaw life before it was too late. Doc said it was his life, but was it?

  There was a light tap on the door. Gun in hand, he reached for the latch. Roundy stepped in. He glanced at the gun.

  “Gettin’ scary, Mike?” he queried. “Things are happenin’!”

  “I know.”

  Mike went on to explain what he had overheard, and Roundy’s face turned serious. “Mike, did you ever hear of Dave Lenaker?”

  Bastian looked up. “You mean the Colorado gunman?”

  “That’s the one. He’s headed this way. Ben Curry just got word that Lenaker’s on his way to take over the Curry gang!”

  “I thought he was one of Curry’s ablest lieutenants?”

  Roundy shrugged. “He was, Mike, but the word has gone out that the old man is losing his grip, and outlaws are quick to sense a thing like that. Lenaker never had any use for Perrin, and he’s most likely afraid that Perrin will climb into the saddle. Dave Lenaker’s a holy terror, too.”

  “Does Dad Curry know?” Mike said.

  “Yeah. He’s some wrought up, too,” Roundy answered. “He was figurin’ on bein’ away for a few days, one of those trips he takes to Red Wall. Now he can’t go.”

  * * * * *

  Morning came cool and clear. Mike Bastian could feel disaster in the air, and he dressed hurriedly and headed for the bunkhouse. Few of the men were eating, and those few were silent. He knew they were all aware of impending change. He was finishing his coffee when Kerb Perrin came in.

  Instantly Mike was on guard. Perrin walked with a strut, and his eyes were bright and confident. He glanced at Bastian, faintly amused, and then sat down at the table and began to eat.

  Roundy came in, and then Doc Sawyer. Mike dallied over his coffee, and a few minutes later was rewarded by seeing Ducrow come in with Kiefer, followed in a few minutes by Rocky Clatt, Monson, and Panelli.

  Suddenly, with the cup half to his mouth, Mike recalled with a shock that this was the group Perrin planned to use on his raid on the Ragan Ranch. That could mean the raid would come off today!

  He looked up to see Roundy suddenly push back his chair and leave his breakfast unfinished. The old woodsman hurried outside and vanished.

  Mike put down his own cup and got up. Then he stopped, motionless. The hard muzzle of a gun was prodding him in the back, and a voice was saying: “Don’t move.”

  The voice was that of Fernandez, and Mike saw Perrin smiling.

  “Sorry to surprise you, Bastian,” Perrin said. “But with Lenaker on the road we had to move fast. By the time he gets here, I’ll be in the saddle. Some of the boys wanted to kill you, but I figured you’d be a good talkin’ point with the old man. He’d be a hard kernel to dig out of that stone shell of his without you. But with you for an argument, he’ll come out all right.”

  “Have you gone crazy, Perrin? You can’t get away with this.”

  “I am, though. You see, Rigger Molina left this morning with ten of his boys to work a little job they heard of. In fact, they are on their way to knock over the gold train.”

  “The gold train?” Bastian exclaimed. “Why, that was my job! He doesn’t even know the plan made for it. Or the information I got.”

  Perrin smiled triumphantly. “I traded with him. I told him to give me a free hand here, and he could have the gold train. I neglected to tell him about the twelve guards riding with it, or the number with shotguns. In fact, I told him only five guards would be along. I think that will take care of Rigger for me.” Perrin turned abruptly. “Take his guns and tie his hands behind his back, then shove him out into the street. I want the old man to see him.”

  “What about him?” Kiefer demanded, pointing a gun at Doc Sawyer.

  “Leave him alone. We may need a doctor, and he knows where his bread is buttered.”

  Confused and angry, Mike Bastian was shoved out into the warm morning sun, then jerked around to face up the cañon toward the stone house. Suddenly fierce triumph came over him. Perrin would have a time getting the old man out of that place. The sunlight was shining down the road from over the house, fully into their faces. The only approach to the house was up thirty steps of stone, overlooked by an upper window of the house. From that window and the doorway, the entire settlement could be commanded by an expert rifleman.

  Ben Curry had thought of everything. The front and back doors of every building in the settlement could be commanded easily from his stronghold.

  Perrin crouched behind a pile of sandbags hastily thrown up near the door of the store.

  “Come on down, Curry!” he shouted. “Give yourself up or we’ll kill Bastian!”

  There was no answer from up the hill. Mike felt cold and sick in his stomach. Wind touched his hair and blew a strand down over his face. He stared up at the stone house and could see no movement, hear no response.

  “Come on out!” Perrin roared again. “We know you’re there! Come out or we’ll kill your son!”

  Still no reply.

  “He don’t hear you,” Clatt said. “Maybe he’s still asleep. Let’s rush the place.”

  “You rush it,” Kiefer said. “Let me watch!”

  Despite his helplessness, Mike felt a sudden glow of satisfaction. Old Ben Curry was a wily fighter. He knew that once he showed himself or spoke, their threat would take force. It was useless to kill Bastian unless they knew Curry was watching them.

  Perrin had been so sure Curry would come out rather than sacrifice Mike, and now they were not even sure he was hearing them! Nor, Mike knew suddenly, was anybody sure Ben would come out even if they did warn him Mike would be killed.

  “Come on out!” Perrin roared. “Give yourself up and we’ll give you and Bastian each a horse and a half mile start! Otherwise, you both die! We’ve got dynamite!”

  Mike chuckled. Dynamite wasn’t going to do them much good. There was no way to get close to that stone house, backed up against the mountain as it was.

  “Perrin,” he said, “you’ve played the fool. Curry doesn’t care whether I live or die. He won’t come out of there, and there’s no way you can get at him. All he’s got to do is sit tight and wait until Dave Lenaker gets here. He will make a deal with Dave then, and where will you be?”

  “Shut up!” Perrin bellowed. But for the first time he seemed to be aware that his plan was not working. “He’ll come out, all right.”

  “Let’s open fire on the place,” Ducrow suggested. “Or rush it like Clatt suggested.”

  “Hell!” Kiefer was disgusted. “Let’s take what we can lay hands on and get out! There’s two thousand head of cattle down in those bottoms. Rigger’s gone and Lenaker ain’t here yet, so let’s take what we can an’ get out.”

  “Take pennies when there’s millions up there in that stone house?” Perrin demanded. His face swelled in anger and the veins stood out on his forehead. “That strong room has gold in it! Stacks of money! I know it’s there. With all that at hand, would you run off with a few cattle?”

  Kiefer was silent but unconvinced.

  Standing in the dusty street, Mike looked up at the stone house. All the loyalty and love he felt for the old man up there in that house came back with a rush. Whatever he was, good or bad, he owed to Ben Curry. Perhaps Curry had reared him for a life of crime, for outlawry, but to Ben Curry it was not a bad life. He lived like a feudal lord and had respect for no law he did not make himself.

  Wrong he might be, but he had given the man that
was Mike Bastian a start. Suddenly Mike knew that he could never have been an outlaw, that it was not in him to steal and rob and kill. But that did not mean he could be disloyal to the old man who had reared him and given him a home when he had none.

  He was suddenly, fiercely proud of the old man up there alone. Like a cornered grizzly, he would fight to the death. He, Mike Bastian, might die here in the street, but he hoped old Ben Curry would stay in his stone shell and defeat them all.

  Kerb Perrin was stumped. He had made his plan quickly when he’d heard Dave Lenaker was on his way here, for he knew that, if Lenaker arrived, it might well turn into a bloody four-cornered fight. But with Molina out of the way, he might take over from Ben Curry before Lenaker arrived, and kill Lenaker and the men he brought with him in an ambush.

  He had been sure that Ben Curry would reply, that he might give himself up or at least show himself, and Perrin had a sniper concealed to pick him off if he moved into the open. That he would get nothing but silence, he could not believe.

  Mike Bastian stood alone in the center of the street. There was simply nothing he could do. At any moment Perrin might decide to have him killed where he stood. With his hands tied behind him, he was helpless. Mike wondered what had happened to Roundy? The old mountain man had risen suddenly from the table and vanished. Could he be in league with Perrin?

  That was impossible. Roundy had always been Ben Curry’s friend and had never liked anything about Kerb Perrin.

  “All right,” Perrin said suddenly, “we’ll hold Bastian. He’s still a good argument. Some men will stay here, and the rest of us will make that raid on the Ragan outfit. I’ve an idea that when we come back, Curry will be ready to talk business.”

  VI

  Bastian was led back from the street and thrown into a room in the rear of the store. There his feet were tied and he was left in darkness.

  His mind was in a turmoil. If Perrin’s men hit the ranch now, they would take Drusilla and Juliana! He well knew how swiftly they would strike and how helpless any ordinary ranch would be against them. And here he was tied hand and foot, helpless to do anything!