the High Graders (1965)

by L'amour, Louis

  The Bon-Ton Restaurant, just down th e street, was still Open. Mike crossed over an d went down the walk. Opening the door of th e restaurant, he stepped inside.

  The coal-oil lamps with reflectors behind the m filled the room with light. There were severa l unoccupied small tables, and two long table s covered with white cloths, for family-styl e meals. A sideboard covered with glasses an d stacks of plates stood against the wall; on it s right a door opened to the kitchen.

  Three men, apparently miners off shift, sa t together at the end of the nearest table. At the far en d of the other table sat two men, one in the roug h clothes of the frontier, the other in a well-tailored dark gray suit.

  Shevlin dropped to a seat on the bench at th e nearest table, admiring the smooth expanse o f white linen. The last time he had eaten i n this restaurant the tables were covered with oilcloth.

  The waitress brought him coffee, and over i t he began to consider the situation. He must tal k to Mason. He felt a curious reluctanc e to meet Gentry ... after all, the man had bee n his comrade, they had worked and fought side by side.

  Now he thought that Gentry might become his enemy , and he did not want that.

  But Gentry must be protecting somebody. I f he had not killed Eli himself--and Brazos' e vidence implied he had not--he knew who ha d killed him.

  But why should Gentry go out on a lim b to protect someone else? Who was that importan t to him? It was unlike Gentry to take credit fo r another man's killing ... especially the killin g of Eli Patterson.

  As Mike Shevlin drank his coffee, h e looked at the two men at the other table. The ma n in the tailored suit looked familiar, bu t Mike's attention was diverted by one of the miners a t his own table. He was a stocky, red-headed man , who had been staring hard at Mike, tryin g to attract his eyes.

  "You've come to the wrong town," the miner sai d suddenly; "we ran all the cattlemen out of her e long ago."

  Mike Shevlin smiled pleasantly. "I'm double-action--cattle or mines. I can swing a single-jack or double-jack as good as the nex t man."

  "Where'd you ever work in the mines?"

  "All over the country. Silverton , Colorado ... down in the Cerbat Range i n Arizona ... over at Pioche and Frisco."

  "They're full up here. Nobody hirin'."

  "Doesn't look like I'll find a job , then, does it?" The redhead was trouble-hunting. Th e type and the pattern were familiar. There was one in ever y town, always trying to prove how tough he was ... s ometimes there was more than one. And they were rarely th e really hard cases. They had nothing to prove.

  Deliberately, Mike kept his tone mild.

  He understood the pattern and accepted it, but i f Red wanted to push trouble he must do it on his own.

  He would get no trouble from Shevlin. There wa s trouble enough without that.

  At the other table the man in frontier clothe s looked around. "If you're a miner, I can us e you," he said. "I'm Burt Parry--I've got a claim in Cottonwoo d Canyon. If you're serious about a job, mee t me at six-thirty for breakfast here, and we'l l ride out."

  Parry got up from the table. "I'll have thos e figures for you, Mr. Merriam," he said to th e man in the gray suit. "I'll have them tomorrow or th e day after."

  He paused by Shevlin's table. "Tomorrow morning , six-thirty ... right?"

  "I'll see you," Shevlin said. "I'll b e here."

  The waitress placed a dish of food befor e him, and he picked up his knife and fork.

  Merriam, the man had said. That would be Clag g Merriam. Mike had seen him only once o r twice in the old days, for Merriam was often out o f town. He was a bigger man than Mik e remembered, with a strong face and a smile on hi s lips that did not reach to his eyes.

  The redhead moved down the table opposit e Shevlin. "You didn't tell him your name," h e said.

  "He didn't ask," Shevlin replie d mildly.

  "Well, I'm asking."

  "None of your damn' business." Shevli n spoke in such a gentle voice that it was a momen t before the meaning got to the redhead.

  When he realized what had been said, Re d smiled. He wiped his palms on the front of hi s shirt. Then he stood up very slowly, still smiling , and reached across the table to grasp the front o f Shevlin's shirt.

  Shevlin dropped his knife and fork, and his lef t hand grasped Red's wrist, jerking him forward.

  There was an empty dish on the table that had hel d mutton. With his right hand Shevlin pushed the miner's face down into the dish and, gripping Red's lef t hand, he coolly wiped his face around in the col d mutton grease.

  Abruptly, Shevlin let go and Red cam e up, half over the table and spluttering with fury.

  Shevlin jerked the butt of his palm up under th e man's chin and sent him toppling back over th e bench to the floor beyond. During the entire action h e had scarcely risen from his seat.

  For a second, Red lay stunned, then with a n oath he started to rise. A voice stopped him.

  "Cut it out, Red! This time you'v e swung too wide a loop. This gent would clobbe r you good!"

  Shevlin looked around. There he was--older , of course, and heavier. Yes, and better dresse d than Shevlin ever remembered him. His face wa s puffy, and he looked like a man who was living to o well--something nobody could have said of the ol d Gentry.

  "Hello, Gib," Mike said. "It's bee n a while."

  Gentry thrust out a big hand. "Mike!

  Mike Shevlin!" There was no mistaking th e pleasure in Gentry's voice. "Man, am I g lad to see you!"

  Shevlin took the hand. It was all wrong, h e thought. Whatever else Gentry might do, he woul d not kill a man like Eli. A tough man , Gentry was, even a cruel one at times, but a man who fought with fighting men.

  Shevlin was aware of the room's attention.

  Clagg Merriam was watching them, his fac e unreadable. Red was slowly wiping the grease from hi s face.

  "Come down the street, Mike," Gentry wa s saying, "and I'll buy you a drink for old time's sake."

  Reluctantly, Shevlin got up from the table.

  The last thing he wanted was a drink. What h e wanted was food and coffee, gallons of coffee.

  "The town's changed," Shevlin sai d tentatively as they emerged on the street. "I d on't see many of the old faces."

  "Gone ... gone with the cattle business."

  Shevlin waited until they had taken a fe w strides, and then he asked, "What happene d to Ray Hollister?"

  Gentry's smile vanished. "Ray? Go t too big for his boots, Ray did. He lef t the country ... and just in time."

  "He always did try to take big steps."

  "Say!" There was obvious relief i n Gentry's tone. "I'd forgotten about the time yo u two tangled out at Rock Springs. You neve r did get along with him."

  The thought seemed to please him. Gentry reste d a big hand on Shevlin's shoulder as they reached th e door of the Gold Miner's Daughter. Mik e restrained his distaste. He had never liked to b e touched, and had not cared for Gentry's back-slapping good humor.

  To get to the point, he asked, "Are yo u ranching, Gib?"

  "Me?" Gentry opened the door, and went o n speaking as they entered. "The cattle business i s a thing of the past in this country. No, I'm in th e freighting business. Hauling for the mines-s upplies in, gold out, working twenty to thirt y rigs all the time."

  Mike saw no familiar faces in th e saloon. Gentry lifted a hand and the bartende r tossed him a bottle, which Gib caugh t deftly. Then the bartender tossed two sho t glasses, which Gentry caught just as easily with th e other hand. He had always been fast with his hands for a big man ... and fast with a gun.

  Gentry was in a genial, talkative mood , and Shevlin was willing to listen. A cowhand , Gentry told him, had struck gold on the ol d Rafter H while sinking a post hole. Withou t saying a word to anyone he had gone off to Sa n Francisco and obtained financial backing, the n returned and bought the Rafter H headquarter s area.

  Polluted water from the mill flowed into th e creek, spelling ruin for the Rafter H a
nd the othe r cattle outfits. They fought, and among th e casualties was the cowhand who had discovered th e gold.

  "Mighty convenient, I figure," Gentr y commented, refilling his glass, "but it didn't d o anybody any good. Turned out he had sold hi s entire interest to that Frisco outfit. There wa s trouble a-plenty with Turkeytrack and Rafter , but nothing we couldn't manage."

  "We?"

  Gentry winked. "Now, Mike, you know ol'

  Gib. I never let any grass grow under m y feet, you know that, an' there's more money in gol d than in cattle. The trouble started when I hire d on as guard at the Sun Strike."

  "Trouble?"

  "Shooting trouble, Mike. Ben Stowe was bos s of the guards, an' you know Ben. He knew wher e to pick up a few salty boys down in th e Panhandle country, and after we'd buried two o r three of the local boys that was the end of it."

  Trust Ben Stowe to know who had to be killed.

  The backbone of any cow outfit lies in tw o or three fighting men whom the rest follow. Pu t them out of the picture, and the rest would b e likely to lose heart. Mike Shevlin had see n it managed that way more than once, and had seen i t tried at other times.

  "Gib, who is the law around here?"

  "You on the dodge?"

  "Who is he?"

  "Aw, you've nothing to worry about. You know ho w it is with the law in these western towns. The law i s always local law, so busy skinning its own cat s it hasn't time to worry about anybody wh o doesn't make trouble. You could shoot half a dozen men in Denver or Cheyenne, and nobod y would bother you anywhere else as long as you stayed ou t of trouble. ... But the law here is Wilso n Hoyt."

  Wilson Hoyt, of all people! He was a burly bear of a man, broad and thick an d muscular, but fast enough to have killed a man who ha d the drop on him. He was credited with seventee n killings, all on the side of the law. Of all th e men who might be in this town, the one most likel y to know about Mike Shevlin was Hoyt.

  Hollister, Gentry, and Mason only kne w the boy who had ridden away, and ten years and more ca n deepen and widen a man, they can salt him down wit h toughness and wisdom. And Mike had been gon e thirteen years. Of them all, Hoyt would understan d him more than the others, and Hoyt had seen hi m looking at Eli's grave and would know why he ha d come back.

  Gentry rambled on, taking a third drin k while Mike was nursing his first. He talked abou t the good old days, and it came over Mike tha t Gentry still thought of him as a friend.

  "You got to hand it to Ray," Gentry sai d confidentially. "He always wanted to be a bi g man, and when gold was discovered he grabbed at th e chance.

  "He never came out in the open with it, and th e cattle crowd never knew he'd thrown in with th e other side. When trouble started--and I alway s figured his loud mouth caused it--Ray got i n touch with the Frisco people and offered to handl e negotiations with the ranchers. He and that shyste r Evans called themselves a law firm, but you kno w Ben. When Hollister brought Ben into x he pu t a rope on trouble.

  "When a few of the miners started high-grading a little here and there, Ben argued Ray into looking th e other way. But Ben, he said nothin g to Ray about the setup he arranged for buying up th e gold to keep it out of circulation."

  "Where did Ben get that kind of money?"

  Gentry gave Mike another wink. "Now, tha t there is Ben's own secret, but don't yo u low-rate Ben. Buying up the high-grade kep t the news from getting out that Sun Strike was big.

  They reported low averages from the mine, an d nobody knew any different."

  By this time Gentry was working on his fourth drink.

  "Smart--that was smart thinking," Mik e remarked.

  "You're not just a-woofing," Gentry said.

  Trust Eli not to go along with that, or Jac k Moorman for that matter, for Jack had mone y invested in town business, and he owne d Turkeytrack as well. So they had bee n killed.

  Had Ben Stowe realized that Eli Patterso n was connected with the San Francisco owners?

  Shevlin's guess was they had not known. Shevli n had known Eli better than any of them had, an d he had never heard him make any referenc e to relatives or friends in San Francisc o ... or anywhere else, for that matter. Eli ha d come west from Illinois, and when he talked it wa s about life back there.

  Mike was scarcely listening to Gentry now, an d Gib had gone back to talking of the old days , reliving the rough, tough old days of branding , roundups, and cattle drives.

  "Remember the time a rattler scared tha t line-back dun of yours? He went right over th e rim an' I'll be damned if you didn't sta y with him all the way to the river! If anybody ha d told me a man could ride a horse down tha t slope I'd have said he was loco."

  Gentry was drunk ... it was possible tha t by morning he would have no memory of what he ha d told Shevlin, and Mike was sure that only th e liquor--he had already had a few when they met---h ad made him talk as freely as he had. That---a nd something else Mike suddenly realized: Gi b Gentry was lonesome.

  There was one other fact to consider. Gentry was i n the freighting business, and when gold was moved h e would do the moving, and there would be nobody to as k questions.

  If Ben Stowe had done the planning for thi s operation he had planned very shrewdl y indeed. All the loose ends were nicely tucke d in, and everything was under control--everything but Gi b Gentry's tongue when he'd had a few drinks.

  Did they know that?

  "What's Burt Parry like?" Mike asked.

  "Aw, he's all right. He's got him a two-by-four claim over in the canyon. There's nothing over there, but he sure ain't willin g to believe it."

  Shevlin pushed back his chair and got up.

  "I'd better get some sleep." For a moment h e rested a hand on Gentry's shoulder. "Good to se e you, boy. You watch your step now."

  "See you." Gentry seemed about to say somethin g more, but he only added, "So long, kid."

  At six o'clock the next morning the ma n operating Eli's old store was out sweeping th e boardwalk. Mike Shevlin strolled inside and th e man followed. Shevlin bought what digging clothe s he would need, some candies, and a caplamp, and the n said, "And four boxes of .44's."

  The storekeeper glanced up. "You expectin g trouble?"

  "Man of peace, myself. Figured I'd be of f up that canyon workin' for Burt Parry and I'd have me some target practice. I never could hi t the broad side of a barn."

  Burt Parry was waiting in front of th e Nevada House when Shevlin returned with hi s packages. "Lady waiting for you," he said , "in the dining room. I heard her asking for you."

  He went inside and passed under the arch into th e dining room. It was Eve, and she was alone.

  "You wanted to see me?"

  "I want to offer you a job. At the Thre e Sevens."

  "I heard the cow business was in a bad wa y around here."

  Lowering her voice, she said, "Mr. Shevlin , we need men like you, and whatever else you are, you'r e cattle."

  He felt irritation mounting within him. "Al l right, you tell me. What kind of a man am I?"

  "You've used a gun, and we need guns."

  He felt a vast impatience. "Lady, wit h all due respect, you're talking nonsense."

  He jerked his head to indicate the Sun Strik e and the steady pound of its compressor. "Do you thin k guns will stop that? As long as there's or e in the ground, they'll be there."

  "That's not true. If Ray Hollister ha d been leading us, he would have run Ben Stowe out of th e country!"

  Shevlin looked at her ironically. "Yo u really believe that? As a fighting man, Ra y Hollister couldn't come up to Ben Stowe's boot-tops."

  Her anger flared. "If you believe that, there's no job for you at Three Sevens!"

  "Sorry ... but I already have a job. As a miner."

  Abruptly, she got to her feet. "Jes s Winkler said you were one of them, but I just couldn't believe it. You're just a thief, a commo n thief!"

  She walked out, heels clicking, and h e followed to join Burt Parry outside.
/>   "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said.

  Parry glanced at him. "The lady was in a hurry," he commented.

  "When I told her I had a mining job, sh e called me a thief."

  "If you worked for anybody but me," Parry sai d wryly, "that might be true." He looke d straight at Shevlin. "What would you say if I t old you some of the ore from the Sun Strik e assayed as high as twenty thousand dollars a ton?"

  "I'd tell you there was a gent down in Chil e found a nugget that weighed four hundred pounds.

  What I mean is, it could happen once."

  "My friend," Parry said seriously, "some of th e richest ore I've ever seen came out of that mine , and not just a little bit."

  High-grade ... every miner knew what tha t meant. Ore so rich a man could carry a month's wages out in his pockets, and tw o months' wages in a canteen or a lunchbox.

  He had known of mines where the foreman was pai d by miners for the privilege of working. Change room s could only curb high-grading; they couldn't sto p it.

  "And nobody talks?" Shevlin asked.

  "They're all in it. I'm not, but I don't have much to say, and I don't try to leave town.

  Sometimes I wonder if I could leave. Mayb e I'm alive only because I haven't tried."

  "You're taking a chance even telling me. Ho w do you know I'm not their spy?"

  "You couldn't be. You're in trouble, Shevlin."

  "I am?"

  "Don't expect reason from any of them , Mike. They're in too deep, and all of the m are running scared. I was advised not to hire you."

  "Why me?"

  "There was a man named Hollister--and there's th e fact that you arrived just at this time. They are deathl y afraid of Hollister, Mike, and if the y locate him, he's a dead man."

  "You know a lot."

  "I wish I knew less. I have a friend o r two, and they tell me things." Parry looked a t Mike's gun. "Are you any good with that?"

  "I get along."

  Parry started toward the livery stable and Mik e walked along with him. He could feel eyes o n them, eyes watching them down the street. Suddenl y he realized that he could have done nothing worse tha n go to work for Burt Parry, the one man who was a n outsider.

  No matter. He was in up to his ears , anyway, and he had a hunch that if he got ou t he would get out shooting. For the first time in year s he was suddenly conscious of the gun at his hip.