Chapter 4
In his office above the bank, Ben Stow e tipped back in his big leather chair and stare d thoughtfully out the window toward the trees along th e creek. He had come far since the mornin g fourteen years ago when Jack Moorman fire d him off the Turkeytrack.
He had never forgotten that day. Old Jac k had been seated in his hide chair with a shotgu n across his knees when he told Ben Stowe he was a cow thief, and probably a murderer as well, an d also told him what would happen if he was ever foun d on Turkeytrack range again.
Ben Stowe, big, powerful, and tough, had stoo d there and taken it, but even now he flushed at th e memory, grudgingly admitting to himself that he ha d been afraid. In all his life he had feare d no man but Jack Moorman. Dead now fo r several years, Jack Moorman still had the powe r to destroy him.
Until the discovery of gold on Rafter , Ben Stowe had been merely another rustler. No t that anybody else in the Rafter countr y had dared accuse him, but it was generally known.
The gold discovery had been his big chance, an d he jumped to take it. From the first he had understoo d the possibilities ... some of them. The idea o f seizing the mine itself he owed to Ray Hollister.
Hollister had recognized the power that lay i n control of the mines, and he grabbed for it. But in thi s he overestimated himself and underestimated others.
He had looked upon Ben Stowe as a down-at-heel hired man, and he forgot to conside r that the fires of ambition might burn just a s strongly in another as in himself. And suddenly Ra y was out and Ben was in control.
The end was near. The offers had been made, no t only for the Sun Strike, but for the Glory Hol e as well, offers large enough to interest them as a n escape from a constant drain, yet not large enoug h to cause them to wonder.
Ben Stowe stared at the trees and thought of th e years ahead. Once the mine was in the possessio n of himself and his partner, he would cut all his tie s with the old life, and cut them with a ruthless hand. Th e mine would make millions; business in the tow n would be worked back to normal, not so suddenly a s to cause trouble, but with a deft hand. People would soo n forget what Ben Stowe had done, or remembe r it, as the West often did, as the harmles s escapades of another time.
The door from the outer office opened and Be n Stowe felt a swift surge of anger. He wa s beginning not to like it when someone presumed enough to com e bursting into his office. But this was Gib Gentry.
Suddenly he saw Gentry with new eyes.
Gentry and he were old friends, but in the future tha t Stowe planned, where would Gentry fit? And wit h sudden, chill awareness he knew he would not fi t at all.
Gentry dropped into a chair and put his boot s on Ben's desk, and Ben Stowe again felt tha t swift anger. Gib was too damned familiar.
But even as he thought that, he was surprised a t himself.
Why the sudden fury? He had always been a man who kept his temper on a leash. It was tha t coldness and control that had brought him to where he wa s ... why the sudden anger now?
Gentry bit the end from a cigar. "Hell , Ben, you should've been down the street. Who th e hell do you think I ran into?"
"Mike Shevlin?"
"Now how the hell did you know that?"
Ben Stowe was pleased with himself. It was a littl e thing, a simple thing, but long ago he ha d realized the importance of knowing what was going o n around the country, and had taken pains to see that h e learned of new arrivals, or of any occurrenc e that was out of the ordinary. He had several sources o f information, one of which was the marshal.
As a member of the town council, he ha d directed the marshal in his duties. All he ha d learned now was that a stranger, a very salt y customer, had been up on Boot Hill lookin g at Eli's grave, but when he put that together with a few other items he could make a fairly saf e guess.
Gentry pushed his hat back on his head.
"Damn it, Ben! Seemed like old times, havin'
Mike around. He looks good, too."
Ben Stowe shuffled some papers on his desk an d wished Gentry would go. Gib had always been a bit of a damned fool. Always ready to pick u p a fast dollar, but carrying a wide streak o f sentiment. After all, he and Shevlin had neve r been all that thick.
"Look, Gib, you be careful what you say.
There was a meeting at the old mill last nigh t ... and then another man rode up through the rain.
My man thought it was either Hollister or somebod y following him. Whoever it was put a bullet in m y man."
"You can forget that. Mike never had a damn' b it of use for Ray, and vice versa. Ray's small change, and Mike always knew it."
"I never cottoned to him, anyway," Ben sai d irritably. "I know he was a friend of yours, bu t what does it look like, him riding in just at thi s time? You know how tight everything is. If we hav e trouble now it could blow the lid off--or tighten i t up so hard it might be years before we could make i t pay off."
"Hollister's just a sorehead. He can't hurt us."
Ben Stowe gave him an impatient look.
"Gib, you never could see past your nose. There's one thing you forget--Ray Hollister could go to th e governor."
Gentry was incredulous. "The governor?
Aw, Ben, you're lettin' this get on you r nerves! What interest would the governor have in thi s place?"
"The governor," Ben Stowe replied , "married Jack Moorman's daughter, that's all. And if that isn't enough, the governor's fathe r rode in here on a cattle drive as a partner o f Jack's, and after his father died, Jac k practically raised him. He was in Washingto n when old Jack was killed, and if he had bee n governor then, he'd have raised hell."
Gentry shifted uneasily in his chair. Al l the pleased excitement of Shevlin's return wa s gone. He took his feet down from the desk an d wished he had never come to see Ben. Things jus t weren't the same any more. Ben was impatient al l the time; he never took time for a drink with him, neve r talked it up like in the old days. And now this about th e governor. Of course, he remembered it, now tha t he thought of it. He had forgotten, that was all.
Anyway, Jack Moorman had been dead fo r years--that was all over.
"Hollister couldn't prove anything," he said.
"He wasn't even there."
"There are some who were," Stowe replie d sourly, "and when a horse starts swishin' hi s tail there's no telling what burrs he'l l pick up."
Gentry was suddenly hot and uncomfortable. He had never forgotten the contempt in old Jack's eyes as they battered him to his knees. Tha t look had penetrated to the very core of Gentry's being, and for months he had waked up shaking with frigh t and bathed in sweat, remembering those eyes.
The old man never had a chance. Struck dow n from behind, his gun belt had been cut through, removin g any chance of resistance. They had not wanted to us e a gun or a knife. There was bad feeling between th e miners and the cattlemen, and it was pay day night.
They planned for it to look like something don e by drunken miners.
"If you think so much of Shevlin," Stowe wa s saying, "you get him out of here. He could mak e trouble."
When the door closed after Gentry, Stowe pu t his feet on his desk. No need to tell Gentr y the word on Shevlin was already out. There was no longe r any need to tell Gentry anything. After the y moved the gold, something would have to be done about Gi b Gentry. He had outlived his usefulness.
Gentry stood outside under the awning staring dow n the street. He bit the end from a fresh cigar.
The hell with Ben Stowe. The hell with the m all.
He had had more to drink than he had ever ha d before, but what did it mean, after all? He neve r had any fun any more, and Stowe had changed.
Hardly talked to him any more, and whenever Gentr y came around Ben made it seem as if he wa s talking nonsense, or was acting like a fool.
Gib Gentry stood there on the street an d looked bleakly into a future that held n o promise. He wasn't a kid any more. And h e was hitting the bottle too hard. He had kno
wn tha t for some time, but he had never actually allowed i t to shape into words before. Uneasily, his thoughts kep t returning to Ben Stowe. Ben was a hard man.
He had best step very lightly.
Suddenly he was swept by anger. Ste p lightly? Who the hell did Ben think he was , anyway? Why the hell should he step lightly fo r Ben Stowe or any other man?
Now Ben had told him to get Mike Shevli n out of town. Just how was he to go about that? It ha d been a long time since Gib had seen Mike o r heard more than vague rumors of him, but an y man with half an eye could see Mike Shevli n had been riding where the owl hooted and the long wind s blew ... no mistake about that.
It was a hell of a situation when a man lik e Shevlin might be killed--and he would take a lot of killing. Ben Stowe could be almight y dumb sometimes. He should be able to see that the bes t thing he could do would be to leave Mike Shevli n alone.
Gib Gentry had always considered himself a har d dangerous man, and he had been all of that, but h e was also a man with a love for reliving the old days , sharing a bottle, and talking of the old times. Th e truth was that Gib, like many another, had never quit e grown up. In reliving the old days and replayin g the old games, he avoided a hard look a t whatever future might lay ahead of him.
It was going to rain again; clouds were gathering ove r the mountains. Gentry's cigar had gone out. He stared at it, disgusted, and then turned and walke d down the street. Yes, Ben had changed. He cared damned little for his old friends. Somewhere in th e back of Gib's brain a tiny bell sounded it s warning, but Gib did not hear it. He was thinkin g about a drink.
Mike Shevlin followed Burt Parry up th e narrow canyon, between occasional trees , clumps of brush, and tumbled boulders o r slides of broken rock. When they reached th e claim Parry said, "There's good water at a spring about sixty yards up the canyon, and unles s you fancy yourself as a cook, I'll put the gru b together."
"By the time I'd eaten my own cooking th e second time, I decided against that."
He stripped the saddle from his horse, an d glanced around, but there was little enough to see. Parry's claim shanty stood on the bench made by th e mine's dump. It was a simple two-roo m cabin, hastily but securely put together. Abou t thirty feet from it was a small corral, on on e side of which was a lean-to shack used as a too l house. Beyond was the opening of the tunnel.
Up the canyon, just visible from where they stood , there was another dump, larger than their own. No buildings were visible there.
"Whose claim is that?" Shevlin asked.
"It's abandoned. That was the discovery claim fo r Sun Strike. The gold was found on the mes a right above there, so they decided to drift into the hil l from here, but they gave up when they found the or e body lay on the other side of the hill."
When they sat down to eat, darkness was filling th e canyon, softening all the harshness of the blea k hills. Shevlin, drinking his second cup o f coffee, was listening to the birds in the bottom of th e canyon. Suddenly, the sound ceased. Parry wa s talking, and if he noticed the change he gav e no indication of it.
"Many visitors out here?" Shevlin asked.
"The vein seems to be widening out, and I b elieve in about sixty feet ... What was that yo u said?"
"I asked if you had many visitors?"
"Here? Why would anybody come out here? The y all think I'm crazy to work this claim. I h aven't had two visitors in the past fou r months."
"How far back does this canyon go?"
Parry shrugged. "How the hell should I know?
I never followed it up. About a mile furthe r along it narrows down to just a slash in the mountain.
They say you can touch both sides with outstretche d arms. Hell of a mess of rock back in there."
Mike Shevlin got up and went to the door.
He stood there, leaning against the doorjamb. I t might have been a roving lion, but he ha d a hunch the birds had shut up because a man wa s passing.
"When you get up in the morning," Parry said , "you can muck out that rock I shot down on m y last shift. I'll be riding back into town."
"It's a prosperous town," Shevlin commented.
"Less you say about that the better. I sta y away from town most of the time, and I never talk abou t anything but my own claim, or whatever news w e hear from out of town."
At daylight, with Parry gone, Mik e Shevlin went into the tunnel and settled dow n to work. He had always rather liked working with a shovel; i t had the advantage of giving a man time to think, an d he had a lot of that to do.
What it shaped up to was that Ray Holliste r had been using the cattlemen as a wedge to ge t back into power, a power he had been aced out o f ... and somebody was going to get hurt.
Ben Stowe was no hot-headed, conceited foo l like Hollister. He was cold, cruel, and tough i n a way Hollister never dreamed of. I f Hollister chose to get himself killed, that was his ow n business, but the way he was headed he would ge t others killed as well.
Eve believed in Hollister, and it was likel y that she was a little in love with him. Babcock wa s fiercely loyal to Hollister, as he had alway s been; but had he any idea what Hollister wa s planning?
The town was rich and suspicious and frightened. I t was afraid of losing its riches, it was afraid o f being exposed, and yet every one of them probabl y knew the lid was about to blow off.
Somebody had killed Eli Patterson an d Jack Moorman, then had moved in and take n control. Undoubtedly all reports leaving tow n went from Ben Stowe's office. The shift bosse s would be carefully selected henchmen of his.
Everyone in town, in one way or another, had a stake in keeping things as they were.
There was, of course, Wilson Hoyt.
If there was one man Shevlin hoped to have on hi s side it was Hoyt, and so far as he knew , Hoyt was incorruptible. He was a man o f simple purpose. His job was to insure peace i n the town, and that he intended to do. Hoyt, Shevli n was sure, had no hand in what was going on, althoug h he might be aware of it. He would make no stan d unless somehow it affected his work.
While Mike's mind was busy with these thoughts , he kept working with his shovel. Now he wheeled hi s loaded wheelbarrow to the end of the plank runway an d dumped it. As he turned around to go back, h e saw Eve Bancroft ride her horse up o n the dump.
"You're wasting your time," she said. "There's n o high-grade there."
"I was beginning to guess as much." He sense d her dislike, and wondered why she had come.
Her eyes seemed to tighten a little. "Mike , we want you on our side."
He put the wheelbarrow down and straightene d up. "You're choosing up sides? What for?"
He pushed his hat back and wiped away the swea t with the back of his hand. "You don't think shooting a few miners will stop them, do you?"
She repressed her animosity wit h difficulty. "When this fight is over this will b e cattle country again, and nothing but cattle."
"You can't drive pigs from a trough with a switch."
"Ray thinks different."
"Hollister always tried taking in too muc h territory, but he's not that much of a fool."
Her fury flared. "Ray Hollister was a big man here before, and he will be again! Now that he's back, things will change!"
"Eve," Shevlin said patiently , "Hollister will get you hurt. He was never a big man anywhere, and never will be. He just can't cut the mustard. Years ago, when you were just a child , Ray Hollister had a good ranch that could have kep t him comfortable for the rest of his days, but it wasn't enoug h for him.
"He wanted to be top dog. He hung aroun d Jack Moorman, and when Jack spat, Ra y spat twice as hard; when Moorman grumbled , Ray swore. Well, he tried to be bigge r than he was cut out to be, and they ran him out of th e country. This time they'll bury him."
"You're jealous! You were always afraid of him!"
"Ask him about the whipping I gave him out a t Rock Springs. The truth is, Eve, tha t nobody was ever afraid of Ray."
She wheeled he
r horse, her features rigi d with anger. "I've tried for the last time! You leav e the country, Mike Shevlin, and leave it fast!
You've had your chance."
Regretfully, he watched her rac e her horse down the canyon. She was a prett y young woman, but Ray Hollister had convinced her , and she was one of those who could never see the othe r side of any question. ... Ray was not so old, whe n you came to think of it. He would be abou t thirty-eight now, and Eve Bancroft was twent y or so. And that much of a spread in ages was no t uncommon in the West. ... or in othe r places, for that matter.
The trouble was that Ray Hollister, driven by a blind fury to realize his ambition, would ge t somebody killed. All the way along the lin e Ray had missed the boat, and to a man of his eg o that was intolerable. He was striking out franticall y now in desperation and bitterness. If he had eve r thought of anyone but himself, except those successfu l people he had formerly idolized, he certainly wa s thinking of no one else now. Not even of Eve.
As Shevlin worked at the muck pile in the ho t end of the drift, sweat pouring from him, it cam e to him suddenly that there was a way to stop all this.
If the richness of the mines could be brought into the open , suddenly exposed, then Ben Stowe and his crowd woul d have nothing to fight for, and it would stop Ra y Hollister too.
The news that the mines were rich would immediatel y destroy any chance of Stowe or any of his crow d buying the mines. It would bring in a rush o f outsiders, and further buying of high-grade would hav e to be curbed. And the ranchers would realize, n o matter what Hollister might say, that the mine s were not about to be abandoned.
But how could he, Mike Shevlin, bring that about?
Nobody would accept the word of a drifting cowhan d with a bad reputation. He must have evidence , concrete evidence in the shape of high-grad e ore. Moreover, he must locate the cache wher e the high-grade was hidden. If he did not do this , the thieves would certainly take the gold an d escape when their thefts were disclosed. And in suc h case, Laine Tennison would be defrauded.
the High Graders (1965) Page 5