Eight miles away, Ray Holliste r crouched in the slight shelter of a wind-hollowe d cliff. He hadn't shaved in a week, and hi s jaws itched; his mouth felt gritty. It wa s damp and chilly, and the coffee was made from ground s used for the third time.
He looked at Halloran, who was stretche d out, comfortably asleep, and he felt a sudden , vicious urge to kick him awake. John Sand e was a dozen yards off, huddled under a falle n oak, its branches so matted with driftwood tha t no rain came through. Babcock sat near him , nursing the fire with sticks.
Hollister spoke suddenly. "Where the hel l are they? If they left town like Jess said, the y should be here!"
Babcock glanced over at him. "Ray, i f that old wolfer said they left town, they left," a nd then he added, in a milder tone, "and don't rile him. He's likely to cut out and leav e us."
Just then Jess Winkler came down through th e rocks across the hollow, and came over to where the y waited.
"They foxed us," he said, grinning at them. Hi s broken, yellowed teeth showed under the gra y mustache. "They surely did!"
Before Hollister could speak, Babcock said , "How could they? This is the only trail."
"No, it ain't. Winkler squatted on hi s haunches. "I keep forgettin' about that kid, tha t Shevlin."
"He's no kid," John Sande commented. "I s een him. He's got shoulders like two of us."
"I think of him as a kid," Winkler said.
"That was how I knowed him afore. Now I kee p forgettin' how canny that youngster was, an' how h e prowled these mountains. He's taken them ove r Lost Cabin."
"Never heard of it," Babcock said.
"Lost Cabin trail ... it's an ol d Indian trail. Somebody built a stone cabi n up there, built it long before any white man wa s knowed to be in this country. Built it an' lef t it. Why, I ain't seen that trail in sixteen , seventeen years!"
"What do we do now?" Halloran said , sitting up.
Winkler took up a twig and marked on th e sand. "That trail goes about so." He dre w another line to indicate the railroad, and a cross where Tappan Junction stood. "They'l l be headin' for there. If we haul out of here now , we can nest down in a packet of boulders abou t here." He made another cross in the sand. "We can make it in about an hour, if we're lucky , and that would be maybe an hour before they do."
They were gone, and their fire was dying to coals , hissing under occasional drops of rain, when a rider passed on the trail, not more than thirt y yards off. It was Ben Stowe, wearing a ne w yellow slicker, his hat brim tilted down.
For the first time in months he felt content. He was up in the saddle again, and he was riding away fro m trouble. Of course, there would be trouble aplenty a t Tappan Junction, but it was the kind o f trouble for which he was well prepared and which h e clearly understood. Also, within a few minutes , unless his calculations had gone astray, part of hi s work would be done for him somewhere back in the hill s ... or perhaps out on the bunch-grass levels wher e the tracks were laid.
Somewhere along the line Ray Hollister would com e upon Mike Shevlin, and in the gun battle that mus t surely follow, men would die on both sides , and every man who died made his own problem that muc h simpler.
He had a good horse under him, and n o slow-moving pack mules to worry about. A t Wood's Ranch he would swap horses , exchanging the sorrel he now rode for a toug h buckskin he had kept at the ranch, and he woul d make fast time down to the Junction. He would b e waiting there with the contents of that bundle behind hi s saddle, and after that the gold would be his and his alone.
An hour after he rode past the dyin g campfire, unaware that it was there, two othe r riders came along. By that time the fire wa s entirely out--only the blackened coal s remained.
Laine Tennison was more angry than frightened , but Red was triumphant. His triumph, however , was beginning to wear thin, for he was no longer so sur e that he had judged right in kidnaping this girl.
It had been simple enough, back there at th e Nevada House. He knew that Lain e Tennison represented trouble, and he ha d guessed she was one of the owners of the mines, or wa s associated with them. He had acted promptly , and upon impulse, as he did most things.
Mike Shevlin was gone, and it could only be th e girl in the room. He had detected a fain t perfume near the door that told him his guess wa s right. After discovering that the door was barred from within , he decided that by morning she would be hungry. He had simply knocked on the door shortly afte r daylight and said. "Mr. Shevlin, your breakfas t is here."
Nobody he knew had ever had breakfas t served in his room, but she was a city girl an d might not know it wasn't done at the Nevad a House. With a slight clatter he put down som e dishes he had brought up for the purpose, the n walked away and tiptoed back.
Laine . Was hungry. After a moment or tw o she opened the door, and he forced his wa y in before she could close it.
And now he had her here, on the roa d to Tappan Junction.
He had been sure that Ben Stowe would b e pleased, but now he was beginning to worry. Ben was a man who liked to order things his own way. It wa s too late, however, to think about that--there was nothin g to do but ride on.
Chapter 19
When Mike Shevlin rode out of the dark pine s he faced a vast green slope, perhaps a thousan d acres of untouched grass, slanting away from th e rounded crest of the mountain toward the dark canyo n off to his left.
To his right and well ahead of him, three dar k jagged crags tore at the sky, trailin g drifts of windblown cloud like streamers o f smoke. The rain was a gray veil, the grass a brilliant green, while the sky was masked wit h lowering thunderheads.
There was no wind on this slope shielded by th e mountain, but he was chilly under the slicker; and hi s wet hands worried him, for if he needed a gu n he would need it fast--and with accurate aim.
It took a long time to cross the wide gree n slope. At the end it fell sharply away into th e last canyon before Lost Cabin, and he dre w rein here and sat his horse, looking across at th e squat gray shape, tantalized as always by th e wonder of it. Who had found this wild and lonel y place so long ago?
At this point he was over a mile higher tha n Rafter Crossing, and a good thousand feet above th e trail followed by the pack mules. There might b e accidents due to the weather, but there was no danger o f them going astray.
Nobody he knew at Rafter had ever see n Lost Cabin, and he himself had not talked of it , wishing jealously to keep this place for himself. Man y knew about the Cabin, some scarcely believing i n it; but there it was, on the slope across th e canyon, under the shadow of ancient trees. A d warfish army of cedars was massed not far below it, a s if waiting to leap upon it in some moment of stillness.
At last Shevlin was angling steeply down , searching out the old trail, glad that he had a goo d mountain horse, when he saw them. At first h e could not believe his eyes.
He drew up sharply, peering down at th e five riders coming out of the draw, about a mil e away. He saw them begin to fan out among th e rocks and trees.
They were not more than a hundred yards from th e trail, which at that point came out into the open for a good half-mile, just beyond the low glacial ridg e where the five were taking shelter.
Their backs were to him--but for how long? If the y happened to turn he could be plainly seen up here.
He had to get off this slope and into the trees.
Jess Winkler ... Of course. He should hav e thought of the old wolfer who had been riding thes e hills for years. Winkler must be down there.
Nobody else could have known of the trail the mule s were using; and the trail these five had taken to ge t here from below must be one even Shevlin knew nothin g of.
He walked his horse along the slope and go t into the trees without being seen. Then, screened by th e dripping trees, he rode at a dead run , racing against time. If the pack train had had n o trouble they would soon be along, riding like sittin g pigeons into the range of Hollister's guns.
Against the
five men down there, he had the nin e with the pack train. But they would be scattered ou t along the line of mules, and the first volley woul d surely eliminate some of them unless they could b e warned.
Hollister was a fair hand with a rifle, good with a six-gun. And Winkler--well, Winkler woul d never miss. When he aimed from a rest, h e killed. Babcock was good too, and the others wer e probably at least average.
He raced his horse for about a quarter of a mile, slowed to a walk over more difficul t ground, and then raced on. He came out of th e trees behind Hollister and his men, and a good tw o hundred yards away. He could see them settle d down and waiting, and just as he had spotted the fift h man, the first of the pack mules came into sight.
The first man in the pack train was a tall , lean, stoop-shouldered Texan; there were si x mules before the second man appeared. In a matter of minutes they would all be strung ou t along the trail, and helpless. And he knew tha t Hollister would hold his fire until all were withi n easy range.
Mike Shevlin felt a curious emptines s inside him. He knew what was coming.
You could die down there, he told himself. He tugged on his hat brim and started down the slop e behind the waiting men.
His horse walked quickly, daintily. Shevli n touched a flank lightly with a spur, and the hors e began to canter. The five men below were fixing al l their attention on the approaching mule train.
Suddenly one of the men with the mule train sa w Shevlin, and drew up sharply. At the sam e instant, Shevlin shucked a six-shooter an d slapped the spurs to his horse.
The startled animal almost leaped from under him, the n went pounding down the slope, running like the wind.
There came a startled exclamation, and one o f Hollister's men whirled toward him, and Mik e let go his first shot.
He was not over fifty yards off, but the shot wa s a clear miss, serving only to make the man jer k back, off balance, out of position for a shot.
Guns started to bark, and Shevlin saw the lea n Texan in the van spur his horse up th e slope. He caught on fast, that one. Mik e saw one of the men lift a rifle, and then he wa s among them. He chopped down and shot full into th e man's face, seeing it flame with blood as th e bullet struck a glancing blow that knocked th e man sprawling under his horse's hoofs.
Shevlin reined around quickly, glad he was ridin g a good cutting horse used to making quick turns.
The Texan was among them too, his horse down an d screaming, the man himself firing--falling and firing.
Two more men came up the slope and one of the m launched himself in a long dive at Winkler, and th e two went rolling.
As his horse came around, Shevlin saw tw o more men from the pack train spurring up the slope , and then his horse, tired from the long ride, put a foot down wrong and they both fell. He rolle d over, but came up still gripping a gun a s Hollister ran up to face him.
"Damn you!" Hollister screamed. "I shoul d have killed--wa s Mike Shevlin felt the gun bucking in hi s hard grip, and he saw Hollister jerk as i f lashed by a whip, jerk again, and fall forward on th e wet slope of grass.
Hollister rolled over and started to get up, bu t Mike put a bullet into his chest at a range of six feet. Then he turned swiftl y to face whoever was left.
The sound of the gunfire was rolling against th e hills, then rolling back in echoing, muted thunder.
It fell away and was lost, and there was no othe r sound but the rain falling, and somewhere a ma n groaning.
Mike picked up Hollister's unused gun , thrust it behind his belt, and walked across the grass.
John Sande was lying face down on th e grass, dead. A man sitting against a rock jus t beyond Sande turned and looked at Shevlin. "Yo u played hell, Mike," he said, almost withou t expression.
It was Babcock. His right arm was a blood y mess. Numb with shock, he was gripping his ar m tightly against the flow of blood, and gazin g hollow-eyed at Shevlin.
Halloran was lying dead, too, shot clea n through. The Texan was dead, and two others from th e mule train. There was no sign of Jes s Winkler.
Down on the flat the mules were bunched, an d four men, rifles ready, clustered about them. The y had played it the smart way, bunching the animal s and holding them tight, ready for anything.
Mike Shevlin looked carefully around. On e of his men was missing, ... probably the man wh o had tangled with the old wolf-hunter.
He shouted at the men with the mules, and two o f them came up the slope, riding warily. "You," h e said to the nearest one, "take care of that man's wounds. He's too good to die this way. You"--h e indicated the other man--"catch up the horses."
He walked over to his own horse. It ha d gotten up, and came toward him as h e approached. He mounted and rode slowly in th e direction where he had seen Winkler and the other ma n fighting.
He saw Jess Winkler first. The old ma n was on his face on top of the other man, and somethin g was gleaming from his back. Mike drew up an d looked down. What he saw was the needle-shar p point of a knife, an Arkansas toothpick.
"Hey!" came a voice that was muffled.
"Pull him off me! He smells worse'n a hide-skinner."
Mike swung down and, catching the wolfer by th e buckskin jacket, lifted him up. The othe r man crawled up from where he had been sprawle d between two fallen trees, wedged in by the dea d wolfer's body. He was scarcely mor e than a boy.
"He come at me when I got up after jumpin' h im, an' I wasn't set for it. I went ove r backwards, just a-holdin' that knife."
"You held it in the right place," Mike said.
He looked with no regret at the fierce ol d man, cold and dangerous as any of the wolves h e had hunted so long. "Are you hurt?'
"Scratched."
"Better go through their pockets and see i f there's any addresses. They'll maybe hav e kinfolk who'd wish to know."
"They'd of had us," the boy said, "hadn't bee n for you coming a hellin' down that slope." He thrus t out his hand. "They call me Billy the Kid."
Shevlin grinned at him. "That makes four o f them I've met--and you aren't Bonney."
"I ain't Claiborne, either. My name i s Daniels."
Mike Shevlin walked his horse back to wher e Ray Hollister lay, and he sat looking dow n at him. "I'll tell them where you are, Ray," h e said, "and if there are any who see fi t to bury you, they can ride up and do it. We haven't the time."
As he looked at him, he was remembering hi m all down the years. When he had first known Ra y Hollister he had a good working ranch, but he wa s never satisfied ... he had gotten a goo d woman killed, and a few men, and now he la y there, come to it at last.
"String 'em out!" he yelled at the men with th e mules. "We've got ten miles to go!"
Babcock had been disarmed, and his arm was boun d up and in a sling. "You goin' to bury them?" h e said to Mike.
"Who's got a shovel?" Mike asked. The n he added, "Bab, if you want to stay here an d bury them, you can."
Babcock stared at him. "I never figured yo u for a unfeeling man," he said.
"I lost a lot of feeling the night Ev e Bancroft died. I didn't like her, but that gir l would have ridden a-blazin' into hell for Ra y Hollister, and he let her go alone."
The mules were strung out and Billy Daniel s was up ahead, riding point.
"What you goin' to do with me?" Babcoc k asked.
"Hell, I've got no place fo r you, and nothing against you except damn' poo r judgment in bosses. Ride along with us, and whe n we hit the flat you cut out for Rafter."
"Rafter?" Babcock was incredulous. "Wit h this arm? I'd go through hell a-gettin' there!"
"What do you think's waiting for us down there a t Tappan Junction, Bab?" Shevlin sai d quietly. "I figure you've had yours."
They rode on a few steps, and then Mik e Shevlin said, "Ben Stowe's waiting down there.
He's waiting for us."
Chapter 20
Two miles short of Tappan Junction th e narrow trail played out, and they could see ahead o f them the two
buildings of the settlement in th e bottom of a great basin. The twin lines of stee l came out of the west and vanished into the east.
At Tappan there was a corral with a chute fo r loading pens, a water tank for the trains, a combination saloon, post office, and general store , and across the tracks, the telegraph office.
Adjoining the office was a waiting room with tw o windows, furnished with a single bench and a pot-bellied stove.
No horses were in sight, but there wouldn't be---t hey would be in the pens. Several cattle cars an d one boxcar were standing on a siding.
Mike Shevlin, weary from his long ride, stare d across the flat through the drizzling rain. It lacke d an hour of sundown, and darkness would come early, wit h that cloud-covered sky.
Beside him, drawn and pale, rode Babcock.
He had lost blood, he sagged with weariness; h e was not going to make it through to Rafter Crossing.
He knew it now, and so did Mike Shevlin.
Only an iron will and a rawhide body ha d brought him this far. He needed rest and care, and the y were down there waiting for him, just beyond a full-scal e gun battle.
"This makes it my fight, Mike," he said.
"I'll ride in with you."
"Bab, what do you suppose Ben Stowe would d o if you rode in there now ... alone?"
Babcock tried to think it through. His brain wa s fuzzy, and it required an effort to assemble hi s thoughts. "Damned if I know. He'd probabl y ask me what happened, then he'd either shoot m e or leave me be."
"You ride in there, Bab. Tell him anythin g he wants to know. I'm betting he'll wan t to know everything you can tell him, and I don't believe he'll shoot you. Ben Stowe onl y kills when he thinks there's a good reason--you'r e out of this now, and he'll see it plain enough. Ta g Murray is down there, and he's pretty good with a wound, better than some doctors I know. Yo u ride on in."
Babcock hesitated, and glanced back at th e mule train. "What about them, Mike? They'r e Ben's hired gunmen."
the High Graders (1965) Page 16