Blake waited as the men pounded across the boards. Then Simpson stepped into the room and Blake trained his gun on the lawman. Simpson stopped in his tracks.
Blake said tightly, “Keep the rest back, Simpson. You come in alone. Tell them that if anybody tries to crowd me I’ll blow your head off. Make that as clear as anything you’ve ever said in your life before, mister.”
Simpson’s mouth tightened and his hands touched at the buckle of his gunbelt. “You won’t get away this time, Durant,” he said. “By hell, I’ll see to that!”
Blake shrugged and moved slightly away from the counter. With Simpson under his gun he had all the advantage he needed at the moment.
“Line them up on the porch and tell them to stay put out there, Sheriff.”
The men behind Simpson studied Blake Durant sourly, but none of them moved. Simpson turned and said thickly, “Do as he says for now. But if I give the word or you hear a gun blast, go for him full tilt and don’t worry about me.”
The men filed out. Blake gestured at the bar and Simpson walked there. Blake poured himself a drink and slid the bottle to Simpson.
“Help yourself. Sheriff. Guess you need a drink as much as I do. Been a long, hard day.”
Simpson pressed his lips together and stood against the counter pouring slowly. Blake knew the lawman was waiting for a chance to claw at his gun.
Blake sipped his drink and pointed to the room behind him. “Have a look.”
Simpson walked to the doorway, stiffened.
“Found them like that,” Blake said. “Looks clear to me that Iverson tried to rob Shay and they killed each other. Then there’s Josh McHarg, another man who could have spoken up on my behalf. But I was with McHarg when he was killed awhile back by Rance Parrant. I got the other two who were riding with Parrant, so Parrant is riding a lone trail now, hunted by Corey Starr and four mean-bellied jaspers from his guard lineup.”
Simpson’s face darkened. “You tellin’ me that since you broke out of my jail you’ve killed a couple of Parrant’s men, mister?”
“That’s it.”
Simpson ran a hand across his face and stood with his back against the counter. When his hand moved towards his holster, Blake reached out, ripped the gun free and sent it across the room. Simpson swore into his face. Outside the posse men shifted around, their movement making the boards squeak.
Blake snapped, “Damn you out there, stay put. Nothing’s going to happen to Simpson unless you fools force my hand. Best shed them gunbelts, too, just to make sure. Come to the doorway, one by one, drop your belts, then move in here and stand against the wall. If you don’t do as I say, then I’m not responsible for what happens to you or Mr. Tin Star.”
When they were all lined against the wall, Blake nodded grimly at them. Then he turned back to the sullen-eyed sheriff.
“What I told you a few minutes ago is the truth, Simpson. What I tried to get you to believe in the law office was the truth, too. Now the only two people who can back my story are on their way to Moon and the others are dead. So I’m going on, Simpson, with or without you. If I run into Parrant, I’ll handle him my own way.”
Simpson smiled crookedly. “Want to know what I think, Durant?”
“I’ll listen, mister.”
Simpson’s grin broadened. “I think you passed through here with Rance Parrant, came across the river and helped him get Larry Parrant out of jail. Then, as Starr says, you got separated from Parrant and Starr and his guards closed in on you. Later, when you busted me up and escaped from my custody—that was when you branded yourself deep and clear, Durant, and I don’t intend to let any damn lies convince me otherwise. Then I figure you came here to get Shay’s money and you had to kill the two men to hide your tracks. Only you delayed too long and I caught up with you.”
“You’re a damn fool,” Blake said.
“I’m a fool all right—for letting you get the drop on me. I been rubbing shoulders with your kind most of my life and I can smell you out real easy. You handle yourself too well for a drifter, mister. You know every trick of the trade and you’re coyote-sly. But, mister, you can take it for gospel that you’re as good as dead, booked for rope.”
Blake’s hand tightened on the gun and rage filled him. Simpson had got himself into a mood that no amount of argument would change. He stepped back. “Well, just so you can change your mind later, Simpson, get down to the river and head for the heights. You’ll find three dead men out there and the tracks of Parrant heading back towards Moon plus the tracks of Corey Starr and his guards trailing Parrant. If you can’t add the facts straight after that, then you’re even dumber than I figure you to be. And if that’s so, mister, then take my advice and keep to hell out of my hair.”
Blake shoved Simpson towards the back door. A couple of the townsmen made a move towards him but Blake’s lifting gun made them stop abruptly. He kept Simpson moving to the back porch and then went past him to Sundown. When he was in the saddle, he turned to the lawman.
“Simpson, I’m innocent, but by hell if you keep crowding me somebody is going to walk into trouble. I’ll find Parrant. Either that or he’ll find me—because he wants my hide for killing his brother. After that showdown you can have this territory and you’re welcome to it.”
Blake put Sundown into a run. From the end of the clearing he saw Simpson rushing into the depot to get his gun. He kept Sundown going hard into heavy timber. A mile further along he turned back on his trail and rode the open country towards Moon.
Seven – Closed Trails
The trail climbed steeply, leveled off and pursued an even course for nearly a mile before it turned sharply and showed Blake Durant a view of Moon prison, an ugly palisade of rock on the plain below. His circuitous ride had taken him four hours but it was time well spent for he had used it to make up his mind about a great many things.
First, he was in big trouble. A killer was after his hide, a small army of prison guards was dedicated to even a score with him, and a rock-brained sheriff and his posse were trailing him. On his side of the ledger there was Beth and Conrad Cantrell, driving across the territory and heading for hell knew where if they bypassed Moon. But if they went into town then he had every chance of clearing himself with Simpson. Parrant didn’t matter to him. He had met a lot of Rance Parrants in his day.
After leaving the high country, Blake rested Sundown in a defile and watched the buildup of black clouds in the west. The afternoon was suddenly hot and sultry after the windy spell and he knew a heavy storm was on its way. But it was still daylight and he had to wait for dusk before moving on. It was two hours later before he chanced cutting across the open country to the south of Moon prison. He was approaching bench country close to Moon when Corey Starr appeared on the lip of a slope behind him.
Blake’s first awareness of the prison warden’s presence was a shot which tore the flap of his hide coat open. Blake wheeled Sundown around and cut into rocky cover. When Starr went racing past, Blake’s gun lifted. But once again he held his fire. Then he went into heavier cover as Starr circled. Starr searched warily for him until the last of the daylight, then the prison warden turned his mount’s head for Moon.
Blake entered town from the north and kept to the shadows of the back street until he reached the end of the stable laneway. Knowing that Sundown would be easily recognized in the open, he decided to stable him and move about on foot. Then he’d try to locate Beth and Conrad Cantrell.
After settling Sundown in the livery stable he crossed to the main street and stopped in the shadows fifty yards from the saloon. The stable attendant hadn’t shown recognition of Sundown or himself, but Blake watched and waited. When he saw the attendant hurry from the stable and head for the jailhouse, he knew he was in for a bad time. He might have stopped him, but that had its risks, too. And he couldn’t kill the man for doing what he thought was right. So Blake went to the hotel. The desk clerk was alone in the lobby.
“Have the Cantrell people come in yet
?” Blake asked.
The clerk lifted his head and his professional smile changed to a look of surprise. Blake saw his hands tighten on a sheaf of papers.
“The Cantrells?” the clerk muttered.
“An old man, ailing, and a young woman.”
The clerk nodded and stole a look towards the boardwalk. “Yeah, they came in earlier in the day. You want me to go up and tell them you’re here? You can wait on the seat by the window. Won’t be long.”
Blake eyed the clerk carefully as the man quickly shuffled his papers into order and deposited them under the desk top. He then hurried from behind the desk and climbed the stairs. Blake frowned. This was either the most helpful hotel clerk in the world or, like the stable attendant, the clerk had been alerted to be on the lookout for Blake Durant.
Blake listened to the fellow’s movements on the boards above his head. When the clerk’s quick little steps went towards the back of the building, Blake walked through the empty, unlighted dining room and opened the door in time to see the clerk running across the yard. Blake spat out an oath and sprinted into the night.
From the far side of the yard, minutes later, he saw Rufe Simpson, Corey Starr and a group of townsmen, guns drawn, come into the hotel yard. The light from the verandah overhead flashed down on Simpson’s hard-set face. Then the men were in the hotel and Blake heard Simpson’s muffled voice:
“Where the hell is he?”
“Was here, Sheriff,” the clerk said. “I thought I tricked him into stayin’. Ain’t my fault he cut out, is it?”
Then Corey Starr spoke. “He’s cunnin’ right enough. But no matter, he’s in town and we got his horse. We’ll post a guard in the stable and Durant won’t be going no place.”
Blake left the yard and felt the town closing in on him. Using the shadows he crept into the stable and climbed the loft ladder to a comfortable, low-ceilinged room. He moved a few bales of hay, smoothed out enough space to lie in, then rested back against the wall, ready to wait things out. Later he would find Beth and her grandfather. They would help him.
He closed his eyes and slept.
Rufe Simpson pinned the reward poster to his jailhouse wall and stepped back to read it again. Corey Starr stood at his side nodding in satisfaction.
“Should do it, though I reckon Crosby’s putting it down too thin offerin’ only three hundred dollars. How much did his bank lose anyway?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” Simpson said.
“Should be a thousand reward then. That’d stir everybody to hunt this scum down. He’s in town, damn him, so why don’t you get hold of them Cantrell folk he’s askin’ about and keep them where you can see them, Simpson? If it was me running this show, by hell—”
“It’s not you running it, Starr, and I don’t want you firing off shots if you catch sight of Durant. I want him alive.”
“What in hell for, Simpson? Hell, you ain’t going to believe all that garbage about Shay’s place, are you?”
“Durant mentioned the three dead men on the heights and we found them sure enough, didn’t we? Why would he keep on lyin’ and not head off with Parrant?”
“Because he don’t want to be branded and hunted in the future. I’m tellin’ you, Simpson, we’re dealing with one of the shrewdest damn hellions we’re ever likely to run into. Durant’s cunning as well as being a damn cold-bellied killer. Bolliver identified him, didn’t he? Said he saw Durant bust into my jail with the others when Larry Parrant escaped. That’s enough for me.”
Simpson eyed Starr levelly. “Maybe Bolliver had his facts wrong. You said yourself that it was dark and everything happened too quick to take stock of anything, didn’t you?”
Starr’s face twisted. “I said it but it don’t change anything. Durant’s in with Parrant and Crosby recognized Parrant when he robbed the bank. Besides, Durant damn near killed you in your office, didn’t he?”
Rufe Simpson ran a hand over the back of his neck and regarded the prison official thoughtfully. In all his dealings with Corey Starr, Rufe Simpson had never come to like the man personally. He had to admit that Starr ran his prison successfully, but there were claims from some of the inmates that his treatment sometimes verged on the sadistic. In the matter of Blake Durant, Simpson could not fully agree with Starr’s bitterness towards the drifter. Durant had manhandled him, sure, and he’d broken out of jail and led Simpson on a merry chase through the river country. And now he had the gall to ride back to Moon, leave his horse stabled and walk around town.
Simpson said, “If Durant is telling the truth, then Parrant wants his hide real bad and won’t leave this territory until he evens the score with him. Maybe it’s Durant we want, but how about Parrant? We want him at least as much, if not more.”
Corey Starr grumbled a curse and stepped back from the lawman. “For my money we should go all-out for Durant, and nobody else, Simpson. I don’t give an owlhoot about catching up with Parrant. It was Durant who killed my guards and it’s his neck I want to see stretched.”
Simpson nodded his understanding of this and turned when movement up the street caught his eye. Townsmen were grouped outside the saloon and Simpson saw them shift to let a young woman come through. She was accompanied by a shuffling old man, supporting himself on her arm.
Simpson removed his hat and smoothed down his slick black hair before lowering the hat to his head at a new angle. He had not met the Cantrell woman yet but Lee Atkins had mentioned her as being remarkably good looking. The fact that Atkins, as usual, had made an understatement was now brought home strongly to the lawman. Simpson adjusted his shirt and gunbelt and drew himself tall. He nodded as Beth stopped before him. She regarded him coolly a moment, then glanced to where the reward poster hung.
Simpson saw the color deepen in her beautiful face as her lips tightened.
“I was told you were looking for information on Mr. Durant, Sheriff,” she said.
“I’m wantin’ that, yeah, ma’am. Can you help?”
“I think so, Sheriff. But first, please tell me just what Mr. Durant is supposed to have done to set a whole town hunting him.”
“More’n supposed to have done, Miss Cantrell,” said Corey Starr in a surly tone. “He done things all right—branded himself the killer of four men we know of and maybe more.”
Beth’s look settled calmly on the warden. Her steady eyes shifted over his weathered face, and Simpson felt her warmth reach out to him.
“Will you tell me, Sheriff Simpson?” Beth asked. “Do that, and I’ll tell you what my grandfather and I know.”
Simpson nodded as Corey Starr bristled. “Best to go inside, ma’am; it’s quieter, and there’ll be no interruptions.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Beth and her grandfather entered the law office and Simpson moved just enough to block Corey Starr’s progress. When the door closed in Starr’s face Simpson heard him snap out a curse.
Beth stopped before the small desk and turned to face Simpson who was again arrested by her charm and beauty. He removed his hat and pointed to two chairs. When both were seated, he eased himself against the edge of his desk and told them what he knew of Durant’s movements. Beth listened without interrupting. When Simpson finished she said:
“Sheriff, we can certainly support the first part of Mr. Durant’s story. He was at Mr. Shay’s depot with us. He did leave with Mr. Parrant—but he returned without him. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning when Mr. Durant left again, this time with Mr. McHarg. When you consider the time element, I don’t see how he could possibly be linked with Parrant’s attack on the prison. In fact, Mr. Durant must have travelled very fast to reach the prison area when he did.”
Simpson looked to Conrad Cantrell for verification and the old man nodded his gray-thatched head, saying, “I’ll back that, Sheriff. Parrant and Durant discussed something for a few hours before they went off, but I don’t think any great love was lost between them. Parrant offered Durant money to help him cross the river bu
t Durant refused the offer, acting, I firmly believe, as a true gentleman. His only thought was to help Parrant proceed through difficult country so he could be present at his young brother’s hanging. I further believe that Durant had no intention of helping Parrant kill anybody or become involved in any criminal scheme.”
Simpson nodded. Then, catching Beth’s worried frown, he said, “After listening to you, that’s just about how I see it, too. Durant is maybe just a victim of circumstances. But I still want him.”
“But why, Sheriff Simpson?” Beth asked. “Surely what we have just said proves conclusively that—?”
“It clears him in my book, ma’am,” Simpson said quietly. “However, it doesn’t make him innocent in the eyes of the rest of the town. He broke jail, led us a jig out of town and he wounded one of Corey Starr’s men. I guess he doesn’t have to answer to Moon for that, but Starr’s bristlin’ to get at him. I want to get Durant first and then draw Parrant in after him. Two birds with the one rock, you might say.”
Rufe Simpson gave the young woman one of his rare smiles. Beth smiled back as she rose and picked up her gloves from the corner of the desk. “I see, Sheriff Simpson, and I admire your tact and intelligence in this matter. How can we help?”
“By holding Durant for me when he goes to you, and by keeping him under restraint until I can talk to him. It could be dangerous for both of you, but I’d sure appreciate your cooperation. This Rance Parrant is a wanted man, a proven murderer and a bank thief. I won’t be happy for a minute until I’ve got Parrant on the end of a rope.”
Beth stiffened at this, but old Conrad Cantrell, rising beside his granddaughter, said, “We’ll do that, Sheriff. If he comes to us, we’ll hold him.”
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