Buckskin Run (Ss) (1981) (2 page)

She knew Rod, but two years is a long time, and peopl e change. So much could have happened.

He had gone west to earn money so they could b e married, and it seemed unlikely he would think of building a home for her in a haunted valley. He was, she knew , inclined to be hot-headed and impulsive.

But murder? How could she believe that of him?

"It doesn't make a man a murderer because he lives in a nice little valley like Buckskin Run," the bearded ma n said. "You make your inquiries, ma'am, that's a sensibl e suggestion, but don't take nobody's word on a man on evidence like that. Buckskin Run is a pretty little valley."

Mark Brewer gave the man his full attention for th e first time. "What do you know about Buckskin Run ?
Everybody agrees it's a dangerous place."

"Nonsense! I've been through it more than once. I wen t through that valley years ago, before your man Childs wa s even out here.

"Pioneer, is he'? I never heard of him. There wasn't a ranch in the country when I first rode in here. As far a s Indians are concerned, Buckskin Run was medicine ground.

That's why they never went there."

"How do you explain the things that have happene d there?"

"I don't explain 'em. There's been killings all over th e west, and will be as long as there's bad men left. Ther e were white men around when I first came in here, renegades most of 'em, but nobody ever heard any talk o f haunts or the like. Men like Tarran Kop ?
camped in ther e many's the time!"

"You were here," Brewer asked, "when Tarran Kop p was around?"

"Knowed him well. I was through this here countr y before he ever seen it. Came through with Kit Carson th e first time, and he was the one named it Buckskin Run.

Favorite cam
?
ground for Kit, that's what it was.

"My name's Jed Blue, and my feet made trails all ove r this country. I don't know this man Morgan, but if he'
s had the sense to settle in Buckskin Run he's smart. That'
s the best growing land around here!"

Em Shipton glared at Jed Blue. "A lot you know abou t it! That valley is a wicked place! It's haunted, and everybody from Cordova to Santa Fe knows it. What about th e wagon trains that went into it and disappeared?

"What about the graves? Three men hurried side by each , and what does it say on their markers'' 'No visible cause o f death on these bodies.' "

The Concord rumbled through a dry wash, then mounte d the opposite bank with a jerk, bumped over a rock in th e trail, and slowed to climb a steep, winding grade.

Talk died as suddenly as it had begun , and Lorna clenche d her hands in her lap, fighting back the wave of panic tha t mounted within her.

If Rod had become what they said, what would she do ?

What could she do
?
Her money was almost gone, and sh e would be fortunate if she had enough to last a week. Yet , what would have happened had she remained in the East'

To be without money in one place was as bad as another.

Yet, despite the assurance with which they spoke, sh e could not believe Rod was a murderer. Remembering hi s fine, clean-cut face, his clear, dark eyes, and his flashin g smile, she could not accept what they said.

The Concord groaned to the to ?
of the grade, and th e six horses swung wide around a curve and straightene d out, running faster and faster.

Suddenly there was a shot, a
shot, yell, and the stag e made a swerving sto p, so abruptly that Lorna was throw n into Em Shipton's lap. Recovering, she peered out of th e window .

A man lay flat in the middle of the trail, blood stainin g the back of his vest. Beside his right hand lay a six-shooter.

To the left of the road were four riders, sitting thei r horses with hands uplifted. Facing the four from the righ t side of the road was a young man with dark, wavy hai r blowing in the wind. He wore badly worn jeans, scu ff e d star boots and a black and white checkered shirt. Ther e was an empty holster on his hip, and he held two guns i n his hands.

"Now pick u
p your man and get out of here! You cam e hunting it, and you found it."

Lorna stifled a cry. '
Rod!" she gasped.
Rod Morgan'"

Her voice was low, but Jed Blue overheard. Is tha t your man ?"
he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. It was true then, sh e thought. He w as a killer! He had just shot that man.

One of the horsemen caught the riderless horse and tw o of the others dismounted to load the body across th e saddle. The other man sat very still, holding his hand o n the pommel of his saddle.

As the other riders remounted he said, "Well, this i s one you won't bury in Buckskin Run!"

"Get going
!
" Morgan said. "And kee p a civil tongue i n y o ur head, Jeff I've no use for you or any of your rustling , dry-gulching crowd."

Lorna Day drew back into the stage, her hands to he r face. Horror filled her being. That limp, still body! Ro d Morgan had killed him!

"Well!" Em Shipton said triumphantly. "What did w e tell you'?"

"It's too bad you had to see this," Brewer said. "I'
m sorry, ma'am."

"That's a right handy young feller!" Blue said admiringly. "Looks to me like you picked you a good one, ma'am.

Stood off the five of them, he did, and I never seen i t done better. Any one of them would have killed him ha d they the chance, but he didn't even disarm them.
And they wanted no part of him!"

The stage started to roll.

"Hey'" Slue caught at Lorna's arm. "Ain't you eve n goin' to call to him? Ain't you goin' to let him know you'r e '; here?"

"No! Don't tell him! Please, don't!"

Blue leaned back, shaking his head admiringly.
Handy , right handy! That gent who was down in the road wa s drilled plumb center!"

Lorna did not hear him. Rod! Her Rod! A killer!

As the stage swung back into the road and pulled away , Rod Morgan stooped and picked u ?
the dead man's six -
shooter. No use wasting a good gun, and if things went o n as they had begun he would have need of it.

He walked back to where his gray mustang was tethered, and swung into the saddle. A brief glance aroun d and he started back u ?
the canyon. There was so much t o do, and so little time .

Perhaps he had been wrong to oppose the ingraine d superstition and suspicion of the Cordova country, bu t working as a cowhand would never allow him to sav e enough to support a wife or build a home. Buckskin Run , from the moment he had first glimpsed it, had seemed th e epitome of all he had dreamed.

The stream plunged happily over the stones, falling in a series of miniature cascades and rapids into a wide basin surrounded by towering cliffs.
It flowed out of that basi n and through a wide meadow, several hundred acres o f good grassland. High cliffs bordered the area on all sides , and there were clumps of aspen and spruce.

Below the first meadow lay a long valley also bounde d by sheer cliffs, a valley at least a half-mile wide tha t narrowed suddenly into a bottleneck that spilled the stream !
i nto another series of small rapids before it swung into the ~
t imbered land bordering the desert.

When Rod Morgan had found Buckskin Run there had j been no tracks of either cattle or horses. Without asking:: q uestions, he chose a cabin site near the entrance and !
w ent to work. Before he rode out to Cordova on his first,"'
t ri ?
to town his cabin was built, his corrals ready.

In Cordova he ran into trouble with Em Shipton.

Em's entire life was ruled by prejudice and superstition.,: She had come to Cordova from the hills of West Virginia by way of Council Bluffs and Santa Fe. In the Iowa town '
s he married Josh Shipton, a teamster freighting over the Sante Fe Trail. She had already been a widow, her firs t husband dropping from sight after a blast of gun-fire wit h his brother-in-law.

Josh Shipton was more enduring, and also somewhat faster with a gun, than Em's previous spouse. He stood her nagging and suspicion for three months, stood the ','
b orrowing and drunkenness of her brother for a few days l onger. The two di ff iculties came to a head simultaneously. Josh packed u p and left Em and, in a final dispute with her quar relsome, pistol-ready brother, el iminated him from f urther interference in Em's marital or other affairs. But Josh kept on going.

Em Shipton had come to Cordova and started her rooming and boarding house while looking for a new husband.

Her first choice, old Henry Childs himself, was a con fi rmed bachelor who came to eat once at her table. Wise r than most, he never came again.

She was fifteen years older and twenty pounds heavier '
t han slim, handsome Rod Morgan, but he was her second: c hoice.

-What you need,
she told him, is a good wife!"

Unaware of the direction of the conversation, Rod agreed '
t hat he did.

"Also," she said, "you must move away from that awfu l canyon. It's haunted!"

Rod laughed. Sure, and I
'
ve seen no ghost, maam , no t a one. Never seen a prettier valley, either. No, I'
m staying."

Em Shipton coupled her ignorance with assurance.

Women were scarce in the West, and she had come t o consider herself quite a catch. She had yet to learn tha t women were not that scarce.

"Well," she said definitely, "you can't expect me to g o live in no valley like that."

Rod stared, mouth open in astonishment.
"Who said anything --" He swallowed, trying to keep a straight fac e but failing. He stifled the laugh, hut not the smile.
I m sorry. I like living there, and, as for a wife, I've plans o f my own."

Em might have forgiven the plans, but she could neve r forgive that single, startled instant when Rod realized tha t Em Shipton actually had plans for him herself, or the wa y he smiled at the idea.

That was only the beginning of the trouble. Rod Morga n had walked along to the Gem Saloon, had a drink, an d been offered a job by Jake Sarran, Henry Childs' foreman.

He refused it.

Better take it, Morgan,
Sarran advised, "if you plan t o stay in this country. We don't like loose, unattached rider s drifting around."

"I'm not drifting around. I own my own place on Buckski n Run."

"I know," Sarran admitted, "but nobody stays ther e long. Why not take a good job when you can get it?"

"Because I simply don't want a job. I'll be staying a t Buckskin Run." As he turned away a thought struck him.

"And you can tell whoever it is who wants me out of ther e that I've come to stay."

Jake Sarran put his glass down hard, but whatever h e intended to say went unspoken. Rod left the saloon, hi s brow furrowed with thought and some worry. On this firs t visit to town he had come to realize that his presence a t Buckskin Run was disturbing to someone.

For a week he kept busy on the ranch, then he rod e south, hired a couple of hands, and drove in three hundred head of whiteface cattle. With grass and water the y would not stray, and there was no better grass and wate r than that in Buckskin Run. He let the hands go.

But the thought worried him.
W
hy, with all that goo d pasture and water, had Buckskin Run not been settled'

When next he rode into Cordova he found people avoiding him. Yet he was undisturbed. Many communities wer e clannish and shy about accepting strangers. Once they go t acquainted it would be different. Yet he had violated on e of their taboos.

It was not until he started to mount his horse that he discovered his troubles were not to stop with being ignored.

A sack of flour tied behind his saddle had been cut open , and most of the flour had spilled on the ground.

Angered, he turned to face the grins of the men seate d along the walk. One of them, Bob Carr, a long, rang y rider from Henry Childs's Block C, had a smudge of whit e near his shirt pocket, and another smudge near his right -
hand pants pocket, the sort of smear that might have com e from a man's kni f e if he had cut a flour-sack open, the n shoved the knife back in his pocket.

Rod had stepped u
?
on the walk. "How'd you get tha t white smudge on your pocket?"

The rider looked quickly down, then, his face flushing , he looked up. "How do you thinks" he said.

Rod hit him. He threw his fist from where it was, at hi s belt, threw it short and hard into the long rider's sola r plexus.

Bob Carr had not expected to be hit. The blow wa s sudden, explosive and knocked out every bit of wind h e had.

"Get him, Bob!" somebody shouted, but as Bob opene d his mouth to gas ?
for air, Rod Morgan broke his jaw with a right.

Rod Morgan turned, and mounted his horse. From th e saddle he looked back. "I didn't come looking for trouble , and I am not asking for it. I'm a quiet man, minding m y own affairs."