Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) (16 page)

Standing there at the counter, letting the warmth of the big potbellied stove work through his system, Rafe assayed his position. Bo Marsh, while in bad shape, had been tended by a doctor and would have Gill’s care. There was nothing more to be done there for the time being.

Ann had made her choice. She had gone off with Barkow, and in his heart he knew that if there was any choice between the two—Barkow or Shute—she had made the better. Yet there had been another choice. Or had there? Yes, she could at least have listened to him.

The fort was far away, and all he could do now was trust to Ann’s innate good sense to change her mind before it was too late. In any event, he could not get back there in time to do anything about it.

“Where’s Shute?” he demanded.

“Ain’t seen him,” Baker said worriedly. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of him. But I can promise you one thing, Caradec. He won’t take Barkow’s runnin’ out with Ann lyin’ down. He’ll be on their trail.”

The door opened in a flurry of snow, and Pat Higley pushed in. He pulled off his mittens and extended stiff fingers toward the red swell of the stove. He glanced at Rafe.

“Hear you askin’ about Shute?” he asked. “I just seen him, headed for the ranch. He wasn’t alone, neither.” He rubbed his fingers. “Looked to me like a woman ridin’ along.”

Rafe looked around. “A woman?” he asked carefully. “Now who would that be?”

“He’s found Ann!” Baker exclaimed.

“She was at the fort,” Rafe said, “with Barkow. He couldn’t take her away from the soldiers.”

“No, he couldn’t,” Baker agreed, “but she might have left on her own. She’s a stubborn girl when she takes a notion. After you left she may have changed her mind.”

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R
AFE PUSHED THE thought away. The chance was too slight. And where was Tex Brisco?

“Baker,” he suggested, “you and Higley know this country. You know about Tex. Where do you reckon he’d wind up?”

Higley shrugged. “There’s no tellin’. It ain’t as if he knew the country, too. They trailed him for a while, and they said it looked like his horse was wanderin’ loose without no hand on the bridle. Then the horse took to the water, so Brisco must have come to his senses somewhat. Anyway, they lost his trail when he was ridin’ west along a fork of Clear Creek. If he held to that direction it would take him over some plumb high, rough country south of the big peak. If he did get across, he’d wind up somewheres down along Tensleep Canyon, maybe. But that’s all guesswork.”

“Any shelter that way?”

“Nary a mite. Not if you mean human shelter. There’s plenty of timber there, but wolves, too. There’s also plenty of shelter in the rocks. The only humans over that way are the Sioux, and they ain’t in what you’d call a friendly mood. That’s where Man Afraid of His Horse has been holed up.”

Finding Tex Brisco would be like hunting a needle in a haystack and worse, but it was what Rafe Caradec had to do. He had to make an effort, anyway. Yet the thought of Dan Shute and the girl returned to him. Suppose it was Ann? He shuddered to think of her in Shute’s hands. The man was without a spark of decency or mercy. Not even his best friends would deny that.

“No use goin’ out in this storm,” Baker said. “You can stay with us, Caradec.”

“You’ve changed your tune some, Baker,” Rafe suggested grimly.

“A man can be wrong, can’t he?” Baker inquired testily. “Maybe I was. I don’t know. Things have gone to perdition around here fast, ever since you came in here with that story about Rodney.”

“Well, I’m not stayin’,” Rafe told him. “I’m going to look for Tex Brisco.”

The door was pushed open and they looked around. It was Pod Gomer. The sheriff looked even squarer and more bulky in a heavy buffalo coat. He cast a bleak look at Caradec and then walked to the fire, sliding out of his overcoat.

“You still here?” he asked, glancing at Rafe out of the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, I’m still here, Gomer, but you’re traveling.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You can wait till the storm is over. Then get out, and keep movin’.”

Gomer turned, his square hard face dark with angry blood.

“You—tellin’ me?” he said furiously. “I’m sheriff here!”

“You were,” Caradec said calmly. “Ever since you’ve been here you’ve been hand in glove with Barkow and Shute, runnin’ their dirty errands for them, pickin’ up the scraps they tossed you. Well, the fun’s over. You slope out of here when the storm’s over. Barkow’s gone, and within a few hours Shute will be, too.”

“Shute?” Gomer was incredulous. “You’d go up against Dan Shute? Why, man, you’re insane!”

“Am I?” Rafe shrugged. “That’s neither here nor there. I’m talkin’ to you. Get out and stay out. You can take your tinhorn judge with you.”

Gomer laughed. “You’re the one who’s through! Marsh dead, Brisco either dead or on the dodge, and Gill maybe dead. What chance have you got?”

“Gill’s in as good shape as I am,” Rafe said calmly, “and Bo Marsh is gettin’ Army care, and he’ll be out of the woods, too. As for Tex, I don’t know. He got away, and I’m bankin’ on that Texan to come out walkin’. How much stomach are your boys goin’ to have for the fight when Gill and I ride in here? Tom Blazer’s gone, and so are a half dozen more. Take your coat”—Rafe picked it up with his left hand—“and get out. If I see you after this storm, I’m shootin’ on sight. Now get!”

He heaved the heavy coat at Gomer, and the sheriff ducked, his face livid.

Yet surprisingly he did not reach for a gun. He lunged and swung with his fist. A shorter man than Caradec, he was wider and thicker, a powerfully built man who was known in mining and trail camps as a rough-and-tumble fighter.

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C
ARADEC TURNED, CATCHING Gomer’s right on the cheekbone, but bringing up a solid punch to Gomer’s midsection. The sheriff lunged close and tried to butt, and Rafe stabbed him in the face with a left and then smeared him with a hard right.

It was no match. Pod Gomer had fancied himself as a fighter, but Caradec had too much experience. He knocked Gomer back into a heap of sacks and then walked in on him and slugged him wickedly in the middle with both hands. Gomer went to his knees.

“All right, Pod,” Rafe said, panting, “I told you. Get goin’.”

The sheriff stayed on his knees, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his smashed nose. Rafe Caradec slipped into his coat and walked to the door.

Outside, he took the horse to the livery stable, brushed him off, and then gave him a rubdown and some oats.

He did not return to the store, but after a meal, saddled his horse and headed for Dan Shute’s ranch. He couldn’t escape the idea that the rider with Shute might have been Ann, despite the seeming impossibility of her being this far west. If she had left the fort within a short time after the patrol, then it might be.

But there was small chance of that. Barkow would never return, having managed to get that far away. There was no one else at the fort to bring her. Scouts had said a party of travelers were coming up from the river, but there would be small chance any of them would push on to Painted Rock in this weather.

Dan Shute’s ranch lay in a hollow of the hills near a curving stream. Not far away the timber ran down to the plain’s edge and dwindled away into a few scattered groves, blanketed now in snow.

A thin trail of smoke lifted from the chimney of the house and another from the bunkhouse. Rafe Caradec decided on boldness as the best course, relying on his muffled, snow-covered appearance to disguise him until within gun range. He opened a button on the front of his coat so he could get at a gun thrust into his waistband.

He removed his right hand from its glove and thrust it deep in his pocket. There it would be warm and at the same time free to grasp the six-gun when he needed it.

No one showed. It was very cold, and if there was anyone around and they noticed his approach, their curiosity did not extend to the point where they would come outside to investigate.

Rafe rode directly to the house, walked up on the porch, and rapped on the door with his left hand. There was no response. He rapped again, much harder.

All was silence. The mounting wind made hearing difficult, but he put his ear to the door and listened. There was no sound.

He dropped his left hand to the door and turned the knob. The door opened easily, and he let it swing wide, standing well out of line. The wind howled in, and a few flakes of snow, but there was no sound. He stepped inside and closed the door after him.

His ears tingled with cold, and he resisted a desire to rub them. Then he let his eyes sweep the wide room. A fire burned in the huge stone fireplace, but there was no one in the long room. Two exits from the room were hung with blankets. There was a table, littered with odds and ends, and one end held some dirty dishes where a hasty meal had been eaten. Beneath that spot was a place showing dampness, as though a pair of boots had shed melting snow.

There was no sound in the long room but the crackle of the fire and the low moan of the wind around the eaves. Walking warily, Rafe stepped over a saddle and some bits of harness and walked across to the opposite room.

He pushed the blanket aside.

The room was empty. He saw an unmade bed of tumbled blankets, and a lamp standing on a table by the bed.

Rafe turned and stared at the other door and then looked back into the bedroom. There was a pair of dirty socks lying there, and he stepped over and felt of them. They were damp.

Someone, within the last hour or less, had changed socks here. Walking outside, he noticed something he had not seen before. Below a chair near the table was another spot of dampness. Apparently, two people had been here.

He stepped back into the shadow of the bedroom door and put his hand in the front of his coat. He hadn’t wanted to reach for that gun, in case anyone was watching. Now, with his hand on the gun, he stepped out of the bedroom and walked to the other blanket-covered door. He pushed it aside.

It was a large kitchen. A fire glowed in the huge sheet-metal stove, and there was a coffeepot filled with boiling coffee. Seeing it, Rafe let go of his gun and picked up a cup. When he had filled it, he looked around the unkempt room. Like the rest of the house, it was strongly built, but poorly kept inside. The floor was dirty, and dirty dishes and scraps of food were around.

He lifted the coffee cup, and then his eyes saw a bit of white. He put down the cup and stepped over to the end of the woodpile.

His heart jumped. It was a woman’s handkerchief!

CHAPTER XX

Missing Girl

Quickly Rafe Caradec glanced around. Again he looked at the handkerchief in his hand and lifted it to his nostrils. There was a faint whiff of perfume—a perfume he remembered only too well.

She had been here, then. The other rider with Dan Shute had been Ann Rodney. But where was she now? Where could she be? What had happened?

He gulped a mouthful of the hot coffee and stared around again. The handkerchief had been near the back door. He put down the coffee and eased the door open. Beyond was the barn and a corral. He walked outside and, pushing through the curtain of blowing snow, reached the corral and then the barn.

Several horses were there. Hurrying along, he found two with dampness marking the places where their saddles had been. One of them he recalled as Ann’s horse. He had seen the mount when he had been at the store.

There were no saddles showing any evidence of having been ridden, and the saddles would be sweaty underneath if they had been. Evidently, two horses had been saddled and ridden away from this barn.

Scowling, Rafe stared around. In the dust of the floor he found a small track, almost obliterated by a larger one. Had Shute saddled two horses and taken the girl away? If so, where would he take her, and why? He decided suddenly that Shute had not taken Ann from here. She must have slipped away, saddled a horse, and escaped.

It was a farfetched conclusion, but it offered not only the solution he wanted, but one that fitted with the few facts available. Or at least, with the logic of the situation.

Why would Shute take the girl away from his home ranch? There was no logical reason, especially in such a storm as this when so far as Shute knew there would be no pursuit. Rafe himself would not have done it.

Perhaps he had been overconfident, believing Ann would rather share the warmth and security of the house than face the mounting blizzard.

Only the bunkhouse remained unexplored. There was a chance they had gone there. Turning, Rafe walked to the bunkhouse. Shoving the door open, he stepped inside.

Four men sat on bunks, and one, his boots off and his socks propped toward the stove, stared glumly at him from a chair made of a barrel.

The faces of all the men were familiar, but he could put a name to none of them.

They had seen the right hand in the front of his coat, and they sat quiet, appreciating its significance.

“Where’s Dan Shute?” he demanded, finally.

“Ain’t seen him,” said the man in the barrel chair.

“That go for all of you?” Rafe’s eyes swung from one to the other.

A lean, hard-faced man with a scar on his jawbone grinned, showing yellow teeth. He raised himself on his elbow.

“Why, no. It sure don’t, pilgrim. I seen him. He rode up here nigh onto an hour ago with that there girl from the store. They went inside. Suppose you want to get killed, you go to the house.”

“I’ve been there. It’s empty.”

The lean-faced man sat up. “That right? That don’t make sense. Why would a man with a filly like that take off into the storm?”

Rafe Caradec studied them coldly. “You men,” he said, “had better sack up and get out of here when the storm’s over. Dan Shute’s through.”

“Ain’t you countin’ unbranded stock, pardner?” the lean-faced man said, smiling tauntingly. “Dan Shute’s able to handle his own troubles. He took care of Barkow.”

This was news to Rafe. “He did? How’d you know that?”

“He done told me. Barkow run off with this girl, and Shute trailed him. I didn’t only see Shute come back, I talked some with him, and I unsaddled his horses.” He picked up a boot and pulled it on. “This here Rodney girl, she left the fort, runnin’ away from Barkow and takin’ after the Army patrol that rode out with you. Shute, he seen ’em. He also seen Barkow. He hunted Bruce down and shot him near that bare dome in your lower valley, and then he left Barkow and caught up with the girl and this strange hombre with her. Shute led their horses off and then got the girl while this hombre was huntin’ the horses.”