Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) (34 page)

There we rested, and we drank several times. From the stars I could see that it had taken us better than two hours of walking to make less than five miles. But now the trail would be easier along Dark Canyon Plateau—and then I remembered Slade’s camp. What if they were back there again, holed up in the same place?

It was a thought, and to go down the canyon toward them was actually none out of the way. Although the walking might be rougher at times, we would have the stream beside us, a thing to be considered. Mulvaney agreed, and we descended into the canyon.

Dark it was there, and quiet except for the rustle of water over stones, and there was a cool dampness that was good to our throats and skins after the heat. We walked on, taking our time, for we’d no records to break. And then we heard singing before we saw the reflection of the fire.

We walked on, moving more carefully, for the canyon walls caught and magnified every sound.

Three men were about the fire, and one of them was Jack Slade. Two were talking while one man sang as he cleaned his rifle. We reached the edge of the firelight before they saw us, and I had my Winchester on them, and Mulvaney that cannonlike four-shot pistol of his. “Grab the sky, Slade!” I barked the order at him, and his hand dropped and then froze.

“Who is it?” he demanded hoarsely, straining his eyes at us. Our faces being shielded by the brims of our hats, he could not see enough of them. I stepped nearer so the firelight reached under my hat brim.

“It’s Matt Sabre,” I said, “and I’m not wanting to kill you or anybody. We want two horses. You can lend them to us, or we’ll take them. Our horses were shot by the same man that killed your partner.”

S
LADE JERKED, HIS eyes showing incredulity. “Killed? Lott killed?”

“That’s right. Intentionally or otherwise he met up with the hombre we were following. He drilled your man right over the eyes. We followed on, and he found where we left our horses and shot them both to leave us afoot.”

“Damn a man that’ll kill a horse,” Slade said. “Who was he?”

“Don’t know,” I admitted. “Only he leaves a track like Morgan Park. At least, he’s got a small foot.”

“But Park’s in jail,” Mulvaney added.

“Not now he isn’t,” Slade said. “Morgan Park broke jail within an hour after darkness last night. He pulled one of those iron bars right out of that old wall, stole a horse, and got away. He’s on the loose and after somebody’s scalp.”

Park free! But the man we had followed had not been as big as Park was. I did not tell them that. “How about the horses?” I asked.

“You can have them, Sabre,” Slade said grudgingly. “I’m clearing out. I’ve no stomach for this sort of thing.”

“Are they spares?”

Slade nodded. “We’ve a half dozen extras. In our business it pays to keep fresh horses.” He grinned. “No hard feelin’s, Sabre?”

“Not me,” I said. “Only don’t you boys get any wild ideas about jumping game. My trigger finger is right jittery.”

Slade shrugged wryly. “With two guns on us? Not likely. I don’t know whether your partner can shoot or not, but with a cannon that big he doesn’t need to. What kind of gun is that, anyway?”

“She’s my own make,” Mulvaney said cheerfully, “but the slug kills just as dead.”

“Give this hombre an old stovepipe and he’d make a cannon,” I told them. “He’s a genius with tools.”

While Mulvaney got the horses I stood over the camp. “Any other news in town?” I asked Slade.

“Plenty!” he admitted. “Some Army officer came into town claimin’ Park killed his brother. Seems a right salty gent. And”—his eyes flickered to mine—“Bodie Miller is talkin’ it big around town. He says you’re his meat.”

“He’s a heavy eater, that boy,” I said carelessly. “He may tackle something one of these days that will give him indigestion.”

J
ACK SLADE SHRUGGED and watched Mulvaney lead the horses up. As we mounted, I glanced back at him. “We’ll leave these horses at the corral of the livery stable in town, if you like.”

Slade’s eyes twinkled a little. “Better not. First time you get a chance take ’em to a corral you’ll find in the woods back of Armstrong’s. Towns don’t set well with me, nor me with them.”

The horses were fresh and ready to go, and we let them run. Daylight found us riding up the street of Hattan’s, a town that was silent and waiting. The loft was full of hay, and both of us headed for it. Two hours later I was wide awake. Splashing water on my face I headed for O’Hara’s. The first person I saw as we came through the door was Key Chapin. Olga Maclaren was with him.

Chapin looked up as we entered. “Sorry, Sabre,” he said. “I’ve just heard.”

“Heard what?” I was puzzled.

“That you’re losing the Two Bar.”

“Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”

“You mean you haven’t heard? Jake Booker showed up the other day and filed a deed to the Two Bar. He purchased the rights to it from Ball’s nephew, the legitimate heir. He also has laid claim to the Bar M, maintaining that it was never actually owned by Rud Maclaren, but belonged to his brother-in-law, now dead. Booker has found some relative of the brother-in-law and bought his right to the property.”

“Well, of all the—That’s too flimsy, Chapin. He can’t hope to get away with that! What’s on his mind?”

Chapin shrugged. “If he goes to court he can make it tough. You have witnesses to the fact that Ball gave you the ranch, but whether that will stand in court, I don’t know, especially with a shrewd operator like Booker fighting it. As to Maclaren, it turns out he did leave the ranch to his brother-in-law during a time some years ago when he was suffering from a gunshot wound, and apparently never made another will. What’s important right now is that Jake is going to court to get both you and Olga off the ranches, and he plans to freeze all sales, bank accounts, and other money or stock until the case is settled.”

“In other words, he doesn’t want us to have the money to fight him.”

C
HAPIN SHRUGGED. “I don’t know what his idea is, but I’ll tell you one thing. He stands in well with the judge, who is just about as crooked as he is, and they’ll use your reputation against you. Don’t think Booker hasn’t considered all the angles, and don’t think he doesn’t know how flimsy his case may be. He’ll bolster it every way possible, and he knows every trick in the book.”

I sat down. This had come so suddenly that it took the wind out of my sails. “Has this news gone to the Bar M yet? Has it got out to Canaval?”

Chapin shrugged. “Why should it? He was only the foreman. Olga has been told, and you can imagine how she feels.”

My eyes went to hers, and she looked away. Katie O’Hara came in, and I gave her my order for breakfast and tried the coffee she had brought with her. It tasted good.

As I sat there my mind began to work swiftly. There was still a chance, if I figured things right. Jake Booker was no fool. He had not paid out money for those claims unless he believed he could make them stand in court. He knew about how much money I had and knew that Olga Maclaren, with the ranch bank accounts frozen, would be broke. Neither of us could afford to hire an attorney, and so far as that went, there was no attorney within miles able to cope with Booker. What had started as a range war had degenerated into a range steal by a shyster lawyer, and he had arguments that could not be answered with a gun.

“How was Canaval when you left?”

“Better,” Olga said, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“What about Morgan Park? I heard he escaped.”

“Tharp’s out after him now. That Colonel D’Arcy went with him and the posse. There had been a horse left for Park. Who was responsible for that, we don’t know, but it may have been one of his own men.”

“Where did Tharp go?”

“Toward the ranch, I think. There was no trail they could find.”

“They should have gone east, toward Dark Canyon. That’s where he’ll be.”

Chapin looked at me curiously, intently. “Why there?”

“That’s where he’ll go,” I replied definitely. “Take my word for it.”

T
HEY TALKED A little between them, but I ate in silence, always conscious of the girl across the table, aware of her every move.

Finishing my meal, I got up and reached for my hat. Olga looked up quickly. “Don’t go out there! Bodie Miller is in town!”

“Thanks.” Our eyes met and held. Were they saying something to me? Or was I reading into their depths the meaning I wanted them to hold? “Thanks,” I repeated. “I’d prefer not to meet him now. This is no time for personal grudges.”

It was a horse I wanted, a better horse than the one borrowed from Slade, which might have been stolen. This, I reflected dryly, would be a poor time to be hung as a horse thief. There was no gate at the corral on this side, so I climbed over, crossing the corral. At the corner I stopped in my tracks. A horse was tied to the corral, a horse stripped but recently of a saddle, a dun horse that showed evidence of hard riding! And in the damp earth near the trough was a boot print. Kneeling, I examined the hocks of the tied horse. From one of them I picked a shred of wool and then another. Spinning around I raced for the restaurant. “Katie!” I demanded. “Who owns that horse? Did you see the rider?”

“If you’re thinkin’ of Park, that horse couldn’t carry him far. An’ he would not stay in the town. Not him.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Nobody—wait a minute! I did so. ’Twas Jake Booker. Not that I saw him with the horse, but a bit before daylight he came around the corner from that way and asked if I’d coffee ready.”

Booker! He had small feet. He was in with Park. He wanted Maclaren dead. He had killed Slade’s man and shot our horses. Booker had some explaining to do.

Mulvaney was crawling from the loft where I’d slept but was all attention at once. He listened and then ran to the stable office. Waiting only until he was on a horse and racing from town, I started back to O’Hara’s. My mind was made up.

The time had come for a showdown, and this time we would all be in on it, and Jake Booker would not be forgotten.