Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) (41 page)

There was a low murmur from the back of the room. Kedrick took time to toss off his drink and then calmly began to roll a smoke. To his right, the door opened and two men came in. One of these was as tall as himself with coal black hair turning gray at the temples. His eyes were gray and cold, his face firmly cut. He glanced sharply around the room and then at Kedrick.

“Captain Tom Kedrick, Bob,” Slagle said quietly, “speakin’ his piece. He’s just explained that we’ve been represented as a bunch of renegades.”

“That sounds like Burwick,” McLennon said. “Get on with it, Kedrick.”

“I’ve little to say but this. Naturally, like any good fighting man, I wanted to look over the terrain. Moreover, since arriving in Mustang certain rumors and hints have reached me that the picture is not one-sided. I have come out here to look you over, to see exactly what sort of people you are and if you are the outlaws and wasters you have been represented to be. Also, I would like to have a statement from you.”

Red’s face was ugly. “We got nothin’ to say to you, Kedrick,” he said harshly, “nothin’ at all! Just you come down here with your killers an’ see how many get away alive!”

“Wait a minute, Red!” Slagle interrupted. “Let Bob have his say.”

“Aw, why bother?” Red said roughly. “The man is scared, or he’d never have come huntin’ information!”

Kedrick’s eyes held Red’s thoughtfully, and he said slowly, “No, Red, I’m not scared. If I decide the company is right and you are to be run off, that is exactly what I’ll do. If the men I have are not enough, I’ll get more. I’m used to war, Red, I’ve been at it all my life, and I know how to win. I’m not here because I’m scared. I have come simply because I make a pass at being a just man. If you have a just claim to your places here and are not as represented, I’ll step out of this.

“Naturally,” he added, “I can’t speak for the others, but I will advise them as to my conclusions.”

“Fair enough,” McLennon agreed. “All right, I’ll state our case. This land is government land like all of it. The Navajos an’ Utes claim some of it, an’ some of us have dickered with them for land. We’ve moved in an’ settled on this land. Four or five of us have been here upward of ten years. Most of us have been here more than three.

“We’ve barns built, springs cleaned out, and some fences built. We’ve stocked some land and lived through a few bad summers and worse winters. Some of us have wives, an’ some of us children. We’re makin’ homes here. The company is tryin’ to gyp us.

“The law says we were to have six months’ notice. That is, it was to be posted six months before the sale by the government to the company. This land, as we understand it, is supposed to be unoccupied. Well, it ain’t. We live on it. Moreover, that notice was posted five months ago, stuck around in out-of-the-way places, in print so fine a man can scarcely read it without a magnifyin’ glass.

“A month ago one of the boys read it, but it took him a few days to sort the meanin’ out of the legal phrasin’, an’ then he hightailed it to me. We ain’t got the money to send a man to the government. So all we can do is fight. That’s what we figure on. If the company runs us off, which I don’t figure you or nobody can do, they’ll buy ever’ inch of it with their blood, believe me.”

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A
MURMUR OF approbation went through the room, and Kedrick scanned their faces thoughtfully. Dornie Shaw had judged these men correctly. They would fight. Moreover, with men like McLennon and Slagle to lead them, they would be hard to handle.

Legally, the company seemed to be in the better position. Also, the squatters were bucking a stacked deck. From here, it would take a man all of two weeks, and possibly three, to even get to Washington, let alone cut through all the government red tape to get to the men who could block the sale—if it could be blocked.

“This here’s a speculation on their part,” McLennon stated. “There’s rumors this here land is goin’ into an Injun reservation, an’ if it does, that means they’ll stick the government a nice price for the land.”

“Or you will,” Kedrick replied. “Looks like there’s two sides to this question, McLennon. The company has an argument. If the federal government does make this a reservation, you’ll have to move, anyway.”

“We’ll face that when it comes,” Slagle said. “Right now we’re buckin’ the company. Our folks aren’t speculators. We aren’t gunmen, either.”

Another man had entered the room, and Kedrick spotted him instantly. It was Burt, the big man he had whipped in the street fight. The man stopped by the wall and surveyed the room.

“None of you?” Kedrick asked gentle. “I have heard some stories about Pit Laine.”

“Laine’s a good man!” Red burst out heatedly. “He’ll do to ride any river with!”

Neither McLennon nor Slagle spoke, and the latter shifted his feet uneasily. Evidently, there was a difference of opinion here. He made a note to check on Laine, to find out more about him.

“Well,” he said finally, “I reckon I’ll study on it a little. In the meantime, let’s keep the peace. I’ll keep my men off if you will do likewise.”

“We aren’t huntin’ trouble,” McLennon said. “As long as there’s no shootin’ at us, an’ as long as the company men stay off our land, there’ll be no trouble from us.”

“Fact is,” Slagle said, “we sent Roberts ridin’ in with a message to Burwick to that effect. We ain’t huntin’ for no trouble.”

Kedrick turned toward the door, but the bartender’s voice stopped him. “You forgot your change,” he said dryly.

Kedrick glanced at him, grinned, and then picked it up. “Be seein’ you,” he said, and stepped to the door. At that instant, the door burst open and a man staggered into the room, his arm about another man, whom he dropped to the floor. “Roberts!” the man said. “He’s been murdered!”

All eyes stared at the man on the floor. That he had been shot many times was obvious. He had also been ridden over, for his body was torn and beaten by the hoofs of running horses. Tom Kedrick felt his stomach turn over. Sick with pity and shock, he lifted his eyes.

He looked up into a circle of accusation. McLennon, shocked and unbelieving. Slagle, horrified. Red and the others, crowding closer. “Him!” Red pointed a finger that trembled with anger. “While he stands an’ talks to us, his outfit murders Bob!”

“Get him!” somebody yelled. “Get him! I got a rope!”

Kedrick was standing at the door, and he knew there was no reasoning with these men. Later, they might think, and reason that he might have known nothing about the killing of Roberts. Now, they would not listen. As the man yelled, he hurled himself through the swinging doors and jerking loose his reins, hit the saddle of the palouse. The startled horse swung and lined out, not down the street, but between the buildings.

_______

B
EHIND HIM, MEN shouted and cursed. A shot rang out, and he heard a bullet clip past his head as he swung between the buildings. Then he knew his escape had driven him into a cul-de-sac, for he was now facing, not more than two hundred yards away, the rim around the flat where the town lay. Whether there was a break in that wall he could not guess, but he had an idea both the route upstream and that downstream of the arroyo would be covered by guards, so he swung his horse and charged into the darkness toward Yellow Butte itself.

As he had come into town, he had seemed to see a V-shaped opening near its base. Whether there was a cut

through the rim there he did not know. It might only be a box canyon and a worse trap than the one into which he had run on his first break.

He slowed his pace, knowing that silence was the first necessity now, for if they heard him, he could easily be bottled up. The flat was small, and aside from crossing the arroyo, there were but two routes of escape, and both would be watched, as he had first surmised. The butte towered high above him now, and his horse walked softly in the abysmal darkness at its foot. His safety was a matter of minutes, for they must know they had him.

The palouse was tired, he knew, for he had been going all day, and the day was warm and he was a big man. He was in no shape for a hard run against fresh horses, so the only possible escape lay in some shrewd move that would have them guessing and give him time. Yet he must be gone before daylight or he was through. By day they would comb this area and surely discover him.

Now the canyon mouth yawned before him. The walls were not high but were steep enough to allow no escape on horseback, at least.

The shouts of pursuit had stopped now, but he knew they were hard at work to find him. By now they would know from the guards on the stream that he was still on the flat and had not escaped. Those guards might be creatures of his own imagination, but knowing the men with whom he dealt, he was shrewd enough to realize that if they had not guarded the openings before his arrival, they certainly would have sent guards out at once.

The canyon was narrow and he rode on, moving with extreme caution. Yet when he had gone but a short distance he saw the end of the canyon rising above him, black and somber.

His throat tightened and his mouth went dry. The palouse stopped and Tom Kedrick sat silent, feeling the labored breathing of the horse and knowing this was an end. He was trapped, fairly trapped!

Behind him, a light flared briefly and then went out, but there was a shout. That had been a struck match, somebody looking for tracks. And they had found them. In a few minutes more, for they would move cautiously, they would be here.

There would be no reasoning with them now. They had him. He was trapped.

V

Captain Tom Kedrick sat very still, listening. He heard some gravel stir, and a stone rattled down the canyon. Every move would count now, and he must take no unnecessary chance. He was cornered, and while he did not want to kill any of these men, he had no intention of being killed.

Carefully, he dismounted. As his boot touched the sand he tested it to make sure no sound would result when his weight settled. Haste now was his greatest danger. There might be nothing he could do, but he was a man of many experiences, and in the past there had always been a way out. Usually there was, if a man took his time and kept his head.

Standing still beside the Appaloosa, he studied the situation. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness under the bulk of Yellow Butte. He stared around, seeing the faint gray of sand underfoot, the black bulk of boulders and the more ragged bulk of underbrush. Leading his horse, he followed a narrow strip of gray that showed an opening between boulders.

Scarcely wide enough to admit his horse, the opening led back for some twenty feet and then widened. These were low boulders, rising scarcely above his waist, with the brush somewhat higher. The horse seemed to sense the danger, for it, too, walked quietly, almost without sound.

Literally, he was feeling his way in the dark, but that trail of sand must come from somewhere, for water had run here, and that water might spill off the cliff edge or might come through some opening. Walking steadily, he found himself going deeper into a tangle of boulders, weaving his way along that thin gray trail, into he knew not what.

Twice he paused and with his hat, worked back along the path, brushing out the tracks. He could not see how good a job he was doing, but the opening was narrow enough to give him a good chance of success. When he had pushed back into the tangle for all of ten minutes, he was brought up sharply by the cliff itself. He had found his way up the slope, through the talus, brush, and scattered boulders, to the very face of the rock.

Above him, and apparently out of reach, was a notch in the cliff, and this was probably the source of the sandy trail he had followed. Worried now, he ground hitched the palouse and moved along the cliff, feeling his way along the face, searching each crack.

To his left, he found nothing. Several times he paused to listen, but no sound came from down the canyon. If this was a box canyon, with no exit, they would probably know it and make no attempt to close it until daylight. In the darkness a man could put up quite a fight in here. Yet, because of their eagerness to avenge the dead man, they might push on.

Speaking softly to the horse, he worked his way along the face to the right, but here the pile of talus fell off sharply and he dipped into a hollow. It was cool and the air felt damp. There might even be a spring there, but he heard no water running.

Despite the coolness, he was sweating, and he paused, mopping his face and listening. As he stood there he felt a faint breath of wind against his cheek!

He stiffened with surprise. Then with a sudden surge of hope, he turned and eagerly explored the rocky face, but could find no source for that breeze. He started on, moving more cautiously. Then the talus began to steepen under his feet, so he worked his way up the cliff alone. He carried with him his rifle.

At the top he could turn and glance back down the canyon, and the faint grayness in the distance indicated the way he had come. Here the canyon turned a bit, ending in a sort of blind alley on an angle from the true direction of the canyon. There, breaking the edge of the cliff above him, was a notch, and a steep slide led to the top!

It must have been some vague stirring of wind from up there on the rim that had touched his cheek, but the slide was steeper than a stairway and might start sliding under foot. Certainly, the rattle would give away his attempt, and it would be the matter of a few minutes only for them to circle around. As far as that went, they could even now be patrolling the rim above him.

_______

T
URNING, HIS FOOT went from under him, and only a frenzied grasp at some brush kept him from falling into whatever hole he had stumbled upon. Scrambling back to good footing, he dropped a pebble and heard it strike some fifteen or twenty feet down. Working his way along the edge, he reached the foot of the slide, or nearly there, and knew what he had come upon.

Water, flooding down that slide during heavy rains, had struck a soft stratum of sand or mud at this point, and striking it with force, had gouged out a deep hole that probably ran back into the canyon itself. There was always a chance that deep within this crack there might be some hiding place, some concealment. Turning abruptly, he returned for his horse.