Law Of the Desert Born (Ss) (1984) (25 page)

The situation was simple enough. Obviously, Monaghan and some of the small flatland ranchers needed this upper range, but Targ, while not using it himself, was keeping them off. Now he obviously intended to do more. Kim Sartain_ had started something that seemed about to destroy the people he called his friends. And the girl too.

He swallowed that one. Maybe he wasn't the type for double harness, but if he was, Rusty Monaghan was the girl. And why shouldn't he be? Ward McQueen had been the same sort of hombre as himself, and Ward wa
s
marrying his boss-as pretty a girl as ever owned a ranch.

While he had decided to homestead this place simply because of Targ's high-handed manner, he could see that it was an excellent piece of range. From talk at the Y7 he knew there were more of these mountain meadows, and some of the other ranchers from below could move their stock up. His sudden decision, while based on pure deviltry, was actually a splendid idea. His cattle were on the range, even if they still wore Monaghan's brand. That was tantamount to possession if he could make it stick, and Kim Sartain was not a man given to backing down when his bluff was called. The camp across the pool was growing quiet, for one after another of the men was turning in. A heavy-bodied, bearded man sat near the fire, half dozing. He was the one man on guard.

Quietly, Kim began to inch around the pool, and by the time an hour had passed and the riders were snoring loudly, he had completed the circuit to a point where he was almost within arm's length of the nearest sleeper. En route he had acquired something* else--a long forked stick.

With infinite care, he reached out and lifted the belt and holster of the nearest rider, then, using the stick, retrieved those of the man beyond. Working his way around the camp, he succeeded in getting all the guns but those of the watcher, and those of Clyde Tanner. These last he deliberately left behind. Twice, he had to lift guns from under the edges of blankets, but only once did a man stir and look around, but as all was quiet and he could see the guard by the fire, the man returned to his sleep.

Now, Kim got to his feet. His bad leg was stiff, and he had to shift it with care, but he moved to a point opposite the guard. Now came the risky part, and the necessity for taking chances. His Colt level at the guard, he tossed a pebble against th
e
man's chest. The fellow stirred, but did not look up. The next one caught him on the neck, and the guard looked up to see Kim Sartain, a finger across his lips for silence, the six-shooter to lend authority.

The guard gulped loudly, then his lips slackened and his eyes bulged. The heavy cheeks looked sick and flabby. With a motion of the gun, Kim indicated the man was to rise. Clumsily, the fellow got to his feet and at Sartain's gesture, approached him. Then Sartain turned the man around, and was about to tie his hands when the fellow's wits seemed to return. With more courage than wisdom, he suddenly bellowed,
Targ! Tanner! It's him!"

Kim Sartain's pistol barrel clipped him a ringing blow on the skull, and the big guard went down in a heap. Looking across his body, Kim Sartain stood with 'both hands filled with lead pushers. "You boys sit right still," he said, smiling.
I don't aim to kill anybody unless I have to. Now all of you but Tanner get up and move to the left."

He watched them with cat's eyes as they moved, alert for any wrong move. When they were lined up opposite him, all either barefooted or in sock feet, he motioned to Tanner.
You get up, Clyde. Now belt on your guns, but careful! Real careful!"

The gunman got shakily to his feet, his eyes murderous. He had been awakened from a sound sleep to look into Sartain's guns and see the hard blaze of the eyes beyond them. Nor did it pass unnoticed that all the guns had been taken but his, and his eyes narrowed, liking that implication not a bit.

"Targ," Kim said coldly, "you and your boys listen to me! I was ridin' through this country a perfect stranger until you tried to get mean! I don't like to have nobody ridin' me, see? So I went to see Monaghan, whom I'd never heard about until you mentioned him. I made
a
deal for cows, and I'm in these meadows to stay. You bit off more than you could chew.

-Moreover, you brought this yellow-streaked, coyotekillin' Tanner in here to do your gunslinging for you. I hear he's right good at it! And I hear he was huntin' me!
The rest of you boys are mostly cowhands. You know the right and wrong of this as well as I do! Well, right here and now we're goin' to settle my claim on this land! I left Tanner his guns after takin' all yours because I figured he really wanted me. Now he'll get his chance; afterwards if any of the rest of you want me, you can buy in, one at a time! When the shootin's over here tonight, the fight's over
.

His eyes riveted on Targ.
You hear that, Jim Targ? Tanner gets his chance, then you do, if you want it. But you make no trouble for Tom Monaghan, and no trouble for me. You're just a little man in a big country, you can keep your spread and run it small, or you can leave the country!"

As he finished speaking, he turned back to Tanner.
Now, you killer for pay, you've got your guns. I'm going to holster mine.
His eyes swung to the waiting cowhands.
You,
he indicated an oldish man with cold blue eyes and drooping gray mustaches,
give the word!" With a flick of his hand, his gun dropped into its holster, and his hands to their sides. Jim Targ's eyes narrowed, but his cowhands were all attention. Kim Sartain knew his Western men. Even outlaws like a man with nerve and would see him get a break.

"Now!" The gray-mustached man yelled.
Go for 'em!''

Tanner spread his hands wide.
No! No!" he screamed the words.
Don't shoot!"

He was unused to meeting men face to face with an even break. The very fact that Sartain had left his guns for him, a taunt and a dare as well as an indication of Sartain's confidence, had wrecked what nerve the killer had.

Now he stepped back, his face gray. With death imminent, all the courage went out of him. "I ain't got no grudge agin you!" he protested. "It was that Tar& He set me on to you!"

The man who had given the signal exploded with anger. "Well, of all the yellow, two-bit, four-flushin' windbags!" His words failed him. "And you're supposed to be tough!" he said contemptuously.

Tarp stared at Tanner, then shifted his eyes to Sartain. "That was a good play!" he said. "But I made no promises! Just because that coyote has yellow down his spine is no reason I forfeit this range!"

"I said," Sartain commented calmly, "the fighting ends here." Stooping, he picked up one of the gun belts and tossed it to Targ's feet. "There's your chance, if you want a quick slide into the grave!"

Targ's face worked with fury. He had plenty of courage, but he was remembering that lightning draw of the day before, and knew he could never match it, not even approach it. "I'm no gunfighter!" he said furiously. "But I won't quit! This here range belongs to me!"

"My cattle are on it," Kim said coolly. "I hold it. You set foot on it even once in the next year, and I'll hunt you down wherever you are and shoot you like a dog!"

Jim Targ was a study in anger and futility. His big hands opened and closed, and he muttered an oath. Whatever he was about to say was cut off short, for the gray-mustached hand yelled suddenly, "Loo
k
out!''

Kim wheeled, crouched and drawing as he turned. Tanner, his enemy's attention distracted, had taken the chance he was afraid to take with Sartain's eyes upon him. His gun was out and lifting, but Kim's speed was as the dart of a snake's head, a blur of motion, then a stab of red flame. Tanner's shot plowed dust at his feet. Then the killer wilted at the knees, turned halfway around, and fell into the dust beside the fire.

Sartain's gun swung back, but Targ had not moved, nor had the others. For an instant, the tableau held, and then Kim Sartain holstered his gun.

"Targ,
he said, "you've made your play, and I've called you. Looks to me like you've drawn to a pair of deuces."

For just a minute the cattleman hesitated. He had his faults, but foolishness was not one of them. He knew when he was whipped. "I guess I have,
he said ruefully. "Anyway, that trail would have been pure misery, a buildin'. Saves us a sight of work
.

He turned away, and the hands bunched around him. All but the man with the gray mustache. His eyes twinkled.

"Looks like you'll be needin' some help, Sartain. Are you Kirin'?"

"Surer Sartain grinned suddenly. "First thing, catch my horse--I've got me a game leg-and then take charge until I get back here!"

The boardinghouse triangle at the Y7 was clanging loudly when the dun cantered into the yard.

Kim dismounted stiffly and limped up the
. S
teps.

Tom Monaghan came to his feet, his eyes widened. The hands stared. Kim noted with relief that all were there. One man had a bandage around his head, another had his arm in a sling, his left arm, so he could still eat.

"Sort of wound things up," Sartain explained. "There won't be any trouble with Targ in the high meadows. Figured to drop down and have some breakfast
.

Kim avoided Rusty's eyes but ate in silence. He was on his second cup of coffee when he felt her beside him. Then, clearing a space on the table, she put down a pie, its top golden brown and bulging with the promise of fruit underneath.

He looked up quickly. "I knew you'd be back,
she said simply.

*

Author's
Note: RATTLESNAKE JACK FALCON

Westerh towns were inclined to be tolerant of rambunctious cowhands, but their mood could change with really bad men if the lead got to flying around promiscuously.

Rattlesnake Jack Fallon and Ed (Longhair) Owen rode into Lewiston, Montana, on July 4, 1884, in a disgruntled mood and, after beating up a citizen or two, took to shooting up the town. The two were known to be horse thieves and that coupled with a growing lack of patience brought out the citizens of Lewiston with Winchesters at the ready.

The two had been drinking, but when they saw the citizens forting up they started out of town. Their decision came too late. Longhair went down, Rattlesnake Jack fought his way back to his side, and the two cashed in their chips, firing until neither could pull a trigger any longer.

This led to a cleanup of rustlers in general, an action headed by Theodore Roosevelt and the Marquis de Mores, both ranching at the time in eastern Montana and North Dakota.

*

Late as it was, the street of Painted Rock was ablaze with light. Saddled horses lined the hitch rails, and the stage was unloading down at the Empire House. Bearded men hustled by in the streets, some of them with packs, some hurrying to get packs. Word of the strike had gone out, and the town was emptying swiftly.

Matt Sabre stood against the wall of the Empire House and watched it absently. This he had seen many times before, this hurry and bustle. He had seen it over cattle, over land, over silver and gold. Wherever it seemed that money might quickly be had, there men thronged.

Good men, many of them. The strong, the brave, the true. But they were not alone, for here also were the scum. The cheats, the gamblers, the good-for-nothings. The men who robbed, who killed, who lived by deceit or treachery. And here also were those who felt that strength or gun skill made them the law-their own law. And these were often the most dangerous. And it was for these that he was here.

Two days now Matt Sabre had been marshal of Painted Rock. Yet the job was not new to him, for he had been marshal before in other towns. And this town was no different. Even the faces were the same. It was strange, he thought, how little difference there was in people. When one traveled, got around to many towns, one soon realized there were just so many types, and one found them in every town. Names were different, and expressions, but it was like many casts playing the same roles in a drama. The parts remained the same; only the names of the cast had changed.

Darius Gilbert, who owned the gambling house, for example. And Owen Cobb, the banker. Or tall, immaculate Nat Falley, with mining interests. The three were partners in the general store, and they ran the town. They were the council, and they had hired Matt Sabre as town marshal. A tough man for a tough job.

His eyes veiled as he watched the dismounting stage passengers, considering the three men, and most of all Nat Falley. Gilbert and Cobb were good men, upright men, but not fighters. If he was to get help or hindrance, it would come from Falley. In this town or any, other, a man like Falley was a man to consider.

A girl was getting down from the stage, a girl dressed in gray. Her cheekbones were high yet delicate, her mouth too wide for true beauty, yet it added to her perfection. She stepped up to the walk, stared at by all, and then asked a question. A man gestured toward Matt Sabre. At once, her eyes turned to him, and he felt their impact. He took a step forward, removing his hat.

-You were looking for me? I'm the town marshal."

She smiled at him; a quick, woman's smile that told him she found him attractive, and also that she wanted something from him . . . and she could see that he believed her beautiful.