Riders Of the Dawn (1980) (10 page)

"I sure do mean that! Also, that shot I heard fired wa s shot into him after he was dead!"

Fox shook his head, and sneered. "How could you figur e that?"

"A dead man does not bleed. Look at him! All the bloo d came from one wound!"

Suddenly we heard more horsemen, and Mulvaney returned with his guns and the Benaras boys. Not one, but al l of them.

Coolly, they moved up to the edge of the circle.

"We'd be beholden," the older Benaras said loudly, i f you'd all move back. We're friends to Sabre, an' we don'
t believe he done it. Now give him air an' listen."

They hesitated, not liking it. But their common sens e told them that if trouble started now it would be a blood y mess. Carefully, the nearest riders eased back. Whether Olg a was listening, I had no idea. Yet it was she whom I wante d most to convince.

"There are other men with axes to grind beside th e Pinders and I," I said. "What had Ito fear from Rud? Alread y I had shown I could take care of myself against all of them.

Face to face, I was twice the man Rud was."

"You talk yourself up mighty well," Fox said.

"You had your chance in the canyon," I said brutally , "and when I say I can hold this ranch, you know I'm no t lying."

Horses came up the trail, and the first faces I recognize d were Bodie Miller and the redhead I'd whipped at the Tw o Bar. Bodie pushed his horse into the circle when he saw me.

The devil was riding Bodie again, and I could see fro m Canaval's face that he knew it.

Right at the moment, Bodie was remembering how I ha d dared him to gamble at point-blank range. "You, is it?" h e said. "I'll kill you one day."

"Keep out of this, Bodie!" Canaval ordered sharply.

Miller's dislike was naked in his eyes. "Bud's dead now,"
h e said. "Maybe you won't be the boss anymore. Mayb e shell want a younger man for boss!"

The import of his words was like a blow across the face.

Suddenly I wanted to kill him, suddenly I was going to.

Canaval's voice was a cool breath of air through my fevere d brain. "That will be for Miss Olga to decide." He turned t o her. "Do you wish me to continue as foreman?"

"Naturally!" Her voice was cold and even, and in tha t moment I was proud of her. "And your first job will be to fir e Bodie Miller!"

Miller's face went white with fury, and his lips bare d back from his teeth. Before he could speak, I interfered. "Don'
s ay it, Bodie! Don't say it!" I stepped forward to face hi m across Maclaren's body.

The malignancy of his expression was unbelievable. "Yo u an' me are goin' to meet," he said, staring at me.

"When you're ready, Bodie." Deliberately, not wantin g the fight here, now, I turned my back on him.

Chapin and Canaval joined me while the men loaded th e body into a buckboard. "We don't think you're guilty, Sabre.

Have you any ideas?"

"Only that I believe he was killed elsewhere and carrie d here to cast blame on me. I don't believe it was Pinder. H
e would never-shoot Maclaren in the back."

"You think Park did it?" Canaval demanded.

"Peace between myself and Maclaren would be the las t thing he'd want," I said.

Bob Benaras was waiting for me. "You can use Jonatha n an' Jolly," he said. "I ain't got work enough to keep 'em out o f mischief."

He was not fooling me in the least. "Thanks. I can us e them to spell Mulvaney on lookout, and there's plenty o f work to do."

For two weeks we worked hard, and the inquest of Ru d Maclaren turned up nothing new. There had been no will, s o the ranch went to Olga. Yet nothing was settled. Some people believed I had killed Maclaren, most of them did no t know, but the country was quiet.

Of Bodie Miller we heard much. He killed a man a t Hattan's in a saloon quarrel, shot him before he could get hi s hand on a gun. Bodie and Red were riding with a lot of riffraf f from Hite. The Bar M was missing cattle, and Bodie laughe d when he heard it. He pistol-whipped a man in Silver Ree f and wounded a man while driving off the posse that cam e after him.

I worried more about Morgan Park. I had to discove r just what his plan was. My only chance was to follow Par k every hour of the day and night. I must know where he went , what he was doing, with whom he was talking. One night I w aited on a hill above Hattan's watching the house where h e lived when in town.

When he came out of the house I could feel the hackle s rising on the back of my neck. There was something abou t him that would always stir me to fury, and it did now. Stiflin g it, I watched him go to Mother O'Hara's, watched him moun t up and ride out of town on the Bar M road. Yet scarcely a dozen miles from town he drew up and scanned his hac k trail. Safely under cover, I watched him. Apparently satisfie d with what he did not see, he turned right along the ridge , keeping under cover. He now took a course that led him int o the wildest and most remote corner of the Bar M, that nec k of land north of my own and extending far west. His trail le d him out upon Dark Canyon Plateau. Knowing little of thi s area, I closed the distance between us until I saw him makin g camp.

Before daylight, he was moving again. The sun rose an d the clay became hot, with a film of heat haze obscuring all th e horizons. He seemed headed toward the northwest wher e the long line of the Sweet Alice Hills ended the visible world.

This country was a maze of canyons. To the south it fell awa y in an almost sheer precipice for hundreds of feet to th e bottom of Dark Canyon. There were trails off the plateau, bu t I knew none of them.

The view was breathtaking, overlooking miles of columned and whorled sandstone, towering escarpments, minarets, and upended ledges. This had once been inhabite d country, for there were ruins of cliff dwellings about, an d Indian writings.

The trail divided at the east end of the plateau, and th e flat rock gave no indication of which fork Park had taken. I t looked as though I had lost him. Taking a chance, I wen t down a steep slide into Poison Canyon and worked back i n the direction he must have taken, but the only tracks were o f rodents and one of a bighorn sheep. Hearing a sound o f singing, I dismounted. Rifle in hand, I worked my way throug h the rocks and brush.

"
I use to shave," the man at the fire said. "We're stuc k here. No chance to get to Hattan's now."

-Yeah?" The shaver scoffed. "You see that big feller?

Him an' Slade are talking medicine. We'll move out soon. I d on't want to get caught with no beard when I go to town."

-Who'll care how you look? An' maybe the fewer wh o know how you look, the better."

-After this show busts open," the shaver replied, -it ain'
t gold to matter who knows me! We'll have that town sewe d up tighter than a drum!"

"Maybe." The cook straightened and rubbed his hack.

-Again, maybe not. I wish it was rustlin' cows. Takin' town s can he mighty mean.-

"It ain't the town, just a couple of ranches. Only three , four men on the Two Bar, an' about the same on the Bar M.

Slade will have the toughest job done afore we start."

-That big feller looks man enough to do it by himself.

But if he can pay, his money will look good to me.-

"He better watch his step. That Sabre ain't no chicke n with a pair of Colts. He downed Rollie Pinder, an' I figure i t was him done for Lyell over to the Reef."

"It'll be somethin' when he an' Bodie get together. Bot h faster than greased lightnin'."

"Sabre won't be around. Pinder figures on raidin' tha t spread today. Sam wouldn't help him because he'd promise d Park. Pinder'll hit 'em about sundown, an' that'll be the en d of Sabre."

Waiting no longer, I hurried back to my horse. If Pinde r was to attack the Two Bar, Park would have to wait. Glancin g at the sun, fear rose in my throat. It would be nip and tuck if I w as to get back. Another idea came to me. I would rely o n Mulvaney and the Benaras boys to protect the Two Bi:tr. I w ould counterattack and hit the CP!

When I reached the CP, it lay deserted and still but fo r the cook, bald-headed and big bellied. He rushed from th e door but I was on him too fast, and he dropped his rifle unde r the threat of my six-gun. Tying him up, I dropped him in a feed bin and went to the house. Finding a can of wago n grease, I smeared it thickly over the floor in front of bot h doors and more of it on the steps. Leaving the door partl y open, I dumped red pepper into a pan and balanced it abov e the door, where the slightest push would send it cascadin g over whoever entered, filling the air with fine grains.

Opening the corral, I turned the horses loose and starte d them down the valley. Digging out all the coffee on th e place, I packed it to take away, knowing how a cowhan d dearly loves his coffee. It was my idea to make their lives a s miserable as possible to get them thoroughly fed up with th e fight. Pinder would not abandon the fight, but his hand s might get sick of the discomfort.

Gathering a few sticks, I added them to the fire alread y laid, but under them I put a half dozen shotgun shells. In th e tool shed were six sticks of powder and some fuse left fro m blasting rocks. Digging out a crack at one corner of th e fireplace I put two sticks of dynamite into the crack and the n ran the fuse within two inches of the fire and covered it wit h ashes. The shotgun shells would explode and scatter the fire , igniting, I hoped, the fuse.

A slow hour passed after I returned to a hideout in th e brush. What was happening at the Two Bar? In any kind o f fight, one has to have confidence in those fighting with him , and I had it in the men I'd left behind me. If one of them wa s killed, I vowed never to stop until all this crowd wer e finished.

Sweat trickled down my face. It was hot under th e brush. Once a rattler crawled by within six or seven feet o f me. A packrat stared at me and then moved on. Crow s quarreled in the trees over my head. And then I saw th e riders.

One look told me. Whatever had happened at the Tw o Bar, I knew these men were not victorious. There were nin e in the group, and two were bandaged. One had his arm in a sling and one had his skull bound up. Another man was tie d over a saddle, head and heels hanging. They rode down th e hill and I lifted my rifle, waiting for them to get closer to th e ranch. Then I fired three times as rapidly as I could squeez e off the shots.

One horse sprang into the air, spun halfway around , scattering the group, and then fell, sending his rider sprawling. The others rushed fir the shelter of the buildings, bu t just as they reached them one man toppled from his horse, hi t the dirt like a sack of old clothes, and rolled over in the dust.

He staggered to his feet and rushed toward the barn, fel l again, and then got up and ran on.

Others made a break for the house, and the first one t o hit those greasy steps was Jim Pinder. He hit them running.

His feet flew out from under him and he hit the step on hi s chin!

With a yell, the others charged by him, and even at tha t distance I could hear the crash of their falling, their angr y shouts, and then the roaring sneezes and gasping yells as th e red pepper filled the air and bit into their nostrils.

Coolly, I proceeded to shoot out the windows and to knock the hinges off the door, and when Jim Pinder staggered to his feet and reached for his hat, I put a bullet through the hat.
He jumped as if stung and grabbed for hi s pistol. He swung it up, and I fired again as he did. Wha t happened to his shot I never knew, but he dropped the pisto l with a yell and plunged for the door.

One man had ducked for the heavily planked wate r trough, and now he fired at me. He was invisible from m y position, but I knew that he was somewhere under the trough , and so I drilled the trough with two quick shots, draining th e water down upon him. He jumped to escape, and I put a bullet into the dust to left and right of his position. Like it o r not, he had to lie there while all the water ran over him. A f ew scattered shots stampeded their horses, and then I settled down to wait for time to bring the real fireworks.

A few shots came my way after a while, but all were hig h or low, and none came close to me.

Taking my time, I loaded up for the second time an d then rolled a smoke. My buckskin was in a lose place and ha d cover from the shots. There was no way they could escap e from the house to approach me. One wounded man ha d fallen near the barn, and I let him get up and limp toward it.

Every once in a while somebody would fall inside the house.

In the clear air I could hear the sound, and each time I c ouldn't help but grin.

There was smashing and banging inside the house, and I c ould imagine what was happening. They were looking fo r coffee and not finding it. A few minutes later a slow trickle o f smoke came out the chimney. My head resting on the pal m of one hand, I took a deep drag on my cigarette and waite d happily for the explosion.

They came, and suddenly. There was the sharp bark of a shotgun shell exploding and then a series of hangings as th e others went off. Two men rushed from the door and charge d for the barn. Bullets into the dust hurried them to shelter , and I laid back and laughed heartily. I'd never felt so good i n my life, picturing the faces of those tired, disgruntled men , besieged in the cabin, unable to make coffee, sliding on th e greasy floor, sneezing from the red pepper, ducking shotgu n shells from the fire.