the Rider Of Lost Creek (1976) (3 page)

Idling in front of the stage station a few minutes later, he saw Steve Lord coming toward him. He knew him, as he had known Webb Steele from descriptions given him before he arrived in Texas.

He was lighting a cigarette when Steve Lord stopped before him.

"You're a gunfighter
... Lord said. "You could have killed me."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you? I made a fool of myself. I was talking when I should have been listening."

The stranger smiled. "Why? Any man can make a mistake. You may be Chet Lord's son, but I think you can make your own tracks."

"Thanks. That's the first time anybody said that to me."

"Maybe they should have. Knowing you can act the man makes it easier to do it And knowing it is expected of you helps. Many a man is brave just because people expect it of him."

"Who are you"..."... Steve Lord asked.

"Sometimes they call me Lance. Is that enough for you?"

"It's enough. And about that job. If you want it, we'd like to have you. I may not be so good with a gun but I know when another man is. And we want you on our side."

"I wasn't planning on going to work right now
... Lance said. I've got a few dollars and I'm figuring on taking it easy for awhile."

"Look, we'll pay well, and I'd rather have you on our side than the other."

"Maybe I won't ride for either side. This sounds like a shooting war you're talking about, and I've had enough of that for a long, long time."

"You've got to go one way or the other ... or leave the country. I'm giving it to you straight If you don't sign on with either side, one or the other will shoot you on sight, just suspecting you're riding for the others."

Lance shrugged. "Well... I don't know. What kind of a fight is this, anyway?"

"It's a three-cornered fight, not just two. Webb Steele has about forty riders . . . that's twice what he needs for the stock he runs. We've about the same number, and we don't need them all either, except as warriors.

"Between us, we split the Live Oak country.

That's kind of a loose name for a big spread of country that runs from the Rio Grande to way north of the Neuces. Some folks name another section of country the Live Oak, but for us, this is it "It's always been a rough country, what with the border bandits on both sides stirring trouble, and Indians raiding into the area. Once this fight
warmed
up, a bunch of the boys began to choose sides, and some of them don't care who wins as long as they draw fighting wages." "You said it was a three-cornered war? Where's the other corner?"

"He doesn't matter so much, no matter how you look at it. He's a squatter named Mort Davis. He came in here about three or four years ago and settled on a water hole near what they call Lost Creek. We cut his wire and he cut ours... Or somebody did.

"He doesn't stand a chance, caught between two big outfits like he is. He'll be wiped out."

"You squatted on your land, he squatted on his.

What's the difference?"

Steve Lord stared at him. "You
don't
seem to understand Steele and Lord own this country. They came in here first, and they settled on it."

"And he came along later and settled on another piece. Strikes me that he's got as much right as you people have."

"Look, if we let every squatter who comes along settle on our land we soon wouldn't have enough left to graze a steer."

"But you didn't claim that land?"

"We did an" we didn't That is, we claimed it but so did Webb Steele. Neither side had moved in there, both hoping to avoid a shooting war. Then Davis moved in. And then he brought in cattle from Mexico. That's a tough country to deal with down there, and he's a tough man."

"Heard something about that
... Lance suggested mildly.

"I heard Mort Davis bought the land from the Mexican who inherited it, that he paid cash for both the land and the cattle. It seems to me that if you attack a man under those circumstances, you're breaking the law."

Steve Lord shrugged. "What law?"

"Suppose he moved against you? I doubt if either you or Steele have filed on any land or have any legal claim whatsoever except squatter's rights."

"He only bought his from a Mexican!"

Lance smiled. "There are Mexicans who live in Texas, too, who have been citizens of the state from the beginning. There were Mexicans defending the Alamo as well as attacking it."

"I don't believe it!"

"Check on it and you'll see I'm right. Steve, if I were you I'd leave Mort Davis alone.

You boys don't have a leg to stand on."

As he talked he was watching the street. Something was happening down there, something that smelled like trouble. The three men who had been watching him had been moving.

One had remained about where he was, but the others had come closer, each taking a different side of the street.

"Steve
... He spoke quietly, "you'd better get on down the street. I have a feeling I'm in trouble."

Steve turned quickly, puzzled, and glanced along the street.

"I'm not afraid."... Surprisingly, he discovered that what he said was true. "I'll stay,"

"Get out, Steve. Get out now. Thanks, but I don't want you here. Those men mean to kill me, and they might even be your father's men."

Startled, Steve Lord stared down the street, trying to make them out. Then suddenly he turned and ducked past an empty building.

The stranger who called himself Lance stood alone, waiting.

But then, had it not always been this way?

Chapter
III

He started across the street toward the Spur. His only intention was to put them out of position, since they had obviously evolved some strategy.

It was his way: never allow an enemy to fight in a situation of his own choosing: use whatever tactics necessary to throw them off balance.

He was halfway across the street when there was a sudden rattle of wheels and the pounding of racing hoofs behind him. He leaped aside just in time to escape being run down by a madly careening buckboard.

The driver, a girl stood up, sawed the plunging broncos to a halt, then wheeled the blackboard in the middle of the road only to come racing back up the street She jerked them to a halt alongside of Lance, and her eyes were blazing with anger.

"What
did
you think you're doing? Just standing in the middle of the street?"

She had come between him and at least two of the gunmen, and for a moment she had brought to a halt whatever plans they had.

Her red-gold hair blew in the wind, and her eyes were an amazing deep blue. She was beautiful, not merely pretty, but there was in her eyes the haughty disdain of a queen reprimanding a clumsy subject.

"Pretty
... He spoke in a slow drawl, "but spoiled. Could be quite a lady, too."... There was a tone of regret in his voice.

Then he smiled and removed his hat in an obsequious manner. "Sorry, ma'am. If you'll just let folks know when you plan to use the street for a racetrack I'll do my best to keep all the peasants out of your way."

Then he bowed again and turned to go.

"Wait!"

She took a couple of quick turns with the lines around the whip-stock, jumped to the street, and marched up to him. Her eyes were arrogant, her nostrils tight with anger.

"Did you mean to insinuate that I wasn't a lady?"

As she had leaped down from the seat, she had picked up a quirt, the type used when riding on horseback. It had by some odd chance been lying on the seat beside her.

He smiled again, but his eyes were serious. "I did," he replied quietly. "You see, ma'am, it takes more than beauty and a little money to make a lady. A lady is considerate of other people. A lady doesn't go racing around in a buckboard on a busy street. And when she almost runs somebody down, she apologizes."

As he talked, her eyes grew dark with anger, and the heat of her anger changed to the coldness of fury.

"You
... She said contemptuously. "A common cowpuncher trying to tell me how to be a lady!"

"Somebody should
... He said gently.

She drew back the quirt suddenly and struck viciously at his face, but Lance was expecting it and he lifted his forearm, almost negligently, and blocked the blow. Then he dropped his hand over and jerked the whip from her hand.

The movement threw her off-balance and she fell forward into his arms. He caught her, looking down into her astonished eyes, blazing with frustrated anger, and at her parted lips. He smiled again.

"I'd kiss you
... He said, "because it looks most inviting, and likely it would be fun, but I won't.

Your kind kisses much better if you have to come and beg for it."

She tore herself free. "Beg"..."... Her eyes were blazing. "I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last man alive!"

"No, ma'am, I reckon you wouldn't get to.

You'd be standin' in the line waiting, standin' away back toward the end."

A hard voice behind Lance cut the conversation short.

"Seems like you're takin' in quite a lot of territory around here, stranger. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

It was the thin-faced man, his thumbs hooked in his belt. Two of the other men had spread out, one right and one left. Another man was out of sight, behind him, no doubt. Or across the buckboard from him.

"Why, of course
... Lance said calmly. "Let's have your questions, and then I'll ask a few myself."

"I want to know where you was the day before yesterday."

Lance was puzzled. "The day before yesterday? I was riding, a good many miles from here."

"Have you got witnesses? You're going to need them."

"What's on your mind"..."... Lance felt the gathering of people about them, all listening.

"I suppose you'll claim you never heard of Joe Wilkins?"

At the mention of the name, there was a muttering from the crowd.

"You're right, of course
... Lance agreed. I've never heard of him."

"He was killed on Lost Creek Trail the day before yesterday. you were on that trail then, and there's some of us think you done him in. Do you deny it?"

"Deny it? I'm afraid I never heard of Joe Wilkins. I had no reason to kill him, and certainly do deny it."

"They found Wilkins
... The thin man's eyes were on Lance, confident he had him where he wanted him, "drilled between the eyes. Shot with a six-shooter. You was on that road, an* he was carryin' money! You robbed him!"

Lance was thinking calmly. There was more behind the man's accusation than appeared on the surface. Either an effort was being made to force him to attempt a getaway so they could kill him or they were making an effort to discredit him. If he made a flat denial, it could be considered that he was calling the man a liar. This might trap him into a shoot-out. Yet what worried him most of all was the gathering crowd, none of whom knew him, and many of whom might have known Wilkins.

Lance chuckled. "How'd you know I was on Lost Creek Trail?"

"Because I seen you!"

"Then
... Lance said gently, "you must have been on the trail, too. Or perhaps, since I didn't see you there, you might have been hiding off the trail.

And if you were hidden in the brush, why were you hidden?

Did you kill Wilkins?"

The man's eyes widened a little and there was a shadow of panic in them.

The crowd had expected Lance to say something that would provoke a fight. He was sure of that now something that would make it possible for a legitimate killing.

Instead, Lance had turned the accusation around on his accuser.

"No! I
didn't
kill him! He was my friend!"

"I never noticed you being so friendly, Polti
... A big farmer interrupted. "If you were his friend, I figure you kept it a secret!"

Somebody laughed and Polti turned sharply. "You keep your mouth shut! I'll do the talkin' here!"

"You've talked enough
... Lance said, "to make a man mighty suspicious. Why are you so anxious to pin this shooting on a complete stranger? Why were you hiding off the trail? No honest man needs to hide!"

"You killed Wilkins
... Polti insisted, and there was the look of sudden triumph in his eyes. "Everyone knows Wilkins had some gold dust he used to carry around. Here, I'll search those saddlebags you're carryin'! I'll! show you!"

"You seem almighty sure."... Lance kept his voice low and composed. "Did you put it in my bags while I was in the trail house?"

"Tryin' to weasel out of it"..."... Polti sneered.

"Well, you won't! I'm goin' to search those bags here an' now!"

Lance held himself very still, but his eyes were cold.