Twisted Trails (15 page)

Riding out of the big gully, Paul cut directly for the Lone Chance. The idlers on the porch looked at him curiously, and Farrow from the mine met him in the doorway. Farrow's loose, skinny frame stiffened, and his pale face sought Paul's eyes.

"I heard about the ruckus, Scott," Farrow said. "Did you find Finch?"

"Not yet. He got away from me up there, and I thought he might be here."

"It ain't likely he'd come here. I told you I was troubled with highgraders on that rich gold quartz we struck. It appears Finch was back of that, too."

"Everything he touched rotted," Paul said bitterly.

"We were tipped off he had the stuff hidden in the shack in Gull Canyon. We staked some men out there last night and searched the place but found nothing. I reckon he must've caught onto our scheme an' took the gold away, but it ain't in his room. We watched him until this morning, and he got away from us. I figure that's why he came back—to get that gold."

"I wouldn't know, Farrow," Paul said. "I'll handle it, if you want. Where's Addie?"

Farrow jerked his bony head toward the stairs. "Wearin' out the carpet in the hall upstairs," he said.

Paul mounted the stairs, his mind clicking over. It all fitted together. Helen had gone to the line shack yesterday, and Finch had gotten her to take the gold away. Nobody would follow Helen; nobody would suspect her of aiding a thief. She had taken the gold, and was supposed to have returned with it today, but Norah had prevented that. Paul felt a sudden fear because Finch, desperate, might hurt or kill anyone who opposed him.

Paul paused in the upper gloom, and was face to face with Addie. Addie's eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and the stain of tears had marred her makeup. Her reserve appeared to have deserted her, and she was only a grieving woman.

"How is he?" Paul asked skeptically.

"He's going to lose his leg above the knee."

"Oh, no!"

"That's all right," Addie said without rancor. "He'll get along. He's got more guts than I thought he had. I'm proud of him, Paul—I love him. I guess I loved him before, but he hadn't proved himself. But then, I'd have gone on loving him, because love needs no proof. It's different now, though; I respect him as well. We're going to do all right, Paul, Lieth and I."

Captain Cranny, the medical officer from the post, came from Addie's fancy room where Lieth lay on the soft silk bed. The doctor looked steady and somewhat grim. Whatever shreds of pride he had left he wore now, like an armor. Here was a case to test his skill.

"Mr. Scott," Cranny said, "Mr. Severs wants to see you, alone. He wants to thank you, I presume. You certainly saved his life by stopping the flow of blood. I'm going down to scrub up. You can talk to him now."

What could he say to Larry Scott, his brother, after the bitter years? Larry had at last become repentant, had found the courage to turn upon Finch and give him the treatment he deserved, but repentance is not always enough to heal deep scars. Still unable to find the right thing to say, Paul entered Addie's room and closed the door. Larry Scott lay upon the satin pillow, staining it with his blood, his face a flushed, feverish mask. But his eyes were sane, and his voice was quiet and compelling.

"Paul, is that you?" he asked without turning his head.

"Yes, Larry."

"No, not Larry—Lieth. Larry is gone, Paul, dead and in the past. Please let me have my way in this. Promise not to own me as a brother, not to anybody. Larry Scott was a fool, branded and twisted into a man who did not recognize evil even when it was pointed out to him. Lieth Severs was weak, but he had no record of crime, big or small. He found a woman and he found love. Today he had a choice, a choice between going the way Larry Scott had gone and going the honest way. He chose the honest way. Would it be too much to ask to let me be Lieth Severs, at least until I've established my integrity?"

"What about Finch?" Paul asked, undecided as to the best thing to do. "He could name you."

"That's a chance I've got to take. But I believe Finch will leave the country today, or die. Carmody's after him; Farrow's after him. He's beyond needing a trial."

"I'm after him, too," Paul said.

"I'm sick, Paul. I might not live through this amputation. I lost a lot of blood, but the doc says I can't make it without the amputation. That's why I want your promise now. If I die and am buried as Lieth Severs, I'll die as a man with at least one good deed in his record."

"All right, Lieth; I promise," Paul said solemnly. Larry Scott had paid in conscience and loneliness for his crimes. Lieth Severs might be the man to redeem him. Paul took Larry's hand and squeezed it tightly. "You'll pull through all right, Lieth. You're from tough stock."

The doctor came back, his sleeves rolled up and a white apron covering his ample paunch.

"Do you intend to help me?" Dr. Cranny asked.

"You can find others, Doctor," Paul said. "I've got no time to lose."

Addie's voice said evenly, "I'll help, Doctor."

"No, Addie," Lieth said, "send a couple of the men up. They'll have to sit on me."

Addie followed Paul into the hall. "What did he say, Paul? I want to help him so."

"Addie," Paul said, a sympathetic smile on his lips, "time alone can disclose what he said. But he did say that he loves you."

Paul saw Addie's smile and was warmed by it. At last Addie had found someone to love and mother. Paul hurried down the stairs, past the line of curious men at the barn and out into the slanting rays of the sun. The day was not yet over. Mounting his horse, Paul decided to check at the trading post first to see if there was any word of the warrant he was expecting. It was even possible that Finch might be found there.

When Paul reached the post, he found Uriah alone inside the dim adobe building. The sun, coming in through the fort-like windows, made golden stripes across the piles of stock and up the whitewashed wall. Uriah looked up, his hooded eyes brooding, and Paul wondered if he were aware of Helen's actions. Uriah, patient and kind to those he loved, could be terrible in revenge upon any who wronged him. There was strength in his powerful frame, a strength awaiting only the command of a slow but dreadful anger.

"Howdy, son," Uriah said gravely. "I heard you had quite a ruckus out on the trail this morning."

"News travels fast," Paul said, wondering if the news of Helen's rendezvous had also traveled fast.

"Bellows, the miner you sent for the doc, stopped by and told me," Uriah explained.

"Have you seen Finch?"

"Never comes here, Is he gone?"

"I don't think so. I'm looking for him."

Paul thought he saw a dark hatred in Uriah's eyes, but he wasn't sure. Uriah might suspect something was wrong, he might even have seen Finch at the ranch, but he could not be sure who it was Finch had come there to see.

"He's killed a man now," Uriah said. "How are you going to get him back to Oklahoma?"

"Did anything come for me? I expected that warrant today."

"There was nothing."

"No word from the marshal at Salt Lake or Provo?"

Uriah shook his head. "Ain't you found that letter yet?"

Paul hesitated, knowing what his denial would imply.

"Could be what you want to know is in that letter," Uriah insisted, avoiding Paul's eyes.

"I haven't found it," Paul said.

"Do you reckon," Uriah said, his lips trembling, "that maybe—Helen—oh, no, she couldn't do a thing like that."

"Look, Uriah," Paul hastened to reassure him, moved by the older man's emotion, "it probably just got lost. Maybe it will turn up."

"You want I should look for it?" Uriah asked, not sparing himself.

"I'll look for it myself," Paul said. "Thanks, Uriah."

Uriah, a revealing brightness in his eyes, said, "The thanks goes to you, son."

Paul took the proffered hand and felt the warmth and power in it. Then he backed out the door, trying not to arouse Uriah's curiosity. He believed he knew where Finch could be found, and for Uriah to be the one to find him would be tragic. Killing Finch could never restore a faith and love once broken. Perhaps that love and faith might yet be saved.

Mounting, Paul rode leisurely until he was out of sight of the store door; then he dug steel to his mount and clattered toward the green oasis of the ranch. That ranch was a symbol, the product of a man's work and love and hope. A man had to have someone to believe in him, to share and enjoy the fruits of his dreams and his labor. And Finch strove to destroy all this. If he could use Helen to his own advantage, he would do so. But once that advantage had been achieved and exploited, he would cast her off to her shame and sorrow.

Even as his horse's hooves sprayed dust into the air, pounding their way toward death or disaster, Paul tried to think how he could save Helen Young from herself. He had to see her and talk to her, even though she despised him. He would ask her point-blank for that letter, because what it contained might be enough to stop the evil that Finch disbursed so foully.

Before he reached the ranch gate, he saw the buggy careening and bounding along the road leading down from the hills. He saw Norah bent forward in the seat, urging the racing horses to greater speed. Paul felt a catch in his throat at the sight of her.

"The little fool," he said, "the brave, proud little fool!"

Even though he had taken the cut-off, she had contrived to arrive home before the thing was settled, because he had delayed at Addie's and Uriah's. Now, if there were danger, she would be caught up by it. He cursed softly, feeling uneasy and afraid. Afraid? Of what? Perhaps Finch would not be at the ranch. Perhaps he had been there and gone away. If so, Paul could trail him and have the showdown where nobody would get hurt.

The buggy surged into the ranch while he was still a hundred yards from the gate. By the time he had turned into the yard, he saw Norah scramble out and hurry toward the house. He watched her sure young strength and realized how much he loved her. His heart swelled at the thought of her loyalty and courage. He was so obsessed by the vision of her that he failed to see Finch leap off the porch of the house, his hand pressed against his side. He failed to see Finch's horse hidden by the corner of the wall.

"Paul!" Norah screamed, not slackening her pace. "Watch out!"

The warning and terror in her voice primed him for what was to be. He jerked his head around, at the same time rolling from the saddle and digging his heels into the dust to stop his forward movement. He saw Finch's broadcloth back, the stain of blood, his shiny boots. Finch was heading for the hidden horse.

"Hold it, Finch!" Paul commanded sharply. He tensed, praying that Finch would stop and turn. Finch must die, if he insisted, but not from a bullet in the back. To Paul's relief, Finch stopped near the path on which Norah was approaching the house.

"Stay where you are, Finch," Paul said, moving stiffly. "You played your last chips, and you played them wrong." His eyes were busy taking in everything at once. Norah, shocked and dismayed by the turn of events, stood frozen within an arm's length of Finch.

"I warned you, Paul," Finch said grimly, "that some day you'd get your neck chopped off by sticking it out too far. You still got a cockeyed notion you're taking me back to Oklahoma?"

"Would you rather go back to Oklahoma alive, or stay here dead?" Paul asked, watching Finch's white hand. Paul knew a gun was under that smooth coat, and he knew the gun was fast and deadly.

"Suppose I prefer neither?"

"One of the men you tried to kill this morning is still alive," Paul said evenly.

"So?"

"So you are a murderer. You killed before; you killed Big-head."

"And if I kill you," Finch said grimly, "it will make three." Then he added, "Is that the way you want it?"

Paul, his eyes aching with the intensity of his gaze, saw Finch's swift movement, but he did not read Finch's intention. As Finch snatched for his gun with one hand, his other hand reached out and caught Norah by the arm. Paul drew his own gun with a swift cross motion, but by the time it cleared leather, Finch held the struggling girl before him, and his gun was snarling savagely.

Paul stood paralyzed and helpless. The dramatic swiftness and deadliness of the moment threatened to destroy him. Finch, the cheat, had become Finch the killer. Only by adding murder to murder could Finch remain free. Paul felt one of the bullets rake fire across his ribs. Another caught him in the chest, and he was surprised at the gasping cough that came from his lips. He felt dizzy and confused. He saw Finch's white, contorted face, but he dared not fire.

"Paul—Paul," Norah cried, "shoot!"

Paul felt his knees buckle. He marveled that he felt no pain; just the shock and sound of the bullets. Even the fact that he was going to die failed to impress him. It was all impersonal, something that was happening but that concerned him very little.

"Paul!" Norah screamed the word.

The sound penetrated his brain and jerked him back to reality. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand. Then he saw the blurred action on the porch. Helen, her face pale, rushed into the yard, her skirts swirling about her feet. She held a shotgun in her hand.

"Alonzo, you fiend!" she screamed. "You murderer!"

Finch, startled, twisted toward this new danger, and Norah tore herself free and fell to the ground. Paul felt his gun jerk in his hand, once, twice! He heard a thundering roar. Finch stood there, weaving and bewildered. The gun fell from his slack hand, and a ghost of the old debonair smile came to his lips. His lips moved without sound, as though he might be quoting, "
Et tu, Brute
?" Then he fell quietly, twitched a couple of times and lay still. Paul was surprised to find himself on his knees, trying to propel himself forward. Then Norah materialized beside him and was helping him toward the house. By a grim effort of will, Paul drew upon his remaining strength. He stopped where Helen was on her knees, weeping uncontrollably.

"I killed him," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to. I found out today what a beast he was, but I didn't mean to kill him."