Dark Canyon (1963) (12 page)

Once he realized she was there, he was helpless-if the others discovered her presence there, he knew the kind of talk there would be. They would not know, as he did, that she had raced there ahead of them to warn Riley. And talk could destroy her-and him, too, when it came to that; although that had not occurred to him at the moment.

He knew, too, that he would kill the first man who spoke against her, and it would not end with one killing. There were always more.

Marie still rode out, taking long Tides across the high mesas, but she rarely rode toward Dark Canyon. Occasionally on those Tides she saw the tracks of other riders.

One day she had ridden out across the mesa and, leaving the trail that descended into Cottonwood Draw and followed the creek back into the Blues, she held to the mesa itself and skirted the base of the Blues, planning to water at a spring under the rim of Maverick Point.

It was a wild and lonely country, but she rode with confidence. Never in all her rides had she encountered trouble, and there was small chance she would see anyone in this empty land.

She had discovered the spring several years before, and had never seen any tracks there but those of wild animals, but now as she slid her horse down into Hop Creek, which offered access to Cottonwood Draw near the spring, she suddenly smelled smoke. Concealing her horse among the cedars, she worked her way along the bench above Cottonwood Draw until she could look down upon the spring. Three men stood about a fire, and there were four 'horses. She did not see the fourth man until one of the others went to him with a cup. She lay there, watching them, knowing the man was ill.

But why were they here, in this lonely place? Suddenly a voice was raised, and a man said
,
"The devil with what he wants! He'll die here. I say, take him to the kid's place!"

Voices were lowered then, and they talked for some time. At last the tallest one of the group mounted his horse and, taking great pains to cover all sign, he rode away. After a bit, she went back to her own horse and followed.

She lost him when she crossed Cottonwood Draw above their camp, but sighted him again on Maverick Mesa. She lost him again, then saw him riding along the Reef of Rocks, headed west. She was sure now-there was nothing over there but Riley's place until you came to Dandy Crossing. When they spoke of the "kid" they had to mean Riley. Taking another trail, she started for Rimrock.

She rode swiftly, thinking of the strange riders in the canyon, and of the wounded man, for she was sure he must have been wounded. She did not think about where she was riding, for she knew all of the trails very well; she had no wish now but to get back to the ranch, to be at home before her uncle began to worry. And it was already late.

Riding down to the banks of a small creek, she started to wade her horse through when she saw a rider sitting his horse in the middle of the trail. To right and left there was thick brush, and her only route lay straight ahead.

She looked again, trying to make out the features under the hat brim. She saw that the man was Strat Spooner, and suddenly she was frightened. He stared at her, smiling a little, as her horse walked nearer. By his gaze she was made acutely conscious of her figure, of the way her breasts tautened the material of her blouse. She wished she were away from here, anywhere at all.

"You're quite a ways from home, Marie," he said, and his smile broadened. His eyes held a curiou
s
hard yet speculative glint. "And quite a woman, I'd say.

To ride on was to draw nearer to him, but to turn back meant to ride into wilder country, where there was nothing and nobody. She hadn't seen so much as a chipmunk in miles.

She started to ride around him but he swung his horse in front of hers, still smiling, a lazy, insolent smile.

"Are you going to get out of my way?"

"Ain't decided."

He rested his big hands on the pommel of the saddle and rolled his fresh cigarette in his teeth. She was mighty pretty, but if she kicked up a row
he'd
have to leave the country. He had seen what happened to men who molested women in the western country-there was nothing that brought action faster. If a man was lucky he would simply be hung; some had been burned.

If she kicked up a fuss . . . but would she? Maybe she was just waiting for a man like him. She was a high-stepping filly with quite a body under the clothes. He felt himself starting to sweat.

Marie Shattuck was in a quandary. She might try riding upstream or downstream in the water, but the creek was shadowed by willows and cottonwoods; and back there away from the trail it was now almost dark. Yet the longer she delayed the greater the danger.

Putting spurs to her horse, she started forward with a lunge, but Spooner was too quick and too ready. His big hand dropped to her wrist, and as her horse leaped forward she was dragged from the saddle.

Instantly, she swung her quirt. The leather lash whipped across his face, and involuntarily he jerked back. Even in the half-light she could see the livid streak where the quirt had struck him. With a
n
oath, he lunged for her-and then a rope shot out of nowhere and Strat Spooner was jerked back. off his feet into the water.

Wildly, he fought to throw off the rope, and struggled to get to his feet. The stranger's horse simply backed up, as any good roping horse would do, and Spooner sprawled in the water, cursing. He grabbed for his gun but it was gone, fallen from his holster when he had hit the water.

Marie recognized the rider at once. It was the tall man she had seen by the fire in the canyon. "Evenin', ma'am," he said gently. "This feller seems to need a mite of cooling off."

"Drown him for all I care!" she flared. Then she smiled. "I want to thank you. I don't know what I'd have done."

The black horse moved again, and Strat Spooner fell again, all sprawled out.

"Figured you'd best have an escort back to Rim-rock, ma'am. I know Riley would be mighty put out if he knew a friend of his was in trouble."

"You're a friend of his?"

"Lord Riley? I should reckon." He turned his horse and dragged Spooner out on the far bank. He shook the rope loose and Spooner backed out of the loop.

"
I'll
kill you for this!" Spooner said.

"My, my! He surely does get wrought up, ma'am. Maybe what he needs is an evenin' walk."

Spurring his horse, he rode up alongside of Spooner's horse and slapped it lightly with the rope. The horse leaped away and Spooner broke into a torrent of curses.

Kehoe rode up beside her. "If you will permit me," he said politely, "I'll ride the rest of the way into town with you."

"Be careful. That was Strat Spooner back there." "Heard of him."

"He's killed several men."

"He seemed mighty upset back there." Kehoe glanced at her. "Was he waitin' for you?"

"He might have been. I-I often ride this way." She paused, thinking about it. "Now that I remember, so does he. And not only when I ride out that way."

"Nothing out there to call a man."

Kehoe was puzzled. And then he did remember something. "Unless he's tied in with those men holed up over in the Blues. There's twenty or thirty men over there-gunhands, and such.

"You know the spring over east of the head of Indian Creek?" he went on. "They're holed up there, a pretty rough crowd. We stumbled on them one time-they didn't see us-and it was pretty obvious they were hiding out. I recognized one of them. A man named Gus Enloe-a wanted man down in the Nation."

She had heard the name somewhere.

By now they were at the edge of Rimrock. He drew up and half turned to go.

"Who are you? What shall I call you?" she asked.

"You mustn't call me anything, Miss Shattuck. Just forget about me. I know that Lord is very concerned about you . .. not that he has mentioned your name, because he wouldn't. But when I heard your horse crossing Cottonwood Draw, I followed on to see who you were, and then trailed you back toward town to make sure you got home all right."

"Thank you. . . . You called him 'Lord'?"

"Short for Gaylord-one time I saw him trying on a top hat and said he looked like a lord."

"You've known him long?"

Kehoe hesitated, and then he said quietly, "Yes, I have . . . long enough to know there isn't a better man anywhere, at any time; and if he's given a chance, he will make something of that ranch."

"They are saying he has stolen cattle."

"Lord? Not on your life."

"But he has cattle?"

"He bought that herd up Spanish Fork way, and drove it down over the Swell."

"But that's impossible!"

"No, it isn't. Most times it is, but if a man tries it after heavy rains, as he did, and if he has friends who tell him where the water is, then he can make it. And believe me, he made it. I'm one of the men who helped him."

"One of your friends was hurt."

"You noticed that? Yes, he is, and we're worried." "Do you have anything-medicines, or like that?" "Nothing," Kehoe said bitterly. "We haven't a damn thing, and he'll fight us if we try to take him to the kid's place-to Lord's. He's afraid he'll get him into trouble."

"It's a bullet wound?"

Kehoe knew he had gone too far not to trust her now; in fact, he had been trusting her all the way along. "Yes," he said.

"You wait here. I'll ride in and see what I can get."

She rode swiftly to the drugstore. She had several times helped to care for wounds, and knew very well what to get that the drugstore had in stock. She ordered quickly.

The druggist, a short, red-faced man named White, looked at her. "You had a shootin' yonder? To the ranch?"

"No . . . only Uncle Dan wanted to have these things on hand . . . with the rustlers, and all."

"Oh, sure! Liable to be some shootin', at that." Then he scowled. "Say, come to think of it, Pico was in here and stocked up only last week. Durned near bought me out."

"Give the things to me anyway," she said impa
t
iently. Every moment the man waited he was in danger, and he might begin to doubt her and just ride off. "And please hurry!"

"Well, if you say so," White grumbled, "but Pico, he bought enough bandages and medicine and suchlike to outfit a regiment. Seems a waste of-"

"Are you going to give me what I ordered or not?" "Oh, sure!" Hastily, he wrapped up the package. "I surely didn't mean-"

She took the package and turned swiftly toward the door, brushing by the man who was coming in, not even noticing who it was.

Ed Larsen turned and looked after her. Now, how long had it been since Marie Shattuck had failed to speak to him? He walked to the counter.

"A dime's worth of hoarhound," he said. "I take to sweets," he explained. "Aboudt all dat's left for an old man."

"That Marie Shattuck," White said, shaking his head. "I never knew her to get mad before. She-"

Larsen was a patient man and a good listener, and tonight he listened, offering no comment until the end of what the druggist had to say. "Some boy," he explained wisely. "Young girls get mighty fidgety at such times."

White's face cleared. "Oh, sure! Never thought of that!"

Larsen went outside and closed the door behind him, effectively cutting off the questions White would have. After all, it was a small town, and White would be curious. Also, there were very few eligible young men around, and Larsen did not wish to be subjected to White's speculations.

Marie was gone, leaving only the dust of her going to settle in the empty street.

"If I were to ride oudt," he said aloud, "I could get to the ranch aboudt suppertime. Seems to me Dan Shattuck eats late."

The more he thought of it, the more he thought it was a good idea. And it was not much of a ride, when a man considered the kind of cooking at Shat-tuck's ranch.

And no telling what a man might turn up-if he listened.

Chapter
12

The dining room at Shattuck's ranch was a long, low room with heavy beams and a huge fireplace. Dan Shattuck was a man who liked to live well, and he had come to the frontier when living well was impossible.

Breakfast he ate with the hands, and at noonday he was usually on the range and ate a lunch, or he was at a chuck-wagon or a campfire. Supper he insisted on enjoying in the grand manner, at a table with a tablecloth, cut glass, and silver.

Partly, it was a matter of preference; but partly, too, it was for Marie's sake. This was the background a girl should have, he believed, the background of a stable home, of dignity, courtesy, and manner-but without stuffiness.

Of the visitors who came to his table, Sampson McCarty, Sheriff Larsen, Oliver, and Doc Beaman were welcome at any time. Sampson McCarty and Doc Beaman were both there tonight when Larsen rode in and was promptly invited to dinner.

Marie, who had changed quickly and hurried to the dining room for supper, came to the door just as the men were walking into the room, and she caught a thread of conversation as she entered.