Dark Canyon (1963) (7 page)

Everyone was welcome, he understood that, but he was wary of encountering someone who might know him from elsewhere. It was this as much as his natural shyness that held him back.

Finally, after one reassuring touch on his gun to make sure he had it, he approached the house. People glanced at him, and several turned to look after he passed. Self-consciously, he went up the steps. The first person he glimpsed as he stepped through the door was Marie Shattuck. She had turned toward the door as he stepped in, and for an instant she remained still, staring at him, startled at his unexpected arrival.

"Miss Shattuck?" He spoke in his best Kehoe style. "It is good to see you again."

"Why, yes-I didn't know . . . I mean I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I invited him." Peg Oliver was suddenly beside her. "After all, we can't let him think we aren't hospitable."

Across the room he saw Dan Shattuck turn and glance toward him, and saw the older's man's expression change and become bleak.

"I can't stay long," he said. "I've got a long ride before me."

"You're leaving?" Marie was surprised at the intensity of her own voice, and saw Peg glance at her suddenly.

"To buy cattle," he said. "I heard of some I can buy-if I hurry."

Dan Shattuck was suddenly beside them. "If you mean the herd at Spanish Fork," he said, "you'd be wasting your time. The farmers along the trail will not allow any trail herds to come through."

"I'll bring them through."

Dan Shattuck was irritated. This young man disturbed him and aroused his ire, and that very fact served to nettle him even more. Why should he worry what Riley did? Only . . . his were the only whiteface herd in the Territory, and he was proud of the fact. Also, there was that matter of rustling-as long as his were the only cattle of the kind, his herd was relatively safe. But which was the more important reason?

"You'll have to have hands," he said, "and they aren't easy to find. But even with enough cowhands, there's no way you could get those cattle through without sprouting wings on them."

The music had started and Riley turned quickly to Marie. "Will you dance with me?" He spoke quickly, before her uncle could interrupt, and in an instant, while Dan Shattuck's face hardened with anger, they were out on the floor with the others. "He's a handsome man, Uncle Dan," Peg said, "and he likes Marie."

"He's a damned fool!" Shattuck replied roughly, and strode away.

Gaylord Riley danced well, for he was a man handy with his feet, and with rhythm in his blood, and there had been times here and there about the country when he had danced with girls from the Rio Grande to the Sacramento.

"You dance well, Mr. Riley," Marie said.

"It is because I dance with you," he said, and was surprised at how easily the words came to him.

"Are you going to stay with us, then?"

"Yes."

"You must not let Uncle Dan worry you. He is a good man, but very proud."

"There are too many other things about which to worry," he said, then looking down at her: "I have not known many girls."

"I don't believe that," she said quickly, and added, "Peg likes you."

"I like her," he agreed, "and she thought to ask me over."

Suddenly the small talk died within him. A thin, stooped man, his face deep-lined, was standing at the far side of the room. He wore a low-slung gun, and his eyes were watching Riley.

"What's the matter?" Marie asked quickly. "You sure you're feeling well?"

"I never felt better," he said, "but let's get off the floor."

That man was Desloge, an outlaw, one Riley had met and known slightly near Lordsburg-at a town called Shakespeare, actually. What was he doing here, of all places?

He had never liked the man, and Jim had refused Desloge sharply when he suggested he throw in with the Colburn gang. He was a hired gunman, but the stories about him went beyond that. Several times he had outlaw companions who disappeared abruptly, and others who found themselves in the hands of the law under peculiar circumstances. Nobody could prove a thing, but too much had happened to be mere coincidence.

And now he was here, and Riley was sure the man had recognized him.

How long had it been? Most of two years, and Riley had changed-but not enough.

They stood together on the porch, with other couples around them, and they talked quietly. For the first time Riley forgot who he was and what he had been, and was simply a man talking to a girl. From time to time he was aware that a number of young men wanted to interrupt, but all of them hesitated.

Desloge appeared in the door, and Riley saw his eyes darting this way and that, searching. It was time to ride out.

Suddenly he saw Darby Lewis out at the edge of the light. "Marie," he said quickly, "there's Darby Lewis. I've been watching for him, and it's time to go. Will you excuse me?"

Before she could even reply he threw a leg over the porch rail and dropped to the ground. A moment later he disappeared into the night with Darby. Nettled, she stared after him in the darkness.

Peg Oliver came up beside her. "What happened, Marie? What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. We were just talking, and all of a sudden he excused himself and disappeared."

She was irritated, and somewhat taken aback by the sudden leave-taking. Had she offended him somehow? But how?

Surprisingly, she was dismayed and hurt. It was not like her to be worried by what any man might do, and there was no reason for her feeling so now. Certainly, he had said nothing to her to lead her to believe he was interested in her. And she was definitely not interested in him.

Definitely. . . .

She was still telling herself that hours later, when she lay in bed. And then for the first time she remembered something else.

That strange man standing in the doorway-the one with the lined face. In the moment before they left the dance floor she had seen him-was he the reason for Gaylord Riley's sudden wish to go out on the porch? And later to disappear into the darkness?

She was imagining things. . . . Only, that man had been there both times, and he had seemed to be looking for someone.

She must remember, and tomorrow she must find out who he was.

She snuggled deeper under the blankets, for the night was chill. She went to sleep remembering how Gaylord Riley moved and talked, and the way he looked at her. There was something strange about him, strange and exciting.

Cruz was awake when they rode in, leading the four extra saddle horses Oliver had sold them. The Mexican got up and strolled over.

"Get some sleep," Riley suggested. "Tomorrow we ride to Spanish Fork."

When Darby had led the horses away, Cruz said, "Somebody should stay here. I have seen tracks." "Fresh tracks?"

"Si."

"Many riders? Or one?"

"One only . . . he watches."

Riley was relieved. One rider would scarcely mean the Colburn outfit. Yet who could it be? Was it the man who had been in Trail Canyon that night when Riley returned from checking the outlaw camp? If, indeed, there had even been a man.

Despite the need for sleep before the long ride, he lay awake for some time, pondering the situation. Why was Desloge in Rimrock? And who were the two strange riders talking to Spooner? Three gun-hands in the space of a couple of days could not be coincidence. Trouble was breeding, but for whom? He lay staring up at the stars, hearing the remote sounds as night and the cooling of the rocks brought little movements to the darkness.

What must Marie think of him? He had left her so abruptly. .

One thing he knew. He did not wish to talk to Desloge, nor to be seen talking to him. He had left all that behind him-or had he?

Chapter
8

Darby Lewis was a good sleeper, and the light rain that commenced to fall shortly before daybreak lulled him into an even deeper sleep. He did not hear the soft hoof-falls of the horse, nor did he hear the hooting of a lonely owl.

Cruz did hear the owl. It was the wrong time for an owl to be hooting, and Cruz was a man alive to such things. He awakened, but lay still, listening. Gaylord Riley rose swiftly and silently, belted on his gun, and picked up his hat and slicker. The three men were bedded down on the floor of the newly completed room, but Riley had been closest to the door. He opened it without a sound, and stepped out into the night.

Cruz lay still and listened. He heard Riley's footsteps as he walked through the rain, heard him pause, and then the splash of heavier steps, and a low voice.

Rising silently, with a glance at the sleeping form of Darby Lewis, Cruz stepped to the window, closed only by shutters. Through a crack he could see the dim outlines of a man on horseback and of Riley; then the two walked away toward the lean-to that had been doing duty as kitchen and dining hall.

Riley stirred up the coals and added fuel, moving the coffeepot to the hottest of the coals. Cruz watched for a few moments, but he was unable to se
e
the stranger's face. It was chilly, and anyway this was Riley's own business. After a little while he returned to his bed and went to sleep.

The man under the lean-to with Riley was Kehoe. "You've got things going here, kid," he said. "I think you'll have yourself a place."

"Part of it is yours."

"Maybe. We'll see."

He accepted the coffee gratefully, and Riley studied his face. The Irishman looked drawn and tired.

"We've had a run of bad luck," Kehoe said "Weaver caught one, but he's all right now."

"I found your camp over back of Horse Mountain."

Kehoe chuckled. "I told Parrish you'd find it. He didn't think so."

He sipped his coffee, warming his fingers around the cup. Suddenly he looked up. "You had any trouble?"

"No."

"You will have. The word's around that somebody up this way is in the market for gunmen. You remember Desloge?"

"I've seen him. He's here."

"He's doin' the hiring, and he's teamed up with a Wyoming pistol-fighter named Enloe, Gus Enloe. They're mean-poison mean."

Kehoe huddled nearer the fire. His coat was thin and wet. "You want my slicker?" Riley asked.

"No . . . lost mine a while back." Kehoe refilled the cup. "Tell me about this set-up."

Riley, sitting on 'a log, told him quietly and as concisely as possible about Shattuck, about the cattle he had bought, and Shattuck's resentment of him. He also mentioned the impending ride to Spanish Fork. The sky was growing gray before Kehoe stood up.

"Got to be goin', Lord." The
nickname
brought back old times. Kehoe put down his cup. "You're doing all right. Now stay with it."

"I need hands for the drive from the Fork." Kehoe glanced at him. "Hell, I wouldn't know how to handle cow critters any more, Lord. Neither would the rest of us." He glanced at Riley sharply. "You need us?"

"I sure do."

"We'll see." Kehoe considered the problem. "From the Fork? They won't let you drive down the main trail."

Riley shrugged. "I know that. Otherwise I couldn't afford those cattle. I'm going to bring them over the Swell."

Kehoe was startled. "The hell you are!" Then he added, "Ain't water enough for a hundred head through there-not generally."

They were silent then for several minutes, huddling over the small blaze. The rain continued to fall, and Riley stole a glance at Kehoe's haggard cheeks. "You've had a rough time," he said abruptly.

Kehoe nodded. "We have. You were right to get out of it, Riley. The old days are gone."

He stood up and threw the remainder of his coffee on the ground. "I'll. pass the word up on the Swell. If you can find water, you'll get through."

"This rain will help-and we've had a wet spring." Kehoe handed him a slip of paper on which were scrawled three addresses. "If you need us, write to all three. One of them will get us."

"Kehoe?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay out of Rimrock. That sheriff is too smart. He's a slow-moving Swede, and no youngster, but he was born canny."

Riley walked back to the house and stood there for a few minutes, mentally following Kehoe alon
g
the trail into the canyon. Kehoe had called him "Lord," a nickname he had given him back along the trail, short for Gaylord, but an old joke, resulting from the time in San Francisco when Riley had tried on a top hat. After that for quite some time they had called him "Lord Riley."

He fell into his bed and was instantly asleep, and when Cruz rolled out of bed half an hour later, Riley did not hear him.

The Mexican went outside in the growing light and studied the tracks. A few pieces of mud had fallen from the horse's shoes near the lean-to, and he picked them up and tossed them away. Then he got the horses saddled and led them several times over the tracks left by the stranger's horse.

Cruz had his own brand of loyalty. He rode for the brand, but even more for the man who owned it, and there had been a time, long ago and south of the border . . . Well, who can say what a man will not do in his youth?