Hardcase (6 page)

He looked down the right of way and saw Sholto trudging toward him. The train ran on down the grade, gathering momentum each hundred yards. It would take a good five miles before it reached the bottom of the grade and could stop, and even then the posse would be without guns or horses.

Sholto came up to him. Dave stood there, hands on hips, observing the man whose perjury was going to ruin Carol McFee and her father. His inspection of him on the train had only been cursory, but he had been surprised then. He was even more surprised as he regarded him now. He had expected to find a shifty-eyed rat who would come crawling to him for mercy. But Sholto looked like a leaned-down and broke puncher. His gaze didn't falter as he came to halt in front of Dave.

Dave said dryly, “Ain't you goin' to thank me?”

“No,” Sholto said quietly.

“That's funny,” Dave drawled. “From that coffin back there on the train you didn't sound like you liked Wallace much.”

Sholto said nothing, and Dave scowled. “Want to ride off alone?” he asked presently.

Sholto shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Where'll you go if I turn you loose?”

“Back to Wallace.”

Dave, frowning faintly, jerked his head toward the horses. “Well, you're not ridin' off alone.”

Dave walked a little behind him, frowning faintly, trying to figure out this man. He didn't look like a crook; and a moment ago Dave would have bet that Sholto was glad to be away from Wallace. But there was a spiritless resignation in the man now that had Dave troubled.

When they were almost up to the two horses tied at the edge of the cedar scrub Will Usher rode into the clearing and waited for them.

He was smiling broadly as they came up. “Have any trouble?”

“No,” Dave said. “Did you stay hid?”

Usher laughed and eyed Sholto hungrily. “Trust me. I've got to find Wallace and collect the cash, don't I?”

“Go do it,” Dave ordered.

Usher pulled his horse around and called over his shoulder, “I'll be at the line camp in two days.”

Dave didn't even answer. He took the nearest horse, stepped into the saddle, and regarded Sholto. “I don't savvy just how slippery you are yet, Sholto. Suppose you go lead off.” He nodded toward the near-blue bulk of the Corazon range to the west. “We're goin' over there. Keep to the rocky country and the streams and try to cover your sign.”

Sholto led off without a word, and Dave rode behind, watching him. He had taken Carol McFee's story of the forged deed in utter good faith, but now he knew a moment of doubt. This man wasn't a crook, yet he seemed eager to testify against McFee. It almost looked as if Sholto had really witnessed McFee's signature and was only interested in seeing justice done. Dave put that out of his mind and observed the man's actions, his clothes, his mannerisms. He could tell from the way Sholto took advantage of the country that he had either been a lawman or an outlaw. He was smart at hiding his sign, and fast at it too. They continued toward the Corazon the rest of the afternoon, and when dusk finally came, when they were crossing a narrow stream, Dave called a halt.

They dismounted, unloosed the cinches, and let their horses drink. Then Dave brought out some jerky and cold biscuits that Will Usher had provided in the saddle-bags, and they wolfed down their supper, squatting by the narrow stream. Finished, Dave took out a sack of tobacco and handed it to Sholto. “Smoke?”

Sholto looked surprised, took the tobacco, and rolled a cigarette. Dave waited until he inhaled, and, observing the deep luxurious mouthful of smoke the man dragged into his lungs, Dave said abruptly, “So Wallace ain't even goin' to pay you for lyin' for him.”

Sholto looked at him coolly, and before he could speak Dave said, “Don't bother to lie. I know McFee never signed the deed. But I didn't figure any man was sucker enough to stick his head out for nothin', like you're doin'.”

He could see Sholto's face turn darker in the dusk, and he knew the taunt had struck home. But Sholto kept silent.

Dave said abruptly, “How's your wife?”

Sholto started so that he dropped the cigarette from his fingers. He picked it up and slowly raised his head to look at Dave.

“I'm not married.”

“You're a liar,” Dave said flatly. “You like tobacco, but you don't carry it. I know the pants you're wearin' are two sizes too big for you, so they was given to you. I see your boots are rotten. You're broke. And if you're broke it's because Wallace ain't payin' you to lie. And if he ain't payin' you it's because he's got somethin' on you. And if he had somethin' on you and was holdin' you a prisoner you'd of been beggin' me the last four hours to let you loose. You didn't. That's because you're leavin' someone—a wife, mother, or a kid—where Wallace can get back at them if you duck out.” He added coldly, “How do you like that?”

Sholto was trembling a little now, but he said steadily enough, “It's your story. He looked closely at Dave. “Besides, what do you care? You ain't helpin' McFee, you said. You're just after money.”

Dave said, “I don't love Wallace. Neither do you.”

Sholto looked away. “You'll get nothin' from me.”

But Dave had got most of what he wanted. He was sure now that Sholto was being blackmailed by Wallace into perjury.

They set out again in the falling dusk, and this time Dave led the way. The Corazons were not really a range but two heavily timbered mountains. With their far-reaching foothills, their rough timbered slopes, and their rocky shoulders, they bulked as large as many ranges. Their two peaks, rounded and regular and matched, would have brought the name Squaw Mountains or Sugarloaf from a Yankee frontiersman seeing them for the first time. But a Spaniard had seen them first, coming on them in late afternoon when the heeled-over sun brought out every detail of the canyons. And from the flats, far out beyond Sabinal, the twin rounded peaks had seemed to be shaped like the top of a heart. The sun had touched the long slope of the canyons that met at a point in the foothills, and these slopes, taken with the peaks, had carried out the illusion of the heart. So he had named them the Corazon, the Heart.

It was for the point of this heart that Dave headed in the darkness, keeping to the streams which branched out from it. They climbed, hour after hour, the land lifting away from the foothills into the timber and the stream growing smaller.

Finally, long after midnight, they came to the mountain meadow that Dave was looking for. It was an old line camp, abandoned these weeks since the herds had been driven down for fall roundup. In a short time the snows would be here, but now it would be empty. Dave knew these things because he had to, because it was knowledge like this that let him live and camps like this that housed him.

They crossed the long meadow in dry grass knee deep to horses and pulled up in front of the line shack. It was dark, the door closed. Sholto offsaddled in silence and staked out their horses while Dave went behind the shack and picked up some lengths of wood. He came around, kicked the door open, and remembering where the stove was from the last visit, headed toward it in the dark.

He found it, laid the fire, found a match, and wiped it alight on his trousers.

He touched it to the shavings and watched them begin to burn. Sholto came in behind him and stopped. Then Sholto said, “Dave.”

He said it in a way that held a warning. Dave whirled, and then his down-sweeping hand was arrested.

There, facing him, gun drawn, five other men backing him with drawn guns, was Will Usher.

“Well, Davey my lad,” Usher drawled, “you did the job for me, all right.”

V

Dave looked at him one brief second, and then his still face, its lips curled in contempt, settled into anger. “Put that thing down,” he said softly.

Will Usher laughed. “I'm no woman, Dave. You move so much as a finger and we'll blow you through that wall.”

He meant it, Dave saw. After lighting a candle on the table by Sholto, Usher skirted Sholto and edged closer to Dave, careful to keep himself out of the line of fire of his men.

For one desperate second Dave was tempted to make his play. But the odds were too great, and Will Usher knew it.

Usher reached out, slipped Dave's gun from its holster, then backed against the wall. He was smiling, his face handsome.

“So this is the pay-off,” he gibed gently. “Wild Davey Coyle, the man who couldn't be caught.” He laughed softly. “A sucker's trap. It was so plain you didn't see it, did you?”

Dave sneered, turning his cold eyes on Usher. “Take Sholto and get out of here before I get mad.”

Usher only grinned, and Dave didn't like it. “And get only fifty thousand, when I could get fifty-seven thousand?” he asked gently.

For a moment Dave was puzzled, and then it came to him. Usher was going to collect fifty thousand ransom for Sholto. The seven thousand would be the reward money on him—Dave Coyle, wanted, dead or alive.

Usher saw that thought sink into Dave's awareness, and he smiled again. “So you were goin' to cut off my ears last night, Davey,” he drawled. “I'll cut off your ears tonight. That's now I'll collect my bounty.”

He looked at Dave. Dave said, “Will, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Than what?”

“Than to try and kill me. Better men than you have tried.”

Usher's face flushed, and his gun, which had been sagging a little, came up again. “All I got to do is pull the trigger.”

Dave shook his head. His hands were on his hips, his face arrogant, his feet widespread.

“Sure it is. But you won't do it now.”

“Why won't I?”

“Because you'll want to rub it in first. You'll want to see me beg. You'll want to see me sweat and start to shake. That right?”

For a split second he wasn't sure whether Usher would pull the trigger or not. And then Usher said softly, “That's right, Davey boy. Maybe you better start beggin' now.”

Dave had not had time to put the lid of the stove on, and now the fire was burning brightly, sending clouds of smoke into the room. Before he could answer Usher, Dave began to cough. He turned slowly, so that Usher would not be alarmed, and shoved the stove lid over the flames. But he still had a spasm of coughing, for he had been standing almost over the stove. Presently he ceased, and Usher smiled. “Ready to beg, Davey?”

Dave shook his head and said hoarsely, his eyes watering, “I got a proposition to make to you, Will. But give me a drink of water first.”

Usher said, “Get him a drink, Sholto, from that bucket in the corner,” without looking at Sholto, and then he sneered, “That's more like it, Davey. Beginnin' to crawfish, eh?”

Dave didn't answer, only coughed. Sholto got a cup of water, broke through the five men blocking the door, and came up to Dave, holding out the cup, Dave's left hand was already extended to receive the cup, his other hand at his mouth smothering the cough.

Just as he was about to take the cup he reached out, yanked Sholto to him, and at the same time whirled him. Usher's gun came up, and then it was too late.

Dave had pulled Sholto half around and now had his arms around him and pulled against his body so that Sholto shielded him.

Dave jeered, “Don't shoot your fifty thousand dollars, Will.”

Usher hesitated, and so did the other men. To kill Dave they would have had to shoot Sholto too.

And in that second Dave acted. He put his back to the side wall and started moving along it toward the door, Sholto in front of him. He had traveled perhaps eight feet when Usher came to his senses. “Rush him, boys, he hasn't got a gun!” And he followed his own advice.

Dave pushed out from the wall with one leg and hurled Sholto toward the advancing men. And in the same movement he kicked the table, which tipped over the bottle with the candle and extinguished it. He let go of Sholto, hearing him collide with Usher, and threw himself at the feet of the others. He mowed one man down in the darkness, and the man shot. He rolled on, came to his feet, and dived for the door, tripping over the sill. But he lit in the grass this time, rolled, came to his feet, and ran in the darkness toward the meadow where he had left his horse.

There was tumult in the cabin, and everyone was afraid to shoot. He heard Usher cursing wildly, and then a voice bawled, “There he goes! Through the meadow!” There was a scattering of shots around him, and Dave dropped into the high grass and crawled away through it from the spot where he fell. But it was slow and exhausting work.

They had him now. He could hear Usher's voice yelling, “Surround him!”

In the darkness a man's figure standing in the yellow grass made a blob of black against a lighter background. He'd forgotten that. If he stood up he'd be a target for the six of them.

He lay there, breathing softly, wondering what he could do. If they started to move in on him he might overpower one man and get a gun.

But Usher had seen that, too, and now he was yelling, “Don't move in on him! Stay where you are!”

Dave poked his forehead above the grass. He could see them now. They were in a circle around him, a circle perhaps forty yards in diameter.

Suddenly a match flared in the direction from which Will Usher's voice came. The light died and then flared up again, and it was bigger this time. The flame grew, and suddenly Dave understood. Will was going to burn him out, set the grass on fire. There was just enough of a ground breeze riding off the peaks to fan the dry grass into flames, and Dave knew that once it was started it would blaze with the heat of a blacksmith's forge.

“Shoot anything that moves!” Usher shouted, and then he started out in the wake of the flames. They laid in a long line now that was spreading. It didn't matter to Usher if he set a forest on fire, just so he caught Dave.