Marauders' Moon (20 page)

For many long minutes Mitch sat there, sifting sand through his fingers, thinking. Finally he looked up at the sky, and the expression on his face was one of surprise. He looked around him, as if all this was unfamiliar. He looked at his horse, standing hipshot in the warm sunlight, stomping an occasional fly. The jingling of the bridle chain attracted him. Funny, he thought, how you noticed little things like that, or the markings on your horse at a time like this. For instance, he had not noticed this morning that the horse he had snaked out of the corral had a perfect star on his forehead. Mitch noticed a lot of things like that, trivial things, and all the while he had a sense of inexorable time passing.

Presently he got up and walked over to his horse. The gun slung in its belt over the saddle horn attracted him. He took out the .45 and looked at its sheen. He cocked it and then looked down the barrel. It looked big. He shuddered and let it off cock and then threw it away. The belt he threw away, too.

Then he mounted and sought the road. He didn't pause there but resolutely turned his horse toward the Twin Buttes.

He was glad Cousins hadn't told him where those three Montana hardcases were forted up. He hoped they were good shots.

Presently he started thinking about his mother back in Texas. Would Wake send her money as a sop to his conscience? Perhaps. It didn't matter much, because he had sent her enough as it was. He had never told her about Mitch killing that girl in Tucson because, after all, Bannister was a gentleman in some ways. That would be one of the ways.

Mitch was thinking about that girl when the shots came.

Warren, Les, and Manny were good shots. They did not need to be, however, for they were not more than twelve feet from where Mitch passed.

The shots drove Mitch over the saddle horn onto his horse's neck. The horse shied, sloping Mitch off, and then stampeded.

He lay there dead in the sand, three neat holes in his back, while the sound of shells being ejected from guns clicked out in that sunny morning silence.

“Now we can smoke,” Warren said.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Webb did not make the mistake of thinking he could ride into Tolleston's place and be welcomed. He knew Buck still thought him one of the original bank robbers, hired by Bannister, and his belief had been vindicated by Webb's presence at the burning of the Broken Arrow.

First, Buck would have to be made to listen to reason. Webb was prepared to put up with the insults and the abuse, possibly attempted shooting, that was sure to come from Tolleston. He only hoped that Martha Tolleston, with the charity natural to a woman, would prevent Buck from doing anything rash until he had heard Webb's story.

Webb rode all day, avoiding trails and roads, but holding to a course which would inevitably bring him to the Broken Arrow. When darkness fell, he was on reasonably familiar ground, and he proceeded north.

His first glimpse of the Broken Arrow was from the same place he had seen it last with Lute and Shorty. There was a camp of sorts out under the trees, and by the light of the big fire Webb could see the shell of the house.

Dismounting, he tied his horse to a cedar and slung his gun belt over the saddle horn. He hated this, but it was better to put all temptation aside. He might lose his temper, and once he went for a gun, there would be no quitting until he or Tolleston was down.

He made his way down the slope, and as he approached the fire he could distinguish people. Martha was sitting by her dad, who was seated on a chuck box. Charley was cleaning up after supper, with the aid of Mrs. Partridge. The hands were sprawled out around the fire, listening to Buck.

Webb walked on slowly, careful to make no noise. He chose to approach the fire in full view of Buck, should he look up.

It was one of the hands, Chuck Martin, who first caught sight of the man approaching the fire. Martin straightened up, his hand falling to his gun.

Buck saw that gesture and looked up, just as Webb stepped into the circle of firelight. For a moment no one moved, and then Buck exploded off the chuck box, his hand streaking for his gun.

And as Webb had hoped, Martha intervened. She seized her father's wrist. “Dad, dad, don't! Don't you see he hasn't a gun!”

Buck started to brush her roughly aside, when Martin rose, gun in hand. Webb didn't move, didn't attempt to run or to dodge. There was a faint smile on his lean, freckled face, a look of amused patience. Martin, cocking his gun, looked beyond Webb into the night.

“I'm alone,” Webb said. “I came to talk.”

“I got a gun on him, Buck,” Martin said.

Tolleston strode around the fire, Martha behind him. Stopping before Webb, Tolleston said ominously, “You didn't come back here to hang, Cousins. What's behind this?”

Webb said, “I want to talk.” He looked at Martha for help, but her face was tense. She, too, suspected this was a trap.

Buck pointed his gun at Webb and said, without turning, “Chuck, take a
pasear
up over that ridge. Ed, go out and listen for riders across the creek. Charley, douse that fire.”

“Slow down,” Webb said easily. “You'll only have to build it up again. I escaped from Bannister's this mornin'. I got a stolen horse and a gun belt on the saddle over on the ridge. I ain't been followed. I'm alone.”

Martha said, “I think he means it, dad. Don't be so excited.”

“Get away from that fire, all of you!” Buck ordered sharply. “I'm going to see. Get on, Charley.”

They waited in the half-gloom of the trees until Ed returned, and a little later, Charley.

“His horse is there,” Charley said.

“I don't hear a thing, Buck,” Ed said.

Tolleston seemed to hesitate. Then one of the hands who had vanished off in another direction returned. Webb was surprised to see that it was Stoop, the long cowboy he had fought with the first night, and whom Tolleston had sent across the desert to check upon Webb's past.

Webb smiled at seeing him, but did not speak.

Tolleston said, “Stay out there, Regan. You, Charley, go up on the ridge and keep a lookout. If anything looks funny or you hear anything, shoot once.” Then he turned to Webb. “Get over here,” he said, indicating the fire.

Webb was prodded over to the chuck box, and Martin searched him for hide-outs after which Tolleston ordered him to sit down. Tolleston never holstered his gun, and his eyes were dancing with anger.

“So you've come crawlin' back here, hopin' you can lie yourself out of a hang-noose? Well, go ahead and talk, son. Talk me deaf, if you can.”

“Can I smoke?” Webb asked.

Tolleston nodded. Webb was stalling for time, hoping Tolleston would cool off. His fingers were steady as he built a smoke and lighted it. A way to begin would be the hardest.

He looked up at Buck and Martha. “Sit down, all of you. I reckon this'll take most of the evenin'.”

“What will?” Buck snarled.

“The story of how Bannister is finally goin' to drive you men to the wall—and if he does, you'll stay there this time.” When Buck did not move, Webb said again, “Sit down. I won't run. And this'll take time.”

Tolleston dragged a saddle out and told Martha to sit on it. Then Buck kicked the fire and ordered Chuck and Ed to get rifles and sit across the fire. For himself he dragged a spring seat from the wagon into the firelight and sat by Martha. He held a six-gun loosely in his hand.

“All right,” he said curtly. “I want to see you beg. Go ahead. Make me a deal, you cheap killer! Trade me what you've overheard for money.”

“Dad!” Martha said softly.

“But to begin with,” Buck said. “You offer me any kind of a deal at all, and I won't save you for a trial. You still want to talk?”

Webb smoked calmly, his face averted, watching the fire. When Buck had ceased talking, Webb looked at him. “You through?”

Buck started to rise, a strangled noise in his throat, but Martha held him down.

Webb said, “Mitch Budrow is the man who betrayed you, Tolleston. He's always been in Bannister's pay. A little over ten months ago he stumbled into a line camp up in the Fryin' Pans, didn't he?”

Martha said, “Yes.”

“But he hadn't come over the mountains then. He'd been a week at Bannister's Dollar spread. Hugo Meeker found him starvin' to death at a dry water hole the other side of the mountains and brought him home. Mitch was runnin' from somethin'. I don't know what. But Bannister hit on the idea of sendin' him over to one of your line camps, hopin' you'd take him in. He was so weak Hugo had to pack him within a hundred yards of the shack. Your men took him in, didn't they?”

Tolleston glanced obliquely at Martha and then looked steadily at Webb.

“That's partly right,” he said. “About finding Mitch. But Mitch was killed, fightin' for me. He was no traitor.”

“Where is he?” Webb drawled.

“Dead. With plenty other good men!”

“I talked to him this mornin',” Webb said dryly. “He's been at the Dollar since the night of the raid. He's the man who sold you out. When you sent him down to see if those hardcases were in Bull Foot, he rode to Bannister and told him what you'd planned. Bannister set his trap—warned the storekeepers and townspeople in Bull Foot that the raid was comin'.”

“That's a lie!” Buck said. “Mitch never left my side!”

“Is it?” Webb drawled. “All right. Mitch walked out of the cattleman's meeting and wrote a letter to the station agent in Bull Foot, enclosing a letter to Bannister. That letter told Bannister how many men to expect, what time they were comin', who would be ridin', and how they would do it.”

Tolleston had his mouth open to reply in furious rebuttal when he thought of the afternoon of that meeting. Mitch had told him he was going to write a letter. Buck never saw the letter to confirm the address, but the fact remained, Mitch did write a letter. He only said, “Go on.”

“One moment,” Martha put in. “How do you know all this?”

“Mitch told me,” Webb said calmly. “He told me a lot of things. Would you like to hear them?”

“If you say he's a traitor,” Martha insisted hotly, “how would we know the truth of them? Why did he tell you? How did—”

“Do you want to hear them?” Webb cut in calmly. “I don't know if they're true. But I know if they are true, then you and your dad won't have a penny to your name two months from now.”

Buck said, “Get on with it. What lies did he tell you?”

“He told me this,” Webb said. “The agents for the Southwestern Railroad will be in Wagon Mound in another month, buying right of way for the line they're going to extend to Wagon Mou—”

Buck Tolleston was out of his seat, and facing Webb. “You damn fool, do you know what you're sayin'?” he asked huskily.

Martha said rapidly, “How do you know? How do you know?”

Webb looked around him. All these men were on their feet, waiting for his answer. “I know from Mitch. Mitch knew from Bannister. The railroad has already written him about grading teams. They've named the date their agents are comin'.”

“Why haven't they written us?” Buck whipped out.

“They did. Hugo Meeker stuck up the mail stage and got their letter to you.”

Buck looked swiftly at Charley. That much, unbelievable as it was, rang true, for the stage had been held up, and the sacks strangely returned to it.

Chuck Martin said to Webb, “What good will that do Bannister, stealing the letter? It ain't goin' to keep the railroad out.”

“Mitch told me why,” Webb said quietly.

“Why?”

Webb talked straight at Tolleston. “Because Bannister wants time. He planned this raid on Wagon Mound and San Patricio to get these ranchers discouraged. He knew some of them would want to sell, but he knew they wouldn't sell if the railroad was comin' in.”

“They'll find out sooner or later if it's true,” Buck said swiftly. “What's time got to do about it?”

“Because he wants Lou Hasker's Chain Link,” Webb said slowly. “He figures Hasker will sell. He—”

“Not to him,” Martin said.

“No. To his buyer.” Webb raised a hand. “Let me finish. Bannister has got these ranchers in the frame of mind he wants them. They're whipped. Some want to pull out. They don't know about the railroad, and he doesn't want them to. He's got one of his men on the way to Wagon Mound right now. That man is going to Buy Lou Hasker's Chain Link if he can get it. He is—”

“Why the Chain Link?” Buck cut in.

“Because where the Copperstone comes out of the Chain Link Basin into the canyon there's a natural place for a dam. He'll get it by dynamiting the cliff walls down. That'll back up the Copperstone until it takes off down a draw into Roan Creek. Once that's done, you men will whistle for water. And it doesn't matter then if the railroad is at your door. Without water you can't raise cattle to ship.” He looked from Tolleston to Martin to Martha. “Does that make sense?”

“You said something about a buyer,” Buck said. “What buyer?”

“Clay Bogardus is his name. He's backed by Bannister's money and the minute he gets the deed to the Chain Link, he'll turn it over to Bannister.”

Buck stood utterly still, trying to absorb all this. Martin watched him, waiting for a sign of his belief.

Martha said softly, “Dad, do you hear? Do you know what it means?”

Buck turned away and walked over and sat down. Webb thought he knew what was running through Tolleston's mind. Buck was being asked to take the word of a man he thought a criminal.

“Why should I believe that?” Buck asked at long last. “I've never found that you told the truth in anything else you've ever said. I—”

“Stoop is back,” Webb said quietly. “What did he have to report about my past?”

Buck flushed. “It was like you said—or every man in that country will gladly lie for you. But that don't change what you've turned into.”