Nevada (1995) (47 page)

Chapter
twenty.

Nevada approached the Ide ranch from that side closest to th
e
forest, where the pines and cedars trooped down the gentle slope
s
of the benches, clear to the most outwardly of the cattle sheds.

With his brain on fire and his heart like lead, his whole bein
g
crushed under the burning weight of Hettie's outspoken love an
d
terrible scorn, he halted under cover of the last clump of cedars
,
and dismounted, answering to an instinct, true even in that hour o
f
utter catastrophe, to the instinct which had preserved him so lon
g
as Jim Lacy. Not now, however, was it an instinct of self-
p
reservation, but one to meet and kill Ed Richardson, alia
s
Campbell, alias Clan Dillon, late member of the few survivin
g
Lincoln County war desperadoes.

Wedging this purpose into his stunned brain, Nevada kept driving i
t
deeper, while he removed saddle and bridle from his horse an
d
turned it free. He would have no more need of a horse. Then h
e
crouched in the cedars, under tremendous strain, driving himself t
o
the exclusion of all thought, of all emotion, of all facultie
s
except those few cardinally important for the issue at hand.

When he emerged from under cover of the cedars he might have bee
n
an automaton, with guidance of some grim-strung spirit.

He glided behind brush to the sage and through this to the pol
e
fence. It led to the back of log cabins, which he marked as th
e
bunkhouses. The sunset hour was near. Silver-edged purple cloud
s
hung over the soft rounded foothills. Soon the sun would sink fro
m
behind the broken mass of cloud and slide down into that golde
n
space behind the ranges. Cowboys, riders, range hands, foreman
,
all would be waiting the call to supper. The day had been hot.

Just now, with the first cool breeze breathing down from the hill
,
all the men would be outdoors.

There was a fate in many meetings of life, and singularly in al
l
those that involved Jim Lacy.

He swept his magnified gaze to the left, over pasture and field
,
which were open to his sight. A few horses and colts, cows an
d
calves, a burro, and some black pigs dotted the gray-green pasture
s
and the brown fields. No rider in sight!

Nevada stole swiftly along the fence to the first high corral. I
t
contained a number of horses, with saddles and packs stacked in
a
corner. He would have to cross this corral, and go through th
e
others, to reach the rear of the bunkhouses. Climbing to the to
p
log of the high fence, he peeped over. No man in sight! H
e
climbed and ran and climbed and ran, quickly gaining the open gat
e
of the last corral. The two small log cabins and the long on
e
stood across the open space, with barns to the left and courtyar
d
on the right, leading up to the Ide homes in the edge of th
e
forest.

A Mexican boy appeared leading horses to a watering-trough; a ride
r
came trotting down the long lane between the fields; some one wa
s
driving cows in from the pasture. From behind the cabins came th
e
loud rollicking laughter of cowboys.

Nevada did not hesitate a moment. Leisurely he strode from th
e
corral toward the long cabin, making for the nearest end, wher
e
cords of firewood were stacked high. That end, where blue smok
e
curled from a stone chimney, would be the kitchen. There would b
e
a porch on the other side.

Nevada gained the woodpiles. They had been stacked, seemingly, t
o
furnish him perfect passageway and perfect cover, for the fruitio
n
of this long-planned moment. It never crossed his mind that Dillo
n
might not be there. Dillon would be there. For the men who ha
d
wronged Jim Lacy or incurred his enmity there existed a fatalit
y
which operated infallibly. Or else Lacy never made a mistake. I
t
was something that he felt.

He glided between the high stacks of wood. Before he peeped out h
e
saw horsemen riding down the dusty road which wound away to th
e
north and Winthrop. Then Nevada put his eye to an aperture betwee
n
two billets of cedar that protruded from the stack.

A dozen or more men lounged and sat and stood in plain sight.

Cowboys in shirt sleeves, faces shiny and red, hair glossed an
d
wet, sat on the ground, backs to the cabin. Nevada recognize
d
Macklin, the Winthrop sheriff, leaning against the hitching rail
,
in conversation with two other men, not garbed as riders. Facin
g
Nevada was a tall man in black and he had a bright badge on hi
s
vest. He was another sheriff, a stranger to Nevada.

"We sure want to get off by sunup," he was saying to a man nea
r
him.

This man stood with his back toward Nevada. His powerful suppl
e
shoulders showed wonderfully through his white clean shirt. Nevad
a
recognized that lithe stalwart build, the leonine neck, th
e
handsome head, with its clustering fair hair.

Dillon! A slight cold thrill ran over Nevada. Following it cam
e
an instinct like that of a tiger to leap.

Nevada swiftly ran his glance over the other men, standing near an
d
in the background. Ben Ide was not present!

Then Nevada drew back behind the woodpile, loosened his gun in it
s
sheath, and stood there an instant while the waiting forces o
f
brain and muscle vibrated into a tremendous unity.

"Come an' get it," sang out the cheery voice of the cook inside.

"Whoopee! Whoaboy," shouted the cowboys, scrambling up.

At this instant Nevada bounded out swiftly and ran to a halt.

"HOLD ON!" he yelled, with all the power of his lungs. Hi
s
piercing voice made statues of all, even the cowboys stiffening i
n
half-erect postures.

In the instant of silence that ensued Dillon was the only man t
o
move and he wheeled swift as a flash, so swiftly that the recedin
g
trace of mirth had not yet left his handsome face.

"Howdy, Dillon!" drawled Nevada, slow and cool.

Macklin shuffled erect in great alarm.

"That's Jim Lacy," he shouted, hoarsely.

"Shore is. Careful now, you outsiders!" warned Nevada, yet wit
h
eye only for Dillon.

Every man in line with Dillon plunged off the porch or darted int
o
the cabin. The cowboys sank back to the ground, sagging agains
t
the log wall.

Dillon stood on the porch, facing Nevada, scarcely thirty fee
t
distant. His reaction from careless mirth to recognition of peri
l
was as swift as his sight. But there followed the instant when hi
s
faculties had to grasp what that peril was and how he should mee
t
it.

Nevada had gambled on this instant. It was his advantage. He di
d
not underrate Dillon. He read his mind in those dilating eyes.

"Wal, you know me," cut out Nevada, icily. "An' I know you--Dillon--

CAMPBELL!--ED RICHARDSON!"

That was the paralyzing challenge. The rustler turned a ghastl
y
white. The frontier's bloody creed, by which he had lived, calle
d
him to his death. His green eyes set balefully. He knew. H
e
showed his training. He had no more fear of death than of th
e
swallows flitting under the eaves above. But he had a magnificen
t
and desperate courage to take his enemy with him.

Richardson never uttered a word. Almost imperceptibly his bod
y
lowered as if under instinct to crouch. His stiff bent right ar
m
began to quiver.

Nevada saw the thought in Richardson's eyes--the birth of th
e
message to nerve and muscle. When his hand flashed down Nevada wa
s
drawing.

Crash! Nevada's shot did not beat Richardson's draw, but it brok
e
his aim. Boom! The rustler's gun went off half leveled. H
e
lurched with terrible violence and his gun boomed again. Th
e
bullet scattered the gravel at Nevada's feet and spanged away int
o
the air.

A wide red spot appeared as if by magic on the middle o
f
Richardson's white shirt. How terrible to see him strain to rais
e
his gun-arm!

At Nevada's second shot one of Richardson's awful eyes went blank.

His gun clattered to the floor. He swayed. His arm hooked roun
d
the porch post. Then it sank limp, letting him fall with sodde
n
thud.

Nevada was the first to withdraw his gaze from that twitching body.

He flipped his gun into the air and caught it by the barrel.

"Heah, sir," he said to the sheriff with the star on his vest, an
d
extended the gun butt foremost. "I reckon that'll be aboot all fo
r
Jim Lacy."

The strain on the watchers relaxed. A murmur of wonder ran throug
h
them, growing louder. The sheriff came to a power of movement an
d
speech.

"What? Lacy, are you handin'--over your gun?" he queried
,
hoarsely.

"Wal, I'm not pointin' the right end of it at you," replied Nevada
,
and tossed the gun at the sheriff's feet.

"What--the hell?" gasped a weather-beaten old rider, Raidy, starin
g
hard at Nevada.

Here Macklin came rushing up, to get between Nevada and the othe
r
sheriff.

"Jim Lacy, you're my prisoner," yelled Macklin, beside himself wit
h
the strange opportunity presented and a terror of the enormity o
f
his risk. He drew his gun. "Hands up."

"Shoot an' be damned, you four-flush officer of the law," retorte
d
Nevada, wearily, and turning his back to Macklin he strode to
a
seat on the porch steps.

"Run for the boss," shouted Raidy to the cowboys. "Tell hi
m
there's hell come off. Fetch him an' Judge Franklidge."

"Hyar comes Tom Day with his outfit," yelled a cowboy, excitedly
,
pointing to the horsemen entering the square. "The whole range'
s
hyar. Haw! Haw!"

Nevada experienced a weariness of soul and body. It was over. H
e
did not care what happened.

"Say, give me a smoke--one of you punchers," he said, removing hi
s
sombrero to wipe his clammy brow.

Chapter
twenty-one.

Marvie Blaine came swinging down the trail at a gallop, with Ros
e
Hatt riding close behind.

Eager excitement lent Hettie the strength to mount her horse.

Nevada's strange eyes and words! What might not Marvie and Ros
e
have to tell her?

"Hey there, Hettie!" shouted Marvie, when still some rods distant.

"Look who's comin' behind."