Novel 1956 - Silver Canyon (v5.0) (7 page)

“No,” I said, “you know I must go back. Ball told me I was never to give it up, and I will not.”

“But you can't! You're ill—and you've been hurt!”

“So…I have been hurt. But that's over and I'm mending fast. Sixteen days now I've rested, and it's more than time enough.”

She turned her horse to ride back with me, and we walked a little in silence. “Tell your father to pull his cattle back,” I said. “I want no trouble with him.”

“He won't do it.”

“He must.”

“You forget, I'm my father's daughter.”

“And my wife…soon to be.”

This time she did not deny it. But she did not accept it either.

At the edge of the badlands, after miles of argument and talk, I turned in my saddle.

“From here, I ride alone. It's too dangerous for you. But you can tell Morgan Park…”

So I sat and watched her ride away toward the Boxed trail, thinking what a lucky man I'd be to have her.

She sat her saddle like a young queen, her back straight and her shoulders trim and lovely. She turned as if aware of my eyes, and she looked back, but she did not wave, nor did I.

Then I reined my horse around and started for town.

Often I shall live over that parting and that long ride down from the mountains. Often I will think of her and how she looked that day, for rarely do such days come to the life of any man. We had argued, yes, but it was a good argument and without harsh words.

And now before me lay my hours of trouble. There was only one way to do it. For another there might have been other ways, but not for me. My way was to ride in and take the bull by the horns, and that was what I meant to do. Not to the Two-Bar yet, but to town.

They must know that I was alive. They must know the facts of my fight and my survival.

I was no man to run, and it was here I had staked my claim and my future, and among these people I was to live. It was important that they understand.

So I would ride into town. If Jim Pinder was there one or both of us would die.

If Bodie Miller was there, I would have to kill him or be killed myself.

Any of the riders of the Boxed M or CP might try to kill me. I was fair game for them now.

Yet my destiny lay before me and I was not a man to hesitate. Turning the buckskin into the trail, I rode on at an easy gait. There was plenty of time…I was in no hurry to kill or to be killed.

Rud Maclaren was not a bad man, of this I was convinced. Like many another, he thought first of his ranch, and he wanted it to be the best ranch possible. It was easy to see why he wanted the water of the Two-Bar-in his position I would have wanted it too.

But Maclaren had come to think that anything that made his ranch better also made everything better. He was, as are many self-made men, curiously self-centered. He stood at the corners of the world, and all that happened in it must be important to him.

He was a good man, but a man with power, and somewhere, back in those days when I had read many books, I'd read that power corrupts.

It was that power of his that I must face.

The trail was empty, the afternoon late. The buckskin was a fast walker and we covered ground. Smoke trailed into the sky from several chimneys. I heard an axe striking, a door slam.

Leaving the trail, I cut across the desert toward the outskirts of town, a scattering of shacks and adobes tha offered some concealment until I'd be quite close. close.

Behind an abandoned adobe I drew rein. Rolling a cigarette, I lit up and began to smoke.

I wanted a shave…sitting my saddle, I located the barber shop in my mind, and its relationship to other buildings. There was a chance I could get to it and into a chair without being seen.

Once I had my hair cut and had been shaved, I'd go to mother O'Hara's. I'd avoid the saloons where any Pinder or Maclaren riders might be, get a meal, and try to find a chance to talk to Key Chapin. I would also talk to Mrs. O'Hara.

Both were people of influence and would be valuable allies. I did not want their help, only their understanding.

Wiping my guns free of dust, I checked the loads. I was carrying six shells to each gun. I knocked the dust from my hat, brushed my chaps, and tried to rearrange my shirt to present a somewhat better appearance.

“All right, Buck,” I said softly, “here we go!”

We walked around the corner and past a yard where a young girl was feeding chickens, past a couple of tied horses, and then to the back of the barber shop. There was an abandoned stable there, and swinging down, I led the buckskin inside and tied him.

It was a long, low-roofed building, covered with ancient thatch. There was a little hay there, and I forked some into the manger, then stood the fork against the wall and settled my hat lower on my head.

My hands were sweating and my mouth tasted dry. I told myself I was a fool—and then stepped out into the open. There was no one in sight.

Walking slowly so as not to attract attention, I crossed toward the back door of the barber shop.

The grass of the backyard was parched and dry, the slivery and gray old steps were broken and creaked as I mounted them. I looked through the glass in the door and saw that the only man in the shop was the barber himself. Opening the door, I stepped in.

He glanced up, then got to his feet without interest and went behind the chair.

“Haircut an' shave,” I told him, “I been out prospectin'.”

“Cowhand?”

“Yeah…an' I'll be glad to get back to it.”

He chuckled and went to work. “Missed all the fun,” he said. “Been lively around.”

“Yeah?”

Rollie Pinder was killed…never figured the man lived was fast enough. Some folks say it was the Benaras boys, but they use rifles. I figure it was that there Brennan feller.”

He snipped away steadily. Then he said, “We'll never know, prob'ly. Dead now.”

“Brennan?”

“Uh-huh…folks say Rollie got some lead into him, seems like. They found blood sign.”

The chair was comfortable. I closed my eyes. It would be good to sleep, to rest. It had been a long time since I had slept in a bed. With the quiet drone of the barber's voice, the comfort of the chair, I felt myself nodding.

“You'll have to sit up, mister. Can't cut your hair 'less you do.”

So I sat up, but when he lay the chair back to shave me, my eyes closed again, and my body relaxed into the comfort of the chair. A hot towel on my face felt good. I listened to the razor stropping, slapping leather. Slapping leather, as I might soon be doing.

Smiling and half asleep, I felt the lather working into my beard under the barber's fingers. I was not quite asleep, not quiet awake. A rider went by in the street. The razor was sharp and it felt good on my face…I dozed.…

A hand shook my shoulder, shook it hard. My eyes opened into the anxious eyes of the barber.

“Look, mister, you better get out of here. Get out of town.”

“You know me?” My face was free of the beard now.

“Seen you once…at Mother O'Hara's. You better go.”

The little rest had left me groggy. I got out of the chair and checked my guns. It was not a time to trust any man.

“Don't want me killed here, is that it? Don't want my blood on your floor?”

“That ain't it. I got nothing against you. Never knowed who you was until you got rid of that beard. No, you just move out. You ain't safe. That Pinder outfit…”

My fingers found the money in my pocket.

“Thanks,” I said. “I enjoyed the shave.”

Then I walked to the front door and looked down the street. Two men sat in front of the store. I put on my hat and lifting a hand to the barber, I stepped out.

It was only sixty feet to Mother O'Hara's, but it was going to be a long walk.

Chapter 9

W
ALKING THAT SIXTY feet, I knew a dozen men might be waiting to kill me. Unconsciously, I guess a little swagger got into me. It isn't every man who is hunted by a small army!

For an instant I paused by the window of Mother O'Hara's and glanced in. Key Chapin was there, and Morgan Park. I could not see who else. Down the street all was quiet. If anyone had identified me they made no move, and the barber had not left his shop.

My hand turned the knob and I stepped in, closing the door behind me.

The smell of coffee was in the air, and the pleasant room was quiet. Morgan Park looked up and our eyes held across the room.

“Next time you won't catch me with my hands down, Park.”

Before he could reply I drew back a corner of the bench and sat down, keeping my guns free for my hands. The pot was on the table and I filled a cup.

“Chapin, an item for the press. Something like this: Matt Brennan of the Two-Bar was in town Friday afternoon. Matt is recovering from bullet wounds incurred during a minor dispute with Rollie Pinder, but is returning to the Two-Bar to take up where he left off.”

“That will be news to Pinder.”

“Tell him to expect me. I'll kill or see hung every man concerned in the killing of old man Ball.”

“You know them?”

All eyes were on me now, and Mrs. O'Hara stood in the door of her kitchen.

“I know them…all but one. When Ball was dying he named a man to me, only I'm not sure.”

“Who?” Chapin was leaning forward.

“Morgan Park,” I said.

The big man came to his feet with a lunge. His brown face was ugly. “That's a lie!”

“It's a dead man you're calling a liar, not me. Ball might have meant that one of your riders was present. One was…a man named Lyell.”

“It's a lie.” Morgan Park was hoarse. He looked down at Chapin, who had not moved. “I had nothing to do with it.”

This was the man who had struck me down without warning, who had held me helpless while he beat me brutally.

“If it's true,” I told him, “I'll kill you after I whip you.”

“Whip
me?
”

You could see the amazement in his eyes. He was a man shocked, not by my threat to kill, but by the idea that I, or any man, might whip him.

“Don't be impatient. Your time will come. Right now I need more time to get my strength back.”

He sat down slowly and I picked up my cup. Chapin was watching us curiously, his eyes going from one to the other.

“Ever stop to think of something, Park?”

He looked at me, waiting.

“You hit me with your Sunday punch. Right on the chin. You didn't knock me out. You sat on me and held my arms down with your knees and beat me…but you didn't knock me out.”

He was staring at me, and if ever I saw hatred in a man's eyes, it was in his at that moment. This was the first time the story of his beating of me had come out. Many believed it had happened in a fair fight…now they would know.

Also he was realizing that what I said was true. He had taken a full swing at my unprotected chin, and I had gone down, but not out. And he did not like the thought.

“Next time I'll be ready.”

He got up abruptly and walked to the door. “Get out of here! Get out—or I'll kill you!”

On that he opened the door and went out, yet if he was worried, I was too. The man was huge. I'd not realized his great size before. His wrists and hands were enormous. Nor was that all. The man had brains. This was something to which I'd not given much thought, but he was shrewd and cunning. He was no hot-head. His beating of me had been a carefully calculated thing.

Mother O'Hara brought me food and Key Chapin sat quietly drinking his coffee. Others came in and sat down, stealing covert glances at me.

Rud Maclaren came in, and Canaval was with him. They hesitated then took seats opposite me.

The food tasted good, and I was hungry. Maclaren was irritated by my presence, but I kept quiet, not wanting to bait the man. He irritated me too, but there was Moira to think of.

Already I was thinking ahead. That amphitheater where Moira had met me…it would handle quite a number of cattle. It was naturally fenced by the cliffs, and had plenty of water, grass, and shade. And, while it was off the beaten track, it would be good to leave some cattle there to fatten up. With a good, tough old range bull to keep off the varmints.

Some of the men finished eating, and got up and left. I knew that out on the street they would be talking…about how I'd eaten at the same table with Maclaren and Canaval, how I'd told off Morgan Park—and that I was looking for the killers of old man Ball.

Canaval finished his meal and sat back, rolling a smoke.

“How was it with Rollie?”

So I told him and he listened, smoking thoughtfully. He would fill in the blank spaces, he would see what happened in his mind's eye.

“And now?”

“Back to the Two-Bar.”

Maclaren's face mottled. He was a man easy to anger, I could see that.

“Get out…you've no right to that ranch. Get out and stay out.”

“Sorry…I'm staying. Don't let a little power swell your head, Maclaren. You can't dictate to me. I'm staying…the Two-Bar is mine. I'll keep it.

“Furthermore, I'd rather not have trouble with you. You are the father of the girl I'm going to marry.”

“I'll see you in hell first!” This was what he had said to me before.

I got to my feet and put a coin on the table to pay for my meal. The shave and haircut, the meal and the rest had made me feel better. But I was still weak, and I tired fast.

Katie O'Hara was watching me, and as I turned toward the door she was smiling. It was good to see a friendly smile. Key Chapin had said nothing, just listened and waited.

Outside the door I looked carefully along the street. By now they would know I was in town. I saw no CP horses, but that meant nothing, so turning, I walked up the street, then went down the alley and to my horse.