Ride the Man Down (16 page)

Sam nodded, and Bide beckoned him down to the road. Once there, Bide reconstructed what had happened. He talked crisply, a curious impatience edging his voice, and not once did he look at Kneen or try to hide anything from Kneen's hearing. He was talking with a purpose, his confidence hard and undoubting.

Finished on the road, he guided Sam down the slope, and they rode over to the small island of timber a quarter of a mile away.

Here again Bide patiently reconstructed what had happened, finally showing him the brush where Cavanaugh had fallen. A fleeting, unwanted thought passed through Sam's mind as he listened. Even the cold and factual reconstruction somehow made Will Ballard seem as implacable as death.

When Bide was finished they walked to the edge of the timber, and Bide pulled out tobacco from his old Mackinaw pocket. Nervously he rolled a thin cigarette and lighted it and then turned to Sam. For the first time now Sam was aware that Bide was looking at his bruised face with open curiosity. Sam also rolled a cigarette, offering no information.

Bide said crisply then, “Sam, we've been pretty fair neighbors, haven't we? At least you strike me as a reasonable man.”

Sam grunted assent.

“I called you this mornin' for two reasons. I wanted a witness to what I'd found, somebody besides my own crew. There was another reason.”

Sam glanced obliquely at him.

“I'm out to get Will Ballard, and if I have to wreck Hatchet to do it, I will.” Only as he spoke now did he betray the full measure of his anger. It was bitter, depthless, obsessing him.

Sam felt a hot pleasure at seeing it, and he asked meagerly, “Where do you think I picked up these marks?”

“Will?” When Sam nodded Bide said, “All right. Are you with me?”

“I hope I'm ahead of you,” Sam said quietly.

They rode back to Kneen now, and Sam pulled up beside him. “Is that what happened, Joe?”

Kneen looked at him almost dully and murmured tonelessly, “Ray tried to escape and I shot him.”

Marriner rode up then and said, “Go back to town, Joe. We're through with you.”

His voice was contemptuous, and a bright anger flared in Kneen's pale eyes. “Don't be too sure of that, Bide.”

Bide didn't smile, didn't even let on he'd heard him. One of the men led a pack horse down out of the timber, and Sam saw the canvas-wrapped burden on its back. Kneen mounted, took the lead rope of the pack horse, and set off to town.

Sam was suddenly aware that Bide was eyeing him challengingly. “I'm takin' my men to Hatchet to wait for Will. You comin'?”

Sam nodded, no longer afraid of having to face Celia.

Chapter 14

Ike dropped into a deep sleep in the middle of the morning, and Celia, for the first time since the afternoon before, felt at a loss. She and the Youngs had taken turns nursing Ike through a feverish night, and now she felt tired and somehow useless.

She wandered through the rooms of the house that Red had wrecked yesterday, and they had for her now a nightmare quality about them. She looked at the wreck of the massive old dresser with its shattered glass and tried to feel angry at its destruction. Her father had bribed an Indian freighter to haul it from the East to the agency along with his trade goods. That was long before the railroad was here, and her father and his men had freighted it themselves the last leg of the journey over the Indigos to Hatchet. Her mother had valued it above all her other possessions, and now it lay on its face, the glass shattered, its back kicked in—and Celia felt nothing. Things had come too fast this past week and dwarfed all this in importance. There was nobody to turn to, either, for Sam had not shown his face, and Will had not slept here in ten nights. In that time John Evarts had been killed, and she had come into Hatchet. Her world had changed entirely, except for Will. Yet he had changed, too, slipping into that part of a man's world where a woman could not follow. It frightened Celia when she thought of how it had come about. She knew now that Will had expected it all along and that she hadn't, really. She had agreed with Will and listened to him, but it was words they were dealing with, not happenings. Not any more, though. He had fought with Sam and was riding the hills, hunting a man, and she looked out at the gray day and shivered. She suddenly wanted to see Will and talk to him more than anything in the world, and for a moment she pitied herself and hated herself for it immediately.

She went out to the bunkhouse then and got Jim Young and brought him back to the house, and together they set about clearing up the wreckage. She worked furiously, wordlessly, leaving the heaviest jobs for him, but trying to exhaust herself with work.

She had swept up a great pile of broken glass in the office when she heard Jim Young's steps in the corridor and looked up.

He came in and said cautiously, “A bunch of riders are comin' in, Miss Evarts. Mr. Danfelser's with 'em, though. That's all right, isn't it?”

“It's all right, Jim.”

Celia left her work and went back through the corridor out onto the porch. Ten or so men were dismounting under the cottonwoods, among them Sam. And then she saw Bide Marriner, and a quick fear came to her.

Sam came up to her first, and she knew by the arrogance in his heavy stride that he had not forgiven her. She had seen the way Will was marked by the fight at Cavanaugh's, but Sam's face shocked her. She sensed immediately that he had made a great concession to his stubborn pride in coming here to face her, and she was sorry for him. Now looking beyond him, she saw Bide start for the porch, too, and she said quickly, distrustfully, “Why are you riding with him, Sam?”

Sam didn't answer but waited until Bide came up. Marriner touched his hat, and Celia nodded coldly.

Marriner spoke first. “This isn't Sam's job, Miss Evarts, so I might as well tell you why we've come.” He hesitated and said dryly, “Have you heard that Will Ballard shot Cavanaugh last night?”

Sam said in an outraged voice, “Kneen let him.”

“I'm glad,” Celia said quietly.

Marriner looked almost shocked. “That's an odd sentiment to come from a lady.”

“Not when you stop to think about it, Bide,” Celia said levelly. “What do you want?”

“We're going to wait here for Will.”

Celia looked instantly at Sam. “Are they, Sam?”

Sam's face flushed, and he said angrily, “Will's got to be caught, Celia. This is the way.”

“You mean you're helping Bide against us now?”

Sam said with stubborn anger, “I'm out to get Will Ballard, Celia. That's helping you more than Bide, if you only knew it.”

Celia looked steadily at him, a strange hardness in her eyes. She said quietly, “You're the man I'm going to marry, Sam. Is it right to ask you to clear these men out of here?”

There was a long, awkward pause, and Sam did not answer. Celia turned to the door behind her where Jim Young, his eyes grave and alert, was standing.

“Come along, Jim,” she said quietly. “They want the house.”

She blushed by Marriner and walked rapidly toward the bunkhouse. She heard Jim Young's step behind her, and she did not look back, and her thoughts were bitter and angry. Mel Young stood questioningly in the doorway, and she slipped past him and went over to Ike. He was still sleeping, and she sat in the chair beside him and stared wretchedly at the wall. She could hear the cook asleep in a far bunk, could hear Jim Young murmuring something to his brother, and an overwhelming feeling of despair was in her. She had tried to shame Sam into defending her and she had failed. It was Sam's stubborn pride that held him, and she knew every word he would use to her in justifying himself. He had always hated Will, and now that Will was proven a murderer in his eyes he would treat him as he would any killer. It was that simple to Sam, and he would not alter his opinion.

She heard the talk outside cease now, and surprisingly, then, Sam spoke, although she couldn't hear what he said. Presently Jim Young stepped into the room and clumsily started to tiptoe across to her.

She nodded, knowing that Sam had asked for her, and rose. For a moment there was an impulse in her to refuse, but she was afraid to. This meant so much to her, for she realized now the truth of the words she had used to shame Sam. She was going to marry him. She had promised him, and she would not make any man a wife if she didn't try to understand him.

Clinging to this, she went to the door and stepped outside and closed it behind her. The Young boys waited politely and stubbornly beside her, distrust of Sam in both their faces.

Sam said to the Youngs, “Go up to the house, you two.”

Celia said, “It's all right,” to them and then she started toward the cookshack. Sam fell in beside her, and when they were out of earshot of the brothers he said, “We've got to talk, Celia. Alone.”

Celia said, “All right,” and went over to the cookshack and stepped inside. The rough tables and benches, token of the old Hatchet, were still in their places. She sat on the closet bench and looked at Sam.

He nodded toward the house. “What happened up there?”

“Red Courteen.”

“The Youngs said Ike was shot.”

Celia said with sudden malice, “Odd—isn't it?—that a man would fight for his own people.”

Sam said heavily, warningly, “Look, Celia. We've got to get this settled.”

“It's all settled in my mind,” Celia said levelly. “I'll listen to you, though.”

Sam made an angry, savage gesture with his fist. “Good God, you'd think I was in the wrong, instead of Will Ballard!” His breathing was heavy, quick. “You're proud of Will—a damned killer!”

Celia said patiently, “Nobody's proud of killing, Sam. But I'm proud that Will wouldn't let John's killer go unpunished. I'm proud that Joe Kneen wouldn't too.”

“Look at it!” Sam said angrily. “A sheriff, sworn on oath to uphold the law, turning over a prisoner to be butchered!”

“Will gave him a chance,” Celia said quickly.

“How do you know?”

“I know Will.”

Sam's face was ugly now as he regarded Celia. He stood in front of her, legs widespread, his big hands fisted at his sides. He took a deep breath and exhaled it shudderingly, as if in some way he knew the act could restrain his temper. But he could not hide it, and it was in his voice, making it rough and impatient and harsh.

He said slowly, “A year ago, Celia, I asked you to marry me and you said you would.”

Celia didn't speak.

“I don't know much about women,” Sam went on doggedly, “but I know what I want in a wife.” He paused. “I want her to be loyal and I want her to believe in me and in what I do. Is that too much?”

“It's not too much, Sam.”

Sam hesitated and then said it: “Are you being loyal? Do you believe in anything I do—anything?”

Celia said quietly, “No,” and looked at him. She saw the shock in his face, and she knew that even now it wasn't too late. She could give in, and Sam would forgive her. All she needed to do was say she was sorry, and yet she couldn't make herself. She wasn't sorry, and she didn't believe in him, and she could sit here and calmly think that and wait to see what he did and feel proud.

For perhaps a minute Sam regarded her, and Celia knew what was in his mind as he watched her.

Then he said with surprising gentleness, “It wouldn't work, would it, Celia?”

Celia shook her head in negation.

“Too much Will Ballard,” Sam murmured.

Celia shook her head. “Too much Sam Danfelser.”

“No,” Sam said, his tone tentative, as if he were just discovering something. “It's not me. It's Will. He's got a way about him. You can walk in a barroom and you know he's in it before you see him. You see a happy-looking girl at a dance, and you know Will has just left her.” He looked closely at Celia now. “Bide showed me the tracks of Will's horse this morning where he'd met Ray. You were right, Celia. He gave Ray a gun and a chance at him, and he rode him down and killed him.”

Celia didn't speak, and Sam went on in the same voice, “He beat me up and did a job of it. And now he's taken you.”

He paused, and Celia was almost afraid of the ugliness in his face. “I hate him, Celia,” Sam said quietly. “I'm going to kill him.”

He turned away from her and started for the doorway. He was almost through it when he halted abruptly, then dodged back into the room. He drew his gun and moved over to the window.

Then he turned to Celia and smiled crookedly and looked out the window again.

Celia moved slowly toward him. Over his shoulder she could see a spring wagon and team and a horseman. Will was driving the spring wagon, and his horse was tied to its tail gate. The horseman was a Mexican, and he was carrying a shovel across his saddle. The burden in the wagon was a new pine box, and Celia knew that it held the body of John Evarts.

Celia swiveled her head and glanced out the door. The ten horses in front of the house were gone, and she knew certainly that they had been hidden behind the house. Will had walked into their trap, and they were waiting for him.

Celia didn't wait. She streaked out the door and headed at a dead run toward the wagon approaching the corral.

She heard Sam's sharp “Celia! Come back here!” and then his cursing and the heavy pounding of his feet as he came after her.

Celia ran desperately and heard Sam drawing closer, and then she yelled with all her might: “Will, get away! Ride off! Ride off!”

She saw Will yank on the reins at the sound of her voice and stand up in the wagon, looking at her. And then the first shot came from some panicked Bib M man in the house, and she saw Will drop the reins, step over the box, untie his horse, slip into the saddle, and again look toward her. A half-dozen shots came from the house now, stirring up spurts of dust beside his horse, and then suddenly he wheeled his horse and put it into a run toward the east.