the Empty Land (1969) (8 page)

At first it was only the idea that had just come to him. It was like many of those other times when he had vowed to himself that he would show somebody something he had in his mind but had no serious thought of doing. But in this case he had done it he had ridden to Meadows' camp.

There were four men in the camp when he rode down the dim trail into the park. There were eight horses, but only four saddles and two packsaddles. He kept himself well in the open and came down the trail with no attempt at concealment.

Three of the men were about his own age, or a year or two older. One of them was a lean, dark, savage-looking man with long hair and a tied-down gun. "Are you Meadows?" he asked.

The somewhat older man who was seated on the ground with his back to a log spoke up. He had thin blond hair, a sparse beard in general a nondescript appearance. "I'm Meadows. Who are you?"

"I'm Freeman Dorset. I came huntin' Harry Meadows because I heard he wasn't afraid of Matt Coburn." Meadows sat up slowly, his eyes on Dorset "Now, where did you hear a thing like that?"

"Matt Coburn said it himself. They were talkin'
how somebody
might hold up the stage when it leaves Confusion with the gold."

"Coburn said that, did he? What else did he say?"

"He didn't figure you'd try it. He said you were too smart. Said there'd be other times when he wasn't riding shotgun."

Harry Meadows chewed thoughtfully on a blade of grass. After a moment he said, "Where was this? And who was there?"

|At the Rafter.
I'm
workin' over there while I size things up. This here seemed to me to be a good thing if I had the right people with me."

"I asked who else was there."

"Newt Clyde, that Wells Fargo gent, Dick Felton from the Discovery mines at Confusion, and my boss. She's Laurie Shannon"

Meadows chewed on the grass blade in silence. Dorset found himself growing impatient "They'll be carrying fifty thousand in gold," he said with authority. `That's enough for all of us."

Nobody commented for a minute or two, then one of the others spoke up. "What I want to know is what Coburn was doin' at the Rafter?"

Meadows took the grass from his teeth. "Is he ridin' a appaloosy black an' white?"

"Uh-huh a good horse, too."

"So ... we might have knowed. You figure that was him, Kendrick?"

"Who else? I told you somebody was s
k
irtin' around the hills kind of aimless-like ... like he had now
h
eres to go and plenty of time to get there. You think he's spotted us, Harry?"

'Look at it," Harry Meadows said. "Even this greenhorn had us spotted. I should have figured on that, on'y it didn't seem likely anybody would be around these hills."

"He's just one man," Dorset interrupted. "He's got just two hands."

They ignored him. He stared at them angrily. What had he come over here for, anyway? As he shaped the question his mind suddenly asked him: Well, why had he come?

Was he aiming to turn outlaw? Or was it simply that he was jealous of Matt Coburn's reputation? Was it because he himself had no reputation?

"I want in," he said sharply. "After all, I told you about Coburn and the fifty thousand."

"We knew about Coburn," Kendrick said roughly. 'We've known for days. We knew he was going to be asked before it ever happened."

"And the shipment won't be fifty thousand, it will be a hundred thousand," Harry Meadows said, "but who wants to buy the kind of trouble Matt Coburn has to offer?"

"We'd have to kill him," one of the men said, "else he'd follow us to hell an gone."

Harry Meadows was wary of a trap. Like an old plains coyote, he was as shrewd as he was dangerous. His career as an outlaw had been uniformly successful in evading the law, even if he had not always come off with the big strikes.

He had grown up in the back country of Missouri, one of a family who had lived off well-to-do people on the flatlands, stealing stock, occasionally raiding country stores. Then as a boy he had struck out for the West, selling liquor to Indians, stealing cattle and horses, and finally stealing money.

Wells Fargo had occasion to know him well. He was not a man to be lured by big money, for big money incurred big risks, and Harry Meadows had been born without a reckless bone in his tough, wiry body. He liked living and he liked his freedom, and his strikes had been carefully planned, neatly executed, with no false motion. The one man whom he had reason to hate was Dandy Burke. There had been $9,000 in the Wells Fargo box, and Meadows knew it. He had stopped the stage near the crest of a steep grade and ordered Burke to get down. As Burke got down he spoke to his team,
and well
-trained as they were, they commenced to back up. Meadows, who had not heard Burke's low-voiced command, was irritated by this. The edge of the trail was too close and it was six hundred feet to the bottom of the canyon. "Stop them!" he ordered.

Dandy Burke obligingly climbed back on the box, took up the reins, and said over his shoulder something about "... on top." He eased the stage forward, and as it topped the ridge Dandy let go a wild Texas yell, cracked his whip over the leaders, and the stage lunged ahead, leaving Harry Meadows standing with his mouth open as it raced around a bend and out of sight The story had been told and laughed at in every bar and bunkhouse over half a dozen states, and Harry Meadows did not like being laughed at He had made known his displeasure, and had voiced his intentions toward Burke, when and if he found him again.

Now he was faced with a problem. He wanted Burke, and he wanted the hundred thousand. His spies in Confusion had reported the find of the nugget and had told how large the shipment would actually be, but Meadows wanted no part of Matt Coburn.

Now he thought he saw a way.

He glanced up at Dorset, and gestured to his gun. "Are you any good with that?"

"You're damn right I am!"

"As good as Coburn?"

"Well," Dorset said with elaborate carelessness, "rye heard a lot of talk, but I never seen any of his graveyards."

Kendrick caught a glimmering of what Meadows had in mind, and said, "Nobody could be blamin you if you was afraid to tackle him."

"Who said I was afraid?" Dorset demanded.

"He's not scared." Meadows sat up. "I can size 'em up, Kendrick. Dorset ain't scared. Anyway, why should he be? Coburn is mostly reputation. He isn't all that fast" Meadows started to roll a cigarette. "Anyway, Dorset wants to join up with us ... at least for this deal. Now, we already knew about the shipment and how big it was, an' he's smart enough to know if we want that gold we've got just one problem."

Harry Meadows touched his tongue to the paper. "I think Dorset is just the man for it. He's fast with a gun, he ain't one least bit scared of Matt Coburn, so he's just the man to stop him.'

`To what?" Freeman Dorset had an uncomfortable feeling that things were moving faster than he wanted, and in a direction he had not considered.

"To stop Coburn. To put a bullet into him."

"Man, what a scalp that would
be!
" Kendrick agreed. "To be known as the man who downed Matt Coburn!" "Now, just a minute!" Dorset protested. "I ain't the least bit scared of Matt Coburn, but "Strawberry Station, that would be the place," Meadows interrupted. "Dorset could make his own plans. He'll know best how it should be done, but it ought to be at Strawberry, right at the opening of Sacramento Pass through the Snakes. If Dorset puts Coburn out of action at Strawberry, we could take the stage in the pass. A thing like that, gettin' rid of Coburn, that would call for a big slice of the pie maybe twenty-five thousand of it."

The others looked at Harry Meadows, but he avoided their eyes. "Up on the box, with that shotgun, Coburn could be mighty hard to handle, but down on the ground at Strawberry, unexpected-like "Now, wait just a minute!" Dorset protested again.

The dark, savage-looking man spoke up. "For that much," he said, T11 tackle him myself."

Meadows shook his head. "He knows Dorset here. He could get close to him, take him unexpected-like ... not that he'd need to, Yunderstand."

`Twenty-five thousand dollars!" Kendrick said,
drawing
a long breath. "That's a sight of money."

Freeman Dorset was perplexed. How had he gotten into this situation anyway? He had come here in anger and some spite, only half in the notion of doing any-thing about it, and now instead of perhaps having a hand in a stage holdup, here he was being saddled with a shooting, and of Matt Coburn, of all people.

"You can see he's not the kind to scare easy," Meadows persisted. 'Coburn probably takes him for nothing but a loose-mouthed kid. Wait'll he sees him with a gun in his
hand!
"

To back out would seem cowardly, but Dorset wanted desperately to back out. He was not conscious of any fear of Matt Coburn. it was simply that he had not bargained for any of this. What he had done had been done on the impulse of a moment, but getting in was easier than getting out.

"I'll have to think about it," he said lamely. "I'd need to plan, see how it shapes up."

"Nothing to plan," Meadows persisted, "nothing to shape up. Coburn will ride the stage into Strawberry. Hell find everything as it should be. He'll be tired, off-guard. How you do it is your own affair, but it'll be dark, and I'd say the best thing is to suddenly yell at him. `Who's a liar?' an' shoot as you yell. He'll be dead, and folks will say he called you a liar and you beat him to the draw."

Free Dorset was a weak young man, and he was tempted. He had seen the awe that surrounded men like Matt Coburn; he had seen the way heads turned when they passed, and how strong men moved aside for them. He was torn between what he wanted and the sneaking realization that he was not man enough to bring it off. Yet that realization was only a dark shadow in the back of his mind, and he could already see himself walking hard-booted down the boardwalks of western towns, pointed out as "the man who killed Matt Coburn." He had dreamed of such a thing, and now the possibility was here.

Along with it, twenty-five thousand dollars in gold. More than he was likely to see in a lifetime of hard work.

"I don't need no tricks. I can beat him without them."

"Sure you can. But why not a little insurance?*

"If you'd leave right now," Kendrick suggested, "you could be there waitin' when the stage pulled in."

"I wasn't figurin' on anything like this," Dorset protested. "I mean, bein' gone so long. Miss Shannon, she's sure to be wonderin' whatever happened."

"Don't let that worry you none a-tall," Meadows replied easily. "You just ride over to the Rafter. Before evenin' one o' the boys will come driftin' by an' say how he seen some Rafter stock over next to Strawberry. She's o'ny got you an' that or man, an' he won't be beggin' for no ride. If she don't ask you to go, you just speak up and offer, but give her a chance to ask."

Harry Meadows smiled. "That will put you In Strawberry in time. You take care of Coburn an' we'll take care of the stage, an' you'll get your piece right off."

That was the way they left it. Before sundown it was Scarff, the dark, hard-faced young man, who rode up to the ranch.

"Light an sit," Laurie said. "It's hash-time."

"Cot to make Confusion t'night. Cot some mail for Fife an' Buckwalter." He glanced at the brands on the horses, indicating them. "Seen some stock o' yours clean over by Sacramento Pass . . . just this side of Strawb'ry. Seems a far piece."

"Rafter stock?" Laurie Shannon stared. "How many head?"

"I on'y seen eight or nine brands . . . there was about fifteen in the bunch, though."

Scarf hung up the dipper and swung to the saddle. "Cot to be ridin', ma'am. Thanks for the water."

Joss Ringgold came up from the stable as the rider was leaving. "Who was that?" he asked.

Laurie explained, and Joss was obviously puzzled. Dorset strolled up and stood listening. "Seems odd," Ringgold commented. "Water's good here, and so's the grass."

"Do you suppose that old blue cow would try to
go home
? I bought thirty or forty head from Steptoe Valley."

"No accountin' for critters," Joss said thoughtfully. "That man was ridin' a mighty fine horse for a cowhand," he added.

"He's carryin' mail for Confusion. At least for Fife and Buckwalter. He would need a good horse for that." Laurie turned on Dorset. "Free, how would you like to take a ride? Bring that stock back from Strawberry? You could spend the night there and start back the next day."

"All right Sure." Free turned away quickly, then stopped. He seemed about to speak, then walked on without saying anything.

Joss Ringgold watched him go frowning a little, but he made no comment Neither did Laurie Shannon, but when a girl has lived most of her life among riding men and stock, she notices things. Something was disturbing her, but she could not decide exactly what it was. Several times during the evening she caught herself pausing in whatever she was doing, and looking off into space with a frown on her face.

It was not until she awoke the following morning that it came to her, and at first she could make nothing of it CHAPTER 8