The End of the Trail (8 page)

8

It was dusk two days later when the little cavalcade approached the mining and smelter town of Fairplay. Following a tortuous canyon route westward, they had emerged this morning onto the flat, level reaches of the famed South Park, a lush mountain valley thirty miles wide in some places, stretching for more than sixty miles north and south against the very base of the Continental Divide at a mean altitude of some eight thousand feet above sea level.

The town of Fairplay lay at the extreme northern end of South Park, an isolated village perched on the lower slope of the Divide, cramped against the base of a secondary range on the north. There was a wagon road from Fairplay into Denver over which the smelted gold ore was transported to the mint, and for years there had been agitation for a railroad to connect the mining center with the larger city.

Fairplay itself was small, with a resident population of not more than a thousand, but it was a hell-roaring town in its own right when the bearded miners came down from the hills to carouse and gamble and get rid of the high wages paid them for mucking gold out of the bowels of the towering peaks above the little town.

Fairplay was off a direct route to their objective where they hoped to follow a secluded pass over the Divide and down to Sanctuary Flat, and Pat had tried to argue his two partners out of making the northward swing necessary to bring them into the town, but Ezra and Sam had overruled his arguments.

None of them had been in Fairplay for years, and it just didn't seem right to Sam and Ezra for them to pass the town by without a visit. They had enough lonely travel over the mountains ahead of them, they reminded Pat, so it wouldn't do any harm to spend one last night in civilization before striking out into the wilderness. And the way they were putting away the chuck he cooked up for them, Ezra pointed out, they'd be running out of staples before they ever crossed the Divide if they didn't replenish their supply.

Inwardly, Pat knew this was all merely for the sake of argument. His two companions were like boys playing hooky from school on this trip and they didn't want to pass up the chance for excitement that a night in Fairplay offered. Pat grimly foresaw trouble when his partners cut loose among the saloons and gambling houses, and he was worried about what might happen to Dock in those surroundings, but he was one against two and was forced to give in.

One against three, really, for his son quickly sided with Sam and Ezra when the argument began. He was having the time of his life, and he'd never even seen a town like Fairplay. His eyes grew big and round with excitement when he heard the older men discussing Fairplay and other booming mining towns they had known in the past, and he reminded his father that he
was
twelve years old now, and knew all about saloons and gambling houses for gosh sake.

Lights glowed in the town itself and dotted the mountain sides above it as night came on and they were a quarter of a mile away. The three men pushed along in front at a trot while Dock brought up the rear with his small remuda of pack and extra saddle horses.

“There she lays,” said Ezra gleefully, swinging a big arm out in an arc toward the lights. “Wonder if Happy Jack's still runnin' his joint 'side of the Elite Hotel.”

“If it's not Happy Jack it'll be somebody else,” Pat said grimly. “All I ask is that you both leave yore guns in the hotel before you sashay out to sample Fairplay's night life.”

Sam looked at him with disgust plainly written on his ugly dark face. “Go out plumb undressed?” he protested. “A man'd think we was a couple of kids the way yo're tryin' tuh ride herd on us, Pat.”

“I know what's bound to happen after you've sampled the likker in half a dozen saloons,” Pat groaned. “I've got to think of Dock. What'll Sally say when she finds out I brought him into Fairplay on a drinkin' spree?”

“Don't you worry none about Dock,” Ezra spat out disgustedly. “He's bigger'n you was when you run away from home. He kin watch out for hisself.”

Pat Stevens sighed heavily. That was an argument no father was ever able to answer. Sure, he hadn't been any older than Dock when he struck out for himself, but it seemed to him there was a lot of difference. Near as he could remember, he had been plumb grown up at that age. And Dock was still just a
boy
. Almost a baby. He found himself wondering guiltily if
his
father had felt that same way about
him
. It was the first time he'd ever thought about it just that way.

He said gruffly, “You-all ride on ahead. I'll drop back an' have a little talk with Dock 'fore we get to town.”

“Shore,” said Sam Sloan jovially. “It's time you tole him thuh fac's of life, Pat. Tell him from me when he picks him out a dance gal at Happy Jack's tuh lay off thuh blondes. They're plumb dynamite. Tell him tuh pick a red-head every time.”

Pat snorted his disgust at this advice to a twelve-year-old boy, and reined his horse down to wait for Dock to overtake him. He pulled off to the side of the trail to let the seven-horse herd trot past him, and then dropped into pace beside his son bringing up the rear.

“Gee Dad! is that you?” Dock greeted him gleefully. “We're 'most there, ain't we?”

“Yep. That's Fairplay right ahead, Dock. It'll be the first time you've ever been around a town like Fairplay.”

“I reckon so.” Dock's voice was eager. “Will there be a shootin' tonight, do you reckon?”

“Most likely,” Pat grumbled. “Don't many nights pass in Fairplay that there ain't some kind of excitement.”

“This'll sure be somethin' to tell the kids back at school. Gosh, I bet you're the only Dad I know that'd let me go right along with you. I bet all the rest of 'em would expect me to sit up in the hotel while they went out an' had a big time.”

Pat's heart sank inside of him. That was precisely why he had dropped back to talk to Dock. He had intended to order him to stay inside a locked room tonight. He couldn't do that now. Not after the admiring tone of Dock's voice. He said lamely, “I want you to be careful, son. If any trouble starts, you duck under a table.”

“Will there be fancy women in the saloons, Dad? You know. The kind that take drinks an' dance with the men?”

“You're too young to talk about things like that,” Pat exploded. “You're too young, by golly, to
know
about things like that. What'd your mother say?”

“But we don't hafta tell her,” Dock said hopefully. “Gee, I reckon that's Main Street right ahead. What'll we do with the hawses?”

“Stop at the first livery stable we come to,” Pat said shortly. “Push 'em up a little right behind Sam an' Ezra. They'll turn in the first stable they see.”

It was barely dark, and Fairplay hadn't got started yet. Main Street was lined with saloons and gambling houses, all ablaze with light and ready for the night's activities but it was too early for many of the miners to have reached town. A few bearded men sauntered along the boardwalks and looked curiously at the small pack-train entering town, but on the surface it was as decorous as a Saturday night in Dutch Springs.

Pat breathed a little sigh of relief when Sam and Ezra turned sharply and rode in through the wide door of a big building with the sign LIVERY STABLE over the door. Maybe things weren't going to be as bad as he had feared.

He spurred his horse ahead on the left side of the street to turn the driven horses into the stable behind Sam and Ezra, and reined up in front of Sam who had dismounted and was exuberantly pounding a one-armed man on the back while they swore affectionately at each other.

“Looky here, Pat! Who dyuh reckon I run into fust thing? Five-Fingers Martin! Doggone but yo're a sight for sore eyes, Five-Fingers. How long yuh been in Fairplay?”

“Goin' on five years. Howdy, Pat.” Five-Fingers Martin was tall and flat-chested. He had a whisky-roughened voice and deep-set eyes. “You three still ridin' on the tail of trouble, huh?”

Pat swung out of the saddle and gripped his hand. “Just makin' an early hunting trip into the mountains,” he grunted. “You run this she-bang?”

“You bet. Just a huntin' trip, huh? That's good. That shore is good.” Five-Fingers threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Ain't sayin'
what
yo're huntin', I bet.”

“What d'yuh think?” Pat asked shortly.

“Well sir, I reckon you didn't know about the mine holdup last Saturday. No sir, I s'pose you're gonna say news of that didn't reach down into Powder Valley. Nor 'bout the five-thousand dollar
re
-ward neither. No sir. I reckon you an' Sam an' Ezra wouldn't be int'rested none in that five thousand dollars.”

“You guessed right,” Pat told him. “Got room for ten hawses tonight?”

“You bet. They'll get the best care in town right here. Just go right on an' leave 'em tuh me. I'll take keer of yore gear an' see they're fed. Well, looky here, won't yuh?” Five-Fingers looked up at Dock as he rode in, and blinked in surprise. “This young-un with you-all?” he asked Pat.

“My son,” Pat said shortly. “We'll mosey over to the hotel an' see can we get a room.”

“Jest imagine runnin' into ol' Five-Fingers here,” Ezra chuckled as the four of them went out to the street. “Thought he'd still be in the Texas penitentiary.”

“Who is he, Dad?” Dock looked up with sparkling eyes. “Was he in jail when you knew him?”

“That was a long time ago,” Pat muttered. “I reckon he's reformed now. Didn't seem to carry any hard feelin's towards us,” he added to Sam and Ezra as they crossed the street.

“Nary a bit,” Sam said cheerfully. “Acted like he didn't remember 'twas us that put him in jail that time.”

A tall, big-hatted man strode up to them as they reached the opposite side of the street in front of the Elite Hotel. He pushed his hat back and roared, “Pat Stevens! You ol' lead-slinging side-winder. You didn't waste any time getting here. These here your two partners from Powder Valley I've heard talk about?”

Pat said, “Sheriff Hartly.” He gripped the sheriff's hand vigorously. “These're my two pards Sam an' Ezra,” he introduced them, “an' my boy Dock,” he added proudly.

The Fairplay sheriff squinted down at the twelve-year-old with a look of dismay on his rugged face. “I'm s'prised you brought him along, Pat. Little young, ain't he, to get mixed up in gun-play.”

“We don't plan to get in on any gun-play,” Pat told him sharply. “Just stoppin' in town overnight 'fore we push on up into the mountains.”

“Shore, I didn't reckon you'd stay here more'n overnight,” Sheriff Hartly agreed. “But don't make no mistake about runnin' into gun-play when you trail the Runyon gang to their hideout. They're killers, Pat.”

“We're not figurin' on trailing anybody anywhere,” Pat said angrily. “Sam Sloan here works for the Pony Express out of Denver an' we're looking for a route to cross the Divide down into Grand Junction. That's what we're here for.”

“Oh shore.” The sheriff pulled his right eyelid down in an elaborate wink. “Hunting for an Express route into the mountains, huh? That's a smart story, Pat. Fair enough. I'll ride with you in the morning and show you right where we lost the Runyon gang's trail. Reckon that's as good a place to start looking for your route, huh?” He lowered his eyelid in another long wink.

“We don't know anything about the Runyon gang and don't want to,” Pat told him loudly. “We're going into the hotel to clean up. Why don't you come around after supper for a confab?”

“You bet I will, Pat. Mighty glad to see you an' your pards, even if you
ain't
after that five thousand reward.”

“What's he talking about, Dad?” Dock asked eagerly as they went toward the hotel. “What's the Runyon gang? What's he mean about five thousand dollars?”

“Looks like we're gonna have a hard time makin' anybody believe that ain't why we're here,” put in Sam from the other side of Dock. “Did you know about that mine hold-up an' reward 'fore we got here, Pat?”

“No,” snapped Pat. “If I had known about it, I wouldn't have come at all. First thing you know it'll be all over town we're here to chase a hold-up gang.”

He strode on into the dingy lobby of the hotel and approached the counter. A fat man wearing a striped shirt with pink garters on his bulging arms leaned forward and said, “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Fairplay and what can I do for you?”

“Two double rooms for the night,” Pat told him shortly. He picked up a rusty pen and wrote, “Pat Stevens and Son, Dutch Springs,” and turned to hand the pen to Sam.

Sam wrote his own name out laboriously, and added with a flourish, “An Ezra,” behind it. The hotel-keeper turned the register around to inspect the signatures while he got out two room keys. He had thick blond eyebrows. They crawled upward on his forehead like two frightened worms as he read the names of his guests.

“Dutch Springs is in Powder Valley, isn't it, sir?” he asked Pat.

“What if it is?” Pat reached for the keys.

“But this is splendid, sir. We've all heard of you and your companions, of course. I must say that your exploits are well known here. Every honest citizen in Fairplay will be glad to know that you are riding on the trail of the Runyon gang. You'll be my guests tonight, sir.” He waved a dimpled hand. “No charge for the rooms. I'm proud to have you in my hotel.”

Pat said, “We'll pay our way, thanks. Sorry to disappoint you but we
ain't
trailin' the Runyon gang.” He gathered up the keys and led the way upstairs.

“Gee, Dad,” breathed Dock ecstatically, when he and his father were together in a hotel room upstairs, “I didn't know you was that famous. Everybody knows about you.”