the High Graders (1965) (15 page)

It lay several miles off the travel route s in a huddle of low ridges and hills, a patc h of heaped-up, sun-burned boulders, browned by tim e and the wind and sun. Around them lay an acre or s o that was flat sand grown up with a little mesquite, a little cholla, and some cat-claw. On th e ridges juniper grew.

In among the rocks, and not easily found, was a cold spring of very good water. Wind blew through th e rocks and over the spring, so the air right at th e water was always cool, and often cold.

In under the boulders were several low caves where a man might bed down, and each of them had more tha n one approach. On low ground nearby, in the ope n but actually difficult to see, were places where a man might leave a couple of horses.

Most of the Rafter range that lay in thi s direction had been abandoned since the mines starte d up and old Jack was killed, and few riders woul d be rustling around near Boulder Spring.

Though Lon Court might have holed up a t any of the other spots, Mike Shevlin wa s gambling that Boulder Spring was the place.

Next he reviewed the little he knew of Lo n Court. The man was not a gunfighter--he was a killer. He hunted men the way old Winkle r hunted wolves; he stalked them, and killed the m when he could do so safely. That did not imply th e man was a physical coward, and Shevlin was sur e he was not. To Lon Court killing was a business , and he took no chances on being wounded or being see n by his victims or by anyone else. The ver y nature of his calling depended on being unknown.

To secure his own safety, Mike Shevli n knew he must find Lon Court before the kille r found him, but there was little time, for he must also find th e gold.

He was sure that Gib Gentry had bee n deliberately set up in the freighting busines s so the gold could be shipped with maximum securit y and a minimum of talk, and now that Gentry was out of th e picture, who would take over? Who would handle th e shipment? And might they not direct every effort towar d getting the gold out of the country while they could?

He had tried to stir things up so that Ben Stow e would be forced to make a move, yet now Stow e might settle right back and wait, for he was a canny man, and not one to be hurried.

Suddenly, the horse's ears came u p sharply. Shevlin slowed his pace a little, searchin g the country.

He stopped none too soon, for even as his ow n mount became motionless, a rider emerged from a draw about two hundred yards off. He was a tall man riding a long-legged grulla, a tough, mouse-colored mountain horse. The ma n wore a narrow-brimmed hat and a nondescrip t gray coat. And he was following a trail.

Shevlin's position was excellent. His hors e had come to a dead stop, half sheltered by boulders , stunted juniper, and low brush. H
e spoke softly to his horse, and sat his saddle , waiting.

The man held a rifle in his right hand, and h e rode slowly, checking the trail from time to time.

He was surely following someone, following with grea t care, and it was Shevlin's guess that the man'
s quarry was not far ahead of him. And at the sam e instant Mike Shevlin realized with startlin g clarity that this was Lon Court.

He was as positive of it as if the man ha d been identified by a pointing finger. Everything abou t him filled the picture Shevlin had made fro m bits he recalled hearing; coupled with this was th e man's presence here, and his manner.

Mike Shevlin slid his rifle from it s scabbard and let the rider take a little more lead.

Then he started his own horse down the trai l after him.

Chapter
12

He left the trail to his horse, hardl y daring to shift his attention from the man ahead of hi m for a moment. He would get only one chance i f Lon Court saw him, for the man would shoot---
i nstantly, and with accuracy.

Who was the man following? Obviously it wa s someone only a short distance ahead, or he would b e riding with greater speed. He was keeping his eye s on the trail left by the rider, and he too wa s taking no chances.

The man's horse, the nondescript clothin g -comnei of them stood out. He merged into th e background of desert and boulders, so that at a greater distance than he was from Shevlin he would hav e been scarcely visible.

The day was warm. Sweat trickled down Mik e Shevlin's neck, beaded on his forehead. H
e shifted his hands on the Winchester and dried hi s palms on his shirt front. By now Court wa s slanting up the hill, as if about to top out on th e crest.

Court dismounted and, rifle in hand, moved to th e top of the ridge. He was casing his rifle to hi s shoulder when suddenly he seemed to freeze, hi s attention riveted on something beyond the ridge.

Mike Shevlin's horse was in sand now , walking carefully and making no sound, and Shevli n was closing the distance between them, drawing steadil y nearer the sniper on the ridge.

When still perhaps sixty yards off, Shevlin dre w up and dismounted, trailing his reins. H
e desperately wanted to know what lay beyond tha t ridge, to see who it was that Court was stalking, bu t there was no possibility of that.

Lon Court was as dangerous as a cornere d rattler, and never so dangerous as he would be now , if caught in the act. Only his concentration on hi s job had permitted Shevlin to come so close as this.

The warm air was still. The only sound was a cicada singing in the brush near the road.

Shevlin, careful not to start a stone rolling to war n Court, worked his way silently along the slope.

Then he paused and, choosing two small pebble s from the gravel near his feet, he flipped one a t Court's horse. The grulla jumped an d snorted.

Lon Court whipped around as quick as a cat , looking toward the horse.

"Over here, Lon!"

Lon Court wheeled and fired in the sam e instant, but he fired too soon. His bullet wa s a little high, but Mike Shevlin's was more carefull y aimed. Pointed for the middle of Court's chest, i t struck the hammer on the rifle and deflecte d upward, ripping Court's throat and jaw.

Desperately, Court tried to work his rifle , then he dropped it and grabbed for his six-shooter.

He was on his feet, standing with them slightly apart , the old narrow-brimmed hat pulled down over hi s eyes. His yellow mustache showed plainly.

Shevlin stepped off to his right and fired again, th e bullet turning Court, whose shot went wild.

Court brought his gun back on target just a s Shevlin fired his third shot, putting it right throug h Court's skull.

Mike walked up to the dead man and looke d down at him. He felt no regret or pity.

Lon Court had chosen his path with his eyes open , and must have known that someday it would end just as it had. I n his time he had killed a lot of men, and now h e lay dead himself, killed by one of those he had bee n sent to get.

Returning to his horse, Shevlin mounted u p and went over the ridge. In the valley beyond there wa s a dim trail, an old trail. On it h e found the tracks of a horse, and followed them.

When he had gone only a few feet he sa w where the horse had dug in hard and taken off on a hard run. The rider must have been at tha t point when he heard the shots.

Shevlin was almost on the edge of town, stil l following the tracks, before he caught sight of th e rider. It was Laine Tennison.

She pulled off to the side of the trail an d waited when she saw him coming.

"Scare you?" he asked.

"Was that you back there?"

"Uh-huh. I was one of them."

She looked at him searchingly. "Wha t happened?"

"There was a man named Lon Court. Bee n around for years. He hires out to big cattl e outfits or anybody who has killing they wan t done. He was laying for you."

"And you stopped him?"

"Don't make a lot of it. I was on hi s list, too."

"You ... you killed him?"

"Ma'am," Shevlin said dryly, "you neve r get far talking things over with a man holding a gun. And this here man wasn't much give n to talk."

"What's going to happen now?"

"As a result of that? Well, when a man lik e Lon Court dies nobody cares much. Not in thi s country, in these times.

"As to what will happen, I wouldn't know.

We're going to ride into Rafter, you and me, and thi s time you're going to stay there with the Claggs, and don'
t leave there or I'll quit the whole thing. I c an't be running around looking after you, with everythin g else I've got to do."

The streets were strangely empty when the y came into town. After leaving Laine at th e Claggs', Mike Shevlin rode to the sheriff'
s office.

Wilson Hoyt looked up sourly, and with n o welcome. "All right, what's your argument?"

"I just came in to report a shooting. Lo n Court is dead."

Hoyt knew the name. He turned the ide a over in his mind, growing angrier by the minute.

"Who the hell brought him in here?" he said.

"Somebody who wanted Laine Tenniso n killed. Somebody who wanted me killed, and wh o killed Gib Gentry by mistake."

"You think Court killed Gentry?"

"The only man who was supposed to be riding tha t trail that night was me," Shevlin said.

"Only Gentry was coming to see me--to warn me, i n fact."

Wilson Hoyt considered this. He put i t together with a few other facts. Gib Gentry ha d been drinking the night before he was killed, but that wa s not unusual, for Gib had been hitting th e bottle a lot these last few months.

Hoyt had, in his slow, methodical, ye t thorough way traced Gentry's movements.

Nobody had anything to conceal and they truste d Hoyt, as they had, for the most part, like d Gentry. Gentry had been a rough-and-ready bu t free-handed man who made no enemies. The las t man who had spoken to Gentry was Brazos, whe n Gib got his horse, and Gib had definitel y been riding after Shevlin.

What disturbed Hoyt was the knowledge that just befor e Gentry went to the stable for his horse he had a brief talk with Red, and then Red had ridden of f out of town. Shortly after, Gentry had gone for hi s horse.

"Lon Court hadn't been in town," Hoy t said. "I didn't even know he'd been in th e country. If I had, I'd have run him the hel l out of it."

"Lon Court never rode a mile without bein g paid for it," Shevlin said. "Who do you think stand s to gain by having me killed? By having Lain e Tennison killed?"

"Where does she fit into th?"

"Somebody thinks she might be an owner.

Clagg Merriam learned the other night that sh e had wealthy connections in Frisco. The Su n Strike is owned in Frisco."

"They wouldn't murder a woman."

"You forget mighty quick. What about Ev e Bancroft?"

"That was a mistake."

Wilson Hoyt looked up at Shevli n sharply. "Clagg Merriam? What the hel l has he got to do with this?"

"He's the man behind Ben Stowe."

Hoyt's little world of certainties was toppling.

"Like hell!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Merria m scarcely knows Ben--and he's a respecte d man."

Mike Shevlin did not feel like arguing with him.

He would leave it to Hoyt's solid commo n sense. He was tired, but there was much to be done.

He leaned over the desk. "Hoyt,"
h e said, "your nice playhouse is ruined for good , and you might as well look at it straight.

Maybe you can pull this town out of the hole it's i n ... maybe you can't. I figure most of thes e folks--even those who've been shutting their eye s to what goes on--are good folks, given a chance.

"But Eve Bancroft is dead, and that'
s getting to them. They won't stand still for it, the wa y I see it. All you'd have to do would be to get up an d make a stand, and you'd have them behind you. If yo u don't, your rep as a town pacifier i s finished, because there'll be more killings."

"You said Court was dead."

"Do you think he would have to do it all? I kno w Ben, Hoyt; I've known him a long time.

He's a mighty tough man, grown tougher wit h years, and he plays hard. Believe me, the y got Gib by mistake, but I'd lay a bet h e was on the list to die ... after he'd done his jo b for them."

It made sense, of course. Wilson Hoy t was a man of no illusions, and once he faced th e situation he would see the thing straight. Like man y another man, he faced the fact of chang e reluctantly. He had had two good years i n Rafter, relatively peaceful years, and althoug h he must have known the situation could not last, he ha d been willing to go along with it. His own job wa s to keep the peace, not to be a guardian of moral s ... that was the way he had allowed himself to think.

But now he could no longer stand aside. He ha d made a move; he had averted the calamity of a street battle between miners and cattlemen--an d Eve Bancroft had been killed. He ha d believed it was over then, but here was Mik e Shevlin, assuring him it had only begun.

Lon Court was dead, but that had happened out o f town, and was not his concern. The presence of Lo n Court was, for somebody within the town had brough t him here.