Where the Long Grass Blows (1976) (11 page)

Pat's warning was accurate, of course. Pogue and Reynolds were dangerous, but nothing to Levitt's crowd. Lifting his glass, Canavan studied his reflection in the mirror: the reflection of a tall, wide-shouldered young man with blunt, bronzed features and a smile that came easily to eyes that were half-cynical, half-amused.

A young man in a flat-crowned black hat, a gray shield-chested shirt and black knotted kerchief, black crossed belts that supported the worn holsters and walnut-stocked guns.

He was a fool, he decided, to think as he did about Dixie. What could he offer such a girl?

On the other hand, what could Star Levitt have to offer?

Nevertheless, he had come here to stay. When he rode the Appaloosa into the street of Soledad he had come to stay. He had known this was where it would all come to a head. Here he would establish himself or go down shooting. He considered his own plans and where he stood in his overall plan, and decided he had come further in less time than he had expected. In fact, he had one asset he had not expected to find.

He had Roily Burt.

Camping on the mesa, the wounded man was rapidly recovering. With a single crutch he had whittled for himself, he could get around very well handling the camp chores, for he was not a man to sit idle, and he could fill Canavan in on the local customs and characters. Nights beside the campfire they had argued, yarned and just talked. Both had ridden for Charlie Goodnight, both knew John Chisum.

They knew the same saloons in Tascosa, Fort Griffin and El Paso. Both had been over the trail to Dodge and to Cheyenne.

They talked the hours away of Uvalde and Laredo, of horses, cattle, camp cooks, of cattle rustling and gunfighters until they knew each other and the kind of men they were. Roily Burt talked much of Mabry. Mabry had told Burt that, much as he liked both Tom and Dixie Venable, he must leave the W or be killed, for they tolerated only those hands completely loyal to Star Levitt.

"Why were the Box n boys gunning for you, Roily?"

A frown gathered between his eyes. He shook his head, obviously disturbed. "You know, I can't figure it out. It was a cold deck, I saw that right at the start. They had come to murder me."

"How'd you happen to be in town?"

"Berdue sent me in for a message."

"I see." He told Burt about the meeting below Thousand Springs Mesa, and everything but Dixie's part in it. "There's a tie-in somewhere. I think Berdue sent you a-purpose, and he had those Box n boys primed to kill you."

"But why? It doesn't make any kind of sense."

"Maybe it's something you know. Berdue is involved in some kind of a dou
blec
ross that he doesn't want Reynolds to know anything about. He probably is dou
blecross
ing Reynolds himself, but it looks like Star Levitt is the man behind the whole operation."

"A deal between Levitt and Berdue? But they're supposed to be enemies."

"What better cover could they have? You keep an eye on the Springs, Roily. They may meet again."

"Reminds me," Burt said, glancing up, "something I've been meaning to ask. Several times I've heard a funny kind of rumbling, sounds like it's coming from the rock under me. Have you heard it?"

"I've heard it. Gives a man the creeps.

Someday we'll do some prowling and find out what it is."

Standing now at the bar in the Bit and Bridle, Canavan went over the conversation. Yes, in having such an ally as Roily Burt, he was ahead of the game.

He turned his head to glance into the street.

The day was gone, evening had come. He looked at the rose tint touching the clouds and felt a vague nostalgia for something, he knew not what.

Shadows were gathering between the buildings, but the faces of them, battered, wind-worn and dusty as they were, had acquired a kind of magic from the setting sun. At the rail, Rio stamped an impatient hoof, and flipped his tail at a careless fly.

It was a quiet evening. How few of them there had been in those years behind him. And how many lonely nights ... Restlessly, he turned back to his drink, scarcely touched. He wanted a home. It was all very well to ride the wild country. He had loved riding it and still did, but there was more to life than that. The empty people, they wanted nothing more; they chafed at bonds because they were not mature enough for discipline, the kind of discipline one gives himself. He had seen too many of them, sad, misguided people, railing at institutions and ideas they were too Juvenile to accept. The important things in life called for maturity, for responsibility.

Too many fled from it, wanting to be back in childhood when somebody else coped with the problems.

When he straightened up from leaning on the bar, his guns suddenly felt heavy on his hips.

Someday ... with any luck, things would be different.

Then the half-doors pushed open and Star Levitt came into the room. Tall and handsome, he stood against the fading light. For a moment he stood staring at Canavan, and then he came on into the room.

He wore the same splendid white hat, a white buckskin vest, and gray trousers tucked into highly- polished boots. By comparison Canavan felt tired, dusty and wrinkled.

His manner was easy, completely confident.

"Have a drink, Canavan?"

"Thanks, I've got one." In the mirror his battered shabbiness contrasted with the cool magnificence of Star Levitt. Gloomily, he stared at the reflection. What chance did he have, could he have, with a man who could look like that?

Levitt's smile was pleasant, his voice that of the conversation of every day. "Planning to leave soon?"

"I like it here," Canavan's own tone was dry. without interest or emotion.

"That's what the country needs, they say. Permanent settlers, somebody who will help to build the country. It is a fine idea, if you can make it stick."

"You're right, of course, but how about you, Levitt? Do you think you'll be able to stick it out when Pogue and Reynolds get to checking brands?"

The glass rattled in Pat's hand as he suddenly put it down on the back bar. Canavan felt a sudden harsh recklessness come up in his neck, a feeling such as he had never felt before. It was a mean, driving, ugly feeling, something this man aroused in him. But he had the play, and it was like him to push. "I've been out on the range of late and there's a lot of W's made over into Three Diamonds, and Box n's to Triple Box A's, and they are both your brands."

It was fighting talk, and Canavan knew it. He had not wanted this, not right now, but there was an urge in him that drove him on.

Levitt was standing perfectly straight, looking at him through hard, level eyes. "That's dangerous talk, Cowhand! Dangerous for you or any other common drifter. You're getting into deep water, too deep for you to swim out."

"Let me be the judge. I've waded deeper water a few times, Levitt, and where I couldn't wade, I could swim. And if I couldn't swim I'd build some land under me."

Star Levitt's tone was calm, but the anger was plain and it was obvious he was a man not accustomed to being pushed or thwarted or even talked back to.

He was a shrewd man, a planner, a conniver, but a man who liked to take his own time and do things in his own way.

In that moment Canavan learned something more about the man. For he had a temper, and when pushed he grew angry. Such a man might be pushed into hasty, uncalculated moves.

"All right." He was pushing again, pushing hard.

"The other day you spoke about a staked claim. I am curious to see how well staked that claim is. I don't think you've staked it well at all, Levitt, and I want to see what will happen if somebody nudges those stakes a bit.

"You're a big man in a small puddle, Levitt, but you're not making the splash you think you are. Now you know where I stand, and we needn't talk in circles anymore. I am ready, Star. Are you?"

Before Star Levitt could reply, a new voice broke in. "Stand aside, Star, and let me have him!"

Canavan felt the hair prickle along the back of his neck as he recognized Emmett Chubb. "I want him anyway, Star!"

Bill Canavan had not bargained for this. One of them, yes, but now he faced two of the deadliest gunmen in the west, and he was alone. Cold and still he waited, the air so tense he could hear the hoarse, frightened breathing of the bartender.

So still it was that all could hear Mabry's voice, low as it was. "If they want it, Canavan, I'll take Levitt for you. He's right under my gun."

Levitt's eyes did not waver. Canavan glimpsed the quick speculation in the man's eyes, the cool realization that the situation offered nothing for any of them. It was two and two, but Mabry's position outside the window clearly commanded the situation as he was behind both Levitt and Chubb.

It was Pat who broke the stalemate. "Nobody does any shootin' here unless it's me!" he said harshly.

"Mabry, you stand where you are. Chubb, you take your hand away from that gun and walk right out the door, face-first. Levitt, you follow him. I ain't puttin' fresh sawdust on this floor again today. Not for nobody, I ain't!"

His command was reinforced by the twin barrels of a shotgun over the bar's edge, and nobody wanted to argue with a shotgun at that distance.

Chubb did not hesitate. He was too much the professional to like such a situation, so he turned on his heel and walked out without a word of protest.

Levitt held his ground a moment longer. "You talk a good fight, Canavan. We'll have to see what you're holding."

"I'll help you check brands at the roundup,"

Canavan said dryly.

Levitt walked out and Mabry put a foot over the sill and stepped inside. He was grinning. "Is that job still open?"

Canavan chuckled grimly. "Mabry, you've been workin' for me for the last three minutes."

"You two finish your drinks and get out," Pat said. "Powder smoke gives me a headache."

Chapter
XI

They sat over their fire in the hollow on Thousand Springs Mesa, and the night was cool. The fire was small as they wanted no glow to attract attention to their hideout. Burt had elected himself camp cook, and he was making a stew. The coffee pot, blackened from many fixes, stood in the coals on some flat rocks.

There was a smell of cedar smoke in the air and of crushed juniper. The night was still, with almost no touch of wind. The nearest ranch was at least ten miles away, and Soledad was much further. The sky was spangled with a million stars, and there were no clouds. Mabry leaned back on his saddle and clasped his hands behind his head.

"It surely isn't clear, what's goin' on," he said, "but it looks like Levitt is engineerin' some kind of a big steal ... maybe cattle, maybe land, maybe all of it "From what you say, Voyle, Berdue and Dahl must all be in it with him, and I do know this. There's been a lot of hard cases comin' into the Valley lately, and not all of them are tied in with the CR or the Boxation.

"Take Streeter an' Hanson now. They ride for Pogue, but are they really his boys? I think Streeter an' Hanson will stay out of it if Levitt says to. I think he's cut the ground from under both Pogue and Reynolds."

"The brands I saw aren't calculated to fool anybody, the way I see it," Canavan said. "I think they are planned to start trouble. It's my feeling Levitt wants to get them all together at the roundup and let the fight happen. Pogue and Reynolds are sore enough to be ready to bust loose and Levitt knows it.

He and his boys can stand aside and just let them kill each other, then finish whoever is left."

"How many hands can Venable depend on?" Burt asked.

Mabry shrugged. "Three or four, but they are Just good cowhands, not gunfighters. Dahl and his partner ran a couple of the others off, just made it so damn uncomfortable to work around them that they up an' quit. Now you lay the ground for it, I can see it was a planned thing."

"What goes on down there, Mabry? You've lived there."

"You couldn't prove nothing by me. Seems to be a lot of moving around at night, though. Several times riders have come in during the night and were gone before daybreak, leaving hard-ridden horses behind.

Dahl and his partner always slept near the door, so it was them went to see what went on. I figured they were outlaw friends of theirs who needed spare horses." He looked over at Canavan. "After all, most of us know at least one gent who's on the dodge."

They talked quietly, letting tired muscles relax.

Occasionally one or the other would move away from the fire and listen into the night. Despite the seeming security of their position, they were not trusting men.

Canavan took the plate he was offered and dished up some frijoles and beef, then added some of the stew. He could see but one answer. He would have to do some night riding. That also meant he would need more horses. In fact, they would all need them.

He thought of the stock in the secret hollows in the lava beds. ... Some of them might have been saddletrained.

Yet, he might be able to get some stock from the Venables, very much on the quiet, of course.

"Roundup should start tomorrow," Burt commented.