Where the Long Grass Blows (1976) (3 page)

"Down at the edge of town I've got me a friendly Mexican who raises some pigs for me.

He tends them, he keeps half, I get half.

"I eat when I feel like it, I do a little business, I set on the porch in the shade time to time, or maybe take a walk down the street and talk with my friends.

I no longer have to look over my shoulder for fear some lawman is coming up on me, or maybe some member of my own gang is planning to shoot me to have my share.

"What more do I want? Or need? I ain't eatin' the dust of a trail herd. I ain't rollin' out in the midst of the night to ride around any pesky longhorns, and I don't have to keep an eye out for the law.

"When I want side-meat, I have it. When I want eggs, I eat all I want. I go to sleep at night and I rest easy, and boy, you can do it, too. Take my advice and forget all these wild ideas. You don't stand a chance."

Canavan sipped his coffee. "You may be right, and I probably am a fool for not listening, but this is something I have to do. The trouble is ... there's a hitch. I need some money. I need a war chest."

Scott put down his cup with a bang. "Well, I'll be damned! You come into this country all primed for trouble, all alone, but with no money! I'll say this for you! You've got nerve. I only hope you've got the gun savvy and the brains you'll need to back it up."

The blue eyes squinted from the leathery face, and he smiled. He was beginning to like Bill Canavan.

The nerve of the man appealed to him, and the project was one requiring imagination as well as daring.

"How much do you want?"

"A hundred dollars,"

"That all? You won't get far in this country on that."

"All I need is eating money, but along with it I want some advice."

He took a thin leather wallet from inside his coat, and from it he took a beautifully tanned piece of buckskin.

Moving the dishes aside, he spread it out on the table. It was a map.

Scott glanced at the map, then leaned forward, suddenly intent. It was drawn to scale and in amazing detail, showing every ranch, line-camp and waterhole.

Each stand of trees, each canyon or arroyo was clearly marked along with straight-line distances from one point to another, heights of land and depths of canyons. He could find nothing that was missed.

When Scott sat back in his chair, his expression was mingled respect and worry. "Son, where did you get that map?"

"Made it. Drew it myself. For three years I've talked to every cowhand or sheepherder who ever worked this country. Each one added something, and each one checked what the others had given me. You know how western men are, and most of them can describe a piece of country so you can find your way through it even if you've never been there yourself.

"As a matter of fact, I've had this country in mind for some time. When I was a youngster I knew an old buffalo hunter who trapped in these hills before he turned to killing buffalo for a living. I learned a lot from him. Then the last two or three years I've been picking up a little here, little there. I actually punched cows for a couple of outfits just because they had hands working for them who worked this country in the past "Then I ran into Vin Carter, who was born here, and he told me more than all the others. Then, while I was working in a different part of the country, Emmett Chubb rode in and killed the kid ... picked a fight and shot him down. I think Walt Pogue paid him to do it "Sure, I want some range of my own, but that's not all anymore. Vin Carter and me, we rode rough country together. He swam some rivers, fought sandstorms and stampedes, and he was a good man, too good to be murdered by the likes of Chubb.

"Before this is over, there's going to be a lot of changes, and before those changes end, I'll be sitting on a nice ranch. Then I'll get married and settle down."

Scott shook his head in amazement. "Kid, you sure do beat all! If I was twenty years younger I'd throw in with you. It's a big order, but I got an idea you're going to give it a try. You can have the hundred dollars."

"And maybe some ammunition, time to time?"

"Sure. But you'll need more than that. You've got to have a plan."

Canavan nodded agreement. "I have one, Scott, and I've already started my action. I've filed on Thousand Springs."

Scott came off his chair, his face a mask of incredulity.

"You did what?"

"I filed a claim and I've staked her out and started to prove up." Bill Canavan chuckled at Scott's amazement. "Seemed like a good idea to sort of set "em back on their heels to start. No use wastin" around."

"You've committed suicide," Scott said. "The Thousand Springs is right in the middle of Reynolds's best range. That water-hole is worth a fortune all by itself! That's what this fight is all about!"

"I know it," Canavan said. "I knew it before I took a step. I made my map, studied the country, and studied all I knew about the Valley country.

When I heard about Thousand Springs the first thing I did was check into the title. I found it was government land, so I filed a claim. Then I bought Bullhorn."

This time, astonishment was beyond the storekeeper.

"How could you buy it? Ain't that government land?"

"No, it isn't, and even Vin Carter believed it was.

I checked it out and found the ownership was with a Mexican who'd had it from a Mexican land grant. Finally located him down in the Big Bend country and bought the three hundred acres, the Bullhorn headquarters, the water-hole and the cliffs behind it And the place includes a fair chunk of the land where Pogue cuts his meadow hay."

"Well, I'll be forever damned!" Scott tapped out his pipe bowl on the hearth. "But what about Hitson Spring?"

"That's another reason why I wanted to see you,"

Canavan said quietly. "You own it."

"I do, do I? And how'd you come to think that?"

"Met an old sidewinder named Emmons. That was down Laredo way. He was pretty drunk one night down in a greasers' joint. I got him talking about this country and he had a lot to say, an' most of it made sense. Then he told me how foolish you had been to file a claim on that land when you could have bought it from the Indians for little or nothing."

Scott chuckled. "Just what I did, but nobody around here knows that."

"Then sell it to me. I'll give you my note for five thousand right now."

"Your note, is it? Son, you'd better get yourself killed. It will be cheaper to bury you than to pay up."

He tapped his pipe bowl out on the hearth again.

"Tell you what I'll do. I'll take your note for five hundred and the fun of watching what happens."

Bill Canavan pulled over a tablet that lay on the table and on the first page he wrote out a note and handed it to Scott. The old outlaw chuckled as he read it I hereby agree to pay on or before the 15th of March, 1877 to Westbrook Scott, the sum of five hundred dollars and the fun of watching what happens for the 160 acres known as Hitson Spring.

"All right, son! Sign her up! I'll get the deed, and the best of luck to you ... You'll need it"

Chapter
III

When Bill Canavan had pocketed the two deeds, the old man refilled their cups.

"Know what you've done? You've laid claim on the three best sources of water in the Valley, the only three that are sure-fire all year around. And what will they do when they find out? They'll kill you, that's what,"

"Maybe they won't find out for a while. I don't plan on telling them until matters settle down a mite.

Anyway, it's a wonder one of them didn't think of it on "his own. They're all so busy trying to take land from one another."

"What about your claim stakes at Thousand Springs?"

"Buried. Iron stakes driven deep into the ground.

There's sod and grass over them."

"What about proving up?"

"You know how that spring operates? Actually, there's one great big spring back inside the mountain flowing out through the rocky face of the cliff in hundreds of tiny rivulets. Up atop that mesa there's a good stretch of land that falls into my claim, and back in the woods there was some land I could plow. I've broken that land, smoothed her out and I've put in a crop. I've got a trail to the top of the mesa and I've built a stone house up there. I'm in business, Scotty."

Scott shook his head, unbelievingly. "I'll say this for you, Canavan. You've got nerve." He got up from the table and went into the store, and when he returned he had several boxes of .44's. "You'd best take those now, but when you come around in the morning you can stock up, grub and whatever you need."

"I'll do it. Meanwhile, you keep track of what I owe and I'll settle every cent before this is over."

"Better make a cache or two," Scott suggested, "hide out an extra gun and some ammunition.

Maybe a blanket and some grub. Some place you can get to without trouble. Once they find out what you've done, you'll be on the run."

With money in his pocket Bill Canavan returned to the street. For a moment he stood in the shadows to see if he was observed, but as far as he could see the street was empty and there was no one watching.

He stepped out on the street and crossed to the Bit and Bridle.

The bartender glanced at him, then put a bottle on the bar in front of him, and a glass. He was a short man who looked fat, but after noticing the corded forearms, bulging with muscle, Canavan decided little of it could be fat.

A couple of cowhands down the bar were talking lazily, and there was a poker game in progress at a table. Several other men sat around at tables or at benches along the wall. It was the usual crowd to be found in any cattle country saloon.

He had poured his drink and was holding it between his thumb and forefinger when the bat-wing doors behind him opened and he heard a click of heels on the floor. He knew no one here and was expecting no one, so he neither turned nor looked around. He regarded the drink for a moment, then tossed it off. He had never been what might be called a drinking man, and did not intend to drink much tonight The footsteps halted behind him, and a quick, clipped voice asked, "Are you the chap who owns that fast Appaloosa?"

He turned half around. There was no need to guess that this was Tom Venable. He was a tall, well set-up young man who was like his sister, with that imperious lift to his chin, but unlike her in his quick, decisive manner.

"I own an Appaloosa," Canavan said. "Some folks think him fast"

"My sister is outside. She wants to speak to you."

"I don't want to speak to her. You can tell her that." He glanced at the bottle, wondering if he wanted another drink.

What happened then happened so fast it caught him off balance. A hard hand grasped him by the shoulder and spun him around in a grip of iron, and he was startled by the strength in that slim hand.

Tom Venable's eyes were hot with anger.

"I said, my sister wants to speak to you."

"And I said I did not want to speak to her."

Bill Canavan spoke slowly, evenly. "Now take your hand off me, and don't ever lay a hand on me again."

Tom Venable had never backed down for any man. From the east, he had come west to the cow country. He had made a place for himself by drive, energy, decision and his own youthful strength. Yet suddenly he realized he had never met such a man as the one he faced now. As he met Canavan's level gaze, he felt something turn over inside him. It was as though he had parted the brush and looked into the eyes of a lion.

He dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. My sister can't come into a place like this."

The two men measured each other, and the suddenly alert audience in the Bit and Bridle let their eyes go from Tom Venable to the stranger. Tom they knew well enough to know he was afraid of nothing that walked. They also knew his normal manner was polite to a degree rarely encountered in the west, where manners were apt to be brusque and friendly, but lacking in formality. Yet something else was happening now. There was something intangible between these two, and the men sensed the sudden hesitation in Venable, a wariness that made them look again, very carefully, at the stranger.

The bat-wing doors parted suddenly, and Dixie Venable stepped into the room.

First, Canavan was aware of shock that such a girl would come into such a place, and secondly of shame that he had been the cause. Then he felt admiration for her courage.

Beautiful in a gray tailored riding outfit, her head lifted proudly, she crossed the room and walked up to Canavan, her face very stiff, her eyes bright.

Bill Canavan was aware that never in his life had he looked into eyes so fine, so filled with feeling.

"Sir," and her voice could be heard clearly in the silent room, "I do not know what your name may be, but I have come to pay you your money. Your horse beat Flame today, and beat her fairly. I regret the way I acted, but it was such a shock to have Flame beaten that I behaved very rudely and then allowed you to leave without being paid. You won fairly, and I am very sorry."

She paused only a moment, then added; "However, if you would like to run your horse against Flame again, I'll double the bet."