Novel 1966 - The Broken Gun (v5.0) Read online

  Never in my life had I sought out a fight, but I’d never lagged much when the time for one came. Perhaps I am a throwback to some earlier, less law-abiding era. There is no one anywhere who has more respect for the law or for men of the law who do a hard job well, when they do it honestly—and most of them are honest. But now we were for the time being beyond the reach of the law. There was one chance in a hundred that my call had gotten through, that the operator was curious enough or concerned enough to inform the police.

  The police might dismiss it as one of the many freakish things that do happen. On the other hand, good police officers have a sense of impending trouble, and a natural inclination to be not only suspicious, but skeptical. Their work, and the people they meet in the course of the day’s work, make them so. They know, for instance, that some drivers will lie when stopped for a traffic violation, and as many will ignore traffic regulations if they believe they can get away with it. And often enough a boy who disrespects the law has learned it in the front seat of a car, watching his father, or listening to him try to alibi himself out of a ticket.

  There was a good chance that the police had their own ideas about Colin and Jimbo Wells. They might just drive down to the ranch to check on the telephone call—if it ever got through.

  In another few minutes we saw them. They were a thousand feet below us and about a quarter of a mile out on the flat, headed for the headquarters ranch.

  Belle was with them. She was sitting her horse, her hands tied behind her, and her horse on a lead-rope to Colin Wells’ horse. They were all there, in a tight little group. Off ahead of them was a jeep, which we saw through the telescopic sight on Pio’s rifle. But it was in evidence chiefly by its dust cloud.

  They must have finished out the night on Seward’s Bar-Bell ranch, and started out early for the home ranch. I had an idea that Benton Seward had hastened their going…he would be worried about that phone call and would want them far enough away so he could claim that he knew nothing about any of it.

  Where we were we had cover enough to remain unseen, but they must have been worried about us. They knew I was out here somewhere, and that I constituted a threat in every sense. They also knew there was at least one other man, and no doubt they had decided that it was Pio Alvarez.

  It was just past noon when we hunched down among the junipers on the slope of the Mustang Hills just above Tangle Creek. We were about two miles from the ranch house, but in a good position to see what went on.

  Pio had not spoken a word since we left the hideout on Cedar Mountain. He had lost none of his skill at moving across broken ground, and it was easy to see why the Apache had always preferred to fight on foot. They might ride a horse to the scene of action, but they fought on the ground. Pio possessed an instinctive feeling for terrain; he kept to low ground, utilizing every bit of cover, alert to every sound.

  Neither of us needed to be told we were getting close to a showdown. Belle Dawson was down there and we had to get her away. I was hoping it could be done without bloodshed, for this was no longer the West of the days when bloodshed was taken for granted. When a man was wounded or killed nowadays, people asked for explanations, and coroners’ juries investigated.

  How many of the Wells riders would stand for killing or injuring a woman? Rough as they were, and willing as they had proved themselves to kill rustlers, I doubted if any of them—unless it might be Reese—would stand by while harm came to a woman. Especially if it was one whom they all knew and had no reason to dislike.

  Pio kept taking sights on the ranch, picking out each bit of movement and studying it through his telescopic sight. It worried me. When might he decide to shoot? Of course, we were too far off, and he could see little, distinguishing those he knew by some manner or movement or by the clothes we had seen them wear earlier.

  After a brief rest we skirted the edge of the hills, and within an hour we were among the rocks and brush behind the ranch house. Below us the pool was a splash of deep blue, the white house a picture of comfort. Benton Seward’s jeep stood in the open near the house.

  How many were down there? Colin, Jimbo, Mark Wilson, and Seward? How about Reese?

  As we watched, a man came to the bunkhouse door and looked around. He was wearing a belt gun. He walked slowly toward the corral, pausing from time to time to look about him.

  “Rip Parker,” Pio muttered. “He’s a bad one. So’s Dad Styles. Both of them were on the spot when Pete was killed. Pete had trouble with Rip over in Prescott one time. Parker whupped him pretty bad.”

  We waited, watching the ranch, sleeping by turns, but we saw nothing of Belle, nor of Doris.

  In mid-afternoon Mark Wilson came out, got into the jeep, and drove off down the road toward the mountains. Except for this, the place seemed lifeless. There was no sign of a police car. My call must have failed, then, and there was no other chance to reach a telephone.

  While Pio slept, I left our vantage point and, while staying within viewing distance of the ranch, succeeded in scouting the terrain behind us. First I looked for a way of escape if we were located. I found two partially covered routes by which we could get away from the slope. One was a deep draw, the other was sheltered by cedars.

  The lack of movement down there at the ranch worried me. They had no choice now but to find and kill us, so why weren’t they trying? As the day wore on, I became increasingly jumpy, starting at the slightest sound. Out in lonely country there are always such sounds—the rustle of some small animal moving, the trickle of sand, the sound of wind, however slight.

  Without a doubt we were being hunted. Even as we lay here men would be searching for us, men who knew this terrain, men who could guess our objectives, who would know where to look. We might choose to escape, or we might choose to pull Belle out of trouble. In either case they would be ready for us. It was not a comfortable thought to realize that they might come upon us at any time. Yet there was no sign of them, no sound of them.

  With the coming of twilight Pio was awake. He listened as I whispered to him of my scouting, and mentioned the two routes of escape.

  With the approach of darkness Dad Styles came from the bunkhouse and relieved Rip Parker, who went inside, probably to eat.

  “All right,” I said suddenly, “let’s go.”

  We started down the rocky slope, working our way with care. The ranch house lay before us, and we were intent upon reaching it without arousing any excitement there. We had moved quietly but steadily, our concern directed at the house, and at the dark figure of Dad Styles. So intent were we on moving silently and watching Styles for any sign of alarm that we were caught flat-footed when three flashlights suddenly held us in their glare.

  “All right.” Colin’s triumph trembled in his tone. “Drop the guns.”

  My only wonder is that they did not shoot us down where we stood.

  There was simply no chance for us. At least four shotguns and as many rifles covered us at close range.

  We had been fools not to think they would be waiting for us on the slope, and we had walked right into the trap. It had all been too neat, too easy. We had worried about what lay above and behind us, and we had worried about the ranch house. We had not given a thought to that slope below us and within range of our eyes, yet it was the logical, natural route for anyone wanting to approach the house under cover.

  We dropped our guns and lifted our hands.

  Pio didn’t turn his head, but suddenly he chuckled. It was an old, familiar sound, and I knew what it meant. “Well, keed,” he said mildly, “here we go again.”

  “What’s he mean?” Seward asked nervously. “What’s he saying?”

  “Nothing,” Colin replied impatiently. “For God’s sake, Bent, relax. It’s all over now. We’ve got them and we’ve got Belle. Now we can close the book.”

  “You’re very naive, Wells,” I said casually, “if you think this book can be closed. If anything happens to us you’ll have kicked up a nest of hornets. I’m expected in Los
Angeles, and my publisher is a very nervous man. If I don’t show up he’ll start wiring everybody in the country…he’s done it before when less money was involved.”

  “So what?”

  “So he wires the sheriff, he wires the governor, he wires the attorney general. He’s hell on wheels when he gets going.”

  “Huh!” Jimbo snorted. “You aren’t all that important.”

  “Money is important to everybody, and I represent money to a lot of people.”

  We went ahead, Pio a step or two in front of me, walking carefully. They had us, and they were very sure of it. But desperate as the situation was, I couldn’t lose hope. I suppose one never does, really. Books and motion pictures have prepared us for rescue…only this wasn’t any motion picture.

  “Colin,” I heard Seward protest in a whisper, “we’re running a big risk. After all, he’s a pretty well-known man. Sheridan isn’t just a rustler.”

  “And this isn’t a few head of beef, either,” Colin replied shortly. “It’s everything we own, your ranch and mine. What more could we lose?”

  At the ranch house lights were on in the living room and the playroom. Doris was having a drink, and the radio was playing softly; it was a setting completely out of tune with the situation. Doris looked across her glass at me and smiled.

  “Well, well! Look who’s here!”

  “It was you,” I said. “I just couldn’t stay away. I kept remembering how you looked in that bathing suit.”

  She laughed, but the expression in her eyes was cool, calculating. This was a girl with a mind like a computer, and at the center of it but one thought: What’s good for Doris?

  She was the strongest, Benton the weakest of them all; and if we had a chance it would come from one or the other of them. If somehow we could make Benton Seward more afraid of what might come from our deaths than from what might happen if we did not die, we might save ourselves. On the other hand, if we were to try to work on Doris, we would have to convince her that her only sure way of winning was if we lived.

  “I want a drink,” Seward said, and went over to the bar.

  Mark Wilson looked after him irritably, then exchanged a glance with Colin.

  “How soon is supper?” Colin asked Doris. “I’m hungry.”

  “It won’t be long.” She looked over at me. “Now you’ve got him, what are you going to do with him?”

  Nobody wanted to say it. They were all thinking it, but nobody wanted actually to use the words. Pio sensed it, too, and grinned.

  “Better’n Korea,” he said to me. “Warmer, anyway.”

  Seward looked around. “What’s that mean? What’s between you two?”

  “We were in Korea together.” I sat back on my chair. “We escaped together. We were captured, and we escaped again.”

  “That greaser was a soldier?” Jimbo asked.

  “And a good one,” I said. “A first-class fighting man. By actual count he killed twenty-seven Red Chinese during our escape.”

  They looked at me, and then at him, but they did not believe it.

  “Him?” Jimbo sneered.

  “Bully boy,” I said, “Pio could take you in an alley and ruin you. You never saw the day you could handle one side of him. He can invent more dirty fighting on the spur of the moment than you’ve heard of in all your life.”

  “Maybe we’ll see,” Jimbo said belligerently. “Maybe we’ll go out in the corral and see.”

  “If you’re going to give out any favors,” I said, “let me have the first chance.”

  “You?” He stared at me.

  “Me,” I said.

  “I’d like to see that,” Doris said. “I really would.” And she meant it.

  “There’ll be none of that,” Colin said. “Now shut up and let’s get something to eat.”

  Seward toyed with his glass, his expression sour. He had hoped to avoid this, to be somewhere else when it happened—whatever it was that was going to happen. He was a frightened man.

  Mark Wilson had drifted out of the room, and I heard him outside giving directions to some cowhands. Most of the ones who could not be relied on to keep their mouths shut were no doubt out at line shanties by this time. The hands who were on the place would be the tough and tested ones. Wilson would be posting guards.

  Why had they not killed us at once? Was there still someone around who might have heard what was going on? Or had they some other plan in mind?

  And where was Belle?

  “A good poker player,” I suggested suddenly, “throws in his hand when he doesn’t have the cards; and when the cards run against him he’ll cash in and get out of the game—if he’s smart.”

  “Only you can’t cash in,” Jimbo said. “You haven’t anything to cash.”

  Doris was looking at me thoughtfully, and I said, “Some men can take prison; no woman can. Not if she wants to remain beautiful.”

  After a minute I added, “No matter what happens here tonight, nothing will ever be the same again. It will be months before the investigation ends, and at the end of it a lot of doors will be closed; so even if you win, you lose.

  “Right from the first,” I continued, “it was a plan that was full of holes. There were so many things you didn’t know. You assumed I was a city boy who wouldn’t be at home on a horse. If there was an accident, you thought nobody would be surprised. As a matter of fact, everybody who knows me, and a lot of people who just know about me, would be surprised. They all know that I can ride.

  “From the first, this business was planned with no careful thought, no real understanding. You thought killing me would end the matter, but that would only be the beginning.

  “By now Riley will have established the connection between Pio and me. Our story received a good bit of attention at the time, and the information is in both our records.

  “During an interview I mentioned the Toomeys. By this time Riley knows that, and that will lead him here. So, if Pio and I are gone, you’d better have some good explanations. Of course, they won’t do any good, but even if they did, even if you come out of this unscathed, how long will it be before Dad Styles, Rip Parker, or Floyd starts getting notions? So after you kill us, who do you kill next?”

  “Shut up,” Colin said. “You talk too much.”

  The room was silent. Doris Wells was, if I read her correctly, a woman completely concerned with herself—her beauty, her comforts, her pleasures. I had no doubt that had things gone well she would have been content to live out her life with Colin; but what I hoped to do was to convince her that this was a sinking ship, and that her one chance of saving herself was to free Pio and myself.

  Ice rattled in a glass as Bent Seward fixed himself another one.

  Mark Wilson stuck his head in the door. “Soup’s on,” he said, and disappeared. Jimbo got up and stretched, then started for the door. Nobody else moved.

  “By now,” I said, as if talking to myself, “my secretary is calling the motel. She won’t have received the next tape and she will be worried.”

  “Let’s get Belle in here and get it over with,” Colin said, but he did not move.

  They had not tied either of us, but now, with Doris holding the gun, they did so. Colin did the tying, with Benton watching sourly.

  Then Doris and Colin went into the next room. We heard the subdued rattle of dishes, followed by quiet. Bent Seward was sitting down, drinking.

  “No need for you to get caught in the middle,” I said; “this wasn’t your idea.”

  “They goin’ to be worried about you,” Pio said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Seward said, trying to appear confident.

  “You could get out of this,” I said.

  “You could turn us loose.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “By this time my secretary is calling my publisher. He should be in Denver today. She will tell him she hasn’t heard from me and is worried.” This was unlikely, but knowing Marie, I knew it was possible. “My publisher is a nervous man
, and he will be worried too. He and the governor were fraternity brothers. By midnight the State Highway Police will be making inquiries.”

  Seward was sweating. He looked at the floor, then slumped back in his chair, staring at the ice in his empty glass.

  Pio hitched himself to the edge of the sofa. He was looking at the table. My eyes followed his to the cigarette lighter.

  “You could get out of this, Seward,” I said again. “You could turn us loose, get in your car, and drive off. As far as that goes, you could drive us to the capital.”

  “We wouldn’t get off the place. He will have the gates closed and guarded, long ago.”

  “Leave that to us,” Pio said.

  Just then Colin thrust his head in the door. “You’d better get something to eat, Bent,” he said. “We’re going to take care of this right after breakfast.”

  “What about us?” I asked.

  He ignored me, and closed the door behind him.

  I looked at Seward again. “Well, there it is,” I said. “You can’t procrastinate much longer. And if you don’t act,” I added softly, “somebody else might; and they would get the break from the law for helping us.”

  He stood up and started to speak, then turned and walked out of the room.

  “Well,” Pio said, “we tried.”

  We had tried, and all that we had said was likely to be true. The trouble was, it would happen too late. I didn’t think they had any chance of getting away with it, but they were moving ahead as if unable to stop, and we were going to be killed.

  The fact that it would prove to be a useless crime wasn’t going to help us in the least. We would be dead.

  Chapter 10

  THE DOOR OPENED and Jimbo came back into the room. The moment he looked at me I knew what he had come for. He held a sandwich in one hand and he was chewing a large bite of it. In the other hand he held a beer. He put the mug down on a table and looked at me, and then at Pio. Carefully, then, he put the sandwich down beside it and walked across the room.

  He lifted his heavy hand and slapped me across the mouth.