Collection 2001 - May There Be A Road (v5.0) Page 13

  Then the Hawaiian took a long slow breath. “They are getting ready to cast off,” he said.

  “What!”

  “The tide is turning, they’re going to take the Manoa out.”

  Tom Gavagan heard feet moving on the deck, lines being let out, the slap of filling canvas. “Can these guys sail?” he asked.

  “Yeah. The Swede and the Chinaman…the Chinaman can dive, too.”

  Soon enough they could feel the roll of the deep ocean, and Gavagan inched his way over to where Kamaki was tied.

  “Let’s figure a way to get loose. I don’t fancy being tied up and I don’t fancy going down in a helmet and dress with these guys running my, lines.”

  “They took all the knives when they tied me up…even the one on the weight belt of the diving dress,” Kamaki said.

  “What about that?” Gavagan jerked his head at a long nail driven into the crosspiece just above the door. It was at least six inches long but had been driven into the wood only about an inch. “If we could get it out I think I could use it to get the knots untied.”

  “Yeah?” Kamaki suddenly grinned. “Watch me.”

  He wormed his way over to the bulkhead and maneuvered himself so that he was on his back with his legs extending up the wall. He arched his back until his weight was on his shoulders and his heels scooted almost a foot higher, closer to the nail. But the boat was rolling constantly now, and no sooner had he tried to hook the ropes binding his legs over the nail than the deck heeled over and he fell, his heels hitting the deck with a thud.

  “Help me.” Kamaki squirmed back into position. Gavagan soon got the idea. He got to his feet and, leaning against the bulkhead, blocked Kamaki’s legs from sliding to the right. A locker blocked them from going too far left. Kamaki hunched, his powerful torso straining. Hunched again…he slipped one of the ropes binding his feet over the nail. Then he tightened his stomach muscles and fearlessly hung all of his two hundred and twenty pounds from the nail.

  There was a moment where nothing happened. Then the Manoa listed, Kamaki’s weight shifted, and with a groan the nail pulled free from the wood. Kamaki crashed to the deck.

  “You okay?” Gavagan whispered.

  “I’ll pay for that later. I think they heard us.” Kamaki tried to get back to where he had been as footsteps crossed the decking above them.

  “Get down!” Kamaki demanded. But Tom Gavagan shook his head.

  Al Ribera opened the hatch and came partway down the companionway, gun drawn. He saw Gavagan standing unsteadily at the bottom of the steps.

  “You tryin’ something?”

  “Cut us loose!” Gavagan demanded.

  Ribera laughed. “No chance.” He leaned out and gave Gavagan a shove. Gavagan tottered on bound feet and fell to the deck. “That’ll teach you to stay sitting down,” Ribera smirked, and closed the hatch behind him. He never saw, or didn’t pay attention to, the six-inch nail lying at Gavagan’s feet.

  Kamaki grunted. “You are one cool customer, Tom.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK TEN minutes of finger-numbing work for Gavagan to loosen the knots on Kamaki’s wrists. Less than a minute later they were free. Free but still locked in the cabin. Kamaki went to the small table protruding from one side of the locker. He pulled up on it and removed the single leg underneath. The table hinged up and fastened against the locker. They now had a weapon.

  Some sort of diversion was in order, but before they could discuss what to do there came more sounds of feet on the deck over their heads and then the sound, far off but approaching rapidly, of powerful engines. There was the crackle and squawk of a bullhorn announcing words that sent relief flooding through Tom Gavagan.

  “This is the United States Coast Guard! Drop your sails and heave to!”

  There was no change in the motion of the Manoa. Suddenly the hatch was thrown open. Before Kamaki could set himself there were footsteps on the stairs and Ribera appeared, gun in hand.

  “Got loose, did you? Well, tough. Get out on deck, we need hostages.”

  Suddenly Kamaki swung the table leg. It hit Ribera’s forearm and the gun went off into the deck. Gavagan rushed him, getting inside and hitting him with a right to the jaw. The man staggered back and Gavagan wrenched the gun away. The Swede stepped into the hatch, and Gavagan pointed the gun at him and forced him back onto the deck.

  They were at sea and the Manoa had fallen away from the wind; she was pitching erratically in the troughs of the waves. Off to the port side a powerful searchlight cut through the night. Silhouetted behind it a Coast Guard cutter stood ready, the barrel of a machine gun picking up the edge of the beam.

  Kamaki dragged Ribera, none too gently, up onto the deck, and Gavagan collected the Chinese. They waited as a boat from the cutter pulled up alongside. The third man off the boat after a Coast Guard lieutenant and an ensign was Art Roberts. The fourth person out of the boat was Laurie Haven.

  “Well, Tom,” said Roberts, “imagine meeting you here.”

  “Where are we?” Gavagan located a faint glow in the sky that must be the beginnings of dawn. “And how did you get here?”

  “The middle of the ocean, it seems. It looked like you were heading for Molokini Island.” Roberts had a faint smile on his face.

  Laurie spoke up. “I took your car and went for the police as soon as the boat left the dock.”

  “With a little help from Lieutenant Cargill we caught you on radar,” Roberts told him.

  “Here.” Tom Gavagan handed the policeman Ribera’s pistol. “I think the chances are pretty good that ballistics will prove this is the gun that shot Teo.”

  He took the pistol, produced an evidence bag, and dropped it in. “You will all have to come in to headquarters, there are a lot of questions that need answering. A Coast Guard crew will bring this boat back to port.”

  * * *

  THE SKY WAS just going from gray to blue and the lights of the island were appearing in the distance when Tom Gavagan found Laurie Haven on the deck of the cutter.

  “I haven’t really thanked you for saving us,” he said.

  “I haven’t thanked you for finding where my uncle’s ring came from. It’s a relief just to know what ultimately happened to him. We all wondered for so long.”

  “With luck, Kamaki can recover much more from the wreck.”

  “I should pay you something.…I never dreamed I’d get such fast results.”

  “No need. But if you want to sell any of the Madox collection, I’d be honored to handle it for you.” He glanced at her appraisingly. “There is a favor you could do for me…when the police are finished with it I would like it if you gave that Kuan-yin to Kamaki as a partial payment for recovering your uncle’s collection.”

  Laurie looked puzzled. “I could do that, but why?”

  “His father wanted him to have it, and I think his wife would appreciate it, too…enough said?”

  Laurie smiled and leaned into the wind as the cutter rounded the breakwater and turned into the harbor.

  RED BUTTE SHOWDOWN

  * * *

  GUNTHORP WAS WALKING up from the spring with two wooden buckets filled with water when he saw the boy. He was no more than thirteen, and he was running as fast as he could, his breath coming in gasps. “Hold it, son,” Gunthorp called out. “What’s wrong?”

  The boy skidded to a halt, his eyes wide and staring, shrinking back in such fear that it chilled Gunthorp.

  “They’re after me!” he panted. “Kelman’s men.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They caught me and beat me—” He twisted his arm to show Gunthorp an ugly black bruise. The boy’s shirt was torn and his back lacerated. Gunthorp’s eyes narrowed and he felt his scalp tighten.

  “Come on up to the house,” he said. “We’ll fix that back.”

  “I can’t.” The boy was almost beside himself with terror. “They’ll catch me! Kelman’s with them.”

  “Forget them. You come with me. No use you
running off. Where would you go?” Gunthorp waved a hand at the burnt red ridges. “Nothing out there but desert. No water, nothing. You stay with me, let me handle Kelman.”

  He led the way to the log house and pushed open the door. A fire was burning brightly on the hearth, and the smell of coffee was in the air. “Basin’s over there, son. You better get that shirt off and wash a little. I’ll wash that back of yours myself, then I’ll fix it up.”

  There was the hard pound of hoofs and the boy started as if stung. Tears of sheer terror started to his eyes, and Gunthorp looked at him with a sort of horror. He had never seen anything human so frightened.

  He picked up a double-barreled shotgun and placed it beside the door. Then he opened the door and stood there, his hand on the shotgun.

  * * *

  THE RIDERS REINED in abruptly when they saw him. The nearest was a big, powerfully built man with a clean-shaven face, and as he spoke he swung his horse broadside to the house.

  “Did you see a boy running by? Just a kid?”

  “He didn’t run by. He’s here.”

  “Good! You’ve saved us some trouble, man. We’ve had a time running down the little thief. Joe, you go in and bring him out.”

  “Joe can stay right where he is,” Gunthorp said. “The kid came here, and here he stays.”

  Kelman’s eyes were level and cold. It was not yet too dark for Gunthorp to see that expression and read it. This man was cruel. He was also a killer, and he was not used to being stopped in anything he did.

  “You’d better give me that boy without trouble, my man. You’re new here. When you’ve been around longer, you’ll understand better.”

  “I’ve been around long enough. You swing your horses around and get out of here.”

  Kelman’s temper flared. “Joe! Get that kid!”

  “Joe stays where he is unless he wants a skinful of buckshot.” Gunthorp lifted the shotgun with a smooth, flowing movement. “If he moves, I’ll kill him with the first shot and you with the second.”

  Kelman’s face was like a fiend’s. His nostrils flared, his jaw jutted, and the anger that danced in his eyes was wicked. “You—you—fool! I’ll kill you for this! I’ll burn this shack over your head! I’ll—”

  “Get out.”

  Gunthorp did not raise his voice. His bleak eyes shifted from face to face. “Get out! You come around here again and I’ll do my own killing. Your blood runs as free as this boy’s. Maybe a good whipping is what you need.”

  Joe’s face was white. “He means it, boss. We’d better haul our freight.”

  “That’s good advice. You ride out, Kelman, or those men of yours can take you back lashed over a saddle. I’m not particular which. Any man who’ll beat a kid like that doesn’t deserve to live!”

  Joe was stirred by none of Kelman’s rage, and he was sure that Gunthorp would shoot. He turned his horse toward the gate, and the others moved after him. For an instant longer, Kelman stared at Gunthorp. Then, suddenly, the fury seemed to leave him.

  “For you, my friend, I’ll make some special plans!” he promised.

  With a wicked jerk, he whipped his horse’s head around and drove in the spurs. The horse literally sprang from a standing start into a dead run and charged by the other three riders at breakneck speed.

  Gunthorp watched for a moment longer, then spat. Calmly, he put the gun down and closed the door. Then he looked over at the boy. “You’d better take your shirt off, son. We’ll see if we can’t fix that back up.”

  He was not a tall man, reaching just a hair over five feet nine inches, but Gunthorp was massively muscled and heavy. He walked with a rolling gait that oddly suited his build. His face was a square-jawed, mahogany-tinted combination of strength and humor atop a thick neck that descended into his powerful shoulders. As he bathed the boy’s back he said, “He called you a thief. Did you steal anything, boy?”

  “No, sir. Not anything of his. It was somethin’ that belonged to Pop. A pocketbook.”

  “Money in it?”

  “Only a little. I wanted some papers.”

  “Your father’s wallet, eh?” Gunthorp dipped the cloth in the warm water again, squeezed part of the water out, and started on another cut. “Where’s your father, boy?”

  “He’s dead—killed in a mine.”

  “Sorry. Was it a cave-in?”

  “Yes, sir. Kelman came and said he was my guardian, and that I must do as he said. He had Pop’s wallet, which he got from the drawer where Pop always left it when he went to work in the tunnel.”

  “Why’d he beat you?” Gunthorp looked searchingly at the boy, who was slipping into a clean shirt that belonged to Gunthorp and looked about a dozen sizes too big.

  “He wanted me to tell him where Pop hid some papers he couldn’t find, and he wanted me to ask the judge to have him left in charge of my father’s place.”

  “And you wouldn’t tell?”

  “No, sir.”

  Gunthorp nodded, admiration in his eyes. “You’ve got grit, boy. You’ve a lot of grit. Don’t tell anybody else about those papers for now. Do you know what’s in them? What’s the value?”

  “I—I don’t know. Only, Pop told me they were very important and I must keep them. He said that somebody might try to get them from me, but they were all he could leave to my sister and me if anything happened.”

  “So you have a sister? Where is she?”

  “Out in California. She’s going to school but I think she’s coming back soon. I wrote her when Father was killed, and she said she was coming home.”

  “That’s good.” Gunthorp started putting dishes and food on the table.

  While they were eating, he looked across the table at the boy. His nose was flat, and there was a scar on his upper lip. “Kelman’s after something your father owned? You don’t know what it could be?”

  “No, sir. Unless it’s the mine. It was a good mine, I think, but Pop never got much out of it. He owned a lot of land in the valley.”

  “That desert land? What did he want with that?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I think Kelman knows, though.”

  Gunthorp nodded. “What makes you believe so?”

  “He told Pop once that he knew. I heard him say something like ‘Pretty smart, aren’t you, Stevens? But I’ve got it figured out. Are you taking me in?’ It was something like that…pretty close, anyway.”

  “Hm. Interesting. It gives me a clue, boy. Stevens your name then? And the first one?”

  “Lane, sir. My name is Lane Stevens.”

  “It’s a good name. You’ve been well brought up, too, I can see that.” Gunthorp looked up over his coffee cup. “Where’s your mother, son?”

  “She’s dead, sir. A long time ago. I don’t remember her very well.”

  “More credit to your father, then. Have you been to school?”

  “A little, and my father taught me some, too. He taught me to read, sign, and to know the different minerals, and how to shoot a rifle and use a single jack.”

  “A wise man, your father.” Gunthorp was listening as he spoke. “A man who knows how to teach a boy practical things. Still, they are of little account unless one knows what lies behind them. The thoughts behind things, and the reasons for them…that’s important, too.”

  He got up. “Finish your supper, boy. The sheriff will be here in a few minutes for you.”

  Lane started up. “The sheriff?”

  “Sit still. There’s no reason for excitement. Let the man come. He’s an unlikely man, not sure of himself, and he will come because Kelman will urge him. Tonight we can, I hope, talk him out of it. Tomorrow may be another thing.”

  The sound of horses on the hard-packed earth of the yard made him nod. “Of course. Now put the light out, boy, and stand away from the door. I’ve no trust for the look in that Kelman’s eye.”

  “Hallo, the house!”

  Gunthorp opened the door. “How are you, Sheriff Eagan. Ah, I see you’ve brought Kelman with you.
Are you taking him under arrest then? Do want me for a witness?”

  “Arrest?” Eagan was confused. “Why should I arrest him?”

  “For beating the lad, for beating him until there’s cuts a finger deep on his back. If you want, I’ll come to town and swear out a warrant for him myself.”

  “Forget that and get on with it, Eagan!” Kelman snapped roughly.

  Gunthorp stood in the door, his big hands on his hips, his enormous shoulders and chest seeming to fill the door. He smiled.

  “Now, now, Kelman,” he said mildly. “Let’s not be ordering the sheriff around. Mr. Eagan knows his duties, and it isn’t any citizen’s place to order him about. You don’t take orders from Kelman, do you, Sheriff?”

  “Certainly not!” Eagan blustered. “Now enough of that. I’ve come for the boy. He’s a thief, and I’m arresting him.”

  “A thief? What did he steal? A wallet, wasn’t it? And the wallet belonged to his father. He is his father’s heir, or one of them. You can’t arrest this boy for stealing. I’m sure it wouldn’t hold up.”

  Eagan turned toward Kelman, uneasily. “You didn’t tell me the wallet belonged to Stevens,” he protested.

  “That’s neither here nor there!” Kelman’s rage was mastering him again. “Take the boy and let’s go. If that blundering fool wants to try to stop us, I’ll handle him!”

  “Stop you?” Gunthorp smiled. “I’d never think of it, Sheriff. I’ve a great respect for the law and officers of the law. The boy was taken to Kelman’s ranch where he was beaten to make him tell where some papers were. The boy escaped, and in escaping, took his father’s wallet to which he certainly had more right than Kelman. No, Sheriff, the boy is better off here.” He smiled again. “When he is needed for any court appearance, I shall gladly answer for him.”

  “We want him, and we want him now,” Kelman flared.

  Gunthorp nodded. “I’m afraid you are mistaking yourself for some sort of official, Kelman. Mr. Eagan is his own man and he can do his own thinking. If he can’t…well, we’ll see who gets the votes in the next election.”