The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Five Page 15

  “Do I, Hugh? You sent me to the Tin Cup, didn’t you? Was I supposed to be killed there? Did you figure to send your own cousin, who grew up with you, to get killed?”

  I knew Western men. Even the outlaws were rarely cruel men. Many of them were punchers who had rustled the wrong stock once too often, some of them were men who had been too handy with a gun, but few of them were really bad men. Rather they were often reckless and careless in a land where many men were reckless and where property rights were uncertain. Among them were, of course, killers and men of criminal instincts, yet I was playing for those others.

  He didn’t answer me, so I went on talking, not raising my voice, just an easy conversational tone, yet all the time every nerve was on edge.

  “They killed the wrong man, Hugh, and now I’m looking into things. I’ve been asking questions—about Uncle Tom’s will, and whether I’m really wanted for murder or not, and now I’m getting mighty curious about you.”

  “You’re too curious.” His mind seemed to be made up, and I sensed an almost regretful note. “You should never have come back from Mexico, Wat. You messed up everything when you did that. You should have stayed down there. Now you’re into something that’s too big for you. You’re playing with company that’s too fast.”

  “Am I?” I laughed, although there was no humor in it. “No, I’m not, Hugh. You’ve just continued to think of me as your kid cousin. I’ve covered a lot of country since then, and traveled in faster company than you’ll ever know.”

  “That’s right, boss.” It was the man with the black mustache again. “This hombre is the Papago Kid. He rubbed out Albie Dick an’ led the roundup of his outfit. Nobody got away.”

  “So the kid’s grown up!” There was an edge of sarcasm in Hugh’s voice. “That makes it a little better. I’d not like to be responsible for anybody taking advantage of you.”

  “You’ve still got a chance, Hugh,” I said quietly. “You can break this up right now. Turn the killers of Ludlow over to the law, confess your part in this plot, and leave the country.”

  “Are you crazy?” He was genuinely angry now. “You! Giving me a chance!”

  “Then your answer is no?” I could see that Bill Keys and Kettle were growing restive. For their taste we had talked too long, and neither of them liked the tone of it.

  “You fool!” Contempt was thick in his voice. “You should never have come back from Mexico! Worse, you should have never come here! You should have hightailed it out of the country! I don’t want to kill you, but there’s no choice!”

  There was one more thing. Nor could I resist it. “How could I leave, Hugh? I fell in love with Maggie!”

  “What?” He wheeled so quickly to face toward me again that he gave me the one big break I’d needed. I went off that porch in one jump and ducked around the corner of the house. I’d never have dared chance it with Keys and Kettle having their eyes on me, but when Hugh turned he partially blocked them off. I hit the ground running and skidded into the shadow of a clump of mesquite. Then I gave out with a piercing whistle.

  One shot cut the brush in reply to my whistle, but that whistle stopped them. They didn’t know what it meant. It seemed like a signal and they were immediately afraid I had help nearby. It was a signal, but not for help. It was for Rowdy.

  He knew what to do. On that signal he would untie himself if tied with a slip knot, or nose down corral bars. It was a trick I’d taught him, along with a dozen others.

  The rattle of hoofs sounded, and I heard somebody yell, “The corral’s open! Somebody’s there!”

  I whistled again, and the big black horse wheeled between the buildings. Somebody cracked down on me again, and that time I had enough of being the target in a shooting gallery. I glimpsed a dark form and let fly, and heard a grunt, and the sound of something falling, and then I was in the saddle and taking out across the valley.

  My route was in my mind. I’d gotten it from Shorty, who knew the area. Rowdy took off down Horsethief Canyon at a dead run, then slowed and turned sharply left up a trail to the bench. We had the mountain for a background and were lost in the blackness there, and Rowdy could walk like a cat when the chips were down. We crossed the shoulder of the mountain south of the ranch and hit the head of Sycamore, and down Sycamore to the trail that ran south, running parallel to Black Canyon. Then I crossed the table to the Agua Fria again, and took off up Squaw Creek.

  The advantage of darkness and the best horse was mine, and I used it. Danger would come with morning, but I was hoping that Shorty would meet me at the Tumbling T with news that was good. Whatever else happened, I would see Maggie once more, and it was worth the ride and worth the danger.

  MORNING LIFTED the darkness away and brought back the sun-bright hills to view. I liked the feel of the country and the air on my face, and the feel of a good horse between my knees. Behind me was the end of something, the end of all the old days when I was a kid on the XY, of Uncle Tom Bell, crabby and lovable, but honest as the day—and Hugh, older than I, and skillful in all things. We’d never been close, and yet we’d done a lot together, as boys will, and we had grown older together. It is a sad thing to leave a friend behind, to find one you’ve admired changed.

  When the sun was high I turned into a deep arroyo and found a wide shadow where I could swing down and strip the saddle from Rowdy. After I’d cared for him, I picketed him on a little grass, then slept for an hour. After I’d eaten, I saddled up again. The sun had bridged the space that divides morning from afternoon and, still blazing hot, had turned just a little toward the west when I started on. Altogether I’d spent nearly three hours in the arroyo.

  The sun reflected from a distant flat rock, and the clouds left shadows on the desert floor. I studied the far reach of the valley and then kept to the low ground, moving in shadows of clouds and up washes and where the ground was broken, yet I saw no one. We were headed for a showdown, Rowdy and I, but it would be at the T, or maybe the Tin Cup. It would not be here.

  THE TIN CUP LAY chill and quiet in the moonlight when Rowdy walked down the trail. We drew up, looking the place over, and it was still as death. The comparison came into my mind and made me shiver a little. That was striking too close to the truth.

  Skirting the place warily, I seemed to detect a darker spot among the pines, and circled toward it. Then I drew up and listened. I heard a horse stamp and blow, then stillness. Speaking to Rowdy so he would not whinny, I moved in.

  A lone man was camped in the pines near a stream. Watching, I heard a light footfall, then turned. Shorty Carver was standing there on the edge of the brush. “Rolled my bed up an’ laid out in the brush, myself,” he said. “Figured it some safer. They might get wary of me.”

  He held out two wires, and shielding the flame with my hat, I struck a match and read them.

  DISCHARGED MEXICAN HAND CONFESSED SLAYING OF BELL. NO ONE WANTED HERE.

  A distinct feeling of relief hit me, just as much for Hugh as for myself. If he had taken advantage of my absence to claim the ranch all for himself, I could not have blamed him, but if he had killed Uncle Tom…I ripped open the other message.

  TOM BELL’S WILL LEAVES XY TO WAT BELL WHEN HE RETURNS. BELL’S REASON WAS “HE STAYED WITH ME AND HELPED TO BUILD IT.™ IN EVENT OF BELL’S NOT RETURNING, RANCH TO GO TO HUGH TAYLOR.

  So, then I was not a fugitive, but owner of two hundred thousand acres of rangeland and a huge herd of cattle. Somehow, I couldn’t find it in me to blame Hugh too much. Probably he had believed me killed in Mexico, and that he was the owner of the XY.

  This crooked business was another thing. Uncle Tom would turn over in his grave if he thought the old XY was being used as a clearing ground or holding ground for rustled stock.

  “We’re heading for the T,” I told Carver, “you’ve seen these messages?”

  “Read ’em when they came in,” he said. “Taylor tried to have you ambushed here. That isn’t a theory anymore. We’ve got Ross Lynch.”

  “G
ot him? Arrested?”

  “Yeah, last night. There was hell to pay in Latigo. We found Ross in the hills with some rustled stock, an’ he ran for it. We got him in Latigo. He confessed on his deathbed.”

  CHAPTER VI

  THE HARD WAY OUT

  Right then I knew we were in the wrong place. If Ross Lynch had been shot down and confessed, by this time Hugh would know it. So would Keys and Kettle!

  In that event they would know their game was up, and that within a matter of hours they would have posses closing down on them from all sides. Which meant that Hugh Taylor would be riding to the Tumbling T!

  Or would he?

  “Let’s ride!” I said sharply. “He’ll head for the T to see Mag, or I’m off my head! Or maybe to see me for a showdown. In any event, Keys and Kettle will want to see me, an’ from what I told them at Horsethief Canyon, they’ll know where to come! Let’s go!”

  Not waiting for Shorty to saddle, I threw a leg over Rowdy and lit out over the trail to the Tumbling T. That ride was one of the fastest I ever made on a horse, and Rowdy felt like running. We took off down the trail and skirted the cliffs until I could see the moonlight on the roofs at the T. The whole place was ablaze with lights, so I slowed down. Leaving Rowdy in the shadow of the stone stable, I moved up toward the house.

  It was almost daylight, and the sky was growing gray. In the ranch yard were several horses, and I could see a dark group of them standing beyond the house, and several men were loitering about. Whoever was here was on the ground in force. On cat feet, I Injuned up to the house and slid in close to a window. Inside were several people. I could see Win Dolliver, his face dark and angry, and with him was Maggie. She was as pale as he was dark, and her eyes were wide.

  “He’s not here and he hasn’t been here in days!” Maggie was saying. “Now take your men and get out!”

  “He’ll come here!” That was Keys speaking. “He’s gone soft on you. He told Hugh he was in love with you!”

  Her eyes went to Hugh. “He said that?” Her chin lifted. “Well, all right, then! I’m in love with him!”

  My heart jumped and I gripped the windowsill hard. Yet Hugh was speaking now, and I listened. “So? You sold me out, did you? You dropped me for another man?”

  She turned to him. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I was intending to tell you. I was never in love with you, and you know it. I liked you, yes. You persuaded me and I listened, but I never felt sure about you, never liked the company you kept.” Bill Keys laughed harshly at that. “And I hoped you’d change. You didn’t.

  “Then he came along, and from then on I knew there could never be anyone else.”

  “He beats me out of my ranch and out of my girl!” Hugh said bitterly. “That’s a pretty thing!”

  “I think you tried to rob him, Hugh,” Maggie said, “and you tried to have him murdered!”

  “I wish I had!” he complained bitterly.

  “Boss,” Keys interrupted, “let’s get outside an’ get the boys set. If he’s comin’, he’ll be here soon.”

  “Hugh,” Maggie warned, “if you don’t take your men and leave here at once, I’ll hate you!”

  “Wouldn’t that be awful!” Keys sneered.

  Hugh Taylor turned on him. “Be still!” he said sharply. “I’ll make the comments here!”

  Keys’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You’d better make ’em, then!” he snapped. “You’ve sure played hell with all your fancy figurin’! Mixin’ this fancy doll into this has messed it up for sure! Take the boys an’ light out of here! I’ll take care of Mister Wat Bell when he comes!”

  “You’d better get outside and wait until I come!” Hugh said sharply. “I don’t want any comments made about Miss Dolliver!”

  Bill Keys stared at Hugh, his eyes ugly with hatred. “Don’t get high an’ mighty, Taber, or whatever your name is! We follered you because you figured things right and we made money. This deal looked good until you got to mixin’ women with it, but don’t think we can’t get shut of you just as quick if we decide we want to!”

  Hugh Taylor turned on Keys. “Are you huntin’ a showdown?” he demanded.

  That was my cue to get away from that window. In three long, silent jumps I made it to the back door and eased inside. I took it easy, and no more than a word or two could have passed before I was just inside the kitchen and could hear them in the next room. Keys was on the prod, I could see that.

  “Showdown?” Keys was saying. “I reckon there wouldn’t be no showdown betwixt you an’ me, Taber. If we’re goin’ to kill Wat Bell we’d better get outside. We can settle this later, but I’m tellin’ you, don’t go to givin’ me orders! Not in that voice!”

  Hugh’s voice was icy. “All right, Keys! Let’s go outside!”

  I knew that tone! I’d heard it before, and this was a showdown whether Keys wanted it or not. He had ridden some rough trails since I’d known him, Hugh had, but I doubted that he was gun-slick enough to stack up right in a gun scrap with either Keys or Kettle.

  Keys and Kettle went outside, and Hugh followed them. In a quick step I was into the room. Win wheeled at the sound of my movement, and Mag stood riveted where she was. “Wat! Oh, you mustn’t be found here! Go away!”

  “Win, you take care of her!” She had come right to my arms, and I was holding her close, looking over my shoulder at Dolliver. “Get a shotgun—you’ve got one, I know. Get all your shells. If the worst comes to the worst, stand them off with that. I’m going out there!”

  “You’re a fool to do that, Wat!” Win said seriously. “You won’t have a chance, man!”

  “No, I’ve got to side Hugh. They are going to kill him. He can’t see it, either. He can’t see that Keys wants a showdown. They’ve got the idea from him, most of the work and planning is done, so now Keys an’ Kettle figure it’s all over. They want to get rid of him.”

  “You’d side the man who tried to have you killed?” Win was incredulous.

  I shrugged, knowing I was probably a fool. “He’s my cousin. We grew up like brothers, and Uncle Tom would have liked it that way. Anyway, those men out there are my enemies as well as his.”

  From the door I took a quick, careful look at the yard. This was it, all right. Keys had walked a dozen feet away from Hugh and turned to face him. Wolf Kettle had strolled off to the right, at least fifty feet from Keys. They made two corners with Hugh Taylor as the point of the triangle.

  Keys spoke first. “Taber, we don’t like this setup. We don’t like you lordin’ it over us an’ comin’ the high an’ mighty around. We don’t like you takin’ most of the money, either. We’ve decided to cut you out of the deal.”

  Maybe I’m cold-blooded, but I was curious. I wanted to see how much of the Bell blood there was in Hugh. For the first time in his life, so far as I knew, Hugh was called face to face, and if ever a man was called by a pair of curly wolves from the way back and rough, it was these two. What would he do? That was what I wondered.

  For almost a half minute he didn’t say anything, but he must have been thinking plenty, and when he spoke, I could have cheered. The hombre may have tried to frame me, he may have hit the wrong trails, but he was my cousin. “Why, sure, Bill!” he said. “You do want a showdown, don’t you? And you, Kettle? Sure there’s more of the coyote in you than the wolf. This is what they called giving a man the Black Spot in a story I read once. Funny thing, it was a pirate story, and I read it with Wat—a better man than either of you!”

  He took a step farther toward them, his eyes shifting from one to the other. “Spread wide, aren’t you? Well, I’ll take one of you to hell with me, anyway!”

  Their hands were poised when I stepped out of the door. As I stepped out, I spoke. “Which one do you want, Hugh? I’ll take the other! I’m siding you!”

  Keys’s eyes lifted to me, then Kettle’s. They weren’t happy about this change in the situation, not even a little bit! Hugh did not turn a hair. “Take Kettle,” he said, “Keys has been begging for it!”


  “There’s a good bit of skunk in both of them,” I said calmly. “Trot out your coyote, Kettle! You asked for it!” I hit the ground with a jump, digging in both heels and drawing as I landed.

  Kettle flashed a fast gun, I’ll say that for him, and he dropped into a crouch snarling like the Wolf he was named for. I saw his gun wink red, and then I was walking into him, triggering my right-hand Colt.

  Kettle fired and fired again, and then my second shot hit him just below the shirt pocket and he lifted up on his tiptoes and I slammed another one in for good measure. He went down, clawing at the dirt with both hands, and then I turned on my heel to see Hugh was down on his face, but struggling to get up, and Keys was cursing viciously and trying to get a gun up for one more shot.

  “Drop it, Bill!” I yelled. “Drop it or take it!”

  The face he turned on me was a mask of viciousness. Down he might be, and badly wounded, but he was a cornered cougar at that moment, boiling with all his innate viciousness. His gun came up, and I felt the shock of the bullet, then the report. I got my balance and lifted my gun, then fired. The shot turned him around on his knees and dropped him, but he wouldn’t die.

  With a lunge, he got to his feet. His shirt was soaked with blood and he stood there tottering and opened up on me with both guns. They turned into coughing, spitting flame, and I took another step straight forward and fired again, then shifted guns and slammed two more into him.

  Still snarling, he took a step back, so full of lead he was top-heavy, but he stood there, cursing wickedly and glaring at me. Then his eyes seemed to glaze over, and mouthing curses, he went to the ground. I turned and took a look back at Kettle, but he was done for.

  Looking up at the dark line of men near the horses, I told them, “This is it, boys! Drop your guns!”

  They must have thought me completely crazy. I was hit once and maybe more, and my guns were almost empty, yet I was calling twelve hardcase riders, all of them gun handlers.