West of the Tularosa Read online

  “Dorfman. There were five in the outfit.”

  The sheriff’s face altered perceptibly at the name. He walked out and untied the old man’s body, lowering it to the stoop before the office. He scowled. “I reckon,” he said dryly, “if Dorfman done it, he had good reason. You better light out if you want to stay in one piece.”

  Unbelieving, Morgan stared at him. “You’re the sheriff?” he demanded. “I’m charging Dorfman with murder. I want him arrested.”

  “You want?” The sheriff glared. “Who the devil are you? If Dorfman hung this man, he had good reason. He’s lost horses. I reckon he figured this hombre was one of the thieves. Now you slope it afore I lock you up.”

  Cat Morgan drew back three steps, his eyes on the sheriff. “I see. Lock me up, eh? Sheriff, you’d have a mighty hard job locking me up. What did you say your name was?”

  “Vetter, if it makes any difference.”

  “Vetter, eh? Ad Vetter?” Morgan was watching the sheriff like a cat.

  Sheriff Vetter looked at him sharply. “Yes, Ad Vetter. What about it?”

  Cat Morgan took another step back toward his horses, his eyes cold now. “Ad Vetter…a familiar name in the Nez Percé country.”

  Vetter started as if struck. “What do you mean by that?”

  Morgan smiled. “Don’t you know,” he said, chancing a long shot, “that you and Dorfman are wanted up there for murdering old man Madison?”

  “You’re a liar!” Sheriff Vetter’s face was white as death. He drew back suddenly, and Morgan could almost see the thought in the man’s mind and knew that his accusation had marked him for death. “If Dorfman finds you here, he’ll hang you, too.”

  Cat Morgan backed away slowly, watching Vetter. The town was coming awake now, and he wracked his brain for a solution to the problem. Obviously Dorfman was a man with influence here, and Ad Vetter was sheriff. Whatever Morgan did or claimed was sure to put him in the wrong. And then he remembered the half-breed, Loop, and the older man who had cautioned Dorfman the previous afternoon.

  A man was sweeping the steps before the saloon, and Morgan stopped beside him. “Know a man named Loop? A ’breed?”

  “Sure do.” The sweeper straightened and measured Morgan. “Huntin’ him?”

  “Yeah, and another hombre. Older feller, gray hair, pleasant face but frosty eyes. The kind that could be mighty bad if pushed too hard. I think I heard him called Dave.”

  “That’ll be Allen. Dave Allen. He owns the D over A, west of town. Loop lives right on the edge of town in a shack. He can show you where Dave lives.”

  Turning abruptly, Morgan swung into the saddle and started out of town. As he rounded the curve toward the bridge, he glanced back. Sheriff Vetter was talking to the sweeper. Cat reflected grimly that it would do him but little good, for unless he had talked with Dorfman the previous night, and he did not seem to have, he would not understand Morgan’s reason for visiting the old rancher. And Cat knew that he might be wasting his time.

  He recognized Loop’s shack by the horse in the corral and drew up before it. The half-breed appeared in the door, wiping an ear with a towel. He was surprised when he saw Cat Morgan, but he listened as Morgan told him quickly about the hanging of Lone John Williams and Vetter’s remarks.

  “No need to ride after Allen,” Loop said. “He’s comin’ down the road now. Him and Tex Norris. They was due in town this mornin’.”

  At Loop’s hail, the two riders turned abruptly toward the cabin. Dave Allen listened in silence while Cat repeated his story, only now he told all, not that he had seen the girl or knew where she was, but that he had learned why the horses were stolen, and then about the strange death of old man Madison. Dave Allen sat his horse in silence and listened. Tex spat once, but made no other comment until the end. “That’s Dorfman, boss. I never did cotton to him.”

  “Wait.” Allen’s eyes rested thoughtfully on Cat. “Why tell me? What do you want me to do?”

  Cat Morgan smiled suddenly, and, when Tex saw that smile, he found himself pleased that it was Dorfman this man wanted and not him. “Why, Allen, I don’t want you to do anything. Only, I’m not an outlaw. I don’t aim to become one for a no-account like Dorfman, nor another like this here Vetter. You’re a big man hereabouts, so I figured to tell you my story and let you see my side of this before the trouble starts.”

  “You aim to go after him?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I’m a stranger here, Allen. He’s named me for a horse thief, and the law’s against me, too. I aim to let them come to me, right in the middle of town.”

  Loop walked back into his cabin, and, when he came out, he had a Spencer .56, and, mounting, he fell in beside Morgan. “You’ll get a fair break,” he said quietly, his eyes cold and steady. “I aim to see it. No man who wasn’t all right would come out like that and state his case. Besides, you know that old man Williams struck me like a mighty fine old gent.”

  Dorfman was standing on the steps as they rode up. One eye was barely open, the other swollen. The marks of the beating were upon him. That he had been talking to Vetter was obvious by his manner, although the sheriff was nowhere in sight. Several hardcase cowhands loitered about, the presence creating no puzzle to Cat Morgan.

  Karl Dorfman glared at Allen. “You’re keepin’ strange company, Dave.”

  The old man’s eyes chilled. “You aimin’ to tell me who I should travel with, Dorfman? If you are, save your breath. We’re goin’ to settle more than one thing here today.”

  “You sidin’ with this here horse thief?” Dorfman demanded.

  “I’m sidin’ nobody. Last night you hanged a man. You’re going to produce evidence here today as to why you believed him guilty. If that evidence isn’t good, you’ll be tried for murder.”

  Dorfman’s face turned ugly. “Why, you old fool. You can’t get away with that. Vetter’s sheriff, not you. Besides,” he sneered, “you’ve only got one man with you.”

  “Two,” Loop said quietly. “I’m sidin’ Allen…and Cat Morgan, too.”

  Hatred blazed in Dorfman’s eyes. “I never seen no good come out of a ’breed yet!” he flared. “You’ll answer for this!”

  Dave Allen dismounted, keeping his horse between himself and Dorfman. By that time a good-size crowd had gathered about. Tex Norris wore his gun well to the front, and he kept his eyes roving from one to the other of Dorfman’s riders. Cat Morgan watched but said nothing.

  Four men had accompanied Dorfman, but there were others here who appeared to belong to his group. With Allen and himself there were only Tex and Loop, and yet, looking at them, he felt suddenly happy. There were no better men than these, Tex with his boyish smile and careful eyes, Loop with his long, serious face. These men would stick. He stepped then into the van, seeing Vetter approach.

  Outside their own circle were the townspeople. These, in the last analysis, would be the judges, and now they were saying nothing. Beside him he felt a gentle pressure against his leg and, looking down, saw Jeb standing there. The big dog had never left him. Morgan’s heart was suddenly warm and his mind was cool and ready.

  “Dorfman!” His voice rang in the street. “Last night you hung my riding partner. Hung him for a horse thief, without evidence or reason. I charge you with murder. The trail you had followed you lost, as Dave Allen and Loop will testify. Then you took it upon yourself to hang an old man simply because he happened to be in the vicinity.”

  His voice was loud in the street, and not a person in the crowd but could hear every syllable. Dorfman shifted his feet, his face ugly with anger, yet worried, too. Why didn’t Vetter stop him? Arrest him?

  “Moreover, the horses you were searching for were stolen by you from Laurie Madison, in Montana. They were taken from the ranch after that ranch had been illegally sold, and after you and Vetter had murdered her father.”

  “That’s a lie!” Dorfman shouted. He was frightened now. There was no telling how far such talk might carry. Once branded, a man would hav
e a lot of explaining to do.

  Suppose what Morgan had told Vetter was true? That they were wanted in Montana? Suppose something had been uncovered?

  He looked beyond Morgan at Allen, Loop, and Tex. They worried him, for he knew their breed. Dave Allen was an Indian fighter, known and respected. Tex had killed a rustler only a few months ago in a gun battle. Loop was cool, careful, and a dead shot.

  “That’s a lie,” he repeated. “Madison owed me money. I had papers ag’in’ him.”

  “Forged papers. We’re reopening the case, Dorfman, and this time there won’t be any fixed judge to side you.”

  Dorfman felt trapped. Twice Cat Morgan had refused to draw when he had named him a liar, but Dorfman knew it was simply because he had not yet had his say. Of many things he was uncertain, but of one he was positive. Cat Morgan was not yellow.

  Before he spoke again, Sheriff Ad Vetter suddenly walked into sight. “I been investigatin’ your claim,” he said to Morgan, “and she won’t hold water. The evidence shows you strung up the old man yourself.”

  Cat Morgan shrugged. “Figured something like that from you, Vetter. What evidence?”

  “Nobody else been near the place. That story about a gal is all cock and bull. You had some idea of an alibi when you dragged that in here.”

  “Why would he murder his partner?” Allen asked quietly. “That ain’t sense, Ad.”

  “They got four lions up there. Them lions are worth money. He wanted it all for himself.”

  Cat Morgan smiled, and, slowly lifting his left hand, he tilted his hat slightly. “Vetter,” he said, “you’ve got a lot to learn. Lone John was my partner only in the camping and riding. He was working for me. I catch my own cats. I’ve got a contract with Lone John. Got my copy here in my pocket. He’s going to be a hard man to replace because he’d learned how to handle cats. I went up the trees after ’em. Lone John was mighty slick with a rope, and, when a lion hit ground, he dropped a rope on ’em fast. I liked that old man, Sheriff, and I’m charging Dorfman with murder like I said. I want him put in jail…now!”

  Vetter’s face darkened. “You givin’ orders?”

  “If you’ve got any more evidence against Morgan,” Allen interrupted, “trot it out. Remember, I rode with Dorfman on that first posse. I know how he felt about this. He was frettin’ to hang somebody, and the beatin’ he took didn’t set well. He figured Lone John’s hangin’ would scare Morgan out of the country.”

  Vetter hesitated, glancing almost apologetically at Dorfman. “Come on, Dorf,” he said. “We’ll clear you. Come along.”

  An instant only the rancher hesitated, his eyes ugly. His glance went from Allen back to Cat Morgan, and then he turned abruptly. The two men walked away together. Dave Allen looked worried and he turned to Morgan. “You’d better get some evidence, Cat,” he said. “No jury would hang him on this, or even hold him for trial.”

  It was late evening in the cabin and Laurie filled Cat’s cup once more. Outside, the chained big cats prowled restlessly, for Morgan had brought them down to the girl’s valley to take better care of them, much to the disgust of Pancho, who stared at them from his perch and scolded wickedly.

  “What do you think will happen?” Laurie asked. “Will they come to trial?”

  “Not they, just Dorfman. Yes, I’ve got enough now so that I can prove a fair case against him. I’ve found a man who will testify that he saw him leave town with four riders and head for the hills, and that was after Allen and that crowd had returned. I’ve checked that rope they used, and it is Dorfman’s. He used a hair rope, and ’most everybody around here uses rawhide reatas. Several folks will swear to that rope.”

  “Horse thief,” Pancho said huskily. “Durned horse thief.”

  “Be still,” Laurie said, turning on the parrot. “You be still!”

  Jeb lifted his heavy head and stared curiously, his head cocked at the parrot that looked upon Jeb with almost as much disfavor as the cats.

  “These witnesses are all afraid of Dorfman, but, if he is brought to trial, they will testify.”

  Suddenly Pancho screamed, and Laurie came to her feet, her face pale. From the door there was a dry chuckle. “Don’t scream, lady. It’s too late for that.” It was Ad Vetter’s voice.

  Cat Morgan sat very still. His back was toward the door, his eyes on Laurie’s face. He was thinking desperately.

  “Looks like this is the showdown.” That was Dorfman’s voice. He stepped through the door and shoved the girl. She stumbled back and sat down hard on her chair. “You little fool! You wouldn’t take that ticket and money and let well enough alone. You had to butt into trouble. Now you’ll die for it, and so will this lion-huntin’ friend of yours.”

  The night was very still. Jeb lay on the floor, his head flattened on his paws, his eyes watching Dorfman. Neither man had seemed to notice the parrot. “Allen will be asking why you let Dorfman out,” Morgan suggested, keeping his voice calm.

  “He don’t know it,” Vetter said smugly. “Dorf’ll be back in jail afore mornin’, and in a few days, when you don’t show up as a witness against him, he’ll he freed. Your witnesses won’t talk unless you get Dorf on trial. They’re scared. As for Dave Allen, we’ll handle him later, and that ’breed, too.”

  “Too bad it won’t work,” Morgan said. Yet even as he spoke, he thought desperately that this was the end. He didn’t have a chance. Nobody knew of this place, and the two of them could be murdered here, buried, and probably it would be years before the valley was found. Yet it was Laurie of whom he was thinking now. It would be nothing so easy as murder for her, not to begin with. And knowing the kind of men Dorfman and Vetter were, he could imagine few things worse for any girl than to be left to their mercy.

  He made up his mind then. There was no use waiting. No use at all. They would be killed; the time to act was now. He might get one or both of them before they got him. As it was, he was doing nothing, helping none at all.

  “You two,” he said, “will find yourselves looking through cottonwood leaves at the end of a rope.”

  “Horse thief!” Pancho screamed. “Durned horse thief!”

  Both men wheeled, startled by the unexpected voice, and Cat left his chair with a lunge. His big shoulder caught Dorfman in the small of the back and knocked him sprawling against the pile of wood beside the stove. Vetter whirled and fired as he turned, but the shot missed, and Morgan caught him with a glancing swing that knocked him sprawling against the far wall. Cat Morgan went after him with a lunge, just as Dorfman scrambled from the wood pile and grabbed for a gun. He heard a fierce growl and whirled just as Jeb hurtled through the air, big jaws agape.

  The gun blasted, but the shot was high and Jeb seized the arm in his huge jaws, and then man and dog went rolling over and over on the floor. Vetter threw Morgan off and came to his feet, but Morgan lashed out with a left that knocked him back through the door. Dorfman managed to get away from the dog and sprang through the door just as Ad Vetter came to his feet, grabbing for his gun.

  Cat Morgan skidded to a stop, realizing even as his gun flashed up that he was outlined against the lighted door. He felt the gun buck in his hand, heard the thud of Vetter’s bullet in the wall beside him, and saw Ad Vetter turn half around and fall on his face. At the same moment a hoarse scream rang out behind the house, and, darting around, Morgan saw a dark figure rolling over and over on the ground among the chained lions!

  Grabbing a whip, he sprang among them, and in the space of a couple of breaths had driven the lions back. Then he caught Dorfman and dragged him free of the beasts. Apparently blinded by the sudden rush from light into darkness, and mad to escape from Jeb, the rancher had rushed right into the middle of the lions. Laurie bent over Morgan. “Is…is he dead?”

  “No. Get some water on, fast. He’s living, but he’s badly bitten and clawed.” Picking up the wounded man, he carried him into the house and placed him on the bed.

  Quickly he cut away the torn coat and shirt. Dorf
man was unconscious but moaning.

  “I’d better go for the doctor,” he said.

  “There’s somebody coming now, Cat. Riders.”

  Catching up his rifle, Morgan turned to the door. Then he saw Dave Allen, Tex, and Loop with a half dozen other riders. One of the men in a dark coat was bending over the body of Ad Vetter.

  “The man who needs you is in here,” Morgan said. “Dorfman ran into my lions in the dark.”

  Dave Allen came to the door. “This clears you, Morgan,” he said, “and I reckon a full investigation will get this lady back her ranch, or what money’s left, anyway. And full title to her horses. Loop,” he added, “was suspicious. He watched Vetter and saw him slip out with Dorfman, and then got us and we followed them. They stumbled onto your trail here, and we came right after, but we laid back to see what they had in mind.”

  “Thanks.” Cat Morgan glanced over at Laurie, and their eyes met. She moved quickly to him. “I reckon, Allen, we’ll file a claim on this valley. Both of us are sort of attached to it.”

  “Don’t blame you. Nice place to build a home.”

  “That,” Morgan agreed, “is what I’ve been thinking.”

  The One for the Mohave Kid

  We had finished our antelope steak and beans, and the coffeepot was back on the stove again, brewing strong, black cowpuncher coffee just like you’d make over a creosote and ironwood fire out on the range.

  Red Temple was cleaning his carbine and Doc Lander had tipped back in his chair with a pipe lighted. The stove was cherry red, the woodbox full, and our beds were warming up for the night. It was early autumn, but the nights were already cool. In a holster, hanging from the end of a bunk, was a worn-handled, single-action .44 pistol—and the holster had seen service as well as the gun.

  “Whenever,” Doc Lander said, “a bad man is born, there is also born a man to take him. For every Billy the Kid there is a Pat Garrett, an’ for every Wes Hardin there’s a John Selman.”

  Red picked up a piece of pinewood, and, flicking open the stove door, he chucked it in. He followed it with another, and we all sat silent, watching the warm red glow of the flames. When the door was shut again, Red looked up from his rifle. “An’ for every John Selman there’s a Scarborough,” he said, “an’ for every Scarborough, a Logan.”