Maverick Marshall (7 page)

Kelly slipped in, twistedly grinning at the sight of the derringer disappearing up Chip’s sleeve. “I warned you he was tough.”

Mousetrap said, “I kin handle that feller.”

“Why didn’t you do it when he was growlin’ over Brackley?”

Gurden said, “Shut up — both of you.” He nodded at the whisky. Mousetrap passed and Kelly, eying the man derisively, caught up the bottle and lowered its level by a third. He set it down, smacking his mouth. Gurden said, “You tried for him yet?”

“Thought you was payin’ to get that took care of.”

“Where
is
that damn Tularosa?”

“Ain’t nobody payin’ me to keep cases.”

“You know what I told you — ”

“Give Tularosa a chance,” Kelly grumbled. “He sure as hell took care of Brackley.

Gurden brushed that aside. “I want Frank put out of the way, and I got no time to waste foolin’ around, either. You get after him, Kelly. Right away. Tonight.”

“I already made one try,” Kelly said. “It didn’t come off. I hit his damn saddle.”

Gurden fished a fresh stogie from his flower-embroidered vest. “What’s the matter? You get buck fever? You got the best chance of anyone. You could walk right up and ram a gun in his — ”

“That’s what you think. I was around when a guy tried that on him once — ”

“But you’re his
friend
. Damn it, Kelly!”

“If he thinks so much of me howcome I ain’t his deppity? I done everything but git right down on my knees.”

“You think he suspects you?”

The teamster said uncomfortably, “How the hell could he?” but there was sweat on his lip.

Gurden struck a match and tipped it under his cigar. Through the smoke coming out of his mouth, he said, “You ain’t handled it right. I’ll think up a way.” He put more smoke around him, rolling the stogie back and forth across his mouth. “Anything’ll come out right if a man will put his mind to it.” A contemplative look came into his winkless stare and he said in a kind of half drawl, “Wonder what made young Church jump Brackley?”

“He’s tryin’,” Kelly said, “to steal a march on Kimberland. He’s had it in for W. T. ever since the old man told him to keep away from that girl.”

“Kimberland told Will to stay away from Honey?”

“I thought you’d heard that.” Kelly grinned. “He said things to Will, the way I got it, no man could take off anyone.” His grin broadened. “Will thinks the old man needs that grass.”

Gurden didn’t care what Will thought, or Kelly either. As a matter of fact, he had himself put Will up to bracing Brackley and Brackley, suspecting as much, had come here tonight to tax Gurden with it and to warn him off. Gurden wasn’t about to reveal the real truth of it; what had happened to Brackley was pretty near as good as stumbling onto a gold mine. Gurden knew that Kimberland wasn’t worrying about his cows. All these feints he was making was to cover up that railroad. Kimberland wanted that Bench for the right-of-way it would give him.

“Well,” Gurden growled, changing the subject, “you keep away from Frank. Get hold of Tularosa and send him over here right away. Soon’s you’ve done that, get a note to Frank. Don’t talk to him. Get a note to him and tell him you’ve got to see him in front of the bake shop tomorrow at noon.”

This last was spoken so low that Mousetrap, ten feet away, did not catch it. But Kelly heard. The bristles of hair along the edge of his collar stood straight up at the back of his neck. What Gurden, in effect, was asking him to do was to set Frank up where Tularosa could put a slug in him. The saloonman got up and took Kelly’s arm and steered him over to the back door. “Remember — ” Gurden’s breath on Kelly’s cheek was like the kiss of death — “no mistakes this time, eh?”

With the door closed behind him and silently rebolted, Chip Gurden turned, gold teeth glinting, and winked at the curious look Mousetrap gave him. He took off his boots and, carrying them, cut over to the door they’d come through from the bar. With no warning at all Gurden yanked it open.

A man spilled in stumbling out of a crouch as the light broke across him. Turning loose of the boots, Gurden caught the thin shape of his piano player by the front of his shirt and slammed the man bodily into the wall. The fellow cringed from Gurden’s look, cheeks ludicrous with fright. “I — I was just comin’ in to — ”

“You’re in now!” Gurden grinned. He flung the whimpering wretch at Mousetrap. “Take care of this joker.” He stamped into his boots and stalked through the dark bar. The big clock above it said ten after two.

Kimberland, unknown to Frank or Arnold, was in town that night, having driven in late with Honey and gone directly to his suite at the Hays Hotel. The girl had gone to bed, worn out. In the dark of his second-floor-front room W. T., still dressed, was very much awake. He was doing what he’d come to do, keeping track of his latest investments.

He knew something of Frank — a lot more than Frank reckoned — but all he knew about Tularosa was that the man rode for Draicup and was a dyed-in-the-wool killer whose guns could be bought. It went against Kimberland’s grain to have to deal with such trash but in this case, not caring to be involved, he had no choice. It was imperative that Brackley be got rid of at once. W. T. had learned from one of the man’s riders that Brackley would be in South Fork tonight. At considerable inconvenience Kimberland had made his arrangements, knowing something had to be done before this thing got out of hand. He had had two weeks to plan and had the deal pinned down letter perfect, but he couldn’t sit back and let events take their course. His entire fortune was at stake, and the way things had recently been going he had to be where he could step in and take a hand if that damned hired killer didn’t get the job done.

He’d had a session right away with Bill Grace and bitterly discovered what had happened to Tularosa when he’d been after that girl. But Tularosa had got free, been turned loose on the town again, and Frank apparently hadn’t yet caught up with him when Kimberland had heard the guns pound over at Gurden’s and seen the two punchers lugging Brackley away. So that part of it was settled.

Stepping back from the curtained window Kimberland yawned and stretched contentedly. It was too bad about Brackley but a man had to look out for himself in this world and he had given the fool an out by offering to buy the damned spread. Brackley had no one to blame but his own bull-headedness. That road represented progress and no one had the right to stand in the way of a country’s development. He guessed the rest of those Benchers would understand that now. And before anyone got wise to what was brewing he, W. T. would have that right-of-way in his pocket.

This was why he wanted the Bench, not for the grass — though he could use that, too. But the road came first, that was where his money was. When the Company got their preliminary report, a survey crew would be sent into the region and the value of land would go up like Apache smoke. Which was why he’d held back his beef so long, not for the rain but for how it would look to the rest of this country when Bar 40 scrapped boundaries and moved onto the Bench.

That high shelf would be the obvious choice of any survey. There was no other practical place for a roadbed. It wasn’t only that he had to protect his investment; that Bench ran for twenty miles through this country and control of it would net a handsome profit to the man who could deliver it. Tomorrow Bar 40 would start moving cattle.

He heard the creak of the stairs and, guessing this would be Bill Grace again, went over and quietly opened the hall door. His foreman slipped in, and said as soon as the door was shut: “Gurden’s bought into this!”

Kimberland grinned. “Joke — ha ha.”

“It’s no joke,” Grace said.

“How could he buy in when he don’t even know — ”

“He knows, all right. First thing your star-packer done when he went over there was ask what Brackley was doin’ in Chip’s place. Gurden wiped off his mouth an’ said he’d come for a loan which he had made him —
secured by a lien against Brackley’s stock and range
.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“The point,” Grace said, “is what do we do about it? I told you when we took over Chip’s ranch that feller was goin’ to lay for you. You better let me shoot him.”

If it was just Gurden, Kimberland reflected, it might be better to let him get away with this. But it wasn’t just Gurden. Bar 40, on the climb, had tramped roughshod over everyone. The slightest evidence of weakness would bring the whole bunch swarming, and Gurden wouldn’t quit with this. He had too long a memory.

“I’ve got to think,” Kimberland said.

“You better think fast if we’re pushin’ those cattle over there in the morning.”

“How did Frank take it? I mean about Brackley’s killing and that plaster of Gurden’s.”

“Acted damn suspicious.”

“Good,” Kimberland nodded. “Now has Chip really got a lien?”

“He’ll damn well produce one — ”

“Keep your voice down,” Kimberland grumbled. “We don’t want my girl getting up to come in here.”

“She wouldn’t know a jughandle from a tomato can,” Grace said. “All she’s got any time for is — ” He let go of that line when he caught Kimberland’s look. Abruptly then they were both standing tense, faces whipped toward the window. There was a far sound of shots, a sullen rumble like thunder with a shout lifting through it, thinly soaring, suddenly gone. The racket, as Kimberland threw up the window, could mean but one thing to any listening cowman.

“By God,” Grace cried, “it’s that trail herd!”

Louder, nearer, laced with the terrified bawling of cattle, that trampling roar was like the sound of an avalanche. Cries flew out of the street. The hall door burst open.
“Father!”
A girl with a quilted wrapper clutched about her ran barefooted past the scowling red-cheeked foreman, the loose mass of her hair tumbling about slim shoulders like a cascade of gold in the light from the street. “Father — ?” More guns went off and there were yells from below. Bill Grace, swearing, dashed for the stairs.

Kimberland, still at the window, dropped a comforting arm about the girl’s shoulder. The tautness of strain was in his muscles, too.

Honey said, “I’m afraid — ”

His watch said 2:30. He allowed her to coax him as far as the rocker. “We’re as safe right here as we’d probably be anywhere.” He took the girl’s hand. “Tonight we’ve got a new marshal, Sugar. I think you could turn his head very easily.”

There was no change in the lovely face but her voice was compliant. “Would that help you, Father?”

“I suppose,” he said with just the right inflection, “a woman might find that young scamp attractive.”

“Do I know him, Father?”

He smiled down at her quizzically. “He’s the fellow who saved you from Church’s bull that time.” He spoke as to a child. “Perhaps you’d enjoy having lunch with him tomorrow. Of course,” he added doubtfully, “Frank’s pretty much of a roughneck.”

“I could do that,” Honey said.

“Town’s growing up. Never does any harm to be well thought of by a marshal. Sort of like to have him get the idea us folks from Bar Forty…. Look, just act natural, Sugar. Friendly. That’s all I want you to do.”

• • •

Frank, at the marshal’s office, had turned in at two. Danny was tipped back in one of the chairs against the wall, snoring with his mouth opening and shutting with each breath. Frank had left Chavez in charge of the town. Sleep wouldn’t come to Frank what with all the banging and clatter being stirred up by that gale. His thoughts were like horses; every fourth or fifth jump they’d take him back to those bodies in the rear of Ben’s store. Chavez had shown up with Ben, and the furniture-selling coroner had officially pronounced Brackley dead. Frank had then assembled the contents of his pocket which had included a dog-eared wallet. This last, upon inspection, had proved to contain a handful of silver and thirty-four dollars in hard-used bills. Frank had stared at these blankly.

“What’s the matter?” Ben had asked, and Frank had explained about the loan Gurden claimed to have made Jace. Chavez had looked frankly skeptical. Ben had asked, “What about those fellers that carried him over here?”

Frank shook his head and, figuratively speaking, was still shaking it. The men who had brought Brackley here might have taken the money if Brackley’d had it on him but Frank couldn’t dredge any confidence from the notion. If a man made up his mind to robbery, where was the sense in leaving part of the haul? It would all have been in Brackley’s wallet if he’d had it. Yet Frank had no doubt if he was made to, Gurden would produce a signed lien on Brackley’s ranch. There was only one question about this in Frank’s mind: Had Gurden had such a paper
before
Brackley’s killing?

But this question bred another. Had Gurden arranged Brackley’s death or had somebody else? He could foresee the kind of rumors that were no doubt already flying — that would certainly fly if Bar 40 put cattle on Brackley’s range. Kimberland or Gurden — which one of them had hired this?

Chavez had put up Frank’s dun or he might have gone on the prowl again. He needed sleep. This had been a hard night, about the hardest one he had ever put in. He got up, pulled his boots on, and walked over to the door. Danny was still snoring. Frank stood there a moment, thinking, then went back, got his hat and shrugged into his brush jacket.

He pulled open the door. The suck of the wind put the lamp flame out. Frank heard the shots then, the distant yell, the rumble that followed it. Swearing in the testiness of temper, he ran over to the wall rack and jerked down a rifle. Pausing only to make sure it would take the shells in his belt, Frank hurried into the street.

The night was wild with wind and tumult. The pounding rush of crazed cattle was like the roar of a giant falls. They were nearer now, coming fast, straight for town. He remembered with a sense of bleak irony telling Chavez that cows were the one thing he didn’t have to worry about. Looking around, Frank could see there were plenty of others coming out just as he was, armed to do battle for the town’s preservation. He caught faintly the excited whickering of horses where a dozen were still uneasily huddling in the grip of tied reins at the rack before the Flag. Why the hell didn’t some of those fools climb on them!