Authors: Luke Short
And there, sitting on the top pole in the darkness, watching her and waiting for her, was Ted Elser. She heard him whistling softly to himself as she headed for the gate and she came over and identified him.
“That’s dangerous,” Ted said gently. “Spook ’em in the dark and they’re liable to run you down.”
“It’s nice you’re worried about me,” Carol said with weary sarcasm.
Ted didn’t reply. Carol didn’t feel like fighting now. You couldn’t fight with this man; he agreed blandly with you and then did what he wanted, and right now he wanted to keep Carol off a horse.
The night was chill and smelled of distant snows in the Three Braves. Carol wondered about Jim and then she asked the question she had been wanting to ask all day.
“Ted, how did Jim Garry know about me and—about Riling? Did you tell him?”
Elser said quietly, “No ma’am. I promised you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”
“Then how did he know?”
“He worked for Riling; don’t forget.”
Carol shuddered a little with distaste. Ted Elser had put into words the thought that had been in Carol’s mind this whole long day. If Jim Garry knew about her and Tate, then Tate had told him. The thought of that outraged Carol and made her feel soiled. But what if it were true that Tate would boast of his conquests to his hired gunman? If it were, then mightn’t the preposterous story be true that Jim Garry had told and that her father, Amy and Willis had swallowed last night? Carol couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe that Tate would use these nesters as his army to impose a cheap blackmail on her father. Garry had fought with Riling, Amy had said. Then this lie was Garry’s way of getting even with Tate for beating him. Only, was it? Garry knew about her and Tate, so mightn’t he know Tate’s true plans? Carol didn’t know, but she had to find out.
If Ted would let her go she wasn’t going to tell Tate about Jim Garry. From now on, since the death of Ferg Daniels, she had sworn that she would give no more information on Blockhouse’s activities to Tate. She hadn’t been to blame for Ferg Daniels’ and Fred Barden’s deaths, thanks to luck in not finding Tate home, but it had shown her that another time she might be to blame for other deaths. No, it wasn’t to carry information that she wanted out of her prison; it was to see Tate, to hear him deny this story of Garry’s, to have him tell again that it was because he was too proud to take charity for himself and his wife that he was fighting her father.
And Ted Elser, even if she told him, wouldn’t believe her, she knew.
“Ted,” Carol said quietly in the dark, “I think I’ll tell Dad you’re keeping me here against my wishes.”
“All right.”
Carol looked up at him, surprised. “He’ll fire you.”
“Not before I speak my piece, he won’t.”
“He won’t believe you.”
Ted considered that and then said quietly, “I’ll take my chance. He’ll get to thinkin’ and Miss Amy will get to thinkin’, and then they’ll find out I’m right.”
That was true, Carol thought wearily. But she couldn’t give up so easily. She said, “Ted, if I give you my word of honor that I won’t mention Jim Garry to Tate Riling will you let me ride over to see him?”
“No.” Ted’s answer was flat and immediate.
“You don’t trust my word of honor?”
Ted cleared his throat and then said without any censure in his voice, “No ma’am. That’s a word you don’t rightly understand. If you did you’d be loyal to your dad, not to the man that’s trying to ruin him.”
Carol thought then that Ted Elser could see her shame, even in the darkness. His words cut deeply, and their truth wasn’t open to question. She left him then without saying good night and walked through the dark corral and up to the house, where she went to bed.
But her talk with Ted settled nothing. It even made her desire to see Tate more urgent. Next day she schemed anew. If she could get to town on a legitimate errand with Amy, then she might be able to shake Ted. But Amy didn’t want to go to town, and Carol had to give up the idea. After dark her father
and Cap Willis returned with the new men, and there was planning and discussion about the drive. Already most of the Blockhouse crew was on the reservation roundup. The new men would give them a great numerical preponderance over Riling’s men, enough to handle any trouble that could come. In all their thoughts, and frequently voiced that evening, was speculation on Jim Garry’s luck. They wouldn’t know until on the day of the deadline whether they would or wouldn’t meet the cavalry from Fort Liggett.
Lufton and his additional men left before daylight. A long gray day faced Carol, and by midmorning she was wild with impatience. Ted Elser was puttering around in the blacksmith shop, his eye forever on the corral. This was the last day, the third day, and tomorrow she could ride out. She wondered bitterly if she could live through it.
In midmorning a stranger rode into the yard. Carol and Amy, who left her bread baking to come out, asked him to dismount while Ted hovered at the corner of the veranda, watching. The stranger demurred politely. He looked like a city man, prosperous and a little ill at ease on his livery horse.
“Is your father in, ladies?” he asked.
“He left this morning for the reservation,” Amy said.
The man’s face showed dismay. “Can I catch him?”
“I wouldn’t know where to tell you to look for him,” Amy said. “If you’re a fast tracker you might catch him.”
The stranger sighed. “I have information that he’s looking for a buyer for a large herd of cattle,” the
stranger said. “I’ve got to find him, and that’s all there is to it.”
Amy said dryly, “I think I can save you some trouble.”
The stranger was attentive, and Amy went on, “He’s not selling a single head of beef. You’ve been misinformed.”
The stranger looked politely skeptical. “My information leads me to think otherwise.”
“Then it leads you on a wild-goose chase,” Amy said. “Where did you get the information?”
“It’s—around Sun Dust.”
Amy smiled and gestured with a flour-whitened hand toward the Three Braves. “Dad’s out there. Find him and ask him.”
The man thanked them and pulled his horse around and rode out. He was a whisky drummer that Riling, in his desperation, had paid to serve as his dummy buyer.
Amy looked after the man and then laughed and looked at Carol. “If Jim’s story needed any more proof, there it is.”
“How do you mean?” Carol asked cautiously.
“There’s Riling’s man. He tried to buy from Dad last night and now he’s sending out men to buy for him.”
“Nonsense,” Carol said sharply.
Amy looked at her queerly and said, “I’m going in. I’m cold.”
She and Carol both went in. Amy returned to her bread baking, and Carol nervously paced the kitchen. Amy watched her covertly and presently, since she was a frank person, said, “Is there anything wrong, Red?”
Carol stopped, caution coming into her face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Only you’ve been like a caged lion for days now.”
Anger flashed in Carol’s eyes now, and she spoke quickly. “Maybe I have. It seems we’re staking our whole fortunes and upsetting our lives just because Jim Garry sold us a wild, lying scheme.”
Amy was dumbfounded. She stared open mouthed at Carol. “Lying? You don’t believe what Jim told us?”
“So it’s Jim now,” Carol gibed angrily.
“Garry, then. Don’t you?”
“No. Why should I?” She stared angrily at Amy, and the sight of her sister’s surprise seemed to burst the dam of her anger and impatience.
“He’s a cheap gunman,” Carol said angrily. “A killer. He tried to kill you. You saw him with that nester crew. And now he comes back here with a trumped-up story that hasn’t a word of truth in it. How do you know these nesters didn’t send him? Even if they didn’t, why should we believe him? What’s he ever done to make us think he ever told the truth to anyone?”
“That’s not so!” Amy cried. “That man that was just here proves Jim’s story!”
“Jim again,” Carol taunted.
“Yes, Jim! What’s the matter with calling him Jim? He saved Dad’s life! He’s no more of a gunman than I am!”
Carol paused in her anger. “Why, baby!” she exclaimed softly. She came across the room to Amy, who was watching her defiantly. The tan on Amy’s cheeks was deepening now, but her gaze didn’t falter.
“What’s this?” Carol asked gently.
“You haven’t any right to say that about him!” Amy blazed. “He’s trying to help us, and I’ll stick up for him to you or Dad or anyone!”
“This sounds a little stronger than sticking up for him.”
“Maybe it is,” Amy said challengingly.
The two sisters regarded each other for long seconds, and into Carol’s green eyes crept a dismay that she couldn’t hide. “Amy,” she said, “tell me the truth. Are you in love with Jim Garry?”
“I—think I am,” Amy answered in a low voice.
Carol was speechless. Her protest, when it came, wasn’t angry. There was kindness and concern and reasonableness in her tone. “But a gunman, baby! A saddle tramp. A man that would shoot at you, that will go up against hired killers because he’s better than they are. How did he get that expert? Have you thought about that?”
“Longer than you think,” Amy said, and she was serene again. “I know what he was and I don’t care. What counts is what he is now. Nobody made him come back and help us—”
“Except wanting to get even with Riling.”
“It wasn’t that either. You don’t understand him. He’s really decent. Dad sees it. He—”
“Does he love you?” Carol asked.
“No.”
A sudden bitterness crept into Carol’s eyes. “I pity you, baby. You don’t know men, and if you love Jim Garry you never will. You’ll know how many pieces your heart can be broken into though. You’re a fool.”
“A happy one, anyway,” Amy said dryly.
Carol turned and left the room.
Next morning Carol had breakfasted and was out at the corral by sunup. Inside the corral was her horse, saddled and ready to ride. Ted loafed in the barn door, smoking. His hands were blue with cold. When he greeted Carol his face was expressionless, though Carol knew that Ted, despising what she was going to do, had got up early to bring in her horse.
His impassiveness that seemed to her to border on smugness made her want to hurt him.
She looked around the corral, switching her quirt against the legs of her levis, and then turned to him. “Where’s your horse?”
“I turned him out.”
“Then I’m allowed to ride this morning all by myself?” she asked, not troubling to smother the sarcasm.
Ted shrugged and flipped his cigarette away. “Why not? You can’t do any harm now, I reckon. Besides, you’ll be safe enough with him.” He stepped back into the barn before Carol could answer.
When she was out of sight of the Blockhouse she put her horse into a long lope. It was cold this morning, with the definite promise of the snow that had been hanging off these last few days.
Twenty minutes later Carol dismounted at the limestone outcrop where Tate and she always left their exchange of notes. There was one there, scribbled on the margin of a piece of newspaper and unsigned.
For the third time, I’ve got to see you. Where have you been? I’ll be at home till noon and in town tonight.
Carol pocketed the note and set out across country for Riling’s place. An hour or so later she was on the switchbacks that let down into Riling’s canyon, and it had begun to snow big flakes that fell gently and slowly and melted immediately.
Nobody was home at Riling’s, but Carol went in. The stove was still warm and she stoked it. The single cabin was in disorder and the breakfast dishes on the table.
She took off her coat and started to clean up, and midway through it she heard a horse outside. She ran to the back door in time to see Riling hazing a pair of horses into the corral. He waved to her and dismounted, shut the gate, put his horse in the sodroofed shed next the corral and hurried to the house.
He took Carol in his arms and kissed her hungrily, and Carol clung to him. It was all right now. All the doubts that had been in her mind were dissolved.
Afterward she leaned back in his arms and looked at him. “Tate, what’s happened to you? You’ve got a scar on your face, and your eye is purple.”
“Fight,” Riling said laconically and grinned. “Where you been?”
“Fight with whom?” Carol persisted.
“A man,” Tate evaded. He let her go now. “I’ve been looking for you for two days.”
“I couldn’t get out,” Carol said simply. Tate pulled up a chair for her and then peeled off his coat and shook the melted snow off it. Carol watched him hungrily, noting his every movement, and she felt herself growing tense. She was going to ask him now, ask him everything, and hear him tell her the truth.
“I know who you fought with,” Carol said. “It was Jim Garry.”
Riling paused, holding his coat in both hands, and stared at her. “Who told you?”
“He’s been at the ranch,” Carol said. “Tate, I want to ask you something. Come over here.” She stood up. Riling threw his coat on the bunk and came over to her, scowling.
Carol tried to make her voice light and gay and humorous now. “Garry had a story, and it went something like this. I want you to tell me if it’s true. He said that you and Jacob Pindalest had cooked up this fight with Dad long ago. He said you were doing it, hoping to crowd Dad off the range so he’d sell his cattle cheap to you, and you could sell them back to Pindalest. Is that true?”
Riling’s slow grin was a hard one. “So Garry told you that, did he?”
“Is it true?”
“What else did he tell you? This sounds good.”
“That you wanted him to make the offer to Dad. Is it true?”
“Did he tell your father that?” Riling asked swiftly.
“Yes.”
Riling’s face was ugly now. He turned on his heel and walked to the door and stood in it, looking out at the slowly falling snow.
“Tate!” Carol said sharply, alarm in her voice.
Riling turned and looked at her.
“You haven’t answered me. Is it true?”
“Of course,” Riling said carelessly.
Carol was shocked, stunned. She put a hand on the table to steady herself and she saw Riling turn his head again, looking outside. Was he crazy? Carol
ran over to him and grabbed his elbow and yanked him around.