Authors: Louis L'amour
Otero came from the bunkhouse carrying an extra rifle, a second pistol tucked into his waistband. He glanced curiously at Flint. "You all right?" he asked.
"All right," Flint said briefly.
"There's more guns in the house," Otero said.
There was a burst of firing from the west and two riders came at the ranch on a dead run.
"Hold your fire!" Otero yelled. "That's Julius!"
Julius Bent dropped from the saddle in time to catch the other rider as he fell. The wounded man had been shot twice, through the leg, and through the chest.
Flint walked around the ranch yard, studying the situation. The place was in good shape as long as daylight held, but with the small number of men they had to defend it, night attack was sure to end in disaster. The attackers could close in under cover of darkness and fire the buildings, then shoot down the defenders as they emerged.
No help could be expected from the outside. If Baldwin had thought to guard the telegraph station it was doubtful if the territorial government would know of what was going on until the fight was over, and then Baldwin could say it was a fight between the big ranches and squatters.
The telegraph station ...
Jim Flint paused in his pacing. The place to beat Baldwin was New York. The telegraph made it almost next door.
He went to the house. "We've got to get out of here, as soon as it's dark," he told Nancy.
Gaddis nodded agreement. "He's right. They'll burn this place tonight whether we are in it or not."
Burn the ranch? Nancy looked slowly around her, scarcely able to imagine life without this house. She had grown up here. There were marks of her uncle and father all around. Yet she knew that what Flint and Gaddis said was true.
"We will need all the grub we can get together," she said, "and pack horses. I doubt if they will expect us to run."
"Where'll we go?" Gaddis asked mildly.
"There is only one place," Nancy said. "We will go to the Hole-in-the-Wall." She turned to explain to Flint. "It's a lava-walled pasture -- twelve thousand acres of it. I doubt if any of Baldwin's men know it exists."
Flint watched Nancy. He knew what this meant to her. This home was her life, her memories, all she had.
"We will have to take Flynn," she said, "and Lee Thomas."
Thomas, the wounded rider, grinned at Flint. "Hell, you get me on a horse, that's all I ask. I rode twenty miles through a blizzard one time with a broke leg."
When they were alone, Nancy turned to him. "Jim, I'm glad you're here."
"Yes," he said. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
At her quick glance, he added, "At a time like this."
He walked outside. The sun was a ball of fire over the Continental Divide.
"You'll make a fool of yourself," he said aloud, "if you aren't careful."
Chapter
9
Lottie Kettleman stood rigidly before the bank window. "I do not understand you," she protested. She was very pale. Inwardly she seethed with anger. "I ..."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Kettleman." The cashier's manner was polite, but shaded with coolness. "Mr. Kettleman closed his account several weeks ago."
He hesitated, ashamed of his feeling of satisfaction. This woman had always been arrogant, imperious, difficult. "It was just before Mr. Kettleman left for Virginia."
She turned quickly and left. She was filled with vindictive anger, but she was also frightened. Only this morning, using the key her father secretly had had made for her, she had opened the safe at home. It was empty.
She got into a hansom cab and raged at its slowness until she reached Burroughs' office. She was shown in at once.
"He left an allowance for you." Burroughs carefully kept all expression from his face. "You are to be paid one hundred dollars a month for twelve months."
"What?" She fought to keep her poise. "But where is he? What does this mean?"
Burroughs shuffled papers on his desk. "Mr. Kettleman never confided in anyone, but it has been apparent for several weeks that he was arranging his affairs for an extended absence. It may be" -- Burroughs kept his expression bland -- "that he suspects a plot against his life. It seems there was an incident at Saratoga where a man tried to kill him."
"That's absurd! It was just a gambling argument."
"As I have said, he did not confide in me, but I happen to know he retained the Pinkertons for an investigation. That was unusual, to say the least for, as you were no doubt aware, Mr. Kettleman maintained his own private organization."
She had known nothing of the kind. Her throat tightened, and she thought back swiftly. There were no letters. Meetings, yes. And with Baldwin -- but how could he learn of that?
"How does he expect me to live on one hundred dollars a month?" she protested.
"Many families do," Burroughs replied, remembering he had been married on considerably less. "You have a beautiful home, and there is always" -- he cleared his throat -- "your father."
Lottie Kettleman shot him an angry glance. Was he being sarcastic?
"You have no idea where he is?"
"No, I have not."
Lottie Kettleman arrived home frightened and furious. For the first time she began to think seriously about the man she had married.
Kettleman, her father assured her, was a lonely man without family ties. He had never known a home, and would be easy pickings for a clever girl. Once married to him she would have access to his private papers, the confidences that were natural between husband and wife, and she could supply tips to her father and his associates by which they could make millions.
It was not the first time she had assisted her father in his schemes, and this seemed more practical than most of them. Moreover, Kettleman was handsome, distinguished-looking, as well as both feared and respected in financial circles.
It was only after they were married that she discovered he never discussed business at home and kept his affairs in his head. The few notations she could find were in some private code known only to him.
Her father had taken an impression of the key to the safe and they had one made for it. Together they opened the safe and found in it only a few stacks of carefully specified bills. It was the way of James T. Kettleman to keep his cash so. Neatly piled with the number of bills and amount atop it. The only other objects in the safe were a worn gun belt and a Navy Colt.
When she opened the safe that morning to find the money gone, the gun and gun belt were gone too. She assumed the gun was one he would want when he went hunting, and gave it no thought.
Kettleman had been attentive and thoughtful, but she had never loved him and he soon discovered it. He also learned that he had mistaken his own desire for a home and family for love of her. They lived in the same house but there had been only politeness between them. After the shooting at Saratoga he had returned to the house only occasionally, and rarely stayed long.
Even before her visit to the bank she had detected a coolness about town, and she began to understand what she was facing.
She loved her father but for the first time she realized that his grandiose schemes would never come to anything. Lately he had begun to whine and blame his failures on others.
For the first time she began to appreciate Kettleman -- or rather, the life he had given her. There had been no worry about bills, she had been treated everywhere with respect, and she had not been curious enough to try to know him.
He was a means to money. Otherwise she was indifferent. Now she realized he was a mystery, and not only to her. Nobody knew anything about him or his background.
Nor was there any clue as to what had become of him. He seemed to have dropped off the world as if he had never been. With her father she went to the Virginia farm.
The house was closed and locked. Forcing a way in they could find no evidence that he had been there in some time. The few neighbors were remote and only one of them had known him slightly, but he had not seen him in more than a year.
Back in New York she paced the floor angrily. Her father, a large, heavy-set man, puffed a cigar. For the first time Lottie was seeing him as a ponderous, shoddy man with a little cunning and an easy flow of talk.
"He called in the Pinkertons, did he? Well, why don't we do the same? Mind you, girl, when we find him we will find money. He has something of consequence in mind. There's a man named Epperman, a German. He's done some investigative work for Port Baldwin, time to time."
Epperman sat back in a squeaky swivel-chair and considered the project. Then he made inquiries. No. There was no picture. Kettleman had never wanted a picture made.
To Epperman this smelled of money. If Kettleman had disappeared it was something another client of his should know. A canny man might make much of such knowledge.
Epperman was a stocky man with a florid face and rather protruding eyes of pale blue. He observed Lottie Kettleman's lush figure with appreciation. A likely filly and, from rumor, no better than she had to be.
A week around financial circles brought Epperman no news. Everybody knew Kettleman, but no one offered a clue. There was no criminal record. He started to work back toward the beginning. Among other things, he discovered that Baldwin, often a client of his, had lost money in several deals in which Kettleman was involved. And also that Peres Chivington, Lottie's father, had supplied information to Baldwin, a time or two.
He had been working on the case for more than a week when he stumbled on a surprise. Kettleman had belonged to a shooting club and was a remarkably good shot. He was also a handy man with his fists, someone said. Another voice said, "He was a prize fighter, I think."
In one of the old hangouts of the Morrissey crowd Epperman found a whiskey-soaked old-timer who said, "Jim Kettleman? If you want to know if he could fight, ask Dwyer, him that was bare-knuckle champion."
Inquiry developed that Kettleman had given Dwyer a bad beating at Fox's American Theatre in Philadelphia. "He was good," an old-timer assured him, "maybe the best of them. Many's the time he boxed McCafferty in the gym, and took his measure, too."
From a man who had worked in Kettleman's corner as a second for several of his fights, Epperman discovered that Kettleman had once made a deal in cattle. The trail ended with a sale of four horses bearing the Six-Shooter brand.
The Six-Shooter brand, the cattle deal, the horses, the Colt pistol, all spoke of the West. Alone in his dingy office, Epperman smoked and thought, and tried to get inside Kettleman's mind. Why had he disappeared? When a man disappeared it was usually money, a woman, or both.
Kettleman had money and he had power, so it must be a woman. Yet nowhere in his investigations could Epperman turn up the slightest evidence of philandering. Before his marriage Kettleman had escorted a number of beautiful women, but was serious about none of them. Nor had he confided in any.
The trail seemed to point West but the frontier was a big place and Epperman had no desire to travel there. He had come back from a trip West only a short time before Lottie Kettleman approached him.
When Lottie arrived at the office, Epperman lighted a gas-lamp. She was a mighty fine-looking woman, but cold, Epperman thought He had seen her kind before -- the ones who handled men the best because they lacked passion themselves. They were always thinking while a man was merely feeling.
"Did you know that Jim Kettleman was once a prize fighter?" Epperman asked abruptly.
"A prize fighter? Jim Kettleman? You must be crazy."
Epperman leaned his thick forearms on the desk and pushed his derby to the back of his head. "He was a fighter, all right, and a good one. Did he ever talk about the West? Or about cattle?"
"No, not that I can remember. He talked, but it was usually about the theater, books, politics, sometimes about horse racing."
Lottie was nettled. It was more and more obvious that she had not learned the simplest things about the man she had married. A prize fighter? Kettleman with his perfect manners? It was impossible. She must seem like a fool, not to know more about him. Now she recalled how handsome he was, and how much respected, and not only because of his money.
Facing it, she had to admit she was a fool. She should have done everything to make her marriage work, but she had been so concerned with getting information from him, trying to make a killing from knowledge gleaned from him that she had missed her chance. Why try to make money for herself when Kettleman had the key to the mint?
She also confessed to herself that her respect for him had increased tenfold since he had gone away.
Chivington came in and sat down beside his daughter. He repeated the story, which Epperman knew, of finding the Navy Colt in the safe. The room began to smell of stale cigar smoke and Lottie felt her irritation mounting. Kettleman was making fools of them all.
"If I learn anything," Epperman said at last, "I'll let you know. I think," he added, "that I may have something."
Just what he had he did not know, except for a hunch that whatever it was might turn into money for them all. The first thing he must do now was to contact Porter Baldwin.