Trouble Shooter (1974) (19 page)

Topper moved willingly into the path, his ears pricked forward inquiringly. There was no sound but the creak of the saddle leather and the soft thud of Topper's hooves in the dust of the trail. Long twilight shadows fell across his path and trees loomed on both sides. Once Hopalong half believed he glimpsed someone or something moving far back in the brush, but the movement faded and he rode on. And then the trail started up

the slope.

It was just wide enough for a man on a horse and it was bare rock. Topper started up the trail, a slight incline that became steeper, then rounded an elbow and started back. Slowly they mounted, and when Hopalong looked out over the wide country below them, he could see the vast miles of the chaparral and pear, stretching away in every direction from the foot of Babylon Mesa.

Then, at last, he rode out in the clear, high air of Babylon Mesa. Immediately before him the mesa was flat and grass-covered. Hopalong spotted several head of cattle who looked up curiously.

Beyond the grassy level was the darkness of a pine forest, and Hopalong rode toward it. Topper walked steadily. Something moved along the edge of the pines on his left. Without changing pace, Hopalong let his eyes shift along the front of the trees and saw another movement on his right. They knew he was here, then. And they were letting him come.

The stars came out and hung so close overhead in the clear air that it looked as if they could be knocked down with a stick. The path entered the forest and he moved on, and then suddenly men closed in from the right and the left. Not one man, but a dozen. They walked, six men to a side, and they said nothing, nothing at all.

Suddenly the trail turned; a man was standing there with a lantern. He was a big man and he wore a beard. He said nothing, but stepped into the path ahead of Hopalong. They emerged from the trees and Hopalong could see the dark lines of row crops, acres of them, he could see lights glowing from the windows of low adobe structures, and somewhere he heard a woman singing.

There was the smell of damp earth, and in one of the fields he saw water between the rows. So they irrigated. A good water supply, then. It would not be suspected above this wall of rock.

The guide with the lantern paused before an open door and

one of the men moved up to Hopalong's stirrup. "You may get

down," he said.

Hopalong Cassidy swung down and stripped off his gloves, tucking them into his belt. He smelled the rich sweetness of honeysuckle. They walked down a path and through the door. Within the room all was light, and three men sat behind a table on a raised dais at the end. Arranged along the walls on benches were two dozen other men. Most of them were bearded. All were dressed in rough homespun robes of some sort.

The man in the center behind the table had a gray beard, but he was a man still strong and of massive build. He looked down at Hopalong. "Why do you come to this place?"

Briefly Hopalong Cassidy explained, beginning with his arrival to see his friend, the shot Tote Brown fired at Taylor, the discovery that Taylor and Cindy Blair had come to claim the ranch left by his friend. He told them briefly and concisely all he knew, and then he stated his reason for coming.

"It has been said that you keep watch from this mesa," he said. "It seemed to me that some of you might have seen something related to the robbery that might help us. If this is the case, it would be necessary that whoever saw it happen come down and testify in court."

The elder listened, then shook his head. "That we cannot do. We have committed ourselves to a good life. We take no part in the disputes or altercations of those who live around us. We do keep such a lookout as you describe, but only to preserve our own peace.

"Here"--he gestured around him--"we have all we need. Indeed, from observation, we know that we live much better

than most of those on the ranches below. We have sheep, goats, and cattle. We have vegetables, grain, and fruit. We raise what we need and we use what we raise, and we keep a granary supplied against the bad years. We have no need to traffic with others."

"Nevertheless," Hopalong replied, "you are men of justice. Would you see a relative of Pete Melford robbed, a girl who has done no harm to any man?"

"We know, of course, that the PM range was settled by Melford. We do not know what happened after his death, and even had we suspected anything was wrong, it still would not have been our place to interfere. We handle our own affairs, dispense our own justice, our own punishments."

"The man we know as Colonel Justin Tredway," Hopalong said, "came to this country after the breaking up of the Ben Hardy gang. We know now that most of that gang were killed down in the chaparral. Ben Hardy escaped, and Fan Harlan was the killer. Justin Tredway has been positively identified as Fan Harlan."

The elder's head came up sharply, and Hopalong heard a mutter of startled sound run through the room. The three men behind the table bent their heads together and talked in low whispers. There was much talk in undertones among the others. "You have reasons for what you have said? Explain, please."

Hopalong repeated his suspicions to them, adding what he had learned from Pike and from Burnside. The atmosphere of the room underwent a change as he spoke. They questioned him at length about the finding of the skeletons of the outlaws, then about events in Kachina surrounding their arrival and

events concerning the BoxT. They asked many questions about Tredway and Saxx and seemed interested in Tote Brown. They asked questions about the physical description of the men, their actions and background. Particularly they asked about the opening of Kachina, the beginning of the freight line, and then more about Tredway.

Finally Hopalong arose to go, and the elder leaned over the table. "We may be able to help you," he said, "and we will do what we can. We can send a man who will testify to the fact that Melford lived on and developed what was known as the PM Ranch. Beyond that we can make no promises."

The guide with the lantern appeared once more and led Hopalong to the trail, this time escorting him all the way to the bottom of the cliff. "I have been requested," he said, at the foot of the trail, "to ask you to say nothing of what you have seen. We do not welcome visitors."

A few miles away from the trail Hopalong turned into the brush and made a dry camp, more than a little mystified by what he had heard. What was it about Tredway that interested them so much? For despite the fact that they had been careful to ask seemingly casual questions, he was the one subject to which they continually returned.

Twice during the night he awakened, and each time there were lights on Brushy Knoll that could have been nothing but signals--to whom?

Evenas watched the last guest climb the stairs to his room in the hotel. His mind was made up. His statement to Hopalong that he would be wealthy, and soon, would wait no longer for results. Tonight was the night.

Glancing around, he dropped to his knees in front of his hiding place, then hesitated. No, better not. Tonight he would make his play, but he would make it on nerve and the knowledge of what he possessed. Removing his green eyeshade and placing it on the desk behind the counter, he took from a drawer a double-barrel derringer and thrust it into his coat pocket.

He stepped outside and the wind whipped his coat, and he dropped his head and walked around the hoteltoward the stable. As he saddled his horse he felt his first moments of doubt. The Colonel could be hard as nails--his whole past proved it--and any man who bucked him would be asking for trouble. Yet did Tredway dare take a chance now? Cassidy was around, and Cindy Blair.

If Tredway was the man he thought him, he was fast with a giin, and he might not hesitate to shoot. Evenas knew he could not hope to compete with any slightly handy gunman, so he hit upon a clever scheme. In the lobby of the hotel he had picked up an old newspaper and rolled it carefully. Then he cut a hole in the side of the flattened tube for his finger. Unrolling the paper, he inserted the derringer in the center of it and rolled it once more. Now he could carry the innocent newspaper in his hand while his finger would be on the trigger at all times.

Despite his precautions, much of his confidence began to ebb away. Memories of the stern jawline of Tredway and his

harshness returned. And Evenas had no illusions. He was not a

brave man.

The road at that hour was deserted and he saw no one. He rode at a canter, his head bowed against a stiff wind. The lights of the Box T appeared and he stared at them, holding his hat to his head with one hand. Lights in the bunkhouse, too. He had hoped the hands would be away from the ranch. Yet, as he watched, the lights in the bunkhouse dimmed and went out, a man walked to the barn, mounted a horse, and rode swiftly

away.

Evenas stared at the lights in the house, his mouth dry. This was it. For more than a year he had been building toward this moment. One swift reach for wealth, then escape and the freedom to enjoy it. He would need all his nerve to face Tredway. Setting his jaw, he started forward, the newspaper clutched in his right hand, his finger on the trigger of the gun. He had promised himself wealth and the time hadcome to make good that promise. He started his horse down the hill, watching the ranch house with no goodwill. He dismounted and tied his horse to the hitch rail, then went up to the door. He hesitated briefly, his hand lifted to knock. Through the lighted window he could see Tredway seated at his desk, writing. Evenas waited for a lull in the wind, then dropped his hand to the knob and tried it gently. Slowly it opened under his hand and he stepped in, away from the sound of the wind.

His boots made no sound on the beautifully woven Navajo rug as he crossed the hall to the study door. He paused in the open doorway. Warned by the sense of some presence, Tredway looked up.

For an instant he was startled, and then he recognized the sallow-faced, black-eyed clerk. "What do you want here? Who let you in?"

"I walked in. I thought you wouldn't want to be disturbed." Evenas stared at the quiet-faced man sitting before him. It was a strong, authoritative face, and only a closer look would bring out the tiny lines of acquisitiveness about the eyes or show the cruel mouth below the mustache. Hate mounted within Evenas, hate for this crisp, sure man who sat there at the table. Tredway was a thief and a murderer, yet he sat there so calm, so sure of himself!

Well, he would destroy that calm. From now on he, Evenas, would be boss. The feeling filled him with triumph. He took a step into the room, the rolled-up paper in his right hand. "Tredway," he said, "I want five thousand dollars tonight and twenty thousand before the week is out."

Tredway's eyes narrowed. Ever since he had realized the identity of his visitor, he had been puzzled. He knew the man, knew him for a sneak who if not watched would filch coins from the till, who would even steal small things from the rooms. He had never suspected that the man might try blackmail. A momentary smile touched his lips. It was an ironic smile, for Tredway was thinking that aside from the stolen, unsigned bills, he had less than three hundred dollars on the place.

The smile disconcerted Evenas and made him angry. The newspaper lifted slightly, and for the first time Tredway's eyes went to that paper. Instantly he realized his danger. Evenas was a growing kitten playing with an old alley tomcat. Tredway no sooner noticed the paper than he realized that no man would

have carried a paper in his hand through all that wind outside. Therefore the paper was either some evidence with which Evenas planned to confront him or it concealed a weapon. Tredway had ridden with the wolves too long to be deceived.

"I mean it!" Evenas's hatred made him bold. He stepped farther into the room. "I didn't come out here to talk! I want five thousand dollars and I want it now!"

"You've neglected to tell me," Tredway said smoothly, his cold eyes never leaving those of Evenas, "what I'm supposed to get for the five thousand, or why I should give it to you. Is this

a shakedown?"

"Call it whatever you like." Evenas sneered a little. "I know who you are. I know about Melford and the PM. I know enough to hang you. I don't care what you've done, all I want is money."

"I see." Tredway studied Evenas with contempt. The petty fool! Did he think he could get away with this? That the man should even carry such an idea angered Tredway. "And for that money, what do I get?"

Evenas shrugged. "I won't go to Lewis with what I know. Nor to Hopalong Cassidy."

Tredway's eyes flickered a little at that name. "So you know

him, do you?"

"The whole town knows who he is," Evenas replied shortly, "but I'm the only one who knows who Pike Towne is."

"Pike Towne?" The name was unfamiliar, and his puzzlement was plain in his face. It increased Evenas's certainty. If this man did not even know who worked for him--

"Pike Towne is the fellow who's been helping Cassidy work your cattle out of the brush. He and Rig Taylor."

"You say you know who he is? What of it? He means nothing to me." Tredway was talking and watching to get Evenas off guard. He had known for several minutes that he was going to kill him, but not at once. He wanted Evenas to see the folly of his actions, he wanted him to regret his temerity in coming here. And then he could die.

"That's what you think!" Evenas sneered. "Pike Towne is Ben Hardy!"