Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Страница 12

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Lin Ballou had heard the jailers voice rise in a protest and a little later he saw the man, accompanied by another, cross the street and stand for an instant in the light shining out of Sharp's restaurant. Hardly had the pair vanished when he was aware of a sound in the courtroom below. A heavy body came slowly up the stairs. The corridor door stood fast under an exploring arm, and then the lock turned and the intruder advanced down the hall. Ballou drew his gun and stepped into the darkest corner of the cell, waiting for trouble. But when a massive pair of shoulders appeared before the grating and a great head stooped a little to peer in—outlined faintly by the dim light coming through the corridor window—he dropped the point of the gun and moved quickly to the door. W. W. Offut's voice summoned him.

"Lin, you step close where I can talk."

Ballou made a protest. "You shouldn't have come, Mr. Offut. If anybody sees you it'll be a dead giveaway."

"Things are narrowing to a point," the cattleman replied. "Had to do it. I made a turn through the back of the building into the rear door. Don't think I was watched. If I was it doesn't cut such a figure, at this stage of the game. You've got to make a break for it."

"Trouble?"

"Lot of Double Jay boys on the street and a few other ranch hands. Smell trouble. Best you should get out of the way before they try something. I wouldn't want to have to rescue you before the crowd and reveal the true situation. We're not ready for it yet—unless you discovered something in the mesa. Did you?"

Lin did not answer this directly, but asked a question of his own. "Who put you up to making the raid?"

"Jim Lestrade. He certainly slid it over on me. I didn't have any idea I was going to trap you, and he wouldn't say who gave him the information. Guess maybe he was just taken in by appearances."

"No he wasn't," Ballou said. "That was a deliberate move of his. I can't prove it, Mr. Offut, but I'm willing to take oath he's the man you and I and the rest of the committee are trying to uncover."

Offut turned the information over in his mind and ended by saying mildly, "That's a serious charge, Lin. What makes you think it?"

"Listen. I deliberately put myself in the way of being seen the other day. You know I've been trying to get somebody to swallow that hook for a month. Well, the Chattos bit. Made an offer for me to join 'em. I did." He leaned forward, waggling his finger to stress his information. "When you corraled me the Chattos got away clear. Why did they get away clear? Because they meant to have me fall in the trap alone. Beauty even lit a cigarette as a sort of signal—"

"I saw that," Offut interposed. "Mighty careless, I thought."

"Careless, nothing. It was a part of their plan. By the time you men closed in they'd ridden a mile off. That's why you didn't catch 'em. Now they couldn't have done that unless somebody in the valley had made all the arrangements. Who made those arrangements? Figure it for yourself."

"Jim Lestrade," Offut said.

"Sure. Those cattle we were hazing down the gully had been cut out by Nig and Beauty before dark. They wouldn't tell me what brand they meant to slap on or anything about the agent that took the critters and shipped 'em. But they did say there was an agent who got fifty per cent of the profit for doing that little act of charity. Isn't it pretty clear who that particular man is?"

Offut sighed. "Somehow I had a suspicion it was a neighbor of mine—but I didn't reckon it would hit so close to home as Jim Lestrade." After a long interval he spoke in a cold, brusque manner. "Well, I've had to hang neighbors of mine before this—men I thought mighty good friends. Guess I can do it again. But we can't do anything without evidence. I will not lynch. We've got to get facts a jury can understand. They didn't let you in on anything, did they?"

"The Chattos are mighty clever. If I could have got hold of some branding irons, or if I'd been left alone until they started blotting out the old marks, I could have had something definite."

"Just can't see why either the Chattos or Lestrade should want you out of the road," Offut said.

"I've been thinking about that. It's either because they wanted to get somebody to take all the blame for rustling and thereby leave the land free for themselves again, or else it's because Lestrade knows I'm against his water project. Might be either, and sometimes I think it's a little of both."

A crowd of men passed beneath the courthouse, raising their voices. Ballou stirred. "You'd better make tracks."

"You've got to get evidence," Offut said.

"Well, I've made up my mind to try some rough work. I'll bring you in two good pieces of evidence, once I part company with this bastile."

Offut's hand slipped through the grating. "Heres a key. I've had one of the boys lead the jailer off on a wild goose chase. They'll hold him for half an hour. There's a horse saddled and waiting, with a gun and belt full of cartridges hanging on the horn. It's behind the livery stable. Ten minutes after I leave, you unlock the doors and go out the back way. I can't tip my own hand too much in this right at present, but I've got three safe, close-mouthed men stationed in the shadows to cover your break, just in case there's any opposition. If you want a posse to back you up in the mesa, tell me so."

"No, that would scare the Chattos clear out of the state. But I'll ask that you have your men strung around town three-four days from now when I come riding in with my evidence. There may be opposition from the Double Jay boys."

"All right," Offut said, and Lin Ballou felt the mans eyes boring through the darkness. "Lin, I'm sorry I've had to make it seem like I mistrusted you. Folks all think you're no account. That's been hard on you and maybe lost you friends, temporarily. Just consider it necessary. A man's got to do a lot of disagreeable work in this world to chase out the crooks. Guess I've lost more sleep on that score than you."

"We'll call it even," Lin said, embarrassed.

"You'll not lose from it," Offut said in that definite, reassuring manner of his.

Without more comment he slid down the hallway, closed the last door and locked it—a protection against any possible return of the jailer or of Double Jay men trying to force the place in the intervening minutes— and let himself out the rear entrance of the court room. For so large a man, he moved very quietly through the piles of boxes and broken wagon beds, and he took an alley that led him once more to the street. Stepping into the semilighted thoroughfare he suddenly brushed the side of a man loitering nearby. He drew up sharply. A powerful arm shot out and gripped the loiterer's arm with such force as to make the man wince.

"What are you doing here, sir?" Offut demanded. Swinging him about until a ray of light fell on his face, he saw it to be Tracy of the Double Jay.

"Beg your pardon, sir," Tracy said, squirming. "Didin' mean to hit you. But it's a free street, ain't it?"

"I dislike being crowded by drunks," Offut said. "Thought you were one of them. Very sorry." He walked on.

Tracy waited until Offut had vanished, then cut across the street and through a back lot. In his speed he grew careless and struck a piece of barbwire that sent him sprawling into a pile of trash. The pain of that accident made him curse violently, but without delay he got up and went on, to come at last to the rear door of James J. Lestrade's office.

Five or six Double Jay men were standing there in the darkness, silent and formidable. One challenged him and lighted a match to identify him. Knocking on the door, he went in to face his boss.

"Well, here's a piece of news for you," he announced triumphantly. "I'm watching from the second story again and I see a shadow through the jail window that I can't make out. So I go down to the street and wait by the nearest alley entrance. And who do you suppose comes out of it?"

Lestrade motioned for the man to go on.

"W. W. Offut! He's been up to see Ballou. That's why the jailer was took off on a visit."

The force of that man's name and all that it stood for was enough to bring Lestrade out of his chair. The jovial face grew perceptibly whiter and the thick jowels seemed to sag. His first move was to stride over to the lamp and turn down the wick.

"Offut. Offut. What's that mean? My God, is he playing a game with all of us? Have we got ourselves hooked up on the wrong line? Tracy, you back out of here. If Offut's got a hand in it there's something wrong. Spread the boys around town. Post some of them back of the jail. Put another at each street end. If it's to be a try at getting loose, I'll have something to say. Watch sharp, now! If Ballou puts his head outside of that place knock him over! Somebody's got wind of what we aimed to do. Knock him over, I'm telling you. Get out of here!"

Tracy departed, gathering up the Double Jay men as he went.

Lestrade mopped a handkerchief over his face, which glistened with fine beads of sweat. He did not lack physical courage, but he understood too well the driving strength of W. W. Offut. That man stood like a beacon in the affairs of the valley. His lifelong code had been honesty. Throughout the state he was known as one who, once embarked on the trail of an outlaw, never took a backward step. There was something quite grim and terrible about the inflexibility of his will that pierced even the toughest hides.

They can't prove anything on me, he thought, staring through the dark room. Not so long as the Chattos keep their mouths shut. And they won't do anything else unless they figure to hang themselves. As for Ballou, he can't prove a thing, even though he knows the Chattos and me are neck and neck, which I doubt. But for safety's sake we'll have to take care of him. If he don't break, we'll have to finish the lynching job we started. Now, in regards to Mr. Dan Rounds...

He took his revolver out of the desk drawer and thrust it into the holster, after which he buckled on the belt. The inquisitive Tracy, watching from his vantage point earlier in the afternoon, had seen the lawyer's arm carry something through the grating to Lin Ballou. This fact, when reported to Lestrade, only strengthened the cattleman's belief in the uncertain mind of the lawyer. He had judged Rounds, some time before, as one who was not quite dishonest enough to be trusted.

Rounds meant to betray him, he knew. And there was one witness he couldn't let live.

He stepped from his office under the cloak of darkness and crossed the sheet. Considering the affair from all angles, he decided he had not been fortunate in the choice of his confederates. Steele had double-crossed him too, running off with the project's money, although Lestrade knew that this defalcation really aided his scheme. It broke the settlers that much sooner and it placed the blame on the shoulders of another than his own. Nevertheless, he had been betrayed, and the settlers, as they came into town, had linked him with Steele in their accusations. Decidedly, times were getting dangerous.

"We've got just a few chores to do before we pull freight," he muttered, looking across the way to Dan Rounds' office.

The light therein burned brightly, and he saw the lawyer seated at the table, writing rapidly. He was a fair mark for any gun. Lestrade, concealed by the shadows, leaned against a building and took preliminary aim with his revolver. Satisfied, he dropped the weapon and waited.

Lin Ballou judged the minutes as they sagged by, listening for the possible return of the jailer or some chance townsman straying into the courthouse. Dick Sharp's restaurant emitted its fitful fights through a window that was fogged with steam. Across this vista men passed and passed again, moving with a carelessness that did not fool him. It seemed that in the time elapsing after Offut's departure there was a greater movement among those cowpunchers. Once he thought he heard the boards below creak, and he laid his ear against the grating and listened.

The ten minutes, he decided, were up. Turning the key in the lock, he opened the door and slipped down the corridor. After passing the second barrier, he stopped for an instant to fix in his mind the path out of the building and across the rear area to the stable. The foot of the stairway was nothing but a wall of mystery, ink-black. Descending on his toes, he raised the revolver and moved it slowly from side to side.

A board groaned beneath his weight. Farther down he thought he heard someone move within the courtroom. But he had no time to stop and explore all these strange sounds. His imagination created most of them, anyway. Time pressed. At the bottom of the stairs he turned, opened the swinging doors of the courtroom and threaded his way between the benches to the rostrum. To the left was the exit into the back lot, which, when he put a hand to the knob, he discovered to be swinging ajar. On the threshold he paused again.

The little world of Powder seemed to revolve slowly in the night, the usual sounds and the usual smells permeating the air. It was so quiet that he distinctly heard the clatter of the Chinese dishwasher in the restaurant across the street. The pool hall piano sent forth its off-key harmony. On the left, a thin shaft of light came through a crack of Staggs store, wherein the grocery man waited for the last penny's trade of the day. To the right was another wall, devoid of windows. Between these, Lin Ballou set forth, careful not to step into any pile of rubbish or knock over any stray box. Muscle and nerve and hearing—all were at that high pitch which serves a man in danger or emergency.

He reached the end of this lot safely and rounded the corner of Stagg's store. Just beyond was the stable, and there, according to Offut, a horse and saddle waited in readiness. It was a clear path as Ballou remembered it, so he moved faster. Suddenly a shadow appeared before him, the shadow of his posted animal. A body rose straight up from the ground and put forth an arm.

Reins fell in his hand and a voice whispered, "Don't fiddle. Make a bust for it. There's somebody waiting behind that shed."

He swung into the saddle, strapped the revolver belt around him and dug in the spurs. The horse shot away. The flight was on.

The first sound of hoofs brought another answer. From the shed, from the stable roof and from some other covert, poured a volley of fire. He saw a long orange finger of flame sear the shadows beside him and heard the solid plunk of a bullet in the stable wall. Ten yards farther, a body ran beside him and seemed to reach for the horse's head. His revolver slashed down and struck solid bone. He felt a man clutch his leg, then fall against the rump of the horse. A scream rose above the gunfire, evoking a still greater hail of lead.

Fearing that they would bring down his horse, Lin Ballou kicked his feet from the stirrups and bent very low. He shot past another alley, catching a momentary view of lantern light bobbing in the street. Behind him, other guns joined the argument, and for a moment the bullets fell away from him and took another target. At this, he knew that Offut's men were distracting the Double Jay fire. Reassured, he fled onward, left the protection of the buildings and cut directly across the eastern end of Powder's only street. Glancing down this thoroughfare, he saw many men running in one direction and another, crossing the beams of light from the restaurant, Stagg's store and, lastly, from Dan Rounds' office.

As he watched, he heard another gun fire nearby. Glass splintered and then a heavy body appeared in the outthrown lamp rays of the lawyers office. There was a final burst of guns, and after that silence descended over the town. Many lanterns began to swing through the darkness. Somebody began to shout. The street filled with running men. All seemed to be rushing in the direction of the livery stable.

Lin Ballou veered to the northeast on the road and spoke to the horse. "Steady now, boy. Settle down and stretch your legs. It's a long trip you've got to make."

The town and its excitement drifted behind him. The cool desert air ran by his body and the aromatic smell of sage was in his nostrils. Far away, the mesa bulked against the black velvet skyline.

The Chattos are probably still in town, he mused, but they won't be so very long. I judge that there'll be a general posse after me in five or ten minutes and if they aren't in that posse, they'll at least be making a run for the mesa. I'll find them in their old stamping grounds soon enough.

The posse was indeed getting under way within the time he guessed. But before the posse departed from town a final scene had to be acted out, unknown to Ballou. The splintering of glass he had heard was caused by a bullet passing through Dan Rounds' office window. The bullet ended its journey in the lawyer's chest. It had not killed him outright, for when Offut, Lestrade and several others reached him, he was bent over in the chair, pressing one hand against the slowly trickling blood.

Offut took hold of the lawyer's shoulder and pulled him upright. "Dan—Dan, do you hear me, boy? Who did this?"

The lawyer summoned the last fading breath of his life. He raised his head until he looked squarely into the face of James J. Lestrade. He smiled in his tired, cynical manner.

"What difference does it make?" he muttered, and died.