Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Страница 13

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The posse kept hard on his trail as he swept across that undulating sea of sand. Twice he spent a precious minute to stop and put an ear to the ground. Each time the faint throbbing of hoofs was borne through the earth to him and each time he swung to the saddle and changed his direction. The moon was young—a thin pale crescent that suffused the world with a dim silver glow. Under it sage and juniper were transformed into mysterious, fantastic shapes and the horizon on all sides of him seemed to march off to infinity. The night wind cooled him. Afar, a coyote sent forth its quivering challenge. He felt the rhythmic swell of the pony's muscles and the steady onward thudding of the pony's feet. This animal had been carefully chosen for tonight's work. It seemed to know what it had to do and where it had to go. The long, sleek head stretched well forward, pointing like a compass needle toward the mesa.

This race would not be to the swift. That Lin Ballou well understood. In the darkness he had the advantage. They could not follow his tracks, nor could they be sure which way he traveled. But that posse would be composed almost wholly of Double Jay men and more than probably the Chattos would also be along. The Chattos well knew his stamping ground and could guess too easily where he would try to hide. Therefore, as long as he kept his present course they were pretty certain to be on the right trail. It behooved him to change his methods and resort to subterfuge.

As a matter of fact, he did not want to throw the posse completely off the scent. As he rode he began to build certain plans that just might work out, with a fair degree of luck. They might take him as far as the mesa, or they might bring him to a stand a great deal short of that point. Anyhow, the less riding he had to do the better it would be and the less trouble he would have in getting back to town.

The thing for me to do, he decided, is to swing off and double back until I get in the rear of that bunch of thieves. They'll never suspect me of trailing them. Which is exactly the right course for me to follow. I can't accomplish much until I know how many's in that gang. If they should split up in bunches I might get somewhere.

On he went. To the right of him, a quarter mile, he saw the glimmer of W. W. Offut's ranch lights. Another hour of this steady gait passed and he swung to miss Lestrade's home fences. Still onward he proceeded until he saw, looming up in the dark like a misshapen ghost of the desert, the old, abandoned Twenty Mile homestead shacks. The land here began to swell and fall in sharper, more abrupt folds, affording him a greater measure of protection. Going fifty yards beyond the shanty he stopped the pony in a convenient hollow and left it. Then he climbed up to a commanding piece of ground and lay flat on his stomach.

The faint reverberation rose to a distinct thrumming and then died away entirely. In the silver gray shadows he saw three horesmen walking their animals around the corner of the shanty. The rest of the posse was nowhere to be seen or heard. At some point back on the trail they had turned off. The trio in front of him stopped. Two of them dismounted and seemed to hold a parley. Ballou could hear the rise and fall of their speech, but nothing else. A match flared and made a short, gleaming curve upward. By that instant's light he recognized the man in the saddle.

Lestrade.

He crawled forward, maneuvering so that he presently had the shack between him and the three. This accomplished, he rose and boldly walked forward until he stood in the protection of a wall. As he arrived, he heard Beauty Chatto's voice rumbling along, irate and threatening.

"Fine mess, ain't it? Long as this yahoo's floating free around these parts you and us has got trouble a-plenty and no mistake. What was all the delay about? You had him right where you wanted him. Why didn't you organize a necktie bee and yank him out of jail?"

"Violence," Lestrade responded, "ain't the best policy unless a man's got to come to it. Any jury would have took care of him proper. Even so, I did have it all planned to have the boys pull him out and get rid of him. But there was a little accident. I don't know exactly what Offut's got to do with Lin Ballou, but he's the man that helped him get away."

"Well, if old man Offut's stringing along with Ballou, you can bet your neck Ballou is exactly what I thought he was in the first place. A spy of the committee's. I wish I'd kept that hunch. Instead, he plays me for a sucker and I bite. Then you arrange that damnfool idea, and now we're all in a jackpot. Why, say, Nig and me is liable to get picked off the minute we put a foot in the mesa. Fine fix, ain't it?"

"He's got to be stopped," Lestrade announced decisively.

"Well, why didn't you stop him when you had it in your hands?" Beauty demanded, more and more belligerent.

"Hold onto yourself," Lestrade countered coldly. "If you boys won't do it, I'll go and fetch the crew from the ranch and we'll get a whole posse on his tracks again."

'"Now," Chatto growled, "that ain't a bright idea either. You know nothing about trailing. Want to scare him clean across the state line? Nig and me knows where he holes in. We'll get him. But just bear in mind that we won't fiddle around. We'll get him cold. That'll be an end of the trouble. If you'd give me the office to put him away in the first place all this'd been avoided. The trouble is, you want Ballou killed but you ain't never had the gizzard to come out and say so."

"I don't know as I'll take that, Beauty," Lestrade said, turning in the saddle. "Keep your talk to yourself."

"Keep hell!" Beauty retorted. "I'll talk how I please. You better sing low to me."

"Yes, listen, my friend, I can put you where you'll have a long time to think about your words."

Beauty's body swayed forward. "Don't you threaten me! I got a few secrets I could tell myself."

"Secrets!" Lestrade cried. "Why, you fool, do you think I'm a man to leave evidence against me in the hands of such scum as you? Oh, no! There's not a single scrap of paper or a single pen mark you've got to bind me with."

"Huh. There's other things besides paper. If Nig and me was ever caught we'd turn evidence. Two witnesses is enough to tie you in a knot. But I've had you figured as a double-crosser for a long spell. What about the brand irons that's hid away up by the six pines? And here's something else: Your foreman knows how many cows you shipped each time. I know how many I added to the East Flats pens each time. The stockyard man at Portland knows how many you sold him. Well, if it comes to a showdown, these things could be checked up by the cattle committee. That foreman of yours is a squealer for certain. He'd cross his grandma if he thought it'd save his hide."

"Figured it out to a fraction, didn't you," Lestrade said. '"Well, Beauty, you'll never squeal. It means your neck if you do."

"No more will you," Beauty said. "I'm just showing you where to head in. Don't try to hush me."

Nig, who seldom spoke, broke in at this point to act as peacemaker. "'Tain't no time for a quarrel. We got a job to do."

"Right," Lestrade said, turning to his horse. "Get it done. I'll see you boys taken care of. But don't come to town in company with any of the Double Jay outfit. I got to warn you on that." He started away.

Beauty had not yet got the whole of his grievance stated and he moved into the night, one hand on Lestrade's stirrup. "There's another matter I want to—" His words were lost as he strode off. Nig, as if fearful of trouble, followed.

Here was the golden opportunity Lin Ballou wished for. Slipping around the shanty, he stepped through the open door and into the ink-black room. He knew his way perfectly in these quarters, for he had spent many nights under the shelter of the battered, half-caved-in roof. To itinerant travelers or ranch hands bent on long journeys, it was a well known refuge when darkness found them short of their destination. Built many years ago by a homesteader with more courage than resources, it had been soon abandoned to its fate—a single-room stopover shelter with a few rough pieces of furniture, two bunks and an old cast-iron stove.

Once upon a time there had been an attic, but wayfarers in want of fuel had stripped most of the boards away from the rafters. A few still remained, however, and Lin, casting about for a means of hiding himself, struck upon this place as the best. He found a chair and stood on it, at the same time gripping a rafter. Swinging upward, he crawled over to a corner of the place and lay flat on the boards. It was concealment, but not much more.

He had no more than reached this vantage point when he heard the Chatto brothers moving back into the shanty, talking. One of them came cautiously through the door, silhouetted against the gray shadows.

"You suppose we can light up?" queried a voice which he recognized as Nig's.

Beauty, unsaddling the horses, thought it was safe enough and said so. "Lin, he's ten miles east of here by now. That boy likes the mesa. We'll follow his tracks in the morning till we hit rock. After that I got a good idea."

"You're always full of ideas," Nig muttered. He was the milder and more practical of the two. Standing directly under Ballou, he lit a match and applied it to the wick of a lamp that from time to time had been supplied with kerosene by thoughtful ranch hands. The dim rays flared out, doing little more than cast the upper half of the shanty into a still blacker gloom. Beauty tramped in with the gear and threw it on the floor.

"Light a fire, Nig. It's getting chilly."

"What with? Ain't nothing to bum unless we take the table."

Beauty raised his eyes toward the few remaining attic boards and Lin saw the dark, surly face explore the reaches of his hiding place. But the lamp light's glare blinded the man for the time. Moving forward, he stretched his arm, trying to reach the rafters.

"We'll bring down one of them boards."

"Too much trouble," Nig said. "Roll up in your blanket. We got to get a night's sleep if we aim to travel hard in the morning."

Beauty changed his mind and planted himself on a bunk. "That Lestrade jasper better not pull anything on me. I'll take a shot at him. Sometimes I think it'd be a damn good idea. His head's too full of schemes. Nig, he'd sell you or me for a plugged nickel if he thought it'd help him."

Nig was not without a certain impartiality. "So'd you and me sell him if it'd help us. It don't do for us to fall out with him. Means money. You always got a chip on your shoulder lately. What's eating you?"

Beauty took off his gunbelt and draped it over the corner of his bunk, making sure that the butt of the weapon was within easy reach. Removing his boots, he wrapped himself as tightly as he could in the saddle blanket and settled himself at full length on the bunk.

"I tell you, Nig, this coimtry is sure getting civilized. 'Taint no place for you and me any more. I been feeling it in my bones there's going to be a big bust pretty soon. Know why? I'll tell you. When W. W. Offut gets to dickering with gents like Ballou it means there's something wrong. Ballou knows about us. He's prob'ly told Offut. I ain't anxious to attract Offut's attention, nohow."

"I'd as lief tackle a nest of snakes myself," Nig confessed.

Beauty raised himself on an elbow, face settling in brutal lines. "First we're going to drill Ballou. Then we move to new range. If it should happen you and me is lassoed before we move, then I swear I'll put a bullet through Lestrade somehow."

Lin gripped his revolver and with infinite care raised himself inch by inch. He had full view of Beauty, but Nig was out of his vision, still near the stove. As he moved, Nig crossed over to the door and closed it, belt in one arm and a boot in the other. At that moment Lin stood on his knees and threw down the muzzle of his gun, issuing a sharp metallic warning.

"Stay put, both of youl Don't move an inch! Nig—drop that belt!"

Nig obeyed instantly, his body assuming the rigidity of a statue. But Beauty was of tougher disposition. In a flash he had rolled from the bunk, hand yanking the gun from its holster. He struck the floor with a resounding thud and tried to bring his weapon into play. But the blanket he had wrapped himself in was his undoing.

Ballou sent a bullet within a foot of the broad easy mark on the floor.

"Steady now, or I'll let you have it. Drag that hand away. That's the boy. Seeing as you're so good at rolling, just roll right on toward the door. Uh-huh. Keep going, Beauty. Now stand up beside your handsome brother."

Lin dropped out of the attic and scooped Beauty's weapon from the floor. "Now both of you slide around toward the stove."

Beauty's face was a battleground of emotion. His thin lips drew back from long, yellow teeth and his eyes were wide and flaring. "You can't get away with it," he challenged. "You can't handle me and Nig. Better clear out peaceful before we kill you."

"Always making a bluff of it, eh, Beauty? Don't you know me better than that? I don't scare easy. Now cut out that fiddling with your hands. Step around toward the stove. Lift your feet! I want you alive, amigo, but if I can't take you that way I'll shoot you dead."

Nig moved docilely, but Beauty's every motion was a protest. He scowled with each step, stopped to curse his captor and had to be prompted with the gun muzzle before he'd move again. The wide, bold eyes raced around the room as if seeking a way to challenge Ballou's attention. He stared at the rafters and squinted shrewdly at the smoky lamp on the table. It was plain to see that he had set his mind against being taken. Ballou watched him closely. There was no more dangerous character in the breadth and length of the valley than this ugly, stubborn Chatto. Suddenly the man's swart face broke into a grin and he looked past Ballou to the door.

"Well, that's the time I foxed you. Thought you'd get me, eh? Old Beauty's too slick. There's a gun pointed at the middle of your back. Come in, Jake."

Ballou resisted a powerful urge to turn his head. The door seemed to creak behind him. The following moment was long as eternity. Nothing came of it. No voice commanded him to drop his gun. He summoned a grin of his own.

"That's an old trick, amigo. I cut my eyeteeth on it. Now, are you going to herd up to the stove or ain't you?"

Beauty's face mirrored a disappointed rage. The man fought every inch of the way, summoning all the guile of his nature, recalling all the old tricks he had learned. Within arm's reach of the table he stopped and issued another threat. "I ain't going to be took, Lin. That's flat. You can't kill me because you ain't got nothing against me. There's a murder charge staring you in the face if you pull that trigger. Who'd listen to the excuses of a cattle rusder? No, you can't do it."

"No? Use your memory, Beauty. When did I ever say anything I didn't back up? What I said about taking you is gospel truth. As for murder, I'll chance it. Either Lin Ballou's the goat or else the Chattos are. I can tell you now it's not going to be me. Sit down in that chair, Beauty, I aim to tie you with your own rope. Careful now."

He slid aside somewhat to reach for Chatto's lariat on the floor. As he stooped he saw the big man rub his palm against the side of his shirt and wipe the sweat from his face.

A glance passed between the brothers—a glance so significant that Ballou straightened without getting the rope.

"Careful, boys," he warned.

Nig moved from the stove with a short, jerky motion and at the same time emitted a loud bellow. As Lin looked his way Beauty struck the table with his arm, and sent it crashing on its side. The lamp chimney broke into a thousand pieces and there was a great flare of light, followed by darkness. By that momentary flare Ballou saw Beauty Chatto's great body leaping toward him.

He did not want to kill the man. Beauty was worth a lot more as a living witness than as a dead body. So, as he sent a shot crashing through the shadows, he aimed somewhat aside from the mark, hoping to wing his captive and stop the rush. He knew he had aimed well, for he heard a sound that was half a grunt and half a cry. Then he was struck with a terrible force and sent back against the wall of the shanty so hard that every board in the place rattled. It knocked the wind completely from his body. In that moment he was completely paralyzed, sick from head to feet and straining to breathe. There was not an ounce of strength in him.

A fist crashed into his face and an arm wrenched the gun from his right hand. He was thrown to the floor with Beauty atop him. A knee plunged into his chest, and as he rolled aside the butt of Beauty's weapon splintered the boards where his head had been a moment before. In the daze of half consciousness he heard the big man laboring out oath after oath. Beauty's breath poured into his face. Nig's feet seemed to stumble back and forth at the far end of the room, not venturing closer.

He had fended as best he could with weak, ineffectual elbows. Presently his breath came back on a tide of reviving strength. In his left hand he still held another gun—the one he had taken from Beauty's bunk. The upper half of the arm was pinioned, but he threw all of his weight into a rolling move and freed himself, aiming a blow across the darkness that struck Beauty along the cheek. A desperate fury hardened his muscles. Raising his legs, he sent Beauty off balance, rolled and got the man clear of his body.

There was an instant of deceptive quiet, followed by a shot that crashed like thunder against his ears. A train of flame passed across his temple and powder stung his nostrils. Beauty rolled against him. Another shot rocked the shadows. After this a kind of calm settled down, broken by a long, hiccoughing sigh. Nig Chatto's feet continued to tramp back and forth on the far side of the room.

"Light the light," Beauty mumbled. "I got him."

One more explosion set the furniture to rattling. A match flared for a moment and veered fitfully. By its light, Nig saw a man lying quiet on the floor, blood streaming out of a temple.