Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Ernest Haycox - Ernest Haycox - Страница 73

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Clint suspected a trap and retreated from the cabin in long, swift backward paces. Yet it appeared unreasonably strange that the trustworthy and matter-of-fact Fitzgibbon would pull away without powerful incentive. Striking around the cabin, Clint poked into the barn, angled across the meadow and came back to crouch down against the earth. Yet as the moments dragged by he heard only the sigh of the wind, the chant of the night creatures and the mysterious undertone of the prairie night. His own subtle senses, which he trusted so greatly, were quiescent; the meadow was empty. He went inside the cabin and ventured to strike a match, but the flare of light told him nothing. No signs, no apparent messages—nothing. Box M had departed, Bowlus had likewise gone, and Heck Seastrom was overdue.

Clint went out and climbed into the saddle, tarrying there with half-lifted reins while he turned the problem in his mind. Fitz might have decided to hit Shander a backhand wallop, he might have been driven off by a fresh attack from the renegades, he might have grown nervous and shifted ground, or he might have returned to Box M. None of these possibilities appealed to the fast-thinking Clint excepting the last. He recalled Haggerty's remark in the sheriff's office. Haggerty had been sent down to warn the Box M contingent. Whatever the warning and whoever had issued it, this empty meadow seemed to indicate Fitz had acted on its urgency and high-tailed for headquarters.

"Seems like straight thinking," opined Clint and gathered the reins. "A little queer, though, that Fitz didn't leave some word behind. Maybe he didn't want to expose his plans to some wandering Shander rider. Which is exactly why I hadn't better leave a note for Heck. He'll have to figure it out."

With that, he straightened down the meadow, let the horse pick a path through the trees and a little later lined across the open prairie for Box M. He regretted leaving Seastrom on his own. But time pressed, the night was better than half gone and there was much riding yet to do. As he clipped off the miles, he tried to piece together the tag ends of information his eavesdropping behind the sheriff's office had brought him. He had no idea where Fort Carson was, nor what plan Shander and Curly had agreed upon; but the fact that Curly had suggested a plan was more or less an indication that they meant to smash Box M hard and fast at some particular point. That was the egotistic and impatient Curly's style.

"The piece of a licking they took tonight has sort of brought things to a head," reflected Clint. "It's stung 'em. They'll hit from the shoulder. Looks to me as if things have smoked around to a downright spell of thunder and lightning. As for Haggerty, I'm not much surprised. No telling how much damage he's already done the ranch; and he'll probably try to do a great deal more. If he comes riding back, I can make a handy tool out of him, to carry false hints. But I wonder if he'll come back? Tonight's affair in Angels might have made him cagey."

So the intervening desert fell behind and Box M's shadowed outline loomed directly in front of him. No lights broke over the earth; but his approach had been detected, for he saw a silhouette cantering across his path. He slowed and sent out a musical hail. In reply he was arrested bluntly.

"Draw in. Who is it?"

"Charterhouse."

"Come ahead slow. I don't make your voice."

The horses came face on. A Box M rider leaned cautiously forward from his saddle and muttered, "Strike a match." Clint obeyed. The guard relaxed, "Where's Seastrom?"

"He didn't show up and I didn't feel like there was time to waste. Fitzgibbon pull in?"

"Yeah. Manners come back with twenty riders and we buried old John. Manners seemed to be plumb uneasy about something, for he told Sherry somebody had better ride towards Angels and draw Fitz back in case Shander made a strike at us. So Haggerty went to deliver the message. Why ain't he with you? He told Fitz he'd stay at the Bowlus place and wait for you and Heck."

"Who sent him away from the ranch?" pressed Clint.

"Why, I reckon he just took it upon himself to go," countered the other. "No—I call to mind Buck Manners pointed him out for the trip. Why ain't he with you?"

"You'll have to ask Haggerty next time you see him. What happened to Bowlus?"

"Fitz made him come in so's he wouldn't stop no stray lead."

Clint turned away and rode for the main house. Another guard came beside him and dropped away. He crossed the porch and went into the dark living room, calling quietly, "Sherry."

She was in an adjoining bedroom, but not asleep, for a quick answer came back. "Is it Clint? Wait there. I'll be right out."

Clint felt a chair in front of him and settled into it with a swift realization that he was extraordinarily tired. The events of the day had taken the sap out of him; and now that he let his mind play back upon them all the grim accidents flashed before him with a startling clarity and force. Compressed within sunrise and midnight was disaster, death, struggle and treachery; enough for an average life. Yet it was but the beginning. There was doubtless more to come, more death, more treachery and heartbreak and more weary hours of riding. His head slipped against the chair's tall back and his eyes, heavy with fatigue, dropped. When he started suddenly up to his feet, there was lamplight in the room and Sherry Nickum, tall and gravely beautiful in a bed robe, stood before him.

"You were dead to the world," she said softly. "I waited five minutes before I had the heart to waken you. Sam is outside. Let him put away your horse. You go to bed."

"Not yet."

"You have earned it, Clint."

"Maybe, but I doubt if any of us will be able to realize on our earnings in the next few days. Sherry, who sent Haggerty to bring Fitz's party back here?"

"Buck Manners came for...for the funeral, Clint. He had been to Angels and he seemed worried with what he saw there. He felt there was some bigger piece of trouble coming and he wanted me to draw in all the men to the place. I was not sure it was wise to interfere with your plans, Clint, and didn't exactly want to do it. But he insisted and overrode my objections. He told Haggerty to go—and go in a hurry. I'm sorry if it spoiled anything you had in mind."

"It might have," replied Clint somberly. "But I wasn't thinking of that. What time did Haggerty leave here?"

"Before sundown. Why?"

"I am just trying to settle a few queer items in my head," muttered Clint. "Is Manners here now?"

"He left for his place to get his crew posted. He thought the renegades might try to attack him, too. But he said he'd come back here before daylight himself."

Fitzgibbon, sleepy-eyed, tramped into the room. "Where's Seastrom and Haggerty?"

"Close the door, Fitz, and come over here."

Fitz did as he was told. Clint let his voice fall. "Seastrom and I got into Angels. I heard a few things. Seastrom was on the other side of town and I guess he got into trouble, for trouble developed. When I got back to my horse Heck had already pulled out. But he wasn't in the clearing and I couldn't wait for him. What did Haggerty tell you?" "Why," reflected Fitz, "he told me to beat it for home in a hurry. I bucked, but he gave the orders in Sherry's name, so I couldn't do less. He said he'd stay and wait for you and Heck."

Clint calculated the hours swiftly. "So he left here at sunset and didn't reach you until after the scrap. That's around three- four hours he took to come on a trip that could be covered in an hour and a half or less of fast riding. I'd like to know where he detoured between the beginning and the finish."

"Yeah, but where is he?" asked Fitz. Both he and Sherry were watching Clint with aroused interest.

Clint trailed his voice to just above a whisper. "He didn't wait for me. He came into Angels and visited Studd, Curly and Shander. I was listening in. He's crooked! He's sold out. He's been on the other side of the fence for gosh knows how long. I think he tipped off our location in Bowlus' clearing to Curly and caused us to have a stiff battle. He might have been the instrument that would have wiped out Seastrom's party—only he didn't know that I had made a wide circle in the prairie and come down to back Seastrom up. I knew somebody in Box M would blab but I wasn't prepared to find Haggerty the man."

A small sigh escaped Sherry. Fitz, however, was too old a hand to display emotion. Nothing much surprised him and nothing much put him off balance. By and by he said, "It's possible. Anything's possible. He was a good foreman, but hard and sometimes uncivil."

Clint turned to Sherry. "Who was it that rode out of the yard right after I left with my party?"

"I didn't notice," said Sherry.

"Somebody did. There's more than one leak around here. Haggerty had some pets, didn't he?"

"A-huh," agreed Fitz.

"Then we'll have to keep an eye on them, too. Where's Fort Carson?"

"Fifteen miles toward Dead Man's Range. In fact, right in under Dead Man Ridge. Why?"

Clint walked suddenly to the door and opened it. But there was nobody on the porch. He came back. "Shander and Curly have agreed on some sort of a play over there tomorrow night. I don't know what, but I'm going to find out."

"Um," grunted Fitz. Clint held his peace while the stunted puncher followed some thought methodically to its end. "We got a spread of cattle that way."

"That might be it. Well, I'm going to line out in the next ten minutes and hole up in some convenient arroyo yonder. They won't get active until dark comes, but I'll miss my guess if there won't be some sort of traffic during daylight. I mean to see. You get me a fresh horse, will you, Fitz?"

Fitz moved off. Clint added a swift—"and tell nobody where I'm going."

Sherry broke in. "Not alone, Clint?"

"Only a one-man job," he countered. "I've found that I work better alone on things like this."

"You're dead tired now."

"I'll get a catnap before daylight," he assured her.

She turned. "Come to the kitchen. You haven't eaten since breakfast."

He followed her through the door into the gallery-like kitchen. A small fire burned in the stove and the huge coffee pot simmered slowly, as it had done day and night for unnumbered years in the ancient tradition of the ranch. She poured him a cup and deftly robbed the cupboards to make a meal. In the silence he watched her move about the place—gracefully competent, features so sadly wistful. The auburn hair fell loosely down over one temple; light caught in the gray, level eyes when they turned his way, and suddenly he looked down, tremendously disturbed. She sat in a chair across the table while he ate, saying nothing until he had quite finished. Then she tipped her chin and spoke.

"You have always been lonesome, Clint? Always so sober with yourself?"

"A man goes along, doing what's to be done," he drawled quietly. "When I was younger, I used to ride to town with the boys, drink my share, create the customary trouble, and come home with the idea I had spent a large evening. That's being young, Sherry. It only comes once—and goes soon enough."

"You talk like an old man, yet you haven't reached twenty- eight."

"Now how did you know—"

A small, sad smile lightened the fine curve of her mouth. "Because your eyes, your face, your voice give you away. You only think youth is gone. That is because you have always taken responsibilities other men pushed off on you. Just as you are taking Box M's responsibilities now."

"I reckon I never was young," he mused. "Seems like I always had a job to do."

"Because others always found out you were able, Clint. Do you realize what it meant when Dad took so completely to you. Do you know what it means when the men of this ranch—all jealous of their own abilities—knuckle down to work for you?"

"Somebody's got to do it, Sherry."

"Yes, somebody. But not anybody."

Fitz came back, dragging his heels. "One of my own string out there for you, Clint. Now what else?"

"When dusk comes tomorrow evening," said Clint slowly, "you saddle twenty men of this outfit and burn the dust for Fort Carson. I'll be there waiting. And tell nobody where you're going. Nobody, Fitz."

"Remarks received and noted," grunted the old puncher.

The two men and Sherry moved, back to the front room. Fitz had an idea. "Supposing Haggerty comes back, figuring he ain't been discovered. What then? Tie him up?"

"He won't come," said Clint. "That's my guess. But if he does, tell him I want him to ride with you. We shall see."

Fitz halted. But he saw something about these two people that changed his mind and he turned quietly out of the room. Sherry laid a hand on Clint's broad shoulder. "I have said this before, but it will bear repeating. Take good care of yourself."

He nodded, watching her. He was unaware that his face betrayed his inner emotions; but the girl saw something and she lifted her eyes to him with a strange flicker rising and subsiding in them. "And," she went on, "I will not change your plans again, nor order the men any other way than you already have. No matter what is said or who says it."

"I'll try to see you don't regret your confidence," said he. He stood quite still, swayed by the picture she made; it was with an effort that he wheeled, left the room and got on the horse. But out of ingrained caution Clint swept the shadows before lifting the reins and speaking. "She goes as she lays, Fitz. No matter what happens."

"A-huh," agreed the stolid Fitzgibbon.

Clint rode off, the horse beneath him restive with energy. As he turned the corner he looked around to see the girl framed in light, watching. She lifted her hand. He answered it, and fatigue strangely scurried out of him. Straight east he pointed and one hour later was lost in the rolling leagues; he dipped into an arroyo, dismounted and picketed his horse, himself rolling up in the saddle blanket on the rocky bed. Having achieved his immediate purpose, which was to get within striking distance of Fort Carson without being spied upon, he fell soon asleep. But it seemed only a moment later that he was wide awake and staring up to the paling stars in the sky. A horseman was drumming up from Box M direction; the man came abreast at a distance of about fifty yards and sped by, never veering. Clint saw the momentary blur of that rider's shadow from the rim of the arroyo, and he went back to his blanket extraordinarily thoughtful.

"Wonder if more information about me has leaked out? Seems like this country is shot with deceit. There goes a man in a mighty big hurry for Dead Man. A crook running to warn crooks. Appears—"

Far off, a lone shot's echo floated back, a signal in this mystery-ridden night. Clint shrugged his shoulders and slept again.

Buck Manners, riding alone and hurriedly, came into Box M quarters no more than a half hour after Clint pulled out. The yellow-haired ranch owner replied impatiently to the challenge of the guard and even more impatiently when he was halted again at the porch. "Fitz and the men back?" he asked.

"A-huh," said the guard.

"Everything go all right?"

"Was a scrap with Curly," said the guard. "We lost Pink, and Lee died on us later. But we put a worse crimp in Curly. Charterhouse come into the fight unexpected. That was his little surprise."

"The man is full of surprises," muttered Buck Manners. "I don't know that I approve of these brainstorms of his when they cost two men per throw."

There was a light burning in the living room, and Manners, knocking lightly, walked quickly in. Sherry sat in front of the fireplace with a blanket wrapped around her.

Her troubled face turned to him and then dropped away. Manners pressed his lips together at this lack of interest.

But he came over to warm his hands by the blaze, letting the silence run on for several minutes. Finally he drew himself straight.

"Sherry, you know me pretty well, don't you? I've been visiting Box M since I was one year old. You and I grew up together. You know the kind of a fellow I am—you've made up your mind about me long ago."

"I think so, Buck," she said slowly, still gazing into the flames.

"Then why in the name of heaven won't you let me take this burden off your shoulders? Look what is happening. All this fine scheming of Charterhouse's—"

"Don't belittle him, Buck. He walks with his head up and his heart clear."

"I have no desire to belittle the gentleman," explained Manners with a rather formal courtesy. "You know that is not my way. If I ever feel criticism for a man, I am willing to say as much to his face. I know nothing about Charterhouse's heart, but I think I've got a right to pick flaws in his judgment."

"He is fighting for this ranch, Buck."

"So indeed—but with what result? Two dead men and Curly's sure and certain revenge. It is poor tactics. It will not help Box M."

She lifted her eyes at that. "Then you know what had happened tonight?"

His easy-going carriage had been set aside; suddenly she saw clearly a part of his nature that hitherto had been suppressed—a part that she had sensed only in passing flashes. This Buck Manners was a dominant man, proud of his strength, a little grim, promising action. He spoke bluntly, the words striking clear and sharp in the room.

"I told you once that I could relieve you of all this burden. You saw fit to doubt it and put your trust in Charterhouse, a fellow who knows nothing of this country. It wasn't my place to explain what I could do. But tell you now, Sherry, that I have more irons in the fire than you imagine. Nothing happens in this country I don't know of in short order. It's been pride with me. I have my own scouts out, my own men placed where they can do me the most good. That fight in the Bowlus meadow happened around nine o'clock. I knew of it one hour later. My dear girl, I can fight."

Her glance fastened more securely on him. "You have never hinted anything like this before, Buck. Did Dad ever know—"

He shook his head, and she thought he was regretting his confession. He went on doggedly. "It's been my hobby, a secret one. I have a great ranch, given to me without much work on my own part. But I have sweated and schemed and worked to establish some sort of underground supervision over Casabella. Those fools—Shander and the rest—don't know that I have their little tricky actions tagged and registered day by day. Frankly, Sherry, I have been content to collect information so far. For while your father lived I always regarded him as the boss of this county. But now, now that things have changed, I am moving into this struggle. I am going to boss Casabella, my dear girl. Before I get through they will jump through my hoop, or get out, or die!"

"Why, Buck, I never dreamed—"

He checked his swift eagerness. "Nor anybody else," he said more quietly. "I only tell you because I think you ought to let me do the fighting for you. I have tried to stand by and wait until this bitter business was gone from your heart. But I think we ought to be honest enough to look straight ahead. Sherry, I think you ought to marry me right away. I'd feel a thousand times easier, knowing that you were where I could keep a better watch on you and more protection around you. I could drive ahead without worry. This is going to be a bad fight."

"Buck, I'm sorry—"

He was darkly displeased, struggling with temper. "So you feel differently?"

A long silence. Her eyes fell away, a light in them slowly withdrawing. "Yes," said she quite softly. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Charterhouse?"

"I—I don't know, Buck."

"I do," he grunted. "Better if the man had never seen this country."

She had a swift answer for that. "Buck, you must not turn against him now! You're not a mean man, not small. You'll back him up—you must."

"Take my licking and grin, is that it? Sherry, you don't know me so well if you think it's that easy. I have waited a long time for you. I'd rip this country end to end to keep you. I fight for the things I've won. Let Charter-house show he's fit to have you."

"No, Buck. You don't mean that. You will be his friend. You've got to be."

The anger and the stiffness went out of him suddenly and after a long interval he nodded his blond head. "Yeah, I suppose. Grin and wish him luck. I have never taken a licking in my life but now I've got to take the worst of all. There never was a man who could match my muscle till he came along. He smiled when he did it, and I could have used the gun on him for that. Sherry, I've got my weaknesses. Some you've never seen. Pride, ambition. Here he comes and cuts the ground from under me without lifting his voice. Lord. I never thought any man on earth would do it to me."

"But you'll be his friend, Buck?"

"Yeah," he muttered dryly. "Much as it's possible to be."

She switched the subject. "You've heard about Haggerty?"

His interest flashed up sharply. "What about him?"

She seemed to debate something in her mind. "He—hasn't come back yet."

"That's all?" he demanded, studying her.

"No-o. Clint managed to get into Angels and overheard Haggerty talking with Shander and Studd and Curly. Haggerty's crooked, Buck."

"Crooked? I don't believe it! Well, hold on. It may be so at that. Haggerty's not an open-handed man. Funny streak in him. You're sure about it?"

"Clint heard too much to doubt it."

"That means there may be others about the ranch then," muttered Manners. "You'll have to be careful. Keep your crew on hand all the time. Don't let them go on any wild-goose chases. You weren't planning on any attack, were you?"

She stared at the fire thoughtfully; and committed her first deliberate evasion. "I don't know what Clint's plans are."

"You trust him too much," fretted Manners. "Where is he now?"

"He took a fresh horse—" admitting it reluctantly, "and rode toward Dead Man alone."

Manners rolled a cigarette. Silence came over the broad room; these two people, so long friends, so long without secrets, were slowly drifting apart. A heavy wall of constraint fell between them.

Manners spoke sadly. "See, you don't even trust me as you once did. When it comes to that pass, Sherry, the old times are gone. Yet you ask me to like Charterhouse and support him, even when I doubt his wisdom and know nothing of his past. And there's nothing for me to do but say I will. Whatever happens, any time, any place, you only have to call and I'll come. A sorry ending, after all I'd hoped. Let it be so. I'm riding home."

He strode for the door and was on the verge of passing out before her answer caught and stopped and turned him. "I had not meant to break off our engagement, Buck. Not tonight. I wasn't sure of myself. I couldn't decide. Yet in the past five minutes I know it best. Only—you won't think bad of me because of it, will you?"

"I'd be a putty man if I said it didn't hurt, if I didn't want to fight this thing out and make somebody suffer. But there will never be a time in my life when I don't consider you the sweetest, finest—"

He broke off. She saw him then as she was never to see him again. The lamplight reached out to touch his slim, symmetrical body. The corn-yellow hair was a little disheveled, and his clothes were dusty; but he stood there a man, vital instincts surging in him, eyes flashing, and all his features set in fighting lines. A gentleman of the land, every inch. The door closed and he was in the saddle and the drum of his pony's flying hoofs came rhythmically back, fading into the eastern edge of the world. Sherry's small hands gripped the arms of the chair as she listened, and her cheeks paled perceptibly. In that headlong tempo of a man and beast there was something ominous, something dreadfully disturbing.