Читать книгу Complete Novels - Ernest Haycox - Страница 8

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He traveled all that night, pushing the horses along at a steady pace. Beyond daylight he stopped for an hour's rest, ate a can of tomatoes, and continued easterly. The base of the mesa drew nearer and the ground grew more and more barren, seamed with dry creek beds and littered with boulders. It was a country beyond the power of any homesteader to improve, fit only for the poisonous creatures that crawled and burrowed in its sandy soil, and almost too dismal and desolate for the occasional passer-by.

But it's good for something, Lin reminded himself. The day's not far off when certain folks'll be tramping across it, bent on business.

Dusk found him camped on the first steep pitches of the mesa. And, as he had done a hundred times before in the same spot, he ate a cold meal in the dark and rolled up in his blankets twenty yards from the duffel, with the rifle close by.

Nor did he light a blaze in the morning, but journeyed on up the slopes until at last he stood on the mesa's rim and looked across a valley curtained by heat fog to that far-off irregular patch of earth representing Powder. The town did not hold his interest so much as a small trail of dust in the more immethate foreground, which, after a half hour's patient watching, proved to be the wake of a wagon going north on the Snake River Road. Thus satisfied, Lin left the panorama behind him, dipping into the corrugated sand and clay surface of the mesa.

Beauty Chatto'll probably be ahead of me, he mused. He's got a fresh horse and he always travels fast. Besides, he knew I was coming in right away, and it's natural he'd want to push in first. I'd better watch the front more.

He pulled the rifle from its boot and laid it across the saddle, studying the hilly contours that rose before him. It was a region admirably fashioned for ambuscade: at no place was there more than three or four hundred yards' level interval between the sudden convolutions of land. Ballou, on reaching some such eminence, had only a partial view of the way ahead before plunging down into the succeeding hollow. Thus he proceeded.

Toward noon he changed his direction and began a zigzagging from right to left. One particularly bald and prominent dome was the mark by which he steered, although instead of going straight toward it he bore well off to the right and dismounted. Nearby, on a small knoll, he lay for twenty minutes or so, sharply scanning the adjoining ridges. Satisfied that he wasn't being watched, he made a complete circle of the dome and then struck directly down a gully. Presently horses and rider dropped out of sight; the gully shot downward at a sharp angle and a draught of air struck Ballou's face. Turning a shelf of rock, he found himself before a cave that was high enough and wide enough to admit both himself and his two animals. Riding into it, he came to a stop and got down.

A more secluded spot could not have been found in all the mesa. The location and shape of it concealed him from any eye, nor could it be discovered by chance wayfarers, unless through blind accident they might have followed the tortuous path around the dome and down the gully.

The ashes of many campfires littered the floor. A little farther back a table and chairs of lodgepole had been constructed, and still rearward were two bunks, built against the rock wall. It was quite evidently a rendezvous of some permanence, and to Lin at least it was a home hardly less important in the last several weeks than his own down in the sultry valley. Stripping the horses, he picketed them at the mouth of the cave, fed them and then built a small fire over which he cooked himself the first good meal in two days. The supply of provisions he stowed away in a kind of rock cupboard. After smoking a reflective cigarette, he turned in for a sound sleep, the rifle within arm's reach.

He awoke, fresh and bouyant, well before dawn. Going to the cave's entrance, he saw the stars gleaming, bright and cold, and heard the swishing of the wind as it passed directly over the gully. The horses moved patiently around their pickets. The nearer rubbed his muzzle against Lin's shirt and pulled at the rope.

"Boy," Lin said, running a hand along the animal's neck, "you get a rest today, which I reckon you won't mind at all When it comes to slogging along without complaint you'd make most any critter on two legs ashamed of himself. Get out of my pocket, you rascal, I haven't got an ounce of sugar. If I hadn't been rushed away from the valley so sudden like, I might've thought to bring some. But that's not our fault either. Anyhow, oats'll have to hold you for a spell. Now, let's get to business."

The affair at the schoolhouse still rankled when he thought of it. But here in the cold, crisp dark, surrounded on all sides by the mystery of nature's handiwork, and catching at intervals the strong, aromatic scent of pine and sage, he was soothed to a certain degree of tranquillity. The mesa never failed him when he had asked peace and comfort of it. Towering high above the valley's heat and the valley's strife, it was a sure and swift healer of souls. To Lin Ballou it was a refuge where he might be thrown back to his own resources and for a time live in the closest contact with the earth.

But this day he had business to do. To the east, morning thrust its first dim beam of light above the horizon. Turning back, Lin kindled a fire and made himself flapjacks and coffee. He gave both horses a good measure of oats and saddled the riding animal. From the rock cupboard he drew a bottle and a few small pieces of iron. Thrusting them in his pocket, he stamped out the fire and led the way up the gully. There was need this day for a good deal of speed. Mounting, he swung east once more and began a long journey around the bald dome. It was somewhat cold. Throwing away his cigarette, he drew up the collar of his coat and broke into a subdued lament about the cowboy who wished to be buried in the lone prairie. The pony stuck up his ears and moved with sure feet among the rocks.

To Lin Ballou it was familiar country. The map of it stood quite plainly in his mind. On his right hand, not more than a mile distant, he might find a bunch of Double Jay stock. To the left, double that distance, was the summer ground of W. W. Offut's brand—that very same gentleman who had refused to speak to him in Powder. And at various parts of the mesa other herds were grazing. Farther east the mesa took a sharp drop and merged with the Flats.

At this particular time he had another point of the mesa in mind. In the paling shadows a clump of trees stood silhouetted by themselves, and toward this he moved. Within twenty feet of them he left the horse and crawled upward until he had gained a place somewhat sheltered by their spindling trunks. Directly before him the land formed another of the innumerable hollows to be found throughout the mesa's extent. More interesting to Lin was the glow of a campfire in the pit of that hollow. He settled down to a steady observation.

Well, Nig Chatto's there, anyhow, he decided. Probably Beauty, too. Stands to reason he hoofed it back as fast as he could. Damn fools, they haven't got a mite of caution any more. Why don't they change their camp once in a while?

The answer, he told himself, was that they had scarcely anything to fear. It was a remote spot, not visited by line riders. Moreover, the Chattos had a kind of cunning about their methods that made them extremely bold. Nothing of an incriminating nature would ever be found around their fire. The work they did was accomplished elsewhere.

The sky turned from deep blue to gray and in quick succession to azure and rose. Fixed within the shelter of the trees, Lin watched the camp below. Presently he saw Beauty Chatto roll out of his blankets and sit before the fire. Nig, a figure somewhat smaller and less ugly than his brother, was already by the blaze, making breakfast. Their horses were picketed near at hand.

Satisfied with his discovery, Lin crawled back down the slope and swung into the saddle. This time he retraced a part of his trail to the cave and then forked off into another gully and rose rapidly, with no great caution, upward and to the north. In half an hour this took him to the commanding point of the entire mesa from which he might observe and—if anyone might be straying in the neighborhood—be observed. Shading his eyes, he spent a few moments surveying the distant hollows. At one particular point he found what he wished to see. Over there, browsing quietly, was one herd of W. W. Offut's stock. "Get along, Brimstone," he told the horse. And he thought: Lets see, this is Tuesday. Offut's riders don't come around this way until tomorrow. That leaves us clear. Quick and quiet does it if it's to be done at all. I can take care of the Chattos, but I don't want to fight any of Offut's buckaroos. "Step, Brimstone."

Ho put in a half hour traversing the rolling ground. Passing over a hillock, he drove his horse directly into a herd of browsing cattle.

As quick as he wished to be, he spent considerable time cutting out the particular animals he wanted. His rope sailed through the air and brought one such to a standstill. Down she went with Ballou out of the saddle and running over to tie her feet. Collecting a few pieces of grass and limbs, he lit a fire, heated an iron and then began a careful job of changing the existing brand to one of his own. Being a careful workman, he finished the work of the iron with a few drops of acid from the bottle in his pocket and stepped back to survey the result.

If anybody can spot a change he's got eyes like an eagle, he told himself. That ought to fool the sharpest stockyard inspectors.

He treated three more in the same manner and then returned the acid and iron to his pocket. Drawing the beeves clear of the herd, he pushed them up and over the ridge and headed them north as fast as they would go.

These daylight jobs are sure ticklish, he thought, looking anxiously behind. Now, if some crazy fool puncher should be ambling around at the wrong time...

The cows trotted up a slope and veered off, breaking into a gallop. Ballou reached for his gun, but too late. Beauty Chatto stood up from a boulder and grinned from ear to ear, both revolvers drawn.

"Climb down, Lin, climb down. I want to parley." Ballou sat still, face impassive. "What's wrong, Beauty? One gun not enough, to flag me?"

Chatto guffawed. "Not for you, Lin, not for you. When a man's caught with another gent's beef he's apt to be plumb desperate. Climb down, Lin. Why, you reckless sonofabitch, don't you know no better'n to frame yourself up on the summit in broad day? Where you figure folks keep their eyes?"

Lin shook his head, dismounting. "Folks ain't supposed to be around here today."

"Yeah? So you've got the buckaroos all doped out, too? Well, you forgot old Beauty. I'm always looking around. I see more'n that eagle up there does. But, say, I reckon I owe you an apology. Had you figured for a spy sure enough. Couldn't have told me different for a million pesos. Then I see the ruckus you caused over at the dance and hear all them harsh words tossed at you, and that sets me to wondering. Well, when old Beauty starts to wondering, something's bound to happen. So I set out to catch you and you make it all the easier by exposing yourself like a greenhorn fool. Lin, I thought you was honest, damned if I didn't. The apologies is all mine."

"Put down your guns, Beauty," Lin said. "I'll behave. What's the answer now? You turned honest yourself?"

"Me? Haw-haw-hawl I wish Nig could hear that!" Chatto studied Lin with his bold eyes. "I'll drop 'em, Lin, if you won't get sassy. Gimme your word, now."

"You've got it. Meanwhile those cows are heading back to the herd. What's your game?"

Chatto returned the guns and squatted on the ground. He drew a figure in the dirt with his stubby finger and seemed to be thinking of something. "Kid, there ain't room for three rustlers on this mesa. That's going to ruin a good thing. I dunno where you hide your stuff or how you get rid of it—but I can think of a better way right off."

"Yeah?"

"Why not hook up with Nig and me?"

"What for?" Lin demanded skeptically.

"Protection. Big money. You ain't running more'n three-four critters a week from the looks of things. Mebbe less. Nig and I are in for a big cleaning. Then you can't get much satisfaction doing everything by yourself. Three of us now, would be a fine outfit."

"Split three ways?" Lin said. "Share alike?"

Chatto drew another set of figures in the dirt before he answered. "No, Lin, it don't work thataway. It'd work out some thing like this: Profits is divided half and half. Out of one of those halves you and me and Nig split even, three ways."

"So?" Lin said. "Now I'm not a bit curious, Beauty. I didn't start this party. But such being the figures, I can't help seeing that there's another skunk or two in the woodpile. Who's so important as to draw down half of our plunder?"

Chatto turned reticent. "Somebody's got to market the stuff, Lin. And that's mighty dangerous for the gent in question."

Lin shook his head, dubious. "I like all the cards on the table. What am I to know about this other fellow? It looks plumb funny."

Chatto, in turn, was reluctant. "It ain't my part to spill his name, Lin. I got to see him first. Never mind. Don't let that worry you. Point is, we need another partner to do the riding and watching. You're a clever fellow, no mistake, and Nig and me'd be plumb agreeable. Far as money goes, you'll do better with us than without us. Anyhow, it's a cinch we can't be working separate."

Lin Ballou was silent for some length of time. "I'm in," he agreed finally. "But I've got to finish this particular job. Meanwhile, you see this other party. I don't like to work with a fellow until I know his brand of liquor."

Beauty Chatto rose, grinning. "We'll sure make a cleaning. Now let's split. There's a bunch of this gent's stock going into Portland a week from now. That's the time we get busy and do our chores, changing the brand and slipping them in with his critters. Meet Nig and me over there where them six pines stand up."

"All right," Lin agreed. He swung into the saddle and started back for the cattle. "A week from tonight. So long."

Night found him traveling again, this time with both horses, striking straight across the mesa and down the eastern slope into the Flats. After leaving Chatto, he had picked up the four cows and hazed them five miles or better from their original grounds, and left them in a particularly remote and rugged section of the country. Chatto had returned toward the six pines, but Lin, ever watchful, had made a particular point of surveying all points of the compass before revisiting his cave.

Equally cautious was his night trip into the Flats. Instead of going in a direct line, which would have brought him close to the Chatto camp, he wasted the better part of two hours in detouring southward. By the time the stars all came out he was a great distance down the bench and many miles removed from the scene of the day's work.

As he traveled he caught sight of a locomotive headlight far across the Flats, hardly more than a pin-prick in the gloom. Presently that winked out and left him with no evidence of human company in all the vast extent of the land ahead. The wind sprang up and the coyotes commenced their dismal yammering on all sides of him. Now and then he flushed a jackrabbit from its shelter, at which the faithful Brimstone snorted a little and danced aside. Otherwise he rode in lonely silence, broken only by his own casual remarks to the horse.

When at last he reached the low ground it was nearing midnight and here he displayed once more the extraordinary caution that had been with him ever since leaving the valley. Dismounting, he slipped away into the darkness, crouched against the ground and surveyed the dim distances for fifteen or twenty minutes. The result was satisfactory. Returning to the pony, he changed his course somewhat and went at a faster pace. Thus, in two hours he sighted the vague outlines of a water tank standing alone on the desert. From the tank came the steady dripping of water, tie stopped and whistled softly.

Out of the shadows he had his answer. "Yeah, Lin?"

"Uh-huh. Glad you got back on time. Thought maybe you'd have difficulty getting off the train. Saw its headlight from the bench and it didn't seem to stop."

A man's boot clanked on the iron rails and presently Lin had the silhouette of an extremely tall, thin body by his side. He got down and gripped the newcomers hand. A slow, drawling voice pronounced a few noncommittal words.

"Had a difficult time and that's a fact. Come on the freight so I wouldn't attract attention. Gave the brakie five dollars to drop me off here, but the engineer was trying to make time across this level piece so I had to jump for it. Scattered my luggage a hundred yards. Busted all my cigars and left me in a right mean temper towards all railroads. Fact. Hope the engine busts a gadget and the crew has to walk home."

Lin chuckled. "Keep your temper, Bill." He drew up the lead horse and spoke with sudden eagerness. "Don't hold back the important news. What's the verdict?"

A long arm draped itself across Lin's shoulder. "Fellow, it's the true dope. So far as we've gone, everything is pay dirt, a mile wide and a mile deep. Prospects? By god, the prospects are amazing. If the next few places we tackle show the same result, there'll be plenty of backing just as soon as we need it. How's that?"

Lin took off his hat and sighed profoundly. "I could kiss a sheep, Bill. Happy days! But we're going to have to move fast. There's a fly in the gravy."

The tall man grunted. "What's the matter?"

Lin squatted on his heels and related the irrigation boom in a few terse, disgusted words. "Now you see what's going to happen? This water company will get everything all cluttered up with its ditches and laterals. First thing you know there'll be a lot of money sunk uselessly. When the time comes for us to start our little venture, it's going to be that much more expensive on all hands and the cook. I tried to head them off but the crooked rascal who's heading the thing yelled me down."

"Who?"

"James J. Lestrade, no less."

Bill whistled. "Lin, I heard something at the main office concerning that gent. Maybe he ain't just interested in water, either."

Lin stood up. "Think he's got wind of this same idea of ours?"

"I'd bet a hundred dollars he has."

Lin was silent for a time, trying to reconcile this news with Lestrade's interest in water. "Can't just see how he figures to join the two," he said at last.

"Devious ways have a manner of joining, some time or later," the lanky Bill observed. "Let's get somewhere. I'm dying to smoke."

"Jump on the horse. You'll have to ride him bareback."

Bill collected his luggage and put a leg up. "What's our next move?"

Lin Ballou led the way north, parallel with the mesa. "We'll reach that old Miller house—it was abandoned last fall, you remember—by daylight. Then we'll stay over till it's dark again. All the ground we've got to cover now is close to Powder and it means night work and plenty of caution. Ought to get it finished in four-five days, shouldn't we?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then," Lin went on, sweeping the darkness with watchful eyes, "you can hoof it back to headquarters and get the final decision. We've got to move pretty fast from now on. While you're gone, I've got other irons to heat."

"Lead on," Bill urged. "I want to get to shelter where I can light a smoke. I'm dying for a little nicotine in my system."

A heavy voice said, "Ho, you fool horse," and wheeled directly by the shanty door, at the same time calling out in no particularly subdued tone, "You there, Chatto?"

Beauty moved from the shanty, grumbling. "Damn it, Lestrade, ain't you never going to take care how you talk? Folks can hear you a mile away."

Lestrade sat in the saddle. "Been a policy of mine to let folks know I'm present, so it's kind of difficult to tone down. Don't you worry, Chatto. Nobody around this neck of the woods."

"Can't tell about that," Chatto said. "Folks is often where they ain't got no business being. For instance, you and me."

"Well, now, I wouldn't say we've got no business here. Fact is, we have some right important business."

"All set for next Tuesday, like you said?"

"That's right. How you coming?"

"Fair enough. We'll have nigh forty head."

Lestrade said, "Uh-huh," in a pleased tone and, much to Chatto's disgust, lit a cigarette. "You drive 'em down to the East Flats loading pens Tuesday night. My cows'll be already there. I'll jerk everybody away from the place except the foreman and a right close-mouthed man. Wednesday they'll be shipped. Think you can do it in time?"

"Sure. We got an addition to our happy family."

Lestrade jerked the cigarette from his mouth and said, "Who's that?" in a savage voice. "Addition? You fool, you mean to say you took in another partner? Without my knowledge?"

"Oh, I ain't told him no thing about your connection with us. He knows there's another party—name unknown. I said I'd see said party before giving out any more information. But, you see, this fellow's in our own line of business and we can't have no opposition. That'd create a fuss sooner or later. Easiest thing was to take him in. Besides, Nig and me, we needed a little more help."

"Who is he?"

"Brace yourself for a shock," Chatto warned, grinning through the dark. "The gent is none other than your friend Lin Ballou."

"By Godfrey!" Lestrade exclaimed in complete amazement. "Lin—why, Lin—I thought he was honest. You must be joking."

"The joke's on us. I figured him honest, too. But after that affair at the dance, and after I caught him red-handed, tampering with some of Offut's critters, I sure changed my mind."

Lestrade was lost in several moments' silence. The horse moved beneath him uneasily. "No, I didn't figure him to be a rustler. But I did figure he had something else on his mind besides prospecting. That's just a blind."

Chatto muttered something to himself, and then broke out with a dissatisfied remark. "Well, there may be something else he's got in his system, for all I know. Blamed if I can just figure what. But I never take a man's word for granted till I do a little investigating on my own hook. So after catching him with Offut's critters, I figured I'd follow him and see what he did next. What do you suppose it was?"

Lestrade, moving nervously, urged Chatto on. The cigarette made a crimson arc through the air and fell amid a tiny shower of sparks.

"Well, sir, I followed him back a piece on the mesa and then I lost him. Yes, by God, he plumb vanished in the earth. Well, I wait. Bye and bye he comes out of the same hole he goes into—this is after dark—and I track him down into the East Flats and lose him again. But next morning I find his tracks extending over to the water tank and back towards Miller's old place. I didn't go no farther. But there's sign that says he met another gent by that tank. I see the footprints. Now what's that mean?"

Lestrade had grown more and more restive as Chatto related his story. After Beauty stopped he leaned over in the saddle and put a heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke in a half-angry manner.

"Beauty, he's got to be stopped. You understand? He's got to be put away. There's too much at stake for him to be meddling."

"Meddling how?" Chatto demanded.

"Never mind," Lestrade replied. "He's up to another game and I know what it is. If he's let alone he'll ruin old James J. Lestrade. He's got to be stopped."

'"Well, old-timer, if you want a bust of gunplay from Beauty, you'll have to pay high."

"Come here close," Lestrade said. Chatto bent forward. Lestrade, dropping his head still lower, began to whisper.

Chatto said "Uh-huh" at the end of each phrase and finally stepped back. "You want him double-crossed, huh?"

"Well, that'll clear anybody else of suspicion. Old man Offut's on the warpath, looking for rustlers, and if he catches Lin that'll leave you all the better off, won't it?"

"You got a head," Chatto said in admiration. "In plain words, you want Lin Ballou's neck stretched? You want him killed?"

Lestrade swore. "Be careful of your words!"

"Oh," Chatto said, "you might as well say it outright if you mean it. If it's crooked work, it's crooked work."

Lestrade rested a moment, quite still. Then he nodded slowly. "That's it."

"All right. Leave it to me. You take care of your end of it."

Lestrade turned about and galloped away. Chatto watched him climb to the rim of the hummock and drop from sight. Slowly he went to his own horse and started back for the mesa.

Life is sure getting complicated for a plain rustler like me, he brooded. There's something else going on that I don't savvy. Them gents is playing at another game. Beauty Chatto, you sure better watch your hole card or you'll get tangled up in trouble. But if Lestrade wants Ballou outa the way, outa the way he goes. G'long pony.