the Empty Land (1969) (4 page)

Outside on the street, Felton said, "Well, Dan, I feel better now. Well have some law. McGuinness is a good Mall."

Dan Cohan offered no comment, and Zeller and Buck-waiter were lighting their cigars. Finally Cohan did speak. "Hell be lucky," he said, |if he lasts out the week." Dick Felton stared at him. "Thats one hell of a thing to say!"

"Dan's right," Buckwalter said. "You don't know what's coming. McGuinness is too good a man to have this happen to him."

"To have what happen? What are you talking about?" "He isn't tough enough, Dick McGuinness is a brave man, but bravery isn't enough. Gun skill isn't enough. For this lot you have to be tough."

"They've busted marshals in twenty towns," Buckwalter said.

Felton stifled his annoyance. McGuinness was tough. They would see soon enough.

He walked up the hill to their claim with Zeller and Cohan. They had been sleeping in the open under the stars, but today they had begun to dig into the side of the ridge. It was only a beginning, but they would dig out a room, and then use rocks from the claim to build another room in front.

From up here the lights of the town were clear and bright. He could hear the sounds of a piano and of a music box, and occasionally a raucous yell sounded, or the shrill laughter of a girl.

McGuinness would handle it, all right. He was a good man. He had been a sergeant during the War Between the States, he was used to rough men, and was a good shot.

Suddenly a door slammed, and the night was split by a stab of flame and a shot, followed by a cannonade of several shots in rapid succession. Felton started toward the trail but Cohan caught his arm. "Don't go," he said. "But that was no drunken miner!" Felton protested. "That was a gun battle. Maybe McGuinness is in trouble."

"Maybe he is," Cohan replied, 'but you'd better not go down there unless you are armed and prepared to fight"

Felton hesitated, and Zeller added his comment "Idt vill keep until morning, I fink."

There were no more shots. Somebody was talking loudly in the streets, and after a few minutes they heard footsteps on the trail. Cohan stepped back inside and picked up Zeller's shotgun and their rifles and passed them out.

They could see several men were coming. One of them, judging by size alone, must be Big Thompson." All right," Felton said, lust hold it right there."

"You ain't hospitable, Mr. Felton." Thompson's voice was teasing, and it angered Felton to think the man thought so little of him. "We come to make you an offer. My partners an' me, we figured you might sell us a worldn' share in your claim."

"Don't be foolish," Felton replied brusquely.

"Figured you might," Thompson drawled, "as things are changin' around here. An' you needin' a sheriff, and all."

"We have a sheriff."

Thompson chuckled. "You had one. He made a mistake. He tried to draw agin me. That's almost as big a mistake as tryin' to fist-fight me."

"You've !died him?"

"Nothin' else we could do," Thompson said innocently. "He was interferin' with the free conduct of our pleasures, an he went for his gun when pushed.. .. You think about it, gents. I'd give you a hundred dollars for a fourth share."

"You're crazy! This claim's worth a million."

"Maybe ... maybe not How much is it worth to a dead man?'

The sound of a cocking hammer was loud in the night "All right, Thompson. You've made your point. Now get down the hill before we dig another grave alongside the sheriff's."

Thompson chuckled again, then turned slowly away, and with the others walking beside him, he went down the hill.

For several minutes after their departure nobody spoke, and then it was Zeller who said, "Ye hall godt to do something."

At daybreak Buckwalter, Gage, Wayne Simmons, and Newton Clyde had come up the hill to talk. Simmons operated a freighting and stage business; Newton Clyde was the Wells Fargo man.

"Get Coburn," Clyde said abruptly. "He knows this crowd and they know him.'

"No," Felton said flatly. "I won't have him."

"How about it, Buckwalter? Who would you suggest?" "Well, if Coburn is out we might try Calvin Bell. I hear he's over to Durango. He ran a couple of Kansas trail towns."

A rider was coming up the trail. He was a stocky man, unshaven and dirty. With him were two others, both as thin as laths, sour, evil-looking men.

The stocky man drew up alongside the group where they sat on the dump outside the Discovery hole. "Hear you folks are needin' a marshal. Me an' my boys would take the job. We kin run your town. I'm Hick Sutton, an' these are my boys, Sam an' Joe."

"No," Felton said.

"Wait a minute, Dick." Cohan looked up at Sutton. "What makes you think you can run a tough town?"

"We run a few places in our time. I want two hundred a month. A hundred apiece for the boys here."

"That's pretty steep," Gage objected.

"You got trouble. We can handle it. How much is cheap?"

"Ever hear of Big Thompson?"

Sutton grinned. "He's a man, ain't he? I'll handle him."

"All right," Newton Clyde said. "You run Thompson and Peggoty Gorman out of town and you've got the job."

Sutton looked at the others. "You agree to that?"

Gage nodded, then Buckwalter. Reluctantly, Felton agreed.

Sutton wheeled his horse. "You want to gimme that badge? I'll need some authority."

Cohan handed him McGuinness' badge, which Gage had brought with him up the hill.. The three rode off, laughing.

Felton, Cohan, and Zeller returned to work on the claim, and the others to their businesses. But each man listened, expecting the sound of gunfire." We're out of beef," Cohan commented. "One of us should ride out and shoot some meat"

"There's a ranch over west of here," Felton commented. "We might be able to buy a side of beef there." Cohan grinned at Zeller. "See? He's heard the story, too."

Felton tried to look surprised. "What story?"

"About that pretty girl who's ramrodding that outfit. If you want to stay a bachelor, Dick, you'd better fight shy of girls. You're a moneyed man now."

Felton saddled up and rode off and the others settled down to work.

Below them the town slowly awakened. A stage filled with sleepy passengers rolled up to the stage station and several men and women got down stiffly, the men stamping their clothes into shape, the women fluffing, brushing, and straightening theirs.

The air was cool and fresh. Down the street in front of the Bon-Ton a man lay sprawled on the boardwalk Another sat on a bench close by, fast asleep, his chin on his chest Wayne Simmons, a cigar in his teeth, watched the passengers get down. The driver stepped over to him and said in a low tone. "He was out there again today, keepin' out o' sight, but watchin' us. I figure he's waitin' for a gold shipment or somethin'."

"All right Ill get a man to ride shotgun."

"Get a good one," the driver said. "I don't relish bein shot at"

A man emerged from Buckwalter's National Saloon and began to sweep off the board porch. Beyond him a tall, slim man in a gray tailored suit appeared on the walk. He strolled up the street and stopped beside Simmons.

"Howdy, Nathan," Simmons said. "How're the cards treating you?"

"They always treat me well, Wayne. I'm a careful man. The cards respect that in a gambler."

The two men watched the passengers going into the restaurant, and then Nathan Bly took out a cigar. "I received a notice a few minutes ago."

"A notice?"

"It was a notice from the marshal's office of a ten per cent charge on all gambling games, payable to the marshal or his deputies."

"This is the first I've heard of it."

"I had an idea that was the way it was. I'm glad to hear the town council had nothing to do with it. I don't mind paying something to build boardwalks, to keep the town clean, or to build a church or a schoolhouse, but I don't like a shakedown."

"I'll speak to that marshal. I'll speak to him right away."

Nathan Bly smiled slightly. "Do it before he tries to collect, will you? I don't like to get my floor messed up." Bly turned and strolled away, slender, elegant, but no man to buy trouble with. Wayne Simmons turned toward the restaurant for his morning coffee when he saw Buckwalter coming. By the very look of him Simmons knew that Buckwalter had received the word, too. They discussed it over breakfast 'Forget Buckwalter said after a bit. "If he can collect from Bly, he'll deserve it." don't like it, Buck I don't like it at all"

Dick Felton found the trail to the Rafter LS and rode up to the ranch shortly before noon. Tied to the hitch rail in front of the house there was a big appaloosa that looked familiar. Swinging down, he walked up to the door and rapped.

Laurie Shannon answered the door. "Oh . Fm Laurie Shannon. What can I do for you?"

Felton was embarrassed. "I'm from Confusion. I wanted to buy some beef."

She stepped back 'Come in. Fm just having some coffee with Mr. Coburn."

Felton stiffened slightly, and would have drawn back, but Laurie had walked on into the kitchen and picked up the coffeepot and a cup. As she filled the cup she turned, "Mr. Coburn . Mr. "

"Felton, Dick Felton. I own the Discovery."

"We've met, I think," Matt said. He was relaxed and cool. Felton did not feel relaxed, and he was certainly not cool. He sat down abruptly.

"How are things in Confusion?" Coburn asked "Fine.. just fine. We hired a new marshal this morning, and two deputies. A man named Hick Sutton." Coburn chuckled, but without humor. "You better enjoy him," he said. "He picked the wrong town and you won't have him long."

"Do you know him?"

"Sure. He's a thief and a high-binder. He takes the job as marshal and uses the badge for a right to shake down the gamblers. If he gets away with that, he moves on to legitimate businessmen. If anybody refuses, they have an accident ... or they get shot ...
drygulched."

"I don't believe that."

There was silence in the room, and when Felton looked up, Coburn's eyes were on him. "You have lived long enough to know, Felton, that you've said the wrong thing."

Felton was about to explode into anger when be realized where he was, and what he had said.

"I did not mean it that way, Coburn," he said, "but don't get the idea that I am afraid of you."

"I don't think you are, and there's no reason why you should be." Matt Coburn got up. "Laurie, I'll go check out those steers on Wildcat"

At the door he paused. "Nice to have seen you again, Felton."

When the door closed, Dick Felton sipped his coffee to cover his irritation. He had made a fool of himself. "Will you have some more coffee?" Laurie Shannon asked quietly.

Felton pushed his cup toward her and looked up. "I guess that sounded pretty bad.'

"I've known men to get shot for less," Laurie said, "and from all I've heard Matt Coburn isn't the man to take an insult."

"I didn't mean it that way," he said, "but he wants the job as marshal himself, so he'd naturally be ready to say something to prejudice me against Sutton."

"I don't believe so, Mr. Felton. And I happen to know that Matt Coburn does not want to be marshal of your town. He has no intention of going back there. At the moment he is planning to go to California, but I am trying to persuade him to start ranching here in the mountains."

"Ranching? Him?"

"Why not? He grew up on a cattle ranch, and has handled some big drives. He knows men, cattle, horses, and grazing conditions. In fact, he's taught me more in the past couple of days than I believed I could learn from anyone."

Felton still felt nettled. Why should Matt Coburn have stopped here, of all places? He directed the conversation back to beef cattle, then to Laurie Shannon herself, and discovered that she had been born in Ireland, but had grown up in Pennsylvania and Oregon.

He looked around him curiously. For such a time and place the house was large, and was comfortably built There were four big rooms, and provision for two more to be added. Outside were a log barn and corrals, with a spring behind the house. A small stream flowed down from the glacier. The site had been carefully chosen, the building planned for beauty as well as efficiency.

The afternoon was drawing on. Reluctantly, he got up to leave.

"I'll send Free and Joss over with the cattle in the morning," Laurie said.

"Is Coburn working for you?" Felton asked.

"He doesn't work for anyone right now. He has been helping around since he's been here, but that's his own idea. He helped me out of a rather bad situation a few days ago, and I think he hires the food." She smiled as she added the last bit. Matt Coburn rode into the yard as Felton was mounting. "I am sorry I spoke the way I did," Felton told him. "We lost our marshal and Sutton replaced him." "I heard about it. You know, Felton, these towns all follow a pattern. They are born in violence and struggle. Often they die the same way. Sometimes the towns last. Those that do are usually pacified by violence. When the rough element finds it can't win, it moves on. The stable ones stay and the town grows. Then it depends on whether the mines hold up, and whether other industries develop. But first you have to bring peace to the town, and the Suttons have never brought anything but robbery, murder, and terror.