the High Graders (1965) (23 page)

He was not over fifty yards off, but the shot wa s a clear miss, serving only to make the man jer k back, off balance, out of position for a shot.

Guns started to bark, and Shevlin saw the lea n Texan in the van spur his horse up th e slope. He caught on fast, that one. Mik e saw one of the men lift a rifle, and then he wa s among them. He chopped down and shot full into th e man's face, seeing it flame with blood as th e bullet struck a glancing blow that knocked th e man sprawling under his horse's hoofs.

Shevlin reined around quickly, glad he was ridin g a good cutting horse used to making quick turns.

The Texan was among them too, his horse down an d screaming, the man himself firing--falling and firing.

Two more men came up the slope and one of the m launched himself in a long dive at Winkler, and th e two went rolling.

As his horse came around, Shevlin saw tw o more men from the pack train spurring up the slope , and then his horse, tired from the long ride, put a foot down wrong and they both fell. He rolle d over, but came up still gripping a gun a s Hollister ran up to face him.

"Damn you!" Hollister screamed. "I shoul d have killed--wa s Mike Shevlin felt the gun bucking in hi s hard grip, and he saw Hollister jerk as i f lashed by a whip, jerk again, and fall forward on th e wet slope of grass.

Hollister rolled over and started to get up, bu t Mike put a bullet into his chest at a range of six feet. Then he turned swiftl y to face whoever was left.

The sound of the gunfire was rolling against th e hills, then rolling back in echoing, muted thunder.

It fell away and was lost, and there was no othe r sound but the rain falling, and somewhere a ma n groaning.

Mike picked up Hollister's unused gun , thrust it behind his belt, and walked across the grass.

John Sande was lying face down on th e grass, dead. A man sitting against a rock jus t beyond Sande turned and looked at Shevlin. "Yo u played hell, Mike," he said, almost withou t expression.

It was Babcock. His right arm was a blood y mess. Numb with shock, he was gripping his ar m tightly against the flow of blood, and gazin g hollow-eyed at Shevlin.

Halloran was lying dead, too, shot clea n through. The Texan was dead, and two others from th e mule train. There was no sign of Jes s Winkler.

Down on the flat the mules were bunched, an d four men, rifles ready, clustered about them. The y had played it the smart way, bunching the animal s and holding them tight, ready for anything.

Mike Shevlin looked carefully around. On e of his men was missing, ... probably the man wh o had tangled with the old wolf-hunter.

He shouted at the men with the mules, and two o f them came up the slope, riding warily. "You,"
h e said to the nearest one, "take care of that man'
s wounds. He's too good to die this way. You"--h e indicated the other man--"catch up the horses."

He walked over to his own horse. It ha d gotten up, and came toward him as h e approached. He mounted and rode slowly in th e direction where he had seen Winkler and the other ma n fighting.

He saw Jess Winkler first. The old ma n was on his face on top of the other man, and somethin g was gleaming from his back. Mike drew up an d looked down. What he saw was the needle-shar p point of a knife, an Arkansas toothpick.

"Hey!" came a voice that was muffled.

"Pull him off me! He smells worse'n a hide-skinner."

Mike swung down and, catching the wolfer by th e buckskin jacket, lifted him up. The othe r man crawled up from where he had been sprawle d between two fallen trees, wedged in by the dea d wolfer's body. He was scarcely mor e than a boy.

"He come at me when I got up after jumpin'
h im, an' I wasn't set for it. I went ove r backwards, just a-holdin' that knife."

"You held it in the right place," Mike said.

He looked with no regret at the fierce ol d man, cold and dangerous as any of the wolves h e had hunted so long. "Are you hurt?'

"Scratched."

"Better go through their pockets and see i f there's any addresses. They'll maybe hav e kinfolk who'd wish to know."

"They'd of had us," the boy said, "hadn't bee n for you coming a hellin' down that slope." He thrus t out his hand. "They call me Billy the Kid."

Shevlin grinned at him. "That makes four o f them I've met--and you aren't Bonney."

"I ain't Claiborne, either. My name i s Daniels."

Mike Shevlin walked his horse back to wher e Ray Hollister lay, and he sat looking dow n at him. "I'll tell them where you are, Ray,"
h e said, "and if there are any who see fi t to bury you, they can ride up and do it. W
e haven't the time."

As he looked at him, he was remembering hi m all down the years. When he had first known Ra y Hollister he had a good working ranch, but he wa s never satisfied ... he had gotten a goo d woman killed, and a few men, and now he la y there, come to it at last.

"String 'em out!" he yelled at the men with th e mules. "We've got ten miles to go!"

Babcock had been disarmed, and his arm was boun d up and in a sling. "You goin' to bury them?" h e said to Mike.

"Who's got a shovel?" Mike asked. The n he added, "Bab, if you want to stay here an d bury them, you can."

Babcock stared at him. "I never figured yo u for a unfeeling man," he said.

"I lost a lot of feeling the night Ev e Bancroft died. I didn't like her, but that gir l would have ridden a-blazin' into hell for Ra y Hollister, and he let her go alone."

The mules were strung out and Billy Daniel s was up ahead, riding point.

"What you goin' to do with me?" Babcoc k asked.

"Hell, I've got no place fo r you, and nothing against you except damn' poo r judgment in bosses. Ride along with us, and whe n we hit the flat you cut out for Rafter."

"Rafter?" Babcock was incredulous. "Wit h this arm? I'd go through hell a-gettin' there!"

"What do you think's waiting for us down there a t Tappan Junction, Bab?" Shevlin sai d quietly. "I figure you've had yours."

They rode on a few steps, and then Mik e Shevlin said, "Ben Stowe's waiting down there.

He's waiting for us."

Chapter
20

Two miles short of Tappan Junction th e narrow trail played out, and they could see ahead o f them the two buildings of the settlement in th e bottom of a great basin. The twin lines of stee l came out of the west and vanished into the east.

At Tappan there was a corral with a chute fo r loading pens, a water tank for the trains, a combination saloon, post office, and general store , and across the tracks, the telegraph office.

Adjoining the office was a waiting room with tw o windows, furnished with a single bench and a pot-bellied stove.

No horses were in sight, but there wouldn't be---
t hey would be in the pens. Several cattle cars an d one boxcar were standing on a siding.

Mike Shevlin, weary from his long ride, stare d across the flat through the drizzling rain. It lacke d an hour of sundown, and darkness would come early, wit h that cloud-covered sky.

Beside him, drawn and pale, rode Babcock.

He had lost blood, he sagged with weariness; h e was not going to make it through to Rafter Crossing.

He knew it now, and so did Mike Shevlin.

Only an iron will and a rawhide body ha d brought him this far. He needed rest and care, and the y were down there waiting for him, just beyond a full-scal e gun battle.

"This makes it my fight, Mike," he said.

"I'll ride in with you."

"Bab, what do you suppose Ben Stowe would d o if you rode in there now ... alone?"

Babcock tried to think it through. His brain wa s fuzzy, and it required an effort to assemble hi s thoughts. "Damned if I know. He'd probabl y ask me what happened, then he'd either shoot m e or leave me be."

"You ride in there, Bab. Tell him anythin g he wants to know. I'm betting he'll wan t to know everything you can tell him, and I don'
t believe he'll shoot you. Ben Stowe onl y kills when he thinks there's a good reason--you'r e out of this now, and he'll see it plain enough. Ta g Murray is down there, and he's pretty good with a wound, better than some doctors I know. Yo u ride on in."

Babcock hesitated, and glanced back at th e mule train. "What about them, Mike? They'r e Ben's hired gunmen."

Shevlin looked at him wryly, then du g into his pocket for a cigar. It was a fresh one , and he enjoyed lighting it. "Bab," he said , "unless I miss my guess, one or more of thos e boys are supposed to salt me down whil e we're crossing the flat out there. Unless Ben i s saving me for himself.

"I said Ben Stowe only killed when there wa s good reason, but I'll make two exceptions to tha t -comRay Hollister and me. He'd tak e pleasure in killing either of us."

"You and him were mighty thick, one time."

"Stowe and Gentry were thick; and Gentry an d me, we rode saddle partners a while. Bu t Stowe never liked me, and I never liked him."

"Mike ... look there!" It was Bill y Daniels who had come up to them. "That there ride r on this side, that's a woman!"

Also, one of the men who had carried a pick-handle that day in the mine, had also come up.

"That's Red on the paint--where would he get a woman?"

"Hell!" Billy spat. "That's tha t Tennison girl. Nobody else ride s sidesaddle with the style she's got!"

Babcock glanced at Shevlin. "So there yo u are," he said. "Now are you goin' to ride in there , hell a-whoopin'?"

"Go on in, Bab," Mike said again.

"Tell him anything he wants to know, and don'
t you worry none about me."

Babcock still hesitated. "Mike, I ain'
t up to much, but damn it, man, you're cattle!

I'll ride in there with you, or I'll cover you r back, whatever you're of a mind to."

Shevlin put a hand on Babcock'
s shoulders. "Go on in, Bab," he repeated.

Babcock touched a heel to hi s horse and went off across the grass.

"What's the matter with him?" Bill y Daniels asked. "What was he figurin' to do?"

Mike Shevlin stepped his horse around, and the y were all there, facing him, with the gold train just beyond.

His eyes went from one to another, curiously , somewhat mockingly. "Why, he just figured one o f you boys was about to shoot me in the back. H
e figured Ben Stowe had put you up to it. How abou t it, boys? Any of you want me? If you do, yo u don't need to wait."

His Winchester was in the boot, his slicker wa s hanging open and loose, and both his hands were i n sight.

There were five of them, and they were spread out befor e him like a hand of cards, all jacks or aces, no t a deuce in the lot.

These were hard men, who rode a hard trail i n a hard country, and he faced them, waiting. On e showdown at a time, he told himself. When I r ide up to Tappan Junction, I wan t to keep my eyes up front.

Billy Daniels moved his hands out in fron t of him and folded them on his saddlehorn. "Th e way I see it, you fought beside us back there. Yo u came down off that slope when you didn't nee d to, and you saved our bacon--some of us , anyway."

"Why, sure!" Also agreed. "That man dow n there is payin' our wages, but this looks a mit e different."

"You want help?" Billy said.

"No help ... you just leave me ride dow n there and talk this over with Ben. I mean, we go i n with the pack train, but the rest of it is up to Ben an d me, and whoever's down there with him."

"Why that's fair enough," Also commented. "I h ear tell Ben Stowe is something to look at with a gun. I'd sort of like to see the cut of the ma n I'm workin' for."

"Thanks, boys. Bring in the train, will you?

But look, stay clear of Ben Stowe and me, an d if you see that lady in trouble, give her a hand.

She is a lady, boys." He gestured towar d the mules. "All that belongs to her, by rights. Brin g it in, will you?"

Deliberately, he swung his horse , turning his back on them. And then he cantered ou t over the darkening prairie.

"You know something?" The Arkansawye r spat. "There goes a square man!"

As Shevlin started across the flat, he pause d only to slip out of his slicker and tie it behind hi s saddle. The clouds were breaking, and a star was showin g through. He loosened the Winchester in his boot, singin g softly, "As I walked out on the streets o f Laredo, As I walked out in Laredo one da y ..."

The room was long and low, with a counter doubling a s a bar. There were shelves of canned goods, stacke d Levis, slickers, and boots. The roo m smelled of new leather, dry goods, stron g coffee, and stronger plug tobacco. Behind the counte r sat Tag Murray and the telegrapher, mindin g their own affairs.

Red, still pale from the abuse he had taken fo r bringing Laine Tennison to Tappan, clutched a beer in his hand, staring at the circles he wa s drawing on the bar.

Laine, standing very straight, smiled at Ben.