Where the Long Grass Blows (1976) (15 page)

Mabry had little to say on the ride to the lava beds, and Canavan was just as pleased, for he had much thinking to do. Dixie's situation worried him.

No doubt foolishly, for if she was to marry Star Levitt she was probably safe enough. Nonetheless, with such a man one never knew, and by this time she had undoubtedly realized the reason for his hurrying her away from the roundup. Canavan made up his mind that if it could be done, he would slip into town and have a talk with Kinney, or with May.

If he could reach neither of them, he might make a contact with Scott, whom he had scarcely seen since arriving in Soledad. After all, no progress reports were needed because Scott would know, as did everyone else, what was happening in the town and in the Valley. After all, Scott was the better choice, for judging by what he heard at the Springs, Kinney might be watched and Canavan had no desire to get the man in trouble.

He was eager to know what was happening in Soledad and on the W, and to be cut off from news was maddening. He found himself thinking of Dixie in almost every waking moment, and it was frustrating to realize that he could not see her or hear of her.

The work in the lava beds was hot and rough.

The wild cattle were big and they were mean. They had run wild too long, and they wanted no part of a rope nor of a man. Throwing and branding them was slow work for two men, and was hard on their horses.

They did succeed in trapping a dozen wild horses, two of which carried brands and old saddle marks and had evidently been ridden. Both reacted well to the rope, ceasing to fight as soon as it settled on their shoulders.

Mabry saddled one of them and he bucked a little, then settled down, and he topped off the other one who wore a brand. Both were good stock, and one of them gave some evidence of being a cutting horse, which they could well use.

For several days they worked the cattle in the lava beds, and took time out to rough-break two more of the horses. "We'll take "em out tomorrow,"

Canavan suggested. "You keep watch and I'll ride out and scout around to see if we've had any visitors while we've been in here."

"Burt will be worried," Mabry thought "Don't worry about him. He'll have figured out what we're up to."

Nevertheless, Canavan knew that Burt would be worried. They had not expected to be gone so long, and when a man is alone his imagination can build up all sorts of troubles and worries, just as his own was now doing with the situation in Soledad.

Leaving Mabry with the rounded-up cattle in their improvised corral, he went up the notch and worked his way back through the maze to the outer Valley.

Once there, he drew up and listened for a long time, yet he heard no sounds not normal to the night, and he rode on, glancing from time to time at the mesa's rim. What he expected to see he did not know, but hoped he would see nothing.

If he intended to get any sleep, he must start back, but there appeared to be nobody around, and they could probably drift the cattle into the valley and scatter them out without being observed. After that they would return to the mesa and Holly Burt.

His eyes strayed off toward Soledad and the W.

Was she all right? Was she thinking of him? Did she ever think of him? Gloomily, he reflected that he had built a lot of hopes on very little.

After all, she had said nothing that even suggested she cared for him. That she called him by his first name meant nothing in western country, where first names were habitually used. They had talked, and they seemed to have things in common but who was he, after all? No more than a drifting cowhand looking for a place to light, and willing to use a gun to find it. Not a reassuring pattern for a man with whom to live out the years.

Star Levitt was a big, handsome, well-dressed man with a certain amount of polish and an easy way with people. He had the advantage of being where he could see Dixie every day, where they could talk and become acquainted. After all, how did he, Bill Canavan, know what type of man Dixie would prefer? were not all his dreams built on a lot of wishing and dreaming?

"Rio," he said at last, "maybe this isn't where we light, after all. Maybe this is just one more stop on long, long trail." The horse twitched his ears, stomped a foot and blew through his nose, all of which might mean anything or nothing.

The trouble was that he did not want any more long, long trails. Not at least without having somewhere to come back to, or someone. There had been too many of those long, lonely trails, too many empty nights, too many places where he did not belong, where he had no one or nothing.

He rode back through the notch to the camp.

Mabry was already asleep, although he opened his eyes, grunted a little and returned to sleep.

Canavan added a few sticks to the fire and tasted the coffee. Lukewarm. He put the pot back on the coals and pushed more coals around it, adding a little water, but not too much.

He went out and stripped the gear from the Appaloosa and turned the horse loose to graze. The moon was rising and the weird rocks along the rim raised their gargoyle-like heads, seeming to peer over the edge into their lost and lonely valley. He was uneasy.

Nothing could find them here, but nonetheless he was restless and felt little like sleeping. He dug out a couple of dry biscuits and ate them while he drank his coffee.

His thoughts returned to Star Levitt. Who was the man? Where had he come from and what ill wind brought him to this place at this time? He seemed to be an easterner, but he knew too much about cattle and ranching for that. The guns he wore had seen use, and they alone struck an incongruous note, for they were much worn from constant wear and much use.

The west was not so large a place as many seemed to believe. The country was enormous, but the population was not, and the men who rode the wild country knew each other, at least by hearsay.

Among the gun-packing fraternity, those who lived by the gun either on the side of the law or against it all knew each other by name and reputation. At every camp fire there was discussion of their respective abilities.

So who was Star Levitt? Where had he come from? And what name had he sometimes used? Or was he from elsewhere? The east had its gunfighters, too, although most were duelists or riverboat gamblers.

There was McClung, for example, who was reputed to have killed more than a hundred men ... And there were others.

Clay Allison was ranching in New Mexico now, and Hardin had gone to San Antoneor was said to be there, the last Canavan had heard. John Slaughter was too short to be Levitt, and he was an honest man, anyway. One by one he turned them over and over in his mind, but came up with no answers.

At daybreak, after a restless night, he was in the saddle once more, and with Mabry he pushed the unwilling steers through the notch and out into the wider world of the Valley. Moving along, they scattered the cattle so as not to make it too obvious where they might have come from, and they dusted over their trail out of the lava beds.

Roily Burt had a fire going when they rode in, hot and tired after the drive. Hot food was ready and fresh coffee, and he let them eat before he talked.

"Took a chance last night," he said, "and rode into Soledad."

They both looked up sharply. "You what?" Mabry said.

"Rode in," he repeated smugly. "Goin stale lyin" around with time on my hands, and I figured to find out what the situation was. There've been some changes made."

"What's happened?" Canavan's irritation at Burt's ride was lost in his desire for news.

"Levitt's been havin' everything his own way, of course, and he's been makin' it pay. He got two or three folks together and they made Emmett Chubb marshal, and the word is that he's going to be almighty strict and stern until they get rid of the lawless element that's been making the trouble. From the way they talk, that seems to be us.

"I talked to Scott and he sure enough wants to see you. Dixie Venable ain't been seen in town since the big fight. And Tom's been in only once, and then he high-tailed it back to the W almost right off.

"Levitt has sent for outside law. He says he wants this Pogue-Reynolds feud cleared up and the blame put where it should be, right on your shoulders."

"Mine?"

"Well, he admits there was a feud before you came, but he implies you stirred it up. He also says there's been some rustling going on and he lays that to you. Also," and here Burt cleared his throat, avoiding Canavan's eyes, "the word is out that there will be a weddin' out at the W right soon."

Bill Canavan stared into the coals. So there it was.

The end to dreams. Now Levitt would marry Dixie Venable and the W would be his in all but name ... perhaps even that, too.

Yet what could he do? What could anybody do?

That Levitt would succeed in making him an outlaw was one thing he had not expected. And if anything was to be done to change that, it had better be done soon.

"There's some other talk around. Seems Syd Berdue is kind of unhappy the way things turned out Chubb is marshal in town, an' Kerb Dahl is foreman at the W. Bob Streeter is foreman over at the CR, but Levitt has told Berdue he'll be taken care of."

That's maybe what's botherin' him," Burt said dryly. "I know how I'd feel if Star Levitt said I was to be taken care of. I'd either take a shot at Star, or a fast horse out of the country."

"Well, Berdue ain't leavin'. Not so's you'd notice it. I reckon Star is anxious to have everything lookin' all clean and pretty for this law he's invitin' in. The Deputy U. S. Marshal who will come in or deputy sheriff, whichever it is, he ain't going to look very far if things seem to be all cleaned up and under control."

Canavan pondered the situation. Certainly, Levitt's position was good. He was a smooth, easy-talking man of impeccable appearance, and if everything was outwardly calm and he had a plausible story to tell, any outside investigation was likely to be shelved.

The Valley would then be safely in Levitt's hands, and no doubt he would have declared Bill Canavan an outlaw, and his friends likewise. He could then be hunted down and killed with no questions asked.

His own position was legally strong. If he could only meet with the officers when they came in ...

Levitt still did not know that he held the water rights for the entire Valley, and if Canavan could only reach the officers, he could present his own case and demonstrate that Levitt was at best an interloper.

Now was the time to come down off the mesa. He had to move into the arena before Levitt could consolidate his position. The idea came to him suddenly, and he knew exactly what he would do!

"There's talk around about those steers of yours,"

Burt added. "There's a lot of argument where they came from. They are full-grown steers wearing no other brands but yours, so there's a rumor that you've had a herd in these hills for a long time."

"Roily." Canavan hesitated, then went on, "I've heard a rumor about another man who lives on the W. When I was out there I saw a small cabin across the wash, and a trail of smoke from the chimney.

Do you know anything about that?"

"No, I surely don't. All I know is that none of us, when I worked there, were allowed near that cabin.

What about it, Mabry?"

"Same thing. Star used to go over there sometimes, but even Kerb Dahl acted funny about it. In all the fuss I'd sort of forgotten about it. In fact, we paid it no mind. In a case like that a body is right curious, but after a while he accepts it as one of the circumstances of the situation and pays it no mind."

Canavan considered the situation, running over all the details in his mind. He knew what he had to do. The big question was: would he last long enough to do it? Without a doubt, Levitt would have a shoot-on-sight order for any of the three. It was the risk he must take, and the time to act was now.

When morning came to the hills again, Bill Canavan caught up the Appaloosa, then changed his mind and switched to one of the horses from the lava beds, a dun with black legs, mane and tail. That Appaloosa, he reflected, would be a dead giveaway ... they would spot him a mile away on that horse.

He had ridden the dun several times, working cattle. It was a good, steady gelding with a good deal of cow sense and, mustang-bred, it was a good mountain horse. Not as fast as Rio, but a stayer.

He took a winding, roundabout route toward Soledad, one that kept him in the canyons and trees, out of sight of any chance watcher. It was a beautiful morning, the aspen leaves dancing lightly in the gentle wind, and a smell of pines and cedar on the wind. He drew up several times to look around, deliberately taking his time to enter town after darkness had fallen.

He was apprehensive. He had lived too long not to know the risk he took. Star Levitt needed him dead to complete the picture. He needed him dead and out of the way, and he would welcome this chance to get the job done before the outside law arrived.

From a mountain slope, Canavan looked down on Soledad. That day, only weeks in the past, when he had ridden into the Valley like a conquering hero seemed long, long ago. He had believed he had planned for every eventuality, but so much else had intruded that only his basic plan remained, and at times he forgot that, worrying about Dixie.