Collection 1988 - Lonigan (v5.0) (5 page)

He was aware of the dark good looks of Burr Fulton, and that such a man might appear dashing and exciting to a girl like Jenny. Dan Regan's first visit to the stage station had arrested his notice as it had Jenny's, for here was a tall, fine-looking man with a steady way about him and a good job, even if it was with the declining Slash B.

Meadows wanted no trouble around his place, and yet, like Jenny, he was irritated that Regan took no offense at the ragging Fulton and Hefferman were giving him.

B
URR LOOKED UP suddenly at Jenny.

“Dance over to Rock Springs next week. Want to ride over with me?”

“No,” Jenny replied, “I don't want to ride anywhere with a man who makes a living by stealing other men's beef!”

Fulton's face flushed with angry blood and he half rose to his feet. “If you were a man,” he said, “I'd kill you for that!” He remained hard. “Might as well come,” he said. “You'll at least be going with a man who could protect you. I don't drink milk!”

“It might be better if you did!” she retorted.

After a few minutes, with a few more sarcastic remarks, the two got up and went outside, mounted, and rode away. After they were gone the silence was thick in the room. Dan Regan stared gloomily at his milk, aware of Meadows's irritation and Jenny's obvious displeasure.

He looked up, finally. “That was what I came down for, Jenny. I want to take you to that dance.”

She turned on him, and her face was stiff. Her chin lifted. “I'd not want to go with you,” she said bitterly. “You'd be afraid to stand up for a girl! You won't even stand up for your own rights! I thought you were a
man
!”

The moment the angry words were out, she would have given anything not to have said them. She hesitated, instantly contrite. Dan Regan took one more swallow of milk and got up. Coolly, but with his face pale and his eyes grim, he picked up his hat.

“I reckon that settles that,” he said quietly, “and I'll be riding on.”

Jenny took an impulsive step toward him, not finding the words to stop him, but his back was turned. Only at the door did he turn.

“What did you want?” he asked coldly. “A killing? for so little? Is a man's life so small a thing to you?”

She stared at the door, appalled. Then her eyes went to her father's.

“But, Dad! He—it wouldn't have meant a killing!”

Meadows looked up, realization in his eyes. “It might, Jenny. It might, at that.”

It was young Tom Newton who took her to the dance. A handsome boy he was, a year younger than she, and a rider for the Slash Bar. Yet the moment she walked through the door of the Rock Springs school she sensed the subtle difference in the atmosphere. The same people were there, but now a queer restraint seemed to sit upon them. The reason was not hard to see. Burr Fulton was there, with Bill Hefferman and some dozen other hardcase riders, all outside men, all tough, and all drinking.

Yet the affair started well, and it was not until after three dances that she glanced toward the door and saw Dan Regan. There was a subtle difference about him, too, and for a moment she could not place it, and then she saw. He was wearing two guns. It was the first time she had ever seen him with anything but a rifle, yet he wore the guns naturally, easily.

He wore a dark broadcloth suit that somehow suited him better than she would have believed. He did not wear it with the stiff, dressed-up manner of most western men, but with the ease of one long accustomed to such clothes. The change was good, she decided, for he managed to look not only perfectly at ease, but completely the gentleman.

As the evening wore on, the Fulton riders grew more boisterous. Hefferman walked out on the floor and took a girl from another man by the simple procedure of shoving the man away. White-faced, the girl danced with him, and when the dance was over, she and her friend left. Others began to drift away, and somberly, Dan Regan watched them go.

Jenny Meadows was perfectly aware it was time she left, but Dan had made no effort to come to her, nor to request a dance. Disappointed, and more than a little angry, she delayed even after Tom Newton began to urge her to leave with him.

Once, early in the evening, she had danced with Burr Fulton. He had teased her a little, but his behavior had been all she could have asked. Now he came to her again, his face flushed with drinking.

“Let's dance!” he said, grinning at her.

She was frightened at the lurking deviltry in his eyes, and she could see the temper riding him. Fulton was a reckless man, a man known to be ugly when drinking—and dangerous. She hesitated, and Newton spoke up quietly. “She has this dance with me, Burr.”

F
ULTON STARED INSOLENTLY at Newton, and Jenny felt a rising sense of panic.

“You mean she did!” he said. “She has this dance with me, now!”

Newton's face paled, but he stood his ground. “I'm sorry, Burr. She dances with me this time. Another time, perhaps.”

“This time.” Burr Fulton's attention was centered on Newton now. “This time she dances with me. You take a walk or get your horse and ride home. I'll take care of her!”

She turned quickly to Newton. “We'd better go, Tom. We should have gone long ago.”

Fulton's eyes turned to her then, and the taunting violence in them shocked her. “You stay until I get through with you!” he said. “Maybe I'll take you home tomorrow!”

Tom Newton's fist swung. It was a nice try, but Burr had been looking for it, hoping for it. He knocked the punch down and kicked Newton in the stomach. With a grunt, the boy fell to the floor, his face twisted with pain.

Suddenly Dan Regan had stepped between Jenny and Fulton. “That was a dirty trick, Burr,” said Regan. “You didn't have to kick him. Now you and your boys had better go home, you're spoiling a good dance, and insulting women.”

Fulton's face tightened. “Why, you lily-livered skunk, I'll kill—!”

The words stopped, for he was looking into a six-gun, and then he realized that the gun had been in Dan Regan's hands.

“So? A sure-thing operator, aren't you?” he sneered. “Walk up to a man with a gun in your hand! Don't take no chances, do you? Holster that gun and give me a fair shake! I'll kill you then! I'll shoot you like a dog!”

“You talk too much!” Regan said, disgust in his voice. “Take your coyote pack and trail out of here. Move now!”

His eyes ugly, Fulton turned his back on Dan and walked away. The dance broke up quietly. Regan stood alone and watched them go. Nobody came near him, nobody spoke to him, not even Jenny Meadows. Bitterly, he watched them go, knowing in his heart how they felt. He was afraid to give a man an even break, he came up with the drop on Fulton…he wouldn't take a chance.

All of them were glad that Fulton had been stopped before something more ugly happened, but this was not the way of the west. You faced a man, and you gave him an even break.

Dan Regan did not stop at the stage station on his way back to the hills. He just kept going until the high timber closed around him and his sorrel was soft-footing it over thick pine needles toward the cabin on the bench above Hidden Lake.

“We'd better forget her, Red,” he told the sorrel. “She thinks we're yellow. And so do the rest of them.”

Rumors came to him by occasional passing prospectors or hunters. Rustlers were harrying the Slash B by day and by night. The herds were decimated. Two of the Slash B riders had been shot. When the foreman had threatened reprisals, Burr Fulton had ridden right up to the Slash B bunkhouse, dragged the man from his bunk, and whipped him soundly. When the punchers had wanted to round up the gang, their frightened foreman had refused permission. What had begun as a series of raids on the Slash B had grown until almost a reign of terror existed in the malpais.

Three of the hands quit. Drifting out of the country, they stopped at Regan's cabin.

“Had enough!” Curly Bowne said with disgust. “I never worked for a white-feathered outfit, and I never will! If they'd turned us loose we could have cleaned out that bunch, but young Bud Billings is afraid of his shadow. The old man is sick, and Anse Wiley, the foreman, is plenty buffaloed now.”

“Stick around,” Regan told them. “No use you boys riding out of the country. There's plenty of grub here, and you can hole up and help me hunt lions for a few days. I've been sort of thinking about going down to talk to old Cash, myself.”

Webb looked at him cynically. “Heard you had a run-in with Burr,” he suggested.

Curly Bowne and Jim Webb studied their boot toes. Dan knew they were awaiting his reply. These men had always liked him, but nobody in the malpais knew much about Regan. He was just the Slash B lion hunter. The story they had heard about the dance did not show him up too well.

“I had a few words with him,” Regan said calmly. “He dared me to holster my gun, said he'd kill me if I gave him an even break.”

“You didn't do it?”

“No.” Regan's voice was flat. “I've no use for killing unless forced to it, and there were women and old folks around. Anyway it wouldn't have been an even break for Burr. He never saw the day he could throw a gun with me.”

He said it so calmly, in such a completely matter-of-fact tone that it didn't sound like boasting. Curly looked at him thoughtfully.

“Why don't you go down and see the old man?” he suggested then. “We'll hold on here for you.”

D
AN REGAN RODE by way of the stage station trail and arrived there at sundown once more. Jenny was putting food on the table when he went in, and her father glanced up at him.

“Howdy, Dan,” Meadows said grimly. “Reckon you can say good-bye to us now. We're leaving!”

Regan twisted his hat in his fingers, avoiding Jenny's eyes.

“Scared out?” he asked.

Jenny's old irritation with him surfaced once more.

“If I were you I'd not talk about being scared!” she said scornfully.

He glanced at her without expression. “All right,” he said quietly.

“Or anything else!” she flashed.

“Did I say I was?” he asked gently.

Her face flamed and she whipped around and walked from the room, her chin high.

“Jenny's sort of upset lately,” Meadows commented. “Don't seem like herself.”

“Burr been around?”

“Every night. That Bill Hefferman, too. He's a mean one, he is.”

“I'll be ridin' on, I reckon,” Dan said. “Got to go over to the Slash B.”

“Drawin' your time? They all quittin'?”

“No,” Dan Regan said quietly. “I'm applying for a job. I want Anse Wiley's job—ramroddin' the Slash B.”

Meadows stared. “You're crazy!” he said. “Plumb crazy! That outfit would run you out of the country or kill you! Burr Fulton has Wiley so buffaloed he doesn't know which end is up!”

The door slammed open and Bill Hefferman came in. “Coffee!” he roared. “Give me some coffee!” He grabbed Meadows by the collar and shoved him toward the kitchen just as Jenny appeared in the door, her eyes wide and startled. “Get me some coffee!”

“You make too much noise,” Regan said, looking up at him. He sat on a seat against the wall, his arms folded.

Hefferman turned his big head and stared. He was a giant of a man. When he saw who it was he sneered.

“You? Don't even open your yap at me, cat hunter! I don't like you, and I'd like nothing better than to smash your face in!”

“Get out,” Regan said, unmoving. “Get out and don't come back until tomorrow afternoon. I'll meet you here then, and if you want trouble, I'll whip you—bare-handed!”

“What?” Hefferman spoke in a hoarse whisper. “You'd fight me with your hands?”

“Yes, and beat your head to jelly! Now get out of here!”

“Get out, is it?” Hefferman started for Regan. “I'll throw you out!”

He was walking fast, and Dan reached out with a toe of his boot and hooked a chair with it, kicking it into the bigger man's ankles. Hefferman ran into the chair in midstride and came down with a stunning crash. He drew back to his knees, clumsily kicking the ruins of the chair loose from his ankles. When he lifted his dazed eyes he was looking into Dan Regan's six-shooter.

“Beat it!” Dan said quietly. “You light a shuck!”

Slowly, his eyes clearing, Hefferman got to his feet. “I'll kill you for this!” he said viciously.

“All right. Tomorrow. With your fists,” Regan said. “Don't be late. Three is the hour!”

When he was gone, Meadows shook his head. “You sure do beat all!” he said. “You get out of fixes better than any man I ever saw! But now you've got a chance to get away, and you better do it!”

“Leave?” Regan smiled. “And miss all the fun? Don't worry, I'll be here tomorrow! And while I think of it, you'd best not sell out if you haven't, nor plan on leaving. There's going to be a change around here!”

He walked out, leaving Jenny staring after him with puzzled eyes. “Dad, what's the matter with him? Is he afraid, or is he a fool?”

Meadows lit his pipe. “I don't know, Jenny darling,” he said, “but I've a feeling he's neither!”

It was spitting snow when Dan Regan rode into the ranch yard of the Slash B. He walked his horse across the yard to the rail by the house, dismounted, and tied him. Then he started up the steps.

“Wait a minute!” It was Anse Wiley. “You can't go in there!”

“Who says I can't?”

“I do!”

“Then it doesn't mean a thing. Go on back to the bunkhouse out of this snow. I want to see Cash.”

“Cash?” Wiley's face was angry. “He's a sick man. Nobody sees him!”

“That gag worked too long and too well for you and Bud,” Regan said. “I know all about you. You've been stealing the place blind, both of you. Now the fun is over. Get out of town or get thrown in jail!”