Dark Canyon (1963) (13 page)

". . . holdup at Casner Station. One of them, a
t
least, was wounded. I believe it was the Colburn bunch."

Doc Beaman was a wiry little man, often rough, always impatient. For all of that, he was a good doctor, and the frontier was accustomed to roughness. Had he been easier to get along with, he might never have come west, for his professional training was far superior to the average doctor of 'his time.

He was impatient now. "Damn it, Larsen," he said testily, "when are you going to arrest that Riley? You know damn well he's a thief. And probably a murderer. I've heard he admits he got those cattle from Coker."

"Dere is no evidence of such a t'ing. Of
stealing Burrage
, he tells me nearly four t'ousand dollar was drawn by Riley."

"We're all losing cattle," Oliver suggested mildly, "and we weren't before he came into the country. I will admit that's no evidence, but there it is."

McCarty helped himself to the roast beef and passed the plate to the sheriff. "I told him your nephew had those cattle at Spanish Fork, and I let him know they might be had for a bargain. You told me yourself he tried to get additional capital from you, Doc."

"Well, he didn't get
it!
Coker Beaman was always a fool about money. Throwing good money after bad! Why, he knew nothing about cattle! That boy jumped into one fool thing after another. Just the same, he was murdered. Murdered and robbed, and who knew he had that money? The only one who could have known was Riley."

"A dozen men might have known," McCarty suggested. "Doc, if you operated on your patients with as little evidence as you're using to convict Riley, you'd have a lot of dead men on your hands."

"Operation-that's what's needed. That's just what's needed! An operation with a rope!"

"He's a hard worker," Shattuck said suddenly. "When we were out there that night, I noticed it. He's done a lot of work. A man like that doesn't steal."

Marie glanced at him quickly, gratefully, and he was glad he had said it, even if he was not quite sure of what he said. Work had been done-he had begun to notice that before they reached the ranch. They had crossed a small wash and he had seen a dam holding back a little water. Later he had seen a spreader dam on a slope. He had never built such a thing himself, but he had heard of them. Then the house, the corrals . . . and he knew the kind of rawhide building rustlers did. They threw together a shack, never expecting to be around very much. Riley's house was of logs-and built to take additions. Riley might be a thief, but if he was he intended to be among them for a long time.

"Eustis is right!" Beaman declared. "If the sheriff here doesn't see fit to act, then we must band together and do it ourselves!"

Larsen buttered a thick slice of bread, bit off a piece, and chewed it with appreciation. Whatever else might be said of Shattuck, he certainly had the best butter in the country.

"When dere is acting to do," he said cheerfully, "I shall do it." He lifted his old blue eyes and looked across the table at Doc. "And if Eustis or anybody else moves against anybody, I shall arrest him, and I shall see him convicted of whatever crime is committed." Larsen smiled. "That includes you, Doctor."

There was no anger in his voice, not even a ring of authority, simply the calm statement of fact, but Doc Beaman had no doubts. Ed Larsen would do exactly as he said.

When the others rose to go into Dan Shattuck's study for brandy and cigars, Larsen lingered at the table with Marie. He said, "I am an oldt man. The
company
of a young lady is more inspiring dan brandy. I stay."

Marie was suddenly frightened. Was he going to pry? To ask questions? Hurriedly, she said, "Sheriff, everybody says you are Swedish, but you do not sound like a Swede."

He chuckled. "My papa is Swedish, my mother was Flemish, undt I was born in Holland. I talk Swedish, Dutch, Flemish ... undt some French.

"Mostly," he added, "I listen. I was listening to the druggist. He likes to talk, that one."

Though Marie was frightened, her expression did not change. She would not, she could not give them away. The strange rider had trusted her, and he had helped her. Perhaps nothing would have happened-not really-but no one had ever laid a hand on her before. Not in that way.

She must be careful, very careful. "I was in there tonight," she said calmly, "but I am afraid I gave him very little chance to talk."

His eyes twinkled. "A sheriff," he said, "in such a place as dis has to be more dan a sheriff. He must be chudge also. The courts," he added, "dey are far away. It is better we settle our own
business
here."

She filled his cup, waiting for what had to come. When it did come she was surprised. He said, "A young girl . . . she must be careful. I do nodt ask what you do with the bandages."

She sat down suddenly opposite him. "I gave them to a man whom I believe to be an outlaw. I do not know that he is, and I do not care. Had it not been for him, I-"

She hesitated, and then without naming locatio
n
or place, she described briefly what had happened.

"Ah, so? Strat should be more wise."

There was no need to ask questions. He fully understood the situation now, or believed that he did. But he was positive that the wounded outlaw would be one of the Colburn outfit.

What he had said was true. Court was a good long way off to the north; to get a prisoner there for trial was not difficult, but to get witnesses and a substantial case was extremely difficult. To be a sheriff called for a nicety of judgment, and also for sharpness of eye on one hand, blindness on the other. Some things had a way of straightening themselves out, and sometimes the removal of one factor in a situation caused things to settle down. Ed Larsen rarely made arrests, even more rarely did he go to court with one of those cases.

The Colburn gang were outlaws and wanted men, yet as outlaws went they were a decent lot. Bold, daring, and extremely shrewd, yes. But decent enough in their way. So far they had committed no crimes in his area; if cornered, he knew they would put up a desperate fight.

As he sat over his coffee he chuckled to himself. Marie had left the room, and now he sat alone, remembering the way she had carefully avoided mentioning any particular creek or place, and had avoided describing the outlaw. But trouble was coming, and he could not see his way clear to avoid it.

Only Dan Shattuck's seeming lack of interest had kept the pot from boiling over. Eustis, he knew, was fighting to get control, to take the lead that Shattuck had automatically enjoyed all these years. Marie, it was obvious, had not told her uncle about Strat Spooner stopping her, for if she had, Dan would be riding to town with Pico and his hand
s
right now, and within the hour Spooner would be strung to the nearest tree.

Ed Larsen put down his cup. It was up to him. He was going to have to see Spooner and order him to leave town.

He was, he felt, a reasonably brave man, but when he thought of Spooner something turned over inside him. Larsen had never been a gunfighter. He had fought Indians, hunted buffalo, and long ago had served a hitch in the army in Europe; but he was no match for Spooner with a pistol. Yet tell him he must.

McCarty was waiting for him when he left the dining room. "Riding in? Figured you might want company."

"I do," Larsen said. "I surely do."

Sampson McCarty was a man he could talk to, and he talked now as they rode away. He told him briefly and concisely the events of the day, even mentioning that he suspected the outlaw who had come to Marie's aid was one of the Colburn gang. Then he went on to speak of the bandages and medicines.

"It figures."

They rode on in silence for a while. Then McCarty spoke. "Ed, did you ever hear those rumors about there being five men in the Colbum outfit instead of the four everybody talks about?"

"Heard dem."

"There's only four now, anyway. There were only four at Casner Station."

"I t'ink you speak of dat other man in your paper one time."

McCarty dismissed the suggestion with a gesture. "I must have been mistaken. Nobody ever saw more than four that they could be sure of."

They rode on toward Rimrock, unaware tha
t
hands were being dealt in Rimrock that would alter the situation, and quickly.

Strat Spooner, left alone in the dark, splashed around in the water, trying to find his pistol. When he failed,
he started in the direction his horse had gone; and in that, at least, he was lucky.

Not a quarter of a mile down the trail he found the horse, the bridle reins entangled in brush. He mounted and rode to Rimrock. By the time he arrived he was thoroughly chilled and in a murderous fury.

Nick
Valenti
was lying on his cot, reading a paper, and he turned his head to stare at Spooner, when he came in, still soaked to the hide.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Shut
up!
"

Nick
Valenti
took another quick look at Spooner's eyes and remained silent. He watched the big gunman strip, dry himself with a dirty towel, and then dress once more.

Suddenly Spooner turned to him. "Heard you tell Hardcastle you'd seen Riley somewhere before have you remembered where it was?"

Valenti
hesitated. In this mood Spooner was dangerous, and he had no desire to provoke him, but he had promised Hardcastle, and that was where the money was.

"No," he said.

Spooner turned on him. "Damn you, Nick, if I find out you lied, I'll shove a shotgun barrel down your throat and let you have both barrels."

He would do it, too. Nick sat up slowly, touching his tongue to his lips. What was money, after all? He'd never seen a dead man spending it.

"I got an idea," he said, "only I ain't sure." "Let's have it."

"I seen that Riley I think it was him over to Prescott one time. He was with Jim Colburn.'

Spooner stamped his boot on the floor to settle his foot in it, and nodded with satisfaction. "Good! Damned good! Then that feller out to the creek was Kehoe."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"How much reward money would you say was ridin' on the Colburn gang?"

"Eight, maybe nine or ten thousand. Most of the money is on Weaver, but there are rewards out for all of them."

"Get on your feet. We're goin' over to see the boss. Then we're goin' to round up the boys and collect ourselves some fresh money. I know where that gang is at."

Martin Hardcastle sat alone in his office after Spooner and
Valenti
had gone. He had waited longer than he had planned, but the situation was now ripe. True, it had not gone just as he planned, with a cattle war over rustling between Shattuck and Riley, in the course of which Shattuck would be killed. Shattuck had for some unknown reason failed to react as expected, but this new situation was even better.

Strat Spooner would take his boys, with a few of the locals like that hot-headed Eustis thrown in, and they would strike at Riley's ranch in the Sweet Alice Hills. The Colburn gang would strike back and there would be shooting, and with known bandits in the country they would be blamed for whatever happened. The opportunity for which he had waited had come.

Hardcastle got to his feet and went to the back door of the saloon. Chats, a half-witted Mexican boy who slept in the shed back of the saloon, sometimes ran errands for him, and Hardcastle wanted him to go on one now. He gave him a dollar and a message for Dan Shattuck.

Then he returned to his room behind the bar and took a rifle from its case. He cleaned it carefully, then loaded it. He checked his six-gun with care, and reloaded it. This was one job he was going to do himself. He wouldn't miss it for anything,.

"And after that," he said aloud, "Marie."

Chapter
13

Gaylord, Riley topped out of Fable Canyon and drew up on the rim of Dark Canyon Plateau. He was hot and tired, but the sun was going down and he had completed the job he had been planning. He had cut out some of the best young breeding stock and herded them, with a young bull, into the lower part of Fable Valley where the grass was rich and they would be unlikely to stray.

Unknown to him, it was at this moment that Strat Spooner turned into the trail that was to take him to his meeting with Marie. Jim Colburn had already reached the
ranch
and was waiting to speak to Riley on his return.

Left alone in the canyon camp with Weaver, Parrish paced the ground and swore. He was no fool; he knew more about wounds than the others did, and he knew Weaver was in dire straits. Kept here, without medical attention, he would surely die.
Drastic measures
were needed, and Parrish decided suddenly that he would not wait for Colburn's return. Swiftly, while Weaver muttered and cried out in his delirium, Parrish broke camp and packed up. What he was about to do might kill Weaver, but he would die here anyway. When he was packed and had the horses saddled, he went to Weaver. "We're pullin' out, Weaver," he said. "You got to get up." Weaver had been an outlaw too long for the word
s
not to reach him. If they were pulling out, there was danger and pulling out was necessary. With the help of Parrish he struggled to his feet and was helped into the saddle, where Parrish tied him.