Hardcase (15 page)

Dave climbed for another hour and knew he was to the south of the deep canyon. He started working north now, still climbing, and presently to his left he saw the land fall away abruptly. This was the canyon, and he could see the opposite wall close now. He knew that a few hundred yards ahead and upward he would come to the head of the canyon.

When he did he was in the treacherous shale, and he paused. Behind him the country lay flat as a table, baking in the sun. He got his breath and then looked above him. There, far above the strip of shale in the living rock, the bucket cable was anchored. Dave achieved it, and then looked down. He could see nothing, except a section of the valley floor far below just being touched by the late-morning sun. A giant iron cleat was anchored in the rock, and the single rope of cable ran through it and down to the lip of the canyon; where a thick iron roller protected it from the sawing edge of the rock. Gingerly, clinging to the cable, Dave inched his way down to the lip and looked over. He drew back almost at once, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Ahead of him and far, far below lay the reduction mill, its roof looking the size of a postage stamp from this height. He could pick out several things that looked like ants lining one section of the canyon wall. These were the horses, he supposed. And still smaller spots crossing between the two buildings were probably the men.

The cable itself swooped sickeningly toward the canyon floor, looking frailer than a spider web. At regular intervals the ore buckets connected by a smaller cable hung immobile by the pulleys on the big cable, showing the mine was not at work.

And to get to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below he must go down that cable. The thought of it chilled him. And then he thought of McFee, and thinking of him and hating him, he thought of Carol. If he could get Sholto back McFee would go free, and Carol would be happy. At least he would have made up for the blunders he had already committed. Sudden decision took hold of him, and he cast about for some way to get down. He couldn't ride the buckets, for they weren't working, nor climb down hand over hand, for it was too far.

And then he thought of his lariat. The cable, of course, would eat into it if he slid down on it, but if he tripled the rope, wouldn't it be possible to reach the first bucket, change the rope to a fresh hold, slide to the second bucket, and so on?

He didn't know, but he did know one thing. If the cable bit through the rope too fast he had a drop that would break every bone in his body. They could bury him in a fry pan.

Thoughtfully he looked at his lariat, shook his head, then set about making three equal lengths of it. He twisted this about one of the cables, grabbed it with both hands, then, taking a deep breath, he swung off into space. The cable gave a little with his weight, started to sway, and then he picked up speed with the sickening force of gravity. He was swooping down on the ore bucket with the speed of lightning, it seemed. It was only a matter of seconds, and he slammed into the ore bucket, breaking the force of the blow with his feet. He put a foot over the side of the heavy bucket, pulled himself inside, and rested, his hands shaking. Then he looked at the rope. The slide had eaten almost through the three strands, and he shuddered a little when he saw the frayed ends. Three thicknesses wouldn't do. He'd have to take six.

He looked about him. He was hanging out in space right at the shaft mouth. It seemed solid and safe in there, but the feeling was unfounded. He had to go down now. There was no other way out. This time, with six thicknesses of rope, he swung out again and again he shot down the cable with dizzy speed. He hit the second bucket with the force of a pile driver, knocking the wind out of him. But he crawled inside and again got his breath. He was more than halfway down. There was one more bucket and then the yawning mouth of the ore hopper atop the mill. The cable ran on down to be anchored in the canyon floor in front of the mill.

Buildings were closer now, but he was still far above them. Nobody was in sight, and again, after laying six thicknesses of rope across the cable, he swung out.

When he achieved the third bucket he looked at his rope and saw that it was used up. The trip from this bucket to the roof would have to be made hand over hand, without the rope.

He left the rope in the bucket, gripped the cable, and began to lower himself down it. It took an eternity, but finally he was on the lip of the big ore hopper. He rested there, listening. One of the horses below had seen him, and now he eyed him with faint interest.

Dave swung down from the hopper to the roof and, crouching by it, eyed the shack across the canyon floor. It seemed empty, and yet he couldn't be sure. He waited a full ten minutes and saw nothing and concluded that Will was in the building beneath him.

Dave tiptoed up to the edge of the roof and peered over. Two men were standing about thirty feet from the door, their backs to him, talking.

Dave reached up for the cable over his head, crawled hand over hand down it, and then dropped the six feet to the men. He landed astride the shoulders or both men, knocking them to the ground. One man yelled as he fell. Dave whipped out his gun and brought it down on the man's head with a savage force. The other man had been knocked out by the fall. Dave picked up one of their rifles and ran the thirty feet to the door. He flattened against the side of the building just as he heard a table overturn inside and the heavy tramping of feet. The door was yanked open, and at the same time Dave swung the rifle, butt foremost. It caught one of Will Usher's gunnies full in the belly and doubled him over like a jackknife. Dave grabbed him before he fell, held him up with one hand, palmed his gun up with the other, and, using the man as a shield, stepped into the room.

He had a fleeting glimpse of the room before it exploded into action. Will Usher, his gun half out, was lunging for shelter behind Sholto, who was sitting motionless in a chair by the overturned table. McFee was standing against the wall, his hands raised over his head. And in that split second Dave caught sight of the man flattened against the wall inside the door. He wheeled away and back just as the man's gun exploded. The man Dave was holding jarred with the impact of the slug. Dave stuck his gun in, turned it at right angles, and fired just as a window crashed somewhere. The man fell. Then he lunged inside the room over the two bodies on the floor. A gun boomed from the rear of the room, the slug slapping against the wall behind him.

McFee yelled: “Be careful!” as Dave swung up his gun and sent a shot toward the rear of the place. A door slammed; a body fell heavily, and then it was still.

Dave said swiftly, “Where's Usher?”

“Out the window!” McFee said.

Dave ran for the shattered window, stuck his head out and saw nothing, then turned and lunged out the door. Usher had just dived behind the horses. Dave was out the door, running toward him, when Usher shot over the rump of a horse. The slug whistled by Dave's ear, and he dived for the protection of the two unconscious men in the yard. Usher shot again, this time over his head. Dave grabbed the rifle of one of the men, propped him on his side, laid the rifle across him, and then called, “Come on out, Will. You can't make the break.”

“Damn you! Come and get me! I'll kill every horse here if you do.” He sent another shot at Dave that went over his head.

There was a long silence. Dave couldn't shoot for fear of hitting the horses, which they needed. And Will Usher knew it.

Suddenly Will bawled, “I'll make a deal, Dave! Give me a horse and let me out of here and I won't shoot the horses.”

McFee yelled from the house, “Take him up on it, Dave! There's a man guardin' the canyon below! We can't get out afoot!”

Dave said, “Nothin' doin', Will. I wouldn't trust you. You'd fort up out there and send that man for a posse in Wagon Mound.” He paused. “I'm comin' over, Will.”

“Wait a minute!” Will cried, real terror in his voice. “I'll ride out with you, Dave! I'll pull that man away and take him with me!”

“I'm comin' after you, Will!”

“Dave! Dave! Listen, you need the horses, and I'll kill 'em all if you start over here! Listen to me! I'll give myself up if you'll give me your word you'll turn me loose at the mouth of the canyon. I'll get you by my man!”

McFee bawled, “Dave, you fool! Take him up!”

Dave cursed bitterly. There was McFee howling like an old woman because he was afraid to be afoot in a country where a posse was likely to ride him down. And now Will Usher, because McFee was afraid, would go free. For one stubborn moment Dave told himself McFee could be damned, but he knew he couldn't let Will kill the horses. What was he doing this for? To get Sholto back and McFee free of his charges. Will Usher would have to wait.

Usher bawled; “Give me your word, Davey, and I'll take you out of here!”

Dave dropped his rifle in disgust. This was twice he'd missed Will Usher. He said shortly, “Come on out. You've got it.”

XIII

Will Usher walked out from behind the horses, smiling broadly. He had no fear of being killed now, for Dave Coyle's word, to lawman or outlaw, was never broken. He walked over to Dave, his handsome face smiling. Somewhere in the turmoil he had lost his hat, but he was still wearing his dusty frock coat and his soiled gloves.

“Well, well, Davey,” he said wryly. “I thought I had a place here that was Coyle-proof.”

“You'll never have one, Will,” Dave said. “When I get through with this business I'm goin' to spend a little time on you.”

They looked at each other a moment, Will Usher's face troubled, his eyes angry. He looked like a gambler who had tried to fill a bobtail straight and was both surprised and angry that he hadn't. Dave Coyle looked disappointed too—and grim.

McFee, now that the shooting was over, tramped out of the mill shed, Sholto behind him. Dave looked at McFee and, remembering that McFee, instead of warning him of the man inside the shack waiting for him, had stood there with his hands in the air, said sardonically, “I don't know what I'd do without a fightin' partner like you, McFee.”

McFee's face was a brick red. “I'm not a gun-fightin' man,” he said.

“Why mention gun fightin'?” Dave sneered. “Here.” He handed McFee his gun. If he says boo just hold tight and maybe it won't fall out of your hand.”

Dave went back into the mill shed. The man behind the door had shot his partner, and they were both lying dead across the sill. Dave went on through the office to a smaller one and found what he was looking for. The watchman had been bound and gagged and was lying on the floor. Dave untied him.

Afterward he went out to the horses. Usher and McFee mounted first, and Dave swung up alongside of Sholto's horse.

“I've got your wife safe,” Dave said to Sholto. “You don't have to go back to Wallace now. We're showin' you to Beal so he'll free McFee, and then you can ride out.”

Sholto's eyes lighted up with a faint hope, and he said, “Thanks.”

“You let me get past you that night at the line camp. I pay back my debts.”

They rode out of the canyon. Will Usher called down his guard, who was forted up on the canyon slope, and Dave disarmed him and gave him the extra horse.

At the mouth of the canyon Will Usher said, “I'll leave you here, Davey boy,” and grinned at him.

Dave shifted in his saddle and regarded Usher with speculation in his eyes. “Aim to high-tail it, Will?”

Usher laughed. “I don't reckon. You know why, Davey? Because I think they'll nail your hide to the wall before you're through here. I aim to help 'em.”

Dave nodded agreeably. “Stick around. It'll save me trouble huntin' you.”

Usher laughed, waved agreeably, and headed down the road toward Wagon Mound. Dave and McFee and Sholto cut through the timber, rounding the base of the Corazon, and headed for Yellow Jacket.

It was a long ride and a hard one, and Dave hurried. He wanted more than anything else at this moment to get McFee off his hands. Once that was done, once it was proved to Carol that he was willing to help her father, he would be free to work on what was important. Sholto, after all, was a minor matter, a nuisance, a by-product of the court fight. What was important was the identity of the man behind Tate Wallace.

Darkness caught them far out on the flats west of Yellow Jacket. A chill night wind riding the earth bit into them and gave its warning of winter soon to come. It seemed to Dave, looking over at Sholto and McFee with their shoulders hunched against the cold, that all of them would be glad to part company. McFee was sulky, not even cheered by the prospect of his freedom. Sholto was more quiet than any man Dave had seen. He seemed to be considering something, keeping his own counsel. The three of them were like strangers, not even wanting to speak to each other.

When they were finally in sight of the lights of Yellow Jacket, Dave said grimly, “Well, we'll part company pretty quick. What do you aim to do then, McFee?”

“Take up the fight where you interrupted it,” McFee said bitterly. ‘That is, if Sholto goes back to Wallace and intends to swear he was witness to the deed.”

Dave said to Sholto, “Will you?”

“I don't know,” Sholto said. “I got to think.”

They picked up the road south of town, and now the lights of the town were distinct up ahead. They passed the first houses on the outskirts of town, and Dave peered through the darkness at Sholto. Would he show himself to Beal, then vanish? Or would he hunt up Wallace again? Dave didn't know and didn't care. But he did know that if he were in McFee's boots he would be talking, pleading, threatening, or buying him off. Instead McFee was sulkily watching Sholto.

They passed into the business section now, and ahead were the lights of the saloons. The sheriff's office was lighted also, Dave saw. When he came to the middle block of the town, where old Badey's store threw out its light into the street, he reined up.