Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (17 page)

"How'd you get away? I ran right into that alley," he asked.

Houdon chuckled. "The office is raised up, maybe two feet off the ground. I wen
t
under it, up into the trapdoor. I made that so's I could sweep right out and no
t
have to use no dustpan. Pays to be a lazy bachelor, sometimes."

He nodded at the gold. "Old Dan never guessed when we made that strike at the RM
t
hat I'd wind up with it all. He sure didn't."

This was the last of the outlaws-what had his name been? Hopper? He had murdere
d
Chilton in cold blood. Had killed two in gunfights, but he was a sure-thing killer
,
the kind who never gave anyone a break.

Chick Bowdrie smiled suddenly. He was a Ranger and this was his job. He felt th
e
skin drawing tight over his wide cheekbones. He lifted his left hand and moved hi
s
hat back on his head. "You know, Hop, I think-" He threw himself in a wild lunge
,
low down and straight at the horse!

The startled bronc gave a leap, snorting. The shotgun blasted and dust kicked int
o
Chick's face. Then he came up to his knees as Houdon fought the frightened hors
e
and swung up his gun.

Houdon saw it coming, and left the saddle in a leap of agility surprising in a ma
n
of his years. He hit the ground in a crouch and triggered the shotgun, but the muzzl
e
was high and the charge of shot blasted by, high and to the right.

Bowdrie's gun clicked on an empty chamber, then fired, then he threw himself int
o
a roll, came up, and fired again.

Houdon took the shot right along the top of the shotgun. Smashing into his chest.

He tried to come up, gasping, and Bowdrie shot into him again.

He fell, staring for one awful instant into Bowdrie's face, and then lay stretche
d
out, choking horribly, his fingers working.

Chick Bowdrie turned away and walked to Rose. She stood in the Rock Hut door, he
r
face in her hands.

He looked over his shoulder at Rad Yates. "Can you ride?"

Yates got slowly to his feet. His nose was smashed, and the cut on his head stil
l
bled.

"I can ride."

"Then get on your horse and get out of here. Don't stop until you're somewhere else."

Rad Yates wiped blood from his face. He started for his horse, then halted. "Tha
t
Chilton kid ... you'll find him in the smokehouse with a headache. He wasn't ma
n
enough for the job."

"Beat it," Bowdrie said.

Rad Yates walked his horse away, and after a minute Chick told Rose, "Get your horse.

I'll load up the gold, then follow."

"There's blood on it," she said, dazed.

"Yeah"-Bowdrie's voice was dry-"but it'll buy cows."

*

THE MAN FROM THE DEAD HILLS

The sagebrush flats shimmered in the white heat of a late-summer sun, and a gra
y
powder of dust lay thick upon the trail. Far away the hills loomed purple agains
t
the horizon, but the miles between were endless flats dancing with heat waves.

Leosa Barron stood in the door, shaded her eyes against the glare, and searched onc
e
more, as she had so often of late, for a figure upon the road. There was nothing.

The road was empty of life, vanishing in the far hills where lay a little cow tow
n
known as Joe Billy.

She looked away. She must not expect him yet. Even if Tom Andrews received her lette
r
and was able to come, he could not arrive so quickly.

When her housework was finished, during which time she resolutely refused to loo
k
at the trail, she walked again to the door. Yet there was nothing but the white dus
t
and the heat. Then her eyes turned back up the even lonelier trail to the badlands
,
the trail to the dead and empty hills where nothing lived. Her lips parted suddenly
,
and sh
e
stared, refusing at first to believe what she saw between her back fence and th
e
dark cliffs.

Someone was coming. Someone was coming from the direction of the Dead Hills.

Unable to return to the shaded coolness, she waited in the door watching. She wa
s
a slender girl, taller than most, and graceful in her movements. She had a friendl
y
mouth, eyes that smiled easily, and lips that could laugh with her eyes. The fe
w
freckles scattered over her nose only added a piquant touch to an already charmin
g
face.

Much later she was still standing in the doorway when the solitary figure had shape
d
itself into a man, a man walking.

His hat was gray and battered, his plain wool shirt had a dark spot on the shoulde
r
and was gray with dust. The man was unshaven, and the eyes under the dark brows flashe
d
with a quick, stabbing glance that made her start with something that was almos
t
fear.

The jeans he wore were roughened by wear, and his boots were run-down at the heel.

His belt was wide leather, and curiously handworked. Leosa thought she had neve
r
seen a man in whom strength was so apparent, strength and ruthlessness.

Yet he wore no gun.

She had been watching him for two miles when he reached the gate. Now he fumble
d
,with the latch and swung it open. He did not speak, but turned back, closing th
e
gate carefully.

As he faced her she knew she was looking at a man exhausted but not beaten, a ma
n
whose lips were cracked with thirst, whose flanks were lean with starvation, bu
t
a man in whom there burned an indomitable fire, a fire of whose source she knew nothing
,
and could sense nothing.

Several times she had seen him stagger upon the road
,
and now as he faced her, his feet wide apart, it suddenly occurred to her that sh
e
should be frightened. She was alone here, and this man was from the Dead Hills. He
r
eyes went to that dark spot on the shoulder, a spot that could be only blood. Hi
s
face was haggard, a gray mask of dust and weariness from which only the eyes stared
,
hard and clear.

He walked toward her, and his eyes did not leave hers, fastening to them and clingin
g
as though only their clear beauty kept him alive and on his feet. As in a trance
,
she saw him stop at the well coping and lift the rope. He staggered, almost losin
g
balance, then she heard the bucket slap on the water.

Quickly she was beside him. "Let me do it- You're nearly dead!"

He smiled then, although the movement of his lips started a tiny trickle of bloo
d
from the heat cracks. "Not by a durned sight, ma'am."

But he let her help him. Together they drew up the bucket, then he lifted it an
d
drank, the water slopping over his chin and down his shirtfront. After a minute h
e
put the bucket down and stared at her, then around the place. His eyes returned t
o
her. "You alone here?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

He held the bucket in his hands, and waited. She knew how the body yearns for wate
r
and more water when one has been long without it, but this man waited. He impresse
d
her then as a man who could do anything with himself, a man who knew his strengt
h
and his weaknesses. His eyes glinted at her, then he lifted the bucket, drank a littl
e
more, and put it down.

Turning away from her, he picked up the washbasin and sloshed water into it. Strippin
g
off his shirt, he began to bathe his body. Standing behind him, she could see tha
t
there was an ugly wound near the top of his shoulder an
d
a dark stain of dried blood below and around it. Hurrying inside, she secured medicin
e
and clean linen and returned to him.

He accepted her ministrations without comment, only watching her with curious eye
s
as she cleansed the wound and bandaged his shoulder.

As she worked she was wondering about him. Long ago she had taken a ride into tha
t
remote desert country around the Dead Hills. Outlaws had lived there before the gang
s
were wiped out, but nobody else. There were hideouts near some of the water holes
,
but those water holes were hard to find unless one knew the country.

To a stranger the region was a waterless horror, a nightmare of grotesque stone
s
and gnarled and blasted cacti, a place where only buzzards and an occasional rattle
r
could be seen.

How far had this man come? What had happened to his horse, and where and how ha
d
he been shot?

When she had finished with his wound, she stood back from him and looked up int
o
his eyes. He was smiling, and the expression in his eyes startled her, for it wa
s
so different from the lightning of that first glance from the gate. His eyes wer
e
warm and friendly, even affectionate. Yet he stepped by her and into the coolnes
s
of the room beyond. Without a word he lay down on the divan and was at once asleep.

Returning to the door, she looked down the road again. If Tom Andrews were to arriv
e
in time, there was need that it be soon. If she lost possession of the ranch befor
e
he arrived, she had been told there was small chance they would ever recover th
e
property.

Then, almost at sundown, she saw them coming. Not Andrews, but Rorick and Wilson
,
the men she feared.

They came into the yard riding fast, drawing up wit
h
out dismounting. "Well"-Van Rorick's voice was cool but triumphant-"are you read
y
to leave? All packed?"

"I'm not leaving."

Leosa Barron stood straight and still. She knew these men, and for all Rorick's pretende
d
interest in her, she knew there was nothing he would not stoop to do if it obtaine
d
results. Lute Wilson was just a tool for Van, and a dangerous man to cross. Yet i
t
was Rorick she feared the most, for she knew the depths of malice in the man, an
d
she had once seen him vent his hatred on a trapped wildcat.

"Then you leave us no choice, Leosa," Rorick replied. "We'll have to move you. I
f
we do that, we might have to handle you rather roughly. You've had plenty of tim
e
to leave without trouble."

"I told you I was not going." Leosa stood even straighter. "You will leave this ranc
h
at once!"

Rorick's eyes narrowed a little, but he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "I
f
you want to come to my place, I could make you comfortable. If you don't come wit
h
me, there will be no place in Joe Billy where they will have you."

Leosa knew the truth of this. Van Rorick was known and feared in the cow town, bu
t
more than that, she was herself a stranger, and unkind rumors had been set afloa
t
because of her living alone. She had no doubt that those rumors had been originate
d
by Rorick himself. He knew so well the prejudices of a small town.

"I told you I was staying."

Yet there was no chance of winning. Had Tom Andrews made it, she might have stoo
d
them off. She could rely on Tom. Alone against them, she was helpless. And wher
e
could she go? She had neither money nor friends. Only Andrews, who had failed her.

"All right, Lute. I guess we move her."