Novel 1954 - Utah Blaine (As Jim Mayo) (v5.0) (5 page)

“Blaine ain’t no cinch,” Miller said.

“Afraid?”

“You know better than that.”

Nevers nodded. “Yeah, I do. Forget it. I’m jumpy myself.”

“What about Neal?”

“Don’t let it bother you. Just you think about Blaine.”

Clell Miller looked down at the older man. So that was the way it was? You never knew about a man until you got into a deal with him. This was a steal. Miller was making no bones about that with himself, and he would not hesitate to kill if somebody got in the way. But everybody knew what he was and who he was. However, they had never exactly known about Nevers. They thought they knew, but…Miller got out the makin’s. “Where’s Rink?”

“Never you mind about Rink. He’s got his own work to do.”

So that was it! Rink had gone after the old man, Joe Neal. Well, there wasn’t a better man for the job. Little leather-faced Rink with his cold eyes and his remorseless way. A fast hand with a gun and ready to kill—a sure-thing operator. He would make no mistakes.

That meant the 46 Connected range was going to be thrown to the wolves, all right. “What about Blaine?” he insisted. “What if he won’t stand still for it?”

“He won’t have to,” Nevers said. “We’re going after Blaine. We’re going to corner him. No gunfights, Clell. We can’t take the risk. We’re all going in. You, me, Lud—all of us.”

“Otten?”

“Otten’s out of it. I mean, he will be after we do all the dirty work. If he tries to get in we’ll cut him off at the pockets. Far’s that goes, we might as well split his range too if he gets ornery.”

Clell Miller looked thoughtfully at the end of his cigarette. Nevers was like a bull. Once started nothing would stop him. Clell considered the matter. With anyone but Blaine the steal would seem like a cinch. “Why don’t we steer Blaine into Ortmann?” he suggested. “Let ’em kill each other off?”

“Too slow.” Nevers liked the idea, though. Clell could see that. “But we might try it. Get rid of one of them, anyway. If he uses guns, Blaine will kill him. If Ortmann ever got his hands on Blaine it would be the end of Utah.”

“He’d never let him. Blaine’s no fool.”

“Get your boys together,” Nevers advised. “I’ll put a bug in Ortmann’s ear. Maybe we can get them together. If we don’t succeed we’ll move in fast. Your outfit and my outfit, and we’ll pour cattle all over that range and hit Blaine from every direction at once. We’ll cut him out of the herd, get him alone, and then kill him.”

“What about Mary Blake?”

“Settle that when this is over. She’s nothing to worry about.”

“A couple of the boys will side her: Kelsey and Timm.”

“Kill ’em. Get them out of it tonight. You hear, Clell?”

Riding back to the ranch, Clell considered that. Nevers was right. There was no use giving them a chance to side her. Get them now. Kelsey was a good man. Too good a man to die, yet that was the way it had to be.

With Lud out of the way, Blaine left Coker in charge and rode swiftly to meet with Mary Blake. The place of the meeting was designated as a spot called Goat Camp, beyond the river. As he neared the Bench, Utah glimpsed a spot of green back under the very shadow of the cliff. There, among some ancient cottonwoods and sycamores was a small cabin. With sharpening curiosity he realized this must be the cabin of the girl, Angie Kinyon.

He glanced at the sun. There was time for him to see Angie. He swung the horse from the trail. Before he reached the house, he saw the flowers. The place was literally banked with them, and he looked around with real pleasure. The house was shadowed by the cliff and the giant trees, and a small stream trickled past the house. Alongside the house were several fenced patches of crops. All showed careful attention and considerable appreciation for beauty as well as necessity. He rode up under the trees and swung down.

A door slammed behind him and he turned. The girl had stopped on the steps, a girl with dark hair and large soft dark eyes. She came down the steps quickly and he swept off his hat. “I’m Blaine,” he said, “the manager of the 46. You’d be Angie Kinyon.”

She gave him sharp attention, seeming to measure and gauge him in one swift, comprehensive glance. “I hadn’t heard there was a manager.”

He explained, taking his time and enjoying the coolness after the heat of his ride. She was a tall girl, but beautifully formed, and her voice was low and throaty. As he talked, he wondered at her presence in this far place.

“You’ve a beautiful place.” There was a note of wistfulness in his voice. “You must have been here quite awhile.”

“Three years. It doesn’t seem long.”

She watched him, all her womanly curiosity turned upon this tall young man with the grave face and the slow smile. She had noted the two tied-down guns. She was far too knowing not to realize what they meant. Immediately she connected them with his name. She also knew better than most what an impact his presence must be making on the valley ranchers and their riders. Long before Joe Neal had any warning of what was coming, she had tried to warm him. She had watched the cattle of the 46 fattening on the rich graze and plentiful water, and she had seen the men from other ranches lingering hungrily around the edges. Their range was not bad, but it is not in many men to be satisfied with less than the best—when the best seems available.

Angie told Blaine this, of how stubborn Joe Neal was. He had wrested his range out of Apache country. Nobody would chase him from it.

“He told me he came here in ’60,” Blaine marveled. “How did he get along with the Indians? Surely there were a lot of them?”

“He talked peace when he could, fought when he had to. Twice all his men deserted but one, but he stayed on and fought it out.”

“One stayed?”

“Yes.” Angie Kinyon turned and indicated a stone slab at the head of a mound of earth under the sycamores some thirty yards away. There were flowers on the grave. “He lies there. He was my father.”

“Oh.” Utah looked at her curiously, this tall, lonely girl with the leaf shadows on her face. “You were here? Through all that?”

“My mother died in Texas before we came West with Joe. I grew up here, through it all. Never a week went by that first year without a raid of some kind. The second year there were only three. Then there were years of peace, then more fighting as the Apache began to fear the soldiers and wanted to kill all white people.”

“You never left?”

She looked at him quickly. “Then they haven’t told you about me?”

“No. They told me nothing. Forbes told me you lived here.”

“You’ve seen him?” The quick smile on her lips brought Utah a sharp twinge of jealousy that surprised him. Was that it, then? Was she in love with Forbes? “He’s fine. One of the finest people I’ve known.”

She was silent for a few minutes and he began thinking of his meeting at Goat Camp. “I’d better go.”

She followed him. “Be careful.” She put her hand on his sleeve suddenly. “Utah—do be careful! They’ll all be after you, every one of them. There’s not one you can trust.”

“Maybe we can work something out. Mary Blake has two good men, and Coker is going to stand with me.”

“Mary…then you’ve met her.” Her eyes searched his face. “You’re going to meet her now.”

“Yes. To work out a plan of battle.”

“She’s selfish.” She said it quickly and it surprised him. He had not expected her to speak ill of another woman. “She’s been spoiled.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Despite himself his voice was cool. “She only seems to want to protect her ranch.”

Angie nodded seriously. “You didn’t like what I said, did you? Perhaps I should only have said something nice. It would have been wiser for me, but of no use to you.” When he did not respond, she added, “Mary is lovely, and she is like her father. Nothing existed in this world but the B-Bar for Gid. Mary is the same way. She is strong, too. They are underrating her, all of them. To keep that ranch intact she will lie, steal and kill.”

“You really think that, don’t you?” He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up. “Sometimes one has to kill.”

She acknowledged that. “There are ways of killing. But remember what I have said. If she thought she could save the B-Bar by selling you out she would do it without hesitation.”

He turned the dun stallion. “Well, thanks,” he said, “but I think you judge her too severely.”

“Perhaps.” Her eyes were large and dark. She stood there in her buckskin skirt and calico blouse, looking lonely, beautiful, and sad. “I would not have said that, Utah Blaine, but I know the man you are, and I know you ride for Joe Neal, and for something stronger and better than all of them.”

She turned abruptly and started for the house and he looked after her, a little puzzled, but captured by her grace. She turned suddenly. “When it happens that they are all against you,” she said, “and it will happen so for I know them and they are wolves…when it happens, come to me. I will stand beside you as my father did beside Joe Neal.”

Chapter 6

M
ARY BLAKE WAS waiting impatiently beside a spring at Goat Camp. There was nothing there but a dark and gloomy hut with a roof so sunken that only a midget could have used the old cabin. A stone corral and a shed thatched with branches loomed in the background.

She walked to Blaine quickly as he came up. “You’re late. You’ve been talking to that girl.”

“Angie? Yes, I have.”

“She’s beautiful.” Mary said it shortly and Utah repressed a grin as he swung down. No love lost here, that was certain.

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully, “I believe she is. Now what’s this proposition?”

“You may have guessed. I’ve two good men. Kelsey and Timm. Neither are gunmen but both will stick. They’ll fight, too, and both are tough men. You have yourself. Together we can make a better fight than alone, and you—well, your name should draw some help to us.”

“I’ve one man,” he admitted, “Rip Coker.”

She was immediately pleased. “Good! Oh, fine! He’s the best of that lot on the 46, and as a fighting man he’s worth two of my men. Good. And we can get some more. There’s lots of them drifting into the Junction.”

“Not them. Paid warriors.”

“Aren’t they all? Aren’t you?” She flared at him, then she swept off her hat and shook out her hair. “Don’t mind me, Utah, I’m upset by this thing. I’m snapping at everyone.”

“It’s understandable. I get a little upset at times.”

She looked at him critically. “I doubt that. Were you ever upset by anything? Or anyone? You look too damnably self-sufficient, like you had ice water in your veins.”

“All right,” he brushed off her comments. “We’ve got four men and they had, as you suggest, better operate together. The 46 is the center, and we could fort up there.”

Her face changed swiftly. “And leave the B-Bar? Not for a minute. I thought you’d come over to my place. I could cook and I have Maria, too. I couldn’t leave her alone.”

You mean you couldn’t leave the ranch alone, he told himself, then immediately felt guilty. After all his irritation at Angie he was adopting her viewpoint. “What we had better do,” he said, “is ride into town and have a showdown with Otten. Swing him to our side.”

“It won’t work. He can gain nothing that way. He’ll stay neutral as long as he can, then join them.” She moved closer to him. “Utah, help me. On the 46 you’ll have Ortmann on one side and the others to your south. You’ll be between two fires. Come to the B-Bar and we can present a united front, with only enemies from one direction.”

There was some logic in that, but not much. His own desire was to move right in, to take the bull by the horns. He said finally, “Tomorrow I’m riding to see Ortmann. I’m going to talk him out of this if I can, then I’ll tackle the others.”

“He won’t listen to you.”

“He’ll have his chance.”

She shrugged, then smiled at him. “Oh, I shouldn’t argue! You’re probably right. Only…only…only I’d feel safer if you were over there with me. Maria is wonderful, and I know she would die for me, and so would Kelsey and Timm, but neither of them could face Clell. He frightens me.”

He looked at her quickly. “You don’t think he’d bother you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Or the others.” She was not being honest and she knew it. Clell—well, he might—but she doubted it. He liked telling her off, he liked being impudent because she had been boss so long, but Clell for all his killing and the innate vicious streak he undoubtedly had, was always respectful to women. Even, she had heard, to bad women.

Yet she could see her suggestion had influenced Utah. He was disturbed, and she set herself to play upon this advantage. He was handsome, she told herself. And the first man she had ever seen whom she could really admire. It would be pleasant to have him at the ranch.

“It seems so silly,” she said, “you and Rip Coker down there batching when you could be having your meals with us. I can cook and so can Maria. And you know how foolish it is to divide our forces.”

“I’ll see Ortmann first,” he said. “Then I’ll come back this way and I’ll bring Coker.”

They left it at that.

A
LL WAS QUIET on the ranch when Blaine rode in, and none of the men were back. Rip walked out from the house with a Winchester in the crook of his arm. Briefly, Blaine explained the plan. Coker shrugged, “Well, it gives us some help we can use. I know those boys. One thing about them, they’ll stick.”

“All right,” he said, “first thing tomorrow I’m heading for Ortmann’s bunch. I’m going to try to swing him my way.”

“You won’t do it.”

“We’ll see, anyway. Want to come along?”

Coker chuckled. “I wouldn’t miss it. I want to see your expression when you see that gent. He’s bigger’n a horse, I tell you.”

The next morning they were on their way. The trail led back to the rim of Tule Mesa and ran along the Mesa itself. It provided Blaine with a new chance to study the country and he took time to turn and look off to the southeast toward the Mazatzals, twenty-five miles away to the southeast. It was all that had been implied from the looks of it, a far and rugged country.

Rip rode without talking, his eyes always alert. They had reached the Yellowjacket Trail before he spoke.