Novel 1954 - Utah Blaine (As Jim Mayo) (v5.0) (8 page)

“All right. Hold your fire unless they open the ball. If they do, don’t miss any shots.”

“Who’s goin’ to miss?”

Utah Blaine walked slowly down the trail. The moon was up and the night was bright. As the riders neared they slowed their pace. Blaine moved forward. “All right, hold it up!”

They drew up, a solid rank of at least twenty men. “That you, Blaine?”

“Sure. Who’d you expect? You murdered Joe Neal.”

There was a short, pregnant silence. Nevers replied, his rage stifled. “All right, so Neal’s dead. That finishes you on this place.”

“I’d not say so. If Neal had lived he might have fired me. As it is, he can’t. I was given a job. Nobody has taken me off. I plan to stay.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Nevers burst out. “I’ve twenty men here! I’m takin’ over this spread right now.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Blaine replied quietly, “an’ if you do take over, Nevers, you’ll have fewer men than you’ve got now. And also,” he paused slightly, “I’ll be back.”

“Not if you die now.”

Blaine lifted his voice. “Boys, you’re backin’ this gent. Let’s see what kind of an Injun he is. Nevers, I’ll take you right now, with any man you pick to side you. I’ll take the two of you right here in the moonlight, Nevers. Come on, how much guts have you got?”

It was the last thing in the world that Nevers had expected. Moreover, it was the last thing he wanted. With nerve enough for most purposes, he had no stomach for facing a gunfighter of Blaine’s reputation—not even with a man to help him. He knew, just as Blaine had known he would, that Blaine’s first shot would be for him—and it wouldn’t miss.

Yet he knew how much depended on courageous leadership. Men, particularly Western men, do not follow cowards. He had been fairly called, and his mind groped for a way out, an excuse.

“What’s the matter, Nevers? Not ready to die?” Utah taunted. “Don’t worry too much. My hands aren’t in the best shape right now, an’ you might have a chance.” He was stalling for time, trying to turn their attack, or at least to dull its force. “They took quite a hammering yesterday when I whipped Ortmann.”

“When you what?”

That was somebody back in the crowd, one of the silent riders who waited the outcome of this talk.

From off to the left, Rip Coker spoke up. He wanted them to know he was there, too. “That’s right, boys. Blaine gave Ortmann the beating of his life. Called him right in his own place of business and whipped him good. Although,” he added, “I’d say Ort put up one hell of a scrap.”

“Did you hear that?” One rider was speaking to another. “Utah Blaine whipped Ortmann—with his
fists!
”

“Wish you gents would make up your minds to die,” Coker commented casually. “This here Colt shotgun is loadin’ my arms down.”

Rip Coker was carrying a Winchester, but he was well back. He knew all they could see was light on his barrel. A Colt revolving shotgun carried four shells and no man in his right mind likes to buck a shotgun. It was a shrewd comment, well calculated to inspire distaste for battle in that vague light.

“Yeah,” Timm’s voice came from the well coping. “You hombres make a right tempting target. This Spencer sure can’t miss at this range!”

All was quiet. Nobody spoke for several minutes. Nevers held himself still, glad that attention was off him for the minute. He had no desire to meet Blaine with guns now or at any time, yet he knew of no easy way out of the situation he was in. He had been neatly and effectually out-guessed and it infuriated him. Moreover, with a kind of intuition he knew that the men behind him had lost their enthusiasm for the attack. Blaine was bad enough, but that shotgun…a blast from a shotgun did awful things to a man, and this gun held four shells. And there was the possibility of reloads before they could get to him.

The Spencer .56 was no bargain either.

“All right!” Blaine stepped forward suddenly, gauging their hesitancy correctly. “Show’s over for tonight. You boys want this ranch, you take it the hard way. Let’s start back.”

Nevers found his voice. “All right,” he said evenly, “we’ll go. But come daylight, we’ll be back.”

“Why sure! Glad to have you!” Blaine was chuckling. “Room enough on this place to bury the lot of you.”

Slowly, those in the rear began to back off. None of them seemed anxious to push ahead. Reluctantly, stifling his frustration and fury, Nevers followed his retreating men.

Rip Coker walked over slowly. “It’ll never be that close again,” he said sincerely. “I had goose flesh all over me there for a minute.”

“That shotgun remark was sheer genius, Rip,” Blaine said.

Coker was pleased. “Just a trick idea. I sure wouldn’t want to buck a shotgun in the dark.”

“What’s next?” Timm had walked up. “I was listenin’ for Clell, but I don’t think he was with this outfit.”

“We wait for morning,” Blaine said, “and just before daybreak we’ll pull out.”

“Hell!” Rip said. “We’ve got ’em stopped now, why run?”

“The object,” Blaine said, “of any war is to destroy your enemy’s fighting force. With superior numbers and armament the British couldn’t whip Washington because they couldn’t pin him down. He always managed to pull out and leave them holding the bag. That’s what we do now.

“They’ll never own this ranch,” he said, “or the 46 as long as we’re alive and in the country. We can let ’em have it today, an’ we can take it back when we want it!”

Chapter 9

A
T DAYBREAK THEY started east. Mary Blake, accompanied by the fat Maria, was to ride to the Mormon settlement. Later, they would return to Red Creek and do what might be done there toward retaining title to their land. Blaine, accompanied by Rip Coker and Timm, took to the rugged country to the south.

The sun was hot and the three rode steadily, circling deeper into the hills. With them they had three pack animals loaded with food and ammunition.

“Maverick Springs,” Timm told them. “That’s the best place for us. She’s ’way back in the hills in mighty rugged country.”

Blaine mopped the sweat from his face and squinted through the sunlight toward the west. From the top of the mesa they could see a long sweep of the valley and the river. Table Mountain was slightly north of west from them and they could see riders fording the river.

“Lee Fox,” Coker said. “Nevers won’t have it all his own way.”

“Nevers’ place is beyond, in Bloody Basin, if I recall,” Blaine said thoughtfully. “I figure we ought to pay him a visit after we cache these supplies.”

“Now you’re talkin’!” Coker agreed.

“An’ we’ll make three separate caches. No use havin’ all our eggs in one basket.”

They turned down into the canyon back of Razorback and made one cache at the base of Cypress Butte. They rode on through the tall pines, the air seeming cooler in their shade. There was the smell of heat, though, and the smell of dust. They took their time, anticipating no pursuit and not eager to tire their horses. Blaine thought several times of the stallion. He missed the fine horse and would pick him up in the next few days.

They rode at last into a secluded glen shielded on all sides by ranks of pines and aspens. Scattered among these were a few giant walnut trees. They were now close under the Mazatzals which Blaine had observed from the faraway rim of Tule Mesa.

At daybreak, they moved out following Tangle Creek up to the Basin where they found the Big N standing alone. The only man on the place was the cook, who came to the door with a rifle. Utah stopped. “Where’s Nevers?”

Coker had been bringing up the rear and at the first glimpse of the cook he had turned his horse sharply left and circled behind the house while Blaine stalled.

“Ain’t none o’ your business!” The cook retorted harshly. “Who ’re you?”

“Blaine’s the name.” Utah saw Coker slip from his horse and start toward the back side of the house. “You tell Nevers to stay off the 46 and the B-Bar or take the consequences.”

“Tell him yourself!” The cook retorted. He was about to amplify his remarks when the sharp prod of a gun muzzle cut him off short.

“Lower that shotgun mighty easy,” Coker said quietly. “You might miss but I can’t.”

The logic of this was evident to the cook. Gingerly he lowered the shotgun and Coker reached around and took it from his hands. “What you goin’ to do to me?” the cook demanded.

“You?” Blaine laughed. “We’ve no fight with you, man. Get us some grub. We’ve had a long ride and we ate a light breakfast. You just tell Nevers we were here. If he tries to grab any piece of the 46 we’ll burn him out right here. You tell him that.”

“There’s only three of you,” the cook objected, going about fixing the meal. “You won’t have a chance.”

“Well,” Coker said cheerfully, tipping back in his chair, “you can bet on this. If we go, our burials will come after that of Nevers. Take it from me.”

N
EVERS WAS UNHAPPY. His men had closed in on the B-Bar ranch house only to find it deserted and empty. He was no fool, and he knew that there would be no safety for him or for anyone else on either the B-Bar or the 46 as long as Blaine was alive and in the vicinity.

Clell Miller rode in, unshaven and surly. Nevers went to him quickly. “Where’s Blaine? You seen him?”

“No.” Miller dismounted wearily. “An’ I don’t want to.”

“Losin’ your nerve?” Nevers sneered.

Miller turned sharply around and Nevers stiffened. “No,” Clell spoke slowly, “but I don’t like this. It looked good, but I don’t like it now.”

Nevers could see the man was on the ragged edge and he knew better than to push him. “What happened?”

“I met Tom Kelsey up on Mocking Bird,” he said, “an’ killed him.”

“Oh.” Nevers had liked Kelsey himself, and at the same time had known the man stood between them and the possession of the B-Bar.

“Blaine got away,” he said, “with Coker an’ Timm.”

“There’ll be hell to pay then,” Miller was gloomy. “Nevers, let’s call it off. I’m sick of it.”

“Call it off?” Nevers’ rage returned. “Are you crazy? The biggest deal ever an’ you want to call it off. Anyway,” he added practically, “nobody could stop it now. Even if we backed down the rest of them wouldn’t.”

“That’s right.” Clell Miller studied Nevers. “I wonder what will happen to you for the Neal killin’.”

Nevers jerked around. “I didn’t kill him.”

“Witter killed him at your orders. But now what? Neal had friends, Nevers. Friends down at Phoenix, friends in Tucson. Some of them will ask questions. Far as that goes, Neal told me one time he helped Virgil Earp out of a tight spot. The Earps stand by their friends. Look how they stuck with Doc Halliday.”

Nevers shook himself irritably. Despite his bluster, he was worried. Had he gone too far? But no—this was no time to waver and it was too late to turn back—much too late.

He scowled at the thought, then shook himself impatiently. “We’ll run Blaine down. We’ll have him in no time.”

“Think he’ll wait for you to come after him?”

Nevers turned his large head. “What do you mean?”

“Just this. I think he’ll hit us an’ hit hard. Have you forgotten Alta? I haven’t. And the bunch he tackled in Alta were so much tougher than most of our crowd there’s no comparison.”

They stood there, not liking any part of what they felt, knowing there was no way back. Yet there was no stopping. Nevers heard a scrape of heels behind him and he turned. One of his riders was standing not far away with a rifle in his hands. “Riders, boss, quite a bunch. Looks like Lee Fox.”

“Fox.” Nevers said it aloud. There was that, too.

A tall man rode up on a yellow buckskin. He pulled up sharply and looked around him. “Moved right in, Nevers? Well, you keep it. I’m headin’ for the 46.”

“Nobody’s made any claim yet.” Nevers held himself in. “I want the 46 an’ part of the B-Bar. You can have the rest.”

Fox smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Nevers had the feeling that he had had before. This man was riding the borderline of insanity. “Got it all figured, have you? What about Ben Otten?”

“He’s out of it.”

“Tell him that. You’ve got to take him in or he’ll go to Neal’s friends.”

Grudgingly, Nevers admitted this. Where all had been simple, now all was complication. Maybe Miller wasn’t getting weak-kneed after all; maybe he was just getting smart. “Go on up to the 46,” he said. “We can settle it later.”

Fox did not move. “We can settle now if you like.”

Nevers was a bulldog. His big head came up slowly and he stared at Fox. “That makes no sense, Fox. No sense in killin’ ourselves off.” He turned slowly. “Lud, open that keg of whiskey. We might as well celebrate.”

Fuller got up heavily. He had been profoundly shocked by Blaine’s swift and brutal cutting down of Ortmann. It was something long believed impossible, yet the slashing power of Utah’s fists had been a shocking thing. It had been soon apparent to all that Blaine had been the faster of the two, and he had hit the harder. Despite Ortmann’s huge size, his blows had shaken Utah. They had failed to keep him down. By his victory, Utah Blaine had seemed invincible, then on top of this he had fired Fuller and had told him to get out of the country.

Fuller had said nothing about the fight. The news was around though, and while the men gathered to empty the half of whiskey, talk swung to it. “Never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” Fuller said.

All eyes turned to him. Miller stepped forward, quick with interest. “You
saw
it?”

“Yeah.” Fuller straightened up from driving the spigot into the keg that sat on an outdoor table. “Blaine ruined him. He cut him down like you’d cut up a beef. Ortmann was rugged but he never had a chance.”

There was silence, and then a cool voice interrupted: “Am I invited?”

They turned swiftly. Utah Blaine stood there, his feet apart, his green eyes hard and ready beneath the flat brim of his hat. Beyond him, still astride their horses, were Rip Coker and Timm. Each held a shotgun taken from the Big N.

Nevers’ face turned crimson. “You?
Here?
” His voice was thick.

“Why, sure.” Utah let his eyes go slowly from one to the other and finally settled on Lud Fuller. The face of the 46 foreman turned white. “Don’t let it get you, Lud. I invited myself here. You still got time to leave the country. But don’t let me meet with you again.”