Novel 1954 - Utah Blaine (As Jim Mayo) (v5.0) (9 page)

“What do you want?” Nevers demanded.

“Want? Why, I saw you fellas were openin’ a keg so we thought we’d come down.” Blaine turned his eyes slowly to Nevers. “You sure make a nice target through the sights of a Winchester, Nevers. I come darn near liquidatin’ the stock of the Big N.”

Nevers stared at Blaine, hatred swelling within him. Yet even as it mounted, a little voice of caution whispered that he should go slowly. This situation was shot through with death.

“Had my sights on Miller, too,” Blaine said. “I sort of like the looks of you boys with my sight partin’ your eyes. It’s a right good feelin’. I might have shot Miller, but I promised him.”

Clell’s nerves were jumping. “Yeah? To who?”

“Me, Clell,” Rip Coker was smiling wickedly. “I asked for you. I always figured you weren’t as salty with that six-gun as you figured. An’ when we tangle remember it ain’t goin’ to be like it was with Tom Kelsey. That was murder, Clell.”

Clell glared, but his eyes shifted. Timm’s glance met his and Clell felt a little shiver. That quiet man—square-faced, cool, calm, steady Timm—his eyes held a kind of hatred that Clell had never seen before.

“Kelsey an’ me rode together for years, Clell,” Timm said.

Blaine stepped forward and jerked the tin cup from Nevers’ fingers. Then he filled it partly. Stepping back, he looked at Nevers. “I’m goin’ to kill you, Nevers,” he said quietly, “but not today. We’re just visitin’ today. I promised Coker that I wouldn’t kill you today if he wouldn’t tackle Miller.”

He turned and walked back, handing the cup up to Timm, who took a swallow, then passed it to Rip. Coker laughed and emptied the cup. Utah Blaine walked back, his spurs jingling. Nobody spoke; the riders stood around, watching him. Clell felt a faint stir of reluctant admiration. This man had guts, he told himself.

Rightly, Blaine had gauged them well. No Western man in his right mind was going to try reaching for a gun when three armed men, two of them with ready guns, covered him. One man Blaine was not sure about was Lee Fox. Fox was a man who might gamble. Yet even as Utah thought that his slanting eyes went to Coker.

Rip was watching Fox with care. Trust Rip to know where the danger lay.

“Yeah,” Blaine said, “you’ve started the killing with two murders, Neal and Kelsey. Both were good men. The killing can stop there if you back up and get off this ranch and stay off it and the 46 Connected.”

“If you think we’ll do that,” Nevers replied, “you’re crazy!”

“We won’t back up,” Fox interjected.

Utah Blaine took another drink and then replaced the cup on the keg. He stepped back. “All right, boys, this goes for every man jack of you. Get off the two ranches by sundown or the war’s on. We’ll kill you wherever we find you and we’ll hang any man who injures any one of us.”

“You talk mighty big for such a small outfit.”

“Want to try your hand right now, Nevers?” Blaine looked at him from under the brim of his hat.

“Plenty of time,” Nevers said.

Utah swung into the saddle. “All right, we’ve told you. Now it’s on your head.”

Suddenly his gun sprang to his hand. “Drop your belts!” The words cracked like a whip. “Drop ’em, an’ no mistakes!”

As one man their hands leaped to the buckles and they let go their gunbelts. “All right,” Blaine said. “Turn around!” They turned, and then Blaine said, “Now run! Last man gets a load of buckshot!”

As one man they sprang forward and raced for the draw, and wheeling their horses, the three rode out of the clearing and into the trail.

Hearing the horses’ hoofs, Nevers braced to a stop and yelled, “Horses! Get after ’em! I’ll give five hundred dollars for Blaine, dead or alive!”

Chapter 10

T
IMM LED OFF as they left the Basin. Instead of taking the trail for Mocking Bird Pass he swung west into the bed of Soda Springs Creek. Trusting Timm’s knowledge of the country, Blaine trailed behind him with Coker bringing up the rear. They rode swiftly, confident their start would keep them ahead without killing their horses.

Timm swung suddenly west over a shelf of rock. He turned up over a saddle in the Mustangs and into a creek bottom. The creek was dry now. Ahead of them loomed the battlemented side of Turret Peak where Apaches had been trapped and captured long ago.

“Fox had me worried. I was afraid he wouldn’t stampede.” Coker’s comment was in line with Blaine’s own thoughts. “It’ll set him wild.”

“Yeah, we’re on the run now for sure.”

Timm had nothing to say. The older man studied the hills, selecting their route with infinite care, leaving as little trail as possible. They turned and doubled back, choosing rocky shelves of sand so deep their tracks were formless and shapeless, mingling with those of wild horses and of cattle.

“How far are we from Otten’s place?” Blaine asked.

“Just a whoop and a holler.” Timm turned in his saddle. His face looked strangely youthful now, and Blaine noticed the humor around his eyes. Timm was taking to this like a duck to water. It probably brought memories of old days of campaigning. “You want to go over there?”

“Sure. As long as we’re ridin’, let’s drop in on him.”

“That outfit will be runnin’ us,” Coker warned.

“I know that. So this may be our last and only chance to see Otten.”

Luckily, the banker was at the ranch. He came out of the house when he saw them approaching, but his face shadowed when he identified them. “What are you doin’ here, Blaine? You’d best ride on out of the country.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Blaine watched Timm lead the horses to the trough. “We’re not goin’, Ben. We’re stayin’. We’re goin’ to fight it out.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Ben Otten was more worried than angry. “Look, boys, you don’t have a chance! The whole country’s against you. I don’t want to see any more killing. Ride on out. If you’re broke, I’ll stake you.”

“No.” Blaine’s voice was flat. He looked at Otten with cool, hard eyes. “I don’t like bein’ pushed and I’m not going to run. If I have to die here, I will. But believe me, Ben, they’ll bury some men along with me.”

“That’s no way to talk.” Otten was worried. He came down from the steps. “Where’s Mary? What happened to her?”

“She’s over in the Mormon settlements. She’ll be safe if she stays there.”

“Where’s Tom Kelsey?”

“Then you haven’t heard? Clell Miller killed him. Joe Neal’s dead, too.”

Otten nodded. “I know that. I’m sorry about Tom. Neal should have stayed out while he had the chance.”

Utah Blaine stared down at the banker, his opinion showing in his eyes. “Ben,” he said frankly, “you’ve the look of a good man. I hate to see you running with this pack of coyotes! Soon’s a man is down you all run in to snap and tear at him.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to say.” Otten kicked dirt with his boot toe. “Where’d you come from?”

“The B-Bar. We faced up to Nevers and Fox over there. Stopped by to tell them what they were buckin’. That’s why we stopped here, Ben. You know what this means, don’t you?”

Otten looked up, his eyes granite hard. “What does what mean? You’re not bluffin’ me, Utah!”

“I never bluff, Ben.” Blaine said it quietly and the older man felt a distinct chill. “I’m just tellin’ you. Run with that pack and you’re through. I’ll run you out of the country.”

Otten’s face darkened and he stepped forward, so furious he could scarcely speak. “You!” he shouted. “You’ll run me out! Why you ragged-tailed gun-slinger! You’re nothin’ but a damned driftin’ outlaw! You stay here an’ I’ll see you hung! Don’t you come around here tellin’ me!”

“I’ve told you.” Blaine turned his back on him and gathered up the reins of his horse.

“Let’s go, Utah.” Timm’s voice showed his worry. “They’ll be right behind us.”

Blaine swung into the leather and then turned, dropping his glance to Otten. “Make your choice, man. But make it right. You’ve done nothing against me yet, so don’t start.”

In a tight group, the three rode out of the yard and Ben Otten stared after them, his hand on his gun. Why, the man was insane! He was on the run and he talked like it was the other way around! He’d…! Ben’s fury trailed off and old stories came flooding back into his mind. This man, alone and without help, had walked into Alta and tamed the town.

Otten knew other stories, too. More than once he had heard Gid Blake’s story of the trail cutters. He shook himself irritably, and swore aloud, then said, “Why, the man doesn’t have a chance!” But the words rang hollow in his ears and he stared gloomily after them. Suppose the man did win? The answer to that was in Blaine’s words: he never bluffed. He would do what he promised.

But that was absurd. Utah Blaine wouldn’t last the week out. A few minutes later when Nevers and his hard-riding crew raced in, he became even more confident. It was not until he lay in bed that night that he remembered Blaine’s face. He remembered those level green eyes and something turned over in him and left him cold and afraid.

N
OW THE CHASE began. To the three riders it became grim and desperate. After nightfall they came down to the Rice cabin and after looking through the windows, tapped gently on the door.

“Who is it?” Rice demanded.

“Blaine. After my horse and a couple of others.”

The door opened and Rice stepped out. He glanced sharply at Coker, then over at Timm. “All right. Better ride your horses back up the canyon. There’s an old corral there where they won’t be seen. I’ll come along.”

At the brush corral, he watched them strip the saddles from their tired horses and saddle up afresh. Utah got his kak on the lineback and the stallion nudged him happily with its nose. “You haven’t seen us,” he explained to Rice.

Rice chuckled wryly. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You boys watch your step.”

He backed up, holding the gate open for them. As they passed he looked up at Timm. “I s’pose you know you’re ridin’ with a couple of wolves?”

Timm chuckled. “Sure do,” he said cheerfully, “an’ you know, Rice, I feel fifteen years younger! Anyway,” he added, “I like the company of wolves better than coyotes.”

Four days later, worn and hollow-eyed, they rested in Calfpen Canyon. Hunkered over a fire they watched the coffee water come to a boil. Then Timm dumped in the grounds. There was a bloody bandage on Coker’s head and all of them were honed down and fine with hunger and hard riding. The horses showed it even more than the men.

“Ridin’ with the wolves is rough, Timm,” Blaine said.

The older man looked up. The grizzled beard on his jaws made him seem even older than he was. “I like it, Utah.” His voice was low. “Only one thing I want. I want to fight back.”

“That,” Blaine said quietly, “starts the day after tomorrow. We’re goin’ to swing wide to the east an’, take our time, let our horses rest up from the hard goin’ and swing away around to the Big N.”

Rip Coker looked up. His hatchet face was even thinner now, his tight, hard mouth like a gash.

“We’re goin’ to hit back,” Utah said, “an’ hard. We’re goin’ to show ’em what war means!”

“Now you’re talkin’!” Rip’s voice was harsh with emotion. “I’m fed up with runnin’!”

“They haven’t seen us for a day now,” Utah said, “and they’ll not see us again for a couple more. We’ll let ’em relax while we rest up.”

N
EVERS WAS DEAD tired. He stripped off his clothes and crawled gratefully into the blankets. In the adjoining room he heard the hands slowly turning in. There was little talk among them tonight, and he stared gloomily at his boots. The chase, which had started off with excitement, was growing dull for them, and when not dull, dangerous.

On the second day they had caught up with Blaine and his two companions and in the gun battle that followed two of the Big N riders had been wounded, one of them seriously. One of the Blaine group had gone down—Coker, somebody had said. But they had escaped and carried the wounded man with them.

Twice the following day Nevers and his men lost the trail, and then, at daybreak of the next day, it vanished completely. After several hours of futile search they had given up and wearily rode back to the Big N.

Nevers stretched out and drew the blankets over him. There was still the matter of Fox. The Table Mountain rancher had moved into the house on the 46 and had a rider on the B-Bar. The Big N also had a rider there, and it was believed Ben Otten was to send a man to establish his claim also.

Nevers awakened with a start. How long he had been asleep he did not know, but some sound outside the house had awakened him. Rising to an elbow, he listened intently. He heard the snort of a horse, the crack of a rope on a flank, and then the thunder of hoofs. Somebody was after the horses!

He swung his feet to the floor and grabbed for his boots. In the adjoining room a match flared and a light was lit. Then a shot smashed the lamp chimney to bits and he heard the crack of the shot mingling with the tinkle of falling glass.

With a grunt of fury, Nevers sprang for his rifle, but a bullet smashed the window frame and thudded into the wall within inches of his rifle stock. Other bullets shattered other windows. A shot struck the pot-bellied stove in the next room and ricocheted about, and somebody yelled with sudden pain. Outside there was a wild yell, and more shots. Nevers grabbed his rifle and got to the window. A shot scattered wood fragments in his eyes and he dropped his rifle and clawed at his face, swearing bitterly.

More shots sounded, and then there was a sudden glare of light from outside. Through his tear-filled eyes, Nevers blinked at the glare. His carefully gathered hay stack was going up in flames!

With a roar, he grabbed up his rifle and rushed from the house. Somewhere he heard a yell. “You wanted war, Nevers! How do you like it?” A shot spat dirt over his bare feet, and more glass sprinkled behind him.

Impotent with fury, he fired off into the dark and then rushed toward the barn. The others joined him and for more than an hour they fought desperately to save the barn. The hay was a total loss: ten tons of it gone up in smoke!

Wearily, sodden with fatigue, they trooped back to the house where coffee was being made. “I’ll kill him!” Nevers blared. “I’ll see him hung!”

Nobody said anything. They sat down, sagging with exhaustion. After the hard ride of the past few days the fight against the fire had done them in, all of them. And they still had to round up their horses.

Only one man had been hurt. Flying glass had cut his face, producing a very slight, but painful cut.

The man wounded in the gunfight during the chase raised up in bed. “That Blaine,” he called out, “ain’t no bargain!”

“Shut up!” Nevers turned on him. “Shut your mouth!”

All was quiet in the house. Finally, Rocky White got up and stretched. “I reckon,” he said slowly, “I’ll go to sleep outside.” He walked out. Then slowly a couple of the hands got up and followed him.

Nevers stared after them, his face sour. Viciously, he swore. That damned Blaine!

The other hands drifted one by one back to sleep, and then the light winked out. The sky was already gray in the east. Nevers slumped on the bed, staring at the gray rectangle of the window. The bitterness within him was turning to a deep and vindictive hatred of Blaine. Heretofore the gunfighter had merely represented an obstacle to be overcome. Now he represented something more.

There was only one answer. He would get Rink Witter to round up a few paid killers and he would start them out, professional man-hunters. Fox would chip in, maybe Otten, too. They could pay five or six men a good price to hunt Blaine, and get up a bounty on his scalp.

Wearily he got to his feet and walked outside. He saddled up and swung into the saddle. One of the hands stuck his head out of the barn. Nevers shouted back, “I’ll be back tomorrow! Ridin’ to Red Creek!”

M
ARY BLAKE HAD arrived in Red Creek only a short time before the night attack on the Big N. Restive, unable to await results in the Mormon community, she had boarded the stage for Red Creek with Maria. The next morning the first person she met was Ralston Forbes.

“Hello!” He looked at her with surprise. “I heard you left the country.”

“I’ve not gone and I’ve no intention of going. Have you seen Utah?”

“No, but I’ve heard plenty. Nevers has been hot on his trail. They had a scrap the other night with honors about even by all accounts. What are you planning to do?”

She smiled at him. “Have breakfast and not tell any plans to a newspaperman.”

“Come on, then! We’ll have breakfast together.” They walked across the street to the cafe just in time to meet Otten at the door. He stared at her gloomily, then looked at Forbes.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Not a word.”

They opened the door and stepped into the cafe and stopped abruptly. Blaine, Timm and Rip Coker were seated at the table eating. All were unshaven, dirty and obviously close to exhaustion. Utah looked up, his eyes going from one to the other. They hesitated on Mary, then went on to Otten. He said nothing at all.

“You’re taking a chance,” Forbes suggested.

“We’re used to it,” Blaine replied. “Has Ortmann been around?”

“No. He isn’t showing his face since you whipped him. What do you want with him?”

“Suppose I’d tell you with one of the enemy in camp?” Blaine asked.

Otten flushed and started to speak, but Rip Coker interrupted him. “Straddlin’ a rail can give a man a mighty sore crotch, Ben.”

The banker looked from one to the other, his face sour. “Can’t a man even eat his breakfast in peace?” he complained.

Utah looked at Mary. “You came back. Why?”

“I couldn’t—just couldn’t let you do it alone. I wanted to help.”

Nobody said anything for several minutes. Utah ate tiredly, and the girl came in and filled his coffee cup. The hot black coffee tasted good, very good.