Novel 1956 - Silver Canyon (v5.0) (14 page)

Several minutes passed. I put the rifle down and rolled a smoke. Shifting my position to one more comfortable, I waited. A couple of tentative shots were fired from the house, both wide of my position.

One man suddenly ducked from the barn and darted toward a heavily planked water trough. I let him run, then as he dove behind the trough I put two bullets through it, right over his head, letting the water drain out over his head and shoulders. When he made a move, I put a bullet into the dirt beside him.

Waiting, I saw his rifle barrel come up. His position was a little better, but obviously he was trying to reach the corner of the corral from which he might outflank me. His rifle barrel was steadied against the post at the end of the trough. Taking careful aim at the edge of the post just above the rifle, I fired.

The rifle fell and the man slumped to the ground, whether dead or merely grazed, I could not tell. After that there was no more effort to escape from either barn or house.

The afternoon wore on. It was time I was moving, but I waited, wanting to see what would happen when they started a fire to make coffee.

Once I put a shot through the door to let them know I had not gone.

Crawling back to my saddlebags, I took a piece of jerked beef and my canteen from the saddle. Then I returned and settled into place again.

It was almost evening before a slow trail of smoke began to lift from the fireplace. Chuckling with anticipation, I waited. There was very little time left to me. Once it was dark I could not keep them under cover; and my position would speedily become untenable.

Now the smoke was lifting. Easing back to my saddle, I replaced the canteen and got my horse ready for a fast leave-taking. A shot through the barn door was enough to let them know I was still there.

The smoke increased, and suddenly there was an explosion within the house.

A shotgun shell…suddenly three others went, one, two, three! There were startled yells within the house and one man sprang for the door, but a bullet into the step nearly tore his toe off, and he ducked back into the house. Running back, I swung into the saddle, and almost at the same instant there was a heavy concussion and flame blasted out of the chimney. The chimney sagged, and smoke and fire burst from a hole at ground level.

It was enough for me. I swung the buckskin and took to the hills. Behind me there were shouts and yells, but they had not seen me. Then another crash…from the ridge I looked back, and saw that the chimney had fallen. There was a hole in the end of the house where the roof had been smashed in, and smoke was coming out.

Jim Pinder knew now it was no longer a battle in which he did all the striking…his opponent was striking back.

Avoiding the usual trails, I started for the Two-Bar. They would be worried about me, and they themselves might have suffered from the attack. But my day-long siege of the CP had given me satisfaction, if nothing more.

Mulvaney saw me coming and walked down to open the gate. A quick look showed me he was uninjured. The Benaras boys came out when I swung down from my horse and both of them were grinning.

Jonathan told me of the fight. The two boys had gone out from the ranch when they first spotted the approaching riders. Fighting as skirmishers, they had retreated steadly until in position to be covered by Mulvaney.

They had wounded one man and killed another before the attack even began. Then they fought it out from the bunkhouse, with all the weapons on the place loaded and at hand.

The CP had retreated, then tried a second time and been beaten off again. After that they listened and could hear an argument among the raiders. Pinder wanted another attack, but he was getting no support. Finally they had picked up the dead man and, mounting, they'd retreated down the wash.

We talked it over, discussing a new plan of defense. Then suddenly Jonathan turned around.

“Say! I been forgettin'. Bodie Miller shot Canaval!”

“Canaval?…”

“Took four bullets before he went down.”

“Dead?”

“Not the last we heard.”

“Miller?”

“Not a scratch.”

Canaval…beaten by Bodie Miller.

Canaval had been a man with whom I could reason. He had a cool, dispassionate judgment, and dangerous as he undoubtedly was in any kind of a fight, he never made a wrong or hasty move. Moreover, with Canaval on hand there was always protection for Moira. And I had an idea that now she was going to need it.

Jonathan talked on. There was strong feeling against me in town, and it had grown since he was last in. Undoubtedly somebody was stirring it up. It was even said that Miller and I, despite our reported trouble, were working together, that I had instigated Miller's shooting of Canaval.

The firelight flickered on our faces…Jolly was out on guard, the night was still. It is a lonely business when one fights alone, or almost alone. It is not easy to stand against the feelings of a community.

Bodie Miller would not rest with this. Canaval had been a big name where men talked of gunfighters and gunmen, and now he was down and might be dying. Bodie's hatred of me would feed upon this triumph, it would fatten, and he would want a showdown.

There was little time. I must see Canaval if he was alive. I must talk to him. He must know of Slade and his gang, and what their presence implied.

Miller would not wait long to try to kill again. At any time we might meet, and win or lose, I might be out of the fight for weeks to come.

I would ride to the Boxed M. I would ride tonight.

Chapter 18

K
EY CHAPIN WAS dismounting at the veranda of the ranch house when I rode into the yard at the Boxed M. He turned toward me, then stopped. Fox was walking across the yard and in his hands he held a Winchester.

“Get off the place, Brennan!”

“I've got business here.”

“You get! You're covered from the bunkhouse an' the barn, so don't start for a gun.”

“Don't ride me, Fox. I won't take it.”

The buckskin started on toward the house and Fox stepped back, hesitated, then started to lift his rifle. Although I wasn't looking at him, I could sense that rifle coming up, and debated my chances, remembering those guns behind me.

“Fox!” It was Moira, her voice clear and cool. “Let the gentleman come up.”

Slowly the rifle lowered, and for an instant I drew rein, “I'm glad she stopped you, Fox. You're too good a man to die.”

The sincerity in my voice must have registered, for he looked at me with a puzzled glance, then turned away toward the bunkhouse.

There was no welcome in Moira's eyes. Her face was cool, composed.

“Was there something you wanted?”

“Is that my only welcome?”

Her glaze did not flicker or change. “Had you reason to expect more?”

“No, Moira. I guess I didn't.”

The lines around her mouth softened a little, but she merely waited, looking at me.

“How's Canaval?”

“Resting.”

“Is he conscious?”

“Yes…but he will see no one.”

From the window Canaval's voice carried to me. “Brennan, is that you? Come in, man!”

Moira hesitated, and for a minute I believed she would refuse to admit me. Then she stepped aside and I went in. She followed me, and Chapin came behind her.

Canaval's appearance shocked me. He was drawn and thin, his eyes huge against the ghastly pallor of his face. His hand gripped mine hard.

“Watch that little demon, Matt! He's fast! He had a bullet in me before my gun cleared. He's a freak! Nerves all wrapped up tight, then lets go like a tight-coiled spring.”

He put a hand on my sleeve.

“Wanted to tell you. I found tracks not far from here. Tracks of a man carrying a heavy burden. Not your tracks. Big man…small feet.”

We were all thinking the same thing then. I could see it in Moira's startled eyes. Morgan Park had small feet. Chapin let his breath out slowly.

“Brennan, I was going to ride over your way when I left here. A message for you. Picked up in Silver Reef yesterday.”

It was a telegram, still sealed. I ripped it open and read:

MY BROTHER UNHEARD OF IN MANY MONTHS. MORGAN PARK ANSWERS DESCRIPTION OF PARK CANTWELL, WANTED FOR MURDER AND EMBEZZLEMENT OF REGIMENTAL FUNDS. COMING WEST.

LEO D'ARCY,
COL., 12th CAVALRY.

Without comment I handed the message to Chapin, who read it aloud. Moira's face paled, but she said nothing.

“I remember the case,” Chapin said. “Park Cantwell was a captain in the cavalry. He embezzled some twenty thousand dollars, and when faced with the charge, murdered his commanding officer and escaped. He was captured, then broke jail, and killed two more men getting away. He was last heard of five or six years ago in Mexico.”

“Any chance of a mistake?”

“I don't think so.”

Chapin glanced down at the message. “May I have this? I'll take it to Sheriff Tharp.”

“What is it Park and Booker want?” Canaval said.

“Lyell said Park wanted money, quick money. How he planned to get it…that's the question.”

Moira had not looked at me. Several times I tried to catch her eye, but she avoided my glance. Whether or not she believed I had killed her father, she obviously wanted no part of me.

Canaval's hoarse breathing was the only sound in the quiet room. Outside in the mesquite I could hear a cicada singing. It was hot and still.…

Discouraged, I turned toward the door. Canaval stopped me.

“Where to now?”

Back to the Two-Bar? There was nothing there to be done now, and there were things to be done elsewhere. Then, suddenly, I knew where I was going. There was a thing that had to be done, and had to be done before I would feel that I could face myself. It was a thing that must not be left undone.

“To see Morgan Park.”

Moira turned, her lips forming an unspoken protest.

“Don't…I've seen him kill a man with his fists,” Chapin protested.

“He won't kill me.”

“What is this?” Moira's voice was scathing. “A cheap, childish desire for revenge? Or just talk? You've no right to go to town and start trouble! You've no reason to start a fight with Morgan Park just because he beat you once!”

“Protecting him?” My voice was not pleasant. I did not feel pleasant.

Did she, I wonder, actually love the man? Had I been that mistaken? The more I thought of that, the angrier I became.

“No! I'm not protecting him! From what I saw after the first fight, it is you who will need protection!”

She could have said nothing more likely to bring all my determination to the surface.

Her eyes were wide, her face white. For an instant we stared at each other, and then I turned on my heel and went out of the house, and the door slammed behind me.

Buck sensed my mood, and he was moving even as I gathered the reins. When my leg swung over the saddle he was already running.

So I would need protection, would I? Anger tore at me, and I swore bitterly as the buckskin leaned into the wind. Mad all the way through, I was eager for any kind of a fight, wanting to slash, to destroy.

And perhaps it was fortunate for me that I was in such a mood when I rounded a bend and rode right into the middle of Slade and his men.

They had not heard me. The shoulder of rock and the blowing wind kept the sound from them. Suddenly they were set upon by a charging rider who rode right into them, and even as their startled heads swung on their shoulders my horse smashed between two of the riders, sending both staggering for footing. As the buckskin struck Slade's horse with his shoulder, I drew my gun and slashed out and down with the barrel. It caught the nearest rider over the ear and he went off his horse as if struck by lightning. Swinging around, I blasted the gun from the fist of another rider with a quick shot. Slade was fighting his maddened, frantic horse, and I leaned over and hit it a slap with my hat.

The horse gave a tremendous leap and started to run like a scared rabbit, with Slade fighting to stay in the saddle. He had lost a stirrup when my horse struck his and hadn't recovered it. The last I saw of him was his running horse and a cloud of dust.

It all had happened in a split second. My advantage was that I had come upon them fighting mad and ready to strike out at anything, everything.

The fourth man had been maneuvering for a shot at me but was afraid to risk it for fear of hitting a companion in the whirling turmoil of men and horses. As I wheeled, we both fired and both missed. He tried to steady his horse Buck did not like any of it and was fighting to get away. I let him have his head, snapping a quick backward shot at the man in the saddle. It must have clipped his ear, for he ducked like a bee-stung farmer, and then Buck was laying them down on the trail for town.

Feeding shells into my gun, I let him go, feeling better for the action, ready for anything. The town loomed up and I raced my horse down the street and swung off, leaving him with the hostler to cool off and be rubbed down.

One look at me and Katie O'Hara knew I was spoiling for trouble.

“Morgan Park is in town,” she warned me. “Over at the saloon.”

It was all I wanted to know. Turning, I walked across the street. I was mad clear through, stirred up by the action, and ready for more of it. I wanted the man who had struck me down without warning, and I wanted him badly. It was a job I had to do if I was going to be able to live with myself.

Morgan Park was there, all right. He was seated at a table with Jake Booker. Evidently, with Maclaren dead and Canaval shot down, they figured it was safe to come out in the open.

I wasted no time. “Booker,” I said, “you're a no-account, sheep-stealin' shyster, but I've heard you're smart. You should be too smart to do business with a thief and a murderer.”

It caught them flat-footed, and before either could move I grabbed the table and swung it out of the way, and then I slapped Morgan Park across the face with my hat.