Passin' Through (1985) (17 page)

"Please! You've got to go!"

"I better see the missus first. I got to warn her."

"Please, Passin', please go! Don't try to see her! Don't even think of her!"

"Well, it ain't hardly polite, you know. She promised to fix me a dinner. I was sort of lookin' forward to it, hungry as I am.

"Don't even think of it. Not unless you want that dinner to be your last. Just get out of here before they know you're here!"

" 'They'?"

"Don't ask questions! Go! I must get back before they know I'm gone or they will kill me, too!"

"Kill you? Who?"

She was almost in tears. "Please! Just go! Out there you have a chance. Here you've none at all! Please go, quickly!"

"Matty?" It was a call from the steps of the house. It was Mrs. Hollyrood.

"Oh, my God!" It was almost a prayer. "Please go! They think you found something, some papers or something in that drawer. And please! If they find you and invite you in, don't eat or drink anything!"

With that, she was gone, and a moment later I heard her saying, "It was too warm inside. I had to get out in the air." The door closed behind them and I got up and smoothed out the bed, drawing the blanket tight again the way McCarron or whatever his name was had left it.

A moment I waited, rifle in hand. Desperately I wanted to lie down, simply to sleep. I'd lost blood, was weak as a cat, and my back was stiff. I wanted -

Easing out of the door, I stood still, black against the blackness of the building. If Lew Paine found me now, this case would be settled by lever action rather than legal action. I was in no shape to argue.

What did Matty mean when she said they thought I had found something in that drawer? How could they know? Then suddenly I felt a chill. Used to noticing things, there was one thing I'd noticed that I'd forgotten about. Those papers had been lying there quite a while and when I picked up the will it had left a brown stain on the papers beneath it, a straight line of brown across the paper underneath, some chemicals in the paper, no doubt. Many a time I'd found a paper in an old book that had discolored the page of the book against which it was pressed. I'd found the tally book but what else?

Stiff as I was, it was not easy but I eased myself betwixt the corral bars and walked over to the buckskin. It shied a little, then stood still. For a moment I stood beside it, speaking softly, then, with a grip on its mane I led it back to the old barn.

Inside it was black as sin, but listening I heard no sound. Walking the horse to a stall where I knew some buckskin strings were hanging as well as a hackamore, I felt for the hackamore, found it, and slipped it over the ears of the buckskin. Took a few of the buckskin piggin' strings.

Walking the horse to the barn door I waited, listening again. Where was Lew Paine?

With the reins in my left hand I was fixin' to swing astride when something thrust hard into the small of my back, an' nobody needed to explain to me what it was. Then a low, triumphant voice said, "Lew? Come on! I got him!"

Chapter
Sixteen

My arms were up, one hand resting on the buckskin's mane, the right hand reaching for its back, and I knew they intended to kill me.

My right arm came around, the elbow smashing into the man's temple, knocking him away from me. My elbow hit hard, momentarily stunning him. In an instant I was astride, and bending low I caught up my rifle from the end of the stall where it had been leaning and I went out of the barn on a dead run.

The corral gate was before me but they had left it open when they entered, and I went through and swung hard to my left, putting the wall of the barn between us. We thundered across the small bridge and then went up the trail to the meadow on a dead run.

From behind me there was a shot, and turning in the saddle as the buckskin came to a stand, I levered three fast shots at the flash of the gun, and then we were off and running. Over a low hill, then along a trail into the scrub oak.

Once under cover I slowed up, gasping with pain. The sudden, violent movements had ripped open the wounds that had begun to heal. Now they were bleeding again.

Looking back I could see nothing but blackness. The lights in the house had been hastily blown out, and no doubt they were watching, waiting, wondering what was going on.

Sagging in the saddle, completely done in by the sudden burst of action, I rode through the oaks toward Maggie's Rock. How I stayed on that horse, I don't know. When a man has been riding all his life he can fall asleep in the saddle or be half- conscious and his instinct or something will still keep him riding.

The rifle was my worry, so taking a couple of the rawhide strings I'd fetched along I rigged a sling for it and slung it across my back.

The clouds had gone and the stars were out. For a man who'd been out all night, seeing was easy. It was coming up to daylight when I rounded the base of Maggie's Rock and rode up Spring Gulch to where I'd left my outfit.

Everything was there, so I saddled up, and leading my spare horses I went up the trail to the little valley atop the ridge and below Maggie. Looking up from the ranch nobody would ever guess there was a valley up here, and I dearly needed rest.

With the last strength I had left I staked out my horses and rolling over on the grass I pulled a saddle blanket across my shoulders.

At some time during the morning it rained, a brief shower only. Vaguely I was aware of it but slept on, oblivious to all by my complete exhaustion. When finally my eyes did open it was midafternoon. By then the sun had dried the grass. For a time I lay still, watching the lazy circles of a buzzard in the sky. At last I sat up, taking in my surroundings with gathering comprehension.

Directly west was Maggie's Rock. The trail, dim and unused, led past where I lay, along the bottom of the small valley and into the trees beyond Maggie. The north side of the valley was a low ridge, wooded to the top, and a trail led along it and back up to the higher ridge where I had killed Pan Beacham.

The place where I lay was under a big ponderosa and there were numerous pine- cones lying about. Clearing away the pine needles and grass with my hands, I broke twigs from low on the tree and put together a small fire. The twigs, long- dead suckers, were perfectly dry. Gathering some other fallen sticks, I made a small fire, allowing the smoke to rise through the tree and thin itself before going into the air.

From my pack I got my coffeepot, frying pan, and then coffee and bacon. Taking my time as I tired rapidly, I made coffee and fried a dozen strips of bacon.

My little camp was in a niche under the trees and would be invisible to anyone until they were close upon me. When I had eaten the bacon I sat back with a cup of coffee in my hand, leaning against the trunk of a ponderosa, and studied my situation.

All I wanted was to get out of here, to get away from everybody. I wanted to be back in the mountains where I belonged. Here I was, just passin' through the country, and suddenly the roof fell in. First that Houston Burrows tried to kill me, then that roan horse brought me to the ranch and into all kinds of trouble. Well, I had my gear and I was going to ride on and keep riding.

Why had Matty been in such an all- fired hurry to get shut of me? She didn't even want Mrs. Hollyrood to know I was around. Apparently getting rid of me was more important than anything the Paine outfit might do. And what did she mean by saying Mrs. Hollyrood had found where Fd taken some papers from that drawer? She'd told me to look there for the book, told me herself.

Something was wrong and I was beginning to wonder if I didn't already have the answer.

When I had rested I would pack my horse, saddle the others, and ride for Parrott City. There were a few things I needed before moving into wild country. Yet even as I told myself that, I knew what I really wanted was to see Janet Le Caudy and give her the will I had. Once Fd done that Fd have no further part in what took place, yet even as I told myself that, I knew, uneasily, that what I really wanted to do was see Janet Le Caudy again. Not that she meant anything to me or ever could.

Now I was thirsty. Luckily the canteen was still half-full and I drank from it. The water wasn't too good, it had been in the canteen for several days, but then I'd drunk worse, much worse. The fever I had as well as the loss of blood might have much to do with my thirst.

Before I packed, I'd rest some more. I moved the picket pins of my horses to give them fresh grazing and then returned to the shade of the ponderosas.

The cattle I'd seen running on the ranch worried me. There should be a roundup and a culling of the herd. Steers would do better on winter range than cows, and somebody should be out there now, rounding up some of the cows and bringing them in to feed before shipping. With the railroad close, shipping would be easy, to either Kansas City or Denver. Some of this stock was pretty wild but I'd always favored wilder cattle, they lived longer and fattened up quicker on poor range. They were tough, and cattle were like men or mustangs, it took the tough ones to survive when times were bad. Men could become tough but cattle that had been living well seemed to give up easier.

Through the afternoon I dozed and dreamed and thought, and before sundown I brought in my horses, and taking it easy, I saddled up, packed up, and hit the trail. By the time I got into the saddle I was worn out. I mean, I was tired. Not to follow the same route, I went back down into Spring Gulch and rode east along the grassy bottom. Up at the far end I found a water hole and watered my horses.

There was a horse trail to the top of the ridge and I took it, walking my horses and stopping now and again to give them a time to catch air. By the time I topped out on the ridge above that beautiful grove of aspen through which I'd ridden a few days before, it was last light.

Up yonder, liking the cool breeze, I sat my saddle looking back toward the ranch. There was a slow lift of blue smoke from the ranch-house chimney but no other sign of life. Right then I turned that buckskin loose.

He knew where his home was and chances were he'd go back. A horse just naturally doesn't like to leave home but he doesn't like to leave other horses, either. If he followed me into town I wasn't to blame for that. I'd have no rope on him and they couldn't accuse me of stealin' him. But chances are he would go back to where he'd been fed.

The way I chose led down into the aspen again. Already the leaves were beginning to change color, fall was coming on, and they'd soon turn all to gold and that trail I was riding would be like walking down an aisle through a great golden cathedral. The leaves whispered, moving gently on the stems.

Before I rode into the main trail I drew up to give it study. Nobody in sight. Nothing moving, anywhere. Somewhere afar off I heard a train whistle.

Then I rode down the trees, trotted my horse across the trail and into the woods. Less than an hour later, and in full darkness, I rode into Parrott.

There were a dozen lighted buildings along the street. I took my horses to a corral that did duty as a livery stable and stripped the gear from them. There was a small shed close by where a man in a beat-up hat told me I could leave my saddles and gear. "Safe," he said, "nobody steals nothin' around here."

The half-dollar I gave him loosened his tongue. "Seen you around," he commented, "talkin' with that Le Caudy gal."

"Nice girl," I said, casually.

"Yep. Seems so." He lit his pipe, threw the match into the dust, and spat. "She's takin' up with the wrong folks. Feller with a blond mustache, looks like a city feller."

"Seen him around. You know him?"

"His kind. He's a gambler or some woman's fancy man. But don't you take him light. That's an uncommon bad man." He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes. "Carries a sleeve gun. One o' them derringers, y'know. In a holster up his sleeve. Lifts his hand and it slides out, drops his hand down an' it slides right into his hand an' nobody sees it. Mostly they'd be watchin' the gun in the holster on his hip. Seen him give it a try in the shed there when he figured nobody was lookin'."

"Now that's right neighborly. Do the same for you, sometime."

"That there Le Caudy girl, she's a decent woman. Anybody can see it, yet he's got around her somehow, offered to help."

"I was wonderin' why." Pausing, I said, "Between the two of us, she's owner of half that ranch down on Cherry Creek. I figure she really owns it all."

"Where the women are?"

"That one. I been fixin' up around. The place needs work."

"I know it. Phillips, he let it run down there toward the end. He was off chasin' after some woman."

"Mrs. Hollyrood."

"That her name? Figured it was the young one." He paused. "That young one? I seen her somewheres before."

"Where?"

He shrugged. "Don't recall." He drew on his pipe, then swore. It had gone out. "Lived over in Denver for a while. I was jailer there." He looked at me. "Maybe I ain't seen her. Maybe I seen a flyer on her. Y'know? Them 'wanted' bills that come in? You held the job. I can tell by the way you move into a town. You've worn a badge."

"Janet Le Caudy? She in town?"

"She is right now but she won't be in the mornin'. I heard that Pelham feller offer to drive her down to the ranch on Cherry Creek. He said he'd drive her down tomorrow. Said he'd make inquiries on how to get there."