Raw Land (16 page)

The afternoon and evening were torment, and she wished she'd gone with her father. Anything, so that she wouldn't think of what was happening.

After supper she was sitting by the lamp in the kitchen reading week-old newspapers when she heard a faint tap on the window. She looked up, listening, and the tap came again. She went to the door and stood in it, and then she heard a whisper. “Becky.”

It was Will. Without answering him, she stepped back into the room, blew the lamp, and then came outside. Will was flattened against the side of the house, big and shadowy.

“Nobody's home, Will. Come in,” she said.

“I just came for some grub,” Will said. “Can you let me have some?”

“But Will, I've got to talk to you. Come in.”

“No thanks,” Will said bitterly. “I'll have a bounty on my head by now that any Nine X puncher hones to collect. Besides, I don't want you in on this.”

“Will, are you hurt?”

“Not even scratched.” Will smiled wryly in the dark. “Still, they won. I'm holed up back in the Sevier Brakes and I'm runnin' to you for grub. I reckon they got me off the place, all right.”

“Do you know why, Will?”

“I don't, and that's a fact.”

Becky told him swiftly of the conversation she had overheard between Pres and her father. Will listened in silence, and when she was finished he still didn't speak.

“What is it they're after, Will?”

“Gold, silver, I dunno. Whatever it is, they've got it, all right. Your dad can sell the place to himself. Likely he's done it. And Pres will get his split.”

“And you're outlawed! Will, are you going to take it?”

“No,” Will said quietly, stubbornly.

“What are you going to do?”

“You won't like this, Becky. Maybe I'd better not tell you.”

“But I'm in it, Will. You've got to tell me.”

“I been crowded into my last corner,” Will said bleakly. “I come here wantin' to be let alone, and I got swindled out of every dollar I ever saved. I aim to fight.”

“How?”

“I don't know, but I'm goin' to fight your old man. I'm goin' to make him sorry for the day he ever saw me. So help me, I'll run him out of this country, Becky. I'm goin' to break him, and then I'm goin' to kill that crooked partner of his!”

Becky was silent, awed, and afraid of the passion in his voice. Will said then, “You asked me what I was goin' to do. That's it. Now, I don't reckon you'll want to feed the man that's goin' to ruin your dad.”

“Do you have to do it, Will?”

“Either that or quit. And I won't quit.” He paused. “Thanks for what you've done for me.”

“Will, are you going without grub?”

“I'll get it, steal it.”

“Not while there's some here!” Becky said angrily. “You wait here.”

She disappeared into the house and was gone a long time. When she came back, she had a sack full of groceries. Under her arm was a carbine, and over her shoulder two shell belts. “Tell me where your hide-out is, Will. I'll bring more grub when this is gone.”

“But your dad, Becky!”

“He raised me to be honest and decent, and I believed him!” Becky said passionately. “If he's a crook, then he'll pay for it!”

“He's your dad, Becky. You don't mean that.”

Becky hesitated. It was true what he said. She couldn't betray her father, help his enemies, the man who had sworn to ruin him. But neither could she help him; it was wrong.

“Becky,” Will said softly. “If this wasn't me, would you feel like helpin' me?”

“I—I'd feel like it,” Backy said softly. “But I wouldn't, Will.”

Will put his hands on her shoulders, and spoke in a low voice. “I did a lot of thinkin' there in jail, Becky. I thought how a lot of things might have been—if this hadn't happened. I thought of a woman with me, and a little place of our own, afterwhile—not that dark hole where I was. I thought of a lot of things like that—and then I knew it couldn't happen till I was clear of this. And tonight I reckon I found out it can't happen at all. Because I won't ask any girl to fight her family, her blood, like I'm goin' to fight them.”

Becky nodded mutely, and Will's hands dropped to his side. “It's goin' to be wicked, Becky. I'm going to fight like hell, and I'm goin' to hurt you. Only I wanted you to know what I thought of you before you start hatin' me.”

“I'll never hate you, Will—never.”

“You will. Good night, Becky. And thanks.”

Before Becky could say good night, Will had vanished into the night.

Chapter Twelve

A R
ENEGADE
L
AWMAN

It was past noon when Charlie Sommers heard the knock on his door. He opened it to find one of Phipps's deputies, standing in the hall.

“Sheriff'd like to see you, marshal,” the deputy said.

“Sure,” Charlie said. He went back to get his hat, knowing it had come. Phipps was too good a man, too honest a man to ignore his duty.

Sommers and the deputy went downstairs, marched through the lobby and downstreet to the sheriff's office. Phipps was there; so were three other deputies, among them Ed Brown, the big puncher whom Will had cornered the night before.

Phipps's face was grave as he got out of the chair. “Sit down Sommers. We got some questions to ask.”

Charlie sat down, his ruddy face impassive. Should he lie to them, or should he admit it? If he admitted it, they would want to know why he'd done it, and he couldn't tell them. Even if they believed him, which they wouldn't, he couldn't have this story getting out. It would only serve to warn Murray Broome to watch his step, and his plan would be defeated. No, he'd lie, and pay the price if he had to.

Phipps sat on the desk and said, “There's one thing worryin' us, Sommers. We thought you might clear it up.”

“What's that?”

“We can't figure out where Will Danning got the gun he used to crowd Ed into that play last night.”

Sommers looked at Ed. “Sure he had a gun?”

“Hell, he shot at me, didn't he?” Ed asked indignantly.

Sommers shrugged. “Maybe he had it hid on him.”

“We searched him, searched him good, even his boots. No, he never brought it in with him.”

“Then somebody snuck it in.”

“Through a window? No. There's a wire screen on the cell-block window. He couldn't have got it in his food neither. And the only folks that was in that cell block yesterday was the boys here and Angus Case and you.”

Charlie smiled broadly. “Don't tell me you think Case brought it in?”

“He couldn't,” Phipps said quietly. “I was with him.”

“Well, that leaves me,” Charlie said cheerfully.

“That's right.”

They were all silent, watching him. Charlie crossed his legs and said dryly, “I always figured it was a marshal's job to land a man in jail, not let him out.”

“So did we!” Ed blurted out.

“Easy,” Phipps said to his deputy. He turned to Charlie and asked bluntly, “Did you give him a gun, Charlie?”

“No,” Charlie lied.

“Where is your gun?”

Charlie handed a gun over. Phipps looked at it briefly and said, “Then you got two. You had your initials cut in the cedar handle of one gun.”

“You're mistaken,” Charlie said.

Phipps looked at him sharply. “I ain't mistaken, and you damn well know it. Where's your other gun?”

“I only carry one.”

Phipps put the gun down on the desk and looked long at him. The faces of the other deputies were hard and tough with suspicion.

Phipps said then in a barren voice, “Why'd you give him the gun, Charlie?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'll give you a chance to tell me,” Phipps said stubbornly. “Is Will Danning an undercover marshal? If he is, all you got to do is say so, and I'll telegraph the Commissioner for confirmation.”

“Not that I know of, he isn't,” Charlie said.

“Then why'd you do it?”

Charlie shook his head. “There must be a mistake, John. You're going off half-cocked.”

“Then you explain to me how he got the gun.”

“I don't know.”

“I do,” Phipps said quietly. “It looks like you give it to him, Charlie. This thing busted right after you left. His crew in there won't say a word, so we ain't got proof. But you had two guns and now you say you only had one. You're lyin', and if you're lyin' over that it must mean that Danning has your other gun.”

“But I'm a deputy U. S. marshal,” Charlie said gently. “Marshals don't do that, John.”

“You're a renegade, then, because you done it!” Phipps said flatly.

Charlie said, “You're the sheriff. You've got my story. Do whatever you want.”

Phipps didn't speak for a moment, but his eyes were bleak with contempt. “All my life,” he said wryly, “I've hated crooked lawmen. And all my life I believed that the man wearin' Uncle Sam's badge couldn't be bought. No matter how bad other lawmen were, there was always a U. S. marshal to do the job that needed doin'. Now I dunno.”

“I know,” one of the deputies said hotly. “He swore on his oath that he'd be straight. But he ain't! He's as crooked as any damn bank robber or killer!”

Charlie's ruddy face flushed. That hurt, and he came to his feet slowly. “You're a liar,” he said quietly.

The deputy hit him first, and Charlie slugged back. And then the four deputies swarmed on him. Charlie was a better than average saloon brawler, and for a few seconds he held his own. But he couldn't win. These men were fighting for something they believed—the honor of a government lawman. And to them he was a renegade, worse than a killer, for he had let a killer escape.

He kicked out and caught Ed in the groin, and another deputy smashed him flush in the jaw. His head slammed back against the wall, and then someone drove a fist into his belly. Charlie doubled up, and a blow caught him alongside the ear. Another slammed him in the face and he fought weakly, blindly, hearing Phipps's shrill cursing. Charlie's whole body was aching, bruised; his breath was gone, and his face felt mashed, but he fought on. Time and again, they cornered him, raining blows into his chest and face.

And then his Knees gave way and buckled, and he sat down, and slowly a curtain of oblivion slipped over him. He didn't bear these men any ill will; they were doing what he would have done in their place. That was the last thought in his mind before everything faded away into blessed blackness.

Chapter Thirteen

R
USTLING
W
ITHOUT
R
ISK

There was a light in the big room. Will had been watching it for an hour, edging down yard by yard, off the red-clay banks toward the house. He would move, then listen, then move some more, certain that the house would be watched. Or maybe they were inside, waiting to decoy him in.

Slowly, patiently he worked around until he could see through the door into the big room. Milt was sitting there reading at the big table. Will watched him for half an hour, noting every move to see if Milt would give away the presence of another man in there. But there was nothing strange in Milt's actions, and he decided to chance it.

He whistled thinly, and he saw Milt's head jerk around, peering out into the night. He whistled again, and Milt rose and came to the door.

At the next whistle Milt came outside walking toward the corral. There was nobody following him. Then Will called his name, and Milt ran over to him. They shook hands, and Milt laughed with relief.

“Will, damn you, I thought you'd never show up! You all right?”

“Fine. Nobody's here?”

“No. They gave up and rode back this afternoon. And I made sure they went, too.”

They hunkered down against the corral, content with silence and companionship. They rolled cigarettes and lighted them, and then Milt said, “What are you doin' for grub, Will? I had some cached down by the drift fence, but they took it.”

“Becky,” Will said. Presently, he added, “I know why Case and Pres want us off here now, Milt.”

Milt jerked his head around and then said in a strained voice, “You do?”

Will told him what Becky had overheard. “It's gold or silver or somethin', she didn't know. But Case is goin' to buy the place for himself.”

“You say Pres and Case are in on it?”

“That's right. Pres finally give up tryin' to get it by himself and took in Case.”

“Nobody else with them?” Milt asked idly.

“No. Why?”

“I dunno. I can't imagine either of them killin' Hale. But maybe they did.”

His voice had an odd timbre that puzzled Will for a moment. And Will was reminded of something. He said, “Milt, there's somethin' I've been wantin' to ask you.”

“What's that?”

“Remember that night you was at the drift fence and somebody took a shot at you?”

“Yeah,” Milt said cautiously.

“Ollie says he looked at the tracks. He said you were talkin' to somebody. He said you were sittin' down when you did it.”

Milt said instantly, “He's a liar!”

“You weren't talkin' to anybody?”

“Hell, no!” Milt said angrily. “Sure I sat down. I smoked a lot of cigarettes. I tramped around. But damned if I saw anybody, or talked to anybody.”

“Okay,” Will said gently. “I just wanted to ask you.”

Milt grunted angrily, and they were silent. Presently, Milt said, “What do you want me to do now, Will? Light a shuck?”

“Sit tight,” Will said. “They won't evict you until they've had confirmation from the company that the deed was made out to Chap. That'll take a while.”