Raw Land (23 page)

Milt folded the receipt, put it in his pocket and then picked up the check. He tore it in half, in fourths, in eighths, and then dropped the pieces on the floor, watching Case.

The older man's face was first surprised and then angry. He looked at the pieces, then up at Milt, and said, “In God's name, man! That's a check for ten thousand dollars!”

Milt took out the deed, unfolded it, laid it flat on the table, and held the edges down with his two hands.

“Don't touch it, Case,” he drawled. “Just read it.”

Case leaned over and read the deed. His face turned an ashy-white, and all the color drained out of his lips.

Milt grinned, pocketed the deed, and rose. “Try and bust that in any court in the Territory,” Milt drawled. “I'll give you just two days to get the hell off that land, Case. Just two days.”

He waved mockingly and walked out, and Case was dumb.

Milt had to find Pres now, find him before Case got the word to him and before Pres, swindled out of his share of the cut, told Phipps of Milt's real identity. Milt was smart enough to see that before anything could be done, he'd have to buy Pres off.

He went to Hal Mohr's, but Pres wasn't there. Nobody knew where he was. Milt tried a couple of the Mexican cantinas, with the same results. Pres wasn't at any of the restaurants or stores.

Time was passing, and he had to see Pres soon. Milt was undecided, after searching everywhere Pres might be. If he couldn't find him, then he could do the next best thing.

He went back to the hotel, chose a corner table in the lobby, pulled out a sheet of paper, and wrote:

Pres:

The deed to the Pitchfork made out to Will Danning and signed by Chap Hale has turned up and is in my hands. This voids Case's deed and gives Danning the land, which is where we started. But with this difference. I think I can get Will to move now and release his claim on the place, leaving you and me with our original partnership. Let's forget our quarrel and work together again
.

But you'll have to keep away from Will and stay hidden. Let me pretend you've learned my real name and will keep silence in return for the deed. But let me do it! Stay away from Danning
.

You're sure of my co-operation in this, as this letter shows. And I'm sure you won't double-cross me again. You wouldn't want to have a fortune in sight and then have me tell Phipps how you shot Chap, would you? Get in touch with me as soon as you get this
.

Milt Barron
.

Milt read the letter over, made certain it would satisfy Pres, and then put it in an envelope. He addressed it to Pres Milo, General Delivery, and took it down to Dunn's store.

Dunn received the letter at the wicket, and Milt went out. Dunn looked at the address, saw the name, and tucked the letter in the pigeonhole marked:
Nine X Ranch
. He hadn't heard that Pres had left his job.

Milt went back to the hotel and ate with Mary Norman in public in the dining-room. He wasn't afraid of being seen with Mary now, for she told him that only Charlie Sommers and herself knew why she was here, and Charlie Sommers was discredited and in jail.

But all during the meal Milt's excitement would not let him eat, he was too anxious to see Pres. He sent Mary up to her room afterward, then started making the rounds again in search of Pres.

He found him bellied up to the bar in Hal Mohr's, the lone man in the saloon beside the fat owner. Pres saw Milt's entrance in the back bar mirror, and he backed away from his drink, his hand falling to his gun.

Milt, grinning, kept his hands at his side and walked up to Pres.

“A bottle and two glasses,” he told Hal. Pres's thick face was wary, suspicions, ugly.

Milt took his gun out and laid it on the bar and then said to Pres, “Come over and have a drink with me.”

Pres looked puzzled. He looked at the gun, then at Milt, and seemed undecided. Milt went over to one of the far tables and waited for him.

Pres came reluctantly and stopped beside the table. “You must want somethin'.”

“Get your mail today, Pres?”

“No. Why?”

“There's a letter there that'll tell you everything. Sit down, and I'll explain.”

Pres sat down warily. Milt drew the deed out of his pocket and handed it to Pres. Pres read it, read it again, and then looked up at Milt.

“It's no forgery,” Milt said. “I just got it today. It voids Case's claim to the place, and gives it back to Will.”

Pres was stupefied for a moment. And then he began to curse in a low and passionate voice, his face redder than usual. Milt grinned at him, and Pres stopped, stared.

“So you think it's funny,” he said. “Well, Mr. Murray Broome, we'll see how funny it is.”

He started to get up, and Milt drawled quietly, “Sit down, you damn fool. You ain't goin' to Phipps.”

“Why not?”

“Because we're partners. And this time I can swing it.”

Pres settled slowly into his chair, attentive, and Milt went on, “Will Danning's ready to pull out. He's whipped. Somebody shot at him and—” He paused, seeing Pres's faint grin. “You shot him,” he cried.

“I don't know what you're talkin' about,” Pres said.

Milt's eyes narrowed, and for a second there was a wicked light in his eyes. “Damn you, Pres!” he said softly. “If you and I weren't partners, I'd kill you.”

Pres only shrugged, his thick lips pouting. Milt settled back and resumed his talk. “Danning's ready to leave. He sent me into town to get his money back. And then I turned up this deed. Don't you see what it means?”

“It means you and me, if we're partners, are right back where we started,” Pres growled. “You couldn't get him off the place before, and you won't now.”

“You're wrong,” Milt said softly. “I'll get him off.”

“How?”

“By tellin' him you're blackmailin' me. I'll tell him you found the deed, and you discovered my real name in that locket. I'll tell him you've decided to keep your mouth shut about me if you get the deed. If you don't, you'll turn me up.”

“He'll laugh and tell you it's tough, but he ain't losin' a fortune just to protect you.”

Milt shook his head. “You don't know Will Danning. In some ways he's the dumbest ranny that ever walked.”

Pres said slowly, “You mean he'll lose the place rather than let me turn you up?”

Milt nodded.

“Why?”

Milt shrugged. “It's the way he's made. That's the reason I asked him to hide me. I knew damn well he'd die before he'd turn me up, and he will. Money doesn't mean anything to Will Danning where a friend's concerned.”

Pres looked at him curiously, and then laughed a little. “Barron, you're a real hardcase, ain't you? You'd let a man cut his throat for you, and then laugh at him.”

Milt's face flushed deeply, and there was an ugly glint to his eyes. “Careful, Pres,” he murmured. “I'm just lookin' out for myself. If Will is dumb enough to do it, I'm not goin' to stop him. It ain't as if he didn't know what he was doin'. He knows that land is valuable. He'll know what he's losin'. The only thing he won't know is that I'm makin' money off it. Even if I do, it won't hurt him—and I got to have money. I've got to have money to clear out of here where nobody'll care what my name is.”

Pres shrugged. “You're sure he'll do it?”

“Positive.”

Pres sat back in his chair, his little pig eyes dreamy, ignoring the drink Milt poured for him. Milt lifted his glass and said, “Here's to the new partnership.”

Pres drank with him, and then smacked his glass on the table.

“Case know this?”

“I told him.”

Pres grinned and put his hands on the table, ready to shove himself up. “Here's where I get even with that old coyote. For five years, he's kept me broke and wouldn't loan me money. And then he tried to kill me. We'll see, now.” He stood up. “When you goin' to spring this on Danning?”

“Tomorrow.”

Pres grinned, his eyes musing. “Keep your eyes open this afternoon. You'll see somethin'.” And he went out.

Chapter Nineteen

T
OO
O
LD FOR
P
RISON

Angus Case sat in one of the lobby chairs, his thoughts bleak and somber. He realized that he should hunt up Pres Milo and beg him to come back again, but his pride kept him in his chair. He had known several days of the greatest peace he'd experienced in ten years, and now it was gone. The newly discovered deed had done that. The only thing that had kept Pres's mouth shut after he tried to kill Pres was the knowledge that Case could make money for him. And now Case couldn't, and Pres, disgruntled and out of a job, might make trouble for him. But he hated it. He hated it with all the passion of a proud man who has to grovel before a crook and a blackmailer.

Case lighted another cigar and thought of the ways in which he could avoid doing this. Pres would be furious that his secret, which he had guarded for five years, was useless now. Case might approach him in a friendly and businesslike way and say, “Look, Pres. I haven't got the land now, but Danning's got it. Why don't you go to him and make the same kind of a deal with him you made with me? You'll tell him how this money is to be made in return for a cut of it. And you can work back at your old job until the money starts coming in.”

Yes, that would be the thing to do. It would save face for both of them. He decided to finish his cigar and then go hunt Pres.

He saw Sheriff Phipps come into the lobby. Phipps looked around, saw him, and then came over to him.

“Howdy, John.”

“How are you, Angus?” Phipps said. He pulled up a chair beside Case and sat there in silence, his lean face grave and troubled.

Case said, “You look like hell. What's the matter?”

Phipps said glumly, “Sometimes I wish I'd never seen a law badge, and this is one of them times.”

“What's the trouble now, John?”

Phipps was silent, looking at his old friend. He cleared his throat, was about to speak, and then didn't. His fingers drummed on the arm of his chair, and there was purest misery in his face.

Finally he said, “Angus, what would you do if you knew a friend of yours had committed a crime? If you was a sheriff, would you arrest him?”

Case frowned. “That's hard to answer, John. Do what your conscience tells you.”

“Even if you hate it worse'n anything in the world?”

“A naggin' conscience is the worst thing in the world,” Case said, suddenly grave. He might have added, “I ought to know,” but he didn't.

Phipps said then, after a long pause, “I reckon you're right. I might's well do the job.”

“What is it?” Case asked, interested now.

Phipps said quietly, “Angus, I know how Harkins died, and why.”

Case didn't move. It was as if somebody had struck him. A raw, cold, despairing fear caught at his stomach, and then he slowly relaxed. Here it was, the thing he had been dreading for ten years. It had finally caught up with him. He thought with a bitter humor of his counsel to John Phipps to follow his conscience. Phipps had been talking of him, and Case hadn't even suspected it.

Case asked, “Was it Pres?”

Phipps nodded. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to Angus, but is it true? He told it all, your stealin' from your bosses and then coverin' up by blamin' Harkins and havin' him murdered. He named dates and times and the names of men and where I could reach 'em now. It all sounds true, Angus—but is it? Would you tell me?”

Case didn't speak for a long moment. His voice was almost a whisper as he said, “Yes. It's true.”

Phipps didn't look at him. They both stared out the lobby window at the passers-by, each lost in his own dismal thoughts.

“He's known it for years,” Case said quietly. “He's been holdin' it over me all this time. Day and night, year in and year out, it was never out of my mind. He never let me forget it. He's crowded me into things I've been ashamed of, and I could never fire him for fear he'd go to you. Last week he stole some cattle from me. I won't take that, not from any man. I fired him then, John. I tried to kill him. And now he's got even with me.”

Phipps said nothing. From the window they could see Hal Mohr's saloon. As they watched, they saw Pres's swaggering barrel-figure shoulder the doors aside and enter.

Case said quietly, “I won't go to prison, John. I'm too old.”

Phipps didn't look at him, didn't say anything.

Case sighed and came slowly to his feet. His back was stooped, and he seemed older. He looked down at his old friend and said, “I didn't bring a gun with me, John. Can I borrow yours?”

Phipps looked at him then. Their glances locked, and then Phipps's gaze fell, and he slipped the gun out of its holster and gave it to Case.

“I won't be long,” Case said.

He slipped the gun in his coat pocket and went out, not even saying good-by. Phipps didn't move, only sat there and watched him cross the street toward Hal Mohr's saloon and shoulder through the doors.

When Case entered the saloon, he saw Pres at the end of the bar talking with Milt Barron. Three other men were bellied up to the bar, and they turned to see who had entered.

Case stopped and motioned with his head for them to leave the bar. They backed away, and the men at the tables fell silent. Milt looked around at the silence, and saw Case.

“Get away from him,” Case said thinly.

Milt backed away, too, and Hal Mohr ducked under the bar. Pres straightened up and let his hand fall to his side. He watched Case carefully, a kind of wry amusement in his eyes.

Case said, “It took you a long time, didn't it, Pres? Well, it won't take me long.”