Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (7 page)

Ben Curry had provided the refuge, the planning, access to money, but most of his men did not like it. They were restless for freedom, to go as they pleased, act as they wished. Most of them wanted the reputation of being bad men, they wished to swagger and strut. Over the years Ben had tried to weed them out, to keep the cool and careful men, to eliminate the braggarts and the show-offs. He had only been partially successful. Usually he managed to weed out the undesirables before they knew anything about the ramifications of his operations. Ducrow had been a tough man, a quiet man, but lately he had become a close ally of Perrin. Also, he had begun drinking too much.

Saloon doors slammed open and the two men came in. One glance and Mike knew there was trouble, not only for him but for Ben Curry, all of them. Tom Ducrow was drunk and ugly. Behind him was Snake Fernandez. An unpleasant pair, they had made trouble before this, always protected by Perrin.

Bastian started toward them but had taken scarcely a step when Ducrow saw him. "There he
is!
The pet! The boss's pet!" "Tom," Bastian said mildly, "I'd suggest you go sleep it off: This isn't the place." "Look who's givin' orders! Gettin' big for your britches, ain't you?" "Your horses will be outside the door," Bastian suggested. "Get on them and start for home." Ducrow planted his feet. "Suppose you make met" "Tom," Mike protested, "this isn't the place!" He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"Ben wants no trouble, you know that." "Ben? Who the hell is Ben? Kerb Pen-in's the man, an' don't you forget
it!
" It was a challenge, and more words might reveal too much. Mike Bastian struck swiftly. A left to the body, a right to the chin. Ducrow was not a fistfighter and the blows were totally unexpected. He went to his knees, then slumped facedown to the floor.

With an oath, Fernandez went for his gun and Mike had no choice. He shot him through the shoulder. The gun dropped from Snake's fingers. Mouthing curses, he reached for his left-hand gun. Garlin, who had stayed behind when the others went for their horses; grabbed him from behind and disarmed him. Mike pulled the groggy Ducrow to his feet and started for the door. He found himself facing a big man with a stern look and a star on his chest. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

Mike smiled pleasantly. "Nothing at all, Officer. A couple of boys from our outfit with too much red-eye. We'll take them back to camp and we're moving out in the morning." The sheriff looked from Mike to Doe Sawyer.

The apparent respectability of the two calmed him somewhat. "Who are you? I don't know you." "No, sir. We've come up from the Mogollons, driving a few head of cattle to a ranch in California.

It has been a rough trip and the boys got a little too much to drink. his The sheriff was suspicious. There was something here he did not understand. "You may be a cowhand," he said, "but that gent with you looks like a gambler!" Mike chuckled. "Officer, I've played with him, and if he had to make his living with cards he'd starve. As a matter of fact, he's a doctor, a surgeon, and a mighty good one. He's a friend of the boss." A tall, gray-haired man had strolled over beside the sheriff. "What outfit did you say you rode fore I'm from the Mogollons, myself." Garlin had hustled Fernandez and Ducrow outside as they talked. Doe Sawyer was wishing he had gone with them.

"I don't ride for a Mogollon outfit," Mike said, smiling, "but Jack
McCardle
can vouch for me. Doc Sawyer is a friend of his and has handled the sale of some of his beef. his The sheriff glanced at the gray-haired man.

"Do you know this McCardle, Joe?" "I do, and he's a good man. He has the Flying M, but I didn't know he was selling cattle." "Guess you're all right." The sheriff was reluctant to let go. He studied Mike. "You sure don't talk like no cowhand. his "Officer, cowhands come from everywhere and anywhere. We had a puncher working with us last year from Norfolk, England. However," he said gravely, "I was studying for the ministry but my interests led me in more profane directions. I am afraid I'm a backslider. An interest in draw poker isn't conducive to a place in the pulpit." "I guess not." The sheriff chuckled. "All right, you ride out of here, but no more trouble, do you hear?

And Doe, you better look at that man's shoulder." Mike turned away and Doc followed.

Outside, the men had disappeared. They rode out of town, heading north. It was not until they were several miles on the road that Doc rode up beside Bastian.

"You'll
do!
" he said. "You handled that better than anybody I know." "Hell!" Garlin said.

"I was gettin' ready to shoot our way out of town.

You sure smooth-talked "
em!
" "That sheriff," Mike said thoughtfully, "wasn't satisfied. He'll ride out come daybreak and check for tracks." Garlin chuckled. "I figured on it. We're ridin" somebody's cow trail right now. I seen "em passin" when we rode into town. I figure they were headed for a grassy patch with a spring about four mile west, and they'll be gone by daybreak. I doubt if that sheriff is ready to ride that far just to check up on us." Kerb Perrin and Rig Molina were sitting around the table in the stone house when Mike and Doe returned to the canyon. Both men looked up sharply, and Ben Curry was suddenly watchful.

Bastian wasted no time. "Kerb, what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver?" Perrin looked around, irritated by Mike's tone but puzzled, too. "In Weaver! And drunk! We nearly had to shoot our way out of town because of them.

They were drunk and talking too much. When I told them to get on their horses and head for home, they made trouble." "How?" "Ducrow was attracting too much attention. If I hadn't stopped him there's no telling what he'd have said." "You stopped him?" Ben Curry had leaned back in his chair and was watching with attention. "I knocked him out," Mike said coolly, "and when Fernandez went for his gun I put a bullet into his shoulder. his "You should've killed him," Molina said. "You'll have it to do sooner or later." Kerb Perrin was stumped. This was something he had not wanted to happen, nor would he have believed Mike Bastian could handle Ducrow, let alone Fernandez as well.

"We got what we went after," Bastian told Curry, "but another break like we had and we'll walk into a trap. As for that, I think we should drop it for now." "Are you crazy?" Perrin said. "That's the big one. That's the one we've been waiting fort" "The sheriff in Weaver," Mike said, "is a good man, a tough man, and a smart one. I talked our way out of it, but he may do some checking. He struck me as a careful man." "To hell with him!" Perrin said.

When Perrin and Molina had gone, Mike left for his own room and Doe Sawyer turned to Ben.

"It would have done your heart good! He had a run-in with Corbus and Fletcher, tool He flattened Corbus with a punch and backed Fletcher down.

He'll do, that boy of yours!" "I knew he had it," Ben said, with satisfaction. "He met a girl, too," Doc added.

"Good for him! It's about time." "This was a very particular girl, Chief. If I am any judge of such things he fell and fell hard, and I'm not sure it didn't happen both ways." Something in his tone caught Curry's attention. "Who was she?" "A girl who came in on the stage. Mike got her and her family a rig and a driver to take them to their ranch.

Out to the V-Bar." Ben Curry turned on him. For a moment their eyes held. So Doe Sawyer knew! The one secret he had been determined to keep, the one he wanted none of them to know! How many others knew?

How many had guessed? Or discovered some clue? And he had believed his tracks had been covered. For the first time Ben Curry knew fear, real fear.

"The girl's name is Drusilla Ragan.

She's a beautiful girl, Ben." "I won't have
it!
" Ben slammed his glass down. "I'll be damned if-I" Doc Sawyer's tone was ironic.

"You mean the foster son you raised isn't good enough for your daughter?" "Don't use that word here! Who knows besides you?" "Nobody of whom I know. It is only accident that I know. Remember the time you were laid up with that bullet wound, and I took care of you myself? You were delirious, and you talked too much." Doc lighted his pipe. "They made a nice-looking
couple," he
added, "and I believe she invited him to Red Wall Canyon." "He won't
go!
I'll not have any of this crowd
there!
If you think I want my daughter associating with outlaws-to " "He isn't yet." Doc puffed on his pipe.

"He could be, and he might be, but if he does, the crime will be on your shoulders because I don't think he wants to be." Curry went to the window and looked down the canyon. "Chief, the boy has it in him. He could be all of it, believe me
!
He's quick! You should have seen him throw that gun on Fernandez
!
And when that sheriff walked up to him he handled it like a veteran!" Ben Curry was silent. Doc glanced at the broad back and went over to the sideboard and took up a cup and filled it with coffee. "He may be deciding he doesn't want to take over. That boy's smart, Ben, smart!" "He'll do what I tell him." "Maybe. He's got a mind of his own, Ben." Ben swore under his breath. All his plans, all of it falling apart after all the thinking, all the years!

A small voice of doubt was whispering within him, a voice that made him remember that quiet, determined little boy whom he brought home with him, that boy who would not cry, a boy who listened and obeyed and who tried very hard to do what was expected of him. Yet despite that Ben had always been aware the boy had a mind of his own, that he listened and weighed everything in some balance of his own.

Long after Doc Sawyer was gone, Ben Curry sat alone, thinking. If Doc knew, somebody else might know, yet he thought not. Doc was canny, and Doc always had his ear to the ground. Doc would know if anybody else knew.

His thoughts reverted to the discussion over what had taken place in Weaver. What were Ducrow and Fernandez doing there, anyway? It had always been the policy for none of the gang to show up in the town where a job was to be pulled off except the scouts who went in, got the lay of the land, then rode out as unobtrusively as possible.

Now there had been trouble, attention had been drawn to them, and Ducrow had been drunk and shooting off his mouth. Mike warned that the sheriff was a canny man, and he would remember their faces. So none of them could be used. The boy was out of it.

Despite himself, Ben felt relief. The risk had worried him. Twelve guards, several with shotguns.

How were they to handle them? Kerb Perrin wanted the job, so let Kerb have it. For the first time the thought of betrayal entered his mind. He shook his head. No. Perrin was his problem. He would cope with it himself, as he always had. But what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver? And Doc had reported the words Ducrow had spoken in anger, that it was no longer Ben Curry who mattered, but Kerb Perrin.

Something brewing there.

He was getting old. For the first time he began to doubt his rightness. What about the boy? He had wanted a man he could trust to take over, but had he any right to raise the boy to be an outlaw? He walked to the window again. He had a reason, or thought he did, but Mike had none beyond his father's wish.

Suddenly, Ben stopped, staring at the partial reflection of himself in the glass. Mike was the son he had never had, why not Mike and Drusilla?

He shook his head. No, no. Never. Yet-how many fathers could raise their own son-in-law? He smiled at the thought, but put it aside. There was too much else to think about now.

Kerb Perrin was planning rebellion. Planning to go his own way. His thoughts reverted to Dru.

Suppose she wanted Mike Bastian, outlaw or not? Had it been Juliana now, he could have bluntly told her no and she would have, might have, listened. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. She was too much like him.

What to do? Ben Curry moved away from the window. He must remember not to stand there again. Once, he need not have worried but now there were enemies among his own men, something he dared not tolerate. What had Ducrow and Fernandez been doing in Weaver? Scouting the job for Perrin? For themselves?

He walked back to the fireplace and stared at the sullen coals. He was growing old, and it was time to quit. He wanted the last years with his wife and the girls. He wanted to get out, to get away. He was a man born out of his time, and in the past he might have been a Viking, a robber baron, a freebooter.

Now he was an outlaw.

He had liked planning their forays. He had liked playing his chess game with the law, but
lately, was
he changing? Or was it the times? Was it like Roundy kept telling him, that the old days were gone? An outlaw was an enemy of society, a different society from that rough, casually tolerant west in which he had spent his early years.

He walked over to the clothes tree and took down his gunbelt. He checked each pistol, then slung the belt about his hips. From now on he had better wear them, all the time.

Mike Bastian rolled out of bed and sat up.

Rarely did he sleep during the day, but on his return he had been tired. Now he felt better. Darkness had come while he rested, and the sky was spangled with stars. From his window he could see a few lights glowing from the settlement below, a settlement of outlaws.

Only Doe Sawyer and himself shared the stone house with Ben Curry, and on the occasional visits when others discussed future jobs with Ben, they never left the spacious living room with its big table where the planning was done.