the High Graders (1965) (21 page)

At the door he paused. "Keep that gu n close by, and don't answer the door i f anybody knocks."

He went out, and the door closed behind him. H
e was gone from the hall before she realized she ha d forgotten to bring her gun with her.

She propped a chair under the doorknob, the n she sat down on the bed, and took off her shoes.

She must make no noise. It would not do to hav e anyone wondering who was in Mike Shevlin'
s room after he had gone out.

It was no use to worry about Dotti e Clagg, either. Dottie would be frightened, an d worried sick, but if Laine went back to th e doctor's house she would only bring more trouble wit h her. She must trust in Shevlin, and wait.

She considered Shevlin. Although almost nothin g personal had passed between them, a feeling existe d that needed no words. From the first, she had bee n drawn to him. Lean and savage as he was, ther e was an odd gentleness in him, too, and a curiou s respect for her.

She tried to recall everything Uncle El i had said about him, and thinking of this, she lay bac k on the bed. She did not see the knob tur n slowly, did not hear the slight creak a s pressure was put on the door to open it.

The chair under the knob remained firm, and th e person outside the door ceased trying. Had sh e been awake, she might have heard his breathing , might have heard the soft creak of the floor board s as he retreated down the hall. But she was fas t asleep.

Chapter
18

Rafter Crossing crouched in the darkness like a waiting cat. And like a waiting cat, its eye s missed nothing--or almost nothing. Mike Shevlin , refreshed after only three hours of sleep , walked toward the lighted window of Ben Stowe'
s office. Around him there was a rustle of movement i n the night--notothing a man could actually hear if h e stopped to listen, but something of which he would be keenl y aware.

Ben Stowe looked up when the door opened, an d his eyes became wary when he recognized Mik e Shevlin.

Mike leaned his big fists on the table.

"Ben," he said, "I'll move your gold if yo u have it ready before daybreak."

Stowe rolled his cigar in his mouth while h e took a minute to consider what this might mean.

What had happened to settle Shevlin's mind s o quickly? Could he have heard of the seizure of Do c Clagg and his party? That was unlikely because, a s Stowe happened to know, Shevlin had gone to hi s hotel and had not left it until now.

"Look at it this way, Ben," Mik e continued. "If Hollister is still around, he will hav e spies in town. I've a hunch they won'
t suspect me, but if we start now we can ge t into safe country before Hollister can get word an d start moving."

"That's likely," Ben agreed. He sa t back in his chair and looked up at Shevlin.

"Have you got any men you want to take along?"

"No, that's your play. I'll ramrod th e job, you furnish the men. Let's face it , Ben. With Gentry gone, I don't have a friend i n the country. I'll take my cut from this deal an d ride out."

"All right, Mike. You be at the mouth o f Parry's canyon an hour from now. The gold wil l be there."

"I'll want pack mules--thirty or fort y of them. That much gold, at present prices, wil l weigh a ton."

"Any special reason for mules rather than a wagon?"

"They'll be looking for a wagon, and I ca n take mules where no wagon could go." Shevli n lowered his voice. "I'm going over the ridge , Ben."

"You're crazy! There's no trail."

"Ben, I punched cows all over this country , much more than you ever did, and I know a trail tha t even Ray Hollister won't know."

"All right."

Ben pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Don't try anything, Mike. I need you, bu t I don't trust you. You go along with me, an d you'll be in at the payoff. But try a double-cross, and you won't live twenty-fou r hours."

"Don't be foolish, Ben. Where else coul d I get that kind of money?"

Shevlin walked to the door, the n turned. "By the way, Ben, who is Bur t Parry? Is he your man?"

"Parry? Just an eastern pilgrim who think s he knows mining." Suddenly Ben Stowe read somethin g else into the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondered, that's all. That claim where h e had me working ... there isn't a sign of minera l over there, and I don't think there ever was."

When Mike Shevlin had gone, Stowe sat ver y still for a long time. He smoked his cigar for a while , then let it go out, and chewed for a while longer on th e dead butt.

Burt Parry had seemed so much what he wa s supposed to be that after a few days of doubt , Stowe had largely ignored him. From time to time h e heard that Parry was having a drink with Clag g Merriam, but it seemed of no importance.

Clagg had lived much of his life in the East, an d Parry was an easterner, so what was more natura l than some casual talk between them? But suppose i t was more than that? Suppose Parry had bee n imported by Merriam? Imported for a specifi c job--to watch over the gold, and perhaps to handl e another task later?

Stowe realized now that his contempt for Merria m had blinded him to the depths that might lie within th e man. He had been so sure that he was usin g Merriam, that he had not considered the other sid e of the coin. Suppose Clagg Merriam had bee n using him?

He, Ben Stowe, was operator of the mines ...
y es. But if suddenly the operation was taken out of hi s hands, if the governor suddenly sent a corps o f investigators into the area, he alone would b e sitting in a vulnerable position.

True, Clagg Merriam stood to lose al l he possessed if anything went wrong, bu t Merriam might have some ace-in-the-hole of whic h Stowe was unaware. And Merriam had been smar t enough to plant Burt Parry in a worthless clai m where he could watch the gold cache.

Ben Stowe considered his long-range plan fo r removing Gentry, and then using Clagg Merria m and his share of the gold as a means to establishing himsel f on a respectable footing in Rafter, and in th e state. Folks didn't look to see how a ma n came by money, he told himself; they only looke d to see if he had it. But he could not feel eas y now.

He got up and paced the room , muttering to himself. With a thick finger he reached up an d ripped open his shirt collar--the thing seemed to b e choking him. Maybe he was playing the fool, with hi s ideas of respectability. How long could h e make it stick without blowing up? He'd be bette r off to take the half-million and run. Why b e greedy?

His eyes narrowed with thought, and he stared at th e flame of the coal-oil lamp. Well, why not d o it that way?

The gold train would be going over the mountai n to Tappan Junction. At the Junction a railroad car was already spotted to receive it, a ca r that was supposed to be loaded with hides, and was , in fact, partly loaded with them.

Mike Shevlin could take the gold across th e mountain if anybody could, and arrangements ha d already been made on the other side. Stowe ha d received word that his men were waiting at the Junction.

The car was routed right through to the East, where the gol d could most easily be disposed of ... or enough of it , at any rate.

Stowe had taken eastern trips before, so no on e would be surprised when he took the stage out o f town for the railroad, carrying only one bag.

They would all see he was taking nothing with him , and they'd never believe he was cutting out. The mor e he thought of it, the better he liked the idea. Th e gold would reach the Junction about the same time h e did, and there was never anybody at the Junction bu t the telegraph operator, or some passing cowhan d who stopped by to pick up the news.

He considered the matter with care. He woul d write a letter of resignation to leave behind , attributing his leave-taking to the unsettle d conditions, the unfortunate slaying of Ev e Bancroft, and the accompanying events. That wa y they would have nothing on him, nothing at all. Th e charges down in the mine would be set off, th e drifts that led into the stopes where the high-grad e had been mined could be shot down, and all they coul d ever accuse him of would be quitting his job.

The more he thought of it, the better he liked it.

He would have half a million dollars, an d nobody the wiser. There were, of course, a fe w details to be taken care of.

He called in the men he needed and gave th e necessary orders, and after that he went through his desk; a ll the while he was thinking of Burt Parry. Th e more he considered the situation, the surer h e became that Parry had been posted to watch th e gold; and no doubt he was still there, or somewher e close by.

Then his thoughts shifted to Clagg Merriam.

What could he do about him? Even if Parry wa s eliminated in one way or another, Merriam woul d be aware within a few days that the gold had bee n removed, and he would raise hell.

Yet what could he do? To start any lega l action would be to reveal his own part in the swindle; an d Merriam was not the type to kill. Not, at least , the type to cope with Ben Stowe. So the thing to do abou t Merriam was simply to do nothing. Let Merria m do whatever he wished, and then Stowe would do what wa s necessary.

He checked his gun, thrust another into hi s waist band and shouldered into his coat. It wa s clouding up again, and looked like rain ... so much th e better. Fewer people would be riding out on a rain y night, fewer people who might see a train o f mules starting over the mountain toward the Junction.

The street was empty when he went out. H
e stood for a moment, collar turned up against th e wind, and then he crossed the street toward th e livery stable. Once, on the far side of th e street, he turned and looked back toward th e lights of the mine. He grinned wryly. "To hel l with it!" he said aloud.

Suddenly he felt free; he fel t relieved, as if he had dropped a grea t burden.

There had been no movement in the shadows up th e street, and he had seen no one. But he himself ha d been seen.

Jess Winkler was too canny an ol d hunter to reveal himself, and he held still in th e shadows, his cold eyes watching Ben Stowe. An d suddenly, as surely as if he had been told , Winkler knew: Ben Stowe was cashing in. He wa s checking out of the game, out of the town, and out of th e country.

After a few minutes Winkler went to his ow n horse and followed Stowe at a discreet distance.

At the mouth of Parry's canyon, Stowe turne d in.

"By the Lord Harry," Winkler muttered , "Ray was right! He's goin' to move that gold."

Behind a low sandhill, under cover of greasewoo d that topped it, Winkler hunkered down to wait an d watch. Scarcely an hour had gon e by when the first of the mules appeared. Winkler counte d forty, some of them probably carrying the grub an d outfit for the guards.

He watched them trail off across the country , keeping just off the main trail. He counted nin e men in the party, and Ben Stowe was not one of them. Bu t Mike Shevlin was.

"I'd rather it had been Ben," Winkler sai d to himself.

He watched them for several more minutes, the n went to his horse and rode wide around and heade d for Hollister's camp.

In the first gray light of day, when only a n arrow of red had found the clouds above, Mik e Shevlin drew up and waved the first man by, with th e mules following. He waved them into an openin g among the enormous tumbled boulders that were pile d all around. The rider hesitated, and starte d to speak.

"Go ahead," Shevlin said shortly. "You can'
t miss it."

Shevlin tugged his sombrero a little lower on hi s head and swore softly. The dust had settle d around his shirt collar and his neck itched from dust an d sweat. He was playing it by ear ... he had n o real plan--just a vague, half-formed idea tha t seemed to be taking shape in the back of his mind.

He knew none of these men, although two were the me n he had seen inside the mine; but he knew th e breed. It was a breed of tough men, men hired fo r their guns, or for their willingness to use violence , men working here today, and five hundred miles from her e next week or the week after. Their bodies li e in many an arroyo, in unmarked boot-hil l graves, or churned into mud on the grasslands o f Kansas or the Indian Territory.

Some of them were good men, good in the sense o f courage and physical ability, but for the most par t they were men who sought what they thought of as eas y money, although it rarely was. They earned thre e times as much as the average cowhand, and as a rul e they lived a third as long.

He knew their kind, for in a sense he was on e of them. The difference was that he had chosen to rid e on the side of the law--and when you came down to it , that was quite a difference.

He had deeply ingrained within him a respec t for the law, and the need for it. He knew that otherwis e life would be a jungle, and he knew , too, that many of those who made out to despise th e law the most, found themselves wishing for it s protection.

He watched them go by, counting off th e burro-loads as they passed, and checking off th e men too. Not one familiar face among them, an d he had hoped to find at least one. After all, th e West wasn't that big ... not as far as populatio n went, and he had ridden a lot of trails. Ha d he found one man who knew him, he might wel l have found an ally, and he desperately neede d one.