The Smoking Iron (19 page)

“That's a heap of money even at twenty dollars,” Ezra argued aloud.

“Yep.” Pat Stevens sounded very cheerful about it, as though it wouldn't hurt his non-existent El Paso bank account at all. “I calculate that's about …” He paused to make a slow mental calculation … “about seven thousand an' four hundred dollars all told.”

“That's what I make it,” Boxley agreed. He got off his horse to close the gate. “I'll give you the Mexican's name that the draft is to be made out in when we get back to my ranch.”

He remounted and the three men started riding slowly toward Boracho in the rear of the herd that was being turned upriver.

16

When they had reached the outskirts of the town again, Boxley pulled up his horse and said, “I've got to stop here an' see about getting in touch with my Mexican partner. It may take me some time. Why don't you ride on back to my ranch an' bed down for the night? That jug of
tequila
is still waitin' to be finished off.”

Pat said, “Sure. Don't worry about us. Go ahead an' tend to yore business. We know the road back to the X L ranch.”

They rode on into town and Boxley stopped at the same
cantina
they had visited not more than an hour previously. He said, “I'll be seeing you,” in a cordial tone and turned his horse in to the hitching rail, now holding only two saddled horses. One of them was the Katie horse which Dusty had tied there that afternoon.

When Pat kept on down the street, Ezra asked angrily, “Are you goin' off an' leave Dusty there all tied up in the back room? By Gawd, Pat, I'm beginnin' to wonder what in hell yo're up to. Never knowed you to back away from a showdown before. Not even with a tough hombre that carried his gun holstered the wrong way.”

Pat said, “Let Boxley get inside. There's gonna be a showdown all right.” He stopped his horse and glanced back over his shoulder, drew in a deep breath and said, “All right. We'll ride back now. Got thirsty for a drink an' changed our minds.” He swung his horse around. “Think yore gun can take care of that other fellow Boxley left behind?” he asked casually.

“Leave him to me.”

“That's what I figure on doin',” Pat told him calmly. “Let me do the talkin', but be ready to back me up.”

They stopped at the hitchrack and dismounted. Boxley whirled around from in front of the bar with a grunt of surprise when the door opened and the two men walked in. He and Thad and the bartender were the only occupants of the room.

“Thought you were headed across the river,” he grunted, narrowing his eyes at them.

Pat grinned and said, “Ezra decided it was too long a ride at night without another drink in his belly.” They went up to the bar and he ordered, “Set out yore bottle of American whisky. Maybe Mr. Boxley an' his friend will join us in a drink.”

Boxley said, “Thanks,” with a sort of a snarl in the word, and the big whiskered man beside him nodded.

Pat waited until all four glasses were full. He picked his up and took a reflective sip, turned and drooped his left elbow on the bar so he faced Boxley. His posture was disarmingly relaxed, but it didn't fool Ezra any. It was the surest danger signal he knew. He had seen Pat Stevens plenty of times just before he swung his guns into action. That relaxed posture was a sign of iron nerves and strong muscles. It was designed to throw his opponent off guard to gain that fraction of a second advantage that is all any gunman needs.

Ezra picked up his own drink and stepped off to the side a couple of paces, to a point of vantage where he could see past Pat and Boxley and watch Thad Thompson's gun hand. Neither Boxley nor Thad paid any attention to him.

“You've been runnin' a smart deal, Boxley,” Pat's voice was soft, almost purring. “Yessir.” He took a reflective sip of whisky. “You've shore pulled the wool over a lot of people's eyes.”

Boxley hesitated. The tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips. He set his swollen purpled jaw tightly and didn't say anything.

“Like, for instance, workin' it to get hold of the Katie,” Pat went on. His voice sounded warm with genuine admiration. “Sendin' yore riders over to pretend they was helpin' while all the time they was lettin' the smugglin' go on. That was plumb smart. It kep' Miss Katie from callin' in any gun hands of her own an' put her in a hole where she's finally ready to sell out to you.”

Boxley smiled, showing his teeth. He accepted Pat's words at face value. “She's not selling out. I'm gettin' the Katie for nothing. Only got to marry her. And that's something no man would consider a chore.”

“That so?” Pat's eyes widened. “Congratulations.”

Boxley said, “Thanks,” with something like a smirk.

“Yessir,” Pat went on, “I bet you was plenty worried when she told you about the letter she'd wrote to her daddy's ol' friend in Colorado. Maybe you knew Tom Thurston back in the old days?”

“That was before my time,” Boxley growled. “I've heard about him though. How do you know all about it?” he went on suspiciously.

“We stopped off at the Katie for supper tonight. If you knew about Tom Thurston you must of been plenty worried,” Pat chuckled. “An' when Miss Katie told you Tom's boy was comin' by stage you didn't know how bad a gun fighter he'd turn out to be, did you? If he was like his daddy, might be he'd be pretty bad medicine for you to buck.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Boxley said thickly. “I've got private business here …”

“You've got private business here with
me.
” Pat's voice remained low and steady, but the softness had disappeared from it. “You thought it'd be safest to hold that stage up an' not let Ben Thurston ever get to Hermosa. An' that's what you did.”

“You're crazy. I don't know anything about the stage holdup.”

“That's the only way it can be, Boxley. You were the only one knew Ben Thurston was due. And the holdup was staged just to kill him. Soon as he rose up out of the overturned stage an' yelled out his name yore men let him have it. An' then they rode off without even looting the bodies.”

“How do you know …?” Boxley stopped. “All of it's a damned lie.”

“None of it's a lie. You know it ain't because you know that's the way it happened.”

“All right,” Boxley said suddenly. “You've got no kick coming. You came to the Big Bend lookin' for a bargain in stock. You've got it. If you rile me up, the deal's off. And you stand to lose plenty of money if you lose that herd.”

Pat nodded. His lips smiled thinly while his gray eyes bored into Boxley's face. “It's a sure enough bargain,” he agreed. “Most times that Katie stock would bring three times what I'm payin' in the open market.”

Boxley stiffened. “I guess you mean my herd's most as fat as Katie stuff.”

“Yeh. That's what I mean. Because they
are
Katie stuff, Boxley. That's why yo're willin' to sell 'em so cheap. To get somethin' out of 'em and get 'em away from this part of the country before yore new wife learns that
you've
been rustlin' from her all the time.”

Boxley slowly set his glass down. His right forearm rested tensely on the edge of the bar, curved fingers not more than inches above the ornate gun butt on his left hip.

“You are talkin' crazy now.” He laughed shortly. “I showed you on paper how I changed the X L brand to make a Star Boxed Cross.”

“Yeh. That was smart. But I got to thinkin' how a K T would change over into that same brand just as easy. Just extend the two short parts of the K on out an' it makes a six-pointed star. And if you put a foot on the bottom of the T, an' two lines down to box it in, an' then a straight line across …”

There was blurred motion in front of Pat, and Boxley's holster was empty.

Pat's body went limp all over, and from his relaxed posture he simply folded up like an accordion on the floor.

Boxley's bullet went over his head, and Pat shot upward, the slug tearing into Boxley's chest at an angle.

At the same moment, Ezra's gun spoke twice.

Boxley staggered back, firing a wild bullet into the ceiling. Behind him, Thad Thompson was pivoted half-way around by the impact of Ezra's two bullets. He went to the floor with his gun still half drawn.

Pat got to his feet and coolly shot again as Boxley desperately fought to right himself.

His second bullet drove the X L rancher's front teeth back into his throat. Boxley fell to the floor on top of Thad.

Pat picked up his drink with his left hand and rested the smoking muzzle of his gun on the bar pointed carelessly toward the half-breed bartender. “You want any of this?”

“
Madre de Dios
, no!” the man ejaculated, backing away with both hands in the air.

“Then get back to the rear room an' untie the fellow that's there. Bring him in here.”

Pat lifted his glass and drained it as the bartender darted out to obey the order.

“I swan, I never thought about that brand-blottin',” Ezra said placidly. “Should of, though, when I saw that fat stuff tonight. Couldn't come from no part of the Big Bend we've seen 'cept the Katie ranch.”

“That's right. I suspected it before I saw them. Boxley overplayed his hand,” Pat went on, “bein' so eager to sell 'em so cheap. With the ranch and the gal fallin' in his lap, he had to get the evidence of his rustling out of here fast. So, he couldn't afford to bargain.”

“I still can't get it clear in my head how it worked,” Ezra muttered, wrinkling up his broad forehead. “Lessee, now. A K an' a T.” He drew a K in the air with his forefinger but continued to look puzzled. “Sounded awright when you was tellin' it to him,” he complained. He looked around for something to make a mark with, picked up a burnt matchstick and squatted down beside the two dead bodies.

He dipped the stick in a pool of blood that had formed beneath them and carefully drew a K and a T on the floor. He stared at the letters in perplexity for a moment while Pat watched him, an amused smile on his face.

Then he nodded and extended the two short parts of the K the same distance beyond the upright line. “I see it now,” he exclaimed. “That's the star. Now, you take the T …”

He was interrupted by the rear door being flung open and Dusty Morgan bursting in.

The young puncher slid to a stop, saying hoarsely, “I heard shootin …” He stopped to stare at Pat and Ezra. “Oh! It's you-all,” he ended weakly.

“We said we'd meet you here,” Pat reminded him.

He came forward slowly, staring down at the two dead men. “You might of waited for me to settle with them two,” he muttered bitterly. “I wanted to see how fast Boxley's fancy draw was.”

“Plenty fast. But it's better this way,” Pat told him. “There's a gal waitin' for you across the river that don't like killin'. That's why I did the job for you.”

Dusty didn't seem to hear him. He said, “I figure Boxley arranged the stage holdup to get Ben Thurston out of the way. An' that other feller on the floor hit me over the head with a bottle an' tied me up in the back room when they suspected maybe they'd made a mistake and
I
was Ben. Along with some others,” he added.

“Three others altogether,” Pat agreed. “Right now them other three are trailin' a herd of rustled Katie stock up the river.”

“A herd of rustled Katie stock?”

“That's right,” Pat nodded placidly. “I bought 'em from Lon Boxley just before I killed him. Made a good bargain with him too,” he added proudly, “but now I won't have to pay anything with him dead.”

“I'm goin' after them other three.” Dusty started forward angrily. “They were all in one gang, I reckon.”

Pat said, “We'll all go.” He and Ezra followed Dusty out the
cantina
door. They mounted and galloped up the river road.

“Can't be more'n a couple of miles away,” Pat cautioned Dusty. “When we come up to 'em they won't think nothing because they're expectin' me an' Ezra to be along. You hang back so's they won't recognize you, an' I'll circle ahead to get the trail leader. When I start shootin', you an' Ezra open up on the two behind. We might's well finish up the whole gang while we're at it … keep Miss Katie from havin' any more trouble with rustlers for a time.”

They came up on the tail end of the slow-moving herd swiftly. “Drop back here where they won't see you,” Pat cautioned Dusty. “You can come up fast when the shootin' starts.”

Dusty pulled his horse down to a walk and Pat and Ezra galloped ahead. As Pat had anticipated, one of the riders was ahead of the herd acting as a pacesetter and leader, while the other two men worked the flanks and the rear to keep the slower moving cattle pushed up with the others.

While Ezra dropped into line with them, Pat spurred his horse around the edge of the herd and pulled up in the road alongside the lead rider.

It turned out to be Jake Drubber. He nodded shortly as he recognized Pat in the moonlight. “You an' yore one-eyed pardner ridin' with us?” he growled.

“Not far. Only to the ford across the river leading through the Katie spread to Boxley's ranch.”

“Ford's right up ahead there.” Jake pointed toward a break in the line of willows. “You've shore bought a good bunch of stock,” he added enviously.

Pat nodded. “They look good to me. You been workin' for Boxley long?”

“A year back. Off an' on.” Jake rose in his stirrups and turned to look back at the herd. “They're gettin' strung out good,” he commented.

Pat nodded. They were nearing the ford now, almost abreast of it. He said, “I don't like a man that steals cattle from a gal.”

Jake shot him a startled glance. He blustered, “These here are X L cows.”