Westward the Tide (1950) (14 page)

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Barney heard it. He likes you, and he hears a lot of gossip among the men. Some of them believe he was sent to kill you."

"I don't know why he came. I had never seen him before."

"You've heard that silly talk about Clive sending him?" She looked at him searchingly.

"Yes. Did Barney tell you that, too?"

"No, I heard that from two other men. Mr. Reutz and Elam Brooks thought it curious."

He changed the subject deliberately. "That brother of yours is quite a fellow. He's considerable of a man, if you ask me. This country is made to order for him."

"If he doesn't become a gunman, he has been practicing."

"He should. It might come in handy, sometime. After all," he looked at her quickly, anxious that she understand this point, "this country is still wild. There are Indians here, and white renegades that are worse. These men are savage, they understand only the law of force, and if one is to live in such a country one must be prepared to protect those one loves and the things one lives by.

"But you need not worry about Barney. He isn't the stuff of which gunmen are made."

She looked around at him suddenly. "Who's your girl? Is it that pretty Stark girl? Sarah?"

He blushed suddenly. "Gosh, no! I don't have a girl."

"Or is it that girl in the light wagon back there?" There was genuine questioning in her eyes now and he realized she had been leading up to this.

He hesitated only an instant. "What girl? You mean Joe's brother?"

"I heard Joe's brother was a girl."

He was not sure of that, but he believed Abel Bain's guess could be right. There was certainly something mysterious about that light wagon. "Whoever gave you that idea?"

"Clive. He says you're keeping a girl back there, dressed as a man."

"He's mistaken. If there is a girl back there, it is none of my business, and I don't know that there is."

"Are you still suspicious about this wagon train? I remember how you tried to warn us in the hotel."

He avoided the issue by seeming to misunderstand the question. "You mean, do I doubt there is gold along the Shell? No, I can't say that I do. There is very likely to be gold there, and certainly, whether there is or not it is one of the most beautiful regions in the west. For myself, I don't care whether there is or not. I have other plans."

"What sort of plans?"

"A ranch in the Big Horn basin. A ranch where I can see the mist rising over the valley in the morning and where I can see my cattle grazing on the long grass. A place of my own, just a long, low rambling place with lots of comfort and security, with good, cold water, a lot of beauty around me, and a chance to do something that will add to the country instead of just looting it."

"A wife? Or have you a wife somewhere?"

"No, to the last question. I have no wife, and haven't had. As to whether I want one: of course. Schopenhauer said that happiness was born a twin. I believe that. Nothing is quite so beautiful as when you share it with someone else. There is no purpose in working unless one work for someone, for something."

"A gunfighter who quotes Schopenhauer! What next?"

"You'd be surprised at some of the men you see in the west. Don't get an idea because they wear guns and use them that all these men are ignorant and uneducated. Some of the most brilliant men in the world have come west as pioneers, men of intelligence and ability in every line. Around these campfires I've heard men discuss questions of philosophy in a manner that would do justice to Berkeley or Hume."

"Then it isn't gold you're looking for?"

"Of course not. Gold can mean power, luxury, women, liquor, and whatever a man wants in that line, but gold always means struggle, war. I don't want that. I'm a man who knows what he wants, a home, a ranch, time to work without strain, and time to live. Why fight my life away to have as much as or more than someone else? Soon the years are gone and all there is to remember is a lot of empty struggle, and one is too old to enjoy what was gained."

"What was the trouble between you and Colonel Pearson?"

He looked around at her quickly. "What is this? An inquisition?" He shrugged, smiling. "It was quite important at the time. We had a difference of opinion about a little matter of tactics in an Indian fight down south of here, a long way south."

"Was he in command?"

"Yes. I was a civilian scout."

He studied the horizon, his eyes narrowing. "We're going to have a storm, and a bad one. We'd better start back."

Without actually being aware of it, they had ridden on ahead of the wagon train. They were far out of sight of it now, and Matt could see the thickening along the horizon. He knew how quickly storms could strike in this region, and how fierce they could be.

Even as he spoke a wind had begun to stir the tall grass. It was gratefully cooling, but he could feel the rain in it. They swung their horses and started back for the wagon train. The horses were eager to run, so they let them go, and behind them the wind suddenly swept down, bringing with it a spatter of rain. A moment later the plain went gray before them with a steel streaked curtain of pounding rain.

The rain stirred the dust bringing a queer smell from the hot dust lying in the grass, and from the grass itself. Jacquine glanced over at him, her eyes bright with laughter. He grinned in response, the rain soaking his shirt and running down his body under his clothes. The dun had turned black now with rain, but the horses seem to welcome the coolness after the long heat of the day.

They rode down on the wagon train, riding neck and neck at a dead run, soaked to the skin and laughing. As they reached the train, she swung off toward her own wagons, lifting a hand to wave at him, and he swung along side of Tolliver and ducked his head into the back of the wagon for his slicker.

It was only then he recalled his earlier thoughts, his decision about what must be done. He must see Lute Harless right away. Lute, Stark, and the others.

A half hour later it had become too dark and too muddy to travel. They swung the wagon train in a circle within a circle, and gathered the stock inside it. Tonight it would be dangerous to let them graze outside, for they would drift for miles before the driving rain and wind. Usually, the oxen could be safely turned loose, for they rarely travelled far. It was one of the many advantages they had for use on the plains.

Matt found shelter for the zebra dun, and rubbed it down. He thought over what he would tell the others while doing it. Supper was a hurried meal, a matter of getting a plateful of food and rushing to a wagon to eat. Otherwise the pounding rain wrecked and chilled the food.

When he had finished eating, Matt got up. He glanced around at big Bill Shedd. "Stick close by, Bill. Keep an eye on both wagons. I'll be gone for awhile."

Shedd glanced at him thoughtfully, lighting his pipe. "All right." He inhaled deeply. "Them wagons in A Company," he said suddenly, "loaded mighty light, ain't they?"

Bardoul nodded.

"Seems funny. Goin' west to organize a town, an' one of the main stems ain't carryin' much."

Matt pulled on his slicker again, looking past the lantern at Shedd. The big man puzzled him. He was huge, fat around the belt, and usually untidy, but sometimes there was an expression in his eyes that made Matt wonder if he was the big, simple sort of man he seemed. "You think about that, Bill," he said, "but don't talk about it."

He buttoned his slicker, then ran his hand inside the pocket to make sure he could lay a hand on the butt of his gun. "Bill, just why did you want to come on this wagon trip? You don't strike me as a gold hunting man."

"I ain't. Rightly I'm a bullwhacker an' a farmer. Maybe I'll find me a farm farther west. First I got me a job to do."

"A job?"

Shedd puffed for a moment on his pipe. "Yeah. A job. I ain't no gold huntin' man. Right now I'm a man huntin' man."

So that was it. Matt looked at Shedd thoughtfully and with new eyes. It was strange how often you accepted someone at face value or what seemed face value and without thinking much about them. Bill Shedd suddenly took on new significance. Bardoul was aware of a new impression, a startling, deep impression. If he were the man Bill Shedd was hunting he would be worried, very worried. There was something sure, inexorable about the big, ponderous fellow that gave him a sudden feeling of doom. "What man, Shedd?"

"You got things on your mind, you don't talk about 'em. Neither do I." He glanced up at Bardoul through the thin smoke of his pipe. "Meanin' no offense." He paused. "Funny thing is, I am not sure."

"We'll have to talk about that, Bill. I'll be back." He slid out of the covered wagon and dropped to the ground. The first heavy rush of rain had let up now and it was a steady if not a crashing downpour. The going would be very bad tomorrow. Bowing his head to the rain, he walked back toward Murphy's wagon, and thrust his head inside. Ban Hardy was sitting there with him. So was Jeb Stark. "Stick around, all of you. I'll be back."

Pulling his head back, a cold drop of water went down the back of his neck. It never failed, he thought. Cover yourself as you would, be as careful as you will, one drop will always fall down the back of your neck.

Lightning streaked the night, and he could see the picketed animals in the center of the huge circle, their backs wet and glistening. Around them, like the coils of a huge snake, were the gathered wagons, each only a few feet from the next, the wet canvas glistening in the reflected light. He splashed through a pool and stopped by Stark's wagon.

He scratched on the canvas. "Come in!" Stark yelled.

Matt pushed his head in. "My feet are wet, an' I'm dripping. Stark, come over to Murphy's wagon, will you? Little medicine talk."

He withdrew his neck and went on to Lute Harless' wagon. He hesitated, after speaking to Harless. Beyond was Rabun Kline's wagon, and next to that, Ernie Braden's. He hesitated over the idea of Kline. He had never talked much to the little Jew. Nor did he have any idea how the man stood except that he kept his team and wagon well, and had seemed a stable, reliable man.

That he was a friend of Herman Reutz, he knew. But was he too close to Pearson and Coyle? Would he talk?

Bardoul shrugged, then turned and moved toward Kline's wagon. He scratched on the canvas, and at a word, thrust his head inside. Rabun Kline was lying on one elbow, reading a book. He wore square steel rimmed glasses, which he took off as he saw Bardoul. "Oh?" he was surprised. "Come in, will you?"

"Some other time. Now, we've got a talk coming up. Medicine talk."

"Where?"

"Murphy's wagon." Matt took off his hat and wiped his wet face. "Kline, we've never talked much, but I take it you're an honest man."

"Thank you, sir. I hope that I am."

"Up there at Murphy's wagon there's a talk for honest men, but one that may mean a mess of trouble. Maybe gun trouble."

Kline folded his glasses carefully. "Shall I bring my gun now, sir?" Bardoul grinned. Suddenly, he liked this square built man with the placid face. In the west you knew men quickly, and he knew this one now. "Not necessarily," he said, "if it comes to that, it will be later."

Within ten minutes they were all there, gathered in a tight little group in the crowded confines of the wagon. Murphy, fortunately, was carrying less than most of them, and had space.

Matt glanced around at their wet, serious faces. "Men," he said softly, "I had a brainstorm today. I want you to hear me out, answer my questions, and then decide if I am crazy or not."

He turned to Lute. "Harless, you have three wagons. What would you say your wagons, teams, and cargo are worth at prevailing prices?"

Lute's brow furrowed, and he rubbed his chin with the stem of his pipe. "Reckon I could figure it. My wagons are carryin' upwards of two thousand pound each. All told I've got about two thousand pound of flour in all three wagons, scattered amongst 'em. Flour is sellin' pretty general at ten dollars a hundred, some places more. You can figure that flour at two thousand dollars, all right."

He studied the problem for a few minutes while the rain pounded steadily on the canvas over their heads, and dripped from the sides of the wagon bed to the sod below. "Countin' sugar, tea, tools, an' ammunition, I'd say I have about ten thousand dollars tied up in my outfit. Ever' cent I brought west, an' what I took out of my claim in Deadwood."

"Reutz and Coyle would have more, wouldn't they?" Matt asked.

"Sure. A good bit more."

"Then," Matt suggested slowly, "at a rough guess this wagon train would have a total value of nearly or maybe more than, three hundred thousand dollars?"

"I'd say a little more than that," Rabun Kline said. "Perhaps half again as much. Coyle and Reutz have richer loads than we."

Matt nodded. His voice was low, reaching only the crowded circle of intent faces. "What a nice, rich, juicy plum to knock off the bough ... if someone had the idea!"

Aaron Stark's chewing stopped with his mouth open. Murphy took the pipe from his mouth and stared at Matt, then slowly he put it back in his teeth. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered.