Halliday 8, page 9
Hope came across to her uncle’s side. “Why not, Uncle Dick? It’s such a generous offer! And it’s one we can’t refuse.”
Her uncle shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know, girl. I’ve never been able to trust anybody in the past.”
“But we’d be in Parson Falls and Mr. Mann’d be out here, wouldn’t he?” Hope pleaded.
The old man walked across to Mann’s horse, studied it for a time, and said;
“We’ll do it. And I’m grateful. Hell, mebbe I’ve had you wrong all this time. Maybe you could have changed.”
But Clayton kept Mann’s gunbelt over his shoulder as he disappeared into the brush. A short time later, he emerged, pulling the rig. He tossed the gunbelt into the back and now he threw out a suspicious glance as Mann came to help him. But Rees Mann ignored him, got the fresh horse into the shafts, and after calming it, worked the reins over its head and linked them on the driving seat. He then crossed to Clayton’s weary horse.
All this time, Hope had kept a close eye on him, watching his effortless movements, impressed by his fine clothes. She thought of the place she and her uncle had left. It wasn’t big, but if worked properly, it could support a family.
A flush rose to her cheeks when she realized she was including Rees Mann in her thoughts.
And why not, she asked herself? He’d been the only person to help her, except for Halliday, of course.
Buck Halliday.
Hope realized with a shock that she hadn’t even thought of him during the previous twenty-four hours. They had left him behind, had sneaked away and made him fend for himself, tricked him into protecting them from Aldo Latimer.
So what had become of him?
Then her uncle called and helped her into the rig. The old man got up beside her, then reached back and picked up Rees Mann’s gunbelt. He weighed it in his hand thoughtfully for a time before he tossed it down and said;
“I hope you won’t be needin’ it. I hope that bunch has learned its lesson. Leave Whelan’s carcass where they can see it, and maybe they’ll know exactly what they’re up against. Later, when my horse is ready to be ridden, get him to Parson Falls. You’ll be welcome as all get-out to join us in a celebration.”
Mann looked Hope’s way and smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Then he stepped away and buckled his gunbelt about his waist.
When Clayton drove the rig away from the clearing and past Zac Whelan’s body, Mann stood with his legs planted wide and waved. Hope returned the gesture just before she went from sight around a line of boulders.
Mann stoked up the fire and added more wood. Soon flames leaped into the moonlit sky. He unrolled his gear, spreading it out on the ground by the fire. Then he went into the shadows of the boulders and settled down to wait. From what Whelan had told him, he had only one worry ... Buck Halliday. The big drifter would come after him, he was sure. Mann knew Halliday was a lot like himself, unable to refuse the challenge of a man who was near his equal with a gun. Mann checked his .45 and turned his bandaged right wrist this way and that. Hope Clayton had done a good job, and he found that as soon as he worked circulation into it, he could draw his gun with all his former speed.
Chapter Nine – The Ultimatum
Buck Halliday heard the gunshots and drew rein. Then he peered down into the moonlit country but nothing stirred. As soon as the echo of the gunshots faded, there was no sound above the soft wash of the cool night wind through the brush.
He waited ten minutes before he went on.
He knew that Zac Whelan was ahead of him, and so was Rees Mann. One of them must have fired off those shots, and either of them, given the chance, would gun him down. So he kept to the shadows until he saw where the tracks of a rig had disappeared at the edge of a stretch of hard ground.
He came out of the saddle, hitched the horse and carefully checked the ground, moving in an ever-widening circle until he picked up the tracks again. He was standing there, contemplating his next move when a single gunshot disturbed the peace about him.
Halliday went straight to the ground, his gun already in his hand. But the shot was not followed by a second, and the bullet hadn’t come his way. He waited a full minute before he risked moving again. As far as he could make out, the shot had come from behind a set of boulders a hundred yards ahead of him.
Getting to his feet, he headed for them. He made a wide circle and came up behind the rocks to find a shabby-coated horse lying on its side, with a bullet hole in its head.
A close inspection told Halliday that it was Dick Clayton’s animal. He was trying to work out what had happened when he saw the body of Zac Whelan in a pool of moonlight. Whelan was on his stomach and the ground around him was covered with blood.
Halliday went to the body and turned it over with his boot. He saw the two bullet holes and then his gaze took in the empty holster.
Whelan’s killer had gunned down an unarmed man.
Dick Clayton? Yes, he could do it. The man was a wily old fox, so concerned about getting the money for his ranch that Halliday couldn’t put it past him to shoot before asking questions.
Yet the fact that Whelan had come this way, trailing Mann as well as the Claytons, indicated that Whelan had plenty on his mind. Whatever it was, the fat gun hand had failed.
Halliday turned away from the body and was making his way toward his horse when a rider burst from cover below him. His gun jerked up and he threw himself to the side. Bullets ripped into the ground where his shoulder made contact and he felt a sharp tug of pain along his neck. He rolled, hearing the thunder of hoof beats coming closer. He finally stopped rolling in the cover of dry brush and saw Rees Mann boring down on him.
Mann was grinning evilly. Halliday pushed himself to his knees and braced himself. But at the last moment, Mann swung his mount away, and as he did so, Halliday saw that Mann was riding the sorrel.
Anger worked through him and he jumped to his feet and emptied his gun at Mann’s back. The bullets ricocheted off rock and then the gunfighter was out of range.
Halliday refilled his gun and stood there cursing. His mind worked feverishly now, trying to make some sense of this whole affair. Whelan was dead, but to have come this far, he had to have been on horseback. Clayton and the girl were still missing, so too the rig. Now Mann was highballing toward Parson Falls on his horse.
Which left him out here alone.
He knew with certainty that he would have to find a horse quickly or Mann would succeed in making him look a total ass.
Halliday listened to the fading drum of hoof beats and began to walk. But two hours of following the sorrel’s tracks left him with no greater reward than weariness.
He looked out over the night-shrouded plain, the moonlight dim but he could see the rig’s tracks and near them the tracks of his sorrel.
Tightening his gunbelt, he went down the slope and moved in a steady walking pace. He wasn’t sure how far it was to Parson Falls but was determined to reach town and pick up Mann’s trail there. It wasn’t just the matter of a stolen horse, he told himself—it was something much bigger. So big, in fact, that it wouldn’t end until he faced Rees Mann down.
It was hate—deep, unrelenting, eternal ...
The edge of Buck Halliday’s tongue rasped across his dry, cracked lips. His throat burned and his feet ached. But he walked on, looking ahead, hoping for the sight of a building that would mean water, rest and another horse.
The silence crowded in on him as the sun rose. Impatience stung him. Aches had already risen and died in his legs and arms but he walked on, numbed like a zombie, his mind a turmoil of bitter thoughts.
Yet behind the screen of confusion, he found himself looking at the image of Hope Clayton that formed in his mind.
Dick Clayton had left him to fight a war that was not his. He had no idea of Hope’s involvement in the trickery. He reminded himself that at the outset of this trip, his anger had been directed at her as much as it had been at her uncle. Why this was so, he couldn’t remember now. He saw her only as she had been in that pass, the moonlight shining on her hair, her face so angelic and full of need—yet frightened.
Was she who she pretended to be, a woman who had known no man before?
Halliday didn’t know. He walked on, taking the image of her with him, feeling emotions stirring deep inside that kept him struggling on. One day he would find out, he promised himself.
The sun was up now and the day’s heat was beginning to close in around him. The sand under his feet would soon be so hot it would burn through his soles and scorch his feet.
How far now to Parson Falls ...?
Mile after mile he trudged on, kicking up sand, feeling the steady increase of heat from the sky-climbing sun. A cluster of clouds sat on the horizon in the far eastern portion of the sky. All about him was the desert, a wasteland of loneliness, heat and thirst.
He stopped suddenly, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. For a time he dared not believe that there was a shape in front of him. He knew the tricks that thirst and heat could play on a man’s mind. But as he stared, the shape took on depth and substance. A hill. And beyond it the outline of timber—deep green treetops against a brilliant blue sky.
He pushed himself on, but he could barely drag one foot after the other, making such slow progress that the hill didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He kept on, his eyes fixed on the hill, the gunbelt on his waist burning his skin through his pants until he thought about discarding it. But he knew that would be foolish. A horse and a gun, these were the vital necessities in the West. He had lost his horse, he couldn’t afford to lose his gun.
Hours passed.
Suddenly, the hill loomed before him, its rocks standing heat-seared in the broiling sun. The trees turned out to be cottonwoods. Good. Where there were cottonwoods, there was water. Plenty of water.
A rise of panic struck him. What if the water had been consumed by the drought? He didn’t think he could go on much further without water, certainly not into the blast of another desert sun. He swung his arms, and although they ached considerably, he kept pushing himself, refusing to give in. It would be either death or salvation—there was no in-between.
He entered the shade of the cottonwoods and stopped. The relief he felt was so great that he felt like dropping to his knees and digging his hands into the earth. He discarded this crazy thought and continued into the trees. But the grass was dry, brown, without moisture, almost like straw. A feeling of hopelessness began to take hold of him.
Then he heard the thunder of hoof beats.
He swung about, an exultant cry forming on his lips. A horse meant getting out of here.
Then Rees Mann came thundering from behind a boulder, his gun blasting. A bullet tugged at Halliday’s sleeve before he shook off his confusion and realized what was happening.
He dropped to the ground, his gun coming quickly to hand. He fired off three quick shots as Mann rode past, the horse’s hoofs missing his head by a whisker and no more.
Halliday rolled to his feet, looked anxiously about him and then broke into a staggering run. More shots ripped at him. He felt the burn of a bullet along his shoulder and another at his wrist. He didn’t give a damn—he cared only for survival.
He threw himself headlong into a clump of dry brush and a branch tore open his right cheek. Blood flowed into his mouth and he swallowed, fighting to remain conscious, knowing that to give in now was to present himself with a ticket to Boothill.
He forced himself onto his elbows. The pounding of hoofs had now stopped. He lifted his head and his gaze swept the heat-seared clearing.
There was no sign of Rees Mann.
He waited a few minutes more. His clothes tore on the dry brush, throwing out enough noise to attract another blast of gunfire that sent bullets whining around his head.
Cursing, he crawled deeper into the brush. He had just stopped in a hollow, when Mann called;
“Halliday, hear me good. I’m going on to Parson Falls. Twice I’ve tried to kill you and twice I’ve failed. If you try to follow me ... I won’t fail a third time.”
“You have my horse, mister, so how do you expect me to travel?” Halliday called back, his voice no more than a croak.
“On hands and knees, if you have to. Just don’t come after me.”
Halliday rose to his haunches. Even though he could see clear down into the lower section of this oasis, he could see no sign of Rees Mann.
Then the hoof beats started up again. His horse broke into a canter and finally a gallop. He stood watching Rees Mann and the sorrel fade into the distance.
Chapter Ten – Time Doesn’t Count
Dick Clayton impatiently paced the rooming house dining room floor. Each time he reached the window, he peered intently across to the closed doors of the bank.
A short time after reaching Parson Falls, he had gone straight to the railroad company offices located midtown. There he’d met Camer Wilkinson, who had immediately wired company headquarters. A wire had come back within the hour telling Wilkinson to sign and witness all the necessary paperwork.
In the oldster’s hand now, he had the railroad company’s check for ten thousand dollars and was waiting for Hope to come down for breakfast. When the bank opened, he’d cash the check and leave town, heading for a place where he wasn’t known. Only then would he be able to relax.
Rees Mann found him with little trouble. Mann walked in, dusting his range hat down his brush-torn clothes. His gaze traveled the room before they settled on Clayton. He strode over to him and said;
“Everything finalized?”
The old man nodded and patted his shirt pocket. “All I’ve got to do now is wait for the bank to open its doors. Then I can get our money and get to hell out of here. I’m grateful to you for what you did for us. I’ve been thinkin’ about it all and I realize now that without your help we wouldn’t have stood a chance. When you lent me your horse, that just about sealed things for us. I’ve got him out back, still in the rig and I’ll pay you double his worth, if you want to sell him.”
“Fair enough,” Mann said. He looked at his pocket watch. It was five minutes to ten. “Might as well see it through all the way,” he said. “I’ll stay with you until you finish your business with the bank. Then maybe we’ll have a drink and share a meal before you leave. Meantime, while we’re headin’ for the bank, I’d like you to think about my comin’ further with you. I’m mighty attracted to your niece and I have reason to believe she feels the same way about me. I’m through with gunfighting. I’ve learned there are other ways of making a livin’, ways that are far more rewarding.”
Clayton looked surprised. “You sure you want that? Hell, I always figured that your kind never changed.”
Mann smiled shyly as he fitted his hat to his head. “My kind don’t often meet up with a woman like your niece, Mr. Clayton. She deserves a lot better than working on that small ranch of yours. I’ve got money put aside and I want to buy my own place, have others working for me. If you want, maybe we could come to some arrangement on a business deal. I’ll always have my guns to protect us, no matter if I’m not hirin’ them out anymore.”
Clayton licked his lips, an eager light showing in his eyes. “That doesn’t sound too unattractive. Let me think about it, eh? I been worried about all this money anyway, and I don’t reckon I can last forever. Besides, Hope will have to get herself settled down sooner or later. Maybe, just maybe ...”
His voice trailed off and he stood there nodding his head. Suddenly, he drew himself tall and said;
“All right, come on then. The sooner we get this business done, the sooner I’m gonna get a drink into me. Hell, crossin’ that desert sure took a lot outta me.”
Mann let the old man lead the way across the street to the bank. Clayton went in past the clerk who had just opened the doors and stopped at the grille behind which a second clerk waited.
The clerk took Clayton’s check, smiled and said;
“We were told that you might be coming, Mr. Clayton. It will be no trouble to pack the money into a case for you, but I strongly advise, what with the ruffians who are in town at the moment, that you take some spending money and leave the rest for us to transfer to a bank of your choice.”
“I’ll take the cash,” Clayton told him. “And don’t you fret none about anybody takin’ it from me. This here’s Rees Mann ... my partner.”
The clerk looked Mann over coolly, clearly not impressed. Mann held the fellow’s stare evenly for a moment, then walked to the door. He waited there, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck. When he saw Clayton coming out, he stepped onto the boardwalk. Two men were standing outside the rooming house foyer, a couple of yards apart. There was a sprinkling of people at the other end of the street but not many people were in this section of town. Then Hope appeared in the rooming house doorway, looking fresh and dainty in a brand new dress. She smiled broadly when she saw her uncle come jauntily across to her.
But Clayton was only halfway across the street when the two men went for their guns. Clayton froze, then threw an anxious look Mann’s way. Hope spun, saw the two men and let out a scream.
The scream was drowned in a sudden eruption of gunfire.
Hope saw her uncle go down, the case in his hand dropping from his grasp. He hit the ground and threw a hand over the case as more bullets thudded into his body. By then, Mann had brought out his gun and was punching off shots. The two gun hands had stepped to the edge of the boardwalk, close to Mann. His vicious gunfire cut them down. Hope screamed again as both men staggered back under the impact of lead. Then a deathlike silence settled on the street, and Hope dropped her hands from her face.
Rees Mann was standing in the street, his gun still smoking. On his face was a look of profound satisfaction that chilled her to the bone. Then Mann went to her uncle’s side and turned him over. When Hope reached them, Mann looked up and shook his head.
