Cartridge Creek, page 14
His voice rose. “For a solid year, rich or poor, she would have married me the minute I snapped my fingers. But, now— When she didn’t say yes right off, I knew. And that’s one reason, damn your soul, you got to die. Because it’s you she wants now, you see, and if you live and stay on here, I won’t have a chance with her. Why should she marry the hired man when she can have the boss, the owner?”
Despite the fear that closed in on him now, and the rage, too, at the death of Sully, Leatherman felt a surge of elation. So Bettina loved him, and— He stared at Tom, measuring his chances, brain racing. He had to live. Somehow, he had to. If he could keep Brand talking ... By God, he would not be slaughtered like an ox. He would make some kind of fight!
“No!” he said. “That wouldn’t have made the difference to Bettina.”
“You think not? I got my own idea about that. Anyhow, that changed everything, Will, you understand? I mean, I was all for you, I meant everything I said— Until she turned me down and my eyes were opened. Then I saw what I had to do. With you gone, she’ll be mine again. Especially when I own half of Cartridge Creek and maybe the range around it.”
“When you own—”
“Remember the deal Fate Canady made me? Well, I thought hard and long and then I went to him. We’ve got it all worked out. With you dead and nobody to run the town, your partner’ll have to sell. Fate will buy and cut me in on half to side him; it’ll take both of us to carry out his plans. So it’ll still be my town, maybe not the way I hoped, but anyhow, I’ll be no hired hand jumping when you snap your fingers.
“So,” he said. “Sully’s gone, and in about half a minute you’ll be gone, too. And then there’s a new deal with a fresh deck.”
‘Tom, you’re a fool,” Leatherman said quietly. “Do you think after this Bettina will ever marry you?”
“She’ll never know I did it. Nobody will. The story is, Fate’s men hit us out here. They got you and Sully and I’ll lay a bullet rake across my leg to make it look like I just barely got away. I’ll hightail it back to Bettina’s, all hot to fight, just the same. Get all the resistance to Canady left in town gathered at Bettina’s. Then Canady’ll move, catch ’em cold. I’ll negotiate a surrender, save lives, look like a hero. It ain’t my fault somebody leaked the plans to Fate. From then on, Fate will know exactly who’s against him. And ... if those cowboys or railroad men are still crazy enough to come ahead with you and Sully dead, Fate’ll be waiting to chew ’em up. The townsmen’ll be out of the way and the surprise on his side, then.” He sucked in a long breath. “It ain’t exactly the way I wanted it, Will, but a man has to settle for what he can get. Bettina will marry me before I show my hand with Canady; then she’ll kick a little, but I’ll bring her around. So I’ll have her and half of Cartridge Creek—and with my foot in the door at least, the day may come when I have it all. Anyhow, one thing’s sure. She’ll never be your woman and it’ll never be your town.” He tilted the barrel of the Winchester and Leatherman’s gut knotted. It was coming now … “I’ll make no secret of the fact I hate this—”
The gun spat flame. Leatherman was already throwing himself sideways off the horse in one last, desperate attempt to save himself. He felt the muzzle blast’s heat, heard the bullet slap air above him, then landed hard with the horse between himself and Brand, his right gun clear of leather as he hit. Brand yelled something; the horse stampeded down the wash, and Leatherman was rolling as Brand fired again. A bullet whined off rock and Leatherman got his own gun up and pulled the trigger. His shot missed— Missed Brand but raked across the rump of Tom Brand’s mount.
Brand’s horse neighed shrilly, kicked out with both hind legs as the bullet raked its rump. It whirled, bucking, and the Winchester went flying as Brand grabbed instinctively for the horn. Leatherman came up on his knees, eased back the hammer of the Colt again as the horse went plunging down the wash, lined the gun—and at that instant a thick scud of cloud pasted itself across the moon, and the light went out in the seam between the hills as if a lamp had just been extinguished. Brand and horse both were lost in total darkness. Leatherman scrabbled forward, searching desperately with his hand, and then he found what he sought: the Winchester. He seized it, got to his feet, panting, worked a shell into the action. Now the odds had changed; they were on his side. He dodged into some juniper on the wash’s flank, waited for that chunk of cloud to clear the moon again. A hundred yards down the wash, he heard Brand fight the horse into submission; it was still jumpy, though, snorting, shifting restlessly.
In his cover, Leatherman felt the upwelling of a hatred that was like boiling, molten iron. It racked and seared him as he thought of Brand’s betrayal, his plans for Cartridge Creek and for Bettina. What he had felt for Canady was nothing compared to this. He fired a round blindly down the wash. Then his voice rang out in the following stillness.
“All right, Tom! The boot’s on the other foot now! Come on, now, if you’re so damned determined to have me dead! Come on, if you got the guts!”
There was no answer. Leatherman jacked in another round, held his breath, listening. With the rifle and good concealment, he had the range on Brand, the edge. He hoped fiercely that Tom would disregard that, in desperation, and he hurled another challenge. “You’d better get me, Tom. Now. Because if you don’t, you’ll never have Bettina! When she finds out what you really are— Now’s your last chance, Brand! Come on!”
Cloud still clung to moon; the darkness was still total.
Again Will waited. Then Brand’s voice rang out from down the draw, low, but carrying in the silence.
“All right, Will. You win this hand. But the pot still belongs to me and Canady. You’re on foot and it’ll take you hours to reach the G-Bar-G. We’ll wind up the thing with the people of the town long before you make it. And if you come against us, we’ll be waiting. I warn you now, if you do that, you’ll be dead before the sun goes down tomorrow.”
“One of us, anyhow,” Leatherman called harshly.
“You,” said Brand. Then hoofs clattered on rocks. Their sound diminished. Leatherman let out a long breath, but he did not move. Brand was smart and tricky and capable of doubling back.
Finally the moon was unveiled again. Below Will, the wash was empty, save for the sprawled body of Sully, his shotgun near it. Brand was gone.
Leatherman waited minutes more until he was certain. Then, warily, he left the brush, descended into the wash. Sullivan was dead, all right. Leatherman made a sound in his throat, spat into the sand. And both horses gone, and himself on foot, he thought bitterly. Well, there was nothing for it. He began to walk, fighting back the sense of urgency that made him want to run, which would have exhausted him too soon.
But Brand might be right, now. Maybe he and Canady would take the pot. One thing was certain, a lot of men would die because of his betrayal. At this rate, it would be long after daylight before he reached the ranch; God only knew what would happen in the town in the meanwhile. Leatherman cursed and worked up the ridge through the juniper. He was panting when he reached the crest, paused to suck in breath, reconnoitering the next dip below before proceeding.
Then he saw it, on the forward slope which was bare of cover: the miracle that he needed and had not even dared imagine. It was a horse, Sully’s mount, moving at a strange and awkward gait, head down, one forefoot up. Leatherman stared, then realized what had happened. The reins of the livery bridle had been knotted together. The stampeding horse had tangled a forefoot in them. Now, if that tangle did not give or the reins break, it was hobbled. There was a chance of catching it.
Leatherman went down the slope slowly, carefully. A hundred yards away, the horse caught his scent, tried to raise its head, snorted. Still jumpy, it sidled, attempted to move on, lurched, and halted. Leatherman came up to it very cautiously, speaking to it softly. Now it stood, knowing it needed help.
Then he had the cheek strap of the bridle. “Thank God,” he whispered. He picked up the forefoot, slipped it free, and the horse snorted with relief. Then Leatherman was in the saddle.
When he lashed it with the rein ends, it rocketed forward at a dead run. Leatherman never slowed it, regardless of gopher holes or badger dens. He only prayed it would not fall.
It did not. He made it give everything it had, regretfully, but without mercy. Two hours later, at three o’clock, it fell to its knees in exhaustion when he halted it in the yard of the Gorman ranch, where forty cowboys and twenty railroad lawmen waited.
Chapter Ten
“This changes everything.”’ said Phil Lemoyne. They were in the ranch house living room, and lamplight etched every line on his weathered face. “Damn it, this ain’t what you promised us. It ain’t what we counted on.”
Ralph Gorman, seated, crutch across his lap, made a sound of disgust in his throat, raked his one good eye across Lemoyne and the four other owners. “Phil, nobody promised you anything except a fight. It’s not Leatherman’s fault that Brand double-crossed us. I’ve known Tom a long time; I’d have trusted him the same way.” He paused. “Brand’s had too much, seen everything he’s tried to do come to naught. It just snapped his mind, that’s all.”
Lemoyne turned. “I don’t care what it snapped, Mr. Ralph! The fact remains, I promised my riders one thing, and now we’ve got another. We’ll be heading straight into a trap. We got no surprise left at all. I can’t lead those men into something like that.”
Leatherman, fatigued, felt his temper start to give. He set down his cup of coffee, arose. “Lemoyne—”
Gorman held up his left hand. “Will. Let me handle this. I know these men better than you. But, first—” He slowly turned his head to look at Fred O’Connor. The railroad man’s bulldog face was set and ugly beneath his derby in the lamplight. “O’Connor, where do you stand in all this?”
O’Connor’s stump of cigar rolled across his mouth as he talked around it. “Right where I did before, only more so. Nobody made me any promises except that Sully would lead us. We came here because Sully called us. Now Sully’s dead and— That just makes one more score to settle. There ain’t a man out there wouldn’t have gone straight to hell for old Sully.” He took the cigar stump from between his lips. “Anyhow, we’re professionals. We fight for pay. As long as we get our pay, we take our chances. Only, this time we give a little more. To square the deal for Sully.”
Gorman swung toward Lemoyne. “Now,” he said. “You’ve just heard a man talking. You’ve seen these railroad dicks. You know how tough they are. And there’s still fifteen G-Bar-G riders that are gonna hit Cartridge Creek, it don’t matter if the Old Scratch hisself is waiting for ’em.” Then he slammed his crutch down, and slowly, painfully, got to his feet. He hobbled across the room, all eyes on him. They watched as he reached up awkwardly, took down a belted Colt from a peg. He pivoted on the crutch, faced them in the lamplight. “Somebody help me strap on this thing. My left hand still works all right. O’Connor, make room for me in one of those wagons. By God, I may be a little lame, just about half of me here— but I’ll show those bastards down there in Cartridge Creek that half a Texas man is still more man than any owlhooter Canady can move against us!”
“Mr. Ralph,” said Lemoyne, “you know you can’t—”
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t!” Gorman hobbled to Will Leatherman. “Will, put this around my waist.”
Leatherman hesitated. Then, under Gorman’s fierce one-eyed gaze he latched the buckle. Ralph Gorman let out a breath of satisfaction.
“I don’t give a damn what the rest of you folks do,” he rasped. “I want one favor from you, no more. Let me talk to your riders.”
“Mr. Ralph—” Lemoyne began.
“Let me talk to em!”
Lemoyne shrugged. Gorman said, “O’Connor, help me out.”
The burly railroad man lent him a hand to get him on the porch. The sixty men in the yard, as the front door opened, turned, crowded curiously toward the steps.
Gorman stood there, leaning on his crutch, looking down at them, bent form silhouetted in lamplight. “All right,” he said. “You’ve heard the news by now. You know our surprise is blown. When we ride into Cartridge Creek, it’ll be a flat-out fight and no holds barred. Now, I’m not talking to my own men or these railroad people, I’m talking to you riders from the other ranches. You’ve got good bosses. They think a lot of you. And they say they’re afraid. Not for themselves, but because some of you will be dead before dinnertime tomorrow. Well, maybe you will. There ain’t no man that lives forever. Me, I go to bed every night knowing I got no more than an even chance of waking up tomorrow. But that don’t scare me. The only thing that scares me is not to die like a man.”
His sucked in breath was audible to all. “When a man’s time comes to die,” he said, “He can do it two ways. Straight up on his hind legs or hunched over like a scared rabbit in a hailstorm. Me, I ain’t no rabbit. I’m going into Cartridge Creek.”
He paused, breathing hard, exhausted; the crowd of ranch hands in the yard watched him with a strange fixity. Then Gorman summoned up more energy from somewhere in his bent, rawhide depths.
“When a man hires out to work for a brand, he knows what that means. It means he can take a horn in his belly or freeze in a blizzard or catch a rustler’s bullet, and all for forty a month and found. He’d be a fool to risk all that for the money. What he does it for is his own self-respect. Either he’s a cowman or he ain’t. Either he will die for his brand or he won’t. If he won’t, he ain’t a cowman. He may be a good man and a lot of other fine things, but one thing is sure—he’s got no business forking a horse and hiring out to work for a brand. Only real men do that for forty and found, and when they do it, they take what comes, and they take it on their hind legs, straight up. Your bosses ain’t so sure you’re real men. Me, I figure most of you are. I could be wrong. But I’ll lay it to you this way. The men in your crowd will ride to Cartridge Creek and fight for their brands. The others ought to step out yonder to the left, over by that cottonwood. Then your bosses can make their own decisions. But some of us are going to Cartridge Creek this mornin’, and those that don’t had better not call themselves cowmen in my hearin’.”
He broke off. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. “Well?” Gorman’s voice rose. “Who’s gonna go on home and pull the blankets up? Now or never!”
Still no one moved. Gorman looked at them for a long, silent moment. Then he said, voice rich with satisfaction, “You’re good men. You’re riders, all right.” He pivoted on his crutch, faced the owners. “Well, Lemoyne, you others? There’s your answer! Where’s your excuse now?”
Lemoyne’s face was pale. Then he looked at Leatherman. “When do you want to move?”
“Now,” said Leatherman. “Right away.” His knees were weak with relief. “Brand thought I had to walk all the way back here. But were still on schedule. That might give us a little edge, anyhow. I want to move out right now.”
“All right,” said Lemoyne. “We’re with you, on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Mr. Ralph don’t go.”
“By God—” Gorman began angrily.
“You don’t go,” said Lemoyne, a strange gentleness in his tone. “You stay here and wait. We’ll be back in due time.”
“But I—”
“Listen,” Lemoyne said. “The least thing you got to worry about is not dying like a man. Go on inside. You hear?”
Gorman looked at him. Then, raspily, he laughed. “All right. I don’t want to get in the way. But give ’em hell, you hear? Give ’em hell!”
“We’ll do that for you, Mr. Ralph,” said Lemoyne, and he turned to the men. “All right, everybody mount up. Leatherman, you’re the boss, now. Take us to Cartridge Creek.”
So now, on a fresh horse, he pounded through the night with an army at his back. White armbands shone in the fading moonlight; the two wagons creaked and jingled between the flanking columns of nearly twenty men each. Scouts ranged ahead, in case Canady had sent out a force to meet them. Hoof beats made a drum roll that shook the night, and Leatherman’s fatigue was gone. There was nothing in him but savage exultation and a kind of fear.
The exultation was from the release of action; Brand, Canady. In a short time now he would have his chance to settle all the scores. More than that, to forge a future for himself and for Bettina—
And he knew then where the fear came from. It was for her. It would be an empty victory today—if it was a victory—if something happened to Bettina. And yet, he thought, there was no one he could depend on to keep her safe but Tom Brand. Say this much for Tom, his love for her was genuine. Surely he would not let her get in the line of fire, or any harm come to her. All the same, a tremendous urgency welled up in Will Leatherman. It took all his willpower to keep from putting his mount into a dead run. But they were on schedule, flat on schedule, and they would need fresh horses when they hit Cartridge Creek, not worn-out nags. He kept his mount at a steady, ground-devouring lope, while the army at his back matched his pace.
Thus they left Gorman’s land, swung off the ranch road onto the main wagon road down the valley of Cartridge Creek. Morning was not far away, now; the wind blew fresh and cool and clean across the land from the east; the moon had gone down; the paleness of false dawn streaked the sky. Hoofs drummed, harness jingled, leather creaked, and wagons rattled as the army turned down the valley.
And, an hour away, Canady was waiting.
The land sloped downward toward the town. Leatherman felt nothing now, all exultation and all fear put away. He was as he had been so often before in his life a kind of machine. He was geared up to fight, now, like all the men behind him, and there was no room within him for anything else.
Still, he tried to imagine what was happening in the town. By now, the men would be gathering at Bettina Grady’s. In full trust of Brand and of himself, they would bring their guns and barricade the house and wait and— And, he thought, mouth twisting, Fate Canady would catch them cold. Twenty, thirty aging townsmen in the house, looking to Tom for leadership, and he would give them none, as Canady’s army ringed them in. He would preach despair, defeat, surrender all of them—and free Canady to deal with any other threat with his full force. Tired, defeated, and betrayed, they would submit … and their submission would make the difference between life and death for a lot of men.
