The Loner 14, page 3
Cassidy hesitated a moment longer, then he turned and went back into the deeper darkness at the slope’s bottom. Blake rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He lay there, thinking of past times and distant places, and, curiously for him, just before he dropped off to sleep, of Katherine Wheeler.
Sundown gave the first warning to Blake Durant in the early hours of the following morning. Seconds after Sundown’s light snicker, Blake was on his feet, gun in hand and peering into the gloom of the slope. There was no sound, but many years of wariness made him prepared for what might come out of the night. He silently moved away from his bedroll, rubbed a hand reassuringly down Sundown’s nose, and made his way to the high point of the hollow. Stopping there, he sent his careful gaze over the area near the buckboard and the wagon. Nothing moved.
For a whole minute, Blake Durant stood there, shapeless in the murky light. Then he noticed a shape between the buckboard and the wagon, one large enough to be that of a man on a horse. Blake levelled his gun and waited.
After another two minutes, the shape moved and Blake heard the faint stamp of a hoof on the hard ground. Then there was the sound of a saddle creaking and a footfall. He moved down the slope, keeping the buckboard to his right and the wagon to his left. The figure in front of him, no more than twenty yards away, had stopped again. Beyond him the sky was brightening and soon there would be enough light for him to see the visitor clearly.
He went on, carefully picking his path. The fire had burned out but Blake knew exactly where it had been and he headed for it. He had taken another few steps when a second figure loomed up, moving fast, from behind the buckboard. Then the sound of a heavy thud drowned the footsteps and a man’s startled cry followed it. “Damn you, mister, I got you!”
Blake broke into a run. He saw the flap of the wagon pulled back and made out the vague outline of a woman’s head. Then came scuffling sounds that were drowned out by the vicious cursing of a man. Blake stopped short of flailing legs, dodged a kick and grabbed a shoulder. A fist cracked onto his forearm and a boot struck him in the ribs. In the darkness he was unable to set himself for a fight so he called out:
“Light a lantern.”
The struggling men began to roll on the ground. Blake followed the writhing bodies. Then the wagon flap was pulled back again and the light of a lantern slashed down to reveal Charles Cassidy drawing away from a man twice his size, a man dressed in range rig but not wearing a gunbelt. Blake reached up and took the lantern from Katherine Wheeler’s outstretched hand and took it to where the morning visitor was pushing himself to his feet and wiping blood from his mouth. Blake said, “Back off Cassidy—you’ve done your part.” Charles Cassidy, his shirt torn and with a red welt showing below his right eye, raked hair out of his eyes and began brushing down his pants. Katherine Wheeler, who had climbed down from the wagon seat, was pulling a wrap about her shoulders. She seemed more composed as she studied the man caught in the light of the lantern.
Blake motioned for the visitor to move to the side of the wagon and there he searched him. He found no weapons. He spent a moment longer taking fuller stock of the man. The strong stench of stale liquor came from him.
Blake asked, “What were you after?”
“Just lookin’, mister. I meant nobody no harm. I didn’t know what this outfit was, who was here, nothing. So I figured I’d check first.”
“That could be mighty dangerous, sneaking about a camp when you weren’t sure what to expect.”
“Guess so,” the tall man said, again wiping blood from his bottom lip. When he saw the smear of blood on his hand he sent a furious look at Charles Cassidy, who straightened, obviously pleased with himself.
“Let’s have your name,” Blake said.
Without hesitation the tall man answered, “Reb Tonge.”
“You belong to these parts?”
“I work for Cord Orville,” Tonge said with just a hint of defiance, as if the mere mention of Cord Orville’s name was explanation enough for anybody.
“This isn’t Orville land, is it?” Blake said.
Tonge looked casually about him, seemingly no longer worried about having been caught in the camp area. He said, “Well, guess it ain’t Orville land, stranger. Hell, who’d want to stake a claim to this country? But right close to here Cord Orville’s got a valley where nobody’s allowed to go. If he finds anybody there, for any reason whatever, he’ll come crowdin’. Guess that was why I come down to check your outfit out, to kinda give you a warning not to go trespassing.”
Not for one second had Blake taken his eyes off Tonge. He didn’t like the look of him. Tonge was clean-shaven, his clothes were respectable without being dandyish, and he had a clean-cut look. He was, Blake decided, an ordinary cowhand working for his keep. But the fact that Tonge admitted working for Cord Orville, a reputed hellion, yet didn’t wear a gun, made Blake curious.
He asked Tonge about it.
Tonge answered easily, “I ain’t ever worn a gun, stranger. I’m no gun hand. I do Mr. Orville’s books and I help him out on his place now and again. I advise him on cattle sales and the like and I get paid well for my time and trouble. So, if you’ve finished with me, and if that brat who jumped me hasn’t got any objections, I’ll go on my way. I’ve got to ride over Mr. Orville’s place, as I do every now and again, to see if anybody’s nesting there. I can see you aren’t, so we have no argument, have we?”
“Maybe not,” Blake told him. Dawn had come. He handed the lantern back to Katherine Wheeler and stepped away from Tonge. Cassidy frowned heavily Blake’s way, but Blake ignored him. Because he could see no chance of further information coming from Tonge, told him to fetch his horse. As the tall cowboy walked down the clearing, Blake settled against the side of the wagon and watched him carefully. There was a rustle of noise from inside the wagon and a moment later, Abe Lennon, his head bandaged, looked out. He squinted into the new day frowning as if even the poor light hurt his eyes.
“Know him?” Blake asked.
Lennon pursed his lips. When Tonge turned, swinging into the saddle, Abe Lennon said, “Nope. Ain’t seen him about. But, hell, Orville ain’t likely to hire his kind. He’s got lawyers to do his thinking for him. What’s he want with a bookkeeper?”
“I’ve got no idea and I don’t care,” Blake said. “You ready to push on?”
“Reckon I can drive an hour or so, Durant,” Lennon told him.
“No need for that just yet. Be better if you rested up today. Cassidy can take the buckboard and I’ll drive the wagon. My horse can trail behind.”
Blake fetched Sundown, tied on his saddle roll and hitched the stallion behind the Wheeler wagon. He then stepped past Katherine Wheeler, aware that she was studying him curiously, but he was in no mood just then to converse with a woman who might only complicate the issue. He picked up the driving reins, casually glanced in the direction Reb Tonge had taken, and then he sent the wagon horses off. After pulling out of the little valley, he faced the horses due west and drove with the sun behind him. Soon they were on the desert fringe. Without checking to see if Cassidy was keeping up in the buckboard, or whether Katherine Wheeler, who had accompanied him, had anything to offer as far as directions went, he called back to Lennon:
“Okay, old-timer?”
“Bit bumpy, Durant, and my head still hurts like blazes.”
“Had you ever seen those two before?”
There was a moment’s silence before Lennon answered, “Figured I might have in Memphis. But I can’t be sure. The way that scum came at me so fast, I didn’t have time to check him out. What the hell happened after I was knocked down?”
“I came along.”
“And?”
“I killed one of them.”
Again there was a long silence, then Lennon asked, “The other got away, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Reckon he’ll be back?”
“Miss Wheeler thinks so. She knew them in Memphis. Says they’re brothers.”
Lennon let out a whistle and Blake could hear him coming along the floor of the wagon. A moment later, Lennon propped himself behind the driving seat. Then: “Damn me, but I thought a couple of times in the last few days that we were being followed. You know how it is—you don’t actually see anybody but you know they’re there. Twice I had that feeling, the last time yesterday, just before we struck camp. Brothers, eh, and one of ’em dead?”
“The other cut out quick when the shooting started. He didn’t seem to worry much about his brother eating lead. I figure he kept going for a time before he doubled back on his tracks. He struck me as the kind who wouldn’t take risks next time.”
Lennon worked himself into a more comfortable position and made himself a cigarette. After rolling it in his gnarled hands and making an inspection of his work, he nudged Blake on the shoulder and handed the cigarette up. Blake accepted the cigarette and then match flame. Lennon looked curiously into his face and seemed worried about something. Then the old-timer asked:
“If Miss Wheeler knew them in Memphis, Durant, she’d know their names, wouldn’t she?”
“The one still alive and likely to cause us trouble is Josh Miller,” Blake told him.
Lennon gaped at him and drew back, startled. “The other’d be Ty Miller then.”
Blake nodded, feeling a knot of worry form in his chest. “So?” he said.
“Then, Durant, you killed one of Cord Orville’s top men. I’ve heard the name many times, though I don’t recollect ever having Ty Miller pointed out to me. Never was one for rubbing shoulders with that breed, but a man who has a drink now and again and talks some at the courthouse of a morning, hears all the gossip. Ty Miller was said to have a dozen notches on his gunbelt and looking for more.”
“Guess a dozen’ll have to suit him now,” Blake said and worked the wagon across the sweep of the desert, feeling the heat beginning to take hold. Within an hour or so they’d be in hell country.
Abe Lennon grunted and then went into a moody silence, worrying thoughts running through his gray-thatched head.
Chapter Three – Haven
ABE LENNON WAS well enough on the second day to take a turn at driving the wagon. That left Cassidy to take care of the buckboard as Durant back-trailed to see if anybody was following. The previous night he had slept little, hearing sounds that would not allow him to relax. Katherine Wheeler had tossed and turned all night, and Charles Cassidy, although he had proved himself during Tonge’s visit to their camp, was unsettled and did half a night’s pacing. They had not talked much before turning in, mainly because all had been weakened by the heat and were weary from the monotonous drive across the seemingly endless sand.
Coming back to the wagon close on noon, having found no trace of a trailer, Blake called for Lennon to halt. He hitched Sundown behind the wagon and was taking the reins from Lennon when Katherine Wheeler approached. Her face was shiny with perspiration and already lines of fatigue were etched in her beautiful face.
“Can’t we rest?” she asked Blake, sweeping her damp hair off her neck.
“I’m afraid not, Miss Wheeler. The horses are doing fine and we’re making good progress.”
“But you saw that nobody is following us, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t see anybody,” Blake said. “But that’s not to say somebody didn’t spot me first and hide out.”
“In this country, Mr. Durant? You can’t be serious. You could see anybody, even a dwarf, a mile away. Where would a man hide?”
Blake shrugged and looked at Lennon. The old-timer spat tobacco juice before he said, “Durant’s right, Miss Wheeler. No sense in stopping and sweltering. Anyway, after today there’s only tomorrow to get through. Then we reach Haven.”
“How can you be sure?” Katherine asked. “You weren’t even sure if we had passed Orville country back at our first camp. Perhaps the information you have about this country is all wrong. We might wander about in this furnace for days, weeks even. We might never get out.”
“I don’t reckon Durant will let that happen, Miss Wheeler,” Abe Lennon cut her short. “Seems to me he knows exactly what he’s doing. So you just get back to Cassidy and stop worrying. Another five hours and we’ll be able to make camp and then we’ll all get a good night’s rest.”
Blake saw Katherine’s lips go tight with impatience, but then she drew herself rigidly erect and, throwing a disdainful look his way, said, “I certainly hope our friend with the gun knows what he’s doing. This is a far cry from killing, and perhaps he’s not as good at blazing the right trail as he is at other things.”
Lennon glanced at Blake and made a face. But Blake merely gave a faint smile and took the reins. He flicked them across the backs of the wagon horses and Katherine Wheeler turned and hurried back to Charles Cassidy. When he reached down to help her up, Katherine ignored his hand and climbed. She dropped down on the seat beside him and when Cassidy didn’t attempt to drive off, she asked irritably:
“Must we stay here and fry, Charles?”
Cassidy turned sharply away and slapped the buckboard horses into a walk. When he heard Katherine still grumbling over something, he forced the animals into a faster gait and decided, for the time being at least, that she would be better left to her thinking in silence. Cassidy had no pretentions about understanding womenfolk. He had an eye for a beautiful woman, and had often, especially lately, felt a deep desire to talk to one, to get to know her better. But every time a young woman looked his way, he blushed to the roots of his hair and became impossibly tongue-tied. With Katherine Wheeler it wasn’t quite that bad, but just when he thought he was on friendly terms with her, she would become annoyed and he’d be right back where he’d started. He didn’t understand what made her so irritable, so he kept his silence and brooded as he followed the tracks of the wagon. As the hours passed he grew more confident about his driving. Finally, feeling tall, he even managed to convince himself that if Josh Miller showed his face in camp again, he and not Durant would settle with him.
Abe Lennon, after half a day’s driving, took a turn for the worse just on sundown. Durant had been scouting ahead, looking for a suitable campsite. He came back to find Katherine Wheeler on the wagon seat and Lennon sprawled inside it. Charles Cassidy had brought the buckboard across and stopped it across the heads of the wagon horses. Cassidy looked relieved when he saw Durant riding back fast, and he jumped down to tell him what had happened.
Blake swung out of the saddle and climbed into the wagon. Abe Lennon’s face was flushed and sweat ran down his hollow cheeks. His lips were blue. Blake undid the old man’s belt buckle and, soaking a bandanna with canteen water, made a pad of it and applied it to the old man’s forehead.
“How long has he been like this?” Blake asked Katherine.
“For an hour at least. I didn’t know what to do. Will he be all right?”
“He’s got a touch of the sun, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Katherine almost shouted. “How can you be so—so callous? I declare—”
“Look, Miss Wheeler, bellyaching now isn’t gonna do him much good. Half an hour’s drive from here is a cluster of rocks. They’ll make a windbreak and we can get a fire going and get some grub into him. With rest, shade and some nursing he’ll be all right.”
“You’re sure of that too, are you?” Katherine snapped at him and Blake realized that she was almost at the end of her tether.
He ignored her sarcasm and told her to sit in back in the shade. He then told Cassidy to drive the buckboard and not spare the horses. Then he hit the wagon horses into a run and kept them to it. Katherine, who muttered angrily when he first got going, grew quiet and concentrated on keeping Abe Lennon from being bumped against the driving seat.
But she glared at Blake’s back, beginning to dislike him intensely and regretting that she had allowed him to come along with them.
Half an hour later, Blake swung the wagon behind a circle of huge red rocks. Sparse dry brush swayed under the wash of the warm evening wind. Blake, once he had freed the horses and set out hay for them, collected some brush and started a fire. He found sturdy chunks of timber in the back of the buckboard and set them on top of the brush. To Katherine’s amazement he had a good fire going within minutes. Then Durant lifted Lennon from the wagon and placed him on a water-soaked blanket. He wet the forehead pad and told Katherine to make some coffee and warm some soup. Blake then took Cassidy to the far side of the rocks on the pretense of finding night shelter for the horses, but once out of Katherine’s hearing he told the youth:
“Miss Wheeler’s been hit by the sun, too, but not as badly as Lennon. If you see her faltering in her walk, or staggering at all, tell me immediately. Got it?”
“Yes, Mr. Durant.”
Blake looked keenly at the white-faced youth. He was surprised to find that Cassidy had stood up so well to the sweltering heat of the day. He was slightly dizzy himself and he was an experienced desert traveler.
“How are you?” Blake asked the boy.
“I’m fine, Mr. Durant. Hell, I could go on all night if you want.”
“Just don’t push your luck and don’t over-tire yourself. We’ve got another hard day tomorrow, and we’ll start three hours before sunup. That way, if Lennon has his information right, we should be in Haven come noon or soon after.”
“You just tell me what to do, Mr. Durant,” Cassidy said, his chest swelling with self-importance.
“For one thing, keep an eye on Miss Wheeler. When she goes off, get some sleep yourself. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to push on, but be prepared for a long spell of driving tomorrow. Only the two of us are fit for that chore now and I don’t want you breaking down on me.”
Blake returned with Cassidy to find Katherine sitting away from the fire, staring into the flames. Smoke was wafting her way but she didn’t seem to notice it. Blake took a blanket from his saddle roll and put it down. He then told Cassidy to check on Lennon. When the boy reluctantly went behind the circle of rocks, Blake crossed to Katherine, grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet. Katherine let out a sharp cry, swung about in his grip and glared at him.
