Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1343
“Pard, it’s shore turrible,” replied Vince, hoarsely, swallowing hard. “But I can’t tell you no more. There’s somethin’ a man owes to himself, though after all you done for me, I feel like a coyote for holdin’ back what I know.”
“I savvy, pard. Sorry I distressed you,” said Bradway, contritely. He would have been blind indeed not to have noticed Vince’s deep struggle with himself. “I’m a good judge of cowboys, and despite all you seem to be hinting about, I say you’re a man to tie to.”
“Much obliged, Linc. Thet’ll be about all I need,” returned Vince, in great relief. “I’ll say you’re on the right trail to find out about yore pard. But I wouldn’t be surprised if his part in this mystery was little enough. As little as mine — Yet follerin’ Jim Weston’s trail may lead to somethin’ big enough to expose the boss of some operations thet’ll stun all Wyomin’.”
“Operations? Can those gamblers be the head of a big rustler business?”
“I don’t know, pard. Only there’s nothin’ but two-bit cattle stealin’ in this country yet. Thet’s all to come. I’ve a hunch the cattlemen reckon it’s comin’ an’ want to stave it off. Anyway, Linc, I’m with you, an’ when the deal busts wide open I’ll be in there blastin’ away.”
“What more could a man ask of his pardner?... Let’s ride back to town.”
It developed that Vince was the kind of comrade who had an instinctive sense of when was the right time to keep silent. They walked their horses across the road, over the hill so as to avoid any oncoming wagons, over ridge and down draw for three miles without conversation. Vince smoked cigarettes and appeared to be doing some pondering himself. As they rode along Linc set his mind to work in earnest, trying to anticipate every possible event which he might be called upon to face. Soon they reached the placer diggings above town, and there Lincoln halted his horse and addressed his companion.
“Vince, listen,” he began. “First we’ll shut Bill Headly’s mouth. Then maybe it’ll be better for us not to be seen together too openly. Your job is to loaf around town, or ride out to the valley, just as a good-natured cowboy would do who’s on the loose. But be as sharp as a whip — to see, to listen, to spy, to find out everything, especially what angle Emery’s outfit will take toward me. Of course we have an idea. You’re no fool, Vince, and I know that with none of the local gentry suspecting you, there will be plenty of information you can get for me. I’m counting on you, boy.”
“Pard, I’ll eat thet job up,” replied Vince, grimly. “It’s just my kind of a deal. Reckon I’d better not spruce up yet a while, so I’ll hold off on buyin’ new clothes. Meet you tonight jest after dark at Bill’s. So long.”
CHAPTER IV
BRADWAY DISMOUNTED TO wait by the jack pines and the brawling brook. Bay, with loose bridle and free of his bit, grazed on the fresh green grass. Lincoln saw several big trout rise in a pool, and was reminded of Lucy’s description of the headwaters of the Sweetwater. He supposed that the inhabitants of South Pass, almost to a man, were so greedily bent on earning or stealing some of the lush gold thereabouts that they never thought of fishing. But Linc could think of fishing, even with men seeking to kill him. He had been a woodsboy in Missouri, and it would take an Indian to surprise him.
“This job is going to take everything I’ve got — maybe more,” he told himself, as he stood there by the stream. “I must discount everything, except Lucy. She’s scared stiff of me.... Of what she might let herself betray. Yet she liked me!... If I didn’t have such a stubborn streak I’d take her away from here while I have all this money. We could both make a fresh start. But I can’t give Jimmy a deal like that, though he’d be the one to advise it. Besides I’ve never been so keyed-up over anything in my life. So hell-bent! But what’s to be done first?... When I walk back into this rotten town, where they all have been bitten by the goldbug, I’ve got to be the hardest hombre that ever winked into a gun barrel.”
It was late in the afternoon when Linc Bradway rode into Headly’s place. He was greeted by the ex-miner in a manner that indicated to him that Vince had said the right things about him. But Linc added his own two cents’ worth. And Bill seemed to see things his way.
The street was so crowded at this hour that the Nebraskan felt reasonably safe. Near the Four Corners he ran into Lee.
“Howdy, Colonel,” drawled Linc, at the southerner’s cordial greeting, and he shook his proffered hand. Then, as Lee appeared anxious to hold him in conversation, the cowboy backed against a store window in order to be able to have a clear view up and down the street.
“I’ve been looking for you all day,” began Lee.
“Well, I made myself kind of scarce,” replied Lincoln.
“You showed your good sense. But you’d be wiser still to leave town. I can give you a job down in the valley, Bradway.”
“Thanks, Colonel. But I’m through riding the range for a spell. I got a job to do here.”
“Bradway, you’re looking for someone. You have that restless eye that never stays quiet. I’m a Texan, you know.”
“Well, you guessed it, and I’m sure glad you talk so friendly.”
“I’d like to be your friend. You won my respect last night, not to say more. Come and have supper with me. We can talk.”
“Colonel, that might be a risk to you. I’m expecting gunplay from any quarter any time now.”
“Yes, and you’ll get it, too, but hardly in the open.... Bradway, I’ll hunt you up when next I come to town. The job I want you to take is to boss a bunch of range riders. I’m organizing a secret outfit, something like the California Vigilantes. You’d be just the man to lead them.”
“Thanks, Colonel. That’s mighty interesting. Vigilantes, eh! — What for? There don’t appear to be any big rustlers working these parts yet.”
“That’s all you know, young man,” returned Lee, harshly. “At least about western Wyoming. I’d like to give you a responsible position for several reasons. One in particular! Think it over, Bradway. I’ll see you next week.”
The newcomer remained standing there pondering Lee’s information and offer. He might accept it later, when he had settled his deal, and gotten the lay of the land. Lee puzzled him. But there was no doubt about the Texan’s forceful and forthright character. Something was rankling in him, you could see that! And he was no man to antagonize, let alone do him wrong. Try as the cowboy might, he could not figure out what particular reason prompted him to offer a stranger such an important job.
Presently Linc approached the little street stand where he had purchased the cigar and made the acquaintance of its engaging young proprietor. This time Lincoln bought two cigars and gave one to the dealer. They stood and chatted a moment.
“Just had a job offered me,” said Lincoln. “Rancher named Lee. Know him?”
“Yes. Big cattle buyer from Texas. Stands well here. Like all the rest of the men here he had a go at Kit Bandon. Had a clash with Emery over her. It’s my hunch Lee will have to shoot Emery one of these fine days.”
“I want to be around,” drawled Lincoln. “Bet I’ve seen a hundred Texans throw guns.... By the way, have you heard how McKeever is?”
“Not so well. Lost too much blood before they got old Doc Williamson waked up, and down to the Leave It.”
“So you’ve a doctor here? Reckon I’ll look him up. Where’ll I find him?”
“Doc’s shingle is around the corner there — over the store. Side stairway.”
A few minutes later Linc located the doctor’s hand-painted sign and climbed up to find the office. It appeared to be part of a loft, and not any too spacious for the heavy ponderous man who occupied it.
“Good day, sir. Are you Dr. Williamson?” asked Linc.
“I am that, worse luck. What can I do for you?” replied the doctor. He had a heavy countenance, lighted by cavernous eyes and equipped with a bulbous red nose. “Strikes me you appear a pretty healthy cowboy.”
“Doc, how’s that gambler gent I shot — Mac Somebody?” asked Lincoln.
“So, you’re the possible accessory after the fact.... McKeever is not a very robust man. You gave him a compound fracture of the shoulder joint. Not a bad injury, but he won’t provoke you or anyone else again for some time to come.”
“Gosh! So I busted his shoulder? I must be losing my eyesight. I aimed to break his arm.... But, Doc, that wasn’t what I called for. How’d you like to make a hundred dollars?”
“Young man, there’s very little in this sorry town I wouldn’t do for that much — inside or out of my profession.”
“Do you remember when Jimmy Weston was shot here in South Pass?”
“Yes. I keep track of deaths. We don’t have any births. Ha! Ha!... Weston was killed something over two months ago. I have the date.”
“Do you know where he’s buried?”
“I could find his grave for you. I know the fellow who buried him.”
“Doc, get that fellow to — to dig Weston up — and you find out if he was shot with a gun like this,” said Lincoln, and he produced the little derringer.
“It’s a strange request, cowboy,” returned the doctor, stroking his beard. “But I’ll do it for the sum offered — in advance. You’ll excuse me. Here in South Pass people seem to neglect a physician’s bills — also the unimportant fact that he has to live as well as anybody else.”
“Certainly, Doctor. Here you are. When can I call for your report?”
“By this time tomorrow I’ll have the job done.”
Lincoln left the office and made his way down to the street again, feeling a little sick. But he had to know! He couldn’t afford to leave any possible clue untried.
The hour was sunset, when nature should be at her best, but the little heap of shacks and houses separated by their sprawling, tawdry street appeared an eyesore in a landscape of exceeding loveliness. The sage hills were gold, and the white peaks glowed with a rosy effulgence. In the west a purple mountain rose somberly against the golden rays of the sun. Bradway stood idly against the wooden wall of a building and turned his attention to the pedestrians. It amazed him, the number of men who passed before him, all intent on something. As he watched them the westbound stage rolled by with a full complement of passengers. Two eager-faced young women peered out of one of the small windows. What errand, he wondered, could be bringing them to South Pass! For all he could determine, not one passer-by was paying any attention to him.
Presently Lincoln turned the corner of the street, and set out on a roundabout way to his lodgings. He reached his little room without meeting anyone; here he leisurely washed, shaved, and changed his shirt and scarf. He also buckled on a second gun. He disliked the weight of this extra weapon, but he might need it, and it might make some trigger-happy hombre think twice before starting anything. On the way out he encountered his landlady.
“Say, cowboy, you don’t look very happy,” she said, dryly. “Don’t know as I blame you.”
“Well, the fact is, I don’t feel happy, though I reckon I ought to.... Hope you’re not going to turn me out.”
“Not me. I’ve kinda taken a fancy to you. It’s all right with me if you shoot up the town, so long as you don’t do it here.... Did you really win ten thousand dollars at Emery’s last night like they say?”
“Nope. But I won some.”
“You look mighty sharp-eyed and pert. Cowboys usually get drunk after makin’ a lot of money. Easy come, easy go. I’m glad you’re different.”
“How’d you hear about my little party last night?” inquired Lincoln, curiously.
“At the store where I deal.”
“Reckon I’m a pretty low-down cowboy, eh?”
“I didn’t hear that, and I don’t believe anyone thinks it.”
“Thanks, lady, I kinda like you, too. Good night.”
It was almost dark when Lincoln stepped into the street. He went first to the Chinese restaurant for his supper. Vince was there eating at the little counter but he appeared not to notice Lincoln. Three other men sat singly at tables. Vince did not linger long after Lincoln entered, but as he passed by he gave the Nebraskan a glance of grim intelligence. It was enough to cause Linc to make haste with his own supper.
Linc started down the street, suddenly to be startled by Vince appearing apparently from behind a board fence.
“Hey, don’t do that!” he said nervously, his arm relaxing. “I might have plugged you.”
“Like Wild Bill, huh? He killed two of his friends thet way, comin’ around corners. One was reachin’ for a cigar an’ the other pullin’ out his handkerchief.... But you was lookin’ for me, shore?”
“Yes, but not popping out of nowhere like that.... What’s on your mind?”
“Pard, the opposition, whoever in the hell they are, have made the first move. They figure you’re like all cowboys. You cain’t stay from cyard games while you’ve got money. An’ if you stay away Kit Bandon will lure you back. Reckon they want yore money first an’ then yore life.”
“Kit Bandon doesn’t want me shot — not right away, at least,” murmured Lincoln, thoughtfully. “Lucy heard her quarreling with Emery about that very thing.”
“Wal, mebbe the Queen has some particular reason to want you alive for a spell. Don’t trust thet dame, pard, even if she gets stuck on you, which she shore will. Anyway, you’re slated to buck the tiger again. An’ a gun-slinger from Atlantic, the other minin’ town, is heah to beat you to a gun.”
“Vince, it strikes me that if this is true Emery isn’t being very smart. That’s a poor way to try to get rid of me.”
“What the hell does he care? He’d try every chance ‘cept that of meetin’ you himself. South Pass isn’t old enough yet to have its eyeteeth cut. There’s never been a real gunman heah yet, onless you’re him. An’ I’ve a hunch you are. Thet gamblin’ outfit could hire men to kill for two bits, let alone inflamin’ them with the idee of big money.”
“Reckon my deal is to see them first,” muttered Lincoln.
“Wal, so long as you’re hell-bent in goin’ ahead with yore deal, another crack at them will make you all the stronger. But I want to be there when it comes off. You can gamble on this, pard. There’ll be one or more of thet outfit hangin’ back somewhere, aimin’ to plug you from where it’s safe.”
“How’d you get this information?”
“Bill tipped me off first. Thet hombre from Atlantic rode over hossback. Answers to the handle Gun Haskel. Funny, but they do call names appropriate. Wal, he was a big whiskered gent, double loaded with artillery, an’ Bill said he was a loud-mouthed feller who made no bones of claimin’ he was sent for to put some slick cowboy out of the way. Then I saw Haskel in the Gold Bar Hotel: I followed him in an’ out of three other saloons. He wasn’t drinkin’ none or shootin’ off his lip. I reckon he’s the makin’s of a hard customer. So I rustled to the Chink’s place, hopin’ to see you there. Now I figger thet Haskel had his orders even before he got heah.”
“Wonder what his plan is?”
“Easy as pie to figger. Fust locate you — size you up — insult you or somethin’ accordin’ to the lay of the ground, an’ then set across from you in thet cyard game at Emery’s.”
“Vince, you’re not so slow. You’ll be a mighty helpful pard, especially if you can handle that gun.”
“Say, Brad, I’ll bet you I can beat you shootin’ at jack rabbits an’ coyotes.”
“I never shoot at them unless they’re running. But we’re talking about coyotes who’ll be trying to beat you to a gun.”
“Wal, I cain’t beat you there. All the same I’ll bet I give a good account of myself.”
“We’ve got the cards. Let’s play. Keep a ways ahead of me. Go in Emery’s place and look around. If you locate Haskel, or any other suspicious hombre, be in sight when I step in. If you’re not in sight, I won’t look for action pronto.”
“I savvy, pard. An’ it’ll be my particular job to bore any hombre who acts queer behind yore back.”
Linc watched his friend trudge off in the direction of the Leave It. Then the Nebraskan, slowly following him down the center of the street — which he shared with many other pedestrians who had been crowded off the narrow board sidewalk — saw Vince saunter through the wide portal of Emery’s brightly lighted emporium of cards and rum. He, himself, passed on down the street to where it turned up the hill, waited on the corner for a while, then crossed to the other side and faced back.
This deliberate hunting for trouble was a new experience for him. But his mood, usually cool, began to take on a feeling of excitement. As he stepped into the bright, garish hall, Vince stalked past him. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered: “Rustle back!”
At the same instant he became aware of a white figure standing at the foot of a stairway just to the right of the entrance. Kit Bandon ran to catch his arm, her usually florid face as white as her dress.
“Linc Bradway — Wait! Don’t go in there. Come with me!”
Steeled to draw a gun and kill an enemy, Bradway felt helpless before the compelling power of this beautiful woman. She drew her bare arm under his, and pulling him close to her fragrant and bewildering person, almost dragged him up the narrow stairway. Lincoln felt sure that an intense sincerity actuated Kit Bandon. She simply could not be leading him to slaughter.
The ceiling above the landing was so low that Lincoln had to bend his head. There was an open door leading into a little parlor where a lamp under a colored shade gave a subdued rosy light. Kit Bandon drew the bewildered cowboy into this room and closed the door behind her.
Then for the first time Linc turned to look at her. The white gown augmented her lush beauty. He caught a glint of diamonds. But the Nebraskan was only half conscious of these details; it was her face that transfixed him. He had never looked into such a passionate and alluring face as the Maverick Queen’s. But in the dark, soft beauty of her eyes he could see both fear and courage reflected. As she stood before him in that little room, Linc became aware that a red mark marred the whiteness of her forehead.
