Dark Canyon (1963) (10 page)

At that hour it was almost deserted. The girl who took his order did not smile-she simply took the order and walked away. When his food was placed before him it was almost thrown upon the table. Angrily he started to rise, but he was hungry, and there was no place else in town where a man could eat. He relaxed, and began to eat. It was then that McCarty came in.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Riley looked up with relief. "Glad to have you, but the way people are treating me, I don't know whether you should or not."

"I'll chance it." McCarty ordered his own supper and sat back, lighting his pipe. "Shattuck is missing cattle."

"So he blames me?" Riley said bitterly. "I've got plenty of cattle of my own."

"Who else would dare take them?" McCarty asked mildly. "There simply aren't any others anywhere in the country around. Nobody can understand where you got all those cattle you say you have."

"I bought that herd in Spanish Fork."

McCarty shrugged. "Understand me, I am not saying this, and it was I who told you of that herd, but some say there never was such a herd, and if there was there would be no way of getting it down, not from there to here."

He had brought that herd down over the Outlaw Trail, and few even knew of that trail's existence.

The drivers who brought it down for him were themselves outlaws.

"I bought it from Doc Beaman's nephew-that doctor here in town."

McCarty looked up sharply. "Have you told anybody that? If you haven't, don't. Coker Beaman was found two weeks ago, shot dead beside the trail. He had been murdered and robbed."

Gaylord Riley suddenly stared at the food before him, his appetite gone. Within hint arose a feeling of desperation. Was he to have no chance? Was this to be the end of all he hoped for?

"I didn't kill him. I bought the herd from him, and I have a bill of sale for it. I paid him in gold coin."

"Doc thought a lot of that boy. He's stirring up the law to find the killer."

"I hope they do find him." Riley sat back in his chair, trying to think the problem through.

He was a stranger here, a man without friends, a man with no history he dared to repeat. Nor could he call anyone as witnesses, for his friends were outlaws who dared not come in; and even if they did, their word would not be accepted.

"You'd better eat," McCarty suggested. "I think you're going to need it."

Riley knew it was unlikely that anyone would believe he had brought his herd of cattle through the rough, dry country where ordinarily two or three men on horseback were lucky to find enough water. And the men who knew anything about that country were few indeed, and unlikely to want to appear. Several were Mormons, hiding out for reasons best known to themselves, hard-working men who had found safety in the remote mountains of the Roost country.

He felt suddenly sick. He stared bleakly across the room. He could give it all up and run. He coul
d
ride back to Dandy Crossing, swim the Colorado, and head for the Roost. There probably had not been one night when, half-consciously, the outfit had not waited, expecting him to come. It was hard for an outlaw to make it on the outside. Their futures as well as his own were at stake here, and he had cattle and a ranch, and a home being built.

"If anybody comes hunting me," Riley said, "you tell them they won't have to look far. I'll be out there in the Sweet Alice Hills, or I'll be here. If they want to talk, I'll talk; but if they come hunting trouble, they'll get a belly full of it."

McCarty's eyes warmed. "Good lad," he said quietly. "Stay with it, and I'll stay with you-as much as a man can."

Chapter
10

Martin Hardcastle rolled the cigar in his lips and considered the situation with pleasure. From their hide-out in the Blues his men had struck swiftly at the Shattuck herds. They had stolen only a fe
w
cattle at first, and they had left not too clear a trail--a trail that led into the broken canyon country be
y
ond which lay the Sweet Alice Hills.

A few nights later, they had struck again, and to make it not too obvious, they had swept up a few Boxed 0 cattle at the same time.

Hardcastle himself had helped to foment the talk about the white-face cattle; after all, where could Gaylord Riley get such cattle when Shattuck would not sell? And why would any honest man choose to live in such a remote place?

Hardcastle knew from experience that most people love to talk, and like to repeat what they have heard. Trouble is born of rumor, and nine people out of ten will repeat a rumor-consciously or unconsciously adding their bit. Out of those rumors had come Peg Oliver's attitude, Larsen's questions, and McCarty's sympathy.

Hardcastle was bidding for a cattle war out of which he would not only have his revenge against Dan Shattuck, but a profit in sweeping up the pieces. He would not be suspected, since he had
nothing apparently
-to gain.

Riley was young and likely to be hot-headed. Dan Shattuck was stubborn and hot-headed himself. Hardcastle intended to see a gun battle between the two, and he did not care which man won. He knew nothing of Riley's skill with a gun.

Gaylord Riley had planned to remain over night in town, but now he decided against it. With two pack horses loaded with supplies, he took the trail to the hills. Behind him, but not too far behind, rode Desloge.

Desloge was too shrewd not to see what Hard-castle was bidding for, and was also too shrewd not to realize the whole affair would erupt into a shooting match of which he wanted no part. A bad man with a gun, Desloge had long since been aware that men get killed in gun battles, and that there is no telling who will die and who will survive. Bullets are indiscriminate, and he had no intention of dying at this stage of the game. Hence, what he wanted was quick cash and a quick ride out of the country.

He had an idea he would have that cash from Gaylord Riley.

The ranch was deserted when Riley rode into the yard. A note on the table told him that all three men had gone back to the basin to brand stock.

Riley stripped the horses of their packs and turned them into the corral; then he took in the articles purchased in Rimrock and arranged them on the shelves. Among other things he had bought five hundred rounds of ammunition.

He chuckled when he recalled the expression on the storekeeper's face when he had given his order. "Five hundred rounds! What are you expecting? A war?"

"Hate to have one come an' not be ready to take part," Riley had replied. "Like gain' to a hangin' and forgettin' your rope."

He heard the horse walk into the yard, and turned quickly to the door. It was Desloge.

The outlaw drew up, smiling with his thin lips. "Like old times, ain't it, ,Riley?" he said.

"What do you mean? Old times? I never saw you but once in my life before, and I've no business with you."

"Well, now." Desloge was very sure of himself. He clasped his palms on the pommel and continued to smile, but there was no friendliness in his eyes. "That's as may be. S'posin' I was to go to Dan Shattuck with what I know? Or to that Swede sheriff?"

Riley's reaction was so swift that Desloge had no time to prepare, no time to resist. A swift blow knocked his hands loose from the pommel, then he was jerked from the saddle.

Desloge hit the ground with a thump, and Riley grabbed him by the collar with a short, twisting grip that set the outlaw to gagging. Jerking him to his knees while Desloge's hands clawed at his wrist, Riley slapped him three times across the face, ringing blows that left streaks where they landed. Then he threw Desloge to the ground and stepped back. "You've got a gun," he said coolly. "All you've got to lose is your life."

Desloge lay where he had fallen, his stomach tight with fear. Nothing had gone as he had planned. He had been sure his threats would frighten Riley into a pay-off, and he knew Riley had the money. He had planned to suggest that for a thousand dollars he would ride clear out of the country, but now he had a sickening realization he would be lucky to get out alive. He had expected a half-frightened boy. He had cornered a mountain lobo.

"All I wanted," he said, and his voice was shaking, "was a road stake. Say a hundred dollars?"

Riley had shaken his confidence nine hundred dollars' worth.

"Ride out the way you rode in," Riley replied, "and be glad you're able. And stay away from Rim-rock. If I hear one word of this I'll hunt you down and hang your pelt on the nearest tree."

Desloge struggled to his feet, careful to keep his hands free of his gun. Even more carefully he climbed into his saddle. As he settled down and started to turn his horse, four men rode into the ranch yard. Three rode in from the basin: Tell Sackett, Darby Lewis, and Cruz. The fourth was a hard-faced man with white hair, a stranger to the other three. "Take a good look," the white-haired man advised them, "then you'll be able to swear that man rode away from here, and what he looked like. Get that?" And then the white-haired man turned his horse and rode away, following Desloge.

Forty minutes later Desloge slowed his running horse to walk him down a slope near a butte.

It was sundown, and the shadows were long. Odd, how much the shadows added to the fearsomeness of this wild land. Down there, near the brush . . . that rock looked like a man on a horse.

Desloge rode on, and the rock moved. It not only looked like a man on a horse; it was a man on a horse, and he knew the man. A man with white hair and a seamed brown face.

And in that instant, Desloge knew he was going to die.

He had killed men, but he had never known how it felt to be about to die. He knew now.

"Couldn't let him live honest, could you?" There was no anger in the man's voice. "Your kind could never do that. He put fear into you, and you'd ride away, but sooner or later you'd talk. You would spoil something fine."

Desloge struggled for words. He wanted to beg
,
but he had a feeling it would be useless. He wanted to deny what the man said, but he would be lying; and he felt that now was not a time to lie.

"I'll ride," he said at last. "I won't even stop for my warbag. I'll just keep going."

"You've killed men. You've got a gun."

It had grown dark, but then an early moon had brought more light. Desloge cleared his throat. He started to speak, and then he thought he saw his chance. He touched his horse with a spur and swept his hand down for his gun as the horse leaped.

The gun cleared the holster. He felt a bursting sense of triumph as his gun swept up, then down on its target. He'd show that old--

He ran into something in the darkness. Something white-hot that burned all the way through him and somehow started him floating toward the ground. He felt himself hit and roll over; and then he was looking up at the moon and he was dead.

It wa
s
Larsen who found the body. He was not surprised. Desloge had come to the sort of end such men as Desloge all come to sooner or later, led to it in many cases by their very attempt to escape it.

Nor was it by accident that he found the body, for he had been trailing Desloge and had hoped to catch him before he reached Riley's ranch.

Larsen, who had seen many men die, was never astonished by death. Desloge had had his chance. His gun lay where it had been jolted from his hand. He had been struck by only one bullet and there was almost no blood. Death in this case appeared singularly undramatic.

Despite his age, Larsen was a powerful man. He picked up the dead man and draped him over the empty saddle of his horse, then leading the horse, he returned to his own, took some piggin strings, and tied the body.

He turned back to go to Rimrock, but the Shattuck ranch was closer, and he went there.

There was dancing at the ranch. Marie came quickly to the door at the sound of the horses, and Larsen thought he detected disappointment in her eyes when she recognized him. He had dropped the reins of the dead man's horse back at the edge of the light.

"Gaylord Riley? He is not here?"

"Did you think he would be?" Shattuck had come to the door, followed by Oliver and two other men, Eustis and Bigelow. "In this house?"

Larsen glanced slyly at Marie. "I thought so," he said. "I thought he might be . . . around."

"What's the matter?"

"Feller killed . . . oudt by the buttes."

"Riley!" Eustis exclaimed. "By the Lord Harry, we've got him! Need a posse, Sheriff'?"

"If you like, come. Dere will be no trouble, I

"He has some men out there," Shattuck said, "but Lewis won't fight. Neither will Cruz. Not when he sees who it is."

"Cruz will fight," Pico interrupted. "He will die, if need be."

"Then well hang Cruz along with him," Eustis said angrily. "I've lost sixty, seventy head in the past two weeks."

Pico looked at him. "To hang Cruz will not be easy . .. nor to hang Riley. Men will die before either is hung."

Dan Shattuck glanced sharply at Pico. The Mexican was a shrewd judge of men, and he thought he detected a note of liking in his voice.