Dark Canyon (1963) (16 page)

Suddenly there was a sound of a retreating horse, in full flight-somebody had had enough. The contagion spread, and another man left, then another. This last one was Eustis.

Two bullets had seemed to come near him .. . actually they had been some distance off; but the sound of a ricochet can often be heard by several people in completely opposite directions and each will swear the bullet had passed close-a near miss. There are few more unpleasant sounds than a ricocheting bullet, and Eustis' pugnacity evaporated. All at once it came home to him that he himself might be killed-that hanging rustlers, no matter how guilty or otherwise, might prove to be dangerous work.

His ranch was some distance off and if he was going to make it in time for lunch, he would have to hurry. He made it in time, but he had no appetite.

There were a few sporadic, defiant shots, but the attack was over.

Gus Enloe, his calfskin vest still intact, led the shattered remnants back to Rimrock. Of those who had ventured the raid, seven were dead, and several more had wounds. Strat Spooner was not among them.

Strat was a man who used his gun for hire, and he had no intention of getting killed. He was the second man through the gap when the first rush took place, and when he had swept on through he turned once to look back. Two of his men were down, and he had no taste for that sort of shooting. Besides, he had other things on his mind. As he rode through he had noticed a saddled horse at the corral . . . it was Marie Shattuck's mare.

Sooner or later Marie would be going home.

Gaylord Riley walked slowly back across the ranch yard in the sunlight of the early morning. Of
f
to the west the upper walls of the vast red canyons were bright with the risen sun; shadows still lay beyond the mountains to the east, and darkness held in the canyon depths. He stood for a moment in the ranch yard, looking off toward the east, where the riders had fled, circling the ranch, taking any way they could to escape.

Marie came out from the house. "Are you all right?"

"We were lucky," he said, "all of us."

"I am going back with Sampson McCarty," she said. "Doc will stay on a little longer."

"Thanks for bringing him."

They stood together, enjoying the warmth, their minds empty of thought, half numbed by the shock of events. They simply absorbed the warmth, the clear air, the faint smell of woodsmoke from the house fire.

"When this is all over," Riley said, "I'll be riding to call."

"Do that," she said.

In the sickroom Weaver lay alone, listening to the stillness. He could hear the faint murmur of voices, but there was no other sound. Cruz and Kehoe had gone from the room, but the faint, acrid smell of gunpowder remained. It was an old smell, a familiar smell.

He lay very quiet, completely comfortable, wanting nothing at all.

The wild, hard-riding days were over now, and the boys were settled. He had been right about the kid, right all along. Maybe when his own sins were totaled and his failures accounted, this would add up to something on his side of the ledger. Weaver rolled himself up on one elbow and looked out the window, the glass shattered by rifle shots.

The air was cool. It felt good and carried the
s
mell of the pines. At this moment Weaver knew that he was going to die.

He had been feeling better. He had enjoyed the sound of the guns. He had lived to that sound, and he would die by it.

There was something yet to be done. He pulled over a piece of brown wrapping paper that lay on the table and wrote painfully:

Last Will and Tesimint of Ira Weaver. Everything to the kid, Gaylord Riley. Hang up your spurs Jim, Parry, and Kehoe. I'm lightin a shuck.

Ira Weave
r
He lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. He could hear the voices of the kid and his girl out there, a low murmur.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he said aloud, and he smiled as he said it. "I got my boots
off!
" Slightly amazed and quite pleased, he died.

Chapter
15

For a long time after
Valenti
and those who accompanied him had passed, Shattuck remained where he was. Uneasily, he had the feeling he should pull out and return to the ranch. There were things happening here in which he had wanted no part, and he had come this morning hoping more to have the note disproved than proved.

Marie was in love with Gaylord Riley-that he believed. If Riley was actually a rustler, he feared to know it for the truth for her sake. She had been his only family for many years, his only excuse for being.

He had been irritated by Riley's purchase of white-face cattle. He had faced that issue and admitted it, reluctantly, to himself. He had enjoyed a childish pride in being the only owner of white-face cattle, and it was that pride even more than fear of rustling that had been hurt.

He had not for a minute believed anyone could bring that herd of cattle down from Spanish Fork, but it seemed beyond doubt that Riley had done it. Which meant that he knew of some trail other than those usually traveled.

The Outlaw Trail, to be widely known in later years, was at this time no more than a rumor. The few who had ridden across the San Rafael Swell had spoken of lack of water-scarcely enough water for
e
ven a small party, let alone a herd of cattle. Nevertheless, the Mormons who had gone into the San Juan country had crossed that country somewhere. His knowledge of their trek was vague, but he knew it had been accomplished.

The fact remained that Riley had brought his cattle down across the country, and had become one of the largest ranchers in the area by that one trip. Which indicated he was a man of enterprise, perhaps a man of vision.

Dan Shattuck took a cigar from his vest pocket and clipped the tip, then put the cigar between his teeth. He knew he should ride out of here, and now.

It was at that moment that he heard the shooting that led to the death of Darby Lewis and two others. The shots were distant, but clear enough. He listened to them, started to turn his horse, and then hesitated. He must know. Marie must never marry a thief, a rustler. He rode forward toward the old corral. And it was empty.

The sun that was to rise upon battle at Riley's ranch, that was to shine upon death along Dark Canyon Plateau, had not yet risen. The morning was gray with the light that precedes the sun, but it was light enough to see that not only was the old corral empty, but that it showed no evidence of being used in many months.

Beyond the corral there was a slight slope, covered with aspen. Some small movement drew his eyes to that slope as Martin Hardcastle stepped from among the trees, holding a Winchester.

"You turned me off, Shattuck," he said hoarsely. "You made light of me. You held me as unfit to marry your niece."

Dan Shattuck looked into Hardcastle's eyes with a fine contempt "Of course, Hardcastle," he said quietly. "Of course. My niece has a mind of her own, and she will marry whoever she wishes, bu
t
certainly not you. You've run a saloon, you've trafficked in women. You're no fit man for any decent girl. You should have known better' than to ask."

"I'll have her," Hardcastle said, "one way or another. Without you, there ain't nobody to stand in my way, and you'll be dead."

Shattuck measured the time in his mind. How far could he draw a gun before the bullet struck him? He had never been a fast man with a gun . . . he would have to be now.

"You're mistaken." He watched, hoping the gun muzzle would dip or sway to give him an added chance. "My niece is in love with young Riley. If you weren't so blindly concerned with yourself you'd have seen that."

"Riley?" Hardcastle was astonished. "That kid? You're crazy!"

Shattuck shrugged ever so slightly, and managed to move his hand an inch closer to the gun butt. "She told me so herself," he lied, "and she's up there at the ranch with him now."

"She'll be killed! There's going to be a raid on the ranch!"

Shattuck said nothing, but inched his hand back a bit farther. His mouth was dry, but his eyes never wavered from Hardcastle.

"I'll have her," Hardcastle said again. "Strat will kill Riley, and I'll have her."

"You'll have to kill Ed Larsen and Sampson McCarty too," Shattuck said. "They'll not allow such a thing to happen."

"Like hell! I-"

Dan Shattuck made his try. His hand swept back, grasping the gun butt, but even as his fingers closed around the butt he felt the shock of the bullet, and fell with the whip of another one near his skull. He hit the ground and lay still, not quite unconscious.

Hardcastle walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle, glancing at the still figure that lay upon the ground, and at the dark stain of the blood.

"If you aren't dead yet," he said, "you soon will be."

He reined his horse around, holding the rifle ready, but there was no stirring of the muscles, no flicker of movement. He half lifted the rifle for another shot, but why? The man was dead.

He stared at the body, feeling the stirring of triumph. The damned old fool-to try to stand in the way of Martin
Hardcastle!
He heard the sound of the running horse, and turned in shocked surprise. Even before he saw the horse itself, he caught a glimpse of the Mexican sombrero.

Pico!

He had forgotten Pico.

He jacked a shell into the chamber and lifted the rifle, ready for a quick shot.

Pico swept into the open at a dead run. Hard-castle's rifle leaped up and he fired-a wide miss. He swung his horse, lifted the rifle again, and saw Pico charging at him.

He was no such rider as the vaquero, no such shot. He fired, but not quickly enough. The Mexican was riding right at him and suddenly, when not ten feet separated them, Pico's pistol began to blossom with crimson blasts of fire.

Hardcastle never even got another cartridge into the chamber, for the Mexican was too close. Holding his pistol low, Pico triggered the gun three times into Hardcastle's belly.

Martin Hardcastle felt the solid blows, trip-hammer blows in the belly, and he felt himself falling. He grabbed wildly at the pommel, but his horse was racing away, burned by one of the bullets. Hard
c
astle's shoulders hit the ground, his foot still caught in the stirrup.

The plunging horse raced through a patch of dead brush, Hardcastle's body bounding alongside. On through a patch of small rocks, over a stretch of lava. For a quarter of a mile Hardcastle's heavy body bounced and smashed against brush and rocks, and then his boot pulled off, releasing his foot. Even now he was still conscious, still aware.

The horse's hoofs clattered upon rocks, pounded upon earth, and then it was gone.

Martin Hardcastle lay torn and bleeding, his body raw and lacerated, and in his belly the holes of three bullets, one of which had gone on to nick his spine.

An hour later, unable to move, his body one vast ocean of pain, he saw the first buzzard in the sky. It swung in a wide, lazy circle.

And then there were two.

Chapter
16

Gaylord Riley looked around, taking stock. So much had happened in so short a time. There were the bodies of two men to be moved; undoubtedly others lay out in the brush.

The others emerged, and Cruz walked toward the house. Doc Beaman checked the bodies of the fallen men, then followed Cruz inside. Nobody said anything, nobody felt like talking. Tell Sackett, who was leaving, went to the corral to catch up his horse. Marie had gone. She had ridden off with McCarty. Colburn and Parrish went out to where Nick
Valenti
lay. "Knew him down on the Brazos, years ago," Parrish commented. "Never was any good. Spooner an' him, they've run together for years." They had begun to dig graves when they heard the sound of horses. Riley came out, easing his pistol in its holster.

It was Pico, and seated on another horse was Dan Shattuck. "The doctor is here? He is hurt . . . bad." They got Shattuck inside, and Doc Beaman got busy again. For a while it was touch and go; but Beaman was a good doctor, and Shattuck was a strong man. After a time the doctor came out with a satisfied look on his face. "He'll live," he said. Riley stood beside the corral while Sackett saddled his horse. "If you're this way again, stop by."

Sackett accepted his wages. "I might be," he said. "I'm a drifting man."

It was mid-morning before Ed Larsen rode into the ranch yard. He turned in his saddle, looking around. There was little to see. The bodies had been taken to their gravesides, the patches of blood covered with fresh sand.

Riley went out to meet him and, as carefully as possible, explained what had happened. Doc Beaman stood beside him, listening. At last he said, "That's the way it was, Ed. They were attacked and they defended themselves."

When Larsen had ridden on toward the corrals, Doc Beaman said, "That man in there . . . he died." Riley could only stare at him, for he had no words. Weaver dead . . . in a way he had expected it. That wound had gone too long without care. At least, he was out of it.

Sheriff Larsen glanced slowly around, then dismounted. "I could drink coffee," he said, and followed them into the house.