Judgment at Red Creek (11 page)

Puzzled, he went to the corral and looked to see if perhaps they were still on the rail. There was no sign of them. Frowning, he stood for a moment. If a saddle was missing a horse would be, too.

Carrying the lantern, he entered the corral and began looking at the animals. Even in the dark it took him only seconds to discover that the big chestnut was missing. Hurrying, he carried the lantern low to check tracks. The signs were easy to read. The gelding had been led by the reins.

“Why in hell would that fool ride out at night?” he asked himself aloud. An instant later he answered his own question. “He don't want to do the Red Crick job!” But the answer didn't make any sense. Clayton had seemed more than willing to help. Turning, he started back toward the corral and a sudden thought stopped him. Something about the encounter with the rider from the settlement who had come about the borrowed horse made him very uneasy. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something was wrong.

“I wonder,” he said aloud, “if Clayton and that sodbuster are hooked up somehow? I...just...wonder...” Acting on an impulse, he ran back to the corral, saddled his own mount, and rode it to the cabin to get his guns.

“That high-an'-mighty dude can't have much lead on me,” he breathed as he spurred to a gallop from a standing start.

“I'm damned well gonna do me a little findin' out!”

At the Santos adobe he jumped from the saddle and pounded on the door. “Git outta that bed,
hombre
! It's Jake Harmer. I want'a talk to ya!”

He heard the sound of a sleepy woman's voice complaining.

“Git out here, Santos. Pronto!”

He was about to bang on the door again, when it squeaked open and the Mexican stood there holding a candle in one hand and his pants bunched at the waist in the other.

“Listen to me!” he shouted in the man's face. “Did a rider go by here a little bit ago?”

“
Si, señor
. I hear one horse—
para el norte
.”

“When?” Harmer barked.

Santos shrugged. “Maybe one hour.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“
No, señor
, I was sleeping.”

“You were asleep but you heard him. You're lyin', Santos!”

“
No, señor
₁
Es la verdad
.”

“If yur lyin', Santos, you'll be a dead
choclo
!

“
Señor
, when I hear the noise, I wake up. My horses make noise, too.”

“Did you look out?”

“
Si
. It was much dark. I see nothing.”

“The hell there wasn't!” Santos recoiled as Harmer all but spit the words in his face. “That was my new man. He's gone and sneaked off and stole one of my horses. I'll kill the horse thief!”

He remounted and spurred his lathered mount to a jumpaway start.

It was nearing one in the morning when Clayt reached Red Creek. He tied the big chestnut to a piñon and scrambled down the trail on foot.

Oss and Henry Deyer and a half dozen other men were waiting in his father's house. His mother and Nelda ran to him, their eyes moist with tears of relief. “Thank God,” Mary breathed as she held him. “We all thought you'd never come back.” Nelda clung to his arm in a wordless greeting then pointed to Kate. “Thank you, Clayt, for sending Katie to us.” She reached up and smoothed her palm against his cheek. “Thank you so much. She's a blessing!”

Clayt looked at the girl who was standing behind them. It was the first time he had heard her name. “Kate, is it? I did some honest-to-God praying for you, girl. I'm sure glad you made it!” He looked at her closely and the change was miraculous. In the soft lantern light, dressed in one of his sister's flannel wrappers, she was more than just plain pretty.

Kate Williams made no response. It was the first time that she had seen him clearly. What she had felt the night before when he had hidden her from Oakley was much more than just gratitude. Some of it was the secure feeling in his arms and the tenderness as he had pressed her cheek against his shoulder, feelings that were borne out now in his voice and by his appearance. She wanted to speak of gratitude. They were the only words she would be able to find now. The rest was just feeling, and there were no words.

Clayt continued to study Kate for a long moment, then turned to Henry.

“We've got to talk right now,” he said. “If I don't get back before I'm missed ...” Deliberately, he did not finish the thought.

Henry Deyer glanced at the unaccustomed gun belt and the forty-four. Their simple presence spoke of more danger than Clayt would ever admit. “What do you want us to do,” he asked, “to help get this man?”

While they listened, not without grave misgivings on the part of his mother and sister and Kate, Clayt outlined the only plan he felt stood a ghost of a chance of delivering Harmer, and later Oakley, into their hands.

When he had finished, Henry turned to the others.

“We've got to make this work! There is no other way. We're going to do exactly what Clayt says, no matter what the cost.”

Mary came to Clayt and held his hand. “When will you be back?”

“We'll reach the rim about midnight tomorrow,” he said with more assurance than he felt. Turning to Henry, he added, “...and if I'm not with him, and Harmer shows up, gun him down, Henry! Don't give him any more chance than he gave us.”

As he turned to leave he said, “I could use a prayer or two. Miracles happen. Ask Kate!”

Oss followed him outside. “Take my horse to the top, Clayt. Tie him. I'll get him in the morning.”

“Can't take the time,” Clayt called back as he sprinted over the dam top and headed for the foot of the trail. Driving himself, he reached the rim in ten minutes. Panting from the exertion, he looked for the chestnut. It was not there, not where he'd left it. The realization sent a shock through him.

Before he could think, Harmer rode out of the cover with his Colt drawn.

“Git yur hands up—high, real high—and keep 'em there!” he snarled. “I oughta be locked in the crazy house fur b'lievin' an artistic liar like you!” He moved to point-blank range. “If you wanta see the sun come up, you mizz'able skunk, you'd better start tellin' a mighty good story or I'm gonna bore a big damn hole right through that fancy head of yourn!”

The shortness of breath helped Clayt conceal his shock.

“Put that gun down, you damned fool,” he gasped. “If you had any brains, Harmer, you'd know there isn't enough gold in Oakley's safe to make me go down there without first being sure we have a chance to get out alive.” He nodded toward the trail head. “It's a damn good think for you and me that I decided to look first. Those people may be crazy but they're not stupid. What makes you think they'd leave the place unprotected after what happened?”

Shock had given way to anger now and his voice was under better control. “If we'd gone down there tomorrow night, neither of us would have come out alive.” He aimed a finger at the foreman who still kept the gun aimed at his head.

“Instead of shooting me and having a swarm of men on your tail in ten minutes, you'd better thank God—
and
me—that I did sneak down there.”

When Harmer made no response, Clayt pressed his advantage.

“They've got a guard at the bottom day and night, and a half dozen others must be taking turns waiting at the top. There's only one chance and now I know how to handle it.”

Still holding his Colt, but lower now, Harmer jutted his face down at Clayt.

“How do I know you ain't lyin'?” he demanded.

“You don't, Harmer, so why don't you go tippy-toeing down there like I just did and find out? Go on. Do it! I'm too old to be a young fool and too young to be a dead one. Go on, Harmer. I'll wait right here.”

“You was a fool to do it,” Harmer countered. Pointing to the trail head with his six-gun, he added, “How many men have they got standin' watch?”

“As far as I could tell from where I could get without being caught, they've got one standing down the trail about twenty yards behind some cover. They probably have one at the bottom, too. I know for sure there's one at the top. I hid while they changed the midnight watch.”

Reluctantly, Harmer returned the Colt to its holster. He knew he needed help and Clayton had been down there in daylight. If he bungled the job this time he'd be finished with Oakley. He could probably get on with John Chism at South Spring again but the work was not nearly as good as at the Gavilan spread.

Harmer dismounted and stretched. “How come ya didn't let on that ya wanted to go scoutin' in the first place?”

“I was going whether you liked it or not, Harmer. It's my hide and I don't ask anybody's permission to keep it whole.”

The foreman continued to wrestle with doubt. Finally he eased and leaned against his horse. “All right, let's git on back and figger out how we kin handle the ones that's settin' up waitin' fur us.”

“I've got that worked out,” Clayt replied, “but it's going to take both of us to do it—and we might have to forget putting a charge on the far side of the dam. Too near the houses. If we light even a long fuse and anybody sees it burning, we might have to shoot our way out.” Remounting, he said, “Let's get back.”

Both riders and their mounts were worn and the sun's rays had already begun to slant through the low places in the dark silhouette of hills to the east. They turned their horses into the corral and headed for the cookshack.

Oakley had been standing on the veranda having his first coffee when he saw them ride in. He set the mug aside and crossed the yard.

Calling from the door, he said, “I want to see you, Jake.”

The foreman freed his legs from under the table.

“Yes sir?”

“What were you and Clayton doing riding in all wore out at sunup? Where did you go?”

Harmer glanced at Clayton who seemed not to have heard.

“I wanted to scout Red Crick again. Good thing I did. They got guards on the dam now.”

In a voice edged with sarcasm, Oakley said, “It takes real brains to figure that out, don't it?”

Harmer looked crestfallen. “Well, T.K....uh...what I really wanted t'figger out was how to git rid of 'em real quiet so we kin plant the charges.”

“Did you come up with something?”

“Yes sir. I've got it figgered real good.” Oakley walked over to the table and stood opposite Clayt.

“Did you hear what Jake said?”

“Sorry,” Clayt replied. “I wasn't paying attention to anything but this.” He tapped scrambled eggs and a slab of ham with his knife. Oakley knew better and smiled.

“Jake says he's got things figured out. Do you agree?”

Clayt pretended to be considering his answer. After a short silence, he nodded. “We'll get done what has to be done.”

“Good,” Oakley replied. Then, speaking pointedly to Harmer, he added, “And for your sake, Jake, I hope you're both right.”

“Don't worry none, T.K.,” the foreman replied, struggling to keep the persistent doubt from his voice, “We'll git to it t'night and bring it off jes' like ya planned.”

“Just like
you
planned,” Oakley corrected. “I didn't tell you how....” His sudden smile chilled Harmer. “I just told you where—and when.”

Clayt smiled to himself. There it was again—another admission that was also a confession—and this time from the superintendent himself!

Jake Harmer and Clayton Adams slept in until noon. In midafternoon, they rode to the nearby flood wash and tested the burning time on the fuses. Using approximate distances, they rehearsed their strategy until they were satisfied.

At sundown, T.K. Oakley came to the corral. Ignoring Harmer, he said, “You do this job right, Clayton, there'll be better work for you. I'm going to need smart hands when we start driving north to the railroad next spring. Prove out and like I said, you've got a good future here.”

Clayt managed a smile. “That's the second time you've said that. I guess you must mean it.”

The superintendent's long, angular face hardened for a moment, then he matched Clayt's smile.

“I always do. I'll be looking for both of you around sunup. If the water comes through, Clayton, you'll be able to buy that big chestnut you seem to favor now.” He nodded at Harmer. “You might even have enough left over to ride to Vegas and get rigged out fancy like Jake.” His smile faded, “If you're stupid enough.”

Nursing his resentment, Jake Harmer rode north on the Las Vegas road with Clayt. Something about this new hand still troubled him. It wasn't so much the man's unexpected skill with the Winchester and six-gun. The uneasiness had started from the very beginning at Tres Dedos. But there was more to it than that. There was something threatening in the man's quiet self-possession and in the mystery of his early years.

Clayt glanced over at him and Harmer's preoccupied expression made him smile inwardly.

It was shortly after ten o'clock when they reined in at the top of the trail and turned their horses into the dense growth of bushy piñon trees. Jake Harmer glanced around uneasily as he dismounted. With elaborate unconcern he probed here and there, looking. When he saw Clayt watching him he said, “Just wanta poke around a little—make sure this is the best place t'leave the horses.”

He shouldered his way through the thick cover and Clayt could make out that he was stooping to examine something. He had dumped the bodies of the two gunslingers there. It was obvious that he was looking for signs. In the darkness he wouldn't find any. The men had buried the bodies carefully to discourage prowling animals. When he returned, Clayt asked, “Find what you were looking for?”

“Just studyin',” Harmer replied with his back turned.