Marauders' Moon (21 page)

“I haven't changed, Tolleston. It's that damned suspicious mind of yours,” Webb said sharply.

Buck half rose. “Suspicious?” he said, his voice hard in anger. “Explain it all, then! Why did you run out that first day I let you have a horse? Tell me that? Why did you run to Wintering?”

Webb's gaze shuttled to Martha, but she could not meet his look.

“I'm afraid that'll have to ride, Tolleston. Just a natural thing to do,” Webb said carelessly.

“And you—”

Martha's voice cut through Buck's speech and stopped it dead, as she said, “Tell the truth.”

Webb closed his mouth and looked away.

“Then I'll tell it,” Martha said quietly. “He didn't run away, dad. He was taken away—taken over into Wintering County and kept prisoner at the Bannisters' place.”

Buck turned swiftly to her. “How do you know?”

“Because I saw him taken, dad. I made the suggestion. The man that took him was—was Britt Bannister.”

A flush of shame colored Martha's face, but she faced her father with head up. Before he could protest, she went on:

“Britt Bannister and I had been seeing each other for months, dad. That's where I went. We both hated this fight between our fathers and their friends. We laughed at it. Britt wanted to marry me. I wouldn't do that—on your account, dad. But we saw each other. When you sent Webb Cousins out to spy on us, he did. Only we discovered him. We were afraid if we let him go, he would go back and tell you about our meeting, so Britt took him over to their place.”

Buck looked as if someone had hit him. He sank back on the seat and lowered his head on his chest. Martha put a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry, dad. I didn't want to sneak, but I wanted even less to hurt you. And it was my life, and Britt's was his own! We had to find out, didn't we?”

“Find out what?” Buck said huskily.

Martha's throat tightened a little. “I know what I had to find out, dad. That you were right, and that you always had been! That Britt Bannister was the same sneaking, lying man that his father was! That he is a killer like you said all Bannisters were. I found that out!”

Buck looked up at his daughter. He reached up and took her hand and drew her down to him. He put his arm around her then and said gently, “We call that experience, honey. Sometimes it's bought dearer than that.”

Martha smiled a little and looked over at Webb.

“Thank you for trying to hide it, but it doesn't matter now. I was wrong, that's all.”

Buck presently said to Webb, “Maybe I was wrong about that part, Cousins. But you can't deny you were here when the place was burned and took a part in it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Webb told him what his part had been. He told him, too, of the guards he had, and of his plot to bring them here. It was foolish, he admitted, but he had had a wild hope that he might do something to prevent the plundering of the place. He had succeeded in escaping from his guards, but the arrival of Charley upon the scene had been too sudden. Charley had not asked questions; he had simply opened up. And Webb couldn't explain the truth when he regained consciousness, for it would only have meant that Bannister, who was present, would have taken him home to a greater punishment.

Buck listened to this carefully. Webb could see that Buck almost wanted to believe it, but his judgment would not let him. And Webb saw, too, that his story, told as he had just done, seemed lame, evasive, too glib.

It was then that Martha began to ask questions. She asked Webb how he rode over here. Had he been a prisoner? Had he been tied? What had happened when he got here? Webb told her that the hard cases had left him tied on his horse, but with a whisky bottle in his hand. He told how he managed to escape, how he ran down to the house; how, weaponless, he had picked up the rock and hit Shorty with it, afterward getting Shorty's gun. The rest, he said, she had seen for herself.

“But didn't the man you shot ask you to give him a hand?” Martha asked.

“What else could he do?” Webb told her. “He saw I had a gun, and that I had the drop on him. He had to be friendly, pretend to share the loot with me until he caught me off my guard.”

Martha turned to her father and told him what she had found.

“It's true, dad. Everything he has said checks with the tracks and what I had guessed.”

Buck said nothing. He only sat there staring down at his folded hands. A man could not change his convictions in a few moment's time, nor through listening to talk, no matter how convincing.

Martha finally said, “Dad, I think we've been wrong. Can't you see it?”

Buck did not answer. He turned to Webb. “Why did you come over with this news? You had a chance to escape, to jump the country.”

Webb looked steadily at Tolleston, a trace of a smile on his face. “That'll be the hardest part of the whole thing to explain, Tolleston. You won't believe it. Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes.”

Looking at the fire, Webb began to talk in a low voice. “When you had me arrested, Tolleston, I had you pegged for a salty devil that wasn't always right, but that was always fair with folks. You were as fair with me as you could be, I reckon, under the circumstances. I liked Wardecker, too. And I didn't like what happened to you-all. I mean about the bank. But I went along. I had to, you might say, but it wasn't all that, either. I took your hoorawin' because I sort of liked you, and I figured that when Stoop came back, he'd put things right.

“But when I run into this business with your daughter and young Bannister, the thing was taken clean out of my hands. I found out things then. First thing that happened to me, I was thrown under the guard of the five men that held up the bank. I knew then your hunch about Wintering County was right. And I learned the worst thing you could say about Bannister wouldn't be bad enough. He's a crook with a good brain, but he never had a conscience.”

He paused and looked at Tolleston. “Does that sound phony to you?”

“Go on,” Buck said.

“When I tried to break away by comin' up here, and when I was taken back and thrown in jail, I kept my eyes and my ears open.” He looked at Martha now, meeting her gaze steadily. “The first thing I learned was that Britt Bannister hated your girl, and that he tried to hire three of these Montana hardcases to kill you,” Webb said in a low voice. “I'm sorry about that, Miss Martha, but I was as wrong about him as you. I liked him.”

Martha nodded faintly.

Webb continued: “And then I learned about Mitch Budrow. I figured that he was the one that sold out on you, and I was sure of it when Wake Bannister hired these three men to kill him. He knew too much.” Webb paused, almost at a loss for something to say. Then he said, “Put yourself in my place, Tolleston. Could you have helped but take sides?”

“Maybe not,” Buck said gently.

“I couldn't. I wanted to get out of there, to lay hands on Mitch Budrow and take him to you. I got out and I got hold of Mitch, but when I talked to him, I learned that what he'd done wouldn't be anything to what Bannister was plannin' to do. So I came up.”

“Did—did you kill Mitch?” Martha asked.

Webb shook his head. “No. He couldn't go back to Bannister, because Bannister was tryin' to kill him, and he knew it. He couldn't come back here, because he'd be lynched. All he could do was run, and not very far at that. Bannister'll cook up a charge and put five thousand on his head and he'll be killed in some town before the month is up. I figured he'd dug his own grave.” He raised his hands and shrugged. “That's my story, Tolleston. You can believe it or not.”

Buck said nothing, only searched his face, as if something there would tell him if the man was telling the truth.

Webb saw it was time to play his last card. He said, “There's one way you can check up on my story, Tolleston.”

“What's that?”

“Wait. First, you'll admit that I haven't laid a trap for you, have I? I haven't told you anything that, if you believe it, you'd get in more trouble, have I?”

Tolleston thought a moment. Finally he said, “No. Not that I can see.”

“And I have told you somethin' that, if it's true, and you fight it, you'll be able to whip Bannister. Isn't that right?”

“That's right.”

“All right. You ride into Wagon Mound tonight. I don't know where a man can put up there, but things are so the people would know if a stranger came in—this stranger by the name of Clay Bogardus. That will be the name of Bannister's agent.”

Buck did not hesitate a second. He rose, turned to Chuck, and said, “Saddle up, Chuck. We're ridin'.”

To Webb he said, “I dunno why, son, but I want to trust you. But I wanted to trust Mitch Budrow, too.”

And that, Webb understood, was an apology, and at the same time a promise. If Bogardus was there, and his description jibed with the one Webb had from Mitch, then Webb would be believed. That was all he wanted.

Martha watched Chuck hunt up a lantern, and then he and Tolleston headed for the rebuilt corral, after telling Charlie to call in the guards.

When Buck was gone, Martha glanced over at Webb. He was sitting quietly staring into the fire, as if content to be judged. For a moment Martha found herself comparing him with Britt. He had neither Britt's polish nor his good looks, but he had something that Britt never would have, Martha thought—an absolute self-reliance and integrity that events would never change.

She rose then and crossed over to him and held out her hand.

“I believe you without any more proof,” she said quietly.

Webb accepted her hand almost shyly. “When I rode up here I wasn't sure if I'd get shot or horsewhipped.”

“Dad believes you. He's just thorough.”

“He should be,” Webb said.

Martha said softly and vehemently, “Oh, this is all so ugly. I wonder if any of us will ever put our trust in anyone again.”

She saw Webb watching her, his face grave. “You've got a right to wonder,” he said.

Martha knew he was referring to Britt and to the bitter disillusionment he knew she felt. She asked on impulse, “What's happened to Britt, Webb? Why has he turned against me so?”

Webb only shook his head. “I don't know.”

“You heard him that day you were eavesdropping on us. How do you square it with what he's done?”

“I don't,” Webb said, and added softly, “Some day, though, I hope to square it with him.”

“You hate him?”

“Only for what he's done to you,” Webb said.

“Why should you care?”

Webb was silent a long moment, looking at her. “I could be shy about this, but I won't be. I think you're good and I think you're decent and friendly and honest and I think a man would be lucky to have you for a wife.” He shrugged faintly. “Britt's forgotten that, if he ever knew it. He's gone sour and he's gone wrong and he's tried every way he can to hurt you. That's why I want to square things.”

“I wish you wouldn't,” Martha said quietly.

Webb held her glance. “Any special reason?”

“Because if you did, I'd be no better than Britt, would I?” She watched Webb consider this, watched him reject it, and knew that Webb believed she still loved Britt.

“You're right,” he said, but his words held no conviction, only politeness.

Martha said, almost reluctantly, “Besides, I suppose I'm sentimental. I keep remembering what he once was. Maybe he'll be that way again.”

“To you?”

Martha looked at him swiftly. “Not to me, Webb. I'll never give him the chance.”

“All right,” Webb said. “It's whatever you want.”

Martha knew he did not believe her, but before she could ask him, Tolleston called over to Webb to get his horse and come along.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Webb had not slept for a night and a day, but he did not feel tired. He rode between Tolleston and Chuck, and there was not much talk. Tolleston had not asked for his gun, and Webb did not wear it.

Tolleston did not want to talk, and neither did Webb. His thoughts kept returning to Martha Tolleston, and he could not puzzle out the meaning of what she had told him. She had been hurt and humiliated by Britt's treatment of her. Yet she had asked that he be spared when a showdown came. To Webb that meant only one thing, that she still loved Britt Bannister. Women, Webb thought gloomily, were unpredictable. If given a chance, she would probably throw herself at Britt again. The thought made him unreasonably angry, and he tried to banish it from his mind. He had meant every admiring word he had said to Martha. In return she had asked him to spare a man who had wanted to destroy everything she held dear.

He was startled out of his reverie by Buck's strangely gentle voice. “A man never knows his own blood, does he?”

“Hardly ever,” Webb replied after a moment's thought. “I reckon he believes in them and lets it go at that.”

Buck said nothing. A moment later, he said, “If I had told her more, perhaps this would never have happened.”

“She's got a mind of her own. It likely wouldn't have changed her.”

“I mean about Bannister. Why I hate him.”

“Why do you?” Webb asked. “What started it—if it's any of my business?”

“That's so long ago, I'd have to think,” Buck said slowly. “I remember we never liked each other. We settled in the Big Bend country about the same time, and we both started runnin' cattle. We both loved the same woman at one time. Wake won her, too.”

Webb did not comment as Tolleston ceased talking. He knew that there was more to come, and that a man like Tolleston would never let that shape his life.

“It was after he married,” Buck said suddenly. “He borrowed money from the Tollestons—some of my kin—to spread out. He wanted more cattle, more riders, more range. You could see he wanted to be on top of the heap, and even then he didn't care much how he got there. He swung a wide loop, but then all of us did in them days, though not so wide as Wake did. He was headstrong too, and didn't care about a man's friendship. He would have lost a friend gladly if he could turn a dollar on it, because dollars meant power. And then one day, a nester, a man Wake had fought with, was found dead, murdered. Wake was arrested, but every man knew that Wake Bannister didn't do it.”