Showdown On the Hogback (1991) (6 page)

Later, he ventured father down the crevasse, which seemed to dip steeply from where he was. Hearing no voices, he pushed on, coming to a point where the crevasse turned sharply again. The force of the water had hollowed out a huge cave like a bowl standing on edge, and then the water had turned and shot down an even steeper declivity into the black maw of a cavern! Having come this far, he took a chance on leaving his horse alone and walked on down toward the cave. The entrance was high and wide, and the cave extended deep into the mountain, with several shelves or ledges that seemed to show no signs of water. There was a pool in the bottom, and apparently the water filled a large basin, but lost itself through some cracks in the bottom of the larger hollow.

He penetrated no great distance and could find no evidence of another outlet, nor. could he feel any motion of air. Yet, as he looked around him, he realized that with some food a man might well hide in this place for weeks, and unless they went to the foot of the slide and found the opening into the crevasse, this place might never be discovered.

The runoff from the cliff, then, did not go to the arroyo, but ended here, in this deep cavern.

The day wore on slowly, and twice he walked back down to the cavern to smoke, but left his horse where it was, for he had an idea he could escape later. Yet when dusk came and he had worked his way back up the crevasse slide and crawled out on the edge where he could look toward the entrance, he saw two men squatting there beside a fire, with rifles under their hands.

They believed him concealed inside and hoped to starve him out.

By this time Dornie Shaw must have returned to Mustang with news of his disappearance and probably of their murder of the messenger, for Kedrick was sure that it had been his own group who had committed the crime. It was scarcely possible that Gunter or Keith would countenance such a thing near town, where it could not fail to be seen and reported upon by
unfriendly
witnesses.

Returning, he studied the slide to the rim. It was barely possible that a horse might scramble up there. It would be no trick for an active man, and the palouse was probably a mountain horse. It was worth a gamble, if there was no one on top to greet him. Pulling an armful of grass from near the brush and
boulders
, he returned to the horse and watched it gratefully munch the rich green grass.

Connie Duane was disturbed. She had seen the messenger come to her uncle and the others and had heard their reply. Then, at almost noon the following day, Dornie Shaw and the others had come in, and they had returned without Tom Kedrick.

Why that should disturb her she could not have said, but the fact remained that it did. Since he had stepped up on the veranda she had thought of little else, remembering the set of his chin, the way he carried his shoulders, and his startled expression when he had seen her. There was something about him that was different, not only from the men around her uncle, but from any man she had known before.

Now, when despite herself she had looked forward to his return, he was missing.

John Gunter came out on the veranda, nervously biting the end from a cigar. "What happened?" she asked. "Is something wrong? Where's Captain Kedrick?" "Wish I knew!" His voice was sharp with anxiety. "He took a ride to look over those squatters an' never came back. I don't trust Shaw, no matter how much Keith does.

He's too bloodthirsty. W e could get into a lot of trouble here, Connie. That's why I wanted Kedrick. He has judgment, brains."

"Perhaps he decided he wanted no part of it, Uncle. Maybe he decided your squatters were not outlaws or renegades."

Gunter glanced at her sharply. "Who has been talking to you?" he demanded. . "No one. It hasn't been necessary. I have walked around town, and I've seen that some of these outlaws, as you call them, have wives and children, that they buy supplies and look like nice, likable people. I don't like it, Uncle John, and I don't like to think that my money may be financing a part of it."

"Now, now! Don't bother your head over it. You may be sure that Loren and I will do everything we can for your best interests."

"Then drop this whole thing!" she pleaded. "There's no need for it. I've money enough, and I don't want money that comes from depriving others of their homes. They all have a right to live, a chance."

"Of course!" Gunter was impatient. "We've gone over all this before! But I tell you most of those people are trash, and no matter about that, they all will be put off that land, anyway. The government is going to buy out whoever has control. That will mean us, and that means we'll get a nice, juicy profit."

"From the government? Your own government, Uncle?" Connie studied him coolly. was I fail to understand the sort of man who will attempt to defraud his own government. There are people like that, I suppose, but somehow I never thought I'd find one in my own family."

"Don't be silly, child. You know nothing of business. You aren't practical."

"I suppose not. Only I seem to remember that a lot of worthwhile things don't seem practical at the moment. No," she got to her feet, "I believe I'll withdraw my investment in this deal and buy a small ranch somewhere nearby. I will have no part in it."

"You can't do that!" Gunter exploded impatiently. "Your money is already in, and there's no way of getting it out until this business is closed. Now, why don't you trust me like a good girl? You always have before!" "Yes, I have, Uncle John, but I never believed you could be dishonest."

She studied him frankly. "You aren't very happy about this yourself. You know," she persisted, "those people aren't going to move without a fight. You believed they could be frightened. Well, they cant. I've seen Bob McLennon, and he's not the kind of a man who can be frightened, even by that choice bunch of murderers Loren has gathered together."

"They aren't that. Not murderers," Gunter protested uneasily, but refused to meet her eyes.

"Reckless, yes. And temperamental. Not murderers."

"Not even Domie Shaw? The nice-looking, boyish one who has killed a dozen men and is so cold-blooded and fiendish at times that others are afraid of him? No, Uncle, there is no way you can sidestep this. If you continue you are going to countenance murder, the killing of innocent people.

"Loren doesn't care. He has always been cold-blooded. You've wondered why I wouldn't marry him. That's why. He has the disposition of a tiger. He would kill anything or anyone that stood in his way. Even you, Uncle John."

He started and looked at her uneasily. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true. I know our tall and handsome man. He will allow nothing to come between him and what he desires. You've chosen some choice companions."

She got to her feet. "If you hear anything of Captain Kedrick, let me know, will you?"

Gunter stood still for a long time after she left.

He swore bitterly. Connie was like her mother. She always had the faculty for putting her finger on the truth, and certainly she was right about this. It was beginning to look ugly, but away down deep in his heart, he was upset less over Keith than over Burwick.

That strange, fat, and dirty man was a thing of evil, of corruption. There was some evil thing within him, something cold and vicious as a striking snake.

Connie Duane was not the only person who was disturbed over the strange disappearance of Tom Kedrick.

Bob
McLennon
, unofficial commander of the forces for defense, sat in his rambling ranch house on the edge of Yellow Butte. Pete Slagle, Burt Williams, Dai Reid, and Pit Laine were all gathered there. With them was Sue Laine, keeping to the background. Her dark, lovely eyes were stirring from one to the other, and her ears were alert for every word.

"Blazes, man!" McLennon said irritably. "Where could he have gone? I'd have sworn he went into that box canyon. There was no other place for him to go, unless he took wings and flew! He had to go in there!"

"You looked yourself," Slagle said dryly.

"Did you see him? He just ain't there, that's all!

He got plumb away!"

"He
probably
did that," Dai Reid commented.

"A quick man, that Tom Kedrick. Hand or mind, he's quick." He drew out his pipe and stoked it slowly. "You shouldn't have jumped him," he continued.

"I know that lad, an' he's honest. If he said that was what he come for, it was the truth he told. I'd take my oath he'd no knowledge of the killin'!"

"I'd like to believe that," McLennon agreed.

"The man impressed me. We could use an honest man on the other side, one who would temper the wind a bit or get this thing stopped. his "It won't be that Shaw who stops. He's a murderin' little devil," Slagle said. "He'll kill like a weasel in a chicken pen until there's nought left to kill."

"Kedrick fought me fair," Williams said.

"I'll give him that. his "He's a fair man," Dai persisted.

"Since a lad I've known him. I'd not be wrong. I'd give fifty acres of my holdin' for the chance to talk to him."

Daylight brought the first attack. It came swiftly, a tight bunch of riders who exploded from the mouth of the arroyo and hit the dusty street of Yellow Butte on a dead run, pistols firing.

Then came the deep, heavy concussion of dynamite.

As suddenly as they had come, they were gone. Two men sprawled in the street.

Peters, the man Shaw had faced down in the streets of Mustang, was one of them. He had taken three .44 slugs through the chest and died before he hit the ground. He had made one final effort to win back his self-respect. He had seen Dornie Shaw in the van of the charging riders and rushed into the street to get him. He had failed to get off a single shot.

The second man down was shot through the thigh and arm.

He was a Swede who had just put in his second crop.

The riders had planned their attack well. They had worked near enough to the guards at the mouth of the arroyo and had come at a time when no attack was expected.

The one guard awake was knocked down by a charging horse, but miraculously suffered only bruises.

Two bundles of dynamite had been thrown. One had exploded against the door of the general store, smashing it off its hinges and tearing up the porch. The second had exploded harmlessly between the buildings.

The first rattle of rifle fire brought Tom Kedrick to an observation point. He had saddled his horse, hoping for a break, and instantly, he saw it. The two guards had rushed to the scene of action, and he led his horse out of the crevasse and rode at a canter to the canyon's mouth. Seeing dust over the town, he swung right and, skirting close to the butte, slipped out into the open, a free man once more!

Chapter
6

Kedrick did not return toward Mustang. He had come this far for a purpose, and he meant to achieve it. Turning west and north, he rode upstream away from Yellow Butte and Mustang. He wanted actually to see some of the homes of which so much had been said. By the way these people lived he could tell the sort
they
were. It was still and warm in the morning, and after the preliminary escape, he slowed his horse to a walk and studied the terrain. Certainly, nothing could be farther from swampland, and in that at least, the company had misrepresented. Obviously, they had misrepresented in maintaining that the land was vacant, but if the squatters were a shiftless lot, Kedrick knew he would continue his job. Already he was heartily sick of the whole mess, yet he owed Gunter money, and now to pay it back was a big problem. And then, although the idea lurked almost unthought in the back of his consciousness, there was Connie Duane.

In his fast-moving and active life he had met many women, and a few had interested him, but none so much as this tall girl with the quiet, interested eyes. His desire to get back to Mustang had nothing to do with the company, but only with her. At the same time, Dornie Shaw had acted without his orders, had slain the messenger and attacked the town. Of course, they might think him dead.

Turning due north he rode through the sagebrush and catclaw toward two towering blue mountains that stood alone on this side of the rim that bordered the country to the north. On his left, he saw broken land and what was evidently a deep arroyo. He swung the Appaloosa over and headed it toward the canyon. Suddenly, he reined in.

On the ground before him were the tracks of a trotting horse, and he recognized them. They were the same tracks left by the strange rider on the grulla mustang who had scouted their approach to Yellow Butte.

The tracks were fresh.

Riding more slowly, he came to the edge of the canyon and looked down at a long green meadow, fenced and watered by a small stream. At the far side, tucked in a corner, was a stone cottage, at once more attractive and better built than any other he had seen in this section. Ahead of him a trail turned down, so without delay, he rode down it and walked his horse across the meadow by a narrow lane, toward the house.

It was a pleasant place of sandstone blocks and a thatched roof. Shade trees sheltered the
yard
, and there were a half dozen hens pecking about. In the corral, there were several horses. His heart jumped as he saw the grulla, saddled and waiting.