Showdown On the Hogback (1991) (9 page)

"What about Fessenden?"

"Ain't seen him."

"Any of the others gone?"

"Clauson is. At least, he ain't around in sight. I ain't seen him since morning."

That left Shaw, who had been around little himself, and Fessenden, if he was still in town. Despite himself, Kedrick was disturbed, but if Burwick was getting rid of his warriors it was a good sign. Probably he, Tom Kedrick, was getting too suspicious.

Nothing, Shad said, had been said to him about quitting.

"In fact," he said
dryly
"... The Mixus boys pulled in this morning, an' they went right to Burwick."

"Who are they?"

"Killers. Drygulchers, mostly. Bean an'

Abe Mixus. They were in that Sandoval affair.

Couple of men died awful opportune in that affair, an' come to think of it, Burwick was around.

Fact is, that was where I met him."

"Were you in that?"

"Uh-uh. I was in town, though, an' had me a run-in with Roy Gangle. Roy was a mighty tough ranny who'd been
ramrod
. In' a big spread down thataway, an' when he got into the war he went bad, plumb bad. We'd had trouble over a steer, an' he braced me. He was a mite slow."

It made no sense-gunmen leaving, but others arriving. (n course, the Mixus boys could have been spoken to before the change of plans. That must be it. He suggested as much to Laredo, and the Texan nodded dubiously.

"Maybe. I don't trust that hombre none. Your man Gunter is in over his head, Keith, well, he's all around bad when it comes to that, but neither of them can hold a candle to that Burwick."

Study the situation as he would, Tom Kedrick could see no answer to it, and the fact remained that they were to meet Slagle and McLennon for a peace conference. Out of that, anything might come, and he had no real cause to distrust Burwick.

Morning was bright and clear, with the sun promising a hot day. Yet it was still cool when Kedrick appeared on the street and crossed to the little restaurant where he ate in silence. He was on his second cup of coffee when Connie came in.

Her face brightened with a smile as she saw him, and she came over to his table. "You know, you're the one bright spot in this place! I'm so tired of that old stone house and seeing that dirty old man around that I can scarcely stand it. I'll be glad when this is all over."

He studied her. "What will you do then?"

"You know, I've not really thought of that. What I want to do is to get a ranch somewhere, a place with trees, grass, and some running water. It doesn't have to be a big place."

"Cattle?"

"A few, but horses are what I want.

Horses like that one of yours, I think."

"Good idea. It takes less land for horses, and there's always a market for good stock." He studied the beauty of her mouth, the quietness and humor of her eyes. "Somehow I'm glad to think you're staying.

It wouldn't be the same without you. Not now."

She looked at him quickly, her eyes dancing with laughter, but with the hint of a question in their depths. "Why, Tom! That sounds almost like gallantry! Like you were trying to make love to me, like all the cowboys!"

"No, Connie," he said quietly, "when I make love to you there won't be any doubt about it. You'll know, and I won't be fooling."

"Somehow I think you're right. You wouldn't be fooling."

"Over west of here," he said, "west and south, there's a great rim that stretches for miles across the country, and a splendid pine forest atop it. There's trees, water, game, and some of the finest mountain meadows a man ever saw.

I know a place over there where I camped once, a good spring, some tall trees, graceful in the wind, and a long sweep of land clear to the rim's edge, and beyond it miles upon miles of rolling, sweeping range and forest."

"It sounds fascinating, like what I've been wanting ever since I came west."

He pushed back his chair. "Maybe when this is over, you'd ride over that way with me? I'd like to show it to you."

She looked up at him. "All right, Tom.

We'll look at it together."

He paused, hat in hand, staring out the door.

"Together," he mused. Then he glanced down at her.

"You know, Connie, that's the most beautiful word in the language
his He walked away then, pausing to pay his check and hers and then stepping outside into the warmth of the street.

A buckboard had stopped and a man was getting out of it, a man who moved warily and looked half frightened. He glanced around swiftly and then ducked through the door into the store.

Chapter
8

Two men crossed the street suddenly. One of them was a man Kedrick had never seen before; the other was the
sly looking
loafer he had seen hanging around the back door in the saloon at Yellow Butte.

The loafer, a sour-faced man called Singer, was talking. They stopped, and he indicated the buckboard to the man with him. "That's him, Abe,"

Singer was saying. "He's one of that crowd from across the way. He's brother-in-law to McLennon."

"This is a good place to start," Abe replied shortly, low voiced. "Let's go!"

Tom Kedrick turned on his heel and followed them. As they stepped into the door, he stepped after and caught it before it slammed shut. Neither man seemed to be aware of his presence, for they were intent on the man at the counter.

"Hello, Sloan!" Singer said softly.

"Meet Abe Mixus!"

The name must have meant something to Sloan, for he turned, his face gray. He held a baby's bottle, which he was in the act of buying, in his right hand. His eyes, quick and terror stricken, went from one to the other. He was frightened, but puzzled, and he seemed to be fighting for
self-control
. "You in this squabble, Singer? I figured you to be outside of it."

Singer chuckled. "That's what I aim for folks to think."

Mixus, a lean, stooped man with yellow eyeballs and a thin-cheeked face drew a paper from his pocket. "That's a quitclaim deed, Sloan," he said. "You can sign it an' save yourself trouble."

Sloan's face was gray. His eyes went to the deed and seemed to hold there. Then, slowly, they lifted. "I can't do that. My wife's havin' a child in the next couple of days. I worked too hard on that place to give it up. I reckon I can't sign."

"I say you better." Mixus' voice was cold, level. The storekeeper had vanished, and the room was empty save for the three and for Tom Kedrick, standing in the shadows near some hanging jeans and slickers. "I say you better sign because you
done
own that prop'ty anyhow.

Want to call me a liar?"

Sloan's face was gray, and yet resolution seemed to have overcome his immediate fear. He was a brave man, and Kedrick knew that whatever he said now, he would die. He spoke first.

"No, Abe," he said softly, "I'll call you a liar!"

Mixus stiffened as if struck. He was a killer and dangerous, but he was a smart, sure-thing killer, and he had believed himself alone but for Singer. Now somebody was behind him. He stood stock-still and then started to turn. Singer had fallen back against the wall, his eyes staring to locate Kedrick.

"It's Kedrick!" he said. "The boss gunman!"

Mixus scowled. "What's the matter?" he said irritably. "What you buttin' in for?"

"There's to be no more killing, Abe." Kedrick held his ground. "We're havin' a peace conference tomorrow. This killing is over."

" Got my orders," Mixus persisted. "You talk to Burwick."

There was a movement from Sloan, and he whirled on him. "You stand still!" he barked.

"You can go, Sloan," Kedrick said. "Get in your outfit an' head back an' tell McLennon my word is good. You'd better stop thinking about him, Abe. You're in trouble, and I'm the trouble. his Mixus was confused. He knew Kedrick was ramrodding the gunmen for the company, and he was puzzled.

Had he been about to do the wrong thing? But no, he had-"You fool!" His confusion burst into fury.

"Keith tol' me to get him!"

"Shut up!" Singer yelled. "bang it! You-to "

Abe Mixus was a cold-blooded killer and no heavyweight mentally. Orders and
counter orders
had come to him, and worked up to a killing pitch he had been suddenly stopped in the middle of it and switched off into this back trail, where he floundered hopelessly.

Now Singer seemed to be turning on him, and he swung toward him, his teeth bared, his face vicious.

"
Don't
you tell me, you white-livered coyote!" he snarled. One hand hung over a gun, and Singer, frightened, grabbed for his own gun.

Instantly, Mixus whipped out his .44, and flame stabbed at Singer. The renegade turned on his heel. His knees slowly bucked and he slid to the floor, his head against a sack of flour, blood welling from his mouth. Mixus stared down at him, and then slowly, he blinked and then blinked again.

Awareness seemed to return to him, and his jittery nerves calmed. He stared down at Singer almost unbelieving. "Why, I-I-killed Singer!" he said.

"That's right," Kedrick was watching him, knowing now upon what a slender thread of irritation this man's muscles were poised. "What will Keith say to that?"

Cunning came over Abe's
horse like
face.

"Keith? What give you the idea he had anythin' to do with this?" he demanded.

Slowly, attracted by the shooting and made confident by its end, people were gathering in front of the door. The storekeeper had come into the room and stood watching, his face drawn and frightened.

Tom Kedrick took a slow step back as Abe's eyes turned toward the front of the store.

Putting the slickers between them, Kedrick moved on cat feet to the opening between the counters and slid through into the living quarters and out into the alley behind the store.

Crossing the street below the crowd, he wound up in front of the St. James, pausing there. Laredo Shad materialized beside him. "What happened?" he asked swiftly.

Kedrick explained. "I don't get it," he said. "Keith may be moving on his own but Burwick was to hold off until we had our talk-and I know Keith didn't like that. He spoke right tip about it."

"Ain't Singer supposed to be a settler?"

Shad asked. "Won't this serve to get "em all riled up? Who knew that Singer was with Keith an" the company?" "You've a point there," Kedrick said thoughtfully. "This may be the
very
thing that will blow the lid off."

. "Both of them were mighty jumpy. It looked like they had Sloan marked because he was McLennon's relative. I sprung a surprise on them, an' Mixus just couldn't get himself located."

The crowd separated and then gathered in knots along the street to discuss the new event. Shad loitered there beside him and was standing there when Loren Keith came up. He glanced sharply at Shad and then at Kedrick. "What's happened over there?"

He kept his eyes on Kedrick as he spoke, and Kedrick shrugged. "Shooting, I guess. Not unusual for Mustang from what I hear."

"Mixus was in there," Shad commented.

"Wonder if he had a hand in it?" Keith turned and looked at Laredo, suspicion in his eyes.

"Who was shot?" he inquired, his eyes going from one to the other.

"Singer, they tell me," Shad said casually. was I reckon Mixes killed him."

"Mixes? Kill Singer?" Keith shook his head. "That's preposterous!" "Don't know why,"

Laredo drawled. "Mixes come here to tight, didn't he? An' ain't Singer one of them settlers?"

Colonel Keith hesitated, his sharp, hard features a picture of doubt and uncertainty.

Watching him, Kedrick was amused and pleased. The storekeeper had not seen him, and it was doubtful if anyone had but Mixus, the dead man, and the now missing Sloan.

What Abe Mixes would offer as an explanation for shooting Singer, Tom couldn't conceive, but a traitor had died and the enemy was confounded. Little as it might mean in the long run, it was for the moment a good thing. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that Singer had been a squatter and that few if any knew of his tie-up with Keith and the company. Watching the crowds in the street, Tom Kedrick began to perceive a new element shaping itself. Public opinion was a force Burwick had not reckoned with, and the faces of the men talking in the streets were hard and bitter.

These were mostly poor men who had made their own way or were engaged in making their way, and they resented the action of the company. Few had known Singer well, and those few had little use for the man, but the issue, from their viewpoint, was not a matter of personalities, but a matter of a bunch of hardworking men against the company, an organization largely of outsiders seeking to profit from the work of local people.

Furthermore, whatever Singer was, he was not a gunman, and he was a local man. Abe Mixus was a known killer, a gunman whose gun was for hire.