Taggart (1959) (12 page)

Once, pausing for breath on a narrow ledge before starting down an edge of trai
l
into the canyon itself, Consuelo turned her dark eyes on him. "I think I go soon.

I have feeling ... if I stay here, I die here. I am 'fraid."

She went down the trail ahead of him, and with a last look around he hurried dow
n
into the canyon. When they reached the door of the stone house a few scattered drop
s
were already falling, and as they ducked inside the rain swept down with a roar.

These mountain rains, he knew, were usually swift and short, but sometimes they laste
d
longer. And where was Adam in all this fierce downpour?

He had noted Miriam's quick glance from one to the other a
s
they rushed in the door. "What about Stark?" he asked. "Is there shelter out there?"

"There's a cliff dwelling not far off . . . just an overhang fenced with rock, bu
t
it's dry." Miriam was busy at the fire. "He will be all right. Adam probably sa
w
the storm coming before any of us."

"We were high up," Swante Taggart said. "We saw nobody riding ... not anywhere around."

He thought of the trail over which he had come. Whatever else happened, there'd b
e
no tracks now for Shoyer, but how close was he? Had he trailed him as far as th
e
Salt River? If he had, he would be close enough to observe movement in the countr
y
around, and he was a man with the patience of an Indian.

Taggart sat down and Miriam placed a cup of coffee before him. He stared at it, thinkin
g
of Consuelo. There was no telling what she had in mind, but everything about he
r
was a challenge to his maleness. Every move was provocative, every glance a testin
g
of him. It excited him, but it worried him too, for his good sense told him how explosiv
e
the situation was. There was something between the two women that set a man's teet
h
on edge ... no declared war, but a guarded antagonism that he sensed with every instinc
t
he had. As for Adam Stark, he knew those slow-smiling, quiet men. And he was in n
o
position to invite trouble. The best he could get would be the worst of it.

He had been a fool to stay, yet there was no way he could have gone on. The solutio
n
now was to get out, and fast. He made up his mind suddenly. When the storm was over
,
he was going to go.

The roar of rain on the roof drowned the opening of the door, but the sudden brus
h
of damp air turned Taggart sharply around.

Pete Shoyer stood in the doorway and he had a hand on his gun.

"Hello, Taggart," he said.

Chapter
Seven.

For an instant the tableau was frozen in silence. Pete Shoyer loomed square and blac
k
in the gray light of the doorway
,
his features indistinguishable. He seemed in that moment as solid and indestructibl
e
as a mountain boulder, as ominous as destiny itself. His sudden appearance from ou
t
of the storm, his featureless presence, the square blackness of his outline in th
e
storm-darkened room was somehow shocking and terrible.

Yet in that moment it was to Taggart that Miriam's eyes went, and he stood very tal
l
and still in the half-light of the room, at once ready and at ease.

One wrong move could shatter the darkness of the room with the lightning flash o
f
a gun battle, and Miriam heard herself speaking quietly. "Come in. We've coffee on."

"I don't mind if I do." Shoyer stepped into the room and his face showed clearl
y
then, wide, dark, somber. He had large eyes that seemed to see everything at once.

He was worn and stained, and on his shirt there was a stain of old blood. His slicke
r
was open and the firelight caught the reflection of the brass cartridges in his belt
,
which glowed like golden teeth.

Pete Shoyer moved into the room and coolly removed his slicker and hung it on a peg
,
his hat over it. Swante Taggart had moved slightly to face him as he changed position
,
but had said nothing.

When he turned from the coat peg Shoyer looked at Taggart. "I've come to take yo
u
in, Taggart," he said.

"When you try," Taggart's voice was dispassionate, "I'll kill you. "

Shoyer showed his teeth in a wide smile. "Nobody has," h
e
replied, and then he said to Miriam. "You spoke of coffee, ma'am. I can use it."

Miriam, caught by the moment, the meeting of hunter and hunted, had forgotten th
e
coffee. "Oh ... yes." She brought the pot to the table, and a cup.

Shoyer drew back a chair and seated himself. "You've led me a chase."

"I don't like to kill a man wearing a badge. I've worn one myself. "

"So I've heard." Shoyer gulped coffee noisily, then poured the hot coffee into hi
s
saucer and blew on it. "Need be no killing. You just come along quiet."

"We'll decide that when the time comes."

Both turned their heads as the door opened and Stark came in. His smile was friendly
,
with a hint of irony. "I see you've met," he said.

He hung up his slicker and dried off his rifle barrel before racking it. "Had m
y
rifle on you coming up the draw," he told Shoyer. "I thought you were an Apache."

"You were behind me?" Shoyer did not like the idea. "All the way from the river."

Shoyer's eyes swept the room, assaying the situation carefully, not sure what h
e
had stepped into here. Suspicion was hot in his dark, slow eyes.

Taggart made matters clear. "These people took me in, as they have you. What happen
s
here concerns only you and me. I would not want you to make a mistake."

"We'll see."

Taggart spooned honey into his coffee. "When this storm is over, why don't you jus
t
ride out of here?"

"You're worth too much money to me, Taggart. Alive or dead." He sipped coffee fro
m
the saucer and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Anyway, I can't rid
e
out. My horse broke a leg last night or I'd be in Globe by now."

"How did you find this place?" Stark asked.

"Now that's a coincidence," Shoyer explained agreeably. "A man in my business make
s
a point of marking down in hi
s
memory such places where a man might hide. One time when I was scoutin
g
for the Army I almost fell into this canyon, but until I needed a place I had clea
n
forgotten it."

"You stirred something up," Stark said. "You've got the Apaches out and hunting.

My advice is that nobody try to leave here until things simmer down. When they ge
t
out like this they prowl like hungry wolves, and I've the women to thin
k
Shoyer tipped back in his chair. "Suits me." He put a toothpick between his teeth.

"Dry place to sleep, women folks to do for a man ... can't say I'd mind a rest."

Outside the rain pounded on the roof, and Consuelo had put a pot under a leak i
n
the roof. Occasionally a huge drop fell into the water already gathered there, th
e
sound loud in the silent room.

Only a trickle of water ran down the floor of the canyon, and the presence of th
e
buildings there after all these centuries indicated that there was rarely more a
t
any time. A flash flood would have torn out the stable and damaged the other buildings.

The deep canyons and washes that scarred the desert were carved out by just suc
h
flash floods that would run bank full for a few hours and then vanish. But in thos
e
few hours, or even in minutes, dams could be ripped out and homes destroyed.

Swante Taggart watched the rain flooding past the window and rolled a smoke. Fro
m
this moment he would have no rest, knowing Pete Shoyer's reputation for bringin
g
in his man, yet he was not excited or even worried. His years had taught him tha
t
each problem was to be met when it approached, and nothing was to be done about suc
h
situations until the moment for action. His problem now was simply to wait ... an
d
to be on guard for any sudden move that Shoyer might make.

He had no fear of Shoyer. He had been shot at before this, and with luck he woul
d
come out of this to be shot at again. If not, he would be dead and it would not matte
r
anyway. He was neither a fool nor an egotist, but he knew what he could do with
a
gun, and the years had keyed his muscles and mind for emergencies. He lived on
a
plane of readiness and awareness.

He had never considered himself a gunfighter, and had never drawn a gun unless necessit
y
demanded. He had tried to avoid gun trouble as a man avoids grass fires, stampedes
,
or flash floods, simply because it was the intelligent thing to do. At the same time
,
when such troubles did come he believed they should be met head-on and moving in.

Swante Taggart had never thought of himself as a brave man. The very word made hi
m
restless and irritable when it came into a conversation, as if men could be divide
d
into the brave and the cowardly, as if brave men were always brave and the coward
s
always cowardly. It simply wasn't that way. A man did what he had to do.

Considering Shoyer, Taggart did not think of the man as either a good or bad character.

The man hunted men. So he hunted men? If Pete Shoyer wanted to make a business ou
t
of hunting men, it was alright with Taggart. Some men hunted buffalo, some hunte
d
wolves ... hunting men was infinitely more dangerous. There were some who though
t
such conduct evil ... Taggart himself did not.

Perhaps there was something in Pete Shoyer that carried the hunting somewhat furthe
r
than a man should go. Possibly he was too intent ... Taggart was unconcerned abou
t
that. Whatever else he was, Pete Shoyer was a tough man who knew his business, an
d
he would neither be trapped, tripped up, or tricked out of his prisoner by an ordinar
y
ruse. If it came to shooting, Peter Shoyer would want the edge. But Taggart was prett
y
sure Shoyer would avoid a shoot-out.

Not that Shoyer was afraid. It simply was not good business, for Shoyer might b
e
wounded himself and unable to take his prisoner or pursue him. Shoyer was no reputation-prou
d
kid, nor was he a tenderfoot. He was simply a man-hunter who was good at his job.

Stark turned from the window and for an instant Taggart caught his face in the ligh
t
and was struck by its tautness, something he had not observed before. As he watche
d
Stark he realized the man had lost weight, his eyes seemed hollow. It was odd, fo
r
Stark seemed to be a bear for strength, one o
f
those resilient men, hard and tough, who seem capable of enduring anything.

Something was wrong, but it was not his domestic troubles. Studying the man, Taggar
t
became thoroughly engrossed. During the brief period since his arrival in the canyo
n
of the chapel there had been barely time to become acquainted, but Taggart was
a
sensitive man, aware as an animal of the subtle antagonisms of those around him.

But this was something more, and it worried him because he sensed that Stark himsel
f
was worried.

Miriam gathered up the dishes, busy with her own thoughts. Consuelo sat quietly sewing
,
working over a shirt of Adam's. Only once in a while her black eyes flashed at Taggart.