the Man from the Broken Hills (1975) (24 page)

When Danny was shot he wascoming back !

He had been to where he was going, and he had started home ... And the rider who was Ann's captor had known the body was there, and had circled so Ann would not see it.

He, then, was the killer.

Chapter
22

Moving over into the shadow of the trees, I studied the situation. Whatever doubts there might have been before, there could be none now. The unknown man with the rifle had killed once, and he would kill again. Yet as he had brought Ann this far, he might be having doubts. To kill a man was once thing, a woman another.

Moreover, he was wily and wary. In this seemingly bland and innocent country, there were dozens of possible lurking places for a rifleman, and anytime I moved into the open, my life was in danger. Yet so was the life of Ann.

Ahead of me, if what the boys at the ranch had said was true, this Kiowa Creek flowed into the Middle Concho. There was a fork up ahead, and the killer might have gone either way. Yet I did not believe he thought himself followed. He had passed along this creek yesterday, and by now had probably reached his destination.

I swore bitterly. How did I get into these situations? The fact that I was good with guns was mostly accidental. I had been born with a certain coordination, a steady hand and a cool head, and the circumstances of my living had given them opportunity to develop. I knew I was fast with a gun, but it meant no more to me than being good at checkers or poker. It would have been much more useful to be good with a rope, and I was only fair.

Now I was facing up to a shooting fight when all I wanted to do was work cattle and see the country. I'd heard of men who supposedly looked for adventure, but to me that was a lot of nonsense. Adventure was nothing but a romantic name for trouble, and nobody over eighteen in his right mind looked for it. Most of what people called adventure happened in the ordinary course of the day's work.

The chances were, the killer had taken Ann on to wherever he was going, and they should be there by now. There was no time to think of Ann now ... she was where she was and she was either dead or momentarily safe.

What I had to think about was me. If I didn't get through to where she was, we might both be dead. I could ride right out of here and summon the major and his men, but by that time it might be too late for Ann.

I was no hero, and did not want to be one. I wanted to look through my horse's ears at a lot of new country, to bed down at night with the sound of leaves or running water, to get up in the morning to the smell of woodsmoke and bacon frying. Yet what could I do?

You don't follow a man's trail across a lot of country without learning something about him, and I liked nothing I had learned about this one. What did I know? He was cool, careful and painstaking. He had succeeded in stealing at least a thousand head of cattle, probably twice that many--and over a period of three to four years--without being seen or even suspected.

He had managed to create suspicion among the basin ranchers, so they suspected each other and not an outsider. He had moved around in what seemed to be a wide-open country, without anyone knowing he was around ... Unless he was around all the time and therefore unsuspected.

That thought gripped me. If so ... Who?

Moreover, he had shown no urge to kill anyone until I came along and seemed to be closing in on him. Danny had probably been shot by mistake because of the red shirt.

But wait a minute ... Hadn't somebody mentioned another cowhand who rode off to the southeast and never came back?

The chances were, the killer did not kill unless it looked like his plan was about to be exposed. He had several years' work at stake and, just on the verge of success, things started to go wrong.

I had tracked him. Danny had come into his own country. And then Ann Timberly, forever riding the range, had come upon him somehow.

One by one I turned the suspects over in my mind. Rossiter was naturally the first I thought of, because he was a shrewd man, dangerous, and known to me as a cow thief. Nor did I believe he was as blind as he let on. Nevertheless, he could not long be away from the ranch without folks worrying, because of his blindness.

Roger Balch? A tough little man who wished to be known as such, driving to prove himself, but neither cautious nor shrewd. It could be Roger Balch. It could be Saddler.

Harley? He came and went to his place, wherever it was. He handled a rifle like it was part of him, and he was cool enough, cautious enough, cold enough. He would, I was sure, kill a man as quickly as a chicken.

Fuentes? He had been with me too much. Fuentes wasn't a killer.

Somewhere in my memory, there lurked a face, a face I couldn't quite recall, someone I had seen, someone I remembered. Somehow, from somewhere. But that was all. That face was a shadow, elusive, indistinct, something at which the fingers of my memory grasped, only to come away empty.

Yet it was there, haunting, shadowy ... The odd thing was, I had the fleeting impression it was something from my own past. Only minutes had passed since I'd seen Danny's body. The wind stirred the leaves, the water rustled faintly in Kiowa Creek. Like it or not, I was going to have to go forward.

And I didn't like it. In such a case, the waiting rifleman has every advantage. All he has to do is sight in on a spot he knows you have to pass and just wait until you ride right into his sights. When he sees you coming, he can take up the slack on his trigger. And when he squeezes off his shot, you're a dead man or damned lucky ... and I didn't feel lucky.

Nevertheless, Ann was up ahead, and there was no way I could get around that.

Using every bit of cover I could, varying my pattern of travel when possible, I rode parallel with Kiowa Creek. Once, in a thick stand of hackberry and pecan, I watered my horse and took time to scan the country.

Right ahead of me was that other arroyo that came into a junction with Kiowa Creek to form the Middle Concho. That was the one Ben Roper had once said they called Tepee Draw. I spotted a trail climbing out of the draw pointing toward the mountain and, returning for my horse, I rode down to where Kiowa Creek and Tepee Draw joined.

A fresh horse trail went up the bank and I started up, then reined in sharply. Not a hundred yards away was a corral, a cabin, and smoke from the chimney!

Turning my horse, I slid back down the bank and back into the thickest stand of hackberry and pecan I could find. There were some big mesquite trees there, also. Shucking my Winchester, I loose-tied my horse and found a place in the brush where I could climb up for a look at the cabin. Nothing about the climb looked good. It was a natural for rattlers, who like shade from the sun, but after taking a careful look around, I crawled up. And there, under the roots of one of the biggest mesquite trees I'd ever seen, I studied the layout.

It was a fair-sized cabin for that country, with two pole corrals and a lean-to shed. There was water running into a trough from a spring. I could see it dropping-and almost hear it. There were a half dozen head of horses in the corral, and one of them was a little black I'd seen Ann riding. Another was Danny Rolf's grulla.

Aside from the movement of smoke and the horses, all was quiet.

What surprised me was that I found no cattle anywhere around. Signs were there a-plenty, but not one hoof of stock did I see.

It was very still, and' the sun was hot. Probably the coolest place around was right where I was, against that bank, among the roots of that big mesqnite and under its shade. Occasionally, a faint breeze stirred the leaves. A big black fly buzzed annoyingly about my face, but I feared to brush it away for I had no idea who was in the cabin. And even where I lay, a quick movement might be seen.

A woman came to the door and threw out a pan of water, shading her eyes to look around. Then she went back inside. I felt certain it was Lisa, but it was more by hunch than recognition, for her face had been turned only briefly my way.

If it was her, I surely didn't blame her for riding up to that box supper, nor for being scared at being away. More than likely he, whoever "he" was, had been off driving stolen cattle to wherever they'd been taken.

Suddenly, the woman came out again. And now there was no mistake. It was Lisa.

Leading a horse from the corral, she saddled up, then she hazed the grulla into a corner and got a rope on it, then Ann's black. Mounting up, leading the two horses, she started for the trail. In so doing, she would pass not fifty feet from where I was hidden.

Sliding back, I worked around to the edge of the trail. And as she started down, I stepped out. "Lisa?"

Her horse shied violently, and she jumped. Her face went a shade whiter, and then she was staring at me, all eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for the girl who rode that horse?"

"Girl?" Her tone was shrill, with a note of panic. "This is no girl's horse."

"It is, Lisa. That horse belongs to Ann Timberly. The girl I danced with at the box supper."

"But it can't be!" she protested. "The brand-"

"HF Connected is one of the brands Timberly runs," I said, "and when she left home, Ann was riding that horse."

Her face was deadly pale. "Oh, my God!" There was horror in her eyes. "I don't believe it! I don't believe it!"

"The other horse belonged to Danny Rolf, who rides for the Stirrup-Iron," I said. "At least, it was a horse he rode. He rode down here hunting you, I believe."

"I know it. He came to the house, but I sent him away. I told him to go away and never come back."

"And he went?"

"Well," she hesitated, "he argued. He didn't want to go. He said he'd ridden all day, hunting me. Said he just wanted to talk a little. I was scared. Ihad to get him away. Ihad to." She paused. "Finally, he went."

"He didn't get very far, Lisa. Only a few miles."

She stared at me. "What do you mean?"

"He was shot, Lisa. Killed. Shot in the back and then shot again by somebody who stood over him and wanted to make sure he was dead. And now that same person has captured Ann ... and I don't know whether she's dead yet or not."

"I didn't know," she pleaded. "I didn't know. I knew he was bad, but--"

"Who is he, Lisa?"

She stared at me. "He's my brother." Her face looked frozen with fear.

"Lisa, where is he? Where is your brother? Where's Ann?"

"I don't know. I don't believe he has her. I don't ..." her voice broke off. "... Maybe ... There's an old adobe down on the Concho. He's never let me go there."

"Why?"

"He ... he met the Kiowas there ... Maybe others. I don't know. He traded horses with them sometimes, and sometimes he gave them cattle."

"Where were you aiming to take those horses?"

"Over on Tepee Draw. He told me to turn them loose over there, and to start them south. I should have done it last night, but I was tired, and--"

"Where is he now? Where's your brother, Ann?"

"He's gone. He drove some cattle south. And when he does that, he's always gone all day."

"Lisa, if you'll take my advice, just take those horses out, turn them loose, and keep right on going. Don't ever come back."

"I can't do what you ask. He'd kill me. He told me that if I ever tried to run away, he'd kill me." She stared at me. "He ... he's been good to me. He's kind and gentle and never raises his voice around home. We always have enough to eat, and he's never gone very long. But I was afraid ... He came back one day with another rifle and a pistol. I never knew where they came from and I think he gave them to the Kiowas. After that, I was scared."

"You didn't know he was around when Danny was killed?"

"Oh, no!" Her expression changed just a little. "I don't know that Dannyhas been killed. Only that you say so."

"He's been killed. Take my advice and get out. I'm going to look for Ann."

She stared at me. "Are you in love with her?"

"In love?" I shook my head. "I never thought of it. Maybe I am. I only know she's a girl alone and in bad trouble--if she's alive."

"He wouldn't kill a woman. Not him. I don't believe he'd even touch one. He's always been kind of afraid of women. Good women, I mean. He certainly sees enough of the other kind."

"Where?"

"That place they call Over-the-River. He goes there."

"What's his name, Lisa?"

She shook her head. "Stay away from him ...Please ! His name is John Baker ... He's only my half-brother, but he's been good to me. They call him Twin."

"Twin? Why?"

"He was a twin. His brother Stan was killed up north some years back. They'd been stealing cattle. He never would tell me who killed his brother. Or how, except that it was a woman."

"Awoman ?"

"They'd stolen some cattle from her, and she trailed them. She had a couple of her boys. And that woman shot Stan. Killed him."

Ma ...

"Please, Milo, get away from here! Ride! Do anything. Butget away ! He'll kill you. He's talked about it, lives for it. And he's killed other men in gunfights. I know he has because he's told me. And he always says, 'But just you wait! Them Talons! Just you wait!' "