the Trail to Seven Pines (1972) (6 page)

"Jacks?" Ruyters puckered his brow. "Didn't know he was a miner."

"Ghost Mountain?" Hopalong asked, looking over at Kid Newton. "Why the ghost part?"

"Supposed to be haunted. Used to be a minin' town over there by the name of Star City. She died out about 1868, but there were a couple of fellers who fell into a shaft up there on the mountain and starved to death before they were found. Folks say their ghosts have been seen. Me, I figure it's just a story some of that Corn Patch outfit put out."

"I hear that's a tough place," Cassidy said.

Frenchy Ruyters nodded agreement. "It is at any time. Poker Harris runs a sort of store, saloon, and gamblin' joint there. Hangout for outlaws. He's poison-mean himself and he carries a sawed-off shotgun most of the time. Plays a good hand of draw, they say.

"Four, five outlaws hang out there all the time, but right now there's better than twenty. Tough galoots, too."

"Lefty Hale's down there," Milligan offered. "From the Big Bend country."

"I know him," Hoppy said. "He was one of that outfit from Talley Mountain."

Tex Milligan's eyes brightened. "You know that country? I was born below Shafter, at a place called Burnt Camp."

"I know the place," Hopalong said, smiling. "It's near Fresno Canyon."

"That's right." Milligan grinned. "Well, what do you know?"

Hopalong rinsed out his cup and got to his feet. "We'd better slope it. You patrollin' this line, Kid?"

"Yeah." The boy's eyes went to the other hands, who were busy tightening girths and some distance away. "Hoppy," he said suddenly, "I maybe shouldn't tell this, but I figure I ought to. I thought about tellin' the boss, but I was afraid I'd start trouble. Miss Lenny has been meetin' an hombre in Majuba Canyon."

"Well," Hopalong suggested, "I reckon that's her business. We only ride herd on the cows, Kid."

"Yeah." The boy's face flushed. "But this here hombrewell, he's plumb bad, if you ask me. It's that gunman, Clarry Jacks!"

Hopalong Cassidy remembered the handsome, dashing young man from Katie Regan's and understood how Kid Newton must feel. Clarry Jacks might be all right, but all of Hopalong's instincts warned him that he was not.

"I-I heard some talk over to the ranch," Newton volunteered. "The boss don't want her seem' him atall. He said so, some time back. He ordered Jacks off the place.

Jacks laughed at him, then went."

Hopalong nodded. "All right, Kid. Keep it under your hat. I'll think it over." Yet as he rode away he remembered that it was none of his business, not any of his business at all. Newton, he imagined, was more than a little infatuated with Lenny Ronson, and it was easy to understand, as was Lenny's interest in Clarry Jacks.

Frenchy and Tex were already in their saddles, and Hopalong swung up. They were two miles along the trail before he spoke. "What about Jacks? Know anything about him?"

"He's bad," Ruyters said quietly. "He killed a man over to Unionville last year .

. . deliberately picked the fight. He's killed three other men I know of and a couple I suspect. That partner of his, Dud Leeman, he's just about as mean himself."

The roundup was still several days away, and there was much work to do before they could begin. It was work that had to be done, by all of them. There might be trouble at the roundup itself, but Hopalong looked for little until it was over. Besides, the losses to Rocking R cattle and the gain by other herds would show up strongly then and bring the whole affair into the open. It might well be that something would occur during the roundup that would start trouble and start it fast.

It would be well to be ready for that, and it looked as if a ride to town and a talk to Shorty Montana were in order. From all he had heard, Montana was a fighter, and that was the sort of man they needed right now. Every fighting man they added to the Rocking R outfit meant that much less danger of trouble. Everybody on this range knew that Montana would take no water from anyone, and that in itself would help.

Frenchy and Milligan were good men. How good the others were remained to be seen.

Moreover, the battle had been opened by his facing of Windy Gore and his beating of Gore's rider. At least they now knew that the Rocking R was not a fat sheep in high oats, to be taken when they wanted it. This would not stop the hardiest ones but might cause the rustling to ease off until after the roundup, when it would be less easy than now.

Where Clarry Jacks fitted into the picture, Cassidy could not guess, and he was not the man to interfere in something that was none of his business.

His thoughts returned to the stage holdup, the murder of Jesse Lock, and the killing of Thacker.

Thacker had been a dangerous gunman, he had learned. Where had the man been going?

Who had killed him? A man fearless enough to give Thacker his chance with a gun would be a man among few, a man who could be found without too much trouble, for not many would have dared. It could only be a man supremely confident and supremely arrogant.

And a man supremely cold-blooded, for it was probable the same man had murdered Jesse Lock.

As they approached the ranch headquarters the others rode on ahead. Cassidy drew up on a rise and rolled a smoke, considering the whole situation. There were too many angles. The Gores and their 3 G outfit, the rustlers of Corn Patch, Clarry Jacks and whatever he was, and the holdup and killing of Jesse Lock.

Did they tie up anywhere at all? That was a question, but it was doubtful. Many western towns had hangers-on like Jacks. Men who lived on little, put up a big front, and lazed around, playing poker and keeping out of work. Sometimes they were on the rustle.

And Jacks was supposed to be a gunfighter. He was cold-blooded. Had it been Jacks who killed Thacker and Lock?

"It must be serious to have you thinking so much."

Hopalong turned to face a tall, stately-looking girl who was beautiful, with quiet dignity and charm.

"It is, I reckon," Cassidy said frankly. "You must be Irene Ronson."

"Yes. You were thinking about the ranch? I often come up here to look at it, and I know I'll miss it when I go."

"You're leaving?"

"Only for town. I'm to marry Dr. Marsh in Seven Pines."

"He's a lucky man."

"I sometimes feel like a traitor." She looked off at the surrounding hills. "With all this trouble I'm afraid of what may happen to the ranch."

"We'll save it," Hopalong said quietly. 'Tour brother's a good man."

Then he told her about the happenings of the afternoon, leaving out only what Kid Newton had told him about Lenny and Clarry Jacks. She listened attentively and nodded from time to time.

"We've all known there would be< trouble with the Gores," she said. "Lenny wanted to send Clarry over there, and he volunteered to go. But Bob wouldn't stand for it.

And he wouldn't hire Clarry."

Hopalong secretly thought him wise but said nothing. Irene turned on him suddenly.

"You've one enemy now," she said quietly. "I hate to say this, but you've an enemy in my sister. Lenny was furious at Bob for hiring you. She's a wonderful girl and I love her very much, but she's headstrong and she has always believed the man to run the ranch was Clarry Jacks."

"But I'm not running it," he objected. "I'm only segundoin charge of trouble," he added.

"I know, but Leonora doesn't like it one bit. She feels left out so much, anyway.

Bob and I usually see things much alike, but Lenny . . . well, she has her own viewpoint."

There were hoofbeats behind them, and they turned. Her hair flaming in the late sunlight, Lenny Ronson sat her horse, looking at them. Her face was cold and her eyes level.

"That's right, Irene, I have. And my viewpoint is that Hopalong Cassidy should never have been hired!"

Her glance chilled as she turned to meet his eyes. "You know what they are saying, don't you? That you killed Jesse Lock! That you held up the stage! That you killed Thacker!" She paused. "They are saying just that, and they've told Ben Lock. He's in town, and he's looking for you! He's going to kill you! And I"-her eyes flashed-"I'm glad of it!"

Chapter
4

Shorty Hunts for Trouble
.

When Hopalong swung from the saddle, the Nevada Saloon was ablaze with lights. While loosening the girth he studied the street. Supper should be over at Katie's, and the saloons were doing a rushing business. A cool wind from off the mountains had emptied the street of loafers, and he saw but one man, a solitary figure, leaning idly against an awning support in front of a darkened saddle shop. The man wore miner's boots and a nondescript hat.

Hopalong knocked the dust from his hat, remembering the accusations Lenny Ronson had made. Her attitude had changed since the morning he arrived. Had it been because of learning he was to be right-hand man to her brother? Or because of something she had learned from Clarry Jacks at their meeting in Majuba Canyon?

The last seemed most probable, especially as she reported to him what she had heard was being said in Seven Pines.

He scowled unhappily. Were such things really being said? The place to find out was at Katie's.

And Ben Lock was in town looking for him. Had Lock said he would kill him? Or was that just Lenny talking? Or Jacks speaking through her? Ben Lock came of feudal stock, and he might shoot first and ask questions after. Hopalong crossed the street to Katie's, and pushing open the door, he stepped in.

Katie smiled quickly. She was alone in the restaurant.

"Katie," Cassidy asked quickly, "is Ben Lock in town?"

Her face grew serious instantly. "He sure is, Mr. Cassidy, and he wants to talk to you."

"What sort of hombre is he?"

Katie Regan hesitated, then shook her head. "I-I don't know. He's under thirty, good-looking in a sharp, rugged way, and he doesn't smile very much. Jesse almost worshiped him.

He was always telling me things Ben had done.

"They were in some feud in Missouri before coming out here. Their father and uncle were both killed, but Ben finished off the other side. They came west together. He works very hard, and he is strictly honest, I think. And he loved his brother."

Hopalong nodded thoughtfully. "Give me some coffee," he said; then, "coffee and pie."

The door opened suddenly, and Hopalong glanced up. The newcomers were Pony Harper and Clarry Jacks. Both men smiled and nodded. "Howdy, Hopalong," said Harper. "It's all over town about you being' here! I reckon this is the biggest news in months!"

"Bigger than the holdups?" Hopalong asked dryly.

Harper shrugged. "Those holdups are gettin' so they ain't news." He looked sharply at Hopalong. "By the way, we had us an election today and I'm the new mayor. There was some talk of hirin' a town marshal. It come to me that you were just the man for the job. How about it?"

"I've got a job." Hopalong smiled and shook his head. "Thanks just the same."

"But this one will pay twice as much!" Harper protested. "We'll pay a hundred and fifty a month and you split the costs from any arrests with the J. P." He winked.

"That there could run into a sizable chunk of money with this town as tough as it is. Mileage, too. Now that's an item. A marshal can pile up a sight of mileage if he wants."

"I've got a job," Hopalong repeated. "Anyway, I'm a rider, not a peace officer."

"Sorry!" Harper seemed irked. "We could have used you."

Hopalong tasted the coffee, then grinned at Katie. "Ma'am," he said, "I sure hope no cowhand marries you off until I leave town! This is the best coffee I've tasted since leavin' Texas!"

The door swung open, and a man walked into the room. He was short and barrel-chested, with a wide jaw and a broken nose. His eyes were blue, but despite the liquor he seemed to be carrying, his expression was not vague. He had big hands and wore two guns swung low and tied down.

"Shorty," Katie said severely, "you're drunk again!"

The man grinned widely and impudently. "Not-yet! My walk's no worse than usual and I can still talk straight. Only"his eyes drifted to Pony Harper and Clarry Jacks-"only I do smell somethin' funny, somethin' mighty pecoolyar."

Shorty Montana stared at the two men. "I sure do! I smell polecat. Two polecatsh!"

He looked around in mock bewilderment. "Wheresh the other polecatsh?"

Pony Harper's face hardened and his lips thinned. Clarry Jacks looked ugly, and there was a devil in his eyes. Cassidy could guess why Jacks hesitated to make an issue of it. Montana was popular, and a killing by Jacks would be apt to blow the lid off more than one thing right now. As for Harper, he wanted no part of Montana at any time. It was an interesting and revealing picture. Hopalong studied it while drinking his coffee. Shorty at least was not afraid of either of them, for he did not hesitate to bait them, obviously welcoming trouble. And trouble could not profit either of the others.

Shorty leaned his big hands on the table. "I said-wheresh the other polecatsh?"

"Shorty!" Katie Regan spoke sharply now. "Shorty, come over here and drink your coffee!