Riders From Long Pines (26 page)

“Yeah, I knew that . . . ,” said Grissin. As if dismissing things for a moment, he straightened in his saddle, took out a fresh cigar from inside his coat and looked all around the clearing. “I wonder if the rights to this place came along with the deed to Long Pines?” he asked, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

“You ought to check it all out with your land attorney,” said Tillman Duvall, seated atop his horse beside him.

“Clel Davis built this place on open land,” offered Harper. “Nobody owns it . . . it's
open land
forever.”

“Forever is a long, long time,” Grissin mused, “just ask anybody who's dead.” He bit the end off his cigar, spit it away and stuck the cigar into his teeth. On his other side stood Sheriff Peyton Quinn. He wore a bloody bandage on the spot where his ear had been, a bandanna tied around his head to keep the bandage in place. He stepped his horse forward, struck a long sulfur match and reached it over to the tip of the expectant cigar.

“Keep quiet, Tadpole,” Mackenzie said to Harper under his breath.

Grissin puffed on the cigar and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Thank you, Sheriff,” he said, staring more harshly at Mackenzie as he spoke. “Do you
drovers
realize all the trouble you've put me through?”

“I'm all broken up over that, Mr. Grissin,” said Mackenzie, realizing how wounded and worn out he and his pals were, “but the fact is, all the trouble we've had has been because of us trying to return the money to its rightful owner.”

Grissin ignored his words. “Well, now it appears you've done it,” he said. His gaze narrowed. “Where is my money?”

Mackenzie gestured a nod over his shoulder toward the cabin door. “It's inside, on the floor, right where we intended to leave it.”

“Go fetch it, Fellows,” Grissin said to the half-breed.

Antan Fellows swung down from his saddle and walked straight into the cabin. The drovers took a step away and made room for him.

In seconds the tall half-breed stepped back through the open door, stood in front of Grissin and hefted the bag as if to toss it up to him.

But Grissin made no motion of wanting to catch the bag. “I'll be damned, there it is,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “It even looks like it's all still there.”

“It's heavy enough, I expect it is,” Antan said with a trace of a grin, not knowing how much money had been inside the bag in the first place. He stepped over beside his horse, the heavy money bag in hand.

“No, it's not all there,” said Mackenzie. “We took a few dollars out for some supplies we needed to treat our wounds and get us up here to the cabin.”

“Why would you tell me a thing like that?” Grissin asked, staring at him curiously. He shrugged and shook his head. “I would have left here not knowing.”

“Because it's the truth,” Mackenzie said flatly.

“Oh, the
truth
. Now I understand,” said Grissin. He shook his head again. “You were going to walk away, just leave all that money lying in the dirt?” he asked, looking both puzzled and agitated by the thought of them doing such a thing. “That's damned hard for me to believe,” he added bluntly.

“You don't have to believe us. Five minutes longer, you would have seen for yourself,” Mackenzie said.

“We're not liars, mister,” said Harper, unable to let the remark pass in spite of Mackenzie having told him to keep quiet.

“Maybe you're not liars,” Quinn said with a dark scowl, testy and cross in his pain. “But you damned sure are fools.”

Neither Grissin nor Duvall seemed to notice the offense the drovers had taken at Quinn's insult. But a few feet away, Chester Cannidy had seen it. In his lap his hand tightened on his rifle stock. Beside Cannidy, Clayton Longworth had not seen the tracker clutch his rifle, but he'd felt a tension seem to close in and tighten around them. He glanced back and forth, his hand also on the rifle lying across his lap.

“We're neither liars nor fools,” Mackenzie replied tight-jawed. “We're just four working drovers trying to get by.”

“Who lost our jobs because the spread we worked for got bought out from under us,” Brewer tacked on. He looked toward Cannidy, who looked away, not liking where he knew this was headed if Grissin didn't show some good sense and manners and let them pass unharmed.

“Yeah . . .” Holly Thorpe took a step closer to Jock Brewer and threw in, “And who got gypped out of our last month's pay.”

Grissin stared at the four for a tense moment, then said to Cannidy, “Foreman, did you know anything about these drovers not getting their pay?”

Cannidy had heard Grissin tell the bookkeeper to get rid of them without their pay, but Cannidy knew better than to say so here and now. Instead he ducked the issue and said, “It was that new bookkeeper, Clifford Moorland, boss. I was standing there when he told Mackenzie here that they wouldn't get paid.”

Grissin gave a one-shoulder shrug toward Mackenzie and said, “There, you see, trail boss? I had no knowledge of the matter. If I had it would never have happened.”

“I expect it doesn't matter now anyway,” Mackenzie said.

“It still matters to me,” Grissin said. “Before I leave, I want to make sure everybody here gets what's coming to them.” As he spoke he nudged his horse around to where Antan Fellows stood holding the big money bag. Reaching down to him with his black-gloved hand, Grissin hefted the canvas bag up and laid it on his lap. “Kill them!” he ordered. Then he quickly nailed his boot heels to his horse's sides.

From up on the steep rocky hillside Maria watched Grissin give the order and try to ride away. She had been staying down out of sight keeping watch on the horses. But as she saw the fighting commence, she grabbed both her shotgun and her rifle and came running down across the stream to the drovers' aid.

Thorpe had kept a close watch on Grissin, expecting some sort of treachery from the former outlaw turned businessman. Before Grissin had gotten the words out of his mouth, Thorpe had raised his battered range Colt from his holster and fired. His shot sliced across Grissin's upper arm and caused him to drop the heavy canvas bag as he struggled to quickly right himself and his spooked horse.

Tillman Duvall, the fastest of the gunmen, jumped his horse between Grissin and Thorpe. He drew his big revolver quickly and shot Thorpe squarely in the head—or so he thought. Without hesitating a second to see what damage his shot had done, he spun his horse immediately and fired at Mackenzie. He didn't see Thorpe's hat fly from his head as Thorpe fell backward with a long streaking graze down the middle of his forehead.

“Look out, Mac!” Harper shouted, seeing Duvall throw down in the trail boss's direction. As he shouted, Harper spun on his heel and fired his rifle. His shot clipped off Duvall's saddle horn. Catching the impact of the flying saddle horn in his crotch, Duvall jackknifed in his saddle and toppled to the ground as his frightened horse reared high and bolted away.

“Wait! Don't shoot!” shouted Cannidy, raising a hand toward Mackenzie as if a raised hand was all it would take to stop the bloodshed.

But Mackenzie had no time to hear Cannidy's plea. He had felt a bullet from Duvall's revolver slice through the air an inch from his head.

“You led them to us!” Brewer shouted at Cannidy as he fired. His shot picked Cannidy up from his saddle and hurled him backward to the ground. Antan Fellows, who had not yet mounted after handing Grissin the money bag, ducked down under the raging gunfire and ran for cover. He dived and rolled behind a water trough and lay flat in the dirt just as a bullet from Harper's rifle whistled across his back.

Watching the bag of money, Clayton Longworth managed to avoid any gunfire. He booted his horse toward the big canvas bag lying on the ground where Grissin had dropped it. But before he got to it, he saw Grissin drop from his saddle and run over and pick it up.

“Hold it, Grissin!” said Maria, running in from across the stream and holding the big shotgun pointed in Grissin's face at close range. Longworth, seeing the big shotgun come into play, slid his horse to a dust-raising halt. “Call off your men!” Maria demanded of Grissin.

Grissin stared wide-eyed down the black open bores of the shotgun barrels. “Everybody! Stop!” he shouted, holding the bag of money against his chest, waving his other hand back and forth toward his men.

“You too!” Maria called over to Mackenzie and Harper, who stood with their guns smoking in their hands.

Mackenzie looked around quickly, seeing Thorpe rise from the dirt with a bloody bullet graze on his bare head. Brewer stood with his Colt in one hand, his rifle in his other, smoke curling from the barrels of both guns.

As he stared at Maria, something in Grissin's demeanor changed. He glanced past her, gave a slight grin and jiggled the money bag. “You have no business here, little lady, this is a private matter.”

“I said
hold it
!” Maria warned him, seeing he was about to walk forward toward her.

“No, you hold it,” Sheriff Peyton Quinn growled, stepping in behind her as if from out of nowhere. His forearm swung around her neck so quickly and drew her so close to him that Mackenzie and the drovers dared not risk a shot for fear of hitting her. Jerking the shotgun from her hands, he hurled it away and said, “Like Mr. Grissin told you, ‘this is a private matter.' ”

Mackenzie stood frozen, as did Tad Harper, Jock Brewer and Holly Thorpe. Standing nearest to their former trail boss, Brewer whispered under his breath, “What now, Mac? We've got a standoff situation.”

Mackenzie didn't answer; he knew he didn't have to. Brewer wasn't asking a question. It was just his way of reassuring Mackenzie that his back was covered. Mackenzie trusted the three men standing with him well enough to know that whatever move he made they were behind him to their death if need be. “Make him turn her lose, Grissin,” he called out, “before you lose what little you think you've gained here.”

Grissin had taken a step forward and jerked the rifle from Maria's hands. He turned slowly and gave Mackenzie a bemused look. “What little I think I have gained?” He jiggled the bag of money. “You still don't seem to understand . . . I'm the one holding all the cards here.”

“All you're holding is a bag of paper and ink,” said Mackenzie. “You should've left well enough alone. You had the money. All we wanted to do was leave.”

“Oh? Hear that, Mr. Duvall?” Grissin mused. “All I have is a bag of paper and ink.”

“I heard it,” said Duvall. He stepped over in front of Quinn and Maria. He reached down and took Maria's Colt from her holster and pitched it away. “All you've got is paper and ink and all the sheriff's got here is an armful of wildcat.” He grinned, cocked his gun and shoved the tip of the barrel up under Maria's chin, tipping her head upward. “But whatever we've got, it sure has gotten us everybody's attention.”

“I've got her, Duvall,” Quinn said, not liking the way the gunman had stepped in and begun to take things over from him. “Tell him I've got her, Mr. Grissin,” the one-eared sheriff called out. “I'm the one who slipped in and caught her by surprise!”

But Grissin didn't answer the angry sheriff. Instead he spun his attention to the sound of the big dog walking down off the hillside and stopping on the other side of the stream. “The colonel's dog,” Grissin said, watching the big bloody-mouthed cur sit down and stare at him intently. “I knew the ranger had to be around here somewhere.” His voice dropped to a low whisper as he searched the rocky, brushy hillside.

Quinn also turned toward the hillside, Maria in front of him. His face took on a fearful look. Seeing it, Duvall gave a dark chuckle and said, “Are you sure you still want to hold on to her?” As he asked, he reached out to take Maria from him. Quinn didn't protest. He turned Maria over to Duvall and took a step back, his gun still up and cocked.

As Duvall took Maria from him, she called out to the hillside, “Sam, look out! Don't come down here!”

Duvall cut off her words with a gloved hand over her mouth.

The four drovers looked at one another, their guns still in hand.

Longworth took a cautious step backward, recalling the bullet he'd taken the last time the ranger had questioned his intentions in a gunfight. Antan Fellows stood watching the drovers, ready for them to make a move. On the ground, Cannidy struggled up onto his knees, a wide ribbon of blood reaching down the center of his chest.

Grissin stood tensed for a moment, searching the hillside, ready for whatever response Maria's words would bring. Finally he let out a breath and let the bag and his gun slump a bit. “Well, maybe even the bold Ranger Sam Burrack knows when the odds are too greatly stacked against him.”

But Longworth was buying none of it. He backed away a step farther and stood in silence. His eyes moved back and forth slowly from the bag of money to the steep hillside, as if weighing his chances at some risky game.

“What do I do with her now, let her go?” Duvall asked, starting to wonder himself just what might be at work.

“No, don't let her go,” said Grissin. He raised his voice toward the hillside. “She stays with us until the ranger decides to
butt out of my business
.” His voice grew louder as he spoke.

“What about breaking the law?” Quinn cut in. “You're the one always wanting to stay clean.”

“Oh, we're within the law,” said Grissin. “My attorneys will see to that.” He dropped the heavy bag of money in the dirt by his feet for a moment and rubbed his palm on his trouser leg. “Let's look at what has happened here,” he said. “This woman comes out of nowhere, wielding a shotgun while all we're trying to do is get back what's rightfully mine.” He gave Maria a grin. “My lawyers will eat this up.”