The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 2 (10 page)

Jim's shotgun held steady. “Castle,” he replied, his voice ringing the length of the street, “you're a liar! I have a letter from my brother telling me of the trouble he was having and asking me to come out. He had no intention of selling out, and he did have plans for developing the ranch.

“As for your ownership, I am asking right now, before the town of Toiyabe, for you to produce a bill of sale. I want to see it in the office of Creighton Burt not later than the day after tomorrow.”

There was no movement; the street held its silence. Nobody realized better than Reed Castle the position he faced. Since acquiring the Antelope Valley property nothing had stopped him. His personality and strength had drawn Shippey, Chase, and Ives to him and into the combine he formed. Other cattlemen had been frozen out or driven out, and Castle was building strong and deep.

In the town itself only Creighton Burt held out against him in the open, although Castle was well aware that many lesser men both feared and hated him.

Now he had been called a liar in the open street. He had been indirectly accused of murder and theft. Nor would the story stop with the borders of this small town. It would be told and repeated in Carson, Austin, and Eureka.

“We'll make it noon, Castle. Show up with your bill of sale, and if you have one the signature had better be valid!”

Coolly, he lowered his shotgun, picked up the dropped sack, and walked across the street. Nearly Pike waited at the corner of the alley, his rifle in his hands. “Wal, son, you sure laid down your argument. Now they've got to put up or shut up.”

The ride to Horse Heaven was by a devious route. Neither man knew exactly where they were going, just a general direction and some landmarks to look for. They headed northeast when leaving Toiyabe, then turned back to the southwest through Ackerman Canyon. Daylight found them camped near Antelope Peak.

From there they turned back into the hills, climbing steadily through the pines and aspen, riding warily, for they understood their situation without discussion. The easy way out, perhaps the only way, was to have Locklin killed so he could not appear at Burt's office. If he did not appear it could be shrugged off as the talk of some loud-mouthed drifter. There would be criticism, but Castle could merely say that he had been there, ready with his bill of sale, and where was this so-called Locklin fellow?

The narrow trail through the trees ended in a long basin, a grass-covered basin scattered here and there with clumps of trees and brush. On the far side, nestled against a corner of the mountain, was a cabin. A lazy trail of smoke mounted toward the sky.

“You kicked into an anthill,” Pike commented. “Castle will have men ridin' the hills huntin' you.”

Locklin had been thinking of that, and now they drew up in the shadow of some pines and studied the cabin and its vicinity with careful attention. A saddled horse was tied near the corral, and three other horses were loose in the corral.

As they watched, two people came into sight, a girl from the cabin and an Indian from the rocks near the cliff. “That's the Injun you spoke for, Jim. I'd know that odd limp anywhere.”

They had no sooner broken from cover than they were seen. The girl started toward the cabin, but something said by the Indian stopped her, and she turned back.

What he had expected he was not sure, but certainly not what he found. She was a tall, beautifully shaped girl with dark skin, from which her gray eyes were both startling and lovely. She studied him carefully as he drew near, but she was by no means frightened. She had poise and manner, and seemed perfectly sure of herself. The Indian was wearing a gun now.

“Howdy, ma'am,” Jim said. “I'm Locklin. I own this place.”

“I know who you are. As to owning this place, that's a matter for discussion. Get down and come in, will you? Patch told me what you did for him.”

Inside she busied herself putting food on the table and getting coffee started. “I'm Army Locklin. Army being short for Armorel, the Locklin because I was married to your brother.”

“You were
what
?”

“We were married the day he disappeared. He got word of trouble at the ranch just after reaching town. He left me in town and rushed back to the place and right into an ambush. He was shot down, got away into the brush, and that was the last he was seen.”

“I don't know what to say. George said nothing of you in his letters.”

She smiled bitterly. “He did not know me then. I came to Toiyabe to marry Reed Castle, but we did not see eye to eye on several subjects, and I refused to go through with it.

“Reed became angry and threatened me, then he tried to get the people at the hotel to turn me out. George had had trouble with Reed, so when he heard of it he came to me and offered his assistance.”

Her eyes turned to Jim. “I was alone in the world, and it had taken the last of my money to come here from San Francisco. I told George I did not love him, but if he really wanted me I'd try to become a good wife. We were married, but I never had a chance to be anything to him.

“Now,” she added, “you know why I have no use for Castle, and why he wants me out of the country.”

“How'd you meet him in the first place?”

“My father died, and he did not leave me very much. I had friends back east who knew Reed Castle, and they told him about me and sent him a picture. He proposed by mail. It all seemed very romantic, a handsome western rancher and all that.”

“Why did you suggest I might not own this place?”

“You own half of it. I own the other half. I filed a claim on the land that lies alongside of your ranch.

“You see, George gave me money when we were married. He did not have all that much, but he did not want me to feel bound, and if I was unhappy I could leave whenever I wished.

“After George disappeared Reed came forward with a bill of sale and claimed the ranch. He said George had changed his mind about being married to me, had sold the ranch and skipped out. I did not believe a word of it, but I could prove nothing. Everybody was feeling very sorry for me, but after all, I had not known George but a few days, and he
might
have decided marriage was not for him. I could prove nothing.”

“But you stayed on?”

“There was nowhere to go. George might reappear. And then, George had told me you were coming.” She paused. “Did—did George ever mention a silver strike? Not far from here?”

“Silver?” He frowned, trying to think back. There had been a number of letters, early on. “No, I don't think so.”

Then he indicated the bunkhouse where the Indian had gone. “What about Patch? Where does he fit in?”

“I don't know. I honestly don't. He rode in here one day on a flea-bitten roan pony, and wanted to work for me. I did need help, but had so little money. He told me he wanted to work for me and I could pay him when I wished. Since then he has worked hard, has been loyal, too, only when Reed Castle is around he always gets out of sight. I think he may be afraid of him.”

“Why do you call him Patch? Is he an Apache?”

“He is, but he would give me no name, so I began calling him that.”

There was no accounting for Indians. They had their own ideas, and followed them. Few Apaches could be found this far north and west, for they loved their southwestern desert country, but there were wanderers from all tribes.

Reed Castle was no fool. Crooked he might be, but he was also intelligent and shrewd, and the two were rarely the same thing. He would know that any bill of sale he might have would be an obvious forgery, so he must have other irons in the fire. Of course, he knew George Locklin was dead, and he had had nothing to worry about until now.

Jim Locklin wanted more than simply to recover the ranch. He wanted to face the man who had killed George. At this date the proof would be hard to come by, but the more he thought about it the more he wondered. George had always been a thorough man who left little to chance, and he had lived long enough to reach the cave on Savory Creek. As he certainly had not lived with that hole in his head, he must have received the spinal wound first, but had somehow kept going until he reached the cave.

He had undoubtedly been helpless when he was killed, but had he been helpless when he arrived? How much time had he before his lower limbs became paralyzed?

With a growing feeling of excitement, Jim Locklin got up and went to the bunkhouse. His brother had always been one to communicate. He always left messages behind him. One never had to guess with George. He always had a plan. There had been a hollow in the rocks on the old L Bar, and there had been a rock under a tree on the way to Toiyabe where they exchanged messages.

So why not now, of all times? If he had struggled to reach that cave with almost his last strength, it must have been done with purpose.

Excited though he was, he finally dropped off, and, tired from travel, he slept deeply.

He awakened to daybreak and angry voices. Hurriedly, he threw on some clothing and, grabbing his rifle, went to the door. His breath caught sharply as he saw Ives and several of his riders. Patch was nowhere in sight, but one of Ives's men had a rifle on Pike and Army.

Resting his rifle against the doorjamb he called out, “Looking for me, Burly? I'm right here!”

Ives turned sharply in his saddle, but only the rifle indicated Locklin's presence. And the rifle was aimed at him.

The bunkhouse walls were too solid to shoot through, and Ives was no longer in command of the situation. If shooting started it was quite obvious who would get shot first.

A rattle of horses' hooves distracted his attention, and when Locklin followed Burly's gaze he saw a half-dozen riders led by a square-built, oldish man with a white mustache. “What's goin' on here, Burly? You're not goin' to make trouble for that girl while I'm around!”

“Keep out of this, John! I came here to settle things with this here Locklin.”

Jim put down the rifle and reached to the empty upper bunk for the shotgun he had left there. “If you want to settle things with me, why bring your whole outfit?” He stepped out into the yard. “Or do you think you need all that help to handle one man?”

“Put down that shotgun and I'll break you in half!”

Locklin handed the shotgun to Pike. “Get down off that horse and we'll see.” He glanced at the white-haired man. “I take it you are John Shippey? Will you see that I get fair play?”

“You're durned tootin' I will!” He waved a hand. “Everybody stand back and let them have at it. Anybody who tries to interfere will settle with me.”

Burly unbuckled his gun belts with great good humor and hung them on the saddle horn. Having little stomach for gunfights, he relished a chance to use his fists. That he had never been whipped helped him to anticipate the fight.

“He'll make two of you, son!” Pike protested. “Look at the size of him!”

Locklin ignored him. He was intent upon Ives now, and thinking only of him. He moved in swiftly. He circled warily. It was obvious from Burly's manner that he was no stranger to fighting, yet when the big man moved his first tentative blow was short. Locklin feinted a move, side-stepped quickly and smashed Ives in the mouth. The blow landed solidly, and blood splashed from badly cut lips. Locklin started to draw away and it was all that saved him. A hard right on the ear knocked him staggering, and Burly rushed, his greater height, weight, and reach driving Locklin back, off balance. Jim landed a couple of ineffective blows to the body.

Jim caught a hard blow and went down. Ives, carried forward by the impetus of his rush, tried a hasty kick and missed. Locklin came up fast, his head still buzzing from the blow he'd caught, and he went under a left and smashed both hands to the body. Neither man knew more of fighting than what they had learned by applying it, but both were skilled in the rough-and-tumble style of the frontier, which they had been using since boyhood.

Locklin bored in, went under a swing with a right to the body, then an overhand left that split Ives's ear and staggered him. Instantly, Locklin was on him, his blows ripping and slashing at the bigger man.

Ives struggled to get set, striking back with heavy, ponderous blows. Suddenly, Locklin ceased to punch and, diving low, grabbed Ives around the knees and upended him.

Ives hit the dirt with a thud, but he rolled over like a cat and came to his feet. Jim was set for him, and caught him with a hard right that cracked like a ball bat. Then Jim rushed in close and began to batter at Ives's body.

Ives was badly cut, and one of his eyes almost closed, yet Locklin was weary simply from punching and holding the larger man off.

He put his head on the bigger man's chest and punched at his body with both hands. Ives, an old river-boat fighter, stabbed at his eyes with a stiff thumb, but Locklin dropped his head to Ives's chest again and suddenly smashed upward with his head, butting him on the chin. Ives staggered, and Locklin swung with both fists for his chin, left and right.

Ives went down hard. He got up slowly, warily. Jim Locklin had backed off, gasping for breath. He started to circle, his foot slipped, and Ives grabbed him in a bear hug, forcing him back. Excruciating pain stabbed him, and Jim fought desperately to free himself, knowing the larger man was strong enough to break his back.

Suddenly, Jim deliberately threw himself backward. He hit the ground hard, but it broke Ives's hold, and Jim got to his feet. Ives dove at him to bring him down again, and Locklin met the dive by jerking up his knee into Ives's face.

The big man went to hands and knees, his features a blur of blood. Locklin waited, gasping. Ives started to rise, and Locklin moved in. A left and right, then a terrific right uppercut that snapped the big man's head back. He went down to his knees, then toppled over on the grass.

Jim staggered back, his jaw hanging as he gasped for breath, waiting for Ives to rise.