The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 2 (29 page)

Bowdrie hesitated on the doorstep, then stepped to the side of the door. It was black and still inside.

“Hey!” he yelled again.

There was no response, and no sound. Chick eased his right-hand gun in its holster and edged toward the door. A hinge creaked out back, and Bowdrie leaped through the door in time to catch a glimpse of a dark shadow at the back door. Then a gun flashed, and he hit the floor, losing the heel from one of his boots.

He did not fire. There was simply no target, and Chick Bowdrie was not one to blaze away on the sheer chance that he might hit something. He got to his feet and edged toward the back door. The ranch yard was shadowy and still, with neither sound nor movement. It was almost dark outside now, and looking for a man in that rough country in the dark would be suicide.

He turned back, and, his eyes becoming accustomed to the vague light, he peered around. He could see but a few things.

A chair lay on its side, and there was scattered bedding. He gambled and struck a light, keeping out of line of either windows or doors. Then he lit a candle.

The body of a man he assumed to be Steve Farago lay sprawled on the floor. His pockets were turned inside out. The old man had been murdered with two bullets through the chest, then thoroughly searched.

The bed had been upset and the mattress jerked off the wooden slats. Several pots had been opened, their contents scattered. Somebody had known that Farago had money and had murdered and robbed him. But had they robbed him? Or had Bowdrie arrived before the job was complete?

Chick dropped beside the body. He unbuttoned the shirt and unfastened the old man's belt. He found what he half-expected—a money belt. Unsnapping a pocket of the belt, Chick dug out a flat packet of bills. Hesitating only an instant, he took three bills from the packet, one from the top, one from the bottom, one from the middle. Returning the packet to the belt, he snapped the pocket shut, rebuckled the belt, and buttoned the shirt. Stepping around the can of spilled flour, Bowdrie blew out the candle, got into the saddle, and took the road for Maravillas, but switching to a roundabout route that would bring him down behind the Culver ranch, on the very edge of town.

Dismounting from the roan, he walked up through the yard. Two horses, bridled and saddled, waited behind the barn. One was the horse Bill Culver had ridden away from the bank.

Holding to the shadows, he got around the barn, ducking across the open yard to the wall of the house. Gently he lifted the latch on the door. It opened under his hand, and he went in on cat feet. The kitchen was dark. A crack of light showed under the door, beyond which he heard a murmur of voices. Suddenly there was a touch of cold steel behind his ear, and he froze in place.

“Now!” It was Pete Mendoza's voice. “You will open the door. One wrong move and this pistol, she speak!”

Chick opened the door with the gun at his back and stepped into the next room, his hands lifted.

Bill Culver started to his feet. The others in the room were Lisa Culver and Rita Mendoza.

“What's going on, Pete? Who is this man?” Bill asked.

“I don't know. He sneak in, so I catch him.”

“If you'll put away that gun, we can sit down and talk. I'd suggest we get it over with before that posse figures out where you are.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Bill demanded.

“I'm Chick Bowdrie. I ride for the Rangers.”

“Oh, Bill!” Lisa exclaimed. “The Rangers! What can you do now?”

“It won't make any difference! Rangers or no Rangers, I am not going to die for a killing I didn't do!”

“Suppose you all hold your horses,” Bowdrie replied mildly. “I haven't said I was hunting you, have I? Don't make trouble for me and get the Rangers on your tail. You have trouble enough without that.”

“If you don't want me, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, sort of figurin' things out, only I was afraid you'd run away before I got things straightened out. You ain't in no trouble now you can't get out of.”

“No trouble!” Rita's eyes flashed. “What you call trouble? He is wanted for robbing and killing! We must run away to Mejico for the marriage!”

Bowdrie shrugged. “Must be mighty excitin' to have two such pretty girls worried over a man.” He glanced at Pete Mendoza. “This marriage all right with you?”

Pete shrugged. “No, not at once. After I hear there is trouble, yes. My daughter is my daughter. If she wants this man, and if she marry with him, all is well. If they are in trouble? Well, I have been in trouble, too!”

Bowdrie glanced at Bill. “You can unsaddle those horses. There's no need to run away. Before sundown tomorrow, you will be a free man … or married,” he added, smiling. “On the other hand, better keep the horses saddled. Pete and I can ride into town with you. We can all stay in the hotel until morning, and then we will get all this straightened out.”

“They'd kill me!” Bill protested. “Yerby told me there was a lot of hard feeling in town.”

“You saw Yerby? He wasn't with the posse?”

“He and King Cowan left the posse, then they split up. Cowan rode across country to see Farago, and Yerby cut back here to see me.”

“What did he want to see you about?”

“He wanted to help. He thinks a lot of Lisa and he wanted to see if I had money enough to get out of the country. You see, he knew I was quitting the bank before the killing of Tom Lindsay. He's been pretty nice.”

“All right, let's get into town.” He turned to Lisa. “I'd come along, if I were you. I doubt if there will be trouble. We will beat the posse back to town.”

When the girls and Bill Culver were safely in the Maravillas Hotel, Bowdrie turned to Mendoza. “Stay with them. I've work to do.”

The street was dark and still. It was past midnight and the little cow town's people had found their way to bed. By six o'clock the next morning it would be awake and busy, stores would all be open by seven, and out on the range the cowhands would have been at work for two to three hours.

Bowdrie moved to the chair he had occupied earlier and settled down to wait. The chair sat in complete darkness, and from that vantage point Bowdrie could view the whole street.

The only place showing a light was the saloon, where the posse, which had ridden in shortly before, were having a few to “cut the dust,” as the saying was.

Chick was tired. It had been a long day. Yet more was to come, and he had a feeling about it. He hitched himself around in his chair to leave his gun ready to hand. His eyes scanned the buildings across the street. The bank was dark and still, its windows staring with wide, blind eyes into the street.

Almost an hour passed before his ear caught a faint noise that might have been a hoof clicking on stone. He slid from the chair and crossed the street and vanished between two of the frame buildings.

At first he could see nothing; then his eyes caught a slight movement toward the rear of the bank, then a faint clink of metal. Bowdrie stepped forward quickly and inadvertently kicked a pebble, which rattled on a loose board. Instantly, flame stabbed from a gun at the rear of the bank.

Bowdrie fired in return, and glimpsed the dark figure of a man lunge toward the barn. Chick fired again, but as he squeezed off his shot, the running man stumbled and fell, rolled over, and vanished around the barn. Bowdrie followed, running. A hastily fired bullet kicked up dust at his feet; then there was a clatter of hooves and he rounded the corner of the barn in time to see a horseman vanish into the trees.

Limping because of his lost boot heel, Bowdrie went back to his chair. Toward daylight he got up and went to the hotel, realizing there was small chance the unknown man would return.

Dawn broke cool and cloudy over the town. Sleepy, and still tired, Bowdrie came down to the hotel door and scanned the street. Already there were horses in front of the saloon and the café. Then he saw Wilse Kennedy striding toward the hotel.

Chick drew back inside. Bill Culver, wide-eyed and pale from an obviously sleepless night, sat in a big hide-covered chair. Lisa was nearby, and beside Culver was Rita Mendoza, clutching one of his hands. Pete Mendoza, square-shouldered and thick-chested, leaned against a newel post at the foot of the stairs, his face somber.

Sheriff Kennedy shoved open the door and stepped in. “I heard you was here,” he said to Culver. “I come after you!”

Josh Chancy, King Cowan, and Ross Yerby crowded into the door behind Kennedy. With them were several others.

“What are you doin' here?” Josh asked Culver. “I figured you'd be halfway to Mexico by now.”

“He told me to stay.” Culver gestured at Bowdrie. “He said he could prove I wasn't guilty.”

Kennedy gave Chick an angry glare. “What business is it of yours? I thought you was ridin' for Yerby?”

“He hired me. I am quitting as of now. My name is Bowdrie.”

“Chick Bowdrie?” Josh exclaimed.

“I happened to be in town,” Bowdrie explained, “on some business of my own. It seems your bank trouble and my case are sort of tied together, so I declared myself in.”

“We got a sheriff to handle our affairs,” Cowan declared. “I've been a friend of that boy's since he was a baby, but if he steals and murders, he pays the penalty! We don't need no Ranger comin' in here to tell us our business!”

“You're damned right!” Kennedy said irritably. “And if he ain't guilty, why'd he run? And who could have opened that safe? He was the only one knew the combination.”

“You've been so busy,” Bowdrie replied, “that I've had no chance to report another crime. Steve Farago's been murdered.”

“Farago?” Kennedy looked over at King Cowan. “If he's been murdered, you ought to know, King. That was where you were goin' when you left the posse.”

All eyes had turned to the cattleman. His face flushed. “You ain't suspectin' me of killin' Steve?”

“Why did you go to see him?” Kennedy demanded. “You an' Steve have had trouble for years, off an' on.”

“I needed to have a talk with him. Me an' Steve have had no trouble for months. Maybe a year. He did raise a fuss about some stock he thought was his, but he was an old sorehead, anyway.”

“Did you see Steve? Did you get over there?”

“He was dead when I got there. He'd been shot, and the body was still warm.”

“What did you do?”

“Got away from there as fast as I could. If folks found me there with him dead, they'd be thinkin' just what you all are thinkin' now. The trouble I had with Steve was no killin' matter.”

“Plenty of men have been killed over rustled cattle!” Josh was skeptical. “An' if I hear right, Farago was carryin' a lot of money.” Chancy turned toward Yerby. “Didn't you buy some cattle off him?”

“Yes, and I paid in cash. He wanted it that way. He said he could take care of his money as well as any bank could.”

“Just like the old coot,” Josh put in. “He never did care for banks!”

“We're gettin' away from the subject,” Kennedy interrupted. “I don't see how that Farago affair could have anything to do with the bank robbery and the killin' of Tom Lindsay.

“Bill Culver, you worked for Lindsay. Who had the combination besides the two of you?”

“Nobody.”

Lisa's cheeks were pale, and when her eyes turned pleadingly to Bowdrie, they showed her fear. Her lovely lips seemed thin and hurt.

“The safe wasn't blowed, was it?” Kennedy persisted. He was the center of attention and was enjoying it. His sharp little eyes were triumphant.

“No.”

“Then how do you reckon that money was stole, if you or Tom Lindsay didn't take it? And if Tom took it, he'd have to make it good out of his own pocket, wouldn't he?”

He paused, looking around, impressed with his own presentation of the facts.

“Now, where was you when the shot was fired that killed Tom?”

“I don't know,” Bill protested. “I have no idea. I'd saddled my horse earlier and then went in to tell Lindsay I was quitting. Then he sprang that business about the missing money on me. He said I couldn't leave. He was having me arrested. I told him I did not steal his money and that I was leaving.

“Rita and I were getting married and we were going to El Paso. We'd postponed it several times, and she told me this was the last time. If I wanted her, it was now or not at all. Well, I wasn't going to have it postponed again, so I told Tom Lindsay to figure things out the best he could, and left.”

“You just went out an' rode off?”

“That's right. I got my horse and rode away.”

“Were there any other horses in that stable?” Bowdrie asked.

All eyes turned to him. Kennedy, irritated, started to interrupt.

“Not in the stable. There was a sorrel pony with three white stockings tied behind the stable.”

“Whose horse was it?” Bowdrie inquired.

“I don't know,” Culver replied. “I never gave it a thought.”

“I seen that horse,” Josh Chancy said. “That horse was stole from Jim Tatum two weeks ago.”

Kennedy broke in angrily. “All this talk is gettin' us nowhere! The fact is, nobody could have done it but Culver, and I'm arrestin' him for robbery an' murder!”

Lisa jumped and cried out, but Pete Mendoza stepped forward. “You touch him over my dead body!”

Wilse Kennedy started to speak, then looked again at Mendoza, knowing all too well the Mexican could give him every break and still kill him. He started to splutter something about bucking the law, when Chick broke in.

“Hold your horses, everybody! Pete, you back up and sit down. The law's in charge here, and you aren't helping one bit.

“I'll take charge now. Bill Culver is completely in the clear. The man who killed Tom Lindsay also killed Steve Farago, and robbed him as well.”