Blood on the Moon Page 21

  “What about a horse? Have you thought of that?” Anse asked savagely.

  “Amy’s horse is loose, isn’t he? I’ve been lyin’ here in bed and listenin’ to him trompin’ around off there at the end of the house.”

  Still Amy didn’t speak. Jim knew it would come, probably in the form of a simple request that he not go. And that would be the hardest to refuse, but he would refuse it.

  Anse said harshly, “Amy, are you goin’ to let him?”

  “Yes, she is,” Jim said.

  “Amy?” Anse insisted.

  Amy was long in answering, and Jim listened for it.

  “Do you have to go?” she asked finally.

  Jim was thankful for that and he wanted her to understand if she could. “I’ve got to,” he said quietly. “It’s him or me, Amy. It always will be until one of us is dead. He won’t quit and I won’t, and if I wait for Manker that would be quitting. No. I’m going to find him—now—because I’ve got to know.”

  Amy moaned softly and came into his arms. Jim hugged her close to him, smelling the clean scent of her hair, feeling her fine straight body against him. She was all a man would ever want, and more, and now it seemed more urgent than ever that he go. Amy raised her hands to his face and bent his head down and kissed him on the lips. And then she backed off into the darkness.

  When Jim could trust himself to speak he said, “I want a gun.”

  Anse handed his belt and gun to him, and Jim strapped them on. He put on his coat and Stetson and then walked slowly toward the door, holding his breath against the new throb in his side. Somewhere against the front wall he knew Amy was watching him, but she wouldn’t speak again. She knew.

  Jim slowly opened the door, and before he stepped out into the chill night he said to Anse, “When I’m back against the lean-to open up on the corral.”

  He shut the door behind him. Whoever was in the corral couldn’t see him, he knew, until he crossed the snow, and then he would be plainly visible. It was because of this that he had asked Anse to fire, hoping to draw a return fire whose powder flash would blind the man at the trigger.

  He moved slowly down toward the end of the shack, crossing the window and then the corner, and finally stood against the dark bulk of the lean-to, looking out toward the cottonwoods where the horse was loose.

  Presently Anse opened up at the corral. He put a dozen shots into it before an answering fusillade of hotly returned fire.

  It was during this shooting that Jim walked calmly and slowly across to the cottonwoods. If they saw him he could neither run nor well return their fire, and he would be trapped. A kind of narrowing, dismal fatalism was with him then until he reached the first tree without drawing a shot.

  The rest was easy. He found the horse deep in the cottonwoods, coaxed him to him and then led him slowly out of hearing of the men surrounding the shack. He mounted then and headed toward Sun Dust.

  “There’s a dead man,” Anse said grimly when Jim had gone. He went moodily to the other window and looked out. Presently he heard Amy’s slow, stifled sobbing and regretted that he had spoken. But it was the truth. Jim Garry wouldn’t come back, and Anse cursed him for a headstrong, wild fool. And all the time he was praying to his own small gods that he was wrong.

  The half-hour dragged out, and then Anse said to Amy, “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Anse called out, “We surrender. Nels, can you hear me?” When Nels answered, Anse said, “I’m going to light the lamp and carry it, and we’ll both come out on this side. All right?”

  He got Nels’s affirmative answer and struck a match and lighted the lamp. He smoothed the covers of the bed down, picked up the lamp and walked out into the snow, Amy behind him.

  Two men approached them: Nels and Chet Avery.

  Nels said, “Stand right there until the boys go through the shack.”

  Moten and Pindalest came in the other door and thoroughly searched the room and the lean-to.

  When they came out Anse said dryly, “Satisfied?”

  “He ain’t there,” Moten said blankly.

  “He never was,” Anse lied. “Now my arm’s gettin’ tired holdin’ this lamp. I’m goin’ back in and put it down.”

  He turned and went back into the shack ahead of Amy, and the others followed in silence. Once in the shack Anse looked at them, cold contempt in his eyes. “You ought to be mighty proud of the company you run with, boys. Shooting at a woman and an old man all night.”

  “Where’s Garry?” Pindalest demanded hotly.

  “Who ever said he was here?” Anse countered. “Riling?”

  They nodded, and Anse laughed. “I thought so.” He looked at each man carefully, staring him down. “You boys swallowed Riling and his yarns almost as slick as I did. Believed him, let him tell you what to do. Where are you now?”

  Somebody shifted his feet uncomfortably, and Anse said, “I’ll tell you where I am. I ain’t got a son any more. I’ll tell you where you are too. You’re licked and you know it.” His glance settled on Chet Avery. “Been home lately?”

  Avery answered warily, “Not in five days.”

  “Your barn’s burned,” Anse said bluntly. “Know who done it? Joe Shotten. I seen him from the rim watchin’ it burn. He’s Riling’s man and now, by God, he’s a deputy sheriff. A deputy sheriff, appointed by Riling, burnin’ barns! You tell me, Chet; what the hell’s it all about?”

  He made a weary gesture with his hand. “No, don’t tell me. Get the hell out. I’m sick of fools; I’m sick of the whole pack of you. Clear out.”

  He waited until he’d heard them ride out and then he said to Amy, “I’ve got to know. You comin’ to town with me?”

  “It may not be too late to bring help for Jim,” Amy said quietly. “Let’s stop at Blockhouse on the way.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took Jim longer than he’d counted on to reach Sun Dust. When he walked his horse into Sun Dust’s street the town was dark, save for the lights in the saloons, the feed stable and the hotel. Jim noticed that Manker’s office was dark, and he reined up and looked at it, gray speculation in his mind. Had he ridden too slowly, so that he was late and had missed Riling? He didn’t think so, because when Riling arrived with the news he would wake the town and clean out the saloons with his story. He had no way of knowing, of course, that Riling had first detoured to Blockhouse to make sure Lufton wasn’t there. Jim rode on at the steady, careful pace he’d held to these last hours, and the pain in his side was something clean-burning and steady and controlled. He’d carefully geared the speed of his travel to that pain, knowing above all things that he couldn’t face Riling sick and useless.

  He rode on downstreet, and the sight of the ponies at the hitch rail in front of the two saloons reassured him. Abreast of the Bella Union, he reined in at the tie rail and sat his horse a moment. While he rested, a big, infinitely patient man, he looked over these horses. It was too dark to recognize them, and after dismounting he started his search. The neck of the third horse he touched was wet with sweat. Jim spoke soothingly to him and ran his hand down over the left hip. Yes, there was Riling’s brand.

  Jim turned his head and looked at the Bella Union and then he came up to the plank walk and strode over toward the saloon. He did not head for the door but for the window. He looked over the frosted lower half of it and could see the whole interior of the Bella Union.

  Riling and Shotten were having a drink at the bar with Barney, the barkeep.

  Jim backed away and stood motionless, considering the odds. He wasn’t afraid of Shotten and Riling together, but it was the bartender, with his inevitable sawed-off shotgun, that troubled him. He hadn’t forgotten that it was this bartender who had steered him into trouble the first night in town.

  And then he knew he was going in anyway. Let happen what was going to happen.

  He turned his head then at the sound of a rider approaching. The rider put his horse in at the Bella Union and dismounted before the horse
had stopped. He swung under the tie rail and then, at sight of Jim, he hauled up abruptly.

  It was Chet Avery. He looked long at Jim, his slow mind accepting this, and then said slowly: “He in there?”

  “Riling? Yes.”

  “Shotten, I mean.”

  “He’s in there too.”

  “I’m goin’ in,” Avery said in a stubborn voice.

  “No, you’re not,” Jim said. “Stay clear of me, Avery.” He started to move.

  “Wait a minute,” Avery said. “Barney likes Riling. That makes three against you.”

  Jim said nothing, and Avery went on in a musing, almost self-derisory voice, “I’m slow, I reckon, but I’ve caught up now, Garry. I got a score to settle, like you.” He paused. “Riling will come out if I tell him you’re here. Then I can hold Barney in there.”

  As soon as Avery spoke Jim knew this was the way to do it. He trusted Avery. He said, “Tell him if he doesn’t come out I’ll come in after him.”

  Avery grunted and put his hand on the doorknob and went in. Riling and Shotten both looked over their shoulders as he entered, and Riling put down his glass. He turned slowly, scowling.

  “I thought I told you to stay at Barden’s.”

  Avery said quietly, “He’s outside. Garry, I mean.”

  Riling’s face altered, came alert, hardened. “Now?”

  “He’s out on the street, waiting for you.”

  A crooked smile twisted Riling’s mouth, and he said, “Well, now,” and hauled up his belt. Shotten, not even waiting for the word, faded down the bar and headed for the rear door.

  Avery stood stock-still and let Riling walk past him to the door, and then he went up to Barney. “Give me your greener,” he said.

  The bartender, knowing Avery for one of Riling’s men, lifted the shotgun onto the bar, and Avery took it. Then he turned and headed swiftly for the rear door.

  “Hey,” Barney said, uncertainty in his voice.

  Chet stepped out into the alley and turned down it. At the place where two stores almost joined each other, leaving a space of three feet or so between them, Avery paused. He looked up this narrow alleyway and saw Shotten making his way toward the plank wall.

  Avery waited patiently until he saw Shotten reach the walk, pause, dodge back and then lift his gun.

  Smiling, stubborn Chet Avery raised the shotgun to his shoulder and took careful sight, and the memory of his girl, frightened and angry and shamed, kept his arm rock-steady.

  Jim had stepped back into the middle of the dusty street, watching the door of the Bella Union. Riling wouldn’t dodge, he knew. Too much lay between them for that. This that was happening now was inevitable, the foundation of it laid with a hatred they could no more help than they could help breathing. And Riling wasn’t a coward. He feared nothing, and Jim knew this would be welcome to him.

  He saw the saloon door open, and Riling, thick shoulders silhouetted against the window, stepped out onto the walk.

  Jim felt a cold, sure wrath that was beyond anger at sight of him. He knew that even with a bullet in his brain he would live to kill Riling. He knew this and he hugged the knowledge close to him and was silent, waiting.

  Riling said in a dry, hating tone, “This is a pleasure, Jim.”

  “For me,” Jim murmured.

  At that moment the raking, booming blast of a shotgun let off in a confined place shattered the silence of the night. On the heels of it Shotten was driven out onto the plank walk. He hit it on his belly and rolled over twice. The second roll carried him off the walk into the dust of the street; he lay there limp and unmoving.

  Jim said, “That leaves just you, Tate.”

  It came sharply to Riling then that the odds had shifted and that whoever held the shotgun was with Jim. He knew then that the time was here and he moved.

  He walked toward the tie rail, and his hand streaked for the gun in the holster at his hip. Sudden urgency rode him, hurrying him, pushing him. He pulled his gun and shot blindly, shot fast, angrily.

  Jim’s hand fell to his holster when Riling moved. He lifted the gun deftly, cocking it in the same movement, and as he swung it up Riling shot. Jim’s gun arced up and settled, and Riling shot again, and now Jim saw the black, high sight bisect those wide shoulders at the chest, and when it sank out of sight he fired.

  He saw Riling’s body jar under the impact of the slug. Riling put back a foot to brace himself and then he staggered forward and lunged into the tie rail with an impact that almost uprooted the post. Leaning against it, holding to it with one big hand, he raised his gun again and he brought all the terrible force of his will into the single concentration of his aim. His gun wavered, and he steadied it in one last, wild effort.

  And then his knees folded. As he fell his chin rapped the tie rail, and his head went back, and then he was hanging there by one hand, his chest just off the ground. He made a last stubborn effort to raise his gun hand and couldn’t, and then his hold on the tie rail broke. He fell and rolled over on his back and was still.

  Jim and Avery met at the tie rail and silently regarded Riling. There was the sound of a man running down the boardwalk, and Jim looked up, aware for the first time in minutes that his side hurt with a stubborn, pounding ache.

  Sheriff Manker hauled up on the plank walk now and looked carefully at Riling and then raised his eyes to Jim.

  “It was fair,” Avery said bluntly. “I saw it. You got a dead deputy too, Manker. I killed him.”

  Now the late revelers in the other saloon pounded up, and Manker silently took the guns from Jim and Avery. “Come on down to the office,” he said, and there was little sympathy in his voice.

  After giving orders to some men in the crowd Manker led the way downstreet to the dark office. While he was fumbling with the key to unlock it three riders came in off the flats. Manker went in and lighted the lamp and then said, “All right, step in.”

  But Jim waited, and so did Avery, so that Manker came to the door. And now Moten, Big Nels and Pindalest headed in to the tie rail, and Nels stepped out of the saddle. He saw the grave faces of the three men and said with a quick interest in his voice, “Where’s Riling?”

  “Dead,” Avery said.

  Jim said to them, “Come inside. There’s something you’ll want to hear.”

  Moten swung down. Pindalest stayed mounted, staring blankly at Jim. Jim started toward him, swung under the hitch rack and stopped beside his stirrup. “I won’t even ask you, Pindalest,” he said. He seized the man’s belt and yanked him out of the saddle, and he fell heavily into the dust. Jim looked up at the others, his expression wicked and challenging. None spoke, not even Manker, as Pindalest rose, too scared to protest.

  Jim said to him, “Get into the office.”

  Once in the office, Jim waited until Pindalest was seated in the sheriff’s chair, and then he said to the others, “Take a good look at him. There’s the man you were fighting for.”

  And then in blunt and harsh language he told them about Riling’s deal with Pindalest and how they themselves had been used to the very bitter end when Riling had turned them toward a man hunt for revenge. Jim explained his own part in it, how he’d come at Riling’s bidding, how they’d quarreled at Commissary and what he’d done to help Lufton by hiding Pindalest. He told it all, sparing neither himself nor these three nesters nor Manker.

  When he was finished Pindalest came out of his chair. “You can’t prove it!” he said hotly. “It’s lies!” To the men he said, “Make him prove it!”

  Jim shook his head. “I don’t aim to prove it, Pindalest. I’m telling the truth. They can believe it or not. I don’t care.”

  It was then that Jim caught sight of John Lufton. He’d been standing in the doorway for minutes, listening. His dark eyes were arrogant, faintly amused, as he regarded Pindalest.

  Avery was the next to see Lufton, and then Moten and Big Nels. They watched him with hard and hostile doubt.

  Lufton walked slowly across to Pindales
t, not even looking at the nesters. “You’re going to buy some prime Texas beef, Pindalest,” he said. “Anyone tell you yet?”

  The agent’s face was sullen, his eyes wicked with hatred for Lufton.

  Lufton said, “I’ll rest them for a couple of weeks and then I’ll start my drive. I’ll skirt the Three Braves and be on the reservation before the heavy snows. I’ll take cash for payment, too, as the contract specified. Any objections?”

  Pindalest looked at him for a long moment. There was no way out of it, and he knew it, since he couldn’t let the Indians starve. But the look of hatred he gave Lufton only brought a faint smile to Lufton’s dark face.

  “I thought not,” Lufton said mildly.

  He turned now to the nesters. “Don’t think I mean to give up my range to you again,” he murmured. “I meant what I said the other day. Everything south of the road is mine.” He looked at Avery. “That means you move or I move you. What’ll it be?”

  Avery said stolidly, “I’ll move. It looks like I got to.”

  Lufton gave one small look of malice to Manker and said, “Good,” and walked out. Jim followed him. They were on the walk outside when they heard the scuffle inside the office. They turned just in time to see Pindalest, propelled by the thick plowman’s shoes of Avery, explode out of the doorway and sprawl in the street. He scrambled to his feet, vaulted into the saddle and then fled into the night, shrilling curses at them as he vanished into the darkness.

  Jim and Lufton walked upstreet in the darkness, and Lufton said, “Amy’s in Doc Hogan’s office. She said to send you up for a new bandage if you could still walk.”

  Lufton’s voice was oddly stiff, uneasy, and he would not look at Jim.

  “All right,” Jim said then and started to move away.

  “Wait, Garry,” Lufton said, and he put a hand on Jim’s arm. Jim stopped and faced him, and the two men looked at each other in the darkness.

  “When you’re old things can happen too fast,” Lufton said quietly. He hesitated, feeling for words. “I know Elser and like him, so I know what Carol’s man will be like when he’s well. I wasn’t surprised when they told me tonight. But Amy—” He paused, looking searchingly at Jim.