Gunman Page 11

  Several riders loped forward to halt where Salter stood. Two of them dismounted and the burly rider who had driven up with Salter stood, wide-legged to one side, gazing past where the cattle grazed.

  Salter, Ray could see, was upset about something. He gestured when he spoke and his body was hunched forward as though bracing forward in anger.

  Ray waited, finger curled, eyes steady down the barrel, and, when several of Salter’s riders moved back toward the horses, leaving an opening, he fired, levered and fired again, withdrew the gun swiftly, sprang into the saddle, and tore out through the trees. Distantly, out on the plain, came the wild calls of men and the quick, hard slam of riders pelting forward toward the foothills.

  Chapter Eight

  Ray’s latest strike against Salter, being a personal one, beat up a storm in the country. From his upland lair he watched posses of Salter’s men pass to and fro between the range and the mountains. They did not appear to be searching for him as much as they seemed to be patrolling the known trails leading to Joe Mitchell’s ranch.

  His success also had repercussions in other quarters; some of the upland cowmen, who had formerly avoided JM so as not to become embroiled with Salter, were emboldened now to ride to JM, seeking a way to join the fight. When Joe told them he did not know where Ray was nor where he might strike next, they seemed not to believe him, but, against the possibility that Joe might see Ray again, they left word that Kelly would find fresh horses, food, ammunition, and men willing to ride with him, if he chose to visit Joe’s neighbors in the mountains. Ray, of course, knew nothing of this. He dared not visit JM although he wanted to, because, while unafraid of being caught himself, he could imagine Salter’s reaction if it came out Joe had talked to Ray.

  Finally there was another repercussion to all this. Sheriff Perry Smith, under pressure from Salter, rode himself lean hunting a wraith he did not expect to find, which failed to improve his temper any, thus, when he was riding alone toward JM and Ray eased out of the forest to confront him, Perry Smith’s first word was an uncomplimentary one.

  “Damn you,” he growled by way of greeting. “I told you there’d be a ruckus stirred up if you didn’t ride on.”

  Ray, eyes twinkling over the sheriffs dourly acid expression, kept a hand hanging loosely beside his six-gun. “Why blame me?” he asked mildly.

  Sheriff Smith regarded him hostilely a moment before answering. “Who else should I blame? Now, listen….”

  “Sheriff, let me get my two bits in first, before you start preaching.”

  “There’s nothing you can say and you know it.” Smith relaxed in the saddle, darkly scowling. “You took a couple of shots at Mort, you stampeded his herd down near Tanque Wells, and you shot the leg out from under one of his men in his own dog-gone yard.”

  “Sheriff,” Ray said finally, “do you want to arrest me for those things?”

  “I not only want to, Ray, I’m going to!”

  “Do you have any witnesses who saw me do any one of those things, Perry?”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Sure. The last time I was tried in Welton there were five witnesses who swore they’d seen me steal Mort’s cattle. If it hadn’t been for them, I couldn’t have been convicted because there was no physical evidence introduced.” Ray’s smile dwindled. “There won’t be any physical evidence this time, either, so you’ve got to have witnesses. You got any?”

  “No,” Perry said shortly, “but Mort’ll find some.”

  “Like he did last time?”

  Sheriff Smith cleared his throat before replying. “Listen, kid….”

  “I quit listening five years ago,” Ray interrupted. “No one talks me into anything this time.” His eyes, brightened now, turned as cold and hard as steel. “But I’ll go back with you, Perry, voluntarily. I only ask one thing of you…after I’m disarmed, you give me your word I won’t be cut down in your jail or taken out and lynched by Salter’s hired hands.”

  The sheriff had begun to frown before Ray was half finished. Now he said: “What’s in your mind, Ray? You’re not doing this because of conscience or anything like that?”

  “There’s something in my mind, sure, but like I said…this time I’ll play out the hand my own way.”

  Smith looked past Ray. “You figuring on having your friends bust you out?”

  “What friends? I’m alone.”

  “Not the way I heard it you aren’t.”

  “Salter tell you I had men with me?”

  “Yeah, he said you couldn’t have stampeded those cattle by yourself nor taken shots at him unless you had men to cover your trail.”

  Ray chuckled. “Take my word for it,” he told the sheriff. “I am alone in this. But it’s good to know Salter doesn’t think so. I want him to think, after I’m in jail, there might be others who’ll be gunning for him.”

  Perry Smith’s long face was thoughtful. “You’re taking it for granted I won’t tell him otherwise,” he said.

  “I don’t think you will, Perry. Not after we’ve had a long talk in your jail house.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  “Perry, I never told you I didn’t steal Mort’s cattle, did I?”

  “Well, not personally, no. But you said that at the trial.”

  “I think I can explain to you what happened to those cattle. If you’re as honest as I think you are, you’ll check me out on that.”

  Smith frowned. He removed his hat, peered into it, and replaced it. He had misgivings and they showed. “Listen, Ray,” he said suspiciously, “I’m not aiming to get sucked into one of your crazy schemes and made to look the fool afterward.”

  “You won’t look like a fool. I promise you that. But before we go, I want your word about protection.”

  “That,” said the sheriff offhandedly, “you’d have anyway. No one takes prisoners away from me, and Welton hasn’t had a lynching in ten years.”

  “It might now, Perry. Mort’s money can buy an awful lot of whiskey.”

  Smith’s face turned hard-set. “Not that much,” he opined evenly. “A shotgun has a pretty soberin’ effect, too.” He sat there a moment in silence, then he said in a different tone: “Ray, I’ll take you in, but I’d sure feel easier in my mind if I knew what you were up to.”

  “Nothing illegal,” the younger man replied, raising his rein hand, urging his horse out in a walk. “Let’s go. I get a funny feeling between the shoulder blades sitting out here in the open like this.”

  Sheriff Smith reined around and they struck out. Around them midday sun smash glittered evilly in a lemon-yellow way and beyond sight but squatting low upon the dancing plain Welton drowsed in the heat. Ray rode with moving eyes; he knew Salter’s riders would be abroad if scarcely anyone else was— a $1,000 incentive would more than offset 120° heat to men whose lives had inured them to inconvenience.

  But they made it to Welton without trouble, and Sheriff Smith put Ray in a cell, tossed Kelly’s gun on his desk, and pushed back his hat. “Hot,” he said to the prisoner. “Hotter’n the hubs of hell. I’ll fetch you a bucket of water.”

  When he returned, entered Ray’s cell, and deposited the bucket in a corner, he said: “The town’s comin’ to life. The ones who saw us ride into town went and roused everyone else.” He straightened up, looking squarely at Ray. “Boy, if you’d just ridden on….” He left the cell, locked the door glumly, and was turning away when his prisoner spoke.

  “Perry, if I’d ridden on who would have been next?”

  The sheriff faced around, looking perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Salter. If I’d ridden on, who would he have railroaded next?”

  “You haven’t convinced me he’s railroaded anyone yet.”

  “But you know he owns the bank now.”

  “What of it?”

  “And that he’s got Joe Mitchell roped and tied.” “Joe’s no saint. He’s gettin’ about what he deserves.”

  “You’re the sheriff, not the jud
ge,” Ray said. “Draw up a chair and we’ll have our little talk now.”

  Smith teetered, a moment undecided, then he got a chair, was in the act of dragging it up when a light rap echoed from the front door. He let go the chair, drew up briefly, and then moved forward.

  “It won’t be Salter,” he said over his shoulder. “He’d have come through that door like a wild bull.”

  It was Grace Fenwick. The sight of her standing there turned Ray to stone, Perry Smith was equally nonplussed, but he stepped back and closed the door, barred it after she entered.

  “Ma’am,” the sheriff mumbled. “Mighty nice to see you.” He gazed steadily at her, waiting.

  “Can I see your prisoner?” the tall girl asked. Perry did not move. “You live a long way out,” he said softly. “How’d you know I had a prisoner?”

  “I saw you arrest him.”

  Perry blinked and behind him, from the cell, came Ray’s soft laugh. “Sheriff,” the prisoner called, “you didn’t know you had a white Indian in your county, did you?” Smith turned, frowning. “She sees everything, Perry. There’s nothing much goes on that girl doesn’t know.” Ray’s smile lingered; he returned to Grace Fenwick’s gaze. “You knew where my camp was?” he asked. Grace nodded without speaking. “Why didn’t you lead Mort’s men to it?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” the girl replied, her voice turning a little sharp. “To ask you some questions.”

  “Fire away, ma’am.”

  “First, who told you my father sent someone to Salter after you and he fought?”

  “Afraid I can’t tell you that, ma’am. Not that I wouldn’t ordinarily, but I don’t want to get a man killed.”

  “He won’t be killed. As I told you, my father….”

  “I wasn’t thinking of your father,” Ray said swiftly. “I was thinking of Salter.”

  “Then tell me this. Did you know you did exactly what Mort Salter wanted you to do, when you let the sheriff arrest you?”

  Ray shot Perry a glance before replying. “I came in with both eyes open,” he said.

  “Do you know there’s a reward on your head?”

  “I know that, ma’am,” Ray acknowledged. “Tell me something,” he said. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

  “Because,” the girl answered frankly, “I’m not sure you stole those cattle you were sent to prison over.”

  “Oh?” Perry Smith said, eyebrows climbing upward. “Can I ask you why you doubt it?”

  “Joe Mitchell told me some things a few nights back.”

  “Such as?” Sheriff Smith insisted.

  Grace did not answer immediately. She was gazing straight past the bars at Ray. Finally, vaguely she said: “A lot of things. I asked my father about them. I also listened to the men talk. Then I began watching you, Mister Kelly, and….”

  “And?” Ray prompted.

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I think Mort Salter is not quite what my father and a lot of other people think he is.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” the sheriff said dryly, moving toward., the chair in front of Ray’s cell. “Mort’s a big man in these parts, miss. No one’s going to call him out unless they’ve got a mountain of proof Mort’s not what he seems.”

  “Suppose,” Grace said slowly, turning to face Sheriff Smith, “I gave you that proof. What would you do with it?”

  Ray, watching the girl’s lovely face, sensed the caution behind her words. Before Perry could frame a reply to Grace’s question, Ray cut in.

  “You don’t have to be careful what you say to the sheriff, Grace. He’s not Salter’s man.”

  “If I’d thought that,” she retorted, “I wouldn’t be here, Ray. What I’m afraid of is that he might say something or do something that would make Salter suspicious and….”

  “And Mort’d go after your pa?”

  Grace nodded.

  “He can go away for a while,” Ray suggested, but the tall girl wagged her head negatively.

  “You don’t know my father. He wouldn’t run from anything.”

  Perry squared up in the chair. “If you give me something solid,” he said to Grace, “I’ll run it down, Miss Fenwick, and Mort won’t know anything’s going on until I come down on him. Either that, or, if it proves invalid information, I’ll never say a word about it to Mort or anyone else.”

  They waited. Beyond the combination office and jail Welton was stirring around them as the heat lessened and evening approached. Sheriff Smith’s impatience prompted him to say—“Well?”—but Grace was not yet resolved. Even Ray’s urgings brought no response from her. Both men could understand her predicament, but being men could not plumb its depths.

  Ray was making a cigarette. Perry Smith was studying his hands and frowning when Grace finally faced them.

  “All right,” she said, but there was fear in her face and she pushed the words out rapidly, making them run together. “He’ll kill my father if he finds out what I know. What I’m going to tell you. He’ll kill me, too.”

  The sheriff ceased regarding his hands. “It takes two to make a killing,” he said, “and all Mort’s riders and even his two gunmen got to know, first, that someone’s got to be killed, Miss Fenwick. Unless they know that they got no reason to kill anyone.

  That’s part of my job…to see to it that folks don’t get killed. I’ve had lots of experience at it, too, so go ahead and speak out and leave that killin’ business up to me.”

  “Duncan Holt,” the handsome girl said, her voice roughening with apprehension, “knows the mountain ranges better than anyone.” She raised her eyes to Ray. “Excepting you, possibly…at least Joe Mitchell told me you knew them better.”

  “Go on,” Perry growled impatiently.

  “He brings Salter’s men into the mountains, rounds up unmarked cattle, and drives them to Mexico!”

  Chapter Nine

  Instead of looking surprised at Grace’s allegation Perry Smith returned to studying his hands. But now he was solemnly frowning down at them.

  “Any proof of that?” he asked eventually.

  “Yes, I have proof, Sheriff, but better than that I can lead you to the mountain meadows and you can see Duncan do it yourself.”

  This brought the sheriffs head up. “How do you know he’ll show up, miss?” he asked quickly, doubt and suspicion visible in his gaze.

  “Because, as Ray told you, I ride out a lot. I’ve sat back in the trees watching Duncan’s men work the herds. They follow a routine of checking for unmarked animals, cutting them out, holding, them bunched until they have a herd, then driving them easterly through the mountains until they’re above Salter’s ranch, then down across his land where they can’t be tracked…then keep on going south.”

  “All right,” Ray said, “that explains how they do it, Grace, but like the sheriff asked…how do you know when they’ll do it?”

  “I’m not absolutely certain,” the girl answered, “but they also follow a pattern here. They wait until the upland ranchers have finished working a herd, then they move in. I think they do it that way because they know the mountain cowmen will have no reason to go back and work the same herd again until next year.” Grace paused, switched her gaze from Ray to Perry Smith. “They’re due to hit Joe Mitchell within a week.”

  “You mean Joe’s worked his critters?” Smith asked.

  Grace nodded. “Yes, my father took the men up into the meadows today. That’s why I decided to ride down here. No one will know I’m not at the ranch.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Ray said dryly. “Seems to me Mort’s got spies all through the mountains.” Grace’s head swung quickly and Ray, reading the antagonism in her expression, added quickly: “Not your father, now. I’m not naming names at all, Grace.”

  Sheriff Smith got up, walked once across the office and back, and stopped with his back to Grace, facing Ray’s cell. “You knew something about this?” he queried.

  “About this,” Ray answered, “no. But I can tell
you that Duncan takes those cattle into Mexico and either sells them outright or trades them for nearly as many Mex critters which he brings back to Salter’s range.”

  The sheriff rummaged in a shirt pocket for his tobacco sack. As he worked up a quirly, Ray regarded Grace. The long-legged girl was watching Perry light up and exhale. Feeling Ray’s stare, she turned a little, exchanged a long glance with him, began to color, and turned away.

  “I always wondered,” the lawman said, “how Mort built up his herds so fast. ‘Course, he’s got money. But the rub comes in, leastways to me, like this. Mort never seemed to lose cattle like other folks did.” Smith scratched his nose, then blew out a big breath. He considered Ray through the bars briefly, then began pacing. “If that whelp really did railroad you, Ray….” He slammed out the cigarette and tugged his hat forward. “All right,” he barked, facing Grace. “You go on home. I’ll ride up there to night maybe.”

  She cut him off. “You can’t leave Ray here! Mort will hear that he’s here. He’ll send men in to….”

  “Like I said,” the sheriff growled impatiently, cutting her off, “my job involves savin’ lives as well as snuffin’ one out every now and then. You just go on home and leave Ray to me.”

  She hesitated, staring at Ray. He nodded at her. “Do like he says.”

  “I could leave you my gun.”

  Before Ray could speak, Perry exclaimed: “He don’t need your gun, ma’am! He’s got one of his own. Now go on home.” As the girl started toward the door, the sheriff spoke again. “On second thought maybe we’d better meet somewhere, ma’am. Might look odd, me ridin’ up there right now.”

  “You just stick to the trail,” Grace said, holding the door latch. “I’ll find you.”

  After she was gone, Perry bent a skeptical glance toward Ray. “If she’s right, Mort Salter’s in trouble. If she’s wrong…or if this is something you two worked up between you….”

  “Perry, you’re the most suspicious man I’ve ever known. How could I work up anything with her?”

  Smith retrieved Ray’s gun from his desk before answering. In fact, not until he was unlocking the cell door did he say: “Ray, I may not be the brightest feller alive but there’s sure nothing wrong with my eyesight. I saw how that girl looked at you when she didn’t think either of us was watchin’ her.”