One Notch to Death Page 6

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he told her.

  ‘Tell me just the same.’

  ‘Well, I’m a Texas man. Cow-country folks. Came into this country with my brother’s family to start a ranch last year.’

  ‘The real original Westerner.’

  ‘I’m not too sure I like the way you say that.’

  They were flirting mildly.

  ‘I mean the frontier man pitted against the elements.’

  ‘The elements so far have been a pig-headed cattle-baron who wants to hold his range against all-comers.’

  Her voice showed a little eagerness.

  ‘And you mean to fight him?’

  ‘Fought him last year. Beat the pants off him—if you’ll pardon the expression.’

  Maybe she smiled in the gloom. She said: ‘I’ll pardon the expression. And what are you doing here? I mean what were you doing when you bravely rescued me from the bold bad Indians like a hero out of a storybook? Were you looking for strays? Is that the right expression?’

  ‘It’s right an’ I wasn’t.’

  ‘Hunting?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Well, what exactly?’

  ‘I was hunted. Still am, I reckon.’ Mart may have been quicker with a gun than was good for him, but he was fundamentally an honest man. In a way, this girl had a right to know what company she was keeping.

  He thought she sat up a little straighter.

  ‘And what,’ she demanded, ‘does that mean?’

  ‘I’m on the run,’ he said.

  ‘From the law?’

  ‘I’m not too sure. But my guess is there’s a couple of fellers could be on my trail that could want me dead.’

  Now he had shocked her. Maybe scared her a little. There was a moment’s silence and then she said: ‘You intrigue me.’ At least he had her interested. ‘Tell me more. Why do these two “fellers” want you dead?’

  He told her about the fight at Grebb’s. He was modest for a Texas man and he didn’t dress it up, just gave her the bare bones of the incident.

  When he finished, she asked in a quiet voice: ‘I would like to know why those two men braced you, as you call it.’

  ‘Wa-al, when a feller has a reputation for bein’ fast with a gun, all kinds of men who fancy they’re fast with a gun would like to kill him and gain his reputation.’

  ‘How childish!’ she exclaimed. ‘Like conkers.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She laughed a low-noted laugh and he thought the sound was wonderful. ‘So I’m in the safe-keeping of a famous gunman. Aunt will be thrilled when I tell her. In utter security I can now go to sleep.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘time to turn in.’ He rose to his feet and found his two blankets and paulin. He had gathered some brush for a mattress and he made her up the softest bed that could be provided.

  He was surprised when she inspected the bed and said: ‘But you’ve given me two blankets. What will you do?’ So she did have a thought for other folks’ comfort.

  ‘I’ll make out,’ he said. ‘I have the horse-blanket and my coat.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her voice became cold again. ‘And where do you intend to sleep?’

  ‘Over yonder against that boulder,’ he told her. ‘That way I shan’t sleep too deep. Both horses’re good watchdogs. If there’s an Indian around, they’ll let me know.’

  ‘Or the two men hunting you.’

  ‘Or the two men hunting me.’

  He watched her lie down and pull the blankets over her. Her head rested on his saddle.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said.

  ‘My aunt,’ she said, ‘always kisses me goodnight. Perhaps you should stand proxy for her or I shan’t sleep.’ The voice was as cold as ever.

  ‘No Texas man worthy of the name,’ he said in a voice he found hard to control, ‘would allow a lady to suffer a sleepless night.’

  ‘Spoken like a true gentleman,’ she said.

  He took one pace forward, dropped to his knees and bent forward. He found to his disappointment that she offered him her cheek.

  ‘Does your aunt only get a cheek?’ he asked softly.

  ‘That’s all she gets,’ said the cold voice.

  He kissed the cheek. He didn’t hurry. It wasn’t much, but it was about the nicest thing that had ever happened to him. Her flesh smelled of wild flowers and ripe corn.

  When he withdrew his lips, she murmured: ‘I never owed a debt in my life. This is my payment for services rendered to date.’

  She turned her head and the next moment he felt a pair of lips soft as rose petals on his own. At first, he managed to stay calm, but when he thought of all the glories that lay behind that mouth, of the paradise of passion that lay stretched out beneath him no more than inches from him, an irresistible fire burned through his body and the idea of being a Texas gentleman no longer held any attractions for him. His arms went around her and he left her in no doubt that his ability did not lie only in the wielding of firearms. The lady, however, had other ideas. The arms that forced him away from her possessed an amazing strength and to have his way would have meant the use of violence and the setting of a full-scale battle. And he had never had to fight a woman in his life for what he wanted.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘that will be enough. There may be Indians skulking in the undergrowth creeping up to overpower us. Besides that, I will only make full payment when I am safely delivered to my aunt.’

  He got a grip on himself and squatted on his heels beside her. The moon had come up and he could see her face. She was smiling faintly.

  ‘Maybe your aunt will prevent full payment,’ he said. He found it difficult to talk because he was breathing so hard.

  ‘You don’t know my aunt,’ she said, ‘and you’re underestimating me.’

  He stood up.

  ‘Sleep well,’ he said.

  ‘I shall—now,’ she said.

  He walked to his boulder, slipped into his coat and draped the horse-blanket around him. Picking up his rifle, he sat with his back to the boulder and within seconds was drifting delightfully into his first catnap of the night. His last thought was that maybe being on the run wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter Eight

  The early hours of the following morning. The sun shouldered its way into the azure dome of the sky, stretching the golden ringers of its rays over the vastness of the mountains, thrusting itself into the deep fissures of the valleys.

  The various players in the drama that was being enacted moved in their divers ways, all heading unknowingly slowly toward that final scene when all the problems of the plot are resolved.

  Mart Storm and his lovely English woman were headed west. Stu Aintree lay wounded and sorry for himself in the backroom of Grebb’s road-ranch, his one dream to have Mart Storm’s back presented to him while he held a loaded gun in his hand. Ed Brack ate a large late breakfast, washed down with whiskey and water while he surveyed a small slice of his mighty empire. His mind too was on Mart Storm and he wondered if his thoroughness would pay off. On the trail of the gunman he had set two skilled killers and a legal posse—and a man could not do much better than that. If one failed, the other wouldn’t and, with luck, the two of them might fall foul of each other. That struck him as humorous and he chuckled. His mind flitted to the rest of the Storms. Come fall, he would have the whole bunch of them running for the safety of Denver.

  Then he thought about his son and he frowned.

  The damn fool kid. He wasn’t safe to let loose on his own. But he would have to find his feet. What worried him was that the boy had gone south and that was Storm country down there. It would be a real piece of bad luck if he ran into the Storms. Will Storm had made a show of forgiving and forgetting, but Brack didn’t believe in either, whether it was in other men or himself. Life was a matter of dog eat dog and pay your debts. Will Storm had snatched the boy the year before and held him as a hostage. There was no reason why he shouldn’t do so a
gain when he learned that it was Ed Brack on the trail of his brother Mart. Well, he was in for a surprise if he tried that tactic again. Because this time, Ed Brack wouldn’t play. He could keep Riley and be damned to him. He washed his hands of the boy.

  Meanwhile, the boy of whom his father had washed his hands, if it can be put that way, had slept in the hills separating the Three Creeks country from the Broken Spur ranges. He woke feeling overwhelmingly lonely and almost alarmingly unprotected. At the same time, he had to admit to himself that there was something stimulating about finding himself suddenly free and no longer under the spell of his father. He wondered secretly if he could keep it up, this wish to be independent. He had been too long dependent upon his father to quickly shake off his influence.

  In the first cold gray minutes of dawn, he made his first gesture toward something like maturity. For the first time in his life, he saw himself as objectively as a man can see himself. Which isn’t much, but is better than nothing. He saw himself for what he was—a helpless and inexperienced boy alone on the hillside with hardly a cent in his pocket. He had no food with him and if he didn’t find some soon, he was going to be pretty hungry and he had never suffered hunger in his life. In fact, suffering was something of which he had had little experience, except that perhaps he had suffered mentally from the assaults of his father upon his mind.

  He was cold and stiff and the physical discomfort was salutary. He braced himself a little and saw now that his survival was entirely in his own hands. His only assets were his physical fitness, his youth, his horse and the gun and a dozen or so shells that he carried with him. His rifle he had left back at headquarters. He had been a damned fool to storm out like that. He should have come with his weapons, plentiful ammunition and supplies.

  But he had learned his first lesson. He tightened his belt, worked the stiffness out of his limbs and caught up his horse. As he saddled the animal, he wondered if there was anything he possessed in this world that had not been given to him by his father. He couldn’t think of a thing. The gun, the clothes he wore, the horse he rode—everything had come from his father.

  He dreamed of making enough money to pay his father for what he had received from him, so he didn’t have to owe him a thing. He mounted and headed south across the ridges that would take him into the Storm country.

  He knew that he could be headed into trouble. Only the year before Will Storm had taken him at the point of the gun and held him as a hostage for his father’s peace. That had shaken Ed. He had never been crossed in that way before. Riley wondered if his father had been concerned because of his love for his son or if the Old Man had merely been mad because another man had dared to lay a hand on his property. If Ed had started trouble with the Storms, maybe they would take him again.

  That made him think of Kate Storm. He had been thinking about her since the day he had been a prisoner in Storm hands. The Storms had put the fear of God into him, especially Mart with his cold clear eyes and that terrible Negro, Joe Widbee. They were a pair of wild ones he didn’t want to tangle with again. But, just the same, the Storm valley was like a challenge to him. If he turned aside from it, he turned aside from his own manhood. So he rode on south even though he had to go across ridges to do so.

  Besides down in the Three Creeks country, there was always a chance of seeing Kate. And he hadn’t set eyes on her but once and that no more than a glimpse, since the time the Storms had captured him. He could remember the stillness of her as she had watched him, knowing that he belonged to the enemy. Yet she didn’t seem hostile. Maybe he had read pity in her eyes. And pity could be akin to love. But he dared not hope.

  He kept going south. He went down into the valley the hard way, missing the saddle to the east by a mile or more. He was light-headed with hunger now. He came to a mountain freshet, slaked his thirst and allowed the horse to drink and then went on, heading down into the valley through pleasant timber, cool even though the sun was now climbing the morning sky.

  After a while, he heard the bawling of a cow for its calf. He found cattle in a gully, the Lazy S and the Storm earmark showing. They were Texas longhorns and a man took his life in his hands to be on foot among them. They eyed him as wild as deer as he passed. They looked in good shape. This northern grass had put meat on their lean frames. He thought he saw traces of shorthorn among their calves. He knew that much about cattle. So the Storms were upbreeding their stock. His father would be interested to know that. Though he probably knew it already. His intelligence service was the best.

  He was in a small side valley which led him southeast. He trotted his horse down it, its hoofs make a pleasant shush-shush through the rich grass. Then the main valley broke before him and he saw again why his father wanted this country so badly. It was a cattleman’s paradise—shelter from the elements, good grass and plentiful water. No man could ask more.

  When he hit the main valley, cattle became more plentiful. The graze was so good here that a man could run the cows close without eating the grass away. Even so, he could see that this year Will Storm had populated the graze to capacity. Maybe he was going to sell in the fall with his animals at their peak.

  Now the boy asked himself the question: Where the devil do I find a meal?

  Ahead of him was a small motte of trees. Unthinkingly and for no particular reason, he headed toward it. It was probably the most fateful move he ever made in his life.

  As he reached the trees, he heard a horse whinny.

  Slightly alarmed, knowing he was in enemy country, he stopped his horse and looked around. The horse rumbled again. He reached to his hip for his gun and drew it.

  A voice asked—

  ‘You needn’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.’

  He twisted in the saddle.

  She sat with her back against the bole of a tree, back arched, hands gripping one knee. She was nineteen years old and the world was hers. You could see it in her clear gray eyes, the way she looked frankly at you. There was a kind of fresh innocence there, yet, at the same time, her expression was bright with intelligence. She’d be hard to fool, this girl. Under the light-brown hair, its front bleached by sun and wind to a pale gold, the forehead was high and smooth. The cheekbones stood high, giving character to her features, the nose straight, the mouth maybe a little too large, but not for Riley who thought it the most perfect mouth he had seen on any woman.

  Her posture thrust her firm young breasts forward so that her blouse stretched tight and straight to the waist, the waist that seemed too slender for the strong rounded hips beneath. She wore a divided skirt and beautifully decorated Mexican boots. No spurs. Her goad was a finely plaited quirt, dangling from her slender right wrist.

  She looked up at a young man a year or two older than herself, showing an arrogance that could not hide the underlying uncertainty. And it was this uncertainty that appealed to Kate as a woman. And, being honest with herself, she was instantly aware of it. He was a golden boy. Golden haired, golden skinned and rich. He was made for gold.

  He was the enemy. She should distrust him and maybe fear him a little. But she could not. Not as a man. Sure, he was on his father’s side and she knew that he could be here on an errand for Ed Brack.

  He looked lost for a moment, then pushed his gun back into its holster. The arrogance and uncertainty showed equally on his scowling face.

  He stepped down from the saddle. He approached her and stood looking down at her. Now close to her, he felt even more embarrassed than he had done in the saddle. He neither knew what to do or say.

  ‘Good morning,’ was all he could manage.

  She smiled rather haughtily.

  ‘We don’t often see Bracks in this valley. Have you lost your way, Riley?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t lose my way. Mind if I sit?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  He sat. Not too close to her, not too far away. He wanted to stare at her, but he was too abashed. He covered his shyness with an arrogant look. It didn’t f
ool her.

  ‘So you just came for the ride,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ He hesitated. He scarcely knew the girl, yet he felt suddenly that he had known her all his life. Maybe it was because he had thought so much about her. ‘I broke with my old man yesterday. I cleared out.’

  ‘Cut off without a penny?’ She was laughing at him. He knew it and he squirmed.

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  She cocked her head on one side. She looked so lovely as she did this that it was all he could do to prevent himself from reaching out for her.

  ‘You could be making that up,’ she said. ‘You could be down here spying.’

  ‘No,’ he cried. ‘That’s not so. I swear it.’

  She was thinking. Her smooth forehead creased itself into a frown.

  ‘So Ed’s back in the country,’ she said at last.

  He looked surprised.

  ‘Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘Nobody did. I don’t think they were supposed to either. So Uncle Mart gets braced by a bunch of hardcases. He’s on the run with a posse after him for a killing that was forced on him. Now I know your dad’s back, it stinks, Riley Brack.’

  He squirmed some more. He knew it stank.

  ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with me,’ he said. ‘I cut myself off from my father.’

  ‘Just the same,’ she insisted, ‘Uncle Mart wouldn’t be on the run if your dad hadn’t come back.’

  He looked at her wretchedly.

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ he said. ‘But this doesn’t have anything to do with me, I tell you.’

  ‘That could or could not be true,’ she told him.

  ‘Miss Kate,’ he said and hesitated. ‘Miss Kate, heck, I didn’t come here ... I mean ... let’s bury the hatchet. I’m out on my neck and I’m looking for a job.’

  ‘What can you do?’ she demanded practically.

  ‘Do?’

  He hadn’t thought about that. It was the first question he should have asked himself. He saw himself riding the range like a man. But his dream didn’t go any further than that. Suddenly he knew that nobody would hire him. There wasn’t a thing he could do. Why he couldn’t even use a rope. He’d practiced a little with his gun and didn’t think he was too bad with it. But he couldn’t earn his keep with his gun. His hatred for his father burned deep. The Old Man had fitted him for nothing. And some of the hatred was turned against himself, for he knew that a man must fit himself for life. Nobody else could do it for him.