The Storm Family 6 Read online

  “I’ll show you, respected uncle,” Jody said. “An’ I’ll show the whole damn family. You’ll see.” He kneed his horse forward, then stopped and looked over his shoulder back at his uncle. “Just how spooked are they down there? They liable to shoot afore they sing out?”

  “You’ll find out when you part company with your fool head,” Mart said.

  “Aw,” Jody said and rode on down.

  He was stopped about a half-mile from the house. He had ridden out of the trees and was in broad moonlight. The challenge came from the rear and he heard the gun cock, so there wasn’t much he could do about it except halt his horse and raise his hands above his head.

  A gravel voice said in Spanish— “Who are you and what do you want here?”

  “The name,” said Jody in his cow-pen Spanish, “is Mannin Lee and I’m going to the Casa Aragon.”

  “You will dismount from your horse so that you are between this gun and the animal.” Jody obeyed. “You will unbuckle your gun-belt and let it fall to the ground.” Jody obeyed. “You will now walk six paces ahead and halt. One more or one less and you are dead.” Jody obeyed. He heard the man walk forward and pick up the gun-belt.

  He heard the creak of saddle-leather as the man mounted.

  Hell, Jody thought bitterly, I have to walk it. Mart was right. This is a tough assignment. Walking not only hurt his pride, it hurt his feet. Like many men who nursed cows for a living, he was vain about his feet and liked to wear boots too small for him.

  “Now you will walk,” the man said, “and you will do so circumspectly if you wish to reach the house on your feet and not draped across your own saddle.”

  Jody didn’t fancy the last one little bit, so he walked. He didn’t talk because his mind was active, mostly concerned with ways of avoiding walking and also of evading the disgrace of arriving at the house under guard. This would, he thought, do his mission no good. He was meant to be a dangerous man and here he was being choused along like a goddam dogie by a Mex peon. He could almost hear Mart laughing. What a start to a story in which he was supposed to be playing the hero.

  They traveled thus to within several hundred yards of the house and came to the edge of an arroyo. It was steep and Jody hesitated. His captor ordered him on. He started down, lost his footing and fell to the bottom of the very steep slope. Horse and rider came quickly after him.

  “Get up,” the Mexican ordered.

  Jody obeyed.

  He rose to his feet with a handful of dust and this he hurled with all his might up at the rider above him, at the same time charging forward and yelling at the top of his voice. The rider cried out, the horse shied and the cocked rifle went off. When the horse came down on all four feet, Jody took hold of the rider by his right arm and heaved him out of the saddle. The unfortunate man hit dust hard, Jody’s knees landed on his belly somewhat harder. The result was one inert and helpless Mexican who gazed up at his gun in his former captive’s hands. True, the gun wasn’t loaded, but the butt was brassbound and, driven hard enough, could crush a man’s skull.

  Jesus Maria Gomez was fully aware that under certain circumstances discretion was the better part of valor and recognized this as one of those circumstances. He accepted the situation philosophically and with commendable dignity.

  “Do you kill me now?” he asked.

  “No,” said Jody. “You didn’t kill me, did you? Jest git on your feet and walk ahead kinda circumspect or I’ll blow a hole in your back I can ride through.”

  That seemed a fair deal to Jesus Maria Gomez. He rose to his feet rather shakily, waited politely while Jody mounted and led the way down the arroyo.

  They turned right into the deep moon shadow of the trees and then there before them was the great gate of the house. Above it and to one side was a watchtower and from this they were challenged. Jesus Maria explained that he was accompanied by a noble Americano who held his life in his hands and if the guard had any regard for his friend’s life, he would open the gate and allow them to enter without further ado. This, somewhat to Jody’s surprise, the guard did and Jody and his prisoner entered the yard under this individual’s awestruck gaze.

  When he had shut and barred the gate, he said reprovingly to Jody: “The señora will be very angry because of this.”

  Jody nodded solemnly and did not take his gun from Jesus Maria. To the guard, he said: “You will go back to your duty, my friend.” To Jesus Maria, he said: “You will take me to the señora.”

  “But I am not of the house,” the man said.

  Before Jody could say anything more, he heard the jingle of spurs and, turning, saw coming toward him a Mexican of great dignity and a virility that he bore like a challenging banner. He wore the leather of a vaquero, bore a magnificent mustache on his upper lip and carried his gun like a professional pistolero.

  “Ah,” said Jesus Maria with some satisfaction and relief.

  The newcomer came to within a few paces of Jody, eyed him calmly and said in a deep rich voice with the singsong of Mexico: “You will put the gun away, my young friend. This is not allowed here.”

  Jody hesitated for no more than a second. He knew authority and competence when he saw it. He could also recognize a man he might need on his own side. He sheathed his gun and said—

  “Mannin Lee’s the name. I come lookin’ for Miss Linda Aragon.”

  “You come in an unmannerly fashion.”

  “It ain’t my habit to be took like a greenhorn.”

  The man nodded. He understood that.

  “My name is Gregorio Nunez. I am the man of business at Aragon.”

  “Wa-al, Mister Nunez, I reckon I come in here right unmannerly,” Jody declared, “jest like you said. But a man has his per-fessional pride, as you might say. Havin’ this here gr …”

  Jody had been about to refer to Jesus Maria as a greaser in the vernacular of the time, but he saved himself, though he didn’t doubt that Gregorio had not missed the near slip. “Havin’ this here feller brace me kinda riled me. Now, I’d sure like to pay my respects to Miss Aragon if’n that can be arranged.”

  The man with the magnificent mustaches looked at him coldly and searchingly for a moment. Then he said: “Follow me.”

  He turned and led the way across the yard through an archway that led them into the patio of the house. Here water played soothingly from a fountain and the coolness of water filled the air. There was a heady smell of flowers that Jody couldn’t place.

  The Mexican said: “You will wait here.”

  Jody wasn’t quite sure he liked being told to wait like a servant by a Mexican because he had all the Texas antipathy of the period for the race who men said lived by stealing good Texas cows. Those same men never remembered that Texas men repaid the compliment by taking good Mexican cows.

  As Gregorio crossed the patio and entered the house, Jody looked around him, gazing at the lighted windows of the place, hearing the sound of soft guitar music from one, the tinkling laugh of a woman from another. From the far end of the patio out of an upstairs window he heard the sound of more laughter. Male and Anglo-Saxon laughter.

  Holy mackerel, he thought, what’s that durned Mart gotten me into now.

  “Mr. Lee?”

  He turned and saw her. The light from a window fell on her high-angled face and for a moment he thought he was looking at an Indian woman dressed in the height of American fashion.

  He pulled off his hat and went toward her. He remembered the manners his mother had insisted on.

  “Do I have the honor, ma’am, of addressin’ Miss Linda Aragon?”

  “I am she.”

  “Ma’am ... I ... Linus McGee sent me. He reckoned …”

  Something about this woman unnerved him. Suddenly, he felt he wasn’t the man for the job.

  “What did Mr. McGee reckon, Mr. Lee?” The voice was so cold it chilled him. He’d hate to cross this female.

  “He reckoned you’d give me cover, ma’am,” he mumbled. “I’d surely be behol
den …”

  “Under what circumstances did Mr. McGee tell you this?”

  “He ... uh ... there was this little mite of fuss up to Cheyenne, ma’am. It ain’t the kinda thing a gentleman discusses with a lady.”

  “But you will discuss it with me if you wish to remain here, Mr. Lee.”

  “If you say so, ma’am. There was a buncha fellers “at took it into their heads to hold up a stage. Thangs did not go accordin’ to plan. There was a mite of unpleasantness, as you could say.”

  “You mean a man was shot.”

  “That’s what I mean, ma’am.”

  “Did you do the shooting? The truth now, Mr. Lee.”

  It was like being questioned by a prissy school-ma’am. Only this one didn’t look like a prissy school-ma’am. She looked— Hell, he could see why Uncle Mart had been knocked all of a heap. Maybe a year or two old for Jode Storm, but she was still a lot of woman.

  “No, ma’am. I ain’t a killin’ man.”

  “I have heard that before from the lips of a triple murderer. Now, if you stay here, you will abide by the manners and morals you valued before you took to the lawless life. You will not wear a gun. You will moderate your language and you will remain sober. You will not show any curiosity about your fellow-guests and I trust they will not show any about you. Is that understood?”

  “Ma’am, it’ll be jest like I was in Sunday school. I swear it.”

  “Very well. You may stay. May I ask why Mr. McGee, whom I presume shared your escapade in Cheyenne with you, is not with you now?”

  “Why, he lit out for Texas, ma’am. He had a real hankerin’ for the home-folks, he did. Jest couldn’t wait to see them. Really a-frettin’ for them, he was.”

  “And the others?”

  “Coupla the fellers went with him. Couple more broke down timber for parts unknown, as they say.”

  “It took a great number of men to stop one stage, Mr. Lee.”

  “Tough stage. Tough guard, ma’am. That’s how he come to git hisself killed dead. Jest had to show he could trigger that greener of his’n.”

  “If you follow me, Mr. Lee, I will introduce you to your fellow-guests and show you to your quarters.”

  She turned and entered the door behind her. There was an oil lamp on a small table inside the door and this she picked up. She led him along what appeared to be a long hall and entered a room at the far end of it. This room was also large and in it were some eight or ten men, all seating around a long table.

  Jody paused in the doorway and surveyed them.

  One of them knows me, he thought, and my hide hangs in the wind for jerky.

  They turned and looked past the woman toward him. There was every kind of face there from the utterly innocent to the most depraved. Here, he knew, were road agents, con men, every variety of rogue and villain that the world could foist upon the West and which the West could nurture.

  “Mannin Lee, gentlemen,” Linda Aragon said. “He knows the rules. Make him welcome.”

  At the far end of the table rose a man in claw hammer coat and fancy vest. His side-whiskers were sleek, his face lean and smooth, his eyes sleepy and observant.

  “The name is new to me, sir,” he said with a smile, “but maybe it is new to you, too. No matter. We all have new names in this company. You’re welcome.”

  “Sure, sure,” one or two murmured while one or two were silent.

  “Do you have a fancy for the cards, Mr. Lee?” inquired a rotund gentleman of the road who looked like a jolly drummer.

  “I can take ’em or leave ’em,” said Jody. He didn’t smile. He had to play a part while he was here and the lines had to come pat. The way he gave out those words brought a little frost to the air.

  “I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Lee,” Linda Aragon said. “Then you can join the company at dinner.”

  He followed her from the room. They climbed carpeted stairs and he liked the way she moved ahead of him. The waist was very slim and the full hips swayed in a manner he admired in women. It seemed a shame that a fine lady like this one should be mixed up in a game like this one. But he wasn’t turning soft. He’d show that Mart he was as hard as the next man.

  They went along a corridor, she opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to share,” she said. “I have more than my quota of guests right now.”

  He said: “There’s a bed and a roof over it, vittles on the table below. What more can a man ask for, ma’am? I’m entirely beholden to you.”

  She placed the lamp on a table and lit the one standing there already. The light played on her face. She turned and their eyes met. What he saw in those eyes, he had never seen in the eyes of a woman before. Then he had never met a woman like this one before.

  “You are very young, Mr. Lee,” she said.

  “Old enough.”

  “For what?”

  “Anythin’.”

  “I have known a great many men who thought that. Too many of them are dead.”

  He nodded. “It’s all in the game.”

  “It is still a game to you?”

  “Well, it don’t get you no place to cry over it.”

  She picked up her lamp.

  “I’ll leave you to wash up and get the dust of the trail from you,” she said. “Join the others. Make friends if you can. Time can hang heavily on your hands here. And, Mr. Lee...”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The Mexican girls are not here for your amusement.”

  “I get your drift, ma’am.”

  She left and closed the door behind her.

  Jody thought: Make friends, she says. Keep your hands off the greaser gals, she says. Man, die Jode sure has his work cut out. Uncle Mart, don’t you leave me around here too long.

  At the foot of the stairs, two men awaited her.

  One was the man in the claw hammer coat and the fancy vest. Vince Stoddard. The other was the jolly rotund drummer—Max Koler. Stoddard looked like a man who had caught another man cheating at cards. Koler’s mean slit eyes were venomous above his fat cheeks.

  “Aragon,” Stoddard said, “we have to talk with you.”

  “Now now,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Now,” Koler said.

  “Very well,” she told them, “go ahead.”

  “Not here,” Stoddard said. “We can’t risk bein’ overheard.”

  She walked past them and they followed her to the far end of the house and entered the salon. Here, there was no light but that from the lamp she held and the flickering fire. She placed the lamp on a table and said: Well?”

  “This new boy,” Koler said. “He ain’t no Mannin Lee.”

  “I didn’t think he was,” she said. “What man uses his real name when he comes here?”

  Stoddard said: “If this boy’s on the run, there’s maybe some facts we ought to know about.”

  “You’re well aware, Stoddard, we don’t discuss guests in my house.”

  “We discuss this one. There’s somethin’ here that smells wrong.”

  “Maybe you’d best explain yourself.”

  “Marve Styree knows him.”

  “So?”

  “He’s a Storm.”

  At first the name didn’t register. Then a name seemed to crash into her mind.

  Martin Storm.

  Maybe she showed the shock on her face. She quickly controlled herself, but she felt that both men noticed, even in the poor light.

  “And what does that mean?” she demanded.

  “Now don’t you tell me, Aragon,” Stoddard said, “you didn’t hear of the Storms?”

  “The only Storms I ever heard of were the cattle-folk up in the Three Creeks Country of Colorado.”

  “The same.”

  “You mean this boy is a Storm gone wrong?”

  Max Koler said: “There’s no tellin’, is there? But he ain’t Mannin Lee.”

  “All right,” she said. “So a man changed his name
. Is there something so new about that?”

  Vince Stoddard was watching her. She could feel his suspicion.

  He said: “It’s pretty strange when he’s the second Storm who rode in here in the last couple of days.”

  The alarm showed on her face now. She knew she could not hide it. Nor could she prevent herself from making the feminine gesture of alarm by putting her hand to her throat.

  How had these men learned that Martin’s name was Storm? The servants must have talked. Fear struck suddenly at her from several different directions.

  If this boy who called himself Mannin Lee was related to Martin, were they both in this country for a purpose? Her mind raced. Had Lee been sent in here as a spy? If so she and her guests could be in very real danger. If the outlaws sheltering here were aware of it, Martin’s life could be in danger. The thought came to her that his shooting had been planned, that the men who had shot him had indeed lain in wait for him. She knew only too well that they could have been men from her house. Several of them had been absent that night. She must check that fact with Gregorio.

  “Very well,” she said, exhibiting a calm she didn’t feel, “leave this with me. You may rest assured I shall attend to it.”

  Stoddard said: “This is man’s work, girl. Me and the boys can put it to rights in no time at all.”

  “And what will that entail?”

  He laughed and shrugged.

  “Do I have to tell you? You’ve been in this business long enough. You and your old man before you. We ask some questions. If we get the answers we expect, Mannin Lee’s out of commission.”

  “You fool,” she said. “If the other Storm’s associated with him, do you think he won’t take some action.”

  “We can attend to that.”

  Her temper broke its bounds.

  “Have you no sense at all? This place is safe for you and your kind because men are safe here. No violence of any kind has ever been connected with this place.”

  Koler said: “Maybe she has somethin’ there. This Mart Storm’s a heller with a gun. Why, I heard tell …”

  “Though I says it as shouldn’t,” Stoddard interrupted, “us men are top of our trade. It’d take more’n Mart Storm to get our spurs in a tangle.”

  “You’ll leave it with me,” she said.