Not a hundred yards from the house, he heard a faint shout and, turning in the saddle, he saw a horseman coming down from the ridge. He lifted a hand. It was Joe. He rode to meet him, watching Joe ford the two creeks and come dripping from the water.
When they met, he saw that Joe was tired. Which was something to remark on, for he had never known Joe to be tired.
They talked. Joe’s news was now maybe a day old, but it was better than nothing. Mart was alive but things didn’t look too good for him. He was torn between riding into the hills and doing something direct about it or going to work on Grebb. He could only pray that if it came to it, Mart would surrender to the posse without a fight. He thanked Joe and told him to go up to the house for food and rest. The Negro turned his horse and rode slowly toward the house. Will headed on north.
He took the narrow little-used trail to the west of the valley that would take him up over the ridges to the Spring Creek trail. That way he would avoid Broken Spur and trouble. So he thought. It was getting dark when he made his way down the trail and came in sight of the road-ranch. He found a half-dozen horses racked outside, tied the dun and went inside.
There was the smell of drink and unwashed bodies in the place as usual. Added to which were some dozen men and one woman. She was making up to an old hill-nutty as if he were a virile youngster of twenty-odd. Which meant either that she needed spectacles or that he’d found gold.
Grebb stood at his new bar, leaning, talking to another man. Stott shadowed him, looking as grim as usual. Will crossed the room to Grebb who straightened up. It wasn’t usual for Will to come here. Either he was a potential customer or this meant trouble. His nose said it meant trouble. Maybe the look on Will’s face confirmed it. Stott’s nose must have given him the same message. He moved a little to one side so that Will was between him and Grebb. The move was not lost upon Will.
‘Welcome, welcome, Mr. Storm,’ Grebb cried, face beaming, eyes hard, hand outstretched.
‘Howdy, Mr. Grebb,’ Will said and accepted the hand. Briefly.
‘Indeed a pleasure, sir, to have you in my house. A drink?’ He tried to overwhelm the quieter man with the strength of his presence, to drown him with his personality. He underestimated Will, which was foolish. Like most people he mistakenly believed that the Storm’s victory over Brack the year before had been due solely to the gun-skill of Mart Storm and Joe Widbee. He was unaware of Will’s part in it. Brack knew. But he wasn’t telling.
‘A drink would be real nice,’ Will said. ‘Private.’
Grebb was in the act of raising a finger to the barman. He stopped, turned and stared at Will.
‘Sure,’ he said doubtfully. ‘We could go into my office.’
He turned and led the way to the rear of the building around one end of the bar. Will followed him and Stott followed after. Will didn’t welcome Stott’s presence, but he decided to let it ride. He followed Grebb into the room vainly trying to look like an office. Grebb reached for the bottle on the table and poured two drinks. Nothing for Stott who closed the door behind him and stood with his back to it, his face like a funeral attendant’s.
Will smiled, accepted the drink and said: ‘Mud.’
The two men drank. Grebb sighed a little and lowered his weight into a chair that complained in a subdued kind of way as though Grebb had left no real protest in it.
‘Now,’ said Grebb, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Quite a bit,’ said Will.
‘Shoot.’ The little eyes were watching him while the fat lips smiled.
‘All right,’ said Will. ‘I have a question to ask you, Grebb. When you answer it, I’ll ask another. Mark that—I said when. Because you’re goin’ to answer it. Don’t be in any doubt about that. Before I ask it, I’ll give you a small piece of information which will show you how we stand. That gunslick at the door is wastin’ his time.’
The smile slid from Grebb’s face.
‘He stays,’ he said.
‘Like I said,’ Will repeated, ‘he’s wastin’ his time. I came in here tonight to lay it on the line. First, if I ain’t out of here by a certain time, there’s goin’ to be all hell let loose around this place.’
‘Jesus,’ said Grebb starting up in his chair, ‘there’s no call for that kind of talk.’
‘Aw, yes, there is,’ Will told him. ‘You’ll see. So get that into your head. If I don’t walk out of here with the information I want I’m goin’ to burn this place over your head.’
Stott put a hand inside his coat. Grebb held up his hand to stop the movement.
‘Leave it lie,’ he said. ‘Now, Mr. Storm, what started this? Hell, I can’t hardly get my breath back. I mean—hell—you come in here ... it sure do shake a man up to hear this kinda talk.’
‘Good,’ said Will, ‘that’s the way it should be. Understand this—my brother’s life is at stake here.’
‘So that’s it,’ Grebb said as if the idea had only just come to him.
Will switched the line of talk a little.
‘You’re scared of Brack,’ he said.
‘Brack?’ said Grebb. ‘What does he have to do with me?’
Alarm showed in the small eyes. Stott made angry threatening noises from the door.
Will switched again.
‘The question. Where’s Stu Aintree?’
There was silence in the room.
It was broken by Charlie Stott.
‘Let me handle him, boss. Please.’
Will laughed.
‘You should ought to see yourself, Grebb,’ he said. ‘You look pretty sick. You’re a little greedy man, Grebb, an’ you’ve bitten off more’n you can chaw. You’re goin’ to choke on what you have in your craw. You know that?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,’ the man said.
‘For God’s sake quit foolin’ around,’ Will said. ‘Do you think I don’t have information? You plan to be a big man in this country, Grebb, but you ride the trail you took when Pat Shaw and Stu Aintree came in here an’ you’ll end up goin’ up the hill with your boots on. Use your head, man. You think Ransome’s in Brack’s pocket. You think Brack’ll protect you for his own sake, but I can blow all that sky-high by lifting a finger.’
Grebb was sweating. His hands clenched on the table top.
‘I don’t have to listen to this crazy talk,’ he said. The bounce had gone out of him. He could see his beautiful road-ranch going up in flames.
‘For crissake, boss,’ Stott pleaded.
‘You’re threatenin’ me in front of a witness,’ Grebb said.
Will smiled.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘I’m threatenin’ him too. Either I talk with Aintree or I walk out of here and you take the consequences.’
Grebb was on his feet. His voice shook with passion and fear.
‘You can’t do this to me. There’s law around here.’
‘The law’s fifty miles west of here,’ Will said. ‘Huntin’ down my brother. You an’ this ape here’ll be dead.’
Stott ground out: ‘Ed Brack’d never let it happen.’
Grebb rounded on him with a curse. ‘Keep your fool mouth shut,’ he shouted.
Will waited. Stott trembled with the strength of his impulse to draw his gun and shoot him. Grebb sat down again and put his head in his hands. At last he lifted his head and stared at Will.
‘You win,’ he said. ‘Charlie, go fetch Aintree.’
‘I thought he was wounded,’ Will said. ‘Can he walk?’
‘He can walk. Go ahead, Charlie.’
Stott stared for a moment at his boss, reluctant to move, then he opened the door and slouched out.
Grebb changed his manner. His face brightened.
‘Have another drink, Mr. Storm,’ he said. ‘No hard feelings. You had me worried there. Really worried. You see, this Aintree is a dangerous feller. He’s scared us here. A killer. Nothin’ but a hired killer. Not the kinda man I like to have around the place.’
Will took the drink offered to him. He found that he needed it.
Grebb continued—‘That’s what stopped me talkin’ to you. That gun of his. You can’t think what life’s been since he came, Mr. Storm. He’s terrorized the whole place. Your brother was no way to blame. He couldn’t do nothin’ but kill Pat Shaw, Mr. Storm. They set him up sure’s God made little apples. My God, you shoulda seen it. That brother of yourn is sure an artist with that gun. They had him a crossfire. He shoulda been dead twice over. He sure should of.’
Grebb talked on.
‘Where’s Aintree at, Grebb?’ Will asked.
The flow of words stopped. Grebb blinked.
‘At? Why, he’s here.’
‘Exactly where?’
‘Why on the other side of the yard. He’s holed up there. The girls is terrified to go near him. He’s in there with his gun.’
Will lifted his Colt from leather, thumb on hammer.
‘We’ll go find him.’
Grebb was on his feet, alarmed.
‘What?’
‘Move now. No more talk. Just remember I’m nervous an’ this gun is kinda light-triggered.’
‘Put it
away, Mr. Storm. A man never knows with guns.
There’s no call—’
‘Move.’
Grebb, eyeing the gun, went to the door and opened it. Will followed him out of the room. Grebb went to turn left.
‘Not through the saloon,’ Will said. ‘Go out the rear.’
Grebb sighed heavily and turned right. He opened a door and went out into the moonlight. A moment later they were crossing the open flat ground that was surrounded by buildings. There were lights in windows on the far side. Will heard a woman’s laugh. He kept close enough to Grebb to handle him, but not too close. This was more the kind of chore that Mart could handle.
Grebb reached a door and opened it. In front of him was a flight of stairs, dimly lit. He started up them and called: ‘Charlie.’
‘Cut that out,’ Will told him.
There came the sound of booted feet on the planks above. Grebb halted. A dim form appeared at the head of the stairs. Stott’s voice came.
‘He’s gone, boss.’
‘He can’t have.’
Will reached out and grabbed the clothing on Grebb’s back, heaving on it with all his strength. The man’s heavy body lost its balance and fell down the stairs past him. Grebb yelled. Stott made a hurried movement.
Will yelled: ‘Freeze, Stott.’
Stott froze.
Will ordered: ‘Drop your gun.’ The weapon clattered to the floor. Will went up two treads at a time, shoved Stott clear of the head of the stairs and scooped up the gun. He glanced around. To his left was an open door. A lamp burned beyond. He rushed into the room. A disheveled bed, a whiskey bottle on the table. The room stank of human occupation. It was empty. The window was open and the curtain blew in the light breeze.
Will turned and ran out of there. Stott backed up from him because from the foot of the stairs Grebb yelled for him to keep away from Storm. Will went down the stairs faster than he had gone down stairs in twenty years, thrust Grebb from his path and ran outside. He turned right, his feet pounding and his breath rasping in his chest. When he reached the corner of the building, he turned right again. Twenty paces and he reached the rear of the house.
Nothing but space and night. He listened.
Above the tinkling of the piano and a raucous song in the saloon, he heard a horse whicker. He ran along the rear of the house, sucking air into his tortured lungs. What would he have given to have been ten years younger. There in the moonlight was the corral with Grebb’s treasured horses in it.
The creak of saddle-leather, a man’s uncertain form rearing up into the saddle.
‘Hold it or I fire,’ Will roared. He wanted the man alive. He wanted to hear him talk.
A gun cracked and lead sang wide. Will, fearful of hitting the horses, aimed high at the man and let fly as the horse jumped forward. Even as his gun went off, he knew he’d missed. Holding his breath to steady himself was torture. He cocked for a second shot. The man was disappearing into the dark, going south. He fired again and again, but he knew it was no use. He walked up to the corral fence and leaned against it, filling his lungs with air, shaking a little. Hearing the sound of hoofs disappearing into the distance, he carefully reloaded his gun. He was greener than spring grass in the rain. He’d been suckered like a pilgrim just off the train.
Slowly, he walked back around the building. Grebb and Stott were standing by the open door talking in low tones.
Will halted and said: ‘You’d best laugh now, Grebb, because you ain’t goin’ to have much chance in the future.’
Grebb complained: ‘Comin’ in here like you owned the place, shootin’ off guns promiscuous. Why you didn’t even know who you was shootin’ at.’
‘I was shootin’ at Aintree an’ by the time I’m through he’ll wished I’d of hit him. In the haid.’ Will paused and added: ‘He was goin’ to talk, Grebb, an’ you know it. Well, he ain’t the only one I can make talk. There’s somebody else who’ll tell me all I want to know. You know who?’
‘Who?’
‘Stott there. You think he’s tough, but you’re wrong. He’s weak. That’s why he follows you around like a shadow. You think he protects you. But that ain’t so. The Stotts of this world can’t survive without men like you. He reckons you’re a king. I’m goin’ to show him different. An’ when he sees the truth, he’s going’ to wet his pants and tell me all I want to know. Then it’s finish for you.’
He turned and walked away.