THE TRAMP OF spurless boots echoed from the walk and Chavis wheeled to face that, his nerves still on edge.
Sheriff Paul Hilliard advanced and stood facing him in the dimness, not yet having seen the two bodies lying together in the stable doorway.
“What was the shootin’?”
Chavis jerked a thumb toward the Crewses. Hilliard saw the two low shapes then; he cut across the street and bent over the nearer one, Les.
“You get ’em both?”
“That’s right.”
“I heard you was a troublemaker,” Hilliard said.
“From Ben Majors?”
The sheriff flung him a glance. “From Ben.”
“Does he ever let up on the knot to let you breathe?”
Hilliard faced him testily. “You clamp your mouth, pilgrim, or I’ll slap a murder charge on you.”
Chavis smiled a tight smile. “Everybody in town knows they were after me, Sheriff.”
A crowd was gathering and Hilliard used his rough voice to move them on, until all were gone except Hal Craycroft. The barkeep grinned at Chavis.
“I saw it,” he said. “Ran was tryin’ his best to empty his gun when Tracy cut him down. And Les was just a big reputation who couldn’t pull his Colt fast enough.”
Hilliard moved over to Ran’s body. “These boys had a lot of experience along the trail. Where’d you get yours?”
“Same trail,” Chavis said.
The sheriff frowned. “Stick around, Chavis.”
“I’ll be at Chainlink if you want to talk to me.”
The sheriff tried to hold his glance, and couldn’t. Finally he said, “All right—all right.” And walked away.
“I’ll get Doc Harrington,” Craycroft said. He drifted off. Chavis stood still a moment, regarding the Crews brothers, then abruptly strode to the blacksmith’s.
Corey Wate was gone. Chavis swore and went to his horse. He rode north. His stomach was none too easy feeling and he saw how unsteady his hands were. It was always like this after a fight. Connie was wrong; there was no enjoyment for him in this sort of thing. Facing Les Crews there on the street, fear had been strong enough in him to paralyze his legs. He couldn’t have run if he’d wanted to.
It didn’t take Hilliard long to ride out to Spin and inform Majors of what had happened. He had seen Ben angry before, but this was the first time he had seen the man so worked up that his complexion turned reddish-purple and he had to tramp the room in restless circles.
“Hell,” said Majors, and suddenly stood stock still, his eyes narrowing. “Craycroft was the only witness?”
“Far as I know.”
“Well, then,” said Majors, satisfaction in his tone. “Get out there and arrest Chavis. For murder.”
“Wasn’t murder,” Hilliard said.
“I don’t give a damn what you think, Paul. I want him locked up. Sure, no jury would convict him. But if we can hold him for trial it will put him out of circulation. He’s sitting on top of that pass, grinning like a ‘coon, and daring anybody to trespass.”
“Afraid of him?” Hilliard said softly.
“Hell, no. But if I pick a fight with that man I’ll lose half my crew to win. No sense in tellin’ them to go out and commit suicide.”
“What if he doesn’t come along?”
“Bring him in,” Majors said. “I don’t care how.”
At eight in the morning the sheriff rode boldly into the Chainlink yard, only to learn from Connie that her foreman was out pulling bog. Remounting, he headed away from the buildings, and presently dropped into a mossy hollow fed by a trickling creek. Chavis was here, riding a heavy harness animal with a rope running from a dally around his horn to the head of a steer bogged down in the swamp. Young Gary Niles was up to his hips in flowing mud, wading out to the steer. ;
The sheriff rode out of the brush, careful to make no sudden motions.
“In a minute,” Chavis said tersely, and applied himself to getting the horse to throw its weight against the rope. In the bog, Niles was working the steer out. Presently, with a gurgling heave, the steer clambered from the hole.
Chavis coiled his rope into neat loops and tied it to a rawhide concho strap. He faced Hilliard. “Something I can do for you?”
Hilliard slid a hand inside his shirt and silently drew out and handed Chavis a folded document. The foreman opened it and read it slowly, his face working gradually into an angry set.
“What the hell is this?”
“I didn’t write the thing. I’m just servin’ it.”
Chavis handed the warrant back. “Take this and burn it and throw the ashes in Ben’s face.”
“I take it you ain’t submittin’ to arrest.”
“You take it right,” Chavis said.
“All right. But I’ll just have to get up a posse and force you to come in. That would be a waste of time.”
He looked hotly at Hilliard. “I guess you’re right.” He turned to Niles, who sat with lips drawn tight and his hand hooked in his belt inches from his gun.
“Kid, tell McCaig what this is. Tell Connie, too. Majors has served a warrant on me for killing Les Crews. Tell her to sit tight and start shooting if anyone tries to move in. And listen—I want no fool plays. Don’t rush into town to break me out. That’s what Ben wants. He’ll cut you to pieces. Don’t get sucked into anything. Understand?”
Gary nodded and wheeled savagely away.
“All right,” Chavis said. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll take your gun,” said the sheriff.
“I guess not. When I’m in jail, you can have my gun. But I’m not handing it over and then getting shot from a tree along the trail. Was this your idea?”
“Ben’s,” said Hilliard.
“Sure. But Craycroft can prove what happened.”
“That’s right.”
“So Ben wants me put on ice anyway, to keep me away from Chainlink. That it?”
“Think whatever you want,” Hilliard said. They rode on in silence until they sighted Spanish Flat.
“I’ll take the gun now.”
Chavis handed it over. Hilliard led him into the cell hallway, opened a barred door and let him inside.
“Don’t like this, myself,” Hilliard said. “But Ben had to get you out of his way—or go broke.”
“Ben’s showing a big conscience in this—but it didn’t bother him when he murdered Hal Carter.”
“Carter? What about him?”
“They sent his body into Chainlink last night, roped across the saddle. With this note.” Chavis handed the creased paper through the bars.
Hilliard studied it in genuine puzzlement. “Ben had nothing to do with this,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“It ain’t his way, that’s all.”
Chavis snorted. “He hired the Crews boys, didn’t he?”
“To scare you out. But they came at you from the front, after givin’ you fair warnin’. Remember that. Ben’s not the kind to ambush Carter and use his body for bait.”
“Maybe,” Chavis said, not convinced.
Hilliard left without saying more. Chavis sat down on the bolted-down cot and cursed softly. Ben’s purpose was obvious. If Chavis stayed in jail, he was out of the way, and if he broke jail, Spur would have a legitimate excuse for hunting him down and killing him.
He paced the cell. Chainlink, half-rebuilt, would now become only another tentacle of the Spur octopus.
Through the window he saw the hotel and the Drovers’ Rest opposite. Now two Spur riders came along the walk toward the hotel. One of them sat down on a porch chair, lifted his legs to the railing, and built a cigarette as if settling down to a long wait. His glance came around to the jail windows and stayed there. The other man – Shad Carruth – continued and disappeared from view.
Spur was laying down siege.
Prints of shod hoofs littered the soft dirt. Bent over, Paul Hilliard studied the confused sign. Carter had ridden in from Chainlink and left his horse in the corral; that much was plain. But here the story ended, and Hilliard had to ride quite a distance out and circle the ranch before he uncovered any more evidence.
On the edge of the foothills six or seven men had ridden out of the Yellows. Their horses had milled for some time in one area, and one horse left the bunch and quartered onto the plain, angling past the house. Three cigarette butts on the ground told that the rider had dismounted behind some rocks and waited. A shimmer of light caught the sheriff’s eye and he dismounted to examine it. He picked up the .32-20 cartridge case and pocketed it.
The ambusher had then ridden out, accompanied by another horse. That led animal would probably be the one with Carter’s body tied across. The rider’s tracks returned with the led horse to his party, whereupon the whole bunch had lined out toward Chainlink. Hilliard sat his horse in the middle of the milling tracks and laid his chin in his palm, his elbow on the saddle horn. Now who do I know owns a .32-20? he wondered. No names came to mind. He followed the sign leading to Chainlink.
The riders had approached Connie’s ranch and milled once more while two horses set out toward the buildings. One of them had returned after going not far and the other one, the horse carrying Carter’s body, had been whipped toward the ranch headquarters. Then the crowd had ridden up through the pass, and rose into the farther hills. Hilliard wound on, hemmed in by the cliff on one side and white creek rapids on the other.
Where the road came out of the pass, and headed through a rolling, pine-covered area, he searched the trees carefully, his ears alerted to the sounds of the drowsy forest.
He thought: This ought to prove it. Sid couldn’t afford to have Chavis in the way any more than Ben could. Sid must have had a man watching Chainlink when Carter rode over. They came down later and shot him up, figuring Ben would find a way to get Chavis charged with the murder of Carter. If it hadn’t been for Crews, it might have worked—and as far as the result’s concerned, it did work.
He lost the tracks in Oro Creek about three miles north of the Flying V, and at last sight they were still heading northwest. But this could easily be subterfuge. He was sweating considerably when he drew up in the Flying V yard.
“Sid!”
Vivian appeared on the porch. He said: “Hello, Paul,” reserve making him laconic.
“I want a look at your rifle case,” Hilliard said. “Hal Carter was ambushed last night with a .32-20.”
“You accusin’ me, Paul?”
“No. Just lookin’ around.”
Vivian grinned. “Go right ahead,” he said, and stepped out of the doorway to let Hilliard enter.
After the jail supper, Chavis saw the Spur cowboy still on the hotel porch, and Shad Carruth had drifted across his vision several times.
Not long after dark the door at the far end of the hallway squeaked and a lamp came bobbing forward until Paul Hilliard stood outside the cell. He set the lamp down and unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.
“I looked around Carter’s,” he said. “The ambusher came down out of the Yellows with a crowd. He waited alone for Carter to show up, shot him and left him at your place. They went back into the Yellows. I looked around Vivian’s but he didn’t have a .32-20 and neither did any of his men. Which don’t mean that they couldn’t have hid one.”
Suspicion rose in Chavis. “Why all this concern?”
Hilliard didn’t seem to hear. “I saw Bones Riley on the road a while ago and he told me Majors is plannin’ to raid Chainlink. He didn’t know more than that but it set me to thinkin’.” He considered his next words carefully.
“I wouldn’t do to a dog what they’re doin’ to you,” he said finally. “So I’m lettin’ you out. Ben can beller all he wants, but I lost the warrant, that’s all. You’re not breakin’ jail, so nobody has a legal right to hunt you.
“But that don’t mean you got no worries. At the moment Ben’s madder at you than he is at Sid. You made him walk around you. He don’t take that.”
“Tough.” Chavis’ lip curled.
“But he really wants Vivian. He don’t give a damn about you. If you leave him alone, I think he’ll cool down.”
“Best he cool down quick,” Chavis said.
“Chavis—don’t do what you think you’re goin’ to do. Ben’s a lot tougher than you give him credit for.”
“Is he?” Chavis spoke softly and looked at Hilliard once more. “What’s your interest in this, Sheriff?”
“Ben ain’t all the man he used to be. There used to be give and take but now he’s set and dried to form. I don’t like it.” He handed Chavis’ gun and belt through the bars.
Chavis buckled the belt on and checked the Colt.
Chavis stepped through the open door. “Shad Carruth’s in town with a partner. Might be trouble if I went out on the street—I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Thought of it already,” Hilliard said. “Your horse is out back of the jail.”
Chavis nodded and stood at the rear door. “Thanks,” he said, and walked out.
Chavis found his saddled horse and left town, thinking of Hilliard’s emerging independence and admiring the sheriff for it.
Halfway to Chainlink he came upon the Spur cutoff, and making a sudden decision he turned off. When he spotted the lights of the Spur house he dismounted, tied his horse to a sapling, and walked on. He looked through the window and saw Majors and his daughter in the big room. Satisfied, he rose soundlessly to the porch.
He stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him, his gun leveled on Ben Majors. In that brief frozen instant Chavis’ glance whipped around the room.
Bones Riley, standing in a corner that Chavis hadn’t seen from the window, grinned amiably at him. And Roy Durand stood in silent anger beside Riley.
“What the hell!” said Majors.
“Ben, you keep quiet and listen.” Majors glared at the big man. “Go ahead.”
“If you and Sid want to feud, it’s fine with me. But you’ll have to use some other road than Chainlink getting at him. If I see one more Spur rider on Chainlink, I’ll shoot him down for the buzzards. And one more thing: it was a fool play to bring in the Crews boys. You’ve lost them now and you’ve lost whatever goodwill you had left in the valley.”
“Rough talk,” Majors murmured. He sat quite still, his hot gaze on Chavis. Sara stood by the wall, silent, her breathing rapid, her eyes glowing. Bones Riley rolled a smoke and put a match to it, his face interested but calm.
“Hilliard tore up your phony warrant,” Chavis said. “You’ve lost him and you’ve lost the law’s backing. Now you cut no bigger swath than any of us.”
He didn’t wait for Majors’ reply, but wheeled to the door. “Hate seeing you in this, Bones,” he said to Riley, and left.
“By God,” Majors said, “I’ll kill that man! He is too damn big for his pants!”
“It’s you who’s outgrown his clothes,” said Sara.
“Get out,” he said softly. “Get out of this room.”
She flung him a look he could not understand – a look of sympathy, of pity, a little of hatred – and went out. Quietly.
That angered Majors more than anything else so far. He stormed out of his chair. “Roy, damn it, saddle my horse.” He went into his office and belted on his gun; he flung outside and when Durand brought his horse around he climbed up and galloped out.
Still aroused, he rode boldly into the Flying V yard and bellowed, “Sid—Sid Vivian. I come peaceful—I want to talk.” The door opened, letting a shaft of light out into the yard, and Vivian’s lean shape stood outlined.
“That you, Ben?”
“I want to talk,” he said again.
Vivian thought it over. “Come in.” He spoke then to someone in the room: “Keep a gun on him, Pete.”
When Majors entered the room he saw Pete Vird leaning against the wall, his gun hanging from lazy fingers.
“We’re gettin’ into a hell of a hassle, you and me,” Majors said. “First you deny me summer graze up here. Then you cut off the water that feeds the north half of Spur. And now you kill that nester Carter and try to pin it on me.”
“That’s wrong, Ben. I was tryin’ to pin it on Chavis.” Vivian’s eyes showed some mirth.
Majors shrugged it off. “I notice you didn’t deny killin’ Carter.”
“If I did, you’d just call me a liar. As a matter of fact, I didn’t kill him and I didn’t order it done. But I know who did it and I sure didn’t try and stop him.”
“You might have even helped him a little, eh?”
“Might have, Ben. Might have. But for your information again, I didn’t kill him.”
Majors sat silent for a minute. “I’ll accept that.”
“You got no choice,” said Vird, balancing his gun.
“Shut up, Pete,” Vivian commanded. He returned his attention to Majors. “There’s somethin’ on your mind. Spill it.”
“You want to starve me out. Why?”
“I’ll be frank with you, Ben. I’m the only man in this country with any money, outside of you. When you go broke, I’ll buy up Spur for a song.”
“Five thousand dollars don’t even start a tune.”
Vivian’s eyes flickered, a signal of surprise that Majors should mention that figure. “I got a whole lot more than five thousand, Ben. Don’t worry about that.”
Majors considered it. “Before I say my piece, Sid, I want one thing understood: I am not scared of you nor of any other man. Is that plain?”
“Perfectly,” Vivian said dryly.
“Fine. Now look at it this way. If we keep fightin’ one of us, or both, will probably get either killed or run out of the country while the survivor rules the roost.”
“Pretty obvious, Ben.”
“But there’s another choice. You’ve got somethin’ I want, and I’ve got somethin’ you want. Follow me?”
“Sure. I’ve got summer graze—you’ve got Spur.”