BUCK HALLIDAY FOUND the trail into Pebble Ridge to be no more than a thin track. It wound through heavy timber then skirted a huge mountainous section that ran for several miles. In his pocket he had his pay from Jerome Partridge and the paper which Hal Lascombe had encouraged Clay Horden to sign. The oldster had assured Halliday that payment on the paper would be little more than a formality, and added that if he ran into Clarence Beebe, he should tell the man everything that had happened.
Halliday was still undecided whether or not to take the old man’s advice when he rounded a bend in the trail to see the lights of a small town burning in the distance. What he also found was Ella Beebe and her father. Ella was sitting by the side of the trail with her father’s head cradled in her lap. Their horses were standing nearby with their reins trailing.
Startled by Halliday’s arrival, Ella grabbed up a handgun which had been laying by her side and leveled it on him, the moonlight cutting across her fear-filled features.
Halliday reined-in and said quietly;
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Ella. It’s me, Buck Halliday.”
“What are you doing here? Was it you?”
A puzzled look appeared on Halliday’s face as he came slowly out of the saddle. He made no move toward her, even though she seemed to be having difficulty keeping the gun leveled on him. Then she said;
“Somebody shot him.”
For the first time, Halliday saw tears staining her face. He reached down and took the gun from her trembling fingers then he knelt down and turned Beebe’s face to the moonlight. It was the face of a man fighting back pain.
“How is it, Mr. Beebe?”
The old man’s eyes opened and he stared at Halliday for a long time before his tongue ran over his lips.
“He’s hurt bad and he fights me when I try to see how badly he’s been wounded.”
“He won’t fight me,” Halliday assured her and gently eased the rancher into a sitting position.
Beebe stared angrily up at him for a time then doubled over as fresh pain racked his body. Halliday watched as the rancher clamped his hands to his stomach, then gently eased the hands away.
Ella let out a gasp but remained silent when Halliday worked her father around into the light, and said quietly;
“If I don’t take a look at it, I can’t help you. It’s either that or you will die out here.”
Beebe closed his eyes and took a deep breath then muttered; “I don’t want a tenderfoot messing around with me. Just get me on my horse.”
Halliday had made a brief examination of the wound. Ignoring Beebe’s outburst, he told Ella to get some clean material that he could use as a bandage. When Ella looked confused, he said, shortly;
“You wear somethin’ under that shirt, don’t you?”
Ella glared at him, then walked away out of the moonlight.
A short time later, Halliday heard the sound of material being torn into strips. When she came back, she handed him strips of her shirtwaist. Halliday took it and said;
“I’ll need a long strip to tie it in place.”
He eased Beebe’s head back on the ground then ripped the old man’s shirt free of the gaping wound, then placed the pad lightly over it. Ella was at his side again, handing him a long strip of material.
Halliday took it and tied the strip as tight as he could around the wound. Then he tucked Beebe’s shirt into his pants and helped him to his feet.
“He mustn’t be moved!” Ella shrilled. “He’s hurt badly. Do you want to kill him?”
“A short ride will be the best thing for him if there’s a sawbones at the end of it,” Halliday told her. “But you do what you think is best if you don’t approve of my methods.”
When Beebe slumped against Halliday and groaned, Ella fussed with his shirt, then mopped his sweating brow.
Ignoring Halliday, whom she was unconsciously leaning against, she asked;
“How are you, dad? Do you think you can ride?”
Beebe gulped and clung weakly to both of them. “Halliday’s right,” he muttered, “get me on my horse.”
“You sure you can stay in the saddle?” Ella asked.
“I’ll make sure he does,” Halliday said, lifting him gently into the saddle. Then he mounted his sorrel and rode alongside, holding the old man’s shoulders upright.
For a time Ella stood and watched them, then she suddenly ran for her horse, climbed up and followed. She rode on the opposite side of her father and all the way into town kept glaring at Halliday.
But Halliday’s mind was on other things—like whether the shooting of Clarence Beebe was the thing Luke Kennedy was told not to mess up ...
“He’s in a bad way but he could be worse,” the medic said as he stepped back from the bed and pulled a sheet up under Clarence Beebe’s chin. “He’s a tough old rooster and I think in a few days he’ll be fine. But how about you, miss?”
“I’m all right, doctor,” Ella said, “under the circumstances.”
“You look like you could do with some rest. And you’re way too slim for your age.”
Ella glared at him, while in the corner of the room, Halliday rolled his third cigarette and decided it was time he was leaving. “Anything more I can do, Doc?” Halliday asked.
The medic nodded. “Pour me a whiskey. It isn’t often I’m dragged out of bed this time of night.”
The look on Ella’s face told Halliday how strongly she disapproved. Then she said;
“Perhaps it would be better if you both leave my father be. He can do without the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke.”
About to light his cigarette, Halliday studied her across the flame of the vesta. When she glared at him, he blew the vesta out and put the cigarette in his pocket.
“You get the bottle, Doc, and I’ll do the pouring,” he said as the medic led the way out of the room.
He heard Ella grunt as he followed the medic into his study, and after the doctor handed him a bottle, he poured two drinks. As he passed one to the medic, he said;
“Think she could use a jolt, Doc?”
“She certainly could, but I don’t want to be the one to offer it to her. She’s a wild one, isn’t she? And that surprises me. Last time I met her, she was gentle as a lamb.”
“Driving cattle hardens many men, Doc,” Halliday offered and the medic agreed.
After a couple of drinks each, Halliday decided to chance taking a drink into her. When he entered the room, she was sitting by her father’s bedside, shoulders slumped and looking tired and beat. He walked over to her and said quietly;
“If you’re going to sit there all night, I think you’ll need this.”
Ella looked at the glass in Halliday’s hand, and said;
“That much?”
“It’ll help.”
She took the glass and examined the contents before taking a mouthful. For a while she seemed unaffected, then color flooded her face and she gasped.
“Judas Priest!”
“You’ll feel better before you know it,” Halliday said, and quietly left the room.
Joining the medic again, he helped himself to another drink while the doctor scribbled a note.
“When the sheriff’s out of town I write a report of all gunshot wounds I treat. Perhaps you’ll fill in the details for me.”
“I don’t know them, Doc,” Halliday told him.
The medic looked surprised. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“I rode up after it happened,” Halliday told him.
The medic rose and motioned Halliday to follow him. Back in the sick room, he asked Ella;
“What exactly happened, miss?”
Composed now, Ella said;
“We were within sight of town and my father was saying how happy he’d be to make a sale and finish his last drive here in Pebble Ridge when we heard two gunshots. My horse reared and I had to fight to get it under control. When it finally settled, my father was lying on the ground. I hurried to him but he wouldn’t let me help him. Then Mr. Halliday came along.”
“And like I told you, Doc,” Halliday said, “I had trouble with him myself. Guess he just learned never to trust anybody.”
Ella looked at him sharply but Halliday merely grinned, and she blushed and quickly looked away.
“Nothing else?” the medic asked.
“Nothing that I know,” Halliday said.
The medic checked with Ella and she shook her head. He put his pencil back in his pocket and tossed the pad idly onto a chair.
“Well, I can’t do anymore for him, miss,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll turn in. You can stay here as long as you like.” He turned to Halliday. “As for you, young man, I guess he’ll want to buy you a drink for saving his life.”
“Mr. Halliday did no more than—” Ella began but the medic quickly silenced her.
“What he did, miss, was bring your father into town. If he hadn’t, your father wouldn’t have seen out the night. Whatever he’s done in the past is unimportant. But you really should thank him for saving your father’s life.”
When the medic left the room, Halliday followed him out, but Ella called him back. Halliday found her facing him, her lips compressed and her hands clasped in front of her.
“Perhaps he’s right in what he said, and I am grateful. But I’m also confused.”
“About what?”
“My father told the crew to stay away from town.”
“He did.”
“So how did you happen to find us? Don’t you like obeying rules?”
“Rules are fine, ma’am, for the crew,” Halliday said, bringing the cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and added, “It’s just that I’m no longer part of the crew.”
“Why not?” Ella asked sharply.
“The trail boss fired me and paid me off.”
Ella could not hide her shock. “Clay did that? Why?”
“When you get back to camp, ask him,” Halliday said.
“I’m asking you. I have a right to know what goes on in my father’s outfit, especially now, since I will be in charge.”
Halliday shrugged and drew on his cigarette. Color began to rise in her cheeks again.
“I thought you’d be pleased. You’ve been most unhappy since your father signed me on, I thought you would be a damn sight happier knowin’ I’d no longer be around.”
Ella opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, she turned away and fussed with the sheeting under her father’s chin, before she said;
“For some strange reason that he didn’t bother to explain to me, my father thinks highly of you, Mr. Halliday. As a cowhand, I mean.”
“I do know cattle,” Halliday said.
Ella got suddenly angry. “How can you expect me to think highly of you when you act the way you do?”
“I’m just bein’ me.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Hal thinks I’m good enough,” Halliday said. “So does Jim Sweeney and Lee Trent. Isn’t that good enough for you?”
“I’m not meaning how you handle cattle—I mean the way you treat women, and you know it! What about that disgraceful affair with Dora and Donna Partridge? Surely you don’t think you acted good enough there, accepting a man’s hospitality and then ... then ...”
Halliday pinched out his cigarette, put the stub in his pocket and asked bluntly;
“Then what, ma’am?”
Ella drew in a sharp breath and stared defiantly at him. “You know!”
“I know ... I’m just wonderin’ if you do?”
“It’s obvious what happened then, isn’t it, Mr. Halliday?”
“Let me explain. Take you and Horden now, this afternoon in particular. He followed you—”
“What has that got to do with you?” Ella shouted.
“Just using it as an example. Might make it easier for you to understand.”
“Then I don’t need to understand. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Will you please leave?”
Halliday walked to the door, opened it, then turned to face her again. He said;
“Dora and Donna made all the advances, not me. Guess they were lonely, living out there for months on end and not having a man in sight.”
“I don’t want to hear about it!” Ella shouted again.
Halliday ignored her outburst. “What happened to me with Jerome would have been the same today if your father happened along and found you with Clay Horden. What do you think he would have said about that?”
“Get out!” Ella screeched, her hands clenched. “Get out!” Halliday closed the door behind him as Ella started to cross the room. He was grinning when he stepped out onto the porch where the medic was finishing his drink. He gave the old doctor a nod and made his way down the steps to the yard. Before he reached the gate, the medic called out;
“She’s so wild I’d step careful, I was you.”
“Thanks for the advice, Doc, but I won’t be needin’ it.”
The medic gave an indifferent shrug and rolled over as Halliday made his way out into the street.
Lamplight outlined Pebble Ridge’s main street. Halliday’s first impression was that the place didn’t look too prosperous, and he figured Beebe’s hopes of selling his herd here were none too bright. As it was still a few hours until sunup, he led his sorrel down the street, looking for the livery. He found it just beyond a slab-fronted establishment which boasted all-night service for food and drink. When he found that there was no one awake at the livery, he left his sorrel in the yard and put his saddle on a hook in the barn. Coming back to the main street, he headed for the all-nighter, doubting that the sign was accurate.
As he was walking past a narrow alley, he became aware that Pebble Ridge had a night life which belied its size, for a roar of voices suddenly erupted, followed by a savage shout for quiet, then a rumble of protesting voices.
Halliday decided to investigate and made his way to the end of the alley. The door of a building was open and he walked into a brightly-lit room which was bursting at the seams with close on thirty people. In the middle of the room, a man wearing an eyeshade was dealing cards to seven other men sitting around a table, while the remainder, except for a barkeep at a planked counter, were crowded around the table, watching the game. Halliday’s arrival went unnoticed, so he strolled across to the bar and dropped some change on the counter. He got rye and water, accepted it without complaint and ordered another. While the second drink was being poured, he downed his first. The barkeep, a stout, short man in his sixties, studied him coolly before he said;
“You’ve sure got a thirst there, stranger.”
“Came from Calico Creek with a herd across the desert.”
The barkeep’s eyebrows arched. “That’s the devil’s own country, mister. Bet you won’t go back that way.”
“You just won your bet,” Halliday said amiably.
The barkeep nodded gravely. “Always do when the stakes are low.” He pointed to the card game. “Lost seven dollars early on, so I have to serve drinks for seven hours just to break even. And they told me you could find gold in the streets out here.”
Halliday took Beebe’s note from his pocket. He figured that if he left here where Clarence Beebe was known, he might have trouble cashing it elsewhere. He pushed it across the counter and got a withering, guarded look from the barkeep.
“It won’t hurt you to read it, will it?” Halliday said.
“Won’t make no difference if I do or not, stranger. Mr. Bannerman’s the boss of this outfit.”
The barkeep pointed to the beefy-jowled man who was dealing the cards and looking as if every dollar in the room was about to be his. Halliday bought another drink and crossed to the table, working his way behind the man. When the deal had been made, and bets won and lost, Bannerman was beaming more than ever.
When Halliday dropped the note in front of him, Bannerman jerked his head up, scowling at the interruption.
“I was told Mr. Beebe’s name is good here,” Halliday said. Bannerman picked up the note, turned it into the light, made a careful study of it, then nodded.
“Beebe’s name’s good here all right. But who’s this feller Horden?”
“The trail boss,” Halliday told him.
Bannerman raised his eyebrows and handed the note to a man opposite him. The man, with a long, sorrowful face and dirty hands, nodded gravely.
“Last time through here Beebe was laid up for a time and Horden signed for the outfit.” He looked Halliday over carefully. “Couple fellers were in earlier today askin’ after him. Three, in fact.”
Halliday took the note, folded it, and put it back in his pocket. “How far does Beebe’s name rate?”
“Clear through to the border. Big man in these parts, is Clarence Beebe.”
“Can he expect to sell five hundred head of cattle here?”
The man frowned heavily, then broke into raucous laughter. “In Pebble Ridge ...? You joshin’ us, stranger?” Bannerman was grinning, too, as were most of the men at the table. Even the barkeep could see the funny side.
“No chance, eh?” Halliday asked.
“Let’s just say that if he wants to sell ’em one at a time over five hundred weeks, guess he might find some buyers,” Bannerman said. “Haven’t you heard what happened?”
“Tell me.”
“The yards are out of commission and the link to the border’s closed. Whole business folded up a year ago, and this town died, ’cept for what you see here. So, how about we stop talkin’ cattle and let’s you and me play for Clarence’s money?” While Halliday thought about it, Bannerman looked up at the barkeep and said;
“Cash the note, Will, and let this cowboy join the game.”
Halliday moved away from the table and Bannerman picked up the cards again and gave them the briefest shuffle Halliday had ever seen. When he started to deal, and there were no objections from the other players, Halliday figured if he wanted to risk his stake, he could find more honest towns than Pebble Ridge. He finished his drink, told Will he’d be back, left the saloon and got his sorrel from the yard. He saddled it, figured he owed nobody for fifteen minutes stabling and rode into the main street.
He looked thoughtfully toward the medic’s cottage where old Clarence lay badly wounded and where his daughter would still be sitting by his bedside, most likely still angry. He figured they had enough on their plate without him adding to their troubles by telling them what he’d just heard.