Tub Wheelahan was the first to sight Buck Halliday when he rode onto Cord Dorgan’s Bar Seven Ranch at sunup. Like Red Simpson, Wheelahan had done a lot of thinking about the stranger they had met the previous day in town. And, like Simpson, he had been impressed with the big man. To him, Halliday had appeared about as run-of-the-mill as the great Buffalo Bill Cody had looked when Wheelahan met him in Cheyenne the year before last. There was something mysterious about Halliday despite his casual attitude. Wheelahan moved out of the barn when Halliday drew rein.
“So you came after all.”
“Is Dorgan expecting me?” Halliday asked.
Wheelahan shrugged his shoulders but Halliday saw a hint of worry in the man’s eyes. Wheelahan and Simpson had been summoned to the big house on Cord Dorgan’s return from town. Dorgan had told them about the hanging, claiming that Tim Cantrell had tried to rustle some Bar Seven stock. Wheelahan had felt uneasy listening to Dorgan’s explanation, and he felt worse now. So did Simpson.
After hurling his boot at the wall in the bunkhouse, Simpson had made it plain that he didn’t like the way things were heading. Cantrell was a hard-working young rancher, he had said, and he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to steal cattle and leave them where Dorgan could so easily find them. Wheelahan was of the same opinion, but he worked for thirty and found and didn’t believe in putting his nose where it wasn’t wanted.
“Red mentioned you to the boss,” Wheelahan said. “He didn’t seem that interested.”
“Even when Red told him I found Tim Cantrell’s body?”
“I guess Red might’ve forgotten to mention that. I did, too.”
Halliday swung out of the saddle. He hitched his sorrel to the side of the barn and dusted himself down. Watching him closely, Wheelahan noticed that he looked fresh and clean. “Did you ride here from town?” Wheelahan asked. Halliday shook his head.
“Then I guess you camped out under the stars, so you’d be here early, huh?”
Halliday ignored the question and looked the place over.
He was impressed. The big house, with its white-painted fence and rows of fruit trees behind it, gave the place the look of an oasis in this drought-stricken country. A man coming home to all this could be excused for feeling superior.
“Dorgan’s a dark-haired man, isn’t he?”
Wheelahan looked surprised. “You’ve met him?”
“Thought I saw him in town yesterday,” Halliday said. “He was with two other men, one big and ugly as a prize bull and the other with the face of a ferret.”
The color drained from Wheelahan’s face. He said;
“Now see here, if you’ve come here to make trouble, maybe you better know somethin’.”
“Any help I can get will be appreciated,” Halliday said.
“Then you are gonna make trouble! Hell, you found a man who was hanged and you buried him. Why the hell should the reason matter to you?”
“Maybe it doesn’t.”
Wheelahan drew back a pace and ran a hand over his thinning hair. “Don’t play games with me, Halliday. Red and me talked about you last night and we agreed there’s more to you than just a drifter who should know enough to mind his own business.”
“I came here to see if I can get a job,” Halliday said. “That’s all.”
Wheelahan studied him suspiciously. “Well, maybe that is all you’re after. I don’t know. But here’s a warnin’, and you’d best heed it. Cord Dorgan trusts nobody. And because he trusts nobody, he keeps a couple real dangerous men close by all the time.”
“The ugly bull and the ferret,” Halliday said.
Wheelahan let out a sharp curse. “Quit that, dammit, and remember that you’re on your own here. Red and me ain’t buyin’ in, no matter who did what. You come here makin’ trouble and—”
“I came here looking for work,” Halliday repeated tiredly. “You and Red told me to come.”
“The hell we did. All we said was that there’s work for men who can take orders and mind their own business.”
“In a fast-expanding outfit,” Halliday added.
Wheelahan moved another few steps away, as if he felt he needed more room. “Dammit, Halliday! What kind of a thing is that to say? Did you come here to spy, mebbe?”
Halliday grinned. “You jump too easily to conclusions, mister. I found a man hanging from a tree, so naturally I talked about it. But I didn’t know him. I paid for those drinks yesterday to get to know a little more about the man. Now I’m flat busted. If I don’t get work, I might have to rob a bank.”
“Rob a bank?” Wheelahan looked a little sick.
Halliday laughed. “Just tell me about Dorgan’s sidekicks, so I’ll know what I’m walkin’ into.”
Wheelahan mopped sweat from his brow. As far as he was concerned, this was the worst way to start the day, talking to an interfering drifter like this. He wished Simpson was with him. Simpson would know what to say and what to leave out.
“Their names are Jim Buchanan and Jay Casey, and that’s all I’m tellin’ you about them. Just their names and then nobody can say I’m throwin’ my hat in with you, can they?”
Halliday shook his head. “Life must be awful hard when you’re scared of people.”
“I’m not one way or another with them, Halliday, and don’t put words into my mouth. They got their jobs to do and I got mine, that’s all.”
“But why should a respected rancher like Cord Dorgan need bodyguards like those two?”
Wheelahan backed away a little further and gestured for Halliday to shut up. “Just leave me out of whatever it is you got in mind, Halliday. I got a feelin’ I’m gonna rue the day I ran into you. Go ask for a job, if you like, but if you get one, keep away from me. You’re trouble. I can smell it a mile downwind.”
With that, Wheelahan went into the barn and came out leading a saddled horse. He didn’t bother to swing into the saddle, but led it toward a mud-plastered building with a large chimney emitting thick black smoke. Halliday led his sorrel the other way, across the wide clearing to the porch of the big house. Leaving the horse tied to the rail, he climbed the steps to the porch. At that moment the ferret-faced man came through the front door. He looked no more friendly than he had when riding out of town with Dorgan and the ugly bull.
Halliday gave the man a nod, and razor-keen eyes looked Halliday over.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I hear you’re short-handed,” Halliday said.
After another study of Halliday, which took in the big gun in his holster, the man growled;
“You’re lookin’ for work?”
“I need work,” Halliday said easily.
Through the open doorway, he saw the big man lumbering across a room. The big man caught sight of him, changed direction and strode to the door. He looked at ferret-face and the smaller man said;
“Wants a job. But he ain’t got a name.”
“Halliday ... Buck Halliday.”
“Says he don’t come from noplace, either, Jim, and he ain’t got a past.”
“Recently from Montana, before that, Texas. The past is mostly lumber camps, mining camps and punching cattle. Once or twice I did some work for the railroad.”
The little man grinned. “A slacker, huh?”
“Slackers usually lie around in one place,” Halliday told him. “I keep on the move.”
“And see things?” Casey said.
“I don’t ride around with my eyes closed.”
“And what you see, you talk about, don’t you, Halliday?” Buchanan put in.
Like Casey, he was grinning, plainly enjoying himself. Halliday kept his temper in check. “Sure, I talk. I like to know what’s goin’ on.”
Casey rubbed his hands down his pants. He had his feet planted wide and he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
To Halliday, he looked to be issuing a challenge, but Halliday was not yet ready to accept it.
Footsteps sounded from inside and the man who answered the description of Cord Dorgan came out onto the porch. He glanced at Casey and Buchanan, then arched his eyebrows at Halliday.
“It’s him,” Casey said.
“Who?” Dorgan asked, black-haired, swarthy-skinned and looking dapper.
“The one who shot his mouth off in town yesterday.”
Halliday believed then that Wheelahan and Simpson had decided to make no reference to their talk with him in the saloon in case it brought them trouble. So these three had received the information about him from another source.
The barkeep? John Ramsey? Jed Lyman?
“Are you referrin’ to my talk about the man I found hanged?” Halliday said.
“Damn right I am,” Casey said, but Dorgan stepped in front of him and eased him aside.
Halliday nodded as if suddenly understanding what this conversation was all about. Like Buchanan, he lounged against an overhang and calmly took the makings from his pocket.
“I did something wrong by cutting that gent down?”
“You poked your nose in where—” Casey was going to say, but Dorgan snapped his fingers for silence.
Dorgan walked to the porch rail and leaned across it, looking out over the huge expanse of land he owned. Buchanan watched him closely, as if waiting for an order, and Casey, put out, retreated to the wall of the house and stood with his thumbs hooked behind his gunbelt.
Halliday finished fashioning his cigarette and lit it.
“I heard you found Tim Cantrell and buried him, Halliday,” Dorgan finally put to him. “What else did you find?”
“Tracks,” Halliday said. “Of three horses.”
“And you followed them, I suppose?”
“That’s right, I did.”
Buchanan straightened and his face clouded over. Casey was thin-lipped, plainly on edge. But Dorgan remained calm. “And?” Dorgan said.
“I followed the tracks into Crater Creek.”
Dorgan turned and put his back to the rail, a crooked smile on his mouth. “I don’t like liars, Halliday.”
“Are you callin’ me a liar?” Halliday asked softly.
“I heard you visited Cantrell’s cabin and met his woman before you buried him.”
“That’s right, I did.”
“You didn’t mention that.”
Halliday grinned. “That doesn’t mean I was lying. You want me to tell the story your way or mine?”
Dorgan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know who I am?”
Halliday pointed to the other two. “They don’t seem to be doing much of the talking. I figure that makes you the boss.”
“You figure right.”
“You want to hear my story or don’t you?”
Dorgan was silent for a long moment before he shifted position. Then he said, “All right, let’s have it... your way.”
“I found a man hanging from a tree and later discovered his name was Tim Cantrell. Then I was shot at by a woman who fortunately couldn’t hit the side of a barn with buckshot. After I convinced her that I had nothing to do with the hangin’, I took the body down and buried it. Then the woman fed me and I later left and rode on into town. On the way, I picked up the same tracks I’m sure I’d seen where the hangin’ took place. The tracks led to town.”
“And you didn’t think to make a report to the sheriff?” Dorgan said.
That comment told Halliday that this man had previously spoken with Crater Creek’s lawman.
“I thought about it, but I decided to have myself a drink or two first. I had a few drinks with some cowhands and it was them I asked about the hanging.”
“What did they think?” Dorgan wanted to know.
“They had no views one way or the other. So I figured hangin’s around here didn’t excite people as much as they do in peaceful places. I asked about some work and one of them mentioned that you might need help.”
“And that’s all?” Dorgan pressed.
Halliday shrugged. “Sorry I can’t make it more interestin’ for you than that.”
Dorgan smiled thinly and pushed himself away from the rail.
“If you don’t find work here, what then?”
“I’ll look someplace else.”
“You won’t find any work in these parts.”
“If I can’t get any here, then I might as well hit the trail.”
“Taking with you some unanswered questions about a man and a hangin’?” Dorgan said with a crooked grin.
“Well, I don’t expect havin’ to cut a man down and bury him will be easy for me to forget. But I didn’t know him and maybe there was a reason why he met such a fate.”
“Would you like to know that reason?”
Halliday shrugged. “I am a little curious. But then, I’ve been curious about a lot of things in my time that didn’t get explained. You don’t worry too much when you’re on the drift.”
Dorgan walked to the end of the porch and turned. “I’m gonna satisfy that curiosity of yours, Halliday. Tim Cantrell was hanged because he rustled some of my cattle. I hanged him for it.”
Halliday looked from Dorgan to Casey and Buchanan. “With their help?”
“They work for me. They do what I tell them to do.” Halliday flicked his cigarette into the clearing and wiped his hands down his shirtfront. “I guess you caught Cantrell red-handed?”
“We sure did. And I had a couple neighbors along as witnesses. The law’s been informed, so as far as I’m concerned, the whole thing is closed.”
Halliday nodded as if in acceptance. Then he said, “So all I’ve got to do now is worry about gettin’ myself a job.”
“You don’t get one here,” Casey spat out.
Halliday showed his surprise. “Do you do the hirin’ then?”
“I don’t like the look of you, mister. You ain’t wanted here.”
“That goes for me, too,” Buchanan said, then both looked Dorgan’s way and were surprised to see that the man had a smile on his face.
“Don’t be like that, boys,” Dorgan soothed. “Here’s a man down on his luck who came across somethin’ no one likes to see. We did nothin’ wrong, and as I see it, Halliday didn’t, either. He just had a few drinks, asked some questions and then let the matter rest. What have you got against him?”
Buchanan jerked his head. “You gonna believe him, boss?”
“Why not? We have nothing to hide or be worried about. Lyman knows the facts. He’ll check with Harley and Mullins, get their versions and then he’ll know for sure that the only crime committed was done by Cantrell. Besides, we need good help.”
“Who says he’s good?” Casey growled.
Dorgan walked back along the porch, still smiling. “I figure I’m a good judge of men, Jay. Halliday strikes me as a man we can use. Take him and introduce him to the boys and get him some grub. Then tell Red I want to see him.”
Casey watched Dorgan walk back into the house. When the door closed, he prodded Halliday’s chest with his forefinger and said;
“Dorgan gives the orders, mister, but I carry ’em out. Remember that. Step outta line one inch and you’ll have to answer to me.”
“Draw the line, mister,” Halliday said.
He stepped down off the porch, untied the sorrel’s reins from the rail and began to lead it toward the barn, Buchanan and Casey following him. Halliday had the feeling that Dorgan was watching from a window. Dorgan didn’t strike him as a man who took too many chances. Halliday figured that Dorgan wanted him around so he could keep an eye on him. Well, that was fine with Halliday. Now he would have plenty of time to work out what this territory was all about. Also, he’d be near at hand if Billy Cantrell did something stupid or Mary Bland needed his help.
All in all, he considered the morning had panned out better than he expected.