The Devil's Roundup Part 12

"What the h.e.l.l's so funny?"

"1 was thinking of Willie Kerry," Saber replied. "You and him ought to have a lot of fun b.u.t.ting heads together. 1 don't rightly know which of you is the hardest, but it'll be interesting to find out."

"Let's go over to Keno Charlie's and have a drink," Phil urged. Saber's face mirrored his puzzlement, and Phil added: "1 told him once 1 was going to be a cash customer. Loan me five dollars."

"Think I'll ever get it back?"

Stalker took the gold piece and said-"That's a chance you take, friend."-and they walked across the street.

They had a beer apiece, and Phil ate three sandwiches, much to Charlie's disgust. Then they went to Harris's after their horses. The ride was a silent one, since neither of them was given to talk. They said a brief farewell at Saber's front porch, after which Phil cut across the land toward the higher country.

He made his evening meal, and went to the spring for a bucket of water. Snow began to fall in great flakes, almost straight down. There was no wind behind it. He lighted the lamp and ate, then heated water to wash the dishes. This ch.o.r.e done, he gathered the dishpan and crossed to the door. He opened it with his free hand.

A m.u.f.fled figure was poised there.

Phil reacted instinctively. He threw the pan and dishwater in the man's face, and lashed out with a knotted fist, catching the surprised victim squarely on the sh.e.l.l of the chin.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his Remington from his shoulder holster, and c.o.c.ked it. He said in a badly rattled voice: "Get up or I'll shoot!" But he had underestimated the power of his punch, for the man was completely out.

The solitary lamp gave out little light, the door remaining in deep shadows. Phil bolstered his gun and dragged his victim into the cabin, toeing the door closed and sliding the bar. The figure's hat was tied low over the ears with a heavy scarf. Phil removed these with a savage yank. He gasped when Anna Bray's dark hair tumbled out onto the floor.

He struggled with her inert form, and finally got her placed on his bunk. He removed her coat and gloves, bathed her face until she stirred.

Anna opened her eyes, and it was a moment before they completely focused. "That was a terrible thing to do," she said.

"1'm very sorry," Phil said. "1 really am."

"You should be," Anna told him, and he saw that she was not angry.

"What are you doing here?"

She lay back on his bunk, and he crossed to get the lamp from the table. She was a very pretty girl, he saw then. Her eyes were large and dark, and there was no guile there. This, he wondered about. Her hair was dark and wavy, and he liked that.

Anna said: "1 know what you're trying to do to my father ...only he isn't really my father. My mother married him after my father died."

"That still doesn't tell me what you're doing here," Phil said.

Anna took a deep breath and plunged into the thing. "I want to make a bargain with you. My safety and a new start for the thing you need to hang my step-father."

Phil frowned. He had a strong sense of justice, and this set none too well with him. "A poor way to do business... dealing off of the bottom of the deck that way."

She had pride. "You're a man," she said. "You can fight with your fists and a gun, but I'm a woman. I do the best 1 can and have no regrets. He's turned into a dog that's jealous of every man that has one acre more... one cow more than he has. I'm tired of being beaten and treated like a prisoner... never trusted, always watched. 1 want out, that's all."

"How do you mean... `out'?"

"Money," she said. "Oh, not much. Just enough to tide me over until I can get a job in some other town. 1 can work. I'll manage once 1 get away from him."

Phil sighed because he saw how great was her need. "All right, you got a deal. I'll speak for Saber, and he'll back what 1 say. Is that good enough for you?"

She nodded. "Did Saber tell you about the other men he had up here?"

Phil nodded.

She went on. "One of them, Sam bought for three hundred dollars before he ever saw a blotted brand. The other one was like you... stubborn. He's buried under the compost pile back at Sam's ranch."

"How can you prove it's he?"

"His gear's there," Anna said. "Saber would recognize it." She waited until he turned it over in his mind, then asked: "Is that enough?"

"Yes," he said.

He rose and took her coat, holding it before the fire until it got warm. He held it for her while she put it on, then she asked: "Where am I going?"

"To Willie Kerry's place," Phil said. "Tell him I said to take you to Saber's. You'll be safe there."

She studied him levelly as she retied her scarf. Phil realized that she was interested in him as a man. She said: "You gave me an awful whack on the jaw."

He flushed and lowered his eyes. She opened the door and went out. He blew out the lamp and stood in the open doorway watching her. She made a dim shadow as she mounted and rode out of the yard.

He gathered up his fallen dishpan and hung it back on the wall, then closed the door, and dampened the fire for the night. He didn't undress, for some inner caution took hold of him, but stretched out on the bunk with his heavy Winchester by his hand.

He dozed and woke and dozed again, rising once to replenish the wood in the stove. He opened the door and peered outside and saw it was still snowing. A foot-thick layer now blanketed the ground. He thought he heard a curb chain, moved his head to one side like a dog to listen. He leaped back into the cabin and slammed the door as the night blossomed color and a bullet tore through the planking.

Sam Bray's deep voice boomed in the following quiet. "What do we gotta do...smoke you out?"

"Try it!" Phil called back. "You can only get killed so dead!"

Sam's voice was low and plain. "Shoot a couple more rounds through the door, Finley." There was a pause, and a shot ripped through the wood at an angle, imbedding itself in the far wall. Phil scooped up his Winchester and crossed to a small side window. They sat their horses not twenty feet away, and Finley Henshaw was feeding another sh.e.l.l into the breech of his trap-door Springfield. The snow made a sufficiently light background to silhouette Henshaw as he raised the rifle for another shot. Phil shoved the muzzle of his rifle through the gla.s.s, and, as Henshaw squeezed off, Phil fired at the bright muzzle flash. He saw Finley Henshaw leave the saddle as if mauled to the ground by a giant hand.

Sam swore and yelled: "into the rocks.. .into the rocks, dammit!"

Phil heard the bullets thud into the stovepipe as they shot it off even with the roof. A moment later smoke began to back up in the flue, and, when it became thick and strong, he knew that they had him boxed in. He put on his heavy chaps and coat, then returned to the window and fired three rapid shots from his Remington, attracting a wicked volley in return. He dashed for the door and was out into the night, running in a low crouch. He counted on their being momentarily blinded by their own muzzle flash and was ten feet from Henshaw's horse when Sam bawled-"There he is, you d.a.m.ned fool!"and snow flew in a cold shower.

Stalker didn't bother to return the fire, but vaulted into the saddle and stormed out of the yard. Sam's cursing followed him for a time, then was lost as he widened the breech. He paused ten minutes later to look back. There was a growing glow on the horizon. It filled him with a hard anger, and he tried to rationalize it, then gave it up and kneed the horse into motion.

Two hours later he came to Cardigan's fence and dismounted to let himself through. He followed it until he came to the fork in the Hondo road, then cut west into the flatter land and Bray's Cloverleaf range. Saber's ranch lay to the left and slightly behind, and he drove on, keeping the horse at a killing pace. He let the animal have its head, and it took him where he wanted to go-Sam Bray's barn.

There was no light in the cook shack or bunkhouse. This being Sat.u.r.day night the hands would be in Hondo. That suited him. He found hay stacked in the rear of the barn and a lantern hanging from a stanchion. He shattered it with his gun barrel, letting the coal oil run over the loose hay. He found a match and soon had a roaring blaze going. Using a pitchfork, he carried burning hay to the bunkhouse and the cook shack, then turned the horses loose, driving them off with rapid blasts of his revolver.

The house came next. He started a fire in the kitchen, carrying it to the south bedroom, and was busy igniting the parlor when Sam Bray and Herman rode into the yard.

Bray was cursing in a crazy voice and running back and forth, illuminated by the ghostly flickering. Stalker paused at one of the front windows, shattered it with his rifle b.u.t.t, and flung a shot into the snow at Bray's feet.

Sam halted and raised his rifle, returning the fire, unmindful of the fact that he was outlined against the burning barn. Herman ran toward the bunkhouse, then changed his mind, and dashed back across the yard, yelling and shooting wildly. Phil took refuge in Bray's small office where the flames had not yet eaten.

Bray got control of himself and found cover behind the watering trough. Herman stationed himself behind the well curbing. Together they effectively pinned the young man down. Somewhere in the rear of the house-Phil a.s.sumed it was the kitchen-a great cras.h.i.+ng rose as the fire-eaten timbers parted and let a wall fall away. The heat became intense, and the light spread to a great perimeter. Bray and Herman kept up their fire.

Phil held his fire, conserving his few remaining cartridges. He had but little time left-he reached that conclusion with no difficulty. The house was old and the wood dry, and he had done an excellent job of firing it. "Well," Phil said to himself, "here goes nothing." He gathered himself for the dash through a broken window. He gripped his rifle and rose-then paused.

Saber and the two Kerry boys were storming into the yard with Cardigan and Jim Hawk following closely behind.

Herman, always a little slow to catch on, tried to raise his gun. Someone shot him in the thigh, and he sat down with no fight left.

Sam Bray lost no time discarding his gun and stood with his hands shoulder high. Phil Stalker quickly left the burning house. Willie and Burt Kerry covered Herman, who lay in the snow and groaned. Cardigan and Jim Hawk secured Bray to a saddle horse with a length of lariat.

John Saber smiled when he saw Phil Stalker. He turned to Burt and said: "Ride into town and get the sheriff."

Burt's mouth dropped open, and he said: "h.e.l.l, I just got here!"

Saber smiled faintly. "You going to argue?"

Burt rode out.

Saber dismounted, and stamped his legs to speed up the circulation. He looked around him at the burning ruins and said to Stalker: "I thought you was long on law and order... innocent until proven guilty. I thought you was solid against this torch law."

Phil looked sheepish. "A man can get pushed just so far, and then there's an end to it."

Willie Kerry edged his horse closer to get in on the conversation. "See what bein' stubborn gets you?"

"You go to the devil," Stalker told him.

"1 might if 1 hung around a h.e.l.ler like you," Willie said.

Phil turned serious and asked: "Is Anna all right?"

"Safe at my place," Saber said, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. "She heard the shooting and rode for Willie's like you told her to." He gave Phil a long glance and added: "You put my foot in it good when you made her that promise, sprout. You didn't have anything special in mind, now, did you?"

Stalker looked at Willie who was leaning over in the saddle, both arms crossed over the horn, a vast amus.e.m.e.nt plastered over his face. Phil switched his gaze to Saber and saw a smile around the usually severe mouth. "Dammit all," he said, "I ain't met her but three times. Aw, h.e.l.l.. .she is a pretty thing, and 1 want to be a lawyer. 1 thought if she had a home and you knew me and you knew her, well.. .you know what 1 mean."

"1 see," Saber said. He lowered his head to roll a cigarette, covering his expression with these small movements.

Phil glanced at Sam Bray who sat his horse with his head down, not looking at any of them. It was over, but somehow it wasn't finished in Phil's mind. He crossed over to the man and said: "You called me a sprout... well, that's what 1 am and you were right, but I'm old enough to know that whatever a man does, he does it for a reason."

"What you tryin' to do. ..ease yer conscience?"

"That's right," Phil admitted. "I've done a lot of things 1 never believed in before, and I'm trying to justify it. I never killed a man or even shot at one until tonight. 1 can live with that, but I'd like to know why a man like you thinks he has the right to mess up other people's lives."

Sam raised his head and looked at John Saber, then at Cardigan who stood in the background, talking to Jim Hawk. "Look at 'em," he said. "Bloated with land and cattle. They got the whole country to themselves... them and their friends. It just ain't right."

"1 guess to you it isn't," Phil said, and turned away from the man.

Saber drew long on his smoke, then stepped on it. "So you're going to be a lawyer?" he said. "Takes humility in a man to look at another man and believe in him when everyone else is against him. Do you have that kind of humility, sprout?"

Phil Stalker looked over his shoulder at Sam Bray, sitting forlorn and beaten on the horse. Stalker thought about Saber's question, then nodded.

The tall blond man studied him in the flickering light of the burning buildings and said softly: "d.a.m.ned if I don't believe you have at that."

I.

The first grayness of dusk had settled over the land and shop lights cross-barred the loose dust of Comanche Street as Willie Kerry turned into Bob Harris's Livery Stable at the south end of town. Buggies stood in a haphazard cl.u.s.ter around the darkened maw, and Kerry got down, lifting his wife to the ground. Harris came out, a withered man with a foul-smelling pipe clenched in his toothless jaws.

"Good night for business," Kerry said.

Harris's reply was only a soft grunt. He unhitched the team, leading them into the stable. Kerry looked up and down the street, then excused this moment of idleness by rolling a smoke. He was a lanky man with a deep gravity on his blunt face. Hair lay in dark chunks across his forehead, and his fingers were blunt with short, curling hairs on the back.

He took his wife's arm, and they walked toward the hotel a half block down the street. He glanced at her as they came into a path of light cascading from a shop window. Louise was a tall girl, full-breasted, with thick brown hair framing a face tanned by a lifetime in the sun. Her eyes were pale like his, and her full mouth curved at the ends, reflecting some inner gaiety that she habitually concealed. Willie glanced at the rigs dotting the half dark street and said softly: "Looks like Saber and the others mean business, don't it?"

She nodded. "Try not to lose your temper, Willie. Some of them are set in their ways."

They paused at the hotel steps. He removed his hat, when he faced her, and her eyes glowed at this courtesy. It was not a studied thing with Kerry, this gallantry; it stemmed from deep within him. It was as if he never had fully recovered from the miracle of this woman's love for him.

He said: "1 saw Jim Hawk's buggy. 1 guess Mala and the other women are in the hotel. I'll try not to be too long."

She touched his hand. It was a fleeting gesture that caused a smile to break across the severity of his face. "You do what's right, Willie." She turned and entered the hotel. He watched her enter the lobby, then placed his hat squarely on his head, and crossed the street to Keno Charlie's saloon.

Mose Dinwitty handled the spa.r.s.e trade at the bar. He nodded toward a back room when he saw Kerry. Willie entered without knocking.

John Saber raised his head at the interruption and broke off his talk. He gave Willie a friendly smile. "Where's Jesse Dulane?"

"Couldn't get away," Willie said. "He's watching our girl. I'll speak for him."

"Good enough," Saber said. He turned to the others crowding the small room. "I guess we're all here. Let's get it over with."

Wes Cardigan leaned against a far wall with two of his sons. He had a long, tolerant face, and a full, drooping mustache hid his mouth. He said: "Somehow 1 keep gettin' the feelin' that we oughta wait. Election's only three, four months off. h.e.l.l, it ain't that important."

Saber shot him a quick, irritated glance, and Cardigan fell silent. Saber looked at the others in turn, and it cut the hesitation and uncertainty like a quick sweep of a knife. John Saber had a long, hooked nose and eyes that bored into a man like drill steel. He wore a black suit with a string tie loose against his white s.h.i.+rt front. His blond hair was thick and white at the temples. He had a great dignity about him. He said: "All of you know that Harms has disappeared. Now he wasn't much of a sheriff, but he was the law we had. All along now, that desert bunch has got bolder and a little tougher. Dale Simpson got run out of Morgan Tanks a week ago, just before Harms went over there. The time has come to put a strong man in Harms's place and let him handle that bunch."

Jim Hawk s.h.i.+fted in his chair, heavy-faced, but careful with his speech. "Is appointin' a man this way legal, John?"

Saber rolled a smoke with infinite patience, answering only when he had completed the cylinder and touched a match to it. "Phil Stalker's a lawyer. He's representing the townsmen in this vote. He can give you an answer to that."

"It's legal," Stalker said, "until election. Then the ballot goes to the voters in the county, the desert bunch included."

"What about that desert bunch?" Park Rynder wanted to know. He was a short man, peppery in nature, who spoke in quick spurts. "Them people have been hollerin' for a split in the county for ten years. 1 say let 'em have the d.a.m.n' desert and hash out their own troubles."

"That's no good," Cardigan said heavily. "They can't abide by the law as it is now. How can they govern themselves?"

"We gotta do somethin' about this," Dan Isbel stated. He was a slow-thinking man, always lagging behind in the conversation. He s.h.i.+fted his bulk uncomfortably as this outburst drew eyes and covered his confusion with the small motions of lighting his cigar.

Saber said: "As usual, Dan has cut to the meat of the problem. We gotta do something now, not at election time."

"Let's get the h.e.l.l at it," Bob Overmile said. He made a thin, high shape in the corner. Willie's brother, Burt, stood beside him, dark and blocky with a wide mouth and his own solitary thoughts.

John Saber sat down at the end of a long table. He allowed a thick silence to settle over the room, permitting it to stretch before breaking it. He had that natural showmans.h.i.+p, that perfect sense of timing that swung men's attention to him. He spoke at last, and, for some reason that none of them fully understood, it seemed a relief.

"We must face facts. Harms never got anywhere with that desert bunch. They're a proud lot, clannish, and they hate any outsiders. They whipped the water situation out there, and now that they're enjoying a mild prosperity, they seem to think that what our county officers say don't count."

"You still ain't said who you're gonna appoint," Jim Hawk reminded.