The Big Corral, page 8
Somehow she forced a smile, and he was looking toward the door, not seeing the quick spasm which had contorted her face. Rawe North was coming in, pausing for a moment to survey the smoke-filled room. Then he had seen them, was picking his way toward their table. She was sorry and glad at the same time to have him come.
North was still in a good mood. Events had marched at his direction today, and he knew that he was in a fair way to attain what he had come after. It took luck, but a man had to know how to ride his luck to get anywhere. When to spur. Well, he was one who knew.
He sat down, pulling out a chair and applying a match to a long cigar. He glanced quizzically at Altie through the smoke.
“You and Doll seem to have hit it off pretty well together,” he commented. “I never knew Doll to be a ladies’ man before.”
“He is a fine man,” she said. “And I will always—” She broke off, her eyes widening.
She was looking toward the door, and both men swung instinctively to see. Two men had come through it. One of them was Welch. Though he still carried the marks of the beating which Doll had given him, he was himself again. His eyes were no longer swollen, and he moved with deliberate intent toward their table.
The man beside him was smaller, sandy-haired, and he wore no beard or mustache. But there was that about him which spelled danger. Other patrons of the place veered away from them.
They were paying no attention to anyone else in the room, giving no greetings nor returning any. They stopped at a distance of a few paces, and while Welch’s eyes were fixed on Doll, the other man was watching North with the same in-tentness. It was he who spoke.
“Remember me, North?”
North was suddenly wary.
“You lookin’ for trouble, Zip?” he countered.
Zip smiled. At least it would pass for that, but somehow it twisted to a grimace.
“I’m lookin’ for you,” he amended. “You got out of Texas in the first place because you was scared of me, didn’t you? And then you sent men back to kill me—and they figgered they’d done it. So you dared to sneak back then!”
“That’s a lie, all of it,” North retorted. “When I’ve any dogs to kill, I do it myself!”
“You called me a liar once before, North. But you never will again. This time I’m going to kill you.”
Welch had said nothing. There was no need. Doll knew that he was here for the same purpose. They were sure of themselves, these two. But for his own part he felt no worry. Situations such as this only made him doubly cool and alert. Unlike North, he didn’t go out of his way to look for trouble, but when it came, he had never yet beer worried by it. North was like him that way. He wasn’t afraid.
Zip motioned now to Altie.
“This is between the four of us,” he said. “You better get back out of the way.”
“Yeah,” Welch added. “I don’t want you hurt, queenie.”
Altie was watching them, her eyes wide and fearful. One hand went to her throat in a halting gesture, and she looked quickly at Doll, then around the room. But no one else would interfere in this. Jim McLane was not in town tonight, and no one else had his courage or wish to take sides.
“Do as he says, Altie,” Doll nodded. “It won’t take long!”
There was truth in that. She had witnessed such scenes before, and she knew all the signs. There was death in the room, like a monstrous presence waiting to pounce. Death was not always that way. She had seen it come in friendly guise, bringing merciful release. But this which hovered now was deadly cold, relentless as fate.
Her knees felt like wet blotting paper. With a cool nod to the others, Doll stood up and assisted her to her feet, aided her back to the wall. He ignored the others for the moment, turning his back on them. So long as Rawe North watched, he had no fear of treachery.
“You’d better go back to your room, Altie,” he suggested. “This won’t be pleasant.”
She shook her head, standing there at the wall. He turned back, and now it was he who dominated the scene, a mocking asperity in his voice.
“Didn’t you have enough last night, Welch? I tried to make it convincing. But if you want more—that’s up to you. Only how about all of us stepping outside? There’s ladies here—and besides, it messes up the place.”
“Ladies, he says!” Welch guffawed. “That’s good!”
He exchanged a look with Zip, who nodded slightly.
“We’re willin’,” Zip agreed. “Outside’s as good as any.”
It happened then with blinding speed. Before these witnesses, and in the face of that agreement, they had momentarily relaxed their vigilance. North started to rise, to turn, and so was not watching. Doll, in that same instant, was looking toward Altie.
Only she had not relaxed her watch, not even for an instant. Now. with a choking cry, she hurled herself forward, just as guns crashed loud on the pent-up atmosphere of the room. She was in front of him, and by the same token in front of Rawe North as well, between them and the belching guns of the other pair.
Doll spun, and rage was in him like a snake striking. Killing anger, more savage than he had ever known before. Usually, with him, this sort of thing was a game, deadly but dispassionate. Now he saw the red blob on Altie’s waist, heard the flesh-crunching impact of the heavy bullet, and then his own gun was in his hand and he was hurling himself forward as he triggered.
North was raging too, as though he had never practiced treachery himself. Shooting, but with a speed not quite to match Doll’s in that moment. It was soon over, as Doll had foretold. Altie was crumpling and going down in a heap on the floor, but the other two were hardly an instant behind her. Welch was first, so that Zip sprawled across him, the two of them marking an ungainly X in the middle of the floor.
Choking, Doll dropped to his knees, gently raising Altie’s head, his eyes, usually searching, blinded now by unaccustomed tears. After a moment her eyes opened and she looked up at him and the mist of pain cleared as she saw who it was. She even managed to smile.
“Altie!” he choked, and saw how her blood bubbled out at her breast as she breathed. He knew, without telling, that nothing could hold her long now, not even his own arms. Too many times had he seen the effect of a forty-five bullet. And he suspected that she had taken two of them, though he was not certain where the other had hit.
She tried, unsteadily, to raise her hand, to reach his bowed head and caress it, but the effort proved too great and her arm dropped back. Rawe North, coldly efficient, brought a glass half filled with whiskey.
“Drink this,” he suggested.
Altie took it gratefully as Doll held it, leaning her head back against his chest. Blood was staining him, but he paid no heed to that. His eyes were savage with hurt as he looked toward the two men sprawled there, dead already, who had done this.
She choked painfully, and he took the glass away. But for a moment it was at North that she looked, not at him.
“I think I—saved you too,” she whispered, and both men knew that it was so. “So— I’ve a right to ask a favor. Be good to Marian, Rawe—make her happy. She was—the only real friend—I ever had.”
North made no reply, but his face was sober. Her eyes closed for a moment, and Doll was afraid that she had gone. Then they opened again and, meeting his gaze, her own grew soft.
“This—is best, Noland,” she murmured. “Bend close—it’s getting dark. Oh—I wanted to go with you! And now— this way—I can. It’s better—than I ever hoped for—”
Her voice faltered, and when it came again it was so weak that he had to bend close to hear.
“You’ve never—kissed me, Noland,” she said. “But if you wanted to—once—”
Words were in him, choking him, words which there was no time to speak, which he could not say in any case. But as he kissed her, he had the feeling that she understood what he wanted to tell her. Her smile grew radiant for a moment, and again she sought to lift her hand to touch his face. Then he stood up, lifting her in his arms, there in the sudden and for once completely respectful silence of the room. She had taken the long trail ahead of him.
- 14 -
FEW MEN indeed had ever seen Tripp Devero dismayed, but had there been any to witness now, they would have beheld a badly frightened man. He was still frantically at work, chafing wrists, wetting Marian’s forehead and doing other ineffectual things, when Judy and Bud Farris returned to the cook house.
Judy took efficient charge. But there was not much that she could do, as it soon developed. This was no ordinary fainting spell on the part of Marian Breen. She was unconscious, and Judy turned a coldly suspicious eye on Devero.
“What you do to her, anyway?” she demanded.
Devero was deeply contrite.
“I reckon it’s all my fault,” he admitted. “I tried to kiss her—and she slammed me over the head with that chair. Then, the next thing, she just went limp in my arms, as I caught her. But I sure didn’t intend to do anything to upset her this way.”
“Who you, anyway,” Judy probed, and added shrewdly, “You this Tripp Dev’ro, maybe?”
“Yes, I’m Devero. But I’d sooner cut off my hand—or my head, for that matter—than to do anything to hurt her.”
Judy placed a broad palm on Marian’s forehead and surveyed him with kindlier eyes.
“Reckon it ain’t your fault—much,” she said. “She set lot of store by you, from what I make out. She plumb sick—been actin’ funny here las’ two-three days. Feel how hot she is now.”
Devero obeyed, and was startled at the feverish touch. If there was relief in the knowledge that this might not be all his fault, it was wiped away in the conviction that here was grave illness. He made an abrupt decision.
“We’ve got to get her to a doctor, quick as it can be managed. I’ll hitch up the team, and we’ll start. You get her ready to travel.”
“Guess she as ready as she ever will be,” Judy retorted. “Ain’t nothin’ lef here but bare wall an’ burned ground.” She was as much relieved at the prospect of leaving as she was worried at this strange malady which had struck her mistress down.
Devero found Bud Farris outside, holding the horses. He had met Farris once before, and now he was shocked at the change in the man.
“What happened to you?” he demanded, and listened in growing surprise as Farris explained. Bud had made considerable improvement in the last week. The blistered skin was peeling, being replaced by good fresh growth beneath, and most of the festering globules where shot had penetrated were healed. But his eyes were still sore and sightless.
“You’ll come along,” Devero instructed. “Couldn’t leave you here in any case. And it’ll do no harm to have a medico look you over.”
He harnessed the horses and hitched the team to the wagon, then carried Marian out and made her as comfortable as possible, with Judy to watch over her in the back of the wagon. There was no change that he could see, and his mouth was a tight line as he climbed to the seat again and took up the reins.
A fringe of light green, spring-like in its fairness, overlay the burned country now. Nature was erasing the scar as quickly as possible. As they traveled, there were signs of life again—a bird on the wing, a coyote in the distance. Devero saw both, but had no time for them. He was thankful that he had ridden this way on impulse. But he was bitter with self-reproach for his own conduct, for the part it might have had in bringing this sickness to a head.
He did not stop as night came on, a nearly full moon riding high overhead. There was nothing more mellow than a full autumn moon over the wide expanse of prairie. Tonight he frowned upon it and urged the horses to a steady pace. Judy and Farris slept. The light, shining whitely back through the parted canvas, showed no change in Marian.
He stopped when the edge of the burned strip was reached. The horses ate hungrily, and from his own duffle bag Devero produced cold biscuits, jerky and coffee. The coffee he boiled over a fire of twisted dry grass, and the three of them ate. Devero turned then, swung to the saddle of his own cayuse.
“The team will have to rest before they can go any farther,” he said. “I’ll be back during the day.”
He grudged the delay, but it had one advantage. By cutting north and slightly east from here he’d reach one of the line camps on his own land in the least possible time.
The sun was halfway to its zenith when he reached the camp, and here luck was with him, for there were two men at it. It might as easily have been empty all day or for several days. But a line rider was there, and Big Ben, who acted as. foreman in Devero’s absence, had just ridden in.
Big Ben, in its way, was a misnomer. Ben was not big. Nor, in all probability, was that his name. He was a little man. almost scrawny, with a past which he considered as being his own business. The teeming heart of London had first looked upon him with as little favor or hope as he in turn had eyed the murky light of the district where he was born.
The years had brought him to Kansas, making of him a cowboy second to none on any range. His nostalgic references to Big Ben in London had given him his name, which suited him well enough. Now he listened gravely to his employer while they shared a breakfast of beefsteak, washed down by more coffee.
“Blimey, if ever I heard the like,” Big Ben confessed. His eyes were sharp but kindly. “Reckon you’re doing all anybody could,” he added. “And it ain’t none of it rightly your fault. Be North’s, if anybody’s, bringin’ her to such a place and then leavin’ her wi’ nary a word. A woman’d worry herself sick sure, that way.”
Big Ben had somehow fostered the illusion that he knew a great deal about women. This conclusion, as he had intended, was comforting.
“North’s a bigger fool than I thought he was,” Devero growled. “To go off and leave her that way.” He dismissed the subject for more practical matters. “I’m taking her to a doctor, and looking after her till she’s well! No matter how long it takes. You look after things here. I had to let you know.”
“Sure,” Big Ben agreed. “I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“Yes. Find out what the devil happened to North’s men— and to his herd. There’s something funny there.”
“Funny ain’t half the word for it,” Big Ben grunted. “I been hearin’ rumors—” He shook his head, leaving the words hanging in mid-air. They packed fresh provisions and supplies from the stock in the cabin on an extra horse, and Devero turned back.
It was late afternoon when he reached the wagon again. There was no noticeable change in Marian, and his mouth set a little tighter. But the team was in better shape, thanks to the rich pasture they had enjoyed. He hitched them up again and went on, driving for more than half the night, until the moon dipped beyond the horizon, before he stopped.
There were towns closer than Wichita, but none where a doctor lived, so far as he knew. Mostly, in this country, a settler lived or died without benefit of much assistance. Nonetheless, he headed for the nearest town.
As he had feared, there was no medico. But he saw something else which gave him a sudden idea. A tall, shambling Swede was loitering on the street, chewing a straw and wearing a lost look. Devero crossed to him.
“Hello, Lars,” he greeted. “What you doing here?”
Lars Hanson scowled.
“Ay bane tank about the devil,” he growled. “And here you come!”
Strangely, Devero grinned at that.
“I reckon I know what you’re thinkin’ about, Lars,” he agreed, “and so I don’t blame you for being sore. You were buildin’ that big house for North, and then it burned down. And you figure I did it, and put you out of a job.”
“That’s yoost what ay do figure,” Hanson conceded. “Now ay don’t have no work, no money to pay my men, nothing. An’ winter comin’ on.”
“Well, I’ve got two things to say to you,” Devero retorted. “In the first place, whatever folks say. I had nothing to do with burning that house. You can believe me or not, as you like. But since you’re out of a job, how about going to my place and putting up a house about like it for me? Big Ben will show you where—just below the little spring off from where my house is now. Hustle it along as fast as you can. Never mind the expense. Ben will see that the lumber and supplies get hauled, and pay your wages as they’re due—not at the end of the job. If you can have it done by spring, I’ll give you an extra bonus.”
Hanson stared, then his face lightened.
“By golly,” he exclaimed. “Maybe ay be crazy, maybe you be. But we go to work, yah. Right away.”
Devero scribbled an order to his foreman and gave it to him.
“I’ll count on you,” he said. “Make it good!”
He returned to the wagon and drove on. The next day, heading straight, he reached the railroad.
Here the grade, slight in most places, still showed raw across the land. The twin lines of steel shimmered in the sun, making the prairie seem more lonely by comparison. But a smudge of smoke showed on the western horizon, gradually taking shape as a locomotive and half a dozen cars. The train halted as he flagged it, and they got aboard. The horses he unharnessed and left to look out for themselves. The wagon he left beside the track, its canvas flapping in the wind. The train whistled and got under way again.
There was a change for the better as they approached Wichita. Marian Breen opened her eyes and stirred, though there was no recognition in them. Fever and delirium held her in their grip.
The doctor at Wichita dosed her and listened and shook his head.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he confessed. “She’s plenty sick, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this in my experience. She still has a lot of fever. We’ve got to lick that. When it goes down, she ought to be better. But I have a notion that she’ll be far from well for quite a while, followin’ a sickness such as this. But we’ll do the best we can.”
