A small voice of doubt was whispering within him, a voice that made him remember that quiet, determined little boy whom he brought home with him, that boy who would not cry, a boy who listened and obeyed and who tried very hard to do what was expected of him. Yet despite that Ben had always been aware the boy had a mind of his own, that he listened and weighed everything in some balance of his own.
Long after Doc Sawyer was gone, Ben Curry sat alone, thinking. If Doc knew, somebody else might know, yet he thought not. Doc was canny, and Doc always had his ear to the ground. Doc would know if anybody else knew.
His thoughts reverted to the discussion over what had taken place in Weaver. What were Ducrow and Fernandez doing there, anyway? It had always been the policy for none of the gang to show up in the town where a job was to be pulled off except the scouts who went in, got the lay of the land, then rode out as unobtrusively as possible.
Now there had been trouble, attention had been drawn to them, and Ducrow had been drunk and shooting off his mouth. Mike warned that the sheriff was a canny man, and he would remember their faces. So none of them could be used. The boy was out of it.
Despite himself, Ben felt relief. The risk had worried him. Twelve guards, several with shotguns.
How were they to handle them? Kerb Perrin wanted the job, so let Kerb have it. For the first time the thought of betrayal entered his mind. He shook his head. No. Perrin was his problem. He would cope with it himself, as he always had. But what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver? And Doc had reported the words Ducrow had spoken in anger, that it was no longer Ben Curry who mattered, but Kerb Perrin.
Something brewing there.
He was getting old. For the first time he began to doubt his rightness. What about the boy? He had wanted a man he could trust to take over, but had he any right to raise the boy to be an outlaw? He walked to the window again. He had a reason, or thought he did, but Mike had none beyond his father’s wish.
Suddenly, Ben stopped, staring at the partial reflection of himself in the glass. Mike was the son he had never had, why not Mike and Drusilla?
He shook his head. No, no. Never. Yet-how many fathers could raise their own son-in-law? He smiled at the thought, but put it aside. There was too much else to think about now.
Kerb Perrin was planning rebellion. Planning to go his own way. His thoughts reverted to Dru.
Suppose she wanted Mike Bastian, outlaw or not? Had it been Juliana now, he could have bluntly told her no and she would have, might have, listened. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. She was too much like him.
What to do? Ben Curry moved away from the window. He must remember not to stand there again. Once, he need not have worried but now there were enemies among his own men, something he dared not tolerate. What had Ducrow and Fernandez been doing in Weaver? Scouting the job for Perrin? For themselves?
He walked back to the fireplace and stared at the sullen coals. He was growing old, and it was time to quit. He wanted the last years with his wife and the girls. He wanted to get out, to get away. He was a man born out of his time, and in the past he might have been a Viking, a robber baron, a freebooter.
Now he was an outlaw.
He had liked planning their forays. He had liked playing his chess game with the law, but lately- Was he changing? Or was it the times? Was it like Roundy kept telling him, that the old days were gone? An outlaw was an enemy of society, a different society from that rough, casually tolerant west in which he had spent his early years.
He walked over to the clothes tree and took down his gunbelt. He checked each pistol, then slung the belt about his hips. From now on he had better wear them, all the time.
Mike Bastian rolled out of bed and sat up.
Rarely did he sleep during the day, but on his return he had been tired. Now he felt better. Darkness had come while he rested, and the sky was spangled with stars. From his window he could see a few lights glowing from the settlement below, a settlement of outlaws.
Only Doe Sawyer and himself shared the stone house with Ben Curry, and on the occasional visits when others discussed future jobs with Ben, they never left the spacious living room with its big table where the planning was done.
The doors leading to other rooms were closed and conferences were kept to the big table. Ben Curry had always been a private person and nobody had ever ventured to intrude on that privacy, not even Mike himself. He was restless and uneasy. There had been a sampling of what he could expect in the facing of Corbus and later with Ducrow and Fernandez. Was that what he wanted? Or did he want a more respectable life? Such a life as Drusilla Ragan might wish to share?
Hey! He flushed. What was he thinking of? She had scarcely noticed him, and who was he, after all?
He was nothing, he had nothing. He did not have a home, other than this provided by Ben Curry, he had no job, he had nothing to offer. Although he knew there were some people who admired outlaws, largely because they had never known any, he did not think Drusilla would be of that sort.
He had not needed Roundy’s questions, nor Doc’s, to start thinking. Whenever he went into a town he wondered about the people there. They did not have to worry about being recognized by some lawman or some former victim. They did not have to be hiding out in the hills, seeking shelter from cold and rain or suffering from a gunshot wound they dared not have treated.
Ben’s operation was the most successful, but he had his failures, too. Only a few weeks before four of the boys had arrived on hard-ridden horses, one man wounded, with only fourteen dollars to show for their trouble. At the last minute, plans had been altered and the shipment of gold had gone out early, going through the day before they arrived. Down there in town they had probably told the story of his meeting with the sheriff, of his coping with Ducrow and the others. The majority liked him, and this would tell them he could handle himself. Molina and Perrin stood between him and leadership of the gig.
Molina, Perrin, and himself. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Did he want to be an outlaw?
Blowing out the light, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. For a moment he stood listening. It was very quiet. Distant music came from the saloon.
He walked down the path toward the town, hoping to see no one, simply to walk and to think. There was no more time. He must decide. Yet how could he leave Ben? Avoiding the main street of the little settlement, which was composed of a saloon, a store, and a livery stable, as well as a boardinghouse and what was called a hotel but was actually just a big cabin with bunks, he walked down one of the lanes toward the creek.
Several cabins were scattered along the lane, with corrals, stables, and a well or two. He was passing the last cabin before reaching the trees along the small creek when he overheard “dis . . at Red Wall.” Abruptly, he stopped. The cabin door was open and light streamed out, but he was in the darkness out of sight.
Kerb Perrin was speaking. “It’s a cinch) We’ll do it on our own without anybody’s say-so.
There’s about two thousand head of cattle on their range, but there must be at least five hundred head gathered for a drive, and I’ve got a buyer for them.
We’ll hit the place about sunup. was “Who’s on the place?” “Only four hands now. If we wait a few days there will be a dozen. They’ll be expectin’ nothing.” “How many men will we have?” “A dozen, maybe less. Keep the divvy small. Hell, that Ragan ranch is easyl The boss won’t even hear about it until it’s too late to stop us. Anyway, he’ll never know it was us.” “I wouldn’t want him to,” Fernandez said.
“To hell with himl” Ducrow said. “All I want is a crack at that Bastian kidl” “Stick with me,” Perrin said, “and I’ll set him up for you. was “You said there were some women?” Ducrow suggested. “Two white girls are visiting there, and there’s two Mexican maids and the mother of the girls. I want the younger girl. What happens to the others is none of my business.” Fernandez looked uneasy. “It is not good,” he said. “The women, I mean. Steal cattle, yes.