Dutch turned sharply and walked from the room.
Chantry held out his hand. “Tom Chantry
here, Mr. Sparrow. Thank you—thank you very much.”
They walked back to the hotel together. “Bad case, that Akin,” Sparrow commented, “a real trouble-maker. But he’s good with a gun, so be careful.”
Chantry shrugged. “I doubt if I ever see him again. Actually, you are the man I came to see. I understand you have a herd of beef outside of town that you might sell.”
“I might.” They had reached the deserted porch of the hotel. Sparrow bit the end from a cigar. “But you are mistaken if you think Akin won’t show. The man may be a trouble-maker and a loud-mouth, but he’s got sand, and he’s killed a man or two. You can expect him.”
“It’s absurd, Mr. Sparrow. The whole affair was uncalled for. He will have forgotten all about it in the morning.”
Sparrow lighted his cigar, threw the match into the dust, and then spoke around the cigar. “No, Mr. Chantry, he will not have forgotten it. Nor will anyone else. Come hell or high water, Dutch Akin will be in the street tomorrow, and if you don’t own a pistol you had better buy or borrow one. You’ll need it.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that I be out there in the street? That I engage in a duel with this—this ape?”
Sparrow glanced at him. “Are you by any chance related to Borden Chantry?”
“I am his son.”
“Then I would think—“
Suddenly, Tom Chantry was impatient.
“Mr. Sparrow, I came to Las Vegas to see you, to make you an offer for your cattle. The firm I represent, Earnshaw and Company, is an eastern firm, and until now we have done our business through others. We’ve hoped to set up some business connections out here and buy cattle at the source. We had hoped to buy your herd. I did not come out here to be involved in brawls or shootings, or anything of that sort. I dislike violence, and will have nothing to do with this affair.”
“I see.”
Sparrow’s manner had grown cool. “I
knew your father,” he said after a minute, “and I respected him. I was not interested in selling cattle at this time, and we’re holding them on good grass so there is no need. However, I thought that the son of Borden Chantry and I might strike a bargain.”
“And we are ready, sir.”
“You went east soon after your father’s death,
didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The situation back east is very different from out
here, Mr. Chantry. Money is not always the only consideration. Out here we place emphasis upon the basic virtues, and I have noticed that the more organized our lives become the less attention we pay to such things as courage and loyalty. Organization seems to eliminate the necessity for such things, but out here they are the very stuff of life.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Simply this: that a man’s courage or lack
of it is a matter of economic importance in the West. There are few ventures that can be attempted out here where courage is not a necessity, and anyone engaged in such a venture has a right to know the courage of those who are to share the risk.”
“What you are saying is that if I do not meet Dutch Akin tomorrow I had better go back east?”
“Exactly that. We will agree the circumstances are disagreeable, but such things cannot be avoided, and you have no choice.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Sparrow shrugged. “It does not matter what you
believe. Your father understood, and he lived by the code.”
“And died by it.”
“That sometimes happens.”
“Then,” Tom Chantry replied quietly,
“I am in the wrong country. I have no desire to kill … or to be killed. I shall go to Dutch Akin and apologize.”
“He will despise you.”
“Very well, but that will be the end of it.”
Sparrow drew on his cigar, then took it from his
mouth as though it suddenly had a bad taste. “No, Mr. Chantry, that will not be the end. It will be only the beginning. The bullies will know you are fair game, that you will not fight, and therefore are to be bullied with impunity. The decent people will simply ignore you, the bullies will hunt you down, and some of them will keep on pushing just to see how much you can take before you do fight.
“Understand this, Mr. Chantry, the love of peace and the unwillingness to fight never kept anyone out of trouble.”
They left it at that, but during the night Tom Chantry made his decision.
Turning now in the saddle, he looked back again. There was nothing—nothing at all.
All around were the vast sky and the open prairie. To the north there were mountains, ahead was a broken, rugged country. It was not until then that he realized what he had done.
He had ridden west, not east.
Chapter 2
To the east lay home, friends, security from all this. His mother and Doris were in the East, his job and his future were there. Yet he had ridden west. Why?
What impulse had caused him to turn west when east was the logical direction? Was there some urge within him to avoid security? To avoid escape?
His choice back there had been simple.
To use a gun, or not to use it.
He did not think he had actually been afraid, but how was he to know? Sparrow’s attitude could be that of everyone west of the Mississippi, and of many of those east of it. Such a story would get around, of course, and even those who commended him for good judgment would suspect his courage.
By turning west he had escaped nothing but the immediate meeting with Dutch Akin, for the situation might arise again. If so, would he run again? How often could he run?
But that was not the important thing now. He had come west to buy cattle that could be shipped east. If he could not get them in Las Vegas he must find them elsewhere, and that meant he might ride north to the Wyoming country and ship over the Union Pacific.
Earnshaw had advanced the money for his trip west, and he carried a draft against Earnshaw’s bank with which to pay for the cattle. It was his duty to complete the business that had brought him here;
Earnshaw was depending on him.
Tom Chantry considered the situation. Santa Fe lay to the west, not over three days’ ride, he believed. It was doubtful if the required cattle could be found there; and if found they must be driven to the railhead, which meant a drive through Las Vegas—something he could not consider at this time.
His logical course was to strike north, but first he must have bedding, supplies, and a pack horse.
The horse he had purchased at the livery stable seemed a good one, and Tom Chantry was an experienced judge of horseflesh. He had bought and sold stock for Earnshaw long enough to be.
Ahead of him lay the stage station at Kearney’s Gap; lights showed in the windows, although the sky was gray with dawn’s first light. He turned his mount and rode up to the hitch rack.
Behind the house he heard the squeak and complaint of a windlass. He walked to the edge of the porch and looked past the corner. A man with rumpled hair, his suspenders hanging loose, had just drawn a bucket of water.
“Howdy!” he said cheerfully. “Coffee’s on. Be fryin’ eggs. Come in an’ set.”
How much time did he have? Traveling would begin at daybreak, and the stage would be coming from Las Vegas shortly after. He did not want to be here when it arrived.
Over coffee he spoke of Santa Fe and Socorro.
“If’n you’re headin’ for Socorro now,” the stage tender said, “you’re headin’ right. But a man who wanted to get to Santa Fe a-horseback is a plumb fool to ride the trail. Right yonder”—he pointed—“is a good horseback or pack trail across the mountains. Rougher, but a whole sight shorter. Thisaway you swing south and take a big bend. No need. You headin’ for Santa Fe?”
“Socorro,” Chantry said, “but I’m traveling light. You haven’t got any trade goods, have you?”
“A mite. Sell some of the Injuns once in a while. What was you needin’?”
Less than half an hour later, with two blankets, a sack of grub, and a bowie knife to cut firewood, Chantry headed west. When out of sight of the station he turned abruptly from the road and cut back into the brush to find the other trail.
He found it at Agua Zarca and followed it toward the crossing of the Tecolote at San Geronimo. Without leaving the saddle, he removed his coat, stripped off his white shirt, and donned a dark red shirt bought at the stage station. Then he tied his coat behind his saddle.