The rifle fell and the man slumped to the ground, whether dead or merely grazed, I could not tell. After that there was no more effort to escape from either barn or house.
The afternoon wore on. It was time I was moving, but I waited, wanting to see what would happen when they started a fire to make coffee.
Once I put a shot through the door to let them know I had not gone.
Crawling back to my saddlebags, I took a piece of jerked beef and my canteen from the saddle. Then I returned and settled into place again.
It was almost evening before a slow trail of smoke began to lift from the fireplace. Chuckling with anticipation, I waited. There was very little time left to me. Once it was dark I could not keep them under cover; and my position would speedily become untenable.
Now the smoke was lifting. Easing back to my saddle, I replaced the canteen and got my horse ready for a fast leave-taking. A shot through the barn door was enough to let them know I was still there.
The smoke increased, and suddenly there was an explosion within the house.
A shotgun shell … suddenly three others went, one, two, three! There were startled yells within the house and one man sprang for the door, but a bullet into the step nearly tore his toe off, and he ducked back into the house. Running back, I swung into the saddle, and almost at the same instant there was a heavy concussion and flame blasted out of the chimney. The chimney sagged, and smoke and fire burst from a hole at ground level.
It was enough for me. I swung the buckskin and took to the hills. Behind me there were shouts and yells, but they had not seen me. Then another crash … from the ridge I looked back, and saw that the chimney had fallen. There was a hole in the end of the house where the roof had been smashed in, and smoke was coming out.
Jim Finder knew now it was no longer a battle in which he did all the striking … his opponent was striking back.
Avoiding the usual trails, I started for the Two-Bar. They would be worried about me, and they themselves might have suffered from the attack. But my day-long siege of the CP had given me satisfaction, if nothing more.
Mulvaney saw me coming and walked down to open the gate. A quick look showed me he was uninjured. The Benaras boys came out when I swung down from my horse and both of them were grinning.
Jonathan told me of the fight. The two boys had gone out from the ranch when they first spotted the approaching riders. Fighting as skirmishers, they had retreated steadly until in position to be covered by Mulvaney.
They had wounded one man and killed another before the attack even began. Then they fought it out from the bunkhouse, with all the weapons on the place loaded and at hand.
The CP had retreated, then tried a second time and been beaten off again. After that they listened and could hear an argument among the raiders. Finder wanted another attack, but he was getting no support. Finally they had picked up the dead man and, mounting, they’d retreated down the wash.
We talked it over, discussing a new plan of defense. Then suddenly Jonathan turned around.
“Say! I been forgettin’. Bodie Miller shot Canaval!”
“Canaval?”
“Took four bullets before he went down.”
“Dead?’
“Not the last we heard.”
“Miller?”
“Not a scratch.”
Canaval … beaten by Bodie Miller.
Canaval had been a man with whom I could reason. He had a cool, dispassionate judgment, and dangerous as he undoubtedly was in any kind of a fight, he never made a wrong or hasty move. Moreover, with Canaval on hand there was always protection for Moira. And I had an idea that now she was going to need it
Jonathan talked on. There was strong feeling against me in town, and it had grown since he was last in. Undoubtedly somebody was stirring it up. It was even said that Miller and I, despite our reported trouble, were working together, that I had instigated Miller’s shooting of Canaval.
The firelight flickered on our faces … Jolly was out on guard, the night was still. It is a lonely business when one fights alone, or almost alone. It is not easy to stand against the feelings of a community.
Bodie Miller would not rest with this. Canaval had been a big name where men talked of gunfighters and gunmen, and now he was down and might be dying. Bodie’s hatred of me would feed upon this triumph, it would fatten, and he would want a showdown.
There was little time. I must see Canaval if he was alive. I must talk to him. He must know of Slade and his gang, and what their presence implied.
Miller would not wait long to try to kill again. At any time we might meet, and win or lose, I might be out of the fight for weeks to come.
I would ride to the Boxed M. I would ride tonight.
EIGHTEEN
Key Chapin was dismounting at the veranda of the ranch house when I rode into the yard at the Boxed M. He turned toward me, then stopped. Fox was walking across the yard and in his hands he held a Winchester.
“Get off the place, Brennan!”
“I’ve got business here.”
“You get! You’re covered from the bunkhouse an’ the barn, so don’t start for a gun.”
“Don’t ride me, Fox. I won’t take it.”
The buckskin started on toward the house and Fox stepped back, hesitated, then started to lift his rifle. Although I wasn’t looking at him, I could sense that rifle coming up, and debated my chances, remembering those guns behind me.
“Fox!” It was Moira, her voice clear and cool. “Let the gentleman come up.”
Slowly the rifle lowered, and for an instant I drew rein, “I’m glad she stopped you, Fox. You’re too good a man to die.”
The sincerity in my voice must have registered, for he looked at me with a puzzled glance, then turned away toward the bunkhouse.
There was no welcome in Moira’s eyes. Her face was cool, composed.
“Was there something you wanted?”
“Is that my only welcome?”
Her glaze did not flicker or change. “Had you reason to expect more?”
“No, Moira. I guess I didn’t.”
The lines around her mouth softened a little, but she merely waited, looking at me.
“How’s Canaval?”
“Resting.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes … but he will see no one.”
From the window Canaval’s voice carried to me. “Brennan, is that you? Come in, man!”
Moira hesitated, and for a minute I believed she would refuse to admit me. Then she stepped aside and I went in. She followed me, and Chapin came behind her.
Canaval’s appearance shocked me. He was drawn and thin, his eyes huge against the ghastly pallor of his face. His hand gripped mine hard.
“Watch that little demon, Matt! He’s fast! He had a bullet in me before my gun cleared. He’s a freak! Nerves all wrapped up tight, then lets go like a tight-coiled spring.”
He put a hand on my sleeve.
“Wanted to tell you. I found tracks not far from here. Tracks of a man carrying a heavy burden. Not your tracks. Big man … small feet.”
We were all thinking the same thing then. I could see it in Moira’s startled eyes. Morgan Park had small feet. Chapin let his breath out slowly.
“Brennan, I was going to ride over your way when I left here. A message for you. Picked up in Silver Reef yesterday.”
It was a telegram, still sealed. I ripped it open and read:
My brother unheard of in many months. Morgan Park answers description of Park Cantwell, wanted for murder and embezzlement of regimental funds. Coming west.
Leo d’Arcy,
Col., 12th cavalry.
Without comment I handed the message to Chapin, who read it aloud. Moira’s face paled, but she said nothing.
“I remember the case,” Chapin said. “Park Cantwell was a captain in the cavalry. He embezzled some twenty thousand dollars, and when faced with the charge, murdered his commanding officer and escaped. He was captured, then broke jail, and killed two more men getting away. He was last heard of five or six years ago in Mexico.”
“Any chance of a mistake?”
“I don’t think so.”
Chapin glanced down at the message. “May I have this? I’ll take it to Sheriff Tharp.”
“What is it Park and Booker want?” Canaval said.
“Lyell said Park wanted money, quick money. How he planned to get it … that’s the question.”
Moira had not looked at me. Several times I tried to catch her eye, but she avoided my glance. Whether or not she believed I had killed her father, she obviously wanted no part of me.