Daylight saw us riding down the street at Hattan’s Point.
TWENTY-TWO
We found a town that was silent and waiting. But the loft was full of hay and both of us needed sleep. And what was to come would wait.
Two hours later, as if by signal, I awakened suddenly. Leaving Mulvaney to his needed rest, I splashed water on my face and headed for Mother O’Hara’s. The first person I saw when I came through the door was Moira. And the second was Key Chapin.
“Sorry,” Chapin said. “We just heard the news.”
My blank expression must have told him. I knew of no news, but I didn’t want to wait to hear it.
“You’re losing the Two-Bar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jake Booker filed a deed to the Two-Bar. He purchased all rights from a nephew of old man Ball’s. He had laid claim to the Boxed M, maintains it was never actually owned by Rud Maclaren, but belonged to his brother-in-law, now dead. Booker found a relative of the brother-in-law, and bought the property.”
“It’s a steal.”
“If he goes to court he can make it very rough.”
He went on to explain that Booker was a shrewd lawyer, and despite my two witnesses, could go far toward establishing a solid claim.
He went on to say that Booker had turned up the fact that a few years before, while suffering from a gunshot wound, Maclaren had deeded the ranch to his brother-in-law and it had apparently never been deeded back to himself.
Moira’s face looked pale, and I could understand why. If Booker could make his claim hold good, then Moira, instead of being an independent young lady with a cattle ranch, would be broke and hunting a job. I knew that Maclaren had spent cash in developing the place and actually had little money on hand.
“What’s more important right now,” Chapin added, ”Booker has a court order impounding all bank deposits, stopping all sales, and freezing everything as is until the case is settled.”
I sat down. Swiftly, I ordered my thoughts. Booker would have paid out no money for claims he did not think he could substantiate in court. The man was shrewd.
There was no attorney within miles capable of coping with Booker. What had begun as a range war had degenerated into a grand steal by a shyster lawyer. And neither of us would have the money to fight him.
A thought occurred to me. “Has Canaval been told?”
Chapin gestured impatiently. “There’s nothing he can do. He’s only a foreman.”
Katie O’Hara brought me coffee and it tasted good.
Sheriff Will Tharp had left town, accompanied by the recently arrived Colonel D’Arcy. They had gone to Morgan Park’s ranch, searching for him.
“They should have gone to Dark Canyon,” I said.
“Why there?” Chapin looked at me curiously. “What would take a man there?”
“That’s where he’ll be.”
When Katie O’Hara brought my breakfast I ate in silence. Morgan Park was free and would be wanting a shot at me. Bodie Miller was probably in town. Whatever was to be done would have to be done fast, and however good I might be with gun or fists, I had no experience with the intricacies of the law. I could not hope to meet Booker on his own ground.
Moira did not look at me. She talked a little with Key Chapin, who had been her father’s friend.
“Moira,” I said, “you better send a messenger to the ranch to tell Canaval what’s happened.”
Still she did not look at me. “What can he do? It would only worry him.”
“No matter—take my advice.”
She tightened a little, resenting the suggestion. “Better still, have Fox and some of your boys bring him into town in a buckboard.”
“But I don’t—”
“Do what I say.” My abruptness seemed to shock her. She looked up, and our eyes met. Hers fell swiftly, but for an instant I thought.
“Moira,” I said gently, “you want your ranch. It can be saved. Get Canaval in here and tell him what’s happened. Have witnesses, take a statement from him, and have it signed by the witnesses.”
“What are you talking about? What statement?”
“Do what I advise.”
Finishing my coffee with a gulp, I picked up my hat and put it on the back of my head. Then I rolled a smoke. While I was doing it, my eyes were studying the street out side. There was no sign of Miller.
But then I saw something else. A weary dun horse was tied to the side of the corral. It was barely visible between the buildings.
“Who owns that horse?”
Chapin came to the window to look. He shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
Katie was picking up the dishes, and she glanced out the window. “Jake Booker rides it. He did this morning.”
And Jake Booker had small feet.
Mulvaney was crawling down from the loft when I got to him. He listened, then ran to the stable office and got a fresh horse.
Key Chapin was in the door of the restaurant when I walked by.
“Get Canaval in here. We’re having a showdown. Send for Jim Finder, too.”
He studied me. “Matt, what do you know?”
“Enough … I think. Enough to save the Boxed M and probably to find the man who killed Maclaren.”
Without waiting, I went through the town, store by store, saloon by saloon. I was looking for Bodie Miller, but there was no sign of him, nor of his partner.
At Mother O’Hara’s, Key Chapin and Moira were waiting. I sat down and without giving them a chance to talk, I outlined my plan in as few words as possible. Moira listened with surprise, I thought, but she shouldn’t have been surprised, for I had said much of this before. Chapin nodded from time to time.
“It might work.” he agreed at last. “We can try.”
“What about Tharp?”
“He’ll stand with us. He’s a solid man, Matt.”
“All right, then. Showdown in the morning.”
The voice came from behind me. It was a voice I knew, low, confident, a little mocking.
“Why, sure! Showdown in the morning, I’d like that, Brennan.”
It was Bodie Miller.
He was smiling when I looked at him, but his eyes did not join in the smile.
This was Bodie, the man who wanted to kill me … Bodie the killer.
The sun in the morning came up clear and hot. At daybreak the sky was without a cloud, and the distant mountains shimmered in a haze of their own making. The desert lost itself in heat waves, and a stillness lay upon both desert and town, a sort of poised awareness that seemed to walk on tiptoe as if the slightest sound might shatter it.”
When I emerged on the street I was a man alone. The street was empty as a town of ghosts, silent except for the sound of my own boots on the board walk. Then, as if that sound had broken the spell, the bartender came from the saloon and began to sweep off the walk in front.
He glanced at me, bobbed his head in recognition, then hastily completed his sweeping and ducked back inside.
A man carrying two wooden buckets emerged from an alley and looked cautiously around. Assured there was no one in sight, he started across the street, glancing apprehensively first one way, then the other.
Sitting down in one of the pants-polished chairs in front of the saloon, I looked at the far blue mountains. In a few minutes I might be dead.
It was not a good morning to die—but what morning is? Yet in a short time two men, myself and another, would meet somewhere in this town and one of us, perhaps both of us, would die.
Mulvaney rode into the street and left his horse at the stable. He walked over to me, carrying enough guns to start a war.
“The whole kit an’ kaboodle. Be here within an hour. Jolly’s already in town.”
A woman stood at a second-floor window looking down. She turned suddenly and left the window as if called.
“If Red cuts into this scrap,” Mulvaney said, “he’s mine.”
“You can have him.”
The man with the two buckets hurried fearfully across the street, slopping water at each step. Sheriff Tharp had not returned. There was no sign of Finder, Morgan Park, or Bodie Miller.
Mother O’Hara had a white tablecloth on the table and the meal looked impressive.
“You should be ashamed!” she said severely. “That girl lay awake half the night, worryin’ her pretty head over you.”
“Over me?”
“Worried fair sick, she is. About you and that Bodie Miller!”
The door opened then and Moira entered. Her dark hair was tied in a loose knot at the back of her neck, and her eyes looked unusually large in her pale face. She avoided my glance and it was well for me she did. It was a day when I could show no weakness, not even for her.