“I’ll see him in hell first!” He stared down at me. “Young man, you stop using my daughter’s name or you’ll face me.”
“I’d rather not face you. I want to keep peace in the family.” I lifted my cup and took a swallow of coffee. “Nobody has a greater respect for your daughter’s name than I. After all … she is to be my wife.”
Maclaren’s face flushed angrily, but Canaval chuckled and even Moira seemed amused.
Key Chapin put in a quieting word before Maclaren could say what might have precipitated trouble.
“There’s an aspect of this situation, Rud, that may have escaped you. If Brennan is now Ball’s partner, it might be better to let him stay on, then buy him out.”
Maclaren absorbed the idea and was pleased. It was there in his eyes, plain to be seen. He looked down at me with new interest.
“Yes, yes, of course. We might do business, young man.”
“We might… and we want peace, not trouble. But I did not become a partner to sell out. Also, in all honesty, I took on the partnership only by promising never to sell. Tomorrow I shall choose a building site.
“Which brings up another point. There are Boxed M cattle on Two-Bar range. It should take you no longer than a week to remove them. I shall inform the CP of the same time limit.”
Maclaren’s face was a study. He started to speak, then hesitated. Finishing my coffee, I got to my feet, I put down a coin and went out the door, closing it softly just as Maclaren started to speak.
There was a time for all things, and this was the time to leave … while I was ahead.
Bounding the building, I brought up short. Finder’s black-haired rider was standing beside my horse. There was a gun in his hand and an ugly look in his eyes.
“You talk too much. I heard that you’d moved in with Ball.”
“So you heard.”
“Sure, and Jim will pay a bonus for your hide.”
His finger tightened and I threw myself aside and palmed my gun. It was fast … the instinctive reaction of a man trained to use a gun. The gun sprang to my hand, it bucked in my palm. I heard the short, heavy bark of it, and between my first and second shots, his gun slammed a bullet that drew blood from my neck.
Blackie turned as if to walk away, then fell flat, his fingers clawing hard at the dirt.
Men came rushing among them those from Mother O’Hara’s. “Seen it!” The speaker was a short, leather-faced man who had been harnessing a horse in the alley nearby. “Blackie laid for him with a drawn gun.”
Canaval’s gaze was cool, attentive. “A drawn gun? That was fast, man.”
Maclaren looked at me more carefully. Probably he had believed I was some fresh youngster, but now he knew that I’d used a gun. This was going to change things. Instead of one lonely old man on the Two-Bar there was now another man, a young man, one who could shoot fast and straight.
When I could, I backed from the crowd and went to my horse, leading him around the corner into the street. Stepping into the leather, I looked around and saw Moira on the steps, watching me. I lifted my hat, then cantered away to the cottonwoods and my mules.
Ball was at the gate when I arrived, and I could see the relief in his eyes.
“Trouble?”
My account was brief, and to the point. There was nothing about killing that I liked.
“One more,” Ball said grimly, “and one less.”
But I was remembering the face of the girl on the steps. Moira knew now that I’d killed a man. How would she feel about that? How would she look upon me now?
FOUR
During the next two days I spent hours in the saddle going over the lands that lay under the Two-Bar brand. It was even better than I had expected, and it was easy to see why the CP and the Boxed M were envious.
Aside from the rich grass of Cottonwood Wash, and the plentiful water supply, there were miles of bunch grass country before the desert was reached, and even the desert was rich in a growth of antelope bush and wool fat.
It was a good ranch, with several waterholes other than the stream along the Wash, and with sub-irrigation over against the mountains. Only to the west were there ranches, and only from the west could other cattle get into the area to mingle with the Two-Bar herd.
Ball’s calves had largely been rustled by the large outfits, and if we expected to prosper we must rid ourselves of the stock we had and get some young stuff. The cattle we had would never be in any better shape, but from now on would grow older and tougher. Now was the time to sell yet a drive was impossible.
Ball was frankly discouraged. “I’m afraid they’ve got us bottled up, Matt,” he told me. “When you came along I was about ready to cash in my chips.”
“Outfit down in the hills past Organ Rock.”
Ball’s head lifted sharply. “Forgot to tell you. Stay clear of that bunch. That’s the Benaras place, the B Bar B. Six in the family. They have no truck with anybody—an’ all of them are dead shots.”
He smoked in silence for a while, and I considered the situation on the ranch. There was no time to be lost, and no sense in being buffaloed. The thing to do was to start building the outfit now. An idea had come to my mind, and when I saddled up the next morning I drifted south.
It was a wild and lonely country, toward Organ Rock. Furrowed and eroded by thousands of years of sun, wind, and rain, a country tumbled and broken as if by some insane giant. Miles of raw land with only occasional spots of green to break the everlasting reds, pinks, and whites.
Occasionally, in the midst of a barren and lonely stretch, there would be an oasis of green, with trees, water, and grass. At each of these would be a few cattle, fat and lazy under the trees.
A narrow trail led up to the mesa, and I took it, letting the buckskin find his own way. There were few horse tracks, which told me that even the boys from the B Bar B rarely came this far.
Wind moved across the lonely mesa, the junipers stirred. I drew up, standing in the half shade of the tree and looking ahead. The mesa seemed empty, yet I had a sudden feeling of being observed. For a long time I listened, but no sound came across the silences.
The buckskin walked on, almost of his own volition. Another trail intersected, a more traveled trail. Both led in the direction I was now taking.
There was no sound but the footfalls of my horse, the lonely creak of the saddle, and once, far off, the cry of an eagle. A rabbit bounded up and away bouncing like a tufted rubber ball.
The mesa broke off sharply and before me lay a green valley not unlike Cottonwood Wash, but far wilder and more remote. Towering rock walls skirted it, and a dark-mouthed canyon opened wide into the valley. The trail down from the mesa led from bench to bench with easy swings and switchbacks, and I descended, riding more warily.
Twice antelope appeared in the distance and once a deer. There were tracks of cattle, but few were in evidence.
The wild country to the east, on my left, was exciting to see. A vast maze of winding canyons and broken ledges, of towering spires and massive battlements. It was a land unexplored and unknown, and greatly tempting to an itching foot.
A click of a drawn-back hammer stopped me in my tracks. Buck stood perfectly still, his ears up, and I kept both hands on the pommel.
“Goin’ somewhar, stranger?”
The voice seemed to come from a clump of boulders at the edge of a hay meadow, but there was nobody in sight.
“I’m looking for the boss of the B Bar B.”
“What might you want with him?”
“Business talk. I’m friendly.”
The chuckle was dry. “Ever see a man covered by two Spencers who wasn’t friendly?”
The next was a girl’s voice. “Who you ridin’ fo’?”
“I’m Matt Brennan, half-owner of the Two-Bar.”
“You could be lyin’.”
“Do I see the boss?”
“I reckon.”
A tall boy of eighteen stepped from the rocks. Lean and loose-limbed, he looked tough and wise beyond his years. He carried his Spencer as if it was part of him. He motioned with his head to indicate a trail into the wide canyon.
Light steps came from somewhere behind him as he walked the buckskin forward. He did not turn in the saddle and kept his hands in sight.