Rafter was motivated by only one idea, the gold from the mines. And who owned the mines? Some interests in San Francisco.
Every day Laine rode out, or drove, and as often as not she traveled the back trails. Was it just out of curiosity, or for some other, more definite reason?
Ben Stowe seemed suspicious, and if, as Dr. Rupert thought, she was connected with the ownership of the mines, then she could be in real trouble.
Old Brazos at the livery stable was known to Dr. Rupert. It was the doctor who had treated a badly infected leg wound when the old outlaw first rode into Rafter, and he had mentioned it to no one. He liked the hard-bitten old man, and was liked in return.
Now, as he packed tobacco into his pipe, he thought that he must have a talk with Brazos, for little went on around town that the old hostler did not know. And Laine Tennison was his guest, and must be protected.
The doctor had never accepted more than a fair price for his medical attentions, and he had always refused to be paid in gold. His attitude in this was known, and he had never been bothered. Was that because he was respected? Because they needed a good doctor in town? Or because he was Clagg Merriam’s cousin? For Clagg Merriam was a man of some authority in Rafter.
Of course, there was a simpler reason. Dr.
Rupert was notoriously close-mouthed– everybody in town knew it. But how much would that help if it was discovered that Laine Tennison had some connection with the Sun Strike?
He considered that while he smoked his pipe out, carefully examining all aspects of the problem.
At the end of the evening one thing was clear: From now on, Laine Tennison was in danger.
How many of the corrupted citizens of Rafter had been corrupted enough to stand by if it came to doing harm to a young girl? If it came to murder, even? Would they look the other way? How many would actually condone murder to protect what they had?
He knocked out his pipe and walked across the room to the rifle rack. Carefully, he checked every weapon. And then he took his Army Colt, checked the loads, and tucked it behind his waistband.
From this moment, Dr. Rupert Clagg would go armed.
CHAPTER 6
When Mike Shevlin had walked out of Wilson Hoyt’s office several hours earlier, he was jumpy as a cat that smells snake.
His every instinct warned him that time was running out both for himself and for Laine Tennison. The fact that she was Eli Patterson’s niece had bought his loyalty as no offer of a share in the gold could have done; although, being a practical man, he was not unaware of what ten per cent of perhaps half a million dollars could mean in cattle.
He paused on a corner of the street, staring about like a bull entering a bullring, searching for something at which to charge.
He needed to find the gold cache, and to be able to prevent them removing it when panic set in.
His instinct told him the proper thing was to bust right into the middle of things and start things happening. It was a good way to get hurt, but from experience he knew that when a nest of crooks is disturbed they are apt to move without planning, and so make mistakes they might not otherwise make.
It was for this reason that he had deliberately prodded Wilson Hoyt. Any move the marshal might make at this time would help. Even if he only started asking questions it might be enough.
While Shevlin stood there, Ben Stowe suddenly appeared in the door of the Nevada House, and Mike Shevlin started toward him, walking swiftly. Stowe turned at the sound of his heels, and Shevlin caught the hard, measuring look. And suddenly Mike felt like old times.
He knew that now the waiting was over and he was going into battle. He felt a wild surge of eagerness within him that he had to fight down.
Stowe was poised and ready for him. Mike saw it even as Stowe spoke. “Hello, Mike.
How about a drink for old times’ sake?” “No time for drinking, Ben.” Mike grinned at him, daringly, challengingly. “I’m going to tear down your playhouse, Ben.” Ben Stowe’s expression did not change; he simply said, “Mike, everybody would be happier if you’d just ride on out of here.” Ben reached in his pocket and took out a fat roll of bills.
“Now, if you’re short of cash–his” “Remember me? There were always a lot of things more important than money.” “Eli Patterson is dead, Mike. If you start opening that up, a lot of people will get hurt.” “That’s what I had in mind.” “You won’t leave?” Ben Stowe was thinking about his plans for Shevlin.
The trouble was, they might not work fast enough, so he’d have to make other, faster plans.
“Ben?” Mike spoke quietly, almost gently, so that suddenly every sense in Stowe’s body was alert. “Ben, why don’t you leave?” Stowe was startled at the words. He stared sharply, unbelievingly at Shevlin. “Me?
Why should I leave?” “Think about it, Ben. You and me, we’re not exactly tenderfeet. We’ve both been through the mill. I say, grab it and run. You’ve had everything your way, and you’ve got a lot stashed away, so why not take it and get out? Believe me, Ben, it’s all over.” Ben Stowe started to make an angry reply, then hesitated. Shevlin was keyed up, he could see that, and the last thing Stowe wanted was a gun battle. And then he had a shocking sense that Shevlin was right.
He struck a match and took his time lighting his cigar. He was shocked at the sudden wave of panic that had swept through him.
Ben Stowe was realist enough to know that the doubt had been lingering there all the time, and Shevlin’s words had just exploded his feeling into desperation. In any such deal as this there was always that feeling that it was too good to last; and that feeling had been building larger and larger in all of them. Only a damned fool could fail to be apprehensive. But Ben Stowe was a hard man; he fought down his panic.
“You seem to be riding a rough saddle, Mike. What’s your stake in all this?” “Give me the man who killed Eli.” Stowe shot him a swift glance. “Eli?
Mike, men have died before, and others have yet to die, so why get worked up over him?” He made one last attempt, not to buy Shevlin, but to stall him. “Why not come into the party, Mike? This cake is big enough for all of us.” “Give me the man who killed Eli.” Stowe drew on his cigar. “Now, I might just
do that, Mike,” he said, knowing he could do nothing of the kind. “Give me a couple of days.” “Make it twenty-four hours.” Shevlin moved to be off. “But take it from me, Ben, you’d better take what you’ve got and run. Your game’s played out.” Abruptly, he walked away. Ben Stowe would be no bargain in a fight. He had always been tough, but he was tougher, colder, and smarter now.
Somehow he must crack the tight ring that Stowe had built around the enterprise. Once that ring was cracked, once somebody was hit with panic, then the whole thing would fall apart as everybody scrambled for safety with everything they could lay their hands on.
Mason… Mason had to be the weak link.
Not Gib Gentry, for Gib would dig in his heels and make a fight of it. Nor did Mike wish to tangle with Gib–they had eaten too much dust and alkali together. Crack Mason, and Gentry would get out fast; and after Mason, Stowe would have to make his fight.
Mike Shevlin was no fool. Pausing briefly on the corner, he knew he was looking at an uncertain future. He was forcing things into the open now, but it was the only way he knew how to act. Let the others play it cosy; he had neither the time nor the patience.
First, he had to get Laine Tennison out of town before the roof fell in. Even without that, he would have enough trouble taking care of himself.
Bleakly, he thought of tomorrow, and knew that tomorrow’s sun might not shine upon his face. For he was walking into m trouble than he had ever tackled in his life, and he had no friends. He was alone, as he had always been alone. And he would die alone, die somewhere up a canyon when his shells ran out, or his canteen was empty and his horse dead.
He had always known that was the way it would be. It was hell, when a man came to think of it. He’d never felt sorry for himself, but right now there wasn’t a soul anywhere in the world who would think of it twice if he was killed. There was nobody who cared; and the odd part of it was, there never had been, as long as he could recall.