He thought of his horse. It was close by, in the stable only a few yards back of the house. The pickings had been good, and he had been wise enough to keep his take cached near the town, for he had always known there would be a time for running, just as there always had been before this. And the time had come now.
Only he had been a long time in Rafter, and he wanted to stay. They had protected him here because he had protected them.
“Mike,” he protested, “you got to believe this. I don’t know.” “Don’t give me that.” “Honest to God, Mike! They needed a witness, and I was paid to swear that Gentry did it.” “Who paid you?” “Mike, you aren’t going to believe this, but it was Gib. It was Gentry himself.” Shevlin glanced over at Taylor. The man was moaning, and was clutching what was apparently a broken jaw. Mike’s eyes returned to Mason.
“So?” “That’s all I know–I swear it, Mike!
Gentry paid me.” “And you’ve no idea?” Mason hesitated, and then he shrugged.
“Mike, I swear that’s all I know.” “Ben didn’t do it?” “No, not Ben. At least, I don’t think it was Ben. Not that he’d hesitate. Gentry didn’t do it either. Gentry was close to Ben, so there for a while I figured.
“But the last thing they wanted was any kind of an investigation. They wanted the whole thing cleared up, whitewashed and off the boards. Figure it for yourself, if somebody came in and started asking questions, somebody might slip up and the whole shooting match would go down the drain.
“That there Ben–I never knew he had it in him. He worked almighty fast, and you never saw things handled like that.” Mason’s confidence was returning. “Mike, what’s going to happen? You say Hollister’s back and about to blow things up? Well, who takes over when the shooting’s finished?” He started to get up. “Mike, why not you and me? I know how these things work, and–was Shevlin looked at him coldly. “How much do you know? You haven’t told me anything yet.” He paused. “Where’s the gold?” Mason glanced at him slyly. “Now, there’s a good question. Where is the gold? There hasn’t been an ounce leave this town, you can bank on that.” Mike Shevlin was listening beyond the house, his ears attuned to street movement. Was tonight the night?
“If you know anything, talk.” Shevlin spoke shortly. He was wasting his time here. Hell might break loose at any moment.
“How about our deal?” Mason persisted. “How about–was “No deal. You talk now, or by God, I’ll–was He grabbed Mason by the shirt front and jerked him to his feet. Then he shoved him against the wall near the door with force enough to shake the house. He started for him, and Mason threw up both hands.
“Don’t hit me, for God’s sake, Mike!” “Then talk!” “All I know is that part of it wasn’t set up by Ben. It was set up by Evans.” “Evans?” Shevlin was startled. Evans was the shyster lawyer with whom Ray Hollister had been a partner.
Evans?
He suddenly realized several things, all at once. But there was a question to be answered. “Where is Evans?” he asked. “What happened to him?” Mason chuckled. “Now there is a question.
What did happen to him? Seems that about the time they ran Ray out of town, Evans went too.
Or so they say. Nobody saw him go, and Evans wasn’t the type to run.” There was no use wasting any more time here. Mike Shevlin turned toward the door. “Mason, take my advice and get out of town. You’re on short time here–you delay a little bit and you’ll be caught right in the middle of it.” Shevlin went out and closed the door behind him.
The town was dark, and it was silent, but the silence was that of waiting. It was a silence that seemed poised on the brink of evil.
Shevlin went to his horse and gathered the reins. Yet he hesitated, taking stock of the situation. There was Dr. Clagg–he would stay home this night to protect his home and to protect Laine, and he was a good man, a solid man.
..
Wilson Hoyt? There was no telling about him.
But Ben Stowe would be about, and Gentry, and Ray Hollister.
His thoughts kept returning to Evans. He had known the shyster, as had everyone in Rafter. It was well known that he had a hand in all manner of underhanded things, and he was supposed to have been engaged in smuggling. That didn’t make a lot of sense, this far from any border, but it was the gossip.
Mason said that Evans had arranged the hiding place for the gold… did Mason know that, or was he merely guessing?
Shevlin, his pistol easy in its holster, looked toward the livery stable. He liked that stable -coma man could go a lot of directions under cover from there.
He walked down to the street and went across it, taking his own, unhurried time, but his scalp prickled with every step.
The chair beside the stable door was gone, but as he passed under the light and went into the stable, Brazos said, “Shevlin, you sure give a man the willies. You could get yourself killed thataway.” “Maybe.” “Reminds me of a time down Texas way, the night the lid blew off on the Sutton-Taylor feud.” A little wind blew down the street fluttering a bit of white paper. A sign creaked rustily, and in one of the stalls a horse stamped and blew.
Standing in the darkness, just inside the door, Shevlin caught a faint glimmer of light reflected from steel, steel that moved and rattled very faintly. A rider sat his horse in the gap between the buildings.
Swiftly, his eyes went up the street, measuring off the gaps. There could be eight or nine riders waiting there.
Brazos had seen what he had seen, and he spoke quickly. “No miners in town tonight, Mike.
Nary a one.” Shevlin absorbed that. Of course. Ben Stowe would hold them, armed and in readiness. There was no longer a light in Stowe’s office, nor in the jail office. The only light was the lantern burning over the door.
Mike Shevlin knew enough of Ben Stowe to know he would try to win with one strike, one decisive blow that would cripple the attacking force beyond recovery. He would want a massacre.
It would end the opposition to him, and it would also keep any stories from leaving the town. Prolonged fighting would attract attention; but a quick, sharp fight–one that was soon over–could be brushed off in the local papers as trouble with rustlers or thieves.
Yet there were men on those horses who had once ridden beside Shevlin, good men, honest men, even though they were wrong-headed in this case. He had to stop them.
Ray Hollister would strike at Stowe’s office for the records, and at the mines themselves–first the Sun Strike, then the Glory Hole. And Stowe would be waiting, his men armed, no doubt, with shotguns, and hidden all around the collar of the shaft up there, around the mine office, the hoisthouse, and the blacksmith shop. They would be hidden, with protection, and they would be shooting at mounted men outlined against the faint light.
“I’m going across the street,” Shevlin said.
“You’ll get yourself killed.” “Only,” a voice said behind them, “if he tries to leave this stable.” It was Babcock.
“Babcock,” said Mike, “if you’ve got any regard for your friends, you’d best get over there and stop them. Stowe’s ready for them.” “You mean he.was ready,” Babcock said.
“This time we caught him off guard.” “Have you seen any miners around, Babcock?
If I was Ray Hollister I’d start looking at my hole card.” “Ray’ll take care of himself.” “You bet he will. But where does that leave the rest of you? You’ve pulled Ray out of more than one mess his fool ideas got you into, so you’d better move fast. If you start up to the mines they’ll cut you to doll rags.” “I don’t reckon.” Down the street there was a faint shuffle of movement, and Shevlin knew the sound, for he had often heard it at night out on a cattle drive, or when he was bedded near the remuda.
Men on horses were moving about.
“You’d better stop them,” he said again.
Babcock shifted his feet. “Ease up, now. Nothing and nobody is going to stop Ray this time. You’re out of this, Shevlin, so keep out.” “For God’s sake, man! Do you really think Ray Hollister is doing this for the cattlemen?
Who do you think brought Ben Stowe in in the first place?” “He brought himself.” “Babcock, don’t let loyalty to Hollister kill your friends. You’ve always been loyal to him, but Ray never thought of anybody but himself. It was the firm of Hollister and Evans who brought Ben Stowe in to head the gunmen who fought the cattle outfits.” “That’s a damned lie!” Babcock said hoarsely. “Now you shut your mouth!” “I don’t lie, and you know it. Hollister brought Gentry in, too, along with Ben. You’re here tonight, Babcock, to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for Ray. He hopes to get rid of Stowe and get back in the saddle himself.” Babcock’s face was set in stubborn lines.