If there was a man in the Rafter country who could outguess Hollister, it was Mike Shevlin.
And then he would, personally, kill Shevlin.
The thought gave Stowe a sudden deep satisfaction. He realized that he hated Shevlin, and, come to think of it, he always had.
Mike Shevlin was the only one who had never accepted his leadership. Gib Gentry had been ready enough, but not Shevlin.
A shadow loomed beside his table. He tilted his head back and looked up into the hard but handsome face of Merriam.
“Hello, Clagg. Sit down.” Merriam remained standing. “You’re taking a long chance, Ben.” Merriam’s voice was even.
“Shevlin’s got only one thing on his mind. He wants the man who killed Patterson.” Ben Stowe shrugged, his face unreadable. “So?
We need Shevlin–we use him, then we take care of him.” “Who does?” Ben smiled. “Why, I do. I reserve the privilege for myself. That’s one thing you can have no part of, Merriam.” “I had a letter today… from the governor,” Merriam said.
“I didn’t know you two were friends?” “We’re not, not exactly. I supported him for the office. Made a contribution.” “Then why worry? Tell him everything is all right in Rafter.” “He knows better–and believe me, that contribution doesn’t mean a thing. That indicated support of his policies, but it didn’t buy immunity from a crime.” Ben Stowe knew he had to be careful.
Merriam had been touchy of late. Was he running scared? Was this thing getting under his skin? The worst of it was, he needed Merriam, needed him for a little while, anyway.
“Sit down,” he said again, “and keep your voice down.” He leaned his arms on the table.
“Look, I’m going to make a deal for Shevlin to take the stuff out, and when he gets it where it goes… payoff.” “Will he listen to you?” Stowe’s face showed a grim smile. “Up to a point, any man will listen to money. What he’s asking himself right now is how he can get away with all of it. And don’t you be worried about Eli Patterson. He’s a long time dead, and half a million in gold is a lot of money.
Mike Shevlin never had anything in his whole life but a horse and a gun, and here’s his big chance. He’ll go along.” “I don’t like killing.” “So you’ve said before, but Shevlin will die a long way from here.”
At this moment, at the hotel, Mike Shevlin was stripping off his clothes, and he almost fell into bed. He was nearly asleep already when he pulled the blankets over him.
But Laine Tennison lay wide awake in her bed at Dr. Clagg’s house, staring up into the darkness. She was remembering the face she had seen at the top of the chute in the mine, just barely seen. She had talked fast to get Ben Stowe out of there, talked glibly to get him to bring her home, but she was worried about him. How much had he been fooled by her chatter? She was afraid he had not been fooled at all.
Of one thing she was sure: Ben Stowe was the most ruthless man she had ever met. She had not the slightest doubt that he had ordered Lon Court to kill her, or that he would kill her when the opportunity offered, and if he was sure of the need for it.
The death of Eve Bancroft had dampened a lot of the spirits around Rafter Crossing. One man in town who lay wide awake was Tom Hayes.
Stowe’s talk with Hayes had frightened him, and he lay awake now, remembering the veiled threats Stowe had delivered to him in the restaurant.
All his life Hayes had lived in the shadow of mightier men, and he envied them not at all, for to be mighty was to be a target for hatred. He had carefully avoided facing issues, avoided taking sides, avoided making decisions that might lead to trouble. And now, through the invitation of Dr.
Clagg, he himself had become vulnerable. And he was frightened.
He got up suddenly and reached for his pants.
CHAPTER 17
Laine Tennison awakened with a start, every sense alert. She did not sit up, she did not even stir, only her eyes were wide and she was listening.
Her room was very dark, for there was no moon at this hour. There was no wind, but she had a feeling of movement, of stirring. Somewhere in the house a board creaked. Was Rupert having a late night call?
Immediately, she knew that would not be true, for at such times Dottie never failed to get up and start a fire for some tea. There was something wrong, definitely wrong.
Very quietly, she listened, and heard a voice, not loud but clear enough. “Doc, you take it easy now. I’d surely hate to kill the only doctor in the country around. You sit tight, and nobody will get hurt.” She knew the voice. It was that man they called Red, and he worked for Ben Stowe. Somehow Ben Stowe must have discovered the move they were about to make against him, and he was taking steps to prevent it.
Where was Brazos, she wondered. But as she asked herself the question, she remembered: Rupert Clagg had sent him out of town, carrying a message to two ranchers Clagg believed might join them to throw Stowe out. He was to go to Walt Kelly’s place first, and then across country to Joe Holiday’s.
Who had the others been? There were Billy Townsend and Fields, and if they had not been taken, they must be warned, and quickly. She turned swiftly and went to the window, which was partly raised. Ever so gently, she lifted the window still further.
Was someone on watch out there? It was likely.
She went over the sill very quietly, and stood still a moment. How much time did she have before they would come to her room?
There was a man standing near the gate, so she went quickly along the edge of the lilac bushes, hesitated, then moved swiftly across a small open space to the shadow of the barn. There was no chance of getting a horse, but for what she intended to do, a horse was unnec.
At the back of the barn was a small gate, and she opened it softly and went through, closed it, and took the same route Mike Shevlin had once used to approach the house. Hurrying, running and walking, she reached an alley that led to the street.
The town was in darkness; the only lights were at the Blue Horn, in the rooms at the back where Townsend lived. Two men were loafing on the boardwalk out front.
If Ben Stowe had discovered Rupert’s plans, he must also know that Laine Tennison owned the mines. She had to have somewhere to hide, some place where she would not be found. And in her need she had thought of Mike Shevlin’s room in the Nevada House.
He would not be there, but she knew he had kept the room, for he was often in town. This time, as before, she went to the back of the hotel and went up the outside stairs to the second floor.
The hall was empty. She went along it swiftly, praying his door would be unlocked. It was, and she stepped inside quickly. At the same moment she felt the sharp prod of a gun in her ribs.
“Mike?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said softly. “What’s happened?” As rapidly as she could, she explained what had taken place, from the meeting at the house until now.
“There wasn’t a chance for them to carry it out, Mike. I don’t believe Rupert had even talked to Mr. Hoyt. I was going to tell you about it when I rode out to the claim, but you were gone, and I couldn’t resist looking into t tunnel. And then Ben Stowe was there, and when I saw you I couldn’t think of anything but getting him out of there.” “Did you see anybody else? Anybody outside or inside the mine?” “No… no one at all.” He scarcely realized what she said, for he was thinking of Ben Stowe, wondering what Stowe would do.
Now that he knew who would be against him, would he kill them all? But then, how could the disappearance of several prominent citizens be explained? Or would he just hold them, try to put the fear of death into them, then let them go?
Shevlin’s every sense told him that Ben Stowe was riding the rim right now. He had killed, and killed more than once. He had gotten away with it, and with his success had come that sense of power that comes to such men, the feeling that they can go on killing and remain immune. In such men, the ego grew and grew, until they rode rough-shod over every obstacle.