Part 16 (1/2)
A haughtiness edged into Ruth's look now. ”Clark, I asked you about Joe. Please tell me.”
”He was seen north of here this afternoon,” he told her, willing now to pretend as she was pretending. ”They're looking for him.” ”I hope he gets away,” she said directly. Then: ”You won't mind waiting for a few days, will you?”
”No. It's probably better that way.” He turned and went back down the steps and picked up his reins.
”Will you have supper here at the house?” she asked.
”I'd better eat with the men. We're expectin' word from Yace Bonnyman any minute.”
Ruth let him go without further urging, a little frightened at not wanting him to be with her tonight and at showing it. Two hours ago one of the men coming down from the herd camp had brought her word of the renewed hunt for Joe. Since then her dismal world had brightened; it had also become complicated, chiefly by her promise to Clark. Now she was excited and wary, not knowing what to do but wait.
Until just a moment ago she hadn't consciously tried to picture her wants. But they stood out clearly now and Joe Bonnyman formed the core of them. She had come to the abrupt realization that Joe was the only man who mattered to her. She wanted terribly to see him; her hope that he would live through this seething trouble was a constant and heavy pressure on all her thoughts.
She watched Clark walk off into the shadows and turned back into the house, avoiding the main living room where her father's body lay in its simple pine coffin before the huge center fireplace.
The six men down from the herd camp had already eaten and were loafing along the front of the bunkhouse, enjoying their after-supper smokes, their talk running icily and low against their expectation of what the coming night might hold. At the side kitchen door, Clark called in to the cook-”One more plate, Jim.”-and, having rolled up his sleeves, ladled out a basinful of water from the cedar bucket on the bench.
The cool lathering Clark gave his face and hands seemed to cleanse him of more than the dust and grime of this afternoon's ride. By the time he had toweled his face dry, he could look with some amus.e.m.e.nt on Ruth's poor show of affection. He was fully aware of her reason in asking that the wedding be delayed. Joe was much in her thoughts, he realized. Well, he wouldn't be there long. Tonight, tomorrow at the latest, and Joe Bonnyman would no longer be a threat.
He was halfway through his meal in the kitchen when he heard a horse running in along the road. He stepped to the door and saw a rider swing across the yard and come straight on for the bunkhouse.
It was an Anchor man, Ed Dennis. He came directly to the kitchen entrance, seeing Clark there, with a casual-”Hi, yuh, boys.”-to the men outside the bunkhouse door.
Dennis's message was brief and he began it as soon as Clark had closed the door. The mesa men had lost Joe just below the pa.s.s at dusk. They were on the way back to Yoke now. They would take time out to eat there and start for Diamond around 9:00. Workman would take half the men and circle to come in on Diamond from the east. Bonnyman, with the others, would follow the basin trail in from the west.
”You've got the tough job,” Dennis concluded. ”The boss wants Harper tolled out into the open, if it can be worked, sharp on ten o'clock. That's where you come in. You're to ride straight in the road from the south. You'll likely get within range of the layout before you're stopped. Throw a lot of lead at it, and then hightail. The boss thinks Harper'll follow you. If he does, once he's clear of the trees, we'll have him on two sides.”
Clark frowned, seeing the simplicity and workability of Yace's plan. It didn't seem to have a hole in it. Harper would naturally take the initiative once he saw he wasn't outnumbered, especially in view of what Clark had told him this afternoon. Clark's six men would look like easy odds to him. He wouldn't be expecting a trap because he was relying on Clark to arrange matters.
Misunderstanding Clark's frown, Dennis said: ”If you're careful, none of you will even get scratched. The boss said not to get too close but to raise plenty of h.e.l.l with your powder, then run.”
There was nothing for Clark to do but agree. He did.
Dennis seemed relieved. He explained further: ”The only reason you're drawin' on this job is because you ain't wore out like the rest of us. We ran the legs off a lot o' horseflesh chasin' Joe this afternoon. I'll sure be glad to turn in this jughead I got for that little paint horse.”
”No luck with Joe?”
Dennis shook his head. ”He played us for a bunch of suckers. Yace can't decide why. Well, I'll get on back. Oh, another thing. Lyans ain't due back in town until late tonight. They decided not to wait on him.”
After the Anchor man had ridden off into the night with a peremptory-”Enjoy your rest while you can, gents.”-to the idle Brush crewmen outside, Clark sat for several minutes deeply in thought. He was remembering something Dennis had said, a small but potent item of information, wondering how he could use it. Only when he felt the presence of the men gathered close to the door to the bunkhouse beyond, anxiously waiting to learn what news Dennis had brought, did he resume his eating. He intentionally delayed telling the men of the plans for the night in order to settle on one of his own.
What he was thinking made him glance toward the closed door of the kitchen. He decided finally, over his second cup of coffee, that it had been impossible for any of the crew to have overheard Dennis. Sure of that, yet not sure of one other thing, he left the kitchen and sauntered out through the bunkhouse to the door. There, he stood and took his watch from the pocket of his waist overalls and looked at it.
”Time to ride,” he told them. ”We're due to move in on Diamond at ten.” He went on to explain how they were to decoy Harper away from the layout.
The willingness and speed with which the men got their guns, saddled, and were ready to travel was grim proof of the seriousness with which they were tackling this job. Shorty, the Anchor man who had been killed at Diamond this morning, had boasted many friends; several of these Brush men were among them. As one of them put it before they left the lower corral: ”Dunne, I've notched every slug on my belt. If one of 'em hits a man, it'll tear a hole in him big enough to shove a boot through.”
Clark had an impulse to go to the house to speak to Ruth. But the memory of her interest in Joe still rankled and he rode straight out of the yard without once looking toward the house.
They traveled at a steady trot, neither hurrying nor wasting time. Long past the time they should have raised the lights of Diamond, Clark signaled a halt, telling them: ”They're expectin' us. No lights. We'll go along careful.” He took out his watch, held it close so that he could see it in the faint starlight. ”Twenty minutes. Plenty of time.”
”We goin' right on in?” one of the men asked.
”Right on in. But slow.”
When they went on, Clark was tense under the foreboding that there was nothing he could do to stop this. Earlier, when he saw Harper, he'd been optimistic over the possibilities of heavy casualties among the mesa crews. But because he hadn't been in on Yace's plan, his own was unworkable. The last twenty-four hours had put much power in his hands. Now he wanted more, and his whole thought was centered on tonight so weakening Anchor and Yoke and the other big outfits that, when this was over, he would come out stronger than they. It was possible, he told himself, if only he could find a way of getting word in to Harper.
They rode the high gra.s.s with their horses at a walk, the shoes of the ponies making but a faint slurring sound against the night's utter stillness. Ahead, the shadow line of trees that hid the Diamond buildings held a threat much greater than the presence of lights would have indicated; wakeful, watchful men were on the alert there, Clark knew. He was riding into a trap of his own planning.
Finally he could stand it no longer and said sharply: ”Hold on! Something's wrong up there.” His glance came around to the nearest man. ”Alec, you and I will go on ahead and have a look.”
”Careful, Dunne,” said one of the others, as Clark and the man he had spoken to reined on ahead toward the margin of the locust grove, now less than 300 yards ahead of them.
Clark drew his Winchester from the scabbard and laid it across the horn of his saddle. Alec, close alongside, did likewise. Clark could feel the other man's tense excitement.
They reached the trees without being challenged. The channel of Clark's spine was cool with nervous perspiration. This, he told himself, was the hardest part. His pulse hammered as he saw he might make good his one slim chance.
Reining close in to Alec, he whispered: ”You go right, off toward the house. Don't go in on it but take a look and get back here. I'll take the bunkhouse.”
Once he had lost Alec in the darkness, he came quickly out of the saddle, looped reins over a low branch, and hurried back through the trees until he was even with the bunkhouse. There he halted and whistled softly, the same call he had used in summoning Harper two nights ago.
There was a moment in which the night's utter stillness remained unbroken. Then Clark heard the hinges of the bunk-house door squeak faintly. A man stepped out of the door.
Clark came out of the trees, speaking softly: ”Heads up, Harper.”
”Oh, it's you.” The voice wasn't Harper's but Tillson's. He came across to Clark. ”Neal ain't back yet. We can't figure what's slowin' him. We doused the lights a couple hours ago, just in case.”
Clark had his moment's worry over Harper's delay in returning from Saygar's camp, then he forgot it in the face of this other, more urgent, matter.
”What about Vanover?” he asked.
”Gentry's got him and the girl at the house. We had to hog-tie Vanover. He tried twice to make a break for it.”
”Get this and get it fast, Tillson,” Clark said, knowing now where his only chance lay. ”Round up every man and hit for the trees close above. Take the Vanovers, only keep them back a ways. You and the rest stay close enough so you can spot anyone movin' around down here. I want this place empty in ten minutes. Give me five of those ten to get clear. I've got a man with me.”
Tillson's suspicious glance searched Clark's face in the obscurity. ”What's this addin' up to?”
”I'm not sure yet. Maybe, just maybe, it's goin' to be the finish. Twenty or thirty minutes from now you may see men movin' around down here. Wait until the guns cut loose down here before you open up on 'em. But when you do open up, get every man in sight. Harper's goin' to make it worth your while to do the job right.”
Tillson's drawl lacked its edge of suspicion as he said: ”It's about time we collected on something around here.”
”You will tonight.” Clark turned and faded back into the trees. He rode out the way he had come, cautiously, soundlessly. He came up to Alec so quietly that he startled the man.
”Not a soul stirrin' in the house,” Alec breathed, watching the shadows. ”What in tarnation can this mean?”
”They're out somewhere,” Clark said, ”maybe keepin' a watch on our crews. The bunkhouse is empty as a drum. Say!” He spoke the last word explosively. ”This may be our chance!”