Clifford Simak - The Thing in the Stone - And Other Stories

His hand tightened on the reins, brought the buckskin to a halt. Parker sat, wide-eyed, staring at the two horses tethered in the grove. One, he knew, must be the one that Luke had ridden, but the other one was white.

A white horse! Only one person in this whole range rode a white….and that person was Ann Horton!

Behind him Egan growled at him: “What’s the matter, sheriff?”

Parker did not answer, but spurred his horse forward, jerking at the lead rope.

There was no doubt the white horse was Ann’s. Parker, squinting at it, recognized the saddle. He swung off the buckskin, tied it to a nearby tree, walked back to Egan’s mount.

“Get down,” he told the man.

Egan swung off awkwardly, stumbled a little when he hit the ground, then straightened, standing silently. Parker tied Egan’s horse beside his own.

“Walk ahead of me,” he told Egan. “That path over there.” He pointed.

Egan nodded, trudged toward the path. Behind him, Parker wondered, mind groping for an explanation of the white horse.

Why should Ann Horton be here? What had brought her?

Warning signals jangled in his brain, but they were not clear. A trap? That was hardly possible. Egan had said that Ann’s father knew nothing of the scheme and even if he had Ann would not lend herself to any part of it.

And yet the horse was there—tied beside the one that Luke had ridden.

Parker shrugged off the questions, gave his attention to the climbing trail ahead.

It angled sharply up the hillside, ran close against a sheer cliff that suddenly broke off, gave way to tangled rock and shrub.

“I hope,” growled Egan through his battered lips, “that you know where you’re going.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Parker, “I …”

A buzzing thing spun above Parker’s head, hit the cliff and screamed. From ahead of them came the angry coughing of a sixgun.

Ahead of Parker, Egan hurled himself flat on the trail, wriggling like a snake toward a covering bush.

The sixgun coughed again and Parker threw himself to one side, hunkered against the wall of cliff, masked from the gun ahead.

Silence dripped through the morning, a brittle, fragile silence.

Parker called softly: “Luke!”

There was no answer. The single word came back in muted echoes from the hills, whispering echoes that called Luke’s name again, getting fainter and fainter, as a dying man might call.

Hunched against the wall of rock, Parker gazed out over the rolling country that lay beyond the hills, a silver country in the morning sun … an empty country except for one bunch of cattle, dwarfed by distance. Nothing stirred. No moving horsemen, no smoking chimney signaling breakfast-making. Just rolling prairie and the silver grass.

Egan’s whisper came to him, a mocking thing:

“Luck playing out, sheriff?”

Parker made no answer, but instead he called out again, raising his voice: “Luke! Luke, it’s Clint!”

An answer came this time, Luke’s voice:

“Come on up, but I got you covered. Keep your hands away from your guns.”

“Luke, you locoed fool, I want to talk to you.”

Luke yelled back: “Don’t try for your guns.”

Parker stepped out into the trail, prodding Egan with his foot.

“Up we go.”

Egan protested violently. “He’ll pot us soon as we show ourselves,” he screamed. “He’ll …”

Parker prodded him viciously, shutting off the words.

Slowly, Egan got to his feet, scrambled up the trail, body tensed, eyes searching the ground ahead.

The path ran along a ledge that clung close against the cliff wall and suddenly it twisted and they were there—in front of the cave.

Luke, long and lanky, stood to one side of the cave mouth, sixgun hand lifted, lips twisted into a smile that was grim and careful.

Against the wall of rock next to the cave opening stood Ann Horton, wide-eyed, hands behind her as she pressed herself against the cliff. Parker stopped in his tracks and stood staring at her in the morning light.

“She came because she thought you’d be here,” said Luke. “Cripes, can you beat that!”

“She thought that I was with you?”

“Sure, figured you had turned me loose. Some of the Turkey Track outfit rode out to the Bent Arrow. Said both you and I were missing. She jumped to conclusions, Clint.”

Ann stirred away from the wall, took a slow step forward.

“I know I shouldn’t have done it,” she said and her eyes saw only Parker. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t let you ride off without me.”

“You couldn’t—” Parker choked on the words, was suddenly striding forward—and the girl was in his arms.

Luke chuckled. “I didn’t believe her, Clint. But now damned if I don’t.”

“You showed me where the cave was,” murmured the girl. “Remember, Clint, that day you told me how you dug for buried gold …”

“And you figured this is where we’d head?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

Luke broke in. “What was the idea of dragging Egan here?”

“Because he’s the hombre that’s going to spill the beans,” said Parker. “He coughed up his…”

“Good morning,” said another voice.

Parker swung around to face the direction the words had come from.

Betz stood on the trail, gun in hand, laughing at them without the sound of laughter.

One hand came up and he tipped his hat to Ann.

“It was nice of you, Miss Horton,” he said, “to show us the way.”

“To show you the way!” Luke bellowed.

“Why, certainly,” said Betz. “We took the news to the ranch and waited for her to leave. Then we followed her.”

“You never miss a single bet, do you,” Parker commented bitterly.

“Never, sheriff,” declared Betz.

His eyes narrowed and the bantering tone had vanished from his voice. “So you brought Egan with you.”

Egan yelled in sudden panic. “I didn’t tell him nothing, Frank. Not a single word. I never opened…”

“He just got through saying,” Betz told him, grimly, “that you spilled your guts.”

And the words were soft, too soft.

The gun steadied in Betz’ hand.

“Damn you,” said Betz. “I never liked you. I always knew that you were yellow.”

“No, Betz!” screamed Egan. “Please Betz! I’m your friend…”

Eyes wide with terror, he backed away, mouth working and no words coming out.

Behind Parker, Ann screamed at him. “Look out!”

But it was too late. For a moment Egan tottered on the edge of the precipice, face twisted with fright, arms straining at the ropes behind his back, fighting to keep his balance. Then with a long, thin scream he toppled over and plunged out of sight.

Betz’ hard voice rapped out an order.

“Drop them!”

Parker’s fingers loosened on the sixgun and let it slide back into his holster. Too slow, his mind told him, too slow. Watching Betz, he heard Luke’s sixgun clatter on the rock.

Betz chuckled.

Parker held his arms half lifted, mind racing.

A slow grin spread over Betz’ face, a leering grin of triumph.

“How do you want it?” he asked. “Gun or rope?”

Parker’s lips moved and his mouth was dry. “What about the girl?” he asked.

“Never mind,” Betz told him. “We’ll take care of her.”

His face was not a very pretty thing to look at.

An unseen hand knocked Betz’ hat off his head and sailed it through the air. A bullet chugged against the cliff and from somewhere in the tangled terrain that lay across the canyon a rifle barked—a full-throated, growling bark that set up a chain of echoes.

Parker’s hand dipped swiftly for his gun as Betz spun around to face the hidden rifle.