Ernest Haycox - The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox

Haggerty rose, squinting over the canyon. He had lost his hat, and Charterhouse had a fair chance to see the sour, sullen glare of the Box M's foreman's face as it turned from point to point. "May be more of 'em," he grunted.

"Then mebbe you had better fall on your belly again," retorted Seastrom.

"I'll take no more of that from you!" bellowed Haggerty. He squared himself at Seastrom. "Seems to me you're taking this affair some calm. Might be a reason for it."

"What would you judge?" drawled Seastrom.

"Mebbe you already knew the bullet wouldn't be for you !"

Seastrom reached for his papers indolently. "In other words, I knew this was a frame to get the boss, uh? To be plumb plain, I'm working for Box M but wearing Shander's britches?"

"I'll let you state the case," droned Haggerty. "You do it with a slick enough tongue."

"A-huh," Seastrom poured himself a smoke. "Brother Haggerty, you don't like me, and I don't like you. If we wasn't working for the same boss, we'd sure as fate tangle. As it is, you range louse, don't ever open your trap to me that way again or just let you try that trick gun flip you've been practicing the last year. Pull in that vinegar mug and keep still."

"You boys," broke in Nickum sharply, "cut that out. I'll have no fighting in my outfit. What in hell makes you two so cagey? Quit spitting like a couple of puff adders. You had no call to make those remarks, Haggerty. We were just foolish to walk into the same trap my son did. It won't happen again. That piece of skunk bait missed his shot—"

Charterhouse had meanwhile slipped quietly down the tree and ridden his horse to the edge of the trees. He cut into the conversation casually. "Mister Nickum, he never fired a shot. I plugged him from the top of that tree."

Haggerty whirled and let his arm half-fall toward his gun butt. Nickum boomed at his foreman and stopped the threat of gun- play, himself riding between the two. His ruddy face swept Charterhouse and then tilted to the pine tips. "You shot, uh? Let's see your gun."

Charterhouse lifted the rifle and passed it over. Nickum threw open the breech, saw the empty shell spin out, and put his nose down against the chamber. He handed it back with stiff courtesy.

"How in hell did we misjudge the sound of that bullet? It must have been pretty close. What's more important, how did you know about this business, friend?"

"Simple answer to that," drawled Charterhouse, catching Seastrom's friendly wink. "After your efficient foreman told me to get off Box M range I ran into a house yonder for the night. Shander's house. Overheard a few things and made my departure, having to borrow one of his horses sort of sudden. So I thought I'd come back to see how the play ran out."

"I'd be an ungrateful pup if I failed to make my due thanks to you," stated Nickum gruffly. "Why didn't you stop us up in the timber instead of doing it this way?"

"You think you would have believed my yarn?" challenged Charterhouse. "Not in a pig's eyes. You'd of burnt my nose again, and I'm getting kind of sensitive on the smeller."

Nickum's florid cheeks took on a deeper flush, yet the unerring instinct for justice made him admit Charter-house's reasoning. "I reckon you have plenty of right to believe us uncharitable in judgment. Though you have got to admit nobody can afford to be overfriendly at a time like this. I will ask you to accept my apologies."

"Took, and we will consider the thing squared all around," said Charterhouse, a little embarrassed. He had nourished a healthy dislike of Nickum but now found he could not support it against such bluff fairness. Seastrom was on his stomach at the edge of the draw, peering at the rocks on the far side. Haggerty stood a few yards removed, small eyes never leaving Charterhouse, catching every move of muscle and every change of features. He seemed like a man poised for either attack or flight.

"That's a Mexican yonder," called Seastrom.

"Shander's got plenty of 'em to waste," was Nickum's blunt retort. "I don't exactly get this, Charterhouse. Since you considered yourself injured by Box M, what made you lend a hand like this?"

"I guess that's the kind of a damn fool I am," grunted Charterhouse. "Never did like to see a crook rig up a killing against a straight man. Sort of goes against the grain. But you've got a right to complain at my horning in without an invite."

"Complain, hell," said Nickum. "I'm here to offer apologies for what happened at Studd's. I'd admire to see you on my ranch. How about it?"

"Hold on, boss," intervened Haggerty. "This might be one of Shander's stunts. I'd be mighty careful about hiring the gent."

"I'll take the chance and I'll do the worrying for Box M," stated Nickum impatiently.

"If I'm foreman of your outfit, my word ought to count some," insisted Haggerty with a sullen twitch of his mouth. "Dammit, I don't like this man and I don't want to work with him."

Nickum's frosty glance remained an uncomfortably long time on Haggerty. "I never had a better foreman, Driver. You're a good man. But I will observe you seem mighty skittish lately. You've lost your grip on that bad temper, and I don't approve of it. I'm expecting you to work with the crew, not fight 'em. That applies to Charterhouse—if he takes my offer."

"I don't hone to stir up bad blood on a ranch," said Charterhouse thoughtfully.

Nickum shrugged his shoulders. "You're the doctor. But I'll suggest something. You've got a Shander horse under you, and he's apt to make a charge of stealing out of it, just to provoke a fight. You'd better keep your skirts clean. Ride into Angels with me and turn the brute over to Studd. I'll stand you to another animal."

"Angels ain't such a safe place for you, considering Shander's intentions."

Nickum doubled his fist. "The yellow dog ain't got the brass to fight me in the daylight! I'll ride into Angels—and out of it again!"

"Let's go, then," said Charterhouse and put his pony on the trail. Haggerty paired off with Nickum quickly, as if to stop further talk between the two, and this move brought Seastrom back beside Charterhouse. So they rode on along the open country and down the slope toward Casabella's county seat. Seastrom grinned frankly at Charterhouse and offered his hand.

"I will remark there ain't nobody I'd rather ride with," he murmured. "All I'm asking is that when the trouble busts, as it will sure's little green apples grow into big red ones, that you'll call your shots. No use both of us breaking the same gent's neck."

Charterhouse accepted the hand, smiling back. It was impossible to resist the rugged, irrepressible humor of Heck Seastrom. "Reckon you're training on a bigger rock since Manners hefted the other," he suggested.

"I'm through," chuckled Seastrom. "Saving my energy for bigger sport. But—" and he cut off further talk with a slight wave of the hand, indicating the men in front knowingly. Haggerty turned in the saddle to look forebodingly at them. Seastrom spoke with a tantalizing solicitude. "It's all right, Driver. We're watching the back trail. If any bold, bad man shows up, I'll tell you when to flop on your belly."

A flare of black hate deepened the vindictive ugliness of the foreman's face. He seemed about to let himself go but finally jerked about and rode on in glowering silence. Seastrom winked at Charterhouse and passed a finger across his throat significantly. The huddled buildings of Angels appeared as they turned a shoulder of the ridge; they straightened for it and presently were entering the plaza, a plaza swimming with the increase of heat and devoid of life. Nickum led across to Nero Studd's and dismounted.

"Buck Manners is supposed to meet me here," he explained. "Guess he's late. Let's go in and get this horse business settled."

Studd was at a table, playing listless poker with four others. Nickum strode over. "Nero, Charterhouse had to borrow a pony off Shander the other night. He's leaving it in your stable."