Ernest Haycox - The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox

"Who was it?"

Meems sighed and let the silence stretch out. "I'll speak the name," said he finally, "and yore free to act on it. But yore the only man in God's green footstool I'd do such a thing for. And forget who told yuh."

"Agreed," said Denver.

"It was Stinger Dann," muttered Meems; and as soon as the name was spoken both men backed off and were lost to sight. Denver heard them ride rapidly away.

As for himself, he strode to the house at half a run. Niland and Steers both caught the blaze of light on his face and came nearer.

"I have found the man who pulled Steele away from the dance. It was Dann. Whatever Cal's connection with Redmain, I think he started away from that schoolhouse with the idea of protecting my stock. Remember, he was shot on my range—and Redmain's men were there. Trying to protect me from that bunch of killers."

"I don't believe he'd have no truck with Dann or—" Steve started to say, half-heartedly. But Niland broke in.

"There's part of the story. No matter how far into Redmain's scheme he might have been, he'd still stick up for you or the rest of us. Dammit, Dave, Redmain must have hooked him into this dirty mess!"

"If I didn't think so," was Denver's sober reply, "I wouldn't be riding now."

"Be doggone careful," grunted Steve Steers. "I hate this business of me laggin' behind."

Denver was already on the gelding. He ran up the hillside to the trail, went a few hundred yards along its familiar course, and abruptly switched to a dim side trace. The ground buckled up from ravine to ravine, and the dim stars gave him no sight. Nevertheless, he pressed the gelding on, suddenly fell into the Sundown-Ysabel Junction road, and settled to a long run. Down the hairpin turns with steel flashing on gravel; over the Sweet Creek bridge, on along the level stretch that led around to Starlight and thence to the open prairie. Short of Starlight a mile he veered to the right and went with equal rapidity through massed pines. Then the gloom was broken by the wink of a ranch light, and he rode up to Leverage's gate. The wheeze of the hinges was like an alarm. Nearing the porch, he was challenged by an invisible guard.

"Who's that?"

"Denver. Where is Jake?"

"You tell me and I'll tell you."

"Can you reach him?"

"Sorry."

The front door of the house opened. Eve stood framed in the glowing yellow rectangle. "That you, David? Come in."

Denver stepped to the porch. "I reckon I haven't time. I'm tryin' to find your dad." He heard the intake of her breath. "Is it important?"

"Eve," called the unseen guard gruffly, "you shouldn't stand in the light."

Dave drew her out, shut the door. "I consider it important."

She dropped her voice. "He left here before supper—alone. I think he's riding beyond the Henry trail with the vigilantes. That's all I know."

Once more the guard's cautioning words cut in. "Yuh shouldn't peddle no inf'mation to nobody, Eve. How do we know?"

But Eve had a temper of her own. "Clyde, will you hush! You're covering too much territory."

"Maybe I'll pick up his tracks," said Denver. "I'm headin' that way."

"David—there's something in the wind tonight?"

"Maybe," said Denver.

Her hand rested light as thistledown on his shoulder. "Oh, David, if I were only a man! Not to shoot and destroy, but just to be along. Anything is better than this uncertainty."

"Don't worry. Your dad's got a big bunch with him."

"Do you think he is the only one I worry about?" asked the girl softly.

"Bless you for that," muttered Denver. "I've always been a hand to think I did very well ridin' the single trail. But when you say somethin' real comfortin' like that to me it's mighty pleasant. It sticks with me a long time. I guess a man never realizes what loneliness is—"

He bit off the rest of it and turned away. "No time to lose now. Don't worry."

"You should never ride by yourself after dark," said Eve.

He was in the saddle. "If your dad comes back very soon tell him Redmain's been located in a high meadow due east of here about seven miles. Tell him to watch out for a trap. Redmain never strikes direct. He's too tricky for that."

"And yourself, Dave?"

"I was told today," he said morosely, "that I was as much of a savage as Redmain. I reckon I'll be all right. So-long till I see you."

"So-long, David."

He cut around the house, and fell in with the western trail. A few rods from Leverage's it began to warp with the rising slope. The cleared meadows fell off, and he was riding once again in the abysmal shades of the forest. And around ten o'clock of the night he reached the Henry trail, feeling the presence of a man about him. Quietly he let a phrase fall into the utter silence.

"All right."

"Denver?" questioned a husky voice.

"Yeah. Who is it?"

"Hank Munn."

"Which way?"

"Still up yonder to the west. We better drift."

"Lead off."

Munn came out of the trees, rode across the Henry trail and proceeded due west, Denver following. The path was narrow, extremely crooked, and overhung by branches that swooped down to rake them as they passed. Munn put up with the tedious vagaries of the path until a small clearing appeared. At that point he swapped directions, hurried over the open space, and with another sudden shift went down a glen soaked in fog. Water guttered across stones. The horses splashed through a creek and attacked a stiff bank with bunched muscles. Presently Munn halted in black nowhere and cleared his throat.

There was no answer. Munn forged on a few hundred yards. Again he coughed. Out of the brush rode a sentry.

"Munn?"

"Yeah. What made yuh drag yore picket?"

No answer. Munn dropped back to second place as this new outpost led them on. More turns, more offset alleys through the pines, yet always climbing toward some high point; a high point they abruptly came upon after a hundred yards of end-over-end ascent. There was a murmured challenge ahead. Men closed in. Lyle Bonnet spoke from a short distance. "Dave?"

"What've you got, Lyle?"

"Come over here. Here. Look off down yonder."

Denver crowded his horse beside Bonnet and saw, far below, a point of flame shimmering through the rolling fog; rising and falling and trembling with a queer, shutter-like effect.

"Redmain's camp," said Bonnet. "I been watchin' it better'n four hours. Saw 'em movin' around until the fog came in. Can't make out nothin' but the fire now. All the boys is here. And it's up to you."

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"Done any exploring down there?" Denver asked.

"I got boys posted along the ridge here, but nobody's scouted that bowl. I was afraid of losin' 'em, and I didn't want to bring on no premature fightin'. They prob'ly got the brush speckled with gents."

"Good enough. Munn, where are you? Drift along and collect the bunch right here. I'm going down. Need another man."

"Right beside yuh," announced Bonnet.

Denver paused long enough to issue his orders. "If you fellows hear one shot, come along. If you hear more than one shot, also come along, but don't waste any time. Otherwise wait for us."

He turned from the ridge. Bonnet muttered. "A little to yore left—there's a good way of gettin' below." Accordingly, Denver slipped away from the main party, let himself down what appeared to be a convenient alley, and immediately was plunged into a black and solitary world. The avenue of approach shot one way and another, drifting from high levels to water holes and back again. Perceptibly the outlaw camp fire brightened and the fog thinned. Bonnet breathed in his ear. "This is one of the two- three entries to the bowl. They'd be apt to have it guarded." Denver accepted the warning and abandoned the easy travel. Curling around the trees, he circled the beacon fire until he judged he had completed an approximate quarter turn. Bonnet's wind rose and fell asthmatically; then Denver plunged forward in long and staggered spurts. A thick rampart of trees shut out the gleam of the fire. He halted once more, waiting for Bonnet to catch up. Bonnet murmured, "Not far now," and Denver cut straight through the trees to find himself on the smooth rim of the bowl. Fifty yards off the camp blaze shot up with a brilliant cascade of sparks. A man threw an armful of wood on it and quickly retreated to outer darkness.