Ernest Haycox - The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox

"No. Get out. I'm busy."

"Thought you wanted me."

Langdell straightened, slipped off his eyeshade and motioned the little man to stand farther from the windows. "Well, if you've got something let's hear it."

"Why should I?" parried the little man and fastened a hungry glance on Langdell's bottle locker. It seemed to be a ceremony Langdell had to endure. He nodded his head and the little man indulged himself in a full glass. "But I do know somethin'," he added. "Steers is in town."

"Not worth the drink," said Langdell. "I'd found it out myself soon enough."

"Him and Niland has got their heads together at Grogan's."

"What of it?"

"Steers is publishin' the fact he carried a telegram to Ed Storm. Money bein' shipped in Saturday."

"That telegram," grunted Langdell, "is always in code. How does he know? What right's he got to talk about it if he does know? Blabbin' is a fool caper. It's the bank's business."

"I thought I'd tell."

"Well, don't keep runnin' to me with stuff I can't use."

"You don't want me to see Redmain pretty soon?" persisted the little man.

"No," said Langdell. "Get out." He swung his chair back to the desk and bent his head. His pen made a flourish and stopped in the air; kicking the chair around again he stared at the little man who stood like a shadow in the corner. "What put that in your mind?" snapped Langdell.

"What?"

"Don't bluff. You know Redmain very well, don't you?"

"Not bein' allowed to talk much," said the little man, "I use my eyes and ears considerable."

"You think he'd try that?"

"He's et raw meat and likes the taste of it," averred the little man. "He might try this, if he was told to. Mebbe would anyhow, told to or not."

"You're too cursed wise," said Langdell, frowning. "You know too much."

"If you want him to, I had better go see him. If you don't want him to, I better see him also. What am I to do?"

Langdell rose and poured himself a drink; when he lifted his face a cold, sea-green light flashed against the lamp rays. "He's eaten too much raw meat to be of much use to me these days. I'll have to talk to him. Say nothing about the money. Tell him I'll be at the Fish Creek crossing Friday. He's to be there."

"I thought you might want to see him," said the little man and slipped away. The door closed soundlessly, leaving Langdell in the center of the room, frowning at his empty glass.

As for the little man, he found his horse in a back shed and rode out of Sundown. Twice he turned, shifted direction, and curled back on his trail. He came to a bridge but avoided it and forded the creek at a dark eddy. More than an hour from Sundown he caught the flicker of camp light and approached it directly. There was no hesitation about him, no groping. One moment he stood in the dangerous outer darkness; next moment he was stepping down from the saddle beside the fire, gravely eying the men who sprang up.

"The chief?" he murmured, comforting himself with a cigarette. There was a long delay. Men murmured; a soft call went out. Boots slid around the little man; Redmain stepped into sight.

"Some of these days," said Redmain, "you're going to get shot so full of holes you won't hold baled hay. You sift in here too easy. How did you know I'd changed camp?"

"I knew," said the little man and held his peace.

"What's up?"

"This is news," said the little man. "There is money coming to the bank. And a certain person wants to see you at the Fish Creek crossin'."

"He told you to tell me about the money?" demanded Redmain, interest sharpening his face.

"No. I'm tellin' you about the money. You want to know things, don't you?"

Redmain put out his arm and hauled the little man nearer the light. He studied the passive face carefully. "You're a nosey little rat. Who told you about any money?"

"Overheard Steers tellin' it," remarked the little man. "He brought a message from the Junction to Storm at the bank. It was in the saloon. Steers was drinkin' a little."

"Pay-day money," reflected Redmain and seemed to harden with suspicion. "But what's Steers got to do with it?"

"Couldn't say. I felt his horse. Seemed likely he'd come from the Junction, though. Horse crusted some with sweat and prairie grit."

"When is this to be?"

"Money comes Friday. He wants to see you at Fish Creek crossin' Saturday."

Redmain moved his head. The little man got on his horse and merged with the night, not realizing he had twisted his dates.

Redmain stood by the fire a long while afterward, looking into the heart of the flickering coals. "I don't trust him, and I don't trust Langdell," he muttered. "I don't trust anybody. But if that is true, by the livin' Judas, I'll wring Sundown dry before I set it ablaze. Here—Hugo, Slats, Mexico—come over here. I want you to ride tonight."

The men came nearer. Redmain spoke in quick phrases. "If this is bait, I'll find out. One of you camp near Nightingale's all day tomorrow and until Friday afternoon. Keep an eye open for riders movin' away. Hugo, do that. Slats, same around the Denver outfit. Mexico, ride on the hill above Sundown and see if that joint gets heavy with any undue population."

"Leverage?" queried one of the men.

"Leverage's out," stated Redmain. "And I'll do the thinkin' for this camp. Go on, you men. If it's straight, we're due for a young fortune—and a bonfire like you never have seen before!"

"How do yuh feel?" inquired Lyle Bonnet, facing Denver in the big room of the D Slash house.

"That's the fourth time you've asked me in the last half hour," said Denver. "I look sound, don't I? Well, that's the way I feel."

"I wish yuh didn't limp thataway," muttered Bonnet, "and I wish that left arm wasn't tied in no sling. It's bound to affect yore speed."

"If you keep harpin' on disaster much longer, Lyle, I'll tie crêpe on your arm. Stop squintin' out of the window. What do you see, anyhow?"

"A blamed dark day," gloomed Bonnet. "It's goin' to rain before night. That mebbe don't mean a thing, but it's funny it should cloud up just before we move against Redmain."

"The sooner dark falls tonight the better."

"Yeah? Say, do yuh realize that this is Friday and it falls on the thirteenth? I ain't got a lick of superstition in me, but I don't see the necessity of goin' outa our way to borrow trouble."

"Get out of here before you break down and cry," said Denver. He looked at his watch. "Time to roll the ball. I guess we're organized right. There's ten men along the Copperhead on roundup. Seven out draggin' the Little Bull Canyon for strays. Four left here. Five scouting for sign of Redmain. That's twenty-six. The three boys that took their walkin' papers brings it to twenty- nine. All of 'em nicely scattered. That's the big point, Lyle. We can't go toward Sundown in a bunch. You managed to get word to the fellows on scout?"

"They're to drift toward Sundown," said Lyle Bonnet, "and meet in the timber back of Lola Monterey's house. Ahuh."

"That's right. The seven in Little Bull Canyon will wait until dusk and ride for the same place. But the bunch on the Copperhead will come to the ranch, eat supper, and walk around the yard. Then sift off one by one. We can get away with that. If anybody's watchin' us from the brush they won't be the wiser, for there'll be about five to stay behind and act as a sort of blind. We should all be behind Lola's house by eight o'clock and ready to move."

"Leavin' them five behind pulls us down to twenty-four," observed Bonnet. "And if I can't get in touch with Gallup and Limerick Lane durin' the afternoon that'll reduce us to twenty- two. Ain't enough."

"Plenty, if things go right," returned Denver.

"Supposin' things don't go right," Bonnet wanted to know.

"Did you ever hear of anything absolutely sure and certain in this crooked universe, Lyle?"