Clifton Adams - Boomer

“Joe, you fool! You fool! Can't you see it's a trap!”

A chill colder than the ice of Slush Creek settled in, Grant's middle. He did not glance around, did not take his eyes from Dagget's satisfied face. The marshal's shoulders moved slightly in an almost invisible shrug, and he leaned the carbine against the whitewashed wall. “Why did you come back, Grant?” he asked with that savage smile.

Grant's eyes darted about the room, then came to rest on Dagget. “Don't you know?”

“I want you to tell me.”

Rhea took one quick step forward but Dagget nailed her to the spot with one savage glance. “Joe, don't tell him anything!”

Now Grant felt the water from his wet hat dripping down his neck, running slowly over his face. With his free hand he reached up to wipe the water away. And then he noticed the dark brown stain on his hand, the color of the dye that he had used on his hair. Dagget watched thoughtfully and said again:

“Why did you come back?”

And now, at last, the picture began to form in Grant's mind. Dagget had guessed all along that he would return because of Rhea. And even as he thought it, the marshal glanced bleakly at Lloyd, then at Rhea. And he studied Valois carefully, measuring him against the gunman.

Grant took a deep breath, knowing that it was a trap. But he also knew that it wouldn't have changed anything, even if he had known at the beginning. Strangely, he found this thought bitterly amusing. Dagget didn't know how deep his trap had actually been—how inescapable.

“All right,” Grant heard himself saying. “Valois is innocent. I gave him that money to pay off Battle.”

“And where did the money come from?” the marshal pushed quietly.

There was not much sense in lying now, for he would have to fight his way out of this anyway. “Joplin,” he said. “I took it off a banker named Ortway.” He saw Kirk Lloyd's mouth curl in faint amusement, and he saw the gunman's hungry gaze measuring Rhea. Grant looked at the marshal. “Does Valois go clear? Is he free to go on working here for the Mullers?”

“Sure. If you can prove you're the bandit.”

“I just told you! You've got a confession, with witnesses. What more do you want?”

“The money,” Dagget said dryly. “Show me where you hid it and maybe I'll believe you.”

The money. All it had brought him was trouble, and at the moment he was glad enough to get rid of it. “Then Valois will be clear?”

“You've got my word on it.” Then the marshal's eyes widened, glittered with outrage when he saw Grant open his windbreaker with his free hand and draw out the money belt.

“You've had the money on you all the time?”

“Where else would I have it?”

Abruptly, Dagget laughed, and the sound was harsh and unpleasant. “I had you pegged for a fool, but not that much of a fool!” He shook his head angrily as he grabbed the money belt and began breaking the pockets open. “To think of all the trouble I went to trying to find out where you had die money hid! Lying about the serial numbers. Lying about Valois. And all the time you had the money strapped around your gut!” There was amazement in his eyes along with the anger. And he laughed again when he saw surprise in Grant's face.

“Don't think Territory law is less effective than any other kind. That hair, it's getting lighter by the minute, Grant, the color is dripping down your face! But I needed more than that; Ortway's yelling for his money. And all the time you had it in a money belt!”

Grant's back stiffened. “You didn't get the serial numbers from Joplin? You lied about that?”

“What bank clerk bothers to take serial numbers?” the marshal asked dryly. “But I knew you'd believe it. I knew you'd come running back when I told you that Lloyd and your girl friend...”

Without a word Grant shifted his gun to his left hand, stepped in quickly, and struck Dagget in the face.

Dagget, startled, went reeling back against the wall. Gently, he touched the corner of his bloodied mouth, his eyes blazing. “You don't like to think about that, do you? Lloyd's a hard case, takes what he wants. You don't like to think of him being alone with Miss Muller, do you?”

“Shut up!”

But the marshal shook his head and grinned. “Every man has his weakness; yours is a girl. I knew it the first time I saw the two of you together. Well, you never should have robbed that bank, Grant, because you are going to pay for it a long time.”

“Don't bet on it,” Grant snarled. He glanced quickly at Rhea and said, “Get me some rope, plenty of it.”

“It won't help you,” Dagget said, his anger cooling. “It'll only go harder when I catch you. And I will catch you!”

“We'll see about that.” He took a roll of rough hemp binding twine from Rhea, then motioned for the marshal to turn around. “Cross your hands behind your back.”

The marshal hesitated, then turned slowly, his face, to the wall. Grant lashed his hands together then, and whipped his feet together with another length of twine. As he finished with the job, he turned to see Rhea standing beside him.

“Joe, why did you do it?”

“Why,” he asked stiffly, “does a man do anything?” Then he turned to Lloyd. “As long as you're on the Muller pay roll, you might as well earn your wage. Nobody's watching the fire line, is there?”

Surprisingly, the gunman showed no anger. He shoved himself lazily away from the wall, still favoring his left side. “Dagget's goin' to be mighty put out about this,” and his thin mouth stretched in a humorless grin. “But it's your show, I guess.” He glanced blandly at Valois, then turned his gaze on Rhea and held it until she colored and turned away. “I'll be seein' you, Miss Muller,” he said dryly. “Later.”

Turk Valois stiffened with anger of his own as the gunman left them in the dugout. He turned abruptly toward the door, motioning for Grant to follow.

“I had you pegged right the first time I saw you,” the runner said flatly when they were outside. “You didn't come back here to clear an innocent man. You came because of Rhea.”

“Do you aim to keep working for the Mullers?”

“That's the reason you came back, isn't it, to make sure I stayed to keep an eye on Lloyd?”

Grant nodded, knowing that this was no time for subtleties. “Yes, I guess that's the way it is. He's dangerous.”

A quiet change appeared in Valois' expression, the old toughness that had not been apparent in the dugout was now set in the lines of his face. “I'm not afraid of Kirk Lloyd, but can you give me a good reason why I should risk getting shot over a girl like Rhea?”

Grant took a deep breath, risking everything on the turn of the first card. “I can't give you any reason at all. I guess maybe you've got reason to hate Rhea, but she's still a woman. I was hoping you'd do it because it was the decent thing.”

“If she's afraid of Lloyd, she can always fire him.”

But both men knew better than that. “You don't fire a man like Lloyd. He stays as long as he likes, and then he quits.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between them. At last the runner shook his head. “You've got it bad, but I like your guts. Not many men would stand up to Dagget and Lloyd together.”

“So you'll stay?”

“Until the well's spudded in. Rhea won't need any protection after that; she'll be able to buy anything she wants.”

Not until that moment did they become aware of Rhea standing on the top step of the dugout, her eyes wide, listening.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT SEEMED A long time that she stood there, the wind whipping her long dress against her slender body. She did not look so driven now with ambition and greed; she was alone and afraid. Suddenly she uttered a small sound and came flying across the weed-grown lot. At that moment she was more beautiful than Grant had ever seen her, but a core of hard-ness grew inside him, and he stood wooden and unmoving. “Joe, why did you do it!”