The Greatest Westerns of Ernest Haycox. Ernest Haycox

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Stubbins thrust a long, cool glance around at the H-H men, then rose and filled one of the pipes on the mantel. Behind a cloud of tobacco smoke he deliberated. For all his villainy, there was something in the man to evoke admiration. Here he stood, with all his plans crashing down around his head, with three or four grave charges against him—charges that would inevitably lead him to the penitentiary or worse; he had no means of knowing whether this posse would take his life or not, or if they let him go, whether an outraged county would be as lenient. Still, he smoked imperturbably, as if deciding no more important a thing than whether or not to hire another hand for his ranch.

      "Yore house is made of cards," broke in Lilly. "As long as old Breck lived, he and you could buffalo this county. But it's too big a job for you alone. A dozen good men can bust any sort of range piracy, and we're goin' to bust you. Times are changin', amigo. You'll change with 'em or go down."

      Fretfulness invaded the horsey face. "Damn the man," said Stubbins testily. "Damn Trono. He was the one I always mistrusted. You can't play with a bullheaded fool. Now, he shouldn't have brought—" There he stopped, finishing the sentence to himself.

      "Anybody's a fool to trail along with Trono," broke in Lilly. "He'll saddle murder to you yet."

      "What's that?" demanded Stubbins, jerking up his head. "Murder—murder?"

      "It's the kind he is," replied Lilly. "I know him. He'll go bugs an' shoot anything in sight."

      Stubbins appeared to be seeing unwelcome visions. "Ay, I know that. Look, what do you mean by an even break?"

      "Stolen goods returned and no questions asked."

      "Ah. What goods?"

      "Jill Breck for one. Later Joe and I will hold a roundup of yore stock and pick JIB critters."

      "And no tales told!"

      "None but what naturally leak out, amigo. Of course, yore goin' to lose some of them nice cut-throats you've got hired. Joe's goin' to see that they get started north after breakfast. I'll send the JIB bunch over to you, seein' they're yore men anyhow. Now, let's shorten this palaver."

      "Devil," muttered Stubbins. He shot a glance at Lilly. "My boy, you ain't scarin' me, understand? I do this of my own conscience. No man's big enough to scare me."

      "Have it yore own way," said Lilly. Joe Breedlove dropped a wink at his partner, which Lilly answered.

      "Well, then, Trono took Jill Breck, the night before lost. I told him to stop at a line rider's cabin." He marched to a book case and found a map of the country, running his finger along its surface and pointing for Lilly's benefit. "There you are. It's twenty miles southeast. In the fringe of rock and trees. Welcome, my lad."

      "And you let that lout take her off!" cried Lilly, his temper rising. "If she's harmed I'll kill you for it!"

      Stubbins returned a hard, obstinate stare, growing red around his heavy neck. He was about to make some rousing answer when he caught Joe Breedlove's usually mild eyes anchored on him with such an intent, weighing glance that he forebore. Instead, he asked a question.

      "You mean to kill him?"

      "One of us goes down," retorted Lilly.

      "It's all the same to me," said Stubbins. "You or him." With that he dropped in a chair and smoked furiously.

      "Moses," said Lilly, "find me a fresh horse." He walked into the pale light of false dawn, Joe Breedlove close behind. The big man's arm rested lightly on Lilly's shoulder.

      "Well, this is yore fight, Red, so I ain't goin'. But watch yore rear. An' say, yuh wouldn't have hung Stubbins, even if he'd refused to talk."

      "I guess not," said Lilly, "but I shore would've done somethin'. He's slick, that boy. Know why he told on Trono? Because he knew one of us won't come back, which is just right for him."

      "Like hell it is," growled Breedlove. Moses was returning with a saddled paint horse. "If yuh don't show up in five-six hours, Mr. Stubbins is like to have an accident. Meanwhile, we'll take care o' this crew."

      Lilly swung up, gripped Joe's outstretched arm, and spurred away. Dawn was just below the eastern rim; toward it he traveled, going as fast as the horse would stand.

      The sun rose in its arc, glowered from zenith, and fell westward, growing more wrathful, more sultry. The vast plain shimmered under the heat and above the undulating barren spaces queer, phantasmic shapes formed and dissolved. To all this Tom Lilly was unconscious. He traveled with Stubbins' map firmly fixed in his head, and an unreasoning hatred in his heart. It was Trono, always Trono who interposed his unlovely, killer's face into the images that passed and re-passed Tom Lilly's vision. Trono was a bad Indian; and never would be a good one until dead. Where had the man got all this vindictiveness of spirit? What could he hope to profit from his course of lawlessness? Well, he was an outlaw by nature; made the more so by his training under old Jim Breck in the days when the Octopus had given him hard chores to do. Evidently, he had formed connections with Stubbins—probably would be a chief heir of the looting of the JIB.

      "Even if there wasn't a cent to be made he'd be a renegade, though," opined Lilly. Reviewing the course of events he slapped one hand against the saddle skirts, saying, "It's him or me. If he's laid one o' his dirty paws on Jill—"

      He could not, for all the glaring sun, keep her clear oval face from his eyes. She was like no other woman he had ever known. Old Jim Breck had given her a good measure of his sturdy spirit and some of his uncomplaining fortitude. Never, in that long night of flight, had she whimpered. Never had she traded on the fact that she was a woman; seemed, in fact, reluctant to admit that she couldn't do all a man could do. And she had smiled at him in such a manner when she rolled up in the blankets, the rosy color tinging her cheeks and some unfathomable emotion moving in the sleepy eyes.

      He swerved, climbed the bench on his left and presently was threading his way among the pines. Shade here, but no coolness. He struck a trail that slanted upward into deeper recesses of the forest and of a sudden all things immaterial to the chase left his head. The tracks of two horses were in the sandy course before him. Not fresh tracks, but recent enough to still show a clear imprint. These he followed, resorting to trailing tactics, for he had followed men before and understood their slyness.

      At intervals he left the trail and dived into the trees, going a hundred yards or more before reappearing. Sometimes, confronted by a barrier of rock or deadfall, he made a considerable detour and came to a halt, sweeping the vistas, listening for out of the way sounds. But the forest was silent, save for the drone of heat and small insects. So, he pushed on until his eyes saw a thinning of the pines directly ahead and when he dismounted and crawled forward flat on his stomach, he saw a miniature meadow in which sat a cabin and a small corral. Lush grass stood ankle-high; a small path was beaten through it from the trees to the door. And on the threshold of the door, squatted down like a massive, sullen spider, was Theed Trono. The sun slanted against his face, bringing into bold relief the cleft chin, the columnar neck; shaded by the wide hat-brim his upper features were obscured. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth and he played idly with his lariat, making loops on the ground.

      He seemed so much off guard, so little expecting danger that Tom Lilly tarried a while in his covert, shooting glances to all corners of the clearing, seeking some manner of a trap. But though he waited a good ten minutes, he could find nothing to justify his caution. The girl was not to be seen; doubtless she was inside the cabin.

      He СКАЧАТЬ