Range Rebel (Prologue Western) Read online

  Muir glanced through the window. He stood up. “Damn them,” he said. “They got ten cows.”

  Edrick yawned. “Must be mine then.”

  “The hell you say!” Muir turned to snatch up a Henry rifle which leaned against the wall. Edrick moved easily for all his bulk. His sixshooter was out and pressed against Muir’s back. “Now, Mack,” he said softly, “we’ll look into this legal like. Let go of that repeater.”

  Muir placed the gun against the wall. He turned slowly. “Some day,” he said between his teeth, “some day.”

  Edrick twirled his cutter on a big forefinger and deftly holstered it. “Come on,” he said, “we’ll check them brands.”

  Dave followed them. Shorty drew rein. “Ten of ’em, Dan,” he said.

  Muir looked at the steers. “Those aren’t Lazy E brands,” he said.

  “Sho,” said Edrick. “But they ain’t Double W or Bar M either. They’re Lazy L.”

  Muir spat. “I bought them from Lem Linter over on Cache Creek,” he said quickly, “just a week ago.”

  “Damned liar,” said Shorty.

  “What do you mean, Ganoe?” snapped Muir.

  Shorty leaned forward and spoke in a flat voice. “I been working up a small herd for my old age. Dan’s been allowin’ me to let ’em run with his herd. My brand is Lazy L. Yuh see: my middle name is Lawrence. Used a Lazy L brand for Lawrence. Nice handle, ain’t it?”

  Muir glanced back at the shack.

  “Don’t move, Mack,” said Edrick quietly. “You’re damned lucky you’re getting away with the loss of only ten cows. Lem wasn’t nothin’ but a damned rustler. Got them cows from my herd. Maybe you ain’t heard what happened to Lem? Somebody shot him through the back of the head. Used a Sharps. Why, you’d have hardly recognized him from the mess that slug made outa his face.”

  “Something terrible,” murmured Shorty with a solemn nod.

  Edrick mounted. “You coming, Yeamans?”

  Dave shook his head.

  “Maybe he don’t like it, Dan,” said Shorty. “He’s got itchy fingers and two shootin’ irons.”

  “Take them,” said Dave, “I work for Miss Waite. Those steers haven’t her brand. I work for the Double W. Remember, Shorty?”

  Shorty grinned. “How can I forget. Why, hell! If we wanted to check that whole damned herd close enough we’d have a chance of finding some blotted brands. That Double W iron sure could mess up an honest man’s brand.”

  Dave felt rage rise up from the depths of his soul. He drew a checkrein on it. Those three hardcases wouldn’t hesitate to throw down on him if he made a false move. He might get one of them if he was lucky. He watched Shorty and Mort drive the ten steers toward the valley entrance. Edrick followed the small herd without looking back. Dave looked at Muir. “Well?” he asked.

  Muir’s tanned face had gone white with suppressed rage. “Damn them! I’ve got a mind to throw a few Henry slugs after them.”

  “What about Lem Linter?”

  “Linter was slick, it’s true. No one ever knew much about him. It’s possible he stole the steers and then disposed of them to me. What riles me is Edrick and his cute tricks. Shorty with a small herd of his own. The Lazy L! Don’t you get it?”

  Dave nodded. “A short, straight iron could easily burn in two horizontal bars and make a Lazy L brand into a Lazy E.”

  “Keno! Tell Leslie I’ll stay here until she can get a man to relieve me. What’s the story on John?”

  Dave told the redhead. Muir rubbed his jaw. “I knew they were hot after him. He told me just a week ago that someone tried to drygulch him.”

  “Maybe he was mixed up in something?”

  Muir came close to Dave. “Look, Yeamans! John was my best friend, and well, at one time Leslie and I had an understanding. Don’t ever talk like that about John if you want my friendship.”

  “I’m sorry, Muir.”

  Muir rolled a smoke. “How is it that you started working for Leslie?”

  “She needs help.”

  “I would have given her all she wanted,” said Muir softly.

  “I’ll be heading back,” said Dave. “Any message?”

  Muir lit up, his eyes held Dave’s over the flare of the lucifer. “Just one. Not for her. For you. She’s my woman, Yeamans. We’d have a difference of opinion, but she’s going to be my woman. Guide yourself accordingly.”

  Dave mounted Brazos. “See you,” he said and touched the claybank’s flanks with his heels. He glanced back as he reached the exit from the canyon. Muir was looking at him. He did not wave.

  three

  LESLIE WAITE LISTENED QUIETLY as Dave told her what had happened at Cup Valley. “It’s Edrick’s way,” she said when he had finished.

  “Is that all of your stock at Cup Valley?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not much of a herd for a ranch as big as this.”

  “Dad was planning to buy more stock. I have the money to do so now, but the way things are going on I just won’t risk it. Besides, I need men to work for me. They just won’t work for the smaller ranchers now.”

  Dave filled his pipe. “The thing that bothers me is where the missing stock can be. You just can’t hide hundreds of steers as you would a stolen horse. They have to have water and grazing.”

  “It’s a big country,” she said, “much of it unexplored.”

  “How much stock have you lost since this rustling started?”

  “Over a hundred head.”

  Dave whistled. “You’ve lost a hundred. Edrick claims to have lost three hundred. Muir has lost about thirty. That’s four hundred and thirty alone, not counting the losses suffered by other ranchers.”

  Leslie walked around the side of the house and looked at the encircling mountains. “Somehow I still think they are hidden around here in some secret valley or canyon.”

  “It’s possible.”

  She turned. “I wonder why I trust you so. I know very little about you, other than what you’ve told me, Dave.”

  He grinned. “I know very little about you, Leslie.”

  She smiled. “Fair enough. Will you stay here while I drive into Deep Spring for supplies? Dad meant to bring some back.”

  “I’ll go.”

  She shook her head. “Deep Spring doesn’t exactly welcome strangers these days. Edrick and his type run the town. Frank Andrews was badly beaten one time when some of the Lazy E corrida claimed he was mixed up in rustling. Frank fought back. If it hadn’t been for Dad they would have maimed him.”

  Dave walked toward the corral. “I’ll hitch up the team. Make out a list of necessaries. If I’m to work for you I’ll do what’s expected of me.”

  She eyed him as he walked away. “All right. But don’t look for trouble. Get in and out of there as fast as you can.”

  Dave hitched a pair of mules to a light wagon and placed his Spencer beneath the seat. He drove to the front of the house and she handed him a list. “If you get into any trouble you can rely on Cass Simmons. He runs the general store. Follow the valley road four miles south to a junction. Turn left and follow the creek road four miles into Deep Spring.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Dave, be careful.”

  “I will,” he promised. He touched up the team and drove off. Oddly enough he felt as though her hand was still on his arm and even glanced down foolishly to see. The touch was that vivid. “Damned fool,” he said aloud. “You were the one who wanted peace and quiet. The outlier! Now look at you, you damned jackass, going shopping for a woman!”

  The trip was uneventful and Dave made it in good time. Deep Spring nestled in a steep-sided valley; a double line of false fronted stores and houses on each side of the main street. The buildings were warped and weathered by the heavy winter rains and snows. A shallow rushing creek brawled over the smooth stones of its bed behind the eastern row of buildings. Scattered throughout the town were more durable structures of native rock. Dave tethered the team outside of the biggest of these. A sign identified it
as Cass Simmons Deep Spring Emporium. As Dave stepped up on the splintered boardwalk he saw Mick Ochoa standing whittling in front of a saloon grandly named The Star Of The West. The breed sheathed his knife and disappeared into the saloon.

  Dave entered the store. It was an orderly wilderness of stacked sacks, boxes, kegs and tubs. Harness, saddles, and other gear hung from pegs set into the walls. Pots, pans, skillets, spiders and other culinary equipment hung from wires stretched from wall to wall. A baldheaded man with a beak of a nose was opening a packing case at the rear of the store.

  “I’m Dave Yeamans,” said Dave. “Working for the Double W. Miss Leslie sent me in for supplies.”

  The storekeeper turned slowly and looked at Dave over his spectacles. “So? You working for John?”

  “No. I said Miss Leslie.”

  “Yeh. I know. Didn’t know she was settin’ up independent from her Pa.”

  “John Waite is dead, Mister Simmons.”

  The storekeeper dropped his hammer. “You don’t mean it!”

  “It’s true.”

  The eyes peered at Dave again, measuring him. “Yes. I believe you. When did he die and how?”

  “I found his body this morning, hanging in Shadow Valley.”

  “You ain’t suggesting that John committed suicide?”

  “I didn’t know him. I’d say he was lynched.”

  Simmons glanced past Dave. “Keep a checkrein on your tongue in this town, young man. John was my good friend. I knew he’d end up murdered, one way or another. It didn’t surprise me none to hear you say so. John Waite was afraid of no man. Whoever killed him knew he was a man that had to be killed.”

  “He was afraid of no man? Meaning Dan Edrick?”

  Simmons nervously wiped his hands on his apron. “For a stranger you seem to know a helluva lot, Mister Yeamans.”

  “I’ve met Edrick and his hardcases.”

  Simmons took the list from Dave’s hand. “Can’t hardly imagine John being dead. Leslie planning to keep the place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s working for her?”

  “Me.”

  “Yeh. I know. But who else?”

  “No one. Mack Muir plans to help her.”

  “What about Carl Hobie and Mike Kelly?”

  “Quit when I brought John’s body back.”

  “That figures.” Simmons went behind the counter and scanned the list, but now and then, as Dave looked about, he knew the storekeeper was studying him over the top of his spectacles. “I wanted to get the sheriff,” said Dave, “but Leslie said not to bother. Maybe I’d better see him while I’m here.”

  Simmons rubbed his jaw. “You know who he is? No, of course you don’t, or you would have known why she didn’t bother to bring him in on the case.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Name of Edrick. Bart Edrick. Dan’s younger brother.”

  Dave whistled. “Then the law is part of the Edrick spread?”

  Simmons nodded. “Now I ain’t saying Dan Edrick did have anything to do with John’s death, but if he did, Bart wouldn’t do anything about it. If he didn’t have anything to do with John’s death, Bart still wouldn’t make much of an effort. This country is full of hardcases. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to even tangle horns with the Edrick’s if they thought Bart was getting too nosy. Dan wouldn’t like that.”

  Dave leaned forward. “So what do we do? Bury a man who was hung by unknowns and forget about it? How far back has this country slipped in the scale of civilization?”

  Simmons placed both hands flat on the scarred counter. “The Dark Ages. If I didn’t have every dime I own invested in this place I would have pulled out long ago. I admire your nerve in working for Leslie, but you’ve showed more guts than brains, sonny. Dan Edrick wants the Double W spread, and he’s aiming to get it, too. He’s scared off every man who’s worked for them since they bought the place.”

  Dave walked to the door. “I’m going to see Sheriff Edrick,” he said.

  “You won’t get anywhere,” warned Simmons.

  “I’d just like to hear what he has to say.”

  Dave stopped on the boardwalk and rolled a smoke. There were only a few people on the street. Half a block away was a small frame building with a star-shaped sign labeled Sheriff’s Office. Dave lit up and walked toward it. He opened the door. A thin-faced man was seated at a littered desk carving a linked chain from a single piece of wood. “Are you the sheriff?” asked Dave.

  The thin man grinned. “Hell no! I ain’t got any connections. I’m the jack-of-all-trades around here. Jailor, clerk, swamper and errand boy. Name of Tom Finney. What can I do for you?”

  “Where’s Sheriff Edrick?”

  “Over to the Star Of The West. You can’t miss Bart Edrick. Wears the biggest and brightest star in Arizona.”

  Dave nodded. He crossed the street and pushed through the batwings of the saloon. Shorty Ganoe and Mick Ochoa were seated at a table. A big-bodied man wearing a white hat stood at the bar talking with another man. A polished star was pinned to his black coat. There was no doubt that he was an Edrick, for he had the same blocky build as Dan, but the forcefulness of Dan didn’t seem to emanate from the sheriff.

  Dave stopped in front of the big man. “I’m Dave Yeamans,” he said, “I work for Miss Waite out at the Double W. I’ve come to report the death of John Waite.”

  Edrick worked his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and spoke around it. “What happened?”

  “I found him early this morning. Strung up in Shadow Valley.”

  The hard eyes sudied Dave. “Suicide, eh?”

  “I don’t know,” said Dave quietly. “It could have been murder just as well.”

  Edrick took his cigar from his mouth and studied it. “Where’s the body?”

  “I buried it in the ranch cemetery.”

  Edrick slapped a big hand flat on the bar making the glasses jump. “What? That’s illegal! Shoulda been held for an inquest.”

  “It was Miss Waite’s wish.”

  “That so? She oughta know better.”

  “We can dig it up.”

  Edrick grimaced. “Too late now, ain’t it?”

  “I’ve seen ’em dug up lots later, Edrick.”

  Edrick scratched his chin. “Waal, I’m due over to Little Forks on an investigation. I’ll send Tom Finney, my deppity.”

  Shorty laughed and shoved back his hat. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Edrick frowned. Dave threw down his cigarette. “I think it’s your job, Sheriff Edrick,” he said quietly.

  Edrick tilted his big head to one side. “So? You telling me how to run my office?”

  “You must have a lot of murders around here to act so damned casual like about it.”

  “Now listen here! You ain’t even from around these parts! You pay taxes? Have a home? Land? Cattle? No! You ain’t no thin’ but a drifter. I heard about you from some of the Lazy E boys.”

  “A fine recommendation.”

  Edrick leaned forward. “You ain’t above suspicion, hombre. Hidin’ in the mountains like a damned ‘Pache. Claiming to be a hunter. Hawww! No money in that. Just you watch what you say to an officer of the law,” he blustered.

  Dave stepped back and glanced at Ganoe and Ochoa. “I can see what Miss Waite meant when she said there was no law around here.”

  Edrick scowled. “Damn you! I heard you was a troublemaker.” He slid his beefy hand inside his coat and half drew a nickle-plated Colt. “Now eat them words! Pronto!”

  Dave laughed. “I don’t think you’ve got the guts to draw that shiny cutter, Edrick. Chew on those words yourself.” Dave turned on a heel and pushed through the batwings. He heard Edrick’s voice. “Shorty! Mick! Get moving!”

  Dave crossed over to the store. He walked up to the counter. “You were right,” he said.

  Simmons nodded. “Big bag of wind. Looks enough like Dan to be his twin, but it’s like comparing a grass snake to a diamondback.” He heaved two sa
cks up on the counter. “Here’s your stuff. I’ll add it on to the bill.” He hesitated. “You’d better pull out pronto if you had words with Bart. Bart lets others do his fighting. Had trouble with Frank Andrews once and Frank slapped him across the face with his hat. Bart sent some of the boys after him. Damned near crippled Frank and spoiled his looks for life. John Waite stepped in and stopped the massacre.”

  Dave carried his sacks to the door. He pushed through it and turned to say goodbye. Something hooked under his right leg and he went down hard, spilling potatoes, cans and other articles into the muddy street. Dave looked up into the grinning face of Shorty Ganoe.

  Shorty spat. “Lookit him, Mick,” he said. “Shopping for the Waite filly. You do the maid’s work too, Limpy?”

  Dave stood up. His temper was doing a slow burn. He glanced at the breed. Ochoa was leaning against the front of the store paring his fingernails with his long-bladed cuchillo. Men stopped to watch the three of them. Cass Simmons came to the door. “Get going, Dave,” he said.

  Dave picked up the articles and placed them in the new sack Simmons held out. “Wipe ’em off!” jeered Shorty. “That Waite filly allus was fussy about things. Too damned bad she ain’t so fussy about men.”

  Dave turned and drove in hard like an uncoiling spring. His left caught Shorty alongside the jaw and his right smashed just above the big belt buckle. Shorty rebounded from the wall into a vicious right that snapped his head back. He reeled and fell from the boardwalk into the mud of the street. He clawed for his Colt but Dave’s sixgun cleared leather first. He moved the muzzle back and forth in an arc covering both Lazy E men. “Throw that cutter into the street,” he told Shorty.

  Shorty threw aside the Colt. He wiped the blood from his battered face. “I ain’t done with you,” he said thinly.

  Dave holstered his Colt and unbuckled his gun belt. “Come on then,” he said.

  Shorty plunged in. Four hard blows sent Dave up against the wagon. He rolled sideways and met a smashing jab to the mouth. A tooth cracked. He covered up with elbows and forearms and danced back. Shorty grinned. He came in fast, weaving and ducking like a belt winner. He threw punches like a small-sized triphammer until Dave straightened him with a left and threw a right hook that caught the smaller man off balance. Shorty fell over a board and lay flat on his back, his mouth working and hate shining from his eyes.