Trapper puffed at his pipe. «Did hear the Rattlesnake and Sundown folks were plumb bitter about some little matter.»
«Splitting a county,» said Harrison.
«Wouldn’t know,» said Trapper. «Don’t get around, myself. Just over to the Elden spread, once in a while. Sing Lee keeps me fixed up with panther juice. Making his own now. Got a still rigged up out of an old wash boiler. Figured maybe the stuff would poison me, but it ain’t hurt me yet.»
«Hatless Joe was telling me about it,» said Harrison. «Claims it’s got forty rod beat all hollow.»
«Damn smart Chinaman,» Trapper said. «Taking up reading now. Tried to talk me into it, too, but I ain’t got the patience for it. Foolish way to spend a feller’s time.»
«Comes in handy, sometimes, though.»
«Maybe it does,» Trapper agreed, «but I got along without books and stuff for sixty years and I figure I can go another twenty.»
He squinted at Harrison. «You look plumb tuckered out. You’ll never make Grizzly in the shape you’re in. Better come in and have a little nap. I’ll wake you up in an hour or so.»
Harrison weakened. Not until now had he realized how tired he was, tired and muscle-sore. And the shoulder where the bullet had flicked him was a dull, red hurt.
«Just an hour or so,» he finally said. «You’ll promise to wake me, then. Can’t waste much time.»
«Cross my heart,» pledged Trapper, «and hope to stumble. Some sleep and bear meat under your belt and you’re good for another day. I’ll take care of your animal.»
Harrison entered the door, made his way around the rickety table, sat down on the bunk. The place was filthy, filled with the odor of ill-cooked food, of sweaty, greasy clothing. But he scarcely noticed it.
His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the burlap pillow. In just a little while, said a hazy thought, I’ll be on the way again. Grizzly Valley.
Carolyn. Maybe Satan, too.
He woke with a sudden start, sitting bolt upright, filled with the feeling that something had gone wrong.
For a moment he fought to recollect where he was and then it came with a sudden rush.
«Trapper!» he yelled, surging to his feet.
There was no answer. Sultry, summer silence hung upon the cabin.
Somewhere a fly was buzzing, but there was no other sound.
Outside in the glaring sunlight the silence held. The sun was high … and that, he suddenly knew, was what was wrong. The sun had been a morning sun when he had gone to sleep and now it was after noon. Standing, spread-legged, staring at the sun, his hand went to his shirt pocket, tapping for the paper that should have been there. But there was no rustle, nothing there at all.
He stood for a moment, stupefied.
Trapper Bill had run out on him, had stolen the paper in his pocket and run out on him. But run to where? A horse nickered and Harrison wheeled around, hand driving for his gun.
Then he relaxed. For the horse was riderless and trotting toward him and he recognized it as the one he’d taken from the bartender and ridden to this place.
«Good hoss,» he said. «Good hoss.»
He moved swiftly forward. He was getting out, he told himself, as fast as the horse could travel.
Chapter Four
Johnny Holds Up the Boss
The man in the gray slouch hat stepped from behind a boulder and thrust forth the rifle.
«Where the hell do you think you’re going?» he demanded.
Harrison reined up, sat limply in the saddle.
«I could have shot you,» said the man, «when you was coming up the trail and I damn near done it. Just natural kindness that kept me from it.»
«I came to see the boss,» said Harrison.
«He ain’t seeing no one,» said the man. «Fact, he’d be sorer than hell if he knowed I didn’t shoot you. Told me to. ‘Plug anybody comes up the trail,’ he said.»
«I got a message from Doc Falconer,» said Harrison.
The man’s jaw dropped. «But, Doc …»
Then his mouth snapped shut and he jerked the rifle up.
Hoofs clattered from the opposite slope and the man, gun almost to his shoulder, hesitated.
The horseman rounded a bend below the pile of boulders, reined in his horse.
«Hello, Westman,» said Harrison.
Westman sat his horse, staring at Harrison, then he spoke to Spike.
«Put down that gun,» he said. «You might have killed the man.»
Spike muttered feebly. «But the boss said to shoot anyone that came…»
«Yes, sure, he said that. But he didn’t know that Harrison was coming.»
«You know this jasper?» asked Spike, in amazement.
«Know him! He’s the man that broke me out of jail!»
Spike’s face split into a grin. «Well, in that case, maybe it’s different. Says he’s bringing word from Doc. But I thought that Doc …»
Westman yelled at him savagely: «Shut up!»
«If you mean you thought that Doc was dead,» Harrison told Spike, «you’re right. I got there right after he was killed and I got the letter he was writing.»
«But that man the boss…»
«If the man was the gent with the daisies on his vest, I killed him.»
He laughed at the two of them, Spike with the rifle dangling in his hand, Westman stiff and straight upon the horse.
«So, if you’re figuring on fixing it so that something happens to me,» said Harrison, «you better give it up. You can’t afford to kill me.»
Westman wheeled his horse, said brusquely: «Come on. You better see the boss.»
«That,» declared Harrison, «is what I come for.»
They rode carefully down the rocky trail and ahead of them Harrison saw the spreading green of a hidden valley.
«The boss ain’t going to be pleased about this,» said Westman. «He’s plenty sore to start with. Sore at me for getting out of jail. Figured on using me for bait, I guess. Wanted me to stay there so he could have an excuse to shoot hell out of the town.»
«How do you feel about it?» asked Harrison.
Westman hesitated, as if debating his answer. «To tell you the truth, Harrison, I don’t really know. My wife, Marie, she’s all for you. Says the boss don’t care what happens to me. She figures maybe that if I had got killed in the jail break the boss was stewing up it would of pleased him fine.»
«Sounds like you and the boss don’t get along.»
«We’ve had our arguments,» Westman said tersely.
The trail reached the valley and slanted across its greenness, heading for the group of buildings huddled under the western wall of a towering escarpment. They splashed through a ford in the river.
In front of one of the larger residences Westman swung in to the hitching rack. Two men sitting on the front steps got up and lounged against the porch railing, watching Westman and Harrison dismount.
«The boss in?» asked Westman.
One of the men jerked his thumb toward the door, said nothing. The other gave his attention to rolling a quirly. Harrison glanced quickly, closely at the man who had jerked his thumb. There was something hauntingly familiar about the man, about his bearing rather than his face.
«Come on,» said Westman.
Harrison followed him into the house. At the door of a small room furnished as an office he stopped stock still, staring at the man with his feet cocked up on the desk.
Dunham! Dunham, of Bar X!
The big rancher took a cigar out of his mouth, spat at a cuspidor and missed.
«Don’t look so damned astonished, Johnny,» he said. «Who did you expect to find?»
Harrison paced forward a step. He understood now. «So this is why you don’t want the county split.»