Deadman Canyon Part 6

She said, "Tom, will you ride up with Clay and tell the men to come home?"

"I already figured on that," Roddy said gruffly. He murmured something to the judge, who was sitting staring at the floor, and then went quickly out a rear door.

Clay and Tonia went onto the veranda. She stopped at the top of the steps. "Clay, what do you think this means?"

"I think Damson's money got to Bert," he said flatly. He looked out over the moonlit yard. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to bring the news."

"Why didn't you bring him here instead of taking him to jail?" she cried. "At least you could have given us a chance to talk to him first!"

"Is that what the judge would have wanted? A chance to cover up for Bert?"

She lifted her head defiantly. "Is that what you think I meant?"

He recalled her strange actions of a few days before. Then she hadn't seemed like the frank, forthright Tonia he had always known. He felt the same sensation of her withdrawing, holding something back from him now.

"I don't know what I think," he admitted. "I only know Bert tried to kill me. So I took him to the sheriff."

Tom Roddy came riding around the house on the old white plug he favored. Tonia said in a dull voice, "Of course. I see, Clay. Good night."

Roddy and Clay rode silently side by side until they reached the edge of Clay's land. Then Roddy said, "Don't got the wrong idea about Tonia, Clay. Remember, she came back from the coast just a little while ago. And a lot of things had changed in the short time she was gone. She just ain't got herself squared around yet to understanding them."

"She acts as if she's trying to protect somebody - from me," Clay said bluntly.

Roddy turned shrewd eyes on him. "There's only two people I know that Tonia would protect - lie for - her dad and you." He spat tobacco juice onto the moon-dappled trail. "And she'd do more than he to help either one of you. But just remember, she can still shoot a nut out of a squirrel's teeth at a hundred paces and never muss his whiskers. Under them fancy clothes and ladylike talk, she ain't much different from what she was."

"What are you driving at?" Clay demanded. "What's all this got to do with the way she's been acting toward me?"

"I'm trying to tell you," Roddy said. "She thinks a heap of both her dad and you. But if it came to a choice, the judge'd come first."

"Why should there be a choice?" Clay said angrily. "Does she believe I'm trying to hurt her father? He's my friend. Without his help, I wouldn't be able to get my ranch started. That's a foolish way to talk, Tom."

"It ain't what she believes you'd do," Roddy said. "It's what she's afraid you might think." He spat again. "She was afraid all along that Bert was the man behind the sniping. She's been out to the ranch a lot more than the judge lately, and she's known Coniff was acting funny - claiming to be sick so he could get out of working, and then disappearing for hours at a time. And then I let slip to her that Bert's been doing a lot of heavy courting these past months - at the Cattlemen's Bar. He's sweet on one of the dancing girls Molly brings in for Sat.u.r.day nights. A cowhand's pay don't buy many fancy gewgaws for a girl like that."

He added worriedly, "And what with the judge in the hole from buying extra stock and a lot of haying equipment ever since he started using your meadows for summer pasture, it don't look so good."

Clay stared at him. "Are you trying to tell me that Tonia believes the judge hired Bert to drive me away from my own land?"

"Nope. But she believes you'll get around to thinking just that one of these days," Roddy said. "Look at it her way, Clay. The judge has always been the biggest man in the valley since Tonia remembers. Now Bick Damson has got rich and he's sure trying hard to make folks think that makes him important. Now the judge is a nice man but he's human, and he didn't take friendly to being asked to share this little puddle of his with another big frog.

"He kind of puffed up the number of steers he put on your graze and he was right generous in the amount of his land he put to hay. Then he buys the fanciest haying machinery you ever did see. Went into debt doing it. Now you come back with a plan to turn that graze into a ranch for yourself. What's the judge going to do when he's got no place for all that extra beef he's bought? Stands to reason he'll have to sell it off, probably taking a loss. And he'll be left with a lot of expensive hay he can't use."

He spat out his quid of tobacco and wiped his hand across his lips. "That's what they're saying in town," he told Clay. "Everyone figures your coming back is going to hurt the judge mighty bad. Tonia knew you'd hear the talk."

"She knows me better than to think I'd believe it," Clay said.

"She knows you wouldn't believe it without proof," Roddy said. "But I think she figured that once you found out Bert Coniff - one of the judge's top hands - was doing the sniping, then you'd start thinking the other way."

"That's crazy," Clay said. "The judge and I talked all this out when we met in Helena. I'm the one who wrote and told him to use my graze in the first place. And we both knew what my coming back could do to him. The judge was willing to take the chance that we'd figure out someway to get him out of the hole."

"Sure, that's like the judge," Roddy said. "He'll do anything for someone he believes in, no matter what it costs him. Everybody knows that down inside themselves. But they wouldn't be human if they didn't grab at the chance to pretend that maybe someone bigger than themselves is just as mean and ornery as big people are supposed to be."

He glanced at Clay. "And just saying that you trust the judge won't stop all the talk."

"I've thought of a way to keep the judge from losing anything by my coming back," Clay said. "I'm going to channel the water from my swamp to his dry south section and irrigate it. Then he'll have all the gra.s.s he needs. Tell that around town. It will prove the judge has no reason to want me out of the valley."

"What does the judge think of that idea?" Roddy asked.

"I haven't had a chance to tell him yet," Clay admitted. "I didn't think of it until a few days ago." He swore suddenly. "I suppose since I haven't told the judge, people will still claim he hired Bert to run me off and protect himself from a big loss."

"Some sure will," Roddy said gloomily. "And Tonia doesn't know your plans either, remember. She don't believe anything against her father, but she's sure scared you might."

"She should know me better than that!" Clay exclaimed.

"How much does anybody really know anybody else?" Roddy retorted. "And anyway, most people don't think with their heads. Most of the time they think with their feelings. Take the folks in town. If they stopped to think with their heads, not one would trust Bick Damson or Kemp Vanner any farther'n they could spit. But they ain't thinking that way. They just think how fine and generous Damson is with his money, never stopping to figure that no one - least of all a bully like Damson - gives away money for nothing. They'd do better to think about what reason he might have for being generous. But it'll probably be too late when they get around to that."

"So that's why Roy Ponders doesn't want any trouble with Damson or Vanner," Clay said. "He thinks the people would side with them."

"That's right," Roddy said. "And all he wants is to get re-elected and live peaceable for the few years he's got left as a sheriff."

Clay thought of the quiet way Ponders had accepted the charges against Bert Coniff. He felt worry stir inside him as he thought Ponders might have turned more politican than lawman. In that case, he would be apt to let Bert Coniff sneak out of the valley, just to avoid unpleasantness. It occurred to Clay that Ponders might already know that Vanner and Damson, rather than the judge, had hired Coniff.

Clay swore angrily. This was worse than he had thought. His catching the sniper hadn't solved anything as he had expected it to. It had only made the whispered rumors about the judge sound as if they had more truth to them. And that meant another victory for Vanner and Damson, because Clay knew without being told that Vanner must have started the rumors about Judge Lyles not wanting him to come back and build up his ranch. It was just the kind of situation a man like Vanner would take quick advantage of.

Roddy let out a soft shout. "Up ahead - that fire."

"That's my camp," Clay said. "The Winged L men are probably thawing out after looking for Bert Coniff."

They rode across the bench toward the fire. Five men were gathered around it, drinking coffee. Roddy hailed them and led the way into the camp.

"You can go home boys. Bert's been found."

"Pete Apley, the Winged L foreman, grunted with relief. "It's about time," he said. He nodded at Clay. "We borrowed some of your firewood and coffee," he said.

"My pleasure," Clay replied. He looked at the tired, drawn men. He wondered how they would react after they found out about Bert Coniff. They wouldn't be happy after putting in a hard day haying to find they'd wasted cold, weary hours hunting for a man who was in jail.

Clay saw that Roddy wasn't about to break the news right now. The old man merely said, "Let's ride, boys, and let Clay roll in his blankets."

Apley and his men mounted their horses. "When you get squared away, drop in and we'll pay you back for this coffee we drunk," Apley said.

"I'll do that," Clay answered. He stood by the fire until they were out of sight. Then he unsaddled and rubbed down the dun. He picketed it on the bench and went to his blankets. He was tired all the way through, but the fire had burned to coals and he still lay awake, staring up at the night sky.

Roddy's explanations had helped him understand Tonia's strange behavior, but at the same time they had planted a cold seed of suspicion in his mind. It was crazy, he told himself, even to consider suspecting the judge. Everything Clay knew about him made it too foolish to even think about. But he couldn't shake Vanner's softly taunting words out of his head: Ask yourself who really profits if you leave the valley.

Not Damson. He had no use for Clay's mountainous land. Not when he already had his big hand squeezed down on a good piece of the valley. Not when he had a silver mine to bring him in all the money he needed.

Clay turned restlessly in his blankets. That mine of Damson's. Everytime he thought about it it seemed to him that there was something wrong with it. Or maybe he was just envious because a man like Damson had struck it rich. Whatever it was lay tantalizingly just beyond the reach of his mind. He finally fell asleep, the hours of wakefulness having accomplished nothing.

XI.

CLAY AWOKE with the first light and drove himself throughout the cool, sunlit day to round up the last of the judge's stock and pen them with the others corralled behind the brush fence that closed off the mouth of Deadman Canyon.

After eating his noon dinner, Clay noticed a weak spot in the fence. But the cattle were all grazing at the upper end of the canyon and he decided it was safe to leave repairs until he had the last animal inside. The fence only had to hold one more night anyway. Tomorrow he planned to get Tom Roddy and drive the whole herd down to Winged L graze.

Clay was ready to return to work when he heard hors.e.m.e.n coming up the trail to the bench. Quickly he put the dun in the protective angle of rock where he had his camp. He drew his rifle and laid it across his legs. Then he watched the spot where the trail came onto the bench and waited.

He let tension run out of him as he saw Roy Ponders come into view. Thrusting the rifle back in its boot, he rode out to meet the sheriff.

Ponders looked grave and drawn, as if he had been up a good part of the night. "I came to see those heelprints," he said. He indicated Bert Coniff's boot hanging from his saddlehorn.

Clay nodded and reined the dun around. "Follow me," he said briefly.

He led the way to the high meadow country. They rode single file along the narrow trails, not speaking but concentrating on helping their horses keep solid footing. Only after Clay had shown the sheriff the deadfall with its view of the dugout trail across the gorge, and the clear heelprint in the stand of pines, did Ponders break his silence.

He said, "You've heard the stories going around town about Judge Lyles?"

"From Tom Roddy, last night," Clay said.

The sheriff nodded. "The latest story seems to be that the judge hired Bert to kill you so he could keep on using your summer pasture."

"What does Coniff have to say?" Clay asked.

"That's his story too," Roy Ponders said heavily. "He wouldn't say a word last night after you left. But later, when I got back from having my dinner at the hotel, he started talking. He didn't come right out and admit anything, but he hinted pretty strong that the judge had paid him extra to be the sniper."

"That's crazy!" Clay exclaimed. "My guess is that Vanner or Damson got to Coniff and promised they'd get him free if he told you that."

"I had the same thought," Ponders admitted. "Only Vanner was with me in the hotel all the time I was there. And when I went looking for Damson, I found him sleeping off a bottle of whiskey in his room at the Cattlemen's."

"What about those men of Damson's - Marnie and Pike?" Clay asked.

"They were at the saloon," Ponders said. "Molly Doane told me they'd been there since shortly after you left the place."

"Has the judge seen Coniff yet?" Clay asked.

"This morning," Ponders replied. "All Bert would say to him was, 'You better get me out of here.' The judge didn't seem to know what Bert meant, and after I explained what Bert had told me last night, he just went to his house without saying a word."

A shadow of worry pa.s.sed over the sheriff's face. "The judge collapsed when he got home. He's down in bed right now." He shook his head. "He isn't the strongest man in the world. Doc Fraley told me his heart is weak. Another shock like this could kill him, Doc says. Tonia and Roddy are keeping the judge quiet. They all aim to stay in town."

Clay said, "When you go back, tell the judge this. Maybe it'll help make him feel a little better." He explained his plan to divert water to the judge's dry section and so solve the problem of what to do with the extra cattle.

"He and Roddy were talking about that when I was at the house," the sheriff said. "It seemed to cheer the judge considerably." He added almost slyly, "And Tonia too."

"Maybe you and Tom can get the word around town," Clay said. "Let's see if that won't stop the rumors Vanner started."

"If Vanner started them," Ponders said.

"Who else would?" Clay demanded. "Haven't you seen and heard enough to know Judge Lyles wouldn't hire Bert to kill me!"

"The job of the law is to consider all possibilities," Roy Ponders said. "I know what a fine man the judge has always been. But people change - especially where money is concerned. And there's just enough truth to the rumors to make a man stop and think. Your building a ranch up here could have ruined the judge. He's that much in debt to the bank."

"But that's all changed," Clay pointed out. "Once his south section gets water, he won't have to worry."

"But he didn't know that until today," Ponders said. He looked closely at Clay. "You and I both know the judge well, but didn't the idea he might be behind Bert Coniff ever cross your mind?"

"It did," Clay admitted. "But not for long."

"I feel the same way, but as the law I can't throw the idea aside," the sheriff said. He turned his horse. "I'll be getting back. With the evidence I just saw, there's no doubt Bert will have to stand trial. I might as well get the proceedings going."

Clay stayed where he was. "Tell Tom I could use some help tomorrow. I'll have all the stock ready to drive down to the valley."

The sheriff nodded. Clay watched him until he disappeared and then went higher up to scour the mountain for the last few cattle.

He was tiring as he drove the final six head through gathering dusk toward the bench. He pushed them faster than he liked, fighting the chill of the quickening October night. When he reached the bench, it was that hour between dark and moonrise when everything seemed blackest and nothing had a solid shape about it. Clay could barely make out the tall spires of rock marking the mouth of Deadman Canyon.

He breathed weary relief as he made a small opening in the fence and drove the cattle through it and into the rest of the gather waiting at the upper end of the blind draw. He was about halfway up it when he heard the two sharp, quick rifle shots.

They had come from behind him, from somewhere outside the meadow. He turned in the saddle but could see nothing in the darkness. Suddenly a hand gun tore apart the cool quiet of the night. Clay swung back toward the end of the canyon. A second shot blossomed fire against the darkness. A voice whooped wildly and the gun fired again.

Clay reached for his rifle. He heard the cattle stirring and realized what was happening. Who ever had fired those rifle shots had done so to warn someone waiting up at the far end of the canyon that Clay was coming. Then the man inside had used his handgun to start the cattle moving down the canyon.

In the hope, Clay thought, of catching him in a stampede of wild cattle running in panic through the dark night!

The cattle were moving about nervously, pawing at the gra.s.s, surging this way and that in a formless ma.s.s. The man with the handgun fired again. His voice rose in a shrill, frightening whoop. Clay lifted his rifle and set a flurry of shots into the darkness above the cattle. He heard the growing thunder of their hoofbeats. The ground began to tremble. A final shot roared against the night and the cattle broke into a terror-driven stampede.

Clay turned the dun and raked his heels across its flanks. The horse broke into a hard run toward the mouth of the draw, desperately seeking to keep ahead of the surging wave of crazed beeves.

Clay and the dun reached the opening in the brush fence less than a dozen feet ahead of the first cattle. Clay put the horse through the narrow opening and reined it to the left, in an attempt to angle across the bench and reach the protection of the big rock by his camp. The dun stumbled as one hoof hit soft dirt at the edge of a chuckhole. It lost its stride and nearly went down as the herd hit the brush fence.

Clay jerked the dun's head up. "Run!" he shouted over the crackling of the shattered fence.

The dun caught its stride and raced for the far side of the bench. A long-legged steer came out of nowhere and cut across the horse's path. The dun pulled up short, neighing in terror. The abrupt stop lifted Clay out of the saddle. He hit the ground with his shoulder, grunting with shock as the air was driven out of his lungs. The dun galloped for the safety of the camp.

Clay scrambled to his feet and ran after the horse. Cattle were flowing over the bench now, scattering in blind panic. A head-tossing cow struck Clay's back a glancing blow as she ran past. He stumbled and pitched forward. He hit the shoulder of rock, fell back, and staggered forward. He went to his knees at the edge of his cold campfire and then slid onto his face and lay still.

He could feel the dun's moist nose nuzzling his neck and he sat up dazedly. Clay looked around and realized he must have blacked out. The moon had come up and the bench was flooded with its cold white light.

He staggered to his feet and went to his water supply. He poured icy water over his face and neck and took a long, deep drink. He walked to the edge of his camp and looked at the silent, empty bench. The cattle had disappeared. There was only the broken fence and the torn gra.s.s to show they had ever existed.

Days of work lost, Clay thought bitterly. Maybe a lot of the judge's prime beef lost. He knew he would be lucky if he didn't find more than one animal with a broken leg or worse come daylight.

As his head cleared, anger worked into him more deeply. He recalled the two rifle shots that came just before the stampede started. It was plain enough that someone had been watching him from the hills alongside the bench, and had sent a signal to whoever waited inside as soon as Clay rode into the canyon. Then the trap had been sprung.