Showdown On the Hogback (1991) Read online

  Showdown On The Hogback.

  Louis L’amour

  *

  Chapter 1

  “Then Get Out!” Shaw Snarled, Passion Suddenly Breaking through his calmness-passion and something else, something Kedrick spotted with a shock-the driving urge to kill! “Get out!” Shaw repeated. “An” if you want to live, keep going.. Stumblingly, the man turned and ducked into the hastily assembled crowd, and Tom Kedrick, scanning their faces, found hard indifference there, or hatred. In no face did he see warmth or friendly feeling. He frowned thoughtfully and then turned away. Gunter caught his arm, eager to take advantage of the break the interruption had made to bring peace between the two. “You see what we’re up against?” he began. “Now that was Peters. He’s harmless, but there’s others would have drawn, and drawn fast! They won’t all be like that!

  Let’s go meet Burwick!” Kedrick fell in beside Gunter, who carefully interposed himself between the two men. Once, Tom glanced back. What had become of Dornie Shaw he did not know, but he did know his second in command, which job was Shaw’s, was a killer. He knew the type from of old. Yet he was disturbed more than he cared to admit by the man who had braced them. Peters had the look of an honest man, even if not an intelligent one. Of course, there might be honest men among them, if they were men of Peters’ stripe. He was always a follower, and he might follow where the wrong men led. Certainly, if this land was going to Gunter, Keith, and Burwick through a government bill there could be nothing wrong with it. If the government sold the land to them, squatters had no rights there. Still, if there were many like Peters, the job was not going to be all he had expected. Gunter stopped before a square stone house set back from the street. “This here’s headquarters,” he said. “We hole up here when in town. Come on in.” A wide veranda skirted the house, and as they stepped upon it they saw a girl in a gray skirt and white blouse sitting a few feet away with an open book in her lap.

  Gunter halted. “Colonel, you’ve met Miss Duane. “Captain Kedrick, my niece, Consuelo Duane.”

  Their eyes met-and held. For a breathless moment, no voice was lifted. Tom Kedrick felt as though his muscles had gone dead, for he could not move. Her own eyes were wide, startled.

  Kedrick recovered himself with a start. He bowed.

  “Miss Duane!”

  “Captain Kedrick. was Somehow she was on her feet and moving toward him. “I hope you’ll like it here!” His eyes had not left hers, and now color was coming into her cheeks. “I shall!” he said gently.

  “Nothing can prevent me now.” “Don’t be too sure of that, Captain!” Keith’s voice was sharp and cold. “We are late for our visit. Let’s be going. Your pardon, Connie. Burwick is waiting.” Kedrick glanced back as he went through the door, and the girl was still standing there, poised, motionless. Keith’s irritation was obvious, but Gunter seemed to have noticed nothing.

  Dornie Shaw, who had materialized from somewhere, glanced briefly at Kedrick, but said nothing at all. Coolly, he began to roll a smoke.

  Chapter 2

  Burwick crouched behind a table. He was an incredibly fat man and incredibly dirty. A stubble of graying beard covered his jowls and his several chins, yet the eyes that measured Kedrick from beneath the almost hairless brows were sharp, malignant, and set close alongside a nose too small for his face. His shirt was open, and the edge of the collar was greasy. Rims of black marked each fingernail.

  He glanced at the others and then back at Kedrick. “Sit down!” he said. “You’re late!

  Business won’t wait!” His bulbous head swung from Kedrick to Gunter. “John, this the man who11 ramrod those skunks off that land? This him?”

  “Yes, that’s Kedrick,” Gunter said hastily.

  Oddly enough, he seemed almost frightened of Burwick. Keith had said nothing since they had entered the room. Quietly, he seemed to have withdrawn, stepped momentarily from the picture. It was, Kedrick was to discover, a faculty he had when Burwick was near. “He’ll do the job, all right!”

  Burwick turned his eyes on Kedrick. After a moment, he nodded. “Know a good deal about you, son!” His voice was almost genial. “You’ll do if you don’t get soft with them! We’ve no time to waste, you understand! They’ve had notice to move! Give “em one more notice.

  Then get ‘em off or bury ‘em! That’s your business, not mine! I’ll ask no questions,” he added sharply, “an” I’ll see nobody else does!

  What happens here is our business!”

  He dismissed Kedrick from his mind and turned his attention to Gunter. “You’ve ordered like I told you? Grub for fifty men for fifty days? Once this situation is cleaned up I want to get busy at once. The sooner we have work started, the sooner we’ll be all set. I want no backfiring on this job.”

  Burwick turned sharply at Tom Kedrick.

  “Ten days! I give you ten days! If you need more than five, I’ll be disappointed! If you’ve not the heart for it turn Dornie loose! Dornie’ll show “em!” He cackled suddenly. “That’s right!

  Dornie’ll show ‘em!”

  He sobered down, glanced at the papers on his desk, and then spoke without looking up. “Kedrick, you can go. Dornie, you run along, too!”

  Kedrick hesitated and then arose. “How many of these men are there?” he asked suddenly. “Have any of them families?”

  Gunter turned on him nervously. “I’ll tell you all you need to know, Tom. See you later!”

  Kedrick shrugged and, picking up his hat, walked out. Dornie Shaw had already vanished. Yet when he reached the veranda, Connie Duane still sat there, only now she was not reading, merely staring over the top of her book at the dusty, sun-swept street.

  He paused, hat in hand. “Have you been in Mustang long?”

  She looked up, studying him for a long minute before she spoke. “Why, no. Not long. Yet long enough to learn to love and hate.” She turned her eyes to the hills and then back to him. was I love this country, Captain. Can you understand that?

  “I’m a city girl, born and bred in the city, and yet when I first saw those red rock walls, those lonely mesas, the desert, the Indian ponies why, Captain, I fell in love! This is my country! I could stay here forever!” Surprised, he studied her again, more pleased than he could easily have admitted. “That’s the way I feel about it. But you said to love and to hate. You love the country. Now what do you hate?”

  “Some of the men who infest it, Captain. Some of the human wolves it breeds, and others, bred elsewhere, who come to it to feed off the ones who came earlier and were more courageous but are less knowing, less tricky.”

  More and more surprised, he leaned on the rail.

  “I don’t know if I follow you, Miss Duane. I haven’t been here long, this time, but I haven’t met any of those you speak of.”

  She looked up at him, her eves frank and cool. Slowly, she closed her book, and turned toward the door. “You haven’t, Captain?” Her voice was suddenly cool. “Are you sure? At this moment, I am wondering if you are not one of them!”

  She stepped through the door and was gone.

  Tom Kedrick stood for a moment, staring after her.

  When he turned away it was with a puzzled frown on his face. Now what did she mean by that? What did she know about him that could incline her to such a view?

  Despite himself, he was both irritated and disturbed. Coupled with the anger of the man Peters, it offered a new element to his thinking. Yet, how could Consuelo Duane, John Gunter’s niece, have the same opinion owned by Peters? No doubt they stemmed from different sources.

  Troubled, he walked on down to the street of the town and stood there, looking around.

  He had not yet changed into western clothes and w
ore a flat-crowned, flat-brimmed black hat, which he would retain, and a tailored gray suit with black western-style boots. Pausing on the corner, he slowly rolled a cigarette and lighted it. He made a dashing, handsome figure as he stood there in his perfectly fitted suit, his lean, bronzed face strong, intelligent, and interesting.

  Both men and women glanced at him and most of them twice. His military erectness, broad shoulders, and cool self-possession were enough to mark him in any crowd. His mind had escaped his immediate problem now and was lost in the never ending excitement of a crowded western street. Such places held, all jammed together without rhyme or reason, all types and manners of men.

  For the west was, of all things, a melting pot.

  Adventurers came to seek gold, new lands, and excitement. Gamblers, women of the oldest and most active profession, thugs, gunmen, cow rustlers, horse thieves, miners, cowhands, freighters, and just drifters, all crowded the street. That bearded unshaven man in the sun-faded red wool shirt might, if prompted, start to spout Shakespeare. The slender young man talking to the girl in the buckboard might have graduated from Oxford, and the white-faced gambler might be the scion of an old southern family.

  There was no knowing in this strangest, most exciting and colorful of countries, during its most exciting time. All classes, types, and nationalities had come west, all looking for the pot of gold at the foot of any available rainbow, and most of them were more engrossed in the looking than the finding.

  All men wore guns, most of them in plain sight. Few of them would hesitate to use them if need be. The man who fought with his fists was a rarity, although present.

  A big man lurched from the crowd. Tom glanced at him, and their eyes met. Obviously, the man had been drinking and was hunting trouble, and as their eves met, he stopped. Sensing trouble, other passersby stopped, too. “So?” The big man stood wide-legged, his sleeves rolled above thick, hairy forearms. “Another one of them durn thieves! Land stealers!” He chuckled suddenly.

  “Well, your murderer ain’t with you now to save your bacon, an” I aim to get my share of you right now! Reach!”

  Kedrick’s mouth was dry, but his eyes were calm. He held the cigarette in his right hand near his mouth. “Sorry, friend. I’m not packing a gun.

  If I were, I’d still not kill you. You’re mistaken, man, about that land. My people have a rightful claim to it.”

  “Have they, now?” The big man came a step nearer, his hand on the butt of his gun. “The right to take from a man the land he’s sweated over? To tear down his home? To run his kids out on the desert?”

  Despite the fact that the man was drunk, Tom Kedrick saw beyond it a sullen and honest fury-and fear. Not fear of him, for this man was not afraid, nor would he be afraid of even Dornie Shaw.

  He was afraid for his family. The realization of that fact struck Kedrick and disturbed him anew. More and more he was questioning the course he had chosen.

  The crowd murmured and was ugly. Obviously, their sympathies were with the big man and against Kedrick.

  He heard a low murmur and then a rustling in the crowd, and suddenly, there was deathly silence.

  Kedrick saw the big man’s face pale and heard someone whisper hoarsely, “Look out, Burt!

  It’s Dornie Shawl”

  Kedrick was suddenly aware that Shaw had moved up beside him. “Let me have him, Captain.” Shaw’s voice was low. “It’s time this here was stopped.”

  Kedrick’s voice was sharp, cold. “No!

  Move back, Shaw! I’ll fight my own battles!”

  “But you ain’t got a gun!” Shaw’s voice was sharper in protest.

  Burt showed no desire to retreat. That the appearance of Shaw was a shock was evident, but this man was not Peters. He was going to stand his ground. His eyes, wary now, but puzzled, shifted from Shaw to Kedrick, and Tom took an easy step forward, putting himself almost within arm’s length of Burt.

  “Shaw’s not in this, Burt,” he said quietly.

  “I’ve no quarrel with you, man, but no man calls me without getting his chance. If you want what I’ve got, don’t let the fact that I’m not armed stop you. I wanted no quarrel, but you do, so have at it!”

  Suspicion was in the big man’s eyes. He had seen guns come from nowhere before, especially from men dressed as this one was. He was not prepared to believe that Kedrick would face him unarmed. “You got a gun!” he snapped. “You got a hideout, you durned coyote!”

  He jerked his gun from the holster, and in that instant, Tom Kedrick moved. The edge of his left hand chopped down on the rising wrist of the gun hand, and he stepped in, whipping up his right in an uppercut that packed all the power in his lean, whipcord body.

  The punch was fast and perfectly timed, and the crack of it on the corner of Burt’s jaw was like the crack of a teamster’s whip! Burt hit the walk just one split second after his gun, and hit it right on his shoulder blades.

  Coolly then, Kedrick stooped and picked up the gun, an old 1851 model Navy revolver.

  He stood over the man, his eyes searching the crowd.

  Wherever he looked, there were hard, blank faces.

  He glanced down at Burt, and the big man was slowly sitting up, shaking his big head. He started to lift his right hand and gave a sudden gasp of pain.

  He stared at it and then looked up. “You broke my wrist!” he said. “It’s busted! An’ me with my plowin’ to do!”

  “Better get up,” Kedrick said quietly.

  “You asked for it, you know.”

  When the man was on his feet, Kedrick calmly handed him his six-shooter. Their eves met over the gun and Kedrick smiled. “Take it. Drop it down in your holster an’ forget it. I’m not worried. You’re not the man to shoot another in the back. his Calmly, he turned his back and walked slowly away down the street. Before the St. James, he paused. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he took out a paper and shook tobacco into it.

  “That was slick.” It was Dornie Shaw’s soft voice. His brown eyes probed Kedrick’s face curiously. “Never seen the like! Just slapped his wrist an’ busted it!”

  With Keith, John Gunter had come up, smiling broadly. “Saw it all, son! That’ll do more good than a dozen killings! Just like Tom Smith used to do! Old Bear Creek Tom, who handled some of the toughest rannies that ever came over the trail with nothin’ but his fists!”

  “What would you have done if he had jerked that gun back and fired?” Keith asked.

  Kedrick shrugged, wanting to forget it. “He hadn’t time,” he said quietly, “but there are answers to that, too!” , “Some of the boys will be up to see you tonight, Tom,”

  Gunter advised. “I’ve had Dornie notify Shad, Fessenden, and some of the others.

  Better figure on a ride out there tomorrow. Makin’ a start, anyway. Just sort of ride around with some of the boys to let “em know we ain’t foolin”.”

  Kedrick nodded and after a brief discussion went inside and to his room. Certainly, he reflected, the West had not changed. Things still happened fast out here.

  He pulled off his coat, waistcoat, and vest, then his boots. Striped to the waist, he sat down on the bed and dug into his valise. For a couple of minutes he dug around and then drew out two well-oiled holsters and gun belts. In the holsters were two .44 Russian pistols, Smith and Wesson guns manufactured on order for the Russian army and among the most accurate shooting pistols on the market up to that time.

  Carefully, he checked the loads and then returned the guns to their holsters and put them aside. Digging around, he drew out a second pair of guns, holsters, and belts. Each of these was a Walch twelve-shot Navy pistol, caliber .36, and almost identical in size and weight to the Frontier Colt and the .44 Russian.

  Rarely seen in the West and disliked by some, Kedrick had used the guns on many occasions and found them always satisfactory. There were times when the added firepower was a big help. As for stopping power, the .36 in the hands of a good marksman lacked but little offered by the heavier
.44 caliber.

  Yet, there was a time and a place for everything, and these guns had an added tactical value. Carefully, he wrapped them once more and returned them to the bottom of his valise. Then he belted on the .44 Russians and digging out his Winchester, carefully cleaned, oiled, and loaded it. Then he sat down on the bed and was about to remove his guns again and stretch out, when there was a light tap at the door.

  “Come in,” said Kedrick, “and if you’re an enemy, I’ll be pleased to know you!”

  The door opened and closed all in a breath. The man that stood with his back to it facing Kedrick was scarcely five feet four, yet almost as broad as he was tall. But all of it was sheer power of bone and muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His broad brown face might have been graved from stone, and the bristle of short-cropped hair above it was black as a crow’s wing. The man’s neck spread to broad, thick shoulders. On his right hip he packed a gun. In his hand he held a narrow-brimmed hard hat.

  Kedrick leaped to his feet. “Dai!” The name was an explosion of sound. “Dai Reid! And what are you doing in this country?”

  “Ah? So it’s that you ask, is it? Well, it’s trouble there is, boy, much of trouble! An’ you that’s by way of bringin’ it!”

  “conale?” Kedrick waved to a chair. “Tell me what you mean.”

  The Welshman searched his face and then seated himself, his huge palms resting on his knees. His legs were thick muscled and bowed. “It’s the man Burwick you’re with? An” you’ve the job taken to run us off the land? There is changed you are, Tom, an’ for the worse!”

  “You’re one of them? You’re on the land Burwick, Keith, and Gunter claim?” “I am that. And a sight of work I’ve done on it, too.

  An’ now the rascals would be puttin’ me off.

  Well, they’ll have a fight to move me, an’ you, too, Tom Kedrick, if you’re to stay one of them.”

  Kedrick studied the Welshman thoughtfully. All his doubts had come to a head now, for this man he knew. His own father had been Welsh and his mother Irish, and Dai Reid had been a friend to them both. Dai had come from the old country with his father, had worked beside him when he courted his mother, and although much younger than Gwilym Kedrick, had come West with him, too.