Law Of the Desert Born (Ss) (1984) (14 page)

Matt Sabre got to his feet. She stepped back a little, suddenly aware of how tall he was. She was tall for a girl, yet she came no farther than his lips. She drew back a little at the thought. Her eyes dropped to his guns. He always wore them, always low and tied down. "Judson said you were a fast man with a gun. He said you had the mark of the--of the gunfighter."

"Probably.
He found no bitterness at the thought. "I've used guns. Guns and horses; they are about all I've known."

-Where were you in the army? I've watched you walk and ride and you show military training."

-Oh, several places. Africa mostly."

-Africa?" She was amazed. "You've been there?" He nodded.
Desert and mountain country. Morocco and the Sahara, all the way to Timbuktu and Lake Chad, fighting most of the time." It was growing dark in the shed where they were standing. He moved out into the dusk. A few stars had already appeared, and the red glow that was in the west beyond the rim was fading.

"Tomorrow I'll ride in and have a look around. You'd better keep the other men close by."

Dawn found him well along on the trail to Yellowjacket. It was a long ride, and he skirted the trail most of the time, having no trust in well-traveled ways at such a time. The air was warm and bright, and he noticed a few head of Pivotrock steers that had been overlooked in the rounding up of cattle along the rim.

He rode ready for trouble, his Winchester across his saddlebows, his senses alert. Keeping the roan well back under the trees, he had the benefit of the evergreen needles that formed a thick carpet and muffled the sound of his horse's hoofs.

Yet as he rode, he considered the problem of the land grant. If Jenny were to retain her land and be free of trouble he must look into the background of the grant and see which had the prior and best claim, Fernandez or Sonoma.

Next, he must find out, if possible, where Bill Curtin had obtained that five thousand dollars. Some might think that the fact he had it was enough and that now his wife had it, but it was not enough if Bill had sold any rights to water or land on the ranch or if he had obtained the money in some way that would reflect upon Jenny or her son.

When those things were done, he could ride on about his business, for by that time he would have worked out the problem of Galusha Reed.

In the few days he had been on the Pivotrock, he had come to love the place, and while he had avoided Jenny, he had not avoided young Billy. The youngster had adopted him and had stayed with him hour after hour.

To keep him occupied, Matt had begun teaching him how to plait rawhide, and so, as he mended riatas and repaired bridles, the youngster had sat beside him, working his fingers clumsily through the intricacies of the plaiting.

It was with unease that he recalled his few minutes alone with jenny. He shifted his seat in the saddle and scowled. It would not do for him to think of her as anything but Curtin's widow. The widow, he reflected bitterly, of the man he had killed.

What would he say when she learned of that? He avoided the thought, yet it remained in the back of his mind, and he shook his head, wanting to forget it. Sooner or later, she would know. If he did not finally tell her himself, then he was sure that Reed would let her know.

Avoiding the route by way of Hardscrabble, Matt Sabre turned due south, crossing the eastern end of the mesa and following an old trail across Whiterock and PoIles Mesa, crossing the East Verde at Rock Creek. Then he cut through Boardinghouse Canyon to Bull-spring, crossing the main stream of the Verde near Tangle Peak. It was a longer way around by a few miles, but Sabre rode with care, watching the country as he traveled. It was very late when he walked his roan into the parched street of Yellovvjacket.

He had a hunch and he meant to follow it through. During his nights in the bunkhouse he had talked much with Judson, and from him heard of Pepito Fernandez, a grandson of the man who sold the land to Old Man Curtin.

Swinging down from his horse at the livery stable, he led him inside. Simpson walked over to meet him, his eyes searching Sabre's face.
Man, you've a nerve with you. Reed's wild. He came back to town blazing mad, and Trumbull's telling everybody what you can expect." Matt smiled at the man.
I expected that. Where do you stand?"

-Well," Simpson said grimly,
I've no liking for Trumbull. He carries himself mighty big around town, and he's not been friendly to me and mine. I reckon, mister, I've rare been so pleased as when you made a fool of him in yonder. It was better than the killing of him, although he's that coming, sure enough."

-Then take care of my horse, will you? And a slip knot to tie him with."

-Sure, and he'll get corn, too. I reckon any horse you ride would need corn."

Matt Sabre walked out on the street. He was wearing dark jeans and a gray wool shirt. His black hat was pulled low, and he merged well with the shadows. He'd see Pepito first and then look around a bit. He wanted Camp Gordon.

Thinking of that, he turned back into the stable.

"Saddle Gordon's horse, too. He'll be going back with me.''

"Him?" Simpson stared. "Man, he's dead drunk and has been for days!"

"Saddle his horse. He'll be with me when I'm back, and if you know another one or two good hands who would use a gun if need be, let them know I'm hiring and there's money to pay them. Fighting wages if they want."

In the back office of the Yellowjacket, three men sat over Galusha Reed's desk. There was Reed himself, Sid Trumbull and Prince McCarran.

"Do you think Tony can take him?" Reed asked. "You've seen the man draw, Prince."

"He'll take him. But it will be close--too close. I think what we'd better do is have Sid posted somewhere close by."

"Leave me out of it." Sid "looked up from under his thick eyebrows. "I want no more of the man. Let Tony have him."

"You won't be in sight," McCarran said dryly, "or in danger. You'll be upstairs over the hotel, with a Winchester."

Trumbull looked up and touched his thick lips with his tongue. Killing was not new to him, yet the way this man accepted it always appalled him a little.

"All right," he agreed. "Like I say, I've no love for him."

"We'll have him so you'll get a flanking shot. Make it count and make it the first time. But wait until the shooting starts."

The door opened softly, and Sikes stepped in. He was a lithe, dark-skinned man who moved like an animal. He had graceful hands, restless hands. He wore a white buckskin vest worked with red quills and beads. "Boss, he's in town. Sabre's here." He had heard them.

Reed let his chair legs down, leaning forward. "Here? In town?"

-That's right. I just saw him outside the Yellow-jacket." Sikes started to build a cigarette. "He's got nerve. Plenty of it."

The door sounded with a light tap, and at a word, Keys entered. He was a slight man with gray hair and a quiet, scholar's face.

"I remember him now, Prince," he said. "Matt Sabre. I'd been trying to place the name. He was marshal of Mobeetie for a while. He's killed eight or nine men."

-That's right!" Trumbull looked up sharply. "Mobeetiel Why didn't I remember that? They say Wes Hardin rode out of town once when Sabre sent him word he wasn't wanted."

Sikes turned his eyes on McCarran. "You want him now?"

McCarran hesitated, studying the polished toe of his boot. Sabre's handling of Trumbull had made friends in town, and also his championing of the cause of Jenny Curtin. Whatever happened must be
seemingly aboveboard and in the clear, and he wanted to be where he could be seen at the time, and Reed, also.

-No, not now. We'll wait." He smiled. "One thing about a man of his courage and background, if you send for him, he'll always come to you."

"But how will he come?" Keys asked softly. "That's the question."

McCarran looked around irritably. He had forgotten Keys was in the room and had said far more than he had intended.
Thanks, Keys. That will be all. And remember-nothing will be said about anything you've heard here."

"Certainly not." Keys smiled and walked to the door and out of the room.

Reed stared after him. "I don't like that fellow, Prince. I wouldn't trust him.
,
"Him? He's interested in nothing but that piano and enough liquor to keep himself mildly embalmed. Don't worry about him."

Fugitiv
e
Matt Sabre turned away from the Yellowjacket after a brief survey of the saloon. Obviously, something was doing elsewhere for none of the men were present in the big room. He hesitated, considering the significance of that, and then turned down a dark alleyway and walked briskly along until he came to an old rail fence.

Following this past rustling cottonwoods and down a rutted road, he turned past a barn and cut across another road toward a 'dobe where the windows glowed with a faint light.

The door opened to his knock, and a dark, Indianlike face showed briefly. In rapid Spanish, he asked for Pepito. After a moment's hesitation, the door widened, and he was invited inside.

The room was large, and at one side, a small fire burned in the blackened fireplace. An oilcloth-covered table with a coal oil light stood in the middle of the room, and on a bed at one side, a man snored peacefully. A couple of dark-eyed children ceased their playing to look up at him. The woman called out, and a blanket pushed aside, and a slender, dark-faced youth entered the room, pulling his belt tight.

"Pepito Fernandez? I am Matt Sabre."

-I have heard of you, senor."

Briefly, he explained why he had come, and Pepito listened, then shook his head.
I do not know, senor. The grant was long ago, and we are no longer rich. My father"-he shrugged----he liked the spending of money when he was young."

He hesitated, considering that. Then he said carelessly,
I, too, like the spending of money. What else is it for? But no, senor, I do not think there are papers. My father, he told me much of the grant, and I am sure the Sonomas had no strong claim."

-If you remember anything, will you let us know?" Sabre asked. Then a thought occured to him.
You're a vaquero? Do you want a job?"

"A job?" Pepito studied him thoughtfully. "At the Senora Curtin's ranch?"

-Yes. As you know, there may be much trouble. I am working there, and tonight I shall take one other man back with me. If you would like the job, it is yours."

Pepito shrugged.
Why not? Senor Curtin, the old
one, he gave me my first horse. He gave me a rifle, too. He was a good one, and the son, also."

-Better meet me outside of town where the trail goes between the buttes. You know the place?"

-Si, senor. I will be there."

Keys was idly playing the piano when Matt Sabre opened the door and stepped into the room. His quick eyes placed Keys, Hobbs at the bar, Camp Gordon fast asleep with his head on a table, and a half-dozen other men. Yet as he walked to the bar, a rear door opened, and Tony Sikes stepped into the room.

Sabre had never before seen the man, yet he knew him from Judson's apt and careful description. Sikes was not as tall as Sabre, yet more slender. He had the wiry, stringy build that is made for speed and quick, smooth-flowing fingers. His muscles were relaxed and easy, but knowing such men, Matt recognized dange
r
when he saw it. Sikes had seen him at once, and he moved to the bar nearby.

All eyes were on the two of them, for the story of Matt's whipping of Trumbull and his defiance of Reed had swept the country. Yet Sikes merely smiled and Matt glanced at him. "Have a drink?"

Tony Sikes nodded.
I don't mind if I do.
Then he added, his voice low, and his dark, yellowish eyes on Matt's with a faintly sardonic,
faintly amused look,
I never mind drinking with a man I'm going t
o
Sabre shrugged.
Neither do I.
He found himself liking Sikes' direct approach.
Although perhaps I have the advantage. I choose my own time to drink and to kill. You wait for orders
.

Tony Sikes felt in his vest pocket for cigarette papers and began to roll a smoke. "You will wait for me, campadre . I know you're the type."

They drank, and as they drank, the door opened, and Galusha Reed stepped out. His face darkened angrily when he saw the two standing at the bar together, but he was passing without speaking when a thought struck him. He stopped and turned.
w
onder," he said loudly enough for all in the room to hear,
what Jenny Curtin will say when she finds out her new-hand is the man who killed her husband?" Every head came up, and Sabre's face whitened. Whereas the faces had been friendly or noncomittal, now they were sharp-eyed and attentive. Moreover, he knew that jenny was well liked, as Curtin had been. Now they would be his enemies.

-I wonder just why you came here, Sabre? After killing the girl's husband, why would you come to her ranch? Was it to profit from your murder? To steal what little she has left? Or is it for the girl herself?"