Raw Land (13 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I got a busted shaft on that windmill out there.” He pointed out the door. “My stock can't get water unless you leave Milt a man to help with that.”

Phipps, who had never taken his eyes off Will, glanced out the door. In that moment, Will dived for him.

One of Phipps's men yelled, “Watch out!”

Phipps was a quick thinker. He heard the man yell and he pulled the trigger of his six-gun immediately. Will, foreseeing that, had stepped to one side when he moved. The slug plucked at his shirt, and then he slammed up against Phipps, his iron grip on the wrist of Phipps's gun hand, Phipps's body between him and the deputies.

Will whirled the frail old man around, and said swiftly, “Stay there, boys. Don't move. Drop your gun, sheriff!”

Phipps's gun slipped to the floor, and Will backed toward the door with the sheriff in front of him. At the door, he realized that while he was going to make a break for it, he didn't have a horse. Then he could take one of the sheriff's.

“Where are your horses, Phipps?”

“Behind the house,” Phipps said.

Before anyone could say anything, Will gave Phipps a savage shove into the room, slamming him into his deputies, turned, and ran toward the cookshack end of the house. He heard Milt's voice yell at him as he ran, but he couldn't make out the words.

Just as he reached the corner of the cookshack, the first shot slammed out behind him, kicking a geyser of dust up at his feet.

He turned the corner, out of sight of his pursuers now, and made a quick decision as to what he would do. He could take a horse, ride back the other way behind the house, cut for the wash, and ride up it and then into the brakes, where they would never find him.

He turned the rear corner of the house at a dead run, then hauled up.

There were no horses here! Phipps had trapped him.

Will whirled, knowing he was cut off from the corral now, and even if he wasn't he couldn't saddle a horse under the fire of three deputies.

And then he saw the stone-sided root cellar, buried in the side of the hill.

He ran for that, some twenty yards off, and dived down its steps, just as a pair of shots from the corner of the house chipped the stone face.

He slammed into the door, and it gave, and he was in the gloom of the cellar. He turned, crawled up the steps again, raised his head, and sent two shots at the feet of Sheriff Phipps. Phipps stopped, turned, and ran for the shelter of the house. Two more shots hurried his passage.

And now he heard Phipps bawling, “Surround the cellar! He's forted up inside.”

In less than five minutes, one of the deputies was on the hill above him, a second was in the wagon shed to the left, and Phipps was posted at the corner of the house. He was trapped, neatly as any sheriff could want. The fourth deputy, of course, was guarding Milt and the rest of the crew.

Will squatted in the doorway out of the line of fire and considered his position. He had a belt of shells, his own gun, and Phipps's. He could fight off capture as long as his shells held out. On the other hand, it would be the purest luck if he could break through Phipps and his crew. The thought that right behind him, not fifty yards away, lay the Sevier Brakes with all their canyons, was maddening. The idea of giving himself up had not occurred to him. A kind of hot and wicked stubbornness was in him now; someone had framed him, and he would not submit to it. Milt wasn't in trouble, so he could put his mind at rest on that score. He knew, with cynical certainty, that if they got him, they would hang him. People hate what they are not used to, and they hated him because he was a stranger, because they thought he killed Chap, and because he didn't mind their hatred. They would hang him as certainly as they would be deaf to his defense. Phipps's voice roused him. “You're surrounded, Danning. Better give up, or we'll come in smokin'!”

“Come ahead!” Will called.

He gauged his chances carefully. The three of them couldn't take him. And by the time they had sent to town for reinforcements it would be dark. And under cover of darkness his chances for escaping would be a hundredfold. He decided instantly and definitely to fight them off till dark and then try to escape.

Phipps again demanded his surrender, and all he got for his pains was a brief, “Go to hell!” After that, the three deputies poured a steady stream of fire at the steps which Will did not even bother to return. Toward dusk, some gravel from the hill up above him rolled onto the steps, and he knew the man up above was inching down the slope with the intention of shooting over the roof edge.

Will only retired a foot inside the door where, by raising himself up, he could see the house and the shed, and send a slug toward each.

He waited tensely until dusk fell. Occasionally when he rose, he could see Pinky and Ollie carrying wood up and stacking it by the corner of the house. Phipps, apparently, wasn't going to take any chances of escape under cover of darkness.

When night came, Phipps tried again to get him to surrender, and again Will refused. Afterward, the fire was lighted. It cast a bright light over the area in front of the root cellar, and Will considered it with dark foreboding. It was brighter than daylight. And then the deputy at the wagon shed opened up again, and so did Phipps.

Will squatted on his haunches, facing the door, and tried to think. This looked like the payoff, unless something broke. And nothing would. He was here till help came and then they'd dynamite him. He considered that, and still there was no thought of surrender in his mind.

Sporadic shooting at him livened the night. He hunkered in a constant cloud of dust, raised by the slugs slamming into the roof over the far wall.

The shooting slacked off now, and he wondered if they were content to rest for a few minutes.

And then in the following silence he heard, “Will! Will Danning!”

It was Becky Case's voice. Or was it? Was this a trick to draw him to the stairs where a man above could put a slug in his back?

“I'm coming over, Will. Don't shoot!”

Will raised himself up and looked. Becky Case was on this side of the fire, walking slowly toward him. There was nobody behind her.

Will waited, and when she reached the steps she called, “Are you all right, Will?”

“I'm all right,” Will drawled. “Watch those steps.”

Becky came down then into the gloom of the root cellar. She paused in the doorway and peered in.

Will said, “What are you doin' here, Becky?”

“I—heard in town they were going to arrest you, and I came out, Will. I—well, Sheriff Phipps was a friend of Chap's, and I wasn't sure if he wouldn't lose his head.”

“He kept it,” Will said wearily. “He's got me nailed down now.”

Becky came over to him and knelt on the floor facing him. “Will,” she said quietly, “I don't know much about this, only I know you didn't kill Chap Hale. You never killed anybody!”

“Tell Phipps that,” Will said bitterly.

“But what are they doing to you, Will? Why do they think you did it?”

“A note your dad says he found in Chap's papers—a note from a gunnie claimin' he wouldn't go against Will Danning for pay. It makes out I was threatenin' Chap and he was scared of me. They figure one of my crew killed Chap, from that note.”

Becky was silent. “And Dad found it?”

“That's what Phipps said.”

“Will,” Becky said. “Something's wrong with Dad. He's afraid. He doesn't sleep, he's worried, and he's ashamed of himself. I—I think he put that note in Chap's papers.”

“But why?”

“Because Pres made him.”

“But why would Pres do it?” Will demanded.

“Oh, Will, it all goes back to something I don't understand. Pres wants this place. He's crazy wild to get it, and he'd do anything to drive you off, don't you see?”

“He robbed Chap's office for the deed?”

“He could have.”

“And now he's made your dad plant that note.” Will was silent, thinking, and then he swore softly. “Becky, if I could get out of here I'd find out what's behind this. I'd do it if I had to take your dad and wring his neck!”

Becky said nothing. Will stood up and looked out at the fire. It was burning brightly as ever, and Phipps was watching the place. Will turned and paced down the narrow cellar, beating his fist against his palm in time with his slow steps. He had to get out of here, he
had
to!

“Will.”

Will came up to her.

Becky said, “You can't do it. I met one of Phipps's deputies riding to town. He's after help. They'll get you.”

“I know,” Will said grimly.

“If you'll go to jail, Will, they'll leave you alone,” Becky said.

Will scowled. “How's that?”

“Now they're waiting for you with guns. But once they have you locked up, they'll forget you. And wouldn't it be easier to escape from jail than here?”

Will smiled in the dark. “I've got a gun here, Becky.”

“But what if you had one in jail?”

“In jail?” Will echoed.

“Oh, don't you see what I'm trying to tell you?” Becky burst out. “I don't think you killed Chap, Will. I want to know about Dad. I don't want you killed! And some way I'll help you break jail if you'll give yourself up! I promise it.”

“And go to jail yourself?”

“I don't care. They won't touch me. Oh, Will, you can't wait down here like a stubborn rat in a hole and let them cave this place down on top of you! They hate you in town! They'd like to kill you! Have you thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Will said.

“Then let me go out and tell Phipps you'll surrender. And once you're in jail, we can figure out some way to break you out. I'll even hire gunmen to rescue you.”

“Becky,” Will said slowly, “you could almost make me do it.”

“Do it, Will! I'm your friend. We'll find a way.”

Will stood there undecided a moment, and then he said, “All right, Becky. Here are my guns.”

He held out both guns. Becky didn't take them immediately. She kissed him swiftly and lightly, then took the guns and fled up the steps.

When Phipps came down the steps, Will was still staring at the door after Becky.

Phipps prodded him outside, and the other two deputies, both holding guns on him, came up, too.

Will said, “I'd like to talk to Barron for a few minutes, alone.”

“Go ahead,” Phipps said. “Only make it quick.”

Milt was brought out from the big room. Phipps left him and Will by the fire, and backed out of earshot, although not out of gunshot.

Milt's face was dark with anger. They had been kept sitting on the floor, just where Will had left them, for fear they would try for a break.

Milt said swiftly, “You all right?” Will nodded, and Milt said bitterly, “Those damn murderin' lawdogs! You won't stay in jail long, Will, if I have to blow it up!”

“Listen careful, fella,” Will said. “Get this straight and remember it. You don't make a move to help me, understand?”

“Why not?” Milt demanded angrily.

“Because they'll pick you up then, and once they get you, the jig's up. Can't you see that?”

Milt nodded reluctantly, and Will went on. “Don't even come in to see me. Sommers may still be in town. Stay on the place, talk soft, and say nothin'.”

“But damn it!” Milt protested. “I can't let you stay there, Will! You're in there on my account!”

Will smiled faintly. “I won't be in long,” he murmured, wondering if it was true.

Chapter Ten

J
AILBREAK

After breakfast, Charlie Sommers went upstairs, as if he were going to his own room. Instead, he looked up and down the hall, saw nobody was in the corridor, and knocked softly on Mary Norman's door.

A sleepy voice bade him enter, and he went in. Mary Norman was still in bed. Her black hair was braided in a long rope on her pillow, and when Charlie stepped inside she pulled the covers up to her chin. Charlie wondered idly, for about the four-thousandth time, how an ex-honkytonk girl, gambler's shill, and petty crook, could keep her looks the way this girl had.

She said curtly, “You might give me time to dress.”

Charlie, a married man, wasn't impressed by the feminine clothes scattered on the lone chair. He shoved them on the floor, sat down, and regarded the girl.

“Try gettin' up at a decent hour and I wouldn't catch you in bed.”

“There's nothing to do in this town but sleep,” Mary Norman said bitterly.

“There will be now,” Charlie said.

Mary Norman looked interested, but she said nothing. Charlie glanced around the room, at the papers, the clothes, the letters littering the dresser top, and then he pulled out a sack of tobacco and rolled a cigarette.

“Will Danning was brought in last night. They're holdin' him for murderin' Chap Hale.”

“Did he do it?”

“He did not,” Charlie said flatly. “He's bein' framed, near as I can make out. I dunno who's framin' him, either. But that ain't the point. What I come to tell you is I'm likely to be away for a while.”

“Where?”

“Jail.”

Mary Norman laughed briefly. “That's a laugh. A deputy U. S. marshal in jail.”

“It won't be funny,” Charlie said stolidly. “I mean it.”

“But why?”

“Never mind why. All I want to tell you is that when I go away or I'm locked up, that's no chance for you to hit the grit. Don't try and run out on me, you understand?”

Mary Norman said nothing, and Charlie went on in a matter-of-fact voice. “I'm still goin' to find Murray Broome. This is part of it. And you're still goin' to help me, unless you'd rather go to jail. So when I get in trouble, don't figure you can dodge out and me not know it.”