Raw Land (22 page)

She sat by the bunk, listening to his cursing and never flinching, her mind drugged with weariness. All she knew was that somehow, some way, he must pull through, and she would witness it.

After midnight, she was certain he was dying. The wild color in his face and the expression in his eyes were terrible to see. But toward morning, the color went away. His face was bathed with sweat, and he ceased talking. Then his breathing slowed, and she knew he was asleep. He had won, conquered the fever.

She lay down beside him then, her head on his shoulder, and slept, too exhausted to be very happy.

She wakened in the afternoon and opened her eyes. Will was watching her, and now he smiled.

Becky was suddenly aware of where she was and she rose, blushing a little.

“I'm hungry,” Will said, and grinned.

“You're going to get well, Will,” Becky said happily. She threw back the blanket and looked at his leg. The swelling was receding, the angry color disappearing.

Will watched her cook some food, and when it was finished he wolfed it down and asked for more.

Afterward she rolled him a smoke and lighted it for him, and she was sitting on the bunk watching him when she heard a horseman approaching outside.

Will put out his cigarette, and Becky went to the door. It was Milt, and she told Will.

Milt tramped in, and when Will saw him he knew something was wrong. The old rash wildness was back in Milt's eyes. He grinned at Will, said, “How do you feel, boy?”

“Weak,” Will said.

“Too weak to take some bad news?” Milt asked.

Will scowled.

“Case and Phipps were out this morning, along with a pair of his deputies. We're kicked off. They helped me move. I'm camped under a spring wagon way off east over our boundary line.”

Becky was watching Will, and she saw the bitterness mount in his eyes. He turned his head and looked out the small window. Surely he had known it was coming, she thought; but she was not prepared for this. There was no fight left in him, it seemed. Sickness and bad luck had burdened him too heavily. He was whipped. She remembered that rash brag he made to her that night at the Nine X. He had said he would ruin her father. Only now her father was in the saddle, and Will was licked. A man could fight only so much.

Will looked up at Milt, and Milt said, “The rest of it ain't so important. They've run Ollie and Pink and Pablo out of the county. Loaded 'em on the freight last night and kicked 'em out.”

“No spread, no crew, and flat on my back with a price on my head,” Will murmured. “Well, it looks like we're licked, Milt.”

Milt nodded and sat on the bunk, his sullen face reflecting his discouragement. He and Will looked at each other in silence, as if understanding something that was not spoken. It made Becky sad to see Will this way, beaten and helpless. She didn't blame him, only it made her angry.

“We'll pull out when I can travel,” Will said.

“And the sooner the better.”

Becky said, “Did—they say anything about Will getting shot—ask about him or anything?”

Milt shook his head. “I listened for that, tried to pump 'em. I don't think they did it, and I don't think they know about it.”

“Then who did?”

Milt shrugged.

Will said meagerly, “Well, we got our money to get out of this, Milt.” He looked at Becky. “You figure your dad will pay back the money I gave to Chap?”

Becky nodded. “It wasn't the money he wanted; it was the place. He'll return it.”

“To Milt?”

“If Milt has some kind of authorization, I know he will.”

“Power of attorney, you mean?” Milt asked.

Becky nodded. They didn't speak for a few moments, and then Will sighed.

“All right, bring some paper with you when you come next time, Milt. I'll give you power of attorney. We'll get the money and light a shuck.”

Becky listened to Will, her heart filled with bitterness, and said nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

S
TRANGE
P
ARTNERSHIP

Milt and becky both left the line camp at the same time, after Will's stubborn insistence. Becky was to go home for a change of clothes, a long sleep, and some food. Milt was to ride into Yellow Jacket, arrange with Phipps to have Case return the money, collect it, and return with it. In another day they would ride, if Will could stand it. They would drift slowly out of the country through the brakes, to look for another place where Will could hide Milt.

To Milt, as he rode away from the line camp that morning, the whole thing seemed like a reprieve. In another week he would not be living in constant fear that Pres, drunk some night, would tell a whole saloon full of punchers that he knew where Murray Broome was. True, Pres wouldn't tell when he was sober; he would be too afraid of Milt telling of Chap Hale's murder. But the risk was there. And then, too, Milt was bored. This last lonely week of hugging the ranch, lonesome, never seeing a woman, never having any companionship, was driving him crazy. He'd lost his chance for a fortune, too. And no money to spend, living like a damned homesteader. Anything, even prison, was preferable to this life—or almost, anyway.

He rode into Yellow Jacket at noon. The drowsy sun of midday made the town look half asleep. The usual saddle horses and teams were at the tie rails, and the town people went on their placid way.

Milt pulled up in front of the sheriff's office and dismounted. He remembered Charlie Sommers was back there in the cell block. Only a single wall barred Milt from possible recognition, but the risk had to be run, if it could really be called a risk.

He stepped into the sheriff's office and found Phipps seated at his desk, alone.

Phipps nodded coolly and said with a dry humor, “We seem to be doing considerable business together, Barron.”

Milt nodded and sat down. The door to the cell block was closed so there was little risk of being overheard by Sommers. He crossed his legs and rolled a smoke.

“Phipps,” he said when he had lighted it, “I'm pullin' out.”

“That's smart,” Phipps said, and added shrewdly, “I 'spose that means Will Danning is pullin' out, too.”

Milt shrugged.

“It won't do him no good to run, of course,” Phipps said. “He's got a price on his head. Somebody'll collect.”

“Maybe,” Milt said. “That ain't why I'm here, though. You claim to be honest. Are you honest to a man you think is a crook?”

Phipps's leathery face flushed deep. “I don't know what you mean by that.”

“Case claims the Harkins place now. He's took over. Yet Will Danning paid ten thousand dollars to Chap Hale for it. You got a record of it in Chap's papers. Does Case aim to steal that money, too?”

“Have you asked him?” Phipps said.

“No. I figured he wouldn't let go of it unless the law made him.”

“That money's in the bank, and has been for a week,” Phipps said tartly. “Will Danning, or any authorized party, can ask Case for it and he'll get it. Does that satisfy you?”

Milt nodded and slipped a piece of paper on Phipps's desk. “There's my authority to collect,” he said.

Phipps glanced at the paper and then at Milt. “So you saw him after we left?”

“That's dated the night he broke jail,” Milt said smoothly. “That's all I know.”

Phipps grunted and handed it back. “Find Case. He's in town and he'll pay you. And damned good riddance to the county, if you ask me.”

Milt went out and looked in Hal Mohr's place. Case wasn't there. He went over to the hotel and inquired, and was told that Case left word he would be back at noon. It was almost noon now.

Milt bought a cigar, took a chair in the lobby, and relaxed. He had a view of both the street and the lobby, so that Case could not escape him.

He was smoking idly, when he heard the soft step of a woman on the stairs. He glanced over and saw Mary Norman descending the stairs.

Milt's first feeling was one of absolute panic. But he knew if he moved she would look at him and might recognize him. His second thought, as he watched her go to the desk and talk with the clerk, was one of admiration. She was as beautiful as ever, and the sight of her brought up memories that excited him. And then his old recklessness came over him. Mary Norman. Hell, she was in love with him once. He'd spent a fortune on her. She wouldn't give him away if they hanged her for it.

His eyes were amused now as he watched her, wondering if she would recognize him. She turned away from the desk, starting for the door. Milt cleared his throat; she looked up, saw him, and looked away. Immediately her gaze returned, and her pace slowed. There was a tiny frown of puzzlement on her handsome brow, and Milt couldn't refrain from smiling.

And it was that brash smile that shocked Mary Norman to a full stop. Milt came out of his chair and walked over to her, saying swiftly, “Not a word!”

Mary formed the name Murray with her lips, and then glanced swiftly over to the desk. The clerk had disappeared into the office.

“Follow me!” Mary whispered excitedly.

She started for the stairs and went up. Milt waited a moment, then went upstairs. She was standing down the hall in a doorway, beckoning him.

When Milt closed the door, she was in his arms. He kissed her, and Mary whispered, “Murray! You darling!”

Milt held her out at arm's length and looked at her and then kissed her again, and Mary returned his kisses.

“But you've changed,” Mary said. “What have you done to your hair? And your mustache? And you're thinner, and you're tanned, Murray. Where have you been?”

Milt stemmed the flow of questions and pulled her onto his lap in the chair. If he had ever doubted Mary Norman's love, he didn't now. The joy in her face was obvious to anyone who wasn't blind.

Mary said, “Where have you been hiding? Tell me.”

“Tell me first why you're here.”

Mary's face sobered, and some of the joy went out of it. “To find you. They made me, Murray—”

“Milt's the name. Don't ever forget that.”

“Milt. They've arrested me—for stealing.”

“Stealing what?”

“Some papers from the Land Commissioner's rooms in the Capital hotel. I was hired by—you know—your old gang. Anyway, I was caught. But instead of jailing me the U. S. Commissioner promised me they'd drop the charges if I helped trap you.”

Milt was amused. “And you took 'em up?”

Mary nodded and kissed him swiftly. “I did. Charlie Sommers brought me here. He was sure Will Danning would know where you were. I was bait.”

“Well, it worked.” Milt laughed.

“It did not!” Mary Norman said firmly. “Before Charlie Sommers went to jail, he told me I'd have to look for you for a year. After that, they'd let me go.”

“Think you can hold out?” Milt teased.

Mary Norman said passionately, “I'd die before I'd tell them anything about you! Where have you been hiding?”

“With Will Danning, out at the Pitchfork.”

“That reminds me,” Mary said. She came off his knees and went over to the dresser and pawed through a heap of papers. She found what she wanted and handed it to Milt, saying, “I stole that from Will one day in the post office. I thought it was a letter from you.”

“Will knew you were here!”

“I talked to him. Didn't you know?”

Milt said angrily, “Damn him, no.” And he read the paper. A strange excitement came into his face as he read it.

“What's the matter?” Mary asked.

“Matter?” Milt said softly. “Mary, do you know what this is? It's the deed from Chap Hale! It's the deed to a fortune, a whole damned millionaire's fortune!”

“But—I don't understand.”

“You don't have to understand,” Milt said excitedly. Then he told her about Will's being outlawed, and his eviction from the place yesterday. This deed voided Case's claim. Will's money was paid down, deposited, and now he had the deed to the Pitchfork. Milt looked at it, his eyes strange with a bright greed. Then he looked up at Mary and said, “Mary, how would you like to go to South America, Europe, anywhere you want?”

“Alone?”

“No, you little fool! With me! Don't you see, this'll make me rich!”

Mary Norman was mute with surprise and pleasure. Milt slowly folded the deed, staring out the window. “Wait, Mary. I'll have to go now, but I'll be back later. This is the biggest thing that ever happened to me.”

Mary kissed him again, and he slipped out into the hall. He stood there a moment, bemused by his good fortune. He had Will's power of attorney right here in his pocket, which meant he could steal the whole thing. But he wouldn't do that. He had another scheme, not so crude, safer, and Will would never know. Good old Will—dumb, loyal, and stupid. He'd served his usefulness and served it well, and it would be too cruel to let him down so abruptly.

Going down the stairs, Milt knew what he was going to do. He must find Case first. As he went through the lobby, the clerk said, “Mr. Barron, Mr. Case just went into the dining-room.”

Milt thanked him and stepped into the dining-room. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and Case was at one of these.

Milt went over and sat down beside him. “Seen Phipps, Case?” he asked swiftly.

“I have.”

“Going to pay over the money?”

“Naturally,” Case said coldly. “I have the receipt here. It was signed by Chap and was among his papers, so there's no argument.”

Milt couldn't stifle a feeling of elation. He said, “Let's see it.”

Case took out his wallet and drew out a check and a folded paper. Milt took the paper and opened it. It merely acknowledged that ten thousand had been deposited by Will with him for the purchase of a ranch. The writing on it was the same as the writing on the deed, so there could be no mistake.