Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (6 page)

"You commented on my suit and I told you where you could get one. Now you can have a drink on me, all three of you, and I'm suggesting we drink up." His voice became softer. "I want you to have a drink because I want to be very, very sure we're friends, see?" Corbus stared at Bastian, a cold hint of danger filtering through. This might be dangerous going, but he was stubborn, too stubborn to laugh it off and accept the drink and end the trouble. "Suppose I don't want to drink with no tenderfoot brat?" Corbus never saw what happened. His brain warned him as Bastian's left hand moved, but he never saw the right. The left smashed his lips, and the right cracked on the angle of his jaw. He hit the floor on his shoulder blades, out cold.

Fletcher and the third tough hesitated. Corbus was on the floor and Bastian was not smiling. "You boys want a drink or do we go on from here?" "What if a man drawed a gun instead of usin' his fists?" Fletcher asked. "I'd kill him," Mike replied.

Fletcher blinked. He had been shocked sober by what happened to Corbus. "I reckon you would.

All right, let's have that drink. The boot hill out there already has twenty graves in it." Relieved, the bartender poured. Nobody looked at Corbus, who was still out.

"What will Corbus do when he gets up?" Colley wondered. Garlin chuckled.

"Nothing today. He won't feel like it. was There was silence and then Garlin said, "I can't wait to see Kerb Perrin's face when he hears of it." He glanced over at Colley. "There's a whisper goin' around that the old man intends the kid to take over." "That is the rumor." "Well, he can shoot and he doesn't waste around. Maybe he can cut the mustard." Mike Bastian finished his beer as he heard a stage roll into the street. It offered an easy way out and he took it, following several men who started for the door.

The passengers were getting down to stretch their legs and eat. There was a boardinghouse alongside the saloon. Three of the passengers were women, all were well dressed, with an eastern look to them. Seeing him, one of the younger women walked up to him. She was a pale, pretty girl with large gray eyes.

"What is the fastest route to Red Wall Canyon?" she asked.

Mike Bastian was suddenly alert. "You will make it by morning if you ride the stage. There is a
cross-country
route if you have a buckboard." "Could you show us where to hire one? My mother is not feeling well." Doe Sawyer was on the steps behind him. "Be careful, Mike," he spoke softly.

"This could be trouble." Mike stepped down into the street and walked back to the stage with her. The older woman and the other girl were standing near the stage, but he had eyes only for the girl.

Her hair seemed to have a touch of gold but was a shade or two darker than the hair of the girl who had spoken to him. She who had approached him was quiet and sweet. This other girl was vivid. Their eyes met and he swept off his hat. The girl beside him spoke. "This is my mother, Mrs. Ragan, and my sister, Drusilla." She looked up at him.

"I am Juliana. his Mike bowed. He had eyes only for Drusilla. "I am Mike Bastian," he replied.

"He said we could hire a rig to take us by a shorter route to Red Wall Canyon." "Just where in the canyon did you wish to go?" he asked. "To the V-Bar, Voyle Ragan's place." He had started to turn away, but stopped in midstride. "Did you say-Voyle Ragan's?" "Yes. Is there anything wrong?" "No, no. Of course not. I just wanted to be sure." He smiled. "I wanted to be sure. I might want to come calling. his Juliana laughed. "Of
course!
We would be glad to see you. It gets rather lonely at the ranch sometimes, although we love it. Sometimes I think I could spend the rest of my life there." Mike walked swiftly away, heading for the livery sign he had seen along the street. These then were Ben Curry's wife and daughters, and somehow Doe Sawyer knew it. How many others knew?

He was their foster brother, but obviously his name was unknown to them. Nor would he have guessed who they were but for what Roundy had told him. Yet he was, as Sawyer had warned, treading on dangerous ground.

He must reveal nothing of what he knew, either to them or anyone else. This was Ben Curry's secret and he was entitled to it.

Hiring the rig was a matter of minutes, and he liked the looks of the driver, an older man with a lean, weathered face and an air of competence about him.

"No danger on that road this time of year," the driver said. "I can have them there before the stage is more than halfway. I don't have to take that roundabout route to pick up passengers." "Take good care of them," Bastian said.

He left while the man was harnessing his team and walked back to the boardinghouse.

Drusilla looked up as he came in. "Did you find a rig?" "He'll be around in a matter of minutes. It will be a long drive but you could lie down in the back if you like. He was putting in some buffalo robes when I left." "You're very kind." "I hope I am," he said, "but all I could think of was that you were beautiful." She blushed, or seemed to. The light wasn't very good. "And I can come to visit?" "My sister invited you, didn't she?" "Yes, but I'd like the invitation from you, too." "All right. Now why don't you ask my mother, too? She likes visitors as much as Julie and I do." "I'll have to take the invitation from you and your sister as being enough. If I ask your mother I might have to ask your father, too." "He isn't with us. His name is Ben Ragan and he is probably off buying cattle or looking at mining property. He travels a great deal. Do you know him?" "I've heard the name," he said.

He sat with them, eating a little, drinking coffee, and listening to them talking of the trip. Drusilla was very cool, saying little. Twice he caught her eyes upon him but each time she looked away, though without embarrassment.

"You won't be able to see much but stars," he said.

"My advice is to lie down in the back and get what rest you can." "Do you live over that way?" Juliana asked.

"Sort of," he said, "when I'm home." He hesitated, not wanting to lie. "I've always been a kind of hunter, so I keep to the wild country." He paused; thinking that being a hunter did not seem like much of a life to such girls as these. "I'm thinking of going into ranching. was Drusilla glanced at him coolly, curiously. She was disturbing, in more ways than one. Did she believe him? Why did she look at him like that? When they had gone he walked back to the saloon, dissatisfied more than ever. At the bar he listened to the talk and had another beer.

All such places were clearinghouses for information. Men did business there, found jobs, sought entertainment, often even attended church services in saloons.

Certainly, if one wanted to know what was happening in the country, that was the place to go.

There was talk of the gold shipment as men were being hired to make the trip. The guards, he heard, had been chosen. Now, more than ever, it seemed fantastic that he could actually be planning to steal all that gold, with the possibility of resistance, of even killing men. He considered that. Killing a man in a fair fight was something that could happen to anyone, but killing men who were defending property was something else. He stared gloomily into his beer. What would Drusilla think of that? And what would Ben Curry think of an outlaw visiting his daughters?

The idea that he might someday lead the gang had been with him for years. He knew he had been trained for it, conditioned for it. He knew Curry had based all his plans on him, Mike Bastian. So now what? Often he had thought of what he would do and how he would do it. He supposed many a man had considered a holdup and how it should be done but with no idea of ever doing it. It was a form of daydreaming, but with no connection to reality. The trouble was this was no longer a daydream, this was reality. Now, suddenly, he was uneasy.

Yet he was thinking not only of himself but of Drusilla. What a girl she was! And her father was an outlaw. Was she aware of it? He doubted that. Roundy said Ben Curry had kept his family life completely away from his other side.

Ben Curry himself was a strange man, one who, had he gone straight, might have directed his energies into cattle, mining, or some other business, even into politics. He knew men and had a genius for organization and control. A strange life, turned off suddenly down the wrong roads. But that was Ben Curry. What of him? What of Mike Bastian?

Doc Sawyer cashed in his chips and strolled to the bar, offering to buy him a drink. It was a casual meeting, like many that occur in saloons. "The twentieth," he said, "and there will be five shotgun guards, but twelve guards in all. The big fellow at the poker table is one of them." He paused. "It looks bad, mike. It looks very bad, indeed." What Roundy said was true, of course. He was still an honest man. This was the turning point. Once he stepped over that boundary that separated the thieves from honest men it would not be the same. Of course, later he might be able to step out of it as Ben Curry would do. If he was able to do it.

Listening to Sawyer made him wonder. Why had such a man, brilliant, intelligent, and a skilled surgeon, why had he taken to the outlaw trail? "Doc"-he spoke softly-"whatever made you take this route?" Sawyer glanced at him.

"Having doubts, Mike?" "Doubts? It seems all I have these days are doubts." "I've wondered about that. You've said nothing, so I assumed you were perfectly willing to go along with Ben's plans for you. "It means power and money, Mike. If it is the future for outlaws that disturbs you, don't let it. From now on it will be different than in Ben Curry's day. You will have to have the best lawyers, the right connections, and spend some money for bribes, but with the money you will have that should be easy.

"Roundy told me he had spoken to you about it.

He can see it more clearly than Ben. The old days are over. Up to now all those robberies were considered to have been pulled off by free-wheeling outfits like the James boys and the Renos. Nobody has thought there might be an organization behind it. That will change.

There are some pretty shrewd officers out there and when they begin getting organized themselves outlaws will have no chance. Still, with the connections, the lawyers, and tile money you should manage." "Yes, it could be," Mike agreed.

"Only maybe I don't want it that way." Sawyer smiled wryly. "Does conscience rear its ugly head? Can it be that Ben Curry's conditioning has fallen on fallow ground? What started this sudden feeling?

Is it fear? Or a woman?" "Would that be so strange?" "That it was a woman? I've wondered it hasn't happened before, except that you've been such a recluse. If it is a woman, take a second look and time to think about it." "It wasn't her. I've been thinking about it for the past two years. I've been wondering what I should do. I hate to disappoint Ben Curry, and actually, I've no other place to go. What can I do? Hunt? Punch cows?" Doc Sawyer put his glass down hard. "Either is better, Mike.

Anything is better. And it's easier to get in than get out. Once you have the name, it follows you.

"But don't ask me. I made a mess of my own life. Partly a woman and partly for what I thought would be easy money. Well, let me tell you, there's no such thing as easy money. You make your own decision. What was it Matthew Arnold said, I think you learned the quotation." was "No man can save his brother's soul, or pay his brother's debt." was "That's
it!
You save your own and you pay your own. But remember this, Mike. No matter which way you go, there will be killing. If you take over from Ben you'll have to kill either Kerb Perrin or Rig Molina, maybe both of them. And if you decide to step out you may have to kill them and even Ben Curry." "Oh,
no!
Not pal" "Mike, get this through your head. There is no easy way out. Do you suppose you're alone in this?

Roundy an" me have talked this up one side and down the other. After all," he added, "neither of us ever had a son. We've helped to train you and teach you, and it has meant a lot to us. "But remember this. No man is a complete ruler or dictator. He is only the mouthpiece for the wishes of his followers. As long as he expresses those wishes, he leads them.

"Ben is the boss because he is strong, because he has organization, because he is good with those guns.

Also he is boss because he has made them money, kept them out of trouble, sometimes even against their own wishes. He has offered them security. If you walked out there would be a chink in the armor. No outlaw ever trusts another who turns honest. He always fears betrayal." "Let's check with Roundy." He was coming across the room to them. "Get the horses. We've got to blow town. Ducrow and Fernandez just rode in, and they are drunk and they are talking. If they see us they are apt to spill everything." Garlin was there. "Ducrow's a pal of Perrin's.

He thinks he can get away with anything." "Here they come now!" "All right!
Drift!
" Bastian ordered. "Be quick with the
horses!
" The world of most criminals is incredibly small, consisting largely of others like himself. He wants to be considered a big man, a tough man, a smart man among his own kind. If not that, he wants to be associated with somebody who is big, tough, and smart, even if only to run errands for him.

Few can stand alone, most are afraid to try. The gang is their protection and their strength. It is also their refuge.

Their world is a few hangouts, a few saloons, a few places where the lawbreakers meet. If in the city it comprises a few city blocks, in the western lands a few towns, a few hundred square miles of territory. When escaping they will almost invariably return to old associations, to areas they know, people with whom they are familiar.