The End of the Trail Page 9

  “Tough on her to find out the truth after she got here,” Pat muttered.

  “That’s what she said,” Hartly reminded him. “She hasn’t any proof she’s really their niece like she says. As for believin’ she didn’t know the truth about ’em, well, I dunno. A gal that turns around an’ goes to work in a dance-hall ain’t any better than she should be. How’d she come to pick Ezra up?” he concluded. “Someone tell her he’s heading on the trail of her uncles?”

  “I dunno,” Pat admitted. “Here they come now. Want to ask her?”

  “Not me.” Sheriff Hartly got up hastily. “She hates me. Claims she thinks I’m persecutin’ her uncles an’ they ain’t as bad as I make out.” He went across the room with a wave of his hand.

  Faint color showed in Lily’s cheeks when Ezra brought her back to the table. She told Pat, “I saw you had company while we were dancing.”

  “Sheriff stopped to say hello.”

  “I hate him,” she said viciously. “I hate everybody in town that brands my Uncle Cleve and Uncle Art as outlaws. They aren’t. There’s some mistake. I know they aren’t.”

  Ezra looked across the table at her in amazement. “Yore Uncle Cleve an’ Uncle Art?” he ejaculated. “Why, them’re …”

  “Yes. The Runyon brothers. The famous outlaws!” She laughed scornfully. “They’re both as gentle as can be. They wouldn’t kill a fly. Why, I visited them with mother eight years ago and they were the nicest men I ever knew. Used to buy me candy, and pick bouquets of flowers for me.” Her eyes filled with tears and she pounded a small fist on the table. “They can’t have turned outlaws. I know they can’t.”

  “Men can change a lot in eight years,” Pat reminded her soberly.

  “I won’t believe it. If I could only get to them somehow. Send them a message. You see, they don’t know I’m here. After mother died I was all alone and I thought it would be nice to surprise them. I just had enough money to get here, and then …”

  “It musta been tough,” Pat muttered.

  “Must be a coupla low-down coyotes tuh treat you thataway,” Ezra growled belligerently. “I’d shore admire tuh get my hands on ’em an’ wring their blasted necks good.”

  “Lookit who Miss Lily’s got buyin’ drinks for her,” a harsh voice grated from behind Pat. “Reckon she ain’t heard these’re two lawmen come all the way from Powder Valley jest to get that reward for bringin’ in her uncles.”

  Pat turned in his chair to look at Bull Miller standing a pace behind him. A tall dark-featured man stood a couple of feet to one side of Bull. He wore two guns low on his hips like a man who was accustomed to using them, and his arms were folded across his chest while a sardonic smile twitched his thin lips.

  Lily leaned forward and ejaculated, “What’s that you said?”

  “He’s right, Miss,” the tall gunman told her. “Mighty funny tuh see you hobnobbin’ with these two lawmen when you been talkin’ all over town ’bout how yuh believe yore uncles are innercent.”

  Pat pushed back his chair and got to his feet slowly. He told Bull Miller, “I warned you to stop repeatin’ them lies about us.”

  Bull’s right hand rested lightly on his hip. He laughed nastily. “Hate to see a nice gal like Lily took in. She’s got a right to know the truth.”

  “Is it the truth?” Lily asked in a strained voice. “Is it, Ezra? You told me you were making a pack trip into the mountains …”

  “Shore they are.” The tall man laughed harshly. “Makin’ a pack trip into thuh mountains after yore Uncle Cleve an’ Art.” He watched Pat tensely as he spoke.

  Pat glanced aside at Ezra. The big man was standing up and there was a look of simple pleasure on his scarred face. He had twisted his chair around as he arose, and held it tilted behind him with both hands gripping the back of it.

  Pat knew that Bull’s hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed Bowie knife. He knew that he had a chance to beat the gunman to the draw, but that Bull’s knife would surely get him before he could fire a second shot.

  He turned half away from both of them toward Ezra and said quietly, “Looks like they got us this time. We better not …”

  With no warning at all, he drove his body low and sidewise into Bull Miller.

  The gunman cursed and went for his guns.

  Ezra whooped gleefully and swung the chair over his head in a mighty arc. Bull and Pat were rolling on the floor together, and Bull’s companion couldn’t fire for fear of hitting Bull.

  In that instant while he hesitated, Ezra’s chair crashed down on his head with a mighty thud.

  Pat rolled aside from Bull and shot him through the muscular forearm as he tried to reach him with his knife.

  It clattered to the floor from out of Bull’s lax fingers, and he got to his feet cursing savagely.

  Pat got up and holstered his gun. Bull’s companion was unconscious on the floor, both hands gripping his unfired guns.

  Pat nodded to Sheriff Hartly who came trotting across the dance floor, and said, “Maybe you better take care of ’em for the night, Sheriff.” He turned back to Lily who was still seated at the table, and muttered, “I’m plumb sorry, Miss Lily. Come on, Ezra,” he ordered the big man gruffly. “Le’s collect Sam from the other room an’ get out of here.”

  Ezra was staring down at Lily sadly. He said, “Wait a minut, Pat. I’d like tuh tell Lily …”

  Pat shot one glance at her strained young face and shook his head. “She ain’t hankerin’ to hear what you’ve got to say.” He took Ezra firmly by the arm and led him out of the dance floor and into the gambling room.

  It was crowded now. It appeared that no one had left his seat at the tables to investigate the shooting in the next room. They found Sam Sloan swaying on his feet in front of the chuck-a-luck layout, drunkenly proud of the huge pile of chips he had amassed in Pat’s absence.

  Sam was easy to handle when drunk. He didn’t argue about leaving the game. He was still sober enough to know he was drunk, and to be ashamed of his condition. He let his partners cash in his chips and lead him away, staggering along between them while he explained haltingly how very simple it was to win money at chuck-a-luck.

  They got him up the hotel stairs without any trouble, and Pat supported him in the hall while Ezra unlocked the door of the room they had together.

  “Don’t light yore lamp,” Pat cautioned Ezra as they entered the dark room. “These windows are right on Main Street an’ somebody could send a slug through ’em from across the street.”

  He told Ezra about the threat he had found under his door earlier, helped him get Sam undressed and then went back to his own locked door.

  He rapped on it cautiously and called, “Are you awake, Dock?”

  “You bet. That you, Dad?”

  “It’s me, Son. Open up.”

  He heard a key turn in the lock, and opened the door. Dock’s white face grinned at him in the darkness. “I ain’t been asleep. I heard some shootin’.”

  “It wasn’t much,” Pat told him. He closed the door and locked it. “Anything happen up here?”

  “Not a durned thing.” Dock sounded disappointed and disgusted. “I’ve been waitin’ with my twenty-two pistol but nobody came.”

  Pat said, “I think we’ll be all right for the rest of the night.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off one boot.

  Lying beside him in the darkness, Dock stiffened and whispered, “Psst.”

  Pat sat very still and didn’t hear anything. He asked in an undertone, “What are you pssting about?”

  “I heard someone in the hall, Dad. Right outside the door. Listen.”

  Pat listened again. This time he heard it also. Someone was out there, furtively trying the knob of their door.

  He drew his gun and said, “Who’s out there?”

  There was no answer for a long moment. Then a faint voice whispered, “Please open your door. It’s only me. Lily.”

  “Gee. Sounds like a woman, Dad. Who d’yuh reckon
…”

  Pat said, “Shh.” He got up and went to the door. Standing back to one side with his gun covering the opening, he fumbled with the key with his left hand, got it unlocked and jerked it open.

  Lily stumbled forward into the dark room. He could smell her perfume and hear her panting breath. She was alone. He closed the door and relocked it, and she turned and clung to him. She was trembling and her face was wet with tears.

  “Take me with you,” she pleaded. “Please take me with you.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Pat protested. “You can’t come here like this. It ain’t decent.”

  She laughed chokingly deep in her throat. “Who cares what I do? I’m just a dance-hall girl. It doesn’t matter. You’ve got to listen to me.”

  “You’d better listen to me,” growled Pat. He holstered his gun and gently pulled her clinging hands away from his shoulders.

  She moved away from him and sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t care what you think of me,” she told him quietly. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t you see that I’m desperate? You’ve got to take me with you tomorrow.”

  Dock moved cautiously under the covers on the other side of the bed. Lily smothered a shriek and jumped up. “Who’s that? I thought you were alone. I didn’t know …”

  “It’s just my boy,” Pat told her wearily. “Say howdy to Miss Lytell, Dock.”

  “Howdy, Miss Lytell,” Dock said dutifully.

  “H-howdy,” she gasped. She drew in her breath sharply. “If you can take your son, you can take me too.”

  “It won’t be any trip for a woman.”

  “You won’t have to worry about me. I won’t be any trouble. I can cook and wash dishes.”

  “An’ beat Ezra out of his job?” Pat grunted. “Look here. You got things all wrong, Miss.”

  “Please listen to me.” It was too dark for him to see the girl but her voice sounded as though she were wringing her hands. “I’ve got to find my uncles. I don’t believe what they say about them, but if they are true I have to know. Don’t you see that?”

  “I’m sorry about it,” Pat said grimly, “but I ain’t aimin’ to find yore uncles.”

  “You’re going into the mountains where they are. Take me with you. I heard some men talking and they say Ezra can follow tracks where no one else can. I’ve got to get away from Fairplay,” she went on rapidly. “I can’t stay here any longer. I was just pretending when I said the job in the dance-hall isn’t so bad. It is. It’s horrible.” Her voice broke pitiably. “Won’t you help me?” She groped toward him in the darkness of the room, threw her arms about his neck and buried her tear-wet face against his throat.

  “You can’t do this,” Pat said frantically. “I’m a married man. I tell you what.” He unfastened her hands from about his neck and fended her off. “If we do chance to run into yore uncles in the hills I’ll shore tell ’em about you bein’ here and all. I’ll do that. But you better go now.” He unlocked the door and opened it.

  Lily went out. She didn’t say any more. He heard her sobbing as she went down the corridor.

  He closed the door and locked it. He went back to the bed, sat down and pulled off his other boot. Dock wriggled under the covers and asked excitedly, “Is she purty, Dad?”

  “You turn over and go to sleep,” Pat Stevens told his son sternly. He put his six-gun under his pillow and slid under the covers. He could still smell the faint odor of perfume that Lily had left behind her in the hotel room.

  11

  The quartet from Powder Valley were having an early breakfast at sunrise the next morning after an uneventful night when Sheriff Hartly entered the restaurant and came directly to their table.

  He pulled up a chair and ordered a cup of coffee, told Pat, “I’m keepin’ Miller and Slats Conway locked up in jail till after you’ve left town this morning. Couldn’t get nothin’ out of ’em,” he went on disgustedly. “They make out they plain just don’t like yore face, Pat, and that’s why they jumped you an’ Ezra last night.”

  “Don’t you believe ’em?”

  “Nary a bit. I’m sure they were hired to do the job, but that don’t tell us who hired ’em?” He poured some coffee into his saucer and blew on it. “I figure on ridin’ up to Snowslide Canyon with you to see what you make of them disappearing tracks.”

  Pat shook his head decisively. “We’ll ride alone.”

  “Don’t see why,” Hartly argued. “I’m sheriff of this county and it’s my job to help you all I can.”

  “If we were goin’ after the Runyons it would be yore job,” Pat conceded. “But we’re ridin’ trail like I told you.”

  The sheriff noisily sucked coffee from his saucer. “Snowslide Canyon is the only passable route up to Timberline Pass over the Divide. If you are huntin’ out a road like you say, that’s where you’ll have to hunt.”

  “That route’s blocked off with a snowslide,” Pat reminded him.

  “But the Runyon gang gets past it. I swear they do. Find out where they disappear to an’ you’ll have your route.”

  Pat said, “There’s another pass a little farther south. We sort of figured on tryin’ that one.”

  “It’s two thousand feet higher than Timberline.”

  “But it’s not blocked off with any snowslide.”

  “Looky here,” said Sam Sloan. “What good would it be fer us to try an’ foller the Runyon trail now? I reckon you took a posse up that canyon an’ spoiled all thuh sign.”

  “I took a posse up the canyon,” Hartly admitted, “but we knew what was goin’ to happen from other times we’d trailed ’em that far and I stopped my men a quarter mile short of where we knew the trail would end. We went on up afoot, stayin’ off to the side of the road and leavin’ that last quarter mile of tracks plain as when they was made.”

  With finality, Pat said, “We won’t ’preciate any company when we leave town this mornin’.”

  The sheriff studied his face for a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right, Pat. Have it yore way. I reckon people would think you’d lied about not bein’ after the Runyon gang if they saw me ridin’ with you. You won’t have any trouble findin’ that place in Snowslide Canyon by yoreselves. The trail ends just about two hundred yards this side of where the canyon is blocked.” He finished his coffee and got up with elaborate casualness. “Good luck to you in findin’ a new road for the Express. We’d admire to have Fairplay on a fast mail route.”

  Ezra waited until the sheriff had gone out before turning to Pat with his one eye gleaming brightly. “I shore would like tuh take a look at that disappearin’ trail,” he said wistfully.

  “Do you think you could follow it where everybody else has failed?” Dock piped up.

  Ezra looked at the boy scornfully. “I never seen a trail I couldn’t foller.”

  Pat dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. “We’ve got other business to ’tend to. Most important thing to us is to get down into Sanctuary Flat an’ find out who’s doin’ the killing there. All of you finished with breakfast?”

  They were. Pat stopped at the cashier’s desk to pay for their food, and they went out into the early morning sunlight.

  “There’s a grocery store right down yonder,” Ezra pointed out. “I’ll buy some more grub we need while you-all round up the hawses.”

  He went toward the store and the other three crossed the street to the livery stable.

  Five-Fingers Martin came out of the small office in front with a toothy smile. “Ready tuh git started?”

  “Soon’s we can get our hawses saddled.”

  Martin led the way back between stalls lining both sides of the stable and pointed out their horses. “Full of oats an’ fresh alfalfy hay an’ r’arin’ to go,” he announced proudly. “Hear you boys had some trouble over tuh Happy Jack’s last night.”

  “No trouble,” grunted Pat. “More of a pleasure. Let’s get saddled an’ out of here.”

  Ezra came back with an armload of groceries while they were
readying the packs. Pat carefully inspected everything as they made up the new packs, but could find no indication that anything had been tampered with. The horses all seemed in fine fettle, bearing out Martin’s assertion that they had been well-fed during the night, and while the others were throwing diamond hitches on the packs, he went back with Martin to the office to settle up for the night’s bill.

  Five-Fingers shook his head obstinately when Pat got out his money and asked how much. “This is on me an’ a pleasure,” he told Pat. “I ain’t never forgot what you fellers done fer me back in Texas.”

  Pat stared at him in consternation. His gaze dropped to the stump of Martin’s missing arm and he stuttered, “You mean when we ’rested you an’ shot off one arm?”

  “Tha’ss what I mean,” Five-Fingers told him earnestly. “Best thing that ever happened to uh man. Them years in jail give me plenty of time fer thinkin’ an’ showed me what a fool I’d been. Gave me a chance tuh turn straight, an’ I kin tell you it’s uh mighty good feelin’ tuh sleep at night without havin’ a gun handy to fight off the law with.”

  Pat said slowly, “I’ll be danged if I don’t believe you mean it, Five-Fingers.”

  “You bet I mean it. An’ I’ll tell yuh somethin’, Pat. If yo’re headin’ out after the Runyon gang, watch out. I got a hunch they’ll be lookin’ fer yuh.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “There was a hawse rode out of here las’ night. He was rode hard an’ far before he was brought back near daylight this mornin’.”

  “Who rode him?”

  Five-Fingers Martin shook his head. “I reckon I cain’t rightly give yuh no name, Pat. You see, I don’t know that he was rode to warn the Runyons, an’ I shore don’t wanta give an innercent man a bad name. But I’d be mighty keerful follerin’ that trail.”

  Pat said gruffly, “Thanks. I’d like to pay for our hawses’ keep last night.”

  “Nope. You don’t owe me a penny, Pat. Drop in any time.”